Karma

Marsha Woodby, a friend of Ken and Visakha Kawasaki, agreed to write about her recent travels in Thailand with the Kawasakis. Marsha, a liberal Christian, is a member of Woodside Church in Flint, Michigan. She made the trip to Bangkok laden with gifts donated by her friends at church for the refugees she would be seeing.

I sat in Ken and Visakha's hotel room in Mae Sot, Thailand, on the evening of January 16, 2003, ready to see a startled look after my confession. I told them that earlier in the day, I had seen three people I was absolutely,' positively sure I knew as friends. How could that be? I'd never set foot on that continent before that week.

To my surprise I got very little reaction, which puzzled me even more. I learned then that in that culture, in Buddhism, the phenomenon was easily explained. I shouldn't worry about that, Visakha said: I had probably been friends with these people in former lives. I would find people from time to time that I immediately disliked, or had other definite reactions to. We all continue to reap the results of actions and of lessons learned long ago, for good and for ill. Karma. Big subject.

Are human beings really so intercon-nected? Are our spiritual natures recycled, and are they on collision courses with each other? Are we brushing up against our pasts and our futures all the time, unaware?

Born in 1947, I am part of the idealistic generation of Americans who tried their best to change the world, that questioned authority. They were quick to identify social and political issues in dire need of redress: Civil Rights, Feminism, Viet Nam. Many were bold enough to join the Peace Corps or to give of their energy and talents all over the world. Both Ken and Visakha belong in this category.

I, however, had other important things to accomplish in my college years, and after. Then, I never quite recognized the disastrous implications of institutionalized racism in American culture. I missed my opportunities to march with my peers during the Viet Nam War years. I felt powerless in the face of rampant Sexism, both at work and in my own home.

I became an expatriate. I spent several years in Europe, had a family, and returned home to Flint in 1986 with my two young children. My hometown in Michigan was, at least, safe for my children, and we were close to my family. The children and I lived with my parents for the next sixteen months, before I remarried.

After another four years, we built a house next door to my parents, in an extra lot beside their house and next to a house formerly owned by the Decker family. The Deckers, Sally (Sara) and Al, produced two remarkably intelligent children, Christine and Mark. After the children were gone and the death of her husband in 1971, Sally had moved away from the neighborhood. Their house belonged to another family.

Years ago, I remember my mother telling me that Christine was living on an island in the Pacific Ocean with her husband. What a girl! Wouldn't you just know she'd do something like that?

And I heard years later that Mark Decker had died. Mark was only one year older than I. We had played together for years. I was shocked.

About that same time, I began attending Woodside Church, well-known in the area for taking public stands on human rights issues. Many longtime members marched with Civil Rights leaders in the South in the early 1960s. A decade before that, McCarthyists blacklisted Woodside's minister and others there for courageously speaking out against injustices of that era. I was initially attracted to the liberal theology I found there, but then completely engrossed in their tradition of social activism. Before long, I was chair of the Outreach and Social Action Committee.

It was through the activities of that committee that I came to contact Ken Kawasaki, attempting to arrange a date for Dr. Kyaw Thet Oo to speak on the situation in Burma. Dates sometimes aren't easily arranged for these informational meetings, and one wasn't firmly established during my entire three-year tenure as chairperson.

Nevertheless, the Kawasakis and I were on a collision course.

Sometimes the Kawasakis were gone formonths out the year, and those months coincided with the months I was doing the scheduling! One time I called and spoke to Visakha Kawasaki, canceling a tentative date because a conflicting activity had come up. She seemed so gracious, so pleasant and understanding.

I first learned that there were Burmese refugees in the area from an article in The Flint Journal, written by religion writer, Betty Brenner, who coincidentally is a member of Woodside Church, too. The article was sensitively written, and the printed photographs were wonderful. I cut out the article and folded it up to fit into the inside pocket of the giant white binder of committee records and information. It was intriguing to me that there was a Buddhist community nearby.

Before a date for Dr. Oo could be arranged, I received a small bundle of Relief Notes 2000. What a surprise I had upon opening the newsletter - there was a portrait of the lady next door while I was growing up, Christine and Mark's Mom! I was sad to learn of her death, but at the same time blown over by the coincidence. "Visakha" was "Christine." The photographs in the newsletter confirmed that. Forty-some years had passed, but I would have recognized her anywhere. So. . .she had made it back from her island in the South Seas! I had made it back from Europe, too!

The moment of impact was approaching. I knew it. . .but she didn't. What fun!

In May of 2002, the fated meeting occurred. I was thrilled to see her again and to finally meet Ken. To my mind, Ken was the husband who swept my neighbor to Asia to live in a thatched hut. (There was a small, distorted grain of truth to that!)

I came to know them both very quickly and at depth. I truly felt from the first words out of my mouth that day I had known them both forever. In some sense, I had.

I was a link to Visakha's childhood. I had known Mark. I had watched TV on her living room floor before my family bought a TV in 1953. I remembered her Dad and Mom, as well as her dog and her horse. When the dog came up in conversation, Ken supplied the name that I had forgotten, "Copper." How did he know that name?

The friendship and sharing came so naturally, and deepened with time. There is an understanding and trust there. They must have felt the same about me because they asked me to take a big step this year, to trust them as guides, and more importantly as the filter through which I would see some terrible things, and some wonderful things.

Sometime during the summer of 2002, the Kawasakis asked me to meet them in Bangkok and travel with them for part of their winter trip to Thailand. Maybe for two weeks. They promised me the time of my life.

I said yes to the Kawasakis, not really knowing from where my expense money would come. However, I would have the honor of learning about international human rights activism and relief work from seasoned experts. I could not pass up this opportunity to become involved.

Things easily fell into place after that. I appealed to the generosity of my friends at Woodside, and received dozens of pairs of sewing scissors in all shapes and sizes. I asked for new and used cotton shirts to be donated. I figured I could take about 70 pounds of clothing, and I in the end I received almost exactly 70 pounds. I asked for basic school supplies. I also had some friends who knew that money for various unforeseen items that could be bought there would come in handy, and I took another $115 with me for distribution as I saw fit.

I was happy to arrive in Bangkok, on January 11th, with both pieces of checked luggage filled to the maximum weight, in addition to the heaviest carry-on bag in the history of mankind. I was a participating member of the party, not just tagging along.