Loy Krathong

I am fascinated with fire and water. Always have, always will. Heck when I was a kid, my fascination with fire led me to set fire to and burn our house down. It was an accident though; how was I to know that holding a wiener roast on my parents' bed would turn into a giant bonfire?  I once read somewhere that an adult's fascination with fire is a direct consequence of not having mastered it as a child. I guess this failed attempt at a controlled burn on my parent's bed a while back (I was only six at the time) could perhaps explain the current and curious attraction I have to fire.  

And then there's water. It's not the water itself that fascinates me, its the power of water that turns me on. Again, as a child I lived on a farm situated on the banks of the Red River. While the river remained a slow-moving current of brown muddy water throughout most of the year, this snake like frozen watercourse woke up at every spring freshet and mesmerized me by its sheer force, its movement, and its sounds. I'd just sit there on the river bank, gawking at the immensity of the moving ice, the rumblings and reverberations indicating that something was about to happen. I felt the slight tremblings of the earth and the sounds begin to grow in volume as if some giant trumpeter was blowing a fanfare for the first act curtain. I'd be entertained by the sight and sound of scraping ice against ice as the mass was breaking up and slowly dislodging, resembling the cries of a live creature in great pain. Sounds such as these could terrify me elsewhere, but here I knew it was only the river going into hard labor to bring about the birth of Spring. I liked the river. It was forceful in the Spring, but peaceful and scenic the rest of the year. It offered us a vast and unlimited skating rink in the winter, and a refreshing and muddy swimming hole in the hot summer months. Mud is good to a 10 year old kid. 

My mother on the other hand did not like the river. To her, this watery serpent had two purposes - to overflow its banks in the Spring and cause flooding havoc to all those living on the riverside, - and to drown her babies. Yup, that was my mother, the eternal worrywart, who saw the current of this muddy-watered river as something that would one day claim her children. She forbade us to go swimming in this treacherous flow of water.  We disobeyed her of course, swam to our heart's content, which in turn outfitted us all with a good sin for our monthly 1st Friday of the month confessional ritual (Bless me father for I have sinned, I disobeyed my Mother...). I guess she was right in a way, I did almost drown one day. Anyways, back to the subject at hand, fire and water.

My fascination with fire and water was gratified this week as we celebrated Loy Krathong, one of Thailand's most popular festivals. Although toned down from last year’s overt celebration as a mark of respect after the passing of the Thai’s beloved King, we were able to partake in this year’s ‘festival of lights’ where people gather at night by rivers, ponds, canals, and even fountains, basically where ever there is a body of water, to float a candle-lit flower basket or buoyant. Lights from hundreds of candles twinkle on the water. Each one carries prayers and wishes sent off to float down rivers and streams. It’s celebrated annually on a full moon of the 12th month according to a traditional Thai lunar calendar.  

Literally, the word ‘Loy’ means to float, and ‘Krathong’ means a basket. In this event, krathong means a flower basket. It’s made from a banana trunk and decorated with its leaves and different kinds of flowers. There was a time people used to use plastic foam for a krathong, but nowadays, krathongs, made with plastic, are banned. We use materials that are biodegradable and environment-friendly. Banana trees work very well as the original way to make krathongs. Recently, Thai people make bread krathongs, so they can be eaten by fish afterward.

The reason we celebrate the festival is to pay respects to the Goddess of Water and to float away (as to let go) of our hatred, agony, grudge and sorrow. Most of us on this planet have been blessed with abundant water to produce many essential things for ourselves; harvesting, consuming, etc, yet, we pollute them. This festival is a sign of appreciation and apology we have toward the Goddess. When we launch our krathong, we wish to have peaceful and enlightened lives and to forget bad feelings and grudges from the past. If your candle stay lit until your krathong is out of sight, you have been blessed with luck. Floating fire on water is what Loy Krathong is all about. There is something about floating fire that I find mesmerizing and is conducive to contemplation and self-reflection. 

For me this year, Loy Krathong came at a good time, not only because it fed into my fascination with water and fire but because it also gave me the opportunity to release some of the anxiety that has been troubling me in the recent while.  This anxiety stems from the divisive, sometimes vile and always destructive political climate that our American friends and neighbours have succumbed to this past year. Like many others, I find this turmoil upsetting and disheartening, not because of the outcome of the elections but rather of the hurt, the fear, the consternation that it has brought to this great nation.  It's with these friends and neighbours in mind that I lit and launched my krathong and reflectively watched it drift away. As my krathong disappeared in the night, Victor Hugo's words came to mind... "even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise". The frozen ice of anger, fear, and consternation will eventually dislodge and give way to a new Spring. Happy Loy Krathong, everyone.