Shout Out #30

Trip Start Jun 05, 2006

Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of India Rishikesh, India
Monday, January 21, 2008

Shout Out #30
To be without bearing is far from being lost. The only loss connected to location is that which is imagined. Much of the insight inherent in traveling actually comes from being disoriented. It's easy to get caught up in programmed responses when the events are always the same. Spread out over the duration of a lifetime, our mental programming gives the illusion of security and direction but we lose track of where that programming comes from. Being totally unfamiliar with the circumstances makes it easier to cut through the programming. "I've never seen that one before and I have no idea how to respond." The abundance of choices becomes readily apparent.
Being disconnected from the seasonal moods of the earth was another factor in being disoriented. I forgot that days are longer in the summer and shorter in the winter. The seasons were no longer a process

. Rather than working my way into summer through spring and the steady shifts in weather, I landed in the heat. The seasons were a condition on the other end of a portal; the temperature and humidity outside a train station or airport. It's amazing how disjointed life becomes without having the seasonal processes as a means for guidance. There were few constants for measuring progress. The path leading to the person of today wasn't as clear when the settings were constantly in flux. Self became a discontinuous idea more associated with climates at the end of portals than with a series of linear events. "That was 'Ash' in Laos. That was 'Ash' in Thailand. I am now 'Ash' in Rishikesh." The lunar cycle was the best way to gain a sense of synchronization with any process. "On the last full moon I had just arrived in Rishikesh and it simultaneously feels like yesterday and several lifetimes ago."
I knew I had changed much over the year but it was hard to identify exactly how I had changed. It was hard to measure progress or shifts without operating in a constant system or environment. Not having that continual sense of identity helped highlight the necessities in life. There was a greater sense of choice about what is essential, what isn't, and which preferences (anything owned beyond necessity) are worth the burden of ownership. Simplification became increasingly more appealing and vital.
Perhaps more than the physical wear, the mental stress of continually being disoriented wore me out

. After a busy stretch of quick visits I'd stop in a quiet place for an extended stay. The month of rock climbing and relaxation in Railey Beach, Thailand was the first extended stop. It offered a constant setting by which I could gain some perspective. Rishikesh was a similar opportunity taken to a much deeper level. In the meditation course in Jaipur I came to a level of clarity about who I had become over the year of travel. I then went to Rishikesh where I was able to live it. Krishna's yoga lessons gave me a practice for maintaining and expressing that ideal. The freedom from any stresses allowed me to practice unburdened and fully focused.

My leg was almost healed when I pushed it too far again. As my last few days in town went by Krishna made it a personal mission to have me fully recovered and flexible by the time I left. After class he'd treat my injured muscle with an ayurvedic method. He lit camphor cubes in a little clay dish then placed it on the sore muscle. He then covered it with a glass cup. The fire gobbled up the oxygen creating suction on the skin. When the fire burned out after the second round of camphor he heated a spoonful of home-blended oil and rubbed it into the muscle.
Throughout the treatment he spoke to me on a much more personal level. "I have helped many people to heal. It is my service to humanity. Through helping, 10% of their pain and sorrow is transferred to me. Horrible things! Sexual energies, mental anguish...much ego and anger. Afterwards I am meditating for 4 � or 5 hours."
"Is that why you wear gloves in class?"
"Partly. I don't tell people why I wear them."
Outside of class he always spoke to me about women

. In the midst of the treatment he mentioned that people often ask him why he lives without a woman.
"I like women but I am wanting someone who will follow my teachings."
"It's not easy when you don't live with the same frame of mind as most others."
"Yes, after two days of living together it would be a disaster."
"Yeah, probably."
"Many women are with one man then they are going to another man. When they go back to the first man they are saying "I love you". Chuckling, he said "Silliness. It's just mental love. They are not knowing what love is."

After Krishna treated my leg I met up with Ana- a girl from Mexico who had arrived in class with her uncle and his girlfriend. We all sat down for dinner. She just finished a semester at a university in Delhi as part of a graduate program in a German school. Her first semester was in Germany, the second was in South Africa, and the third was in Delhi. She was traveling for a few weeks before going to Amsterdam for the last semester of the program. Life in the Delhi dorms had been an education in itself.
"It was all girls, no male guests are allowed, and all the guests had to sign in and out. The guest had to leave by 11 and there were security guards to enforce the rules."
"Did the men's dorms have similar rules?"
"They had none of that. We actually had to pay more because of the security guards

. It's considered a progressive school because they have a program to curb sexual harassment."

