PDF: Public Display of Faith

Labor is for the mind what meditation is for the soul.  It calms, soothes, and focuses.  Back in the world of online social networks, career building, and TGIF, I very quickly found myself over-using my mind and turning concepts in my head inside out and outside in, over and over again.  So when I came back home from a quick stint in Utah to see my parents, I stepped out into my sunny San Diego back yard and took to our 400 square foot lawn, which had grown in height to about 8 inches, with a push mower.

Sweating is good for the body, and what is good for the body is often times good for the soul, since the body is the place where the soul resides.  So I cleaned my temple as I pushed and re-pushed the mower over the thick blades of fescue, and I let my wandering thoughts subside to a single subject -- public displays of faith.

This was something that had been tickling my mind for a few weeks.  It started, as things in my life often do these days, with my area of study, Ayurveda.  In Ayurveda, we believe that how you eat is actually more important than what you eat.  We believe in creating food sadhana, or making food and your meal times sacred.  One of the ways in which this is accomplished is by taking a few breaths before your meal and/or saying grace.

Many of us do this everyday.  Many times, groups of family or friends gather before a meal and select someone to say a prayer, to bless the food to be eaten.  For many, this is a natural time of thanks and a process that is so familiar it's almost become mundane.  For me, grace had always been a nice idea, but one that had brought up feelings of resentment, anxiety, and unease.  It reminded me of the high school locker room before a volleyball game, where I was required to bow my head and pray with the others to a very specific god in a very specific way that seemed foreign to me, especially in a school setting.  No one ever asked me if this was my belief, or gave me the option to opt out.  The same was said for meals with extended family, large school groups, and even my high school reunion.  The prayers seemed to take on a stale quality to me, as if they had been repeated too many times, and as if the prayer itself was separate from the person giving it -- as if they had forgotten the reason for the prayer itself.  It didn't work for me, and it still doesn't.

But that doesn't mean that I didn't want to express gratitude to the Great Unknown, or the Universal Spirit, or the Ultimate Complexity, or God (however you want to say it), in my own way.  And so I struggled against this Ayurvedic rule, feeling silly that I didn't know which words to use, and often times simply taking a few deep breaths with the thought, "Thank you," in my mind.

In India, this attitude of gratitude for everything around us was prevalent, especially in the north.  Surrounded by my close Ayurvedic friends and teachers, I became very comfortable with my meal time grace.  I took a cue from a friend I admire (what can I say, I like her style), and rub my hands together to activate my palm chakras, then hover my hands over my food and imagine gold cosmic energy running through my body and into my food.  I give my thanks in a way that feels good to me, and in a way that makes me feel connected.  It feels good, and it does change how meal time feels to me.

On my first flight leaving India, a flight from Kerala to Delhi, I sat next to an older Indian man who didn't seem very talkative, which was fine, as I was lost in my recent memories and fighting against the tears that leaving brought.  The flight attendants served us dinner (yes, in India you still get free meals on flights!), and I had my moment of grace.  I ate, enjoying the spicy food and recognizing that it might be the last Indian food from India that I get.  After I was finished and my tray had been cleared, the man turned towards me and asked me a question.  I don't know remember what he asked, because after a few sentences it was followed with, "I knew that you would be a nice person to speak with because before you ate, you thought of God."

I was flabbergasted.  I mean, I've just made the step to feel comfortable praying in public, or making what I will call a Public Display of Faith, or PDF, and the first person I sit next to besides my good friends notices and strikes up a conversation with me because of it.  Then, not two full days back in San Diego, I take myself out to eat lunch at a Mediterranean restaurant.  The waiter brings my vegetable kabob, and I close my eyes and give my thanks, trying to be just quick enough to feel relaxed and connected.  As soon as my eyes open and I reach for my silverware, a man two tables over shouts, "Hey! Excuse me!  I like that.  I never do that!"  And then he turns to his friends and continues to speak loudly.

I find it interesting what a response this PDF receives, positive or negative.  When I was home in Utah, I continued my practice with my food, and realized afterwards that it was received awkwardly, with hints of hesitation from my family.  It also makes my partner feel awkward and a bit anxious.  I find this interesting, because I, too, have had this kind of reaction to PDF, and still do whenever politicians use faith as an answer to a question that requires logic or intellect instead.  And I've found that in most cases of negative response, the person still likes the idea of giving thanks and giving gratitude, but it just triggers something inside of them in a negative way.  I think I understand, because I've seen it often in myself and my friends -- those seeking asylum outside of a religion that left scars.  I think that sometimes, in the spirit of giving our children a faith to hold onto and to teach them moral codes of conduct, we shove religion down their throats like branding irons and scar their tender flesh of curiosity with fear and false promises.  These scars heal slowly, if at all.

I'm curious as to what others think.  What do you think about public displays of faith, given that they are not targeting you nor requiring your participation in any way, and that they are obviously a conscious effort to connect, not a flashy show of a religious preference?  How do you feel when you see someone give a few moments of silent thanks before a meal, or in another situation?

Lessons learned, next steps, and pictures for recap: India, Part 7.

She has left her mark on me, that great country called India.  I spent 30 or so hours traveling on February 6th (it's amazing how one day can stretch into two) and made it back to San Diego safe and sound.  I was proud of myself for getting unpacked, washing clothes, and organizing my imports before falling into bed around 9:30pm.  I slept heavily, but woke completely disoriented several times during the night.  I couldn't remember where I was, because it feels so strange to be back home.

My husband was so excited to see me that he wanted to throw me right back into the world of bills and schedules, taxes and house keeping.  I had to explain that I just wasn't ready for that -- and not just because of the jet lag, but because India taught me how much more simple life could be.  He is learning to be patient with me, for which I am grateful, because as I woke today to realize I really was in the U.S. and not in the sweltering heat of Kerala, I burst into tears.  The travel day came back to me in a big whoosh and I realized just how far away from India I now was.

