Same Same, Different
Mangoes, memory, and 2,000 years of perspective.



Just getting back from Thailand.
I’m reminded how joyful it is to set the out-of-office auto-reply.
Mangoes had almost a spicy cinnamon bite. Coconuts were felled from nearby trees, then cracked open for 50 baht (about $1.50). Each food cart had its own version of pad thai—some more peanutty, others leaning soy. The landscapes felt surreal, like a Chinese watercolor still dripping with aliveness.
And I have never sweated so much in my life.
I am savoring time with my family in a different way. My oldest daughter heads to college this fall. Time sits closer to the surface when the horizon of change is this clear.
I also brought a book I return to often—Chuang Tzu, translated by Thomas Merton.
There’s something grounding about reading a perspective from over 2,000 years ago. A kind of same same, but different. Striving. Power. A questioning of what matters.
Life isn’t resolved—just seen with renewed eyes.
I want to travel more. I’m dreaming into a series exploring places where land, food, and culture are shared—what some might call community gardens.
Here are two poems—from before and after the trip.
Before vacation…
Not Peace
The absence of conflict
Is not peace
I was reminded
Again
My sanctuary
Of systems
And firewalls
And protocols
Was easily penetrated
I thought I had created
Clear mental
And emotional boundaries
I thought I put in
The somatic work
But one email
Dissolved the illusion
Messy people—
Really, one person—
Wreaked havoc
On the calm
I thought I had created
Am I naive
Or overly optimistic
About the human condition?
Do I hold some fundamental belief
That we can get along
That the world
Keeps making me question?
Or is the arrow of suffering
A gentle reminder:
The heart is alive
And loving kindness
Is a daily practice
And I am
In the arena
Of humanity
Not aloof
Or distant
Here, I am now
Present
To the first arrow sent
That was not mine
And the ones that followed
That probably were



After vacation…
Chuang Tzu
Top down
Hierarchy of obedience
Met his side eye
And gnarled tree
With no use
I wonder
What he would say
To this age
Of techno babel
And babble
Of fountain heads
A time
Where intelligence
Is mined
Like raw materials,
Creating
Pits of zeroes and ones
Making an endless hole
Of belonging
Would he call profit
The new emperor?
He might ask
About real
Babbling brooks
Bending between
Shouts of
"Touch some grass"
And
"The sky is falling"
Has anything changed
In 2000 years,
Or does the squint
Of his side eye
Cut even
Closer?
Would he still
Draw upon the Dao
Or ChatGPT?
Or would he
Find the muddy
Banks of a forgotten
River
And escape
The royal courting
Of everything
On demand
Intoxicated with a nostalgia
For a destiny
That was never
Meant to manifest
And see
Humans continue
To be human
And the Dao continues
To be the Dao


Glad you found some peace along with family time!