Where Did I Go?

Sorry peeps, it's been a while, a long while since I've updated this site. The travels have continued, the adventures have gotten even crazier. When I go back through this blog and read about what I was doing a few years ago, what I thought, how I acted, I hardly realize myself anymore. The good news is I'm back to blogging, this time with the love of my life, Dipika, my partner in crime over at http://www.loveandyoga.com a site about, well you guessed it, Love and Yoga. I know, I know, not what you would have expected from the guy who created this blog, but head over there and you might be able to figure out how the transition happened!

Just Breathe Baby

Considering it is something that we do every few seconds from the moment we exit the womb until we leave this world, the vast majority of us are incredibly bad at breathing. Our first breaths are natural and free. A newborns first breath is a deep cry from the belly. But recent studies show that within just a few years of life 90% of us cease move onto thoracic respiration, with short and shallow breaths.

The human lungs are shaped like two triangles, wide at the bottom and tapering off towards the top. And our anatomy dictates that our breathing is divided into three portions, either from the abdomen, by expanding the belly, the thorax by expanding the rib cage or by the clavicles, expanding the shoulders.

Breathing from the abdomen is the most efficient way to intake oxygen given the fact that the bottom 3rd of the lungs have a greater capacity than the other parts. Also, breathing from the abdomen doesn't involve using muscles to raise any bones and make space, which would require extra energy, one simply needs to relax the belly. It also has the added benefit of preventing stale air from collecting in the bottom of the lungs and stagnating.

Unfortunately though the vast majority of us are breathing from the thorax. And while the inefficiencies for each breath might be negligible over an accumulated lifetime this puts an incredible degree of extra stress on the body.

The reasons our society moves towards this inefficient mode of respiration are numerous and complex. As we age we tend to accumulate stresses that most of us hold in our midsection, making it harder and harder to relax the belly for abdominal breathing. Societal pressures on aesthetic appeal also dictate that we should suck in our bellies to look more appealing.

If you're unsure if you are breathing from the belly or the thorax simply lie on your back with one hand resting on your belly button and the other hand over your heart. Breathe naturally and note which hand moves. For most of us the, we never raise the hand on the belly, breathing entirely from the thorax.

A good way to train yourself to breath into the abdomen is to come to a comfortable standing position with a belt of piece of cloth loosely tied just where the ribs end. Exhale completely and then tighten the belt or piece of cloth and continue breathing. This will prevent you from breathing into to the thorax and your bodies natural reactions will kick in and slowly over time you will train yourself to breath easily and comfortably.

For a bit more info check out article. There are even more advanced techniques which can lead to even more efficient forms of breathing when you are ready to explore further.

Whatever will be, will be

Everyone at the homestead had already taken off by the time Courtney and I got back from yoga, a bit later than anticipated. But it was ok ... I knew where they were all headed. Courtney took a few moments to get settled into her new room which had just been vacated. I headed out to our favorite tourist restaurant, Unity Pizza for Atli and Eva's farewell lunch. Maria poked her head around the outdoor canopy and waved me over to the table. Our housemates Warren and Kahu were already there, along with a few other well wishers.

It had only been a few weeks together but it sure felt like we were losing two members of the family. We had come from all different parts of the world, had our own reasons for winding up in Bhagsu, but after spending two weeks sharing one bathroom, lots of food and more than a few laughs it was time for the Icelandic contingent to return home. I started to think about my own impending journey back to the US.

We sat around our table we reminised about our time together in Rishikesh. I couldn't help but remember our teacher Khush's words at our graduation ceremony. He warned us, tried to prepare us for what was sure to await. No one comes to India and returns the same person, especially not after spending so much time and effort pursuing spritual practice. We all could have just hung out in Rishikesh or Dharamsala and smoked ganga with the stoner sadhus, but instead we all choose to spend our vacation doing 6 - 8 hours of intense yoga and meditation per day.

When your friends and family see you again, notice the physical changes, hear you speaking about God realization and watch you practicing hours and hours of yoga each day, they'll be convinced you've lost your mind. They'll start to think you're brainwashed. The people who love you the most, who you care about more than anything, will judge you, will question your motives, will be sure they know what you should be doing with your life, better than you yourself could possibly know.

I remember shaking my head out of frustration as Khush continued speaking. I had experienced the extremes of this very behavior first hand. I looked around the table at my cohorts with a bit of envy. It seemed like every one of them could point to the love and support their families gave them on their journey. How they were encouraged to go. How they answered all the eager questions about what they were doing. How they helped make all of this possible, helped take care of their worldly responsibilities while they were away. I was just getting to the point with my family where there seemed to be the beginnings of some level of acceptance. That's what happens when you're from an Indian family and dare to be just a little bit different from what is the norm.

But Khush told us to forget about those distractions. Sure, treat your inquisitors with love and compassion, but stay true to yourself. When you are accused of being irresponsible for not taking part in the material economy, when you hear that you are selfish for pursuing a goal greater than your own desires, when you are told you are a drain on society for not contributing enough ... don't believe those lies. Instead take a second to ask yourself what these people who belittle your path are contributing to the world. Mostly just stress and anxiety as a result of working jobs they dislike. A degree of lust and envy as a result of unrealized desires. At best a few dollars to United Way or some other charity which makes them feel better about themselves.

The world we live in only becomes a better place as the people in it spend the time and effort to make themselves better on an individual level. By raising our own awareness we raise the level of consciousness of the entire planet. I've had plenty of moment where I debated going back to an easier route, running with the rest of the sheep in the pack, banging my head against the walls of material possessions, relationships, fame and worldly respect that people swear is the path towards true happiness. But once you've acknowledged for yourself that there will always be a greater Truth than those things can provide you'll never be fooled again.

After lunch Atli and Eva headed down the long road to the auto-rikshaw stand, loaded up with all their belongings. They turned down all the offers to help carry their load, they knew they were capable of dealing with all the baggage they had brought with them. And I knew the same about myself.

Cold Ground Was My Bed Last Night

About 3 /4ths of the way up the Triund trekking route Warren, Mira and I became precariously aware that we only had one sleeping bag between the three of us. Connor and Dylan, the two travelling cohorts who had just passed us on the trail let us know that there was some event going on at the camp ground tonight and we shouldn't expect to be able to rent gear once we reached the top. "It's a puja, they are going to kill some animals and eat them" said Connor. That didn't quite sound right to me. But being the chivalrous gents they were, they offered to make room for Mira in their tent. "How come they offered the 18 year old blonde a place to sleep but not me or Warren?" I thought. Regardless, she didn't seem too enthused by the idea.

We debated turning around, there was still enough daylight left that we could make it back down to Bhagsu without having to navigate the rough trail and loose rocks in the dark of night. There was only one headlight and one flashlight between the 3 of us so the sun's position made all the difference. "We're not really prepared for this" said Warren, stating the obvious. We had decided to head out on this trek without too much foreward planning, had a few warm clothes but not much else. After exchanging a few Hindi words with a local heading the opposite way I convinced our little group to keep on heading up, I was sure we would figure something out.

We continued climbing switchbacks for another hour or so. The altitude was right around 3000 meters, enough to get us all breathing heavily. But as we turned the last corner, it became obvious what the fuss was all about. Before us stood the first snow capped peak of the Himalayas I had ever seen in my life. Not the most majestic scene I had ever seen, but right up there for sure. The campground, normally a quite serene place was overrun with school kids in uniforms. Apparently it was a holiday and a prep school in Dharamsala decided to take one of their classes camping for the night.

By some degree of providence we managed to snag the last two sleeping bags available for rent at the chai shack which provided all the goods and services the campers could expect. Warren and I set out looking for shelter while Mira rested and enjoyed a hot cup of lemon ginger tea. The caves of Triund may or may not exist, but we never found out for certain. We didn't have enough daylight left to search properly. We moved onto Plan C or D at this point. Warren pointed out a saddle that was covered on 3 sides, open to the mountain face, had relatively flat ground and two large rocks on either side. It was the best we were going to do.

"Were you a boy scout?" I asked Warren. "Eagle scout" he answered. That was good enough for me, I was convined we would survive the night. We put on every bit of clothing we had and decided the best use of the remaining sunlight was to gather enough firewood to try and keep warm. If the hike up wasn't enough to get our hearts pumping, searching for and hauling up what few branches and shards of wood we could find certainly did the job. I made a heartfelt wish upon the first star of the night, and suprisingly enough it wasn't for my own survival.

Warren expertly tended our fire. He made sure to feed it slowly and steadily, so as to not burn out our source of heat for the night too soon. Mari enchanted us by singing a few songs, for which she was handsomely rewarded with a handful of squares of a Cadbury milk chocolate bar. Dylan and Connor joined in and shared the goods they had as well. We stayed up for a while, trading travel stories, talking about our homelands, our lots in life. I noticed the smile on my face while I told them all of my plan to head back to San Diego and continue working at the non-profit I left before this trip.

Before too long it was time for bed. Dylan and Connor headed back to their tent and Warren, Mira and I layed our sleeping bags shoulder length apart, huddled to keep warm. We pulled a few of the rocks that surrounded our fire ring and stuck them in the bottom of our sleeping bags, enough to radiate a bit of warmth throughout the night. As I pulled the drawstrings of my sleeping bag shut I gazed up at the Himalayan sky above. I laid there for a while, my eyes softly focued on the multitude of stars out on this new moon night. The Big Dipper was directly in my line of sight ... pointing the way to the North star.

