The other day I went to my 3rd yoga class at a highly esteemed studio in Bali, the only place I have purchased a class card to on this entire trip. For the 3rd time in a row I was totally annoyed by the teachings...to the point that I had funny images in my head of walking up to the management and saying that I thought their classes kinda sucked, but if they wanted to hire me, I could make them at least 10x better. But I didn't really do that. I just broiled, instead!
It's not that the classes are that bad, it's just that they haven't been that good. The teachers are obviously trained and have some sort of spiritual practice, but they lacked true depth. Heck, maybe my classes lack depth, too, I don't know, but either way what I really want to talk about is the affect this had on me.
The first class I went with it the best I could, although a disengaged mind is a wandering mind. So I watched the rice paddies, looked at Mt. Agung in the distance, felt the breeze and told myself that this weird girl only had me for another hour at best and I could work with that. In fits and starts, I did work with her and in much the same way, I resisted her, too. But by the end of class I paid fine attention to her announcement to hear when she was teaching again (must avoid) and noticed that even un-enjoyable yoga still has some positive after-effect.
Turns out she was a sub, so I concluded that I might have better luck with a regular teacher. I tried again the next day. This teacher had simple and wise tidbits he laid down throughout his restorative class, which didn't involve anything restorative except savasana.
The last class was a Yin class, the kind that is so simple and easy that it takes a highly qualified teacher to lead the journey. I was determined to like this class, which may not have been the best attitude, but it was my attitude either way.
One of the things that I have come face to face with on this journey is that the only thing we ever really bring to one another is our energy. It gets expressed through all sorts of things like language, the words we choose, tone of voice, how we dress, what we share, etc. and this experience is of course amplified when you do not speak the local language nor have much basis in the cultural customs. In these circumstances, all you have is the energy you carry with you. So I decided that I did not want to surround myself with dislike anymore. It wasn't the kind of energy I wanted to carry with me, present to myself or share with others. I was going to like this class.
It started off with a 30 minutes guided meditation. That is a long sit and 1/3 of the class and, did I mention it was guided, which I absolutely, um, hate. Basically, I listened to this guy talk for 30 minutes. I'm not saying it wasn't meditative, but I am saying that I didn't enjoy it. Luckily we moved into the physical practice at that point and I figured I would have a opportunity to find some liking in that. Mostly, I did like it, as long as he wasn't talking. But the thing was he talked alot, which eventually got me into a whole lot of internal talking, too.
When is he going to stop talking? Why can't I stop listening to him? How much longer is this going to go on? Is he really telling me to breath in and releeeeeeaaaaassssse all tension, AGAIN?! That was when I remembered that I had a choice. I couldn't change him, his style of yoga nor the cadence of his voice and I couldn't make myself like what I didn't like, but I didn't have to have a bad time just because I didn't like what was happening. I made a choice and that choice was to enjoy my dislike. It worked like a charm.
My face soften, my breath deepened and I spent a good deal of time laughing inside about how much fun it can be to not like something.
Om Bolo Sat Guru Bhagavan Ki!
Jai!
December 31, 2010
December 30, 2010
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
PITY THE NATION
(After Khalil Gibran)
Pity the nation whose people are sheep
And whose shepherds mislead them
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars
Whose sages are silenced
And whose bigots rule the airwaves
Pity the nation that raises not its voice
Except to praise conquerers
And acclaim the bully as hero
And aims to rule the world
By force and by torture
Pity the nation that knows
No other language but its own
And no other culture but its own
Pity the nation whose breath is money
And sleeps the sleep of the too well fed
Pity the nation oh pity the people
who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away
My country, tears of thee
Sweet land of liberty!
(After Khalil Gibran)
Pity the nation whose people are sheep
And whose shepherds mislead them
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars
Whose sages are silenced
And whose bigots rule the airwaves
Pity the nation that raises not its voice
Except to praise conquerers
And acclaim the bully as hero
And aims to rule the world
By force and by torture
Pity the nation that knows
No other language but its own
And no other culture but its own
Pity the nation whose breath is money
And sleeps the sleep of the too well fed
Pity the nation oh pity the people
who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away
My country, tears of thee
Sweet land of liberty!
December 28, 2010
Roots
I've been thinking a lot about roots lately. This started just before I left on my trip. It seemed like a pretty natural response to my intention for this journey: to expand my reach and carrying my yoga practice, both as student and teacher, to somewhere that felt like home in SE Asia. Since I had no idea where that somewhere was, this trip was organized a little differently then how I normally travel . Instead of going to one place and getting to know it well, I planned to explore as many countries as I reasonably could in 6 weeks. In general, this seems like a pretty ungrounded idea for me and I wondered how I would fair.
My yoga practice has always been one about grounding down, getting back into the body and shedding the trappings of the mind in favor of the unexpected gift of the moment, so in some ways, I am made to travel. It's just that I like to have a home base, a place I can retreat to and recollect my center when the world overwhelms, but for this trip, I knew if I wanted to stay centered, I had to be my center. It was time to take root in myself.
It's been a delightful process, really, and one so much easier to accomplish thousands of miles away from home then it would be in the land of the everyday. No doubt. But regardless of the circumstances that surround my rootedness, I am reminded of the tale of the old fabled musk deer who searches the whole world over for the beautiful scent that lies within. Actually, I'm not just reminded, I am the musk deer herself, but the search is over. Not the work, mind you, the work is just beginning, but the search for that sweet, dreamy, creative ground where spirit and jest live like two hands joined together on one body, that search has dissolved at its source.
It is timely and interesting to me, although not at all surprising, that my roots are flourishing within at the same time as they are nourished without. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Do I feel rooted because I have found home or have I found home because I feel rooted? There is no difference.
I love Bali. It feels like home in a way that home never felt like. And while I am fully aware that I am on week 4 of my vacation, which is a pretty easy reality to fall in love with, I am also fully aware that my perspective is a choice. A choice that I am entirely capable of wielding successfully. I can live my whole life like this if I want to, as a traveler who is rooted within, flowing through each new moment, each simple experience to the tune of some unseen rhythm.
And that, is exactly what I choose to do.
An old Chinese Proverb, for you:
If there is light in the soul,
There will be beauty in the person.
If there is beauty in the person,
There will be harmony in the house.
If there is harmony in the house,
There will be order in the nation.
If there is order in the nation,
There will be peace in the world.
My yoga practice has always been one about grounding down, getting back into the body and shedding the trappings of the mind in favor of the unexpected gift of the moment, so in some ways, I am made to travel. It's just that I like to have a home base, a place I can retreat to and recollect my center when the world overwhelms, but for this trip, I knew if I wanted to stay centered, I had to be my center. It was time to take root in myself.
It's been a delightful process, really, and one so much easier to accomplish thousands of miles away from home then it would be in the land of the everyday. No doubt. But regardless of the circumstances that surround my rootedness, I am reminded of the tale of the old fabled musk deer who searches the whole world over for the beautiful scent that lies within. Actually, I'm not just reminded, I am the musk deer herself, but the search is over. Not the work, mind you, the work is just beginning, but the search for that sweet, dreamy, creative ground where spirit and jest live like two hands joined together on one body, that search has dissolved at its source.
It is timely and interesting to me, although not at all surprising, that my roots are flourishing within at the same time as they are nourished without. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Do I feel rooted because I have found home or have I found home because I feel rooted? There is no difference.
