Into the Unknown

pix at last

2009-10-06T04:10:00.000-07:00

It's only taken me 8 months to get to the point where I finally realized I can upload photos with one click! Here's a few of a parade honoring Ganesh:

As loud as it looks or maybe a bit louder. The right volume in India is distortion. All things to the max!

Everyone totally enjoys themselves, dancing and celebrating, in the name of God. I think we got the short end of the stick with Protestantism.

Noisy, and beautiful. The glow of the lights at dusk carried by a harmonious group which needs be since everything is still connected by hard wiring and a hand pushed generator.

news break

2009-08-02T04:02:00.000-07:00

My friend Alex sent me this funny story:

For the past several months, 40-50 monkeys have laid siege to the Mehrauli police station. They hang around because they have discovered the room in the police station where cases of illicit liquor seized during raids are stored. The monkeys stake out at the gates of the station, waiting to enter the case property office room, should they spot an open door or window. Having forced an entry, if they find the liquor store locked, they tear up valuable letters, shred case files and damage personal property. If the door is open, they head straight for the liquor and get drunk. Inebriated simians snoring or stumbling about in a drunken stupor around this police station are becoming a common sight.

peace

2009-08-02T02:00:00.000-07:00

This morning I feel myself getting in a bad mood again. Two meetings cancelled with no phone call and now already KK is 45 minutes late. But instead of letting irritation start to blind my experience of the moment, I decide to relax. I lie down, in shivasana, and start some yoga nidra (the yoga of relaxation). Suddenly the relationship between negative thoughts, emotional anxiety and physical tension is abundantly clear. I note it and start to really relax, slowly, slowly. A minute later KK comes in. Without moving I say, "I'm busy. Yoga nidra." "Oh," he replies "I no problem". (this is one of my favorite expressions - this and "should be must" and adding "the" in front of people's names; I often hear people talking about "the Marcie" - how to keep the Marcie happy!) "I no problem. Your work carry on."

Only in India. I'm lying motionless on the bed - your work carry on! And indeed I do, finally I have the sense to realize what my most important work is - and to start to do it.

When I get up I feel good, much less at risk for getting excited, emotional, or depressed. We head off to find material for the curtains for the guest houses. We're going to the local market, a narrow road of a few kilometres packed with all the inexpensive and interesting shops as well as the crowds and every type of conveyance. The road there is broken and dusty and finally I admit to myself - India is not beautiful. Even the sky is not that clean, vibrant blue I've so often enjoyed and taken for granted. The dust fills the sky and the color, when not the polluted browns of Delhi, is a thin white, coating the nearby mountains so they fade into the sky and feel more distant.

Much of India is of course very beautiful. But day to day life in the city is not. It's the most dense country in the world and the government has no system of collecting trash. If it's done at all, it's done by the sweepers, gathering garbage in little plastic buckets and throwing it perhaps a few feet away, I'm not really sure. And could the trash habits be changed even if there were facilities? I watch young children throwing wrappers directly on the floor in their home, just like their parents, though Mummy, or the servant, will clean it up later.

Sometimes I long for the Bay Area. My lovely house alone, with the garden, stream, pond, fish, flowers, my worms, the spiral staircase up to my friend Jon's and Snowpaws and the rugs and Dana's art and taking walks at night, watching the weather and seasons change overlooking the whole Bay and the classical pianist who practices at midnight. The hot tub, the sauna, the violin and accordion duets with Nada, and sometimes Aron singing Ladino songs, the Breema, oh the Breema by the fire in winter, and the clean, fresh beauty of everything.

But today I made my peace. Today I accepted India as it is. I saw a train next to the road and for the first time since I've been here I saw all the people hanging out every door and all the people packed on the top. I just laughed out loud - it's just like in the movies. But here I am, and any and every interpretation is possible. Sometimes I like it here and sometimes I don't. But as everyone says to me over and over in response to my interminable questioning, the India is the India.

So we go to the curtain shop and the shopkeeper is rolling out the beautiful fabrics all over the floor. He and I see a rat at the same time and he starts chasing it, stomping hard on the fabrics trying to smash it. Luckily he didn't and maybe it was even show for me, no one else was bothered. But I retain visions of if he been successful, though with much less of a western emotional charge than before.

Across from the curtain shop is a Sony showroom. "Please can we go look?" I don't even know why I'm so interested. We walk in the clean, air conditioned store and suddenly I'm in America again. KK's engaged with the salesman and very happily learning about home theatre systems. I feign interest and nod while I just drink in the atmosphere. I'm home, I'm home. For 5 minutes everything is clean and high quality and materialistic. I want everything, a flat screen TV, a home theatre system, a new DSLR camera and more, more, more. I feel myself relaxing. No wonder no one's heard of yoga nidra in America! KK and the salesman are chattering away in Hindi and as usually happens suddenly I hear a "Come Marcie". I take a breath and walk back into the Indian heat, the Indian look of things, 1/2 way around the world from everything I know, every single thing here completely different.

But 5 minutes in the Sony store was all I needed. I'm restored. I'm ready. Mango season is ending, pomegranate season has begun.

Come, Marcie.

ripped apart and grateful

2009-07-21T11:05:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I just don’t want to admit how hard this is for me. I worry my friends will worry, will want me to come home, but no that’s not it - I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed, I’m filled with doubts that create suffering and turmoil; the tumultuous surface atop my inner certainty.

I haven’t had a hug in months.

I have to see, examine and shed every unconscious cultural norm that’s allowed this Marcie machine to function effectively on automatic pilot.

In India people don’t cry, it shows weakness. Women don’t even cry out loud in childbirth. In my experiments with it, I’ve seen some great value. It’s an opportunity to rise above the transitory emotionalism of the moment. Personally, I’m inclined to indulge the transitory emotionalism of the moment. And here when I’m up/down, up/down, up/down a hundred thousand times a day, I’m learning to not let the tears seep out, not to even silently let them run down my cheek. But sometimes, when I’m alone, when I feel so isolated, when I think there’s no one here that understands being an American in India who’s not a tourist, but trying, trying, trying, when I can’t call my friends because I’m too depressed to talk, then I just let loose and sob.

People are happier in India. At first I thought it was cultural pride talking, but I’ve been watching. Seven months living only in people’s houses, in their lives, and I have no doubt it’s true. So now I want to understand; I’m impressed. One friend says, “In the west you make small problems big and here we make big problems small.” My own experience bears this out. But how to not worry and be happy? I ask Rashmi who says, “That’s the time we pray, meditate, go to God and find comfort there. If we let ourselves think about the problems, we’ll go mad.”

In the west, we talk and talk and talk about things. I like it a lot; I’m a Gemini. But the need to talk and talk comes from the fact that we believe the things we think and think. The only thing that brings real change is raising our level of consciousness. And that we do alone, though let me amend the verb to ‘prepare for and receive’.

What is it that’s so hard about my life after all? I have everything I could possibly want or need. Spare by our standards for sure, but luxury here. I enjoy washing clothes by hand once I make my peace with how long it takes. And therein lies the rub. The path to inner peace demands making peace with EVERYTHING, one by one by one by difficult one. In my life to date, there’s been no Buddha to hold up a flower that could cut through all my illusions in one fell swoop. One by one by difficult one.

India is stripping me bare, ripping me open, exposing my negativities, identifications and suffering. Isn’t this what I’ve prayed for?

Thanks God! But could I have a hug now and then?

Or maybe I could have some gratitude for those moments of knowing, of basking in your light.

Bhakti. If anyone doubts the wisdom actually present in this place, in this country, think of the vocabulary alone India has given us, let alone the teachings that bring the definitions to understanding.

carpenters

2009-07-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

OK friends, it’s official. I’m in business in India! I have 2 partners, local Haridwarians. One is KK, my dear friend and yoga teacher, and the other is his best friend and an exemplary human being, VS. To say I feel lucky is an understatement – in the minefield of partnerships, let alone in India, I have undoubtedly been blessed. I’ll keep you updated with all the exciting plans, but first I have some funny stories to relate.

The first project we’re working on is setting up 2 flats as guest houses. Each one has 2 bedrooms, 2 baths, a living/dining room and a kitchen. They’re fabulous and brand new and in fact I’ve been living in one since I returned from Nepal. It’s tremendously amusing to me that I’m actually living in a gated community but the gate is primarily a children’s plaything in the daytime, the cows still come and go at will and the poor Bihari children who have nowhere to go while their parents work as the lowest of laborers are always at my door staring. But it’s very clean and I’m very comfortable.

The flats are empty, so we’re designing the furniture and having it built in situ by local carpenters. It’s been outrageously hot so it’s not surprising to see the carpenters sleeping on the marble floor in the middle of the day. Men have a lot more freedom in their dress, which means there’s no stigma in going around in one’s underwear. So I’ve quite gotten used to discussing measurements with an adorable young carpenter in his ochre cotton boxers and little singlet. I almost didn’t recognize him coming to work one day fully clothed, but his “Hello Mam” is unmistakeable. I’m completely at peace with being called Mam and have come to enjoy it like I love the sound of a Southern black woman calling me honey.

Everyone in India dies their hair black, though there’s an odd red that’s also popular, but it’s kind of garish. I’ve also come to enjoy the meetings with men with hair color in their hair, sometimes with a torn plastic bag covering the head, with a bit of color dripping off the forehead, down the ear to the jaw if the meeting goes long.

I, on the other hand, am not even allowed to wear shorts in public and in my last homestay I couldn’t even wear capris in the house. But abdomen baring is not a problem and it’s a part of sari wearing. The larger the woman, the more the exposure. The male version is just to pull up the t-shirt and let the stomach hang free, whatever the size.

Yesterday one carpenter went to get some pieces of wood turned to put together a mock up of a chair we need to finalize. By the time he comes back, another carpenter’s asleep on the floor again and when I ask KK if we should wake him, he says – let him rest. Fellow Americans, when do you get to do that at work?

Today we signed off on the chair. It, by the way, is a rough replica of an Arne Vodder chair. I wanted to show my partners and the carpenters some Western design that I love. They took one look and said, that’s the chair for us. So today the young carpenter squatted over a piece of plywood in his ochre undies looking at one computer picture and drawing a scale model of a chair that would work with the remaining wood we have, then building it. The result is beautiful! And it took less time than a nap.

pigs and poverty

2009-06-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday there was a pig family in the mosquito breeding pit outside my new flat. At first I was a little nervous – Mama is huge, but the 8 babies are so cute. I decided I must take pictures. Today the pigs are gone and 6 Indians are digging in a trench in the 100 plus degree heat. They don’t stop to let anyone pass. You can’t lose your rhythm in this heat or it’s all over. It’s become easy for me to understand the Indian men lying sleeping on the ground in their underwear. In fact I’m jealous. I can’t even wear shorts. I’m learning to function in the sweltering heat. I’m almost constantly dripping. At first everyone teased me. I sweat, they don’t sweat. But the monsoon is late, alarmingly late, and the heat is high and unabating. Everyone is suffering and worried. But worry here is not like in the West. It’s not emotional, it’s not stressful, it’s not depressing. Things are as they are and always relaxation and enjoyment is possible. But do not think this implies passivity, or rather any more passivity than in the West. How many of us do anything about global warming? As a topic, as an understanding, as a tragedy, as heartfelt consideration, it’s’ no less here than in the West – and we’re the ones who brought it into being. Good ol’ U.S., but not to take the full blame. Thoughtless, selfish corporate and personal greed knows no geographic boundaries. And let us not forget the other side either. Poverty, lack of education.

Which brings me to Nepal. What a beautiful and tragic place. Too small to attract the attention given to slums with millions of inhabitants, it’s been possible for royalty and politicians to bleed the country dry. In fact a book on the history of the management of the Himalayas is entitled Bleeding. Oh human nature. Do the mountains teach us nothing? First of all, the country has no industry, no train, in many places no electricity, no water. The villages are poverty stricken, so people are moving to the cities desperately hoping to get in on the tourist business because that is all there is. I’ve always felt like a walking dollar sign, but never as much as in Nepal. The people are gracious about it, mostly polite and helpful, though of course there’s always the constant harassment from beggars. But I saw few signs of possibilities of friendship or genuine warmth. Of course there are many exceptions, but basically under a thin veneer of warmth it’s cold calculation of what you’re worth and what can be gotten from you. If someone is successful and makes it out of the rut, they turn around and pay their employees nothing and/or move out of the area into the nicer suburb, again taking anything they’ve got with them. It’s the most hopeless place I’ve been to, but the friendly facade and the ease of travel protects the tourists from the in your face shocking honesty and deception, generosity and cheating of India.

