More from Mirge, and a Trip to Kathmandu

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take your broken wings and learn to fly

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive”

-Paul McCartney

Have you ever heard 17 quasi tone deaf Nepali 3^rd graders sing Blackbird?  It’s very sweet.  I wrote the lyrics up on the board and we went through and underlined and circled the nouns, verbs, adjectives and prepositions in order to keep it educational, traditionally speaking.  They were big on the guitar and it serves as a pretty good motivational tool for them to get things done.  Sometimes I feel like I’m too hard on them, but I’m learning gradually.  The 4^th graders are helping me write a song about Nepal (they are still the class I get along with the best by leaps and bounds…and I’m pretty sure they are more advanced in terms of English and general knowledge than the 5^th grade class).  The 5^th grade class and I haven’t done any music yet since I only have them once a day and I haven’t had the time to fit it in since they all have exams coming up, but they are pretty insistent that I bring the instrument in.

The fourth grade class and I read, from their English book mind you…I brought nothing in, the story of Siddhartha Gautama (The Buddha).  Since he was born in Lumbini, Nepal, he is taught in their social studies and english as an “important person of Nepal.”  Most of them have the 8 fold path (some bad translations aside) memorized…I thought that was pretty interesting.  Some of their general knowledge questions include, “Who is the Hindu goddess of knowledge?” “Where was the Buddha born?” “Who is called the Light of the World?”  “Where was Mohammad born?”…religion is just part of social science for them, and is such a part of daily life (not saying it isn’t in America…we are just in such a state of repression and denial about it with our, illusory “separation of church and state” that we like to hide it from the young ones)…that it is central to the curriculum.  I did notice some interesting and wonderful, in my opinion of course, cultural differences when the class was asked questions about what makes a person “great.”  Before the story began, the book, highlighted as a class discussion, asked, “What makes you a great person?”…the options were Rich and Wealthy, Very Beautiful, Strong and Powerful, Highly Educated.  Dissatisfied with these options as I understood them, I asked independent of the book…they said things like “being nice,” “being intelligent,” “doing something good for your country” came up a few times…I asked if any of them thought their parents were “great people” and then asked why…that opened it up further into the realm of “sharing” and “nice” was repeated a few times.  I asked if they knew the words Honesty, Generosity, Kindness, Peacemaker…and they were very attentive and understood pointed out that “Ghandi was honest and kind and a peacemaker” and that “people who share are generous.” 

What caught me off guard was that when I asked them about the options in the book, assuming that they would understand them in the same culturally biased way that I did...but I definitely underestimated them.  It started off normally enough, “What makes someone rich and wealthy… “money…gold....”  they ran out of steam pretty quick…I pressed and one girl said “silver?...precious stones”  and that was the end of that.  I asked them about beautiful…and they said, “kindness…peacefulness…niceness…honesty” many of the new terms introduced a few minutes before…I’m the one that had to pull the conversation to a joking point and ask “But what about long beautiful hair?  Or pretty eyes?” and then we joked about that for a little bit on looks but that’s really not what they thought of first when the subject of beauty was raised.  Highly Educated was fairly straight forward, “reading a lot,” “going to school,” etc.  It was when we got to Strong and Powerful that I was taken aback.  One girl, my big talker, said, “doing yoga and gymnastics and exercising in the morning,” and I laughed and said, “very good.”  And then Rasik, he and his sister Rasila constitute a very sweet and bright set of twins whose father is a very pleasant man and an English teacher at the first college (grade 13) in Mirge, stood up and said, “meditation,” and I just smiled so huge cause I did not expect, despite the fact that he is clearly from a very Hindu family and often comes to class with a Tikka (-un?) on his forehead signifying that he has done his Puja in the morning,  to hear that out of a 3^rd grader.  Other students repeated things about “goodness and truthfulness.”  Not one of them mentioned anything about ruling or anything political or war until we talked about what a ruler was, but even then I could see that political power is not what they connected with the topic under discussion.  It was quite clear that, for them, spirituality, morality and health are the sources of true strength and power.  My hope meter for the future of humanity jumped a few notches that morning.  They really are an awesome class.

Ok, I didn’t get on here to brag about my 4^th graders all day…I just got caught up.  I have been reading a lot lately.  I just finished a book called Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress about the "Cultural Revolution" and romantic literature left here by the previous teachers, as well as a book of short stories by Thich Nhat Hanh I picked up in Varanasi called, The Stone Boy and other stories, which was a real experience…I don’t know if everyone would have found it as fascinating since part of the novelty was noting the transformations as well as the patterns in his writing and teaching style, but, for me to hear/read this teacher that I always associate with super tranquil, healing, meditative literature, write detailed stories about the ravages of war, dying children, pirates, rape, quantum physics, exile and self-immolation (apparently one of Thay’s students was one of the female monks who “immolated herself for peace” during the Vietnam War …and he writes a very abstract story/tribute to her about a bird and a fire in a wood…it was like looking at Pollack, I didn’t know what it was about until I read the explanation, but I was moved in a way I didn’t really understand), most of which were written in the years during the conflict or directly afterwards when he was in his 30’s…very different perspectives in some ways…same wonderful Thay in others.  There was a story about a woman who climbs a bamboo stalk to the moon and who ends up having to split herself in two so that she can be with her moon family and her earth family , and one that takes place largely in the mind of a physics professor whose son is at death’s door and who discovers the non-dual nature of life and death by way of relativity and wavicles and the law of conservation…one with a girl who becomes a fish and so she speaks in great detail about the gruesome events of the refugee boats and chants the Heart Sutra to the stranded refugee in order to relax her and allow her to sleep…anyways…I recommend it. 

Thanks in part to my sister Zara, who wrote me a very nice email about guitar the other day, and to Nikesh, who is still constantly strumming away, I have started playing more and writing again.  It feels good to mess around again and invent some new sounds.  I am working on an entry from Lumbini, but its been a little difficult for multiple reasons including power outages etc. but also because I feel like Lumbini deserves four entries and I am having a little difficulty trimming it to one.  But I’d like to get caught up so I’ll get it out there soon. 

Haha.  I got on the computer to say that I am planning to head out to Kathmandu tomorrow for a few days since the children have their exams coming up for a while and my teaching services will not be required.  I am planning to visit some monasteries and to buy some more food and maybe visit with my friends if they are still around.  I will let you know how that goes.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone since I may not write again before then, but don’t forget that every day is an opportunity to begin anew…it is not necessary to wait for Jan 1^st.  As the light of the sun once again takes ground from the night after the solstice, allow the light of mindfulness expand and dissolve the darkness of delusions.  Metta to you all. 

"We gathered all the truth we found behind the sun
Blinded by the brightness of it all
But the light will bend the lies will fall..."

But the Saga of Mirge is far from over...

One Final Fabrication: Kushinagar

Arise, pass away
The nature of all things born
Take refuge in change

After the Buddha had announced his imminent passing, he set off for Kushinagar with Ananda, his brother-cousin and right hand man for 25 years, and the Sangha.  He stopped in numerous villages giving the same comprehensive teaching, emphasizing the three ingredients of the path to awakening (the eight points of the Noble Eightfold Path are divided into these categories...maybe more on that another time).

This is sila (moral virtue), this is samadhi (meditative concentration), this is panna (purifying insight/wisdom...there is supposed to be an tilde over the n's in panna but I don't know how to do that on this computer).  Samadhi imbued with sila brings great benefits.  Panna imbued with samadhi brings great benefits.  The mind imbued with panna becomes totally free from the defilements of (craving for and clinging to) sense pleasures, becoming, false views, and ignorance.

To make a long story short he ate some bad food offered to him by a silversmith or blacksmith and got very sick.  As the Buddha lay dying, Ananda, at the head of the Sangha, asked who would be their teacher after the Buddha passed:

Therefore, Ananda
Be a lamp unto yourself (alt. trans: Be an island unto yourself...pali ain't easy)
Be a refuge unto yourself.
Take for yourself no external refuge.
Hold fast to the Dhamma as a lamp, (In this context Dhamma is often translated as "truth")
Hold fast to the Dhamma as a refuge.
Look not for a refuge in anyone besides yourself.
And those Ananda, who either now or after I am dead,
Shall be lamps unto themselves...
And holding fast to the Dhamma as their refuge...
It is they who shall reach the highest goal. 

-Mahaparinibbana Sutta

His last words to his followers were:

Decay is inherent in all compounded things.  Strive with diligence to understand this.

Kushinagar is ten or so temples/monasteries, three "upscale" hotels, the stupa which marks the spot where the Buddha was cremated (Ramambar Stupa), the stupa which marks his passage into parinibbana (bodily death and final cessation of bhava [becoming]), the Bodhi Tree (ficus religiosa) that marks the spot where the Buddha's relics were distributed to the eight kingdoms, one cafe, a handful of chai/sweets shop, some dhabas (street restaurants built of sheet metal, tarp and some wood posts that generally serve a fixed menu),
the straw shacks in which the inhabitants of the town lived (if they didn't just sleep in their open shops), and then its just farmland for miles around. 

