Sunday, August 3, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Last words from Ladakh
we are still here in Ladakh, leaving Leh tomorrow (heart aching! but grateful to the heavens!) then a few days in Delhi then back to NY so Honna can move from her apt. This has been heaven on earth. No real problems so far. JULE-AY as they say here in Ladakh. Sometimes it's spelled Jule, just like my beautiful daughter Jule- other times Juleh. or Juley. It's like aloha- means everything- hello, goodbye, goodluck....this has been wonderful!!!! Lots and lots of people our age and older still out here in the high altitudes....I didn't even take altitude medicine! Jaw situation the same- no worse... I'm much stronger than I realized, grace be to God. Love and miss you all.....
Climbing to Leh Palace! Spectacular dancing, costumes, and view.
Hi all. No way to explain the beauty and excitement. Can you believe I walked up to the Leh Palace, nearly sliding down the hill a few times. I was so out of breath and kept saying I couldn’t do it but Honna kept encouraging me onward. I noticed an old monk at the very top watching our ascent for awhile. At the end we decided to diverge from the established path and take a shortcut straight up the last stretch with no rocks for steps, nothing to hold onto, just dirt, and I just couldn’t make it. Suddenly two young heavenly sherpas came to my rescue and helped me up, such strong arms I’ve never felt, except when a Tibetan women helped me climb up some steps in Dumkhar., and now I’ve noticed Honna has Tibtan arms too. The forearm bones, when I have relied upon them, have been like rods of steel! I was panting for breath, thought I would die for sure, but with heavenly wings- those arms holding me up, we made it to the top and at the ancient Leh Palace saw close-up all the traditional Ladakhi-Tibetan dances and costumes I have always loved and never dreamed I’d see. The view from the palace is so breath-taking - no picture could ever do it justice, it’s really near as can be (for most people) to the top of the world. I can’t explain the thrill of it. I said from the beginning of the trip that I would never be able to walk that far, but thanks to Honna and the other Ladakhi arms, I did! I highly recommend the book "Jesus Lived in India." Of course he did. All you need to do is come here to Ladakh and the monasteries to understand it all.And even to understand that His teachings are embued with Buddhism.Beyond belief, beyond amazing, beyond my wildest dreams.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Travels on the Leh-Srinigar Road and Beyond
Cannot believe the wonderful trip we tool with Mr. Tashi from LEHO...the vehicle was small and the LEHO people, Dr. Mohammed Deen and Razia Sultana were so helpful in making the arrangements, which involved helping to transport LEHO-connected people from one town to another. They were all concerned if we would be uncomfortable. "Oh no it'll be fine" I said, little knowing what a full spectrum of comfort levels there are in this world, and in particular along the Leh-Kargil road.....so arduous but so incredible. The engineering feat of creating this wonderful road, with its stone walls, so much of it in excellent shape, is an endeavor most Americans couldn't imagine....the workers live in tents along the way, working for months at a time before taking breaks to go home to their villages.
Everywhere we went the hospitality was so generous, kind, gentle. My photos, if I ever get rested enough to upload them, will confirm the utter beauty of the homes and the hard work the people do with ease and love. We slept in a tent on the top of a Ladakhi roof in the village of Dumkbar. If we would have done any sleepwalking outside the tent we would have fallen off a ledge into oblivion. I usually go to the bathroom several times a night but this was definitely not an option...the toilet would have required a trip down stairs through the home where people were sleeping, and then outside along a narrow path through a garden.I t was what they call a dry toilet which is a hole in the ground. The toilet was not the problem, just the location of it, one misstep in the nighttime could have ended in disaster. At the home we were staying it was very clean, everything was clean and beautiful, shrines and holiness throughout.
The ride was so harrowing and backbreaking I can't believe the fascinating things that happened along the way and the people we met and all that we learned. I would do it all again tomorrow if I had a chance.
Unfortunately Honna's camera memory card of the trip got scratched and so much of it all is lost we think. It's a true heartbreak. But we have to accept it and move on. We still have enough to design the brochure that LEHO needs, since they acknowledge forthrightly their weakness is in written English documentation of their work. They do have a logo but I think it needs help. They appoint the head of their greenhouse projects in each village and then provide materials and training for start-up, but then back off, and let the villagers run it themselves, dropping in now and then to offer help without insulting the pride of the villagers. Everyone profits, and everyone must pay some money into their business, machine repairs etc. We also visited a self-starting children's school that runs for an hour each night, at 7:30 after work is done, just to learn one English word a day. I will look for flash cards with pictures on the baclk to send them. Also it amazes me that they apparently don't grow or know about kale, which loves the winter. so I'm going to send some seeds.... The winters are so hard and these LEHO projects are designed in conjunction with 4 other NGOS to help improve the villagers life.
