Wednesday, November 05, 2025

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: The Silver Pagoda

The Silver Pagoda (Wat Preah Keo Morakot, or "Temple of the Emerald Crystal Buddha") is located on the greater Cambodian Royal Palace Grounds.  The temple itself was completed in the 19th Century.  It is known as the Silver Pagoda by tourists as the floor is covered with 5,329 silver tiles, each weighing 1.25 kg. ( you cannot walk directly on them).  Additionally, the temple is filled with over 1600 artifacts of Buddhism including many items of gold and silver.  The masterpiece is a standing statue of Maitreya Buddha of gold which weighs 90 kg (198 lbs.) and includes 9584 diamonds, including one of 25 carats.  It also includes a green crystalline Buddha manufactured in the 18th or 19 Century.

Sadly, no pictures are allowed in the interior.

Outside of the Silver Pagoda.  The model you see in front of it is of Angkor Wat, which we will soon be visiting.



Outside of the temple itself is a walled structure which has a mural of the Reamker, a Cambodian epic poem dating from 1903-1904:


A Stupa.  These structures serve as tombs of former monarchs:





The model of Angkor Wat.  The murals are in the background:








A fancy (and traditional)  loom:



Tuesday, November 04, 2025

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: Cambodian Royal Palace III

 More views of the Cambodian Royal Palace Complex:



The Naploeon III Palace.  It appears singularly unlovely amidst the traditional Cambodian architecture:




Weapons belonging to the Cambodian Royal House (Because it is me, and I will always take pictures of weapons):


For Leigh:  A collection of clothing worn by the Cambodian Royals:


Monday, November 03, 2025

The Life You Hoped For


No, I am not feeling particularly sad or nostalgic now.  This popped up in my feed and it struck me for some reason.  

I do not know that I have a life I would have hoped for, honestly because I am not sure that I know that that life would have been. I have written before about a series of lives that I thought I would have had but for various and sundry reasons never really materialized as one might have hoped for.  Possibly that was because I never really wanted them, possibly because as time goes on we learn to let go of things more easily and with less grieving.

My life is good.  I scarcely have a thing to truly complain about, and anything that I do have to complain over would largely fall into the category of "First World Problems".  If my career choice is not what thrills me (honestly probably my biggest complaint), at least it has kept us fed and housed well all these years and truly, I have always been able to find another job.

Do I have mistakes that I grieve? Of course.  A lot of them involve people and my relationships with them, some of them involve things that meant that life took a very different turn indeed.  I certainly try to make less of them now, but I still stumble.

Still - like the Piper quote above - the frog struck me as well.  Only those who never make anything never make a mistake. Comforting to realize that without the mistakes, the rest never happens either.

I find a quiet comfort in these thoughts as I sit writing this on the first day post Daylight Savings time, when the sun is clearly not where it should be but shining brightly on the red and golden leaves and naked branches of Autumn.  I can become troubled about the world at times, but these sorts of things remind me that these, too, are in God's control.  I need only be attentive to His hand to see them.

Sunday, November 02, 2025

A Year Of Humility (XIIIL): Candles


 

Have you ever had the experience of someone out of your past reaching out to you unexpectedly?

It can be a call or an e-mail or a chat or even a letter - out of the blue.  It can be surprising at first - after all, weeks or months or years or even decades can have gone by.  As the conversation goes on, you begin to realize that the person reached out to you not because of a need they had - a situation, an encounter, a series of words - and the first person they thought of that could help them is you.

Do not be so concerned about this, suggests Nektarios in the above quote.  Like a candle, you have somehow lit a way for them in times past and they believe you can do so again.

 In our darkest hour we search for that which can comfort and illuminate, not necessarily that which is front and center.  The humble remember that to be of great use to others does not always require being a constant focus of attention.

Saturday, November 01, 2025

The Age Of Privacy

 Some weeks ago - after my return from The Grand Canyon - my Mother in Law sent me a text just checking in with how the hike had gone.  I let her know it had gone well and had been an enjoyable experience for all involved.  

