Chapter 1: Walking Through Walls
A Journey of Addiction, Music, Healing, and Rediscovery
Saturday, August 16th, 2003
After getting off the plane at Bangkok, my first fear is realised immediately in that there is nobody at the Arrivals gate to collect me. It is the first time in years where I don’t speak any of the language and I have to have my wits about me, because there are Thai cab drivers hassling me and arguing with each other about, what I can only imagine is, which one of them is going to get me in their cab.
After walking round the airport for 10 minutes I decide to call the monastery to see what’s going on, which I hate myself for almost as soon as I think of it.
The last thing I want their first impression of me to be is of a problem, but I guess everyone here is a problem at the arrival stage.
I change my ‘Baht’ notes at a Bureau de Change without a clue of how much any of it is and proceed to call the monastery. Apparently, a driver from the monastery is here to collect me, and I am late. I scurry off round the airport again and realise that, since I have already come out of the arrivals exit, I can only see the backs of the signs people are holding up with passengers’ names written on them. Luckily my name has been written on quite thin paper and I can just make out my name, backwards, on one of them, so I tap the guy on the shoulder and tell him it’s me.
I’m not sure how to spell it, but he says his name is “Geng”. He’s very kind and is obviously used to picking up trembling weirdos from the airport. First of all we go to Kentucky Fried Chicken because he thinks I may be hungry. As it happens, I ‘m so bewildered I don’t know if I am hungry or not. I buy some chips anyway, just in case.
The two-hour trip to Thamkrabok from the airport is like driving through a landscape crossed between ‘Bladerunner’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. I’ve never seen anything like it before, there are factories after factories mixed up with very oldy-worldy farms with Thai people lying asleep in the grass. I point out to Geng that there are so many factories and industrial estates. He laughs and says “For you!”, making me think that this is where all the luxurious products we take for granted in the West actually come from. He suggests we stop at a shop to get snacks because there may be no food when I arrive. So I find myself an hour outside of Bangkok shopping at… Tesco.
I get crisps, chocolate, fruit and a disposable camera.
On the way to Thamkrabok from Bangkok
An hour and a half later, we enter the gate to Thamkrabok. We are driving up a long hill into what feels like a jungle. There’s rich, exotic, towering trees everywhere. I spot someone lying in the grass under a tree and poke my head out of the window to get a better view. Geng laughs, keeping his eyes on the road and simply says “Monk”.
It’s getting darker and I can hear wild dogs barking. Through the trees, I see three statues of the most enormous Buddhas I’ve ever seen. Then I spot even bigger ones. I try to interpret the way they make me feel. Generally, graven images and statues of icons don’t do it for me, but there is something beautiful and scary about these. I think the scariness comes from there clearly being a majority of people here who believe there is nothing greater than these figures. I suddenly become acutely aware of my insignificance. This makes a refreshing change!
As the sun begins to set, I am greeted by two monks. Phra Hans and Phra Jan. Phra Hans is the elder of the two and from what I can gather, holds a senior position. I fill out all the necessary paperwork and provide the medical information about myself that I was asked to bring. He asks me a little about my background. He is Swiss and used to be a psychoanalyst before he became a monk . He speaks with the calmness of a hypnotist. The pace of our conversation gradually surrenders to his speed as I realise I have all the time in the world and people who can listen to me at last.
Because I want to believe there is something holy or magical here to be witnessed, it is hard to know what is real in my mind, and what is trickery.
I am sure that if I told myself enough times that God was taking a shower in the back garden, I’d probably see it. Nevertheless, as I am talking to Phra Hans, I see something very strange. It’s similar to when you look at your own image in the mirror for a long time, your face becomes something else that has an effect on you that does not compute with your vision, but with another one of the senses. This happens as I am talking to the monk. For a moment, his dimensions of how he looks to me lose all credibility and the only thing that makes sense is what he is saying. I am momentarily freaked out and curious as to what has just happened. Maybe it’s jetlag, maybe the prescription in my glasses is too old, maybe I’ve just taken too much crack in the last seven years. But I don’t think so. I believe and hope I am beginning to see all the things I have known were there but never had the strength to focus on.
Phra Hans explains that tomorrow I will start the ‘medicine’, which involves drinking an herbal mixture, that induces vomiting. I will repeat the process for the first 5 days of my treatment. I will also take a ‘Sajja’, or vow of action. ‘Sajja’ means:
“A solemn declaration about the active fulfilment of a truth”
There are other activities that I will need to take part in such as meditation, sweeping, and steam baths.
Before I am taken to join the other patients in the compound or ‘Hay’ as the monks call it, I have to change into my pink and red pyjamas. All patients have to wear these, along with a pair of flip flops. The reason given is to do with the responsibility of the monastery to also protect the local community. If any addicts in treatment run away or escape from the monastery, they can easily be identified by the locals. I hide a cheeky grin as Phra Jan explains this to me. The thought of me running around Thailand being spotted by locals in pink and red pyjamas is too funny not to imagine.
My clothes, mobile phone, wallet, keys, passport, Sony TCM Cassette recording Walkman and guitar are put safely into a locker, similar to those you use in a gym.
For the duration of my stay, I will have no possessions, attachments or props.
Phra Jan, who is in charge of the patients area, walks me over to the ‘Hay’. There are half a dozen foreign patients sitting in the café. They are all a cool bunch of people on first meeting and tell me how lucky I am that I am not addicted to smack as well. One man, who is from Glasgow, is very welcoming and explains that my time will be easier than most since it is the physical addiction to heroin that causes the most hardship.
He shows me the communal dormitory where we sleep (the dormitory is men only. Female patients have their own dormitory). It’s completely bare, apart from the beds and a small shrine with some incense burning. A few patients lie on their beds. One reading, another guy snoring. Outside there is a narrow swimming pool.
The whole thing’s a bit like a cross between ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’ and ‘Midnight Express’. But with brown robed monks walking around who look exactly like Jedi monks, with mobile phones in their holsters instead of Lightsabers.
I really feel like I’m at the start of something very, very heavy. I know that the props and tricks that have built up through my psyche over the years will be a hard structure to dismantle. Even harder is having the courage and faith to know that when I do remove these props, the temple of my mind will still be standing. I pray.
I support these organisations who are shaping a system change to integrate mental health awareness and well-being into the music industry. Please do read about their work.
The Creative Well
Music Minds Matter
Waterbear College of Music