So, I've just returned to town after a week long retreat where I got to be the student and simply listen and absorb the wisdom of the path based on someone else's experience. What a relief! What a pleasure! What a joy! Being guided through the process of self-examination, instead of guiding myself through provides a depth of clarity and observation unachievable by my lonesome.
One of the many observations I made while on retreat was the fact that I'm feeling tired of, as in done, or I-need-a-break from, the Yoga Sutra exploration that has been my focus for the last 3 years. This isn't new for me. I knew it was there, just below the surface, but I didn't want to deal with it. First off, it's listed on my weekly class schedule. Secondly, my students have come to expect it from me and, thirdly, it deeply informs the subject of all of my workshops and retreats this year. To make matters even more difficult, I had just announced in my latest newsletter that I had begun blogging about the Sutras and you could join me for an online exploration.
The only question worth asking at this point is why, oh why, did I up the ante on myself (publicly) right when I was feeling most uncertain about what I was doing? Aside from the fact that it might have something to do with a Chinese fortune cookie I received in a Japanese restaurant telling me to take a risk, I suspect it was my way of flushing out a little something that I had been doing my best to hide from, which is this: It is really hard to write about those damn Sutras without sounding like I'm preaching the moral high road, which I can't stand and I'm not quite certain how to get around, but which feels really good to finally say!
What feels infinitely better is what came after I admitted what I truly felt: My job and my teachings have never been about having the answers. What is much more vital and relevant to me is creating the appropriate space for exploring and investigating whatever comes up. This is what I teach, this is what I'm interested in and this is what the verses in the Yoga Sutras guide me back to time and time again.
So here is the deal, I'm not giving in, I'm not giving up, but as I take a step back to find a way of writing that feels honest, earnest and congruent with my worldview I will be slowing down. I will continue to blog about the Sutras, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be more about my process of navigating the Sutras rather then the actual Sutras themselves. For the truth about my spirit and the teachings rendered through it is that they both move organically and much more deeply when left to their own accord.
So, it comes to this: If you are interested in learning more about the path of Yoga laid out by the ancients, come to class. If you are interested in how one modern woman moves through the multitude of "stuff" that get stirred up by the Sutras, tune in here! Either way I hope to see you soon!
April 10, 2011
March 30, 2011
Yoga & Mindfulness Workshop
If you are at all curious how you can target or develop your home practice to balance your energy and remain steady through the whirl of life experiences and emotions, check out my Yoga & Mindfulness Workshop at Capitol Hill on Saturday morning, April 9th. We’ll be examining the 5 root causing of suffering according the Yoga Sutras, developing the Buddhist technique of Mindful Awareness to view our sufferings with neutrality and compassion and looking at the system of Ayurveda to assess which asana, pranayama and meditation techniques help us keep our cool when things get heated, which ones help us spark the fires of inspiration and energy when feeling low and how to prevent bouncing back and forth between the two.
More info at www.8limbsyoga.com
YOGA & MINDFULNESS FOR EMOTIONAL BALANCE
Capitol Hill
Saturday, April 9, 2011
10:00 – 12:30pm
$35/$45
More info at www.8limbsyoga.com
YOGA & MINDFULNESS FOR EMOTIONAL BALANCE
Capitol Hill
Saturday, April 9, 2011
10:00 – 12:30pm
$35/$45
March 21, 2011
Transformation
Sutra II.43
“ The perfection of the body and sense organs is due to tapas, the intensity of spiritual practice which eliminates impurities and leads to transformation.”
The yogic path is one of maintaining a clear and true connection to one’s spirit and inner potential. This process begins by perfecting both body and sense organs, which serve as the temple and gateways for the spirit to exist and interact in this world. The body is first and foremost a demarcation between internal and external environments. When it is weak, compromised or clouded with impurities it is unable to protect itself from mild, moderate or extreme threats. When it is clear and strong it becomes a firm boundary, or refuge, that strives to cultivate the potential within.
The sense organs: eyes, ears, nose, mouth and skin are the gateways that link the inner and outer worlds together. When they are impure or clogged with memories of the past or expectations of the future we end up with a distorted perception of reality. This distortion alters how we envision the future, behave in the moment and contribute to the re-creation of the world. When the sense organs are purified, we can see, hear, speak, touch and smell clearly. Rather then getting caught in our opinion of these experiences, we give ourselves pure experience.
Tapas is the heat, the fire, the intensity of spiritual practice that we apply to our body and sense organs to spark the process of purification, healing and transformation. Tapas occurs by concentrating our attention within the experience of each moment and delaying our reactive impulses long enough to experience reality rather then experiencing our concept of reality. One way we can practice this is by labeling each of our experiences according to it's most elemental nature. For example, rather then yelling at the guy who just cut us off in the car, we simply recognize the experience of "anger" or "fear" and let the impulse to react in a flurry of words pass on by. Likewise, rather then letting ourselves get irritated at a loud, inappropriate conversation happening near us, we simply recognize it as "sound" and move on. This doesn't mean that we stop taking action and become passive participants in our life, it simply means that we give ourselves the space to experience discomfort without becoming that discomfort. Then we can take action from a stable place based in the reality of the moment.
This is the crux of transformation. This is where we begin to choose the quality of our existence, regardless of the quality of our conditions. This is how we purify our body and sense organs, transform ourselves out of habitual patterns and past behaviors and realize a true and deep expression of our inner most self.
