After yesterday's "long" run I guessed my legs would feel sore today, but on my walk to the fitness park they felt fine. However, my back is a little tight, most likely from trying new stomach exercises, and perhaps from doing the "log lift", so I did not do any sit ups today and altered the way I do the log lift to make it easier on my back. Whenever I feel my back tightening up I do a few yoga "sunrise salutes" and it always helps, usually giving immediate relief, so I have been doing those in hopes of preventing a back spasm.
After the fitness park I walked home and was feeling energetic so headed out soon after and walked to Ginny Cafe for the "American Breakfast". I find it funny that the American Breakfast has microwaved baked beans (I have never had baked beans for breakfast, nor do I know anyone who does), and a fried whole tomato and mushrooms (tasty), to go along with the normal fare of 2 fried eggs, toast, tea, and fresh juice. For 95 baht ($3.08), it is a good deal, reminding me of my first year in Chicago in 1992 when I would regularly go to Ronnie's Steakhouse (pre-vegetarian days) on State Street and order a huge breakfast of steak, Texas toast, fried eggs, juice, and hash browns, all for $3.00. Unfortunately I contracted food poisoning from eating there and spent 2 days in the hospital to recover. When my co-workers found out it was from eating at Ronnie's they were quite amused, wondering why I would eat there at all (making 8 dollars an hour forced me to look for cheap restaurants), and I could never get myself to go back.
After Ginny's I walked to the only park within the city gates, sat on a shaded bench and read the short story "Tristan", one of the included stories in the Death in Venice book. I found it to be quite amusing, and toward the end of the story one of the passages was so humorous that I could not stop laughing, even though I knew I was attracting the attention of nearby Thai vendor. I would stop giggling for a few seconds, look down again at the line, and begin laughing anew. It was similar to a Bukowski moment, though written in a more refined manner - the line itself, "They were Singing. Exactly. Well, they weren't. They were knitting. And if I heard what they said, it was about a recipe for potato pancakes;" - is on the surface not funny, but thinking back to a previous scene, makes the line about potato pancakes so absurd and true. The main character, an author, is made to look like a fool throughout the story, but I could not help seeing a lot of things in this character which reminded me of myself. His love of beauty is nothing foolish, but his way of expressing it is over the top. His looks and expressions are somewhat ridiculous. He is fond of solitary living, and the only person he is attached to at the hospital where he is staying is a sensitive, beautiful woman, which causes one character to scorn him and name him "the dissipated baby". And his love for this woman is somewhat ridiculously expressed, causing him to do something foolish in the end. It appears Mann was expressing the character of an artist type who tends to be impractical and foolish, and while having a good heart, leads a weak, small, invisible existence. As I said, it made me think of myself, and if something positive can be taken from it, it is that I can admit my foolishness and laugh at it.
Continuing on the theme of the solitary, foolish, artist type - the style of how my days are spent - the wandering outsider who does not speak and does everything alone, makes any type of meaningful contact take on a larger importance than reality dictates. My favorite place to eat and relax is the Free Bird cafe because of the food (all vegetarian) and the pleasant, quiet garden where I like to sit. The woman who is currently managing it has taken a liking to me, and always greets me with a smile. Last week she brought me a free fruit plate, when I asked her why she said it was for being a loyal customer. Yesterday I stopped there and when she passed by my table we somehow broke through the normal distance between customer and staff. I can't recall exactly what I said to her, but it made her pause, and she decided to sit down at my table. We began a conversation, the first time I have spoken to someone beyond money matters in a long while. Because of this my senses were alert and receptive, the image of her face being burned into my eyes. She is an attractive woman in her mid to late 20's, and I found out she is from Maryland, USA, a teacher, and that she teaches Burmese refugees at the cafe in the evenings. She has been in Chiang Mai since October, and will be heading back to the states in the summer to go to grad school for International Studies. I was literally spell bound by her presence, I could not stop admiring her beauty, and at times I lost my usual self consciousness and was able therefore to listen deeply. After answering my questions she asked what I did, and she seemed genuinely interested in the answer, which made me feel a bit embarrassed. I tried my best to say something coherent, but I ended up rambling and must have seemed pretty silly. When the conversation ended she got up, but before leaving we exchanged names.
Later in the day the image of Maria's face kept surfacing in my mind, at times in great detail, like a painting or photograph which I could closely study. If I looked too hard or long at the image it would begin to warp and fade, leaving me yearning for the clarity to return, which it eventually did.
I was reminded of when I first met Julie when I was 18 years old. In the days after meeting, her face would appear with detailed precision, and I passed the hours at work studying each line, memorizing the unique tones and shapes - it was pure beauty, a work of art. Even the flaws held me spellbound. And then, the face would fade and I was left wondering what she looked like, and I had to patiently wait for its return. After a few days of this I was feeling overwhelmed and a bit insane, and this allowed me to overcome my normal distance with people and I called her on the telephone. I had no idea if she would remember me, but I really had no choice, I had to speak with the owner of that mysterious and wonderful face, and I hoped to see her again so that I could look at it, to reaffirm that what I was seeing inside my mind was not an illusion.
And so I am surprised that another face is now appearing, the face of Maria. When it comes into focus I gaze at it with pleasure, having no desire to do anything but admire it, my feelings filled with an unknown longing and an innocent pleasure. No longer 18, and having experience with women, it is startling that I still have the ability for this sort of pure feeling - to have it wash over me, colored with depth and an ancient mysticism. I doubt I will say anything more to her. Even the appearance of an unexpected vision will not be enough to break the bonds of my separateness.
