New York Times – November 26, 2009

Sitting down with friends and family today, there will be thanks for the steady currents, flowing out of the past, that have brought us to this table. There will be thanks for the present union and reunion of us all. And there will be prayerful thanks for the future. But it’s worth raising a glass (or suspending a forkful for those of you who’ve gotten ahead of the toast) to be thankful for the unexpected, for all the ways that life interrupts and renews itself without warning.

What would our lives look like if they held only what we’d planned? Where would our wisdom or patience — or our hope — come from? How could we account for these new faces at the Thanksgiving table or for the faces we’re missing this holiday, missing perhaps now all these years?

It will never cease to surprise how the condition of being human means we cannot foretell with any accuracy what next Thanksgiving will bring. We can hope and imagine, and we can fear. But when next Thanksgiving rolls around, we’ll have to take account again, as we do today, of how the unexpected has shaped our lives. That will mean accounting for how it has enriched us, blessed us, with suffering as much as with joy.

That, perhaps, is what all this plenty is for, as you look down the table, to gather up the past and celebrate the present and open us to the future.

There is the short-term future, when there will be room for seconds. Then there is the longer term, a time for blossoming and ripening, for new friends, new family, new love, new hope. Most of what life contains comes to us unexpectedly after all. It is our job to welcome it and give it meaning. So let us toast what we cannot know and could not have guessed, and to the unexpected ways our lives will merge in Thanksgivings to come.

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Let me just start this off by saying that I love Barack Obama.  I cried tears of joy when he was nominated, and even more when he was elected.  I believe in his platform, his values, and his intention and ability to make some desperately needed changes in our country and overseas.  I also want to add the obvious fact that he did not “apply” for this honorable prize, but was awarded it by people who clearly saw in him what I, and millions of other people around the world, see. 

I don’t disagree, persay, with the award.  I guess the first thing that came to mind for me when I heard the news were the words that seem to have been permanently associated with Obama’s campaign and now his administration: CHANGE and HOPE.  These are powerful words that I feel he is qualified to fulfill.  However, I guess I think of these words as representing a FUTURE that Obama is striving diligently to create, and I therefore see the granting of the Nobel Peace Prize at this somewhat delicate point in his presidency as being a bit premature. 

photo courtesy of cnn.com

In his true nature of humility, however, Obama seemed to acknowledge this notion…

“”I do not view it as a recognition of my own accomplishments. But rather as an affirmation of American leadership. … I will accept this award as a call to action” he said in his acceptance speech this morning in Washington. 

I believe that Obama will live up to this immense honor, and my hope is that when future generations look back on Obama as a recipient, they will see him as a fit choice based on the fulfillment of his own ideals of instilling a renewed sense of peace to some extent during his presidency.

I certainly dont mean to undermine the extraordinary qualities and qualifications of Barack Obama as a leader.  However, I suppose what I find to be most ironic about the series of events that have led us to electing the first African American President to office, and furthermore one who has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, is that it could be argued that none of this would have ever manifested if it weren’t for the 8 embarrassingly horrific years of George W. Bush.  It was through that suffering, fear, and distrust in our government that the desperate need for somebody like Barack Obama was created.  Call me fatalistic, but I can’t help but allow this retrospective realization to further strengthen my faith in a sense of order and balance in the universe.  Call it fate.  Call it collective human karma.  Call it the big picture, or call it the silver lining.  Whatever words you’d like to use, it’s hard to deny the feeling that things are as they should be, and that maybe those cliche’ phrases of hope we throw around during difficult times have some solidity to them after all.

Here’s hoping…and all criticism and questioning aside, congratulations to our President, Barack Obama, for being offered this extraordinary award.

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“The person who has no experience of the world and who does not know good or evil has no credit.  He is a simpleton, no better than a rock.  A rock does not know what is evil.  The greatness of man is that he goes through all that which takes away the purity of mind with which man is born and rises through it, not being pushed under but holding to the mind’s original purity, rising above all that pulls him down and keeps him down on the earth.  It is a kind of fight throughout life.  He who has no cause to fight does not know life at all.”

