There was a monk in the tree outside the Embassy the other day. Apparently, he’d been there for much of the night.
The fact that a fully grown man, dressed in robes of orange, can scale a tree and spend the night, outside the grounds of a facility with countless guards, cameras, all the latest safety doodads and doo-hickies, and a phalanx of Marines is a bit concerning.
I prefer to think that he got there by magic. Levitation or transmogrification, perhaps? Or, chanted incantations to sedate the guards and cloud the lenses, allowing time to climb.
Like much of the world, lately, political tumult has come to Thailand. I could try and explain, but I don’t think it would be proper. Plus, in America’s world of Red vs. Blue, Thai politics are technicolor, the mantis shrimp of politics.
There have been protests of late. Growing in numbers. Protesting for this reason or that. The monks have taken a side and have been trying to deliver a letter or something. But they keep coming at night when everyone is at home. They’ve been told to come back in the day, but they keep coming at night. And now, it seems the frustration is driving them up a tree.
They tried for the better part of a morning to get him down. Negotiations. Pleading by other Buddhists. Nothing worked.
They went up with a ladder. He just went higher into the tree. Eventually, they snatched him with a cherry picker. There is probably nothing magical about a grown man in orange robes being harvest out of a rain tree. In delicate and undignified, to say the least. I don’t know if they delivered their message or no.