The Lion which kills the Elephant of Death

The alchemists of yore spent considerable time and effort attempting to turn lead into gold. They probably never realized that the ancient yogis had already figured out something more impressive. Taking irrational fears and insecurities and transforming them into pure love. Taking wanton desires and jealousies and transmuting them into serenity. Taking the self-centered egoistical need for power and rising it up until it becomes wisdom. Taking all the impure energies located at the seat of our being and using them to find truth.

Several yogic techniques exist to sublime the disharmonious forces that occupy the lower levels of our being up to the heart and beyond. But none of them is as safe, easy and effective as the Uddiyana Banda. As the name implies, this is not a posture, an asana, but rather an energetic lock, a banda. The reference here is to prana, the life force that flows through the entire universe. Uddiyana comes from sanskrit and can roughly be translated as "to fly upwards." Thus the implication of the name is clear, it can be understood as "the lock which causes prana to fly upwards."

In addition to the spiritual benefits mentioned above, the physical results are exceptional. It improves digestion and purifies the digestive tract, improves circulation to the heart and brain and strengthens the abdminal muscles and reduces belly fat. The health benefits are so numerous that this technique is refered to as "the Lion which kills the Elephant of Death." To the uninitiated the technique may appear to be extrordinary, but once the process is understood it really is quite simple and easy to perform. Although make sure you have an empty stomach when you practice, give yourself 2-3 hours after eating.

Stand with your feet roughly shoulder distance apart. Take a few deep inhales to energize the body with prana. And then forcefully exhale through the mouth, bending all the way down so your knees press into your abdomen, completely expelling all the air in your body. Relax the abdominal muscles.

Retain the empty breath, without inhaling connect your hands to your knees come into a half-standing posture with the torso bent over. Make sure to keep the abdominal muscles relaxed take a "mock inhalation" by expanding the rib cage. Press into your hands and relax your shoulders. The vacuum in your lungs will cause your belly to suck into your thorax. Close your eyes and picture the energy subliming from your tailbone upwards through the spine, reaching to the crown of your head.

Within a few seconds you will feel the need to breath. The longer you resist this urge the more energy will be sublimed upwards. Once you feel your anus contract, the intial portion of your kundalini shakti start to rise, albeit in safe and controlled manner. But, as always with yoga, don't push yourself beyond your limits. Treat your body with love and compassion.

When you are ready to breath, first relax the abdominal muscles and then take and retain an inhale breath. Attempt to hold the inhale breath as long as you held the empty breath. Hold your posture, with the torso rounded over and keep feeling the energy sublime upwards.

After an equivalent amount of time has elaspsed, exhale through the mouth, returning to a standing posture. Keep your eyes closed and feel the effects of your consciousness being elevated.

Ultimately all we all can control is this world are our own actions. By making yourself a better person you inherently make the world a better place. So the next time you find yourself complaining about how terrible things are, ask yourself, what have you done lately to improve yourself. Wake up, brush your teeth, do just 3 uddiyana bandas and I guarantee you you'll feel better about the state of things. Now just imagine if we all would take the time to do the same.

Over the Hills and Far Away

By the time Maria and I got out of bed and started moving around everyone was gone. What a bummer I thought, I was sure hoping to see all those guys again. I knew we'd catch up with Warren and Kahu at the Agama Yoga Center, but I didn't think we'd see Atli and Eva again for a while. After spending 16 hours with them travelling from Rishikesh to Dharamsala it was a shame to part ways without getting a chance to say goodbye.

But within a few minutes we starting moving around. Lack of sleep the past few nights meant we crashed out until way late and had to hustle so as to not miss checkout. We needed to get out of the expensive hotel room we crashed in the last. It made sense since we arrived into town so late, but we didn't want to stay there. And we needed to get up into the mountainside, closer to our yoga school where we would be spending a significant chunk of our time.

The long car ride the day before had taken a lot out of all of us. Although the time had moved quickly engough as we passed around iPods, discussed great books and movies and talked yoga philosophy. We fell asleep on each other's shoulders, passed around whatever food we had. Every time the car stopped we'd all take stretch in the middle of the winding hillside roads. It had all the makings of a great road trip, except a proper good-bye.

Maria and I debated our next move. We realized we didn't even know where we were, let alone how to get to Bhagsu, where we needed to go. As we threw out possibilities, there came a knock at our door. Eva asked, "Have you guys found a place to stay, there are four rooms together at this house up the road out in the hills, it's just like Swiss Family Robinson!"

It took about 2 seconds to convince us. Maria popped into Atli and Eva's room to ask a few more questions. I took my first stroll outside of the room as well, out onto the balcony on the otherside of the hotel wing, and my jaw dropped. I went back to the room, grabbed Maria's hand mid-conversation and dragged her outside where we both stood awestruck at the view before us. We inhaled deeply feeling that fresh mountain air and wondered where the heck we had arrived, it sure didn't feel like India anymore. But it really didn't matter, it felt just about perfect.

A Direction Home

Maria and I had been in the Agama Yoga course for almost two weeks by the time Mike got back from trekking in the Himalayas. "You should definately come to our yoga class tomorrow, it's amazing!" we both told him. "Eh ... we'll see what happens" Mike answered in his typical non-commital, non-attached manner of speaking.

Two days later Maria and I decided to set an intention to take their Advanced 500 Hour Yoga Teacher Training Course in Thailand next January. Mike's experiences over the last few days had him sold, he was planning on heading to Dharamsala to continue with the 2nd month of their training. But after one more day the world flipped again. Maria decided there was no point in putting it off, her other travels could wait, she was signing up to take the course that started in May, just over a month away. Mike decided to forget wandering around India for a while, put off the Vipassana retreat, and fly to Thailand to continue studying at Agama's main school for an undetermined amount of time.

I however, was still flying back to the US in 3 weeks. Still planning on making to to Thailand in January for additional training. But first I allowed myself to dream a bit first. I imagined it vividly. I could fly to Thailand and just keep developing my practice. The curiculum at Agama offered an amazing amount of depth, 13 months of training in Hatha Yoga, followed by another 12 months in Kundalini yoga, followed by 2 month of training on each of the first 6 chakras, culminating in a 4 month training on sahasara, the crown chakra. Then the advanced levels began. You could basically spend the next 10 years of so developing you practice, following this tantric path wherever it lead.

The school is at Koh Panang ... the infamous spot of the Full Moon Parties in Thailand. Where once a month the south side of the island was overrun hooligans from around the world, tripping in shrooms and ecstacy, drinking alcohol out of buckets, dancing to techno music and partying the night away. At the Agama school however, every full moon is celebrated with a group meditation. Student come from around the world to practice, to teach, to study.

Our instructor Khush told us about the cottages you can rent right on the beach. 150 Baht a night would get you a bed, mosquito net, a hose and a bucket ... all I would need for the forseeable future. He told us about where you can buy a cheap scooter to get around town. I already knew about thai cuisine, knew enough thai from my trip last year to get around. It wouldn't be hard.

I would spend my days studying yoga, practicing 4-5 hours a day. The mornings swimming, watching the sunrise. On weekends and days off I could take little trips to Krabi to go rock-climbing, finally go visit my buddy Hetal in Cambodia. I would eat spicy curries and fresh seafood. Life would be grand. I would meet amazing people from all over the world, and we would figure out how to solve all the problems of humanity over fresh fruit smoothies and brown rice and tofu.

But I knew it was all just a day dream. Mike and Maria are a different spot than me. They left behind what they needed to in the US, are happily floating along the sea of life. I made sure to keep myself somewhat tethered back to a place I call home. I think about the friends with whom to reconnect. Playing with my nephews. Mending the fences that were left bruised and battered. Siezing the opportunity to serve at that special place in San Diego that jumped in my lap. And most exiting of all, the as-of-yet unknown possiblities of what is is to come. Thailand and all it entails will be there for me when I am ready. May 7th, the journey home begins.

When the Student is Ready, a Teacher will Appear

One of my main motivations in coming to India for such an extended trip was to train and deepen my yoga practice. I had founded my yoga practice in San Diego, and while I felt blessed to have been learned so much from so many wonderful teachers, but I knew there was more knowledge out there. At times the classes and workshops I attended seemed like mere social gatherings. Many practitioners were so obsessed with their flexibility and depth of their asanas that they seemed to have forgotten that yoga is a means to connect with The Divine. Sure, partially I wanted to study in the birthplace of yoga, and of my parents, to see how it was actually practiced in its native context.

I decided before I left not to worry about where or how I would train, that the Universe would put me in the right spot at the right time and all would be clear. But Rishikesh, the self-proclaimed World Capital of Yoga, was very high on the list of possibilities. My first full day there I walked randomly, examining the posters splayed all over the city streets. I asked everyone I met with a yoga mat where they were practicing, what they thought. I stopped into a few ashrams and examined their schedule of classes. It didn't take long to become overwhelmed with the options, all the different styles of practices.

I sat with the head yoga teacher at the Vedanta Ashram and asked about his classes. "You see many people these days want to take bits and pieces of traditional Hatha Yoga and change parts of it, they don't respect the traditions." He complained. "Do you think that is a problem?" I asked. "Yes of course" he replied. "Correct yoga means practicing just as the ancient Yogis did, not evolving the practice." I thanked him for his time and politely excused myself.

That didn't sound like my own approach towards spirituality, or life in general for that matter. I loved being able to take bits and pieces of whatever spoke to me from whatever traditions I found and use those to create my own path. I had a perfectly good religious tradition, Islam, on which I was happy to fall back on if I ever decided I needed that in my life. But I had no inclination to adopt Hinduism instead, religion wasn't what I was searching for.

