Title: The Road, the Vows, and the Gift of the Journey
If I were to understand Christianity, it would not be through reading the Bible or theological writings. I understand it through the actions of my brother, Lee Khai, and his wife, Anne—who embody Christ's love with humility, grace, and generosity. Non-judgmental. Unconditional. Guided by the quiet flame of the Holy Spirit within.
Once again, I find myself indebted to Lee Khai for sponsoring my upcoming journey around the country in my little Kancil. What moved me most was the unexpected gift of a brand new camera—something I sorely missed. His gesture rekindled my spirit and gave my path new light. I will do my utmost to make it worthwhile.
This offering brings me back to the Bodhisattva Vows I took during my Zen practice in California—vows I’ve written extensively about in past blog entries. What do those vows have to do with today? Everything. They are the compass I return to, the mission that reminds me who I am: a servant of healing, a bearer of compassion, and a traveler bearing witness to the suffering and joys of others.
Sometimes I feel like one of those old Zen “crazies” who simply refuses to quit—or doesn't even know how to. This is me: the Cheeseburger Buddha, the Night Soil Carrier, the Elegant Beggar. These are the masks I wear, the roles I play—crafting illusions to reach hearts with love, energy, acceptance, and, when possible, deliverance.
I don’t speak of this to aggrandize myself or the path. The Bodhisattva Vows are not about ego; they are about surrender and service. They keep me aligned to the higher calling of consciousness:
Beings are numberless; I vow to awaken with them.
At the Sam Bahari level of understanding, I am still bound to this vow—it is my reminder of why I walk this path. I, too, am Ram Dass: Servant of God.
On a simpler, more grounded level, I remind myself to just chill. Do what I can, with what I’m given, without too much groaning. Just serve.
And now, with this new Sony camera in hand, I look forward to my journey. I look forward to being on the road again, meeting strangers, sketching faces, painting places.
My studio is the Open Studio—and it is everywhere.
At my age, every day is a bonus. I know I could drop dead any time, and it wouldn’t be a major surprise. Being over sixty is already a gift, and being able to still move, explore, and create is a blessing beyond words.
At my last stop, Kampung Sungai Lembu, the Chinese community touched my heart, and I believe I touched theirs too. Just being there felt meaningful. It was the opposite of where I sit now—at the junction of Sungai Pinang Road and River Road, the busiest intersection in Georgetown. Still, even in the din of traffic, I find silence within. I sit in the dining area late at night and meditate, sometimes for an hour, hearing not a sound.
Yet I long for quiet places—Chinese schools in the hills, fields whispering in the breeze, rivers and trees. I long to sit by the sea, gaze up at white clouds floating across the vast blue, changing shape like thoughts in meditation.
I need to be home—and my home has always been the road.
If I should die driving some winding path through forgotten countryside, then so be it. At least I will have spent much of my life bearing witness to the divine artistry of creation—and sharing it with those who cared enough to follow my ramblings.
Facing death has only made me less afraid of life. If I have any regret, it would be not having done more, seen more, touched more, felt more… loved more. That, to me, would be the true waste.
This is why I cannot sit here waiting for these crumbling walls to give me permission to move on. I must move, migrate, stir the embers, and create whatever remains to be created—before the curtain falls and all bets are off.
Life still holds so much beauty. I accept my limitations now, staying within the bounds of my age, and no longer pushing recklessly as I once did. But the fire remains.
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