A big group of people from morning yoga met at a new breakfast spot after class. A foreign kid came in and sat alone at a table nearby. We'd seen him at the beach one day with his dad and younger sister. His dad, built like a gladiator, was doing the splits and various yoga postures in the sand while the two kids scrambled around on the rocks. Our group dwindled down to the standard handful of us once the food was eaten. Elad, Ninie, Sebastian, and I typically melted into the cushions after eating. We sat and talked about Krishna and yoga while the boy sat alone for over half an hour without getting restless. Our discussions weren't as involved when the boy got up to leave. Elad was sitting nearest the door and asked the boy about his 'Coexist' shirt. He had the haircut of a Krishna devotee- clipped short with a patch of longer hair left in back. When I heard the boy say, "My name is Nakul ever since I was initiated as a warrior", I went to join the conversation.
When he spoke he looked us fully in the eyes without shyness or intimidation. Elad asked how he had been initiated as a warrior. "I go to a school for warriors in West Bengal. My name was Nicholas until I was initiated when I was 5. My full name is Nakul Eko Ola. Nakul was a warrior in the Mahabarata and Eko Ola is Hawaiian for 'Of the Sea'. I was instantly impressed.
The first conversation with Nakul had me baffled. Was he a prodigy- the next generation of advanced beings? Or was he an ordinary kid living in extraordinary circumstances. Was he neither? Here's a 10 year-old American boy telling us about warrior training, the Vedic lifestyle, and what it's like living in the forests around Mayapur, a couple hours from Kolkata

. He gave me advice on where to stay in Kolkata and how much I should be paying for a place. After a few talks I wasn't as confused about him. From a very early age he was given the freedom to test his limits and express his power. He wasn't treated like an infant so he never became infantile. He knew how to survive. His freedom did cost him quite a bit in terms of isolation. Depending on how he responds it can either be solitude or loneliness.
They lived in Thailand for a year before getting the money to go to India. A family friend sponsored him in the school and his mom had a little house built in the nearby forest. During the week he lives at the academy. Their schedule is as follows:
Wake at 2 AM- 5 minutes to wash and dress. Chant, pay respects to the deities, clean their clothes, and cook their own meals. Nakul eats mostly kitcheri, a simple (bland) mix of mostly rice and dal, and only a bowlful per meal...about the size of his two fists held together. Aside from the four hours of martial arts training each day, he mentioned a Sanskrit class and a course about the Baghavad Gita. His Baghavad Gita teacher recently left the body (died). "We all thought he was going after he finished his book ('Vedanta Psychology'- http://www.suhotraprabhu.com/). His martial art's training covers a variety of styles. We learned about brick breaking, archery (pulling the bow all the way back to your ear) using special arrows that twist into form using a personal 'code', and the relationship between you (the archer), the arrow, and a mantra. "The mantra is the captain of the arrow and you are the minister." In sparring he went up against the biggest and best to get accustomed to being spent. "In fighting you have to be like metal, AND like a feather." He told us the sparring tournaments were necessary to vent warrior aggression and spoke of not feeling pain

. "It's a weakness. If I cheat, I lose." The academy also taught healing methods using plants from the forest. He couldn't heal a wound on his leg because he couldn't get the same plants in Rishikesh.
He also explained a little about his lifestyle and what it means to be a warrior. "Warriors can't be told what to do all the time. They either prove they're right or they show aggression. That's why we get four hours of play-time at school. When we first started the teachers broke our egos. I almost cried. The ego is our biggest enemy." He continued by explaining a little about his family. "My father and sister are both warriors too. It's not like a caste. They can be the son or daughter of a Brahmin. My mother's the one who looks after the business matters. The woman is the ruler of the home. She's the queen of the deck. Whatever she says gets done. This is vedic culture." Elad asked about his haircut and Nakul corrected him, "It's not a hairdo. It's a sign of my devotion."
Elad asked another question. "Which deity do you worship?"
"Narasimha, one of the incarnations of Vishnu. He's a defender."
They were in Rishikesh because his mom made the decision to go. It was a good place to practice and teach yoga- his father being a yoga instructor