We just happened to be present at Lamayuru monastery when a new Rimpoche arrived for a visit in a caravan of modern white jeeps.We saw them weaving back and forth across the mountains from a long way off. All the monks played their ancient instruments and wore the ancient ceremionial garb for the arrival, the most ancient Ladakhis and Tibetan refugees in traditional garb spun prayer wheels and sat along the road, waiting for him. I don't know how they have the strength to walk so far and up such hills. We also visited Alchi monastery, absolutely impossible to describe the ancient beauties, efforts, and mysteries there. These monasteries have as much and maybe more spiritual oomph than anywhere I've ever been. When you consider how remote they are, how difficult they are to reach even in 2008, you really do have to wonder how they could build gilded statues of Buddhas encrusted with semi-precious stones two stories high- a thousand years ago!
But most importantly perhaps, we saw the LEHO (NGO) works in progress, microhydroelectric power in action for grinding almonds, extracting the oil, and grinding barley. The community all benefits from each product through a cooperative unit, with the European Union at the top of the pyramid of engineers and donors. No USA support of LEHO to speak of yet, but we will research that and set up a fund for interested donors. Swedish and French very large donors of equipment including weaving looms, spinning and wool carding machines. I bought one shawl that will supposedly support a village for a long time, and empower women to have their own money. Many of the projects are arranged so that the women don't have to ask their husbands for money for household expenses, which is considered to be humiliating.
We were entertained in every household we visited- every greenhouse, every root cellar, every poultry farm, every apricot drying scheme, every garden, by kind gracious, gentle, laughing, happy people, offering us butter tea and regular tea and biscuits and very crunchy almond barley mix...We rode much of the journey with traditionally dressed Ladakhi women, sleeping on one another's shoulders etc as we bumped along.
I hadn't realized the importance of the slight change in altitude and keeping hydrated for the return to Leh, which is higher altitude. Last night I had my first episode of true frightening death-defying pain, getting an hourlong headache in which I thought my brain was exploding. Never in my life experienced such pain, it was beyond belief. Honna did her kind care and pranic healing, and just her kind hand on my brow and to be able to hold onto her arm was such a comfort. I couldn't get out of bed for another twelve hours as it subsided. I thought it was cerebral edema (for which I had brought an emergency supply of predisone but didn't use) but Honna softly and gently said not to worry, it was just lack of proper hydration on our journey. The Ladakhi women don't drink water on their journeys so I was trying to be one of them and not be so American with my water bottle, but I am what I am, and the water is so critical at altitude..you have to drink it all day long from safe water bottles, everyone does, plastic which can be refilled at certain places, but plastic in general is frowned upon in this most ecologically aware part of the world...they put America to shame here in Ladakh, because their ecological schemes are so advanced and so gentle...
On the way back we were nearly out of gas and it was very dark on very windy roads along cliffs. We saw ancient remote statues - gilded and bejewelled- of various deities in the temples along the way. Even though it's only a few hundred kilometers to Dumkbar along the Srinigar-Leh road, it took about eight hours with all our stops along the way. It was a hard and exhausting journey but when we arrived, and sat on a dirt floor by candlelight with the beautiful men and women, looking at their cooperative efforts in handicraft, and drinking butter tea sitting by the looms and woolens and grains, helping to box them up to take to market the next day, it was an ineffably beautiful end to the day. In the car the next day the ever-jolly Ladakhi women took turns grabbing my thigh and shaking it and saying how strong I was and how young I look! I have a hard time accepting compliments, but it is amazing and shocking to get compliments from the people I admire most in the world for their strength and beauty. However life in the mountain villages is hard, and people whose age I estimate as 60 or 70 are actually only in their forties and fifties, but still beautiful beyond words....
I am beyond happy, beyond blessed,beyond wonder, so full of gratitude for this experience....Love to all...Please become aware of Ladakh. Honna and I will be trying to raise awareness in the USA when we return. As I've said, we are responsible now for making a brochure and other literature as part of our arrangement with the NGO LEHO to go to the outer villages and homes.ALthough Leh is a wonderful bustling tourist destination with its share of hustlers and vendors just like any other tourist town, Ladakh is an unspoiled, almost unspoilable region of the world. I haven't been able to upload photos, the time is too long, but no picture could ever capture the pure goodness and beauty of Ladakh.
