December 31, 2007

it's been a long time, i know. creatively, the invisible line has been crossed, between what can still be captured in words, and what has seeped, disolved or run for cover to my more silent library of personal experiences. only the right combination of wine or company or stirring energies reopens those chapters, each still continuing in their own way, which is also my way, because i created them.

but even then, after some time, the words i give to the thing become a layer between the story and the experience itself. perhaps one of my weaknesses as a writer is that i need things to be fresh, alive, literally pulsing through me at the moment of composition, in order to find the words to bring my world inside, into the world outside.

so some stories will remain with me, for now.

but i did want to check in, because it is the last day of 2007. and it has been no small year for me.

despite the turbulence and unresolved emotions of the recent past, i cannot remember ever feeling as content as i do now. it's not that i have shed my skin, but rather that i have found a way to wear it that suits me quite well.

i am, maybe for the first time, all of me. not just one part that is happy, or another part that is sad. but all of me, in entirety, at the same time.

and here's the revolution: i like me. i like me just fine.

and actually, i like everyone.

and when people ask me, “how are you?”, i have begun to respond with a new combination of words for me:

“i feel perfect.”

it cracks me up when i think about it. i do feel perfect.

i have enough love in me for everything that comes my way, and this love, increasingly, is making my road very smooth.

and as I enter 2008, i could ask for nothing more.

taken on December 31, 2007

Trail Through Nepal

Kathmandu

Kathmandu Valley

Baktapur

Nagarkot

Bhote Kosi River Camp (16km from Tibet border)

Pokhara

Sarangkot

Kopan Monastery

beyond words

i regret never posting after Kopan. i am writing this now 10 months later, but will slip it into this place on the blog, the place where the most transformative experience of my life should have been given expression.

i did write a few emails in the weeks after I left the monastery. so that all is not silence, i will paste a few quotes here.

and i will just say this... everything i wrote then is still true. and the transformations I underwent as a result of what I learned at Kopan, remain the most positive turning point of my adult life.

~

"I can say that Kopan is the best thing I have ever done in my life. finally to feel something real, something really real. friend... it's beyond words. I stayed there for five weeks, and then it was time. A few days ago I left my new spiritual home, and headed out into the world to be tested, and also to test what I have learned..."

~

"I have been trying to observe my mind as I normalize after the safety and seclusion of the monastery. it's quite remarkable the mental hecticness i let myself live with, and how much energy my mind burns on things it cannot control, or change. how much energy is put into desire or fear, and not even with a constructive outcome. my brain spends so little of its time on truly constructive things, and almost no time getting in touch with its spiritual foundations. so, i would like to gently help these things to change..."

~

"kopan was a revelation and a journey, and in terms of just plain natural beauty, beyond words. i was grateful for every day i woke up there, and felt so deeply nourished by the experience as a whole. even though, there were some difficult moments, and confronting ones too..."

~

"i have decided to continue traveling for now, to continue studying eastern philosophy... i know in some ways things are still just beginning. i open up more every day, and experience many beautiful and healing moments..."

~

"i have come back into myself, and am regaining that strong core. the person whose life i can benefit most right now is my own, and it's time for me to really do that..."

entering kopan (bye for now)

when i am done with this post, i'll pick up my bags from Hotel Thamel and get into a cab to Kopan Monastery. i'll be entering the this Tibetan spiritual headquarters for the annual one month Lam Rim course, which covers the central text outlining the path to enlightenment in the Mahayana tradition.

it is going to be a challenging month. the day starts at dawn and ends after dark. we meditate and receive teachings all day, and keep partial silence. there isn't a day off in the month, and we are not supposed to read or listen to anything that is not related to the practice.

i have been waiting for today for exactly one year. i know i will be confronted with many things in the coming weeks. frustration. boredom. sadness. fear. an overwhelming desire to give up.

what i look forward to, is finding out what happens if i just sit through all those feelings. what is on the other side of them? can they be subdued? what are the rewards? what does that mean for my life? when i watch my mind in action and don't respond, what do i see? is this the mind i want? can i do anything about it? is it worth trying? what else is there inside me? what is there inside all of us? why do we suffer? why is happiness so fragile?

there's more. but then, there's always more.