–Hazrat Inayat Khan (from The Art of Being and Becoming)

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Maybe I was just spoiled. Maybe the fact that I grew up in a notoriously wealthy community (although I was raised in a single-parent, middle-class family) and was sent to private schools where we, as students, were held to high standards of intelligence, community interaction and involvement, leadership, communication skills, and the ability to question the world around us set us apart from the majority of the country.

Granted, I am young, and have much to learn, see and do, but in the 7 years since I have left home to live on my own, I have lived in a small mountain town in the middle of the country as well as one of the largest metropolitan cities in the U.S., and I have traveled in 5 countries, one of which was a third-world subcontinent. One common strand of truth I have come to find in my minute and relatively insignificant experiences post-bubble is that everywhere I have gone, I have ceaselessly encountered people who have humbled me with their wisdom, baffled me with their perception of the world around them and beyond, and brought me to my knees with the realization of how much I have yet to learn about life and this crazy mess of humanity in which we are all intimately intertwined.

What’s my point?

My point is that, contrary to common belief (and admittedly my own cynicism), people aren’t stupid. One could travel halfway around the world, or walk to their local coffee shop, and the chances of meeting somebody who will completely alter your views of truth, reality, love, justice, humility, knowledge or wisdom are equally great.

So why, then, does our country…the United Fucking States of America…the alleged leaders of the Free World (whatever that means)…continue to elect STUPID people as our leaders?? It absolutely baffles me.

When I watched Governor Palin speak in her oh-so-exclusive interview with Katie Couric, I was not only insulted by her complete inability to answer a simple question…or by her characteristically Republican manner of defaulting to one parachute phrase when faced with a challenging question (”…did I mention people call him ‘Maverick?’…), but I was genuinely confused. How is it possible that this woman is even being considered to help rule the United States of America??

When asked to explain her experience with foreign policy (even though she was just issued a passport for the first time in her entire life a year ago) her response was that Alaska borders Russia and Canada…”two foreign countries!!” Oh ya…that and the fact that foreign aircrafts fly over Alaska (which, first of all, isn’t even true). …Seriously?? SERIOUSLY????

Have the American people become calloused to the incompetence and blatant lack of intelligence that has embodied our leadership for the past 8 years? Have we lowered our standards by default, or have we just lost hope in the idea of dependable leaders?

A leader is supposed to be someone who inspires us to reach higher, to strive for greatness, to believe in our ability as individuals and as a nation to be extraordinary. A leader is someone with the patience and insight to be able to observe and admit the mistakes we have made as a country and a human race, and who ACTS, not TALKS, about making positive progress and necessary changes in the way we impact one another and the world around us. A leader is someone with the grace to rise above self-interest, and with the integrity to make decisions for the good of the whole. Most importantly, a leader is someone who makes all of these seemingly romanticized and idealistic values of which I speak a reality and not a joke.

We, as human beings, have dumbfounding potential. Our race (and by that I mean the human race) has the ability to singlehandedly create a world that nurtures and embodies everything that we need and desire. We have the ability to create balance among ourselves and with the delicate world in which we live. We have the ability to make wise decisions, to see beyond ourselves and our own limited experiences and beliefs, and to coexist with one another despite our differences. It might sound far-fetched, but the reality is, WE HAVE THE ABILITY!!!!!

Why, then, do we settle for the bottom of the heap? What is it that is standing in our way of allowing progress to happen? Is it the overwhelming fear that the current administration – along with their media puppets – have injected into the hearts and minds of all Americans so that they can create an illusion of being our knights in shining armor who save us from the evil terrorists….or imminent economic depression (which THEY have caused)…?? Are we really so blind that we can’t see through that??? Have we become so immune to the Federal Government’s sticky fingers from dipping their hands in foreign oil investments for the sake of keeping the rich rich and the poor…well…disregarded….that we have actually come to ACCEPT this??

Seriously, people. The jig is fucking up! We need CHANGE!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s no longer about partisan identity. It’s about character. Throughout this election process we have witnessed the routine, run-of-the-mill political drama unfold. It hasn’t just been the Republicans. Hillary did it too. The finger-pointing, the hearsay, the gloves raised and the guns blazing throughout the typical showdown. But one candidate has remained steadfast, calm, collected, present, aware, humble, and honest throughout the ENTIRE campaign. When Obama was bashed for his involvement with Rev. Wright after his publicized racist remarks, Obama did not falter. He absorbed the responsibility, acknowledged and stood by his previous relationship with the Reverend, and instead of throwing a left hook out of defense, or taking the opportunity to play the “I’m black” card, he spoke about how the issue of racism spurred by this event applies to the American people. He took a personal attack and used it as an opportunity to speak to the needs and well-being of the entire nation, while still accepting all necessary responsibility.

