Forgive the chaotic
nature of what follows. I am making due with the temporal, electronic
and physical resources I have here in this moment...I don't know when
the power, or this computer or the connection will give out so I will
get out what I can in some kind of stream of consciousness and hope that
you can sift through it to get a sense of what is happening on my end.
This is a short section I wrote on the train from Delhi to Lucknow:
"There is nothing subtle about India. Almost everywhere I go, the choking, yet often missed smell of a recently extinguished garbage fire mingles with those of spicy street food and urine, the whole concoction made thicker by the haze that settles on this part of the world in December. A thousand horns blare on every major road and every street crossing is a series of near misses...simultaneously retraumatizing and healing for someone recently hit by a car.
From my train car, I look out at the fields and see ramshackle huts and assess the value of the life of a man who spends half his life on a straw mat on the dirt floor of his dwelling and the other half working in a field. I wonder what happens to him when he can no longer work or take care of himself. I wonder if his life should be valued any differently from that of a man who runs from meeting to meeting, city to city, who perhaps wears a suit and tie. I remember innocent questions, like 'What makes a life important or successful?'
I see a dozen boys playing cricket in a dirt field in a rural town near nothing at 10 AM on a Thursday. I wonder if they've ever been to school. I see a wild dog with a chicken in its mouth run between train cars while we stop in a rural village. I wake up every couple of hours on my narrow bed--the middle bed in a wall of three--to find that familiar bruised feeling on both hips. I should invent a term that describes the simultaneous whince and smile that arises with these familiar sensations...that type of paradox is my internal experience much of the time here."
There is no way that I can summarize the last 72 hours and all the feelings that have come up and passed away in that time. If only I could perform long distance Vulcan mindmelds and share with you what it is like to be on the back of a bicycle rickshaw at 1AM looking for a room in a dirty travel hub in NE India when almost every lodge, guest house and hotel is completely booked for the night. Or what its like to start getting sick and wonder whether I ate something problematic or if its just that I'm breathing in thick, polluted air that turns my snot grey within 24 hours. Or if its nothing more than travel fatigue from 20 hours on planes, 24 on trains and then buses and taxis and rickshaws for most of another day...all the while not being able to trust my own hands to wipe my eyes or mouth because I'm not sure where they've been.
And then I remember that that's ok...I don't have to share every single detail, every encounter. I can breathe and offer a few snapshots and accept that that has to be enough. It is has been a period of scarcity and craving and humility. It has been exactly what I wanted it to be...but there is always a sizable gap between remembering something or knowing it intellectually and then actually living it all over again.
What a relief it is to finally be here in Lumbini, Nepal, the birthplace of the Buddha. The first night was difficult...in the rain, again with nowhere to go...but this time I was rescued a kind and gentle monk who gave me shelter for the night. I can tell you more about that another time perhaps. I realized yesterday that, not only had I not had a formal sitting period in three days, but that I hadn't even stopped to see anything that really inspired me or reminded me why I was here. So yesterday I finally took myself to the Mahamayadevi temple that marks the spot on which the Buddha was born.
This is a short section I wrote on the train from Delhi to Lucknow:
"There is nothing subtle about India. Almost everywhere I go, the choking, yet often missed smell of a recently extinguished garbage fire mingles with those of spicy street food and urine, the whole concoction made thicker by the haze that settles on this part of the world in December. A thousand horns blare on every major road and every street crossing is a series of near misses...simultaneously retraumatizing and healing for someone recently hit by a car.
From my train car, I look out at the fields and see ramshackle huts and assess the value of the life of a man who spends half his life on a straw mat on the dirt floor of his dwelling and the other half working in a field. I wonder what happens to him when he can no longer work or take care of himself. I wonder if his life should be valued any differently from that of a man who runs from meeting to meeting, city to city, who perhaps wears a suit and tie. I remember innocent questions, like 'What makes a life important or successful?'
I see a dozen boys playing cricket in a dirt field in a rural town near nothing at 10 AM on a Thursday. I wonder if they've ever been to school. I see a wild dog with a chicken in its mouth run between train cars while we stop in a rural village. I wake up every couple of hours on my narrow bed--the middle bed in a wall of three--to find that familiar bruised feeling on both hips. I should invent a term that describes the simultaneous whince and smile that arises with these familiar sensations...that type of paradox is my internal experience much of the time here."
There is no way that I can summarize the last 72 hours and all the feelings that have come up and passed away in that time. If only I could perform long distance Vulcan mindmelds and share with you what it is like to be on the back of a bicycle rickshaw at 1AM looking for a room in a dirty travel hub in NE India when almost every lodge, guest house and hotel is completely booked for the night. Or what its like to start getting sick and wonder whether I ate something problematic or if its just that I'm breathing in thick, polluted air that turns my snot grey within 24 hours. Or if its nothing more than travel fatigue from 20 hours on planes, 24 on trains and then buses and taxis and rickshaws for most of another day...all the while not being able to trust my own hands to wipe my eyes or mouth because I'm not sure where they've been.
And then I remember that that's ok...I don't have to share every single detail, every encounter. I can breathe and offer a few snapshots and accept that that has to be enough. It is has been a period of scarcity and craving and humility. It has been exactly what I wanted it to be...but there is always a sizable gap between remembering something or knowing it intellectually and then actually living it all over again.
What a relief it is to finally be here in Lumbini, Nepal, the birthplace of the Buddha. The first night was difficult...in the rain, again with nowhere to go...but this time I was rescued a kind and gentle monk who gave me shelter for the night. I can tell you more about that another time perhaps. I realized yesterday that, not only had I not had a formal sitting period in three days, but that I hadn't even stopped to see anything that really inspired me or reminded me why I was here. So yesterday I finally took myself to the Mahamayadevi temple that marks the spot on which the Buddha was born.
I just fell apart
with joy and inspiration to see a garden covered in prayer flags,
beautiful old trees, monks for miles...to remember why I came here...and
to be grateful once again. To give up scarcity mind and just be here.
I have set my things up now in the retreat center, Panditarama, in the
Peace Garden and will start my retreat today, when I am through typing
and making a couple of phone calls. The retreat center is lovely, the
Sayalay, she is kind and gentle and the Ven. Vivekananda is goofy and
learned. I was so relieved when I saw a bed that would be available for
me for the next 40 days that I almost broke down in tears...to
experience consistency after so much instability, stillness after so
much movement, refuge after scarcity and confusion...it was an
overwhelming gift. The people at the center seem to take their practice
very seriously and I feel fortunate to be in their presence and to have
their energy supporting my inward journey.
I wish there were more time and more words and a less broken keyboard...but we will have to settle for these few crazy images and words for now. I go into silence this afternoon and plan to come out on January 24th. I appreciate whatever good energy and support you can offer. Thank you for reading along. I go forward in bright faith. See you on the other side.
I wish there were more time and more words and a less broken keyboard...but we will have to settle for these few crazy images and words for now. I go into silence this afternoon and plan to come out on January 24th. I appreciate whatever good energy and support you can offer. Thank you for reading along. I go forward in bright faith. See you on the other side.