I can blame the tears on hormones and jet lag, but I can't hide the fact that I feel a huge hole in the center of my chest, like a large part of me is still listening to the monkeys, sitting on the bank of the Ganges, drinking chai with a new friend and riding on the back of a scooter.  The trip transformed me.  I went as someone with fear stored in every crevice of my body, seeking to rid myself of it as I searched to find a sense of belonging and connection in the world.  I left with a new found confidence, a confidence not ego-based but based in the heart, and as I walked the streets of Kerala in that last week I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.  I felt as though I had finally found myself, like I had finally stepped into the person I was so seeking to become, and even as the heat bore down and caused beads of sweat to pool in my lower back, my soul sighed, "Finally."

The last night I was in Kerala I felt assured and confident that I had learned what I needed to come home and fulfill the tasks awaiting me; to continue to live my dharma.  And that I would be so much stronger along this path because I had been learning what it takes to live with an open heart.  Now that I've traveled back half way around the planet to my home, a new challenge awaits me -- to overcome any grief or sadness from leaving India and to apply this new found heart-confidence into my life here.

I talked a lot in the blog about the sadness that resided inside me, in my heart, which would creep out into the blue-gray pigment of my eyes.  That sadness starting lifting the first night it was brought to my attention, back in Rishikesh, through conscious processing, and with every moment of conscious awareness I let it seep out into the Mother below my feet, and I filled the remaining space with the thriving life force of India and her people.  My first impression of India was of a place in chaos, with people and animals, trash and waste, food and water all mixed together in a way that made no sense in the world that was so carefully constructed back home.  But as I began to watch, and to speak to the people, to accept their generous smiles, and to learn from them, I realized that what I had perceived as chaos was simply a manifestation of so many different souls living together and allowing their differences to exist as they each tried in their separate ways to fulfill their individual path on earth.

One of the many differences between my home and India is that in India, people and their differences seem to tolerate if not embrace each other as they coexist side-by-side, creating colorful and sometimes contradictory living situations.  In my home, survival often means setting aside the eccentric or seemingly mundane in order to fit into a carefully constructed box labeled, "Accepted Existence." For example, in India, a man may carry heavy jars of water, one after the other, all day long, to a tank on the roof of a house so that a tourist may take a shower.  But he is not ashamed -- that is his job, it makes him strong, and he takes money home at the end of the day to feed his family.  He is respected.  At my home, and in my experience, jobs requiring less critical thinking and more brawn are seen as inferior and not strived for.  Heaven forbid I wield a hammer all day long, content, and not strive to become the lead builder.  Heaven forbid I go to college for a degree I find interesting and then choose to serve food for a living.  Or more personally, heaven forbid I go to school for years, accumulating awards that prove how well I over-think the most intricate of scientific topics, and in the end, I teach people how to breath, move, eat, and eliminate properly.

India showed me that either path is okay.  It was something my soul knew, but the fear inside my body kept me from understanding and embracing it because I was so scared that if I chose the path inside my heart, one that may be seen as "inferior" in the world I live in, then I wouldn't be accepted or respected.  India has shown me that the only path to happiness, the only path worth living, is the one that's in my heart.  India embraced me with open arms and showed me that all paths are accepted -- you simply must learn to make sense of the colorful chaos your choices create as they blow up the box around you.  Because that box I am talking about -- that box I find myself in so often at home -- is created by fear of loving what is different.  Those walls of fear are constructed around our hearts so that the ego can take up more space, and say confidently what life should and shouldn't be.  This box created of fear is essentially a creation of life void of an open heart.

I have a lot of work to do.  I don't mean to imply by the words above that my heart has opened and, hallelujah, I can stop working on it now.  The work has just begun, and India showed me glimpses of what the true happiness created from an open heart could feel like all the time.  I had these glimpses as I walked down those streets in Kerala, smiling greetings to those I met; when I rode down narrow streets on a scooter behind a new friend, feeling freedom in every pore of my being; when I looked into the eyes of new, native friends who had never lived a day with walls of fear surrounding him and wondered curiously where mine came from; when I stood on the bank of the Ganges and felt love and spirit swell my heart and I embraced my two soul sisters, now my Ganga sisters; and when I boarded the plane to go home, reluctance in my step and a heaviness in my body, and felt a presence come to me that said, "Go now, it's time for you to learn to live your lesson.  But keep coming back; I will always welcome you."

I'll be posting more pictures on Facebook and on here, and I'm sure I'll be writing more about India as the lessons learned weave their way into my life in San Diego.  Here are some pictures to recap some of the experiences had on the trip.  Enjoy.

 Early in the trip, near Vrindavan at Dr. Gupta's Ayurvedic Center.  Those are his medicinal gardens in the back ground.  Preparing for a sacred fire ceremony or puja.

 Overlooking the Ganges River, second day in Rishikesh.  

 Hand-stamped bindi on the streets of Rishikesh.

 Our friend Puneet, who made my sapphire ring, shared Tulsi tea with us, read our palms, and gave us advice on the meaning and practice of a happy life.

 My blue sapphire ring.  Astrologically, blue sapphire helps to increase energy and heart opening.  The girls were laughing at me, because every time I put this ring on, I punched my fist into the air and sung, "She-rah, princess of power!"  Doesn't it remind you of that?  Haha, maybe I'm getting old.....

 My man, Shiva.  :)  This is the amazing marble Shiva statue along the bank of the Ganges just outside the ashram we stayed at.  He's dressed up here for a ceremony.  Isn't he lovely?

 Our friend at Agarwal Mala Emporium who taught us Tibetian Singing bowl vibrational healing, and who read our chakras very accurately.  We had chai with him many times.

 Scooter ride into the countryside near Kochin, state of Kerala.

 Feeling good in Kerala.

 The girls and I on our last night together in Kerala.

   My friend, who drove me around on a scooter and taught me how to be a proper Kerala girl.

Matters of the Heart: India, Part 6

"Thank you," I say, putting on my sunglasses as I step out of the shadows of the cool shop and onto the hot, muggy street.  I may have just overpaid for silk and silver, but the man at the shop was so friendly to me that I don't really care.  And to my credit, I bargained a full 25% off my total price.

We had driven around the state of Kerala the day before, stopping in the early morning at an elephant training center, where we watched one large and three smaller elephants being scrubbed with coconut husks in the river.  They laid on their sides and allowed the small, strong men to scrub every inch of them.  I enjoyed watching, until I saw the chains on their legs, and how they scratched at them.  After the bath, we followed them to the training center, which looked more like a dusty, deserted girls camp, where we bought a ticket for a few hundred rupees and then stood around confused, trying to figure out what it bought us.  We ended up seeing some baby elephants in cages, staring out at us with big, dark eyes, and I became more and more upset at seeing these graceful animals caged up.  Without the proper language to ask questions, I was at a loss and more than happy to load the car to our next stop, the waterfall.