I love Bali. It feels like home in a way that home never felt like. And while I am fully aware that I am on week 4 of my vacation, which is a pretty easy reality to fall in love with, I am also fully aware that my perspective is a choice. A choice that I am entirely capable of wielding successfully. I can live my whole life like this if I want to, as a traveler who is rooted within, flowing through each new moment, each simple experience to the tune of some unseen rhythm.
And that, is exactly what I choose to do.
An old Chinese Proverb, for you:
If there is light in the soul,
There will be beauty in the person.
If there is beauty in the person,
There will be harmony in the house.
If there is harmony in the house,
There will be order in the nation.
If there is order in the nation,
There will be peace in the world.
December 27, 2010
Way of Life
I have long been attracted to"3rd world" Asian cultures and there are many reasons why. One is that I like the sound of their language and music, which I find accurately represents their way of life: mysterious, spirited and chaotic. Although it may well be that I enjoy my rudimentary understanding of such even more than the thing itself.
I also value their intimate connection to the land: rice farmers tilling the paddies by hand, construction workers sifting the soil to make mud plaster, roosters caught in hand woven baskets - these are just a few of the things I view as a satisfying and fully connected to the surrounding world. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I have romantic notions about manual labor. That guy plowing his rice paddy by hand is walking knee deep in the (no doubt) leech-filled muck, which looks just about awful to me, but I guarantee that his legs are the coolest thing in the burning sun and that his feet could tell you detailed stories about that land. He, and the other Balinese around him, are 100% alive.
They are alive in their history, in their culture, they are alive in their somewhat informal day to day offerings and prayers, they are alive within the rhythm of nature. One of the things you often hear Westerners complain of in Asia is the lack of firm schedules and timetables that fail to exist for just about everything from bus to plane to appointment and even in regards to how long it will take you to walk from A to B. While I can see how someone used to artificial timetables would have a hard time in Asia, I can't for the life of me understand why we choose to live in such a way.
So what if the bus does not leave at 2 o'clock when scheduled? It leaves at 2:45, when it is good and full so that all the precious petrol they can barely afford to buy is used efficiently to carry the most number of people. So what if the music/dance/ceremony does not start at 8 o'clock as promised? They are plenty of people around to engage in lively conversation. And whether it actually takes 5 or 25 minutes to get from here to there, well that depends on how much it is gushing rain or who you happen to stop and talk to or help along the way.
The Balinese (and other peoples of the 3rd world) are creative people. They can hold things together with gum and paperclips that have absolutely no business being held together in such a way. Most of them know how all of their possession work. When they get into a smash up in their cars they don't take the vehicle to the mechanic for a fix, they find their friend and together they go about, well, something or other, until it runs again. They also have the unique skill of being able to fit an entire family on a 100cc motorbike and can either negotiate or charm the money right out of your pockets, time and time again.
Or, 3 more of my all time favorites, they hardly wear shoes, they sit on the ground and have no idea what personal space is. Considering that I teach yoga (no shoes, no seat) and like to be squished smack in the middle of a group of friends, none of this is new to me. What is new is that these traits are common to everyone here. They take their shoes off when entering a temple or a residence and when it's positively soaking wet and they are entering a business. They sit on the ground or on raised platforms whether kneeling or cross-legged for ceremonies, dinner or simple conversation and always with one person just about on top of the other. It is difficult to tell who is the mother, the father, the grandmother, the sister the brother, the friend, etc because everyone is social and affectionate with everyone else. They are all here together.
They only thing that is truly unnatural for me here is that they walk slowly, a combination of un-godly heat and flip flops, I believe, but either way it leaves me trailing behind and asking myself exactly where I am rushing off to? Is it to lunch that I must hurry to? Or, wait, to dinner? Oh, maybe I'm in a hurry to wander down the street? It doesn't matter, though, because I never come up with an answer. They only place I really need to be, I already happen to occupy.
I leave you with a quote from Nostradamus.
When you find the place where happy, vital, and healthy people live, and many old folks are in good health, then stay there.
I also value their intimate connection to the land: rice farmers tilling the paddies by hand, construction workers sifting the soil to make mud plaster, roosters caught in hand woven baskets - these are just a few of the things I view as a satisfying and fully connected to the surrounding world. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I have romantic notions about manual labor. That guy plowing his rice paddy by hand is walking knee deep in the (no doubt) leech-filled muck, which looks just about awful to me, but I guarantee that his legs are the coolest thing in the burning sun and that his feet could tell you detailed stories about that land. He, and the other Balinese around him, are 100% alive.
They are alive in their history, in their culture, they are alive in their somewhat informal day to day offerings and prayers, they are alive within the rhythm of nature. One of the things you often hear Westerners complain of in Asia is the lack of firm schedules and timetables that fail to exist for just about everything from bus to plane to appointment and even in regards to how long it will take you to walk from A to B. While I can see how someone used to artificial timetables would have a hard time in Asia, I can't for the life of me understand why we choose to live in such a way.
So what if the bus does not leave at 2 o'clock when scheduled? It leaves at 2:45, when it is good and full so that all the precious petrol they can barely afford to buy is used efficiently to carry the most number of people. So what if the music/dance/ceremony does not start at 8 o'clock as promised? They are plenty of people around to engage in lively conversation. And whether it actually takes 5 or 25 minutes to get from here to there, well that depends on how much it is gushing rain or who you happen to stop and talk to or help along the way.
The Balinese (and other peoples of the 3rd world) are creative people. They can hold things together with gum and paperclips that have absolutely no business being held together in such a way. Most of them know how all of their possession work. When they get into a smash up in their cars they don't take the vehicle to the mechanic for a fix, they find their friend and together they go about, well, something or other, until it runs again. They also have the unique skill of being able to fit an entire family on a 100cc motorbike and can either negotiate or charm the money right out of your pockets, time and time again.
Or, 3 more of my all time favorites, they hardly wear shoes, they sit on the ground and have no idea what personal space is. Considering that I teach yoga (no shoes, no seat) and like to be squished smack in the middle of a group of friends, none of this is new to me. What is new is that these traits are common to everyone here. They take their shoes off when entering a temple or a residence and when it's positively soaking wet and they are entering a business. They sit on the ground or on raised platforms whether kneeling or cross-legged for ceremonies, dinner or simple conversation and always with one person just about on top of the other. It is difficult to tell who is the mother, the father, the grandmother, the sister the brother, the friend, etc because everyone is social and affectionate with everyone else. They are all here together.
They only thing that is truly unnatural for me here is that they walk slowly, a combination of un-godly heat and flip flops, I believe, but either way it leaves me trailing behind and asking myself exactly where I am rushing off to? Is it to lunch that I must hurry to? Or, wait, to dinner? Oh, maybe I'm in a hurry to wander down the street? It doesn't matter, though, because I never come up with an answer. They only place I really need to be, I already happen to occupy.
I leave you with a quote from Nostradamus.
When you find the place where happy, vital, and healthy people live, and many old folks are in good health, then stay there.
December 22, 2010
Open Hand, Open Heart
The Balinese love to talk to you. "Good morning, Miss!" "Gutentaag!" G'Day, Mate!" "Yes, Sir, Hellooooo!" Transport, handbags, massage, nails, Bintang, leather goods, you name it, they want to sell it to you and I don't blame them. Tourist money is good money and money they wouldn't otherwise see. But talking isn't enough to get a tourist to buy something, so when they can they offer their hand.
It's much harder to refuse an open hand then an open suggestion but let me tell you they don't like to let go. I've seen several tourists spend much of their energy saying no, no, no no, no and trying to walk away to no avail. If you offer your hand, which you can't not do, then you'd better be ready to buy something or lose your hand.