When McCain tried to pull a typical Republican hero move by claiming valiantly that he was going to suspend his campaign in order to address the economic crisis at hand (while simultaneously completely shifting his historical views on regulation), Obama responded by saying that a leader must be able to juggle multiple taks as they arise. While the nation watched as McCain’s risky stunt landed him flat on his face, Obama has remained steadfast.

I am anxious and hopeful that tonight’s debates will reveal even more clarity to the American people that Obama and Biden greatly outshine the dull and tired Republican team that has, unfortunately, carried on the torch of bullshit that their predecessors have kept burning for the past 8 years.

To register to vote, visit www.voteforchange.com

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“I am an artist. As an artist, I may need a different mix of stability and flow from other people. I may find that a nine-to-five job steadies me and leaves me freer to create. Or I may find that a nine-to-five drains me of energy and leaves me unable to create. I must experiment with what works for me

An artist’s cash flow is typically erratic. No law says we must be broke all the time, but the odds are good we may be broke some of the time. Good work will sometimes not sell. People will buy but not pay promptly. The market may be rotten even when the work is great. I cannot control these factors. Being true to the inner artist often results in work that sells – but not always. I have to free myself from determining my value and the value of my work by my work’s market value.

The idea that money validates my credibility is very hard to shake. If money determines real art, then Gauguin was a charlatan. As an artist, I may never have a home that looks like Town And Country - or I may. On the other hand, I may have a book of poems, a song, a piece of performance art, a film.

I must learn that as an artist my credibility lies with me, God, and my work. In other words, if I have a poem to write, I need to write that poem – whether it will sell or not.

I need to create what wants to be created. I cannot plan a career to unfold in a sensible direction dictated by cash flow and marketing strategies. Those things are fine, but too much attention to them can stifle the child within, who gets scared and angered when continually put off. Children, as we all know, do not deal well with “Later. Not now.”

Since my artist is a child, the natural child within, I must make some concessions to is sense of timing. SOME concessions does not mean total irresponsibility. What it means is letting the artist have quality time, knowing that if I let it do what it wants to it will cooperate with me in doing what I need to do.

Sometimes I will write badly, draw badly, paint badly, perform badly. I have a right to do that to get to the other side. Creativity is its own reward.

As an artist, I must be very careful to surround myself with people who nurture my artist – not people who try to overly domesticate it for my own good. Certain friendships will kick off my artistic imagination and others will deaden it.

I may be a good cook, a rotten housekeeper, and strong artist. I am messy, disorganized except as pertains to writing, a demon for creative detail, and not real interested in details like polished shoes and floors.

To a large degree my life is my art, and when it gets dull, so does my work. As an artist, I may poke into what other people think of as dead ends: a punk band that I mysteriously fall for, a piece of gospel music that hooks my inner ear, a piece of red silk I just like and add to a nice outfit, thereby “ruining it.”

As an artist, I may frizz my hair or wear weird clothes. I may spend too much money on perfume in a pretty blue bottle even though the perfume stinks because the bottle lets me write about Paris in the 1930’s.

As an artist, I write whether I think it’s any good or not. I shoot movies other people may hate. I sketch bad sketches to say “I was in this room. I was happy. It was May and I was meeting somebody I wanted to meet.”

As an artist, my self-respect comes from doing the work. One performance at a time, one gig at a time, one song at a time. Six years to write one decent song that I am willing to play for other people. Throughout it all, daily, I show up at the morning pages and I write about my ugly curtains, my rotten haircut, my delight in the way the light hit the trees on the morning run.

As an artist, I do not need to be rich, but I do need to be richly supported. I cannot allow my emotional and intellectual life to stagnate or the work will show it. My life will show it. My temperament will show it. If I don’t create, I get crabby.

As an artist, I can literally die from boredom. I kill myself when I fail to nurture my artist child because I am acting like somebody else’s idea of an adult. The more I nurture my artist child, the more adult I am able to appear. Spoiling my artist means it will let me type a business letter. Ignoring my artist means a grinding depression.

