So now I am in the most sacred of all cities in the country - Luang Prabang. And today I'm going to find out the reason for that ...
But the first thing I notice in the morning stepping outside is the fresh air. It smells of spices, of fresh bread, of forest.
That's strange in a city that smelled of exhaust fumes and all sorts of other bad odours last night . Maybe the night wind blew it away, maybe – and that's the greater probability – I'm just imagining it.
Because so it should be in this most sacred of all cities in Laos.
Wat Xieng Thong.
It starts with the paintings that even the untrained eye cannot get enough of. Birds, animals, deities, in all colours of the spectrum, which still enchant even after so many years (or centuries).
A cheap plastic flower on the Buddha
And there is this typical Buddhist way, this worldly aspect that resonates in everything. A cheap plastic flower on the neck of a centuries-old figure. In Burma there were occasional price tags hanging on the neck of a holy Buddha statue. I wouldn't be surprised to see a Coke bottle in the hand of a deity. It wouldn't bother anyone.
For Western minds, however, especially the dogmatic, this is unthinkable, disturbing, an insult to good taste and to the artist (who probably would not care much). This is the beauty of Buddhism, that these things simply do not matter, the spirit of transience permeates the world, including the ancient gods and their images.
Absurd small existences
Anyway, I'm sitting at a stone table in the shade of a tree, tourists are streaming by, I'm one of them, as ignorant as them. Does not matter. Impermanent. We are all absurd little existences, panting for recognition, sometimes moaning with loneliness, a tiny flame in the dark. Impermanent. It does not matter. Or does it?
Some dark clouds hang over the city; at home they would probably announce a summer thunderstorm. But here they are just a short episode, making lunch and its heat a bit more bearable.
Drifting
The city calls, so to speak, to just let oneself drift. To leave thinking aside. To let mindfulness, this western hype, take effect. And then only to be. At the next temple, at the river that rolls sluggishly past the city. Or in the café, looking at the people passing in front of the window. Enjoy the view from the hill overlooking the city.
Philosophical Considerations in the Evening
The city evokes ambivalent feelings. Without tourists, it would be a quiet, dreamy old city, full of history, full of stories about the world, about wars and hardships. And the peculiar whims of the human species capable of the highest art and barbaric cruelty. You have to accept it like everything else in serenity.
And when we speak of serenity, the most effective weapon against the doubts about the meaning of one's existence is actually the taking back of the importance of one's existence. Very healing as thought, but can one live with it?
Strange - the city seems predestined to slide into philosophical thoughts. I don't know if that's a good thing, we'll see.
The night market
After sunset hectic arises. Where all sorts of vehicles and thousands of pedestrians have challenged the square, stands are being erected in no time, with trailers, cars, wagons, bags and rucksacks containing a million shawls, T-shirts, gloves, rings and bracelets and another million small and larger trinkets provided. Now I understand - Nightmarket!
P.S. Matching Song: Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love
And here the journey continues ...