“ The perfection of the body and sense organs is due to tapas, the intensity of spiritual practice which eliminates impurities and leads to transformation.”
The yogic path is one of maintaining a clear and true connection to one’s spirit and inner potential. This process begins by perfecting both body and sense organs, which serve as the temple and gateways for the spirit to exist and interact in this world. The body is first and foremost a demarcation between internal and external environments. When it is weak, compromised or clouded with impurities it is unable to protect itself from mild, moderate or extreme threats. When it is clear and strong it becomes a firm boundary, or refuge, that strives to cultivate the potential within.
The sense organs: eyes, ears, nose, mouth and skin are the gateways that link the inner and outer worlds together. When they are impure or clogged with memories of the past or expectations of the future we end up with a distorted perception of reality. This distortion alters how we envision the future, behave in the moment and contribute to the re-creation of the world. When the sense organs are purified, we can see, hear, speak, touch and smell clearly. Rather then getting caught in our opinion of these experiences, we give ourselves pure experience.
Tapas is the heat, the fire, the intensity of spiritual practice that we apply to our body and sense organs to spark the process of purification, healing and transformation. Tapas occurs by concentrating our attention within the experience of each moment and delaying our reactive impulses long enough to experience reality rather then experiencing our concept of reality. One way we can practice this is by labeling each of our experiences according to it's most elemental nature. For example, rather then yelling at the guy who just cut us off in the car, we simply recognize the experience of "anger" or "fear" and let the impulse to react in a flurry of words pass on by. Likewise, rather then letting ourselves get irritated at a loud, inappropriate conversation happening near us, we simply recognize it as "sound" and move on. This doesn't mean that we stop taking action and become passive participants in our life, it simply means that we give ourselves the space to experience discomfort without becoming that discomfort. Then we can take action from a stable place based in the reality of the moment.
This is the crux of transformation. This is where we begin to choose the quality of our existence, regardless of the quality of our conditions. This is how we purify our body and sense organs, transform ourselves out of habitual patterns and past behaviors and realize a true and deep expression of our inner most self.
March 12, 2011
Santosha
Sutra II.42
"Owing to the development of contentment there comes an unexcelled attainment of happiness."
This particular sutra is part of a string of verses that explain the niyamas or the personal disciplines, which we undertake to maintain a clear, true connection to our spirit. This verse itself is pretty straightforward: where there is contentment, there is unexcelled happiness, which is fairly obvious since the definition of contentment is 'a state of happiness'. It does, however, raise a question of how we can create/discover/make space for santosha when it doesn't already exist within us.
If we have a pattern of dissatisfaction in some area of our life we cannot change that pattern by pretending to be satisfied, but we can begin to change the pattern in the way that we regard our experience of dissatisfaction. A very simple approach is to
1) First recognize that dissatisfaction, like everything else, is impermanent. Knowing that it is momentary and will not last forever allows us to
2) Give it room to exist. When we allow ourselves to experience life as it is, we stop fighting, suppressing and denying reality. This cuts out a large part of our struggle and lessens a significant portion of our dissatisfaction.
Over time, these two actions give us permission to relax, to allow ourselves to have an uncomfortable experience (which is a large part of life!) and to learn to trust that everything is and will be ok. We are ok - even when things aren't how we wish they were. If we practice this enough, we even start to feel contentment with discontentment and that, I believe, is the attainment of unexcelled happiness!
"Owing to the development of contentment there comes an unexcelled attainment of happiness."
This particular sutra is part of a string of verses that explain the niyamas or the personal disciplines, which we undertake to maintain a clear, true connection to our spirit. This verse itself is pretty straightforward: where there is contentment, there is unexcelled happiness, which is fairly obvious since the definition of contentment is 'a state of happiness'. It does, however, raise a question of how we can create/discover/make space for santosha when it doesn't already exist within us.
If we have a pattern of dissatisfaction in some area of our life we cannot change that pattern by pretending to be satisfied, but we can begin to change the pattern in the way that we regard our experience of dissatisfaction. A very simple approach is to
1) First recognize that dissatisfaction, like everything else, is impermanent. Knowing that it is momentary and will not last forever allows us to
2) Give it room to exist. When we allow ourselves to experience life as it is, we stop fighting, suppressing and denying reality. This cuts out a large part of our struggle and lessens a significant portion of our dissatisfaction.
Over time, these two actions give us permission to relax, to allow ourselves to have an uncomfortable experience (which is a large part of life!) and to learn to trust that everything is and will be ok. We are ok - even when things aren't how we wish they were. If we practice this enough, we even start to feel contentment with discontentment and that, I believe, is the attainment of unexcelled happiness!
March 10, 2011
Coming Soon...
As many of you know, I have spent my last 3 years as a Yoga Instructor who incorporates the ancient philosophy of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali into our opening meditation and asana practices. The idea originally started as a way for me to keep up with my own exploration of the Sutras at a time when I could no longer make it to my teacher's class for weekly study. At the start of this endeavor, I felt a little bit under-qualified and totally uncertain about where it would go and how it would manage to get there, but after 3 years of simply showing up each week and trying to make another esoteric verse relevant and palatable to our modern, urban lives, I feel like I've found a rhythm of clarity, healthy and well-being that carries over from week to week.
