The Journal of Mirandita

Epilogue

mirandita — Wed, 5 Jun 2013 02:55:00 GMT

What are these dream-like wisps that remain of a journey once home is reached: The emotions, the memories, the experiences of the travels, frothing with the budding hopes and plans of the return?

I suppose it's a question of where does life most want one to be. Or, where is there most potential for learning and enjoyment right now? Where will I best be able to share my gifts? In the place left behind or the place arrived at? (Let's not even go there with 'or somewhere in between?') Maybe this sense of potential is what makes one place more solid, more present than another: our desire to explore the skies that are calling us.

For me right now, I’m right back here in Spain and India feels far away. In the luxury of our hotel room in McleodGanj, in the Himalayas, I was feeling like a languid boa constrictor laid out on a chaise longue while my stomach acids set to work on assimilating the experiences of the four months in India and Nepal; now I feel more like a busy, waddling duck with a belly full of jewels to lay!

Busy and waddling because I'm still full and digesting, but I'm back on European time and so my pace has picked up. And that's just me - Fernando has literally embodied the Tasmanian devil since we walked in the door!

It's all processes after all: Ingestion, digestion, incubation, defecation, birth, growth, evolution: Never-ending natural cycles carrying out their unassuming, mindful processes. Are we able to follow their example?

So this is the end of the journey. Home is the end of the journey, and I am returning. Thank you for travelling with me, sending me emails, posting comments and reading my reflections. Thank you, dear companions on the path.

Photos: Mcleod Ganj

mirandita — Fri, 10 May 2013 02:47:00 GMT

Deep Confectionery

mirandita — Fri, 10 May 2013 02:41:00 GMT

Joyfully we left Amritsar behind. We had spent ten days there while Fernando recovered from tonsillitis, holed up in room nine (aka The Tower) of the Tourist Guest House, sandwiched ‘tween the dual carriageway, and the railway tracks laden with hooting trains. I became a regular customer at the swanky (but safe) Crystal Restaurant while Fernando got by on rice and curd.

Mountain-bound once again the soul becomes soothed and inspired. We spent ten days in Mcleod Ganj, a small, busy village cuddled up to the Himalayas and home to HH Dalai Lama. There are over 90,000 Tibetans living in exile in India[i] and most of them have settled in and around the area of Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj. Although I was aware of the Free Tibet movement and a little of the story behind Chinese-Tibetan relations, the time we spent here gradually bathed us in the omnipresent spirit of the Tibetan people´s struggle to uphold and cultivate their national identity. I had a sense of their cause and culture being vibrantly rich - culturally, spiritually and historically. Perhaps I was able to feel this in such a short time because Tibetan life is so vivid in this particular place (it felt more like Tibet or Nepal than India), or because when we risk losing something, we realise its true value and celebrate it all the more fiercely. Despite the hardships borne by these Tibetan refugees, those whose paths we crossed were gentle, sweet-natured and quick to smile.

With this backdrop has come a flourishing of meditation centres, monasteries, temples, Buddhist retreat centres, Vipassana centres, massage courses, tai chi classes, yoga courses and classes, tantra groups, reiki trainings, rainbow gatherings, and more. Indeed, one is offered spiritual cakes of many different shapes, flavours and sizes, prepared with a range of ingredients, by distinct bakers and with intentions diverse. The question arises: How to navigate this sea of deep confectionery?[ii] Well, in my case the full moon and my feminine cycle connived to create a tense frenzy of cake-perusing and salivation. Luckily the lovely Tsering Lhadon gave me a powerful Tibetan massage which knocked me out for two days, cured my cravings and let me know that I was full! I am full to the brim with experiences and it’s time to stretch out and digest like a boa constrictor.

[i] Tibet in exile: India 94,203; Nepal 13,514; Bhutan 1,298; and rest of the world 18,999 (Demographic Survey of Tibetans in Exile 2009, by Planning Commission of Central Tibetan Administration, 2010)

[ii] I am grateful to the Deep family for inspiring the metaphor in this blog, because I saw these seemingly incongruous words on a sign outside their roadside shop as we left Dharamsala. It took a moment to realise that ‘Deep’ was the surname and ‘Deep Confectionery’ the family business!

Photos: Amritsar

mirandita — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 15:56:00 GMT

the Punjab! this state had a very different feel - more affluent, a certain elegance and of course handsome men with beards in turbans!!!