Everywhere we went the hospitality was so generous, kind, gentle. My photos, if I ever get rested enough to upload them, will confirm the utter beauty of the homes and the hard work the people do with ease and love. We slept in a tent on the top of a Ladakhi roof in the village of Dumkbar. If we would have done any sleepwalking outside the tent we would have fallen off a ledge into oblivion. I usually go to the bathroom several times a night but this was definitely not an option...the toilet would have required a trip down stairs through the home where people were sleeping, and then outside along a narrow path through a garden.I t was what they call a dry toilet which is a hole in the ground. The toilet was not the problem, just the location of it, one misstep in the nighttime could have ended in disaster. At the home we were staying it was very clean, everything was clean and beautiful, shrines and holiness throughout.
The ride was so harrowing and backbreaking I can't believe the fascinating things that happened along the way and the people we met and all that we learned. I would do it all again tomorrow if I had a chance.
Unfortunately Honna's camera memory card of the trip got scratched and so much of it all is lost we think. It's a true heartbreak. But we have to accept it and move on. We still have enough to design the brochure that LEHO needs, since they acknowledge forthrightly their weakness is in written English documentation of their work. They do have a logo but I think it needs help. They appoint the head of their greenhouse projects in each village and then provide materials and training for start-up, but then back off, and let the villagers run it themselves, dropping in now and then to offer help without insulting the pride of the villagers. Everyone profits, and everyone must pay some money into their business, machine repairs etc. We also visited a self-starting children's school that runs for an hour each night, at 7:30 after work is done, just to learn one English word a day. I will look for flash cards with pictures on the baclk to send them. Also it amazes me that they apparently don't grow or know about kale, which loves the winter. so I'm going to send some seeds.... The winters are so hard and these LEHO projects are designed in conjunction with 4 other NGOS to help improve the villagers life.
We just happened to be present at Lamayuru monastery when a new Rimpoche arrived for a visit in a caravan of modern white jeeps.We saw them weaving back and forth across the mountains from a long way off. All the monks played their ancient instruments and wore the ancient ceremionial garb for the arrival, the most ancient Ladakhis and Tibetan refugees in traditional garb spun prayer wheels and sat along the road, waiting for him. I don't know how they have the strength to walk so far and up such hills. We also visited Alchi monastery, absolutely impossible to describe the ancient beauties, efforts, and mysteries there. These monasteries have as much and maybe more spiritual oomph than anywhere I've ever been. When you consider how remote they are, how difficult they are to reach even in 2008, you really do have to wonder how they could build gilded statues of Buddhas encrusted with semi-precious stones two stories high- a thousand years ago!
But most importantly perhaps, we saw the LEHO (NGO) works in progress, microhydroelectric power in action for grinding almonds, extracting the oil, and grinding barley. The community all benefits from each product through a cooperative unit, with the European Union at the top of the pyramid of engineers and donors. No USA support of LEHO to speak of yet, but we will research that and set up a fund for interested donors. Swedish and French very large donors of equipment including weaving looms, spinning and wool carding machines. I bought one shawl that will supposedly support a village for a long time, and empower women to have their own money. Many of the projects are arranged so that the women don't have to ask their husbands for money for household expenses, which is considered to be humiliating.
We were entertained in every household we visited- every greenhouse, every root cellar, every poultry farm, every apricot drying scheme, every garden, by kind gracious, gentle, laughing, happy people, offering us butter tea and regular tea and biscuits and very crunchy almond barley mix...We rode much of the journey with traditionally dressed Ladakhi women, sleeping on one another's shoulders etc as we bumped along.
I hadn't realized the importance of the slight change in altitude and keeping hydrated for the return to Leh, which is higher altitude. Last night I had my first episode of true frightening death-defying pain, getting an hourlong headache in which I thought my brain was exploding. Never in my life experienced such pain, it was beyond belief. Honna did her kind care and pranic healing, and just her kind hand on my brow and to be able to hold onto her arm was such a comfort. I couldn't get out of bed for another twelve hours as it subsided. I thought it was cerebral edema (for which I had brought an emergency supply of predisone but didn't use) but Honna softly and gently said not to worry, it was just lack of proper hydration on our journey. The Ladakhi women don't drink water on their journeys so I was trying to be one of them and not be so American with my water bottle, but I am what I am, and the water is so critical at altitude..you have to drink it all day long from safe water bottles, everyone does, plastic which can be refilled at certain places, but plastic in general is frowned upon in this most ecologically aware part of the world...they put America to shame here in Ladakh, because their ecological schemes are so advanced and so gentle...
