Sit through the full 20 minutes--and be thankful for your entire life.
Peace, love, and utter joy,
R:)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Reintegration
Some days I’m really thankful. Other days, I want to run away kicking and screaming.
Reintegration (is that what you call it?) has been quite a whirlwind. A month of traveling and reunions with loved ones was followed by another month of couch surfing, mornings of yoga practices in odd locations, including but not limited to—garages, racquet ball courts, back porches, farms, and driveways. My second month back included countless hours of filling out bartending applications (do you really care where I went to high school?), internet and in-person job hunting, and several volunteer participatory studies for pay (music focus groups, DUI motor-skill testing, etc). In the past few months, I’ve come to regularly describe my life-altering-mind-blowing trip to in a few simple words, “Great!” “Amazing!” “Incredible!” (And no offense people, but “How was India?” Really? Do you really think I can answer that?) Since getting back to the US, I’ve been to South and North Florida, through New York five times, I spent two weeks in Kentucky, and lots of time on planes and/or roadtripping. Now in Connecticut, I’ve seen the ocean, the sun, the snow, a music festival, sunflower fields, the Statue of Liberty, an off Broadway show, old friends from as far away as California, and have learned to make jewelry from wood and clay. Two weeks ago, I got my cats back, inherited a dog, even have a new…um…“roommate,” Ali (with whom I happen to be severely in love, hence, the dog inheritance).
It’s been hectic—and odd—to say the least. Coming home to no actual home, no job, a depleted bank account and very little stability caught me off guard more than I’d assumed it would. But between Maura, Gordon, and Al, I always had food to eat, a place to lay my head, and spots to rest my belongings. When Sadie (my car) died in the middle of Willimantic’s Main street, Al made sure I got to the jobs I finally landed. Three months later, I’m slingin’ drinks at the Black Bear Saloon in Hartford, and teaching 3-5 yoga classes per week at 3 different studios. Though I’m working my ass off, I’m makin’ enough money to finally pay rent for the apartment we found, and am convinced that George and Bella (cats) will eventually learn to coexist peacefully with Idgie (the dog). Hopefully around the time that happens, Al and I will be free of the cardboard boxes that have come to line our walls and serve as our couch’s end and coffee tables. All in all, life is good. I’m happy. I’m so very loved. I’m so incredibly grateful. I’m so….
Exhausted.
Going from 4am balcony coffee to a 3am bedtime takes some getting used to. I went from a 6am personal practice to a 6am teaching time. From chocolate man coffee and leisurely afternoon chai to Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru’s and on-the-run Starbucks dark roasts. I’ve shifted my focus from dodging cows and honking horns on my scooty to praying my car doesn’t die on the way to work. From giggling at monkeys on neighbors rooftops to dirty jokes from bar patrons. From stretching a thousand dollars across a summer of travel, yoga, food, and housing to hoping I can make rent and catch up on bills (the US is just SO expensive). From yoga, breakfast, and coconuts to double shifts, late night bar clean ups, and frantically trying to finagle a day off.
So yes, if you’re wondering how “reintegration” is going, it’s tough to say the least. Yet at the same time, I’m having trouble grasping the concept of reintegration as something new—I feel like I’ve been doing this my whole life. Since leaving grad school life has been a whirlwind, but not just because of India—just because, it’s life. I find myself wondering if and when we ever stop actually integrating—is the “re” a necessary affix in this instance? Integration seems endless if you ask me. Every moment of my life these days feels like a transition. Looking back, India seemed like a constant integration process, and so did adjusting to grad school and winters in Connecticut before that. Before moving to Connecticut, I said goodbye to old friends and moved away from the place I knew as home, but even during my years in Tampa, I was constantly moving, flowing, learning, and growing. Though these days I find myself exhausted, sensitive or emotional, I can’t help but feel that while this is “different” –it’s still kind of the same ol’ thing. It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of a waiting room with doors leading in every possible direction—but this waiting room is eerily familiar. I’m curious—if not these days, what other kinds of days would make up our lives? Aren’t we always waiting for something? In flux and ebbing through transitions? In this particular waiting room, at this particular moment, I’m searching for several answers…through one door I’m hoping to find the path to the job-bar-yoga-back-to-life-make-it-all-fit routine. Through another door I’m hoping to find the secrets to catching up on sleep (though I think the answer is quite simply: Go To Bed). The next door will lead me to moments where I have the time to unpack the rest of the boxes and turn this incredible apartment into a home. I’m hoping the following stop will provide lessons on how to show the person I’m head-over-heels in love with just how much I care and have to give. Another room has a yoga mat with one place where I’m able to practice again without longing for my best friend, Ajay and our old shala. In the next doorway, perhaps I’ll find Liz there again, waiting to practice with me. And the next door…. And the next….
But yet, here I am. When I’m not waiting, I’m still peaceful. Still hanging on to every ounce of bliss, hope, and peace that I found when I was overseas. I’m thankful as ever and remembering to cling to the joy I have—because it is always with me. It is here every day. It’s in the face I wake up next to each morning. It’s in the sounds of trees and leaves rustling outside of my 10-foot windows. It’s in the colors of the fall, and the sounds of the rain when I fall asleep. It’s in the gray skies and sunshine, and in my tiptoes when I dance in my new living room. It’s in the bark of my new dog, and the purr of my old cats. It’s always alive in the flow of my practice when I find a spot to unroll my mat. It’s in hugs, money in my pocket, food in my belly. It’s in laughter. It’s in being loved. It’s in the friends that I miss so much—because even though I’m working like mad, I’m lucky enough to have so many friends to miss. It’s in phone calls to my mom and Paula, and in conversations with family. It’s in memories and presence—it’s everywhere, all the time.
Reintegration, it seems to me, is much like the cycle of life…at least, the cycle of mine. Like waves in the ocean, I’m riding these days without clinging too tightly to notions about where I’ll end up, and am instead doing what I can to remember that the journey is itself the destination of life. We are all exactly where we need to be, no matter how difficult or easy these days are. Waves roll along, and the days pull me in and out much like the tide, from the shore to the murky depths of the ocean. On some days, I crash frantically, and other days I trickle up easily and quietly onto the sand. Connected to everything, I cycle along, turning chaos into peace, and fear into breath. And so it goes… When in doubt, I breathe, laugh, love, and smile. And for now, that’s all I’ve got. But if you ask me—that’s really everything I need. Except maybe a little more sleep. So then, “how was India?” you ask? India was great. And reintegration? Well, ya know….same shit, different day. But really good shit, and though they are exhausting, truly incredible days.
Reintegration (is that what you call it?) has been quite a whirlwind. A month of traveling and reunions with loved ones was followed by another month of couch surfing, mornings of yoga practices in odd locations, including but not limited to—garages, racquet ball courts, back porches, farms, and driveways. My second month back included countless hours of filling out bartending applications (do you really care where I went to high school?), internet and in-person job hunting, and several volunteer participatory studies for pay (music focus groups, DUI motor-skill testing, etc). In the past few months, I’ve come to regularly describe my life-altering-mind-blowing trip to in a few simple words, “Great!” “Amazing!” “Incredible!” (And no offense people, but “How was India?” Really? Do you really think I can answer that?) Since getting back to the US, I’ve been to South and North Florida, through New York five times, I spent two weeks in Kentucky, and lots of time on planes and/or roadtripping. Now in Connecticut, I’ve seen the ocean, the sun, the snow, a music festival, sunflower fields, the Statue of Liberty, an off Broadway show, old friends from as far away as California, and have learned to make jewelry from wood and clay. Two weeks ago, I got my cats back, inherited a dog, even have a new…um…“roommate,” Ali (with whom I happen to be severely in love, hence, the dog inheritance).
It’s been hectic—and odd—to say the least. Coming home to no actual home, no job, a depleted bank account and very little stability caught me off guard more than I’d assumed it would. But between Maura, Gordon, and Al, I always had food to eat, a place to lay my head, and spots to rest my belongings. When Sadie (my car) died in the middle of Willimantic’s Main street, Al made sure I got to the jobs I finally landed. Three months later, I’m slingin’ drinks at the Black Bear Saloon in Hartford, and teaching 3-5 yoga classes per week at 3 different studios. Though I’m working my ass off, I’m makin’ enough money to finally pay rent for the apartment we found, and am convinced that George and Bella (cats) will eventually learn to coexist peacefully with Idgie (the dog). Hopefully around the time that happens, Al and I will be free of the cardboard boxes that have come to line our walls and serve as our couch’s end and coffee tables. All in all, life is good. I’m happy. I’m so very loved. I’m so incredibly grateful. I’m so….
Exhausted.
Going from 4am balcony coffee to a 3am bedtime takes some getting used to. I went from a 6am personal practice to a 6am teaching time. From chocolate man coffee and leisurely afternoon chai to Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru’s and on-the-run Starbucks dark roasts. I’ve shifted my focus from dodging cows and honking horns on my scooty to praying my car doesn’t die on the way to work. From giggling at monkeys on neighbors rooftops to dirty jokes from bar patrons. From stretching a thousand dollars across a summer of travel, yoga, food, and housing to hoping I can make rent and catch up on bills (the US is just SO expensive). From yoga, breakfast, and coconuts to double shifts, late night bar clean ups, and frantically trying to finagle a day off.
So yes, if you’re wondering how “reintegration” is going, it’s tough to say the least. Yet at the same time, I’m having trouble grasping the concept of reintegration as something new—I feel like I’ve been doing this my whole life. Since leaving grad school life has been a whirlwind, but not just because of India—just because, it’s life. I find myself wondering if and when we ever stop actually integrating—is the “re” a necessary affix in this instance? Integration seems endless if you ask me. Every moment of my life these days feels like a transition. Looking back, India seemed like a constant integration process, and so did adjusting to grad school and winters in Connecticut before that. Before moving to Connecticut, I said goodbye to old friends and moved away from the place I knew as home, but even during my years in Tampa, I was constantly moving, flowing, learning, and growing. Though these days I find myself exhausted, sensitive or emotional, I can’t help but feel that while this is “different” –it’s still kind of the same ol’ thing. It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of a waiting room with doors leading in every possible direction—but this waiting room is eerily familiar. I’m curious—if not these days, what other kinds of days would make up our lives? Aren’t we always waiting for something? In flux and ebbing through transitions? In this particular waiting room, at this particular moment, I’m searching for several answers…through one door I’m hoping to find the path to the job-bar-yoga-back-to-life-make-it-all-fit routine. Through another door I’m hoping to find the secrets to catching up on sleep (though I think the answer is quite simply: Go To Bed). The next door will lead me to moments where I have the time to unpack the rest of the boxes and turn this incredible apartment into a home. I’m hoping the following stop will provide lessons on how to show the person I’m head-over-heels in love with just how much I care and have to give. Another room has a yoga mat with one place where I’m able to practice again without longing for my best friend, Ajay and our old shala. In the next doorway, perhaps I’ll find Liz there again, waiting to practice with me. And the next door…. And the next….
