Street Meat & Feb 10 Likes/Opportunities

I’ve determined that if left to my own devices in the wilderness, I would be killed by any number of the natural beasts that roam this earth.  What is it with me and near death/injury or general paralyzing terrifying experiences with creatures other than humans?  There were the pissed off elephants in Africa, the monkeys in North India, the dive bombing seagull in Seattle, the humped back whale in Maui and I’m sure there have been others in the past and today, I can chalk up another moment of terror thanks to the holy cows. 

I’ve found hidden “streets,” which are actually dirt paths, that cut through the middle of Arambol, that I’ve preferred to walk during the day but before all the shops open, I really enjoy walking the main road to get to the other end of town for my Aerial Silks class, which don’t worry, I’ll talk about later in either this blog or a subsequent one when my fingers are more functioning. As I’m journeying to the monster tree where two lovely silks suspend in the small clearing behind our teachers house, I walk past all the shops as they roll the metal security doors up, dust off their items, organize the store fronts and put all of their goods on display.  I approached the main turn in the road by the thali shack that has the absolute BEST and cheapest Masala Chai and the cheapest vegetable thali at the lovely cost of 40 rupees, equivalent to $0.80, in town.  Also at this little junction is a juice shack where you can get a freshly dropped coconut hacked open w/ a straw plopped into the hole so you can slurp the wonderfully delicious coconut  water.  I was really jonesin for a coconut but on the other side of the road I saw this huge dust cloud.  I don’t know what I initially thought it was, actually no, I do, I thought someone was using a lawn mower or something odd because there was quite the commotion.  Not wearing my glasses and having terrible vision of distance I got a bit closer and saw 2 cow head butt the hell out of each other.  All of a sudden a stick comes hurling at one of the cows backs and not 2 but 4 to 6 cows half stampede, half head butt each other in the middle of the street, catapulting their massive bodies directly in my direction.  I’m only about 50m away and I fucking HAUL ASS towards the beach where I had just come from as one cow hauls its body at another and they skid from one side of the street to the other, slamming towards the shops and fortunately, only grazed a few.  Red plastic chairs are flying in the air, the few other people walking on the street all abandon whatever plans they had and start to run away, a few women scream and I finally find an open shop and with agility I didn’t realize I still possessed, duck deep into a shop, hiding w/ all of the men with their embroidery machines, stitching Angry Birds on cotton t-shirts.  What in the hell is it with Angry Birds on clothing?!  Come on people!  Anyway, I turn to look out the shack’s opening and see 2 of the cows just outside looking pissed as hell and I clutch my bag to my chest, like my bloody yoga mat is going to protect me, and I turn to look at the Indian man standing right next to me and I must have a look of sheer terror wipe across my face as I made an “EEEEECK!” noise.

The next thing I see is a stick coming down to hit one of the cows on the back and men running down the street making the kinds of noises you would speak when living on a farm, you know, the clicks, haaaaaaaaiiiiiii’s and whatever else you can envision Clint Eastwood saying to a horse.  The cows slowly start to separate, cars get impatient and honk their horns, which I can’t imagine would really help the situation but you know, Indian’s are weird so whatever they do, do it guuurl.  I carefully peek my head out and see the coast is clear(ish) and I very quickly walk down the street, holding tight to the shops and any potential refuge from a possible full on charge.  As I round the corner and quicken my pace even more I see a man on the other side of the street where 4 of the angry cows where, shooin them in MY direction.  Holy fuck balls!  I’m booty swiveling competitive walking now, which I learned from watching Oprah years ago, and I see safety in the Himalayan Iyengar Center sign suspended over the road because that’s my turn off in a direction that is hopefully pissed off cowless.  I get to the turn off and breathe a sigh of relief and continue on my merry way to the most amazing thing ever, my Aerial Silks workshop.  At one point when we were sitting during our warm up some angry looking cows came up from the beach and were heading straight for us, and I can’t lie, my chest may have felt like a vice grip was just cranked around the part of my chest, cutting off any functioning capabilities of my trachea.  It seems we have made our spot their former path and they were a bit perplexed but left us alone, thank Shiva! I may need to reinstate chanting the Saturn Mantra Sanjay’s guru gave me to chant whenever I see cows.  I mean, he didn’t give it to me to chant whenever I saw cows but to chant because it’s good for me and whilst stressed, it seems to calm me.  It seemed to work when I was surrounded by monkey’s in McLeod Ganj.

Ok, after a really emotionally charged week of awesomeness I’m going to lay my nekkid bod down on my bed for a nap.  One of my new friends is on the verge of going through a bad spell and I may have a roommate for a few days so my routine of coming home and immediately stripping off my clothes like they were swarming with maggots may be halted temporarily.  I hate wearing clothes I’ve decided.  I also had no idea being so happy and having so many amazing things going on could give you an overload headache, or maybe that’s the lack of water knocking on my Parietal (yeah, anatomy, I know it).  I think I want to hide tonight in a book.  Btw, just started reading Nelson Mandela’s autobiography and W-O-W, I wish I would’ve read this before going to South Africa!  As if I wasn’t already disgusted with white people and the Western World and the superiority complex going along with both of those as it is…

It’s Feb 1, and I did my 10 likes and what I’m now calling “opportunities.”  You know, I’m going all Tony Little on my own ass with positive speak.  Wait, no, that’s Tony Robbins and Tony Little is the “swish swish” workout machine guy right?  Whatever… I’m losing it so until later…

XXXOX,

Currently Silk Burned yet always Dirty

P.S.  All this Aerial makes me want to slice into one of those crazed holy cows and grill up a thick ass hamburger.  May as well slice open one of those humping pigs adjacent to the yoga hall too and throw some bacon on there with it. STREET MEEEEAAAATTT IN MY MOOOOUUUTH HOLE! NOMNOMNOM!!

P.P.S.  Feb 10 Likes/Opps below... yeeeeaaahh!

February 2012 Ten Likes/Opportunities

10 Likes

• Greater self-awareness
• Listen to my physical body
• Always seeking more knowledge/wisdom
• When I say I want to do something, I DO it
• Positive energy a majority of the time
• Appreciate what I have and don’t focus on what I don’t have
• Honest
• Unlimited truly unconditional love for my friends and family
• Selfless
• Taking time to really work on and understand myself to be the best me for me and in turn for others
• Dedication and loyalty to things I love

10 Opportunities

• Improve self-discipline
• Don’t get affected by other people’s energy             
• Gain patience and get less annoyed
• Break the metal clasping my heart and let go
• Decrease rigidness in ideas
• Act vs. React
• Breath when emotional and gather thoughts before communicating
• Attentively listen more and talk less
• Create and keep a budget
• Detach from expectations of everything

Floater & Top 10 January 2012

You know what’s really disconcerting?  When you hear a gurgle coming from the bathroom and upon investigation you see the toilet bowl that was flushed and clean is now murky and a wee turd is just chillin on the surface.  I’m almost 90% positive that didn’t come from me. *shivers and flushes*

This trip has proven to be way different than any other time I’ve left home.  What is usually filled with stories, adventure and excitement has almost entirely turned inside and I’ve been really introspective and rather introverted.  Whatever self-exploration I was supposed to do the last time I left, but managed to successfully avoid, for the most part, is happening this time around, like something fierce.  Don’t get me wrong, the last 5 months I was in India definitely helped lay a foundation for further exploration and my trip home provided lots of insight into myself and shined a light on just how far I’ve grown and changed in some respects and where lots of work still needs to be done.  The inner workings of my brain space is not exactly something I want to write about, at least not publicly, and I’ve been more enjoying talking it out w/ the wife over Whatsapp so my blog has taken a back seat to reading, learning and thinking, not brooding, just thinking. 