The next day I was able to sit with the teacher at the Brahman Yoga and Wellness Center. Their approach was refreshing, they made a special point emphasize their inclusiveness on different practices, Hatha yoga, Kundalini Yoga, Ashtanga Yoga and so on. But I noted they also offered courses in everything from Reiki to Indian cooking to Vedic astrology to Aryuvedic treatments. I wondered if a school that offered such a wide-range of knowledge could possibly provide me with the depth that I was searching for.

I allowed myself to become a little frustrated, wondering what it was exactly that I was looking for and if I would ever find it. Maria was arriving in town the next day and was also interested in deepening her yoga practice. It also just so happened to be in time for the introductory lecture at the Agama Center, the posters and the trikas had caught my eye. We woke up early and got some breakfast before heading to the talk.

The head instructor, Khush, began by speaking about what yoga actually is. Sure yoga might help you lose weight, reduce stress and make you more flexible ... but those were all side affects from the true purpose of yoga, which is nothing short of attaining complete Nirvana, union with The Divine. The tantric practice of yoga actually pre-dated it's intermingling with the Hindu relgion. Tantra, like other esoteric traditions stood orthogonally to Hatha yoga, much like Sufism did to Islam, Qabalah to Judaism, Taoism and Zen to mass Buddhism. They all offered a means to access God directly stripping away the dogmatic beliefs, without the hierarchies of the established order, the intecessories that stood between you and the Universal spirit. Tantra was presented as an empirical science verifiable through direct subjective experiences. There was no theology to adhere to, only actions and re-actions explained through the laws of Karma.

It offered a way to live in the world without being of the world, as opposed to the Buddhist traditions that required renunciation from the things we attach to in order to attain Enlightenment. Tantra offered a path of transmuting the human desires we all have and using them as a means to access the Supreme Consciousness. As Khush continued I found myself nodding my head in agreement over and over again. I noticed Maria doing the same. It was as if someone had taken all the thoughts in my head and finally presented them in a coherent manner which I could support.

Attaining Enlightenment has never been one of my goals for this life-time. If it happens, wonderful, but for me the truth is indeed a pathless land. Becoming a better, stronger person, burning some Karmic seeds, those are the things that motivate me. Tantra was presented as a short-cut to the most austere requirements of other traditions, but for me even it's teachings may prove to be too strict. Regardless, having one more foundation to draw from, one more source of knowledge from which to strengthen my own practice, shall prove to be indispensable, no doubt. The classes start tomorrow, and I can't wait to put this knowledge into practice.

The Point of Convergence

Shortly after pulling into Rishikesh my new cellphone that my Nani had given me rang. My travel companion Mike who I started this trip with a month ago hastily gave me directions on where to meet him, at the taxi stand near the Ram Jhula.

I hopped in a tempo and pretty soon Mike was showing me around the streets of Rishikesh, stopping to note the good spots to eat, pointing out the fake "sadhus" slanging ganja and filling me in on what he had been doing for the last two weeks. As we wandered down the streets we heards bits and pieces of conversations like "I saw her aura was yellow tinged with blue so I embraced her etheric body ... " and "No, we knew each other in a previous life, I was his nanny at boarding school during the war ..." And a smile started forming from right under my chin extended up the corners of my mouth.

Along the way we ran into Pete, the yogi we met in Varanasi who had just opened his crown chakra. Pascal was staying at the same guesthouse as Mike and as always, had few words but his presence said all that needed to be conveyed. At yoga class the next night I ran into Rose, who I had taught a few useful Hindi phrases to in Kushinagar. The following day we saw Karl just walking down the street, and he told us about what a great deal he got on the ride to town. This made the 4th time we had randomly run into Karl in 4 different cities. We didn't even bother looking for each other anymore because it just seemed like we were bound to cross paths.

Maria didn't show up until a few days later but she was full of tales of how wonderful Nepal was. "What about Rishikesh!?!" I tought. I wasn't sure what, but there was something about this city that made me fall in love with it immediately. Maybe it was the way it was nestled in the rolling foothills of the Himalayas. Maybe it was how the Ganges, close to it's source, flowed cleanly and powerfully right alongside the city. Maybe the mellowness, it was on a lower-key in terms of sights, sounds and smells, but still definately India. Maybe it was the abundance of yoga, tai chi, tarot, massage and just about any other "New Age" spiritual practice you could imagine within this city.

But actually I think it's the notion of being in a place where not everyone thinks you're a freak for following daring to tread off the beaten path. At lunches and in classes everyone we met and talked to had similar tales, similar points of view. Had at one point or another in thier lives had decided that doing simply what was expected of them was too easy and did not serve their soul. And most of them had tales of how much grief they had recieved as a result of it.

Sure they came in all shapes and sizes. Those who used their "spirituality" as their own ego. Those who adopted the dress and phrases of a culture far removed from their own in order to run away from who knows what. But that just made them all the more human. What made them interesting was that they did what they did even though it was not the path of least resistence. And I was happy to be among them, excited to explore this wonderful city and all it had to offer.

A Homecoming of Sorts

I sat in the cafe in Kushinagar and ate breakfast with Harry, Anna and Paula, the trio of English gap year students, sipping chai thinking about their offer to join them for a bike ride through the rice paddies outside of the village. We'd had a wonderful time hanging out the last few days, but something felt just a little off.

I've started to become aware on this trip that not all offers of friendship and help are equal. Sometime people feel compelled to give out invitations not out of a genuine desire to offer support but rather out of a sense of duty or obligation or perhaps as a means to cover the guilt that they themselves feel for desiring what they desire. The less-authentic individuals among us extend such offers with bated-breath, hoping they will be rejected. This gives them a chance to have the best of both worlds, keeping what they want, but at the same time being able to tell themselves they are generous for having offered.

The problem arises when those of us who are open to receiving the free love that is available throughout the universe do not have the wisdom to distinguish between these false, non-genuine offers and those which are given without conditions. A bait-and-switch is presented, where one thinks one is accepting something given freely, but in reality the ground has been set for bitterness and resentment. It would be much simpler if we all lived in a world full of authentic people, where people only put on the table that which they were able to give freely. But, unfortunately, that does not happen to the be universe in which we reside. So it becomes our obligation to make sure that the gifts we receive are truly offered freely and not out of some sense of societal politeness.

I thought about what I should do and reflected on the last words of the Lord Buddha, uttered in this same village 2500 years ago right before he passed into mahaparanirvana ... "all things must pass" ... it had been one month since our group of three had left the safe confines of a city full of family for an adventure, and one more week since I had started wandering on my own. I looked at the group of Brits and let them know that it was time for me to return to Lucknow.

It took me another 36 hours of hard traveling to work my way back to Lucknow. Shared jeeps, rickshaw, trekking with my packs, one bus, a long train ride and finally a tempo and I was at back at my Seema-khala's house. She took one look at the dirt and grime collected on my body, my bags covered in filth, my hair pulled back in my choti and told me I had lost too much weight and looked like a sadhu, followed by a threat to disinfect me from head-to-toe. I felt terrible, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. It was good to be amongst loved-ones.

By a simple twist of fate my cousin Shaad and his wife happened to be in town, and Seema-khala's daughters Ghazal and Sana were arriving the next day. My Nani was staying with Nayara-khala and we had a chance to chat when she came to pick me up the next day to see her. Likewise she commented on my weight and found herself with mouth agape at a loss for words when I regaled her with the stories of my solo travels.

"Why do you do these things?" She asked. "Do you need more money?" It wasn't about the money I assured her. It was about living freely, embracing adventure, having faith in the universe to set things right, overcoming hardships and adversity to become a better, stronger person. She nodded like she understood, but I wonder if it made any sense to her at all.

Ghazal and Sana also commented on my weight loss, but I didn't really think much about it until I stepped on a scale. 61 kgs I thought ... hmmm ... I had to do some math before I realized that meant 135 lbs. which meant I had lost almost 20 lbs in the last month, putting me at my weight range from freshman year of college. "How did you do that?" asked Sana, genuinely curious I suppose. "Well, probably by meditating a bunch, doing tons of yoga and qi gong, not eating meat, not smoking, not drinking and walking an average of 5 kms a day. Oh and the food poisoning probably didn't help."

This trip through Lucknow proved to be much more relaxing, the newlyweds were back in the US and my friends were off in other parts. Just me, visiting loved ones, allowing myself to be nourished back to healthy by rich Mughlai cuisine,. Putting into practice that which I had learned, accepting that which was appropriate and politely declining the rest. After one week I left again, headed off to the foothills of the Himalayas, back in good health, ready to challenge myself ... armed with my backpacks and a bag with a prepared dinner and breakfast from my Seema-khala and cousin Sana, in need of nothing else.

Holi Sh*t!

When I mentioned my idea of heading back to Varanasi for the Holi festivities to Pascal, he warned me against it. "It can be very dangerous" he said in his french accent "people go crazy in Varanasi." My ears perked up. After the next two people told me pretty much the same thing, I booked my train ticket the very next day.

Holi is one of the most popular Hindu festivals ... probably because it involves large groups of men getting bhaanged and drunk out of their minds, then engaging in a water color fight all over town before finally ending the night dancing in the streets until the wee hours.

I arrived in Varanasi one day before the event. As I walked down the ghats on the side of the Ganges I saw evidence of the impending mayhem. Kids filling plastic bags with colored paint water; multicolored cows, goats and dogs meandering through the alleyways; the vendors selling waterguns and colored powders ready to be mixed with water.