Passersby in Amritsar

mirandita — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 21:55:00 GMT

2 minutes of people passing by at the Golden Temple in Amritsar on Wednesday 17th April.

YOUR MOTHER AND MY MOTHER

mirandita — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 21:48:00 GMT

Fear is the cheapest room in the house.

I would like to see you living

In better conditions,

For your mother and my mother

Were friends.

I know the Innkeeper

in this part of the universe.

Get some rest tonight,

Come to my verse again tomorrow.

We'll go and speak to the Friend together.

I should not make any promises right now,

But I know if you

Pray

Somewhere in this world-

Something good will happen.

God wants to see

More love and playfulness in your eyes

For that is your greatest witness to Him.

Your soul and my soul

Once sat together in the Beloved's womb

Playing footsie.

Your heart and my heart

Are very. very old

Friends.

HAFIZ

(Third and final poem I plan to post by Hafiz, the great Sufi Master.)

Thumbs up in Rishikesh

mirandita — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 16:24:00 GMT

Fernando is feverish, literally, so between rinsing cold cloths and general nursing administrations, I have the perfect opportunity to write about our time in Rishikesh!

We stayed the whole time in the part of town centred around the Ganges and slowed our travelling pace down to first gear. The river has a beautiful turquoise colour here, about 250km from the source, and it is deeply enticing, even more so because of the sacred, purifying properties the waters are believed to bestow. Despite the police signs, warning one to bathe only in the designated ghats, hundreds of people each day perform their ablutions off the rocks and beaches along its banks. Some days, and with care, this is fine, but on others the river has a hidden undertow and a handful of people drown here each month – we heard about four students from Delhi who died while we were there.

I was happy that our stay would coincide with that of a friend, Sati, who I did my yoga training with in Bristol. She told me the ashram where she would be living and had sent me some yoga teacher recommendations beforehand. One of them – Surinder Singh – had the three words *COURAGE*COMPASSION*WISDOM* written as the heading on his website, with some rudimentary information about what, where and when. I immediately liked the look of his approach and relished the chance to receive some teachings again. There is A LOT of yoga on offer in Rishikesh and it reminded me somewhat of the smorgasbord bombardment of courses, workshops and trainings in Goa. I was glad to have a solid recommendation to go on!

One thing I loved about Surinder’s classes was the gratitude with which he taught, often expressed as “thanks to all” after a difficult pose or at the end of class. Even better were his ‘thumbs up’. There were often about 30 of us in the room and he was constantly moving among us, adjusting, helping, supporting, or giving thumbs up (and little firm pats on the back!) to acknowledge and let us know how we were doing. I also loved his mini teachings at the end of class: one day comparing learning to food, and encouraging us to digest our teachings well – not just enjoy the taste of them; another day requesting we meditate on the inhalation as receiving life’s gifts, the retention of breath as enjoyment of what is there, and the exhalation as letting go and moving on. Audible sighs all round please! Aaaaaahhhhhmmmmm!

So we slowed down (even more) at this point in our journey. We had many a lazy day, sheltering from the midday sun with temperatures hitting the late 30s, hanging out with Sati and other travelling companions, dipping toes and sometimes body in the Ganges, practising our singing bowls on willing friends, and enjoying delicious food at our local restaurant, the Oasis Café, which had the added bonus of owning a rather well-used set of Osho Zen Tarot cards! Oh the joy of having nothing particular to do but waft through the day, among street cows, monkeys, flies, sadhus and the pilgrim masses. Nevertheless, the pot of plans simmering on the hob in Spain hubble-bubbles ever more, and with it we cook our intentions with a pinch of Kashmiri saffron and a tablespoon of gratitude. I think there are some other ingredients but the recipe is still inventing itself…

Oh, and Hafiz! Recommended many months ago by a wonderful teacher of mine as we delved into a conversation about language and poetry, Hafiz finally made his entry in Rishikesh, centre stage, illumined by a divine spotlight and translated by Daniel Ladinsky. I have been trying to apply the brakes so as not to gobble up all his poems in one sitting. Here’s one about listening:

HOW DO I LISTEN?

How

Do I

Listen to others?

As if everyone were my Master

Speaking to me

His

Cherished

Last

Words.

HAFIZ

Being a lover of language, yet increasingly aware of the shortcomings of words, I find it magnificent that it is possible to feel the Divine through these pulsating poems of life.

Yum-yum in my soul-tum.