The ride to the waterfall was bumpy and windy, and the style of Indian driving, with it's jerky, stop and go motion, wasn't helping my breakfast stay down.  But the falls were spectacular, so I'm glad I soldiered on.  A large river plummeted several hundred feet to pools below, and the mist from the drop could be felt from the river's edge, another hundred feet away perhaps.  The short trail let us out at the top of the falls, where we took some pictures and then walked up river, where a lesser current mixed with several tiny waterfalls made a perfect place for a dip.

We were some of the only foreigners at the falls; it seemed more of a destination for locals.  Many of the men and children were already in the cool river water.  Just as we found a space to get in, we watched four local women, giggling as they lowered themselves in the water, fully clothed.  Now came the tricky part.  We had the largest bathing suits found in our country, but it wasn't nearly enough fabric to stop the stares of the locals.  Confidence comes in groups, however, so as a unit we waded into the river and sat down in the shallows, just our heads and shoulders above water.  The coolness was pure heaven.  "Just throw me a beer, will you?" I joked.  Pretty soon, we had an audience.  About 20 of the men found places in the water about 40 feet from where we were, and others gawked from the shore.  Most were shy, but two were brave enough to trample over in their boxer briefs to ask for a picture with us.  We granted one each, then sent them along.  It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and I wouldn't try swimming without the safety of a group. I couldn't help think how tame the scene would seem back home, and what would happen if these men got a taste of, say, a beach in Brazil with all those curvy women in teeny tiny bikinis.

Back to today.  Malas.  I promised my friend that I would bring her back malas and meditation scarves.  Right now, I'm wishing I would have bought them in Rishikesh, where the beaded necklaces hung from every store window and cart.  But I knew I would be flying on a small plane, and that I'd have to pay for every kilo of goodies I bought (as it was, I paid extra for the six kilos my bag weighed over the 25 kilo limit).  I didn't realize that I was stepping out of an area largely Hindu in population (where malas are abundant) and flying to a colony characterized by the Christian faith.  I haven't seen one mala since I got here.  Not one.

The heat is sweltering and I'm just about ready to give up, when I realize I'm lost.  Where was that tea house, the TeaPot?  These streets all fold together in a pattern like origami that looks the same from every direction.  I turn around and walk in the direction that I came.  Maybe I can find my way back to the homestay, at least, I think.  Just then, I come upon a familiar face.  Well, familiar glasses at least.

Two nights ago at dinner, our friend from the north, Danielle, introduced us to her new friend Steve, a local in Kochin.  While we were eating dinner, his two friends showed up to say hello.  I only remember his one friend because his black hair billowed out away from his head in a curly, messy, wind-coiffed afro.  He was wearing standard Western clothes -- baggy jeans and a bright t-shirt, and thick, yellow rimmed sunglasses with yellow lenses.  "I like your hair," I had said.  "And those glasses, they are like the ones that singer from Bollywood wears, right?"  He had smiled shyly and said, "Yes, I think I know what you mean."

Right about now I was just happy to see anything familiar, so I honed in on those glasses like a lighthouse in the fog.  "Hi!" I said to him.  He looked confused, so I continued, "You're Steve's friend; I met you at dinner the other night."  I took off my sunglasses.

"Oh, hello!"  he said.  "I remembers you now.  I remember a your eyes."

"Yes," I said, "They stick out here, don't they."

"No, no, not stick!" he said.  "Very beautiful."

I laughed.  I asked him where I could find a mala.  I explained what one was, because he didn't know what I was talking about, which I found odd, but whatever.  He told me he knows a place that might have one.  "You scooter okay?"  he asked.  Hmmm, I'd seen women riding around on the backs of scooters.  Sometimes, an entire family of five fit on one. The women always sat side saddle.  I was wearing a new, white cotton dress and a gauzy scarf of my friend's.  Well, why not?  I thought.  If I've learned anything here, it's to surrender to what the day has to offer.  "Sure," I said.  "I can ride on your scooter."

I hopped on the back of the white scooter, placed one hand on his shoulder and one hand on the small wrack on the back and we took off.  He took me to a jewelry store similar to the ones I'd been looking in already.  "This place won't have it," I said. "They just have gemstone necklaces."  And I was right.  I tried to explain in more detail what I was looking for, and we scooted along again.  Again, no luck.  I explained some more. "Oh!" he said, and I could see the light bulb go off.  "Like 'shanti shanti'?" he said, and giggled.  I didn't know why it was funny, but replied with an enthusiastic "Yes!" 

"Hmm, not those around here.  But we go to the city.  I drive, you look." 

Again, I climbed on the scooter and off we went.  The Kochin and Fort Kochin area are very similar to San Diego geologically.  They are on the western coast of southern India, and there are many bays that separate different pieces of land from each other.  We rode over many bridges, through wide crowded streets and narrow crowded alleys.  We stopped at many stores, but none had the malas.

We talked as we drove.  I was amazed that someone I ran into on the street would take his afternoon to shuttle me around town, looking for what I needed.  He asked me how my country was different from India, and I replied, "Well, for starters, I don't know many people in America who would have spent the afternoon helping me." 

"Why not help?"  he asked.

"Well, people are busy, I guess.  We have different priorities there, different things are important.  Like people's jobs are very important," I replied.

"But helping people important.  Making happy the people, that is important," he insisted.  "I know that if I help you and you smile and are happy, then God make me happy and show me more the way," he said. "And God not want the people to be sad, He like the smiling the people," he added.

This young man, who I learned later was only 24 years old, understood and lived this truth everyday.  This idea, of fulfilling your dharma or God-appointed service to the world, is one that many of us, me included, are searching for.  To have the courage to live this truth everyday.  Many of us strive to do this, to serve others and to follow the life path that is true in our heart, but so often we are distracted.  We are distracted by all the choices, rules, regulations, and obligations that our culture provides.  For example, if our places had been reversed and it was he who asked my help, chances are I would be obligated to work a certain number of hours, or have an appointment I simply couldn't change, or just not think it's important to help a stranger.  The kindness of his time -- it was a gift, really -- was so moving that I thanked him endlessly, but he only seemed embarrassed by my gratitude.  "I was only doing what is the right," he said.