But yet, here I am. When I’m not waiting, I’m still peaceful. Still hanging on to every ounce of bliss, hope, and peace that I found when I was overseas. I’m thankful as ever and remembering to cling to the joy I have—because it is always with me. It is here every day. It’s in the face I wake up next to each morning. It’s in the sounds of trees and leaves rustling outside of my 10-foot windows. It’s in the colors of the fall, and the sounds of the rain when I fall asleep. It’s in the gray skies and sunshine, and in my tiptoes when I dance in my new living room. It’s in the bark of my new dog, and the purr of my old cats. It’s always alive in the flow of my practice when I find a spot to unroll my mat. It’s in hugs, money in my pocket, food in my belly. It’s in laughter. It’s in being loved. It’s in the friends that I miss so much—because even though I’m working like mad, I’m lucky enough to have so many friends to miss. It’s in phone calls to my mom and Paula, and in conversations with family. It’s in memories and presence—it’s everywhere, all the time.
Reintegration, it seems to me, is much like the cycle of life…at least, the cycle of mine. Like waves in the ocean, I’m riding these days without clinging too tightly to notions about where I’ll end up, and am instead doing what I can to remember that the journey is itself the destination of life. We are all exactly where we need to be, no matter how difficult or easy these days are. Waves roll along, and the days pull me in and out much like the tide, from the shore to the murky depths of the ocean. On some days, I crash frantically, and other days I trickle up easily and quietly onto the sand. Connected to everything, I cycle along, turning chaos into peace, and fear into breath. And so it goes… When in doubt, I breathe, laugh, love, and smile. And for now, that’s all I’ve got. But if you ask me—that’s really everything I need. Except maybe a little more sleep. So then, “how was India?” you ask? India was great. And reintegration? Well, ya know….same shit, different day. But really good shit, and though they are exhausting, truly incredible days.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The real world
This post is for you.... Just in case you were curious, or just in case you felt the need to know. Just in case you're inclined to ask the second I step off the plane, or in the first five minutes of seeing you again, the answers are, "yes, I've thought about it, and no, I have no idea."
The real world. Responsibility. The future. Make a plan, and follow a path. Figure out what you want to do. Get back to reality. Work. Gotta make a living somehow. Move forward. Set some goals. Have fun, but get it together. You can't do this forever. Happiness doesn't pay the bills.
Fuckin' balls.
The world I exist in today is not separate from other worlds. Happiness, laughter, joy, and hardship follow me wherever I go. Feelings of wonder, confusion, loss, excitement, love, and anticipation happen on different days for different reasons, and never seem to be expected. I've not come to understand the world as a place I can ever know for sure. As I see it thus far, we are rarely sure of much at all, but are lucky to find contentment, love, and safety among the uncertainty.
Forgive me if this post seems overly optimistic or somewhat naive. Actually, on second thought... Don't. For I don't find the need to offer apologies.
In this world, which is far too real to exist in just one way, sense, ethic, or emotion, my responsibility is first and foremost to myself. The goals I long to achieve have less to do with monetary fulfillment and everything to do with finding love, feeling and extending joy, and offering kindness and compassion to a world that so desperately needs it. The path upon which I begin my "next chapter" is not yet known, and though it may not appear directly related, it is entirely grounded in each of the chapters that came before--including the one taking place here in India.
If anyone has fears and concerns about what comes next for me--it's me. Having left graduate school to follow my heart, instinct, and to travel has come loaded with uncertainty and confusion. I'm not ignoring this life by being where I am, I'm seizing it. The only thing I'm sure of today is that I'm exactly where I need to be, and though that may not seem like much for many of you out there, it means everything to me. Knowing this I realize, will not pay the bills. But as my savings has dwindled, my heart and spirit has grown--and to me, these things are far more valuable.
This trip, full of love, laughter, and laziness, has also brought me face to face with some of my deepest, darkest fears. In the midst of these colorful explorations, I've had head on collisions with insecurities, vulnerabilities, and the things that terrify me most. I've learned that no matter how joyfully I attempt to move through this life, that facing myself and my fears always has the power to knock me down and bring me to my knees. The moments and emotions I've confronted on this trip have reminded me of what I already knew--that nothing is harder than feeling sadness, loneliness, and isolation. I've again learned that the real "work" in this world comes from confrontations with our hearts and minds, not from activities that put cash in our wallets. To suggest that my time here has been a holiday or vacation would be inaccurate, for the work I've done as of late has been far harder than bartending, teaching, or shelving books ever was.
Yoga practices, day trips, laughter, good food, my best friend...all of this has been incredible. I've learned about a part of the world I hadn't anticipated I'd be lucky enough to discover. But I've also come to understand that "reality" extends farther than my homes in Florida or Connecticut. "Reality" doesn't stop happening just because we change plans from time to time. My trip to India, this country, the people, these experiences--they are all very real and very much a part of who I am now. My future goals from this point on have less to do with separating my time here from the times that await me ahead. I've learned and seen and felt too much, and I've no intention of letting the work that I've done here fall away so easily.
Of course I'll have to find a job. Of course I'd prefer one that's fulfililng over one that will just help me pay the rent for a couple of months. Of course I want a path that appears safe and financially and emotionally beneficial over one that is fleeting and temporarily useful. But I'm prepared to embrace either one. Following my heart, traveling, and doing what makes me happy has not misplaced my understanding of the real world--it has rather enhanced it. In recent months, I've become more comfortable with this so called "reality" that awaits me when I get back to the States. More and more everyday, I am becoming more sure of what matters to me, what I am thankful for, what makes my heart happy, and what will keep my spirit safe. I am also becoming more aware of the fact that I will soon have to make a living and pay the rent. And while I can't be sure of how that will happen, I am utterly connected to what truly matters in this life, and I am working my ass off to make sure I don't lose that.
In this very real place, I will never stop working first and foremost to be happy. I will never stop making my heart and spirit my first priority. I hope to never trade my present moments for the future ones I can never really be sure of. I will never stop preferring beauty and love to dollars, or peace and contentment to pensions and retirement plans. I'll never stop worrying about how I'm going to pay the bills, and I'll never stop laughing even when I can't.
Like this world, I will never be sure of where I will end up or how things will turn out. I'll only know that the tides and ways of the world will change and grow and evolve, and that I'll do everything I can to keep up with it.
So then, I have no idea what will come next for me--and I'm in no rush to find out. Someone very wise recently suggested that perhaps, these next few months or years are meant to be more about appreciating where I am instead of worrying about where I'm going--and that like my yoga practice, what matters is not what happens next. Instead, what truly matters is where I am. Remembering to breathe, and allowing myself to just...be. Presence and time and patience are here with me today, and I've worked hard to have faith in them. I am proud of where I am today and of who I have become. I am proud to know that trusting myself above and beyond anything or anyone else has to be the approach through which I live this life. Another very wise person once told me that no one will ever look out for me the way that I will look out for me. And so I am doing this the only way I know how to--with trust, faith, and a smile. I know that I will stumble along this path, and will not always trip and fall with grace. But I do know that I will always pick myself back up. And that's not something I take lightly.
I can't tell you what to expect from me when I get back, other than a bunch of random stories about odd Indian events, people, and animals. I will still be laughing and smiling and loving. But rest assured that beneath the "I don't knows" are layers of confidence, strength, fears, and patience. My next job might not be a very noble one, but I will pay the bills. I might not change the world tomorrow, but For now, this is enough for me.
Just as we all attempt to lead our lives one day at a time, I am trying to do the same. And I'm doing it at my pace and in my time. No matter where I go, I will always be ok. Today, knowing this is a giant feat, and I am certain it will help me figure out the rest.
Peace and happiness are already ours. Reach out and take them whenever you can, for no matter what comes your way, no one can ever take them from you.
With all the love in the world,
Rebecca:)
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Let it be
As my trip begins to wind down, I'm faced with a potpourri of thoughts I want to share, but don't seem to make sense grouped together in written form. From the deepest of emotional spaces to the most surface-based observations, I have seen it all--and then nothing at all--and I don't really know where to begin. Some of the things I want to tell you about are nothing but random observations that occurred in random moments at random places with random people while having random conversations and seeing random things. Others are far more sentimental and emotional, which are difficult to put "out there" anyway; these have more to do with leaving India, fearing going home (to what?), moments of intense bliss or extreme sadness, spiritual discoveries, and what it's like to face yourself so intensely for nearly three months. Coupling paragraphs about the times "we yelled at the petrol and the rickshaw guys because they tried to charge us too much and we are not the stupid white girls we may appear to be!" with "I didn't know I'd come to India to find a second home, comfort, love, kindness--all while sharing these days with the greatest and most amazing friend I've ever had," just doesn't seem to jive well. But I suppose as usual, I'll do my best to work it out and see what happens.
First of course, this trip has been about yoga. I may have named myself a grateful yogi before, but I had no idea how deeply this gratitude could extend. My practice has led me to find new (and old) reasons to be thankful for my life, the people in it, and this world. I could spend at least an hour describing how it feels to have found strength and appreciation for a practice that I struggled so deeply with the first month I was here. I could spend another several hours rehashing the various emotions, awakenings, struggles, challenges, and feats I've faced on my mat in my shala. I now turn to my practice not just to connect to my breath and asana, but for guidance about gaining equanimity, embracing humility, and finding ways to build a greater sense of peace in my heart. Recently, I began practicing the intermediate (also known as "second") series of Ashtanga; Ajay started both Liz and I on it about two weeks ago, and as begin, I am forced to re-embrace a beginner's mindset, and am feeling new parts of my body, finding intense challenges, and even missing the primary series more than I ever imagined. I have fallen in love with Ashtanga more than I ever thought possible (though that has less to do with starting the intermediate sequence, and more to with the confidence and strength I've discovered in my mind and body). On a related note, as I find myself more and more grateful each day, I realize how lucky and blessed I am to have fallen in love with so much this year...On a slightly lighter note, I wish I had the time to tell you all about our overnight trip to Sravanabelagola, a Jain pilgrimage site, where we climbed a hill to see one of the most beautiful temples and sights that we've seen since coming to India. At the top of the hill, a woman shared a holy coconut with us, and I think I actually saw heaven come up with the sun that morning.
Ancient temples made of stone and sand housed a giant sculpture of the God Gomatheswar, at the foot of which people meditated, recited prayers, and were blessed by holy men. Some men cleaned the feet of the statue, while a naked man with a feather duster brushed the ants off of the feet to help the God maintain purity and cleanliness. It was quite the trip, full of laughter, bliss, and odd occurrences: had chai on an old woman's stoop with her and watched as the town woke up with Hindi/Jain music blaring. We continued our tradition of being famous and met lots of people, kids (who kept asking for "school pens"), and women who helped maintain the local park-area. We shared a bus with a few sacks of chickens that clucked and balked for three hours--one rooster in fact, sat under our feet for the three hour ride. We tasted pista burfi (an Indian pistachio-flavored sweet) at various sweet-shop stands until we found our favorite. Once again we laughed our way through another trip, spending next to nothing for the guest house, food, treats, and amazing sights. God, I love it here.