I did have one bought of food poisoning that left me exploding out of both ends of my body, simultaneously no less, when my body didn’t absorb a single teeny thing for about 48 hours.  I’m pretty sure my abs became ripped from so much retching and here I thought the pollution induced coughing spasms were going to leave me w/ a six-pack o abtacular muscle!  My sister coined the loving term “vooping” for such grand occasions of hellacious existence when she was traveling through Guatemala a number of years ago, a term I have adopted and gotten the privilege of using on almost every one of my travels abroad.  That’s about as much adventure as I’ve experienced the last 5 weeks, oh, excluding the dead guy they dragged off the beach in broad daylight, all pretty exciting stuff, huh?  Since I am being so self analyzing though I wanted to start posting something I started doing India round 1.  Roshan, our teacher at Yog Peeth in Rishikesh, suggested we start doing a top 10 the 1^st of every month of our 10 things we love/dig about ourselves and the 10 things we don’t dig so much.  We all have amazing qualities about us and, conversely, things that are challenges to not only ourselves but to others, AND since I left my journal in my storage unit at home that had these for the months I diligently logged them, I’m just going to post them here.  I have no reason to hide what I think is awesome about me and what I think sucks and really, no one else should either, and, I’d kinda like to have it available so I can look back on them.  I did my one for January on Dec 31^st and I’ll be doing the Feb one in about a week or so and it’s been interesting to do.  At first it took me awhile to think of 10 things I loved about myself and no time at all do to the 10 things I didn’t like and while I was at home I spaced on doing this but I really find it valuable, especially since so much of why I’m gone is to force myself into uncomfortable situations to see how I respond.  I’m a glutton of sorts. ;)

Top 10 Likes/Dislikes

Likes:

1. Loving, unconditionally
2. Easy, open and honest communicator
3. Wisdom seeking
4. Selfless
5. Better at seeing people/situations for who/what they are not who/what I want them to be
6. Easily adaptable and flexible
7. Get along well with just about anyone I meet
8. Organized
9. Always trying to be a better person for myself and for others
10. I am really really fun! J

Dislikes:

1. Need to be a better listener and question asker
2. Self discipline needs lots of work
3. Emotions rule too much of my life (I feel my feelings w/ feeling as my friend Summer once told me)
4. Attachment/detachment issues
5. Need to be more present
6. I don’t always trust myself
7. Get easily drawn away by distractions, especially pretty ones
8. Sometimes lack tact or when emotional, struggle with communicating what I really want and how I really feel
9. Still need improvement on not taking things personally
10. Lack patience

Well this was exciting!

XXXOX,

Dirty

p.s. Happy 1/2 birthday to yours truly! yeah!

GOA-WAY

Who in the hell put Caro Emerald on my computer and why am I JUST NOW finding it?  OMG!  Love!  Shit, I was in a writing mood but putting this on makes me want to shake my ass and kick my legs around like I’ve got fringe on a flapper dress to shwoosh around the air.  Something tells me the Xanax I just took, to allow me to sleep whilst among the mayhem of Christmas/New Years week in Arambol, Goa, India, may kick in and I’d look more like a sloth trying to liquid rave dance in about ten minutes.  Actually, if you want to know how many days I’ve been here so far, all you need to do is look at my xanax supply and count all the torn foil and squished plastic circles to see what it’s taken me to not only promptly get onto India time but to bloody sleep in this place.  In my not so extensive world traveling, there are a number of places that have touched me so deeply that once I’m in a place to actually find some stability, whatever that is, and a suitable partner in loving crime (cuz you know, we homos are breakin the law! breakin the law!, in many of these here worldly parts), I would want nothing more than to take her to these spots.  Arambol is NOT one of these locations!  I don’t think any spot in Goa would be worthy, not that I’ve had time to explore with my 13 hour yoga days, which is not a complaint, just a glorious reality.  I gave up my serious club and partying days years ago and at the roadside vendors you can find all sorts of lovely paraphernalia like pipes and coke/ice bullets.  I vowed to stop drinking the week I got back from Berlin and as hard as it’s been on some days when my equanimity has been severely tested, I’ve death gripped the shit out of the railings of the sober wagon. I view club and party culture the SAME IN EVERY PART OF THE WORLD.  Just because you plop it in India and throw in a pretty beach with lots of saggy crotch pants, doesn’t mean that god awful psytrance you’re listening to whilst sucking white shit up your nose through the bullet is any different than if you were in a warehouse in Seattle.  This place is nothing but the party and the sun-bathing hangover, which is totally great for those who dig traveling this way but it’s not my scene, AT ALL, not anymore.  Since I’m not here to party, travel or explore and I literally just walk across the street from my guest house to the yoga space 878,935 a day, it’s making it ok that I’m here but I’m surrounded by those who have come here to party their asses off or make money off those wanting to party their asses off.  If I was hoping to get any sort of Indian culture from here, I would’ve made it a day or so and then peaced out of this pop stand.  

God, I’m sounding so bitter, and I’m really not; although, I will say that this week I realized, since I left McLeod Ganj, which IS one of those spots I’d take a lady love, my equanimity has been perpetually tested, or maybe I’m just more aware of the fact I have equanimity and that it’s always tested.  In either case my aspiring yogini self has still a loooong way to go in dealing with the ups and downs and now that I’m actually in a better mindset at this moment, I’m thankful for all the tests.  I’m more thankful for the gloriousness of the people and situations I’ve had that are loving and wonderful but even the bull shit experienced since the middle of October I’ve found an ability to appreciate, and I wouldn’t change a thing that’s happened.   The difference between home and now is that I allowed myself to completely lose all focus on what I really want from myself when I was visiting Seattle.  Had I maybe stuck to SOME of my yogic lifestyle, the one god awful challenging experience I had at home may not have taken up so much of my emotional energy, whereas now, I’m back on the path and doing things that are good for me and living the way I want to live, which allows me to be more of a witness to what I’m faced with rather than throwing myself into it emotionally.Well and also at home, I was dealing with someone who I used to be in love with but now whom I, unfortunately, find almost impossible to like.  Right now, with my current challenge, my yoga teacher, I need to constantly remind myself, “take the things you like and leave the things you don’t and just BITE YOUR FUCKING TONGUE.”  5 days - that may have been the quickest and shortest honeymoon phase ever for me.  I really think I need to propose to the Yoga Alliance that they need to hire me as a TTC Consultant to travel the world, observing those schools that are registered with the alliance to ensure their adequacy.  I mean, I’m a total gap analysis nerd with a keen eye for inadequacies, mad skills at making things run more effectively and implementing changes and I loooooove yoga so the marriage of the two, mixed with travel would just be awesome, right?  I’ll see if they bite J 

I’m having a bit of a rough week, which sounds utterly retarded considering I’m in fucking Goa, where the sun is shining, I wake to a crisp, almost cleanish air w/ the sound of the waves smashing into the shore, the sky is so polluted you can look directly at the huge glowing pink sun setting over the Arabian Sea every night and I’m doing yoga, in whichever of its 8 limb forms, 13 hours a day.  I know it sounds completely ridiculous and I should have nothing to complain about, in fact, I try to never complain and always find the positivity but rest assured all, I’m still an unenlightened human! J  I think I’m PMSing, which I’ve found, for 1 week a month, negates any emotional progress I’ve made over the years.  At least I return to a relative “shanti, shanti” resemblance of myself as soon as I start to bleed out like a sacrificial lamb.  I also think the Xanax has kicked in and I’m feeling mushy brained so story time, which I hadn’t even started yet, will have to commence at another moment in time.  Time to drown out the horrible western jazz funk band playing about a 100m away… I’m in India for fucks sake!  Where are the sitars and tablas!?

