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."