To completely change the subject again, I figured it would be appropriate to note some other random Indian observations I've made and actually remembered to tell you. First has to do with timing of events: I know now that in Indian time, waiting for things for "5 minutes" or until "tomorrow" are entirely subjective and open to interpretation (5-minutes can be anywhere from "now" to 10 hours, and "tomorrow" often includes next week). I also realize that much of Indian signage, menus, banners, and billboards are printed or go up without having ever been spell checked, though rather than see this as a printer/creator's oversight, I find it more accurately non-wasteful and see it as a way to utilize what you have--why change something unnecessarily (I mean, we all know that "ladies tialars" is the ladies tailors and that the "sweet shoop and bakary" is a shop and bakery)? 
I will miss Babo hitting himself on the head and laughing at us when we do something silly or funny to him--which appears to not take much effort on our part--usually we just have to pull up on the scooty in the rain or eat breakfast with spoons. I don't think I'll ever fully be satisfied with another cup of coffee or cookie until I can return to the Chocolate Man's stand next year. I like that we take our shoes off to go into any building, business or home, even though I hardly ever wash my feet. Similarly, I've gotten better at handing things to people with my "clean" hand (the right hand) but think it's funny that this hand is also the one I eat with and therefore often have my fingers in my mouth. I'll miss Indian queueing, which, in the states, we would consider "skipping" but here makes perfect sense, for when you are ready to go to the front of the line, you simply do. I've also adopted a strange accent that kind of comes out as an odd British-Indian-slang with backwards verb tenses and odd inflections for emphasis (inflection changes upon asking/answering questions, making statements, jokes or greeting friends). Since coming here I've also surprised myself with certain things: it turns out that I do like beets, sesame seed candy, bats, ants, being a morning person, eating extraordinarily large lunches, wearing shawls even when it's hot as nuts, and driving on the left side of the road. I have come to see the sugar ants in my sugar as friends and merely scoop them out when I find them back again (silly ants), while the larger ants have become somewhat comforting--I don't mind that they crawl upon my bed, sink, and bathroom walls, for they are almost cute at this point, and I find that I'll actually miss them when I leave. Also, pulling little hairs out of my food is a small price to pay when it's always so tasty. 
I got excited when we had a mini-scooty accident the other day (don't worry we're ok, and it was so not my fault!) in front of a large group of people waiting for the neighborhood cow to be milked--it made me feel more Indian and I've even got a scrape and bruise to carry as a reminder. I like wearing bindis, loud colors, and shawls even when it's hot as balls. I love that we don't have air conditioning and miss that the power stays on longer these days. I love showering without curtains, though the hot water is still a little tricky. I enjoy sleeping under a mosquito net because it makes me feel like I am in a fort. And speaking of the fort, there is video to follow of that one....but alas, the Indian internet will not comply, so you'll have to wait on that one until I'm back in the US.I'll do what I can to get you one more post before I leave, though the trip will shortly be coming to a close, and my final post might have not come up until I'm home. In the meantime, to you out there in your various countries and worlds, thank you for taking this journey with me in your own ways. To India, thank you for sharing your homes and communities and days with me and my best friend. I don't think either of us knew how much we needed this, and I know I can speak for both of us when I say that we will always love you, and will soon miss you with all our hearts.
All the random and sentimental love in the world,
Namaste,
R:)
Saturday, July 4, 2009
And viola.... Just like that, my practice has taken off. Free and alive, I again learn the potential of giving into time and patience. Giving up the fight, I found space to let moments and body parts unfold (or I suppose, in some instances, fold) without attempting to control them all. My brush with death-by-Ashtanga has healed itself into a balanced sea of strength and agility. Finding a slice of equanimity amidst the frustration, I grabbed a hold of the calm and come-what-may-attitude and came back to myself--or rather, the self that I knew was still there. Certainly there are days where my asana flow isn't quite--well, flowy--but a couple of surprisingly good practices and strong posture holds have reminded me that nothing is permanent, and that good things are always waiting for us. I'm beginning to get used to the cycle of ups and downs with my practice, and no longer get so frustrated from "bad" practices, for I know the "good" is eventually around the corner. This of course is bound to happen when we stop searching so much and give in (kind of like meeting someone special or falling in love, huh?). Letting go of expectations and allowing moments to find me free of anticipation has been a difficult but productive lesson (which I will, no doubt, have to continue relearning for the rest of my days here on this earth). So productive in fact, for both Liz and myself, that we've decided to finish out our last weeks in India here in Mysore. (Mysore, for many of us has become a vortex that sucks you in without letting you leave--I myself equate it to a blissfully happy Hotel California). We are more in love with this place and practice than either of us ever imagined, and don't want to leave our teacher and shala until we absolutely must. So with the exception of our last two days, we are going to stay here and practice with Ajay (and yes, the first photo here is of us with the man who stole our hearts). On July 21st--my birthday!--we will head to Bangalore where we will celebrate our last two days until we begin our journey back to the states on the 23rd.
In other news...well, I'm not quite sure about other news. I wanted to write about everything we've been doing besides yoga, but I admit that I'm having a hard time figuring out what to say. Writing about "nothing" isn't really exciting, but that's pretty much what we do most days. Actually though, this week is pretty busy--so busy in fact that last night, Liz had to make a list of what we have to do this week! Of course when I reviewed the list, I laughed (and then thanked all gods, energies, people and the universe for my life), for our list contains the following appointments: astrologer, massage, acupuncture, Tue night dinner, another massage, day trip, Wed lunch. Yes indeed, this week is super-busy, hence the list (and hence, my love affair India).
On days where we get out, various run-ins with animals is common as you can see by my photo with the cow, but that's hardly a rare event, as the cows (and goats, sheep, monkeys, ox, dogs, etc) are everywhere--in this picture we were merely walking to the market. The other day, as I was peeing behind a tree, I noticed a family of monkeys directly in front of me and laughed--not because I was peeing with monkeys, but because I realized how normal it felt. When we're not marketing or using the bathroom with animals, we spend a lot of time reading, writing, laughing, doing bucket wash, planning meals, playing guitar, singing songs, and sitting on the balcony. 
I must say however, that since getting our Scooty, getting out is more of an option--and I'm a natural at driving here (helmet picture for the fans) even though I started off somewhat intimidated. Still, I'm getting quite good at it and am enjoying it a lot. The main idea is to not hesitate and go for it; it's a good thing that India is so full of various religions and gods to which one can pray, because on these roads, a girl needs all the help she can get. I also count on Liz, as she is the best passenger a Scooty driver could have, and wears many hats: a hand-signaler, direction giver, and pep-talker. But I'm doing good--especially since learning the rules of the road: the key to driving here is knowing who has the right-of-way...and she who has the right-of-way is she who takes it.
When we're not helmeted and driving around, we spend most of our nothing-doing on the porch. Liz and I have become the 227 women of the neighborhood. For those of you who missed this most entertaining of 1980s US sitcoms, 227 was a show about a group of women who sat on a stoop while watching and gossiping about their neighbors while making horribly false speculations about everyone's lives, with a few bad jokes scattered about. Essentially, this is what we have become. Its fun though. One of our neighbors has a man come to iron his clothes once per week, and the iron-man does this with a coal-filled iron on top of a wagon. The mysterious (but incredibly attractive) woman across the street who leaves her house every morning at 445am never says hello and we have several theories as to why. Last week a monkey tried to get in her window which helped to explain why we all have bars on the windows. Another neighbor across the street changes his clothes quite often, but doesn't seem to have a regular schedule, though he averages about 3-changes per day. It keeps him looking sharp, though neither Liz nor myself care for his new mustache. The vine he and his wife attempted to grow on the roof is blooming quite nicely, and we are happy for them, as it took them some time to situate it so that it wouldn't keep blowing away.
So that's the big news on 7th cross (our street) in Gokulum (the town where we're living in Mysore). What's nice about "nothing" though is that you don't really have to do "something" in order to feel like you have a productive day. In fairness, lots of quiet, very little distractions, lots of power outages and "nothingness" makes for a whole lot of up-in-your-head time, which is far more difficult than one could ever imagine. In some ways, my most productive pastime is getting over myself and getting out of my head, and learning to sit in silence (or as is often the case with Liz, in laughter), with peace and contentment. Most days I do a pretty good job. During acupuncture the other day, my friend Sean pointed out that in India we all basically have one meal and one plan, and that about covers our day (again, hence the list for this week--so much to do!). Any more than one plan per day is a big day out. Like today for instance: internet, acupuncture, dinner and beers later tonight with friends. Since tomorrow is moon-day (we don't practice on full moon or new moon mornings) tonight is essentially a holiday for us and the big beer/dinner event is a rare but exciting occurrence. In some ways, this turns our big day into a rather extravagant one. If there is power for hot water, we may even shower and head downtown early to stop at the market or bookstore (here is a pic at the market with a guy showing me how he makes incense). We are busy, busy kids I tell ya.
I suppose though, that we did have some other big days. Our Saturday day trips are always exciting and when I have more time (again, big day so I'm crunched for now), I'll post some videos of this for you. Last week, Liz and I took a trip to Nagarhole National Park, where, it turns out, that out of one billion people in India, we were the only two to have any desire to go. After searching for our bus, which consists of briskly wandering around the bus stand asking random drivers, "Nagarhole? Nagarhole?" and them waving you on to the next platform (read: other end of the big parking lot), we took a three hour ride to the national park. Thinking we'd find a place to eat when we arrived, we were literally dropped off in the middle of nowhere, where we were eventually fed by some nice strangers in a small mess hall, and joined by a deer (they fed the deer a thali as you can see). We then spent most of the day sitting quietly--and surprisingly, doing nothing--under a canopy. 
Because we were the only two people to show, our plans for a safari didn't quite turn out (a minimum of ten was needed), but we did get befriended by the thali-eating deer, which protected us from a pack of wild monkeys, and had some wild elephant and spotted deer sightings. 
Yesterday we took a trip to MM Hills to visit a temple on top of a mountain. We assumed we were going to the Sandalwood Forrest, but have given up any notion that when we plan a trip that it will turn out as initially planned. Still, the temple was incredible and the ride through the mountains was well worth the trip. We began this journey from the "private bus stand" instead of our usual "city bus stand," so the experience was somewhat different. It was easier to find the bus this time, and upon our connection, we ended up on a raver-style-Hindu-music thumping bus that eventually showed Bollywood films during the drive. It was the bounciest, speediest bus we've taken so far, which was fun, except for the fact that we ended up flying up and down the mountains for quite some time. For someone who gets a little nervous driving on high bridges or next to steep cliffs, this was an intense lesson in trust. But how does one learn to trust if there is nothing to fear, right? We got seats next to the front window on our way down the mountain which somewhat doubled the scary, but also made for fabulous scenery, and a bus full of Indian eyes that got to stare without us having to interact.
Oh right...the staring. Indeed, we are famous here. No, really, we are. We draw crowds wherever we go, and are regularly followed around by children or teens who want to practice speaking English with us. We're regularly asked to take pictures with people (as you can see here), and though we're not exactly sure why this happens, from time to time its rather entertaining and in my mind I sometimes secretly pretend I'm the rockstar I always wanted to be. Sometimes of course, it's a tad bit awkward (and the politics behind this are somewhat unnerving but that's another blog all together, and I'm on holiday damnit!), but overall allows us to interact with and meet a lot of people. Questions and conversations often begin with, "What country you from?", "What is your good name?", "How long you stay?", and "How do you like India?" and end with a little awkward silence and some head wobbling. A favorite topic of conversation is in regards to the "sticker" or "painting" on my arm which makes me doubly famous. When we mention that we're from the US, people often mention Michael Jackson or start singing Bruce Springsteen's, "Born in the USA." On occasion they respond with, "Obama!" at which point I realize that I have no idea what is going on in American political culture right now and am happily content with remaining that way for as long as possible.