I found a cheap guesthouse by the Manikarnika Ghat, the Burning Place. After I checked in the manager warned me about the festivities. He advised me to stay inside the next day, told me he was locking the doors and not letting anyone in or out. I let him know that I had come to Varanasi on Holi specifically for craziness. "Well, I cannot be held responsible it anything happens!" he told me in what I was sure was his most condescending voice. My own voice changed to my rebellious tone, but it wasn't until I heard the words coming out of my mouth that I realized what was going on. "Don't worry, I'm a big boy and I don't need you to take care of me. This is a hotel, not a jail cell. And you are a hotel manager, not my father!"

Simply rebelling against everything you are told makes you no more of an authentic person than unquestioningly following orders. In either case the circumstances around you dictate your behavior, as opposed to looking within your own soul to determine who you are and choosing to put into action what you believe in.

Armed with that new bit of insight, I began my own preparations for Holi. I purchased the cheapest kurta-pajama outfit I could find but decided against arming myself for the war that was to start in the morning. I figured I would take whatever colors were thrown my way, and seize whatever opportunities presented themselves to return the favor.

There was no need to have set the alarm the next morning. The sound of mayhem in the streets was plenty to wake me up. I slipped on my new duds, threw 400 rupees in my pocket and headed out the hotel door and turned right. Within 2 seconds a gang of young boys spotted me and my new and clean clothes and pounced. Two of them held me down while the others smeared colors all over me. Holi had begun!

I decided to just try to find a cup of chai to start with. As I walked down the alleys of Varanasi I dogged water balloons hurled by children at the tops of buildings; turned corners to find buckets of colored water thrown at me; avoided open bonfires in the middle of the street; was greeted by more hooligans who ripped my shirt off my back; pinpointed for assault by water guns on the backs of passing by scooters.

The insanity truly erupted once I made it down to the Ganges, walking down the ghats which lined the river side. I found a few kids to chase, trying to steal their satchel of ammunition. I found out how truly difficult it is to catch a water balloon hurled in your direction with your bare hands. And I sighed as I watched countless Western White Women attempt to play with the Indian boys and come away yelling at throwing punches after being groped and disrespected. "Welcome to India" I said to a few as I walked by.

All the respectable business had closed up shop for the day. Pretty much anyone on the streets was considered fair game. If you didn't want to Play Holi you should have stayed home was the prevailing attitude of the gathered mob. Once I made is to Dashaswamedh Ghat, the main ghat of Varanasi, I truly saw the size and scope of the festivities and it was simply mind boggling fun! There was nothing to be done but to immerse myself in it, and just play along with all the others.
By 3 PM the playing colors had come to an end. Women and little children slowly started to return and a few stalls opened up, but Holi was still young. I went back to the guest house, colored blue, red, yellow and green from head to toe. My clothes had been ripped to shreds, but my key still safely tied to my pajama drawstrings. And I spent the next hour washing up preparing for the continuation of the festivities that evening.

When I returned outdoors all I had to do was follow the music to find the party, which was everywhere. Groups of men, still riding that Holi wave of intoxication, danced together, openly displaying their best Bollywood moves, bumping and grinding on one another, showing absolutely no shame. And what was I to do but run in the middle and find my own bit of Holi, letting it all go, freeing my body to express the joy and celebration all around. I bounced from group to group of dancing men, stopping for the occasional chai or samosa break, until about midnight.

I thought it odd at first. All these men, gyrating against one another, and not a woman to be found amongst them. I contrasted it with the scene I'd seen so often in clubs in the West. Women on the dance floor, guys standing at the sides, too cool to participate, pretending not to be interested. And I realized how odd that truly was. Perhaps the two cultures put together could represent an open and free expression of true emotion. The truth was we are both repressed in our own ways.

As I walked back to the hotel at the end of the night I stopped for a while and watched the ceremonial bonfires still taking place. I watched a few bodies being brought down to the Burning Place. Watched family members lament as the sons washed the empty shells of loved ones in the Ganges. I watched the workmen arrange the pyres, place the bodies upon them. I watched as the flames were carried from the mandir above to begin the process or returning ashes to ash. Watched as the flames grew large enough to eat through the ceremonial coverings and garlands and finally through the flesh of the departed.

India. Just when you think you've got your finger on it, you've kinda got it figured out ... it managed to slip out from under your thumb and pop-up in a completely different place.

Vipassana

When I started thinking about my India trip I had a few things on my mind I wanted to accomplish. A Vipassana retreat did not have the top spot on the list, but was definately in the Top 5. So when we arrived in Bodhgaya, the spot of the Buddha's own Englightenment, and found the International Meditation Center, I was pretty much sold. "Sounds like fun" said Maria when we started talking about the idea. "What a strange comment" I thought. Maintaining complete silence, six hours of seated meditation a day and another four hours of walking meditation sounded like a lot of things, but fun was none of them.

The biggest question our group faced was how many days to go for. The center allowed for a flexible schedule, you could come and go as you please. Mike said we wanted to stay as long as he needed, maybe even 20 days. Maria had this numerical formula developed that involved 3, 5, 7 and then 10 days. I didn't quite understand it and really was just hoping I could make it 3 without going crazy. After much back and forth we settled on 6.

I knew I wasn't in a good spot before we stared. My mind had been going crazy as of late dealing with some family drama, recovering from an emotional dagger that was plunged deep into my heart. Our retreat did not start on the best footing either. We arrived five minutes late to orientation. The venerable monk noted our tardiness and then offered us some tea before we began our retreat. As we sat in the meditation room where we spend the majority of the next few days he laid out the precepts to us ... No harming of living things, even mosquitos; no speaking, reading, writing; maintining celibacy; no intoxicants; two meals a day with no solid food after noon; wake up at 5 AM to start meditation and continue until 9 PM each day.

He explained the practice to us, incredibly simple and yet amazingly difficult. It involed just being present in each moment, watching the rise and fall of the abdomen as you sat, and putting your concentration on the moment it rises and then the moment it falls. When the mind distracts you, know that you are thinking, and when the thought passes, return back to watching the rise and fall of the abdomen.

We started with a group of 7 practicioners, all following the same guidelines. The seated meditation the first day was enjoyable, but as I went to shoo away a mosquito I squished one that lingered too long, breaking the first precept. After 24 hours our teacher entered the room and brought us out of meditation. We had our 15 mins of talking time for the day and a brief lesson. As he went around the room taking notes from all the practicioners they all seemed to complain about the same thing, the physical pain associated sitting still for that amount of time. I was suprised, for me the physical pain wasn't much to endure. I had spent the last few years training my body to recognize the difference between pain and discomfort and knew my limits, knew how to treat my body with compassion so as to not injure myself but still be able to push myself. For me, I just couldn't get my mind to quiet down.

On the 2nd day two practicioners finished their retreat and left our group. Another one on the 3rd day. I felt like I was just starting to make some progress. All that silence had given me time to watch my mind wrestle with all the thoughts and emotions it created. Different variations on the same dialogue played over and over again, but I had started to understand what I needed to do.

The answer was simple, forgiveness. I realized what an amazing vehicle forgiving those who had caused you pain was. Forgiving the transgression of others required no one else but yourself. It didn't mean forgetting or condoning their hurtful acts, but choosing not to allow one unskillful action to result in another and continue to pass forward that pain and sorrow. And it is one of the most amazingly powerful acts you can commit, because it allows you to let go of the bitterness and anger that otherwise just eat away at your soul and leave you a jaded person. I started to apply it over and over again to the pain I had been caused and felt like my mind was finally finding some peace.

It was at our daily break in silence that Maria let us know that she would be leaving tomorrow. I knew this retreat wasn't really for her. This austere path, the mosquitos, the mice, the toilets that didn't flush, the laddle full of gruel for breakfast. That night she broke her silence and let me know that she had only been staying because she was afraid to be by herself. And now she was ready to find her own trip, on her own terms. I was happy for her, knew that she would be ok, knew that she was capable of taking care of herself, but sad to see her go. And as she was planning on heading to Nepal, I knew this might well be the last time I saw her for a while.

Over the last few years I've had to say more goodbyes than I've cared to. Some have been harder than others. Not being able to speak probably made this one easier, I did my best to pantomime my appreciation to her for having accompanied me on this journey this far. She spoke to me and I listened, breaking another precept. I presented her with then pendant I had won from the Shi Fong temple in San Diego. She asked me who it was, and I wrote down "Guanyin, the Boddhisattva of Compassion", breaking yet another precept. Guanyin had come to symbolize this trip for me. But the pendant truly belonged to Maria because throughout the last month she had taught me how to see the human side of the people around me. It wasn't enough to know the rigth answer and seek to apply it with all due haste, but rather to understand how a human being needed to be approached in the precise moment they were in.

The next morning Mike broke his silence, letting me know that he would be leaving as well. His back was killing him from all the sitting. As I came back from breakfast they had their bags packed and were ready to leave. I tried to convey my great joy in having had them as travel partners and a bit of advice, that they needed to take care of each other. It wasn't until after my next seated meditation that I realized that I was all alone. As I walked back to my room I saw the Bengali woman who never before broke her meditative gaze, moving at a casual brisk pace. I realized I was the only one left out of our original group of seven.