So it is even on the beach. If you've ever traveled to popular beaches in Mexico, Brazil, Bali or elsewhere you know the story: full-serve beach chairs, ice-cream, beers, massage, manicures, you name it, it's on the beach and it's coming to you. Considering that I was just out for a walk, I wasn't so concerned with getting trapped by all the opportunities to buy things, plus I have become well practiced in saying "No." So when Dego approached me to buy a seat on a beach chair for the day I told him I was just walking.
We chatted for a bit, he offered cheap beer and was shocked at my refusal (did I mention it is 10:30 in the morning?). I told him I was boring and we laughed. Then he asked where I was from, what was my name and he offered his hand. I told him America, Jen, offered my hand in return and asked his name. Dego shook my hand and I shook back. Then I held on firmly. I wasn't letting go this time. He asked if I would come back later, have a beach chair then? I told him no, but he could come with me. Now. I started to walk away and pulled him along with me.
He was genuinely surprised at this twist and quite a bit humored, too. He looked back at his friend on the beach chair as if to say, 'Get a load of this?' but his friend was busy rolling off the chair laughing. The Balinese are giggly and it is infectious. We were all laughing at this point and Dego dropped my hand, ran off towards the ocean and dove in. I waved goodbye to his friend and slowly walked my way.
It's much harder to refuse an open hand then an open suggestion but let me tell you they don't like to let go. I've seen several tourists spend much of their energy saying no, no, no no, no and trying to walk away to no avail. If you offer your hand, which you can't not do, then you'd better be ready to buy something or lose your hand.
So it is even on the beach. If you've ever traveled to popular beaches in Mexico, Brazil, Bali or elsewhere you know the story: full-serve beach chairs, ice-cream, beers, massage, manicures, you name it, it's on the beach and it's coming to you. Considering that I was just out for a walk, I wasn't so concerned with getting trapped by all the opportunities to buy things, plus I have become well practiced in saying "No." So when Dego approached me to buy a seat on a beach chair for the day I told him I was just walking.
We chatted for a bit, he offered cheap beer and was shocked at my refusal (did I mention it is 10:30 in the morning?). I told him I was boring and we laughed. Then he asked where I was from, what was my name and he offered his hand. I told him America, Jen, offered my hand in return and asked his name. Dego shook my hand and I shook back. Then I held on firmly. I wasn't letting go this time. He asked if I would come back later, have a beach chair then? I told him no, but he could come with me. Now. I started to walk away and pulled him along with me.
He was genuinely surprised at this twist and quite a bit humored, too. He looked back at his friend on the beach chair as if to say, 'Get a load of this?' but his friend was busy rolling off the chair laughing. The Balinese are giggly and it is infectious. We were all laughing at this point and Dego dropped my hand, ran off towards the ocean and dove in. I waved goodbye to his friend and slowly walked my way.
Persistence
Yes, I am talking about the male species. The combination of several Bintang and my intention to be more social put me face to face with Wayan. He arrived at the restaurant I was visiting last night and after a bit we got to talking, as best as my Bahasa Indonesian and his English could possibly get us.
From what I can gather, he is a transport driver (motorcycle & taxi), tattoo artist and broken-hearted middle aged Indonesian who likes to drink Bintang and I somehow agreed to go to the discotheque with him the next night at 9pm for dancing, and dancing only.
I love to dance. Christ, I'm a yoga instructor, movement is in my blood and when the weather is warm and my body is too hot to allow my mind to think, I just want to move to my own blessed rhythm. We agreed that he would pick me up via his motorcycle at 9pm and head to the discotheque. I spent the whole night brooding.
I don't know this man, nor the ways of the Indonesian culture. All in all, they seem happy and kind and sociable, but, again, I do not know this man, nor the situation I am getting into. Additionally, riding a motorcycle in Asia can be a harrowing adventure, one that I am not opposed to, but one that would definitely take me to places I would not know how to get away from.
I decided that I would not go, then fretted over my intention to be more social. This is always what happens when I make a resolve. Life gives me a situation to clarify exactly what that intention means. So, I decided I would go under my terms. No driving. I didn't want to be anywhere I couldn't trace my way out of and I wasn't drinking - at all. Then, I wavered. Maybe I should trust the world more, it's just dancing. But, no that is stupid, I should do what I feel comfortable with. But what about my intention? Who cares? What about safety? Maybe it will just keep on raining and he won't come and I won't have to decide...probably not.
I headed out for dinner around 6 and walked around a while afterwards. As I headed back into the hotel complex, I ran into Wayan. I thought Asia ran on the same clock as Brazil - at least 2 hours late, here was 2 hours early. I told Wayan I wasn't going anywhere by motorcycle. He said that it's ok, he brought the car. I said I didn't know him and I did want to go by car. I told him I would walk, not drive. He said he doesn't walk. We went back and forth. Finally, he agreed he would walk somewhere nearby for one drink, which was really the only way I was going anywhere.
We chose a place with live music, which is good because our conversation was pretty limited and sang along to UB-40 and the Beattles, whom I loath, (sorry everyone). I said one beer, but the waitstaff and Wayan teamed up against me and I ended up with 3. Thankfully, Bintang is weak beer and I held my own. Wayan continued to tempt me with the discotheque, a short drive away in Kuta and owned by a good friend of his. When that didn't work he tried wine, dinner and another beer. All of which I refused. He was persistent and I thought I was convincing him that I would be returning to my hotel after our drinks, but his pursuit continued. Finally, I pulled out the ace-in-the-whole: the boyfriend card. He is in Australia and I'm headed there to visit him. Really.
I hate having to pull this card out. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It makes me feel like I can't stand on my own. Like I have to resort to some underhanded and outside-of-my-own-powers trick. But it works. He looked around, let it sink in, stood up and said, "I'm going." I was surprised. First, that this was all it took to create an impenetrable boundary. Second, that I didn't just say it to begin with.
This highlights two of my main experiences with men. 1) I'm better off if I just saying exactly what I want/need/expect to begin with. 2) Every time I say what I want/need/expect they get up and leave. Whatever happened to dancing with the people you meet? Why must we always jump to the chase when there is so much room to move around and dance right here?
From what I can gather, he is a transport driver (motorcycle & taxi), tattoo artist and broken-hearted middle aged Indonesian who likes to drink Bintang and I somehow agreed to go to the discotheque with him the next night at 9pm for dancing, and dancing only.
I love to dance. Christ, I'm a yoga instructor, movement is in my blood and when the weather is warm and my body is too hot to allow my mind to think, I just want to move to my own blessed rhythm. We agreed that he would pick me up via his motorcycle at 9pm and head to the discotheque. I spent the whole night brooding.
I don't know this man, nor the ways of the Indonesian culture. All in all, they seem happy and kind and sociable, but, again, I do not know this man, nor the situation I am getting into. Additionally, riding a motorcycle in Asia can be a harrowing adventure, one that I am not opposed to, but one that would definitely take me to places I would not know how to get away from.
I decided that I would not go, then fretted over my intention to be more social. This is always what happens when I make a resolve. Life gives me a situation to clarify exactly what that intention means. So, I decided I would go under my terms. No driving. I didn't want to be anywhere I couldn't trace my way out of and I wasn't drinking - at all. Then, I wavered. Maybe I should trust the world more, it's just dancing. But, no that is stupid, I should do what I feel comfortable with. But what about my intention? Who cares? What about safety? Maybe it will just keep on raining and he won't come and I won't have to decide...probably not.