A word about trekking. It might be the best single business in Nepal, so everyone understandably wants a piece of the action. I chose the Poon Hill Trek, the most basic and simple trek for someone with 5 days. This trek is so popular that much of it is merely walking up and down endless stone steps as one village merges into the next, with guest house after guest house after guest house. The first day and a half I was horrified. I couldn't feel the nature. Apparently in high season there are hundreds, maybe thousands of trekkers on this one route which becomes a dusty, non-stop highway of walkers. Before I make it sound too terrible, there was another day and half spent in exceedingly beautiful forestl. And of course there's the mountains. I can't even begin to describe their awesomeness. The unbelievable massiveness of Dhaulgiri and views of Annapurna and the gorgeous Fishtail almost throughout the trek. It's amazing to sit watching the clouds and then a moment of clearing and a mountain pops through at a height you can't believe. I was so fortunate to be there at a quiet time. As amazing as the mountains are, there's no way I could handle the crowds. After all, unless you're in better condition than I am, the mountains are far away and the people are all around you. Sometimes there's even a non-stop line up Mt. Everest.

Speaking of which, I saw Everest from the plane on the way back home to India - unforgettable!

But I will not be disappointed if my travels never take me back to Nepal. Though I will certainly keep that amazing country in my prayers.

nepal

2009-06-14T05:52:00.000-07:00

I’m at a cyber café – again! But this time the owner just came by, told me the internet was down and helped me to save everything. I’m in Nepal. It’s clean, friendly, easy and beautiful. And yet, I can’t wait to get back to India, but that’s another story. I’m fully here now. One thing that’s changed in my months away is that I’m genuinely more relaxed; ridiculous though it may be, it’s been hard won. On the other hand, I can hardly say – hip hip hurray and pat myself on my spiritual back. I’m in Pokhara, a world famous beauty spot. Pokhara surrounds a big lake, with low mountains rising almost immediately and on a clear morning like today, the Annapurna range is in view. At 5:30 this morning I was rewarded with my first view of Fishtail, a strikingly beautiful 7,000 meter mountain, just far enough from the Annapurna range to jut sharply into the sky with nothing else nearby. It's slopes are so straight and so steep that there is a law against climbing it. Not only has no one made it yet, but no one has even survived the attempt. Apparently the ground shifts during the night. It's only when our lives are in danger that nature can exist as it is. Fishtail is safe from our garbage, our egos and our greed. Not much else is.

I’ve always wanted to come to Nepal. But my traveler’s arrogance was strong. Nepal was too touristy, too established, too well known. I needed hard travel and I sought it out. Ironically enough, when I finally realized ease was well, easy and that difficulty is not always necessary for enjoyment, only then did I find myself in the truly most difficult, nearly impossible situation of all. Living in India, in a city with virtually NO facilities or infrastructure for foreign tourists, living completely dependent on the kindness and trust of new friends and somehow, slowly, building myself an amazingly rich and challenging new life.

Nonetheless practicalities required a visit to Nepal and how cool is that? After a shockingly blase period, I became quite excited about the trip. I decided to come with an Indian friend. Kathmandu is a cheap and easy playground for the Indians, not requiring a passport or visa, plus Indians pay Nepali prices and foreigners must pay 3-10 times more for everything. But I don't know all this yet. I’m thinking about Buddhist temples and nature; my friend’s thinking casinos and discos. Always a surprise in store, including the fact that through some connections, my friend arranged a very inexpensive 3 night stay at the Hyatt Kathmandu, a gorgeous, elegant and classic resort and the premier hotel destination in Nepal. I must admit it was a great relief after the heat and difficulties of India just to relax and indulge and affordably live a luxury life for a few days.

Kathmandu’s crowded and polluted, but not like India. There's a big tourist area called Thamel and everything is available there. I've spent days now, just thinking - this is so easy, it's so easy. It's been a good trip. One evening of drinking and gambling and watching the amateur dancing show was a blast, the second time was a drag. They wouldn't let me into one of the most sacred and beautiful Hindu temples and that had been the top thing on my list, but after recovering from disappointment some very successful and cheap shopping took place getting things I've very much needed. The visa requirements took up much more time than necessary because I was not prepared, surprising myself at my poor planning, but then letting go after only brief self-torture. A mixed couple of days but then we took a short flight to Pokhara and the beauty of this place immediately restored me.

Pokhara's an interesting place, a world class resort, but still simple and mostly upscale backpacker's style. The Indians call it a mini-Europe and for them, it's very expensive. It's a dollar based economy, which is quite effective because prices seem reasonable when quoted in dollars and outrageously high when quoted in rupees. At first my friend and I are shocked at how much hotel and food cost. But he needed to go back to India after only one day here and I've stayed on, just relaxing and enjoying and not bothering to think about prices. I have to be here, it's as close to a job as I have right now! So if my task is to have a good time while here, I can handle it. The streets are clean, the food is excellent and the variety a total treat. I realize I've had not one good restaurant meal in India and in the past 2 days, I've enjoyed delicious Chinese, Italian and Korean, all much better than the average in U.S. Plus someone told me about a small Tibetan hole in the wall, that the tourists don't know about, and I had the best momos I've ever had for $1.

And tomorrow I'm going trekking - for 5 days, with my own personal guide. I need the mountains!

living life on a bed

2009-06-07T07:05:00.000-07:00

I came back from my trip to Himachal happy but tired. Not a moment was spent without people and I was very ready to get back to some quiet and my practice. It was great to see Kaushal again and he helped me get set up back in the ashram where I'd stayed before. What a different experience now with a few months in India behind me. In my enthusiasm for the ashram experience I hadn't noticed how filthy the place was, how ill cared for and how uncomfortable. This ashram was funded by a very rich and miserly Malaysian woman for her guru. She spared no expense in making a beautiful building and then resented every further rupee she had to pay. So it was staffed by poorly paid teenage boys who, if they knew rugs needed cleaning, didn't care. Every step I took sent nasty things into the air and I felt sick when I tried to do yoga. But I was a trooper and stayed until I did get sick with a bad cold in which I gave in to my well wishers and tried allopathics but the best I can say is that they were no help. Now I have a new tirade which goes something like this - India created Ayurveda, what the hell is going on with this allopathic bullshit, but anyone who knows me, can well imagine. Enough said.

Ashram hunting. First it's hard to get a room. Haridwar is a holy city and summer is pilgrim time. The best places are mostly booked. A lengthy search placed me in ashram #2 which was run down and depressing, but clean enough. The grounds were nice but I only entered the dining room once and had to turn right around after feeling the dirty floor under my barefeet. I managed a week, but was delighted when Kaushal said he was going to his favorite Himalayan place and did I want to come?

Oh, the mountains. I'm missing them so much as I sit in the heat of this cybercafe because my computer's broken for the 15th time. We took a quick but great trip to this very special place with an ancient Lord Shiva temple and then continued up to the mountaintop which has a spectacular 360 degree view of the Himalayas. We couldn't see anything, however, because it's fire season and the smoke was too thick. Yet another sad story involving global warming, lack of firefighting resources, loss of precious few remaining forests and so on. The mountain men of these places are heartbroken, but how can anyone not be when we see what we're doing to the planet? Nonetheless for me it was a powerful and life changing experience. When I first saw the temple I just spontaneously burst into tears and I still can't explain it, except to say something's happening for me here and I'm exploring it, fully.

Came back and a room at a beautiful ashram along a beautiful stretch of the Ganga was available. Lucky me! I settled in. But the growing difficulty in ashram life is the food. They offer all the chapati, rice and dhal you want, but there's no guarantee of actual pulse in the dhal. Often it's just a soup, jokingly referred to as prison food. What they call vegetables, when available, is usually some potato pieces with a hint of something green on rare occasions. But the worse thing is the color. Variations in yellows to browns, tonally representing the least appetizing colors that exist. Haridwar, however, has no restaurants, or at least no good ones, though I'm happy to say I've found some that are almost mediocre, but not always convenient. I spent a lot of time in the heat walking back and forth to Kaushal's house so Sonia could feed me and then I'd take Bhava on walks. This was actually not bad for me. Mornings I'd do some practice and then things would just happen, as they do in India. I was not delighted when I got kicked out. The ashram was having a big program and I got a morning's notice to pack my bags and get out. The only smile I ever got from the ashram manager was when I promptly paid in full.

Once again, Kaushal steps in to take responsibility for my living situation. He's working as fast as possible on the house, but it's not ready for me to move in. He has some friends coming from Delhi to stay at a nearby forest guest house so he adds me into the plans. Nice place but hot, hot, hot and as usual I'm unaware of what's actually happening. He's bouncing back and forth between 3 different situations, his Delhi friends, a family of clients who need healing, advice, astrology and gem purchasing and me, who doesn't get the complete picture until it's already past and I'm in the next confused state.

Which is that now we're leaving the forest and looking for ashram #4 for me. Kaushal's yet again pulled out a miracle and talked to the head of a big yoga university to get me a place at their famous and historical ashram. We get there at 3 and sit with the university head for what feels like an hour before he decides to talk to someone about my room. At which point we find out in fact a room is not available and I've not eaten yet today. Suffice it to say, this is not one of my finest moments considering that Kaushal's been working his ass off to find me something, anything and the whole client family is driving me around in their SUV.

I cooly and politely decide enough of the fucking ashrams and their fucking food. It's time for a hotel. Fuck the money, fuck everything and what about lunch?

The next 3 days find me unmoving from the luxury of my air-conditioned hotel room. I really did enjoy every minute of it, but I am now living in India and I can't afford to be spending $50/day on lodgings. Kaushal comes through again and asks a friend of his if I can live in his family's house.

Thus begins an amazing adventure in Indian culture. I have been staying with the Saini family for almost a month now and it has been one of the most difficult and incredible and uneventful and mind blowing experiences of my life. I have to immediately mention Shalini, the 19 yr old brilliant daughter who will no doubt be a friend for life. I live in her room, share her bed and we talk and play and laugh and cry and she's a dear one. Plus the sexiest dancer I've ever seen in my life and she's taught me some moves, though mostly we just laugh hysterically - at me, of course. She says I'm a very good beginner, but that's after she's fallen on the floor saying I look like a duck. Could be worse!

Shalini's had some issues with her family and is mostly confined to the house, meaning her room, meaning her bed. That's mostly where I live too - I sleep, eat, exercise, meditate, nap and do my computer work there. I've never lived on a bed before. I spend hours talking to her on the bed and then Vishal, her brother, will come in to use the computer and we'll talk and his friends will come and go and Shalini will leave and come back but I never leave the bed. At other friend's houses I play with the children on the bed, but yesterday I nearly killed a 3 yr old by standing on the bed and lifting him high into the air, a mere inch from a rapidly whirring fan. Even living on a bed there's safety concerns!

This has been a hard period to know what to say. Basically I'm facing myself. Everything has been stripped away. There's nothing I need to do. There's no way to escape myself. There's not even the comfort of unconscious cultural norms. I desperately want to start on my practice but the reality of no privacy is constant interruptions. Calling it Shalini's room is not quite right because there's no such thing in India. Everything is everyone's, including all my belongings. Shalini has the only mirror in the house, so people are coming and going 24/7. That's not an exaggeration, many events don't start until 11 and go all night.

How to express the extreme gratitude I have for this family and still talk of my suffering? And what is my suffering? On my birthday, a day in which every single plan I'd made fell through, I took a walk along the Ganga and thought what is wrong with me? I have health, wealth, love, friendship, support, adventure and I'm being called by God. I'm miserable because the day didn't go as I'd expected? I'm blaming India?

Facing myself, lying on a bed. Moment by moment, despair, exhilaration. Yesterday there was a big poojah that I thought the priest had said was for me, but in fact I was only watching. I sat there, very upset and very disappointed because I'd been looking forward to this for weeks. Suddenly I catch my negativity - like a shock. I see it's not a fact but an interpretation. I think - can I be here and relax and enjoy, the 2 main themes of Indian life. On my birthday my friend Rashmi explained to me that there isn't much disappointment in India. When something changes, it's because it's changing for the better. I've been thinking about that long and hard ever since. I sat at the puja and started to have well wishing for the family that it was actually for. I had gratitude that I was getting to watch. I realized I didn't understand anything and it probably would've been wasted on me anyhow. I realize my direction is meditation, not chasing pujas. And then the question came so clearly and keeps reverberating - why be negative? why be negative?