All in all, it appears that lots of nothing gives me plenty to say. In other random news, since Tim left, band practice hasn't been quite the same, and Martin is a bit lonely. We did make some videos before he left and I will do my best to get them up in the coming week or two, as well as videos from our various day trips (the one with Liz and the deer is just too great to not share, and I've also got some from the infamous puja-rave-mountain-bus ride). If you're lucky, I'll attempt to put up a 227 moment, but I'm not sure that I'll get to that--one plan per day is all I can muster at this point, and I don't want to get ahead of myself. In the meantime, I enjoy that people here don't need to constantly ask, "whatcha doin?" because it's not assumed that we have to be doing much at all, and I like that if someone was to ask, that saying "nothin'" would finally become an a truthfully valid response.
From your famous, cow-lovin, nothin'-doin', Ashtangi,
Sending you peace, love and all things good.
All in all, it appears that lots of nothing gives me plenty to say. In other random news, since Tim left, band practice hasn't been quite the same, and Martin is a bit lonely. We did make some videos before he left and I will do my best to get them up in the coming week or two, as well as videos from our various day trips (the one with Liz and the deer is just too great to not share, and I've also got some from the infamous puja-rave-mountain-bus ride). If you're lucky, I'll attempt to put up a 227 moment, but I'm not sure that I'll get to that--one plan per day is all I can muster at this point, and I don't want to get ahead of myself. In the meantime, I enjoy that people here don't need to constantly ask, "whatcha doin?" because it's not assumed that we have to be doing much at all, and I like that if someone was to ask, that saying "nothin'" would finally become an a truthfully valid response.From your famous, cow-lovin, nothin'-doin', Ashtangi,
Sending you peace, love and all things good.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The opposite of auspicious
I'm dizzy and want to puke. As I approach my umpteenth vinyasa before the next pose, I sigh with exhaustion and contemplate the amount of asanas I have left until the closing sequence. Ugh, and then the closing sequence?! I'll never make it. Never.
I imagine laying back in Savasana for just a few moments--a three minute rest would make everything ok, I know it. Two minutes even. But I know better. Instead, I sigh again, and begin to move. Exhaling first, I inhale, hold, and jump back...exhale lower, inhale up, exhale lower, inhale hold...and I'm through. Exactly the same spot from which I began. I begin to fold into the next pose, then through to the other side...
Describing the desire to throw up and storm out of the shala because I dispise my practice is not what I want to be posting about. I'd much rather tell you about the beauty and grace with which I flow, and paint you a picture of a girl who glides glowingly with warmth and calm from beginning to end. Instead, the glide comes only because it's a required part of the sequence, and is actually rather choppy. The glow and warmth is sweat, heat, humidity, and pain. The calm only looks that way because holding back tears makes me look focused. Instead of writing a love story about my practice that demonstrates the trust I have in myself, my committment to yoga, my open heart, and my total and utter awareness (breath, bandas, dristi, bend elbows, lift knees, head up, etc.), I loathe this. I'm floundering, defeated, done.
It's hard to explain why I would be invested in something that constantly beats me to a pulp. This practice tears me down each day, getting the best of my fear, pushing me to face anxiety, discomfort, and stress. I am full of doubt. I don't feel strong. I am weak and lifeless. I wish I had never started practicing Ashtanga, and wish it didn't even exist. Is it really necessary to do the entire sequence each time you practice? Really? Really?! Because I don't wanna. You know these muscles in my arms? They might look strong to you, but they're just illusions I carry around so you won't know that I'm really quite weak. You know this smile on my face? I just wear it so you won't see that inside I'm falling apart. My body and spirit have nothing to give and never did. Eveything you see is a facade--I'm unbalanced, inexperienced, angry, and in no way, a dedicated or blissful yogi. My shoulders ache and hamstrings are tight. My back is on fire, I still want to throw up, my wrists are sore, and...
And then.
And then it's Monday afternoon. 4th practice in 2 days because we've volunteered to attend the teacher-training adjustment tests in addition to our regular practice. I walk in, and because it's been happening all week, I again expect to have a shit practice. So here we go--bring on the pain and struggle--I'm starting to get used to it. I didn't want to come this afternoon, I don't want to be here now, and I'm only here because of my friends. This is all for them, as it's certainly not for me.
And then. Opening prayer and I begin. Maybe it's the heat and humidity of the room. Maybe it's because the afternoon is warmer, or because we faced our mats the other way and I'm gazing in a new direction. Maybe the dose of laughter I shared with my friends before class began gave me a little boost. Maybe it's because I know that today, Ajay is sitting in the back and won't be coming over (even though I'm actually expecting more adjustments than usual, as it is an "adjustment test"). Maybe it's because I finally gave up. Maybe it's because giving up is sometimes synonymous with giving in and letting go. Maybe it's because I finally faced the fact that I can't always be strong, and so I let go of expectations. Maybe it's because I faced the fact that sometimes, my body will not keep up with my mind, no matter how hard I try... Maybe it's all of it.
Today, in the back of the room, I felt my arms float up over my head. Gazing up at my hands, something was different. Suddenly, I was lighter, freer. Surya A and B, and I was feeling good. My spine stretched long, and neck was soft. The sweat was no longer heavy. My breath was relaxed and calm. My mind--well, it wasn't clear, but it wasn't fighting. I got through the opening and standing sequence. Made it through janu and marichi series... And suddenly I'm starting the closing sequence. I stood up to begin my backbends, and as I began to drop back, I saw Ajay behind me, smiling. I know in part, it was because he was watching his teacher-in-training offer a rather intimidating and difficult assist. But he caught me directly in the eyes, and I knew that more than anything, his smile was for me. It was pride. He saw my confidence and will. He knew that I stood up because I can do this daunting posture without assistance, and because we both knew that I would take care of myself regardless of whether someone was there to assist. He knew I felt strong and that I trusted my ability to get back on my own, and help someone else learn. As my hands touched the floor beneath me, our upsidedown gazes locked in that moment. And finally, I sighed for myself. I sighed a new breath--not of exhaustion or defeat, but one of relief. I can take care of myself and get myself through anything that comes. With all of my mind and heart, I trust myself fully and completely.
So I guess, as I already knew--the idea is to push on anyway. Not everday is perfect. Not every week or month or year is perfect--and some will be full of disappointment. But you can't run away from yourself. We're not going to be strong everyday--but knowing that and accepting that is different from just saying it. You have to actually go through not being strong for any of this to make sense. We can't know what kind of challenges we have the potential to face if we walk away when they greet us. You can't just be strong when it's convenient--that's not what strength is about. We won't know the extent of our will if we don't push through the moments that are the hardest. It's when we're low and exhausted that our strength really matters, that's when we need it. So why then, go into any practice--or other experience--with great expectations? Each moment will happen as it comes, and all of our emotions, feelings, aches, pains, frustrations--all of them are fleeting. All of them will pass. They are forever ebbing and flowing, just as our asana and breath cycles move in and out and onto the next. With each gust of wind, each rising and setting of the sun, we work so hard to control ourselves, our emotions, our lives, each other; we strive for perfection even though we pay lip service to the notion that we don't care... But the lesson in all of this is not in learning how to approach or control challenges, but in figuring out how we will respond to them. We never know what each day, hour, or second will bring. The only thing we can choose is how we react. Will we be angry or fearful? Will you respond to panic with more panic? Stress with more stress? Or will you work to train yourself to accept the challenges in front of you, accept them, face them, and move through them? Will we let ourselves become defeated? And if we do, will we learn from that so that next time we are able to pick ourselves up? How we confront the unexpected, how we deal with life's surprises--that is what we have to figure out. And the idea of course, is to embrace it all, and find the joy in all things. In the pain, there are lessons, and the lessons are the secrets to finding joy. The struggle leads us to know that we are strong. The downs bring highs, and peace can only come if you allow it to be welcomed into your heart and mind. When you get the shit kicked out of you, remember that you won't be bruised forever. So sit up and instead of feeling sorry for yourself, be thankful that bruises aren't broken bones. Broken bones aren't missing limbs. A cluttered mind is a working mind... The clutter means that inside, there is not only anger and confusion, but happiness and serenity...
And if tomorrow, when I am dizzy and want to quit and puke and scream and storm off... when I ask, "what the fuck am I doing here?!" I'd appreciate it if you could kindly remind me of all the stuff I just said. Really, I'd be incredibly grateful.
And really, I'm grateful anyway. I love it here. I love this practice--it's just as moody and as complicated as I am. And it makes me happier than almost anything in the world. I can't wait for tomorrow.
(Oh, and just because I can't get enough, we're tossing the travel plans and staying here in Mysore to continue studying Ashtanga with Ajay until we leave. So either my instinct is disturbingly cruel or perfectly brilliant. It's probably a little of both, but whatever it is, I just know that I'm not ready to go. I found my teacher, and my heart is happy and full because of it. After one month of this--and years of practicing yoga--I feel like I just started practicing for the first time in my life. I have so much to learn. To say that I'm happy about staying on for another month is an understatement...and I can't wait to keep going.)
I imagine laying back in Savasana for just a few moments--a three minute rest would make everything ok, I know it. Two minutes even. But I know better. Instead, I sigh again, and begin to move. Exhaling first, I inhale, hold, and jump back...exhale lower, inhale up, exhale lower, inhale hold...and I'm through. Exactly the same spot from which I began. I begin to fold into the next pose, then through to the other side...
Describing the desire to throw up and storm out of the shala because I dispise my practice is not what I want to be posting about. I'd much rather tell you about the beauty and grace with which I flow, and paint you a picture of a girl who glides glowingly with warmth and calm from beginning to end. Instead, the glide comes only because it's a required part of the sequence, and is actually rather choppy. The glow and warmth is sweat, heat, humidity, and pain. The calm only looks that way because holding back tears makes me look focused. Instead of writing a love story about my practice that demonstrates the trust I have in myself, my committment to yoga, my open heart, and my total and utter awareness (breath, bandas, dristi, bend elbows, lift knees, head up, etc.), I loathe this. I'm floundering, defeated, done.
It's hard to explain why I would be invested in something that constantly beats me to a pulp. This practice tears me down each day, getting the best of my fear, pushing me to face anxiety, discomfort, and stress. I am full of doubt. I don't feel strong. I am weak and lifeless. I wish I had never started practicing Ashtanga, and wish it didn't even exist. Is it really necessary to do the entire sequence each time you practice? Really? Really?! Because I don't wanna. You know these muscles in my arms? They might look strong to you, but they're just illusions I carry around so you won't know that I'm really quite weak. You know this smile on my face? I just wear it so you won't see that inside I'm falling apart. My body and spirit have nothing to give and never did. Eveything you see is a facade--I'm unbalanced, inexperienced, angry, and in no way, a dedicated or blissful yogi. My shoulders ache and hamstrings are tight. My back is on fire, I still want to throw up, my wrists are sore, and...