I headed out for dinner around 6 and walked around a while afterwards. As I headed back into the hotel complex, I ran into Wayan. I thought Asia ran on the same clock as Brazil - at least 2 hours late, here was 2 hours early. I told Wayan I wasn't going anywhere by motorcycle. He said that it's ok, he brought the car. I said I didn't know him and I did want to go by car. I told him I would walk, not drive. He said he doesn't walk. We went back and forth. Finally, he agreed he would walk somewhere nearby for one drink, which was really the only way I was going anywhere.
We chose a place with live music, which is good because our conversation was pretty limited and sang along to UB-40 and the Beattles, whom I loath, (sorry everyone). I said one beer, but the waitstaff and Wayan teamed up against me and I ended up with 3. Thankfully, Bintang is weak beer and I held my own. Wayan continued to tempt me with the discotheque, a short drive away in Kuta and owned by a good friend of his. When that didn't work he tried wine, dinner and another beer. All of which I refused. He was persistent and I thought I was convincing him that I would be returning to my hotel after our drinks, but his pursuit continued. Finally, I pulled out the ace-in-the-whole: the boyfriend card. He is in Australia and I'm headed there to visit him. Really.
I hate having to pull this card out. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It makes me feel like I can't stand on my own. Like I have to resort to some underhanded and outside-of-my-own-powers trick. But it works. He looked around, let it sink in, stood up and said, "I'm going." I was surprised. First, that this was all it took to create an impenetrable boundary. Second, that I didn't just say it to begin with.
This highlights two of my main experiences with men. 1) I'm better off if I just saying exactly what I want/need/expect to begin with. 2) Every time I say what I want/need/expect they get up and leave. Whatever happened to dancing with the people you meet? Why must we always jump to the chase when there is so much room to move around and dance right here?
December 21, 2010
Love
As much as I'd like to prove Elizabeth Gilbert wrong, if love is a place it is definitely Bali, but then again, anywhere is welcome after Kuala Lumpur. After an hour at immigration and a long line for a taxi, I finally made it to Suri Wathi in Legian, Bali. Instantly happy, I opened a Bintang as I unpacked, redressed and prepared to head out for some dinner. I had heard of a delicious place just down the street, but was motivated by wanderlust and wandered, instead.
I instinctually settled in at a low key spot for some Thai Beef Salad and Chicken Satay, ordered a large Bintang and as I waited my eyes wandered over to the place next door. Mainly comprised of an open kitchen where I could watch the Balinese working, I was transfixed. They had started a fire on the grill, aided by a strong fan that was blowing sparks like fireworks on the 4th of July, I figured that they if just let up on the fan it would give the flames a chance to rage, but what do I know? That's when I realized that the open air kitchen belong to my restaurant and they were firing up the grill for my satay. Love at first sight.
I watched them baste the grill, season the chicken and cook it to perfection. I watched another cook stir fry my beef and watched yet another cook just off in the distance use his wok spoon as an extra arm, both turning on and off the water just beyond his station. Total delight and absolute satisfaction as my food arrived.
One of the many reason I am happy to be in Bali, Legian especially, is for the social aspect. As a singular traveler it can be challenging to meet other people, most people travel in pairs at the very least. So when I left Malaysia I crafted several intentions. The first was to cut out all sweets, a habit that had been growing a little too long. The second was to be more social. Kuta & Legian are party central and even though I'm not a big partier by any means, sociability seemed like a ripe idea and one that should be super easy to fulfill in this location.
We shall see, won't we?
I instinctually settled in at a low key spot for some Thai Beef Salad and Chicken Satay, ordered a large Bintang and as I waited my eyes wandered over to the place next door. Mainly comprised of an open kitchen where I could watch the Balinese working, I was transfixed. They had started a fire on the grill, aided by a strong fan that was blowing sparks like fireworks on the 4th of July, I figured that they if just let up on the fan it would give the flames a chance to rage, but what do I know? That's when I realized that the open air kitchen belong to my restaurant and they were firing up the grill for my satay. Love at first sight.
I watched them baste the grill, season the chicken and cook it to perfection. I watched another cook stir fry my beef and watched yet another cook just off in the distance use his wok spoon as an extra arm, both turning on and off the water just beyond his station. Total delight and absolute satisfaction as my food arrived.
One of the many reason I am happy to be in Bali, Legian especially, is for the social aspect. As a singular traveler it can be challenging to meet other people, most people travel in pairs at the very least. So when I left Malaysia I crafted several intentions. The first was to cut out all sweets, a habit that had been growing a little too long. The second was to be more social. Kuta & Legian are party central and even though I'm not a big partier by any means, sociability seemed like a ripe idea and one that should be super easy to fulfill in this location.
We shall see, won't we?
December 19, 2010
Defeat!
If there is one thing that I've learned about myself in KL, it is that I persist in my endeavors for way too long. If you read my previous post, you'll understand that yesterday I walked for 2 full hours to get to the museum that was 5 minutes away. Yes it was an adventure and it gave me a story to tell, but it also wore me out and left me with no energy to search for the next location later in the day. In fact, I gave up after 10 minutes on the next go round and it felt great!
I took this as a sign of progress in admitting defeat more quickly. No more hanging on by the hair of my chinny chin chin, oh no. From now on, less persistence. Case in point, today I set out to find the KL Aquaria. The only directions I could find came from some random website and stated the following: From KLCC take an escalator to the basement of the shopping center, turn around and walk through a long pedestrian tunnel, end up in a car park, find a small food court and then head 25 m to the right.
Right. Mainly, I ended up walking around a Malaysian Mall, but at some point after being unable to located the long pedestrian tunnel, I moved above ground. Perhaps a surface level vantage point would serve me. It did not. Even though I found a huge and super detailed street map, I still could not locate myself. I decided I would set out in one direction and one direction only. If that wasn't the way, then I wasn't going to the KL Aquaria. I walked for 10 minutes, maybe, when I ran into a holy Indian man in expensive shoes who told me that I have a very lucky forehead. For the same cost as the Aquaria admission, he told me my very lucky fortune and painted a incredibly accurate picture of who I am. He said that I think too much, but have a clear heart, I care very much for others and have 2 problems: I am hot-tempered and tell all my secrets, neither of which are good for my success. I tell you all these secrets, of course, because I'd like to support his notions as being true and correct so that the fortune he has laid out for me in the coming year also comes to fruition - but that I will tell you nothing about, as it is better for my success not to!
After my chance meeting, I decided that I had walked in the appropriate direction for the appropriate distance and declared the KL Aquaria adventure a defeat. I walked back to the subway and retreated to my hotel room happy to have given up early and eager to plan my exit from KL. I inquired at the front desk about a taxi to the airport and was told it would cost RM90, which was more then I payed getting into the city and an answer I wasn't ready to accept. So I headed online and looked up the Skybus, which travels from KL Sentral to the LCCT (Low Cost Carrier Terminal) for RM9.
The choice seems obvious, I know, but I have barely managed to succeed in my meager explorations of KL and this time there is no option for defeat. It's Bali or Bust!
I took this as a sign of progress in admitting defeat more quickly. No more hanging on by the hair of my chinny chin chin, oh no. From now on, less persistence. Case in point, today I set out to find the KL Aquaria. The only directions I could find came from some random website and stated the following: From KLCC take an escalator to the basement of the shopping center, turn around and walk through a long pedestrian tunnel, end up in a car park, find a small food court and then head 25 m to the right.