I know that many of you have discovered a greater depth through this exploration and that the meaning of your practice has also changed as we've progressed along this path together. I also know that as the weather gets nicer and nicer, it becomes more and more difficult to make it to class each week. So I've decided to start blogging about the weekly Sutra Lesson so that you can stay in touch and in tune even when you can't get to class.
I will pick things up right where there are with a discussion on Santosha, or contentment, beginning with Sutra II.42 and then move forward from there. I encourage you to post your thoughts, questions or responses to these blogs, so that we can start an open dialogue and further expand our practices. Even if you don't consider yourself a yogi, I know you all have an opinion, so please share it with the rest of us!
I know that many of you have discovered a greater depth through this exploration and that the meaning of your practice has also changed as we've progressed along this path together. I also know that as the weather gets nicer and nicer, it becomes more and more difficult to make it to class each week. So I've decided to start blogging about the weekly Sutra Lesson so that you can stay in touch and in tune even when you can't get to class.
I will pick things up right where there are with a discussion on Santosha, or contentment, beginning with Sutra II.42 and then move forward from there. I encourage you to post your thoughts, questions or responses to these blogs, so that we can start an open dialogue and further expand our practices. Even if you don't consider yourself a yogi, I know you all have an opinion, so please share it with the rest of us!
February 15, 2011
Yoga for the People - All People
Check out this YouTube documentary about Yoga Behind Bars, a local non-profit I work for that brings yoga and meditation to incarcerated youth and adults in Washington State.
February 10, 2011
Yin & Yoga Sutras
The next installment of the Yin & Yoga Sutras Series is this Saturday in Capitol Hill. Please join me!
During the first half of class, we'll ground ourselves in the physical body with a unique sequence of deeply held, seated postures that focus on the 5 elements (earth, water, fire, air, ether). While pausing passively in each seat we'll explore the qualities of these elements: stability, fluidity, transformation, movement and space to experience what it means to be fully alive.
In the second half of class we'll focus our attention on the philosophy of the Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and learn how regular meditation practice can change the structure of the mind and leads toward transformation.
Expand your practice this Saturday!
February 12, 2011
8 Limbs Yoga Centers
Capitol Hill
10:00 - 12:00
$25
www.8limbsyoga.com
During the first half of class, we'll ground ourselves in the physical body with a unique sequence of deeply held, seated postures that focus on the 5 elements (earth, water, fire, air, ether). While pausing passively in each seat we'll explore the qualities of these elements: stability, fluidity, transformation, movement and space to experience what it means to be fully alive.
In the second half of class we'll focus our attention on the philosophy of the Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and learn how regular meditation practice can change the structure of the mind and leads toward transformation.
Expand your practice this Saturday!
February 12, 2011
8 Limbs Yoga Centers
Capitol Hill
10:00 - 12:00
$25
www.8limbsyoga.com
February 9, 2011
The Path of Failure
Ok. So the truth is that I have written at least 5 blogs since I've been back and haven't been able to post a single one of them.
It's not that it's difficult being here, it's actually quite delightful and it's not that nothing is happening, because lots of stuff is going on, it's just that nothing seems so interesting nor quite profound enough to go on and wax poetic. But just as I find myself thinking I have nothing to say, I also feel myself unable to believe that this could possibly be true. So I make a decision to turn myself around. Belief or doubt? I choose belief. Success in this endeavor is just like anything else. It takes practice, and lots of it.
So I set myself a schedule and committed to exploring the few random ideas I had in my head, hoping they would gel together into something much more fabulous - for you and for me. The wheels churned slowly. Sometimes I gained momentum, sometimes I slipped rapidly down the hill in the opposite direction and ended up wandering in a far different and much uglier field. Other times pure beauty and intelligence slipped right through my fingers and onto the screen, but the recognition of such scared away whatever insight lay down just the line. Sigh.
Since this is a practice I reminded myself not to give up and resolved to try a different approach instead. So I found myself talking to people about the pitfalls of attempting a travelogue even though I was clearly standing stock still in one place and, much to my dismay, not going anywhere at all. Each new person I chatted with, however briefly, brought out a different aspect of my struggle. I did my best not to dwell on this (it's challenging enough as it is) but took it all in as information and eventually the truth dawned on me: I was afraid of failure.
The last thing that I want to do is put out some half-assed piece of garbage just so I can say I put something out there and pretend I've succeeded in continuing my exploration. I do not want you, my students, my peers, my friends or my family to consider me incompetent nor do I want you to end up tuning me out because I am less interesting, less profound or humorless. But that is exactly what happens. You put our 3 or more bad...things... and people start thinking you're a hack. And it doesn't stop there. Once you've discredited yourself in one area, people will begin to automatically discredit you in other areas, too. Of course I am afraid to fail and to have you see me fail. Shudder. Strangely enough this very notion caught me on fire and twisted me round in an entirely new direction.
I do not want to be liked or appreciated because I am perfect - I am certainly not and I rather like that quality about me. I also do not want to hold myself to some imaginary standard that I believe someone else has of me - they don't, thank god. But even more to the point, failure does not indicated our demise, rather it is the earliest signal we have of growth & transformation. It is a hallmark of our attempts at something new. It is what allows us to demarcate the boundaries of our capabilities and chart unknown territory. It shows us where we are malnourished and in desperate need of nutrients. It provides us with a sense of direction and indicates just how big of a step we are to take next.