Photos: Rishikesh!

mirandita — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 02:45:00 GMT

Had a lovely relaxing time here on the banks of the Ganges

Photos: Holi in Kotabagh

mirandita — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 01:31:00 GMT

At the end of March we spent the Hindu spring festival of Holi in the mountains near the Nepalese border.

WHAT THE HELL

mirandita — Fri, 5 Apr 2013 23:17:00 GMT

The

Real love

I always keep a secret.

All my words

Are sung outside Her window,

For when She lets me in

I take a thousand oaths of silence.

But,

Then She says,

O, then God says,

"What the hell, Hafiz,

Why not give the whole world

Address."

HAFIZ

Photos: Pokhara and Tansen

mirandita — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 17:32:00 GMT

Gorgeous views of the Himalayas in Pokhara and the town of Tansen, halfway between Pokhara and India.

Nepal

mirandita — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 14:52:00 GMT

It’s 8.30am and the train is pulling out of Ramnagar station in the state of Uttarakhand, north India. It’s our most luxurious travelling class to date – AC 2 chair car (or something like that) – and we have lovely big seats and a plug for the laptop. A chance to write about our adventures in Nepal before the new ones swamp them.

My experience of Kathmandu was shaped by sound, learning more about its healing powers and reconnecting with my voice. On our first day we met a trio of Latinas who introduced us to Chaitanyashree, a singing bowl healer. He shared his knowledge, love and experience of sound healing with us, giving us sessions and teaching us how to play the bowls for healing purposes. He also opened his home to us where a number of people live in community, organising sound meditations and other similar events, a stone’s throw away from the hectic touristic quarter of Thamel. At one of these gatherings I had the opportunity to share my voice – what joy to let loose the gift and magic of song once more, yay!

Thamel itself is like groundhog day, eternal daily motions of touts peddling tiger balm and marijuana, and interminable shops selling yak wool blankets, pashminas, fake north face gear and Tibetan prayer flags. We had been warned to get out as soon as possible, yet it swallowed us up for a good ten days. Redeeming factors were finding delicious organic avocados and sourdough rye bread in the farmers market in 1905 restaurant, a peaceful and clean hotel where we could rest somewhat after two months in India, and of course, the singing bowls.

Nature’s call was clamorous after the pollution and enclosure of Thamel, so we caught a bus to Banepa, two hours east of Kathmandu, to stay on an organic farm. We spent some wonderful days with Shree Krishna and his family, hearing the story of his life, eating fresh, simple food, drinking lemongrass tea from the farm and telling nightly stories to his nine year old daughter, Priya. It has been a LONG time since I’ve told a proper story, but it was so fun to jump into the flow of imagination and get just as excited as Priya about Augustus Gloop falling in the chocolate river and Alice down the rabbit hole. I thought of my brother-in-law Ben, who tells stories for a living to hundreds of children each week, and can appreciate on some small scale what he feels like! Rather mad, but overjoyed.

The journey from Kathmandu to Pokhara could almost have been the journey from Bogotá to Ibagué: sinuous, single carriage roads, a river running alongside and beautiful mountain scenery. More than once I was struck by an energy in Nepal, similar to that of Colombia, not only because of the magnificent mountains, but also the national pride and the serene and dignified people. Maybe too, it is my own energy creating the sense of similarity; the same feeling of expansion when in the mountains, of freedom and possibility. We reunited in Pokhara with Carolina, a Chilean friend we’d met in the capital, and enjoyed tranquil walks, spectacular views of the Himalayas and relaxing days.

We journeyed from Pokhara to Tansen, and from Tansen to the Indian border, along the breath-taking and heart-in-mouth Siddhartha Road. At times I felt awestruck by the dramatic mountain scenery dropping away from our tiny winding road, at others I felt sick with fear at the sheer edges and juddering bus, anticipating an Italian Job-style finish at any moment. Fernando asked me, “What do you prefer: this or flying?!” I really couldn’t say, but the fear definitely provided the same challenging meditation context!

Yes, Nepal is beautiful, its potency heightened by snuggling the length of the Himalayas. It feels like we just got a hint of the life simmering underneath the surface, beyond the tourism of trekkers, white water rafters and paragliders. The feeling I have is one of potential.

Photos: Double Rainbow organic farm (Krishna's place)

mirandita — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 22:07:00 GMT

We spent a delightful few days with Krishna and his family at his carefully carved nest in the mountains. Nature, stories and simplicity.