I stayed in a dinge-pot the first night, but after twelve hours of traveling from Sarnath into Varanasi proper to Gorakhpur to Kushinagar, it already being dark in an unfamiliar place, I was happy to have a bed.  I moved the next day to the Korean Monastery and stayed there for the next three nights.  I liked it there very much.  There was only one monk present while I was there, a young Indian.  I'm told the senior monk, who is in fact Korean, is only present for a month out of the year.  In his absence, an Indian man named Shushil manages the place and decides who stays in the three rooms.  One was occupied by a very interesting Korean gentleman, a meditator and pretty goofy guy all around...in a good way, one by a young Japanese man named "Kaytch" (I have no idea how to spell it) who only knew how to play songs from video games on my guitar) and an Indian man who I didn't get the chance to know very well, and then there was the room which served as my home for the duration of my stay in town.  I liked it very much despite the fact that it was just being used for storage until a bed was moved in for me.  The rooms occupied the bottom floor of the structure, while the temple occupied the top.  I sat in there a couple of times and did my tai chi on the roof behind it looking out over the fields.  There was a healthy lotus pond (where I played my guitar one afternoon), a big green lawn, and a very modest stupa in front of the temple structure and before the gate to the street.  It was generally very quiet and relaxing within the walls of the monastery. 

When I get back, ask me about the Raj Yoga studio that I visited out of curiousity, was invited to and ate dinner at, listened to an "Introduction to Raj Yoga"/meditation CD....was asked to return when an "english speaking" teacher could explain the practice to me (/reread me the book I had already read) in the evening... came back, got creeped out, left and immediately fell into a five foot ditch, but was fortunate enough to fall in the one place filled with leaves to break my fall right as an "Inidian Security" officer was walking by, who then escorted me back to the monastery clutching my arm the whole way as though I might keel over, excited and proud that he had something to do story...and I'll tell you all about it.  That fall ended up assisting me in my decision to stay in Kushinagar an extra day. 

There was also the time I went to Ramambar stupa and after three circumambulations and a lot of staring, I was surrounded by a hundred or so Indian junior high students asking me every question they could remember from class.  One rather forward girl asked if I was engaged and when I told her I wasn't, she said I was "smart" and asked why not. Their teacher eventually jumped in...not to break it up mind you...but to demonstrate his linguistic abilities as well.  Then we all got to take part in the photoshoot before they asked me to sign their journals, bits of paper, or hands in many cases.  I can't imagine what it would have been like had I actually been famous. 

While in town, I also had the privelege of receiving a private tour of the beautiful Thai monastic complex, which was otherwise closed to the public due to a section of it being under construction.  Most of the complexes in Kushinagar consist of a building with some residential rooms, a temple or pagoda or both and some land around...but the Thai complex was an entire community of thin waterways, gardens, beautiful structures in that uniquely Thai style of multiple roofs with little crowns on everything, and a great glass structure which held the relics of the Buddha and the current Thai king (which was a little odd to me, but they are super into their king) stood in the center.  My tour guide, Langsan Bhante (the monk in charge of "foreign relations" and a very nice guy) lead me around explaining some things to me, and invited me back that night for walking meditation around the reliquary and said that I was welcome to sit in the structure and come for the chanting as well.  I returned that night and did all of the above and afterwards, we had tea and...remember that insanely hot thing I ate in Berlin, the green papaya salad?...ya, he gave me that too.  This one wasn't quite as bad, but it was still intense.  He said I could come the following day to look around again but I decided against it as I wasn't feeling well and had to get stuff together for my departure.  Sorry, there won't be more than one picture of the Thai monastery up on FB...I only got one shot and it was at night and not very good.  Oh, and I don't think I'll be able to get anything up on there for the next couple months since I have crossed the border into Nepal and my phone no longer has working email and internet. 

I had a few very important sits (in my experience, no sit is more or less important than any other as long as you are making an effort to be in the present moment and have a genuine desire to attain liberation...what I mean to say here is that there was a noticeable event in namarupa [the mind-body process] or shift, the breaking down of a previous conditioning...ehh i may try to put it into words some other time haha...just go sit and watch your breath) beneath the bodhi tree which is supposed to mark the spot where the Buddha's relics were distributed after his cremation. The distribution is an event I don't know much about, nor do I find it particularly significant, but there is a power in that tree I tell you.  It's root system, marked by a bunch of little 1" x 1" gold squares left by pilgrims (also all over the Dhammek Stupa in Sarnath), is something to behold (I think there are pictures on facebook).  It sits in the middle of a few small fields, off of a dirt path, a hundred yards or so behind the Thai monastery...a very modest housing for such an impressive organism and a very peaceful spot for meditation (aside from some local kids that like to come and make noise...yet another story...four of them were great teachers in patience and tolerance one afternoon).  I did battle with some of the violence within myself beneath that tree...with some of my resentment of pain and discomfort...and there were small victories.  I sat alone there sometimes...those were powerful experiences.  And one time I sat with numerous female "novitiates" (another bit I'm not going to include right now in its entirety...but they were members of a group of Malaysians, Sri Lankans, Australians and maybe a couple other countries that came to Kushinagar to participate in a program through the Aloka Foundation, where you can take robes and the monastic vows for 15 days, and I actually spent some time with them in Lumbini as well...the women were dressed in all white beneath the tree and they created, collectively in meditation, a very powerful vibration [...I think there are a couple pictures of that scene up on facebook as well...and the four Indian boys you see standing behind the group are the four teachers mentioned above]) and that sit was also very profound.  I originally wanted to include a great deal about my time beneath the tree but I don't think beating my head against a wall trying to find the right words would be beneficial right now.  There was some other cool stuff: walking with bear feet through the 108 ft. high pagoda at the Burmese temple and examining the tasteful and enlightening paintings of the Buddha's life inside, spending time chanting and doing metta with the novitiates and learning about this new center in Malaysia that I would love to visit one day, going to the Parinibbana stupa and park mobbed with little students in uniforms and being followed around there as well...oh and the Chinese monastery that looked a little like downtown disney...I think there are some pictures of that up as well...anyways, more for when I get back.

Present time, from Mirge: Alright, I'm gonna head back downstairs and rest.  I am feeling a little under the weather today and since there is a festival in the village, which means there is no school, I am going to do some reading and relaxing.  As the halfway point of this trip (which I think will be New Year's...and I am going to friggin miss Adam's annual bash rrr...well, certain sacrifices had to be made haha) approaches, I reflect on how worthwhile this experience has been...and continues to be.  Thank you to all those who have supported me on this trip, emotionally, morally, spiritually, financially, in the past and in the present...on into infinity.  Thank you.  I send Metta out in all directions.  And now...you guessed it...another haiku...

This self eternal
Gone in the blink of an eye
Who is really here?

Oh, and I saw this in the Japan-Sri Lanka Center and had thought it was interesting:

"The religion in the future will be a cosmic religion.  It should transcend a personal God and avoid dogma and theology.  Covering both the natural and spiritual, it should be based on a religious sense arising from the experience of all things, natural and spiritual, as a meaningful unity.  Buddhism answers this description."

-Albert Einstein

The Saga of Mirge Begins

"Backbeat the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now

And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how

Cause maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me
Cause afterall, you're my Wonderwall..."

-Oasis (Wonderwall)

Hello everyone,

It has been a little while.  Internet has not been the plentiful resource it was on the tourist trail and, more relevantly perhaps, I have taken a rather hard hit from that side of the globe emotionally which diminished my desire to spend time online...but time and this journey dance onward and I think sharing my experiences is a beneficial and healing practice.  Entries on Kusinagar and Lumbini are in the works and will be up soon...who needs chronology anyhow?

I have arrived in Mirge (pronounced Meer Gee/Gay depending on who is saying it), Nepal.  It is a farming village of a few hundred families in houses scattered across a few hillsides a couple hundred kilometers and a nine hour bus ride north-east of Kathmandu.  This is where I will be living and teaching for the next seven or eight weeks. If and when I find the little blurb that introduced me to the town I will copy it here or attach the website link. 

I live in a house with the principal, Mahesh, his brother Surendra, his wife Supadi, and two of his three children (the other, his oldest daughter, goes to school during the week in the nearby [2 hour bus ride] town of Charykot).  The house is the second and third story of the school house which holds the classrooms of grades K through 2 (so you can imagine the fun songs and noises that drift up from below during the day).  I teach English, Computers (there's a text book, and its pretty much rote...so quit your laughing) and General Knowledge to grades 3 through 5.  So far, grade 4 and I have hit it off really well (and they are super cute when I ask them if they understand and they do that head wobble as a whole).  Grade 3 cant seem to stop talking to each other, at least the middle row can't but we had a good lesson where I jumped all over the classroom and poked some students in our lesson about prepositions, verbs and nouns.  I only have grade 5 once per day so we'll see how that unfolds...some of the older kids are in that class and I might have to work a little to earn their respect.  Every time I walk into a classroom all of the children stand up and say "Good Morning/Good Afternoon Sir!"  and then I say "Good Morning class.  How are you?"  "We are fine sir! And you?!" "I'm doing quite well...now bassa bassa ('sit sit' in Nepali)."  Something similar happens when I leave the room as well.  They stand up every time you call on them and won't sit down until you tell them too.  Michelle and Jeff, the last teachers here, with whom I met in Kathmandu a few days ago, have taught them some Spanish songs and some basic terms and I am teaching them some Italian and they are teaching me Nepali and some Tamang (the language spoken in the home of many of the families, including Mahesh's...kind of amazing that some of these kids are learning their third language). 

The balcony just outside my room, to which the staircase down to the school is attached, faces out to the valley and the opposing series of mountains which, in the late afternoon, roll like four waves-gradually fading out in color and detail due to winter mist, as though Constable or Freidrich had come along and purposefully applied an atmospheric perspective to this rural Nepali landscape.  The sun sets around 5:20 now and then the power goes out at 5:30 everyday for about 15 minutes (which after the 4 to 6 hours of power outage per day in Lumbini is not really a big deal)...(haha, I wrote that before today...the power was out for most of the last 24 hours, which was actually pretty great considering it allowed me and Nikesh, Mahesh's 12 year old and my 5th grade student, and Bim, the 17 year old math teacher who is also a refugee from Bhutan, to have a little play date...some Volleyball, some table tennis and then I taught them HORSE and the Magic Johnson hook shot [of which I made two in a row thank you very much...[have to thank my dad for that one haha]...I mean, anyone who has seen me play knows I am not a basketball player, but its easy to look like a pro on a rim built for people half my size...I can comfortably 180 dunk haha). 