i feel very good. the last days have been wonderful, and i feel i have arrived at today with the wind at my back. i am ready for silence. i am ready for learning. i have no expectations for outcome. i am just grateful, to myself and the universe, for giving me this opportunity.

i'll be offline for at least a month now, but am planning to keep a journal. i haven't kept a journal before, so i don't know if it will come naturally. but if it does, i'll post some excerpts later.

there will be plenty of dedications of practice in there, and those of you closest to my heart will have some very specific prayers sent your way.

simultaneously, deeply, and as a whole, my practice will always be dedicated to the benefit of all living beings. that they be happy, and free from suffering.

my idealism finally has a home. happy day.

time to go. peace out, peeps. i'll see you on the other side.

lady of the house

there's this cute dog at the Little Tibetan Guesthouse, where i am staying. Poogsu. she's the only clean-smelling non-mangy dog for about 100 miles. which is impressive, considering she exists so close to the ground.

i have been told, repeatedly, that i shouldn't call her "girl," because she's a boy. but she's got something of a french woman in her, i tell the staff. look at the glistening white hair, hanging all silky down her elegant back. look at those auburn ears. i lay my head on hers... look! same color hair!

the tibetan waiter is wishing i would just order another pot of masala tea, and stop talking crap he can't understand again.

he leaves. poogsu, my pretty doggy friend, stays. she loves my love.

for about another three minutes.

then she gets bored with me, and makes this big show of not needing me anymore, sitting up, looking around for the next best thing. then, swinging her hips out at generous angles (you want to tell me that is a boy?), she raises her pom-pom tail to the sky, and strolls away like a fluffy katherine hepburn showing me her asshole.

Poogsu really looked a little like this.

a happier leaf

Pokhara

Shiva has been loitering around my table lately. a waiter at Tea Time for a few years now, i befriended him last year during my long breakfasts and lunches on his terrace.

over the past week he has become increasingly sweet, and increasingly unsure. i do not want to encourage whatever fantasy is developing in his mind, and wish to erase whatever might be going on (not so uncommon between the more naive locals and innocently friendly tourists); but i also do not want to unnecessarily detract from the friendship that had developed.

when i walk in this morning at 9.30, Shiva is particularly adoring. he waves his finger at my clothes. "you looks very nice," he says, wobbling his head from side to side. i actually look terrible. i haven't slept much. my pants are baggy. my hoodie is sitting weirdly. and my scarf matches nothing. everything is in laundry. "thanks Shiva."

"what you do today?" (ths is always, without fail, the first question.)
"i'm finishing up today. i leave tomorrow."
"leave?"
"yes. kathmandu."
"tomorrow?"
"yep."
his faces contorts a bit. something that happens when his brain is under strain. i pretend not to notice. a few seconds pass.
"when back to pokhara?"
"i don't know. maybe in one month after kopan, to see lama yeshe. maybe not. i don't know."
he looks worried now, brows furrowed. i am starting to feel bad. disappointment, i have always felt, is the worst of all emotions. it lingers. it ruins things.
still, i don't have the heart to change the topic or crack a joke. better to just break off the conversation. how did this happen anyway? when did he become so earnest? does he really think that... ?

i pour myself some hot lemon ginger from the pot he has brought me, pick up my book, and give him one of those, "okay then..." nods. "okay," he says, understanding.

i try to find my sentence on the page. he leans away half a step, sways back, wavers, sways forward. i can see his feet in my peripheral vision. please shiva. suddenly, he turns sharply on his heal. he is towering over me.

"you are a good friend," he says. "you are my best friend."
he is looking straight into my eyes. he is, with the victory of fear overcome, smiling a big, honest smile. then, "okay," he says, and is gone.

that was all he wanted to say. humbled, touched, and wishing i had said something in return, i kind of stare into space for a while.

david gray is playing in the background, as usual. i have avoided this music all year. and now i start my day with it almost every morning. i have tried, passively, to reclaim it as a soundtrack to new days. still, its melodies never fail to lay memories at my feet. in my tea cup. sending remembered sensations into my fingers, my back.

shiva's sincere gesture has somehow softened me up, and the music pours into me. i feel happy, but my buoyancy is full of nostalgia. i know this will be my day now. nostalgia. i will remain sensitive to my surroundings, but with an open and grateful heart.

