Emerging...

Well I think I was having an extended, minor anxiety attack for a while there. I am fine now, in fact I feel stronger than before as is often the case with hard times. No single thing happened to trigger my uneasiness, but a few factors piled up. First there was Brian leaving and being suddenly alone in a strange place...then the harassment in Hyderabad, then it got even crazier when I was least able to deal with it. I am now in Chennai, happy and breaking down some of the barriers that I put up around myself when I couldn't trust the world.

Here's what happened...I arrived to visit one of the projects I needed to do an update for. The director of that project had lost his wife last year, suddenly, and I was to stay with him at his house (usually nice for me, since I have been in hotels for over 2 months). I arrived to find the house covered in huge photographs of her and the home still very much in deep mourning. My co-worker could not stop crying and would collapse in grief on me regularly.

It was so sad- he loves her so deeply and she was not even 50 years old. He is absolutely heartbroken. But I was of little help, already quite depressed myself. In India the concept of privacy doesn't really exist and it was not at all strange for him to have me in the house during this difficult time, but I couldn't handle it. I obliged as well as I could, for example by looking at 200 photographs of the dead woman in her casket, which had a perverse window built into its face - for her to see out or for us to see in?

He took me to visit projects for a day - to see the land reclamation being done in tribal areas overly-silted from the tsunami and extreme flooding this year. It was OK, but I was wondering if I could handle spending the scheduled five days there. Aside from the challenge of consolation, I was overwhelmed by the way I was being treated as a little girl, my preferences and free will totally over-ridden by he eccentric, grieving man, who bellowed out commands to his servants and ordered me to eat huge amounts of food, do this and do that.

It was simply not conceivable for him, a well-off, middle-aged, rural Indian man, to consult my opinion on matters affecting me. This was totally weird to me, a strong willed and able woman, and I felt completely suffocated. I don't know if this makes any sense to my readers but it's how I felt. I knew something was up when I arrived early in the morning to find one of his many servants picking his toes for him. YOU GOTTA PICK YOUR OWN TOES! Really.

So I was itching for a way out, couldn't imagine five days in this situation. What cursed mental powers did I trigger? For the third morning of my stay, he received a call that his mother died at the same time as I was sobbing my heart out to Brian, who helped me see that I had to get out of there. I had to leave this sad, sad situation. He tried to get me to go with him to look at her dead body but I said sorry, I gotta leave on the next train. I hope I don't sound too callous but the truth is that I did feel kind of callous. I am imperfect and it's OK.

Anyway, when I got to the station I found that one of the servants had relieved me of all my money. I probably would have done the same if forced to pick toes. That was the final proof that I had strayed from my path of sanity. Luckily the train ride was easy and I listened to music that rocked me back towards mental health.

And Chennai has been good to me. I am staying at Hotel Comfort and the name suits it perfectly - it is healing me swiftly. And the joyful eccentricities of travel are coming back into my awareness - such as the 2 foot tall Indian midget (seriously) wearing a huge sombrero who works as the doorman at the Tex Mex restaurant where I dined last night! So all is well that ends well. My strength is restored.

To be honest

I shouldn't only write about the rosy stuff. The truth is that Hyderabad has been HARD on me. It is largely Muslim and mayn of the women wear full black burquas, making them rather difficult to socialize with, and the men just ogle my boobs and hiss heeeyyy baby. There doesn't seem to be a Western soul among this status-conscious, conservative city of 4 million, and I have not really interacted with anyone for the past three days.

The truth is that I have been weepy and pitiful. Every auto-rickshaw driver I have had here, every single one, has tried to cheat me in one way or another, usually by demanding payment for more than we agreed on. I am fed up and don't know how to be aggressive enough to defend myself without getting totally out of line. So this morning, when some stupid teenage driver tried to take me for all I'm worth, I yelled and scolded and demanded, drawing quite a crowd. As much as the men holler back and forth, it is uncommon for women to do the same, but I didn't care. I was able to get rid of him, but the trauma of the confrontation made desperate tears come to my eyes that just would not stop! I wandered around the Golconda Fort ruins, teary, snotting and muttering to myself. I had partly come there because it is the biggest tourist attraction in town, but it was just me and a couple field trips of fourth graders.

