I can’t seem to gather my thoughts. They’re all over the
place and I debated on whether or not I should even write this blog. We’ve done
and learned so many great things and I have countless amounts of topics to
write a blog on, I just can’t seem to do it. I don’t care. About anything
really. I’m right back to where I started my journey about six months ago. This
can be seen as a sign for a number of things. The two most extremes say that
either Wat Tham Krabok really was the place I’ve been searching for or that I’m
too unstable to know what’s good for me. Regardless, something that I can’t
stop thinking about was a topic that we talked about in class.
We’ve discussed many aspects of addiction and earlier this
week we were discussing the neurological side of it. The part that stuck out to
me was our discussion on the neurotransmitter dopamine. To my understanding,
our brain releases dopamine when we partake in pleasurable activities. The
release of this chemical into our brain accounts for a lot of the happiness
that comes from pleasurable activities. Our brain sits at a natural level of
dopamine and when we partake in a pleasurable action (which releases higher
levels of dopamine) our brain wants us to partake in that particular action
again so it can experience that higher level of dopamine. This process plays a
huge role in drug addiction when the intake of drugs causes tremendous amounts
of dopamine release. Since the brain likes lots of dopamine, it’s going to try
to get you to partake in that action again. This is one of the core processes
that leads to craving.
Back home there were many activities that I would do to give
my brain its fix of dopamine. When I came to Thailand I missed some of those
activities more than others, but they were all still present in my mind. Upon
arriving to Wat Tham Krabok I knew that I would never have to do any of those
things again. To my conscious mind my experience had seemed to be exactly what
I was looking for, but what was going on in my unconscious mind neurologically?
I have to wonder if my experience at Wat Tham Krabok gave my brain a larger
spike of dopamine than any of the other activities I was taking part in back
home.
Ever since leaving the Wat, all I can think about is going
back for an extended period of time and every day gets harder and harder. Is my
brain experiencing the first stage of addiction? At this point I don’t really
care, I’m just glad that the world seems to view my junkie brain’s drug fix
(seeking Buddhist teachings at a temple in Thailand) as constructive versus
destructive.
Cosette gave me this book to read, and it had possibly the most depressing poem ever:
ตอบลบOnce on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.