<II>  ßthat’s a pause button, in case you didn’t catch that. ;)

(<)

I just counted the number of squished plastic circles that used to contain a xanax pill.  Ten.  I’ve only been here 10 days?!  For the record, it was 8 when I started this blog entry.  Jesus Christ it feels like sooo much longer!  As expected, my inability to keep my craziness in check last week was due to the loveliness of womanhood but thanks to the ridiculous quantity of yoga I’m doing daily, sacrificial lamb status hasn’t been reached, THANK GOD!  I wanted to start writing about some of my fun stories since being here like getting the best reflexology massage at 2am by a blind man in the Mumbai Airport, the shanti restaurant waiter throwin blows within hours of me getting to Goa, the corpse on the beach, my sleep deprived purchase upon reaching goa that reminds me of farts, the smoking hot Russian chick who calls everyone “Baby” like she’s a Hollywood agent or my teacher bagging out of teaching the Hatha classes my first 2 days and throwing the task to me with, literally, 2 minutes warning.  The last few days though, something has happened while I was practicing laying meditation during Vijay’s chants in our final relaxation during our evening class. 

I’ve attempted to do laying Vipassana most days to make quality use of the time, besides sleeping, which I tend to do, but yesterday I said “fuck it” and decided to just focus on a chakra the entire time.  Now we all have these main energy ports and most everyone’s Anahata Chakra (located at the spine by your heart) is perpetually blocked or just royally fucked, and I’m no exception.  Each chakra has an associated flower design as well as color and for the VERY FIRST time yesterday, with my eyes closed, I actually saw color!  It morphed from blackness to a weird brightness, which isn’t unusual but all of a sudden, like a shade, a bright greenish turquoise color fell over my focus.  It was so beautiful and weird and as soon as I got excited, it went away, just like when I jump into handstand w/ both feet and find the perfect balance just before raising my legs to their final vertical position.  I ran back to my room after wriggling my toes and fingers back to awareness to text Brittnay and tell her because this shit has always come so easily to her and I finally saw a glimpse of what she’s been able to see.  By the way, India is not the same without that girl and god dammit I miss her.

Today, among all the annoying psytrance, biebs, and live funk folk, silence descended and from somewhere, I heard a live trumpet proudly playing Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon, which id and always will be one of my favorite songs of all time.  My sisters and I had this stuffed purple and green plane with a huge cute smiling face a little wind up music box inside.  We’d wind it and in the most delicate of sounds, it would play a very soft version of Sinatra’s classic and for whatever reason, we all feel like crying when we hear it.  The urge fell upon us as children when Jamie got it when she was born and it happens to this day.  I don’t know if my grandfather, my mom’s dad, gave it to Jamie but for whatever reason, I always think of him when I see that thing.  Maybe it was because he was a fighter pilot in World War II and the Korean War or maybe it was his love of Sinatra but when I hear that song or see that stuffed animal, he is all I can think of.  I got a picture of him in my inbox just the day before Christmas, one that I don’t think my mom had ever seen or at least not seen in a long time.  He passed away when I was 15 years old and was my last living grandparent.  My dad’s dad died just after I was born, his mom, when I was 10 of diabetes/obesity and my mom’s mom of her own self destructive lifestyle when I was… I don’t even know how old I was.  The only grandparent I ever really knew was Papa and he, like my mom, was the glue that held the family together in unity throughout all the madness, changes, challenges and immense difficulty.  He was her rock and to me and my sister’s, he was the greatest.  He’d put on Sinatra and we’d play boca ball in his backyard in Manhattan Beach, California during our summer vacations or he’d come lay with us at the pool at our hotel.  He was a giant compared to my tiny self and I’d get lost in his hugs.  I wish I had more memories of him but I feel like I’ve pushed a lot of the first half of my life out of my head, which I guess can be considered the root of all reasons why I’m where I am today, literally… ½ way across the world trying to figure out my shit.  

My mom gave me an old wooden chest that contained all of my and my sisters’ stuffed animals when I bought my house.  Her parting words with it were, “enjoy and I’ll let you decide which stuffed animals to get rid of.”  Oh god the task!  Those things were our prized joy as children.  I still have my teddy bear and soft rabbit, both that I’d carry with me everywhere when I was wee.  When I actually had my own bed in Seattle, I’d sleep cuddle up with my bear and even if I was dating anyone, whomever it was, would always manage to snag it at some point and snuggle with teddy.  So you can say my sisters and I really dug our stuffed animals and we had TONS!  I opened the chest and there, staring at me, was the smiling plane.  I obviously made that a keeper, along with a few other items, that would share space with my linens.  Every so often, if it wasn’t piled high with all my unopened mail and stack of NSCA magazines, as I walked out of my bathroom, I’d open the chest, pull out the plane and turn the knob and just close my eyes and listen.  It’s a weird happy sad I get every time I hear that song that I really can’t describe except for that, it’s happy sad.  I’m glad I kept it, not that there was ever any question, but Jacqui and Jamie would both occasionally ask if we still had it.  After Jamie delivered our family’s first son/grandson/nephew, I grabbed the plane and gave it to Matthias and Jamie was so happy and when Jacqui finally arrived, we listened to it and like always, we all teared up.  God we’re a bunch of emotional sappy asses!

Why am I saying all this?  Well, that trumpet, somewhere on the dirt and dust filled street below me in Arambol, Goa, was playing this song while I was focusing on my Anahata Chakra, again, during Vijay’s chanting.  At first I saw color again and then I went somewhere, lots of places.  I went to the plane first and the memories I have a Papa and all of a sudden I went through, in the most vivid images ever, of the first meetings of each of my 3 best friends and the one and only woman I have, so far, loved and been in love with unconditionally.  I was back on the Hill with Josh as we and brace face Tamme T and other friends gallivanted around Broadway on a cloudy day.   Sitting in Jenner’s car, I turned around and looked at a baby faced James who wouldn’t stop playing with his god damn labret piercing on the way to the Y2K party in bumfuck Washington.  I was chilling in the sun on Waterfront Park listening to house as pig tail sportin Kuddlebear Shannon was introduced to my jaded junglist self and I was wasted outside the Rose as I saw Danger’s blue eyes and one dimple for the first time, which I proceeded to poke incessantly the duration of the long evening that stretched into morning.  I couldn’t control my mind, I didn’t even try so I was failing miserably at meditation but I was ok with it.  As the trumpet kept tooting and my focus remained on my heart chakra these images just flowed and then I could feel a tear, I’m going to assume a happy one, roll down my cheek and I hadn’t even noticed the emotions and the manifestations of those emerging from my body until I felt the tear.  The chanting ended, my toes and fingers were wriggled and I had to hurry up to shower before our philosophy class so I hadn’t quite come to yet.  The feeling I had wasn’t quite a yoga bliss because with each step I took I felt like Big Foot slothing through the forest, one monster step at a time, but my leg movement felt effortless through the air as I made my way down the stairs, dodged scooters and across the street to my guest house.  The happy/sad feeling had left me feeling light and heavy, all at the same time.  I told Jade of my experience and she squealed (not really squealed, she doesn’t squeal) “oh how wonderful!  A detoxing moment!  Just let the tears flooow!”  “Jade, I’m not sad, it was quite a peaceful and happy feeling of contentment.”

I’m not sure what to make of it but for some time at dinner, as I sat by myself with my toes digging into the sand, the whisper of the ocean waves in the background, my Kindle open and ready to be read, I just stared at the slightest of crescent moons, staring and wondering if this is the same moon the loves in my life will see tomorrow when the sun goes down and moon rises.

On a different note, it’s really hard to concentrate on my breath and body position during Hatha when I want to rip the clothes off the girl next to me, not that there’s much to rip off...

XXXOX,

Dirty

Day in the Himalayan Life - Pt2

I’ve been feeling the itch to write lately and capture what the experience of coming home for a visit, post my India experiences, has been like.  Btw, I came home.  After Vipassana all I wanted to do was see my best friends and my family so days after I exited that hellacious piece of heaven/hell on earth in my enlightened state, I booked a visit home, this time the ticket was round trip.  I realized I had a part 2 of what was supposed to a many part series about my incredible daily life in McLeod but well, it ended with part two, which I have yet to post, until now.  Instead of completing this series, which the concept will be resurrected upon my return to SE Asia, I will just capture the things I’ve missed terribly since I’ve left.

