Impressions

Impressions:
Thin man in a conical hat standing up to peddle his bicycle down the road in the midday sun. You can't see the back of his bicycle because it is hidden under several sacks of produce. In fact, when he finally moves past us, you can't see him or the bike at all, just a giant jumble of sacks with wheels underneath.
Women returning from the morning market with leftover goods and items they have purchased. Their longyi are worn and slightly askew, their faces painted on each cheek with tanaka paste and shadowed by the wide brimmed straw hats they wear.
Midday...few people are out. Shop keepers lie on platforms in front of their stores, napping. Some have rigged up hammocks and swing gently, one arm hanging over the edge, one knee propped up, other arm over their head.
The way women walk in the longyi. Shoulders back, almost scuffing their feet in their dusty flip flops, arms hanging loosely at their sides. An island walk, a walk for hot countries where time has a different meaning. I have forgotten what day it is.
Horse cart drivers, like rickshaw drivers and tuk tuk drivers, asleep in their rigs in the afternoon.
Early morning vendors walking the streets calling their wares. Women and men with wide trays balanced on their heads or poles slung across their shoulders ending in buckets of something.
Flowers, so many flowers in the markets in Myanmar. It was a surprise to me to see that. Chrysthanemums, gladiolus, gaura, roses, many more I don't recognize, but everywhere women return from the market with food items and a bouquet of flowers.
The helpfulness of the people in the market. One woman will rush to aid another in a sale, helping to fit a blouse, offering a different choice, assuring me the price is good. I bought silk/cotton from The Two Sisters and could have bought more and more and more. They were like chattering parrots, excited about a sale, laughing and calling me sister. They made a place for me when they saw I was hot, laughed when I got out my glasses to better see what I was buying, explained about the 50/50 silk cotton and the 70/30 silk cotton..."no synthetic". So much laughter, so many beautiful colors and pieces whisked away to be cut to the length I desired. They presented me their card and told me they were having new cards printed with English on them as well as Burmese. Their sweetness and enthusiasm made me miss being a merchant myself.
The clicks and snaps of the horse cart drivers as they give directions to their horses. They way people break into song for no reason in particular. Because it is an unfamiliar language, it reminds me of the scene in Trading Places where Eddie Murphy is on the train pretending to be an exchange student from Cameroon and he breaks into a heartfelt nonsense language song. It makes me laugh, but it is also very sweet.
The way this country has changed in the 7 years since we have been here. There is a feeling of hope everywhere and the spirit of the people blossoms all around us.
We chased the sunset across the finely sifted sand of the Bagan plains. The first time I came here, I was chased by a grief so profound it was hard to see the ruins at all. Everything I looked at was covered by my mourning and I saw this world through a veil of tears. Sometimes the universe saves the best for later. The Great Spirit, whatever we perceive it to be, provides a second chance. I could deny that I know what the crumbling city teaches me, but it's plain as the nose on my face. All things are transitory. We live in a world of illusion. Maya dances across the crumbling frescoes inside the tunnels protected from the light. We glimpse all of life through a veil darkly. Perhaps, last time, that lesson was too fresh for me and my own loss, the profound loss of one of my children, was too close for me to need any reminders of just how fleeting life really is. But time softens the edges of grief just like time has worn away the steps leading up inside the crumbling brick temples whose purpose is no longer important. They are just structures to make us wonder. Each of us brings to travel our own expectations. I have always felt it was best to bring as little expectation with me as possible...to allow space in the suitcase of my soul for the unexpected. If we leave a vacuum and hope for the best, the best will fill that void. If I could apply that same philosophy to my life at home, what a gift it would be, but it seems to work best for me here...away from the everyday. And though it is fleeting, it is the best thing I bring home.
At the top of the tallest paya with the corncob pinnacle, waiting for the sunset with hundreds of people from all over the world bringing their expectations and frustrations with them, I couldn't get down fast enough. Yes, the sunset was stunning, magical, the outline of hundreds of temples stretched out along the Irrawaddy, the dust of horse carts, tour buses, private cars and taxis mixing with the setting sun and turning the light a golden glow, but we got the definitive photo in 2006, and we have the photo inside of us, the memory of that older magick. It's wonderful that Myanmar, Burma, is opening up and money is pouring in along with tourists, but here we are, fighting for space, for our own little piece of eternity, the perfect picture, the perfect experience, along with everyone else. It is only a matter of time before someone tumbles from the parapets and this temple, one of the last remaining two whose upper reaches are open to the public, will be closed. The disappointment of all these people, packed together on a narrow ledge reached by stairs not unlike those up the pyramids in Central America, was palpable and horrifying.
We will take one more trip out to the ruins on our last day upcountry. Our laughing driver, So Ren, will lead us to some temples less crowded, our own private piece of eternity...and that is the gift of serendipity...the jewel in the lotus.