This is my low point. A journey like mine is akin to a symphony...sweet in the beginning, intensifying and coming to a dramatic climax in the middle, and (hopefully) gently slowing down to end melodiously. I am in the thick of it now, and I believe it will pass as I leave town tonight to resume my project visits. I will get out of the city finally: it is a cruel fate to visit Bangkok, Chennai and Hyderabad back to back. The honking and noise pollution has been ringing in my ears for many days now, and my lungs feel the burden of endless diesel pollution.

All I long for is connection, interaction. I never realized until now just how precious it is to be surrounded by friends who can relate to my experiences on a daily basis. I feel vulnerable to write these things and cast them out into the middle of the unknown cybersea, hoping they will be caught and well received. Life requires faith and hope, and I know that my trials will soon fade into mere memories.

Finding purpose

I am comforted when I remind myself that I am here alone in the middle of the world with a purpose, which I don't exactly forget but which can elude me at times. I have spent most of the last two days meeting with the movers and shakers of the Hyderabad IT business world, so basically I have been totally out of my element! But in a good, non-alienating way because everyone at least knew why the hell I was there.

Hyderabad is making lots of money off IT and Indian philanthropy is on the rise. My main contact here has been Mr. Krishna, a friend of my father's, who knows everyone here and wants us to throw a fundraiser here for the "100 Club" of the CEOs of Hyderabad's 100 biggest IT businesses. He is excited to promote the concept of philanthropy here and the time is ripe. We visited a school for children of day laborers in the slums here, which is interested in collaborating with Village Focus partner SEEDS, who I am going to visit in a few days.

SEEDS works with all tribal people and has established a small school for tribal children in the remote mountainous West Godavari district. The large foundation that runs the school we visited is interested in collaborating and making the tribal school excellent and modern. This would be great and important because the tribal communities in AP really need educated local leaders to emerge and defend the communities' survival, now threatened by deforestation and moneylenders to whom indebted villagers sign over their land deeds (legally protected by the government...) So I feel good that I made a potential connection that could be very beneficial. That's what I came to do after all, be the bridge. Tribal communities are awesome and have much to teach us so we have to help them in their struggle for survival!!!!!!

Now I am in the mall in Hyderabad, claiming my space in an internet cafe otherwise dominated by teen boys playing complex computer games. One just asked me to get off my computer so he could check his email. I told him that I am in the middle of writing an email! He said, so can I use your machine? I repeated myself and he went away...I wonder, would a local girl defer to him or is he just a punk?

Interesting item:
Someone told me that Chinese and Korean parents who hope for their children to be future business people are sending their kids to personality school so they can learn to smile, relate and socialize like Westerners, increasing their chances of globalized business success! I guess they feel as awkward as others sometimes perceive them to be. Anything for the money, I guess...

Alone now, ruminating...

Purity of knowledge
Maharishi says, knowledge must stay current to be pure. The current is the river's flow, it breathes freshness into water so that it does not stagnate. We drink from the stream of knowledge but are poisoned by the still ponds of impurity from which the elders try to force us to drink. Our intentions made toxic, we wage wars and jump off buildings, invoking purity to rise again. What does this mean for India's wisdom and Portland's new age knowing and all the dull simplicity that lies in between? The Rishi is Returning, guides Deepak Chopra, this time not in the souls of a few special sages and seers but in each of our hearts. Equality is not ours, but we do have access to learning like never before. Will we listen to the rising shaman burning in our core?

Collective consciousness is like a laser, says Chopra. It gathers photons of the human heart's allegiance as a laser attracts and arranges photons of light, into a brilliant, piercing ray that can heal organs and cut diamonds, reach other universes and change minds. For this, we must inject positive and healing thoughts into every last drop of our society and our Earth. The mere act is revolutionary, spinning our wheel back to purity and flexibility. We must find fresh knowledge and respect tradition, but only in order to improve upon it. Few would not argue that we can do better.

How strange it is to be anything at all
Before Bangkok bursts into showers of jasmine flowers and yellow turmeric dust, the tastes of grilled squid, shopping malls and red chilies still spices the mind's reflections. Big city Bangkok means seeing a girl sobbing on the sidewalk, bag of clothes in tow, and stopping to pat her on the shoulder but fully embracing her shaking body as she collapses instantly into your able arms. Personal space is invaded and conquered upon a sloppy morning kiss on the cheek from a book vendor already on beer seven. A thrilling moto ride reminds the hardy traveler that Thailand is the big leagues, and horsepower is a function of national wealth. I avoid the tourist masses in favor of throngs of Thai teenagers, I take in sensations, I indulge myself with not only haircut (as a desperate attempt at a professional look, which I only feel I need to compensate for how young I look) but massage.