Photos: Maha Shivaratri (Shiva's birthday) and Bodhnath

mirandita — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 21:18:00 GMT

We joined thousands of Hindu devotees for a few hours at Pashupatinath, who gather to celebrate Shiva's birthday and receive blessings from hundreds of sadhus (saints) from Nepal and India. Later we walked to Bodhnath to wonder at one of the largest stupas in Asia.

Photos: Kathmandu

mirandita — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 20:04:00 GMT

Momos, singing bowls and stupas

Photos: Amritapuri

mirandita — Sun, 3 Mar 2013 02:44:00 GMT

No photography allowed in the ashram so just a few from the outskirts ;)

The envy of the universe

mirandita — Sun, 3 Mar 2013 02:40:00 GMT

We were curious to visit an ashram and a friend had recommended Amma´s in Amritapuri in Kerala. Amma means mother and she is also known as the ‘mother who hugs’, because she travels the world hugging those who seek her blessing (or darshan). We didn´t expect her to be physically at the ashram, but the Sunday we arrived we discovered that she was to return on the Tuesday from a two month tour of India. Wow! We were actually going to get to meet her and receive her darshan. And even though I’d never met Amma, or really knew much about her, the collective energy of the place and the excitement of the people there heightened my anticipation and expectations.

The ashram is a pleasant place to be: it’s clean, they recycle rubbish, they practice permaculture, there´s a lot of green spaces, the surrounding nature is spectacular - the backwaters of Kerala are to one side, and to the other the beach, lined with coconut groves as far as the eye can see; there’s delicious Indian and Western food, there’s free filtered drinking water, internet, and many other necessary day-to-day services for being comfortable while you stay. Westerners and Indians share the community and it’s an open place. I felt welcome there to explore and experience.

ERRATA. I can’t continue to write this post in this innocuous way: it would be gratification for the intellect and an insult to the heart. Yes, I could make some interesting reading of the external actions we carried out for those seven days, yet it would be empty because the most significant aspects of the week occurred in the inner realms of my being - is it ever otherwise? It’s as if the external world is a rich game of experiences and interactions, which forever eco back upon our soul. I say game because of a conversation I had with a woman called Uma from Valencia. She said, “We are here to play, laugh, enjoy and be grateful, because planet earth is the envy of the universe. Everyone in the universe wants to be here!” I like that for remembering to be thankful for this unique chance to evolve.

One might imagine that a lightening-flash-spiritual moment occurred when enlightened Amma took me in her arms. It simply didn’t happen! In fact, what I felt was much more subtle, slow-burn and holistic, in the sense that the countless experiences I lived during the week infused me with certain insights, and pointed to the ego, to the nature of the mind, to awareness of lessons and above all to love in all its splendours.

This from Eckhart Tolle seems appropriate:

Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at this moment.

So simple!

One final anecdote I must share: over the last few years, I have been fortunate to enjoy some wonderful one:one relationships with teachers and practitioners, so I found the hordes of people surrounding Amma bewildering, and I felt I was craving something more intimate. Then I saw the gift that had been staring me in the face. I was helping to clean the temple in the evenings and a woman called Hridya was the supervisor. From the start, we had a strong connection and instead of cleaning we just wanted to talk and share all the time. Like me, she is not the kind of woman who would usually shirk work to talk, but it was funny to notice that neither of us had much control over the blatant lure of conversation next to cleaning. She’s been living at the ashram for a number of years and I really appreciated her sharing bits of her life experience and perspective with me, as it gave me a deeper sense of the energy and workings of the ashram, provided a space to reflect on daily happenings, as well as the joy of a natural-albeit-brief friendship of the kind that sometimes takes years to emerge! Thank you.

A saying from Amma:

Love just flows. Whoever is willing to take the plunge and dive in, will be accepted as they are. There are no terms and conditions. If you are willing to take the dip, you will be accepted. If you are not willing, what can it do? The stream remains where it is. It never says no. It is constantly saying yes, yes, yes…

Photos: Karnataka

mirandita — Tue, 19 Feb 2013 21:26:00 GMT

Kabbinakaad

Photos: Karnataka

mirandita — Tue, 19 Feb 2013 21:08:00 GMT

Gokarna, Mysore

Further adventures in Karnataka

mirandita — Tue, 19 Feb 2013 17:27:00 GMT

There’s a delight in simply adventuring, which awakens every time we pack up and leave a place; I suppose this is the saving grace (and privilege) of those travelling for travelling’s sake. What is missed by a lack of structure in my being in India (say studying, researching or volunteering) is gained by experiencing nomadic freedom released from structure. What, no structure? Hold tight! Speeding from the barely-known to the unknown, in the luxury of sleeper class on Indian Railways, senses wide open, communicating in the language of smiles, we delved structurelessly into the state of Karnataka.