And then.
And then it's Monday afternoon. 4th practice in 2 days because we've volunteered to attend the teacher-training adjustment tests in addition to our regular practice. I walk in, and because it's been happening all week, I again expect to have a shit practice. So here we go--bring on the pain and struggle--I'm starting to get used to it. I didn't want to come this afternoon, I don't want to be here now, and I'm only here because of my friends. This is all for them, as it's certainly not for me.
And then. Opening prayer and I begin. Maybe it's the heat and humidity of the room. Maybe it's because the afternoon is warmer, or because we faced our mats the other way and I'm gazing in a new direction. Maybe the dose of laughter I shared with my friends before class began gave me a little boost. Maybe it's because I know that today, Ajay is sitting in the back and won't be coming over (even though I'm actually expecting more adjustments than usual, as it is an "adjustment test"). Maybe it's because I finally gave up. Maybe it's because giving up is sometimes synonymous with giving in and letting go. Maybe it's because I finally faced the fact that I can't always be strong, and so I let go of expectations. Maybe it's because I faced the fact that sometimes, my body will not keep up with my mind, no matter how hard I try... Maybe it's all of it.
Today, in the back of the room, I felt my arms float up over my head. Gazing up at my hands, something was different. Suddenly, I was lighter, freer. Surya A and B, and I was feeling good. My spine stretched long, and neck was soft. The sweat was no longer heavy. My breath was relaxed and calm. My mind--well, it wasn't clear, but it wasn't fighting. I got through the opening and standing sequence. Made it through janu and marichi series... And suddenly I'm starting the closing sequence. I stood up to begin my backbends, and as I began to drop back, I saw Ajay behind me, smiling. I know in part, it was because he was watching his teacher-in-training offer a rather intimidating and difficult assist. But he caught me directly in the eyes, and I knew that more than anything, his smile was for me. It was pride. He saw my confidence and will. He knew that I stood up because I can do this daunting posture without assistance, and because we both knew that I would take care of myself regardless of whether someone was there to assist. He knew I felt strong and that I trusted my ability to get back on my own, and help someone else learn. As my hands touched the floor beneath me, our upsidedown gazes locked in that moment. And finally, I sighed for myself. I sighed a new breath--not of exhaustion or defeat, but one of relief. I can take care of myself and get myself through anything that comes. With all of my mind and heart, I trust myself fully and completely.
So I guess, as I already knew--the idea is to push on anyway. Not everday is perfect. Not every week or month or year is perfect--and some will be full of disappointment. But you can't run away from yourself. We're not going to be strong everyday--but knowing that and accepting that is different from just saying it. You have to actually go through not being strong for any of this to make sense. We can't know what kind of challenges we have the potential to face if we walk away when they greet us. You can't just be strong when it's convenient--that's not what strength is about. We won't know the extent of our will if we don't push through the moments that are the hardest. It's when we're low and exhausted that our strength really matters, that's when we need it. So why then, go into any practice--or other experience--with great expectations? Each moment will happen as it comes, and all of our emotions, feelings, aches, pains, frustrations--all of them are fleeting. All of them will pass. They are forever ebbing and flowing, just as our asana and breath cycles move in and out and onto the next. With each gust of wind, each rising and setting of the sun, we work so hard to control ourselves, our emotions, our lives, each other; we strive for perfection even though we pay lip service to the notion that we don't care... But the lesson in all of this is not in learning how to approach or control challenges, but in figuring out how we will respond to them. We never know what each day, hour, or second will bring. The only thing we can choose is how we react. Will we be angry or fearful? Will you respond to panic with more panic? Stress with more stress? Or will you work to train yourself to accept the challenges in front of you, accept them, face them, and move through them? Will we let ourselves become defeated? And if we do, will we learn from that so that next time we are able to pick ourselves up? How we confront the unexpected, how we deal with life's surprises--that is what we have to figure out. And the idea of course, is to embrace it all, and find the joy in all things. In the pain, there are lessons, and the lessons are the secrets to finding joy. The struggle leads us to know that we are strong. The downs bring highs, and peace can only come if you allow it to be welcomed into your heart and mind. When you get the shit kicked out of you, remember that you won't be bruised forever. So sit up and instead of feeling sorry for yourself, be thankful that bruises aren't broken bones. Broken bones aren't missing limbs. A cluttered mind is a working mind... The clutter means that inside, there is not only anger and confusion, but happiness and serenity...
And if tomorrow, when I am dizzy and want to quit and puke and scream and storm off... when I ask, "what the fuck am I doing here?!" I'd appreciate it if you could kindly remind me of all the stuff I just said. Really, I'd be incredibly grateful.
And really, I'm grateful anyway. I love it here. I love this practice--it's just as moody and as complicated as I am. And it makes me happier than almost anything in the world. I can't wait for tomorrow.
(Oh, and just because I can't get enough, we're tossing the travel plans and staying here in Mysore to continue studying Ashtanga with Ajay until we leave. So either my instinct is disturbingly cruel or perfectly brilliant. It's probably a little of both, but whatever it is, I just know that I'm not ready to go. I found my teacher, and my heart is happy and full because of it. After one month of this--and years of practicing yoga--I feel like I just started practicing for the first time in my life. I have so much to learn. To say that I'm happy about staying on for another month is an understatement...and I can't wait to keep going.)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Chitti Vrittis
Hello again from India! (That never gets old, I tell ya.) I'm back at Rishi's internet cafe, wishing I could include a couple of pics for you this time around, but poor Rajini (the woman who owns the place) just has the slowest internet in the world. Next time, I'll post this from Anu's so I can get some up for you. In the meantime, imagine that you are viewing pictures from my day at the park yesterday--we found one with a lake!--which include peacocks in trees, serene water with couples and families in row boats, a butterfly garden, flowers, and of course, Liz and I's smiling faces.
Chitti vritti #1: I find it amusing that during meditation I can easily drown out the sounds of barking dogs, passing traffic, women sweeping or hosing off their driveways (about which they are meticulous!), men on bikes selling fruits, singing "Mango! Pineapple! Papaya!" and the clanking of neighbors dishes and dinners being cooked...yet it's nearly impossible to quiet my mind. And it's not like the thoughts are deep or contain profound insight on the meaning of life. It's more like, "Liz had a good idea to mark our clothespins with little hearts, but too bad they still get mixed in with the neighbors," or "that's nice that people leave veggie/fruit scraps on corners for wandering animals, but I wonder if it causes animal drama? I can hear the cows now, 'damn goats, they got here early today'." In the yoga sutras, these fluctuations of the mind are called "chitti vrittis," and the point of our practice, as stated in the first yoga sutra "...yoga chitti vritti nirodaha," is to turn off those thoughts. So I'll keep workin' on that. Guess it's a good thing I'm in India.
Chitti vritti #2: I saw a man scale a coconut tree the other day. The tree was at least four to five stories high. And he did it so fast! Crazy.
CV #17: In the last week, I've been to two pujas (Indians love their pujas!), for two great teachers who have influenced so many lives. The first was for PK Jois to honor his passing, and celebrate the gifts of love and knowledge he passed along while he was here on earth. I joined his family, friends, community members, Brahmins, spiritual leaders, and yogis from around the world in his shala to gather once again in his honor. In amazement, I watched as people from around the world--people of different backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, political positions, races, genders, etc--joined together through yoga and shared belief in the possibility of knowing peace, love, connectedness. No, we didn't come together to celebrate our flexible hamstrings, waistline measurements, or the strength of our biceps. We came together because we share this love, this life, these moments. Even though many of us look different, speak different languages, and come from far off places, we all seek to feel, experience, and extend that which is good and loving. We know that those things don't just take place in some spiritual realm, but occur right here on earth. So we joined and celebrated Guruji, each other, and this life we share. We sat peacefully together and extended smiles and expressions of thanks and grattitude for being part of this world. I know I've said this before, but I'm still trying to figure out what I did to deserve this incredible life. There is so much good, so much love. I am so blessed to be able to exist in this beautiful world, with my friends, family, with all of you...
CV #27a: The second puja was for my teacher, Ajay. Amazing, fantastic--and dare I say--adorable, Ajay (and yes I will post a pic soon!). He and his wife were celebrating their housewarming and invited all of us to attend. Under a colorful tent in the front of his house, we ate, laughed, talked, and enjoyed a really special afternoon. It felt like such a gift to see his home, meet some of his friends and family, and see our friends from the shala outside of our regular sweaty, groaning and panting practice. We had one of my favorite meals so far (have I mentioned the food in this country?!), which we ate off of banana leaves with our hands, as most often do here. And yes, I now eat with my hands whenever possible. (Sorry mom.)
CV #161: Kids are really well behaved here. Americans would be shocked at how happy they are, while actually listening to their parents. Between you and I, I think it's in part due to the fact that they're allowed to eat with their hands, and don't have to deal with adults yelling at them to not play with their food. And they're allowed to get dirty. And run around outside and scream from time to time. Imagine that! The only time kids in India seem to cry or yell really loudly is when it's time for Liz and I to go to bed.
CV #169: Get this! I have been reading books that have not been assigned by professors, are for use in research projects, thesis developments, or paper citations. I'm reading fiction even! Just because I can, as soon as I finish this book (The Witch of Portabello, which is really good so far), I'm going to forget the entire thing without being able to tell you the main points or much of the story at all. Pure pleasure reading. I love India!
CV #192: Today I started washing my purple tyedye skirt and then forgot about it, so it sat in the bucket all day. When we got home the water was completely purple. Does this mean that when the dye washed out that it also simultaneously redyed itself? Hmm. Also, Indian clothes are NOT prewashed (and that salt-soak idea does not work, thank you), so most of my clothes now vary between similar shades of blue, green, brown, and red. But it kinda makes some of these old t-shirts feel new.
CV #287: There is this bird that makes woo-woo noises. For the first few days I was here I thought it was some siren or something, but it just goes "woo woo woo woo woo!" It gets up around the time we have our 430am coffee, and greets the day with us. Cutest bird ever. Although maybe not, because I've never actually seen it. But Liz says it's a bird. I suppose it's possible that she's messing with me, and in the distance somewhere is a man with a little siren sounding it every morning, as he and Liz laugh to themselves.
CV #590: Persad, the coconut stand man, is not only good at picking out the "crunchy coconuts," but just so happens to make the best peanut butter ever known to human kind, and his almond butter is just as amazing. Oh, and I'm also now obsessed with mangoes, and average at least two per day. You've never tasted heaven like this, I tell ya. And Liz has become excellent at haggling with the guys on bikes ("Mango! Papaya!") selling 'em. 6 mangoes, 40 rupees. Go girl.