Deep in the parlor den
The Thai massage parlor...an enigmatic place behind closed doors that caters to the sore, the lonely, the blissed out. She washes my feet and leads me to a room where others are being worked on. I enter the room whispering a silent intention to myself to relax and accept this massage for what it will be, not to fixate on just-a-little-to-the-left as I sometimes have.

The massage ladies in the room form a singular wave, their bodies undulating in unison as they lean into the clients' bodies with each pulse of their strong hands. Some are singing along with the romantic Thai ballad resonating in the air. Intention meets intention: just before I close my eyes, I see my lady briefly fold her hands in prayer, close her eyes and slightly bow towards me, blessing the hour-long union between her hands and my body. Our separate invocations are heard and resound ecstatically through my legs, which she spends most of the time rubbing in ways I have never thought of. She is doing my yoga practice for me, twisting my legs around and pressing gently but perfectly, reinvigorating me as though she knew I had come more for energetic healing than physical.

Eventually she works her way up and it is time to massage my shoulders, neck and head, the wonderful finishing touches of Thai massage. She rubs my neck so gently that my muscles are unaware of her presence; only my skin realizes and it kind of tickles. She rubs, so lightly for so long, gradually slowing down to almost a complete stop. Her touch is so tender, I wonder, does she love me? Wait, is she falling asleep? I shift my weight to alert her; the light touch continues. Mistrust flares: Could she be nudging me towards the *other* Thai massage from which not even female travelers are safe? Is she tired and doing this to pass the time?

My blissful mind strays from grace but then she moves on and firmly presses into the crown of my head, releasing crown chakra awareness up and beyond. She presses on my third eye and forehead, opening me to faith and compassion once again. Was it part of her master plan? She strokes my face so softly that I suspect she sees a trace of a long-lost lover in my countenance. Then she is done, pats my leg and announces OK! Sank you! And rushes out of the room, leaving me half in, half out of her spell.

Four hour delays provoke reflection
I am pacing the Bangkok airport with four hours to go. Why is the flight so late? I ask. They need a rest, replies the girl at the counter. I am halfway to India though still in Thailand, surrounded by beautiful Dravidian folk whose smells and sounds are a foretaste of the sensory feast to come. I go to the toilet and it occurs to me that I will soon be in the land of poop-touching. Poop-touching?! Yes, but only with the left hand so take caution. That prompts me to stuff my pockets with toilet paper, as if I would have anywhere to dispose of it.

I am just as scared as last time but more confident. I feel legitimate and relatively experienced. I know I will bounce around, and not stay in any one place long enough for it to really matter. This is both my blessing and my curse, and I know I must return to India when I can stay a very long time. Years? Going to India feels much more huge than going anywhere else because it is not just a new country, it is an entirely different cultural galaxy. It will deeply reward me as long as I stay open. Last time I feared death and therefore everything else more than I do now. So it goes - this is akin to confidence.

The wide-eyed wanderer wonders

Solitude feeds the lyrical - maybe that's why I get spiritual
Thoughts left alone waiting to die - my other breathes to keep them alive

Mirror-less, un-partnered: The mirror-ess finds that the writer consoles her
Though this hard machine shell is soulless, it obeys enough to delude the hopeless

Words themselves are the one present friend - electrode whispers, also heaven sent
Silent sadness is merely delayed for me, the sole speaker of my language today

I suspected that those words might escape me, for my helmeted head was blowing through the wind, defying breeze's smooth rhythm headstrong, bumping and jerking down an oft-violated path on the back of two spray-painted wheels with a motor attached. With my arm twisted around backwards to hold on, I learned and recalled that in these days, my waking life has become synonymous with my dream-scape. Tiny puppies rest on one of my large peachy fingers, licking up my palm-sweat. I am so parched that I gasp for water only to find that my bottle is filled with sandy mud which offers no relief. I choked and awoke, or did I swoon? I pace around reservoirs built by chain gangs under the heavy hand of deathly regime. I am sternly advised not to stray from my path, should dynamite surge up to remove my limbs.