The other day, in another low moment, I was complaining to Kaushal that in the 5 months I've been in India I've spent 3 of them with computer problems and the other 2 doing nothing. Today I saw I'm a different person. My health is better, my body opening up in ways unimaginable before I came - and I haven't even properly started my yoga training. I'm learning to relax and enjoy. After a decade of Breema talking about being present and me saying - how, how, how and learning to be content with a moment here or there, now I'm remembering. The moment is. I am. My dreams are being fulfilled. But in this moment. In this moment when I can finally let go of the relentless thought - I should be doing something. I should be doing something different, something else, I'm not being productive. What the hell is productive? Stress?

The other day I caught another long established thought and I realized that whatever I'm doing, I think I should be doing something else. WOW!

No wonder this facing myself is painful. I have time to see the thoughts as they arise and to question them. Over and over I examine my thinking and see that's it's not so. And further, I don't know what is so. But I can relax and enjoy.

Speaking of which, it's quite late now and time for me to return to the house. Tomorrow I go to Delhi and then to Nepal to renew my visa. This chapter's concluding, it is indeed time for me to leave the Saini's. Tonight I place the period, tomorrow I watch the page turn. What's next? Here I come, Kathmandu.

Part 2 - Bobbie

2009-04-29T04:15:00.000-07:00

We start the trek slowly. I feel the altitude right away and it’s only 5-6,000 ft. My heart is beating faster than I’d like, right from the get go. But these are mountain men I’m with, born and raised here. They start slow; there’s no energy wasted. I’m doing fine, but I’m nervous, I’m honestly not in peak condition, but I’m determined. I pull myself out of psychological debate and start to look around.

It’s beautiful forest needless to say. Do people do treks that aren’t beautiful? Pine trees, meadows, small villages and an amazing temple that I’m not allowed in (due to the caste system, not my gender!) but apparently it’s all gold inside.

There are 5 concrete rest houses along the way to the mountaintop temple. Up to the first one is gently rolling meadow with various animals grazing, idyllic scenes. At rest house 1, the climb begins and it’s steep. At rest house 2, the incline increases. I find myself looking up at the trail and it’s straight up. Every time I look up there’s more straight up. The closest I can describe it to is Yosemite without switchbacks at a higher elevation. But despite rumors of thigh high snow, we still haven’t seen any. In my mind that’s the turn around point, but there’s also time considerations. We agree to turn back at 2:30, but no one is paying much attention to the clock, so I don’t either. Finally we see the first patches of snow just before the 3rd rest station where we stop for a discussion. It’s 3pm and it’s been a vigorous and enjoyable hike for me. I’m sad to turn around, but ready. So I’m completely surprised when the guys ask me – What do you want to do now? Continue to the top? First I think they’re joking, we’ve never discussed nor prepared for an overnight, but no, they’re quite serious and furthermore, it’s actually and truly my choice. They will not even say what they want to do.

My brother remembers my classic line from hikes we’d take with my Dad – just around the corner, please, can we just see what’s around the corner. I’ve never in my life been the one to say it’s time to turn back and I’ve never yet had anyone willing to test my limits. I literally can’t believe this is happening. It’s my choice? I decide? But I still really think we’re turning around, so I play a bluff. If I say yes, do you really want to keep going? I look at them, right in the eyes, one at a time, and each one says yes, I want to keep going. At that moment, I understand, this is Chudhar, a very special trek to a very special place and they love this trek, love this temple in their bones, in their being. They’re this far, yes, they want to continue. But it’s my choice.

Whoa! I’ve not saved my energy, I’ve never hiked in snow before, it’s 3 pm and we’re only ½ way with altitude increases I’m not used to and I don’t have additional warm things or even a toothbrush. Plus what I don’t know is that the steepest part is yet to come.

So of course I say YES! Yes, yes, yes, let’s go! And we start, but now we pick up the pace.

Let me just say I was immediately and totally step by step challenged. This is not an easy hike. I’d been walking and talking mostly with Bobbie, the only English speaker of the group and now I need his help. Luckily for me, he’s a pro, actually winning a state award as some kind of best trekker. He gives me a hand over the big rocks and makes sure I don’t slip on the snow. By now I’m conserving every bit of energy I can, the camera’s put away and I force myself not to talk, not to ask all the burning questions I always have. I’m completely focused on foot placement and keeping up the pace and breathing. We stop and I say feel my hand – it’s icy. Bobbie puts my hand in his pocket and while he holds and warms it, he’s keeping me on the path. He walks in the deep snow next to me. I know it’s hard what he’s doing, but I need the help. My other hand starts to freeze and we switch sides. I also have to add I’m quite enjoying this. As sexy as he is, it’s really fun that his help is so necessary. Mostly he’s quiet but then when my hand is frighteningly cold, he says low in my ear, I’ll warm you. I’ll wake up early, go out and get some exercise to heat my body and come back and warm you. Sounds good to me! But then maybe I’m enjoying too much and I tell him, I’m OK now. I can walk on my own and I try a step and start to slide and he grabs me and I suddenly wonder – am I actually walking on my own or is he pulling me up the mountain? He knows exactly, precisely the amount of help to give, not more, not less. He’s so perfect he makes me feel capable, though I don’t know if I would’ve made it without his help. From stations 3 to 5, it’s incredibly steep and slippery and there’s not much visible trail and the sun’s going down and a light snow is starting to fall, but now I’m beyond worry – there’s only complete concentration and holding Bobbie’s hand.

Then suddenly we’re at station 5, we get the first sighting of the temple and I can see the incline is not as extreme. We’ve made good time, we get a 15 minute rest and the pace eases to the top, allowing us to arrive with the last rays of the sun. I made it!!!!!

The temple is amazing. Actually it’s a big beautiful wooden building housing a little tiny temple inside, an ancient one, perhaps more than 6000 years old. We take off shoes and I touch my head to the ground with reverence and peer in. It has a naturally occurring Shiva lingam (very rare and very powerful) and there’s also a beautiful solid gold Durga tucked away in a corner. The energy was very strong, but I was, unfortunately, a little too cold and too tired to take full appreciation. After a short puja, we are led into the priest’s house where we spend the rest of the evening. I don’t know what would’ve happened if the priest hadn’t been there. Everything was locked. But he was and he was friendly and we had a great time. The guys had fun joking with me, first saying there was no food, only chai and as I’m accepting that they show me the kitchen in which they proceed to make a fresh delicious rice and dhal meal. Then they tell me we’re sleeping on the stone floor which again I believe to find out later that we’re being put in the VIP room and we have all the blankets and comforters we could ever need. Did they know how any of this would turn out? I don’t think so. We all agreed it was a very lucky trip and on the full moon no less.

For those of more prurient interests, I have to say that the last thing Bobbie said to me, as we were settling down to sleep next to each other was – you are safe with me. And I was. So later as the stories about Bobbie started rolling in, I both knew they were true and also knew that I’d experienced something, well, perfect.

Bobbie told me that he’d killed a tiger with a stick. He may be the only person I’ve ever met that I totally believe it to be true, even if it’s a lie. He told me about winning trekking and farming awards and these he later showed me. He’s kind of the unacknowledged leader type, never the actual leader though he’s the one who speaks English and the one who puts the spices in the dhal after all the prep work’s been completed by others. He’s tall and rangy, extremely thin, but radiating power and sexuality with I suspect some black magick thrown in. That’s unconfirmed but I don’t need to know. I feel things in India. I feel the energy in the sacred places, I feel the gods here. That Bobbie is dangerous is immediately apparent, it pours out of his eyes but so do a lot of other things. Though no one ever said anything directly, there were great efforts taken to keep me away from being with Bobbie. And very clever maneuvering on his part, to have me where he wanted me. Once down the mountain, I became the hunted one. He’d keep me in his sights and at just the right moment sneak into where I was staying and whisk me off before it could be prevented. And all that he wanted was for me to come to his house and meet his family, well maybe not quite, but this was the focus.

So what did I see in Bobbie’s house? A devoted father, adoring of his 2 beautiful boys, a lovely, but perhaps resigned wife and his mother who welcomed me with open arms and fixed delicious organic greens for me. Life is not simple. The Bobbie that Bobbie wanted to show me was all goodness and light, but I kept remembering the story of the scorpion that has no choice but to act from his nature. Why that story? Why was I so drawn to this person who was so easy to talk to and so understanding and so dark, not negative, not evil, but dark. Dark and talented and fascinating and smart. And I’m becoming secretly obsessed with the whole thing.

It took over a week for Bobbie to pull off my short stay at his house, so then it was show and tell time. First his paintings. Brilliant – of uniquely imaginary landscapes, looking real and yet not like anything that exists. He showed me his family heirlooms because he too is another grandson of the King. He showed me his gardens and we talked about organics and the environment. He knows a lot about all this stuff, permaculture, the pesticide levels in apples, grafting – very impressive, but later I feel clearly designed for me. Can genuine interest be a manipulative tool and if so, isn’t that part and parcel anyhow?

He showed me his photos. There are photos that will probably be in my mind’s eye for the rest of my life. These are real mountain men I’m hanging out with and Bobbie’s cream of the crop. At one point he’s the chosen heir of a great climber, someone who’s done Everest 3 times and more high peaks than I even know of. There is one picture of this man with his arm around Bobbie. There’s an expression on the man’s face I’ve never seen before, it’s like I’m looking at someone who’s free, who understands, who is. I look at the picture and I know there’s more for me in these mountains, more in life. I look at the picture and recognize something beyond my own experiences, but I can see it. I remember having the question on the trek – is one closer to God at higher elevations? In the Himalayas? It can’t possibly be true, but maybe one’s receptivity is heightened.

I know what I saw in the picture, I saw Self. There was no ego in that man’s eyes, the high mountains had taken that from him; there was presence.

Do I imagine all these things? But what does that question even do but block one’s sensitivity and create doubt. The other day I’m questioning something with Kaushal – something’s actually happening and I’m asking how is it possible. He simply says – why doubt? I’m continuing to ponder that one. Because I’m an American? Oooops, wrong direction.

Why doubt?

Bobbie had told me many stories of leading treks, of carrying big men with broken bones up and down the mountainside. Now I was viewing a photo of a rescue Bobbie had made. They were on a high rigorous trek and during the night a crack had opened and a Russian couple in their tent had fallen into a 200 ft crevasse. There was Bobbie, in full gear and roped in, going into the hole. Even in the small photo, dominated by ice, there were those eyes. I’m alive, I’m ready, I was born for this moment.

So that’s the story. I meet this guy and I’m as intrigued as hell. And also irritated with myself. What is it with the bad boys? I’m here for sadhana, my practice, I confess this little situation did not help my spiritual concentration, but what the hell does that mean anyhow? We get what we need and clearly I need to explore these light dark issues. I don’t want to be afraid of the black magick and its power nor do I want to be a moth to the flame. And here the story jumps into the bigger questions and all that the lovely, complex, confusing, mysterious and sexy Bobbie engendered. But then I’d need to write about Lord Shiva and I’m not sure I can or should at this moment. Let me just leave things with – life’s very good! And certainly interesting! And fun! But with feet on the ground, so help me God.

p.s. After I posted this I thought it's awfully anticlimactic, furthermore what's here is honest, but all is not included, particularly that which I've still not fully digested. But the writing of this post was cathartic and completing it has freed me. Bobbie went back to Dubai and we've exchanged a couple of very sweet emails. Meanwhile, being in India, the next gigantic things were about to happen. (About which I never got into the computer, so we now skip a couple of chapters which unlike a novel will never be missed).

travelling with kings, saints and bad boys, part 1

2009-04-23T05:39:00.000-07:00

Kaushal had been suggesting a trip to Himachal Pradesh for a while. He couldn't go, but he told me he'd set it all up for me with a good friend of his who I could trust. He would take me trekking to a very special, not well known mountain temple, ChuDhar. Great I thought, just tell me when. But when can come quickly when you don't know the language and don't know what's going on around you. Suddenly I had 1 hour to pack and then I got the details of my trip. From Kaushal - "I take you to bus at 5am and my friend meet you, but he no English." That's what it's like for me here. Suddenly someone says Marcie, come and I come, Marcie, we go and I go. It's never gone wrong yet, but it's still pretty crazy. Though I can pack for any situation, known or unknown, in about a minute now. I laugh at how much stuff I used to bring and the time I spent preparing for little journeys. In fact, not much is needed. I'm glad to know that.