My world collapsed. I felt alone and alienated from everyone and everything. I questioned myself, my path, what I was doing here at all. I wept openly. I wondered if I shouldn't just head back to the US, find a job in some cubicle, watch TV, save for my retirement, follow the rules and just lead a mundane life like any other person. I laid in bed missing our 2 o'clock meditation, 3:30 tea time and didn't even start the 4 o'clock meditation until I was already 1/2 hour late. I managed to find a little solace as I sat, but when the venerable monk came to the meditation room and asked how I was doing I couldn't keep the tears out of my eyes. "Today has been a very hard day for me" I let him know. "My friends have left, I am in this room all alone and I feel incredibly sad."

The monk found the right words to soothe me. He showed compassion for me, letting me know how my friends had let him know they were sad about leaving me as well. He told me about the impermanent nature of all things, even relationships. He told me how I was clinging onto the moments I had shared with my friends. How that attachment was causing my suffering. He advised me not to deny my emotions, not to fight them but not to obsessively think about them either. Just be aware of them ... sit with them ... and when you're sad let yourself know that you are sad. And when you feel lonely, let yourself know that you are lonely. And those feelings will pass as well.

His teachings were not new to me. But they were what I needed to hear. I tried to put them in practice. I spent the majority of the next hour meditatively walking back and forth in that room, letting myself feel the saddness that envoloped me, slowly repeating to myself "saddness, saddness, saddness" and eventually it passed. I returned back to my practice of watching the rise and fall of my abdomen.

I spent the next two days in that room alone, sitting with my mind. Watching it drift off and then gently bringing it back to the present moment. I allowed myself to feel the emotions that arose, I continued to forgive when anger came. I found the tension in my belly I had been holding onto for years upon years. I found the seat of my breath in my lower Dan Tien. I felt my hips loosen, my tailbone extend, my spine straighten, my shoulders relax. And I knew that what I was doing was exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

On the 6th day, I had met my intention. It was time to leave. I finally broke my silence, by thanking the venerable monk for his teachings and his support. Perhaps someday I'll complete a full Vipassana retreat, but for the moment, I was walking out doors aware of things all around me, but with my mind nowhere but right now.

A Nice Place to Sit

As I sat under The Bodhi Tree I tried to still my mind, but no peace would come. I was here in the spot where Siddhartha Guatama attained Enlightenment, yet the only thing that ran through my mind was the story of his Renunciation.

At the age of 29, the Prince Siddhartha left his infant son and wife sleeping in their chambers, renounced all claims to the throne and set off for an austere life. He left home searching for a means to end the suffering that is human existence. At the same age I quit a relatively easy job with a six-figure salary to wander around and search for something more. We had both come to the conclusion that material wealth was not the ultimate goal of life, but the similarities seemed to end there.

It took Shakyamuni Buddha another 6 years of false starts and failed attempts before he came to Bodhgaya and sat under the Bodhi Tree for 49 days. I made it here within 3 years, but I could only imagine how much further away Enlightenment was.

I wondered how his loved ones reacted to his "Great Departure." It is said that while meditating and approaching enlightenment, the demon god Mara attempted to distract Siddhartha Guatama by sending his three charming daughters to seduce and enchant him. But the Buddha to be would not be moved. I thought about all of the times I chose to indulge in my own desires instead of pursuing the straight path, the more difficult path, and I wondered if I was done.

As the Bodhisattva maintained his deep meditation, Mara summoned a great army of demons and assaulted him with fear and insecurities. But still Siddhartha would not be swayed. He simply made the Abhaya Mudra signifying fearlessness and the arrows that flew towards him fell to the ground as flowers. His tormentors fled seeing the courage that the son of Suddhodana displayed. I thought about all of the times I let my own fears and those heaped upon me by the ones I held most dear keep me from doing what I knew was best.

When Mara realized understood the fearlessness of Shakyamuni Buddha's he challenged him instead. Demanding to know what made him think he was qualified to attain anuturra-samyak-sambodhi. Rather than let his ego become engaged and feel the need to defend himself from personal attack, he simply made the Bhumisparsa Mudra, touching his right hand to the Earth and allowing his actions, as witnessed by the Earth god, to speak for themselves. I thought about all of the times I felt reproached by my most loved ones, the times I jumped to my own defense, engaged in argument in order to justify my own cause, and I realized how pointless it was.

But the Buddha was much smarter than me, he chose to disconnect from the things he could not detach from. He didn't e-mail, call or visit his relatives. He set out out to meditate in the woods, in the caves, nearly starved himself to death and finally vowed to not move until he found full everlasting Enlightenment. He didn't let his desires, the forces of fear or even his own ego get in the way of achieving what he had determined to do. I wondered how many more lifetimes I would have to go through before I could say the same.

I already had realized that, like it or not, there were people in my life who stood in my way. They offered much resistance, hurled only the fear and insecurities which blocked their pure love, and still unequivocally believing that their good intentions justified their bad behavior. Yet I could never disassociate from those loved ones, they were a part of my own being. Instead I wondered if I would ever be able to detach from their unskillful actions and if somehow I could help them by holding my judgments and unconditionally loving them exactly as they were.

Years after Enlightenment, the Buddha's son Rahula and his wife joined his sangha. Things finally came full circle. I wondered if I would ever find that sense of closure and acceptance from within my own family. If I would be strong enough to stay on the path I was, or would I find myself pulled off it and returned to my former life of drugery. As with all things, I was sure the answers were yet to be determined.

Watching the Dharma Wheel Turn

When I first met Dr. Umesh my healthy sense of skepticism kicked in. I always tend to be wary of locals in a foreign land who are quite so eager to help out clueless tourists. But Maria was sold immediately. After her first Aryuvedic massage she came out floating and glowing and let Mike and me know that we would no longer be consuming alcohol, tobacco, drugs, meat or even cold water. We both looked at each other and quickly agreed that she had lost her mind.

The next morning during our yoga practice he told me my energy was blocked. Ok, I could believe that, I was feeling pretty blocked as of late. After class he told me I should take of the mala that I was wearing around my neck, the one that my soul-brother Alex had given me. "It's no good for your energy" he told me in his broken English. And that was enough to set me running.

Alex is one of the best friends I've ever been lucky enough to have. Maybe it's because as an Indian-Muslim and a Persian-Jew, both raised in the US we share a bond only minorities of minorities could ever understand. He gave me that mala at our going away party. I never quite understood the significance it has for him, but when he pulled me aside and started to take it off to present to me, I sensed the obvious hesitation in his hands. He didn't want to give it to me, but did anyway out of a bond of true friendship and I accepted because I could not refuse such a gift.

After our yoga class with Dr. Umesh Mike, Maria and I decided to wander around the streets of Varanasi. Before too long Maria innocently questioned me about the mala. Ever since her awakening she had been reminding me of my mother and sister when it comes to lectures and I was in no mood to hear it. I had just spent a week being told how I should live my life by just about every member of my extended family and didn't need one more bit of input, so I found a way to shut her down quickly.

It wasn't until trying to shoo away a persistent rickshaw-wala that I saw the Wheel of Dharma turn firsthand. He commented on my mala and showed me his. He then said he thought it was great that I didn't eat meat, smoke or take alcohol. And I understood.

Those reminded me of the first questions Dr. Umesh asked me. I had proudly told him that I did all of those things, within moderation of course. I had decided a while ago that the life of renunciate was not for me. I wished to embody the middle path as much as possible, "everything in moderation, even moderation" I would tell anyone who would listen.

But I had chosen to wear a mala that signified a vow I had no intention of keeping. Once I realized that my hands couldn't pull it over my head fast enough. As soon as I got it over my nose I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in two weeks, and only then realized how much that mala had weighed.

I stared at it in my hands and said outloud to no one in particular, although Mike and Maria were walking next to me "This isn't my mala ... it's Alex's!"

Anger was the first emotion that I felt "Why did he give it to me? He didn't even want to!"

And then I understood "He gave it to me, so that I could give it back to him. He gave it to me so that I could return it to him"

And then it all became clear "I have to go back to San Diego"

Before I left San Diego I had this fear of floating away. This notion that one road leads to another, that it would be easy to hop from India to Thailand to Cambodia to God knows where. There was nothing really bringing me back home. And I could just disappear to never be seen again, much like my traveling companions joked about. I told everyone that asked that I was coming back in 3 months, but I was never sure if I really believed myself.

And then in one single instant, it became cemented in my mind. I knew what the future held. May 7th I was hoping on a plane from Delhi back to the US and somehow getting myself back to San Diego so that I could return my good friend Alex's mala to him, put it back in his hand where it belonged all along. I understood that he gave me that mala, to keep me tethered to my friends and city which I love, so as to not float away.

A Son of Lucknow

"4 Times" Nida said with a sense of assurance in her voice that made me doubt the version of events. "Once before independence, once after independence and once in his seventies."

"That's only 3" I thought to myself. "Ghazal said something like 14." Samira agreed, she remembered it too, from just recently when Ghazal was in Madison and we all went met at my parents home to visit. Ghazal had just been flown into New York to attend a muppet conference. She played the part of Chamki from Gali Gali Sim Sim. Nida still insisted it was 4.

Rahil and his family drove in from Minnesota and Samira and Asma flew in from Ohio. We stayed up late into the night trading stories of family history. Our side of the family didn't have too much too offer but we listened intently as Ghazal regaled us with tales of how cool our Nana was. He had just passed a few months ago.

When I asked our Seema-khala she said yeah 14 times, but our Nani our corrected her. "18 Times! They used to hang them up and beat them. But still they would not stop fighting. No matter how many times he was arrested! 14 times before Independence. 4 times after, even when he was 70 he was in jail. 3 days he spent in jail cell."

I had heard about the last jail cell not too many years ago. It was after he gave a rousing speech to a crowd of striking Union Workers. A few of them took it upon to attack one of the managers. Nana was arrested for inciting a riot. Released 3 days later for lack of evidence.