My room is pretty fantastic.  Its relative luxury (and the power went out for the third time while trying to write this)...my feet don't even hang off the end of the bed for one of the first times since coming to the subcontinent (I don't know if Nepal is considered part of the subcontinent).  I have a double gas burner in my room and I bought some food supplies for the next couple months in Kathmandu...but I am also invited to most meals upstairs with the family...which sometimes leads to me eating two breakfasts...though Nepali breakfast is the same as every other Nepali meal: (salt with a side of) "Dahl Bhath," which is RICE, lentils, a vegetable (cauliflower, potatoes, spinach or some combo of the three) and sometimes meat (goat) for the family...so it feels more like I eat breakfast and lunch in super quick succession rather than eating a second breakfast.  Anyways, my books and food fit nicely on the shelf and the bed is comfortable and I sleep well here with head to the north (until Hero the dog starts barking a few meters from me at 4:30 or so but I go back to sleep with the earplugs...which have been invaluable on this trip)....and another power outage...rrr.

The village is about half Hindu, half Buddhist (I didn't realize that 90% of Nepal is Hindu before coming here).  The Pakhrin family falls on the Buddhist side and so there is a lovely little Buddha statue in dammacakka pavattana mudra in my room which I have since adorned with the katas (traditional white scarfs presented to an honored guest) given to me by Mahesh, his wife, his mother and his father upon our respective meetings, and some of the flower garlands that the children had placed around my neck on my first day of school (since removed due to the fact that I am allergic haha), and the sandlewood mala (prayer beads) from Sarnath.  I have a nice meditation space that I am breaking in right next to my bed and in front of the Buddha.  I use the space as often as Nikesh, Mahesh's son and my newest guitar student, will let me without knocking on my door ever so quietly, hiding behind the curtain, giggling to himself and then saying "guitar?," making a little strumming hand motion.  I've never seen a more dedicated child...he spends hours sitting in my room just strumming away (in fact he's in here right now while I write this draft).  You would think he's never seen a guitar before...oh wait...musical instruments are not exactly a common household object around here aside from the drum at assembly every morning...I understand there is a tamborine somewhere but I haven't seen it.  Nikesh is a good kid and quite bright.  We are learning Wonderwall by Oasis, hence the above quote...though it has other dimensions as well I suppose.  He calls in the "I don't believe" song, since thats his favorite part since my voice gets all loud and he thinks its funny, and asks me to play it constantly.  No one has asked me to play (or more notably, to sing) this much since the person who was there when I first picked up the guitar a few years ago so I'm still getting used to it. 

His little sister Sushmita is possibly the cutest and goofiest child I have ever spent time with.  She is 9, looks 5 and has the mannerisms of an 80 year old.  I wish I understood more Tamang cause I get such a kick out of just watching her.  Her little hands digging into the rice...I mean, I guess its something you can't really appreciate if you haven't seen how Indian and Nepali people eat.  Everyone here eats with their hand (singular since they use the other as toilet paper) and this has made for the creation of a very specific style of mushing your rice with your lentils to create a sort of goop (you like these technical terms ay?) and she is just a little pro.  To watch this munchkin mush her food around and then shove it in her face while bossing her uncle around, "O Baba, Dhal!"...its fun with every meal.  I too eat with my hands when I eat with the family.  I was doing it sometimes in India depending on what or where I was eating, but I was inexperienced until I got my first real lesson from my very cool Nepali friend, Prasanna, whose name also means happiness, who I met in the van from Lumbini to Kathmandu...and now I can finger eat at a 3rd grade level.  Which is a bit better than my reading and writing of Devanagari, the script used for Nepali and also for North Indian Sanskrit based languages like Hindi.  I studied during my retreat in Jaipur...don't tell Goenkaji.

I put up a prayer flag from Lumbini in the room, which brings in some color and joy.  The family seems to like what I've done with the space.  My habits regualar meditation, abstaining from meat, saying something over my food, in addition to the facts that I have taken the Buddha statue out of the corner of the room and show it respect and that I am on pilgrimage have lead to the family referring to me as a "real Buddhist."  They are both mildly entertained by and quite respectful of my practice, which has, in certain respects, created a fairly healthy atmosphere for development.

If the householders life is what is in store for me, I could see being very happy with someone else...living in a quiet place like this, where its cold but not unbearably so in the winter, where its hot but not unbearably so in the summer, where there are rivers and mountains and clean air, and people that know each others names...no car horns or helicopter claps to be heard in any of the ten directions.  But that conversation is for another day I think. 

I was right, I got a lot of joy writing this entry.  Sometimes I am just joyful to be here after all the planning and correspondences and coordinating, etc...and there have been some great surprises, like my family calling last night when I couldn't sleep.  Much of the time, especially that time spent on the cushion, or laying in bed after waking up or before going to sleep (I think anyone who has ever dealt with serious depression or loneliness knows the depth of the stillness and the silence of these times of day...luckily that stillness and silence can be utilized to bring about a light instead of a darkness, but I am bumbling about with that process much of the time) has been spent with my mind swaying between a sadness and that peace that comes from penetrating sadness and arriving at something more fundamental than sadness...or fear, or jealousy, or ill-will, or joy or maybe even love.  But it is difficult to remain that focused when there is so much to take in here and when there has been such immense emotional stimulation with few familiar crutches.  I feel as though I am in a rush alot even though there is little reason to be...I come back to the present, find my breath and slow it on down...and I do this tens or hundreds or thousands of times a day...so much of the practice is just coming back...being patient and forgiving with yourself and saying, "Be Here Now."  I also have found that Metta practice, even though it can seem impossible at times, is the most helpful with anger and sadness...genuinely wishing the happiness of another when you are in pain has a healing power, it is a great light in the midst of darkness. 

I keep working.  Meditation is work, despite what it may look like from an outside perspective. In fact, it is the hardest work I have ever done...and also the most worthwhile.  When I got emotionally blindsided from across the Atlantic, close to the start of my year abroad in Italy, I had nothing...and so I self destructed...turning to unhealthy crutches that controlled much of my life for the next few years.  But now there is some shelter.  Than Geoff's "A post at the edge of the sea," Shinzen Young's "A place to stand," Thich Nhat Hanh's "The island within myself," call it God if you want...there is a refuge, no matter what the name. There is some insight into the nature of what is actually happening in my mind and body without feeling completely overwhelmed by it...I have found somewhere that I can sit and watch the storm...though, at this point, I still get tossed around quite a bit.  I don't know if I included this in the entry about Plum Village but over my bed there was a calendar with quotations and meditation from Thay's teachings...and one that has spoken to me throughout is, "Breathing in, I observe the coming and going of the waves.  Breathing out, I observe the no-coming, no-going of the water."  Akin to this is his teaching on the nature of the fully awakened one: "The tathagatha is free to come and go, because the tathagatha is not limited by the ideas of coming and going."

The first noble truth is that there is dukkha (suffering) in life.  Any battle must be acknowledged in order to be won.  When it has gotten a little overwhelming, I have gone to many places for help, both internal and external...to gladden the mind and soften the heart.  These pockets exists all around us, and within each one of us, without noone as an exception...we must develop the eyes of wisdom to see them.  One cannot see goodness if one is not looking for it.  Remember that, "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."  -Gibran

I wish everyone health and joy.  I am very grateful to those people who have sent kind words in the midst of busy schedules, and to those who have both lent and accepted support as they are two sides of the same coin and are equally beneficial practices.  May we all find true happiness.

The Turning of the Wheel: Sarnath

Thus have I heard: Once the blessed one was sojourning near Benares (Varanasi), at Isipatana (Sarnath), in the deer-park. 

The blessed one addressed the company of five bikkhus.

"Bikkhus, these are the two extremes that should not be followed by one who has gone out from home to the homeless life.  What two?

The giving up of the pleasures of sense...and the giving up to self mortification...O Bikkhus, by avoiding these two extremes the Tathagata (this is the way the Buddha referred to himself and its a whole discourse in and of itself, for now I'll just give its literal meaning: "thus-gone") has found out that middle path which gives vision, which gives knowledge, which tends to peace, higher wisdom and Nibbana. 

And what, O Bikkhus, is that middle path which is found out by the Tathagata...?  It is this very eightfold noble path, namely: right (also: total, complete, true) view, right aspiration (also: intention, thought), right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right meditative concentration.  This, O Bikkhus, is that middle path...

Now this, O Bikkhus, is the noble truth of suffering...
of the origin of suffering...
of the cessation of suffering...
of the path leading to the cessation of suffering

When, O Bikkhus, my knowledge and insight of the Four Noble Truths...in their essential nature was quite clear to me, then only...did I profess in this world...that I had gained the incomparable supreme enlightenment; and there arose in me knowledge and insight; 'Sure is my heart's release.  This is my last birth.  There is no more becoming for me.'"

-  section of the Dhamma-Cakka-Pavattana Sutta (Discourse of the Turning of the Wheel of Dhamma)
(Please forgive some of the grammatical shortcommings with the translation.  I'm working with a poor paper-back version I bought in one of the vihars here and trying to compensate for some bad translation with bits I know from my studies and to clarify without going into too much detail.)