So off I went, not even having the right pronounciation of the village or my host's name, but things worked out, as they do. Like at the first stop of the bus when I desperately needed to go to the bathroom but no one spoke English. I called Kaushal on my brand new cell phone, handed to me minutes before, and asked him to ask the bus driver where was the toilet and when the bus driver handed the phone back to me, the battery was already dead! But time enough for someone to lead me down the road, into a building of long hallways and up some stairs. Public toilets are not readily accessible. I've learned to carefully moderate my liquid intake.

A bit later and the bus is starting to climb in the mountains and we stop at what looks like a new temple inauguration. I'm taking pictures out the window of this big steaming vat of who knows what and suddenly they hand me a leaf bowl of a hot steaming delicious sweet potato connoction with some kind of yummy nuts on top. Then they start handing them to everyone on the bus and it's a 30 second party of enjoying fingers in delicous mushy stuff and we're off again, but now I'm friends with the boy next to me who looks about 25, but tells me he's been married for 20 years and this is his 18 year old son sitting in front of him. He starts rubbing the head of the boy saying, lovely son, lovely, lovely, lovely son. It's so beautiful I just decide to believe as we bump along unpaved mountain roads, laughing together when we nearly hit our heads on the ceilings, ignoring the pain upon landing. Luckily I'm off the bus before he's completed arrangements for the marriage of me and his son.

And there waiting for me is Karanvir, the handsome grandson of the King of Jubbal. At this point I still don't understand that I've landed with royalty, but indeed I have. Over the course of my 2 week stay I met at least 50 people from 4 royal families and heard many stories, saw many antiquities and rarities and experienced a family of such love and integrity, I was constantly humbled. I didn't even realize how I too have all my unconscious judgments. It was with horror that I saw too I am a victim of American superiority thinking. But, as we say in Breema, gratitude for the seeing. The King of Jubbal was an educated forward thinking man, the first to bring electricity into the area, the first to cultivate apples, a great source of wealth for the local people, and many other impressive things in the field of education and improving life conditions. A good and respected ruler, but independence came and the family lost much of their vast holdings, though the palace remains. Everyone still has some big chunks of land and heirlooms, but each generation has hit harder and harder times though I certainly didn't hear any complaints. There's not much complaining in India in general in fact and more on this point later. But it was certainly fascinating to both hear of the past and to be participating in the present, seeing what fate has brought these good people. Thinking too of my own humble background - my father's father a junk dealer and window washer who didn't make enough money to feed my own father during the Depression. It's been only anecdotal to me with the short sighted understanding of a materially well off child.

But back to the bus. Karanvir in fact doesn't speak English, so I'm in follow mode. Here, there, wait, sit, chai, sit, wait. Then I'm at someone's house and I find out I'm to stay there which at this point wasn't great for me because I've been around a lot of people with almost no English and this was not the only time I've longed for solitude. But there I am with Karanvir's cousin brother, Kuldeep. The trek is confirmed for tomorrow and off Karanvir goes. I take a nap and then slowly begin to get to know Kuldeep and his family. His house becomes my home base and his family my touchstone. Kuldeep is a slow, thoughtful man who speaks slow, thoughtful English and I go to him many times with questions of India and the religion and I learn much. His mother, Krishna Kanwer, had become a major inspiration in my life. At age 50 she started an NGO, a non-profit to benefit the local women and children of the nearby villages. This is a rural area and it seems to me I've forgotten to say it's incredibly beautiful. But life is hard. A small house here and there, many without roads, it's a 20 minute steep walk to Karanvir's house and he's fairly close to town. Krishna has been working tirelessly for more than 20 years. Now, at 75, she gets up at 6 every morning and spends 2 hours in spiritual practice and then she works for the NGO and then she cooks all the family food. And she's always smiling and laughing and well, radiating. She spoke not a word of English, but I was so honored to connect with her deeply. We shared some very special moments and there was love there, no doubt.

Writing that reminds me of a moment much later when we were at someone's house watching an extremely hunchbacked old Muslim man laboring up the road. The kids are twittering and again I don't see my judgments happening until someone starts translating for Krishna as she says how he was burned in a fire and tells of his difficulties and those of his family. Even writing now I want to weep as I can still hear the compassion in her voice as she spoke. I forget all is love, though I remembered at that moment. My friends, I must confess, I forget a lot. I forget my aim, I forget God, I forget goodness is possible. But I met a saint and she took me into her heart, a heart big enough to hold all. Thank you Krishna. How lucky I am, how blessed, to have met such as she.

Meanwhile, I've only been in this small town of Nerwa for a couple hours when it starts raining. Global warming, folks, no rain at all last rainy season and it's never rained in April before and now it's thundering down. The trek is postponed because it's snowing at the higher elevations, but that's OK with me because now I'm going to visit one of the village health programs with Kuldeep and his mother. Plus I've had quite a surprise in terms of this trek. Kaushal had asked me if I could hike 6 kms - well of course! He neglected to mention it was straight up, not even switchbacks, climbing from 5,000 to 13,000 over the course of that short distance. And the report is that there's thigh high snow. I'm kind of nervous about the altitude, so a few day's delay is A-OK.

The next morning I get up and do my yoga and take it easy because we're leaving at 10. At 9 I'm finishing breakfast when Karanvir and his cousin Bobby arrive. Let's go, they say. What? The trek is on! So we agree to only go for the day and just to the snowline and I make my peace with some secret relief that I won't be going all the way to the temple. I grab a couple things real quick, put on my trekking shoes and off we go with Kuldeep's son, Dishu, who's also coming along. I never did make it to an NGO event.

And the next post will tell of the trek and of Bobbie, the most dangerous and sexy man I've ever met.

diet

2009-04-05T23:38:00.000-07:00

My meditation is interrupted yet again by a loud pounding on the door. It's the maid who's been instructed to prepare breakfast for me and here she is now, at noon, with freshly made paratha and delicious potatoes. The constant interruptions with cheerfully given cups of chai and needs for things stored in the room are now starting to wear on my practice. Plus there's the practice requirement issues - no pranayam or meditation without first bathing, no yoga until 2 hours after eating. Ideally I'd wake up and do yoga, bathe and meditate. But almost no day actually goes like that.

Oh my goodness. I sat down to write about diet and I find myself complaining. After writing only yesterday about things not disturbing me as they used to. Well, a moment of gratitude that at least I can see this. The real yogic path is a brilliant and scientific method to bring every aspect of one's self closer to God. But what does that really mean? It's an assiduous purification of human nature. Acceptance yes and acceptance no. And here a caveat. The main thing I've learned in India is that I had not one iota of understanding of what yoga really is. Please bear with me as I put together my fledging observations about a profound system that I know less than .00000001% about and yet, even that is filling me with awe and gratitude. Because knowledge is not necessary for experience and the experience is alive for me here in the home of Lord Shiva. How I came directly to this holy place, Haridwar, that I'd never even heard of, still amazes me. Last night Kaushal suddenly stopped his motorbike in the middle of a bridge over the Ganga and we stood at the railing. He pointed out Chanda Devi Temple on a hill to the East and Mansa Devi Temple, at the same height on another hill to the North, with the Ganga flowing between, where we stood. He asked me just to feel the place. Haridwar, Gateway to the Gods, where the Ganga comes down from the Himalayas.

As we get back on the motorbike, I see another person, a young man alone, who's also just stopped his motorbike right on the road and is sitting there, feeling the place. There's energy here. The temples are powerful. Of course not everyone is religious, but those who are sincerely devoted have an energetic interaction with the divine that's not a part of American life. But because I wanted to talk about dhal, I will leave this topic for now - it's not exactly an easy one in all honesty. But it's clear to me that this is why I'm in India, eating this very strange diet.

Not the most elegant of transitions, but only to say I find the diet both bizarre and very effective. I feel great, but I don't really understand. I seem to be living on sugar, caffeine, wheat, white rice, potato and milk products - none of which I wanted in my diet. But I'm on my faithful travel plan - eat what I'm offered with gratitude - and it's working. I hope to write more about the fast and the rituals of Navratra later, but time's up for this post.

Closing with love to any of my friends who are still keeping up with me. By the way, a phone is in the works, though I don't know how long it will take as foreigners are no longer allowed to own phones, due to terrorism! Don't ask me, though I will say I have new insights on Pakistan being over here. Meanwhile, rest assured, I'll be able to get a phone, though not immediately. There's a popular saying here - impossible's not in my vocabulary.

some disturbed?

2009-04-05T22:49:00.000-07:00

That’s the question Kaushal asks me this morning before leaving to teach his yoga class. His house, where I’m staying, is under construction. After days of waiting the mason finally arrived, followed by the bull powered cart bearing a huge load of bricks. Even though I live here now, it’s still a thrill to walk out my front door and see something out of National Geographic. Less entertaining though is the looks the mason’s workers are giving me. I’ve already become very friendly and comfortable with the cabinetmakers. They’ve been here a few weeks and I’m helping with kitchen design. The head cabinetmaker is quite delighted to be considering new aesthetic issues and he now gives me a big smile, saying very good design (his only English) as he brings me cup after cup of chai. But the mason workers are another story. They’re quiet in that smoldering way and there’s one with that particular Indian male stare I loathe giving me yet another opportunity to practice self-remembering and not be bothered. Nonetheless, I’ve shut myself in the bedroom, unable even to bathe as this morning also began with no power and no water.

But truly I’m finding that nothing is much of a problem these days. My old habits and difficulties are just no longer plaguing me. Some anxiety arose and I lay down on the old folded blanket on the marble floor where I daily practice yoga and meditation (I’ve yet to see a yoga mat in these circles) and I lay in shivasana, corpse pose, until my heart’s rhythm started to slow. Then I slowly began my yoga routine, starting with the Himalayan joint opening exercises, but focusing on my breath and the relaxing of the internal body. Full concentration is not only required, but I now understand that only with full concentration are big gains possible. In my life in America, I somehow came to believe that full concentration, full participation, was outside my ability, available only in a rare moment here and there. Though at least I tried. Here it’s happening. And in all honesty, I’m not quite sure why or how, but I am doggedly and devotedly taking advantage of this opportunity. Speaking of which, back to it. I broke from my practice to jot down a couple of things for the blog, but while in the past I would’ve gotten lost in the computer, now my dusty blanket is calling, Marcie, your work is here. As they say here – I go.

Navratra

2009-03-30T00:44:00.000-07:00

I'm on Day 4 of the 9 day fast of Navratra. I just finished one of my hardest and most productive yoga practices ever, and I decide to let myself have just a little nap before starting pranayam and meditation. As I start to slip immediately away, I'm startled by an sharp, eerie, unearthly sound that jolts me upright. It's a pig walking outside the window. I laugh at not only my sleep sogged imagination, but yet another reminder, I'm in India. And then I'm out again, until I hear the knock on my door. YES? I leap up to open it and it's the carpenter bearing a lovely cup of chai. Kaushal not being here today, the carpenter's under instruction to keep me in good condition for the fast.

Navratra is a semi-annual 9 day festival of fasting and prayer. Occuring at both equinoxes, the fast is to clean the body to be in good health for the coming seasonal changes. It seems to me that in America, most, if any, of our wisdom on this topic is to have a positive attitude toward a change of season cold as a way to rid the body of accumulated toxins. How much better to turn it into a festival with that unique inseparable Hindu mix of religion, health and science. But this is uneducated rambling on my part. I realize I have little to say on the topic of what American life is like, my own experience being a mishmosh potpourri of who knows what. And I'm learning about India from people who speak very little English. Kaushal discourages book learning saying it fixes ideas in the mind and prevents inner understanding. So I'm just doing what everyone else is doing and checking it out for myself. I have to say I'm in excellent spirits. The last post was indeed a necessary down point which forced me to look more deeply within and find my own answers. And finally, finally with the understanding that there are no fixed answers and no mistakes either, for that matter. The amount of despair I experienced opened a new door to depths I couldn't have known were waiting for me. Trust only God was the instruction I came to. Human beings are so falliable, but that's our nature, it can't be the problem. In trusting God, I see that anything I might deem a mistake, is only a lesson I need, any difficulty an opportunity, and thus, the end of fear. OK, I know how that sounds, but this is my real experience. I've said YES - again, but yes to my path, a subtle but essential difference. Yes to India does not include me and then I'm adrift and at the mercy of those I hand over power to thinking they are India. But YES to my unknown path, trusting God, and whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! I no longer have doubts about why I'm here.