We heard second-hand references to the stories he told about the rats which attempted to chew off his leg. He said he had to stay up all night to beat them off. It was one of his "Damned Fools" stories, because someone always played the part of the damn fool.

After he was released a crowd of workers carried him on their shoulders all the way back to my Nayara Khala's and Shahid Uncles apartment in Lalbagh. The neighbors were wondering what happened. There were no elections pending so he couldn't have been chosen to serve again.

He was a student leader during the Indian Revolution. Was arrested with Gandhi. He was a Freedom Fighter, but never signed up for the pension, because he said he never did it for the money.

My Nana, Muhammad Shakil stayed a staunch Communist up until his last days. He spent most of his time as a lawyer, some as a politician. A member of Congress. Some still refer to him as a Nawab of Lucknow. We never heard too many of Nana's stories growing up, since he passed last year I've been asking everyone I can about stories about him.

I even asked Vikas, the head pimp at charge we met presiding over his sisters wedding. When I mentioned Nana's name the entire room hushed. A raucous animated group of brides brothers and cousin-brothers fell silent ... and Vikas said it with that characteristic Indian sideways bobble. "He was a great man, a son of Lucknow." We had only met Vikas a few hours ago when they were attracted by the unsual sign of a ghora yogini walking down the streets Maria, Mike and I were soon invited into the wedding and fed and welcomed as guests. That Indian hospitality is something else.

At the internet cafe in Varanasi I got a vague promise from Ali to ask his parents for more stories. He was from Lucknow as well and we met while We met while Facebook'ing the girls we left behind.. I asked if they had heard of Muhammad Shakil. He knew the name but not too much more.

Nana was a true renaissance man. Still remembered for his poetry. A family story is told that on the night of their wedding he looked at my Nani for the first time and told her "Woman, even those raven locks will not tempt me, I am off to fight the revolution!" My mother loves reciting his verses, with a teary nostalgia in her voice.

My Nani dutifully supported him throughout all those difficult years while he was in jail. And all those years since. And my Nana returned to her over and over again, until a year ago last December when he finally passed. Throughout those years he composed more and more verses to her and her beauty and intelligence and continued to embody his beliefs.

Before I left Lucknow my Nani pulled me aside one more time and besieged me with love. "Kashif beta, this is no way to behave. Your Nana was not an ordinary man, but he was very orthodox with his family. He loved us, he would do anything for us. But he fought for what he believed in. He was a great man and he raised a family. It is high time you get married now and stop this wandering life of yours."

The great thing about my Nani is that it was only with the love and support of a woman like that was my Grandfather able to rise to such heights. Before their marriage, all the family told her to do anything but marry at Freedom Fighter, what chance has a cause like that got. But my Nani was no slouch in her own right, she was one of the Daughters of the Revolution, later training the next generation as the Dean of an all girls school. But that which would deter those who seek order and reason excited her.

I told my Nani not to worry. That I would make her proud. That my history had not yet been written and no one knew what my story would yet be. That maybe someday I would find a woman as strong and capable as she was, who would love me just as she loved my Nana. And just imagine what heights I could rise with that type of support!

Life At The Ideal

As I deplaned in Tijuana my first thought turned to a street taco. Not that the food in the Yucatan and Chiapas wasn't fabulous, but I am 100% convinced that the best street tacos in the world can be found right off of Avenieda Revolucion in Tijuana. But I was tired. The long bus ride the night before to Villa Hermosa coupled with the two flights that brought me within 20 miles of home, just south of the border, had exhausted me. And moreso than that, I was just ready to be back in a familiar place.

So instead of heading off in search of pastor, I crossed the border and caught the trolley to downtown San Diego. I had already managed to secure a soft landing at the Ideal Hotel, which isn't a hotel at all, but rather a ... well ... sort of a ... meditation center? I had been helping out there randomly for a while and had been assured I would be warmly received. I had already figured out what I was going to be doing here for the next 3 weeks. I needed to tie up some loose ends, sell my car and practice as much yoga and meditation as I could, preparing myself for my upcoming trip to India.

As I turned up 3rd Avenue I saw Wesley out front acting a fool as usual and I knew that I was home. Within minutes I was greeted with hugs all around and a cup of hot tea. I shared a few stories of my travels to Mexico and marvelled at all that had changed in the 3 short weeks that I was gone. I was suprised to see Mike Callaghan at the Ideal, last we talked he was heading to Santa Barbara or some other spot, but no, he too had moved into the Ideal. Our first conversation in a couple of weeks went something like this:

Kashif: I'm heading to India for a few months
Mike: I want to come
Kashif: Buy a plane ticket and get a visa
Mike: OK

And within minutes of arriving my voyage of self discovery to my parents' homeland had become a buddy trip. And pretty soon all my preconceived notions about what this stop over in San Diego was all about would be thrown out the window.

Peter, true to his word, had left a note on my new bedroom door, lollipops on my pillow and a key in a secret location. But it wasn't until Hip Fu's Qi Gong class that evening that I realized just how stagnant I had allowed my Chi to become after just a few weeks of hard living. Teaching my first yoga class in several weeks made it all that much clearer to me. So the next day I decided to head to my friend Maria's class up the street.

Her chakra flow was exactly what I needed, I started feeling all the tension melting away. But I could tell there was something else going on, and after class I found out. She had just broken up with her fiance Travis and had that look of fear and uncertainty about her. I told her about how Mike and I were heading to India and saw her eyes light up. Within a few days our group had grown by one more.

But it wasn't until Dipika arrived on the scene that I really started to understand just how wrong I had been about everything I had thought up until now. She had grown up in India and is far more connected to the culture than I was. And after not too long of hanging out with her I realized how woefully unprepared I was for this trip. Whenever I tried to speak to her in Hindi somehow Spanish managed to come out of my mouth.

The next few days were a whirlwind of booking flights, applying for Visas and trying to balance my intentionally unprepared nature with that of my two new travel companions. While Mike and Maria crossed off the items on their checklists and purchased things that set their minds at ease, I kicked it with "Dibs" and started to realize just how differently things were going than I had intended when I arrived in San Diego.

The next few weeks descended into a bunch of late night wine and bullshit sessions while we excitedly talked about "plans" and watched bollywood flicks. Instead of devoting all this time to my practice as I had intended we somehow managed to turn the Ideal Hotel into the coolest Buddhist Frat house in the world.

As my impending departure came closer and closer, I realized that I hadn't actually tied up most of those loose ends I came to San Diego to take care of, but instead had created a newer, far more complicated thread, that I had no idea what to do with.

Instead of selling the car, I left it parked illegally in the same spot with a dead battery and a flooded engine. But in between this trip and my last I had learned a little something about which friends I could rely on to help me out and in what way. And I felt assured that I left it with good ones that would do what they could to ease my burden and make this irresponsibility of mine possible without resenting me for it.

The night of our going away party was the worst. We all knew that there was a chance, perhaps even a good chance, that Mike and Maria weren't coming back for a while. They had nothing calling them back to San Diego, or anywhere else for that matter. But that's not where I was. With each warm embrace and heartfelt goodbye I assured my friends that I would be back in 3 months, if only just to convince myself.

I was leaving San Diego and heading to India with a few particular goals in mind, open to the possibilities of what might happen, but closed to the notion of floating away. Expectations are crazy things because the reality of the world seldom plays out like you imagine. I learned that lesson first hand throughout my 3 weeks in San Diego. And I had to admit to myself that even before I left I was imagining how life would be like when I got back, letting my mind wander and dream about the possibilities, about how certain loose threads might be neatly tied up.

I was ok with that, because knowing where you're at, also means knowing which trajectory you're headed on and setting your intention for how you wish the world to play out. It's being open to the wonderfully amazing and unexpected opportunties that life throws your way and adjusting mid-stream that's the key. And if these last 3 weeks were any indication, I felt fully confident in my ability to sieze those moments and make the best of them.

Fear not of Man

Every trip, every trek, every night has a turning point. A single point in time where a split-second decision will lead to outcomes and eventualities that can only be imagined in advance. Wisdom is nothing more than being able to recognize those moments and the consequences of the decisions we make. I stared at that shot of mezcal, it stared back at me. I wondered how I had managed to arrive at this point.

I didn´t mind so much the tequilla. Tequilla and I had danced before and I knew what I was in store for. Johnny had turned me on to Tequilla Sunrises and the ecstatic joy of Hafez just a few days before in Campeche. And I knew my encounter with him and his friend Amy was one of the turning points I speak off. It was while getting to know those two, my new favorite stoners from Oregon, that I caught Maddie looking at me and she caught me looking at her. And that led to a splendid week of trapzing through the jungle, exploring Mayan ruins, jumping off of waterfalls and understanding what Hafez was talking about.

And I also realized that I wouldn't have met either of them if it wasn't for the warmth and openness displayed by my good friend Alex. When he invited two perfect strangers he met minutes earlier in an internet cafe to stay at our crash pad I initally joined Patrick in expressing doubt and concern. But he told me not to worry, he had looked into Munia's and Nyasha's eyes and knew they were down. And when I let go of my fear and did the same, I saw what he saw. That led to 4 wonderful days of adventues and connections and a change of mindset.

So when Emanueli, the Italian guy we met at the hostel in San Cristobal de las Casas offered to buy me my 3rd shot of tequilla that night I initially declined, but soon afterwards allowed myself to be talked into it. I loved Emanueli's energy; his way of answering awkward requests with "Yes, of course" in his Italian accent; the smile on his face as we caught a ride in the back of that pickup; his love of sampling exotic liquors from around the world. So I couldn't turn down his offer to share a drink.