The question surprised me a bit - I was sure at some point she and The Ravishing Mrs. TB had talked - but in her follow up, she noted that she looked forward to seeing pictures from the hike.

The reality was that - for the first time in a very long time - I had posted no pictures of my adventures on any social media platform.

---

Our age - at least for certain age brackets - has become an age of complete openness.  People share everything - their adventures, their meals, their gatherings, their emotions, their interests.  In some ways these can be valuable things - especially the interests for example, where I have come to find I have common ground in certain things with individuals all over the world.  The other side of it, of course, is that with this sharing comes a complete loss of privacy.

For some people, I can tell a great deal about their lives:  where they live, what they enjoy, who their friends are, what beliefs they hold, some estimate of their income bracket - things that once upon a time were the sort of things that we had to gather by actually knowing someone.  

Now, that information is almost thrown at us.

---

Interestingly, there seems to be some kind of age differentiation in this.  Na Clann's generation, at least in my immediate circle, seems to post infrequently or not at all (although that may simply be due to the fact that the platforms they might post on are the same their parents post on, and who wants that).  The generation behind me and ahead of me seems to post much more frequently.

Or not.  There is a whole slew of people I know in my own age bracket who post almost nothing.

---

One of the great privileges of life is privacy:  the simple idea that one has the right to lead one's life in one's own way without any requirement to have people intrude in it or know about it.  This has often been a noticeable different between non-authoritarian/totalitarian and democratic/republican (note the non-capitalized letters there) governments:  East Germany, for example, was famous for the government surveillance apparatus.  China, or at least from what I read, employs a network that essentially tracks everything that you do (including how you spend your money).  And North Korea - well, I cannot imagine a private moment there that somehow does not have government sanction.

One of the greatest privileges of life - and yet we now live in an age where such things are casually thrown to the wind.

---

At one time I posted like everyone else.  Do I think I will go back?

Probably not.

Part of it is simply that with a general retreat from Social Media, it is simply not something I do now - at least to the general public.  There is a smaller group of my friends with whom I share such things, but really is that not the way it should be?  Friends sharing with friends, not friends sharing with the entire world?

Will it "cost" me a few likes or having experiences that no-one else knows about?  Yes.  But ultimately, is not life an experiential event viewed from our own perspective or interpreted via ourselves through our lens?  Far better to focus on processing those thoughts and experiences ourselves or with a few rather than sending them to the four corners of the Earth without thought.

Friday, October 31, 2025

On Fog

 This week has had more than its fair share of foggy mornings.

I am not sure why fog appeals to me as it does - I like cloudy overcast days as well, so that may be a reason.  There is something about the muting, both of sight and sound, that the fog brings, the soft edges it gives to items near and the complete concealment of items farther away, dim hints of shapes that acquire mythical appearances.  In the fog, trees and houses become monsters.

Walking in the fog is its own experience:  the muffled sound, the floating edges that streetlights acquire, the constant drips of moisture from surfaces.  Now, as it is Autumn, the leaves I walk over have a muffled "slap" as I step on them, so freshly fallen and damp as they are.  People become dimly seen shapes that resolve from the fog and become human, only to disappear again into passing shadowy shapes.

Fog brings all the meditative atmosphere of a good rainy day without the inconvenience of the falling water.  I can get out and do things, but the fog seeps into my thoughts as I do them.  It adds thought and and element of mystery to the commonest of activities:  given a deep enough fog, even taking the trash out becomes something of a meditative adventure into the unknown as the common landmarks between here and the dumpster are erased except for the brief moments that they hove into view.

Would I like fog all the time?  I suspect not:  too much gloom is bad for anyone's soul. But I surely grateful for it when it appears now, a haunting condition that teases me with mystery and thought and can, at least for a little while, make the world almost an adventure. 

