On My Way Home

My border crossing from Israel to Jordan went smoothly, and I am now happily checked into a hotel in Amman. The manager is great here...he will show me how to get to the airport via bus, which costs only $5, as opposed to taking a taxi, which is $30. There is also free internet at this hotel! And I only paid $18 for a single room. A good deal for Jordan. The manager is so funny! He likes to joke around. At first he told me it costs $15 per hour of internet...he was only joking. Just now, he offered me a peach, then took it out from under my nose for a second, pretending that he was not going to give it to me. I feel safe and happy here.


I think it is a literal impossibility to refuse tea in Jordan. The manager offered me tea three times when I arrived, and I said no each time, but now he just asked me if I wanted sugar or no sugar. He just brought the tea out to me now....I guess it is a hospitality thing.  :0)

Tonight I had dinner at Hashim's, a falafel and hummus place that is open 24 hrs. Delicious as usual, but after I get back to the US, I think I am done with hummus for a while! I just finished walking around the Suk (Arab Market), next to the Al-Hussein mosque. I took the time to soak in the sights, sounds, and smells of my last night of this journey. It sure has been a long one! Seven and a half months and four countries ago, I left Portland, Oregon to fly to Kathmandu, Nepal.  Tonight, as I threaded my way through the colorful lanes of peaches, tomatoes, cucumbers, eggplant, bell peppers, oranges, and bananas, I felt gratitude swell in my heart and looked up to see a full moon shining up above. It seemed as though the sky was reaching out to bless me.
Thanks God, for keeping me safe along this journey, and thank you for guiding me home. Amen!

USA, here I come!!!

Eilat

May 24, 2012

Eilat, Israel

Here's what I've been doing the past few days:

Nadav and I decided to take a trip to the very south of Israel, a town called Eilat.  It is a beach town on the Red Sea, just across the water from Jordan.  The temperature is super hot, 108 degrees Fahrenheit at midday, but it doesn't feel as hot as India because the humidity is very low (desert climate).  Speaking of desert, our AC bus ride took us all the way through the desert on the way here - it was a bit eerie at times, not seeing anything except sand and date palms (for agriculture).  Yesterday night we went to the beach and had a beer while looking out at the water from one of the many restaurants.  It is very touristy, but also fun.  There was a busy market, music playing, rides to go on, and the colorful lights of the town reflecting off the water.  We have been couch surfing with a wonderful family - this is our second night here.  We cooked dinner for our hosts yesterday night.  The mother, Lara, is interested in Shamanism and dreams of taking her whole family (husband and three kids) to India someday for several months.  

Today Nadav and I took a bus to another beach, where we went snorkeling (pronounced "shnorkeling" in Hebrew).  It was great.  I saw bright blue, turquoise, purple, and yellow fish (parrot fish?), what looked like angel fish, urchins, a couple jellyfish, and other brightly colored small fish that I don't know the names of.  Wish I'd had a waterproof fish id card with me.  I loved watching the many kite surfers, with their colorful, parachute-like kites pulling them across the water on their boards, sometimes flying high above the waves for several seconds at a time.  It looks like a lot of fun, a sport I would like to learn someday.

Tomorrow morning we are going back to Tel Aviv, and may attend a drum circle on the beach there just before sunset.  Many Israelis who have been to India like to make music there on Friday nights to bring in the Shabbat (Sabbath). 

Shalom!

Melissa

Fragments

2012 ,May 21

Tel Aviv

Morning

I love the names of things which curl out from our tongues, pinching between our lips and teeth to pierce the echoless void between those we love and those we don't understand.

I love the epitome of recycling one's effort over the course of a storm.  We reuse the drops of rain, sloshed down in buckets over tin roofs and lightning rods jitterbugging in the dark, to bathe a new flower alive into sunshine.

I love the rebound call of infinite spring, awake at last from nighttime and a thousand miles away from home.

I love the crystalline look of a pale face, eyes staring out from behind black-rimmed glasses, topped with a crop of chestnut hair.

 "Half awake and half asleep," he said, no more knocking on the door of pleasure and expecting nothing in return.  A flock of doves rushed in on a breath of air, too cold for San Francisco in springtime.

Words are never forgotten once they are spoken; they hide in crevices of comfort before having a strange effect on the mind of the observer, as though they carry meaning beyond the brave candle flames which light the pathways of our own thought patterns.  Words edge up your skin like the blade of a knife, enticing soul memories out of their jars like flowers by your bedside, so you can smell your own fragrance as you drift off to sleep and awaken refreshed.

Light is a flight which never mastered the use of gravity. 

This rhythm is not mine, but a wreath on a door where people know they can enter the mystery by knocking three times and waiting to hear what is inside to receive them. 

Stream of Consciousness

20 May 2012
Evening
Tel Aviv

I want to teach you with the words of my soul so we can remember how to be alive, and return to our place in the abode of things. Tell me how you dream. Do you weave fabrics across a twisted loom, or crochet directly with your fingers from God's cat's cradle? I want to speak again with leather tongues and bootstraps made from rawhide. I don't want to lose myself again in you, but stay entwined in my own breathing, blood coursing through my veins and the crevasse of my heart, to light my candle-burning eyes awake with the fear that this may be the last moment I live or the first moment I die.

Can we speak ourselves alive together? Can we stop radiating soul sparks in such lonely places and come together again to feel divine?  Where did I go when I was not with you…back into my cave, or deep inside a mole-darkened tunnel?  These adventures never let God know how small or amazed I feel to continue walking, trembling, upon this path.

I don't know music other than the blind kiss of this irresistible storm which blows the blankets of my emotions off like leaves before a thunderbolt.

Will the day come when I stop trying to measure my soul against the vagaries of others? How is it that one minute I am black and dull, the next afraid or listless, then seized by a fury, emptied out, and spewing poetry from my ears? The questions will never end, not until the stars empty themselves of light, or the fingers of our galaxy forget to stroke the sun one last time. Each word is a personal memory, a masterpiece waiting to be created no matter how awake or asleep we are. Every fragment of lost soul will come home, or we will find it in the end, just you watch.

Even I don't know what destiny is, but I sense it the way a cat smells the tracks of a mouse under the garden bushes at midnight. There is a turning point, a place of balance between fear and excitement, drowning and elation, life and no-life. It is the simple (or not-so-simple) choice between who we are and who we choose to be; between who we think we are, who our parents, relatives, friends, or society thinks we are, and who we feel we are—in our bones, stomach, and intestines, in the soles of our feet waltzing out the door at 2 am to remind us that we know how to improvise.

This is the fire that calls us home. This is the water that cleanses us, the earth we grow upon, the air we breathe and fly into. We have not forgotten how to chase our own shadows down; we have just forgotten how to look at ourselves in the light. Maybe our little waltz would birth lightning and storms, anger brewed in strong black tea, or milk squeezed from Satan's tit. The truth is that I don't know where this writing is going, just as little as you do. We're both strangers here on this blank page, staring out at each other after another long day lived inside the solitude of our own minds.

These memories keep turning themselves into sparks and then I forget what is happening, at least in medical terms. My soul opens up to receive pieces of low-hanging light, I am visited by angels, and deep-glowing eyes stand out amidst a haze of cloud. I wonder if certain readers have come to know me in a different way by hearing these lines taken from inside my cocoon. How do I know what my insides look like until they are spilled out on a mural to paint, murmur, and stare befuddled at the colors they make? These poems will never end, nor will this experience. I just keep plugging and unplugging the metaphors, trying to get the amplitude right.