It was the prior night, when Emanueli and I kept our cooks for the night, Maddie and her friend Jessica company, that proved to be another turning point. Emanueli was an engineer as well, and He asked me why I was changing professions from that of engineer to pursue yoga as a career. Since his English was limited and my Italian non-existent I had to come up with a simple answer that conveyed the point. I was having troubles explaining it, until I found the word "freedom." He smiled and nodded in understanding and I learned something about myself.

And so far, this last night in San Cristobal de las Casas, I was pretty happy with myself. I'd let Tim and Taylor the two crazed Botanists buy me the first two shots of tequilla I didn't even want. But since even the faux-innocent girls from the University of Texas were down I wasn't going to start out the night as the party-pooper. I did, however, turn down the offer to shotgun a beer outside of a church while we waited for the bar to open. Fucking botantists.

Once the doors to "Madre Tiera" finally opened, we helped the proprietress setup the tables for the night and ordered ourselves several beers. And before I knew it, there I was, with a far healthier buzz than I wanted, and a shot of mezcal calling me all sorts of dirty names. Everyone had already picked theirs up and was getting ready to "salud!" and throw them down. I just leaned back in my chair and sat. Maddie must have seen the look on my face, she just took a wee nip, made a face that resembled death, and put it back down. Jessica drank a little and dumped the rest into her beer.

I am far from a wise man, but even with the clouds of alcohol floating through my mind, I could see where this night was heading. And I knew we were at that turning point. Maddie had already let me know a few minutes earlier that she was ready to bolt, and I had yet to learn to say no to those ferocious green eyes of hers.

The mezcal mocked me once more "are you afraid! are you going to run away?" I answered with full confidence, "No, I'm not afraid, I just have a healthy respect for your powers. And I won't be running, but walking away slowly, making sure not to turn my back on you."

I was the one who did it, who ended the night early, who made another man take his shot of mezcal, who started the round of goodbyes, who gathered up our group and started the walk back to the hostel. It was a position I hadn't found myself in all that often, but that night played out exactly as it needed to.

Turn the Page

It took about half an hour, but my naive optimism had vanished. With each additional step I felt the straps of my backpack digging into my shoulders. What had started as a wonderful feeling of being grounded and pulled towards the earth was starting to turn into a ache in my lower back. As the 100th car drove past me without slowing down I started to wonder what it was that I was doing again.

It had all started out so easily once I left Chichen Itza. I was kinda timid at first, failing to raise an arm to the first car that passed. But within 15 minutes a frinedly long-distance truck driver named Alberto had stopped and offered to take me the first 105 kilometers of my journey back to Merida, the city I had left the day before.

He didn´t have too much to say, although we made some small talk here and there. I think he just liked having some company. He offered me a few cigarettes and stopped once and had me run out and buy two cokes. We listened to his cumbia CDs and although his truck was slow the ride went rather fast. When he dropped me off on the side of Mex-180 I was excited to catch the next ride on my way to Campeche.

I figured getting the next ride would be just as easy. So I started walking with my pack along the side of the freeway. The first kilometer went really fast, but as I walked passed the exit to the Centro where the bus station was I wondered if I should just spend the $9 on the bus that would take me to Campeche.

I´ve been reading the stories of characters like Dean Moriarty and Alexander Supertramp my entire life. And I´ve always had this romanticized, idealized notion of what it would be like to hitch rides cross country. When I met Nyasha and Munia in Playa del Carmen and they told us about hitching from San Franciso to the Arizona / Mexican border my ears perked up. When we met the tall German guy who spent three weeks hitching from Tijuana to Playa I was hooked.

Sure I had hopped in the back of a few pick-ups here and there and caught rides across town. But I had never actually travelled across any significant distances by using my thumb. I liked to tell everyone what a roaming vagabond I was but I never left home without my credit cards. It was an experience I decided I needed to have.

I used to think of myself as an independent sort, that squared away my debts and always did what was fair. But over time I have grown to realize that no man is an island unto himself. We all survive only through the grace of God, Allah, the Universe or whatever you wish to call it. I had experienced first-hand the kindness of strangers, and the truth of the matter was, we all depend on it to survive, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. We are connected in ways we cannot even begin to understand.

But after about an hour and a half of walking the along the freeway trying to wave down cars with no luck I had my moment of doubt. Gonzalo and Dulce´s house was still only a few peso cab ride away and I knew I would be welcome with open arms. Or I could still just try to grab a bus headed to Campeche. I looked down at my feet and noticed the increasingly ridiculous looking tan line from my sandals. It was still early, about 2 PM and the hot Mayan sun beat down without mercy. But I set my intention, no, this was something I was going to see through, just to collect another life-experience and for no other reason.

After 7 kilometers I started doing some mental math. I had 155 kilometers to go, so at this rate that would put me in Campeche, approximately never. I stopped at the very next refresco stand I saw off the freeway exit ramp and regrouped. I figured if worst came to worst I could just sleep under a freeway underpass on my yoga mat or maybe under some trees in the median of the freeway. But I wasn´t going to give up on this stupid idea that easily. I kept waving down cars with zeal and then finally an old school red VW bug stopped right in front of me. I felt my eyes light up and I practically ran to the car.

The driver, Martin I would later learn, asked me where I was heading. ¨Campeche¨ I told him. He thought about it for a second and told me to get in. We started talking immediately just like old friends. When we saw a car broken down on the road in front of us he pulled over and offered to help change the tire. ¨No gracias¨ they said with a smile, they had it under control.

¨You´re a very helpful person¨ I told Martin. ¨Si?¨ he replied, as if he had never noticed. We traded stories about women and travels and jobs we´ve had and everything else. As we grew closer to Campeche he told me he was off to visit a friend about 1/2 hour outside of town and invited me along to meet him and to grab some tacos. ¨Si, como que no!¨ I answered, I had nothing else really to do. He told me he had met Carmello, a Pentocostal Minister a year ago, when he picked up Martin and his two boys while they were hitch hiking and since then they had become good friends. I mentioned how I thought it was funny how things come around full circle sometimes.

We pulled up to a broken down church in the middle of Pumach, a town of about 6000 people. I met Carmello and his wife Susana and their two adorable kids. And then it turned out there was someone from his congretation Carmello wanted Martin to meet, to see if he could help him get a good high-paying job on the oil rigs outside of Ciudad de Carmen where he worked. So we spent the next few hours socializing and tracking down friends and looking for food.

It was getting dark and I was wondering how I was going to get to the hostel in Campeche when Carmello asked if I had a place to stay. ¨No exactamente¨ I replied sheepishly. He told me I was welcome to string up one of their hammocks in the bulding they used for sunday school if I´d like and I accepted immediately. After dinner Martin headed back to Merida, having had accomplished what he came to Pumach to do. But not before we exchanged contact information and vague promises to keep in touch and come visit when possible.

I went home with Carmello and Susana and we sat and talked for a while, they showed me their wedding pictures while I played with Suri the cutest two year old Mexican girl you could imagine. Right before bed-time Carmello gave me a pocket Bible in English that someone else had given him. I already had explained my religious views to him, as best I could, but he told me everyone needs some guidance from above and I agreed with a heartfelt honesty that suprised even myself.

It wasn´t the first time in my life someone had presented me with a Bible, but I had never made much of an effort to read one before. As I lay swinging in that hammock I found myself more interested in flipping pages than heading off to sleep. The Gospel of Luke caught my attention. verse 6:38 in particular

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Karma baby, I knew that already, but I also knew how I failed to put it into action. How I kept score and resented when I did not recieve back as good as I gave. I marvelled how this family, how Martin, who had so little, welcomed me, a complete stranger into their home. Fed me, offered me whatever they had, embraced me as one of their own and refused all of my attempts to compensate.

The next morning when Carmello and I sat down to coffee he filled me in on the parts of Martin´s story I didn´t know. His job at PemEx involved being on the oil-rigs for two weeks at a time, away from home. About a year ago, he found out his wife was cheating on him and abusing the kids so they wouldn´t tell, burning them with cigarettes. When they divorced Martin got the kids, which is practically unheard of in Mexico. But in August she broke into his house and stole everything and kidnapped his two boys. He hasn´t heard or seen from them since.

My heart sank. How could this person, how just went through the most difficult time I could possibly imagine any person having to deal with, still maintain his faith in humanity? How could he maintain his sunny disposition, how could he be so willing to help everyone who crossed his path, even a complete stranger such as myself?

I spent the rest of my day there helping Carmello run errands around the church. They were getting ready for a party for the kids in the congregation. We bought food and sweets and a piñata. Susana cooked, we talked about family and our cultures and we all played with Suri. As the sun started to set, they asked if I´d like stay another day, keep helping around the church. But I told them it was time for me to head to Campeche. I knew I had to keep on my own journey.

With tears welling up in my eyes I told them if there was ever anything I could ever do for them, they need only ask. I had known these people less than 24 hours but I knew their impact would not soon be forgotten. As I boarded the bus to Campeche and paid my $2 fare I didn´t mind that I failed to complete my intention of getting to town without paying for a ride. I set off seeking adventure but instead I found grace.

