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.