When we realized there were just no malas to be found, he drove me into the country side to show me authentic Kerala culture.  Here, they've taken a river and separated it into large, man-made ponds that small, sturdy village houses back up to.  He took me to his mother's house and showed me the pond in front where he swims, and the one in back where he fishes.  His family was out, otherwise I would have loved to meet them.

Frightening as it was at times, riding on the scooter was exhilarating and I felt an immense sense of freedom.   Others might think it foolish -- jumping onto a motorbike with a relative stranger, none of my friends aware of my absence, and weaving through dangerous roads -- but I felt so safe and confident in the presence of my new friend that I did not feel afraid at all.

We spoke about a lot of things, that day and the next, when he drove me to the nice beach about 20km away.  "Can I ask you one thing?" he said.

"Sure," I said.  "You can ask me anything at all."

"When I met you before, at the dinner, and now today on the street, and I see ah your eyes.  And your eyes they are very beautiful.  But it is like your eyes are a there is a saddness in them.  In your heart.  Are you sad?"

So he makes three.  Three people here have looked into my eyes, or my chakras, or read my palm and told me they see the sadness that I know is there.  The issue of the sadness aside now, I find it simply incredible that the people here, the good hearts, can see what is truly inside.  I am around people at home everyday -- friends, family, teachers, students -- and no one else sees.  It makes it so easy to disappear when everyone is blind, so easy to become distracted with pretty things and not take the time to fix what's important, what's inside your heart.  That same thing is so very difficult here, because people see.  I almost feel I like I've been transported to Pandora and everyone is walking saying, "I see you."  Because they do here.  Not everyone, surely, and just as surely my soul has drawn these people to me to teach me what I need to grow further spiritually, but these people, who's lives are brilliantly simple and so much less cluttered than ours, have more space in their heads and their hearts to see what we can't.

As I ride on the back of the scooter, people look at me and a smile plays on their lips.  I smile in return, and their lips turn to a grin and they wave.  I wave back and they laugh.  Crowds of boys walking home from school erupt in cheers and laughter at the site of us, and groups of school girls wave and shout.  I feel like a celebrity.  People are so happy to see me riding on the back of a local boy's scooter.  I can't help but think that if he were to come to my country, with his caramel skin, eyes like pools of melted dark chocolate,  and crazy, wind blown hair, people may not take notice.  And if he were to walk down the streets of a small neighborhood in states less liberal, like my home state of Utah, people may shut their doors, afraid of his difference.  And in doing so would miss the best part of my new friend, his heart, which is so good and so pure it almost makes me cry.

He says he has never met a U.S. girl like me before -- one with an honest heart.  I tell him that there are many, many U.S. girls and boys with good hearts, but it's a big country, and often even those with good hearts get distracted by pretty things.  I am wary -- I think he has fallen in love with me, or with his idea of who I am, this boy with a pure heart, and now I must use mine to ease his pain about my departure.  So I tell him that it is part of my dharma -- to come to India, to learn, to grow, to meet new friends and ride on his scooter, and to go back home to share what I have learned.  And I tell him that we shall surly remain great friends, and that whenever people ask me about India, I will tell them what he has taught me about really living -- not just talking about living -- with a selfless and open heart.

 

All the little things that matter, India, Part 5

It is about 1 in the morning and I feel as though I am on fire.  My feet, which were so bundled in woolen socks and sturdy shoes in Rishikesh now feel as though they might burst into flames underneath the thin sheet of my bed.  Through the muddled thoughts that come between asleep and really awake, I weigh my options and settle for turning on the fan.  I have just managed to get a couple hours of fitfull sleep when the calls for prayer from the nearby mosque startle me awake at 430 am. 

We finished our last day of class in Rishikesh on Saturday, and on Sunday had to bid farewell to the city we all fell in love with.  I mean absolutely, one hundred percent, will be back next time for three-months, fell in love with.  You could say I drank the Koolaid.  Rishikesh, and more precicely just that area that provides a gateway to the Himalayan Mountains, along the bank of the Ganges River, is a place I will never forget and will always go back to.  Friday morning, our group held its chanting at the bank of the Ganges at sunrise, and the power of that intention plus the serenity of the river gave me an infusion of spiritual energy I had not felt before.  On Sunday, I went to the river at sunrise with just my friend to chant, and pray, and make an offering to the river that had left such an impression on me.  And to say goodbye for now to the huge, sparkling marble Shiva statue that I fondly called My Man.  I spoke in my last blog post about the wonderful people we met while in Rishikesh.  Hence on Saturday night, we had a lot of saying goodbye to do! 

We made the rounds to say goodbye to all of our new Indian friends, as well as the Brazilians we met during the course.  (As a side note, we saw more Brazilians than people of any other nationality.  I told Simone that next time I come to India, I better learn how to speak Portugese).  Locally, we place our hands together in front of our chest and bow to say hello, thank you, and goodbye.  But Brazilians are wonderfully friendly and kiss your cheek and give you a fabulously long hug before saying cio. 

Before we left, we donated some of the warm clothes we brought with us to the local people in need.  We found women tending young, dirty children with big eyes and smiles and gave them warm sweaters.  Cathy bought one small boy lunch one day, and when he saw her later that evening, he threw himself into her arms and thanked her endlessly, and asked that she stay to meet his mother.  We smiled and laughed with them and gave them what we could, until word got out that we were giving and a mob started following us, asking us for more.  We gave what we could, then gently made our escape.

If you want to travel through small airports in India, do not bring a lot of luggage.  If you do bring a lot of luggage, make sure you have a friend who can pitch a really convincing fit about overage fees so that you do not end up paying more for than your entire flight ticket for a few extra kilos. (And as a side note -- America, can we please switch to the metric system already! Trying to figure out how a kilo compares to a pound is like trying to figure out how many oranges fit into a football stadium -- your guess is as good as mine).  And if you do agree to just pay the fee, beware that they do not take credit cards.