A Friend Indeed

Right before Alex set off for the bus terminal I heard him talking to his Dad on the phone. After a few pleasantries, my name came up. "No Dad, I don't know when he's going to take off, probably tomorrow with Ricardo to head to Playa for New Year's." I felt a bit of concern. Alex had assured me that it was cool to crash with his folks for as long as I wanted, and even stop by after a bit more of my aimless wandering for one of Dulce's home cooked meals, a comfortable bed and a hot shower. And after being welcomed with open arms into Gonzalo and Dulce's house I felt it would be rude to not accept such a generous offer.

But when I heard my name mentioned my immagination immediately filled in Gonzalo's side of the conversation with something like "He's not going to stay too long is he?" I didn't want to be a burden, to put anyone out. But it turned out Gonzalo just needed to know if I was staying so he could figure out what to ask Dulce to make for dinner. I need not have worried, this warm Mayan culture couldn't possibly be more welcoming. And since I was their son's friend, I was golden and I knew I would forever be welcome in their home.

Alex and I exchanged a hug and he set off for the bus to Cancun so he could catch his flight back to San Diego. I still had no real idea what I was going to do, but I was starting to make a semblance of a plan. I took a moment to reflect on the past two weeks and how Alex and I had grown as friends. I'll be happy to get back to doing my own thing, devoting more time to my yoga practice and not feeling like I have to keep up with his hard drinking ways. But I'll miss the touch of chaos he brings into my life. We are two very different people, Alex with his work hard, play hard ethic. And me with my constant quest for moderation in all things. But our easy-going natures compliment one another quite well. And travelling together with someone for an extended period of time either brings you closer or tears you apart. And we are definately better friends now than ever before.

During this time travelling together, I've come to realize what makes us true friends is the fact that we both encourage and nurture each others dreams and ideals. Alex with his desire to build and create, developing those 11 acres of land in Jamul. And me with my desire to learn and teach and be in a constant state of introspection. We are the sorts of friends that work to help each other realize their dreams. That take joy in each others successes and accomplishments. And after this trip, those dreams are intertwined to the point where we can only succeed by helping the other realize their own.

As I came to that conclusion I also realized the flip side, all the other people in my life, who despite their friendship and love, only held me back from realizing my own personal story. The friends who itemized and counted against me each inconvenience that my escape caused them. The lover who by not wanting to be a burden, rejected the most precious gifts I tried to bestow. My own family members who only saw how my irresponsiblity put their own security at risk.

I've grown to understand that only by recieving friendship and love when it is freely given can you put yourself in a position to return it. For acceptance of that gift creates an implicit understanding that you must pay it forward, backward and to those all around. Those who refuse to accept the gift of friendship that is given freely do so because they don't want to put themselves in a position where they have the obligation to return it. And by doing so they lose out on the most valuable treasure that life has to offer.

I've tried to forgive those who've rejected the gifts I've given. Those who offered gifts to me inauthentically, and resented the fact that I accepted. Those who accepted willingly but never gave back as good as they got. I know intellectually that it does not matter, because in the long run the universe evens out those scores, karma still applies. But I've yet to transcend my humanity to the point where I can let go of the pain caused by the unskillful actions of those I've tried to pull in close. I still keep score because it's too hard to embody a true Bodhisattva nature. I realize that those unenlightened actions are only a result of their own unresolved fears and they can only be overcome by continuing to pour out love and friendship to those who have failed to hold up their end of the bargain ... but it's just too hard. So I choose the easier route, to pull away and keep at a distance those who refuse the embrace of a true friend.

And then ironically after Dulce got back from dropping Alex at the bus terminal, I saw that which I resent in others manifest itself in my own being. I was hungry, having not as of yet eaten. And she offered to cook me some eggs. My initial reaction was to say no, I will just grab an apple, I don't want to be a burden. And then I spotted it, my own inability to accept that which is given freely. So when she offered again, I smiled and said "Si, por favor." The eggs had just the perfect amount of grease, the beans the right amount of garlic and the croissants were toasted perfectly. No one ever goes hungry in Dulce's kitchen. And she sat with me while I ate and told me about the places she's gone. "San Cristobal!" she said when I asked her what her favorite Mexican city was, with a smile that lit up the room. And now I have a new destination on my journey and my own surrogate Mexican mother who will make sure I never get too skinny.

People often ask me why I travel. What it is that I do while I'm not doing what it is that I'm supposed to be doing. And I realize now, it's not for the things I see or even the people I meet. But rather the unfamiliar surroundings present an opportunity for growth and advancement. Usually it's two steps forward one step back, but that still gets you somewhere. And with this current journey, I'm curious to see where that will be.

What if you build it, but no one shows up?

Laying down wood flooring on top of concrete is no joke. First you gotta throw down a layer of goop to level out the uneven spots in the concrete, to make sure you have a stable foundation upon which to build. And like any good foundation, it takes a while to sit and cure ... to come into it's own.

The easy part is putting down the cork, or whatever else you're going to use to absorb the blow. To make sure the floor finds that balance between support and surrender. We've got something that looks an awful lot like sawdust lined up to do the job.

And only then can you actually start to glue and lock together the individual pieces of treated bamboo which will actually be the floor. Each piece is grooved on two edges and notched on the two. And they come together like a giant set of lego's to create what will become your floor.

I didn't set out to help lay the floor for a yoga studio, it just kinda happened. I'd been attending meditation and yoga at the Dharma Bum Center / Red Lotus Society / Ideal Hotel / whatever it is that they are calling themselves this week, for a bit now.

And I watched with admiration as a few doe-eyed idealists took an abandoned historic building in dire need of renovation and used their blood and sweet to pour a seemingly endless amount of love into this vessel. I watched their incremental progress week by week, and marveled how they could take on such a project in need of so much time and effort and proceed with quiet, unwavering determination.

Over time I realized that it wasn't blind optimism that made them trudge forward, one nail at a time. I occasionally saw frustration and desperation creep into their otherwise stoic faces when the challenges facing them seemed unsurmountable. When time, money and all other earthly realities seemed to conspire against their ambitious project. And I watched with awe as they cast them aside to return to the task at hand, sanding hardwood floors or digging a trench for the plumbing.

And little by little I got sucked in. It started by just dropping in whenever I was in the area for a few hours, cleaning up the remnants of the hard work of others. Then I'd mix it into my bike riding schedule on the weekends, why not just cruise through downtown as long as I'm riding around and see if there's another plaster wall that needs chiseling away?

I watched as an entire community came together around this effort. As people from disparate walks of life, different backgrounds and different belief systems joined their effort and energies in order to create something. I'm sure they all had their motives for coming, I certainly had my own.

I watched as the living quarters were transformed from forgotten ramshackle rooms into vibrant dens full of life and zeal. I watched as the space which housed seemingly nothing but dust and debris sprung forth into a zendo, a space for practice. And as I heard more and more of the grandiose plans I'd start to excitedly question the 5 Dharma Bums ... "what about the yoga floor?" ... "when's it going to be done?" ... "who's teaching classes?"

I knew they were dumb questions when I asked. These guys were trying to get through the next crisis, doing a remarkably good job not obsessing about the fact that they'd basically gone bankrupt and were knee deep into a project who's entire size and scope they were still coming to terms with. They didn't have all the answers, they just knew the next step in the path. Then Jeff asked me "can you help make this happen?"

The answer was painfully obvious immediately ... but I initially resisted. I'd spent my entire life avoiding investing and committing in things greater than myself, avoiding putting forth the effort into an uncertain outcome. I never managed to stand up and be counted for the fear that I would be the one left holding the bag.

I thought back to some of the first e-mails I traded with Dorian. In my best John Cusak-esque writing style I sent her a list of my Top 5 Dream Jobs:

1) Travel writer
2) Yoga instructor
3) Center fielder for the Cleveland Indians
4) Smoothie stand guy
5) Linguist

No one was offering me my own syndicated Travel Column, but here was a Yoga Studio that needed built and needed some teachers. In a sense my own practice is still very young. It's either been going on for about a year and a half or since my first breath ... I'm still not sure which.

But it's given me something that I never knew I needed before. A sense of calm, the ability accept the world as is and understand where my own inner turmoil is coming from. A sense of unity and a sense of understanding of how I am involved in this real world I inhabit. Plus my shoulder's have become pretty well defined and that's awfully cool. Sometimes it seems as if it's two steps forward and one step backwards, but such is life I suppose.

So yesterday morning before I took of for work Clay asked me to show him some yoga stuff for his back. I took it as a sign. A sign that in my naivety I thought I understood. I excitedly spent most of the day at work figuring out what sequence I would show him, how to dictate the pace of the class, how to enter each pose. I enlisted Dorian in this make shift class and when Crystal showed up I pulled her in as well.

And then reality happened. The outcome bore little resemblance to what I had imagined. Instead of practicing what might eventually become the foundation for my own class we just kinda kicked it and did some yoga. It didn't take too long, but I soon realized I was way too attached to my own vision of what this should be. I had failed to see my friends as my friends who I could show some cool yoga shit to, but instead saw them as a means to my own ends.

It's hard to let go of those expectations, to contain that sense of ego, maybe the hardest thing of all. And it's hard to pour time and energy into something not knowing where it will go. It's hard to open up and just give without having some assurance that you're going to get back as well. But maybe that's the real lesson I was supposed to learn.

There's definitely still a part of me, a large part, that would rather just throw my shit in a bag and be out the door. Avoid the disappointment of unfulfilled expectations by never bothering to show up. But I'm trying. I've been down that path before, it was good times, but ultimately it left me wanting. So instead, tomorrow, I'm going to help lay a foundation for a yoga studio, and see what happens next. Maybe I'll fulfill the number 2 spot on my list of Dream Jobs, maybe I'll never practice yoga again...