We spent a weird week (with nice bits) on the beach in Gokarna. Weird because we got sick and the world began to spin, and nice bits because we made Turkish friends who shared their exuberance for life with us. The inescapable bout of stomachache hit after we tucked into to dal and rice at one of the beach bars. At first I mistook the discomfort in my colon as a result of having overeaten or the arrival of my period, and then the realisation hit: bad food has been ingested and now you will suffer! I spent the night expelling various toxins from various orifices and the following day I tossed and turned in bed. Gradually day passed into night and night into day and I felt in my body that the worst was over. Other than sickness, we body-surfed the waves with jubilant Atgu and Emre, heard about their hitchhiking experience from Turkey through Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan to India and learnt about their country.

The city of Mysore beckoned and the thought of city restaurants and variety cheered us greatly. The Maharaja’s palace was stunning, the dosas (lentil-based pancakes) were crunchy and delicious and on the way down the 1000 steps from Chamundi hill, which overlooks the city, we saw India’s biggest statue of Nandi, the bull that Shiva rode on, not to be confused with Nando!

The Kodagu region is in the south of Karnataka close to the border into Kerala. It is mountainous (about 1,250m with some higher peaks) and full of coffee plantationsas well as black pepper and cardamom crops. It is also home to a Tibetan settlement: after the Chinese invasion of Tibet, thousands of Tibetans took refuge here and the Karnataka state government granted them 1,200 hectares of land. We read about the region in the guidebook, and lured by the idea of mountains and some cooler temperatures, hopped on a bus and journeyed the four hours from Mysore.

We headed into the Tibetan settlement hoping to visit and meditate in the Golden Temple monastery, which houses an 8m high statue of Buddha. Pootling along in an autorickshaw from the main road, we saw the surroundings transform around us as India became Tibet and Indians became Tibetans. Gone were the multi-coloured saris we’d got used to seeing and gone the lungis (cloth saris worn either long or short by men in south India) and instead we saw Tibetans dressed either in Western clothing, or in full monk’s robes! We reached the temple at sunset only to be told at the hostel opposite that in order to spend the night within the settlement we needed a special permit. It seemed a bit dodgy to stay and we didn’t want to end up in an Indian prison, so we reluctantly continued to Madikeri, one of the two biggest towns in the region.

We made our way to a working coffee farm a couple of hours away, which also offers accommodation. Honey Valley is one of those places where you arrive and let out a deep sigh of contentment. What a beautiful, peaceful, nurtured place. The nature around the valley is a feast for the soul - I could feel myself dilate as I tried to drink it all up, like a camera lens drunk on beauty that can’t focus quickly enough because there are too many pixels; as each day begins the many species of birds share their melodious chorus and by night the forest insects play their gentle symphony to a backdrop of jungle sky, bejeweled with stars and not paled by electricity. We felt fortunate to share our time and a fluid group dynamic with a warm bunch of international guests and those running the farm. The food prepared for us three times a day was delicious, nourishing and varied, and we were subtly left to our own devices to rest, recharge and explore the choice of walks around the farm.

One those walks took us into a strip of native forest towards the top of a waterfall. I was leading the merry band of three – me, Henrietta, Fernando – along a fairly narrow path that wove in and up through the trees and vines. Two of the farm dogs had come with us and were ahead of me. All of a sudden we heard strident rustlings coming through the trees, the dogs came running back along the path, ears pricked up in fear, “There´s something there!” shouted Fernando, followed by “RUN!” I heard stampeding feet and a wild boar came to a halt about 10m away from me. It was enormous - cow-sized - but didn’t seem to be looking straight at me (do wild boars see from the sides of their head?); as if in slow motion I turned and moved to where the other two were. Luckily it didn’t follow me and as I stood becoming aware of my racing heart and wobbly legs, we pooled our knowledge on wild boars – next to nothing - ha! Given that, we decided to turn around and slowly go back the way we came. The boar moved parallel to us, seeing us off its territory, and relief only came when we were quite literally out of the woods. And no, I didn’t get a photo of it!

Sad to leave this slice of peace and paradise, but adventure awaits in Kerala.