We arrived in Fort Kochin at 9pm or so on Sunday night.   Even though it was well past sun down, it was balmy.  I felt like I could drink the air.  Which was good, because I felt a sore throat coming on. When I woke the next morning, that was confirmed.  Luckily, I armed myself with a good herbal pharmacy and throughout the day downed about 40 capsules of various herbs, as well as some tincture and lots of Vitamin C.  I am feeling better today, Tuesday, but not back to 100% yet.

We are staying in a homestay called Noahs Ark, which won the Trip Advisor award for best homestay in 2011.  It is fabulous.  We have a nice room, AC, and two things we havent had the whole trip -- hot water all day long (of course, now that we are in the hottest climate of our trip) and a shower curtain! Really, it is the little things that make us happy. 

Breakfast is served on the ground floor of the three story house between 8 and 10 am.  Diana, the woman in charge, serves us fresh fruit and fruit juice, eggs cooked to order, toast and tea or coffee.  Some days, she offers us tastes of traditional Indian breakfasts as well, such as Dosas with vegetables or rice noodles with a sort of banana concoction.  It is very lovely, and we have made friends with the other guests staying here -- a couple from England, a man from Germany and another from Wales. 

The house is taller than it is wide, and open from the ground level to the top, where a large spiral staircase runs its height.   We step off just one full revolution onto the second floor for our room, and another room or two plus a computer area are on this floor.  The third floor has another room and access to a covered roof area, where I spent the sunrise practicing meditation, chanting, and posture (yoga).

Yesterday, we slept in, then walked aimlessly around the town, trying to get our bearings.  At about 2pm, we found ourselves at the waters edge, watching the locals fish.  I had never seen fishing like this before -- huge nets pulled up by some sort of weight and pulley system.  They let us try it and took lots of pictures.  We continued wandering around, and ran into our friends from Dr. Guptas study, who we planned to meet later for tea.  We had a lovely afternoon and a tasty dinner.  I usually have a very solid internal GPS, but I think because of the headcold, it was not working yesterday and we got lost at night, after dinner.  Luckily, a very nice man on a motorcycle pointed us in the right direction. 

Today, we spent 2.5 Rupees to take a ferry across the bay to a larger city that houses a huge fabric store.  It had six floors -- the first floor had fabric and finishing items, the second had basic saris, the third fancy saris, the fourth ready made salwars . . . we only made it to the fourth floor.  I was on a mission for fabrics for myself and for Mom, a silk Sari, and maybe a salwar (modern wear for Indian females -- a tunic top with pants and a scarf, all matching).  I walked away with all of those things for prices that felt like stealing!  In fact, when the owners of our homestay heard we wanted fabric, they sent us to this place because prices are fixed and we would not get cheated.  The girls who helped us with the saris were so sweet, smiling and asking us our good names, asking if my tatoo was a wipe off, nodding their heads in approval at my nose ring, and bobbing their heads from side to side with smiles when they liked what we chose.

Indian people are known for this famous head bobble.  It only took me a few days to notice it here, but almost a month to try it myself.  When Indian people talk, they wiggle their head from side to side.  I have come to realize that this can be used as a form of acceptance, as in Yes, that is right.  It can also be seen as a simple gesture of peace and friendliness -- so just as I would nod my head and smile at a person on the street, an Indian person would wiggle their head and smile.  I had not had the courage yet to try it myself, but as those young, wonderful girls helped us wrap our saris, asking us questions and answering ours, I found myself trying it.  The response was incredible!  As I smiled and wiggled my head from side to side, their smiles became wider.  It was as if I had finally cracked some secret code.  So, if you want to travel to India but do not know Hindi or any of their other langauges, just work on the head wiggle and a nice, bright smile.

Again, people in Kochin are so wonderfully nice.  I have been trying to count the number of kind acts that have been shown to me just today, and have a hard time remembering.  Our hosts drew us directions on a map to point us in the right direction.  We still got lost trying to find our lunch place, and an older man on a motercycle stopped and asked if we needed help.  He had us follow him as he drove out of his way to show us where to go.  I did not have any small change for the ferry, so the ticket man would not give me a ticket.  A man in line handed me exact change and said, It is no problem, madame.  And those are only the ones I can remember with my stuffy head.

Right now, the girls are out finding dinner and I am in the room, resting.  We did a lot of walking in the hot sun today, and I felt I needed to rest.  They are bringing me a smoothie.  Tomorrow we have a big day also, off to the elephant sanctuary and to see some beautiful waterfalls.  I have three hours of Ayurvedic treatments scheduled for Friday, and a list of gifts to fulfill by the time I leave Saturday night.

I know many of you have  been wanting pictures.  I did not bring my computer, so uploading pics has been a problem.  Here is a link to my Picasa album, where I have put in just a very, very small sampling of pictures to prove that I really am in India.

https://picasaweb.google.com/holden.anna/IndiaSelectPhotos?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCJ_FwMWE9fOVyAE&feat=directlink

For more pictures, and for another perspective on the trip, direct your browser http://www.venturesinindia.tumblr.com/ for Cathys blog.

In the Life, Three Things are Important: India, Part 4

I wake to the sound of someone hacking mucus out of the their body.  I realize it has to come out, but it's four a.m.  This ashram is loud, and is built in such a way that there are little barriers between different rooms.  From my kitchen area, I look out a window into a square shaft that acts as a skylight from above, but if I stand on my tip toes, I can see someone below in their bathroom.  The tops of the bathroom wall are screens only, so every sound you make is shared with everyone in ear shot, and it echos.  I put in my earplugs and pull the covers over my head, breathing in the lavender essential oil I use to hide the mildew smell of the blankets.  I fall back to sleep, dreaming I'm riding down busy India streets on a motorcycle with a random person from my past who seems to be my boyfriend at the time.

I wake again at five minutes to seven.  This time, I hear a screeching and then the sound of many fast foot steps running across the roof.  Monkeys.  I sigh, roll over, and find my slippers.  I put on warm clothes, make my bed, and do yoga.  Shower, eat oatmeal, and join my class at 9:30.

