Today is the last day of winter in strict calendar terms, for tomorrow will be hailed as the first day of Spring. I speak from the Southern Hemisphere, of course, where my fruit trees have long been tricked into flowering before their allotted time. The date is of no consequence to them and still less to my hayfever, which has played havoc this week.

The nights and mornings continue to be cold and this is always difficult for poor Ann, who is dressing at the break of dawn and disappearing for college or work shortly after. I know that for a Thai person our colder weather must be a constant scourge, though the same conditions for a Northern European must seem positively balmy. Such is the planet.

I have been immersed, as I am inclined to from time to time, in cosmological matters. There is nothing like a dose of astronomy or related studies to give one a sense of perspective. Human affairs seem insignificant, in fact, entirely inconsequential, when measured in galactic terms. Human struggle may seem noble but is lost like an anthill in a vast and unceasing desert when compared to just a fraction of what there is, or what we know, about the universe. It is a tonic to hubris and arrogance. It is also a spur to ambition.

Our importance might be marginally swelled though if The Fermi Paradox is true. The Fermi what? I hear you ask. At the most basic level, the paradox posits this. The universe is so vast and filled with billions of stars, a decent percentage of which could support planets on which life might thrive. So, given the odds, which are generous, shouldn't we see signs of aliens by now. Even in our own galaxy, where tens of thousands of potential habitats exist, why don't we see signs of activity? Where are they?

Now that is a poor attempt at a description of a more complex idea and I encourage you to read up on it. The point I am making is that it is not beyond the realm of possibility that humans are a rare event in cosmic history and perhaps worthy of some congratulation. Or maybe not.

The flight of former Thai PM Yingluck Shinawatra should not come as a huge surprise to anyone. She has been subject to vilification, massive financial penalties and the threat of imprisonment since the overthrow of her Government three years ago. The climate in Bangkok does not favour those disposed towards provincial largesse, since the Bangkok elites now appear to be back in control. Miss Shinawatra's brother, former PM Thaksin, is also in exile with little chance of return.

There is talk that even as they berated Shinawatra, the regime was facilitating her flight. Yingluck behind bars would have been a red rag to the, em, Red Shirts, who may well have taken their ire to the streets again. Many would have seen a conviction as a political judgement, not unreasonable given the current climate. Perhaps the Shinawatra era is over, though as for that, I am not so sure.

Speaking of blossoms, Ann and I attended a cherry blossom event in Auburn on Tuesday. If the words Auburn and cherry blossoms sound a tad incongruous, you would be forgiven for saying so. I think that until fairly recently, the Japanese garden in Auburn has been a bit of a secret, though as for that, the cat is now out of the bag. Even on this weekday, crowds were flocking to see these delicately poised and sublimely short-lived flowers. The garden is laid out along the lines of a traditional Japanese garden, with the usual raked stone gardens, carefully-sited rocks, pools, pathways and trees. In the centre is a small lake, home to noisy geese, fringed by pruned and well-tended trees. Amongst all this wove the sightseeing and photo-seeking public. No flower remained unphotographed, so selfie untaken.

Exhibit A.

a plum tree approaches spring

blossoms by the window
mute in the ginger sunrise,
eloquent with light

The key insight of Gautama Buddha some 2,500 years ago was that the cause of suffering was our attachment to worldly phenomena. All humans suffer because the desire for good things in our lives, whether it be food, consumer items, a relationship, a nice house or car, good health, peace and so forth, will always be thwarted by the transience of these very things. Suffering arises from this contradiction - what we want must change, nothing is permanent. Even the universe, which is in constant change, will one day be nothing more than a sea of remote unlit particles. Most of all really, we are attached to ourselves, to the permanence of our beings, the desire to go on beyond death. It might well be the central problem of the human condition.

The solution in simple terms is to practice non-attachment, gradually freeing ourselves from each attachment. At the extreme edge of this is monasticism, in which the monk has let go of the world - his family, friends, possessions - completely, the loss of which mitigates against suffering. You can't miss what you don't have or anything you have freely given up.

Strangely enough, this ancient faith is a doctrine for our times, for this period in which unchecked consumerism is creating so many stumbling blocks to happiness. The buy is a momentary illusion, a blip of joy before a precipice of suffering. The talk is always of owning, buying, having, a doctrine set up to fail in the light of human psychology.

I have started a new term of English classes at Thai Welfare in the CBD and enjoying it muchly. The class is small (4 students) and the materials that I use at this level are not exactly riveting, yet still it's a worthwhile project. A small class clustered around a couple of pushed-together desks is intimate and there is nowhere for either the teacher or the student to hide, so in some ways, it is easier to teach a class of thirty set out in a proper classroom.

After the Liverpool Street class has finished I sometimes like to wander the busy streets of Sydney, an activity that means tussling with hungry well-dressed lunchtime crowds, who pour ceaselessly from office buildings. Like all modern cities, Sydney bustles and shines and creaks, so it's a wonder the pavements can handle the sheer foot traffic. This is also a time when trams are being reintroduced to parts of central Sydney, so major roads resemble quarries and available space is further squeezed.

One delight from my Japanese past happened a few weeks back when I popped into the George Street Daiso. There in the fridge I saw bottles of Dekavita, a drink I had not seen nor tasted in a dozen years. Back when I was living in Sanda, I would often stop at a vending machine to buy a bottle, the cold, sweet, slightly medicinal taste a contrast to the summertime heat.

And now, here it is, close at hand, for the meantime.

awake now by sharp rapping
I lie sleepless in the cold dark,
wafer moon my lamp.