If we wish to grow, we have no choice but to fail with our eyes wide open and our minds silently & humbly tucked into our hearts. What does that mean exactly? It means that we leave our personal garbage behind at each moment so that we can see clearly and act in accordance with who we want to be rather then who we've been in the past.
So I encourage you, no, I implore you, if you do nothing else today at least go out there and fail gloriously at something you love...and please forgive me when I do, too, for I am on this path right along side of you.
It's not that it's difficult being here, it's actually quite delightful and it's not that nothing is happening, because lots of stuff is going on, it's just that nothing seems so interesting nor quite profound enough to go on and wax poetic. But just as I find myself thinking I have nothing to say, I also feel myself unable to believe that this could possibly be true. So I make a decision to turn myself around. Belief or doubt? I choose belief. Success in this endeavor is just like anything else. It takes practice, and lots of it.
So I set myself a schedule and committed to exploring the few random ideas I had in my head, hoping they would gel together into something much more fabulous - for you and for me. The wheels churned slowly. Sometimes I gained momentum, sometimes I slipped rapidly down the hill in the opposite direction and ended up wandering in a far different and much uglier field. Other times pure beauty and intelligence slipped right through my fingers and onto the screen, but the recognition of such scared away whatever insight lay down just the line. Sigh.
Since this is a practice I reminded myself not to give up and resolved to try a different approach instead. So I found myself talking to people about the pitfalls of attempting a travelogue even though I was clearly standing stock still in one place and, much to my dismay, not going anywhere at all. Each new person I chatted with, however briefly, brought out a different aspect of my struggle. I did my best not to dwell on this (it's challenging enough as it is) but took it all in as information and eventually the truth dawned on me: I was afraid of failure.
The last thing that I want to do is put out some half-assed piece of garbage just so I can say I put something out there and pretend I've succeeded in continuing my exploration. I do not want you, my students, my peers, my friends or my family to consider me incompetent nor do I want you to end up tuning me out because I am less interesting, less profound or humorless. But that is exactly what happens. You put our 3 or more bad...things... and people start thinking you're a hack. And it doesn't stop there. Once you've discredited yourself in one area, people will begin to automatically discredit you in other areas, too. Of course I am afraid to fail and to have you see me fail. Shudder. Strangely enough this very notion caught me on fire and twisted me round in an entirely new direction.
I do not want to be liked or appreciated because I am perfect - I am certainly not and I rather like that quality about me. I also do not want to hold myself to some imaginary standard that I believe someone else has of me - they don't, thank god. But even more to the point, failure does not indicated our demise, rather it is the earliest signal we have of growth & transformation. It is a hallmark of our attempts at something new. It is what allows us to demarcate the boundaries of our capabilities and chart unknown territory. It shows us where we are malnourished and in desperate need of nutrients. It provides us with a sense of direction and indicates just how big of a step we are to take next.
If we wish to grow, we have no choice but to fail with our eyes wide open and our minds silently & humbly tucked into our hearts. What does that mean exactly? It means that we leave our personal garbage behind at each moment so that we can see clearly and act in accordance with who we want to be rather then who we've been in the past.
So I encourage you, no, I implore you, if you do nothing else today at least go out there and fail gloriously at something you love...and please forgive me when I do, too, for I am on this path right along side of you.
January 22, 2011
Break on Through
As many do, I arrived back home wondering just how I could possibly maintain the slightest degree of happy-go-lucky curiosity that accompanied me across the world. How could I integrate freedom and openness into my very definitive, everyday world? There was but one answer. Keep living like a traveler in a foreign land. Stop thinking. Resolve not to define anything. Let the heart lead the way.
Easier said than done.
Just about everyone I run into wants to know about my trip. "How was it?" they ask. "Is it over?" I wonder? How can I possibly answer these questions without thinking, without defining and without ending my journey? Is that possible? The truth is, it's not. My journey isn't over. I have only just arrived and in a moment I will soon be departing again. To answer these questions means getting off at this station and watching my train pull away so that I can see what it was and where it went and where it is going. I'm not willing to that. So instead, I find myself answering these inquiries with somewhat hollow exclamations like "Amazing!" "Life Changing!" "Transformative!" "Eye Opening" "Clarifying" which might all be true but hardly capture the experience of being fully absorbed in the moment.
Pressures from outside influences are not the only challenges I face in carrying on. I am also greeted with a multitude of personal concerns upon arrival back in Seattle... mainly those of life purpose, love, career, money, self-worth and something else I can't quite put my finger on right now. It would be REALLY easy for me slip into a state of worried anxiety and try to think and plan my way out of the fright, the fear and the massive uncertainty that just so happens to be the carriage of the moment. But for now, I choose not to.
Somehow or another I choose attending to my spirit over attending to my ego. I choose to care for my needs before I care for the needs of others, I choose not knowing over knowing, I choose trust over fear and each time my head begins to spin thought uncontrollably I choose to feel the restless immediacy in my chest instead. It is raw, it is vivid and it is undeniably true. Something tender is breaking through.
