Listen

There is something about the sounds around you that are beautiful and like nothing you’ll ever hear again, because they are there, with you, at that very moment sharing the same experience and their vibrations with you.  The low hum of the air conditioning, the squeak of the rails on the train tracks, the defunct door on the other end of the corridor sliding an inch one way and then the other, the quiet voice and hiccups of the little thai girl behind me, they are all so wonderful.  I’m on the express (not the kind of “express” we’re used to, in fact, the opposite of it) overnight train 51 from Bangkok to Lamphun Thailand and with only 2 more hours of my journey left, I’m not exactly sure where I am.  Before leaving I spent a record amount of time in Pitnap Plaza in Bangkok purchasing the only electronics I’ve had on my list since I started traveling: hair clippers, 1TB external hard drive and 2GB RAM for my netbook.  Now when I say record time, I don’t mean I set a record by living there all day, which I could have very easily done in a complex that is probably 20 times the size of Best Buy, and it looked like the plethora of orange robed monks were doing just that, but I hit every floor of this 7 story building and managed to get all 3 items in less than 30 minutes.  This place is an electronic nerds wet dream, filled with cameras of all kinds, cheap pirated DVDs, CDs and computer software and games, projectors, TVs, computers, accessories for all those things.  Basically, if it has a power button, it’s sold in any number of the privately owned shops that cover all the square footage of this place.  Not exactly the way I should be spending my day before checking into Vipassana but then again, I’m not known for easing myself into that retreat.  At least I didn’t end up in the throes of passion with a ridiculously beautiful Israeli Paratrooper this time around, with a wicked hang over to tend to while waiting for registration like with my first Vipassana experience in Dharamsala, India last August.  Sensory overload, while still a bit maddening, is a way better transition than my former experience.

I spent the afternoon yesterday acquiring SO MUCH amazing and incredible music for my journey north but now that I’m awake and here, all I feel like doing is listening to whatever sounds surround me.  This seems to be a trend for me and while in Goa, it was also for safety reasons, I just REALLY enjoy being right where I am and not dazed off into some other world, which is what music does for me.  For the first time I just saw lotus flowers, in their natural, wild state, growing majestically from the sludge pond that rests just below the train tracks.  There was a Thai person wearing cloth all around their face and a straw hat atop his/her head while riding a rusted bicycle down a dirt path.  Two shirtless men were chest deep in the aforementioned sludge pond pulling up what looked like a fishing net and just a few track strides down, another man, fully clothed, dug around in the middle of a patch of lotus flowers for only he knows what.  The houses lining the tracks vary greatly from straw shacks on the ground, to wooden houses on stilts elevated 8 feet off the ground, to more elaborate abodes as we approach main train stations.  Rice paddies cover a majority of the farm land and everything is so lush and green, despite the fact that outside my air conditioned bubble, it’s already 90+ degrees outside at only 10am.  I can tell I’m already preparing my mindset for Vipassana, the land of complete and total presence.  The land where you’re so present you notice the tiniest sounds, the smallest creatures and for entertainment, you feed the ants.  It was hilarious to find out that a majority of the women on my last Vipassana course fed the ants during our meals and watched them, either solo or in a team, carry the food away that we provided. 

My brief time in Bangkok was wonderful in non-tourist aspects, because I spent a lot of time in my friend’s house just relaxing and mentally adjusting to living a different type of life than the last 4 months.  It provided some insight on how things will be for me whenever I do go back home to live, verses for a visit.  Some of the challenges quickly exposed themselves and I have a clearer idea of what I will need to do to proactively prepare myself for my return to the US.  I’m not too incredibly focused on that now of course, since I have about another year I’d like to be gone, but it’s good things to realize so I can tuck them back into my mind for when I will need it later. 

Going into Vipassana now I feel stronger, mentally and emotionally, I feel I’m more aware of myself, I feel I can fully let go and let the experience be whatever it is supposed to be for me.  I guess that goes not only for Vipassana but for every aspect of this path I’m treading at the moment.  I’ve accomplished some personal feats that I’m proud of, taking steps I need to for myself, making personal declarations and having the self discipline to see them through, being more mindful, open and accepting.  I’ve improved at asking better questions when I don’t understand something instead of making assumptions based on my own perspective.  These next 10 days, I’ll take the strength and self discipline I’ve learned  to new levels.  I’m going in with no expectations for what the days will hold for me; although, I will say I’m VERY thankful they are letting me bring rehydration salts with me because while I’m not having expectations for my practice, I DO have realistic expectations I will be sweating… A LOT.  Anyone who has been with me on any hospital visit or the love on the other end of the phone when I’ve had heat stroke or severe dehydration know how bad I can get, even with being careful!  I’m going to take all the love I have within myself and the love so many of my dear friends have shared with me and do the best I can with patience, acceptance and understanding. 