I  miss all the amazing people I met, whom I know many of us will reconnect in the future, I miss listening to screaming eagles while hovering in Chatturanga, the sun penetrating the wall of windows in Yogi Shivadas’ studio or the torrential rains pounding on the ceiling.  I miss Shivadas calling me out on things and pegging my issues to a tee, I miss the random and sketchy looking routes to get to ANY yoga studio in McLeod or Dharamkot, which means I kind of even miss Jonathan the crazy Israeli tantric yoga teacher who told me to drink my own menstrual blood and that of my now no longer lady friends.  I miss my post yoga dates with Brittney and sitting on an open area, usually tarp covered roof watching the screaming eagles and eating our eggs and Tibetan brown bread or our fruit, muslei and curd.  Sometimes I miss Marina and her pounding on my door moments after I set foot in my room after a long day out.  I miss Mohan screaming, “MAAADAAAAAMMM“ and finally in the last few weeks I was there “JEEESSSSIIIIIIII” whenever he needed to talk to me and I miss the giggle and shy smile of his wife Beetu and her lil round preggers belly.  I miss the boys at Sanji’s always flipping me shit, the brothers Raan, Sanjay and their friends Ravi and Dinesh.  I miss my talks with Mohan’s brother Rinku and their helper during the busy season, Lama, about life in India.  I miss random adventures with Brittney and anyone else we met along the way, lounging days away “reading” in any one of our favorite cafes.  I miss my solo days where I’d park my ass on my balcony and stare out at the hillside while eating, reading, writing or doing yoga.  I miss my daily yoga lessons with DK from Lhamo’s and hearing about his stories of the life of Tibetans or the movie night they had EVERY night at 7pm in their café.  I miss the random guest house owner, Vikram, who would greet me each morning on my way down the hill to my yoga class as he’d tell me if I was early or late that given morning.  I miss passing the man and woman right by the steps playing Marabaraba (no idea what they call it in India) for hours on end.  I miss dodging cows, motor rickshaws and weaving in and out of the traffic mayhem that is India.  I miss living in the storms!  Oh MY GOD do I miss the storms!  I miss watching them roll in, roll through, the pounding on the roof, dodging the puddles of ick they created on the streets, the thunder that would shake my entire guest house ALL night, the lightening that would wake me in the middle of the night by igniting my room in incessant flashes.  I miss going to Tushita for Buddhist movie days, chai, chatting w/ Renchin the monk from Hawaii, morning meditations and workshops.  I miss going to Vipassana and then planning out a day w/ Marina afterwards.  I MISS THE FOOD! I miss the “shanti shanti” life style and attitude, which also means, India Time.  I miss the real true street food.  I miss hearing any one of the dozens of Shiva temple bells getting rung at any time of the day or waking to the sound of Buddhist chanting echoing across the hills.  I miss the sights, sounds (even the fucking ridiculous horn honking), smells and energy of the entire place.  I miss looking at the swirly trees that were sporadically located between all the gigantic evergreen trees.  I miss my Big Gay Umbrella and actually getting to use it without getting glared at because of its size.  I miss the Dalai Lama and you know what else I miss… the fucking MONKEYS! (FORESHADOWING)

Anyway, without any further ado, here is part 2 of what ended up only being 2 parts of Day in the Himalayan Life.

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Taking in one last breath of sun I bounce out of my balcony chair, throw on some yoga clothes, toss my mat into my backpack, make sure I have my antibacterial soap and cream for my fully exposed, fresh ¼ sleeve tattoo, slip into my flip flops, grab my 3^rd arm, which I have lovingly named “My Big Gay Umbrella,” which doubles as a walking stick during the non-torrential parts of the day, and head out for my walk/hike down to McLeod Ganj.  The path from my guesthouse to the main corner that houses the Himalayan Tea Shop, Tushita and Vipassana is relatively flat and mixed with paved parts, small pebbles and sand and big rock chunks, not unlike most other streets in the area.  Two routes will take you to McLeod Ganj, one driven by taxis, motorbikes and rickshaws; although, not at this early hour of 7:30am and the other path is known as the “shortcut” that passes along the backside of Tushita and is more of a hike than a walk.  Its descent is quick, steep and predominately nothing but rock.  A majority of the path looks like someone spent a month going up and down the mountain with a jackhammer, destroying the shit out of the road, and left all the remnants as a perpetual obstacle for the journey between McLeod and Dharamkot.  This is when I learned I’m amazing in a pair of flip flops and decided my Reefs are going everywhere in the world with me.  They handle this crazy bit of terrain like the champs they were born to be.  They’ve taken me through 4 continents, endured showers with leeches, vineyard strolls, mountain hikes, spa days, yoga outings and trudged through flooded roads of cow shit and sludge.  I feel like I should write a song about them but that would just be silly.  Understandably, this road is not taken by anything motorized, or anything not on foot, to be more specific.  It’s a beautiful path, lined with massive evergreen trees on both sides, it smells fresh, until you get closer to McLeod or pass a freshly dumped cow pie, and due to the surroundings, the incline and the condition of the path, I’d classify this more in the category of “hike” versus a “walk.” 

McLeod Ganj is like Seattle on a sunny day, especially after months of absolutely ridiculous torrential downpour from the skies.  The rain here is like nothing I’ve ever seen, in quantity, ferociousness and frequency.  It’s no wonder the poorly engineered roads look like they are going to slip out from under you with just the weight of your foot step, or a massive rock will dislodge from above and tumble your direction as you cross its path.  When the skies part and the sun shines, people are all smiles and friendly.  I have taken to hauling ass down the mountain in the mornings, since I’ve already spent considerable time strolling, gazing at my surroundings and absorbing everything around me.  Now, haul balls is the name of the game, unless I have a chance encounter with a lovely stranger, which, because I apparently can’t stop socializing, is often.  One morning a wonderful Tibetan man, whose name I still don’t know, who works at a guest house at the bottom of the hill, was on his way back from his early morning walk with his dog up to the top of the hill, showed me a marvelous short cut that allowed me to bypass the massive garbage can around the bend and down the hill. You know who likes garbage cans?  MONKEYS!  You know who doesn’t like me?  MONKEYS!  I will say, since my encounter with that beast in Rishikesh (see Mission, Monkeys and Motorbikes – OH MY!), and after a few weeks of automatically chanting the Saturn mantra Sanjay’s guru gave me as I approached a pack, I’ve eased a bit in their presence and I don’t think I’m giving off the stench of utter terror and fear.  I think it also helped that during Vipassana, I would take it upon myself to lead all the women to either the Dhamma Hall or cafeteria, because those are the only places we went, putting myself in harm’s way first of any monkey shenanigans, because I am up to date on my shots, thanks to Rishikesh.  The Vipassana retreat center in Dharamsala is like a playground for those things and one day a girl from San Francisco and I were essentially locked into the outdoor bathroom area because an entire family, or more of monkeys, were surrounding us.  As they came closer, we’d both run into whatever was nearest that had a door we could slam and lock.  I chose the bathroom, with the toilet EVERYONE tinkled on (so annoying!) and she, one of the showers, which probably had a disgusting leech on the darkened concrete, lifting its grotesque head sniffing for flesh to suckle.  Fifteen minutes we stood there, waiting for our chance to escape and keep in mind, we can’t talk and technically we’re supposed to have “Noble Silence,” which means also no gestures or eye contact but this was a different kind of situation and silent communication was a must for our survival.  I may be exaggerating, slightly.  Finally, Dimple, a woman from Bangalore, frantically waved her umbrella in the air as a signal we were in the clear and we managed to scurry off to our rooms, unscathed.  I feel like I could write a book about my monkey experiences in India.