Jerrash

Today I went to Jerrash. It is a site with extensive Roman ruins. As it turns out, it was the day for all the teenage girls to have a field trip there. Literally there were hundreds of them, all laughing and crying out, just being teens. (I think teens are the same all over the world). They were very friendly, vivacious, and fun. They loved to ask me where I was from, what was my name, was I married, etc. One girl asked me why everyone in the west thinks that Arabs are terrorists...I told her I thought it was because of the media. Then I asked her what she thought of the hijab, because I noticed some girls were wearing it and others were not. She said that she would wear it when she got older, because otherwise God would send her to Hell. Wow! I did not expect that answer. I wish I could have asked some other girls the same question and heard some of their answers. Basically, most of them thought I was the coolest thing around, being from America and all. With their basic English skills and outgoing personalities, they would say things like, "You are so beautiful! We love you! Do you love to the Jordan people? Can we see your eyes?" (I was wearing sunglasses.) After I took the glasses off, they all cheered. "Ohh, you have such beautiful eyes!" they said. Some of them had drums that they would play, and the whole group would sing an Arabic song. Of course, they wanted ME to sing, and dance. I finally agreed to sing a Justin Bieber song with them, the same one that was so popular with my teenage students in Nepal ("Baby, baby"). After finishing the chorus, a security guard and the girls' teacher asked us to stop. Adults here don't like women and girls getting too excited or singing/dancing too much in public. What a shame. All I could think was that these girls are SO lovely and energetic, with such free spirits. They were so curious about me too. I felt sad that they were growing up in a society where they will be so held back in their creative expression and freedom.

Amman Continued

Amman is WAY different than anywhere in India. No cows in the streets, no open sewers. Everything is clean and empty and calm compared to India. Also, all the buildings are the color of sand. Much less colorful. Most women wear hijab (head covering), but it is not required, especially of non-Muslim Western women. Most of the signs are in Arabic, but the tourist ones are in English, and most people do speak English. I have had no trouble getting around. Yesterday I went around the downtown tourist sites by myself. I went to see the Citadel, which is the site of some Roman ruins (a Hercules temple) on the top of a high hill. It was a gorgeous view of the whole city. It is a beautiful thing to hear all the mosques chanting the call to prayer. The only other loud sound is the song of the ice cream trucks, which also deliver gas for cooking stoves to each house. They play a song in a minor key that sounds eerie and mysterious. Much less honking of horns than India, although I think it is probably still more than Eugene. I love the Arabic language. It is so beautiful. I also love Arabic music....I bought 6 cds for a dollar each. The food is great - falafels, pita bread, hummus, baba ganoush. I got a taste of the "Arab hospitality" that the people are known for in the Middle East. As I was walking down the hill from the Citadel, I heard some women laughing from inside a house. I peeked my head in, and the smiled and shouted, "Hello! How are you? Come in! Would you like some coffee?" I went inside and they served me a tiny cup of strong Arab coffee, along with some bread which I ate with cheese. It was great. They were a very happy family, the husband and wife were retired, and their daughter had several small, cute children who danced to Arabic music that was playing on the Arab MTV channel. After leaving, I met another tourist from England who I spent the afternoon with. In the evening, I went with Samia and some of her friends to a place outside Amman where there was a beautiful view of another town, all lit up at night. We smoked shisha (flavored tobacco from one of those big Arabian tobacco-smoking gigs) and talked while enjoying the view. Today Samia and I plan to visit Jerash, a site to the north with amazing Roman ruins. If there is time, we will also visit Um Qais, which is supposed to be very beautiful. Tomorrow Samia is going to Egypt, and I will go South with her, either to Petra or to Wadi Rum (a beautiful desert). I plan on crossing into Israel on May 3.

Amman, Jordan

I'm now staying comfortably at my friend's apartment in Amman, Jordan. We went to visit the Dead Sea today, right after my flight landed around noon. Wow, I was floating so high in the water! It was weird, but cool. The Dead Sea is the lowest place on Earth, and also has such a high salt content that nothing can live in it and your body naturally floats really high in its waters. There are rocks encrusted in salt crystals on the shore, and when you swim in the water, it looks and feels almost like oil because it is so salty. I could see Israel on the other side. The rest of the landscape was very dry and deserty. It was amazing, flying through Sharjah in UAE and also flying into Amman - the plane almost looked like it was just going to land in the desert, before it landed on the airstrip. When I flew out of Sharjah I saw the city rising up out of the desert at the edge of the water, the skyscrapers blending in with the color of the sand like it was another planet. Amazing.

Musings on Life and Growth

In admiring and perceiving the acts of other beings, I remember that I am I and they are they, as different as two grasshoppers munching away in a field. After a while I think that what I do is just as good as what they do, and vice versa.

I notice how, after many months of traveling, I do not appreciate the contrasts so much anymore. I don’t see the beauty or appreciate the novelty of clashing cultures as much as I did when I was fresh off the airplane.

I am so ready to leave this place. I am ready to be home, to see my family, to be normal again. To express myself fully, openly, for all to see, and not feel judged for it by people from another culture who don’t understand me. Maybe in having this experience, I can relate to other people who have spent a long time away from home, away from their native cultures. I am so fortunate to be able to return home. Some people cannot do that because their homes do not exist anymore, or it is not possible with life situations for them to return. For example, like immigrants or refugees.

There is something so palpable about missing your homeland. It really is the land, and the people, and the songs which wind through both.

The knowledge that I want to be the best person I can possibly be, to assist in the global transformation of Earth into a place of light and truth, requires me doing exactly what my heart wants. My heart really misses my family and wants to go home soon.

I remember how heart-opened and free I felt when I was first in Nepal, teaching English in Nakote village. My heart was carrying me. My love was carrying me. My heart is no longer carrying me in India, because it has already set its course for home. It has set its course on love, and is doing everything it can to draw love experiences to it because that is what it craves.

I deserve to be in love now. I deserve to see, feel, and express beauty, to enjoy myself. I am free to go and do what my heart desires, because God is at the center of my heart.

I wonder, too, if my heart is actually a higher-dimensional being than I am. It doesn’t always resonate with specific plans or actions, but rather with feelings, frequencies, and energetic vibrations. I think I am starting to live from here, from a purely energetic, higher-dimensional place. Maybe just getting tastes.

I love the feeling of self-acceptance and situational acceptance. I love being right here, right now. Inside the envelope of this moment are stories to be told, lives to be had, love to be felt. I am so grateful.

It is so strange to be in a place that feels so utterly foreign to me (India). The people and the society are so opposite to who I am. They are counter-intuitive. Because of this contrast, I can more quickly define myself and my boundaries. It is actually crucial to my sanity to do this; otherwise, if I wasn’t clear about only doing what I want, I would be torn apart by guilt, shame, fear, anger, and hatred in less than five minutes.
It is so easy to make the mistake of comparing myself to others. So easy to fall into the traps of the many misunderstandings I’ve had about the different paths of the many lives on this planet. Mostly, I am saying that it is dangerous to compare myself to other people. Doing this invites the judgments which might assert a whole host of viewpoints, like “I am better than he is,” or “She is better than I am,” or “He needs to stop doing that and be more this way so that I can feel more comfortable.”

Helambu is a beautiful land (where I volunteered last fall). Nepal, the Himalaya, astounding. But looking into my own eyes, I know the landscape of my own heart is also beautiful. Perhaps it is more beautiful than outer landscapes. It is a dreamscape, a soulscape, a lovescape. Planting myself there, in my heart, has been one of the most rewarding and difficult experiences of my life.

I desire to live from my heart with a sense of ease and grace. I am attracted to people who move through life easily and gracefully – I would like to find this in myself and make a habit of it.

Something had to get cleaned out of me by going to India. I had to make room for all the empty space to breathe in! I had to open up and let go before more love, joy, trust, and centered decision-making could happen.

I am realizing that a lot of this trip has been about learning what fear really is. I used to think that fear was just a nuisance; that it was usually an unfounded emotion just getting in the way of my true desires. I would push through fear and feel it out violently, as though it were some disease to be cleansed and purified out of my body.

