Seven years ago the military government in Burma packed up and left Yangon and moved north 320 km to a brand spanking new capital, Naypyidaw. The name means “royal capital” or “abode of the kings” ostensibly celebrating ancient kings, but it seems a little ironic, named as it was by the Generals so long in power. Continue reading
The return from Burma was a bumpy landing and no fault of the pilots. The problem was all inside my head, she might have said.
When I got home in February after more than 3 intense weeks in Burma I had a hard time recognizing it as “home”. While it was definitely nice to see Dennis and sleep in my own bed and commune with my GreenHouse, it was, at the same time disorienting. More than once I woke in the middle of the night and looked around at the window, at the doors, and didn’t know where I was. I couldn’t recognize my own house, let alone my own home. Continue reading
The first full day of our time in Burma we went to have breakfast with a thousand monks who live at the Mahaganayon Monastery in Amarapura, near Mandalay. The Monastery is quite lovely with many buildings under the shade of huge trees. It feels like a campus, which indeed is what it is, a place of Buddhist study, a peaceful place.
At about 11:00 every morning, the monks gather to have their last meal of the day. After this, they can only drink water, until they arise early the next morning. Visitors can watch as the monks have their meal in total silence. At least that’s how it is promoted on the tour circuit. Continue reading