CV #811-10,994: As you can tell, life in Mysore is pretty much the same. I've got yoga bruises all over my body, which I wear like badges of honor, because I'm working my ass off, and loving every minute of it. Except of course, when I'm fighting it, in pain, or crying after backbends (as Liz and I have both come to realize, backbends are often very emotional. But it's ok because we giggle in other poses so it all evens out). I'm getting acupuncture for my carpal tunnel and hoping to get some relief soon (imagine!). I also got some for my sciatic pain from when I fell down the stairs last week in the rain (sigh). Band practice is of course still going, and the Dirty Scooter Crew (that's us!) will have their tour dates up soon. Oh, and speaking of badges of honor--"I've got blisters on my fingers!" which is quite exciting. And we're not the only musicians in town, as there is a marching band that we frequently hear from afar during school hours. I've picked up the Indian head wobble, which now comes out each time I answer a yes or no question, or as Liz pointed out, whenever I do or say something for which I feel proud. Liz and I are trying to get out of Mysore on weekends and take some day trips, so last week we visited Bylakuppe, a small town of Buddhist monks who fled Tibet. The monasteries and temples are exquisite. We saw some monks chanting, some praying, some outside diong laundry, others weaving or working on various art projects. In one temple, four monks were creating an intricate and colorfully elaborate mandala of dyed sands, which they later take outside and set free into the wind. What a beautiful process. Just as beautiful were the monks on the motorcycles--the one on back using his cell phone. On other afternoons, Liz continues to plan our travels while I plot ways to get a year's supply of the chocolate man's coffee and jaggary back to the states. We laugh constantly, and do a lot of nothing, which really takes up a lot of our day. We cook a lot of food at home these days, and that's been nice, though tonight we're going out for a big ol' dinner because--well, we can. Have I mentioned that this is the best food in the entire world? I'm not sure how I'll ever live without it, but not thinking too seriously about it, since it's not my concern yet.
CV #26,028: Liz is the best friend in the world. I'm so thankful to her for all of these moments, and all that she is. She is beautiful, wise, funny, strong, and incredible. Her heart is so precious, and her soul so kind. I couldn't imagine doing this trip without her. The best non-sexual-life-partner (NSLP) a girl could have. Again, I don't know how I got so lucky.
CV #139,816: I'm eternally grateful for each one of you out there. And though I would stay here forever if I could, I can't wait to see your beautiful faces again.
CV #139,817: As long as when I get home you give me some time before you ask me what I'm going to do "next" or "with my life."
CV #139,818: And if you just can't help yourself, all I've solidly come up with is: be happy. And maybe shower more. Maybe.
Chitti vritti #1: I find it amusing that during meditation I can easily drown out the sounds of barking dogs, passing traffic, women sweeping or hosing off their driveways (about which they are meticulous!), men on bikes selling fruits, singing "Mango! Pineapple! Papaya!" and the clanking of neighbors dishes and dinners being cooked...yet it's nearly impossible to quiet my mind. And it's not like the thoughts are deep or contain profound insight on the meaning of life. It's more like, "Liz had a good idea to mark our clothespins with little hearts, but too bad they still get mixed in with the neighbors," or "that's nice that people leave veggie/fruit scraps on corners for wandering animals, but I wonder if it causes animal drama? I can hear the cows now, 'damn goats, they got here early today'." In the yoga sutras, these fluctuations of the mind are called "chitti vrittis," and the point of our practice, as stated in the first yoga sutra "...yoga chitti vritti nirodaha," is to turn off those thoughts. So I'll keep workin' on that. Guess it's a good thing I'm in India.
Chitti vritti #2: I saw a man scale a coconut tree the other day. The tree was at least four to five stories high. And he did it so fast! Crazy.
CV #17: In the last week, I've been to two pujas (Indians love their pujas!), for two great teachers who have influenced so many lives. The first was for PK Jois to honor his passing, and celebrate the gifts of love and knowledge he passed along while he was here on earth. I joined his family, friends, community members, Brahmins, spiritual leaders, and yogis from around the world in his shala to gather once again in his honor. In amazement, I watched as people from around the world--people of different backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, political positions, races, genders, etc--joined together through yoga and shared belief in the possibility of knowing peace, love, connectedness. No, we didn't come together to celebrate our flexible hamstrings, waistline measurements, or the strength of our biceps. We came together because we share this love, this life, these moments. Even though many of us look different, speak different languages, and come from far off places, we all seek to feel, experience, and extend that which is good and loving. We know that those things don't just take place in some spiritual realm, but occur right here on earth. So we joined and celebrated Guruji, each other, and this life we share. We sat peacefully together and extended smiles and expressions of thanks and grattitude for being part of this world. I know I've said this before, but I'm still trying to figure out what I did to deserve this incredible life. There is so much good, so much love. I am so blessed to be able to exist in this beautiful world, with my friends, family, with all of you...
CV #27a: The second puja was for my teacher, Ajay. Amazing, fantastic--and dare I say--adorable, Ajay (and yes I will post a pic soon!). He and his wife were celebrating their housewarming and invited all of us to attend. Under a colorful tent in the front of his house, we ate, laughed, talked, and enjoyed a really special afternoon. It felt like such a gift to see his home, meet some of his friends and family, and see our friends from the shala outside of our regular sweaty, groaning and panting practice. We had one of my favorite meals so far (have I mentioned the food in this country?!), which we ate off of banana leaves with our hands, as most often do here. And yes, I now eat with my hands whenever possible. (Sorry mom.)
CV #161: Kids are really well behaved here. Americans would be shocked at how happy they are, while actually listening to their parents. Between you and I, I think it's in part due to the fact that they're allowed to eat with their hands, and don't have to deal with adults yelling at them to not play with their food. And they're allowed to get dirty. And run around outside and scream from time to time. Imagine that! The only time kids in India seem to cry or yell really loudly is when it's time for Liz and I to go to bed.
CV #169: Get this! I have been reading books that have not been assigned by professors, are for use in research projects, thesis developments, or paper citations. I'm reading fiction even! Just because I can, as soon as I finish this book (The Witch of Portabello, which is really good so far), I'm going to forget the entire thing without being able to tell you the main points or much of the story at all. Pure pleasure reading. I love India!
CV #192: Today I started washing my purple tyedye skirt and then forgot about it, so it sat in the bucket all day. When we got home the water was completely purple. Does this mean that when the dye washed out that it also simultaneously redyed itself? Hmm. Also, Indian clothes are NOT prewashed (and that salt-soak idea does not work, thank you), so most of my clothes now vary between similar shades of blue, green, brown, and red. But it kinda makes some of these old t-shirts feel new.
CV #287: There is this bird that makes woo-woo noises. For the first few days I was here I thought it was some siren or something, but it just goes "woo woo woo woo woo!" It gets up around the time we have our 430am coffee, and greets the day with us. Cutest bird ever. Although maybe not, because I've never actually seen it. But Liz says it's a bird. I suppose it's possible that she's messing with me, and in the distance somewhere is a man with a little siren sounding it every morning, as he and Liz laugh to themselves.
CV #590: Persad, the coconut stand man, is not only good at picking out the "crunchy coconuts," but just so happens to make the best peanut butter ever known to human kind, and his almond butter is just as amazing. Oh, and I'm also now obsessed with mangoes, and average at least two per day. You've never tasted heaven like this, I tell ya. And Liz has become excellent at haggling with the guys on bikes ("Mango! Papaya!") selling 'em. 6 mangoes, 40 rupees. Go girl.
CV #811-10,994: As you can tell, life in Mysore is pretty much the same. I've got yoga bruises all over my body, which I wear like badges of honor, because I'm working my ass off, and loving every minute of it. Except of course, when I'm fighting it, in pain, or crying after backbends (as Liz and I have both come to realize, backbends are often very emotional. But it's ok because we giggle in other poses so it all evens out). I'm getting acupuncture for my carpal tunnel and hoping to get some relief soon (imagine!). I also got some for my sciatic pain from when I fell down the stairs last week in the rain (sigh). Band practice is of course still going, and the Dirty Scooter Crew (that's us!) will have their tour dates up soon. Oh, and speaking of badges of honor--"I've got blisters on my fingers!" which is quite exciting. And we're not the only musicians in town, as there is a marching band that we frequently hear from afar during school hours. I've picked up the Indian head wobble, which now comes out each time I answer a yes or no question, or as Liz pointed out, whenever I do or say something for which I feel proud. Liz and I are trying to get out of Mysore on weekends and take some day trips, so last week we visited Bylakuppe, a small town of Buddhist monks who fled Tibet. The monasteries and temples are exquisite. We saw some monks chanting, some praying, some outside diong laundry, others weaving or working on various art projects. In one temple, four monks were creating an intricate and colorfully elaborate mandala of dyed sands, which they later take outside and set free into the wind. What a beautiful process. Just as beautiful were the monks on the motorcycles--the one on back using his cell phone. On other afternoons, Liz continues to plan our travels while I plot ways to get a year's supply of the chocolate man's coffee and jaggary back to the states. We laugh constantly, and do a lot of nothing, which really takes up a lot of our day. We cook a lot of food at home these days, and that's been nice, though tonight we're going out for a big ol' dinner because--well, we can. Have I mentioned that this is the best food in the entire world? I'm not sure how I'll ever live without it, but not thinking too seriously about it, since it's not my concern yet.
CV #26,028: Liz is the best friend in the world. I'm so thankful to her for all of these moments, and all that she is. She is beautiful, wise, funny, strong, and incredible. Her heart is so precious, and her soul so kind. I couldn't imagine doing this trip without her. The best non-sexual-life-partner (NSLP) a girl could have. Again, I don't know how I got so lucky.
CV #139,816: I'm eternally grateful for each one of you out there. And though I would stay here forever if I could, I can't wait to see your beautiful faces again.
CV #139,817: As long as when I get home you give me some time before you ask me what I'm going to do "next" or "with my life."
CV #139,818: And if you just can't help yourself, all I've solidly come up with is: be happy. And maybe shower more. Maybe.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
So I'm working on my next blog, trying once again to pull stories from my journals, letters, and memories. It's taking a bit longer this time, so I'm posting my mini-song, as promised, for now. I'll write a new post soon, but please bear with me, as I am incredibly busy (for instance, today we went to the post office AND yoga, then I dropped off some skirts to get them tailored AND we're having band practice later. Phew!). So in the meantime, enjoy my mini-debut, and Liz's fantastic giggle. As you can see, band practice is paying off, and my song-writing skills are enough to melt anyone's heart.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mini-confessions
I've given up trying to make this post cleverly concise--seems counterproductive to the blatant honesty I'm attempting to relay (lucky for you however, I am by nature fairly witty, so I'm hoping you'll still be entertained). At a loss as to how to describe this hilarious, exhausting, spiritual, entertaining, lazy, mega-detailed and nuanced journey in one simple blog, I'm doing my best to remember what I can. So bear with me, and when it gets choppy or off kilter, consider it a genuine extension of my spontaneously free spirit.
With the exception of my yoga practice (which is large and life-changingly transformative ), I love that everything here is mini-sized. Mini spoons, mini bananas, mini cars, mini trucks, mini cups of chai, mini rickshaws, mini markets.... If you smoke cigarettes, you have the option of buying them one at a time. Same goes for band-aids (of which we bought five). Mini wrists for most Indian women meant that I had to request to see the "large" bangle bracelets when I purchased some (for 50 rupees, or one mini-American dollar). I regularly see ponies, but no actual horse-sized horses. At band practice, mini-Martin is making some great big sounds. Hot water for showers comes in mini-doses, about which I wrote a mini-song (and if I can get my mini-video camera to work, I'll post it for you). In recent months, a recurring theme in my life seems to have been that good things come in small packages, and I find it continuously the case here in India.