There is a connection between self-nurturing and self-respect. If I allow myself to be bullied and cowed by other people’s urges for me to be more normal or more nice, I sell myself out. They may like me better, feel more comfortable with my more conventional appearance or behavior, but I will hate myself. Hating myself, I may lash out at myself and others.

If I sabotage my artist, I can well expect an eating binge, a sex binge, a temper binge. When we are not creating, artists are not always very normal or very nice – to ourselves or to others.

Creativity is oxygen for our souls. Cutting off our creativity makes us savage. We react like we are being choked. There is a real rage that surfaces when we are interfered with on a level that involves picking lint off of us and fixing us up. When well-meaning parents and friends push marriage or 9-5 jobs or anything on us that doesnt evolve in a way that allows for our art to continue, we will react as though we are fighting for our lives – we are.

To be an artist is to recognize the particular. To appreciate the peculiar. To allow a sense of play in your relationship to accepted standards. To ask the question “Why?” To be an artist is to risk admitting that much of what is money, property and prestige strikes you as just a little silly.

To be an artist is to acknowledge the astonishing. It is to allow the wrong piece in a room if we like it. It is to hang onto a weird coat that makes us happy. It is to not keep trying to be something that we aren’t.

If you are happier writing than not writing, singing than not singing, photographing than not photographing, for God’s sake (and I mean that literally) let yourself do it.

To kill your dreams because they are irresponsible is to be irresponsible for yourself. Credibility lies with you and God – not with a vote of your friends, parents and acquaintances.

Creativity is a spiritual practice. It is not something that can be perfected, finished and set aside.

The creator made us creative. Our creativity is our gift FROM God. Our use of it is our gift TO God. Accepting this bargain is the beginning of true self-acceptance.”

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I have this friend (who will remain unnamed) who adores Oprah. She even once uttered the words “if Oprah told me to jump off a bridge, I’d do it.” I love my friend dearly, and while I dont claim to have the same allegiance to Oprah, I AM admittedly on the bandwagon of her recent endorsement of Eckhart Tolle’s new book “A New Earth.”

It’s a dense and heady read, and it’s one of those books that has been taking me much longer than most books to get through (since I tend to read at night when I’m winding down to attempt to go to sleep), as I find myself having to read it like a text book in order to actually process the information and ideas being employed. While dense and heady, it is also quite simple in its lessons…but in that way that most valid spiritual philosophies are “simple.” The idea that our attachment to pleasure and our aversion to pain is what causes all suffering is a “simple” concept to intellectualize, but somehow immensely and painstakingly impossible to put into our bank of permanent experiential wisdom.

But, in that warm, fuzzy Oprah-like fashion, I can’t help but find humbling and obvious relevance to what Tolle is saying in each new section that I read (and re-read with a highliter).

Tonight’s section honed in on “Reactivity and Grievances.” At the core of Tolle’s philosophies (at least from what I’ve read so far) is this concept of the “Ego.” I know this word gets tossed around in social and psychological contexts left and right, but (if I may so boldly attempt to reiterate) Tolle explains the “Ego” as being the illusion of self that we perceive as separating us from everyone (and everything) else. That is to say, there is no distinction. There are no distinctions. This human tendency to create an illusion of dinstinction and separateness is what Tolle sees as being the root dysfunction of humanity.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed as I read through the few pages that break down with such poignant brevity the unnecessary harm that grievances can cause in our lives. While I consider myself to be one who, at the very least, strives to live progressively and consiously, I couldn’t help but shake my head at how much power I have allowed personal, petty grievances disrupt my life and peace of mind.

I’ll quote Tolle: “A grievance is a strong negative emotion connected to an event in the sometimes distant past that is being kept alive by compulsive thinking, by retelling the story in the head or out loud of ‘what someone did to me.’”

Jesus…how many nights have I sat up much later than I should have only to mentally rant about how pissed off I was at so-and-so for doing that utterly dispicable thing “to me??” it’s amazing how much power we can give away…not even TO others (because that would just be another illusion of the ego, right?) …but just to the power of negativity. Tolle points out that in holding grudges, you are essentially saying “I am right, and THEY are wrong.” Not only is this a compelte and utter indulgence of the ego, but it is useless as well.