It starts out with me unexpectedly announcing my desire to end a work relationship which significantly lowers my already low level of income, it opens the door of change on my romantic life which is directly tied into my living situation and turns into a long overdue letter of apology asking for forgiveness for something I don't expect to be forgiven for. But the most interesting thing is that I don't think about doing any of these things at all, they just happen. In fact, if I had thought about any of them, I probably wouldn't have followed through on a single one of them.
All of these reckless shifts spilling out of me, all of these old patterns breaking up, which I always imagined would be so terrifying to experience and would leave me in pieces, these shifts aren't my whole world falling apart, these shifts are my whole world coming together.
Easier said than done.
Just about everyone I run into wants to know about my trip. "How was it?" they ask. "Is it over?" I wonder? How can I possibly answer these questions without thinking, without defining and without ending my journey? Is that possible? The truth is, it's not. My journey isn't over. I have only just arrived and in a moment I will soon be departing again. To answer these questions means getting off at this station and watching my train pull away so that I can see what it was and where it went and where it is going. I'm not willing to that. So instead, I find myself answering these inquiries with somewhat hollow exclamations like "Amazing!" "Life Changing!" "Transformative!" "Eye Opening" "Clarifying" which might all be true but hardly capture the experience of being fully absorbed in the moment.
Pressures from outside influences are not the only challenges I face in carrying on. I am also greeted with a multitude of personal concerns upon arrival back in Seattle... mainly those of life purpose, love, career, money, self-worth and something else I can't quite put my finger on right now. It would be REALLY easy for me slip into a state of worried anxiety and try to think and plan my way out of the fright, the fear and the massive uncertainty that just so happens to be the carriage of the moment. But for now, I choose not to.
Somehow or another I choose attending to my spirit over attending to my ego. I choose to care for my needs before I care for the needs of others, I choose not knowing over knowing, I choose trust over fear and each time my head begins to spin thought uncontrollably I choose to feel the restless immediacy in my chest instead. It is raw, it is vivid and it is undeniably true. Something tender is breaking through.
It starts out with me unexpectedly announcing my desire to end a work relationship which significantly lowers my already low level of income, it opens the door of change on my romantic life which is directly tied into my living situation and turns into a long overdue letter of apology asking for forgiveness for something I don't expect to be forgiven for. But the most interesting thing is that I don't think about doing any of these things at all, they just happen. In fact, if I had thought about any of them, I probably wouldn't have followed through on a single one of them.
All of these reckless shifts spilling out of me, all of these old patterns breaking up, which I always imagined would be so terrifying to experience and would leave me in pieces, these shifts aren't my whole world falling apart, these shifts are my whole world coming together.
January 15, 2011
The Long Journey
I am in transit. I mean this physically, but there is no escaping the metaphor of such an idea for me. While I departed Melbourne for Singapore this morning and head off to Toyko and Seattle tomorrow, the transition really began early this morning with the realization that I can be a total and complete brat, but let's give that a little context, shall we?
I started out on this journey for many reasons, in search of a bigger world, to explore the international yoga scene, to seek out work, to develop more love for myself and to cultivate more trust for the world around me. There were many unknowns at the start of this trip and a lot of fears I had to face along the way.
I've never been to any of these countries before. I honestly don't know a single person who lives in these places and barely know anyone who has been to them. I was highly uncertain about the status of my romantic life and a bit uncertain about my ability to cope with it all, but I had to do it and I knew I'd be the better for it. Or, it would kill me.
Before I left I had a conversation with a dear friend and told her that I really looked forward to the transformative process, of stepping off the plane and knowing with every inch of myself that whatever was about to happen was beyond my control and irreversible. Owing to this I reasoned that I would be forced into shedding some outdated notion of myself that had been hanging on for far too long. Thank god.
The thing was that I didn't really know what this notion was. I only knew that it had been slowly falling away for a while and needed that one little last push to be complete. I looked forward to it's arrival, whatever it was. My dear friend lamented that those kinds of breakthroughs seemed to occur less and less with age. I felt disappointed by this, but relieved all the same and proceeded to go about my trip in my own, singular way. I explored the places I arrived in with great curiousity, I struck up conversation with just about anyone I met and everything seemed pretty hum-dee-dum until I arrived in Australia - as you may recognize from my last post.
All of a sudden everything was different - I wasn't alone in my own perfect bubble, I wasn't in charge of what happened when, I was in relationship, intimately, with another person and I resisted it, tooth and nail. If you've ever been in a relationship that was going south you know how easily it is to expect things to be a certain way. Well, two ways actually. From one side you hope that things will be as good as they once were and from the other side you fear that they'll be as bad as you last left them, which doesn't leave a whole hell of a lot of options. If it isn't one, it's got to be the other. We repeat our own history.
I've been doing it for years, especially in the context of my romantic relationships. It mostly involves feelings of being under valued, dissatisfied and angry. This isn't news for me. I already knew this and I already had pinpointed very distinct reasons why I felt this way, which involved my (you know) family, childhood and upbringing. I don't blame my family, I wholeheartedly believe they did the best they could, I just had yet to figure out how to do the best I could.
So I had a pretty awful time in Australia. I fought with my boyfriend, who is probably the most easy going guy in the world, everyday. I repeatedly told myself that we did not work, that he wasn't interested in even the simplest of things that interested in me, that we have nothing in common, that we have no connection and that we have no business being together. I went in wanting to prove that he couldn't love me the way I want to be loved and I ended up not letting him love me in any of the ways that he does. But the thing is that he hasn't stopped loving me and I only find myself loving him more. In the moments when I actually stop resisting what and who and how we are, I feel really, really solid about us.