Several Ayurvedic Medical Doctors (certified in both Ayurveda and western medicine) have flown in from Pune to teach us.  They are wonderful!  We spend the morning learning about herbs and herbal applications,  and the afternoon learning to cook herbal medicines that are both tasty and useful.  I'm adding so many tools to my Ayurvedic tool bag.

The sun has finally come out after four days of clouds and cold, and my body is shocked by the heat.  It might be 75 degrees in the sun!  At break, Cathy and I walk over the coffee shop for a small cappuccino to placate us until lunch.  Lunch isn't served until 1pm, and my stomach rumbled at 11:30.  We go for the conversation as much as the coffee, as we have met several interesting people while either walking to coffee or at the coffee shop itself.  And so while the Ayurveda is great, this is what I'm really loving about this trip: the unexpected wisdom of the locals, hidden behind jewelry store counters and large cups of coffee.

Last Sunday was our day off, and we walked the mile or so into the next town up river, shopping and taking in the sites.  This area is the gateway to the Himalaya Mountains, and the shops show a Nepalese and Tibetian flair.  We had a wonderful day meeting store owners, finding hot tea, and expanding our pallets at great local dives. One store sold the most beautiful and unique clothing we had seen yet, and we spent time there, trying on clothes and talking to two young men who run the store.  The liked us and asked us to come back, and we promised we would.  Near the end of the day, we walked into a small and unassuming jewelry shop.  As we walked in, the owner, a middle aged man, handed us each a small stone and said it was for good luck.  The look in his eyes was honest, earnest, and happy.  His small son, maybe three years old, was also there and kept handing us more stones, which the man insisted we take.

My friend bought a beautiful bracelet from him, and I asked him if he had any blue sapphires.  Personally on this trip, I have been working to face the feelings of fear, worry, and saddness that keep me in constant protection mode.  Some people have noticed this about me; that I come across as guarded and sarcastic instead of heartfelt and honest.  I have known that I carry this with me, but had become so used to it that it was my mode of operation.  I mentioned in an earlier post that on the very first night we were in Rishikesh, we met a shop owner who is also a healer and intuitive of sorts.  When he focused on me, he noticed how my heart was heavy, making my heart energy "unattractive."  Although this comment upset me at first, I realized how true it was and it lead to a wonderful open conversation with my friends and some powerful and insightful meditations since.  That man also mentioned that the proper gem stone therapy (a therapy we also use in Ayurveda) would be with a light, clear blue sapphire.  So while I know that the work I must do is within, I've been keeping my eyes out for one as my special gift from India.

After the jewelry man wrapped up Cathy's new bracelet (a beautiful piece with mother of pearl and other precious stones), he took me to his small back room, opened the safe, and took out what blue sapphires he had.  I said I needed one that was a clear, light blue.  He looked at me and said knowingly, "For your energy and your heart.  For astrological purposes."  I nodded, stunned.  He showed me what he had and I picked up a small piece that spoke to me.  "Trust that your fingers know which stone is yours," he said.  He was right.  As I picked up other, larger stones and felt them in my palm, nothing felt more like mine than the small stone I chose first.  I asked him the price, expecting something exorbitant that I couldn't possibly afford.  Instead, he first showed me what he paid for the stone.  It was written on the packaging, next to the price, per carot, that he was supposed to sell them for.  My piece weighed in at just 1.3 carots and cost him 2700 rupees.  He sat back on his chair and looked at me thoughtfully with kind eyes.  "You and your friends are nice people; students of Ayurveda, which is good.  You need this stone to help you with your energy, for astrological purposes.  Here is the price I paid for the stone, " he flashed me the 2700 on the calculator, "so why don't you pay me what your heart feels is right.  I'll make you a silver ring out of the stone for free."

Two days later, my friends and I walked back to the town, stopping only at the Nepalese store to see our friends for tea and an impromptu dance party before heading back to the jewelry store to pick up the ring.  It is more beautiful than I could have imagined, and my heart felt very good with the price I paid him -- it was something I could afford, and he seemed so happy to make me a deal.  But there's more.  After the ring was paid for an securely on the middle finger of my right hand, he read our palms.  The first time we were there, my friend had asked if there was a palm reader near, and he asked for her hands and told her very accurate information about her life.  Today, he shocked us even more as he recounted details about me that he simply could not know -- including dates, people I knew, relationships, saddness and lifestyle.  He read all of us, and then served us tea of three kinds of Tulsi leaf.  The conversation turned to life, or "The Life," as these Indian men pronounce it.  How do we successfully and happily navigate life?

I flashed back to a conversation we had with Dr. Gupta on the second or third day in Vrindavan.  He said that we go around, searching for the meaning of life, spending money and time and resources, when really, the journey from the head to the heart is only 20 centimeters.  As if to expand, the jewelry man said, "There are three components to The Life.  First, desire for happiness.  Second, knowledge, and third, energy."

He expanded this.  We need to have the desire to be happy 24 hours a day.  Only then can knowledge and energy help us.  With knowledge, he means having the tools necessary to making our lives as happy as possible and learning to avoid those things which may look nice and shiny but ultimately lead to unhappiness.  For example, meditation, pranayama, eating good food prepared with a happy heart, treating others with love and respect -- these are things that bring true happiness.  And energy -- we must have the physical energy to make it through our lives and the emotional energy to seek happiness yet be unattached to how that happiness manifests (for example, happiness could come through a big change that causes chaos for a few moments, but ultimately leads to bliss).  We also need to learn to raise our energy vibration up through the chakras to keep our subtle, and thus physical, energy clear, pure and high. 

We mentioned how hard this is in the Western world.  He said, "If you have a thousand jobs to do, don't do them.  Instead, eat good food prepared with a happy heart.  If you have a million jobs to do, don't do them, instead clean the body thoroughly, inside and out.  And if you have a billion jobs to do, don't do them.  Instead, share your happiness with others through something as simple as a smile."  The basic message to me sounded like a call to stop working so hard.  Wake up and realize that this type of fast and furious lifestyle is not a happy one, it's depleting and ulmamitely leads to unhappiness.  We work so hard we forget to eat, so then our body is unhappy.  We are short of time so we feed it with fast food made by unhappy people, and our body is unhappy and even toxic.  We drink alcohol in order to go to sleep and coffee in order to wake up, and so our physical body is ill at ease (read: diseased) while our subtle body tries desperately to ground itself.