On the way back we were nearly out of gas and it was very dark on very windy roads along cliffs. We saw ancient remote statues - gilded and bejewelled- of various deities in the temples along the way. Even though it's only a few hundred kilometers to Dumkbar along the Srinigar-Leh road, it took about eight hours with all our stops along the way. It was a hard and exhausting journey but when we arrived, and sat on a dirt floor by candlelight with the beautiful men and women, looking at their cooperative efforts in handicraft, and drinking butter tea sitting by the looms and woolens and grains, helping to box them up to take to market the next day, it was an ineffably beautiful end to the day. In the car the next day the ever-jolly Ladakhi women took turns grabbing my thigh and shaking it and saying how strong I was and how young I look! I have a hard time accepting compliments, but it is amazing and shocking to get compliments from the people I admire most in the world for their strength and beauty. However life in the mountain villages is hard, and people whose age I estimate as 60 or 70 are actually only in their forties and fifties, but still beautiful beyond words....
I am beyond happy, beyond blessed,beyond wonder, so full of gratitude for this experience....Love to all...Please become aware of Ladakh. Honna and I will be trying to raise awareness in the USA when we return. As I've said, we are responsible now for making a brochure and other literature as part of our arrangement with the NGO LEHO to go to the outer villages and homes.ALthough Leh is a wonderful bustling tourist destination with its share of hustlers and vendors just like any other tourist town, Ladakh is an unspoiled, almost unspoilable region of the world. I haven't been able to upload photos, the time is too long, but no picture could ever capture the pure goodness and beauty of Ladakh.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Greetings from Ladakh - Heaven on Earth!
We are here and the air is wonderful. I think I was born for high altitudes! There's no way to describe in the minute I have how wonderful everything is. Honna and I found a wonderful organization, LEHO, which has accepted our offer of help to make a brochure in English. We will be visiting the outer villages to see the efforts to help provide the people with greenhouses to grow vegetables in winter, also to empower the women to make an income through handicrafts. The Hotel Dragon is the most wonderful hotel in the world.
The people we have met are so kind, so smart, so energetic, so self-sufficient, so gentle, so beautiful. I want to come back every year! And Honna and I want to do everything we can to help the organizations by raising awareness (and funding) in the USA. I can't begin to express how wonderful it is. No problems whatsoever. They are welcoming tourists, everyone should come to see the mountains, the poplars, to breathe the beautiful air, to see the beautiful architecture and the beautiful faces. We can all learn so much from these people. They are so far ahead of us in so many ways!
In the coming days we will take one daytrip and an overnight trip to the outlying villages to see the means of livelihood and support through the cold winters. A man from Leho NGO offered to go with us to translate as we ask questions, so we can help with the publications when we get back to the States. We will also visit some of the monasteries. Now we're off to buy notebooks for the journeys. No words could express how blissfully happy I am or how wonderful it is to be doing this with Honna, or how beautiful it is here at the top of the world!
The people we have met are so kind, so smart, so energetic, so self-sufficient, so gentle, so beautiful. I want to come back every year! And Honna and I want to do everything we can to help the organizations by raising awareness (and funding) in the USA. I can't begin to express how wonderful it is. No problems whatsoever. They are welcoming tourists, everyone should come to see the mountains, the poplars, to breathe the beautiful air, to see the beautiful architecture and the beautiful faces. We can all learn so much from these people. They are so far ahead of us in so many ways!
In the coming days we will take one daytrip and an overnight trip to the outlying villages to see the means of livelihood and support through the cold winters. A man from Leho NGO offered to go with us to translate as we ask questions, so we can help with the publications when we get back to the States. We will also visit some of the monasteries. Now we're off to buy notebooks for the journeys. No words could express how blissfully happy I am or how wonderful it is to be doing this with Honna, or how beautiful it is here at the top of the world!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Dimes and Butterscotch: Little Things to Take Along To The Himalaya
I've already loaded my bag into the car and have come back in for some last minute things.