And so begins the pilgrimage.  I mean, to draw a line and say "this is where it begins" is silly, but along with Lumbini, where the Buddha was born, Bodh Gaya, where he realized nibbana (skt. nirvana), and Kusinagar, where he died and entered into parinibbana, the Sarnath deer park, where he delivered his first teaching (referred to as the Dhammacakkapavatana or "The Turning of the Wheel of Dhamma") after becomming Sambuddha ("fully/completely awakened") is one of the four major pilgrimage sites for practitioners of the Dhamma.  I am glad to have met all of my recent travel companions, but part of me is happy to be back on my own, saying no more than a hundred words a day, paying closer attention to my steps and my breath...being on a schedule that doesn't have to cater to quite so many people.

I had planned to be in Sarnath for only a few days, but as is often the case while travelling, my plans were changed when the bank cancelled my card and I had to wait here until it arrived.  I don't mind as it has given me a chance to get to know this small suburb of Varanasi very well (and to frequent all two of its restaurants since I don't want to press my luck, or stomach, by eating from the street vendors too often).  I spent my first night in a Tibetan Nyingma (the oldest of the four major schools of Tibetan Buddhism) monastery for young monks (thought I didn't know that at the time...they were all between about 4 and 9, very cute and very loud at 4 am) as it was the first monastery I saw.  From the second night onward I have been living under the roof of the Mahabodhi Society Pilgrim Rest House across from the deer park, since they very generously offered me a room until I leave. 
I have spent a good chunk of almost every day here in the deer park (and paid its entrance fee every one of those days).  I have done many circumambulations of mindful walking around Dhammekh Stupa and the ruins of the Dharmarajika Stupa (one of these stupas marks the spot of the first discourse [above] and the other, the second [Anattalakana Sutta - Teaching on the Characteristic of "No-Self"] and done quite a bit of sitting meditation around the ruins of the old monasteries and beside the Dhammekh Stupa.  Everyday hundreds of pilgrims visit the stupas and do morning chanting and leave incense and lotus flowers and candles...and I watch the same little Indian kids work their same tricks day after day, trying to get someone to buy a five rupee statue for a hundred, trying to sell the lotus one pilgrim just placed on the stupa to another...they recognize me by now and leave me alone...after all I am the only "white" pilgrim I've seen here so far...and the only person who seems to be doing (silent) sitting meditation.  I saw a couple that looked Japanese-American doing mindful walking once, but thats it.  I am aware of the stats that something like 90%of those considered "Buddhist" in the world don't do the main practice of Buddhism, insight meditation, but I was still a little surprised to see that the only practices around these parts seems to be chanting, prostrating, making offerings, etc.  It definitely looks like a religion here, which would frustrate me if I weren't so happy just to be here...and since my practice, and progress therein, depend on my effort and equinimity, that is where I have chosen to place most of my energy and focus.  I still feel a very strong connection to the place and many of the people and events here.  I am actually getting slightly overwhelmed trying to figure out how to organize this entry...what to talk about and what to leave out.  You would think that sitting quietly, watching my breath, body sensation and thought patterns for half the day, combined with being in a town that consists of a few streets, would make for a relatively simple entry...but a lot has happened in the past week. 

I spend quite a bit of time at the Tibetan University about 2k away from the park to use the internet and read and as a quiet haven away from the vendors and tourists.  I found a nice spot between a short group of bamboo stalks and a pond to spend some time in the past few days.  I have visited the archaelogical museum and every temple in town now I think...Thai, Japanese, Chinese, Burmese, Sri Lankan, Tibetan (Nyingma and Geluk...maybe I missed the Sakya and I don't think there's a Kagyu one in town)...pictures of which are gradually coming up on facebook.  I listen to the Sri Lankans monks of the Mahabodhi Society chant the Dhamma-Cakka-Pavattana Sutta every night either from my room, since its across the street (everything is across the street here) or I go and do sitting meditation in the back for an hour while they send out their vibrations.  They have an almost lifesize statue of the Buddha making the (dhammacakkapavattana mudra)teaching gesture (very similar to the one in the archaelogical museum, thought in the museum it is simple stone and the one in the temple is, at least in color, gold) that looks like it may just open its eyes and start moving and teaching at any moment.  This temple is also a reliquary so it draws many from all over the world (and that fact may contribute to the aliveness of the statue).  Which is why it is a little odd that the day before yesterday I had the entire temple to myself (of course the monks were also there chanting, but I was the only audience for 95% of the recitation and chanting)...I'm not complaining, it was wonderful, it was just a little surprising.  Adjacent the temple is a small courtyard in which there is a tasteful display of a larger than life size Buddha statue teaching the five ascetics.  This grouping is surrounded by sets of marble slabs on which the sutta is written in Cambodian, Thai, Vietnamese, Singalese, Mongolian (which may be the most beautiful written language I've ever seen), Burmese (which looks like pac-man and the mrs. had millions of crazy babies that smashed into each other and then they're smushiness was looked at by the Burmese and it was decided "ahhh, this shall be our written language), Tibetan, Nepalese Rananja (I think thats write?), Korean, English, and Pali in the Latin script...among others.  I did a good amount of walking meditation in that courtyard as well.

My experience here has been emotionally charged in general and there are many little instances or events I could site but I'd rather be out there doing the travel and meditation thing than here on the computer so I will keep it to the events of one morning...but first a precursor to put it in context.  As an external confirmation, symbol, gesture...whatever you want to call it, of the beginning of this pilgrimage, I had my head and face shaved soon after I arrived in Sarnath.  (It is the first time I have had a clean shaven face in over seven years and, I believe, the first time I've had no hair on my head or face [save the eyebrows] since before I came out of the womb...Mom, back me up on this?).  Regardless of personal history, my new appearance has lead to some interesting situations in a town filled with monks...especially since I have been wearing a piece of cloth I bought in Pushkar as a Lunghi (a long surong...I don't know how to spell that)...and that cloth, I realize now, is almost the same earth tone as the robes of the Thai Forest tradition (which might explain why I was subconsciously attracted to it in the first place).  I never had the intention of tricking anyone into thinking that I was a monk thought I did shave my head and face for the same reasons that the Buddha instructed the Sangha to do it: to symbolically, and actually to some extent, reject heirarchies based on caste and sex, to shift away from an attachment to and identification with the physical body, to remove unnecessary boundaries, to recognize a new beginning, and to undercut the rigidity of our normal view of the separate and isolated individual (an no, despite much confusion on the subject, the Buddha did not teach us to throw ourselves into a giant pool of oneness where none of us have any significance...but we will have to revisit this topic another time).  I mean, I like to sometimes think of myself as a "monk of the earth" (that term may or may not get more of an explanation later on) and let that inspire me to be a better person, to more rigorously observe the precepts and push myself a little more in meditation...it gives a sense of uprightness that is a source of energy.  Regardless of my intentions, or lack thereof, it was clear that some people thought that I was in fact ordained. 

I noticed a change in the way some interacted with me...people were kinder in general (though that is definitely not universally true), my "Namaste"'s were returned more regularly or even initiated by another party...I wasn't stared at any less and the number of people who wanted to take my photograph or have their photograph taken with me went from a once-in-a-while phenomenon to a daily one.  Once, when I was sitting in the Sri Lankan Temple for the chant, I saw through my eyelids a bright flash and opened my eyes to see what it was.  I saw a young Indian girl, maybe 12, holding her camera, she looked surprised and embarassed, like maybe she thought the flash was off and wasn't expecting to distrub the meditation.  I smiled and she quickly scuttled off, eyes down cast.  Another time I was approached next to the Dhammekh Stupa, immediately after standing up from sitting meditation, by a couple, who it seemed had been waiting for me to finish sitting so the guy could take a picture with me. 

Anyways...this was all to get to the morning I visited the Burmese monastery.  It was the last one I wanted to visit (and maybe the last one to visit in town period) and so I brought my meditation seat/sleeping bag thinking they might have a good spot to sit for a bit...I walked in and there stood a Burmese monk, accompanied by 50 or so Indian Buddhists (that's how he introduced them) who had just gotten up from morning puja/meditation and were about to go to the deer park.  I was the tallest person by about 6 inches and everyone was looking up at me with big smiles.  And the questions began.  First a few from the monk and then another man took over for a bit. "From which country?  You like India?  How long you have been here?  Which places have you visited?  Where are you going?"  Every answer followed by an Ooo of approval...I got the impression breifly that they thought I was something more or different than I was, but no one addressed me as anything or asked any questions that were beyond the norm when I meet someone new in India...and plus, the haircut and style were still fairly new and combined with the over-abundance of attention I was recieving, which made me a little nervous, I wasn't as mindful of my appearance.  After a little more questioning, they then got in line to take pictures with me (if you happen to be surfing any Indian tourist sites and see my picture blasted all over the place let me know).  Then, as they were gradually filing out to leave for the deer-park, next door, they, especially the women, came up and did little namaste hands and bowed to me, some of them taking my hands in theirs, all very genuine and kind...but I had no idea what to do and this was a severe contrast to the normal cold shoulder I get from most here, and so the intensity of affection seemed amplified by its own scarcity.  I just smiled, bowed back and wished them well....and then when I thought I had recovered I walked out of the gate in the same direction.

