At the Gate of the Ghost

I’ve been watching a lot of foreign films lately. Most of them are Oriental. Most of them are Thai. The most recent I finished a bit ago. It has English subtitles, like the rest, but I find that I can watch the film and keep up with the story (unless I fall asleep as I sometimes do). The film was: At the Gate of the Ghost. It is about a murder that is told by three witnesses. One witness is the wife of the slain warlord, the second is a woodcutter, and the third is a shaman speaking for the soul of the slain warlord. The truth is not revealed until the end.

The telling of the story is told in a cave setting. A young monk who left the monastery to go home to find himself and the truth of what life is all about is there along with the woodcutter and another thief. Outside the tunnel a storm is raging and the woodcutter and the monk sought sanctuary in the tunnel only to find the other thief resident there. He pushes for the story to be told. THe monk and the woodcutter have been at the trial of a well-known thief who was then executed for the death of the warlord. However, did the well-known thief actually murder the warlord and was it over his wife or was his wife involved in the murder. Or, did the warlord commit suicide. It is a beautiful story, twisting and turning until the end. There are lessons taught along the way about life and in the end the monk realizes just how little he understood about life and he then returns to the monetary being enlightened by the discoveries made in the telling of the story.

I am one who tends to search and tries to understand about life. I fail so many times in what I do and say. My emotions run away with me at times and I stumble with the inability to make sense of it all.

I recognize the differences in others and I try to not judge. In judging I always return to judge myself for in myself I find greater weaknesses than I see in others. Or, I should say, I sometimes resent what I see in others only to find that what I saw there in someone else is magnified in my own self. If I were to dwell too long on those things I would find myself caught up in a suicidal whirl or drunk. So, what does it all mean? I have no idea. I only know that when I come away from such a story I am ill at ease with myself for I am far less than I would like to be and I don’t understand what or who I am when I had just thought that I did know. I have no idea if any of that makes sense to anyone. I am more confused than before and humbled by the telling of a simple story that ends when the storm outside the tunnel also ends.

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