“The truth, in any case, needs no defense” Tolle says. (Duh, right?) If one is trying to defend what they perceive as being the “truth” of a situation, it is a wasted effort, since the truth will be true regardless of whether or not someone is there to defend it. Defending a perceived truth is merely indulging in an emotional reaction to a situation, and a further abuse of the ego. And let’s face it…when do we ever really defend the “Truth” so much as our opinion of what we think is right or wrong. It is only in gaining the awareness to make the distinction between an event and our emotions surrounding that event that allow us to free ourselves from these harbored grievances and negative reactions.

“Stick to the facts,” Tolle says.

Again, easier said than done, but I can’t ignore the blatancy of the truth in what Tolle is saying.

He goes on to address the more mundane human reality of this practice as well. “Don’t try to let go of the grievances,” he says. “Trying to let go, to forgive, does not work. Forgiveness happens naturally when you see that it has no purpose other than to strengthen a false sense of self, to keep the ego in place.”

Alright, Eckhart. I’m workin’ on it. I guess I could surrender my plans to egg the car of that one guy who screwed me over back in high school (or the one who screwed me over a month ago) in the name of personal growth.

Just kidding about the egging, of course…

…kind of.

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Granted, I’m fully aware that the quote titled above was refering to “minorities” in a slightly different context, but I found the quote to be suitably relevent to the recent news that our country is finally starting to venture down an exciting and progressive path by nominating Barack Obama as our Democratic presidential candidate.

I am not, by any means, what most would define as a “politcal” person. I think that power (as defined by those typically involved in politics) is a figment of the human ego, and the means by which so many people seek to obtain it, a cringe-worthy offense to true human potential. I, personally, tend to rebel against structure, and even moreso against anyone trying to impose it upon me.
…That said…after the planes hit the twin towers in 2001, I started paying attention, and when we declared war in Iraq in 2003, I started getting angry. And when America (supposedly) re-elected George W. Bush in 2004, I cried, and vowed to make some changes in my own life to ensure that I, at the very least, would never contribute to such an ignorant and revolting decision. I know I’m not alone in this. Speaking for my age group in general, since I have been legally able to vote in any kind of election, George W. Bush has been president. Since I, personally, have been “awake” to the political world, to the state of our country and government, and to the perspectives that other nations hold of America, I have become conditioned to assume that any words uttered by our nation’s leader were lies. I have becomed conditioned to believe that any decision he makes is most likely out of nothing other than self-interest and deceit, and that any decision worthy enough of making for the betterment of the whole (country, world, planet…) would probably get tossed aside with disregard.

The notion that the leader of the free world, the most “powerful” man on earth, could be someone to look up to, someone to honor, someone to trust and believe in…and not just someone whose face is printed on rolls of toilet paper along with a list of idiotic things that have come out of his mouth…has been completely foreign to me…

…until now.

I first saw Barack Obama speak at a Democratic fundraiser in LA back in 2004 (when people were still hopefully energized by the chance that John Kerry would win the election over Bush). He spoke last, followed by other well-known senators like Clinton and Edwards. All of the preceding speakers took their stance at the podium, and put on a good enough show, speaking in that one tone that politicians speak in that could be classified as “Shakespeare for the modern day political stage.” I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about any of their speeches other than the fact that they spoke with all the appropriate intonations that registered in my brain as typical political “bla bla bla BLA bla bla…” I mean…I clapped and everything.

But then Obama came out. I had heard his name before, but honestly wasn’t totally sure who he was at that point. I remember so clearly watching him walk on stage. He was carrying one of Chad Smith’s drum sticks (the Chili Peppers had just performed) and laughing at something that Flea said to him as he was walking up to the stage. He had that classic Obama smile that makes you just giggle like a little girl (or a 25 year old one), and he walked up to the podium, took the microphone off the platform and held it in his hand as he walked up to the front of the stage and looked out at the crowd. He was fully present. Everybody…EVERYBODY…was quiet, and looking directly at him. He had that effortless charisma that is so genuine and natural and innate to him, and he just…talked. He talked TO us, rather than AT us. And while, 4 years later, my memory doesn’t hold the exact words he used, I remember being fully engaged while he spoke. People in the crowd nodded and furled their eyebrows as if they were thinking “dude….TOTALLY!” I felt like I was sitting in a coffeeshop with him and we were drinking nonfat lattes and splitting a banana bread slice and he was telling me about his thoughts on how the world could be a better place while I sat there and listened intently (while eating slightly more than my half of the banana bread because he was talking instead of eating…I do that sometimes).