In hindsight, I thought to myself how nice it is to see Indian Buddhists, seeing as the tradition has been all but dead in India for over 1500 years, and how kind they were...but also that I was glad that series of events was over with.  And then, as I was approaching the gate, a monk, at least 20 years my senior, I believe Sri Lankan, but came up to me very gently and said, "Bhante, where are you from?"  "Bhante" is the way one addresses a monk.  Even remembering it now makes me feel a little emotionally off-balance. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I just kind of froze...I responded automatically, "America."  He said "Oh," smiled and walked off, hands at his chest, before I snapped out of it.  Instead of walking into the deer park, I went in the direction of the guest house.  I was smiling almost the whole way back, but not a joyful smile, at least not for the most part...it was that smile one puts on when someone tells you something you don't know how to react to...I remember when I was 12 or so and my best friend's mother told me that someone in their family had died and my response was, "Are you kidding?" (that event still embarasses me today, though it is only me replaying it in my mind and I'm pretty sure that the other party involved has forgotten all about it)...it was that kind of smile.  I walked back to my room and changed immediately.  I was happy enough to let people think what they wanted as long as nothing was said...but when this monk who had given his life to the practice...and from what I recieved energetically from him, was a very kind and learned being, addressed me with that title of respect, I just felt guilty and stupid.  I have since made peace with the event...and it was certainly a learning experience...though I haven't quite figured out all the lessons yet.  I suspect there are many other reasons for my guilit than simply that I didn't say, "Oh, excuse me Bhante, I'm not a monk.  Just on pilgrimage."  But I am not ready to talk about those reasons right now...and I'm quite certain there are more beyond the ones that have presented themselves thus far...I will simply try to observe as they unfold before my mind. 

After all that, I feel that I should say that my experience in Sarnath was overall very positive.  It was a quiet celebration, rich in many ways.  I have looked forward to this aspect of the trip, and to Sarnath specifically for a long time.  It was the realization of much planning and daydreaming.  I was given an opportunity to generate gratitude for all the factors that allowed me "to be in the here and the now" in the place where the Buddha taught his first enlightened discourse.  Once I gave up the clinging to some preconceived notion as to how I was "supposed to be" sitting and what I was supposed to be feeling it became easier to forgive myself, which in turn allowed me to save time and energy, which I then used to achieve greater states of concentration and investigate in more depth. I spent much time contemplating the four noble truths and the eight fold path, and the nature of joy and emptiness and I am learning to see the events of my mind in terms of causes and effects rather than as isolated incidents.  I mean, I've just scratched the surface...I still get frustrated constantly...but I am working ardently.  And in time, I will realize that which I now seek.

Well...this entry has stretched on long enough I think...I'm apologize to and admire all those of you patient enough to read this through.  I would like to also tell about some things I wrote in the museum in front of the statue of Agni (the Vedic personification of the sacrificial fire), about the time I got swarmed by 30+ beggars because I made the "mistake" ( I use that word loosely here) of giving some money out in plain sight to numerous children on my way to the university and then had to jump on a rickshaw to escape the madness...and other bits but its time to go.  Maybe later. 

May the clear light of wisdom, joy and compassion rain down in your minds like the monsoon.  May we all find true happiness. 

...and now for another haiku

Why sit quietly?
In the stillness and silence
Is where truth is heard

Tension and Void: Agra and Varanasi

We were stardust then
Now a dance of consciousness
To stardust again

I have created a little mantra for myself when I fall into that writer trap (not that you have to be a writer to fall into the trap) of narrating something or thinking about how I will relate an experience to others instead of experiencing it fully in the present: "Learn the story before you tell the story" is what I say to myself.  It helps sometimes.  After the retreat I was ready to begin a blog entry with "It has been an incalculable aeon and many lifetimes since we last spoke..."  I wanted to speak about subtle and gross sensations and states of mind, of oneness, plurality and emptiness, of grounds of being and the groundlessness of being...but that too seems like a lifetime ago now.  I wrote many pages (including a few Haikus obviously haha) while at the center and there are some ideas I would like to organize and share, maybe while I am in the village of Mirge for the Nepalese winter I will have some time...everything is moving a little too fast for me to focus and go into that kind of detail right now, and it is hard for me to get into a mode where I feel like I can be open on a timed computer surrounded by numerous people for whom privacy and personal space are alien concepts.  Suffice it to say that the retreat was revolution and surrender, difficult and worthwhile, painful, cathartic and at times quite joyful.  My pagoda cell was prison, sanctuary, tomb, the cave of an ascetic and the infinite space of the clear mind.  It rained everyday but two and stormed violently on a few days while I was there, which is odd considering there hadn't been a drop before and other than a five minute sprinkle in Agra, there hasn't been any since.  Lightening struck so close once that I thought (before the thunder started) that a big lightbulb had just burst outside my room...and then the grounds of the center rumbled for what seemed like an eternity and it became easy to understand Israelites who thought they had heard the voice of God at Sinai or Greeks who feared the bolts of light and sound from Zeus and Hephestus on Olympus. I realized, while sitting in silence, that I missed some people...and that I was ok with that when I looked closely.  This was important for me since in the past I spent much more time repressing and resenting those emotions rather than just observing what was happening in my body and mind and finding an equilibrium.  I sent much good will out in all directions, I hope you got it.  I have little doubt that I made the right decision to stay in Jaipur, but I was happy to be on the road again as well.  I have rotated through travel partners two, three or four at a time since the end of the retreat.  I have met and shared boat rides, early morning train cars, late night tuk-tuks (rickshaws), meals, sunrises and sunsets, information and theories with good people from Australia, Austria, Germany, England and Afghanistan in the past week or so...people I would not have met had I just moved on before the Satipatthana course.  And the course of my life and theirs is forever changed by our encounter and shared experience...and there will never be a way to know what could or would have happened in a world where we did not cross paths.  There can only be gratitude and happiness in what is, not what could have been...that is the domain of suffering.  Which brings me to another haiku:

Living in the past
Never gonna be the same
So let it all go

Took a vernacular liberty there...I envoke "poetic license."  And now for the report.

Agra: Home of the Taj Mahal

No one would have ever heard of Agra, India if it weren't for the Taj Mahal.  The food is second rate and there is little to see or do there besides wander around Agra Fort, Fatehpur Sikri (an abandoned village an hour outside of town and briefly the capital of the Mughal Empire in the 16th cent), and a bird sanctuary (also a little ways from town).  But that doesn't matter.  For a moment, while walking beneath the pointed archway at the entrance gate, everyone entered their own private cosmos...the great monument to love, death and aesthetic beauty coming into view on a clear Sunday sunrise.  It is truly magnificent.  It is the most alive and dynamic structure I have ever seen, in person or otherwise.  Its not just the size, shape or meaning, or that there is no precedent for many of the architectural features in the West, or the number of times I've seen it in movies, books or travel magazines, or because its a symbol of finally having made it to India...it was all of that and a lot more.  It breathes.  No architect that I know of in the west had the guts or the vision to cross the 180 degree mark of a dome to create a sort of rose bud effect guiding the mind to organic movement rather than a static stone existence.  Its four sided symmetry is offset by the different grey tones of the marble bricks, and the slight outward tilt of the four minarets gives the impression that the energy of the building is pushing them outward and it all creates graceful tension.  Heracleitus came to mind.  He spoke of the delicate tension that held the cosmos together, not tension like stress, but the balanced tension of string and wood when they form a bow together.  Monet was also there as I watched the light and shadows bring the structure to new life with each and every new angle of the sun's rays.  I imagined he had painted a Taj Mahal series, like his Parliament or Rouen Cathedral paintings.  Alright, before I write an art history paper...

Varanasi (Benares): The Holiest Place in Hindustan

Varanasi is like bits of all kinds of fantastic (in the absolute value sense of the word, not just the positive) dreams chopped together to make a discombobulated whole, that still somehow doesn't feel whole.  It is the holiest city in India for the hundreds of millions of Hindus here.  The water of the Ganges is supposed to wash away sins and to have one's body burned on the funeral pyres at the river's shore is an automatic ticket out of samsara, the cycle of rebirth, and therein a ticket out of worldly suffering. I remember sitting with my friend Jesse in Isla Vista, watching the section of "Baraka" where they show the morning puja (devotion act/prayer) on the Ganges and I dreamt of being there and seeing it with my own eyes.  It wasnt a "let down" or anything but it is easier to make it look like one smooth act of religious piety with a good editor and a 30" TV screen.  To me, Varanasi only seemed holy between the hours of 5 and 7 am, when men stood on the pylons doing yogic sun salutations in arched rhythms and when the pilgrims and sadhus walk down the steep steps of Dasaswambekh Ghat  and bathe in and drink the water filled with human waste, garbage, diesel fuel, laundry detergent and the ashes (and sometimes, as we found out on our boat ride when we saw one, intact bodies) of the dead.  Our sunrise boatride was an experience I shall not soon forget (Monet was there again as the sun rose blood red through the mist/smog and scattered its light across the water like he painted it in Impression: Sunrise [the piece from which the Impressionist movement took its name] and then rose to orange, yellow and then golden white).  Neither was sitting by the charnal grounds late on my first night in the city, the smell of burnt flesh and urine in the air, watching an arrested man, restrained by a police officer say goodbye to his mother's body before they set it ablaze.  There have been times where I felt it better to leave out detailed descriptions but it is, in this case, integral to the story of my time in Varanasi.  As the title of this entry hints, I felt that there is a void where piety may have once stood in Varanasi...not the great void of not_Self and impermanence which is in truth filled with infinite reality and compassion, but a vast nothing.  I am not just speaking about Varanasi (though it was highlighted there since it is said to be the holiest place) it seems that commercialism and monetaryism, blind tradition and ritual, have hollowed out what was once genuine spirituality in what I have seen of the Hindu religion here in India...but such is the case with every religious institution it seems...it was just highlighted for me in Varanasi when every other kid on the ghat tried to sell us hash, or when people would feed you some useless detail about the cremation ceremony and then ask for money next to five burning corpses, or how the cremation ground was organized into India's arcane caste system (that essentially every enlightened teacher in India has spoken out against), or watching how the local people treated their "holy Ganga river."  I am aware that I have been in bigger cities and some tourist spots and that maybe its different in other places but its pretty consistent so far. Varanasi one of those places you have to see, but that I can't really recommend if you know what I mean. Visiting the art museum and Siva Temple on the campus of Benares Hindu University was a much more peaceful experience (pictures on facebook) but I will not go into details about that at this point.  I have to go move my things, its getting dark and the University library is closing.