It suddenly becomes fall and I am taken through fallen yellow leaves up a mountain, up and past golden Buddhas hiding in its caves, to a simple-seeming rock upon which my guide perches. He hits it with a stone and it resonates deeply, making a music not unlike the sound of the oldest gong of the oldest temple in China ringing in the new day. We guess that there are riches hidden inside, which if extracted would sit gloomily upon the finger of a spoiled fat lady, and this rock's seldom-heard song would never again be sung.

I witness epic legends of wandering and find myself a member of a strange sort of fellowship, though it is one with no destination. I question a quest and once my thirst is quenched, my inquisition's query is quietly quelled. Thirst for water and knowledge and legend and adventure blend into a thick banana milkshake charged with the stealthy power of a coconut, marvelously complete with juice milk and meat. I am led blindly through winding dusty trails into deeper and greener garden-jungle, where I am taken to age-old trees whose goddess-ly fruits I have never seen but have tasted before, though only in my dreams.

Feathery leaves topped with ethereal purple flowers blanket entire fields yet prove shy to the touch and recoil inside themselves upon sensing my unassuming touch. Other trees bear fruits that taste like biting firmly into a battery when you have braces on your teeth, and a companion urges me to smell a very nice leaf from a vine that turns out to perfectly replicate the aroma I dispose into a Cambodian toilet, on a bad day. This provocation rocket-fuels my weary legs with an honest laughter that carries me almost all the way back home, but not quite. After all my partner is gone now. I find comfort from this asphalt reality where I can, especially in the rice and among the stars.

I am discussing collective consciousness with my fellowship comrades, and we know what is true and what is possible when we sketch out connections that become swiftly painted by the colorful shades of our common understanding and compassion. Finally I know that my waking life remains solid, if only because my laughter is pure and my tears are salty, and I am grateful. I remember that I have no complaints, and that for now my sleep is full of shadows and peace.

If you should deny love, you will laugh but not all of your laughter, and you will cry but not all of your tears.

Emergent Global Culture

This post is a version of the email I wrote to my girls, most expressions come out best the first time around so I'm just copying it to here...

Holy crap. Brian and I went to a 3 day psytrance party in this rubber tree grove outside of Krabi, Thailand. It turned out we would save big money by coming this way anyway, which we took as a good sign. Ohhhh wow...The music was amazing, so diverse and varied and funky as all hell. The decoration was splendid and the rubber trees created a full canopy for constant shade and coolness. The food vendors sold fresh, cold coconuts and banana pancakes and Thai food. The weather was perfect, we glowed radiantly but didn't wilt in over-exertion.

But it was the crowd that made it mind-blowing. We met so many people and had so many of the connective, lucid conversations which we crave but which are sometimes elusive, so that was special enough, but the magic was that each connection was with a group from a different country and culture than the last. I probably connected with people from 25 countries. There were only about 1000 people so faces became familiar and a family vibe emerged gracefully and effortlessly. It was as if language was irrelevant, for it became easy to connect even with the Japanese kids who couldn't speak any English. The freaks of the planet converged to laugh and dance our butts off.

At one point I shrieked in delight to see two dready Japanese boys standing in front of the groovin German DJ with their tongues wagging out and enormously bright grins on their faces as teeny Thai girls carrying psychedelic parasols paraded around them and drunk Belgians rolled in the sand in front of the speakers where a black man was shaking in full tranced-ness and tattooed, wide eyed Israelis jumped up and down ecstatically and a tall British man whirled his blond-with-neon-streaks seven year old daughter around on his shoulders. (By the way the universal essence of cuteness resides in the hearts of Japanese trancer girls.)

As I danced I was overwhelmed with emotion many times, realizing that our generation does indeed have a soul, and this is it, our music is innovative and powerful, and our spirit can't be taken away from us. We were all people who don't care much about our nationalities and were instead feeding an emergent global culture based on dancing and peace. If more were like us our world would have peace. It was sad to leave last night after dancing and socializing for over 30 nonstop hours. But I feel renewed and my body feels floppy and light from flopping around so much on the dance floor. Now we will spend a couple days busing it back to Cambodia and get back to work, refreshed and charged.