Now my understanding of fear has shifted. I also see fear as a valuable sign, a tool which helps to guide me and lets me know what I am ready for and what I am not ready for. When the fear response is in balance and I am not working on clearing past fears, this fear response can actually be a guide to truth. The fear doesn’t show me the truth; it just points the direction, like a sign with an arrow. It points to the corner of my universe where beautiful things want to be happening, and if I allow my love and attention to go there, I can be surprised by the ease, breath, and grace I find.

Life, for me, does not have to be so hard. Clear discernment of the heart, connected with the body, and verified by trusted friends who have good intuitive sense, can guide me into clearer pathways of light. A different perception of time is also required here. I mean that grasping at the future is not a healthy way to get anywhere. Force and effort are exhausting. It is better to let my river flow in the direction it naturally wants to go.

It is entirely possible for good, healthy, enjoyable emotions to also be parts of myself which I have been denying. Maybe it has been a practice of mine to deny myself good things like comfort, ease, wealth, beauty, and simple pleasures. This practice is even more apparent in India, where the general environment is harsh, annoying, loud, unrefined, invasive, and obnoxious. My small acts of self-care really stand out in contrast to this environment. Maybe the environment here is a reflection of the way I have treated myself in the past, and in learning to do things in contrast to it, I am learning to distance myself from old patterns of self-criticism, forcing, and over-expending effort.

Perhaps I am creating my own meaning here, but I still think it is a useful metaphor for changing personal behavior patterns. Any new, life-supporting pattern is obviously going to feel totally different than an old, self-destructive pattern. The two energies are polar opposites. Perhaps I am in the middle of my own “Precession of the Equinoxes,” where my core operating system is drastically shifting poles from being life/self - destructive to life/self - supportive. I like this analogy a lot, even if it is mostly intellectual! Maybe I will watch my body and emotions to see if they can verify its truth also.

Ciao for now,
Melissa

A Visit to Mahananda Siddha

Yesterday was New Year’s Eve in Tamil Nadu, the province in India where I have been staying for the past two weeks. I went with my friends Ganga, Tara, Sanjay, Lavania, and Swami to see a great Siddha (Aka “medicine person” in Shamanic language. You could also call him a saint or sage in other traditions). His name is Mahananda Siddha, and here is his story:

About ten years ago, he was a normal man in his seventies living in Bangalore. He had made his fortune by exporting turmeric, and then became the CEO of several software companies. Needless to say, he was a VERY wealthy man, even by American standards. He was also very spiritual, and donated large portions of his fortune to restoring and renovating temples and feeding hungry devotees and sadhus (wandering ascetic pilgrims).

Then, one night, Shiva appeared to him in his bedroom. Shiva told him to give up everything – all his companies, his wealth, his wife and kids, and go meditate on a specific mountain in Tamil Nadu, called Mahadeva Malai (Great Lord Mountain). So he followed Shiva’s request, giving up everything and going to this mountain. When he arrived there, Shiva gave him very specific instructions. He told him to never cut his hair again, to only take a bath once a year, and to only wear one piece of cloth all year and change it when he takes his bath. The catch is that Shiva also told him to never eat food or drink water again, that he should instead lie directly on a fire every morning and absorb his energy that way. These days, Mahananda Siddha calls the food we eat “dummy food.” He says “You get your energy 2nd or 3rd hand, from plants or animals; I get my energy 1st hand directly from the sun, the fire.” There is only one exception to this routine, which is that he doesn’t lie in the fire if it is raining because that stops the rain, and he says the farmers need the rain.

Yesterday was quite a blessing, to say the least. It is common for Hindu devotees to perform the ritual of abhishek, which involves pouring water or milk over a Shiva lingam (a phallic-shaped stone representing Shiva). All over India, Hindu priests have been performing this ceremony for thousands of years. Yesterday, we performed abhishek to Mahananda Siddha, pouring water and milk all over his head. He says this is energetically equivalent to doing abhishek on 30 million Shiva lingams simultaneously.

On our way home, our friend Swami showed us a holy place where a great yogi is entombed. They call these places “Samadhis”, where great yogis have since dropped the body, but their spirit continues to remain in that place and nourish the spiritual life of the people. It is very common in India. There are probably 50 Samadhis in Tamil Nadu alone. This yogi is known as the river yogi, because about 30 years ago, the local people found him buried in the mud under the river, deep in meditation, when they were digging up some mud for building their houses. Then he opened his eyes and looked at them. They instantly realized he was not dead, but in Samadhi (a state of deep meditation and absorption with the Divine), so they brought him to their village, called Poondi. He is now known as Poondi Mahan, the saint of Poondi, and people can come to visit him and feel his darshan (blessings). The energy of his Samadhi was blissful, loving, and pure. Wow, what a day!

Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu

Above are pictures of a recording session in Chennai after my friend Sanjay bought some speakers from this amazing artist/musician. I asked if I could record a song, and he said yes. It's a rough cut, but it's my song all the same! Wow, serendipity happens again.
Below those pics are some photos of the friends from Seattle I am staying with in Tiruvannamalai: Sanjay, my neighbor from Wallingford, Gonga (with the white beard), and his wife, Tara.

I have reached a place where I could stay for a long time. I can only stay for four days now, then I am going to do a week of volunteer work with victims from a fire in another state, but then I think I will return again afterwards to soak up some of the amazing vibes of this place. I am staying for free with friends from Seattle who live here semi-permanantly. My neighbor, Sanjay, from Wallingford, introduced me to his friends Gonga and Tara who have started a temple here called Universal Fellowship of Light: All Saints Temple. This temple consists of one large room with photographs of many saints from all over India, as well as a spare bedroom/bathroom in the back. I am staying in that bedroom.

It's funny, because I thought I was coming to India for spiritual reasons. I thought I would meet some amazing yogis or medicine people, maybe learn from them or work with them. But mostly my trip has been about endurance, acceptance, patience, and about my relationship with myself. India is a hard place to travel in. It's tiring. It accosts you from all sides with offers to buy things, with poverty, with loudly bleeping buses and rickshaws, with children asking for money and pens, and with stares from men and women who are not ashamed to zap you with their eyes for many minutes without breaking their gaze. It's been amazing and tiring at the same time.

In south India, since I flew here from Delhi on Feb 14, I have spent all my time in Kerela, at beaches, soaking up the sun and the waves, at Amma's ashram singing devotional songs, in the mountains where they grow tea and spices, and at fishing towns eating my fill of fresh fish and prawns. I have been missing home, even though my time has been full of fun touristic activities. There comes a time, in the traveler's circuit, when visiting tourist places becomes more exhausting than fulfilling. I think I have reached that point, at least in India.

Then I came to Tiruvannamalai. I don't know, but something about the energy of this place is what I have been searching for all this time in India. I feel like I am arriving here too late, like I should have come directly here and not wasted so much time on the beach, etc etc. And staying with a friend, an American, a neighbor, for God's sakes, from Seattle, is comforting to say the least. Walking into the "All Saints Temple," I felt intuitively that I AM meeting these saints, finally. After all of this exhausting travel, I am finally connecting with why I came to India: for spiritual knowledge and illumination.

The mountain and the land itself are filling me with the calmest energy I've felt in my whole time in India. The sense of calm is also making me realize how tired I feel. I am excited and warmed by the homecoming that I sense, connected to the mountain itself, the energy of this place, and to seeing my friends from Seattle. The mountain's name is "Arunachala." It is known to be the actual abode of Lord Shiva, and many say it is the most sacred mountain in all of India. Pilgrims flock here every full moon to circumnavigate it. Many saints and yogis have and continue to make their lives here, meditating in hidden caves in the mountain or giving teachings in the nearby town. A guru who is famous in the West, called Ramana Maharishi, lived here in caves for many years, and now his ashram is also here. A verse in the Arunachala Mahatmyam, (taken from Wikipedia) translated from Sanskrit into Tamil by Sri Ramana Maharshi says:

"Arunachala is truly the holy place. Of all holy places it is the most sacred! Know that it is the heart of the world. It is truly Siva himself! It is his heart-abode, a secret kshetra. In that place the Lord ever abides the hill of light named Arunachala."[5]

Ramana Maharishi used to walk every day around Arunachala as a meditation, and says that "If you go round this hill it will give you its grace even you don't want it." It may sound cheesy, but I really feel that this is a sacred place. I don't just believe what everybody else is saying, I can FEEL the sacredness in my bones and in my blood. It feels like connecting my umbilical cord again with the universal, undying, infinite source of light.