Right. Mainly, I ended up walking around a Malaysian Mall, but at some point after being unable to located the long pedestrian tunnel, I moved above ground. Perhaps a surface level vantage point would serve me. It did not. Even though I found a huge and super detailed street map, I still could not locate myself. I decided I would set out in one direction and one direction only. If that wasn't the way, then I wasn't going to the KL Aquaria. I walked for 10 minutes, maybe, when I ran into a holy Indian man in expensive shoes who told me that I have a very lucky forehead. For the same cost as the Aquaria admission, he told me my very lucky fortune and painted a incredibly accurate picture of who I am. He said that I think too much, but have a clear heart, I care very much for others and have 2 problems: I am hot-tempered and tell all my secrets, neither of which are good for my success. I tell you all these secrets, of course, because I'd like to support his notions as being true and correct so that the fortune he has laid out for me in the coming year also comes to fruition - but that I will tell you nothing about, as it is better for my success not to!
After my chance meeting, I decided that I had walked in the appropriate direction for the appropriate distance and declared the KL Aquaria adventure a defeat. I walked back to the subway and retreated to my hotel room happy to have given up early and eager to plan my exit from KL. I inquired at the front desk about a taxi to the airport and was told it would cost RM90, which was more then I payed getting into the city and an answer I wasn't ready to accept. So I headed online and looked up the Skybus, which travels from KL Sentral to the LCCT (Low Cost Carrier Terminal) for RM9.
The choice seems obvious, I know, but I have barely managed to succeed in my meager explorations of KL and this time there is no option for defeat. It's Bali or Bust!
December 18, 2010
Awas! (Caution!)
There are many things to look out for in Malaysia but I'll just give you my top 3.
1) Maps are useless because most of their streets are not labelled, which makes it very difficult to find your way.
2) Malaysians really hate to disappoint or upset you in anyway, which means they always tell you what they think you want to hear even though it might not even be remotely true.
3) Motorcycles drive everywhere, especially during rush hour traffic when you are liable to get run over on the sidewalk if they decide the street traffic is moving too slow (and most of the time it is.)
Today I set out to explore some Yoga and Malaysian culture. This required hopping on the transit line to get from Masjid Jamek, where I am staying, to Bangsar. Considering that Bangsar is just 3 stops away you wouldn't think that this would be such an ordeal, but here's the scoop. In KL there are 6 different train lines that run from the center of the city out, but they are run by 4 different companies and are not at all integrated. Generally to transfer from one train line to another requires getting off the train, walking out of the subway station, locating the next station down the street, buying another ticket and then boarding another train. Depending on where you are going this might occur multiple times in one journey. I was intimidated, but luckily this first trip was only one train line, so as long as I located the right company station I was good to go.
Turns out that the journey to Bangsar was uneventful and somehow when I departed the station I walked in the right direction and it took way less time then expected to get to where I was going. I felt confident and direction-worthy all through my yoga class and all the way back to the subway station where I set out for Muzium Negara (National Museum), but that feeling faded right as I exited KL Sentral Station.
I was searching for Jalan Hashimuddin which was supposedly the road just outside of the station. So, I asked a nice Malay girl if this was Jalan Hashimuddin in front of us, but I should have know better then to take her directions when she repeated the name back to me like she had never heard it but I just figured I was mispronouncing the words. When I said I was looking for Muzium Negara she lit up and said take a taxi. I told her I'd rather walk and explore and was the museum located in this direction? She said yes, but it is a long way, better to take a taxi.
I'm not a taxi person, so I started walking. But let me just say that she wasn't kidding - it was a L O N G way to the museum, although it wasn't because the museum was far away, oh no. It was because she had no idea where the museum was and not a single street I was looking for was labelled on my map. After walking in the wrong direction for 10 minutes I stumbled into Little India, which requires no map to recognize. That was when I realized I was headed off course and happened to be at least one street too far to the south. I gave up on the map and just starting walking in the direction I needed to go. This involved a lot of running across multiple lanes of traffic, dodging motorcycles, cutting through construction zones and slowly & steadily walking straight onto (don't read this, Mom) an elevated highway.
This was both fortunate, because I could now actually see the museum, and unfortunate, because there was no clear way to get there - underneath the elevated highway was what appeared to be another highway, this one with 8 lanes of traffic. So, I backtracked and with determination finally decided to walk up the off-ramp of the highway to get to the other side. There I found a staircase that carried me down and across to the base of the Muzium Negara. I made it!
Now, time for a Tiger Beer.
1) Maps are useless because most of their streets are not labelled, which makes it very difficult to find your way.
2) Malaysians really hate to disappoint or upset you in anyway, which means they always tell you what they think you want to hear even though it might not even be remotely true.
3) Motorcycles drive everywhere, especially during rush hour traffic when you are liable to get run over on the sidewalk if they decide the street traffic is moving too slow (and most of the time it is.)
Today I set out to explore some Yoga and Malaysian culture. This required hopping on the transit line to get from Masjid Jamek, where I am staying, to Bangsar. Considering that Bangsar is just 3 stops away you wouldn't think that this would be such an ordeal, but here's the scoop. In KL there are 6 different train lines that run from the center of the city out, but they are run by 4 different companies and are not at all integrated. Generally to transfer from one train line to another requires getting off the train, walking out of the subway station, locating the next station down the street, buying another ticket and then boarding another train. Depending on where you are going this might occur multiple times in one journey. I was intimidated, but luckily this first trip was only one train line, so as long as I located the right company station I was good to go.
Turns out that the journey to Bangsar was uneventful and somehow when I departed the station I walked in the right direction and it took way less time then expected to get to where I was going. I felt confident and direction-worthy all through my yoga class and all the way back to the subway station where I set out for Muzium Negara (National Museum), but that feeling faded right as I exited KL Sentral Station.
I was searching for Jalan Hashimuddin which was supposedly the road just outside of the station. So, I asked a nice Malay girl if this was Jalan Hashimuddin in front of us, but I should have know better then to take her directions when she repeated the name back to me like she had never heard it but I just figured I was mispronouncing the words. When I said I was looking for Muzium Negara she lit up and said take a taxi. I told her I'd rather walk and explore and was the museum located in this direction? She said yes, but it is a long way, better to take a taxi.
I'm not a taxi person, so I started walking. But let me just say that she wasn't kidding - it was a L O N G way to the museum, although it wasn't because the museum was far away, oh no. It was because she had no idea where the museum was and not a single street I was looking for was labelled on my map. After walking in the wrong direction for 10 minutes I stumbled into Little India, which requires no map to recognize. That was when I realized I was headed off course and happened to be at least one street too far to the south. I gave up on the map and just starting walking in the direction I needed to go. This involved a lot of running across multiple lanes of traffic, dodging motorcycles, cutting through construction zones and slowly & steadily walking straight onto (don't read this, Mom) an elevated highway.
This was both fortunate, because I could now actually see the museum, and unfortunate, because there was no clear way to get there - underneath the elevated highway was what appeared to be another highway, this one with 8 lanes of traffic. So, I backtracked and with determination finally decided to walk up the off-ramp of the highway to get to the other side. There I found a staircase that carried me down and across to the base of the Muzium Negara. I made it!
Now, time for a Tiger Beer.
December 16, 2010
Apa Khabar?
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
I was excited to depart Singapore this afternoon and head into KL for many reasons. First off, I couldn't wait to see the world's largest port and all the cargo ships in the Singapore harbor. What can I say? I'm a geek for the mechanics of the world. Secondly, crossing over from one country to another is like starting all over again. The excitement of the unknown and the anticipation of new sensory experiences parallels equal doses of fear, nervousness and anxiety. It is impossible to even slightly believe that I know what will happen.