So when I suddenly hear that tomorrow starts Navratra and do I want to fast and do I want to do the midnight rituals, well friends, you know me by now! But it's not a fast like I ever could've imagined. Daytime is only milk, chai, and some fruit if necessary. I have been put on bananas and I think it's a good call. But meanwhile, it's very, very strange, because the main ingredient in the daytime seems to be, feels like, sugar. I'm drinking water, but most Indians rarely do so. So it's cup after cup of chai. Even to the Indians it's a big enough joke to get translated to me. When someone talks about how strictly they're observing the fast, someone else will say, yes, chai every half hour. I haven't experienced any hunger pangs at all, but I certainly am getting the sugar rushes.

Plus there's a full dinner. No wheat, rice or dhal, but there are special substitutions like a Navratra only type of rice and chestnut flour pakora and chapati. I eat like crazy for dinner, like a wild woman, though I haven't realized my hunger until that moment. In Indian, the more you eat, the more you're offered. Once satiated, I think, what the hell kind of fast is this? I've thought about that a lot, but I'm doing it 100% anyhow. Last night, after dinner, my intestines discreetly informed me that they were painlessly, but urgently, going to perform a cleanse. Unlike other times I've been in this situation, I just felt totally great, somehow mind and body in a harmonious releasing process, leaving me feeling clean and energetic. So today I'm not so worried about the sugar. Plus, as Kaushal says, it's a 9 day fast and I can't afford to lose much weight. He's telling me I need daily honey and I shudder to think of even more sugar in the diet, but what do I know? I am, at this very moment, both the best proportioned and most fit I've ever been in my entire life, with energy and confidence increasing daily.

Speaking of which, it's time now for my meditation practice and I'm trying to be faithful. So a quick posting and more soon I sincerely hope. Thanks much to everyone who's responded, I love hearing from you, and I will be in touch individually. I love you all!

Lord Shiva is calling

2009-03-23T05:16:00.001-07:00

Slowing down. Letting the decision I have not made, but is made, flicker and pulse from my heart through my body. Feeling my inner body now, as I’ve not before, feeling relaxation, not inertia, but vibrant patient life, flowing, yes, flowing, finally, finally, finally. I am ready to begin.

The path of the yogi.

I can’t help but remember the same thing from, can it be true, from only a few months – go to India. And where was I given this idea? At a Breema intensive, the passion of my last 10 years. There, of all places, there, where I was closest to what I was looking for, there, it came. Go to India.

But at that time I knew of no other possibility than letting the mind run rampant. Isn’t that the very nature of mind? My path was one of acceptance, not control. And indeed, acceptance offers a rising above, an opportunity to see transparency, to see thought as only thought, but for a brief moment here and there. With gratitude though, sincere gratitude. But my heart’s doubts could not be silenced. Is this enough? Yes, thank you for a moment of self-remembering here and there. But God, can I be closer to you?

My life is not my own. From that first shock of certainity, but was it a shock? I was 19. I had dropped out of college to bum around New Orleans, giving myself hard and wonderful experiences as it appears to be my fate to do so. I’ve not tried, I’ve mostly been burdened by impulsive, compulsive risk taking combined with a dangerous dose of naivete. So there I was walking around a lake in the poor rural outskirts of New Orleans. I’d left the city itself to travel with a boy I’d fallen deeply in love with. What a romance for a few brief days. But he was on a different journey. Despite his youth, he’d just left a wife and a rich, important, demanding family and was headed into the jungle to find himself. I have to laugh as I write this which has never been written before. The details are lost to time and to the innocence of my youth. Did this really happen? What was he thinking? What was I thinking? All I know is I said yes, I’ll go with you for three days and then you go alone. I remember the joy of the setting off and the gradual withdrawal as he prepared himself, leaving me behind before he left. I learned about that then, but that hasn’t stopped it from happening a thousand times since.

And so he dropped me, by a lake, alone, and I found a toothless sharecropper with 2 kids to share a night’s trailer with. He served me pig’s feet stew and tried to have his way with me, but luckily gave up without a fight. That was good. But it was before that. I’d been dropped off by the lake and so I decided to walk around it. I was heartbroken, but as that flooded through my body, something else arose in me too. I won’t describe the experience, because any words would be false. But my life was forever changed and my path forever clear, even in all the confusion and meandering that’s come since. I would follow. It was decided. I knew.

The first question Mr. Titu, manager of the forest ashram I’ve just returned from, asked me was my age. When I told him he said “Lord Shiva is calling you.” That sentence has been reverberating through me a lot since. The American in me keeps saying, don’t be ridiculous – on multiple levels. But I do know, and I do not say this without great hesitation, embarrassment and some fear too, that it’s true. Lord Shiva is calling me. Why have I come to India? How did I meet Kaushal, friend of my soul? For what have I already gone through such trials and tribulations?

Lord Shiva is calling. The path of the yogi. Living in India. Again, a yes to the unknown. With a wish to know I'm saying yes to the moment.

the truth comes out

2009-03-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

Kaushal was planning to take me to Tarkeshwar, a very small forest ashram at a religious power spot. He had his wife's blessings, and her help with packing, and permission from his job for the days off. But after 3 days of being browbeaten into believing that Kaushal was an evil tantric manipulating madman, setting me up for dire consequences, I decided to cancel. The problem was I had to get some of my luggage from Kaushal's house. I had to say no and good-bye in person.

I made up excuses for not going to the forest and I cried, for in reality I was quite a wreck after the onslaught of negativity I'd heard about my supposed friend. At the end of my rambling Kaushal was quiet. Then he said, I've never forced you into anything, it's your choice. But I ask you just one more time if you want to go to Tarkeshwar?

Out of my mouth came a "yes". To this day, I have no doubt that yes came from God; I was shocked and horrified. But the yes came out with it's own certainty and I followed its will. That yes changed my life.

I had one more night at the hotel and one more night of hearing Kaushal painted black, but I went to Tarkeshwar. An hour into the trip I realized I was happy with Kaushal, and not just happy, but his presence was supportive to my spiritual practice, my aim. Could I say the same about the hotel manager? No, the time spent with him made me miserable, questioning, depressed. Kaushal was taking me to a very special sacred spot, that I could never have found on my own. The hotel manager wanted me to go with him and his wife to some fancy condo in Goa. Who had a better sense of me?

This post has actually been inserted much later. Four months have now passed and my computer is working reliably for the first time since I've been in India. I want to start writing again and it's actually hurt me to know I've not amended my prior blog. I heard a lot of bad things about Kaushal at that time and a portion of them were true. I know this directly because there's been no need to hide the unsavory aspects of our own lives. But in the end the whole thing was not even about Kaushal, but the irrational jealousy of the hotel manager. Jealousy never comes to a good result and the hotel manager lost 2 friends. He's continued to make other efforts damage Kaushal's reputation, but again his lies have brought about the opposite of his intent.

Kaushal's not perfect, far from it, just like me, just like all of us. He and I share some of the same struggles which makes him an excellent teacher for me. Meanwhile, he's become one of the best friends I've ever had, he's now my business partner and I really am a part of his family, formalities are long past. It's not been easy for me to trust, particularly in India, and I've had to go through a lot of doubting, questioning and analyzing. And Kaushal and I fight; we bring out the volatile, reactive side in each other. But every time I check within myself, I check with God, the answer, so far, remains the same - you're in the right place, Marcie, hang in there, everything you've ever wished for is coming your way. When I think of what I've wished for I'm struck by the fact that it's never once been ease. So why would I complain to be maximally challenged? When I think of what I've wished for, it's only ever been one thing.

I wish to be with God.

Blessings to the hotel manager, for me it was an invaluable experience, but I'm heartbroken at the inner pain that would make someone want to do harm to a friend.

2 quotes, with gratitude, from the Dalai Lama:
In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher.
Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.

dear friends

2009-03-12T22:59:00.000-07:00

This is really going to be more of a personal letter. My official blogging has not been going well. I've had enormous technical issues that have taken up an inordinate amount of my travel time. Has it been a waste? I no longer have any sense of what we're supposed to be doing with this life we've been given. I'm learning a lot, so does it matter whether I'm in some grubby computer store or cybercafe or at my desk getting nowhere? Should I be seeing more temples, getting out more, doing more yoga, less yoga, spending more money, less money? I have no answers, I have no plan.

Warning - the past couple days have been rough. I'm not ready to give up and I'm changing direction totally, right after writing this. This is where I'm at in this moment. But do realize I'm writing from a dark place and as it changes, as it will, I may or may not be able to be much in touch, either technically, geographically or depending on what kind of program I'm doing. So don't worry about me dear friends. If I get in any bad situations or need help, I won't hesitate to ask. So please no worries on my behalf. I'm being taken care of.

So in terms of events and travels, I haven't written (or rather I have but haven't had the time for the uploading machinations) about the international yoga festival which briefly was a joke. The superficializing of the profound. The politicizing and marketing of the spiritual. I stayed at a luxury ashram, luxury from the outside, the rooms were disgusting pits and mostly I was pretty deeply depressed by the commercialization and westernization of yoga. One guided meditation was just ridiculous psycho-babble (by the guru's right hand girl, a Stanford grad who's renunciated her past life to live in some bizarre bubble here - note to self!) I got the dreaded food poisoning, but actually it was a relief just to spend time in bed. There was one great teacher, the one sent from the Iyengar school, and by the end I wasn't participating in anything other than his class. In typical Marcie fashion I took everything too hard and too seriously, feeling devastated by what I was witnessing. I have to say, I honestly don't know what my problem is. I'm not always rolling with the punches. In Breema terms, it's important to have acceptance, but at this moment I'm questioning my basic functionality in life and can't see that acceptance alone is going to help.

I'm having a hard time. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

So anyhow, I was delighted to come back to Haridwar. Again I haven't written (or it remains not uploaded) about the extent to which I'd become involved in Kaushal's life. Amazing experience. Welcomed, taken into his family, his community. My back's getting better, my yoga and meditation better. He's helping me with everything to do with Indian life, his wife loves having me over, his son calls me Auntie. He and his friends are good people, Indian style; there's a lot of heartfulness expressed here especially from the men. Kaushal and his friends are kind, compassionate and intelligent. Amongst this group I've only been welcomed and included, no one's trying to get anything from me. This is the educated, but traditional middle class. When I'm invited along on a journey, I'm not allowed to open my wallet. I have to fight with Kaushal in order to pay him for a private yoga class. It's all so exciting and such an adventure. But can I trust what's happening?

When Kaushal and his friend Shahji came to pick up me up from the yoga fest, I was so happy and relieved to see them. And unbeknownst to me, we were on the way to meet a real Himalayan guru. Real or not, I can't evaluate, he only speaks Hindi, but the energy was great. I felt like I was back in the real India and I felt my optimism rising again.

Guess what folks? Too good to be true is very probably not true. Due to the Indian holiday of Holi, it was decided that I should stay in the luxury hotel where I'd first stayed, where the general manager, Krishnan, is my friend and where I first met Kaushal. I hope to write more on Holi later but it's primarily a water balloon, paint holiday and I didn't feel like getting trashed, though it was fun watching from the roof. Fun also to see the newspaper pictures of all the politicians covered in Holi paint - how to prove you're one of the people.

Krishnan had not realized I'd gotten so involved with Kaushal and his friends and he spent the next 3 evenings giving my the lay of the land. Bit by devastating bit, I'm getting the picture. Not that Kaushal's done anything wrong or hurt me in any way whatsoever, but I'm torn apart by my own life and decision making and what I catch and what I miss and just not understanding why I am the way I am. What I've finally put together is that Kaushal essentially is a repeat of Russell, for those of you who remember my first husband. Kaushal is considered a magic man - his skills, his understanding, everyone acknowledges that Kaushal can do anything and he's loved by many. That said, apparently, and I never saw this, he can't function not on grass, as they call it here, and his life is in a shambles and he's the leader of a rag tag group of friends. Really lovely people, again no one denies that, and lovely on the level of being honest and generous with each other, and acting with integrity, but high levels of drug and alcohol use and perhaps the only intelligent one is Kaushal. A bunch of Indian middle class losers.