Thinking of the appreciative people in the world, and in particular of children and nice old folks I'll see along the way, I already packed a few handfuls of delicious and beautiful gold foil-wrapped butterscotches from Gardiners, Scotland. I packed a seashell with a hole already in place for a string,for someone special I have yet to meet.
And just as I was putting the bag into the car, and wondering if I would have the opportunity to spread any goodwill for the USA, I thought: dimes. Remote people probably don't see a whole lot of dimes, dollar bills being the more readily recognized currency worldwide. But dimes are so beautiful, so meaningful, so light and easy to carry!
My grandmother used to pay a boy a dime an hour to move her woodpile every year. And that was in the 1970's, not really so very long ago. He was glad for that dime. Dimes are things of beauty. I do miss the days when the Liberty dime's composition was such that if a thermometer broke, you could get the mercury to stick to it- a wondrous sight! .. still today there's FDR, there's liberty, there's e pluribus unum, the mighty oak that grows from an acorn, an eternal flame, there's an olive branch, there's the United States of America, there's God. A dime is a beautiful thing. I'm taking a handful and will do my part to spread them thoughtfully into the hands of thoughtful people, and I'll sprinkle a few in the Ganges too.
Thinking of the appreciative people in the world, and in particular of children and nice old folks I'll see along the way, I already packed a few handfuls of delicious and beautiful gold foil-wrapped butterscotches from Gardiners, Scotland. I packed a seashell with a hole already in place for a string,for someone special I have yet to meet.
And just as I was putting the bag into the car, and wondering if I would have the opportunity to spread any goodwill for the USA, I thought: dimes. Remote people probably don't see a whole lot of dimes, dollar bills being the more readily recognized currency worldwide. But dimes are so beautiful, so meaningful, so light and easy to carry!
My grandmother used to pay a boy a dime an hour to move her woodpile every year. And that was in the 1970's, not really so very long ago. He was glad for that dime. Dimes are things of beauty. I do miss the days when the Liberty dime's composition was such that if a thermometer broke, you could get the mercury to stick to it- a wondrous sight! .. still today there's FDR, there's liberty, there's e pluribus unum, the mighty oak that grows from an acorn, an eternal flame, there's an olive branch, there's the United States of America, there's God. A dime is a beautiful thing. I'm taking a handful and will do my part to spread them thoughtfully into the hands of thoughtful people, and I'll sprinkle a few in the Ganges too.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Voyage
My mind's been running from the ridiculous to the sublime and back again all day long, Here's a sample....I'm in the mood for a little poetry as I prepare to set virtual sail. A little dab'll do ya'. (That's from an old Brylcreem ad)
From Tennyson's Ulysses:
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And speaking of Brylcreem:
Thanks to Dreamer2TV
I wonder if they have the old Burma Shave signs anywhere anymore? I'll have to do a little research on those when I get back. Toodle-oo. Blah blah blah....
From Tennyson's Ulysses:
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And speaking of Brylcreem:
Thanks to Dreamer2TV
I wonder if they have the old Burma Shave signs anywhere anymore? I'll have to do a little research on those when I get back. Toodle-oo. Blah blah blah....
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Passage to India: Will this trip have been worth it?
Everyone asks me if I'm excited to go to India. India is huge so I'm not sure what they are picturing when they ask me that, but I have a pretty good idea. The wretched refuse of the teeming shores, sweltering heat, and all that. But I'm not going to that India, I'm going to sparsely populated, cool Ladakh, and am I excited? Well at the moment, no, excited isn't the word. Scared to death is more like it. Scared of dying. Filled with doubt! One of my friends is strong enough to go out on a limb and say forcefully "You're not going to die on this trip!" I love when someone goes all out like that, and I take it to heart appreciatively, and get strength from it. But, really, who knows?
My children are very supportive. Someone said recently that my family uses India like summer camp, but that's an exaggeration. My original family, that is, mother father and sister, never did share my fascination for the far-flung teeming shores. Why wouldn't I want to spend a few weeks in Paris? Or a quiet time at home? Fair enough. I'd like both of those things too. I take their words to heart, and it adds to my anxiety. Why am I so different from my own flesh and blood?
Well this trip is inexpensive and thrilling. Imagine flying in a puddle-jumper through the high passes of the Himalaya! Imagine being at the furthest reaches of mankind, and seeing ancient artistic, intellectual and spiritual endeavors preserved in remote monasteries. How could people living a life so isolated and difficult have produced art and documents and philosophies and medicines and means of survival so intricately beautiful that we can't begin to imagine, in our present world, the patience and presence of mind such people had, and some still have? I'll be looking for vestiges of the past, and of pure unadulterated cultural survival.