I remember calling home and talking to my stepdad (who is passionately FOR anything AGAINST Bush) about Obama. He was well aware of him, and he talked to me about how what our country really needs is for someone like Obama to be our president. We laughed dreamingly about the notion of that, and how far-fetched it seemed at that point.

Tonight, four years later, I called my stepdad, yelling at the top of my lungs with excitement over the recent news of Obama’s candiacy for president…and he spoke with just as much passion about his belief that this 46 year old man…this 46 year old black man…who worked his way to where he is through hard, honest, selfless and purely-intentioned WORK (something George W. Bush knows nothing about)…has such immense potential to truly turn this nation around. “What a juxtaposition,” my stepdad said…to have the past 8 years of disheartening lies, deceit, war, selfishness and alienation on the part of George W. Bush, followed by the possibility of Barack Obama being not only the first African American president, but more importantly, an overwhelmingly qualified candidate to make some desperately needed changes in perspective and action. Perspective of America in the eyes of the world, and perspective of the government in the eyes of the American people. Action to clear away the cobwebs of the old, obsolete methods of leadership in this country that have held us back from taking steps forward in the areas of civil rights, international relations, health care, education, and the environmental crisis.

And here I am, 7 years since my eligibility as a participating American citizen, and I am finally understanding what it means to have a (potential) leader in whom I have full trust, who I believe is not only fully capable of making this country – and the lives of the people in it – better, but who will actually follow through on his word to do so. I understand what it might be like to have a president whose words fill my mind with possibility and my heart with hope and the motivation to get involved in what can potentially be a massive movement toward a nation that represents progress, forward-thinking, and modern, relevant virtues. I can catch a glimpse of what it’s like to be an American and be proud…proud of our leader who inspires us to think and to act from a place of positive growth.

Man…here’s hoping.

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Without belittling the steadfast and solid people in my life who have consistently proven to be infallible friends and sources of support, I can honestly say that I am going through a very solitary phase in my life where the majority of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences go unshared. Strangely, it’s taken me this long to really grasp that this phase essentially began when I left Los Angeles and went to India by myself in the summer of 2006.

Prior to that, my life had been painfully stable, routine, safe, and entwined with the amazing people with whom I was lucky enough to be friends. Save the 9 months leading up to my departure (which were filled with non-stop partying and social indulgences), I had been in a 2 year relationship with the only partner with whom I’ve truly ever felt equally vulnerable and safe. My life with him was completely shared, for better or worse, and it was a beautiful time.

But by the time our relationship had (peacefully) ended and I was feeling the pangs of wanderlust and the lightness of no emotional attachments, my life was coming to a steady plateau, and I felt the desperate need for change, adventure, and new challenges. I needed to push myself in ways I had never been pushed before, and to seek out – among other things – my own limitations.

For reasons I doubt I’ll ever be able to explain or understand fully, I was called to go to India. So…I did. Without having any idea what to expect (and relishing in that fact), I put a couple of shirts, a pair of cotton pants, and 10 pounds of medical supplies in a backpack and hopped a plane to Delhi….

(see my posts from 2006 for intricate details)

…India was honestly one of the most challenging times in my life, and very little of it had anything to do with “India.” Granted, traveling alone in a third-world country where “comfort” is a laughable fantasy, definitely had its qualms:

You are always dirty. Depending on where you are you are always either hot or cold. During the monsoon season, I was constantly wet, whether from sweat or rain that poured from the sky in a way I’ve never seen in my life. As a Westerner (and a woman), you are treated like a celebrity, but in all the worst ways. Men stare blatantly at you, and children chase you down the street in your rickshaw just to attempt to touch your hand. There are bugs unlike anything you’ve ever seen, save on the Discovery channel, and all of them bite. All of them. I was consistently covered from head to toe with mosquito bites. I got lice during a 10 day meditation course where I was not allowed to talk or interact with any other human beings. I was stung by a giant scorpion while at the orphanage (which the kids laughed off as if I had stubbed my toe). I got scabies and had to boil all of my clothes in pots (luckily there were 2 lovely women working at the guest house where I was staying who helped me and whom I befriended). I gained 20 pounds from lack of exercise and constant ingestion of foods cooked with ghee and whole-milk, and I felt slightly ill for most of the time I was there. But you know what…just like anything else in life….you adjust.