So Kaushal fed me a dream - of who he was and what he's doing, and the thing is, I think he totally believes it. He has a very high level of self-delusion but it's not based on nothing. He really heals people, when he bothers to work with anyone, which apparently he doesn't do much, though he was always there for me. His astrological forecasting is widely respected, with politicians and lots of rich people calling him from all over India, but he doesn't ask for money and he's totally unstructured and unorganized and not doing a good job of caring for his family. In fact, his real family, who are apparently multi-millionaires, kicked him out giving him an unfinished house as a final gesture. As someone tried to explain to me, he's unable to be serious in his own life.

I'm shattered, but it has actually little to do with Kaushal and all to do with me. For one thing I let myself get completely dependent on him and as I'm getting back into India I find in fact I don't like being a woman alone here at all. Yesterday I walked to this temple and even the monkeys were threatening. I bought some prasad realizing it is the proper thing to do when visiting a temple and a monkey had taken it from me in less than 20 seconds. But yesterday was a low, low, low day for me and anything would've and did make me miserable. Last night was when I came to clarity on this whole thing and today I'm starting over. But I'm sad. For one thing, Kaushal is a lovely person and in terms of my actual experiences with him, I'm very sad to lose the fantasy too. It probably didn't have much more life in it anyhow, cracks had begun, but best out immediately. Which I have not always done, but now I am.

SO - here I am, realizing I don't really understand anything about India, but the killer being that I don't understand anything about me. I can't help but wonder if I attract all these brilliant and dysfunctional people because I am the same? What am I doing here? Why can't I simply find a job and make it work? What is wrong with me? Should I give up and come home, but what will I do? Work at Rainbow? Live in a shared house? Do I think there's anything wrong with that? Today I'm forcing myself out of bed because I think it's time for me to deal with life a little differently. How long can I be so naive? Why can I see somethings so clearly (I was talking with Krishnan about the yoga festival and he summed up what's happening so beautifully, he called it all - shockingly shit)and then just pull in the same personality traits over and over and over again? I fell for something here and I'm not even clear what 'cause I only saw the good side. The dark sides of Kaushal I've had to take on faith, but the clues are all over the place. That said, Kaushal never took anything from me, never hurt me, was only there, there, there and deeply so. But at this moment, as the tears are coming - I can only keep repeating to myself, what the fuck is wrong with me? Right now, I'm deep in being lost.

But soon I'm going online and I have good recommedations for a very nice ashram with a very nice program, the one I mentioned in my blog about Cristian. I have some other plans (I think a Himalayan trek is called for) and I'm giving myself some time. A part of me wants to race back home, but even just in writing this, I'm getting the first glimmer that hopefully this can be, wiil be useful. So far I've just been relentlessly critical of myself. But, as they say, it's always darkest before the dawn. I hate India - and I love it. There are possibilities here that I don't feel back at the home. But there's a lot of shit to wade through, both externally and internally, and there's no escape. I think I'll stay just one more day in this nice hotel!

I've taken the risk just to lay it all out there. Please friends, don't worry about me. All is well. There's a process happening that I just don't understand yet. But it's leading me in the direction of wishing to be productive and responsible, but somehow without giving up my quest for God. Wouldn't it be funny if it's India that helps me to be less woo-woo and more practical and grounded? And with each time I do this, the situations get less emotionally damaging, shorter lasting and an increased commitment to go more slowly, look ever more carefully. I wish I could beat some understanding and maturity into myself, but I promise to do the best I can. I'm rising up again already.

I love you all and miss you,
marcie

tuskar hati

2009-03-10T05:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve had so many technical problems that I’ve not spent the time I wanted to writing. There are things I’m sad not to share. During my stay at the ashram, the holiday of Shivaratri was coming up. For about a week before, pilgrims started coming. People walking to a special spot at the Ganges and gathering water to bring back to their village. More and more started coming, thousands of people walking day and night to gather water.

I’m already getting used to things like this. I’m actually amazingly comfortable in India. It’s home already. So sometimes I will myself to remember. I love the cows wandering around, the goars, the pigs – all on the road, all interacting.

But there is one experience I must write about. I saw a wild elephant. We were coming back from the wedding, taking the long route home in order to show me Nainital, the Swiss resort of India. After a short boat ride in the lake, we got back in the car and proceeded through the jungle. Just as we were about to leave the area, Kaushal suddenly said stop. In retrospect, there’s no doubting the guy’s tuned on, but at the time, it was just to get some last jungle air before hitting the upcoming polluted towns. I see this beautiful tree and go wandering off to give it a hug. Sanjay comes and takes my picture and we head back to the road and take some more pictures by this termite colony, snake home. Almost immediately Chennibhai shouts elephant, elephant. We look up and see this running elephant, right near the tree I’d been at moments before. I cross the road to get a good look and everyone starts shouting at me, get in the car, get in the car. I obey and we drive off. I got a very good look, though I would’ve liked to have stayed, but then the stories start. Elephants treat a car like a ball. An elephant will put one foot on your foot and lift your leg with his trunk and split you in two. I believe it; I’ve already heard how many people die from elephants every year.

But I’m in awe. I’ve seen a wild elephant. I nearly cried. It was like something from the elephant entered my soul. But that’s sentimentalizing. I don’t know what happened, but I felt different after seeing that elephant. I couldn’t really speak. The others chattered away in Hindi and I just sat in awe.

After an hour or so, I’m back with the group and then I find out. We saw a tuskar hati – a dangerous elephant. Elephants in packs are pretty gentle and not that interested in non-threatening human beings, but when you see an elephant alone and running, that’s a killer elephant. Everyone but me knew, really knew. Suddenly I replay the scene in my mind and I understand it anew. The unmistakable urgency for me to get in the car, the speed with which we left.

But now it’s long past and we’re all safe. And I saw an elephant.

ashram life

2009-03-03T05:42:00.000-08:00

I'm a ghost.

Ten days into India and I’ve moved out of the expensive but lovely Haveli Hari Ganga and into an ashram that Kaushal is somehow connected to. Seems like there’s no pilgrims here, only staff, but I can’t tell. No one speaks English, no one has the least interest in me. Kaushal’s introduced me to Bandari, the cook, and Bandari’s supposed to make sure I'm OK.

And so I move about the ashram as if it were my personal palace, for indeed it's a lovely place. In the 2 weeks I was there, I didn't have a single conversation with anyone, except the Madam, the very rich Malaysian woman who built this ashram for her Guru.

She dominates the atmosphere in very odd ways when she's there, but she lets me use the hot water in her room for bathing and mostly she's away anyhow. I continue to wordlessly glide around.

My room is simple, but has a table and sofa and 2 chairs and I'm very comfortable. The ashram is spacious and quiet. Three floors with a large meditation room on the ground floor and a beautiful marble temple in back.

Initially I'm eating most of my meals at the ashram. Tasty, always with chapati and usually rice. Always with dhal though sometimes it's closer to gruel. One time Kaushal comes to eat with me and jokes that this is what they serve in prison. Earlier on, there were some green vegetables, but that changed to potatoes with hints of cauliflower and sometimes fried potatoes or nothing at all. I started to desperately miss vegetables. It took me a couple of days to both realize and explain that indeed I don't care about meat, but I need vegetables. More and more Kaushal started bringing me over to his house for great homestyle vegetable dishes, including organic veg as available. Both he and his wife are great cooks and she's so genuinely welcoming, I've become part of the family. Their young son calls me Auntie and is popping out the English words. If I don't see them for a day, they miss me and I them. I have a family. Of which you will be hearing more.

Meanwhile my days at the ashram developed a rhythm. Chai in the morning and 1 hour of hard yoga followed by 1 hour of meditation with brief prayers at the Ganges between. Hey, did I happen to mention that this ashram is on the Ganges and across the river is unspoiled forest? Did I happen to mention that my meditation takes place in the center of the dome of a beautiful marble temple with intricate statuary all over and in which I'm completely left alone? Did I happen to mention that a 2 week stay at the ashram, with food, cost me not quite $80? Did I happen to mention I'm very happy?

I never know what's coming up next in India. At first I was uncomfortable in my visible, invisible role in ashram life, but I began to love the freedom from interaction. It took me longer than expected to enjoy mixing the rice and dhal with my fingers before putting it in my mouth. I had to remind myself that I was actually getting to play with my food. Now I fully understand when they say eating with fingers gives the actual taste which a spoon does not. As I write this I'm at a gigundo mega ashram that offers tours of the facilities and the first day I turned the corner to see a giant bunny rabbit holding a trash can. Today I found the frog trash bin.

At the ashram, I used to walk into town to get bottled water and toilet paper. First down my neighborhood dirt road, subtly peering into people's daily lives, then down the next road with the goats, pigs and cows, then past the fancy ashram with an 85 yr old French psychologist guru, then past the large Shiva temple with a Bodhi tree to which pilgrims from all over come and then into town. I wish I could take you all on a walk with me.

dogs

2009-03-03T05:33:00.000-08:00

I’ve passed the same puppy several times now. The first time I noticed the incongruity of this cute but big, round, fluffy black and white puppy, sucking on the tit of a yellow skinny teenage Mom dog. I wondered what the Dad looked like and marveled at the Mom/pup size similarity. It reminded me of the time camping that I was having a conversation with this woman while she was breastfeeding her child. He must’ve been at least 4, grabbing at her tits saying “milk Mommy, milk Mommy”, his legs almost touching the ground.

The next time I passed the doggies, the puppy was kind of chasing the Mom and she seemed less than willing to keep the feeding going. The time after that the puppy was alone on the road, adorable and friendly, but I’m not yet ready to enter into a relationship with an Indian dog. I’d been thinking they were just semi-starving, mangy, unloved creatures, but at one ashram they’re totally pets. Other than that I haven’t seen a lot of human/dog play. But the dogs at this ashram are as fat as if they were American and when I was sitting outside yesterday a big old one came and just sat quietly right next to me.

I’m starting to recognize other neighborhood dogs and learn their personalities, which gives me much to wonder about. Why do untrained, unneutered dogs stick so close to home here when many American dogs threaten to run away wily nily if they aren’t otherwise instructed. I’m fascinated at how even dog behavior is cultural. I’m still suffering with the cultural distinctions in body function. Why is it that Indian food always makes my nose run and doesn’t affect anyone else that way? I hate pulling out a kleenex, blowing my nose in it and sticking it back in a pocket. I think it’s equivalently gross to an Indian as the spitting and hocking up is to us. Though I suspect they are both more tolerant and less judgmental. But I could be wrong. As my friend Kaushil would say – not confirmed.

Today he and I went to the jungle and after some chai at a very small village, we walked up these old steps cut into a steep hill to a very old, rustic mountaintop temple. The village dog walked right beside us, quietly and politely, all the way up. She found a perfect spot on a corner of the temple grounds with the wind blowing directly in her face. She stayed there until we were ready to go and accompanied us down again.

On the way back to the ashram, the Mom and puppy were in there usual spots, but separated by several feet. The puppy is getting skinny now.

the wedding

2009-02-23T05:12:00.000-08:00

I got invited to a local wedding. It was easy to find. Just follow the blinking colored lights to a gaily festooned entrance over which sat a giant yellow lit up Ganesha. Below were the gatekeepers, dressed in some unplaceable traditional style which included fake handlebar moustaches. They opened and closed their aluminum foil tridents for each guest who passed. Just beyond them were 4 girls in white Little Bo Peep outfits throwing flower petals on all the guests. I walked in to the large open yard with food booths along the perimeter to see another Hindu style festival – lights, decorations, the dance floor with the teen age boys wildly doing the latest Bollywood moves. There were 2 Santa Clauses in front of me, but as I passed them I saw they were wearing elf masks. For a moment I almost expected to see a ferris wheel and cotton candy, but instead were women dressed in their maximumly sequined saris. The food was outrageously good and outrageously plentiful and outrageously consumed.