To do that non-witty honest thing, I feel it only right that I post some initial confessions (beginning with the hope that you're still finding this cleverly amusing). First, I like that every band-practice ends with Tim and I strumming aimlessly on our guitars, while Liz inevitably ends up planning or budgeting for our future travels (here, for our return to the States, and for our next trip to India. And I might as well confess that I'm already planning my second trip to continue studying with Ajay next summer...but I digress). I love that we have 9 covers and 5 originals--some of which we've never actually attempted to play or create/memorize lyrics for. I admit that I like going to bed at 830pm and waking up at 4am, and now officially consider myself a morning person. I like that I make my coffee in a rusty old tin with a strainer and tongs, and hope to continue doing so when I return to the States. I like that I'm coexisting peacefully with bugs, that my toothpaste is brown, and that I sleep on a 2" thick, hard-as-shit mattress. I like that my feet are perpetually dirty, that I buy milk in baggies, and that it only stays good for 2 days. I love that I went out for lunch today and ended up eating with five friends in a stranger's bedroom. I admit that the first time I rinsed my toothbrush with sink water instead of bottled I was terrified, and that I had the same scare when I once stood in the shower, water hitting my face, and realized my mouth was open. I confess to rarely knowing how many days it's been between showers even though I sweat profusely during each yoga practice (and most other times of day). I confess that I sometimes cannot tell the difference between the smell of incense or trash burning, though they are both now oddly comforting and familiar. I've found that doing nothing (literally) comes extraordinarily easy to me, and I've no desire to change it. I admit that leaving grad school was one of the best decisions I've ever made. I admit confess to being highly aroused during my Aryuvedic massage yesterday, and while I won't go into detail here (though it does involve a loin cloth and being drenched in hot oils), let's just say that what those women did to me would NOT be legal in the US. I also admit that in a pinch, I no longer mind the hose or bucket when I have to use the bathroom. I love that I can have the most intensely peaceful meditation and/or yoga practice with dogs barking, election trucks passing, rickshaws and scooters zooming, horns honking, neighbors conversing, and radios, fans, and construction blaring in the background. I admit that I rather like not having air conditioning.
Aside from coconuts, yoga, befri's, and everything else, my favorite thing about India is the color. My God, the color! It's the most colorful place I've ever seen--puts that 64-box of Crayola's to shame. The buildings (new, old, abandoned or dilapidated) change from one to the next; no boring, sleek, or cookie-cutter repetition as is often found in the States. So it's a little dirty...it's also brilliant, vibrant, and full of character. Women adorned in sari's and jewels, strands of jasmin flowers in their hair--it's as if their tailors were born from rainbows. Markets of fruits, dyes, fabrics, vegetables and random goods...it's heaven for my eyeballs everywhere I turn. I can't stop myself from taking pictures. I want to post some, but my mini-internet connection is taking time with the video, so they may have to wait.
I'm trying to figure out how to update you on my yoga practice, but the enormity of it all is hard to describe. I'm just...in it. Deeply, gratefully, amazingly, in it. Learning to ease through the struggle, I'm prouder of myself than I've ever been. My endurance and will are strong, my mind and muscles are fierce. I had no idea I could ever be pushed--more accurately, guided--to this place. I am eternally grateful to Ajay for calling me out on every weakness, and not allowing me to hide (from him or myself). Whether he is standing on my back, pressing my chest towards the floor, guiding me through drop backs/lifting out of backbends, stretching my legs and hamstrings further than I ever thought they were meant to go...he always reminds me that it is my body--not his adjustments--that are getting me to these places. He tells me when I do a good job, and tells me where I need work. He reminds me to relax. His adjustments are harsh, but his smile and soul are kind and compassionate. In trusting him, I am learning to better trust myself. The power of my mind and spirit is taking me to places I've never been, and I am...wow...just blissfully speechless. (So yeah, yoga is good. Really, really, good.)
And PS....I'll get some pics and my mini-song up for you soon. For now the mini-Indian-internet connection runs too slow, and I've lost everything I tried to post. I'm gonna save myself the mini-frustration and get outta here for now. Until then, sending peace, love and beautiful things always. And laughter, always laughter.
With the exception of my yoga practice (which is large and life-changingly transformative ), I love that everything here is mini-sized. Mini spoons, mini bananas, mini cars, mini trucks, mini cups of chai, mini rickshaws, mini markets.... If you smoke cigarettes, you have the option of buying them one at a time. Same goes for band-aids (of which we bought five). Mini wrists for most Indian women meant that I had to request to see the "large" bangle bracelets when I purchased some (for 50 rupees, or one mini-American dollar). I regularly see ponies, but no actual horse-sized horses. At band practice, mini-Martin is making some great big sounds. Hot water for showers comes in mini-doses, about which I wrote a mini-song (and if I can get my mini-video camera to work, I'll post it for you). In recent months, a recurring theme in my life seems to have been that good things come in small packages, and I find it continuously the case here in India.
To do that non-witty honest thing, I feel it only right that I post some initial confessions (beginning with the hope that you're still finding this cleverly amusing). First, I like that every band-practice ends with Tim and I strumming aimlessly on our guitars, while Liz inevitably ends up planning or budgeting for our future travels (here, for our return to the States, and for our next trip to India. And I might as well confess that I'm already planning my second trip to continue studying with Ajay next summer...but I digress). I love that we have 9 covers and 5 originals--some of which we've never actually attempted to play or create/memorize lyrics for. I admit that I like going to bed at 830pm and waking up at 4am, and now officially consider myself a morning person. I like that I make my coffee in a rusty old tin with a strainer and tongs, and hope to continue doing so when I return to the States. I like that I'm coexisting peacefully with bugs, that my toothpaste is brown, and that I sleep on a 2" thick, hard-as-shit mattress. I like that my feet are perpetually dirty, that I buy milk in baggies, and that it only stays good for 2 days. I love that I went out for lunch today and ended up eating with five friends in a stranger's bedroom. I admit that the first time I rinsed my toothbrush with sink water instead of bottled I was terrified, and that I had the same scare when I once stood in the shower, water hitting my face, and realized my mouth was open. I confess to rarely knowing how many days it's been between showers even though I sweat profusely during each yoga practice (and most other times of day). I confess that I sometimes cannot tell the difference between the smell of incense or trash burning, though they are both now oddly comforting and familiar. I've found that doing nothing (literally) comes extraordinarily easy to me, and I've no desire to change it. I admit that leaving grad school was one of the best decisions I've ever made. I admit confess to being highly aroused during my Aryuvedic massage yesterday, and while I won't go into detail here (though it does involve a loin cloth and being drenched in hot oils), let's just say that what those women did to me would NOT be legal in the US. I also admit that in a pinch, I no longer mind the hose or bucket when I have to use the bathroom. I love that I can have the most intensely peaceful meditation and/or yoga practice with dogs barking, election trucks passing, rickshaws and scooters zooming, horns honking, neighbors conversing, and radios, fans, and construction blaring in the background. I admit that I rather like not having air conditioning.
Aside from coconuts, yoga, befri's, and everything else, my favorite thing about India is the color. My God, the color! It's the most colorful place I've ever seen--puts that 64-box of Crayola's to shame. The buildings (new, old, abandoned or dilapidated) change from one to the next; no boring, sleek, or cookie-cutter repetition as is often found in the States. So it's a little dirty...it's also brilliant, vibrant, and full of character. Women adorned in sari's and jewels, strands of jasmin flowers in their hair--it's as if their tailors were born from rainbows. Markets of fruits, dyes, fabrics, vegetables and random goods...it's heaven for my eyeballs everywhere I turn. I can't stop myself from taking pictures. I want to post some, but my mini-internet connection is taking time with the video, so they may have to wait.
I'm trying to figure out how to update you on my yoga practice, but the enormity of it all is hard to describe. I'm just...in it. Deeply, gratefully, amazingly, in it. Learning to ease through the struggle, I'm prouder of myself than I've ever been. My endurance and will are strong, my mind and muscles are fierce. I had no idea I could ever be pushed--more accurately, guided--to this place. I am eternally grateful to Ajay for calling me out on every weakness, and not allowing me to hide (from him or myself). Whether he is standing on my back, pressing my chest towards the floor, guiding me through drop backs/lifting out of backbends, stretching my legs and hamstrings further than I ever thought they were meant to go...he always reminds me that it is my body--not his adjustments--that are getting me to these places. He tells me when I do a good job, and tells me where I need work. He reminds me to relax. His adjustments are harsh, but his smile and soul are kind and compassionate. In trusting him, I am learning to better trust myself. The power of my mind and spirit is taking me to places I've never been, and I am...wow...just blissfully speechless. (So yeah, yoga is good. Really, really, good.)
And PS....I'll get some pics and my mini-song up for you soon. For now the mini-Indian-internet connection runs too slow, and I've lost everything I tried to post. I'm gonna save myself the mini-frustration and get outta here for now. Until then, sending peace, love and beautiful things always. And laughter, always laughter.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Band practice and coconuts
Coconuts. So far the coconut stand is one of my favorite things. For ten rupees, they cut the top off of a coconut and give you it with a straw to drink the juice (though its more fun without the straw). When you're done, the coconut man cuts it open and peels the fruit flesh for you to eat. So simple, so perfect.
Getting here. If you're ever in Heathrow Airport in London and find yourself moved by the beauty of airport architecture, don't photograph it. I was enamored by the metal and windows and giant claws that held up the extravagant "international wing"...these things cleverly designed that somehow made me feel as if I was larger than the planes outside. I was only 3 pics in when I was caught on the surveillance camera and bombarded by security. Turns out, "pretty" is the new "terrorist threat."
Cows, rickshaws, and scooters. These also share the road with horses, goats, buses, bikers, walkers, and whoever else dares to enter the streets. The only rule drivers are asked to follow is on the occasional sign that says, "Follow Lane Discipline." This rule is entirely subjective and open to several variations of interpretation. I've come to read it as "trust in your driver, and try not to die." So far, so good.
Coffee and chai. What can I say? Starbucks be damned. The best stuff you'll ever try is right here. And in my apartment, nonetheless. This city has the best food you'll ever eat. There's a chocolate man on the corner who puts Godiva to shame...he also makes coconut cookies that melt in your mouth. The breakfast at Santosha has the world's best baker, and my dinners and lunches have been among the most delicious I've ever eaten. There was no such thing as "curry" until I got here. Liz was right. It is possible to eat your way through India. Oh, and did I mention the fruit? Mangos, papayas and bananas, oh my! And of course, the coconut. God bless the coconuts.
Sun and rain. It is possible to walk, scooter, dance, and rickshaw through both of these. Rooftop dancing and scooter-ride downpours (3 to a scooter of course) are absolute musts here. Yes it's hot as hell. No, I don't care, because I love it that much. My skirts are airy and heart is happy. I've fallen asleep to the rain a few times. It's like heaven. But that's in part due to my befri...we are sharing the best bachelor pad that's ever existed. Roofs, balconies, fabulous colors, and a two-foot Ganesh incense holder adorn our world. All around perfection.