Back to my lovely jaunt down the hill. I round the bend that passes the lower entrance to Tushita, by one of the Buddhist temples they walk circles around chanting mantras and playing with their prayer beads, and I hear a noise from the trees, I think.  I’m alone, which is not uncommon, and there is always some weird noise in this area that I haven’t been able to identify so I just keep walking, with heightened alertness  and a firmer grip around my Big Gay Umbrella that has a metal point.  I’ve determined that in time of need the Big Gay will be my life saver and allow me to stab a bitch in the gut through the heart or in the eye.  I told this plan to my mom on the phone once after she told me, “be safe girl,” and she suggested, “I think you should go for the eye.  Then you don’t have to contend with a rib cage.”  Thank you mom for the wonderful advice.  With a firm grip I look ahead and down to see if there are any newer obstacles in my path this day.  This is the point where the road is somewhat paved but the retaining wall of filled old metal containers is ahead and effective they are not, so the road is crumbling to bits around that piece of engineering genius.  As I peer up I catch the glimpse of an adolescent monkey running and jumping through the brush, swinging from a low hanging branch, landing on the ground and all of a sudden, I see a few more join it on the right side of the path.  I’m calm, cool, collected, not even chanting my mantra at this point and I’m feeling pretty a-okay.  All of a sudden, from the left, I hear similar noises and while looking down but carefully lifting my gaze I spot about 15-20 more monkeys of all ages.  At this point, the lil guy on the left, who I thought was alone, had crossed the path but left behind him another 20 monkeys.  I’m fucking SURROUNDED!  

Usually when I come to a group of monkeys they are all chilling by the garbage can, noshing on only god knows what and pay no mind to me, as long as I’m not oozing nervousness and anxiety.  I thought maybe they’d stop as I was walking, listening to Ratatat from my phone that’s shoved into the water bottle compartment of my backpack, but no, they are going the same direction as I.  I have baby monkeys walking within a foot of me on either side, almost in an accompanying fashion, older monkeys are frolicking (do monkeys frolic?) in and out of the trees to my right and on the left they are just running along the side of the cliff, some are crossing right in my path, making me weave a little from side to side like a hopeless drunk at this early hour.  I keep my pace even, as to not disturb the flow we’ve all created because I honestly don’t think I’d survive a monkey attack of 50+ strong, and there is not a person in sight.  The brief detachment from civilization in the woods is coming to an end and I see the patch of homes and guest houses on the left.  Water spews from some of the exposed piping that’s stacked in mass, soaking the left side of the road and this is India, you have NO idea where this stuff comes from or more importantly, what’s in it.  I try as I may to avoid getting “India” on me because who knows what will grow from the tainted spot once “India” has touched my skin, or what will fall off my body due to infection.  On the right the road becomes unmanageable in flip flops, or at least very difficult but there is a nice clear, yet small patch of pavement running down the middle of the path.  Even with the spots I like to avoid, there is maybe only 2-3 feet of each unpleasant situation on either side of the nice patch of pavement. Under normal circumstances, this is not problem but today it’s proving not only difficult, but impossible as I carefully keep my head down but gaze up and see the patch of hairy chest on a really big fucking beastly monkey plopped right in the middle of the road, parked on my landing strip of pavement.  “Fuck fuck fuck!” I silently utter to myself.  So that lack of fear I felt on this rather surreal trip down the mountain came to a jilted halt.  I’m all of a sudden, very cognizant of my breath and more importantly, controlling it. Breathing slowly to regulate my heart beat I, even more, carefully look at the monkey’s face, making sure to not make eye contact, to size up the situation I’ve encountered.  He’s just staring at me, not moving, I’m not moving, none of the monkeys around us are moving anymore, and life freezes, for how long, I have no idea.  Five feet from what seems to be the leader of this pack I stand as nonchalantly as possible, even go so far to place a hand on my hip, look up at the sky and pretend I don’t see this creature and that I’m totally unmoved by his power play, because, that’s what he’s doing that monster bastard of a mammal!  I fight the urge to whistle a little tune of nothingness, which I’m sure would send all 82,384,732 monkeys in my direction, teeth bared, arms flailing and screeches capable of draining my ear drums of blood.  I carefully, and briefly, look at his face again and he’s still just staring at me, not showing teeth or hissing like the one who attacked me in Rishikesh, but instead, smiles mockingly at me.  Maybe I dreamt it, or maybe I’m just being a dramatic Leo, but I swear he was flipping me shit with his eyes and a smirk.  I wait, patiently, maybe for 30 seconds, maybe for a few minutes and all of a sudden I hear small movements in surround.  A few of the little monkeys latch onto their moms and as I’ve been deemed nonthreatening, the big bastard saunters into the brush on the right side, allowing me to pass.  At this juncture, the monkeys stay put and carry on about whatever business it is monkeys carry on with?  I’d say they are on a mission to terrorize humans but that would be inaccurate in McLeod, thank god.  The red monkeys here are actually a bit more docile and just want to eat the remnants of food off the ground, rather than steal bags of whatever goodness you may have in your hands.  If I was still in Rishikesh though, terror, trouble and shenanigans are all those damn red assed monkeys are about and I have the faint scars of wisdom to prove it.  

Until the adventures continue and I need to decompress from my visit home,

xxxo

DIRTY!

Day in the Himalayan Life - Pt1.

“MADAAAAMMM!!” I’m startled awake from my perch, basking in the morning sun beating onto my balcony during the waking hours.  Mohan is yelling, as he does, from the bottom of my ramshackle stairs that I swear, one day, will topple over as I’m descending.  I’ve already practically face planted into the upper stairs as I’ve climbed them with a quick, impatient but what I thought a reasonable pace.  Why Mohan, one of the brothers who owns and operates the guest house and restaurant I’ve been staying since my move from party crazy Dharamkot Road to a quieter location, just days before Vipassana, continues to call me madam, I will never know.  I’ve requested a few times for him to just call me Jess, Jessica, J, asshole, whatever, anything but madam, but alas, a man forms a habit with no desire to break so I adapt to what I find an unnecessary formality.  I think he just doesn’t want to remember anyone’s name, which I don’t blame him, considering this place is a revolving door of tourists, predominately Israeli, so why remember anyone’s name?  The thing is, I’ve been living in his upstairs guestroom for 2 months, I have dinner with his wife, I play with his adorable niece Shelly and I'm pretty much an extension of their family at this point.  Instead of going through the revolving door as everyone else, I’m that idiot who sneaks into the small opening during the final swing of momentum of a manual entrance, thinking it’s automatic, and I just stand there, waiting for something to happen once the revolutions stop. I'm stuck and here to stay but if madam is what he prefers to call me, then madam it will remain.

“MAAAADDDAAAAAAMMM!!”  Completely unaware of what he wants I brace myself like an old lady and lurch out of my comfortable position on the balcony chair, unlatch both locks on my front door, fling it open and holler back, “Whaaaaat?!”  This is where the formalities stop as we scream back and forth at each other to communicate.  It’s what we do.

“Madam, garbage!  Do you have any?” he asks me.