Aside from the menial day-to-day struggles, there was so much unbelievable and overwhelming beauty to be found on that trip. I met some amazing people along the way, many of whom have stayed in my life, and a few of which I remain closely entangled with (for better or worse). I lived with, cared for, and taught 120 Indian and Nepalese orphans who -to this day- are some of the strongest, most radiant and resilient humans I’ve ever met. They taught me so much, and left me feeling humbled like I never had before. In fact, the people of India in general are some of the most humbling to encounter. Even in the face of poverty beyond our comprehension, sickness and filth, and the reality that there is nothing else for them, they are some of the happiest, most contented peoples I’ve ever met. I collected some of the most dumbfounding sunsets. I watched the sunset every day for several weeks from atop a mountain in Dharamkot, at the base of the Himalayas. For 10 of those days, I watched it set in silence along side a family of monkeys who seemed to find that moment of every day just as necessary to witness as I did. I stood atop an ancient fort in the middle of the desert and watched the sun set over a sprawling Eastern metropolis. I laid down in the sand dunes and watched the sun set into the vast nothingness of the Rajasthan desert, and then caught an equally radiant “Purnima” (full-moon-rise) that same night while riding a camel through the moonlit desert. I awoke the next morning to see the sun rising from our camp in the desert, and watched it rise while sipping hot chai, beside my camel transport. I climbed a mountain in Pushkar with 4 Israeli friends to watch the sun set over the holy city, alongside a sadhu whose silence was contagious and whose presence made the experience even more profound. I watched the sun sink slowly into a deep red Indian Ocean from the 25th floor of an ashram in the middle of the Keralan backwaters, surrounded by nothing by palm trees and devotees.

But along with all the burdens and all the beauty that spiced my external experiences, the most profound and difficult part of the trip was that I was experiencing it all alone. Granted, I was fortunate to meet and travel with some truly astounding and colorful people, but they, too, were on their own journeys, and we were merely a presence of illusory safety and temporary companionship for one another along the way. Even though we were watching the same scenes unfold around us, we were all affected by them independently. Kind of like regular life…only amplified.

I brought with me the obligatory journal to write down whatever thoughts and experiences my mind could catch as they sped by. I also wrote epic emails home to friends and family to try to paint a picture of my encounters (a very small number of whom probably actually READ them), but these outlets were merely a filter to catch those thoughts and experiences that were actually capable of being put into words. Far more, however, sifted through the cracks and have been mulling about in my mind and my memory ever since. These…are mine alone.

In coming back from India in late winter of ’06, I felt like a child lost in a crowd who caught a glimpse of their parent through the abyss and ran, full-fledged, into their arms. I don’t even remember my flight home. All I remember was walking through customs with my backpack and seeing my dad waiting for me by the baggage claim.
There were no words.

I felt like I had been asleep for months, and was still blind and blurred by the sleep in my mind and my eyes. I remember walking into the kitchen at home and my mom asking (as she notoriously does) “can I get you something to eat?” I glanced around at all of the food…ALL of the food just sitting there in the pantry and cupboards and shelves and fridge…and all I could do was shake my head. I didn’t leave my house for 2 weeks, and I don’t think I unpacked my backpack for at least one. The idea of being responsible for more than what I could carry was a bit overwhelming, despite my usual tendency to not only HAVE a lot of shit, but to have it strewn about carelessly. I did all the things one would expect a person to do after returning from such a trip…I took baths, I ate all my favorite foods, I watched television, I did laundry after wearing a pair of jeans once just because I could. I played my guitar and I blasted all my favorite music on my stereo until I drove my brothers crazy.

But my mind was indisposed. My brothers and my parents loitered around waiting for stories. I gave them tidbits as they arose and if they were relevant, but I still don’t think to this day that I’ve ever sat down and told anyone about my trip in its entirety. There’s just no way. I eventually saw a couple friends as I felt ready to, and they would greet me with the anticipated “So…how was it?”