. Rishikesh was alright but he wanted to return to school. "I told my mom I'm going back. I miss my teachers. There are people you meet and you can sense that you are close already. It's like that with my teachers. I knew them before. My biggest boons are to please my teachers, to become a teacher at my school, and to die and server god. "I'm so fortunate. I mean, I'm from Hawaii. How did I end up in India at the academy?"
"Wait, what does boon mean?" I asked.
"It's like a wish."
When I was 10 I had an enormous list of wishes almost entirely comprised of Legos, GI Joe, and Star Wars. Pleasing my teachers? Becoming a teacher?? Dying and serving god??? None of those were on the radar.
He told us about the Kali Yuga... the era of vice. When Kali Yuga comes to an end the oceans will purportedly be in flames.
"I don't want the boon of (living) forever. Those are fires I don't want to be burning in."
In our more casual talks he gave us advice about life in India. "You'll see babas wanting 100 rupees"-he made a sly smile- "if there was just one real baba no-one would go hungry within 10 kilometers of the town." Eating in a West Bengal villager's home can also be a bit of an ordeal. "An empty plate means you want more food and not finishing your food is an offense. It's also an offense to deny food. How can you stop?" Then he shared his best words of wisdom. "People will act a lot. If they're around serious people they will act serious. If someone's telling jokes they laugh along even if they don't think it's funny. You have to be yourself."
"You're right about that one my man."
Nakul has a younger sister

. She introduced herself with 100% unrestrained shrieking screams before we ever met her in person. Nakul didn't like their first apartment in Rishikesh so he found the family a place with a yard. A small ghat leading to the river separated their yard from the restaurant. She was running around the yard, totally naked, screaming as loud as she possibly could. We witnessed two warrior siblings in battle and the waiter came over to assure us she was fine. "They're just playing. Both are good kids." When Jamuna, came to the restaurant with Nakul he explained that, although she doesn't have any training, she's a really good dancer. He has the academy and she's had to teach herself.
"Are you also artistic Nakul?"
"My hands are not soft."
Warriors and soldiers are distinctly different. Soldiers are units of rank conditioned to respond to orders. Decisions of value have no place in the world of a soldier. Soldiers are simply taught to react. If? Then. If? Then. If? Then. If? Then. Command. Obey. Warriors exist outside of easily definable parameters. They're not blood hungry savages and they're not automatons. Warrior's decisions come entirely from a place of value. Nakul prompted memories of an intense experience I once had. Though it occurred about 18 months earlier, it was like looking into another person's mind because so much changed in that time

. It was similar to 'Being Jon Malkovich' with my own past.
I happened to pass by a mirror in my apartment and noticed my eyes. The look of terror reflecting back at me was shocking. It had nothing to do with how I felt. My eyes portrayed the fact that I was physically expressing something I wasn't consciously in tune with. Startled, I fell back into a wall. I was pinned between a seemingly foreign reflection and an actual physical barrier. I couldn't look away, I could only stare back.
The terror came from earlier thoughts about sanity and insanity and the fact that I'd just become aware of that dividing line in myself. Apparently something about those thoughts startled me beyond conscious recognition. As I stood against the wall, staring into my own terrified eyes, a surge of power coursed through my body. My lungs took long, deep breaths and my hands felt disproportionately large. The look of terror faded into a level gaze devoid of fear or intimidation. Compassion and unyielding strength blended in the irises. I stood and felt the power surging before taking a few steps closer to the mirror. I stared at my reflection noticing that my appearance looked slightly different than the one I had grown accustomed to seeing. I was seeing myself more clearly than ever. My ego typically distorts the reflection into a judgment about my appearance. I took note of my undistorted appearance and pondered who I was seeing. I then understood that I was seeing my own warrior self. The one with no concern for petty day-to-day worries or thoughts of sanity. He was not ignorant or reactionary. He was fully aware and entirely creative. He was the uncompromising expression of compassion. Because there is absolutely no compromise it's easy to confuse being a warrior with the image of violent resolution. A violent warrior does not exist

. Because he recognizes the true source of human experience, a true warrior would never utilize lethal force in resolving uncompromising conflicts. Killing is an expression of day-to-day worries and thoughts of sanity. It resolves nothing. He would hand over his life before taking another person's. That experience forever changed my perception of life.

The last stretch of road leading into Luxmanjhula from Swarg Ashram rises up a short hill before descending more steeply into the central part of the village. The lemon mint drink- prepared by the best lemon mint maker in town- settled lightly in my stomach. My feet strode deftly up the hill. I moved with ease; totally unburdened. I hadn't a care in the world. (It's my last few days in town- soon I'll be in Kolkata. In a few weeks I'll be back in the United States. And I'm ready to go home. How cool is that! To be happy to return. What a satisfying feeling!) These thoughts carried my light feet up the hill and almost past a man struggling with a heavily laden cart. Several men sweat out a living hauling cartloads of goods between the different communities. He didn't speak English but he wasn't going to let me commit the offense of just walking by. I translated his tone of voice into, "Hey pal, why don't you put those lazy hands to use and help me with this cart!" It wasn't a request. His words brought me back to earth in a good way