On a less serious note - I almost fell into the hole in the bathroom while the train was moving.  For anyone who follows me on Instagram (I don't post all my photos to twitter or FB) will see what the bathroom sitch is and the hole that doesn't go into a murky pool of liquid but straight to the rocks and tracks below.  While in a deep squat, which 98.7% of american's probably can't even get into, it's already hard enough to balance but when going from stationary to a sudden jerk of movement, it's downright terrifying when what's below your butt is a metal hole.  I'd like to thank the one "oh shit" handle bar on the side of the bathroom for helping me brace myself and my muscle spasm back for it's apparent 90% healed status and letting my abs engage so I didn't end up in a big oops of nasty.  Holy... shit!

I’ll see you all on the other side and for now, I want to get back to listening to the squeaky train and watching the rural Thai world fly by my window.

Love anicca in all its transitory glory…
xxxox

Dirty

Alone

“We’re born alone and we die alone.”  I’ve heard a number of people say this in some form or fashion, usually when dealing with feeling lonely and grappling with a loss of some sort, usually in the way of a love but sometimes in friendship and family.  I don’t think it’s accurate or true.  When we’re born, it’s usually into the arms of a person and then immediately wrapped and handed to the arms of the mother to commence the outward bonding.  When we die, who knows who’s going to be with us.   Sometimes at the bedside rests all those nearest and dearest holding onto a piece of the person to feel that final moment of connection and other times, like with one of my grandmothers, it’s alone, in your trailer, not to be found until 2 weeks later when someone breaks down the door.  What I find more accurate to say and what I have said, not sure where I got it, if from anywhere, is “the only person you are guaranteed to wake with every morning of your life, is you.”

Traveling, or as I like to call it, “living abroad like a gypsy,” forces you to put a different perspective on the idea of being alone.  People on holiday travel with partners, sometimes in packs and HORDES, travelers, for the most part, are alone in their journey.  When they wake in the morning, the first thought that comes to mind is “what am *I* going to do today?”  Often times you meet like minded, like missioned people and connect for portions of the then, mutual journey but there is always a parting when someone wants to stay around and twirl in the sky a bit longer and the other wants to head to a different play ground to try some different yoga.  It happens, ALL THE TIME. It’s rarely a dramatic departure, tears are not usually shed, hearts do not ache, new friends are missed but the next day comes and more journey’s and new friends await.  For a society that is bread to attach themselves to anything and everything that comes into our reach and be devastated during the process of detachment, this whole process is a completely foreign concept. 

I come from a broken family where my father left us, gradually but left us nonetheless, by the time I was twelve.  My youngest sister and I have since decided this was actually a blessing in disguise, at least I know for me.  If I had to go through my teenage years fearing constant ridicule every time a word came out of my mouth, the painfully sarcastic cut downs and when I stood up for myself, the punishment of equally painful smacks to the ass that would leave welts and a hand print for days, I may have never broken from my practically debilitating shyness, especially since what helped break my shyness was my introduction to Boones Farm Fuzzy Navel and warm Budweiser in the can at the age of 15.  Something tells me my ridiculously angry and controlling father wouldn’t have allowed me to leave the house once I got to high school so there would’ve been NO BOONES!  Oh the death of me!  Also, if he HAD stayed and my mom didn’t divorce him  who knows what sort of perspective I’d have on what a relationship looks like, but I can’t imagine it would’ve been pretty, so instead, I came out stubbornly independent WITH some of the typical pitfalls of a person dealing with “abandonment issues.”  Attaching to things that I find to be good and clinging onto them for dear life, nails and all, usually sucking any energy out of them, has historically been a norm.  Not to mention the debilitating devastation that follows when things do not work out, with either a lover or a friend.  There was a time when lots of things were debilitating to me, apparently.  This was me, five years ago.  I held onto things just for the sake of holding on, even if I knew it wasn’t good or healthy.  I would worry for days why people weren’t calling me back and stress that I had done something to drive them away.  Me and that time in my life were disgusting, don’t think for a second I thought any of it was good.  I just didn’t know what to do.