Although KL and Singapore are a mere 40 minute plane ride from one another, I recognize that time has nothing to do with distance the moment I land - for this is a far different world then the one I just came from. Bahasa Malay is the main language and it shows. Very few of the important looking signs are written in English so when the plane lands I do what any smart, uncertain traveler does: I follow the crowd. After a healthy amount of walking on the tarmac we make it into the building and head to Immigration. It is a mass of people in 18 "lines" but there is no way of telling where one ends and the next begins. Thankful that there is no sense to be made of the situation, I tack myself onto the crowd and shuffle forward with the rest.
Eventually I make it through Immigration and somehow determine that to hail a taxi I have to prepay inside and then queue in the center stripe of multiple lanes of traffic. My taxi driver has never heard of my hotel, nor the street it is on, but he is as adventurous as I so we are off. He spends the first 30 minutes of the ride entering and re-entering the hotel and street names into his GPS, while dodging motorcycles, pointing out the streaks of Ferraris' and Lotus' flying by and talking with me about everything I need to eat while I'm here - we are instant friends.
We still haven't located the hotel on the GPS, but we know it is near Masjid Jamek, so we head in that direction and when we get close we just slow down, hold up traffic and stick our heads out the windows to look. I spot the name of the hotel way up on a nearby building but neither of us can determine how to get to it by taxi, so we call it good enough and I get out in the middle of a thriving outdoor market. I've got one eye on the hotel building I'm aiming for and every other sense engulfed in the cacophony of colors and sounds surrounding me. I walk one full circle through the market and around the building, but there doesn't appear to be any way in. The hotel is an island with the market its moat.
But there is always a way. So I look closer and start to see that every so often there are slim passages between the vendors and because this is Asia and personal space is a foreign idea, I walk right on through and arrive at the front door of my hotel. This is exciting and disappointing all at once. I found it and it seems way more 2nd rate then my little hostel in Sinagpore, but I'm not settling into any grand conclusions just yet.
To make a long story short: there has been a mistake with my booking, but I can still get a room, the safe deposit box and air conditioning don't seem to work and the room is dingy with an alley view. KL is a cheap city. It is noisy and dirty and dusty and crowded. But after settling in for a bit I notice the muezzin calling the Muslims to prayer (LOVE IT!) and I look out the window. In the darkening sky all I can clearly see are the sparkling Petrona Towers and the KL Tower shimmering in the near distance. The Mosque is right outside my window and I, a woman, a Western woman, can watch the men praying right from my bedroom window.
I was excited to depart Singapore this afternoon and head into KL for many reasons. First off, I couldn't wait to see the world's largest port and all the cargo ships in the Singapore harbor. What can I say? I'm a geek for the mechanics of the world. Secondly, crossing over from one country to another is like starting all over again. The excitement of the unknown and the anticipation of new sensory experiences parallels equal doses of fear, nervousness and anxiety. It is impossible to even slightly believe that I know what will happen.
Although KL and Singapore are a mere 40 minute plane ride from one another, I recognize that time has nothing to do with distance the moment I land - for this is a far different world then the one I just came from. Bahasa Malay is the main language and it shows. Very few of the important looking signs are written in English so when the plane lands I do what any smart, uncertain traveler does: I follow the crowd. After a healthy amount of walking on the tarmac we make it into the building and head to Immigration. It is a mass of people in 18 "lines" but there is no way of telling where one ends and the next begins. Thankful that there is no sense to be made of the situation, I tack myself onto the crowd and shuffle forward with the rest.
Eventually I make it through Immigration and somehow determine that to hail a taxi I have to prepay inside and then queue in the center stripe of multiple lanes of traffic. My taxi driver has never heard of my hotel, nor the street it is on, but he is as adventurous as I so we are off. He spends the first 30 minutes of the ride entering and re-entering the hotel and street names into his GPS, while dodging motorcycles, pointing out the streaks of Ferraris' and Lotus' flying by and talking with me about everything I need to eat while I'm here - we are instant friends.
We still haven't located the hotel on the GPS, but we know it is near Masjid Jamek, so we head in that direction and when we get close we just slow down, hold up traffic and stick our heads out the windows to look. I spot the name of the hotel way up on a nearby building but neither of us can determine how to get to it by taxi, so we call it good enough and I get out in the middle of a thriving outdoor market. I've got one eye on the hotel building I'm aiming for and every other sense engulfed in the cacophony of colors and sounds surrounding me. I walk one full circle through the market and around the building, but there doesn't appear to be any way in. The hotel is an island with the market its moat.
But there is always a way. So I look closer and start to see that every so often there are slim passages between the vendors and because this is Asia and personal space is a foreign idea, I walk right on through and arrive at the front door of my hotel. This is exciting and disappointing all at once. I found it and it seems way more 2nd rate then my little hostel in Sinagpore, but I'm not settling into any grand conclusions just yet.
To make a long story short: there has been a mistake with my booking, but I can still get a room, the safe deposit box and air conditioning don't seem to work and the room is dingy with an alley view. KL is a cheap city. It is noisy and dirty and dusty and crowded. But after settling in for a bit I notice the muezzin calling the Muslims to prayer (LOVE IT!) and I look out the window. In the darkening sky all I can clearly see are the sparkling Petrona Towers and the KL Tower shimmering in the near distance. The Mosque is right outside my window and I, a woman, a Western woman, can watch the men praying right from my bedroom window.
December 15, 2010
TV
Watching TV is not a past time of mine. It's not that I refuse it for any specific reason, just that I wasn't born with the inclination to turn a soapbox on, but I certainly am not immune to its pull. So when I headed down to the communal area of the hostel just now I came face to face with the uncontrollable suction of the television.
The worst part was that my fellow travelers were watching Eat, Pray, Love. The best part was that the English subtitles narrowly accompanied the English soundtrack. Things like "You barely touched your dinner" was translated into "They trust you" while "I'm not checking out" turned into "I just came out" and, my favorite, "My whole life fits into one box" became "Your life will be better then a box" Hilarious!
Suddenly, I can't for-the-life-of-me imagine what this movie must be about according to someone reading the subtitles. So rather then get sucked into my idea that Elizabeth Gilbert is encouraging American woman to give up their shitty little bourgeoise lives for happily-ever-after-Prince-Charmings, I sit back, relax, read the subtitles and enjoy Julia Roberts, Singapore-style.
The worst part was that my fellow travelers were watching Eat, Pray, Love. The best part was that the English subtitles narrowly accompanied the English soundtrack. Things like "You barely touched your dinner" was translated into "They trust you" while "I'm not checking out" turned into "I just came out" and, my favorite, "My whole life fits into one box" became "Your life will be better then a box" Hilarious!
Suddenly, I can't for-the-life-of-me imagine what this movie must be about according to someone reading the subtitles. So rather then get sucked into my idea that Elizabeth Gilbert is encouraging American woman to give up their shitty little bourgeoise lives for happily-ever-after-Prince-Charmings, I sit back, relax, read the subtitles and enjoy Julia Roberts, Singapore-style.
