Let's just keep walking. We'll be back on the trail eventually. Cloudless sky and scorching sun directly overhead--my friend Jo and I were lost somewhere in Pai Canyon. The dry, dusty trail crumbled under our feet as we descended further into an abyss of nothing but the same. I glanced back over my shoulder at the impossibly steep crevices we'd climbed down, and a sense of dread crept up my spine.
Here's how you float, Heather said and took a big breath. On her back, she floated around the pool like an untethered raft. I can't, I said. You're thinking too much, just hold your breath until you're stable then breath light and easy. She continued to float, and I continued to sink. Again and again and again.
Immersing myself into a barrel of freezing water had never been a thing I'd considered doing, ever. So I shocked myself in more ways than one when I said yes to joining an ice bath community. And, over the course of three weeks, I went from popping in and out of the barrel, to staying in the ice for 30 seconds to one whole minute. The rush and lightness was unlike anything I'd experienced. Half in my body and half out, voices receded into the distance as my friends counted down the seconds.
❈
The opening scene from Arrival popped on screen, and a rush of excitement washed over me. My job is all about language and communication after all, so of course, I chose Arrival and Story of Your Life for the students to analyze. How could I not?
I spend good chunks of my time creating workshops for students at Chiang Mai University. Most of the workshops are all writing craft and discussing short stories. Occasionally, we play murder mystery games or escape room or watch movies. The beauty of it is that I get to share my favorite writers and stories and ideas and hope that it creates a ripple effect of awe and inspiration.
I brought you a book, he said. And I wrote a message in it for you...but it's in Sanskrit. With the nearly full moon overhead, I held it to my chest. I don't think there is anything I will treasure so much in my life. What this means to me is beyond words or logic. And once again, I free fall into the mystery that envelops everything.
It took me three days to translate the book inscription--which was either way too long or pretty good timing, considering it was handwritten, and I had nothing to go on except trial and error to start. Laying poolside in the sun with my Sanskrit chart, I think: Life can't get much better, really. My compulsion to throw myself into puzzles and mysteries seems to have reached a pinnacle, an event horizon that will forever drag me toward its center, but never fully revealing all its secrets.
❈
My All Trails map finally loaded--showing that we weren't even on a marked road or trail. We could turn around, but it would mean climbing back up the terrifyingly steep crevices. With the glaring sun in my eyes, I squinted and looked back at the the hill of dry dirt and gravel we had half slid down, then gazed down at the more of the same, leading us ever deeper into the canyon.
Let's turn back and course correct, I said. Jo nodded. You might need to push me up the hill, I told her. You might need to pull me through the crevices. Good thing I accidently brought my bike helmet with me, she said and held up the helmet that helped us climb down, and eventually, would help us climb out of the canyon. We had no water, no sunscreen, no food. But we had a motorbike helmet. Divine intervention at it's best.
I learned to float because I drowned once, Heather said. You drowned? Yeah, got caught in a whirlpool. I was dead when they found me. What do you remember? I asked. Not a thing. I held my breath until I couldn't anymore. Everything went white, then next thing I remember I came to in an emergency room. Wow, I said, that's wild. That's why I float now, she said and floated to the other end of the pool and back, unwavering and steady.
❈
Baa narak dok mai. Chan rak kafae. Sawadee kha. Kop khun kha. Nam. Chai! Mai pen rai. Nit noi. Sabai sabai. Ruesi! My friends and I sit outside the little coffee stand, and I list all the Thai words and phrases I know.
After six years in this country, my knowledge of Thai is still only a string of words that never really add up to anything but impressions. Much like most of my experiences here in Thailand. And life in general for that matter. A string of impressions that don't really add up until maybe you stand back and see them as a whole. Which I fully intend to do once I reach an appropriately old age. I'm sure I'll know when that is when I get there.
I held my breath and floated. Heather had left the prior week so no one was here to witness this moment of the seemingly impossible. I breathed easy. I stayed afloat. I allowed my mind to wander from earth to sky, from here and now to the liminal space in-between. Star chaser, sun child. I let my imagination unfurl into infinity.
Jo and I made our way out of the canyon and found the path we strayed from. It was too late in the day and we didn't have time to hike the full loop so we headed back to the trailhead. My clothes, caked with dirt, stuck to my sweaty body. Jo looked as though she hadn't even broken a sweat. The sun drooped westward casting a burnt-orange glow to the trail and a dark shadow over the canyon. We rode through the countryside on backroads back to Pai, taking in the sweeping rice field landscapes and muddy river views as heavy clouds rolled in over the mountain tops and thunder cracked in the distance.
Summer unfolded like a series of impressions--one fading into the next and lingering like the oranges and reds across an evening late summer sky. Or maybe they were more like shooting stars hitting the atmosphere--taking me by surprise, creating an impression, and vanishing in a blink.
What about you, friends? How was your summer? And how will you remember it?