Tomorrow morning, I am going with Sanjay, Gonga, and Tara to walk around the mountain. We plan to leave at 5 am to avoid the heat, and take the "inner path," the path that goes through nature and follows closely to the mountain. We wil walk slowly, in silence, "like pregnant women," as they say around here.

I finish this post with a heart that is open and waiting for grace. I know that grace is there, love is there, it's just coming slowly and gently into my tired body, like a dove settling into its nest after a long flight.

Writings on Love from Ammachi's Ashram

Love. There's something about it that we yearn for. Our heart is a magnet or a drain pipe always drawing love towards us. We can never forget love, once we've experienced it. Love touches us where we are most tender and innocent, where we forget to delineate the difference between self and other.

There is not always a way to escape from love. Sometimes the feeling is simply unavoidable - a white dove exploding from our chest in a flurry of feathers and breath. We don't know how it works. Sometimes love fills us with the most incredible ecstasy; other times it drains us until we feel as empty as a bowl with no fruit inside. Either way, love is a journey and a destination. It is a story in itself, being told through a network of many lives and many bodies.

Would love exist were there not bodies to feel it? Would love exist were there not an object to adore? Feeling love is the simplest, most beautiful thing on Earth, yet it has the capacity to attract many complications. Love without judgement is rare. Oftentimes love comes with more questions than answers - how do I express this feeling? Does this have to do with the other person, or with me? Will my heart be received or rejected?

Maybe John Steinbeck was right when he said, in "East of Eden," that the thing all humans are most afraid of is rejection. I can easily take trains by myself across India while relying on my innate strength and courage, yet it is more difficult for me to tell a man honestly about my tender feelings for him than it is for me to walk down a street full of beggars. I can hide inside myself when walking down the street, but I can't do that when I stand up for my feelings.

I would like to think that external courage begets internal courage. Where does the word come from, anyway? It comes from the word coeur, which means heart in French. Angeles Arrien interprets this to mean that courage implies standing by your heart. Being courageous doesn't need to have anything to do with journeying outside and away from yourself. In fact, it can be quite the opposite. It can require more courage to journey into yourself and see what lives there because there is no escaping yourself. When you are traveling, there is always the option of packing up and leaving a place if it does not suit you. With yourself, you are stuck. There is no one else who is going to rescue you. You are there all alone on your one little raft, floating on the endless sea of your own feelings. You can cry for help, maybe from God or from a trusted friend, and you can be blessed by grace. But you alone are the antagonist and the protagonist, the hero and the demon, or your own story.

In many ways, a new feeling of love requires us to shift our realities. Are we aligning with our own truth? Do we accept our own authorship of our lives, or do we shirk this responsibility off onto others through blame and judgement? Is there a new action, a change that is needed to reflect the feelings that we have inside our hearts?

I am always seeking to have my actions mirror my feelings. In this way, I draw out of myself all these internal escapades into a place where I can actually see them and interact with them in the real world of people and relationships, journeys and destinations. We are all called to do things which ask us to define who we are. In a way, we can define ourselves by our actions, by what we do with our time. This is not meant to be a judgement, only an honest perception of reality. How does time feel for us? Are we able to direct our own flow of time, or are we constantly following a schedule that was set for us by someone else? Do we even know why we do the same things day after day, without shifting the pattern? These questions can guide us into a higher state of self-awareness, so that we ensure we are the conscious leaders of our own lives.

Conscious leadership means being aware of all the factors which influence our choices, and knowing through some intuitive process that we are following our own truth. We don't have to see or understand all or ourselves to know we are on the right track. A self is a very infinite thing, and best perceived in terms of orbits and gravitational pull, rather than microscopes and the glare of a spotlight. We are all orbiting around something, and it is our job to become increasingly aware of our relationship to that something. What does the pull feel like? How does it influence our direction? When do we slow down, and when do we charge forward? These are all things which have to do with our center of gravity in relation to the mass or density of what we are orbiting around.

As we explore the various spinoffs of our central orbit, we come to understand what we are made of. This is something we can never truly see. John O'Donohue speaks of the human soul as something which can never be seen in an objective way, only felt and sensed by the subtle energies of the heart. When we get a glimpse of what we are made of, we get very excited. Our ecstasy begins to increase, along with our great love of empty spaces, epic stories, heroes and heroines, and things which call us into life. We don't have to forget anymore. With one whiff, we are resurrected from the threat of a life lived outside ourselves, and we want to know more. Where does this power come from? Is it mine? Can I cherish is? Can I grow this garden which I so adore? Can I cultivate the garden of my own soul?

And so begins the journey of a thousand lifetimes. A gardener's work is never finished. There is always something more beautiful to plant, another garden party to organize. In the same way, we are never finished with the exploration of our own souls. Would we really ever want to be? There is a sheer magic about new light dawning, of untold stories emerging from the shadows, of inviting new friends over to share a plate of soul food. I think it is a great gift that we can never truly see ourselves, for it allows us to go on exploring our frontiers until the end of time.

You might think this a lonely enterprise, this never-ending search for truth. But you see, truth is there all along. It never leaves. It is always guiding you, helping and consoling you along life's slippery waterways. The fact that we can never fully see ourselves allows us to grow closer to other beings who can then reflect the light of our own truth back to us. We can then see, through their eyes, what we are made of and how we grow into more beautiful and magnificent forms.

The gift of life is the gift of relationship. Without multiplicity we could never live this story which is so tantalizingly unfolding. There is no need to rush. We can be here, fully present, fully aware of our own role and our journey. After all. love is a feeling, and feelings take time to explore. Love is something we keep communicating, day after day. We keep giving it, we keep receiving it. In doing so, we nourish the very roots upon which we stand. When we remember to communicate love, we remember why we are here. Let us keep remembering. In our own unique ways, let us keep approaching the blinding light of our souls to weave the fabric of time back together.

Aho! Namaste.
Melissa

Varkala Beach

26 Feb 2012

Language shapes the unconscious. It calls forth what is unformed and gives shape to conscious energy. Sound does this also. What is language but a complicated pattern of sound utterings? When I name something you automatically see it in your mind. Thus, I have created something in your thought-stream. We don't have as much control over our own minds as we would like to think. Anyone armed with the power of language can shift and transform another's reality, especially if their words are full of clear intention and the other person is open to suggestion. Symbols and pictures are another form of language. What we perceive visually, and what we experience every day, changes us in our multi-layered, multidimensional lives.

We never know the full effect of any of our actions. We may see the initial splash of water and remember the weighty, solid quality of our thought-form pebbles as we drop them into a pool of being, yet we fail to recognize that these actions affect everyone around us and the cosmos itself.

For example, I just saw how consciously and intentionally a woman on the beach did a twist on her yoga mat. She fully embraced the space and the time she needed. As a watcher, I was positively affected by her awareness.

Poem:

The Indian Sea Eagle
Breathing open and free on currents of blue sky
Circling one, two, three times
White head and neck
Brown striped mottled body.
Eyes search with piercing eyes from above,
Trying to spot a fish.
I saw one catch a fish in its talons this morning.