it was only a small prod, from Shiva. fairly insignificant, really. but it shows me that i am still blowing around in the breeze, albeit now a happier leaf. for most of the year, i have been completely susceptible to my environment. feigning consistency, but really knocked about in a constant storm of events and conversations and moments, each of which have direct access to my emotions, no matter how pedestrian (a butcher barking at me for being indecisive, a crying child's wet fingers, a sunset i need obscured by clouds).

now, increasingly, i wake up feeling a certain way, and remain that way all day. i feel funnier, cheekier, more open in my chest, and somewhere in there, unafraid. my mood is good, and it remains that way. events desirable, or less so, are simply swallowed into my vibe, instead of my vibe being swallowed by events.

my trip did not started like this, to be honest. i was feigning consistency for a while there, among the palm trees. but in the past days, i have noticed this buoyancy. it feels vaguely familiar, from a time long ago.

"Ilana?" I hadn't seen him approach.
"Hey Shiva."
"Today i have time after 11. Maybe we spend time?"
Now it is my mind that is straining.
"No Shiva, I am sorry. Last day. Very busy."
"No time?"
"No."
"And after 10? After work finis?"
"I am sorry Shiva. I will be with friends. I am sorry."

i'm really not sure where this is going anymore, but i wish it would get there. surely this doesn't need to be dramatic. plus, David Gray is still playing. this isn't the replacement soundtrack I was imagining.

"Shiva..."
"Yes."
"You are a good friend, too. you are a very good friend. but just friend, okay? just friend."
He looks worried again. then insecure. then busted. then just normal.
"Yes yes, okay. No problem."
"Okay," i say with finality.
"Okay."

I give him a warm, reassuring smile. I pick up my book. Shiva walks away. A few minutes pass.

"Ilana?"
"Yes"
"After you finis Kopan, maybe we go trekking?"

this is why i love nepal

a traveler's hamlet

Phokara

i. his ego burns on these dark nights. it burns like trash heaps in India on tuesdays. it burns like flags and bibles and bras throughout the history of passionate politics. his ego drips like wax, messy and uneven, smothering his attempts at un-selfconscious conversation. his waxy ego gathers in pale puddles, tries to harden into resolve, but despite the coldness of his world remains feverish and malleable.

ii. his personality has become synthetic. in equal parts pretty and pointless. he wraps himself in yak-wool blankets and sits on his porch at night. thick volumes of literature lie before him, and he turns their pages. no redemption here. maybe in the next chapter. maybe tonight. maybe next week, all will be revealed.

iii. he set out to become found to himself. it's been a year. it's been 16 months. and now, more lost than ever, he disintegrates before his own eyes. he tries to catch the sands of what he used to believe in as they trickle, insubstantial, into passing time; happy to be free of him, and of his need for love, which blocks all other progress, and which will not, ever, die.

too much to ask, apparently

Borderlands, 16 km from the Tibetan border

so this morning, kim and i hear that 23 people are arriving at camp for the night. although we never discussed it we look at each other and agree: men.

to avoid each other's thoughts we open our books, clever ruse, and fall silent as our imaginations go to work: how quiet do you have to be in a safari tent? do i need more candles? do any of my clothes not stink? maybe we don't sleep at all, and christen patch after patch of grass along the bhote kosi river?

three hours later there is dust in the distance. crumbling gravel. engines. blaring nepali music. they're here.

and one by one they appear. 22 dutch women. and one man. very friendly looking. about 54.

okay, okay. i hear you. no expectations. i carry myself to the river, squat down on my heels nepali style, and laugh at it all. the river laughs too. the mountain smiles. even the guy taking a shit in plain view on the other side seems to shrug his shoulders and smirk empathetically.

between rafting tivers and scaling canyons, we chill at the Borderlands camp site

nature of my mind

There is nothing i want that doesn't change when i get there.