I have a lot of work to do, but I'm finally realizing why I needed to come to India.  The studying is great, and I'm very happy for the knowledge that I'm gaining.  But what's emerging from my soul is the reason I am here.  Something inside me has been working its way to the surface, to be dealt with so that I can come closer to that evasive, everlasting joy we all seek.  And it may sound strange, shallow or surreal, but I'm finding the tools I need to deal with myself in the back rooms of the shops of local people, who share their wisdom over a cup of tea and a smile.

Out of the city and into the moutains: India, Part 3

I tighten my pack as I step out of the alley and onto the main street.  I turn my gaze straight ahead and focus on my walking path as six men come near me, calling, trying to get me to buy their taxi ride.  I say no thank you, no thank you again and again, but they are persistent here.  One follows me, driving his small taxi beside me until I angrily say, "Go!  Go!" and wave him away like a feral cat. 

We're in Delhi, getting a taste of the city before moving onto our next 10 day study in Rishikesh.  We've decided to take the metro into town to see some sights.  We traveled this way last night when we arrived.  The bustling streets of Delhi are different than the rural town of Vrindavan.  The population here is over 1000 people per square kilometer, as compared to about 350, which is the national average.  I can feel it.  It feels like people are everywhere, pushing in on me, as if the concept of personal space doesn't exist anywhere.

I've written about the things about India that I love.  But there are things that I don't like, too.  Every sparkling temple in the sun has it's shadow, and I found many shadow aspects of India in Delhi.  I've walked this street to the metro twice now.  Both times, an old man riding a bike towards me points at me, then touches himself as if to jack off.  I am openly gawked at as I walk.  There is not enough Indian garb in the world to keep me from sticking out here -- my blue eyes and alabaster skin give me away immediately. 

The Delhi metro is nice (thank you, England), albeit very crowded and somewhat overwhelming if you're not careful.  As we waited in a long line of men to board the train, a very kind man pointed toward the front of the train and said, "You should go to the women's cars."  We should have known -- they separate men and women all the time in India.  In each major temple and in metro security, there are always separate lines for men and women.  In the men's line, a man awaits the men through the metal detector for the pat down, and in the women's line, we greet a woman soldier for our pat down.  (Which, by the way, are the most thorough pat downs I've ever received. Let's just say it's the most action I've had in India).  The first three or so cars on each metro line are reserved for women only.  They are far less crowded and far less smelly.

Men out number women in India.  When on the streets, it's mostly men we see, probably because the women are taking care of the home.  It's considered extremely rude, taboo even, for men to touch Indian women in public.  Because of this, men turn to each other for touch and affection.  Many men also seem to consider Western women an exception to the rule, because I've had several men look at me as they pass by, then tap me with the palm of their hand. 

The streets of Vrindavan were dusty, but the streets of old Delhi were filled with black grime, smoke, excrement, spit, dirty water -- you name it.  As we exited the metro, we found ourselves in an old and more traditional part of Delhi.  We walked by very busy shops, a bus station, open urinals, and temples of ritual all smooshed together.  Our goal was to visit the Red Fort, built by the same king who built the Taj Mahal, but we were very turned around and couldn't seem to locate our place on a map.  Instead, we took our first rickshaw ride to show us the way, which was one of the most frightening experiences of my life (video footage to come).  For 30 Rupees (about 60 cents), he hauled all three of us about a half a mile. 

We walked around the outside of the Red Fort, then shopped our way back to the metro station.  We also visited a temple that day, then sprung for a fancy dinner at the Oberoi Hotel before rising at 0500 to catch a train to Haridwar, and next a taxi to the Parmoth Niketan Ashram in Rishikesh, where we are currently staying.

Rishikesh is breath taking.  The Ashram is right on the bank of the Ganges River, which runs out of steep, forested mountains full of monkeys, birds, medicinal herbs and unknowns.  This town and another line the banks of the river with brightly painted buildings in pinks, yellows and blues.  It's cold here -- probably in the 40's at night and, if we're lucky, the 60's during the day.  All the buildings here, including the Ashram, are made of concrete with stone floors.  And they aren't heated.  We bought a small electrical heater and snuck it inside to make it bearable, but I'm wearing a down coat almost 24-7 and invested in a wooly Pashmina to wrap around my head and neck.

We joined a group of about 30 Brazilians to study Ayurveda.  I was not impressed the first day, as Ayurveda in Portuguese makes about as much sense to me as advanced calculus, and so that combined with the cold had Cathy and I looking to go to Kerala early!  But I'm glad we stuck it out another day.  Today, four Indian Ayurvedic doctors flew in to teach class for the duration of our stay, and not only do they speak English, but we found out that they are some of the teachers of the founder of our school in California.

Also, the people here are wonderful!  The streets here are a wonderful reprieve from those of Delhi, and even easier to manage than Vrindaban.  Shop keepers here may say hello, but the don't really bother you to come in or take a look.  It's so relaxing, I feel I can let my guard down and enjoy the people here.  We've become friends with a family who owns a jewelry and book shop, and we stop in each day for chai and shopping.  We've also been receiving some healing treatments from the father, who is an aura reader and user of vibrational therapy from Tibetan singing bowls (we all bought one).  They are our friends now, and it feels really nice to have friends here.

It's evening and my hands are cold typing this.  It's time for dinner, so I'll head back to the Ashram, where I'll scoop rice, dahl, vegetables and chapati onto my plate, sit on the floor and eat in silence, as is the protocol here.  But back in our room with the tiny heater, we've sneaked in some Nutella and cookies.  We'll discuss concepts from the day, wait for any calls from the US, and finally snuggle into our beds for the night, where the glow of the heater will keep us company like a glowing fire.

Good night!

India, Part 2: No Hurry, No Worry, No Chicken Curry!

These last nine days in Vrindavan have unfolded into a comfortable pattern. Dr. Gupta, the very traditional Ayurvedic doctor we are studying with, believes very much in creating a solid morning routine so that you are clean, grounded and fully able to experience the bliss that your day can bring.  My routine is not as involved as the other students who have been here since December, but it is a routine nonetheless. 