. (How did I not help him right away?) I hustled over and pushed on the back of the cart while he took the front handles. (This is awesome! He just said it like it is!) At the top of the hill I let go as he started the downhill into town. Again he spoke in an easily distinguishable tone. "Come on man! Do you see any brakes on this thing?" I grabbed on and helped ease the cart down the slope. At the bottom of the hill, he waved me off without looking back. He made no motion of thanks. It was 100% perfect. I walked on with an enormous grin. Everything was so simple. The cart was heavy, he was going over a hill, and I had two free hands. There was no room for blubbery gratitude. He had given me the opportunity to be of service and he made sure I didn't miss it. I could spend several lifetimes waiting for that kind of honesty in the U.S. ("Excuse me, um, sir. Do you think you could, um, help me real quick? Oh, thank you so, so, very much! You're so gracious!") It's all so, so pointless.

Tourists from across the country converged on the bridge seemingly at once. Even the restaurant employees took a break to watch the standstill. I'm not going to lie...I was a little intimidated. That was the bridge leading to Linlin's apartment and the delicious lunch she was making me. The crowd reached a density that even silenced the motorbike drivers. Honking was pointless. When I ultimately joined the swarm, old women and little kids were getting aggressive. The pushing got to the point of having to show strength in standing my ground. A frenzied mob was heading for the Ganga. They were only a few elbows away from the sin-cleansing river goddess- with a few extra elbows thrown in for good measure.
Linlin outdid herself again. Our second 'Lunch at Elaines' featured soup, spaghetti, fried potatoes and eggplant, and banana and chocolate pastries

. A man could get used to that kind of treatment. It was easy to face the crowded bridge with a smile after such generosity.
The goodbyes are more difficult after such a long stay in one spot. Typically, I just like to slide out unnoticed to avoid the formalities. Rishikesh had become too much of a home for that. Elad went to a nearby village the night before my departure. He was deciding his travel plans from a more neutral environment. Rishikesh and Krishna were in his blood too. We hugged goodbye but didn't know what to say. He was a solid presence for almost two months of my time in India.
Linlin and I met up for one final lunch, this time at a place with the best waiter in town. Being about 15, he was probably several years into the business already. He went about his work as most do, not necessarily loving or hating the day-to-day. That is, until he scored a pair of Oakley shades. His entire persona was transformed by the sleek plastic eyewear. He was now a star. The dining patio became a stage for his grand performance. Orders were taken with a sly grin, his posture betraying a cocksure swagger just waiting to be flaunted. In the realm of waiters, he was Bono.
Linlin and I spent a quiet afternoon together before I left that night. We ate, swam, and watched people bathing and doing laundry in the river. We also parted with a hug, pondering whether our paths would cross again in Darjeeling.

My leg was feeling good. Krishna's treatments did the trick. He wasn't going to let me leave without having full flexibility. The final class had an inordinate number of leg stretches in helping me achieve the goal- to plant my forehead on my knee

. The month of rigorous stretchings and holdings had me feeling physically transformed. With a healed leg the task was easy. Krishna enjoyed the progress and I was free to go.
The meditation class typically began around the time the mosquitoes came out. Citronella typically did the trick though it wasn't flawless. Hearing me smack at a bug, Krishna had one final lesson for me. "Hey Architect! You are not wanting to feed the mosquitoes?" The point was clear: killing is bad karma. "Sometimes one will be landing on me. I sit and look at it. Then it's getting shy and goes away."
My bag was waiting outside the meditation room. An overnight bus to Delhi left shortly after class. Krishna gave me a photo of him sitting in a white robe without wearing his standard do-rag. His smile reflected well in the camera. Om Jai Shri Krishna was written on the back with some words of parting. When he handed me the photo he told me, "I don't give these to all my students. I'd like to teach you more someday." For only a month's worth of practice he had already taught me much.
The end of class brought the remainder of the goodbyes...Ninie, Sebastian, Peter, and a variety of others. It was a much more joyous and warm farewell than I expected. Krishna chimed in, "I hope to see you again!" He then corrected himself with his finger pointed in the air. "No! I WILL see you again. Keep that in your mind and it will be so!"
The rickshaw traveled along the road between Ramjhula and the bus stand in Rishikesh. A bright full moon rose over the mountains and reflected in the Ganga. Leaving the isolation of Luxmanjhula and Ramjhula, this full moon marked the end of an incredibly transformational cycle. The prior full moon welcomed me to town. The next full moon would be rising over North America.