“Oh yeah!  I was wondering how that works around here.  I’ll be down in a few seconds.”  I hustle to my bathroom, grab the only garbage can I have in my room, slip into my flip flops positioned at the door, grab a few plastic bottles and patiently and carefully step down the stairs.  The first step is a little further away from the top landing and there is a huge open gap that separates them, and it's at a wee incline, not to mention they are made of metal slats so they are a girl in heels worst nightmare!  I am in flip flops and they are still a nightmare.  Any wrong footing and you’d tumble down the very narrow, deathly looking contraption that is a fabricated norm in India.  As I set a foot on solid concrete ground I’m welcomed by an aged gentleman who has a massive old weaved rice bag that holds the unwanted contents of countless houses’.  He looks at me, silently, opens the bag and I dump the contents of my garbage to mix with that of everyone else’s.  I thank him, give him the India head nod and before I walk away, I see him synch the bag closed, heave it onto the top of his shoulder girdle and start to shuffle his way down the uneven,  slanted, crumbling steps that go from upper Dharamkot to main Dharakmot Road.  “Well, I guess that answers my question about garbage pickup,” I think to myself.  Of all the places I’ve traveled in this world and actually set temporary roots, I’m always fascinated by how different system’s work.  In Rishikesh, India and Lesotho, Africa, they just burn everything they can’t recycle.  In Rishikesh, the recycling is minimal and that was apparent by the daily evening asphyxiation we’d be subjected to but in Lesotho, they find the oddest uses for any normal item we’d throw in the trash in the US.  In Peru, we found much of the hillside in San Francisco de Asis, a small community just east of the coastal fishing town of Ancon, buries their garbage in the dirtiest sand hill I’ve ever seen, which we found out was a garbage dump when we ended up digging into it during the process of our construction work.  If they didn’t do that, once or twice a week a truck would drive down the sand path, honk their horn and people would need to run out of their house and throw bags of their waste into the back of the truck.  Some would just leave everything in a big pile, not unlike they do in Manhattan, and the garbage collectors would pick up the mess.  India is just a different world and I really can’t ever figure out the systems they have in place, for anything, really.

I’ve had to leave my green, “keep your surroundings clean” Northwest born attitude at home and believe me, the first time I did the unspeakable, I felt like I died a little inside.  I had just finished devouring delicious steamed momos from one of the street vendors, post one of my first killer Ashtanga practices, and asked a girl if she’d seen a garbage.  Her response, “Uh, look around, India IS the garbage.  Just toss it.”  I swallowed hard, closed my eyes and let my paper container dangle from my fingertips before it silently dropped into the drainage ditch below me.  The sides of the streets at the end of the day look similar to those in the Mission in San Fransisco but something tells me monster street sweepers don’t cluck along Temple, Bhagsu or Jogiwara Roads in the middle of the night and instead everyone in McLeod Ganj has the untouchables to thank for keeping the filth to a minimum.

I’ve been more fascinated with the daily life of those in Dharamkot and McLeod, myself included because during one of my many epiphanies I had during Vipassana was, “why in the hell am I going to do an Ashtanga teacher training when I’ve only done 2 classes myself?!”  That epiphany came on day 3 and day 4 I decided that if Sarah and I didn’t get chosen to be the travel bloggers for a project in Japan, which we were supposed to find out about while I was deep into sitting 12+ hours a day, observing my bodily sensations, I wasn’t going to be upset because the thought of incessant traveling tired me greatly.  My intentions of coming to India were to immerse myself in as much yoga as possible and anyone I met along the way whose plan didn’t align with mine, I would just say hello and then good bye.  Little did I know that while sitting in silence for 10 days I would come out the other end with 2 incredible new friends whose paths were very similar.  I made a decision to stay put, set roots and really begin to live, a normal, daily life, in this Himalayan hillside, without stress, without a desire to move around and without going through another strictly regimented yoga teacher training.  I know that will come again in my life but right now, it just didn’t feel like the right time.  I have to admit, I chuckle to myself when friends back home speak about all the adventures I’m having because, once you’re settled somewhere and set roots, everything just becomes a norm and nothing seems like an adventure.  This is why I haven’t updated my blog in so long, each day brings me the same satisfaction, which is great, but it’s all just life for me.  I feel like writing now would be like keeping a travel blog while I’m in Seattle. J 

Every so often I have to stop and realize exactly what I’m doing and I’m amazed by my life.  I wake up every morning and head to yoga, like I do at home, head to some fine establishment for food and tea with friends, like at home, find a quiet café with a balcony that has an amazing view to read for a few hours, which I do at home, and maybe catch a free movie and then walk up the hill or depending on the daylight, catch a ride up the hill to my place of residence.  Sounds pretty normal, yeah?  I feel like I’ve turned into one of those people who answers with, “oh you know, the usual,” when asked what’s new but in reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth, which as renewed my desire to capture just what life is like where I'm living.  This is less a travel blog now and more a life experience blog, which I find completely acceptable at this point in my life.

Each morning I wake and now that the monsoons have subsided, although not entirely, the sun is fighting with all its might to seep into my room through my blood red curtains, sometimes succeeding and leaving a small bead of light shooting directly into my eyes.  I smile as I emerge out of my burrow of sleep sack and mound of blanket and fling the curtains open with awe at the beauty of the new day.  The mountains have this spectacular glow to them, whether from the dew collected over the night or just how things look here without any explanation, but everything shimmers and it’s amazing.  My entire room lights up, I open all the windows and make my way to the balcony to sweep whatever mess the wild cat has left in the middle of the night of its scratching post, which is my chair.  I plop down for a minute, close my eyes, sun radiating much needed Vitamin D into my skin and just breath in the morning, all while listening to Rinku, Mohan’s older brother, aggressively, almost violently gargle, hack and spit into the sink in their family’s outside shared bathroom.  My Dalai Lama blessed Buddhist prayer flags gently flap in the breeze, which I hung as soon as I realized I was staying for awhile, life on the hillside slowly starts to stir and I can hear the Vipassana bells in the distance.  Now that I’ve lived a life for 10 days by those bells, it’s impossible not to notice each time they ring.  While I was in Vipassana, the moment we could start to speak, one of the first things I said, as Jasmin, the main server, was walking around with one of those god-awful hand held bells going “dinglelinglingdinglelinglingdinglelinglingdinglelingling” was “when I leave here and hear a fucking bell, I’m going to have a Pavolvian response and it’s not going to be salivating.”  Oops, there’s some aversion for you.  The fact is, now that I’m out, I love hearing them and while my meditation has been anything but consistent, when I try my best to make time, I try to time it with the bells.  Those bells, this view, these sounds, the smells, none of these things are anything I have in Seattle.  Life lived on a mountainside in the Himalayan mountain range is like nothing else on this planet and it’s beyond beautiful and experiencing this is my adventure...

Cheers from the mountain and more to come,
xxxo,
Dirty

The Final Countdown!!

I’m sitting in a café watching the rain, surprise surprise, tying up any and all loose before I check into Vipassana tomorrow at around 2pm.  You know, because 10 days of not being able to speak, read, write, look at anyone, make any contact what so ever, listen to music, leave the grounds, eat dinner and really only meditating 12+ hours a day, does not exactly allow anyone to do anything else.  The days leading up to this moment have been really quite wonderful.  Many new friends have been made, I’ve done my best to live avoid the internetz and live in the moment (it’s REALLY had when it’s so readily available!) and I’ve been thinking fondly of all my friends and family who I love dearly.  I’m nervous, excited, have really no expectations, except that it’s going to be really challenging and knowing there will be times when I absolutely hate it and when I absolutely love it.  In my final time I’m going to head to Vari’s REALLY wonderful yoga class again today w/ “old” and new friends, on the way back up the hill we’re going to stop for a nice dinner at the organic place that everyone raves about and hopefully I’ll meet up w/ Melody and Cat. Below are two blog posts I wrote when I wasn’t around the internet to post.  Enjoy!

Clear mind, clear heart, open mind and open heart… here we go!

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Lone Ranger

10.August.2011

Jade left today and for the first time since I deplaned in Delhi, I’m a solo traveler.  It feels good, it feels weird, it feels like, I don’t know, how this was going to feel for a majority of my trip.  I haven’t been on the road long but I can already tell how, even surrounded by tons of people, a perpetual rotating door of new friends, one can feel really, really lonely.  I’m not there yet, at all in fact, but I know it’s a potential feeling at the months continue to slip away.  Being a rather “permanent” fixture in Dharamkot I’m familiar with pretty much everyone who works here and end up meeting many of the travelers passing through and all conversations are starting to sound the same, except when I spoke with Jade.  Here’s the general flow that goes both ways – name, where you’re from, how long you’ve been traveling, how long you’ll be traveling, how long you’ve been in and will be in India, how long you’ll be in Dharamsala, what are you doing here, what you do at home, what brought you to India, where else you’ve gone and where else you’re going, etc.  It’s like dating, which I grow tired of VERY quickly because I’m bored of having the same conversation over and over again, which is why I’d just like Awesome to land in my lap but we see how successful (more like completely failed) that plan has been, but at least a majority of travelers are happy go lucky people with interesting stories to share.  Sounding like a broken record though is the first step to getting down to the nitty gritty. 