Thursday, October 30, 2025

The Collapse CCX: In The Bleak Midwinter

23 December 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

My wife has informed me that there will be a Christmas in this community this year.

Even in my short time married to her, I hesitate to contradict her unless I am rather certain of the facts. In the case I tried to point out – gently – that given the state of things, this might not be the year, especially given the weather and the fact that as a community we were – perhaps – just healing.

She pointed to the four candles on the Advent wreath and a fifth one in the middle, to be lit on Christmas day. Being a man of wisdom and virtue, I quickly retreated from my position.

I carefully busied myself for the rest of the day while my wife was away “on errands”. By the time she arrived home in the late afternoon – given we are just past the Winter Solstice, effectively almost sundown – she had that sort grim happy determination of someone that was told they could not do something but went ahead and did it anyway.

I have been informed, Lucilius, that I had “best get my jolly on in two days”.

Finding my role models in the Wise Men from the East, I believe I will comply.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Wednesday, October 29, 2025

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: Cambodian Royal Palace II

The Moonlight Pavilion (Preah Tineang Chan Chhaya).  This is a hall for traditional dance.  In the background is the Napoleon III Pavilion. Built in 1875, it is a cast iron prefabricated building that was alleged to have been donated by Napoleon III (who was out of power at that time, so likely never happened).  Also called the Iron Pavilion.


Another view of the Napoleon III Pavilion.


A random pavilion with a pretty cool tree:



The major building immediately visible upon entering the royal grounds is the Throne Hall (Preah Tineang Tevea Vinnichay Mohai Moha Prasat, or "Sacred Hall of Judgement").  This is where formal receptions take place.  Sadly no interior photography is allowed.




Looking back to the Moonlight Pavilion:


The creatures on the left are called Nagas.  Traditionally they are considered to be half human/half snake beings, often considered guardians.  We will see them again.


A view of the Khemarin Palace (Khemarin Moha Prasat, or "Palace of the Khmer King").  This is actual dwelling place of the royal family.  A blue flag flies when the King is in residence.


More views of the Throne Hall:



Tuesday, October 28, 2025

2025 Cambodia And Vietnam: Cambodian Royal Palace I

 The Cambodian Royal Palace (Preah Barom Reacheaveang Chaktomuk Sereay Mongkol) located in Phnom Penh, is a palace complex consisting of the royal palace and religious sites.  The palace is of "newer vintage", being built between 1866 and 1870 by King Norodom.


The palace itself was rebuilt in 1912 and in 1932. It has been occupied since the 1860's by the royal family of Cambodia with the exception of the time when Cambodia was overcome by civil war and the Khmer Rouge.


Interestingly, security to enter the grounds was surprisingly light compared to what one might expect entering a similar complex in other parts of the world.



A picture of the current king, King Norodom Sihamoni.  The king is a popular figure in Cambodia, and we saw many pictures or representations of him.


Entering through the gate, one comes into the outer gardens.





A picture of the Throne Hall (we will go closer tomorrow):



Monday, October 27, 2025

October 2025 Grab Bag

 As discussed by Saturday's Haiku, Autumn is well and full underway here in New Home 2.0.  It is actually a bit of shock: approximately 3 weeks ago we had our last "Summer" day of 80 F and the temperature just started dropping after that with accompanying rain and wind.  We are now into full Autumn, with temperatures in the 50's and 40's and rain forecast for some part of the day for next two weeks or so.

I had become used to the quick approach of Summer in New Home.  I was not ready for the same at the other end of the season here.

---

I made my monthly trip back to The Ranch the weekend before this past one.  I took down a couple of signs from the Barn, checked around the house, visited my Aunt and Uncle and The Cowboy and Young Cowboy and Uisdean Ruadh, took a rather long walk, and headed home.  

We have no offers since the rather unserious one in August; I suspect we will not hear of another until Spring unless other circumstances persuade someone that being "Away from it all" might be a grand idea.