Circling, opening, breathing up high
I spread my wings further than you can reach
My feathers adjust to the waves of air,
Tactile space pressurizing in different levels of intensity.
My tail is curved with an indentation inward,
A half moon slotted out like a bite from a cookie
My beak is yellow,
My eyes are open.
I never let you see me perch for too long.
Some people confuse me with vultures--
I know that's not who I am.
I tend to the sea and the sky.
I sleep with the stars and wake with the sun.
I am eagle, restless and free.


Is it possible that we live in multiple universes at once and just don’t know it? Sometimes I get a strange whiff of knowing on my breath, or hear a slight symphony reverberating from my heart. The birds talk when they sing, the ants feast on orange peels and pineapple heads lying strewn across wet, hardened sand.
Where does the mind go? It can go everywhere. Sometimes (okay, most of the time), I don’t understand what is going on, but the picture frame is getting wider. When we see into the formative worlds we see into ourselves. We take a picture, still or moving, of the many layers of our being.

Sometimes there is no reason to doubt that we are being taken care of. This is the same story, told again in a different time and place. Maybe God Himself is evolving. Actually, I quite believe this to be true. I don’t believe that we ARE God, that we should encompass all that God is, because God is everything, and I don’t want to be everything. There are some things, like murder and ill intentions, which I very clearly don’t want to incorporate into my being.

I really believe we have less to worry about than we think. If we are clear with our intentions, if we move in the direction of our inner heart whisperings, all things will be taken care of. The important thing is that we don’t give our power away, and that we take responsibility for everything in our lives.

I have many faults, and one of them is the habit of trying to be better than other people. When I don’t know anything about a person, I’ve never talked to them in my life (and even when I know them as well as I know my parents), I can easily stick one of my mental fabrications onto their face and deem myself better or worse than they are. But this is a dangerous sense of security, a false upliftment. I will never be better or worse than anyone else in creation, and I know it. All I will be is different, a different chord, color, or constellation of experiences.

All beings are given what they need for learning and growth. We may not always understand why (who ever knows why?), but it is clear that the being is changing or experiencing something that, in some way, evolves its ability to express itself. Even hardship is medicine for the soul. In the difficult periods of my life I know that something deeper was getting cooked. I can never say what it was, but it is like alchemy. The lead weights inside our multilayered bodies turn themselves into gold when we give them enough time, space, and attention. Otherwise they stay leaden and continue to direct and organize our lives from a subconscious level.

I believe that learning and growth are basically all about becoming conscious. I do not mean to describe consciousness as some amoeba-like substance or oozing ocean from which we all emerged and to which we are all going (Although who knows?! Maybe that’s the truth. Algae and swamp gas soup could be pretty interesting, although a bit smelly….) I think it’s important to know what we are becoming conscious of, because this is where creation resides. Where is the knower, the one who is seeing in you? What changes when you become aware of the one in you that sees? And what are you seeing? Where does that seer go in the process of seeing? What insights does it uncover? What does it feel, what does it know? These are all questions that don’t need answers, they need the honest process of living.

While sitting on the beach, I just watched how consciously a woman walked into the water after doing yoga. Her fine and supple body seemed in harmony with the waves, with the salt, the spray, and the air. Then I thought I saw a whale spout far in the distance. And I did! Yes, I did see a dolphin or a large fish jump out of the water and splash itself down in a flurry of white spume.

It’s amazing how much our internal mental-emotional states influence our experience of reality. Some mornings we wake up in such a fog that we hardly see the world at all. Other days we arise with clarity and intention, and find magic supporting us wherever we go. Like I said, I think growth is all about becoming conscious. And when we are conscious about what we are doing, then we can actually see ourselves enough to know what we want, and set forth with purpose. In his book, Here to Heal, Richard Feild says that when we are unconscious, we are acting upon past patterns or daydreaming into the future. He also says that try true healing only takes place in the present moment.

Maybe when we are consciously unconscious, or in some way we want to be unaware, we know that more awareness will bring attention to unpleasant or painful things in our world of experience. I think a lot of drugs and addictive patterns in general are there to distract people from their pain until they know they are ready to feel it and re-accept those denied parts back into the self. I like how one lady traveler from Galway, Ireland, described it to me yesterday. It’s like we have clouds of “poor little beasties” inside of us, and they won’t show us their jewels until we stroke them and soothe them like they need to be, like only we know how to do.
So many broken people! And so many conscious people. Maybe brokenness and consciousness are two polarities of one evolving singularity. We all have both of them and as we swing back and forth we widen our ability to perceive what is. I don’t think there is any end or perfection to this process.

Maybe now is the time when I don’t have to be so strong anymore, when I can let myself be soft. Maybe in being strong and in crushing so many of my barriers, I have discovered my weak points, my tender-bellied undersides which will never ever become calloused and hard because it is their nature to be soft. Maybe, like a little girl playing dress-up or picking flowers, that innocent part of me wants to create beauty wherever she goes. Maybe she wants other people to notice, and maybe she doesn’t. Maybe her dances are for the simple sweet joy of living.

It is now that I realize I didn’t come here to change anyone. I came here to change myself.

Varkala Beach

Feb, 25, 2012

Today I am filled with anger. I don't know why. Maybe it's the orange sun beating down hot rays at noon, heating the sand to a crisp. The heat is vicious. It sneaks up on you and surprised you with some unfelt emotion you didn't know you had. I find myself heating up to the point of boiling whenever I am walking around at noon or 1:00. Today it was about the price of internet cafes. 50 rupees an hour. That's a whole dollar! I've been used to paying 20 or 30 rupees per hour. Who am I, some sort of cheapskate? Why do I keep searching like a mad dog under the heat of the midday sun, all for a measly 20 cents?

I suppose it's the principle. No matter what it is, I always look for the best bargain. I've never been an impulse buyer (though sometimes an impulse lover). Does this say something about who I am? Does it tarnish my view of myself as continually approaching, but never reaching, perfection?

I sure hope so. I hope my idiosyncrasies speak loud and clear about my damn story on this earth. What else is there anyway? We can't run around pretending to be angels. We can sure take offense and get our feelings hurt, but no one can blame us if that's what we came here to do.

I wonder, as I walk between internet cafes obsessively checking prices, if the heat forces unobserved anger to rise up in the body and shoot out through the skull. I suppose that's why both murders and ice cream sales go up in the summer months (or so they say in Psychology class).

Sometimes anger turns into hot, salty tears when you cannot find the space to let it out the way it wants to (in vocal growls, threatenings, violence, abuse). Or maybe that's just because I'm female and society trained me to be sad but not angry. (For boys, it's the opposite, you see. It is manly to show anger--it proves domination. But never tears, oh no. Tears and honest sadness would mean you were less of a man, that you were soft like a woman, and we all know it is better to be hard and rigid in this world. Gets a man better privileges, you know. Never let them know what you are thinking inside.)

Gee willakers! All this sarcasm is getting me a little screwed up inside! I can be quite cynical when I want to be. I surprise myself sometimes, but wouldn't you say that's a good thing? If we could predict everything about ourselves then life would be boring as hell. At least we've got a good drama going on, both inside and out. Ant thank God it's not a Soap Opera, but a real thriller this time. We don't really know if our species will make it or not, what with our track record, but at least the plot is exciting. It's got me riveted. Sometimes I can't keep myself from getting all choked up from all the war and calamity, and then I say, "What the hell?" and spin in circles on the starlit beach until I laugh and fall down dizzy.