So for my last evening in town we went out to the pub with a friend of his. It was awkward, I felt uncomfortable and I didn't want to feel that way any longer, so I left. I walked around for an hour in frustration and eventually ended up at another pub where I had a really engaging conversation with a blues guitarist I may never meet again. I went home. My guy was concerned and disappointed. I was indignant. We fought.
Then, somewhere between the closing of my eyes, the dawning of the morning light and him telling me things about myself I didn't want to hear for the 1,000th time, I awoke to the fact that he is actually spot on. I can be insufferable. I am childish and cruel and unreasonable and with him, I am all of these things. The ugliest part is that for so long I blamed him for all of this. I believed that he brought out the worst in me, when actually he just brings out the truth in me. If I wasn't an insufferable brat, he wouldn't be able to draw that out. Ever. But I am and he does - again and again and again.
What strikes me most about this revelation is that in the process of setting out to expand my world and love myself more I ended up face to face with some of the gnarliest bits of myself. And while at first glance it may appear that I arrived at the exact opposite end of the spectrum I was aiming for, I don't feel that way at all.
I know that sometimes the only way to reach the other side is to walk on up to those horrid demons, trust that they are merely ghosts and step right on through.
I started out on this journey for many reasons, in search of a bigger world, to explore the international yoga scene, to seek out work, to develop more love for myself and to cultivate more trust for the world around me. There were many unknowns at the start of this trip and a lot of fears I had to face along the way.
I've never been to any of these countries before. I honestly don't know a single person who lives in these places and barely know anyone who has been to them. I was highly uncertain about the status of my romantic life and a bit uncertain about my ability to cope with it all, but I had to do it and I knew I'd be the better for it. Or, it would kill me.
Before I left I had a conversation with a dear friend and told her that I really looked forward to the transformative process, of stepping off the plane and knowing with every inch of myself that whatever was about to happen was beyond my control and irreversible. Owing to this I reasoned that I would be forced into shedding some outdated notion of myself that had been hanging on for far too long. Thank god.
The thing was that I didn't really know what this notion was. I only knew that it had been slowly falling away for a while and needed that one little last push to be complete. I looked forward to it's arrival, whatever it was. My dear friend lamented that those kinds of breakthroughs seemed to occur less and less with age. I felt disappointed by this, but relieved all the same and proceeded to go about my trip in my own, singular way. I explored the places I arrived in with great curiousity, I struck up conversation with just about anyone I met and everything seemed pretty hum-dee-dum until I arrived in Australia - as you may recognize from my last post.
All of a sudden everything was different - I wasn't alone in my own perfect bubble, I wasn't in charge of what happened when, I was in relationship, intimately, with another person and I resisted it, tooth and nail. If you've ever been in a relationship that was going south you know how easily it is to expect things to be a certain way. Well, two ways actually. From one side you hope that things will be as good as they once were and from the other side you fear that they'll be as bad as you last left them, which doesn't leave a whole hell of a lot of options. If it isn't one, it's got to be the other. We repeat our own history.
I've been doing it for years, especially in the context of my romantic relationships. It mostly involves feelings of being under valued, dissatisfied and angry. This isn't news for me. I already knew this and I already had pinpointed very distinct reasons why I felt this way, which involved my (you know) family, childhood and upbringing. I don't blame my family, I wholeheartedly believe they did the best they could, I just had yet to figure out how to do the best I could.
So I had a pretty awful time in Australia. I fought with my boyfriend, who is probably the most easy going guy in the world, everyday. I repeatedly told myself that we did not work, that he wasn't interested in even the simplest of things that interested in me, that we have nothing in common, that we have no connection and that we have no business being together. I went in wanting to prove that he couldn't love me the way I want to be loved and I ended up not letting him love me in any of the ways that he does. But the thing is that he hasn't stopped loving me and I only find myself loving him more. In the moments when I actually stop resisting what and who and how we are, I feel really, really solid about us.
So for my last evening in town we went out to the pub with a friend of his. It was awkward, I felt uncomfortable and I didn't want to feel that way any longer, so I left. I walked around for an hour in frustration and eventually ended up at another pub where I had a really engaging conversation with a blues guitarist I may never meet again. I went home. My guy was concerned and disappointed. I was indignant. We fought.
Then, somewhere between the closing of my eyes, the dawning of the morning light and him telling me things about myself I didn't want to hear for the 1,000th time, I awoke to the fact that he is actually spot on. I can be insufferable. I am childish and cruel and unreasonable and with him, I am all of these things. The ugliest part is that for so long I blamed him for all of this. I believed that he brought out the worst in me, when actually he just brings out the truth in me. If I wasn't an insufferable brat, he wouldn't be able to draw that out. Ever. But I am and he does - again and again and again.
What strikes me most about this revelation is that in the process of setting out to expand my world and love myself more I ended up face to face with some of the gnarliest bits of myself. And while at first glance it may appear that I arrived at the exact opposite end of the spectrum I was aiming for, I don't feel that way at all.
I know that sometimes the only way to reach the other side is to walk on up to those horrid demons, trust that they are merely ghosts and step right on through.