I don't have that special skill-set for survival, whatever it is or was. Even sitting here with all that electricity and the local grocery store, drugstore, and art-supply store provide, I can't lose five pounds or get my bag packed or make a checklist of what I still need to do, let alone subsist through winter and build a gilded statue of Buddha larger than life size. Could I devise a theology, a cosmology, could I weave a cloth, forge a bracelet or brew a beer? Not a chance. Not without the internet!
So I'm scared. Have I painted myself into a corner? Is this really what I want? In the long run, would the money have been better spent on a face-lift, a new roof for my house, or a great dog? In the lonely aging years of recollecting to come, if there are any, I think the venture off into the unknown will be for the better. But only time will tell.
My children are very supportive. Someone said recently that my family uses India like summer camp, but that's an exaggeration. My original family, that is, mother father and sister, never did share my fascination for the far-flung teeming shores. Why wouldn't I want to spend a few weeks in Paris? Or a quiet time at home? Fair enough. I'd like both of those things too. I take their words to heart, and it adds to my anxiety. Why am I so different from my own flesh and blood?
Well this trip is inexpensive and thrilling. Imagine flying in a puddle-jumper through the high passes of the Himalaya! Imagine being at the furthest reaches of mankind, and seeing ancient artistic, intellectual and spiritual endeavors preserved in remote monasteries. How could people living a life so isolated and difficult have produced art and documents and philosophies and medicines and means of survival so intricately beautiful that we can't begin to imagine, in our present world, the patience and presence of mind such people had, and some still have? I'll be looking for vestiges of the past, and of pure unadulterated cultural survival.
I don't have that special skill-set for survival, whatever it is or was. Even sitting here with all that electricity and the local grocery store, drugstore, and art-supply store provide, I can't lose five pounds or get my bag packed or make a checklist of what I still need to do, let alone subsist through winter and build a gilded statue of Buddha larger than life size. Could I devise a theology, a cosmology, could I weave a cloth, forge a bracelet or brew a beer? Not a chance. Not without the internet!
So I'm scared. Have I painted myself into a corner? Is this really what I want? In the long run, would the money have been better spent on a face-lift, a new roof for my house, or a great dog? In the lonely aging years of recollecting to come, if there are any, I think the venture off into the unknown will be for the better. But only time will tell.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
From National Geographic Traveller: Leh Ladakh, a capital along the Ancient Silk Road
"Affectionately dubbed "Little Tibet" because of its geographical and cultural proximity to Tibet (it also is host to many Tibetan refugees), Buddhist-flavored, politically semi-autonomous Ladakh is India's most remote and least populated region. A land of soaring snow-topped peaks and plunging green valleys, this austerely beautiful region is like nowhere else in India. The stark mountain landscape, with its rocky ridges, dry plains, and glassy lakes, is peppered with colorful gompas (Buddhist monasteries), palaces, villages, and seasonal orchards."
The capital of Ladakh, traveler-friendly Leh is picturesquely enveloped by the snow-capped summits of the mighty Himalaya range. The town is dominated by its imposing 17th-century royal palace, which overlooks the town's labyrinth of winding lanes and colorful bazaars. It also is a popular jumping-off point for explorations of Ladakh's smaller towns, Buddhist monasteries, and trekking trails.
How to Get There
Leh boasts one of the world's highest airports; the flight over the mountains is truly spectacular. Note that flights are prone to delays and cancellations when the weather turns inclement; it is wise to not pre-book onward tickets, in case your flight from Leh is suspended.
Leh is also reachable by bus or private taxi from late May to October, subject to weather conditions; check with local authorities for the latest conditions before setting off.
How to Get Around
Walking is the best way to see this small city (population around 10,000), although taxis are also available. Several outfitters rent bicycles; for information, ask your hotel.
Attractions
Leh's nine-story palace is in a state of disrepair, despite ongoing bouts of reconstruction. Reflecting traditional Tibetan architectural styles, this 17th-century edifice was inhabited by Ladakh's royal family (which still owns it) until they transferred their residence to another palace, in the village of Stok, in the 1940s. The palace is visitable, but bring a flashlight and watch your step.