---

This month has been largely consumed by work following my arrival back from the Grand Canyon.  I am not sure how it turned out that way, but it did.  Plenty of later departures from work (same start time, of course) which has led to less of the things I want to work on getting done.  Part of that is a failure on my part to prioritize my time at home (my mornings are pretty well scheduled at this point), part of it is simply not enough time in the day.  Things (in theory) slow down in November, which is to be greatly desired at this point.

I am far more tired more often than I care for.

---

During one of the small group meetings this month, someone brought figs from their tree at home.  I have never really enjoyed figs, but seeing as how I now had some and not otherwise knowing what to do with them, I dried them in the food dehydrator (along with apples to fill up the trays).  They are surprisingly good, at least to me.

---

It is shocking to realize it is effectively the end of October.  We have 9.5 weeks left of 2025, but really that is a lot less when holidays are factored in.  The years certainly feel like they are picking up speed.

Sunday, October 26, 2025

A Year Of Humility (XIIL): Compassion

 When traveling to and from The Ranch for my monthly travels, I have taken to using a local private parking lot:  the price is no more than the nearby major airport parking lot and rather than wait endlessly for a bus to come by, I can get a pick up at the lot immediately and a trip back to the parking lot in about 10 minutes after requesting a pickup.  For the slight inconvenience of being farther from the airport, it has worked out well.

Last weekend upon my return from The Ranch, it seemed a different story.

After an initial contact (all done by your phone and texting now), I wait the usual 10 minutes or so.  No bus. To be fair, I think to myself, it is a busy time.  So I wait more, as other shuttles pull in and away and as they do, the crowd waiting for my shuttle became more apparent.

Final, about 20 minutes in, the shuttle pulls in - not at my standing point of course (it never works that way) but about 20 feet beyond me.  The crowd - larger than a single shuttle bus - lurches towards it.  And, sure enough, I was the first one to not make it on.  The driver, looking a little harried, says the next bus would be along shortly.

And so we wait.  And wait about another twenty minutes.  At this point in the program I am tired, cold, and looking at a 30-40 minute drive just to get home.  I watch - we all did - as another round of other shuttle buses come by, load up, and head out.  I begin to question the wisdom of using this parking lot.

The next bus pulls up, a good 45 minutes after I made the request.  The door opens, and out comes a man who is clearly in his 70's, our driver.  Immediately half of my frustration disappears.  He works hard to load everyone's suitcase and everyone up. We manage to get everyone on the second bus.

As he is collecting the parking cards with our spot numbers, he apologizes profusely for the delay.  He just came from a drop off where one of his passengers had a walker, a wheelchair, an electric scooter, and her luggage, all needing to be dropped off at the luggage desk outside the airport. Likely he had to take it all there himself.

And then to boot, apparently she lost her dentures at the desk.

The mood in the bus - and in me - instantly changes. Someone says "Not your fault; it is just life".  

If our tips all were a little more than usual, I would not be surprised.

---

It is quite easy for me to look at how the world is impacting my life and make certain determinations about everything else going on around me.  I can get grumpy about the inconvenience of waiting and a perceived lack of service and make certain assumptions about the situation and the reasons why things are the way they are.

Only to find out, at least sometimes, that there is a backstory that should evoke not my criticism or anger but my compassion.

We read that Christ looked upon the crowds and had compassion for them as a sheep without a shepherd. How often do I have the same kind of compassion in not leaping to conclusions based on stories that I have concocted in my head, a narrative that has me as the main staring role?

The proud can only, ever, see the world through their own eyes. The humble have learned that, through compassion, they can see it through someone else's.

Saturday, October 25, 2025

October Sunrise

 


October sunrise
speaks of rain and falling leaves:
Autumn has arrived.