I hope everyone had a Thanksgiving filled with gratitude and not too much bickering.  I'll be writing more soon.  Metta to you all. :).

Breathing in and out
A place to rest awareness
This present moment

Things I Like...and a change of plan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ak5K4M3X2c

Since there has been an overabundance of thoughts regarding things I dislike or that bother me, or things by which I am overwhelmed (as there are many of those in India when traveling alone),  I have decided to make a list of some things that I like or am grateful for.  These items came up either by their notable absence or presence, or by way of a memory here on my travels.   I suggest you do the same if you are having trouble with negative mental states...you are welcome to note some "likes" down below in the commentary field if you so desire.

I like being healthy.

I like doing my laundry in a bucket.

I like absence of white noise caused by a nearby T.V. or  radio.

I like being able to communicate at a reasonable volume and not having to scream over the mindnumbing techno beat that sounds just like the last 50 in some club designed to drown out reality. 

I like not feeling judged for wearing comfortable and practical unisex cotton clothing.

I like the sound of footsteps.

I like showers.

I like being around people who speak of mindfulness and act accordingly.  I like being able to look to those people for insipration and guidance.

I like being in a place where monetary wealth is not the measure of success in life.

I like that I lost my favorite scarf and I don't really care.

I like learning from my mistakes...and then recognizing that because I have learned from them that they are not mistakes but lessons.

I like realizing I am not limited to the things I thought I was. 

I like getting the hang of something new which prevously made me feel helpless.  This joy is a special gift reserved only for those people willing to try new things and make fools of themselves...the greater the fool, the greater the joy.

I like seeing people's faces and not a layer of makeup.

I like seeing man and wild animals living side by side.

I like seeing the swastika used in its original context: as an affirmation of the goodnes in life, as a symbol of the changing seasons and their ultimate oneness, as a representation of simultaneous motion and stillness.

I like being barefoot. 

I like not having a mirror or clock around all the time.

I like not having hair.  It's one less thing between my body and the world.

I like sitting quietly.

I like my in breath.

I like my out breath.

I like not having or needing money in my pocket.

I like being around people who encourage me to keep my Sila (the 5 precepts) and who don't make me feel bad for not wanting to put poison in my body and lose myself in unskillful actions.

I like recognizing that just because anger is present in my mind, doesn't mean I have to identify with it.

I like being grateful with no particular object of gratitude.

I like that she remembered after five years.

I like mosquito nets.

I like smiling and dancing with no perceivable reason to do either.

I like that I have enough friends and family where it is a pain in the ass to send them all postcards.

I like meeting people that don't want anything from me.

I like playing the guitar.

I like helping people that want my help.

I like that my family supports my travels and my progress along the path even though they don't totally get it all the time and they'd rather I go somewhere close like Canada, where they have drinkable water and don't have 3 million diseases.

I like knowing that the ability to be happy does not depend on external conditions or circumstances.

These are just a few...and there are many many more. 

I recently spent a few days at the Vipassana Center in Galta, outside of Jaipur near the Monkey Temple (pictures on facebook).  I had planned until very recently (so recently in fact, that the post cards and emails I sent out yesterday have the old schedule written on them) to move onto Agra today and then on into pilgrimage territory...but things have changed.  I won't try to explain in too much depth other than to say that something inside me is telling me to stay.  I don't know whether I started something I haven't finished or what, but I am staying for an 8 day course on the Mahasatipatthana Sutta (Discourse on the Great Establishing of Mindfulness, the text used most often in the teaching of Vipassana [insight/ looking deeply] meditation).  It is strange as I don't particularly agree with Goenkaji's interpretation of much of the text and since I wasn't particularly impressed with the facility...but that is not really the point.  I feel sicker when I think of leaving and healthier when I move back in the direction of the pagoda (an architectural symbol of the enlightened mind, which in this case conatins individual meditation cells and is supposed to strengthen the vibration of samadhi (concentration), looks like a stepped pyramid that comes to a point...a big stupa...its really hard to explain without a visual, look it up haha).  It may just be the recognition that I am overwhelmed and need to be in a quiet place where people aren't trying to sell me things, a place where I can gain composure and stability before continuing on, a place of refuge...but  I had my first really absorbed sit since being in India inside the pagoda and I feel like there is more work to be done here.  It may be nothing but I don't think so, what is the point of looking deeply and exploring the body and mind if you are going to ignore what you find in the name of a schedule.  I will have to do a litle reworking of the trip after I finish the course but oh well.  There is no schedule so important that it trumps health, peace and happiness.  I wanted to let everyone know so that when and if I go dark on the blog and email (I don't know whether I will get any signal in the students' quarters) that its not because I was attacked by a monkey or caught something more serious than the cold I've had since being sandwiched between those two Japanese tourists in the dorm bed at Pearl Palace.  I will send Metta out in all directions and I could use some support if you can manage it...but remember, only send out Metta to others AFTER you have sent Metta to yourself...if you can't wish happiness for yourself, you are of no use to others. 

"I know it would be outrageous
To come on all corageous
And offer you my hand
To pull you up on to dry land
When all I've got is sinking sand."

-David Gray

Create stability within yourself, create refuge where it cannot be stripped away by anyone.  Then you can reach out to others.  Be good and be well...We'll speak again soon.

Charlatan Gurus, a Rock Breaker and the Gods of Creation: Two Days in Pushkar

written 3-4/11/10...and then finished 8/11

Namaste,

So I am back in Jaipur now.  I got back into the city yesterday in the late afternoon and stayed with the Singhs again since my stuff was there and it was already pretty late in the day and I had to get some things organized for today.  Tomorrow afternoon I will be heading to the Vipassana Center Dhamma Thali in the town of Galta about 13 km away.  I will run a few errands in the morning and then I was thinking about seeing a Baliwood (Bollywood? I don't know how far they go with the spelling) film here in town since Jaipur is apparently home to the third nicest movie theatre in the world and it shows the latest Indian hit four times daily.  In any case, I am looking forward to being around meditation and quiet for a little bit.  I am getting the hang of Jaipur...I can take the bus now, (though the bus is never for certain in that it sort of goes where it wants to...and it seems foreigners have the least weight in deciding that) and I know where to go to grab a tuk tuk, where to eat and how much things are supposed to cost...the walking pace necessary to avoid being pulled aside for the 100th time to be asked where I'm from, where I'm going, if I'd like to visit his brother's shop, cause he'll give me a great price...I'm getting a feel for how forcefully I have to say no for them to get that its really a NO...and I'm seeing how hard it is for me to say no to a lot of things.  Honestly though, I'm sick of the traffic and the horns and the smog and bargaining and being grabbed constantly so I welcome Dhamma Thali and the nearby Monkey Village, which sounds very...well....monkey-full.

I realized that I don't particularly like doing bullet point lists of my days...it doesn't make me feel like there's any actual expression or sharing going on, at least not in any way that matters or that is attractive to me; so I'm not going to do it.  I will mention events or people that are significant and/or relevant to the prevailing story line or my mental state or whatever, but I can't possibly talk about everyone I meet and everything I do while here...and the fact that some part of me was trying to take on that feat was driving me away from writing anything at all on here.  The sheer number of ups and downs that I experienced emotionally, energetically and otherwise while in Pushkar would have made it near impossible to write an all-encompassing entry...so that's not gonna happen.  So, there's a weight off my shoulders haha.  For anyone who doesn't know, the medication I was taking was causing some damage and was the culprit behind my inability to sleep more than a few hours a night or eat without a great deal of discomfort...so I have stopped that as well...and now I can eat yummy Indian food all day...WooHoo!!

As for Pushkar...I would like to begin with a story.  Some of you may already have heard it either because you read it somewhere or because I've told it to you (but other than Zaza, and maybe one or two others I don't think I've told it to anyone)...I tell it in my own way and I tell it because it is a story which helps me to be at ease with where I am in life and maybe it can do the same for you...I tell it because it is skillful to take a step back and adjust one's view when struggling with negative mental formations, old habit patterns and reactive tendencies...and I am struggling with all of these right now so hopefully it will help to write it and to share it.  Since this story's reappearance in my counscious mind was brought about by an actual event and person, of whom I was able to take a photo, there will be a corresponding image up on facebook in the near future.

The Tale of the Stonemason


Once there was a lowly stonemason...or at least that is how he thought of himself at the beginning of this story.  He worked day in and day out with chisel and hammer in his hands and with sweat on his brow.  As he was walking to work one day he passed a large golden gate, glinting in the morning sun.  He stopped, touched the gate with a caloused hand and looked inside to the mansion entrance, where he saw a rich merchant reclining and ordering servants about.  "Oh how wonderful it must be to have that kind of money and live in such ease, that must be happiness," he thought to himself.  "I wish I were that merchant."