So on that note, I’ve met some really incredible people in the past few days, even while trying to hide out a bit.  Marshall is a Brazilian man from NYC who used to work at a university doing their tech for fundraising and has decided to up and leave his job and the US, travel throughout India studying yoga and meditation and return home, after a long departure, to Brazil.  There is also an adorable couple from Spain, Carme and Enrique who have finished their first stage of University and will be moving from the small island they’ve been living to do their masters in Barcelona.  They actually invited me to go with them to Amritsar for a quick few day trip, which sounds so incredibly delightful but also a bit hectic w/in a few days of Vipassana.  I’ve opted to keep to my yoga/meditation plan and stick around and prepare myself, however that looks, for my 10 days of silent, no eye/physical contact, 14hr per day meditation. Lauren is another girl I met, who is actually currently in Vipassana and gets out tomorrow, who is from Humbolt County CA and has been traveling since she graduated college and is also on the yoga/meditation kick in India.  Speaking of which, I need to email her tonight!  OH and how could I forget, I have found the latin yogis!!  YES!  They are gorgeous of course and one in particular, Deidre, is from Chile and doing her 500RYT with Mahi in Upper Baghsu and she couldn’t speak any more highly about the man or the course.  I plan to go check out his classes and he studied with the man I plan to take my 200RYT Ashtanga Vinyasa with in September, Vijay.

Vijay is AWESOME!  He’s a really skinny, very nimble and gumby like older man who can float better than that Ricky dude from, you know, that one video on YouTube. ;)  Jade managed to find him by accident when another teacher she had arranged to train with flaked on her.  His studio is at the end of Jogiwara Road in McLeod Ganj, down some very intimidating steps, pass by the kindergarten, down more steps, down a dark alley, down even darker steps and through the door on the left.  The room smells of 30 year old sweat, is decorated by the chipped paint coming off the concrete walls, the concrete ceiling and all the wiring is exposed, the floor is covered with the thinnest, hair and lint filled carpet (in fact, I don’t even know if it’s carpet, it may just be hair and lint now) and it’s AWESOME!  There are literally NO frills in this place AT ALL, yoga is all this place exudes, as it should and Vijay has been practicing and teaching yoga for almost 4 decades and by the rhythmic flow of how he describes each body position, you can tell he’s said the same thing for just as long.  He begins each class with a chant and I can’t understand him but as Sanjay said at Yog Peeth, “feel the vibrations of the mantra” and that’s precisely what you can feel, especially during his final chant while we’re lying in savasana. His voice and accent take a bit to get used to but once you do, there is an odd appreciation you grow to have for it.  From the very first class I took of his, the evening Hatha Flow, he was flipping me shit for my hair, my earrings and only lord knows what else, I’m an easy target.  I dug him immediately and I had the most intense yoga blissed out feeling afterwards than I had, probably ever, and I knew this man was going to be my next teacher.  

                “What is that, silver?” he said, flicking my 6g earrings.

                “No, stainless steel.”

                “Oh, yuck!” he joked.  Fast forward to the next morning at my first Ashtanga Vinyasa class. “Next time I see you, I want those to be platinum, ok?”

                “Platinum?!  That’s expensive Vijay!” as I exclaim, while trying to balance on one leg while I’m gripping the foot on my other leg, extending it out to the side, “are you going to buy them for me??”

                He comes in close and whispers in my ear, “you find a store, I have some tricks and I’ll steal them for you.” 

How can you not love a man who jokes about stealing platinum 6g earrings for you?  Considering the likelihood of landing the japan travel blogging opportunity is slim, mostly because even IF we get and invite, neither Sarah nor I will be available to reply within the required amount of time, I’ll be staying in Dharamsala until about November and doing my Ashtanga Vinyasa teacher training with him, which I believe I already stated.  So my unending quest to learn as much about yoga from as many phenomenal teachers continues.  Of course, after leaving Rishikesh, Jade and I learn of 2 amazing teachers there that neither she nor I checked out while there.  A trip back to Rishikesh may be in order to spend some time studying with Usha and Kamel.  My time in India is seeming to grow exponentially by the day.  Marshall gave me some great recommendations for places to study in Kerala, I still want to go to Mysore and I may head to Goa in January to study for my 500hr with either Mahi or Vijay.  You know, my entire world is still open so who knows that the fuck I’ll end up actually doing.

Since I’m here for the long haul, it’s seeming, I started to take some steps in integrating with the local culture.  Yesterday I started taking cooking lessons from the sweetest girl named Reeta.  She’s 27, her birthday is the same as mine and has been teaching cooking at her parents’ house for the past 11 years, the last 7, by herself.  She is WONDERFUL!!  I sent Shannon some Food Masala so I wanted to get some firsthand experience at cooking some things that I can share with her.  Yesterday I made vegetable samosa, cheese momo and dahl.  It was so fun and so incredibly delicious and afterwards, I found myself just chatting with Reeta about Indian culture.  We touched on the arranged marriage aspect of their culture a bit while making dinner but after I ate, she was sharing stories of the drinking problem of the men in her life, the abuse the woman take and it was really sad.  She also said that it’s hard for her family to continue to marry off the girls because the price of gold has soared due to the economic meltdown across the west and parents can’t buy the gold required of marriage arrangement.  I had such a great time with her I scheduled my next evening’s dinner to be with her again.  Today we made malai kofta, potato parantha and vegetable pakora and again, we chatted like old friends.  I asked her if she got a chance to talk to most of the people she cooks with but exclaimed, “I don’t like talking to people.”  “Well,” I said, “you don’t seem to have a problem with talking to me.”  “That’s because I like you!”  She also called me a computer while I was cooking because I was doing so well, all while she was doing little Bollywood jigs around the tiny little kitchen. 

Her kitchen is about the size of my cubicle at the big bad monster cell phone giant, when they actually gave me a full cubicle.  There is a small fridge at the center of one wall, counter space lining the entire other side of the room and along the back, where there is also a stainless steel sink.  The place is very clean and simply stocked with everything she needs.  Clear plastic jugs filled with all sorts of spices and ingredients are stacked on the shelves by the sink and the cabinets underneath house all of the cooking tools and a basket of fresh, local vegetables.  We cook on a very simple 3 burner gas stove that she places on top of the counter and we both wriggle around the room getting from place to place, while one of us is cutting, one of us rolling dough and one of us… wait… there are only 2 of us.  During her little booty shake she exclaimed how much she loves dancing and that the only time she gets to dance is when there is a wedding in the local area.  20 days before the ceremony everyone in town is invited to go to someone’s house and they dance for hours on end to Indian techno, local tunes and the dancing continues for hours, each day leading up to the wedding.  The wedding marathon, this year, starts in October so she’s looking forward to September.  Today our discussion topic was the process she’s gone through thus far to find a husband and it sounds terrible and demoralizing, not much unlike the process anywhere else, it’s just different, actually, it’s very blunt.  After she had been talking with the last suitor – she’s had 2 – for a month, he had seen her picture, heard from others about how wonderful she was he said he didn’t want to marry her because she was too short.  The first suitor said she wasn’t educated enough for him, with her university degree and additional studies in computers.  She looked so let down by this but with an air of deflated positivity, if that’s possible, said, “that just means there is someone better out there but it’s so hard because people find out if you’ve been denied multiple times, it makes you less desirable, and I’m getting older, which doesn’t help.”  Man, if my “desirability” was based off past failures, I’d be screwed, we’d ALL be screwed!  We all go through some process of self realization after situations like that, let downs, disappointments and break ups and lord knows I’m still trying to process everything that happened with me in the past year.  With India culture though, it’s like you throw your profile out there for people to view and then get very candid feedback on why they are rejecting you and it’s always shallow, how can it not be when the most information anyone has is your age, height, weight, intelligence stats, maybe a picture and maybe, but rarely, a series of conversations.  It’s not like you can tell someone you’ve never met, “I feel like you never actively listen to me and are always waiting for the next chance you have to talk about yourself, again, and what you hate about your life.”  Nope, they get, “you’re too short.”  You can’t even do anything with that!  Tomorrow, I’m going to make dinner with her again and this time, we’re doing stuff off the menu!