“It was…a lot of things.”

……………………….

It’s been about 15 months since I returned to Los Angeles. I have yet to say that I’ve fully settled back into any kind of stability or direction. To be completely honest, I have no idea if the reason for that has anything to do with India, as the trip itself was short in the grand scheme of things. At the same time, though, I can honestly say that I experienced more, and at a much more rapid pace, on that trip than I ever have during any substantial chunk of my life. The challenge and the exhilaration in traveling like that is that you are in a constant state of flux. You move from one city to the next, meet new people at every turn, leave others behind, and you never settle. You don’t attach. You keep going. And then you leave.

In a way, I feel like that’s how I have been living my life since I’ve returned. I’ve gone through several jobs, several lovers, and several groups of friends. Only here there is this undercurrent of constancy that is both stabilizing and mind-numbing.

It’s a lonely journey. While I feel I have seen some of the most amazing places, felt the weight of love along the way, and the lightness of sheer freedom, I have experienced all of these things as a traveler does…completely alone.

I’ve met people along the way, some of whom I’ve shared precious moments with, and others with whom I’ve shared a meal and light conversation and perhaps a bed for the night. But those shared moments are fleeting, impermanent.

I do have some shining lights, some solid pillars with whom I can unload my burdens and share my thoughts. But, in a way, it’s a lot like writing home. You can give as many details as your mind can muster. You can use descriptive language and even attach a photo or two if the internet is working. But it’s not the same as being there.

…………………..

The one profound “realization” that I returned with and feel able to articulate is this experiential understanding of…let’s call it “nonduality.” Perhaps it’s a residual affect of my 10 day Vipassana course in India, but I can honestly say that I know it to be true that there is no distinction between good and bad, pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy. They, along with every other experience humans are capable of, are all part of the same, ever-changing experience of human life. They are all equally valid, and equally necessary. It is our human attachment to the pleasure and joy (which we categorize as being “good”) and our aversion to the pain and sorrow (which we categorize as being “bad”) that causes us to suffer. Don’t get me wrong. I still suffer. But at least when I do, I now understand what that suffering really is.
Nothing ever stays the same. And it is only in allowing ourselves to accept this, and align our thoughts and actions with this simple (yet painfully elusive) reality, that we can truly be at peace with any and every experience.

I’m still working on it.

But what has perhaps been the most difficult adjustment for me to make in my re-emersion into Western (and in particular, Los Angeles) culture is that everyone seems to have this inclination to want to create distinctions. People put themselves and others into these categories, as if humans are only capable of embodying one set of standards. In LA, these categories are referred to as scenes, and to be a part of any of them you have to exist within a certain duality where you ARE this, and therefore are NOT that.
It is so counter-intuitive to the way things really are, and yet I struggle with it every day. I find myself thinking “if I do THIS or I wear THIS, then people will think I’m THIS way, but does that mean that I’m not THAT way also?” It drains me beyond belief.

Why can’t people be this AND that at the same time? Why would anyone want to limit themselves to only being one way, when in reality, there are no such things as “this” or “that?” THERE ARE NO DISTINCTIONS! We are all just humans, and as lame as cliché as that sounds, it is the harsh reality of the world. For some reason, it’s one of the most difficult things for people to do…to accept that –while we are, indeed, individuals, each on our own path – we are all going to the same place…whether you want to call it Heaven, Hell, or dirt, we’re all going there, and when you strip away these superficial skins that make us all look so fucking different and special….we’re all the same.

There is no “or.”

I get it though. It’s so much easier to put things in safe little boxes where we can believe we understand them and therefore have control over them, and over ourselves. That’s what humans are known for, really….what do you think Religion is? Or government? Or art?
………………….

To quote Kurt Vonnegut’s reiteration of the self-created Fifty-third Calypso in the Book of Bokononism:

Oh, a sleeping drunkard
Up in Central Park,
And a lion-hunter
In the jungle dark,
And a Chinese dentist,
And a British queen–
All fit together
In the same machine.
Nice, nice, very nice;
Nice, nice, very nice;
Nice, nice, very nice–
So many different people
In the same device.

Filed under: Thought by cassietregellas
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