December 13, 2010
The Long Direction
Somewhere about Day 3 I was ready to venture further afoot. So I took myself down to the local subway station (MRT), purchased an E-Z Link Card and hopped a train or two towards the Konk Meng San Phor Kark See Monastery in Bishan. I have to admit that I wasn't really sure what to expect, but in true Singaporean order the subway system was incredibly easy to navigate. Maps everywhere, all things color-coded, including the queuing and exiting lines from the trains. So when I 'alighted' at Bishan station I thought I was doing pretty good.
Ha! Even with a map in hand it is somehow impossible for me to determine which way is which once I make it above ground. Landmarks don't help (I don't know them) and the street signs are just too far away to read. The only choice is to start walking and figure it out as I go. Normally this approach works just fine and after a false start or two I'm headed in the right direction, but Singapore adds another dimension to the problem entirely.
It's not just that I have no idea where I'm going, it's also that I have no idea how it works. All of the roads in Bishan are called Bishan something-or-other! There is Bishan 11 and Bishan 13 and Bishan 20, 21, 22, 23 and Bishan Road, of course, and they all crisscross and intersection because there is no such thing as a grid here. None. It's Asia. The streets are serpentine and all named the same exact thing, which means that I am never really walking in the wrong direction, even though I sometimes take the long direction to get where I need to go.
Ha! Even with a map in hand it is somehow impossible for me to determine which way is which once I make it above ground. Landmarks don't help (I don't know them) and the street signs are just too far away to read. The only choice is to start walking and figure it out as I go. Normally this approach works just fine and after a false start or two I'm headed in the right direction, but Singapore adds another dimension to the problem entirely.
It's not just that I have no idea where I'm going, it's also that I have no idea how it works. All of the roads in Bishan are called Bishan something-or-other! There is Bishan 11 and Bishan 13 and Bishan 20, 21, 22, 23 and Bishan Road, of course, and they all crisscross and intersection because there is no such thing as a grid here. None. It's Asia. The streets are serpentine and all named the same exact thing, which means that I am never really walking in the wrong direction, even though I sometimes take the long direction to get where I need to go.
December 10, 2010
Classical Asian Iyengar Experience
Last night I took my first yoga class in Singapore. On recommendation of David Bennett, I had the good fortune to visit Oasis Yoga where I was lead through a 2 hour Iyengar class, wall ropes and all, by Erika Khoo. In typical Iyengar fashion we began in supta virasana with 2 blocks, 2 blankets, 2 straps, a bolster and an eye pillow and when we are all perfectly set (which is a nearly 5 minutes into the pose) Erika says, "I'm going to wash my hair now, I'll be back in a bit."
For most of us supta virasana is a challenging posture when held for just 3 - 5 minutes, forget the 10 - 15 minutes you spend in it during an Iyengar class and when you add in the Asian sensibility of time, which is none, you might as well just surrender all control because you could be here all night.
I have to admit, it just the kind of thing that I love. I have always envied those who live in cultures guided by their own internal clocks. Though this lack of a coherent schedule can be maddening for many Westerners I love how it prevents me from having an agenda and gives me full permission to show up however I am - late, dirty, ugly, with 5 friends in tow, it doesn't matter. It's not personal. Likewise, the authoritative manner of an Iyengar teacher, completely devoid of options and spiritual metaphors, strips my wandering mind away from its compulsive need to do something, to make better. Instead of focusing on the details and tending to everyone else's needs, I feel safe and supported enough to experience that there is nothing that I can do and it does not matter one single bit.
According to the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, this practice of surrendering to the powers that extend far beyond oneself is a matter of aligning with Isvara Pranadanana. Isvara can be described as The Great Unknown, The Witness, The Seer, The Great Teacher or That Which Exists Beyond All Else. Alignment with Isvara requires that we clear away the obstacles preventing us from standing in this aspect of ourselves. For me, it sometimes takes the form of Asian clocks and Iyengar Teachers to realize that I am not responsible for others. And so I practice. I practice letting go, I practice not being in charge, I practice surrendering to the present conditions and I practice not ruminating on the what could be. I practice with Asian clocks and Iyengar Teachers and I practice until this becomes my way and I no longer depend on these tools to align myself within.
Om Nama Shiva!
For most of us supta virasana is a challenging posture when held for just 3 - 5 minutes, forget the 10 - 15 minutes you spend in it during an Iyengar class and when you add in the Asian sensibility of time, which is none, you might as well just surrender all control because you could be here all night.
I have to admit, it just the kind of thing that I love. I have always envied those who live in cultures guided by their own internal clocks. Though this lack of a coherent schedule can be maddening for many Westerners I love how it prevents me from having an agenda and gives me full permission to show up however I am - late, dirty, ugly, with 5 friends in tow, it doesn't matter. It's not personal. Likewise, the authoritative manner of an Iyengar teacher, completely devoid of options and spiritual metaphors, strips my wandering mind away from its compulsive need to do something, to make better. Instead of focusing on the details and tending to everyone else's needs, I feel safe and supported enough to experience that there is nothing that I can do and it does not matter one single bit.
According to the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, this practice of surrendering to the powers that extend far beyond oneself is a matter of aligning with Isvara Pranadanana. Isvara can be described as The Great Unknown, The Witness, The Seer, The Great Teacher or That Which Exists Beyond All Else. Alignment with Isvara requires that we clear away the obstacles preventing us from standing in this aspect of ourselves. For me, it sometimes takes the form of Asian clocks and Iyengar Teachers to realize that I am not responsible for others. And so I practice. I practice letting go, I practice not being in charge, I practice surrendering to the present conditions and I practice not ruminating on the what could be. I practice with Asian clocks and Iyengar Teachers and I practice until this becomes my way and I no longer depend on these tools to align myself within.
Om Nama Shiva!
December 9, 2010
Ritual
Today I visited the Kwan Im Thong Hood Cho Temple where Buddhist devotees offer up their prayers. In addition to lighting incense, bowing in many directions and offering up prayer to the Goddess Kuan Yin, the Buddhists also partake in reading their own fortunes. This ritual involves shaking a containing with bamboo sticks till one falls out and cham si is released, spelling the message of their fate.
I spent some time watching the Buddhists shake their cham si trying to understand exactly what was going on. Should you pray first and shake second? Did it matter how many times you shook the container? What if more then one stick fell out? Could you shake repeatedly and receive many fortunes? And what exactly are the red wooden petals for that they throw after a fortune is released? But at some point I stopped being so concerned with the hows and the whys of it all and I just watched.
I watched the woman who seemed to shake the container far many more times then she prayed. I watched the man who swirled the sticks before each round of shaking. I watched the woman who never read a single fortune that fell from her container - not a single one. What I realized through all this watching was that ritual had nothing at all to do with what you did or even how you went about it, the only thing that all these people held in common was that they believed so whole-heartedly in what they were doing that their actions became them. They were the offering. All those flowers, incense sticks and cham si were just ways to express what was already within.
If you'd like to see photos from my day, check out the link below:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=92699&id=1068837131&l=ecb9d00440
I spent some time watching the Buddhists shake their cham si trying to understand exactly what was going on. Should you pray first and shake second? Did it matter how many times you shook the container? What if more then one stick fell out? Could you shake repeatedly and receive many fortunes? And what exactly are the red wooden petals for that they throw after a fortune is released? But at some point I stopped being so concerned with the hows and the whys of it all and I just watched.
I watched the woman who seemed to shake the container far many more times then she prayed. I watched the man who swirled the sticks before each round of shaking. I watched the woman who never read a single fortune that fell from her container - not a single one. What I realized through all this watching was that ritual had nothing at all to do with what you did or even how you went about it, the only thing that all these people held in common was that they believed so whole-heartedly in what they were doing that their actions became them. They were the offering. All those flowers, incense sticks and cham si were just ways to express what was already within.