Kanyakumari

A few days ago, I went to Kanyakumari, the Southernmost tip of India, with my two friends from Chile. It was not totally amazing or anything, a bit touristy, but now I can say that I've been there. A funny story: when I reached the water's edge, I had my pinch of tobacco out and ready to make a prayer to the goddess of the sea, where the waters of three oceans meet. While I had my eyes closed, one man approached me and asked, "Where are you from?" I said, "I'm from the U.S. But I want to be left alone now. Could you please go away?" He continued talking to me, "Ah, you are from Obama!" "No, I'm not from Obama, I'm from the U.S., and I'M PRAYING, so please leave me ALONE!!!" "Okay, okay!" He said, and walked away. A couple seconds later another man approached me with one of the local, wild green parrots inside a small cage, its wings clipped. "Parrot, madam?" He said, with a slight head wobble. "NO!!! I don't want PARROT!" I snapped. "I'm praying! GO AWAY!" He slouched off, and I was left with a feeling of discomfort and annoyance that would not go away.

I no longer felt the sense of awe and majesty of staring at the waters of Kanyakumari, I felt pissed off. I wandered around the bend to a small beach where boys and girls were playing in the water, getting their matching uniforms all wet. I waded in up to my knees. Fortunately I had given my camera and wallet to my friends in case I wanted to go swimming, because I got into the biggest splashing fit of my life with the school girls. One of them playfully splashed me, and I splashed her back. When the group of them (probably around 30) saw what we were doing, many of them joined in. I found myself laughing and screaming under big splooshes of water with these girls, then holding hands with a few and dunking under the water to the count of three. It was great. The tension eased, laughter flowing, I was able to taste the real goddess of the sea, the playful nature of the feminine. I'm glad that I was not so serious as to abstain from a little good-hearted fun.

Samudra Beach, Kovalam, Kerala

Feb 15, 2012

There is a light that, when it shines, it opens everything. When the heart is closed, this light softens it. When the stomach is clenched, this light loosens it. When the brain is tired, this light rejuvenates it. It is nothing other than the light of you self. It is who you have been all along and who you are destined to be. It is full of consciousness, totally alive and awake to what is happening in the moment and watching the time streams of past and future blending into one congruent whole.

You know you need to practice. You know it takes time. You know you can give yourself whatever you need for your own development. Keep singing! Don't give up. The mystery and the journey will always be here with you.

Today as I was tossing about in the salty waves of Samudra Beach, I looked out on the expanse of light-streaked water and remembered that I am eternal. A physical-emotional sensation of continuing to exist always everywhere, with no limit or boundary, came over me. When time folds in on itself it also opens up to reveal the greatest gift. This is the gift of clear perception, of seeing all that there is to see without blame or glory. Of looking into yourself and through yourself, seeing the many worlds and places which are still being created in the waves of the eternal.

I don't know why I came to India. I only know that my intention, my deep hunger that was and still is driving me, is the desire to be real. It's the will to see beyond all the misfabrications of our world, to understand what we are really here for.

I don't believe we are here to change anybody. I don't believe that one day we will wake up and the world will be healed. I believe that each of us has our duty to ourselves and our creator to fulfill whatever destinies lie waiting inside for us to discover.

There is no learning without hurt, no love without pain, no courage without fear. We all walk around with arms full of truths and half-truths, trying to remember what it is we came here to do.

I remember. Do you remember? I hear the song playing on an old vinyl record, something crooning up from the roots of an ancient story, a story which we all belong to. As I write, I scribble the notes of one long history book, and another book of a prophecy for the future. Yet this story has been told time and time again, of how we got here and why, of where we are going to and what it will be like. We don't need to search anymore. The knowledge is hidden and waiting, bursting at the seams to come out. It is in the faces of homeless women, of children begging on the street. It is in the glint of a rich man's Rolex watch and the scent of his new rubber tires. It is in the way we all look out from one perceiving center and shape our universe to align with what we are aiming for.

Can't we all see what it’s like to be alive together? What about the waves, and timeless possibility, and the semi-permanence of feeling good? What about letting yourself feel for a while?

Do you really like this reality, or are you just saying so? Then what is there to do. You can try to change this reality - physical and slow, hard work, sometimes rewarding. Or you can turn the flame of candle inward and let all your experiences melt those feisty knots inside that keep you tied to a gauntlet of fear and avoidance. Let that change you. Let the whole world in its bleeding, dying, coughing, choking horror; transform the mine in you to see those diamonds which you have been neglecting.

Trust me. We all know. We have all been there. Everyone is a member of the scar clan. But the days count themselves off when you could be living closer to what’s inside you. When you could stop this funny business and get on with the real problem of seeing to your self-creations and self-immolations.

Your song reminds me of something I heard once in a dream not so long ago. It is full of the sun-brightened faces of school children laughing in the ocean surf, of eagles swooping down to clasp a fresh catch of fish, of rocks bumbling downward as they sigh and give their weight into gravity. Let's remember that song. The one that binds us together and sets us free. I can play it on my radio, if you like. The speakers are not very good but the rhythm is the same as it's always been.

Life sure is a tucker, isn't it? We think we know what we're doing or where we're going, and then some bloody angel pops in, switches the dials, and the life station switchboard goes haywire again. But then maybe that's what this is all about - finding our own pattern of chaos and rhyming it with the words we feel unformed inside. Maybe it's not all about forgiveness and love and smiling daffodils, but something more tenacious and mighty, like a sword out of battle or a prince riding home.

I return once again to the clashing tension of opposites: masculine and feminine, rich and poor, East and West, spiritual and materialistic, selfish and altruistic, plain and fancy, remembered and forgotten. Somewhere in the middle, I sit down. I feel myself. I am aware. I touch, see, smell, taste, hear. This oven I'm in is still cooking. The pie is not done yet - maybe it never will be. But the kitchen of life has all the ingredients. All the spices are there. When I look in the cupboard I don't have a recipe, yet all the things come together in a way so unexpected that I didn't know such beauty could be created by me or through me. This is life. The farmhouse kitchen of eternity, full of sunshine and roses standing in water on the table. Won't you join me for dinner?

Kovalam, Kerala

Through a series of unplanned, wonderfully synchronistic events, I am now renting a house for one week with a couple from Chile. The house is a 10 minute bus ride from the beach, comes equipped with a kitchen, TV, and my own bedroom/bathroom. I pay about $3 per night to stay there, since I am sharing the cost with my two new friends. I love the way the Universe provides!

We are going to buy some food and make dinner shortly. Tomorrow will involve some beach lounging for sure.

Much Love and Namaste!
Melissa

Gora, India

I didn't end up going to the Taj - it was easier to stay at my friend's cousin's place for a few more nights in a quiet village near Khajuraho (called Gora), then take the train directly to Delhi. I may get a chance to see the Taj later when the tourist season has passed. It was quite an experience staying in the village. I think they all loved me, esp because of my dancing. They put more henna on my hands. While out and about, the men and women stay pretty separate, but the kitchen is where the women get to let their personalities out. It was fun to hang out with them and make puris/chapatis. The women want me to bring them black bras from America if I come back! I slept in the same bed on the floor as two girls, ages 15 and 20. The 20-year-old was quite a character! She farted several times and we all laughed. Our conversations were a funny mix between English and Hindi. I taught them the English word for fart, and they taught me the Hindi word: padana. Teehee!
My friend Raju also gave me a Hindi name: Muskan. It means "One who smiles/laughs a lot". It stuck, so everyone in the village called me by that name.