Leh also has some fine old gompas, including the Namgyal Tsemo and the Soma.
The lively annual Ladakh Festival (September 1-15) gives visitors a wonderful window into Ladakhi culture. Locals wear their traditional costumes and music fills the air. You can watch displays of archery, polo, Ladakhi dance, Buddhist ceremonies, and more. Ladakh has a multitude of other festivals; check guidebooks for details, or visit this website.
Attractions Around Leh
The 16th-century Tikse monastery, some 12.5 miles (20 kilometers) southeast of Leh, is a striking work of architecture that spills down a hillside. Its top section houses a huge golden head of Buddha; colorful murals decorate the surrounding walls. The views from the monastery's rooftop terrace encompass miles of surrounding landscapes. Visitors can observe the monks at prayer at 7 a.m. daily, followed by the traditional blowing of enormous Tibetan horns.
The four-story Stok Palace, constructed in 1825, is the current residence of the Ladakhi royal family. Five of the palace's 80 or so rooms can be visited by the public, including the palace museum, which exhibits an intriguing collection of royal memorabilia, featuring some lovely old tankas (Tibetan cloth paintings).
Around nine miles (15 kilometers) southeast of Leh is the ancient capital of Ladakh, Shey. The crumbling royal palace lies in the shadow of an old fortress. Inside the palace is a large, gold-plated statue of Buddha. A number of chortens (stupas) sit in the area around Shey.
The Spitok gompa, five miles (eight kilometers) from Leh, is a peaceful 15th-century monastery perched atop a hill near the Indus River (Spitok translates to "exemplary"). The monastery's imposing statues of Buddha are only open to the public during the Gu-Stor Festival, in January (for exact dates, contact the tourist office).
Doorway to the Numbra Valley, Khardung La (Pass) is, at more than 17,000 feet, among the highest motorable roads in the world. This high pass is the site of a military base (where permits are checked for those crossing into Numbra Valley) and a couple of simple tea shops. The pass is only open to one-way traffic: from Leh to Numbra in the morning, vice versa in the afternoon.
Places to Eat
Visitors have many choices for dining out in Leh, with restaurants offering a mishmash of cuisines, including some of the best Tibetan food in the country.
The very popular Tibetan Kitchen rewards hungry travelers with filling Tibetan fare, from delectable momos (stuffed dumplings) to soul-warming thukpa (noodle-based soup). Hotel Tso-Kar, Fort Road; tel. +91 (0)1980 253071.
An old favorite is the unpretentious Norlakh Restaurant, which serves tasty, inexpensive Tibetan dishes. These include momos and a range of fine noodle dishes. The restaurant has good views of the Soma gompa. Main Bazaar Road.
For tremendous Indian vegetarian food, try the Lamayuru Restaurant—the curry sauces are positively divine. To sample a selection of dishes, order the excellent thali (all-you-can-eat meal), which is a great value at under $1. Fort Road.
From Frommer's:
My choice, Hotel Dragon , which is outrageously expensive for this area. My daughters stayed in very nice rooms (Ive seen photos) for only $4 a day around India, so maybe there's room to barter.
Phone 01982/252139, 01982/252720
Fax 01982/252720
Web site www.travelladakh.com
Room Information 33 units
Prices Rs 2,700 ($62) standard double, Rs 3,000 ($68) deluxe double; Rs 4,000 ($91) suite. Rates include all meals
Credit Cards Not accepted
In its price range, the Dragon offers the best stay in Leh. Owned by Ghulam Mustafa and his brother Mohiuddin since 1974, this popular establishment has shown consistent improvement over the years. Each floor of the squat, traditionally styled building has its own terrace, and you can catch fantastic 360-degree views of Leh from the rooftop. The limited number of suites are well worth the extra $6 -- they're considerably better than the doubles with their kitschy shiny bedcovers. Also, the suites have tubs (although you should think twice before filling a bathtub in this water-strapped region). Upstairs, room nos. 131 through 133 are more spacious than the other, typically small -- but neat and cozy -- doubles. At night, when a campfire is lit, the small garden courtyard becomes an ideal spot at which to wind down the day. Delicious Ladakhi and Tibetan meals are served in the dining room, which is decorated with gorgeous paintings by Ghulam Mustafa, one of the owners.
General Tips
It is advisable to take it easy for your first 24 to 48 hours in Leh in order to acclimate to the high altitude. You should also drink plenty of water and abstain from drinking alcohol.