If you'd like to see photos from my day, check out the link below:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=92699&id=1068837131&l=ecb9d00440
December 8, 2010
The Clouds in Japan are Different
The clouds in Japan are beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. They look just like they do in the old woodblock prints you'll see of Mt. Fuji from the 1800's, perfectly flat on the bottom and curly all the way up to a triangular peak. This, I find truly amazing. I had always assumed this stylized depiction was purely a romantic liberty taken by the artists themselves, surely nothing was as lovely, or as quaint, as the appearance of the clouds in these old images. Yet here they are right in front of me, absolutely beautiful, absolutely real and I am absolutely astonished. Maybe Japan is as quaint as it appears.
But then again, maybe not. As we descend through the air I am mesmerized by the landscape. I am just close enough to make out signs of life below: pockets of forested trees, swatches of farmland, houses, pools, big buildings and the roadways that intersect it all. "Oh, there are people down there, doing people things," I think with over zealous excitement. How exciting to approach new lands and see new ways of doing common things, like driving on the right and shifting with your left hand and whatever else we share but don't share. But the thing is that the closer we get and the more I can see, all I can think is "This looks like New Jersey."
I don't know if the slowing voice of disappointment is captured in this virtual text, but it was definitely there. New Jersey? How can Japan - quaint, idyllic, little-Japanese-people Japan look just like New Jersey? I feel displaced and at home all at once and I feel disappointed and reassured at the same time and I'm pretty certain that every inch of me is entirely alive.
But then again, maybe not. As we descend through the air I am mesmerized by the landscape. I am just close enough to make out signs of life below: pockets of forested trees, swatches of farmland, houses, pools, big buildings and the roadways that intersect it all. "Oh, there are people down there, doing people things," I think with over zealous excitement. How exciting to approach new lands and see new ways of doing common things, like driving on the right and shifting with your left hand and whatever else we share but don't share. But the thing is that the closer we get and the more I can see, all I can think is "This looks like New Jersey."
I don't know if the slowing voice of disappointment is captured in this virtual text, but it was definitely there. New Jersey? How can Japan - quaint, idyllic, little-Japanese-people Japan look just like New Jersey? I feel displaced and at home all at once and I feel disappointed and reassured at the same time and I'm pretty certain that every inch of me is entirely alive.
December 2, 2010
Yin & Yoga Sutras
Join me this Saturday at 8 Limbs in Capitol Hill for the next installment of the Yin and Yoga Sutras Series. This month we will delve deeper into the moment by surrendering the body to simple breathing techniques. By utilizing the longer holds of Yin Yoga to open up the front, back and sides of the torso we'll prepare the body for a deep and effortless pranayama practice that helps settle the mind. Once the body and mind are fit for concentration we'll discuss Sutras 24 - 32 to examine the meaning of OM and the power these practices have to deepen our connection to the spirit.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
8 Limbs, Capitol Hill
10:00 - 12:00pm
Saturday, December 4, 2010
8 Limbs, Capitol Hill
10:00 - 12:00pm
November 20, 2010
Travel, Travel, Travel
It's been a busy and productive year for me here in Seattle, developing new curriculum for my workshops and retreats, organizing yoga programs at Therapeutic Health Services & the Hutch School and assisting the 8 Limbs 200 hour RYT Teacher Training Program.
Now it's time for a well deserved break. As many of you know, I will be taking a sabbatical from my teaching life in Seattle to explore the yoga offerings in SE Asia between December 6, 2010 and January 16, 2011. It is an exciting and expansive time period for me to shed old forms and be exposed to parts of the world and myself I have yet to see. My hope is to include you in my journey by making at least one post from each country I visit (Singapore, Laos, Malaysia, Bali and Australia) and to share with you whatever insight is gained from my studies in Asia. Be sure to check back in mid-December to see what is transpiring.
As for now, we have another two weeks of practice together, so I'll see you on the mat!
Now it's time for a well deserved break. As many of you know, I will be taking a sabbatical from my teaching life in Seattle to explore the yoga offerings in SE Asia between December 6, 2010 and January 16, 2011. It is an exciting and expansive time period for me to shed old forms and be exposed to parts of the world and myself I have yet to see. My hope is to include you in my journey by making at least one post from each country I visit (Singapore, Laos, Malaysia, Bali and Australia) and to share with you whatever insight is gained from my studies in Asia. Be sure to check back in mid-December to see what is transpiring.
As for now, we have another two weeks of practice together, so I'll see you on the mat!
November 13, 2010
8 Limbs Teacher Training
Just a quick reminder that I am assisting the 8 Limbs Teacher Training this weekend and will not be at my Sunday morning classes in Wedgwood. The fabulous Douglas Ridings will be subbing for me, so please keep up your practice with him, and I will see you soon!
Yoga & Mindfulness for Depression
This past week I was invited to attend a workshop for clinical therapists that focused on using Yoga & Mindfulness to treat Anxiety and Depression. It was a great reminder for me of how the simplest of tools can provide the most profound shifts in our perception and help reframe our experiences. In the coming months I'll be exploring the multitude of ways that we can bring these practices to life in our daily activities in hopes of sharing these practices with you later this Spring. If you are struggling with anxiety, feeling down or just curious about how to work with the discomforts that come in go in your life, check back with me near the end of March and see what I've discovered.
November 5, 2010
Restorative Practice
Join me on the last Sunday of every month for a restorative practice. Designed to release and renew the body through supported postures, simple breath techniques and guided meditation, you’ll leave feeling deep rested and fully reconnected!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
8 Limbs, Wedgwood
9:00 - 10:30am
Sunday, November 28, 2010
8 Limbs, West Seattle
5:00 - 6:15pm
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.8limbsyoga.com
Sunday, November 28, 2010
8 Limbs, Wedgwood
9:00 - 10:30am
Sunday, November 28, 2010
8 Limbs, West Seattle
5:00 - 6:15pm
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.8limbsyoga.com
Thanksgiving Day Benefit Class
Please join me on Thanksgiving morning for this donation only All Levels practice to benefit the Hutch School. The Hutch School is a fully accredited K-12 school that provides temporary schooling for children who are facing cancer or whose parent or sibling is undergoing treatment at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. Your participation will help fund yoga and other wellness program for these young children.
Thursday, November 25, 2011
8 Limbs, West Seattle
9:30 - 11:00
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.hutchschool.org
www.8limbsyoga.com
Thursday, November 25, 2011
8 Limbs, West Seattle
9:30 - 11:00
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.hutchschool.org
www.8limbsyoga.com
Yin & Yoga Sutras
This once a month class is designed to expand the realm of yoga for seasoned practitioners by introducing the long held postures of a Yin practice with mini-meditations on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. Yin Yoga is a passive practice that lengthens the connective tissue of the body to restore ease of movement and provide free range of motion in the joints. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali are the wellspring of all modern yoga practices. Composed of 196 sutras, or threads, these verses detail what it means to be human and how the path of yoga can lead to clear vision and balanced living. Drop in or join me for all of the sessions to deepen your practice!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
All sessions take place at in the Chandra Studio at 8 Limbs Yoga Centers, Capitol Hill from 10:00am - 12:00pm.
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.8limbsyoga.com
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
All sessions take place at in the Chandra Studio at 8 Limbs Yoga Centers, Capitol Hill from 10:00am - 12:00pm.
www.jenniferyaros.com
www.8limbsyoga.com
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