Much Love and Namaste,
Melissa

Chitrakut

Internet is very slow here, so I won't write much, but I just wanted to let everyone know I'm ok! This is the place where, according to Hindu legend, Lord Rama spent 14 years in exile. I have climbed the many stairs to the top of a mountain where the monkey god Hanuman is worshiped, visited a museum where the story of the Ramayana is told via pictures and sculptures, and walked by a river and inside a cave where they say Ram and his wife, Sita, lived during their time in exile. I also took a boat ride on the river that came complete with a rug and comfy cushions, sound system, and white rabbit. Tomorrow I go back to Khajuraho where a friend has invited me to a wedding. I may also spend a night or two in a small village near Khajuraho, with my friend Raju's family. It is so peaceful and quiet there. Then I head to Agra to see the Taj Mahal before I fly to Kerala from Delhi on Feb 14. If I don't write again before that, Happy Valentine's Day!
Namaste,
Melissa

Orchha

28-Jan-2012

"Do you want some papaya?" Asked the teenage boy as I walked around the 16th century palace ruins in the countryside by the river Betwa in the town of Orchha, Madhya Pradesh, India. He looked sincere, and my stomach wanted papaya but I hadn't been able to find any at the market that day. "Sure," I said. "I would love some papaya."
"Come," he replied, and led me through the fields to his grandmother's hut. "Where are you from?" We walked under the papaya trees and he reached for a sickle to slice open the ripe fruit.
"I am from the America," I said.
"Your name?"
"Melissa. And yours?"
"Daven. This I love Orchha."
"Yes, Orchha is very beautiful. River Betwa, yes? Many birds - very beautiful."
"You swimming?"
"No, I no swimming."
"Oh, yes, very cold. Cold means tanda in Hindi."
"Cold not good for tourist swimming."
"But good for Indian."
"Yes."

Daven placed each slice of juicy orange fruit on a flat red brick. "Take!"
"Thank you," I said. It was delicious. Just what my stomach wanted. I ate the whole thing. Daven's little sister and cousin sliced open their own papaya and giggled merrily as they stole glances at me and took bites out of the orange flesh. I took out my camera and pointed to it, asking, "Photo?"
The girl, a feisty one by the feel of her energy, shook her head no.
"Okay," I said, and put my camera away.

Daven's grandmother was returning from the nearby Shiva temple (which was deserted except for a few wandering tourists and occasional devotees - just how I like a temple, quiet and peaceful). Now she brought mala flower garlands made from marigolds, fragrant incense, milk. and colorful paint to offer to the Shiva lingam, Ganesh statue, and cow statue in her garden. She had a sincerity and sweetness about her which I SO love to see in old women - it is the feeling of old age that is ripened in the truest sense, so that all of one's actions seem to be an offering to the Divine. After bathing the lingam, she dipped her forefinger in yellowish powder-paint and drew sacred symbols on it, then dabbed some on the other statues with tender artistry. Then she put flower garlands around each statue and even on some of the surrounding plants and offered rice to each in turn.

It was a beautiful sight to witness, and at the same time I felt ready to move on in my exploration of the river bank and palace ruins. "Is it okay if I go now?" I asked Daven.
"Yes, it is okay. I am coming? Or no coming?"
"You coming - yes, no - it's okay."
"Okay. See you later. Tomorrow you come my grandmother's house? We cook chapati?"
"Yes, I would love to come tomorrow and cook chapatis with you."
"What you like eating?"
"Me? Oh, everything. Rice, dal, chapati, vegetable."
"Potato? Tomato? Chili?"
"Yes, potato and tomato. But no chili. My stomach - no good."
"Oh, okay. You like dal fry?"
"Dal fry okay. Just little spice - no chili."
"Okay. Tomorrow you coming...what time?"
"Morning okay?"
"Yes, morning."
"8:30?"
"Yes, okay. Good."
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
"Bye bye."

Ayodhya & Faizabad

24-Jan-2012

I arrived in Ayodhya at 3:30 am after sleeping only 3 hours on the chilly train ride from Varanasi. Initially I was afraid of arriving at a train station when it was still dark out, but when I got there I saw many Indian people (men and women) camped out right on the floor, either waiting for a delayed train or for the sun to rise. I found a spot on a bench and tried to snooze, but couldn't sleep. No wonder those beggars look so tired--anyone would after spending even one night on concrete.

As I was waiting for the ticket station to open at 8:00, I joined some ladies doing puja around a tree. Literally, yes, they were worshiping the tree like people worship a Buddhist stupa or Hindu statue--walking round and round it in a clockwise direction, grabbing handfulls of dry rice and touching them to the trunk before offering the rice to the tree again. Many fruits, incense, and even bangles had been offered and were sitting at the base of the tree. Unfortunately the small amount of rice I was carrying in a bag became prey for a local monkey as he fiendishly snatched it out of my hands. Gotta remember those monkeys--they are devilish little bastards around these parts.

I booked a train ticket for three days in advance to Chitrakut by way of Varanasi. Then I headed into the town to look for accommodation.

Hotels were not so easy to find! The rickshaw driver took me to the only four hotels in Ayodhya, and they were all full. Hmmmm...Darn. I had to do some thinking. No place to stay, a train ticket booked for three days later, and not super excited about the rinky dink town of Ayodhya. I went back to one hotel, had them store my bag for the day, and headed back to the train station to change my ticket.

My plans morphed into taking a train the following night to Jhansi, which was a short 15 km bus ride from the small town of Orchha, which I'd heard other travelers swooning about. It sounded amazing: only 8,000 people, next to a river, easy access to walking in the countryside, old palace rooms to explore, cheap rooms and food, laid back atmosphere. As far as I was concerned, I could spend 2 weeks there until I made my way to Delhi via Agra (for the Taj Mahal) to catch my plane for Kerala, South India, on February 14. With my new train ticket in hand, I headed out to explore Ayodhya's temples. I had resigned myself to spending the night at the train station if no other accommodation could be found.

Walking around Ayodhya, it became clear to me that this town had seen far fewer tourists than the placed I'd visited so far. Regardless of age or gender, everyone stared at me. I'd never been stared at so much in my life. It made me uncomfortable, but I knew that it was simply fascination and curiosity. A few people were courageous enough to approach me with basic English and ask, "Hello! Where you come from? What your name?" The difference between here and Varanasi was that these people weren't trying to extort money from me, they were just fascinated by the presence of a white person in their town. I only saw one other white person that whole day, a middle-aged man. We smiled knowingly as we walked past each other on the noisy street amongst bleeping car horns.

I paid a visit to Hanumangarhi, the busiest temple in town. Hanuman is the flying monkey god who served King Rama (also a Hindu god). I have to say I did not feel particularly comfortable in this temple. I sat at the edge and meditated a bit while throngs of pilgrims, men and women, stared at me as they walked clockwise around the temple's inner sanctum. I wondered at their intense fascination with me during a time when they were supposedly worshiping Hanuman. Each person carried a small box of sweets which they offered to the god, then received back again as prasad. In total, I received four sugar/butter balls as gifts from friendly, curious Hanuman worshipers.

This all sounds lovely but does nothing to describe the discomfort I felt. Try as I might, I could not harmonize my energy with the collective. This was very different from being with the Buddhist pilgrims, who I'd felt right at home with. There was a more agitated, nervous, even angry energy about the people here. No one seemed to be very calm. This has been my experience so far at popular Hindu temples--they seem to be an expression of the chaos of India itself.

As I sat there and watched the throngs of Hindu pilgrims crowding close to the Hanuman statue to offer sweets and marigolds, I tried to consciously allow myself to be different. To notice the contrast between how I was and how my environment was. It started to creep me out a little, how everybody was doing the exact same thing when worshiping their god. How ALL the women wore saris. I let myself feel uncomfortable for a bit, then found my way out of the temple.

It's interesting how in most of the India I've seen so far, I never see Indian women walking about after dark. It is only men, and a few tourists. Indian men have so much freedom compared to Indian women. It seems that women can't do anything by themselves except be inside the house. It startles me to see this pattern all around me, and to see how starkly different my values are from this society. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live in a place where arranged marriage is the norm, where a young girl being seen alone with a man at the market without her family tarnishes her reputation and her chances at a good marriage, where women have a skimpy chance of finding work that pays enough to feed and clothe them, and where parents must fork over a hefty dowry as payment to the family of their daughter's future husband. Sex before marriage is still a "sin" in most sections of society, so basically everyone is a virgin until marriage. No wonder the men are so crazy here. I've heard that they watch western porn, which is mostly white women, and then when they see white female tourists that's what goes through their heads. I am so glad that I don't live here.