How sad it must be to be an NRI (non-resident Indian and the source of significant tourist dollars). The rest of the world must seem so bland and staid.

yoga class - day 4

2009-02-20T05:13:00.000-08:00

Something happened after 3 days in bed in Delhi and my back was in such pain I couldn’t remember when it had been so bad. But I still didn’t doubt Kaushal Kaushik when he felt my back and said “3-4 days yoga – no more problem”. He’s got that kind of authority, tempered by an irrepressible twinkle in the eyes. Kind and confident, so clearly trustworthy that I just watch as the old thoughts come up – he’s a charlatan, he’s just in it for the money. I don’t go there. Why would I want to sabotage a chance for what I’ve been praying for – real help, the next step. I’m fascinated all the time now to watch my thoughts, to see how little they have to do with my experience of India and everything to do with a conceptualized, media-ized India. Not that they’re even wrong, they’re just thoughts, but believing them creates a barrier that doesn’t let me in to what’s happening. And what’s happening is simply amazing. I've met Kaushal Kaushik, a genuine yogi, healer, astrologer and lovely human being.

This is what I came to India for. I'm starting to understand, things are starting to be revealed. This is where I should be. The doubts in Delhi were left there. This, now, is worth the difficulty of saying good-bye to my life as I knew it. I feel like the luckiest person on earth these days. I love India, deeply, like a returning to something unknowingly longed for and now fulfilled. Plus there's no doubt I've been dropped into something very special. Still, it’s not like I'm believing or even hoping for anything, well maybe hoping. The yoga festival's coming up and I'm not even walking without pain. But Kaushal's not interested in the immediate, the problems he wants to address have been life long, pain enough to send me to orthopedic surgeons in my mid-20s. I really only know the Western approach – nothing on the x-ray, do 10 sit ups a day and live with it. Even yoga in America does not attempt to reorganize the spine in a matter of hours. But that's precisely what Kaushal is doing.

So now I’ve got an Indian yogi putting me in positions I swear are impossible. Kaushal tells me how to get in the posture and then he makes it correct, stretching me beyond anything I knew was possible. The amount of strength he uses is terrifying to experience and yet I’ve had not one iota of soreness, feeling overstretched or more pain. Only relief, with day by day rapid improvement. I realize I never knew what yoga felt like before. With 2 words of broken English I’ve learned more from Kaushal than in the sum total of all my yoga classes. And I loved those classes, but no wonder I couldn’t find what I was looking for in that yoga. Sincerity of teachers aside, it simply wasn’t there. Kaushal calls it lazy yoga or stylish yoga – it’s equally a problem in India too. He’ll only work with people who want to work hard, who want to prepare for real meditation. At the end of ½ an hour with Kaushal my whole body is trembling, with shock, with newness, with exhaustion, with relief. Each day quantum improvement, each day more difficult positions. In each posture I don’t know whether I’ll cry, break, fall or expire, but Kaushal counts the seconds and I stay in the asana. And then, relax. In this yoga, it’s shivasana after every asana and the body just lets go.

So in fact, after 4 days, I do have a new spine. I thought the bumps and protrusions were just the nature of my back. No, no, no. Kaushal says my verterbra were badly out. But not now, 4 days later. I just keep reaching around to my lower back, feeling the smoothness, vertebra becoming properly aligned. Getting ready for meditation.

mobbed

2009-02-15T04:41:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I ventured out to see the Aarti, the most touted event of this holy city of Haridwar. At dusk, hundreds of people buy a banana leaf filled with marigolds which, after a small ritual including drinking Ganges water, is set on fire and floats down the sacred river to more prayers and chants. A lovely, beautiful, spiritual ceremony – or so I thought.

I walk through the narrow streets taking in the plastic bottle wallah, a man walking with all different sizes of plastic bottles in large quantity radiating out like an oversized plastic peacock, translucent and blue, the young boy rolling a 4’x4’ cart of vibrant nuts and other edibles I’ve never seen, while shoppers, walkers, motorcycles, bike and auto rickshaws keep flowing down a road barely 6 feet across. It all works in India.

I come out to the Ganges, camera in hand and want to take a picture of a group of sadhus hanging out. Suddenly they start coming toward me – uh oh, have I shown disrespect? But no, they want a donation, but they can’t take money. So I head off accompanied by 7 sadhus to buy rice. As soon as they hear the generous amount I’m willing to buy, they immediately ask for triple. A hard negotiation ensues between sadhus, shopkeeper and me, but everyone ends up happy. Then, still inspired by Cristian, I give a beggar some money and – I’m mobbed. Kids, grannies, cripples, and other deserving pathetics all over me, at least 10 in the first encircling, grabbing and clawing at me. I start screaming NO and am fighting to get out. I suspect some kind Indians behind me pulled away the worst of the crowd and the grannies and cripples couldn’t keep up with me as I started running but the kids are tireless and have nothing else to do, so they just stayed with me, endlessly chanting, ten rupees, ten rupees. But you know what? This was not even the worst of the begging. Once away from the real ones, the ghat priests and administrators hit me hard with official paperwork. Each one has a different organization that demands money, though it is not obligatory. As soon as one leaves, the next shows up with the next receipt book. Suffice it to say that after an hour of being mercilessly financially hit up by anyone who possibly could, I went back to the hotel distraught and tired.

This unfortunately is not an atypical foreigner’s experience and it also unfortunately makes perfect sense. Of course these people want our money, it’s not there for them in their own lives and they know for us it’s nothing, if they can just figure out how to get it from us. They're beggars, so they beg. Sadly, the first tier of interaction with India is often with the forgotten, the hopeless and the desperate, unless it happens to be with the aggressive staring men, the cheaters - or all of them at once. Sadly, some foreigners never really see anything else, except in the safety of the hotel and through other insulating techniques. Sadly, it's a vicious cycle in which as a foreign tourist I can't not play my own despicable role, merely by being here. Shortly after this incident, my life in India took me completely out of the tourist areas and this experience has not been repeated. I’m staying in an area unused to foreigners. The children are friendly and there’s no begging, though it's a poor area. But the deeper issues still pain me. Is it inevitable that foreigners wreck something of India by their mere presence? And what can I do? I no longer give beggars money, I can't take that risk, but perhaps, as I stay on, it's time for me to find a way to be genuinely charitable, out of gratitude to this amazing place that is so, so, so much more than what I've described. I don't know how I got so lucky to be taken in, but I have been. So now we're going to enter another India.

Cristian

2009-02-14T23:32:00.000-08:00

There’s one person in the dining room at the hotel besides me. I’m asking some question of the waiter and he speaks up to help and we continue talking. His name is Cristian and he’s a chef in Switzerland (along with being a very successful businessman amongst other things). He’s spending a month at this hotel to improve the cooking and the menus. He’s in his last days here and it’s obvious he’s done a fabulous job.

He later tells me he recognized some controlled terror in me and thought he’d best help out. Thank you, Cristian! It’s true, it’s not been easy for me traveling alone in India. I’d been coping, but with a definite lack of grace. Cristian and I become almost inseperable for the next day and a half until his departure and it was transformative for both me and my trip.

For one thing Cristian’s aesthetics are impeccable and his traveling style an art form. He’s gay, but wtih surprising immediate honesty, he also told me he’s been living with AIDS for 24 years. You’d never guess what he’s been through with all the confident vitality that pours out from his being. His fearless love of life helped me to see that bold and foolish are not be the same thing.

Cristian showed me how you just give some of the beggars a little something and a smooth hassle free road opens up. He reminded me that in fact we want to do this. He explained that there’s 2 prices for everything and again, it’s fine. Why should we pay the same as the local people? These things flew against my conventional traveling wisdom and immediately felt right, made me more comfortable. We talked about how much fear there is about travel in India and how that makes it impossible to distinguish what’s really happening. In fact, India can be one of the safest places in the world with proper observation and behavior. Cristian brought me to a sidewalk chole stand, the biggest no no in all the travel books, where we had a delicious fresh meal. In fact most stands are using fresher oil than many of the restaurants. He pointed out things I should notice and expanded my observational vocabulary.

And then he introduced me to his favorite people. We went up to Rishikesh to have lunch with his travel agent. Once again I would’ve made the assumption that anyone in a tourist business just wants to rip you off for whatever they can get of which there are certainly plenty of this type and additionally, it makes sense even if it feels terrible all around. It was fascinating to listen to Rajkesh. He was a diamond merchant in Mumbai for 5 years when his father summoned him back because they wanted him close to the family. He started this business and his father talked to him about providing an honest service that whoever came would know they could trust them. His reverence for his father was tangible and not forced. This was just part of the light chit chat at lunch as topics came and went. But I was moved to hear a young successful businessman’s ideas, feelings and concerns about India and how he negotiates living a proper life.

Then up to the northern reaches of Rishikesh, away from the mega-ashrams with their name brand gurus, to a little place tucked away where Cristian spent three weeks, in partial silence, with lots of yoga, chanting and meditation. The woman swami is delighted to see Cristian and they take me on a tour. It’s located next to the Ganges which is so clean here it’s even safe for foreigners to drink, though don’t worry I won’t do it. It’s probably too cold for me to even take a swim, though I must get in at some point. This ashram has a large impressive organic garden from which they make their sattvic dishes (the gentler, milder, more religious food with no onions or garlic). At one point, I’m standing on a roof overlooking the garden, Ganges flowing mere feet away, looking up into the hills which are hiding the Himalayas beyond. A farm here and there, but this ashram is at the end of the road. Beautiful! If I come for this experience, this will be the place.

But meanwhile Cristian has told me about Kaushal, the man he’s getting private yoga classes from. He wants me to meet him. He says he’s the best yoga teacher in this whole area of countless yoga teachers. He tells me ½ hour with Kaushal was more significant than 6 years of yoga at home plus the ashram. He tells me he’s starting real yoga only now and only wishes he had more time with Kaushal but will be back. I trust Cristian and look forward to meeting Kaushal.

Cristian and I talk and talk and talk and by the time he leaves I not only have a friend I hope to know my whole life, God willing, but I’ve gone from terrified novice traveler to ready to enter an India I hadn’t even contemplated living in – real Indian life with basically no other Westerners. This used to be the way I traveled and I had thought it was me seeking it out. As I now am going deeper in than I’ve been before, I see it’s the opposite – the experiences are seeking me out. I just wish to keep my eyes open and have the wisdom and courage to say YES, when that is what’s called for.

Cristian’s my inspiration for the art of the YES. He leaves me with everything and everyone he loved on his trip plus a gift of an inscribed book of meditations by Krishnamurti and we both continue onward.

“There’s no meditator in meditation. If there is, it is not meditation.” Krishnamurti

it's India

2009-02-11T23:31:00.000-08:00

Last post had me still trying to awaken from my descent into fear and doubt, manifesting as a cold, but indeed I emerged ready to leave the cocoon. I really couldn’t have started in a more welcoming place than the Hotel Shanti Home. Pooja, a young woman who ably managed the hotel, took care of me as one of her own, getting the kitchen to prepare special food and telling me when and how much to eat and why – Ayurveda is certainly alive and well here. Not only are we now facebook friends but at the end of my stay, she shared her spiritual path with me. Everywhere I’m finding the level of spirituality beyond anything I could’ve imagined, beyond my concepts of what it’s like in India. I guess I’d assumed it was more formulaic and less heartfelt, as I felt in Bali last time I was there, but what I’ve been experiencing around me is sincere and deep. Definitely more on this topic to come.

So arise I did, getting up at 5am for the train trip to Haridwar, the Gateway to the Gods. The driver drops me at the station and arranges for a luggage wallah to get me and my bags to the right place. As I’m struggling to keep up with him, I’m nonetheless enjoying watching him, experiencing natural life art through his posture, his movements, his confidence, as he quickly guides me through the throngs, answering the questions of many travelling Indians without pausing en route, stopping only once to check my ticket because indeed I had the time wrong and he caught it, navigating around drivers and workers with heavy loads and making sure I too could jump and dodge and still keep moving. All this with my heavy bag on his head. He dropped me off precisely at my seat, put the bag in the rack and I gave him the equivalent of $2. He gasped – only one bag, he asked. I answered yes and he was gone. Of course I later found out a generous price was 25 cents and this makes it hard for us foreigners because now they see a foreigner and they want the $2 and this is a genuine dilemma. But this time I didn’t worry. I was in awe. And I didn’t have any small change.

Getting off in Haridwar was a very different experience from Delhi. No one hassling me, no one even noticing me. I went to the taxi stand and someone helped me with my luggage and someone got me the proper transportation and someone arranged the proper price. No one’s job, it just happens. Indians are extremely helpful. When I’m not fearful, it’s quite easy. So I got in the bicycle rickshaw and just relaxed. I was on my own and on the move and I was happy. I turn my head to see this intricately beautiful temple and here I am. Completely happy.