nature of the mind i want

"The resting place of the mind is the heart. The only thing the mind hears all day is clanging bells and noise and argument, and all it wants is quietude. The only place the mind will ever find peace is in the heart. That's where you need to go." - Buddhist Monk

dreaming

if i ever write a book, i want the dedication to say:

this is for [name], without whom my stories would be a lot sadder

the distance between two rivers

Borderlands, 16 km from the Tibetan border

my thoughts found me again as i sat at our camp site overlooking the Bhote Kosi river. again, it is the rushing river that does it to me. and am i any closer to understanding myself now? it is one year, almost exactly, since the Parvati river undid me on a sunny afternoon just like this one in Kasol. so how do i measure the distance between two rivers? i think about it, i look for words, i shuffle through feelings. but nothing forms. i don't know the answer.

but also, i don't make one up. that is different. and i don't make myself any lofty promises. that is different too. and no hopes, for once, for the first time in two years, rise. it is just me, accepting my questions, sitting in the mountains at this rushing white river. alone.

but not. because there is one thing i know now that i didn't before; there is one thing that this past year and the road and the yoga and the mediation have been whispering to me in deep chorus; that despite my loneliness, despite my fears of ageing and death, and despite my palpable sense of being to myself failure; that i will never, ever, ever be alone.

the bhote kosi river from above

rafting the bhote kosi

big hearts in nepal

Kathmandu

after doing stints of literacy work with kids in new york and melbourne for years, i was surprises and heartened to find nepali orphans, who in many ways have the smallest fighting chance to overcome their circumstances, to be the most optimistic, the most pro-active and the most spirited of the 'disadvantaged kids' i have encountered.

this came about when a random street conversation with a nepali man who wanted to replicate my necklace turned into milk tea and a discusion about the work his brother, Jafar, and another friend, Sarin, were doing to help orphans and the elderly in nepal.

a phone call later and Jafar was there, a beaming kindness emanating from his every gesture, a humility, and also a cautionary assessment of my interest. he is wary of do-good tourists wanting to satiate a well-intentioned but superficial desire to 'touch' local orphans in a two hour drive-through.

more tea. Jafar and Sarin run a foundation called Shed the Light, which is funded by an Australian woman using profits from her Op-Shop in Queensland. she had heard of Sarin's work - since high school he dedicated himself to housing, educating and warming the hearts of orphans throughout nepal - and asked him to chair her foundation in Nepal.

sarin with the oldest and the youngest of the kids in the orphanage

the next day i was in a beaten up taxi with Sarin on our way to Kiran Punj, where 21 orphans between the ages of 5 and 16 are nurtured daily by another beaming Nepali soul called Paul, and his wife.

the kids were incredibly polite, even masking their giggles and whispers in their best attempt at good behaviour. one by one we shared our names, our backgrounds, and i asked each of them to tell me about their dreams. they all had one... and not the 'i want to be superman' kind. they wanted to be paediatricians, math teachers, nurses, and they wanted to travel to australia, to new zealand, to italy. they wanted to learn computers, and to read books. they wanted to give support to other children and elderly in need.

i'd brought them new notebooks, which they loved in part because the back was covered in a big nepali flag. one girl who wanted to be an artist got a new pack of colored pencils, and a few others who were interested in photography got a crash course with my point-and-shoot and then had free reign to practise on each other. most of the pictures in this post are theirs.

when discussing sports they wanted to know what i liked. those of you who know me know the answer: nothing. unless these kids ever heard of a gym. but how do i explain that? will these boys be impressed if i say... "yoga"? so i did something i really shouldn't have done... i lied... in the name of setting a good example. i said, "well, i like running."

god, how i hate running. i have avoided it all my life. a run to catch a bus leaves me aggravated for hours. why this is the first thing to come out of my mouth, i will never know. except the next thing that happens is that sarin says... "great! let's have a race!"

squeals. before i could bend my mind into an escape strategy, the kids were running all over each other to put on their shoes (all placed neatly on shelves in the corridor), coax me out of my chair (where i sat in mild, painful disbelief), and lead me to an open field outside.


wow. how i fell in love with that field. huge and wide open, the healthiest of playgrounds, giving a sense of freedom and possibility to the locals of this nepali neighbourhood. finally, i was the only tourist for miles. everywhere were kids and kites and bamboo swings and a cow or two.


yeah, we raced. and i would have come only fourth-to-last if it wasn't for a technicality going around the human beacon - sarin - at the half-way point. i swear. and then they raced again; i was the beacon this time, and the next.

more photos. more fooling around. slowly we were becoming friends. some kids remained distant, of course. others let their questions surface, let themselves enjoy the company of a stranger. even let themselves hope out loud that i would be back.