And so he became the rich merchant, in fine robes and with a golden cup in his hand, and for a moment he was filled with pride and his chest swelled.  He stood on two legs that had never felt stronger and his voice boomed with orders until...trumpets drowned out his voice and he saw palanquin bearers walking past his gate.  They were transporting a magistrate, and it is customary for all people to bow to a government official when they pass.  His servants ceased to listen to his orders and turned to prostrate toward the palanquin and he knew he would be expected to as well.  The prideful merchant with great dismay slowly bent his head, got down on his knees and bowed to the official.  While down on the ground he thought to himself, "If only I had that kind of power, then I would be happy.  I wish I were that official."

And so he became the magistrate, being carried in his palanquin and wearing rings with official seals...everywhere he went, people bowed to him and kissed his hand and did as they were told.  It was now midday and the it was boiling hot. No matter how many fans were directed at him, the official was sweating and uncomfortable.  He looked through the thin cloth that was the roof of the vehicle and saw the burning orb of the sun directly overhead.  He was upset that he could do nothing to change the sun's position and intensity, and he was envious of its heat and power.  "This government position is meaningless. Writing a few laws and being bowed to is small potatos...but that is real power.  All people everywhere depend on and respect the heat and the light of the sun.  I wish I were the sun."

And so he became the sun, shining brightly and with great intensity.  He dried out crops to demonstrate his enormous power..."This is the pinacle," he thought.  In the midst of his shining and blazing, he noticed that the field below was now in the shade and the farmer could take a moments rest in the cool.  A cloud had wandered in between the sun and the field and had blocked the light's path.  "This cloud blocks out my light, it is greater than I am. I wish I were the cloud."

And so he became the cloud, with the power to block the light of the sun and give shade to the earth below.  In the midst of giving shade, he felt himself moved by a powerful force...it was the northern wind and it blew him far from where he had been.  "This wind moves me where it pleases and I can do nothing to stop it.  I am powerless against it.  I wish I were the wind that I may have power over the clouds."

And so he became the wind.  He blew the leaves off of trees and guided the paths of the clouds and messed up the hair of the merchants and the officials and even took off a roof or two.  He gusted and blew and danced about the earth until....Wham! He came up against a great mountain which would not bend to his will.  He became a tornado and then a hurricane, but the great rock would not budge.  "Oh, what stability! What strength! I would I were the mountain, that I may indifferent even to the great force that is the wind."

And so he became the mountain.  And he was firm and solid and immovable and impervious to...and then he felt it...a rhythmic vibration...a chip chip chipping away at himself.  And so he looked down and saw there the stonemason, with chisel and hammer and a knowing smile on his face.

And there was no more wishing.  

Fin


I hope you enjoyed it.  I had originally written quite a bit more after this story.  This blog entry was delayed for quite a while due to its multiple deletions, first at a computer which lost its connection and then on my phone (which I will no longer be using for blog entries).  I had written about the guru Maharaja Siva...who wanted to make me his follower/wanted to sell me an overpriced set of mala (hindu/buddhist rosary).  There was the taking refuge in a small temple of Siva (personification of both the creative and destructive forces, and the closest thing I have to a patron saint in the Hindu tradition...may seem not to fit with Brahma being the god of creation, which was mentioned last time, but I don't actually think there is a conflict...will discuss another time if I am so inclined) after being invited in by the one holy man ( I use that term loosely) who didn't ask for anything from me and seemed far more concerned with his praying than my wallet.  There was the denial of entry into the Temple of Visnu because my Israeli friend Lior and I are dirty westerners...for real, there was a sign: No Foreigners Allowed (I found out later on, we are considered dirty because we use toilet paper instead of water after going to the bathroom).  Another thing to write on one of these days is the incredible parallel between the Jewish and Hindu (two traditions which, historically have no influence on one another until relatively recent times) obsession with segregation and distinguishing between (in what sometimes seems to be a completely arbitrary manner) sacred and profane, pure and impure.  There was a good deal of shopping since Pushkar was really cheap and since everything jumped out at me as something my sisters would like...and I may have gotten a few things for myself...practical stuff mind you.  And last but not least, I mentioned the rock-breaker who was the inspiration for the above story, or its telling in any case. I asked to take a picture for a few rupees.  He shook no and so I thought he meant no picture...but it turns out he said the picture was fine, he just didn't want my money.  It wasn't an issue of pride either...he was just an honest, quite serene young man, who had no interest in taking my money for something that took no effort on his part.  He was the opposite of the vast majority of people I have met here...and he effected me in a meaningful way.  He also brought to mind the Rock Biter from The Never Ending Story and the Rock Man from The Point...characters of wisdom and strength and silliness from my childhood...but I feel that that comes with the territory...if you have been around long enough, you realize there is nothing that lasts long enough to take seriously.

That is enough for now...Be good.

Black Lungs in the Pink City, a quick word from Jaipur

Namaste everyone,

So as many of you already know from the pictures on facebook or emails, I am in Jaipur, known as the Pink City due to the paint job of the city center walls and shops.  Jaipur marks the south-western point of the "golden triangle," which consists of Dehli, Jaipur and Agra.  The train from Delhi was, for the most part, pretty happy for me, simply because I thought a lot about being on Indian trains before I came...just one of those things you see in movies and hear about a lot I guess...that and I just like trains.  As I sat waiting for the doors to my car to open, the loud speaker sounded out about train so and so being 12 hours late and 6 hours late etc...and I was very grateful that my train was already in the station.  Because of Diwali, the 5 to 12 day long (depending on what part of the country you are in) Hindu holiday that begins in the next week, the trains, especially the lower class cars, are pretty jam packed. So when the unreserved car opened up people slammed against each other and pushed each other around to get a shot at a seat inside.  At that point I was also happy to have my reserved seat in 2nd tier AC for which I was grossly overcharged by the travel agency previously mentioned.  I'm not beating myself up about how much money was spent in the first two days...I had no idea what was going on and in my first 48 hours in Delhi I got a combined total of 7 or so hours of sleep between 5 and 11 am and in chunks of an hour on average...I think it was a combination of the time change and constantly being on guard, the shortening of my breaths (unconsciously as a reaction to how polluted the air is), the spicy food, the floods of thoughts and the disturbing poverty around every corner (which I am not going to discuss until I feel I can do it in a way that is less negative and "energetic" shall we say). I have had a good deal of trouble doing "constructive" sitting as well, which I know isn't really true, I just mean to say that I am having trouble getting my mind to settle...but I know that it is never unconstructive to sit quietly and explore whats going on inside, even if what you find is that, "I'm batshit crazy right now."

I arrived in Jaipur around 9:30 pm, which I was not happy about seeing as how I had my bags and guitar and had no idea where my hotel was and I was in a city I knew nothing about and I knew the rickshaw drivers were gonna go ape when they saw the white boy...which is exactly what happened.  The two competing rickshaw families (by the way, everyone here is everyone else's brother) got into a little fight immediately after talking to me trying to figure out who was going to take me.  After a less than pleasant and at times a little frightening experience, I made a call to the hotel, found out how far it was to see who was lying to me about distance and price and then settled on Mohammad, who I also retained for a tour from 11 to 5pm the next day, which was yesterday, the 29th.  We went to Amber Fort and the Temple of Shilla inside where I got my first "tika" (the red dot the priest draws between your eyes), the Floating Palace, a fabric factory and tailor (so Mohammad could get his commission of course, its how every rickshaw driver here works -- "my friend, don't shop there, they'll rip you off...I will take you to my cousins shop and he will show you nice things...just looking ten minutes my friend"...everyone else is out to get you and they are your only friend...oy...I did buy a vest with some deep pockets so I can keep things in a safe place while I walk around without having a stupid uncomfortable bulge under my shirt from the waste-wallet which is putting unwanted pressure on my now delicate stomach)  and the Albert Hall museum (again, pictures on facebook)...all of which were quite lovely, save a few moments of high pressure sales situations and a few unpleasant encounters.

I am now staying at the Shahar Palace Guest House, which is the first place I have felt comfortable so far on the trip.  It has a very nice garden, and is owned by Mr. Singh, a jolly, proud and slightly senile retired Indian Colonel who likes to gossip to his guests for stretches at a time, and his wife, who thinks sitting quietly in a meditation center is a waste of time when there is so much to see in India.  There are peacocks in the trees, chickens on the ground, geckos on the wall.  Out on the street there are mangy strays everywhere, running past the cows and donkeys...elephants with brightly painted faces walk to and from Amber Fort and the monkeys guard its walls.  Today I went to Jantar Mantar, a reconstructed planetarium/astronomy center from many a century ago, though honestly, the signs were not very helpful and I missed the audio guides until the end so I don't have as much info as I'd like about it, and then to Elephant village where I got to pet an elephant and watch him eat and what not.  Then the tuk tuk driver ran out of gas and so I met a couple of nice Indians by the side of the road and hung out with them until he refilled.  There are so many things I want to go into detail about, little stories and details and descriptions and people, but I have things to do tonight before I leave for Pushkar tomorrow and I don't like being on timed computers.  My plan as of now is to go to Pushkar (which is the home of the only Temple of Brahma in all of India and which is a sacred place for Hindus and contains a lake which, like the Ganges, is supposed to wash away all sins, but the city is now a little more famous for the Camel Festival and hippies and pot)  for a couple of days, depending on how I like it there, then coming back to Jaipur to collect my big bag, which I am leaving with Mr. Singh since he was nice enough to offer his lock room and since its compressing my mid spine and I'm happy not to have to carry it around for a day or two, and then heading to the Vipassana center here for a few days, coming back to experience a day of Diwali in Jaipur before heading to Agra for a day, if I can get a ticket, and then to Varanasi and then I'll figure it out from there.  I will try to write again soon.