Friday, October 24, 2025

Book Review: Letters To Freya

 As you might remember from my Pre-Review of a month ago,  the book Letters to Freya was originally recommended to me via the book The Call by Os Guinness. The reference in Guinness' book was to the writer of the letters in the book, Count Helmuth James von Moltke, a great-grand nephew of the famous Prussian (and German) general  Helmuth von Moltke (The Elder)  and his nephew Helmuth von Moltke (The Younger), a German General of World War I.  Helmuth James was a lawyer by trade, not a military man, and became one of the major figures in the resistance to Hitler during World War II, leading a group called The Kreisau Circle, who discussed policy and prepared a series of papers about the policy Germany should take following its defeat in WW II (which they all seemed to believe would work out about as it did).


Over the time of von Molke's marriage to Freya, they wrote hundreds of letters to each other, letters that were carefully preserved by Freya in beehives to hide them from the Nazis.  The span of the letters in the book cover 22 August 1939 (just prior to the formal declaration of War by Germany on Poland) to 11 January 1945, written the day after his sentencing and just before his execution on 23 January 1945.

Over the scope of the years 1939 to 19 January 1944 (when he was arrested for being present at a party where National Socialism was criticized openly), he writes letters to his wife  (sometimes two a day!). They cover the gamut of his life:  his work at the Abwehr (German Army Intelligence) where he used his background in international and martial law to argue for the lives of prisoners of war and civilian prisoners (including those of Jewish descent), his trips abroad to France and Demark and Belgium and Norway and Poland and Turkey, where he worked to make contacts with both local resistance and the Allies (he was never very successful in this regard), and his living arrangements including the increasing pace of Allied bombing.

He also writes of seemingly very small things as well.  He is very engaged and interested in the agricultural goings on of his ancestral estate of Kreisau, asking Freya details about planting and yields and preparing for rationing and beehives.  He writes to her about their family, including their two sons.  He writes to her specifically to her, anticipating her visits or reflecting on how much he loves and misses her.

He also writes of his "work":  I do not know why, but it took me until mid-1943 to realize that he is writing about this work in the resistance.  He talks about many of the contact he has made, some familiar to us even today - Dohanyi, Canaris, Stauffenberg - and many who likely remain unknown to most of us today, some of whom survived and others who were executed as political prisoners and "traitors" to the regime.  He writes of discussions and arguing and documenting policies for what a post-war Germany might look like.

After 1944 and his arrest, his letters in this volume are much abridged, mostly due to the request of Freya who summarizes his time in prison, noting that there were still letters (although quite censored) but given the personal nature of them, were not included in the time of this volume (1990) and might be released after her death.  

In reading the letters, any number of things come across:  von Moltke's genuine humanity and kindness, his intellectual brilliance and courage (arguing against policies supported by the highest levels of Nazi government), his understated but religious convictions, his honestly in being overwhelmed at times but never truly being hopeless about the ultimate outcome.

In the last letter written to Freya, he ends with the following:

"Dear heart, my life is finished and I can say of myself:  He died in the fullness of years and life's experience.  This doesn't alter the fact that I would gladly go on living and that I would gladly accompany you further on this earth.  But then I would need a new task from God.  The task for which God made me is done.  If he has another task for me, we shall hear of it.  Therefore, by all means continue your efforts to save my life, if I survive this day.  Perhaps there is another task.

I'll stop, for there is nothing more to say.  I mentioned nobody you should greet or embrace for me; you know yourself who is meant.  All the texts we love are in my heart and in your heart.  But I end by saying to you by virtue of the treasure that spoke to me and filled this humble earthen vessel:

'The Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ
and the love of God and the fellowship
of the Holy Spirit be with you all.'

Amen, J."

---

I have to confess that the German resistance to Hitler during World War II remains a fairly unknown subject to me.  I know elements of it - The White Rose Movement, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the 20 July 1944 plot - but probably like a great many in the West and of my generation and later, the assumption is often such movements were minimal at best.

Letters to Freya helped change that for me.

From the very early letters of this book, von Moltke is opposed to Hitler and the War.  Over the course of his non-arrest life - almost four years August 1939 to January 1944 - he works tirelessly and at great personal risk to push back where he can push back and begins to build a movement - a non-violent one, although it involved military officers - to oppose Hitler.