and would i? as the sun began to set, sarin said he had better get me back to Thamel, where tourists belong. as we walked away, he told me that i was the first tourist he had ever brought there. and i wondered, will he regret it? am i that superficial do-gooder tourist who just checked a box on her travel itinerary? will i make time to go back and teach them how to take photos without a flash?

when i got back to Thamel i opened my notebook to where the kids had been scribbling. there, in beautiful neat handwriting, was a note from the kid who, if i were allowed to have favorites, would habe been the one. it said:

My name is Phebika. It was nice to meet you. Please don't forget me, O.K?

Your loving friend,
Phebika

Phebika

you cannot see your reflection in running water. - zen master

a postcard

Kathamdu

earlier this evening, i went to a tall rooftop cafe called Helena's, where i loved to sit last year. the sun was setting and all the mountains around kathmandu became pink and purple silhouettes overlapping each other gently. hundreds of faded tibetan prayer flags flapped from the rooftops. the fairytale monkey temple lit up in the distance and began to glow in the misty air. a pale, almost see-through moon rose behind me. and i sipped my nepali tea, and just breathed.

my table at helena's

peeing at pilgrim's guesthouse

Kathmandu

the deep, old-world smile of the receptionist (cook, cleaner, travel agent...) at Pilgrim's Guesthouse in Kathmandu made me lay down my bag and decide i was home.

room 702, looked fine, $8/night. i was living in luxury compared to the $3 and $4 deals found by my backpacker compadres. but this is not my gap year, kids. i'm long spoiled and all grown up. in third-world inner cities, i'd like my mattress at least a few inches off the floor.

regardless of where i am, however, i have a funny habit of not immediately trusting toilets that are not mine. i am, and always have been, a serial squatter. often even at the houses of friends and relatives. i am also a seat-wiper, even in public bathrooms such as airports and restaurants, and even, sometimes, when the piddle isn't mine.

i found room 702 to be clean enough. but the bathroom floor, less so. and the toilet, i will spare you, had been recently used by someone with none of my urinal sensibilities.

i go to reception. could my bathroom please be cleaned, nowish? old-world smile. of course, of course.

i have tea on the porch. really need to go, but that's okay, i'll wait.

10 minutes.

hello.. hello... your room is ready!

greaaaat. i'm there in 15 seconds. the floor is clean. she shower polished. the toilet lid is closed. i open it. uuuuggghh.

i go to reception. this time, i am much more graphic. and i do not just want someone to press the flusher. i can do that. i want to smell disinfectant. i want someone with a long bristly brush and strong arms.

10 minutes.

hello... hello... okaaaayyy...!

the toilet seat is down again. i lift it with pincer fingers. and it is bright and sparkly clean... except for one thick black pubic hair, which i don't remember being there before, stuck to the side of the seat.

whatever.

it turns out, also, that the bathroom has a kind of slope to it. and that in order to squat, you can't just suspend yourself hands-free over the toilet seat; the sink plumbing gets in the way of your knees. so, you have to lean one elbow on the sink itself, and let yourself down slowly.

i was seconds from relief when, without warning, the sink detached itself from the wall, thrusting my right knee straight into the rusty pipe; meanwhile my left leg shot out to regain corpus balance, and my arse plummeted rapidly downwards, coming to sharp, professional stop about six millimetres about the toilet seat.

i knew one day those skills would come in handy.

i did finally pee. and reassemble the bathroom.

to add to room 702's charm, the flushing of the toilet sounds a lot like the wet fart of a rhinoceros. it lasts for seven minutes, and fades out for three.

Trail Through Thailand

Bangkok

Koh Samet

Koh Pha Ngan

Chiang Mai

old men of chiang mai

old men sit bent over wooden tables in chiang mai alley ways. they come from somewhere, not here. but it doesn't matter now. they were white once, no more. the color of the streets, now. the color of the chair, the table, the shadows they find. their bones are twisted beneath their skin, their necks crooked, like trees beaten by decades of wind. along their quivering laps their fingers dance, playing staccato melodies across their knees. their tongues move in and out of their mouths, like fish gills gasping for water. hidden in chiang mai's alleyways, old men, once young, men gasp for life.