P.S. Thank you in a big way to everyone who sent me emails and messages and what not...they were quite helpful keeping it together through some of the more coo coo moments.  I am doing a lot better now that I have gotten a little bit of sleep, am getting the hang of how to speak and eat and spend here, and can string 3 or 4 breaths together at a time. Be good.

INDI-AHHHH!

In Delhi there are four vehicles to two lanes and the horns never stop, rickshaws, taxis, buses, bicycles, motorcycles and pedestrians push their way through the bustle. The whole place smells of spices and garbage. Young men live on mattresses in the dirt and garbage beneath highway bridges on the side of the road and urinate in the open while women in bright colored saris ride side saddle on the backs of broken down motorcycles. Most everyone wants to sell you something and while you can fight off the commercialism in you there is only so long you can deny 20 rupees (less than 50 cents) to a man with no hands following you through the big bazarre adorned with overhead Christmas lights, car fumes and child labor. Its overwhelming and I'm a little lonely and tired already or constantly guarding my pockets and bags...being so mistrustful is not in our nature and so it exhausts the mind. I have taken up with a information center which I know is ripping me off a little but I needed a place to crash after being up for more than 24 hours...I got a room for tomorrow night for a third of the price...and its essentially the same room and only a block and a half away. Going to the US and Nepalese embassies tomorrow and then maybe a little sightseeing depending on my stomach's condition after my first Indian meal...which was quite yummy. I couldn't get a train to Jaipur till the day after tomorrow since, little did I know, its crazy festival season all over India and everythings a-movin-and-a-shakin and jam packed. I need some sleep if you couldn't tell...this is being written entirely on my phone for the first time which I better get used to since I don't know about internet availability, so sorry if there are a lot of goofs. Alright, good night from the other side of the world. I hope you all generate some gratitude next time you drink water from the tap or take a bite out of a piece of fruit without having to fry it twice to make sure everything on it is dead haha. Send messages, I could use some company.

Pieces of Paris and The Battle of Deutschland

In the interest of staying in the present moment, I will also have to forgo writing in detail about my visit to the Musée d´Orsay, which would have constituted the majority of a "Paris the Third" entry.  The highlights of which were standing before Manet´s larger than life masterpiece Le Dejeuner sur l´herbe and finally getting it after all those classes that just called him the "father of impressionism" but never got to the point, seeing the shapes--triangles upon triangles and lines and perfectly abused perspective and arches and circles, the patterns and strokes, the metaphor of the modern man inviting the classical nude into the modern age as she looks to you for a sign; the two small rooms filled with Degas´pastels took me over an hour to get through and which sucked me into a gentle dimension; and last but certainly not least, seeing that often reproduced and studied self portrait of Van Gogh, his serious gaze dancing in a greenish blue flame, his brush strokes more daring that any sighted artist before him...oy, it was all exhausting and invigorating.

I will also be skipping the detailed description of one of the greatest exhibits I´ve ever seen in my life: Monet at the National Gallery of the Grand Palais on my second go round in Paris.  A lifetime of painting...200 pieces (which constitutes something like 10% of his known work) from age 25 to 86 of a man who dedicated his life to the almost impossible pursuit of capturing change, impermanence itself, in a static medium.  They kept saying his subject was light, but light, like paint, was a tool, a signal, a means, the real subject was the ephemeral nature, the ungraspability of all compounded things.  This was especially evident in the portrait of his first wife Camille, as she lay on her deathbed...purples and grays swirling into oblivion around a still young yet lifeless face.  I have to stop myself or I´ll keep going forever.

 As for Germany...

Its been a joyous week in many ways and a tough one in others.  Its always a pleasure to spend time with energetic Sabine, her two children (Julian 10 and Oliver 9), her very chill mother, and her sister, Marion.  I babysat the little ones one day and wandered about the Old City and sat in the tacky faux-Rococo Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady) another and went to the gallery of the "New Masters" where many of the German Romantics, including my favorite, Caspar David Friedrich, hang out...and I ate falafel the whole time regardless of whatever else I was doing.  Bine and I hung out when the kids were either asleep or at school and talked about politics and religion and meditation and change and depression and happiness and whatever else came up.  She found this super-awesome veggie friendly organic place called "Aha" which we went to twice, once with Marion for a late dinner and then for lunch the next day.  I spent a few hours at the "Health Museum" which featured two exhibits that interested me initially: Was ist Schön? (What is Beauty?) and "Religious Energy."  I don´t feel sufficiently dispassionate about either exhibit at this point in time to really discuss the content of either one in any sort of detail, but I will say one thing about each.  There is infinite beauty in the world and in each human being...but we´re looking in all the wrong places.  And after listening to an old jaded Israeli say that dying for the state of Israel is the only meaningful thing you can do with your life since the messiah is on his way, a Lutheran politician who says he doesn´t have any friends who aren´t Christian, a clueless Buddhist talk about how everything is predestined (by the way, there are few concepts further from the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, than determinism and predestination, in fact determinists, materialists and nihilists were the primary philosophies he opposed at the time, and it is between these idealogies that he found the middle path), a confused Hindu priest-in-training talking about the colors of the multitude of deities in his tradition, and a Muslim woman hint that if only everyone were Muslim the world would be at peace...the only person who made a lick of sense to me was a 7 or so year old boy with no declared religion who, when asked the question, "What beliefs are important to you?", said, "That everybody is nice to each other, and has fun."

The more difficult aspects of my time in Germany included: long nights of unpleasant and very vivid dreams, back pain, a distinct lack of mindfulness and equanimity, an unbalanced diet (since Germany is really not a veggie friendly country) which in turn made my defense against the literally freezing weather here all but nonexistent, powerful cravings for sweets which I gave into more often than not and usually regretted later, and a sort of meloncholy and anxiety, which gave way to speedy and unmindful speech at times, internally more than externally.  In the same way that you pick up old speech patterns and habit energies when you hang out with people you haven´t seen in a long time, especially those who are emblematic of a specific time period in your life in which your personality may have been very different, I think I picked up some old mental states and residual emotions and cravings from my time in Dresden from 2005 to 2007 and felt overwhelmed and unable at times to observe them from an objective place.  I know that there are many things to learn from the experience and I have little doubt that I will eventually, but for now, a lot of it still feels overwhelming.  Some part of me knows that I needed it after Plum Village, a place where its so easy to think that you have it all under control, and I am greatful in many ways that I got the opportunity to get a different viewpoint before heading to India.  I will keep sitting and walking and shedding the light of mindfulness on whatever comes up as best I can and eventually I will see things for what they are...I know that there will be more wrong assumptions and false starts and ups and downs and doubts and old baggage and afflictions and ego buildings and tearings down...but thats a lot of why I´m on this trip isn´t it?  Still doesn´t make it easy though. 

As for Berlin...in truth, I don´t feel very strongly about the place.  I realized that everyone who recommended the city to me either loves clubbing or World War II and Cold War history, neither of which are my cup of tea.  I feel that Berlin, as a whole, has a conflict tearing at itself from the inside.  It is torn between maintaining its economic stability, which it achieves in large part by its tourism business, which consists largley of repeating over and over again about book burnings and destruction and murder, and its desire to move on and also to utilitize the present moment, which is the only door to progress and real happiness. It has been three generations and its enough already with the guilt and the shame and the sensative subjects and taboos.  The balance between not forgetting and completely living in the past is a difficult one I understand, but if we forget that the main causes of Hitler´s rise to power, WW II and the holocaust were shame, guilt, blame, economic desolation, and living in the past, history will repeat itself, and a new generation of Germans ashamed to be German and unable to speak openly about the positive aspects of their country and history will be created.  And that is neither good for them, nor, as we have seen in history, is it good for anyone.  There is no "How could this have happened?" situation if we look closely...every effect has a cause.

I took a tour bus around the city twice the first day and there was as much of a concentration on shopping and fashion, about which I care very little, as there was on the history of the city.  I had a fun with Carmen and Sabine (by the way, for those of you who don´t know, Sabine was my (and mym siblings´) nanny from age 10 to 11 and 13 to 14, and Carmen from 12 to 13)  walking around Berlin and eating in the restaurant with the mean waitress.  I also enjoyed the Gendarmenmarkt, which is a bit sqare in the middle of Berlin built to echo the architecture of the Piazza del Popolo in Rome.  The Thenis Rioni exibit at the Jewish Gallery in the New Synagogue (pictures on facebook) was also pretty fantastic.  Wandering through the Holocaust memorial next to the Brandenberg gate was an experience, though I wouldn´t necessarily call it fun.  I ate at a restaurant near by called Samadhi (how could I resist) later that day, which was decorated with Thay´s quote "Peace in oneself, Peace in the World" and numerous books..its helped a little to have mindfulness reinforced externally again.  That is until my dish got there and turned out to be the spiciest thing I´ve ever eaten in my entire life (not an exaggeration)...I had to pass on the last third before I started a full blown anxiety attack and passed out haha.  But before I got that particularly hot plate, I was reading through Thay´s book "Being Peace," which I borrowed from the counter, and read about the purpose of meditation.  He wrote that many people have the misconception that the purpose of meditation centers and retreats is to escape hardships and to separate from society, but that in truth meditation is preparation for re-entering society in a healthier way than when we took our leave.  This was helpful for me.  I need to remember that I can´t expect myself to be the same person in a bustling city filled with stress and commercialism as I am in Plum Village...its a gradual process and I need to take it a little easier on myself...and so do all of you. 

I have to get ready for my flight now.  Part of me still cant believe I´m going to India...but I´ll be there soon enough.  I hope you are all happy and healthy.  Metta to you all.