Bodh Gaya

We've finally made it to Bodh Gaya.

We left from Delhi (which was an adventure of its own) on Tuesday, and spent our 17-hour train ride to the Eastern side of the country looking out the window, singing songs on guitar (and learning them in Swahili), eating rice and dahl, talking, sleeping - and dressed in our beautiful new Indian clothes. We made it to Bodh Gaya, which is in the state of Bihar, around 10 in the morning.

It's been quite an adjustment to be here, in ways that I can't explain very well over a blog. The hot/humid weather, the number of people, the land, the housing, the poverty unlike anything I've ever seen before...One image that stays with me is of this kid, who looked about 6 or 7, who held my hand all the way out of the train station, begging and pointing to his stomache. I wanted to help him, but a teacher on our program asked me not to, because kids often get in fights over money at the train station since there are so many of them. And even buying things for kids is difficult...I bought a kid a dictionary the other day, but then learned that kids will frequently sell the dictionaries back to the store for money, which they often don't even get to keep (but are forced to give to street leaders in order to make their weekly "quota." Anyway, I could clearly go on and on about this, but its enough to say that being here is quite a transition, and I'm learning a ton.

I got a wonderful welcome shortly after arriving here. My friend Angus, from Wesleyan, made some friends in Bodh Gaya when he participated in the program last year, and he told them about Noa and me before we arrived. So Angus' friend Rohit was here to welcome me. We went out on his motorcycle, and he took me to his village, Sujata, named after the woman who offered milk-rice to the Buddha before he attained enlightenment. He show me Sujata's house (now a stupa), the hills where the Buddha wandered for 6 years, and took me to his own house and introduced me to his family. I felt really welcomed.

I haven't even gotten to explaining how amazing our program itself has been - the people on the program, the meditation teachers, everything - but I already need to head back over the the vihar for tea and evening practice. In short, everything is amazing. I'll elaborate more later. For now I leave you with a picture of the Mahabodhi Temple, which is located right in the spot where the Buddha acheived enlightenment 2500 years ago, and is about a five minute walk where we live. It's beautiful and radiant. We've gone a few times to meditate under the Bodhi Tree and sit where the Buddha sat. It feels alive. But really, so does our Vihar, and the rest of India. My heart is opening and opening everyday, one little crack at a time.

Wandering Forth (Manifesto)

My last/first entry was evidence of a messy parting from home. A word of advice: Never mess with scheduled international flights (unless you are a very frequent flyer with miles). I thought I could change it and that that would make my goodbyes go smoother; make me finally ready to leave. Wrong, wrong, and well, yes, due to the consequences of aforementioned incorrect assumptions.

The way it turned out, after running around a maze (unlike a labyrinth, it has dead ends and bad decisions and discursive circuits) of maddening airline phone recordings and strained conversations with airport employees, I ended up dragging my beloved parents and my sweetheart, Paolo, along for the ride back and forth to the airport twice, in order for me to catch my originally scheduled flight. (Still apologizing, guys). By the time we arrived, we were all in tears.

To thicken the plot and heighten the level of tension, frustration, and drama in the car, I threw up, and into a leaking bag at that (despite Paolo’s quick-witted efforts to capture and contain it effectively; still thankful, sweetie). If puking can be romanticized, I would call it “purgation” to use the term of St. Theresa’s Threefold Mystical Path, often the name given to the first stage of walking a labyrinth, the way we understand the entering, releasing, going in.

It was a horrible day for everyone involved, (and not involved! As a result, I didn’t get to say goodbye in person to my little sister Kiera--still sorry about that, too; LYLAS!), yet when the time of parting was upon us, we all hugged in a circle, and through our tears, we all started laughing. In spite of my nervous stomach, I felt a strange sense of calm come over me, once I knew it was impossible to leave at any other time. (Impossible=$2000. See aforementioned advice about not changing international flights. :) ) The world, and my loved ones, were saying, “No, go, you are meant to take this journey.” (And in the case of my loved ones, perhaps, “P.S. We can’t handle your crazy mazes anymore! Good riddance!” Just kidding.)