I wake at 6:00am,drink a large glass of water, try to empty my bowels (As Dr. G says, "Did you make the poo?), scrape my tongue, then clear my bed of its linens for yoga.  The mattresses are so firm here that I start on my bed doing supine poses to relieve my back and stretch my legs, before moving to the cold floor for standing and balancing poses.  At 7:00 am, I take a very quick shower and apply oil to my body, I dress and prepare myself for the day, and the three of us emerge from our room into the cold morning.  I'm usually bundled in a sweater and shawl or down coat, leggings under my dress, and hand warmers.  I look for curious monkeys waiting to steal anything shiny before I walk over to the apartment to make our morning tea and oats.  I toast the oats first to remove the starch, then add water and cook, adding cinnamon, cardamom, raisins, cashews, ghee and a small amount of sugar.

We have class the rest of the day, either here or 6km down the road at Dr. G's Ayurvedic Center.  Our subjects range from philosophy to herbs to practical applications and back again, in no order that makes sense to the Western brain.  I am starting to understand more as the pieces from the different days add together.  Now I wish I had more time to be here with Dr. G so that I would understand more fully what he is teaching.

On Thursday, we had a day off and decided to travel to the Taj Mahal.  Dr. G booked us a driver and unwillingly sent us off without him (he was with the other students, who had already seen the Taj, but was worried like a papa bear).  The drive was ever  terrifying, although our driver was very good, and we arrived safely.  We unloaded the car, held our purses close, and walked through the crowds of people lining the streets to the Taj, begging, selling small shiny objects, or trying to get you in their taxi.  It was overwhelming at first, but then I realized that they are people just like me, and I talked to them or joked as I passed, and we both laughed when they realized I couldn't be sold.  These streets were also lined with camels pulling carts, with cute little boys holding the reins.  Our driver escorted us all the way to the gate, where we paid the tourist rate of 750 Rupees (about $15) to enter.

The tourist ticket comes with a bottle of water, shoe covers, and a guide.  Our guide was a college age man  named Yunas, who was clean and well dressed and smelled lightly of perfume.  His English was very good, and he told us the story of the Taj as we walked around its marbled grounds.  In a nutshell, there was a king with three wives, but only one could bear children.  And she did so well, producing 14 before her death at age 39.  He was in such sorrow of her passing that he built the Taj as a symbol of his love. (After 14 births, it's the least that he could do). It's made of white marble,  and the walls and entryways are inlaid with precious and semi precious stones in a flower and vine pattern, and another in Arabic writing.  She and the king are buried below the main room. 

It was beautiful!  Luckily, we chose a good day.  The weather was just between warm and cool, and not too crowded.  All the Indians were walking around the marble barefoot, while all the tourist were wearing the ever fashionable shoe cover (pictures when I return).  It's hard to put into words what the experience of the Taj was like -- the symmetry of the building, the history, the story behind it, mixed with people of all different cultures and nationalities.  The building is a thing in and of itself, but the experience is truly special.

Afterwords, my friend Simone knew of  a place to eat lunch, so we had our driver take us there.  We ate at Zorbha the Buddha, a nice restaurant in a shopping bazar.  The food was good, and even better was the jewelry store downstairs. We looked around at beautiful earrings, bracelets, rings made of the Star of India stone while we  talked to the owners who were very nice and so excited to show us pictures of their friends who are also from America.  Two of us found pieces we loved, and while I thought about it, the owner said, "No hurry, no worry, no chicken curry!"  He was funny and I told him so. I got my first real experience bartering.  I think I did okay for my first time -- not great, but not too shabby.  I found a turquoise and silver bracelet that I absolutely adored and talked him down from 2000 Ru to 1500 (about $28), which I was more than happy to pay, given what I'd seen similar items go for in the States.  Now that I've had some experience with bartering, I'm excited to try again and do better next time. 

When we were almost home, we met the rest of the group to walk through a new Durga temple in Vrndavan.  Now, if the Taj Mahal is a wonder of the world, this has to be on the list of runners up.  It's so new I can't seem to find a picture online, but it's a huge statue of the Goddess Durga riding a lion, with Hanuman at her feet.  It must be 140 feet tall and almost as wide and three dimensional.  The temple is at the base of the statue, and you walk through caves blasting music and telling her story (in Hindi).  It's spectacular!  Durga is the Warrior aspect of Shaki, which is the divine female energy of the universe.  She radiates fearlessness, patience, and a non-waving sense of humor.  She's simply divine!

We walked through one more temple as well, a Krishna temple which was very peaceful.  It was a lovely day, and I felt sun-baked and happily tired by the end of it.  I slept very well that night, except for my dreams, in which I had come home from India for some reason, I think to pick up more clothes, to find my dog was very sick and I was worried about getting him care before my flight back to India left.  On top of that, my mother had thrown out my entire closet of clothes and I was so angry at her that I called her bad names and yelled and cried.  I felt terribly guilty when I woke up, like I had committed a crime.

I love India.  I love the strangeness.  I love the shock of filthy streets mixed with the enticing aromas of local food carts. I love the brightly colored fabrics matched every which way on women, and the big smiles of the local children.  In the car one day, a boy of maybe 11 or 12 blew me a kiss and shrieked with laughter when I blew one back.  Two little girls, the elder about 7 and the younger no older than three, followed us from shop to shop, holding out their hands, as we looked at skirts and scarves.  They were so cute under the layers of dirt and grime on their skin that Cathy let them choose something from a food vendor (they chose a Sprite, but what can you do?).  I love the monkeys eying my glasses, and the dogs so relieved to hear a friendly voice and touch a gentle hand.  I love the cows who are so brave here to wander the crazy streets. I love the way the vendors smile at me as I try to bargain with them, and how everyone -- from the man calling you to a taxi to the little girl holding out her hand -- is simply trying to survive.  At home,  survival means keeping my head above water in a sea of never ending bills and the cost of living, while I'm  safely tucked in at night in a home that I own with a never-ending supply of food, and choices -- we have too many choices! I simply try to survive the choices!  Here, survival for many is much more basic.  Food.  Warmth.  Security. 

It's like Dr. Gupta says: "The lifestyle has to fit the Life (that which is within us).  You cannot mold the lifestyle around what you want the Life to feel like, it will not work!  Learn to be happy in the Life and you will be happy with any lifestyle you have."