Anyway, back to Ayodhya...After visiting the Hanuman Temple and having some lunch, I made my way back to Ram Janam Bhumi, the temple marking Lord Ram's birthplace. On the way, I met some lovely Hindu people who spoke very good English. One of them was getting his Ph D in Sanskrit - studying Vedic Literature like Rig, Sama, and Atharva Vedas, and knew of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Another was there with her two cousins, and worked as a professor teaching MBA students about Human Relations. Her hands were covered in henna from her recent engagement. When she heard that I had no place to stay, she said she'd take me to Faizabad at the end of the day, a town only 20 minutes away, where there were many good hotels. Her name was Sunanda.

I went with Sunanda and her two cousins to the Ram Janam Bhumi temple. The level of security there was astounding. It says in the Lonely Planet that until the '90's, a mosque stood stood in that place, but then a group of Hindu extremists bombed it and build the Ram temple that stands there today. They claimed that the mosque had been build over an earlier Hindu temple. As it stands now, the high court of India decided that the land belongs 75% to the Hindus and 25% to the Muslims, based on archaeological and historical data. Apparently there is or will be a mosque built nearby. Still, the Hindus are in constant fear of a Muslim terrorist attack at that site, and employ thousands of army and security forces, armed with guns, to guard the place. In addition to checking all my belongings at a locker by the gate, I was patted down in a private enclosure no less than four times at locations spread out along the long line to the temple.

The whole experience was strange, intense, and a little eerie. The pathways are all enclosed in cages, bars, and sometimes barbed wire. In addition to heightening security, this also prevents the vicious mokeys from stealing prasad out of people's hands. At festival time, the line of people waiting to enter the temple can stretch up to 45 kilometers long, and everyone is barefoot. For this reason, the pathways reminded me of lines at an amusment park ride - snaking around in long, winding patterns. At every turn, male and female security guards in uniform glanced at me imposingly. The air held a feeling of fear mixed with anger and anxiety. Or maybe that was just my own reaction to all the bars and security guards.

The other people waiting in line allowed me, Sunanda, and her cousins to cut in line. Sunanda said this was because I was from America, and they were being respectful to me because I'd come such a long way. When we finally reached the temple site, we were only allowed to glance at it from 20 feet away, again behind bars. I said a prayer of peace, offering sweets as prasad and receiving some in return. Then I made my way with Sunanda back through the maze of caged pathways to the main road.

The whole experience showed me an outer reflection of what an inner reality of fear and stagnation looks like. The temple's inner sanctum had an energy of sacredness and light - I felt that my prayer there was well-received. But at the same time, that light-filled place was encircled in miles of cages and armed gunmen. This seems to present a startling image of the situation of light and spirituality in our age, and of the religious ideas which so many large groups of people vehemently cling to. The light is innocent, clean, pure, and longs to free itself from the shackles imposed upon it by mankind's unnatural violence.

It had been a long day, and I was tired. I was overjoyed to finally arrive at a spacious and clean hotel room in Faizabad (after forgetting my bag in Ayodhya and going back to get it). I slept hard for 12 hours and laid in bed all morning.

Backtracking: Last Night in Varanasi

This sketch is from my last night in Varanasi, which was quite beautiful:

Jan 22, 2012

Tonight, sitting on the steps of Rana Mahal Ghat, I found a man playing Didgeridoo to the Ganga. Such mesmerizing tones--vibrations of Heaven. A crowd has gathered and now there are three Didge players all making rhythms and harmonizing together. The boats putter about on Mother Ganga, amidst star bangles of candles set to float with flowers atop bowls made of leaves. The sound of a bamboo flute drifts by from someone's cellphone. All the while, light streams down and explodes out from the musicians in multicolored, humming waves...A crowd is gathered, both human and ethereal. Waves dance before our eyes as spacial grids expand and contract with the music. Someone is staring at me, as usual.

Today I got henna on my other hand from a woman who was scarred by fire. (Her husband). She had honest eyes and a beautiful smile atop a neck covered in wavy rivulets of scars from the flames. The henna on my hand reminds me of fire. She signed her name on my wrist: "Savitri." I purchased a set of glitter eye shadows and stencils from her - I can tell that this made her day. Savitri seemed like one of those women who is just barely hovering above being a beggar. It felt good to support her by way of trade and business, rather than begging. She gave me a pack of bindis as a bonus, saying "Bless you," as she anointed my forehead with a red one.

This evening I got the boat ride I've been wanting. I waited until I met some other people to go with. It was magical. Somehow, gliding atop Ganga's surface put me in touch with her spirit in a way that I'd not tasted in the four days since I've been here. I went with a couple from Argentina and their baby girl. They captured a moment on camera that I wish I'd been able to also, but I was not quick enough. Hopefully my words will wrap around that moment in such a way as to give you a glimpse of its beauty:

Two Indian women, one young, one old, stand on the far sandy bank of the Ganga. Each one lights a candle, placing it in a leaf bowl full of marigolds and roses. They kneel down beside Ganga's flow and send their prayers off with the candles, hands outstretched and giving. Their saris drape over their heads, shoulders, hips, and waists, like folds of water in the river. They smile at each other with genuine delight as the candles drift away.

Photos of Orchha

Pictures - Faizabad & Varanasi

Experiencing Opposites

Varanasi. Craziest place in India so far. I have experienced both pain and enchantment, fear and joy. Survived my first real attack of traveller's diharrea and accompanying homesickness/loneliness. Saw Brahmin priests perform Puja to the river Ganga. Basked in the light as I strolled along the river, got henna on my hands, and an ayurvedic massage. Tonight I head to Ayodhya, the birthplace of Lord Rama. Here is a sketch that I wrote a few days ago:

Last night a bleating animal cried SO mournfully from the streets below my window that it sounded like someone was slowly torturing it to death. At first, the sound bothered me, but when i allowed the darkly humorous aspect of my situation to settle in, I couldn't stop cracking up. Laying inside my mosquito net in my small, $2 room, with my bowels splishing and splooshing inside my gut like a plunger in a pipe, I noticed how insanely opposite everything is here. If I am feeling the least bit weak or gullible, the world seems to leer at me from the moment I step outside. There is no organization, no rhyme or reason to anything here. I am happy to be leaving Varanasi soon. It is one hell of a place - I both enjoy it and wrinkle my nose at it!

Every morning a host of smallish, dust-colored birds come quacking at my window. yes, they really do quack, as they peck their reflections in the glass.

The best way to describe Varanasi is ludicrous. Peoples' dead bodies burning 24/7, ashes thrown into the river. 200 meters away, men in skimpy loincloths bathing in the same water, soaping up their hair and slapping their clothes onto flat rocks. onshore, miles of clothes strung out on lines to dry, flapping in the wind. Cow shit on the ground - sometimesin big, pie-sized dollops, othertimes smoothed over the concrete like crust. Free bathrooms everywhere for the men - I often see them peeing in public, and smell the results as I walk by the favorite bathroom spots.

No Hindu women from the dead person's familyare allowed at the cremations, because the tradition is that crying is not allowed here. To me, Varanasi sometimes seems like a city of men - touting me for boat rides ("boat, Madam? only hundred rupees. Helicopter?"), others playing the crazy sadhu role, wearing orange robes and asking for money. Nearly everyone wants to take your money here. Even the Brahmin priest, who kindly showed me around the oldest Hindu temple, gave me an incredulous look and complained loudly when I only donated 10 rupees. Then there are the men involved in funeral ceremonies. They get their heads shaved with a straight knife and watch sullenly as their loved ones are engulfed in flames.

Varanasi is not for the faint-hearted. It has taught me to stand by what I want no matter what, without allowing the gazillions of other people's judgements, proddings, and touts to sway my inner truth.