Tonight, writing from an internet café in London with a new friend from the program the night before we fly to India, I’m no longer scared, because the truth of the wisdom of Noa’s title here has been shown to me.

Everything is falling into place around me at an alarming rate. It’s all I can do to stand back at bit, amazed and grateful to the world and all of you supportive angels here in it. Like the day I walked labyrinths with Noa and Alex (and Olivia, in spirit :)) in Sibley, we are singing a birthing song and it goes like this: “We are opening up in sweet surrender to the luminous love light of the one.” As Rainer Maria Rilke puts it, “There is only one journey: going inside yourself.” We are all walking this labyrinth to the center of ourselves. We are all meant to take this journey.

In preparing for this pilgrimage (preparation being, as I learned from the program’s wonderful director today, one of the first steps in Joseph Campbell’s described archetypal journey of the ‘Hero of 1,000 Faces’, perhaps like purgation), the writing and teaching of the woman who gave the labyrinth back to our time, Rev. Dr. Lauren Artress became incredibly important to me. (Still thankful, also to have learned from her in person this past summer. It’s such a challenge to be fully appreciative in the present moment. Now I can’t believe I had that privilege and didn’t appreciate every second of it, you know what I mean?)

Anyway, in her a-maze-ing book (shoutout to Dad, Paolo, and Mr. Cannamela, the Kings of Corny Puns), she writes about the difference between pilgrimage and tourism. As she depicts it in the book, and as I wrote about in my Buddhist Philosophy paper, (I don’t have the book with me on this trip, regrettably, but as I recall), Rev. Dr. Artress attends a conference and hears a biologist, Rupert Sheldrake, say that the number one thing he would do to begin to effect change in the world would be to ‘change tourists into pilgrims.’ She writes about what it takes to make this change, saying that pilgrims come humbly, with vulnerability, knowing they “may not be welcome,” and she designates that, “Tourists observe. Pilgrims participate,” (63). (Walking a Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool. New York: Riverhead Books, 1995.)

We are prepared to take this journey, to participate in Buddhism, to participate in Indian culture, to take a road to a new place, to find ourselves at home again, to carry home in the center of ourselves. There is only one journey. We are wandering forth.

London

Hello!

I was feeling too humbly-grumbly to write a little while ago, because I got up early hoping to call British Airways about my luggage and go back to sleep, but half an hour on hold foiled my plans. The happy ending is that being up early gave me the chance to serve our lovely host Paul a warm breakfast on his way out the door. Which set me smiling again. And then, listening to The Lion King (circle of life) while stretching and looking out over London from our 17th story picture window made my body smile bigger.

So, we made it to London. The flights were smooth and easy, a lot of sleeping. Alex and I accidentally exited through customs in Brussels instead of staying in the terminal so we had a little adventure making it back in for our connection. But we made it. Our bags were lost (so lost) but I was kind of expecting that and everything important is still with me. I actually feel quite clean, considering the fact that I have been wearing these clothes since Friday morning. It's like the miracle of Channukah! (don't worry though, they found our bags in Zimbabwe somewhere yesterday. Alex's is already here, short only a wheel, and mine should come soon.

One of the most amazing things about England are the names. Leaving Heathrow, we took the Piccadilly line, service to Cockfosters, and transferred to the Jubilee line to Swiss Cottage. The neighborhood next to us is Chalk Farm, and there's a building across the street called Godolphin House. Anyway.

After lunch at THE Swiss Cottage on Saturday, Alex and I discovered a magical fountain/fun machine/wet water experience in a park and splashed around next to some toddlers for a minute. Claire's advice for travelling was, if an opportunity presents itself, do it—solid advice, which has probably nudged me in the right direction more than once in the last week.

Before we could walk a block from the magic fountain of Spraychildton, we got grabbed for our first football game of the semester... they were two players short. It was a small field (way more fun), caged in, small goals. Good stuff. So we had a blast playing football with some dudes for an hour or two, before continuing on to the Thundera flat.