The hotel, Haveli Hari Ganga, is yet another exceptional place - a gorgeous, old spacious hotel with a large open atrium in the middle in which there’s a temple, daily fresh puja flowers, prayers in the morning and singers at night. The hotel is expensive, but because they were not busy that day, the manager was willing to upgrade my room to a Ganges view and throw in all meals – for less than $100/night. Plus all money concerns dropped away when I saw my magnificent room, every corner, every space having a lovely little detail and then opening my doors to a balcony with the Ganges flowing right below me. Mother Ganges. Even now, increasing daily, my heart opens at even the thought of this sacred river.

Unpack a bit and out I go to explore. I’m walking toward the most famous ghat and I’m being filled with the incredible sights and sounds of India. At one point, I stop transfixed. A group of sadhus with drums and a makeshift loudspeaker are singing and praying at their small temple which has a brightly lit up hot pink OM and flashing colored lights circling it. At first, I think it’s a joke or a parody, but no, this is the real thing. I just look around and think – India is Burning Man, India is Burning Man, but no, India is real, with one of the most profound and long lasting cultures in the world and it totally tops Burning Man in unimaginable outrageousness. I walk onto a bridge and look out over a scene I could never make up. Hundreds of Hindus at a most sacred spot, bathing and partying with temples and beggars and everything to buy and eat and all the colors and all the sounds. Oh, here is where I wish I could really write. But I can say it’s a moment I’ll never forget. Just standing there, alone and at ease, taking in an incredible scene and just being so, so, so grateful.

ready

2009-02-09T17:12:00.000-08:00

The original title of this post was 'rough start'. After sleeping for 48 hours, it's changed.

The cold I came down with got worse until my body took over and said - that's it. My energy was such that my only volitional act was which side to sleep on. The next day was better but I still took 7 naps. I'd walk around my room a bit and think, well, I'll just rest a little more and I'd be instantly out.

It's amazing how long time feels when you're sleeping. My semi-delirium was perfect ground for self-doubt and self-judgment. But somehow, that was balanced with acceptance. Nothing like being comatose to realize I'm not making the decisions.

And all the while, just watching, and feeling, some kind of reorganization happening, getting ready. I need it. Because I am in India.

my hood

2009-02-07T18:07:00.000-08:00

OK, I got scared. And let's just say that's probably not a bad thing. Then cold I'd been fighting for the last month erupted full blown and I spent yesterday quite contentedly in the confines of my hotel room. This morning I woke up early. My very first thought was HAPPY BIRTHDAY NINA who turns 17 today and is one of my favorite people on earth. May anyone reading this join me in wishing her the best!

Then I thought it's time to venture out again. Delhi's very quiet until about 7:30. So I wrapped a scarf around my neck and went out to see where I am. My hotel is in an interesting neighborhood - quite far from the center of town, though on the metro line. It's a bold location for a "4 star" hotel, a neighborhood that's just starting to be gentrified - Delhi style. There's some new homes with lovely iron gating mixed amongst socialist style concrete block houses. We're at least 4 blocks away from rotting hovels and not that many people are living on the sidewalks, though I did pass some smoldering sidewalk fires which hopefully provided night time warmth. The sidewalks here are primarily used for men to make a quick stop and take a leak, anywhere, anytime. Which does not stop them from staring at me. But then again it's not a neighborhood that's used to a middle aged white women walking alone and blowing her nose (considered uncouth, much better just to hack the stuff up and spit it out). This neighborhood is completely residential which means there's not even a shop for me to buy water. Luckily the hotel's food is excellent, though not cheap. But they've done a lovely job here and if I'm going to be trapped in Delhi, this is not a bad place, though I certainly miss freely walking around. I actually think I'd be safe, but I tire quickly of the way I'm stared at, the way men have no compunction about trying to engage me. This of course is not all men, only the worse sort. And then it's also the pollution, like none other I've experienced. The car fumes are low to the ground, mixed with rotting garbage everywhere and I shudder to think what else. I don't know how the human body can endure it and there are still plenty of bicycle powered rickshaws. I'm so glad I chose the foothills of the Himalayas to spend my time. My main question today is how soon to go. But this cold has not only sapped my energy, but blocked my sinuses and I can't bear to go out without the benefit of the nose's filtration system. So I'm holing up again.

Notes on the photos: old Delhi on top - a sacred cow gets first dibs on the garbage just out of smell shot of my hotel. An early morning puja flower delivery bicycle with a boy who can unerringly throw onto any height of porch. new Delhi below - The nicest house in the hood with 2 cars no less. And a funny sign, but really things have not changed hugely for women. There just aren't that many on the streets. At the metro at rush hour, the line of men waiting to get through security (after Mumbai) was a block long, the women's line, empty.

history repeats itself

2009-02-06T15:34:00.000-08:00

Twenty years ago I told my mother I was going to India by myself and that was a little alarming to her. My brother saved the day by being willing to accompany me and we had a great time together. Flash forward and now I am alone in India. Mom, you were right!

When my brother and I first arrived here, we went to Connaught Circle, the hub of the city. We were walking around this horrible, filthy, run down circle. I was watching the Indians spit out big wads of red betel nut juice which thickly colored curbs, corners and crevices, when a begging leper came up and touched my brother's elbow. Gary just turned and gave me a look I still remember vividly and said, Where have you brought me?

Guess what Gary? It's even worse and add in pollution that makes me wish I didn't need to breathe. Which begs the question of why would I choose Connaught Circle as my re-entry to India? Soul searching has begun. But to those of you who know me well, not to worry. For future outings, I'm hiring a guide. That said, I did find some peace and beauty at a temple and a park. But GET ME OUT OF DELHI!

...still, look at that photo. I'm in India!

en route

2009-02-05T20:49:00.000-08:00

It’s the final leg of the start of the trip. Perhaps soon we’re landing in India though it’s hard to tell. Hours keep passing in the eerie sameness of stale air as I make my way from arctic (that's melting ice pictured here) to tropics (real orchids all over the Singapore airport) to ½ way around the world. The sky is now dark, so this must be night though I don’t feel it. I’ve taken at least 8 catnaps, had at least 5 meals, and used up countless plastic cups of water, discovering trying to save cups does more damage to unexamined systems than it does to the planet.

I’ve been thinking and thinking about this blog entry, wishing to say something profound that might sum up this whole experience of leaving. But what I'm feeling right now is just – here I am. The getting ready to go was among the most difficult things I’ve ever done. But that’s already past. And all that suffering had a silver lining. Going deep into the dark of my own anxiety and finding it not just empty but tolerable. I had moments of panic, so what? It's only thought that could judge being nervous as some kind of failure as a human being.

So here I am, not nervous, not excited, just here, learning how to work the Singapore Air entertainment device. And now someone's coming by, offering me orange juice and water. Thank you.

Wierd

2009-01-25T09:27:00.000-08:00

I was walking up my steps with a big load of laundry and that word popped in, loud and simple - wierd.

It is wierd. I'm going away. I have no idea what's ahead. At that moment, arms full, I'd just finished a pass of clothing determinations, clean, dirty, give away, throw away, pack for storage, pack for trip, still needed and the biggest one, gee, I just don't know yet and I can't possibly make another decision. Every single thing I touch these days needs a decision.

But perhaps the wierdest thing was, at that moment, I wasn't stressed. After weeks of anxiety and the insidious self-criticism of the anxiety, it suddenly wasn't there. There I was, once again walking up the steps with a load of laundry. Completely the same and completely different. The unknown permeating my breath in a moment that was both precious, and well, wierd.

Glancing up from my computer, I see the quince are blooming! I love this garden where I live, I love the Bay Area, I love my friends, I love Breema, I love my life here. But at least I've quit asking myself, why am I going? Something else is needed and I don't know what it is, but I've said YES.

Feels pretty damn wierd though. Everyone keeps asking me, are you excited? It's taken all this time for me to realize the best answer to that question is simply yes. I can't possibly begin to explain the most complex mix of thought and emotion I've even experienced. But I'm liking it. Because it's wierd.

purple dragons

2009-01-17T16:00:00.000-08:00

I have a new client. I'm leaving and she's dying, so we're both open; we're having fun together. She lets me stand up on the hospital bed, straddling her, and reach my arms as far down her back as I can to lift her lungs and shake things around. She lets me dig deep into her diaphragm until I feel the tissue softening. She lets me rub her feet while she tells me stories of her life.

Today she told me about the purple stuffed dragon on the bed. Yesterday it came to life. I turned to look at it and I swear it nearly winked at me. Only now am I realizing she never told me what the dragon said to her, though it clearly had enormous impact. She was kind of shy to tell me about it at all, not wanting her experience spoiled by those who believe in rationality. Luckily she's safe with me.

She hadn't even wanted the stuffed animal in the first place, given to her by the one person she's struggling to forgive. She let it lie around, disregarded, until it suddenly came to life. Maybe it didn't even say anything. What she said to me is that there is so much more to life, in every moment, than we have any idea of. It's all alive. Kids know. Why else would they love their stuffed animals so much? Not being a Mom, I'd never even considered this. She is a Mom and didn't know until now.

The purple dragon, now my friend too, has no nervous system, no blood of any temperature. But it can brighten a room, deliver a message, give love, inspire gratitude, create magic.

And maybe, just maybe, it is alive. I don't know, nor am I interested in a war of definitions. But the purple dragon has provided me with my prayer of the moment - may I be open to that life which is beyond language and form.

I still don't know

2009-01-08T23:45:00.000-08:00

How many ways to not know! From the misery of lost and confused to the excitement of unimagined possibility. Today a moment of India! China! Then back to work. Time has become ruthless.

Confusion reigns

2009-01-05T21:45:00.001-08:00

Sitting here, in this moment, it's clear there's no problem, in this moment. And yet, that doesn't help a bit. Things are changing faster than my nervous system can handle. I'm falling behind on what needs to be done. I'm losing track of time and day and missing appointments, forgetting to return promised calls. I pick things out of boxes, look at them, think about them, and put them back in again to deal with later. Later? What am I doing now as I face this unrelenting deadline? I'm staring at a computer screen, trying to pull myself together enough to keep going.

Someone asked me, "If what you want to do is study tai chi and explore your inner being, are you sure you want to set yourself up in Shanghai, one of the biggest, busiest and most polluted cities in the world?"

I just laughed, but the question is haunting me. What am I doing? Why?

I don't know.

Plan C Revealed

2009-01-02T09:29:00.000-08:00

My friend Tim hacked me a Mac! My gratitude knows no bounds. My excitement either! Continuing as my computer saint, guru and friend, we'd spent hours dealing with the issues involved in bringing a laptop on my journeys. Unbeknownst to me, just as I was settling into the uncertainty of carrying a very old, very heavy iBook, Tim started a research project, called, with alphabetic optimism, Plan C. After weeks of hints, as it was starting to prove a success, Tim agreed to let me in on it. I am soon to be the proud owner of a 2.5 lb lovely new Windows mini-laptop (at 1/5 the price of a new Mac) onto which Tim has managed, through tremendous effort and skill, to basically turn into a Leopard running Mac. For those of you who understand even less of this than I do, I will just say that this is very cool.

I am so thrilled I can't help the anachronistic colloquialisms pouring forth. Oh well, let embarrassment rule.

You rock, dude. I'm stoked!

just start

2009-01-01T11:40:00.000-08:00

A blog! Kind of exciting, kind of scary, definitely a new thing for me. A chance to open up to risky, rusty and untravelled places in myself. In the hopes of staying connected with you, my friends and loved ones. In the hopes of diving into this journey I've embarked upon and to share the profound and the silly, the dramatic and the quiet, and to explore LIFE together.

Today's the 1st day of the new year. Funny how enjoyable these artificial demarcations of time can be. Woke up feeling differently. There's been a lot of confusion, anxiety, agonizing and sadness at leaving. Emotions spilling all over the place, creating quite a mess. Today it's - let's go. Let's just do it!

Dawns on me that in the speed in which this has all happened, many of you don't even know what I'm talking about and sincere apologies to those I love and yet I've not been able to be directly in touch. I'm off to India to study yoga and then Taiwan to study tai chi and teach English! Or so that's the plan at the moment. One of the benefits of all this rapid change in my life is that I'm working with instant readjustment. Oh - it's not going as I thought - OK, let's deal with that. Oh, I hadn't even considered that - OK, what next? And so on in the practice of accepting constant change. As if we had a choice.