Note from Laos.

The act of travel. (Dec. 30)

I’ve found a great adoration for traveling. Not the visiting of a place, which I too enjoy, but rather, the way in which we journey from one place to another. To be still and moving, gazing out a window pane, whether by bus or train, this is traveling. It’s viewing beauty that moves. It paints a picture inside our hearts, leaving a permanent impression upon us.

Traveling to Laos, this is what I saw. I admired the people for living with so little, while hoping in their health and happiness. I saw children working who should have been in school. But this is their inheritance, so drastically different than my own.

The landscape, breathtaking, affirmed my belief in a great maker who thought up this world; his attention to detail proving greater than any artist to be studied. And a great red ball tucked between a few clouds shone just enough to take in a few more breaths of the hillside.

And to meet eyes for a brief moment with one of these pieces, to interact with the picture, that is a feeling matchless. To be found out, to be forever connected to a place and time, to hold that glimpse forever somewhere in the boxes of memories we keep. I am a part of this place now! Halfway around the world, I reflect an image, a memory, to them, outside my window.

To view moving art, become a part of the piece, if I’m lucky, this is the kind of travel I’ve come to like.