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.