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.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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.
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!
"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!
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
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:
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.
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 monthsAnd 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.
Mike: I want to come
Kashif: Buy a plane ticket and get a visa
Mike: OK
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.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
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.
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.
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