Well, I grew, is what I did.  In the recent years I’ve seen all of my friendships around the world become completely fluid where sometimes I’m hanging out with group A a lot and rarely see B, C, D, etc and then other times it shifts.  Sometimes I’m more interested in group dynamics and sometimes just one-on-one.  I don’t even really think about this stuff, I just let it all be and everything ebbs and flows as it should.  I never sit there and over think why I’m not seeing or speaking so much of a certain person and I would like to hope my friends do the same.  There was actually an article in the New York Times, a few weeks ago, written for people who sit there and toil over their friendships and I found it to be the most ridiculous article ever, mostly because it didn’t just focus on letting things BE.  If I sat here in India and wondered why so-and-so wasn’t messaging me as much as we used to, I’d drive myself nuts.  This transition over the years has prepared me well for the comings and goings of the friends I’ve met on the road.  That obnoxious guy from LA I mentioned in my last blog said to me once, “eh, what’s the point of establishing anything while you’re traveling, everyone leaves, none of this is forever.”  I then asked him, “is ANYTHING forever?  Don’t all people leave, at some point?”  It’s not something I say with an air of pessimism either, it’s just the reality.  Lives change, people change, goals change, motivations change, locations change, lives end, people and the lives they live are not static, they are very much dynamic, every instant of every day.  It doesn’t make any of my relationships at home any less important because we don’t see each other or talk to each other often, and the relationships I develop while abroad are no less significant in my life because they aren’t as long standing and may not have as much face time.  There are a few people who I’ve met over the last year who I feel know me better than and I know them better than some of the friends I’ve had for years back in Seattle.  It’s also ok that some friendships I have in Seattle haven’t gotten deeper, if they are supposed to, they will.  My friend Dominic, who I fucking adore the shit out of, said something to this effect at a table of people as we were leaving our yoga TTC last July, “if I never see any of you again, I won’t be sad.  I’m ok with it because I know that the time we shared together here, we each enhanced each other’s lives and we each contributed what we were supposed to during this time.  If I do see you again, all the better but our time together the last 6 weeks has been beautiful and I’m happy you were all a part of it.”  I think back to this quite often, like when I said good bye to a love when I knew it wasn’t right, not at that moment anyway, and when I say good bye to a friend I’ve seen every day for the last 2 months.  Being a live abroad gypsy and well, let’s be honest, my intensive yoga studies, have helped immensely with grappling with attachment and how to lessen its impact.  It’s a very freeing thing to be “detached” not apathetic, just not clinging.  I know all the people in my life are amazing, in whatever capacity we are together and the time we share is always cherished, regardless of the duration and there are no expectations for the future, ever, at least on my end.  I won’t say there aren’t hopes because I’ll be damned if I don’t hope I see some of my friends again but if we never do, I’m not going to be heartbroken because they were a wonderful addition while they were in my life.

Many people attach to other people, some attach to materials things, some to ideals, ideas or opinions, some to their own body or image of their body, some to expectations, some to life, some people attach to everything and a majority of the time, we attach to things we feel fills a void within ourselves.  Attachment is just a feeling of possession of anything that isn’t us, that we can’t control and since we can’t control it, doesn’t it seem silly to get attached to it. The cycle is vicious because we find something, feel like we’re complete because we found it, that thing goes away and we feel incomplete again so we go and seek something else that will be our next missing puzzle piece.  Because that thing, whether it a person, possession, job, etc, makes us feel happy or elated and when it goes away we feel sad, we attribute our happiness to whatever it was we attained, but it’s always fleeting, always temporary and never permanent.  Everything we need, EVERYTHING, is all within us and there is no need to look elsewhere to make us feel complete.  Just read Shel Silverstein’s The Missing Piece Meets the Big O (I thought it was about an orgasm and it’s not, just a warning so you aren’t disappointed like I was) and he covers it in very simple terms, in regards to relationships but I think it can be equally transferable to anything we seek in trying to make us feel complete. As much as I thought that bizarre tantra yoga teacher last year from Israel was a kook he did say something I thought was lovely about women: “When you’re single, be happy, when you meet a woman, be happy, when the woman goes away remain happy.  Happiness is not in the form of another person, happiness is you.”  This was just before he told me to drink my own menstrual blood and that of my now former lady friend.  Just like every other teacher, take the things you like, leave the things you don’t.  I’ll let you speculate which of that I left and which of that I took. Ha!

Detaching from the expectation that anything in this world will make you happy is empowering because you really begin to understand all you need is yourself and then it becomes clear that being alone is a state of being while being lonely is just a state of mind.  Any state of mind is easily changed as soon as you change your attitude about it.  Traveling alone makes you aware of this, whether consciously or not, every day you wake and usually it’s the most amazing feeling, so free, vibrant and wonderful, EVER.  All that said, it’s not always easy as I learned recently.  Even after all the progress I feel I’ve made with having a healthy relationship with attachment and detachment there are those times when faced with your own personal crisis when all you crave is the comfort of familiar arms and a shoulder to cry on.  When you’re half way around the world and away from all the people who know you almost as well as you know yourself, it’s HARD!   A picture of a virtual hug and an hour+ of text messaging helps but when you put the phone down and look around, there is a moment when you see yourself surrounded by people but feel completely alone.  At that very moment you can either feel lonely in despair or instead know that whatever you need, whatever answers you seek, will come from within, in due time, when they are ready and able to reveal themselves.  If you’re aware, listen and pay attention to yourself, you find all the answers you need. I’m still seeking some answers, I don’t have them all, I’ve had a rather emotionally rough week but I know everything will be ok, with me, with those I love, with those involved either now or in the future.  While outside support is not necessary it’s always greatly appreciated in whatever capacity, but as long as you let go and detach from all expectations all the strength, courage, motivation, determination, love, vision, happiness and peace you need in this world will be found where it has been the entire time, in you.

One of these days I’ll tell you about why I actually love Arambol… if this damn introspection will ever cease! J 

Xxxox

Always Bruised and Always 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!