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Mer Moment

13.August.2011

I can’t even begin to count the number of “Mer Moments” I’ve had today. J  I met a new amazing friend, Lindly, an older woman who is from the UK but lives in Austrailia and is teaching English to refugee/exiled Tibetans until December.  She LOVES to hike and is dying to go trekking.  She reminds me a little bit of my mom, just with a scosh of English wit and a bigger sense of adventure.  I finally made it to my first yoga class in a week and I went to Vari’s Power Hatha Flow and it was INCREDIBLE!  My new friend Lauren, who I thought was leaving for Manali after Vipassana walks in and I was excited I got to see her again!  I was dripping sweat from my knees (not uncommon because I’m a sweater) it was so wonderful!  Great flow, incredible energy from all those in the room and it was PACKED!  I walk out, beaming off an intense yoga blissed high and after 2 days of the most intense, pounding, torrential, non-stop rain I’ve ever seen in my life, it stopped.  Not only did it stop but as I’m hiking up the hill to Dharamkot the sky behind the green mountainous hillside I’m living was clear for the first time since I’ve been here!  To one side I can see a large-ish body of water in the distance and just between 2 bluffs I gaze up, stop dead in my tracks, and for the first time in my life I’m gazing at the first snow covered peaks of the Himalayas and they are INCREDIBLE!!  The sun peaked from the cloud it was behind as I was staring, mouth hanging on the ground, filled w/ the most incredible wonder and amazement that THIS is what’s been behind those clouds all this time!  It makes me want to go to Nepal and touch Everest, taste it’s snow w/ my mouth, walk all over it, maybe skip, do a happy dance and do the “powell jump” while someone takes a picture.  I think I just added another item to my list, my non-yoga adventure but ADVENTURE list!  In the hills, the streams of water, which normally look like white streams trickling down the lush, green hillside, are huge, roaring waterfalls careening over the rocks.  They are so powerful the sound is monopolizing the soundtrack for my trek back to my guest house.  At the bottom I was going to look at the time to see how long it takes me to walk up the less steep, non-shortcut way back but I forgot.  It wouldn’t have mattered, I stopped so many times just to stare w/ my mouth gaping open at how absolutely, fucking, incredibly beautiful it is – my home until November.  I wish more than anything pictures would capture what I’m seeing and even come close to doing it justice but there was no point in even trying.  The only thing that would’ve made this hike more incredible would be someone to share it with, like Mer and Em, so we could all relive that moment on the dock at Maggie’s Bluff in Magnolia… but in the Himalayan mountains. 

Ok, time to shower and head to Reeta’s for more cooking, eating and talking!  She’s not letting me pick items anymore =)  She’s whippin out big guns and having me learn stuff they don’t have on the menu.

Awww… what an amazing day.  These days leading up to Vipassana are just getting better and better and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

"I am..."

My time surrounded by familiar faces and yoga companions is coming to a close, slowly but surely, and upon Gabby preparing to leave and enter her life, the one she lived prior to embarking on this journey she and I are both on, we discussed the adjustment back to “real life.” What is “real life” though anyway? Jules and I had this discussion when we were at Yog Peeth because I suggested what we were living was not real, not in the sense of being surrounded by all of the distractions of home, whether it be work, friends, family, loves, traffic, news headlines, etc. Living in a bubble of yoga and spiritual exploration without “normal” distractions makes going inside yourself a bit easier. As Jetsunma said, the 3rd type of “laziness” was the “keeping yourself so occupied with good things you never look inside yourself,” which I find this type of laziness much easier to fall into from the comforts of Seattle, surrounded by loved ones and things to do. I chose to go ½ way across the world to find myself, or as I’ve learned, to find out who I am not, which is everything I think I am. I never thought what I was doing as trying to attain a new level of understanding, a new quality of life, to change everything about my being but while talking to gabby, and after she mentioned that, and noticing the changes, some rather drastic, physically and mentally, that’s a pretty accurate description of what’s going on. I have no idea what sort of person I’ll come out at the end. I know whatever has been happening has been intense on very subtle, sneaky levels and flattens me every once in a while but it’s also provided a stronger sense of awareness of me. The transition she’s making now is one I haven’t begun to ponder because it’s going to be so long until I see anyone from home, probably not until I actually get there because I think the chances of getting any visitors is highly unlikely. How will we be received? Will we be total aliens in a familiar shell of ourselves? In past years I would probably be very worried about this and trying not to rock any boat too drastically but this time the only thing I thought and said was, “I know I’m not going to mesh with everyone the same way I did before leaving and I just have to know those who remain in my life will accept me for me, and me for them, and I’ll have a whole new world of possibilities of people who may enter my life and I know that some people will no longer fit within the realm of what I will have become.”

I believe that, truly and honestly, and just saying it makes me emotional and teary eyed, or maybe it’s because I’m listening to Brandi Carlile while I type and she pretty much always makes me cry. I’m not emotional because there is a threat of losing connections or connections shifting, I’m emotional because I know I’m just starting to really feel how much I’ve changed and I know I’m nowhere near done and it’s overwhelming. The love and support I’ve received from my loved ones since I left, in little notes, emails, tweets, ridiculously sweet facebook messages, gives me the extra boost of additional strength to know what I’m doing is the right thing. I know and will continue to tell myself that when I get home, and along this journey and path to only god knows where, I’ll be gifted with people who are beautiful, wonderful, enriching and in the end, if there ever really is an end, I’ll have friends who love and adore me exactly as I am and will support me in the positive and constructive ways, I know that my family will be with me through whatever I do and if it’s my sisters, they will be inquisitive, open and accepting (mom is just accepting). When the time is right and I am ready, I will find a gorgeous, loving partner who cherishes me, adores and worships the ground I walk upon (in a healthy way and all reciprocated of course), which we both really deserve because we’re both going to be the most awesomest people on this planet ;) We’ll support each other’s dreams and aspirations and will help each other evolve into the best person we can each be. If I know this person or these friends now or not, I don’t know. All of you could stick around, all of you may not, I may “rise in love” (as Roshan says) with a former lover or someone else may come along. I know the universe has been telling me repeatedly (it’s actually ridiculous how blatantly obvious it’s been) that I’m to do this journey on my own right now and not get distracted by pretty girls. HA! DAMN YOU UNIVERSE!! *shakes my fist at the universe* :) I have no expectations for how things are going to unfold and I’m not scared, I’m not filled with fear, I just know and trust that whatever is supposed to happen, wherever I’m supposed to be, whomever I’m supposed to be with and whomever I’m supposed to befriend will unfold as it should. In the meantime, I will do my best to live the most honest and fulfilling life throughout the process, being true to myself and to everyone I encounter.

For those who stick around and still dig me when I get back, I love the shit out of you, for those who won’t, I still love the shit out of you! May you all be happy and well… ;) (one of the Buddhist nuns says that after every time she screams obscenities at the crazed drivers in India).

With that, I go back to winning every game of FreeCell I play. Maybe I should eat…

Nah-MAS-tee Bitches!
Xxxo
Dirty

P.S. Is it really fucking August already?! Jesus! Oh and I felt like being reflective and actual shit about India will be in the upcoming days. :) Not sure this could really be called a travel blog though, considering I’m not traveling anywhere! I just decorated my room I’m staying in! ha!