When we got to Dorney (the apartment building, or "pillar" where we've been staying) we met the kind individuals who are putting us up for four days. Paul is really fun, and one of the most genuine people ever. He somehow manages to be absolutely mild-mannered and EXTREME at the same time. I don't mean like James Bond or a pro BMXer, I mean like, you know that sort of funny where something not too crazy will happen, and someone (like maybe me) will make a really extreme face and throw their arms in the air and fall over? Well Paul has something of that playfulness but then plus British, so he doesn't need to fall over, he'll just raise his eyebrows and proclaim "It is on...!" .... I can see how the English might have good theater. re.

That wasn't a theoretical example, by the way, it's actually what Paul says. Every other sentence. Sometimes mixed up with "Is it on?" or "Not on!" as the need arises. A good, good man. He also works with young people and is a reluctant preacher. Well mainly I like the sound of reluctant preacher.

Leslie, his wife (who is four months pregnant) is incredibly sweet, and always makes me feel like she's interested and wants to be friends. Fred and 'G' were the two others I think who actually pay rent... they're nice and friendly and cool too.

So we were welcomed in the laid back way that comes from having people come through all the time... talked about U.S. politics, watched ridiculous YouTube videos about U.S. politics, had a lovely dinner prepared by Fred, and proceeded to play a four-hour, six team game of Risk. Ridonkulous.

About seven or eight couchsurfers slept over that night. No, it's not a big apartment. Yes, it's love. But really, that little world tucked into the 17th floor of Dorney makes me smile for humanity. It wasn't epic, just really nice, and chill. There were a lot of different languages being spoken, which was fun, and definitely some interesting characters. William, from Paris, who is some sort of accounting auditor who meets with CEOs and wears a suit by day... who has been couchsurfing for the last two months with only four nights in a hotel. He's saving up for freedom, to be able to travel and roam for the rest of his life. Mattias from Austria wanted to be WOOFing in New Zealand but due to a work permit glitch had to sleep in the New Zealand airport for 3 days before being deported... so now he's in the UK, which was his second choice. Mattias says we break every American stereotype, and he really likes Jon's ignorant southerner impression. Cough.

Lunch in the semi-open market in Camden Town, which is really awesome. Philosophy, Buddhism, humanity, capitalism, and life discussions at not-too-loud-pubs and one extremely loud nightclub with new friends, Jon and Neha (and Olivia's with us at this point too, as of Sunday). MarioKart with Paul, Fred & William at home. Lentils and Rice. Lots of walking around. The Tate. The British Museum. Highlight: They have a Maori statue there, one of the ones from Easter Island. Or it has them. Alex said it was wierd to see in a museum. The British Museum seemed to me like an ironic twinkle of a moment in the lifespan of this one. I spent about half an hour with it.

Soon, I'll meet the rest of the folks on our program! Maybe like many layers of fresh and fun new chemistry, and when they peel away in the heat and cold, some solid and juicy old-friend fruit on the inside. We'll see, when life does the peeling. Imma lovin' the outsides so far and don't need no hurry.

I really like London, I'm glad I'm here. I'm excited for what's coming.

Much love and play!
noa

Aug 30. The Sky.

Sunrise from 30,000 feet is incredible. It started as a bright red glow that wrapped more than halfway around the horizon (had we been aimed toward the sun, I would have been able to see it out of the windows on both sides). The red glow grew into a thick band of gold and orange and the light kept pouring in. With a flat horizon and sunrise as far as the eye can see, it's the magnitude of this event that gets me. It's amazing to think that this happens every morning, everywhere. And the sun is always rising so really it's just this incomprehensibly huge tide of light flooding across the planet, unstoppable, at hundreds of miles an hour.

We're tidepool creatures. When the tide is high, we are suffused. Active, free, and nutritious too—we drink the vitamins with our skin. At low tide, we can see the stars. When the water first pours into our pools each cycle, and when it trickles out at last, it's kind of magical...

As the tide continues to rise, its light catches on the rippling expanse of wet cloud between me and the atlantic ocean. The bible talks about the waters below and the waters above... I don't think I ever really got that—the water's above part, I mean—until now.

Finally, the queen herself emerges. Slowly, heralded by a shining cloud above. Naked and dripping. Glory.