January 7, 2011
A is Australia (and arguments, too)
Ah, Australia. After 4 weeks in SE Asia, being back in a Westernized country feels like a really good thing for several reasons.
1) Fresh air. My respiratory system totally had it with motorbike exhaust, burning coconut husks and smoldering incense, so much so that I arrived in the land of Oz with a sore throat and a stuffy nose.
2) Clean water. Not only can I drink from the tap again and brush my teeth without bottled water, but I can actually open my mouth in the shower. It is the little things that make a big difference.
3) Pizza! Actually, any version of real Western food. After rice and noodles and noodles and rice and rice and rice and rice and noodles, I was ready for something else. As it turns out, my first meal in Australia was Laksa Noodle Soup. Go figure.
At the same time, there are several reasons why I'm not so certain about being here.
1) It's not a quite as foreign as the rest of the places I have traversed on this journey. When you combine that with the fact that this is the last leg of my trip and that we have now turned a New Year, well, it just feels a little different to be here.
2) My boyfriend, who is living and working in Australia and the reason that this country was tacked onto my trip. He is not only a workaholic, but he is content doing the same things over and over and over again. My exploratory side feels like it just came to a grinding halt in a sharp contrast to the previous weeks. At this point it is hard for me to tell the difference between suddenly acquiring a new and very different travel buddy after weeks of going solo and what very well may be...
3) an ill-fitted and failing relationship. While, I have yet to acquire the ability to tell the difference of such, I have no doubt that time will sort it out for me. Until then I'm learning how to be ok with all the arguing we are doing even when it is about the stupidest thing in the world.
Case in point: Celsius to Fahrenheit conversions.
Now before I get started, I should probably preface this section with a very simple portrait of myself and my man, so here goes: Me, Woman; Him, Man. Hopefully, that clears up any confusion.
Last night we went out to dinner with friends. One a born and bred Aussie, the other a long time American friend who had just arrived from NY. This dynamic inevitably led to the old Fahrenheit to Celsius conversion conversation as we discussed weather patterns and the mean temperature of the ocean (i.e., would it be comfortable to swim in the ocean?). Now, for those of you who have not had to make these conversions since high school or college, there are 2 main ways to go about it.
1) There is a rather clunky-in-the-field equation that goes like this: F = 32 + 9/5C. Basically, it involves a fraction and a rather ugly, although not difficult, fraction. The reason that fraction isn't so difficult is because 9 divided by 5 is 1.8, which is essentially 2 and 2 is a nice, round, whole number. Very easy to use whether you have a pen and paper handy and whether you like math or not. It also leads us to our second method.
2) Double the degrees Celsius and add 30.
Now before I ask which one you would use, let me just prove how similar these 2 equations are. Say it is 25C and you want to know what that translates to in degrees Fahrenheit.
Equation one tells us F = 32 + 9/5(25C) = 77F
Equation two tell us F = 2(25C) + 30 = 80F
Or, suppose it is 15C and, again, you want degrees F.
Equation one: F = 32 + 9/5(15C) = 59F
Equation two: F = 2(15C) + 30 = 60F
As you can clearly see, the answers are more or less the same - only being off by a couple of degrees. Now, if you were a chemist, or an engineer, or a computer programmer who was programming sensitive data, engineering something to spec or alchemizing a potent formula, I would recommend you use the first equation, but when you are trying to figure out if the ocean is swimmable in the middle of a dinner conversation and you want a quick and reliable method, use the second.
This is where he and I differ. Or, maybe this is where we are the same, I'm not sure, but let's tackle first things first, shall we? We differ because to me there really is no noticeable difference between 77F and 80F. I mean there just isn't any difference other then the look of the numbers. In reality, my body feels about 3 temperatures ranges, which we can call Hot, Comfortable and Cold. When you tell me it is 80F, it really only gives me a general idea that the weather is in the upper range of comfortable, but it actually depends on the conditions. It could be 80F with driving wind and rain or it could be 80F without a breeze in sight at 4 o'clock in the afternoon on asphalt that is reflecting back all the sun it has absorbed the entire day long. Regardless of the fact that the weather man says the temperature is 80F, those two things feel really, really different. For all intents and purposes, this is because temperature is an average, or an aggregate of it's surrounds. It is not exact and therefore I need not be exact, either.
Try telling that to a man who loves only numbers. Actually, I believe it is not so much numbers that he loves, but the number-ness that truly does him in. Numbers actually only represent other things, they aren't the things themselves, but what they represent is unchanging. 1 is always 1, every single time. 1 orange is the same amount as 1 pony and the same as 1 microbe, even though they are vastly different things, with different weights, proportions, uses and associations. One can represent many, many things, but it is only ever a single, solitary thing. Thus the reason, that my guy believes that 25C can only accurately amount to 77F, not my estimate of 80F.
As for where we are the same: Well, we each hold a very stubborn belief in our ideas and constantly seek people who attune to a similar fancy. Less and less that seems to be each other.
He says I try too hard. I say he doesn't try hard enough. He says relax, I say grow up. He says pedal harder, I say I'm pedaling as fast as I can. He says sex in the morning, I say sex as night. He's all elbows, I'm all knees and lately we've been asking each other why it is that we are together. We seamlessly connect on the answer: We have no idea but we're not ready to stop trying...and so it goes, two stubborn people trying to live their lives together on opposite side of the world and arguing almost every step along the way.