The names of those he meets with are many.  The editors of the letters do the kindness of identifying them, as well as giving their histories and fates.  A small number survived the war; most were imprisoned, tried before so-called People's Courts, and executed, sometimes up to the ending weeks of the war.

What comes through in his letters is a man of many interests and talents who is thrust into a situation that he did not expect, but does his duty as he sees fit under tremendously difficult circumstances (imagine the modern equivalent of convincing others to push back on a so-called Fuhrer Order from the very top in the modern world merely by force of personality), risking the disapproval of his superiors (and disapproval then meant much more than a sharply worded e-mail) in defense of captured enemy combatants, resistors, ordinary citizens.  He clearly wishes he were back on his beloved estate, thinking on agricultural matters and enjoying his wife and children, but understands that his calling in that time was to be somewhere else, pushing back against the darkness in the position that God had placed him.

Von Moltke was a man of non-violence, at one point in his final letters he notes "Just think how wonderfully God prepared this, his unworthy vessel.  At the very moment when there was danger that I might be drawn into active preparation of a putsch (Ed. note, the 20 July 1944 plot) - it was the evening of the 19th that Stauffenberg came to Peter - that I was taken away, so that I should be and remain free from all connection with the use of violence". 

He then goes on to relate everything else God did to prepare him for his hour in the courtroom:  giving him socialist leanings to remove him from suspicion as a Land owner of interests; humbling him "...as I have never been humbled before, so that I had to lose all pride, so that at last I understand my sinfulness after 38 years, so that I learn to beg for his forgiveness and trust to his mercy; putting him in prison with enough time so that his family can arrange their interests and his earthly thoughts; that he experienced the pain of parting and terror of death and then filling him with love and hope; that he talked with friends to resolve issues and friends escaped; that his case was arranged such that he bore the brunt of the court and not his friends, and that "...your husband is chosen, as a Protestant, to be above all attacked and condemned for his friendship with Catholics, and therefore he stands before Freisler (the presiding jurist of the trial) not as a Protestant, not as a Prussian, not as a German - all this was explicitly excluded in the trial... - But as a Christian and nothing else."

"For what a mighty task your husband was chosen:  all the trouble the Lord took with him, the infinite detours, the intricate zigzag curves, all suddenly find their explanation in one hour on the 10th of January 1945.  Everything acquires its meaning in retrospect, which was hidden. Mami and Papi, the brothers and sister, the little sons, Kreisau and its troubles, the work camps and the refusal to put out flags or belong to the Party or its organizations.  Curtis and the English trips, Adam and Peter and Carlo, it has all at last become comprehensible in a single hour. For this one hour the Lord took all that trouble (emphasis mine)."

---

Letters to Freya is a number works rolled up into one. It is a love story between a man and his wife. It is a history about World War II as seen from the inside of both Germany and government apparatus.  It is a moral work about the art and practice of non-violent protest and building consensus. It is a book about what one tries to build knowing the bottom is falling out of the current paradigm.  It is a religious work about a man and his God and how he served Him.  It is an underground work about living through a sort of occupation.

It is a painfully honest story of a man and his failings and his moral courage.

Would I recommend this book? Without question.  Clocking in at 412 pages, it is perhaps a little long for those that do not enjoy long non-fictional works - but being broken as it is into individuals years and letters, it makes it much easier to read in short chunks.  Even with the helpful footnotes, one can become lost in the names and places.

But the work rewards the reader who sticks with it (or like me, is likely going to need to read it one more time).  Its ending -von Molke's ending - is both tragic and triumphant.  In the end, he wins the ultimate victory after having to pay the ultimate earthly price.  In 38 years, he arguably accomplished more than many do in twice that many years.

A great many people would believe they have moral courage and are resisting evil.  Von Moltke actual did it.  And for that alone, the book is worth your consideration.