Band practice! Aside from yoga, Liz and coconuts, this is my other favorite thing. Each day for at least three hours, Tim and I play our guitars while Natalie and Liz sing, and Liz makes us chai (she's currently on a "quest for the perfect chai," which might end up being the name of our band). We've also acquired an occasional beatboxer (Hamaan), a potential harmonica player (Lee) and incredibly talented triangle lead (Simone). Eventually, Liz will find a cowbell to complete the set up. I fuckin' love this place.
Befri's and yoga. I mean, do I really have to say much about either of these? You can check my last post to get a feel for my yoga practice (truthfully it's a little intense to talk about at the moment so I'm gonna wait before posting more). But Liz. Wow. It's just...right. In that perfect kind of way. Our place, our practice, our hearts, this journey...life for us is exactly as happy as it can be. She's saved my life more than once, and I've returned the favor several times. This time though, we get to just be--no saving needed. One of the most incredible gifts I've ever gotten is this time with her. Bucket laundry, apartment dancing, quiet night talks and hugs, coffee on the balcony, muesli and fruit breakfasts. Love you girl. Thank you for my life.
To the rest of you......I'll see you soon. Until then, find yourself a coconut and a band. And maybe a hug. Everybody loves hugs.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Connectedness
It was day 3 that I began my practice. I grabbed Ajay's leg (the teacher I was meant to find here) as he told me to exhale. My back twisted farther, and I felt my ribs and spine lengthen. I gave in. Trust...breathe...trust...breathe...
Ashtanga scares me. The twists, binds, vigor, flow and breath make my body shake and constrict my breath. In this practice, I am weak, vulnerable, anxious. The more I fight it, the more I know it is this that I must practice... for it is here that I also become powerful and serene. Give in, Rebecca. Trust. Let go. You don't have to hold your breath, just send it somewhere else. As I dance with my flow, my eyes swell with tears. My body heated, dripping with sweat that stings my eyes, he comes back for another adjustment. I smile and relax. I just reached a place I'd never gone. My body is strong and healthy. My spirit is vibrant. In this small, unexpected shala, I have found my new teacher and new home. This is not the shala I expected to come study in. Liz and I opted to study with Ajay after meeting him instead of attending the original Ashtanga Institute. Something told me it was right. Though I fight this practice and routine, though my fears and anxieties rear their head and raise their voice, I am finding strength by giving in. When each day is said and done, I leave drenched, exhausted--and more excited than ever to return tomorrow.
Hours after my arrival in Mysore, Liz and I learned that Gurugi (Pattabhi Jois, founder of Ashtanga and the Institute) had passed. We had already decided to switch our practice to Ajay's, but the rest of this post will be dedicated to Guruji (and indirectly, to my friends, family, fellow yogis, teachers, students...).
We walked into the shala, the Guruji's lifeless body on the floor. Surrounded by family and friends, this Brahman was here so that we could honor him. By the dozens, members of the community and yogi's from around the world came to bow to him and cover him with flowers and offerrings of peace and thanks. In those moments, the tears in my eyes swelled not through sadness, but through gratitude. A momentary pause of whether or not I was worthy of participating in this moment passed as the my feeling of connection to him and my yogi family grew. This body, this shell before me once housed the great spirit and mind that passed on the teachings and peace that transformed my life. He brought us this practice, this struggle, this love. Through yoga, I came to know and love myself. I began to see myself--body, mind and spirit--as strong and capable. I honor him for his gift he has given to my teachers, who passed it to me. He made this world better, safer, more loving. To share this space with him, his family and community, I remembered the way in which we are all connected on this earth...and I grew thankful. I found solice in my best friend at my side, and thanks to Guruji for bringing us here together to heal and grow and climb and search...and laugh and love.
Here in India, in those first three days, I found a new home, my best friend, a new family and circle of friends. I found, so quickly, that love does not care about time or length of care. It is just here--so we should take it. We all share this life, potential for peace, happiness, and connections. This world--full of love and beauty--is possible because we all exist in it; every breath and moment contains it, we just have to remember to grab it and feel it. What we do, how we live, and what we extend to others matters. We can never know how far our actions and behaviors reach beyond us, but they always will. Go forth with the awareness that you matter. Your life and smile is meaningful and necessary in this world. It means everything to me. Be kind. Spread peace. Honor your connection with each other and this earth.
Namaste, Guruji.
"Lokah samastah sukino bavantu."
(May all beings everywhere be happy and free."
Friday, May 15, 2009
Holy shitballs!
In recent years, I find myself saying more and more goodbyes to people I’ve come to adore and cherish so very much. But depending on how you look at it, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Do you know how many amazing people I have to say goodbye—and thus, hello!—to? The glass is overflowingly full, my loves.
For those of you I haven’t spoken to in a while, turns out I’m not cut out to be a Sociologist (although here’s a shout out to my magnificent friends who are!). Instead, I’ve decided to embark on the journey less traveled…(which is basically a more eloquent way of stating that I have no idea of what I'm going to do, but I'm excited just the same). Apparently, this journey is also meant to start in
So then.... from my newest nearests and dearests in CT to my dad and brother in NY, from my extraordinary Jax Beach crew to my old USF buddies, from my indescribably dynamic mom n’ P to the insanely loud and funny Rosenbaum/Four/Falk collective, from old high school friends to the one who is my most recent unexpected happy....
I can’t wait to see you again! And until I do, you can find details about my travels, including pics, videos, virtual love, ramblings and other goodies here.
From across the universe, with much love and peace always,
The girl with kaleidoscope I’s :)
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Silly humans
I've tried to fake it, but am hardly stoic.
If I pretended it wasn't happening,
I'd miss the best part!
Silly humans. Questioning smiles.
Isn't this what we live for?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Sexy Sadie, what have you done?
There hasn’t been much to say lately, so I’ve been on blog-hiatus, assuming you’d rather wait to read about something fun, political, or intellectual, instead of hearing me blabber on about the minutia of my daily life. But today I couldn’t resist. So if the exciting or profound is what you’re looking for, stop reading now—this post contains none of it. I’m just writing for no particular reason at all. Well, unless “I have some time” counts as a reason.
After watching the UConn Women’s Basketball team take the NCAA tournament last night, (Go Huskies! Woof!), I was up far too late, drinking too much beer and having too much fun. (What a fucked-up phrase, “too much fun,” as if that’s possible.) This of course left me groggy-eyed and hazy-brained this morning as I got ready for my early-mornin’ yoga class. You ever get that tired-delirium sensation that leaves you somewhat out of it, but in a fun, stoned-feeling kind of way? That’s how I felt this morning—and for what it’s worth, it made for a fab yoga practice. All in all though—a pretty normal morning. Well kind of. There are some major details that I’m going to spare you, not one of which is: I think I got my period. And the only reason that is strange is because it’s been about three or four months since I’ve had it. Whatever, it was bound to happen again sometime, so no biggie. In with the cotton-rocket, and out the door to start my day.
Aside from the sleepy, I was off to a good morning, starting with a great yoga practice. After yoga I had some time to kill before school, so I stopped at Starbucks for a cup of coffee. I also caught up on some work, did some people watching and conversation-eavesdropping, and then left for my theory class. Well, I tried to leave for class, but Sadie (my car) decided she wasn’t havin’ it. A turn of the key led to a chug-chug-bounce-clop-blehhhhh…and within moments, she’d had enough. No more starting for Sadie. Bye-bye Sadie.
Within forty minutes or so, AAA came out to tow me to Tony’s Garage, a place I’ve come to frequent every few weeks, so they’ve kind of become like family. Picture good ol’ Italian boys with the likes of Journey and
So feeling like a total douche, I thanked Paulo and headed to Tony’s anyway, just to have ‘em take a look. Joking around with my guys—as usual, I received a warm and happy welcome—I looked out the window: It’s fucking snowing. Snowing! Yep. Meanwhile, my guys, seemingly unphased by the snow, tell me they need about a half hour or so before they can look at Sadie, so I decide to take off for the grocery store to save myself time later in the afternoon. Sadie starts again (go girl!), and I head to the Big Y, eventually pulling into the parking lot where I realize I don’t have my wallet (in my pants from last night, damnit! And go huskies!). I pause to laugh at myself and notice it is now suddenly sunny. Clear blue sky. Weird. But whatever, I’ll trade a missing wallet for sunshine any day. Plus, I figure by now I’ve wasted enough time, and can head back to Tony’s. So I put my sunglasses on and dip out.
On the way back, I’m still slightly puzzled by Sadie’s newest idiosyncrasy and the surrealness that is becoming my day—and I realize it’s awfully quiet. I go to turn up the stereo, and…. Yep, you guessed it. Nothing. Bye-bye stereo. No radio, no Ipod connection, no CD, no-whatever-the-hell-that-auxiliary-setting-is-for. I pressed all the buttons at least one hundred times, and nothing. Eh, whatever. A peaceful drive never hurt anyone. And at least it’s not snowing anymore (though the blue sky has now turned back to gray).
Now I’m back at the shop, planning to be camped out for a couple of hours—at least I have some food and the work I need to catch up on. I go to grab my lunch in my backpack…. Right. Of course. Lunch is sitting at home on my kitchen counter. Okay, some gum then? Nah, finished that yesterday. But I have water. Water is good. Everyone loves water. And I do have the stuff I need to get some work done (though I ended up writing this blog instead). A full Nalgene bottle of water later, and still in a sleepy-delirium state—which seems to be intensifying as the day goes on (that, or maybe someone slipped acid in my coffee earlier?)—I get up to pee. Turns out, my period has magically stopped. Maybe it will be back later. Maybe not. Maybe my car will start or maybe it won’t. Maybe my radio will play. Maybe it will rain. Maybe I should have asked if Tony’s takes checks. Maybe I will win the lottery.
There is no moral to this story, only pointless babbling about the oddities of this particular five hours of my life (that’s right, it’s not even 1:30 yet). I guess sometimes, when there is absolutely nothing to say and nothing of actual interest to write, there’s not much one can do but tell about life exactly as it happens. In this instance, this includes: I’m hungry and could use a shower. My face is kinda dry and splotchy on the left side and I’m not quite sure why. I wonder what my cats are doing and whether my friends know that I miss them. I wonder how many years until my hands get wrinkly. I wonder if people laugh at themselves the way I laugh at myself, and wonder if I’m really as funny as I think I am. I wonder if Elijah would care that I often celebrate Passover with margaritas. I wonder why sometimes it’s easy to feel like you’re on drugs, even though you don’t really do them much anymore.
Insignificant moments can be pretty fuckin’ funny when you look at them right. It’s now almost 1:30 in the afternoon, and there’s no telling what the rest of this day will bring (though a finished Quant paper would be nice). So far I’ve had a period, a dead car, seen snow, been laughed at by a tow-truck man, practiced yoga, felt the sunshine on my face, lost a stereo, misplaced a wallet, written part of a paper, missed a class, hung out in a mechanic’s shop, a coffee shop, and two parking lots. So wherever you go, go with a sense of humor. Shrug your shoulders and give in to life. You can’t possibly know what’s coming, so just go with the day and laugh at the sun. Or, in some cases, the snow. And when in doubt, be happy. Like Jerry said, sometimes there’s “Nothin’ left to do but smile, smile, smile.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)