1) Fresh air. My respiratory system totally had it with motorbike exhaust, burning coconut husks and smoldering incense, so much so that I arrived in the land of Oz with a sore throat and a stuffy nose.
2) Clean water. Not only can I drink from the tap again and brush my teeth without bottled water, but I can actually open my mouth in the shower. It is the little things that make a big difference.
3) Pizza! Actually, any version of real Western food. After rice and noodles and noodles and rice and rice and rice and rice and noodles, I was ready for something else. As it turns out, my first meal in Australia was Laksa Noodle Soup. Go figure.
At the same time, there are several reasons why I'm not so certain about being here.
1) It's not a quite as foreign as the rest of the places I have traversed on this journey. When you combine that with the fact that this is the last leg of my trip and that we have now turned a New Year, well, it just feels a little different to be here.
2) My boyfriend, who is living and working in Australia and the reason that this country was tacked onto my trip. He is not only a workaholic, but he is content doing the same things over and over and over again. My exploratory side feels like it just came to a grinding halt in a sharp contrast to the previous weeks. At this point it is hard for me to tell the difference between suddenly acquiring a new and very different travel buddy after weeks of going solo and what very well may be...
3) an ill-fitted and failing relationship. While, I have yet to acquire the ability to tell the difference of such, I have no doubt that time will sort it out for me. Until then I'm learning how to be ok with all the arguing we are doing even when it is about the stupidest thing in the world.
Case in point: Celsius to Fahrenheit conversions.
Now before I get started, I should probably preface this section with a very simple portrait of myself and my man, so here goes: Me, Woman; Him, Man. Hopefully, that clears up any confusion.
Last night we went out to dinner with friends. One a born and bred Aussie, the other a long time American friend who had just arrived from NY. This dynamic inevitably led to the old Fahrenheit to Celsius conversion conversation as we discussed weather patterns and the mean temperature of the ocean (i.e., would it be comfortable to swim in the ocean?). Now, for those of you who have not had to make these conversions since high school or college, there are 2 main ways to go about it.
1) There is a rather clunky-in-the-field equation that goes like this: F = 32 + 9/5C. Basically, it involves a fraction and a rather ugly, although not difficult, fraction. The reason that fraction isn't so difficult is because 9 divided by 5 is 1.8, which is essentially 2 and 2 is a nice, round, whole number. Very easy to use whether you have a pen and paper handy and whether you like math or not. It also leads us to our second method.
2) Double the degrees Celsius and add 30.
Now before I ask which one you would use, let me just prove how similar these 2 equations are. Say it is 25C and you want to know what that translates to in degrees Fahrenheit.
Equation one tells us F = 32 + 9/5(25C) = 77F
Equation two tell us F = 2(25C) + 30 = 80F
Or, suppose it is 15C and, again, you want degrees F.
Equation one: F = 32 + 9/5(15C) = 59F
Equation two: F = 2(15C) + 30 = 60F
As you can clearly see, the answers are more or less the same - only being off by a couple of degrees. Now, if you were a chemist, or an engineer, or a computer programmer who was programming sensitive data, engineering something to spec or alchemizing a potent formula, I would recommend you use the first equation, but when you are trying to figure out if the ocean is swimmable in the middle of a dinner conversation and you want a quick and reliable method, use the second.
This is where he and I differ. Or, maybe this is where we are the same, I'm not sure, but let's tackle first things first, shall we? We differ because to me there really is no noticeable difference between 77F and 80F. I mean there just isn't any difference other then the look of the numbers. In reality, my body feels about 3 temperatures ranges, which we can call Hot, Comfortable and Cold. When you tell me it is 80F, it really only gives me a general idea that the weather is in the upper range of comfortable, but it actually depends on the conditions. It could be 80F with driving wind and rain or it could be 80F without a breeze in sight at 4 o'clock in the afternoon on asphalt that is reflecting back all the sun it has absorbed the entire day long. Regardless of the fact that the weather man says the temperature is 80F, those two things feel really, really different. For all intents and purposes, this is because temperature is an average, or an aggregate of it's surrounds. It is not exact and therefore I need not be exact, either.
Try telling that to a man who loves only numbers. Actually, I believe it is not so much numbers that he loves, but the number-ness that truly does him in. Numbers actually only represent other things, they aren't the things themselves, but what they represent is unchanging. 1 is always 1, every single time. 1 orange is the same amount as 1 pony and the same as 1 microbe, even though they are vastly different things, with different weights, proportions, uses and associations. One can represent many, many things, but it is only ever a single, solitary thing. Thus the reason, that my guy believes that 25C can only accurately amount to 77F, not my estimate of 80F.
As for where we are the same: Well, we each hold a very stubborn belief in our ideas and constantly seek people who attune to a similar fancy. Less and less that seems to be each other.
He says I try too hard. I say he doesn't try hard enough. He says relax, I say grow up. He says pedal harder, I say I'm pedaling as fast as I can. He says sex in the morning, I say sex as night. He's all elbows, I'm all knees and lately we've been asking each other why it is that we are together. We seamlessly connect on the answer: We have no idea but we're not ready to stop trying...and so it goes, two stubborn people trying to live their lives together on opposite side of the world and arguing almost every step along the way.
December 31, 2010
Choices
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!
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 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.
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