Be Careful What You Focus On
DAY: 40
LOCATION: Koh Samui
My day began with Jay Dyer. There’s probably a gentler podcast I could’ve listened to at 7am, especially on the way to Vikasa, but this was what I chose. A Boiler Room episode with the Hollywood Esoteric expert discussing Trump, social justice warriors, and the divide and conquer techniques being wielded by the elite.
From what people had been telling me, I’d been missing a lot of panic and anxiety stateside. “Think of it this way,” one friend said, “for a lot of people, Trump being elected is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. It’s like, everything was great before November 8th, and then the world fell apart.” It made me want to shake them – wake up!! Trump is a symptom, not the cause!! – but more than anything I felt sympathy. It’d been traumatic when I’d had my world view turned upside down, and let’s face it, things were only going to get worse before they got better. Now was not the time for finger pointing or yelling, but increased community and awareness.
And meditation. Lots and lots of meditation. A small group gathered for an hour of silence before the 9am yoga class. No better place to get in contact with the inner Self, and no greater reminder of how challenging meditation can be. When you’ve been trained to be goal-oriented your whole life, it’s hard to sit with the present and not ask “Am I enlightened yet?” (Answer: Nope.)
Like a handicap, the vinyasa finally dropped me in. This was one of the things that encouraged me with meditation – when I’d first started practicing yoga a decade ago, all I could think about was lunch and boys. But this morning as I moved through each asana my mind felt unencumbered by thoughts, satisfied with only the breath.
Okay, so maybe breakfast floated into my consciousness once or twice, but only because the food at Vikasa was so damn good. I ate with the same crew of girls, getting more intimate over coffee and crepes.
“So you really think Westworld is predictive programming?” Bonnie studied me intensely.
“100 percent. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy watching it, so much thought-provoking occult symbolism and themes, but the transhumanist agenda is so apparent. Who are we rooting for in the show? The robots. Who are the evil villains? The humans. Who displays more humanist characteristics? The robots. I’m not saying humanity hasn’t committed atrocities – I criticize our mistakes constantly - but Westworld makes it seem like we are beyond redemption, and that the answer is transhumanism. Same with Ex-Machina, Her, A.I., even Wall-E. There are a ton of examples. It’s all preparing us for the inevitable chip implants, Google brains, and ultimately full-on machine takeover. It’s terrifying, and a complete denial of what makes us human.”
The girls didn’t disagree, but it was maybe the wrong topic post-yoga bliss. I got that “kooky conspiracist” feeling, and stopped myself before bringing up any further conversation suited for Jay’s Analysis. Tomorrow morning maybe listen to some Alan Watts, I made a mental note, or Chopin.
But I still had a little more Hollywood analyzing to do before I could sit back and enjoy the view. David had asked me to do another summary for one of their films, a dramatic bio-pic. It was actually my favorite script in their line-up, focused on a famous literary duo in the early 20th century, and perhaps that’s why I found it more difficult to write about. I wanted to do it justice.
After several hours and one too many cups of coffee (the homemade coconut milk creamer was absurd), I felt good enough with the first draft and sent it off. My body reeling from the caffeine, I walked back to Chaweng, timing my inevitable crash with a massage.
Relaxed and spaced out, I messaged the British girls from the ferry. We had plans to grab dinner that evening, so I could hear about all their wild beach party adventures, and they could hear about my wild yoga stories.
Just kidding. I definitely told them about my crazy Hollywood experiences, especially regarding rich men. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. Like with Westworld, it just flowed out of my mouth. I was really on one.
“Wait, you actually went to Vegas with a guy on a first date?”
I nodded. “And then Hawaii last October. And a third date to New York during my book. And Levi coming to Singapore. Weird, huh?”
“How do you do it?” the blonder one looked at me in amazement. “That never happens in England. Maybe it’s just British guys, they’re too lazy, and just expect sex because you swiped right.”
“I don’t know, I think it has something to do with law of attraction. I definitely think I’m creating it somehow. I really want to change my relationship to men, it’s not like it’s healthy. But yeah, I’m putting something out there that’s making it happen, ‘cuz I’m certainly not Giselle.”
We finished our Indian food and paid the bill. They invited me to grab a drink with them. I hesitated – did I really want to be exposed to the energy of the Chaweng nightlife? But it was only 9:30pm, and I was enjoying their company. We strolled down to a lively street packed with bars. I unintentionally made eye contact with a blond guy walking by with his friend.
“Hey! What are you girls doing? Can we buy you a drink?”
The girls both gave me a look – we’ve been walking for 5 minutes and guys are already offering us drinks? I shrugged, and went along with it. “Where are you guys from?”
“England,” the more attractive brunette one replied, although they were both good looking. We small talked for a minute in the middle of the street before an aggressive tiny Thai woman badgered us into the closest bar.
The brunette initially tried to impress me with his credentials – finance bro working in Canary Wharf, Oxford education, fancy toys etc. When I started telling him what I cared about – compassionate, low consumption lifestyle, alternative perspectives on history and the world – he completely changed his tune. I studied him in fascination as he bemoaned capitalism and confessed how empty he felt and how much he loved nature. From peacocking to therapist confessional in less than ten minutes.
“Alright, it’s my bedtime,” I told him at 10pm. “Getting up for an early morning yoga class tomorrow.”
He gave me a look, like maybe he wanted to kiss me. I laughed, uncomfortable. “What?” he said.
“Oh, nothing, you just looked like you wanted to kiss me or something.”
He grabbed my head and laid one on me. Stunned, I pulled back after a few seconds. The girls laughed hysterically. They hadn’t heard our conversation, just seen the result, and it confirmed to them every outlandish story I’d told them at dinner.
“Oh my god, Amy, you’re so crazy and I love it!!” the blonder one gave me a hug goodbye.
As I walked back to Samui Green, I thought about how powerful our thoughts and intentions are. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but my experience with the English guy seemed directly correlated to what I’d been telling the girls. I’d invited the entire thing in, from start to finish. “What you pay attention to grows,” my acting teacher always said. How true that statement, how very true.