For More Information
Leh Tourist Office Main Bazaar Road; +91 (0)1982 253462.
Tourist Reception Center Around two miles (three kilometers) south of the town center on Airport Road; tel. +91 (0)1982 252094 or +91 (0)1982 252297.
Jammu & Kashmir Tourism Department
The capital of Ladakh, traveler-friendly Leh is picturesquely enveloped by the snow-capped summits of the mighty Himalaya range. The town is dominated by its imposing 17th-century royal palace, which overlooks the town's labyrinth of winding lanes and colorful bazaars. It also is a popular jumping-off point for explorations of Ladakh's smaller towns, Buddhist monasteries, and trekking trails.
How to Get There
Leh boasts one of the world's highest airports; the flight over the mountains is truly spectacular. Note that flights are prone to delays and cancellations when the weather turns inclement; it is wise to not pre-book onward tickets, in case your flight from Leh is suspended.
Leh is also reachable by bus or private taxi from late May to October, subject to weather conditions; check with local authorities for the latest conditions before setting off.
How to Get Around
Walking is the best way to see this small city (population around 10,000), although taxis are also available. Several outfitters rent bicycles; for information, ask your hotel.
Attractions
Leh's nine-story palace is in a state of disrepair, despite ongoing bouts of reconstruction. Reflecting traditional Tibetan architectural styles, this 17th-century edifice was inhabited by Ladakh's royal family (which still owns it) until they transferred their residence to another palace, in the village of Stok, in the 1940s. The palace is visitable, but bring a flashlight and watch your step.
Leh also has some fine old gompas, including the Namgyal Tsemo and the Soma.
The lively annual Ladakh Festival (September 1-15) gives visitors a wonderful window into Ladakhi culture. Locals wear their traditional costumes and music fills the air. You can watch displays of archery, polo, Ladakhi dance, Buddhist ceremonies, and more. Ladakh has a multitude of other festivals; check guidebooks for details, or visit this website.
Attractions Around Leh
The 16th-century Tikse monastery, some 12.5 miles (20 kilometers) southeast of Leh, is a striking work of architecture that spills down a hillside. Its top section houses a huge golden head of Buddha; colorful murals decorate the surrounding walls. The views from the monastery's rooftop terrace encompass miles of surrounding landscapes. Visitors can observe the monks at prayer at 7 a.m. daily, followed by the traditional blowing of enormous Tibetan horns.
The four-story Stok Palace, constructed in 1825, is the current residence of the Ladakhi royal family. Five of the palace's 80 or so rooms can be visited by the public, including the palace museum, which exhibits an intriguing collection of royal memorabilia, featuring some lovely old tankas (Tibetan cloth paintings).
Around nine miles (15 kilometers) southeast of Leh is the ancient capital of Ladakh, Shey. The crumbling royal palace lies in the shadow of an old fortress. Inside the palace is a large, gold-plated statue of Buddha. A number of chortens (stupas) sit in the area around Shey.
The Spitok gompa, five miles (eight kilometers) from Leh, is a peaceful 15th-century monastery perched atop a hill near the Indus River (Spitok translates to "exemplary"). The monastery's imposing statues of Buddha are only open to the public during the Gu-Stor Festival, in January (for exact dates, contact the tourist office).
Doorway to the Numbra Valley, Khardung La (Pass) is, at more than 17,000 feet, among the highest motorable roads in the world. This high pass is the site of a military base (where permits are checked for those crossing into Numbra Valley) and a couple of simple tea shops. The pass is only open to one-way traffic: from Leh to Numbra in the morning, vice versa in the afternoon.
Places to Eat
Visitors have many choices for dining out in Leh, with restaurants offering a mishmash of cuisines, including some of the best Tibetan food in the country.
The very popular Tibetan Kitchen rewards hungry travelers with filling Tibetan fare, from delectable momos (stuffed dumplings) to soul-warming thukpa (noodle-based soup). Hotel Tso-Kar, Fort Road; tel. +91 (0)1980 253071.
An old favorite is the unpretentious Norlakh Restaurant, which serves tasty, inexpensive Tibetan dishes. These include momos and a range of fine noodle dishes. The restaurant has good views of the Soma gompa. Main Bazaar Road.
For tremendous Indian vegetarian food, try the Lamayuru Restaurant—the curry sauces are positively divine. To sample a selection of dishes, order the excellent thali (all-you-can-eat meal), which is a great value at under $1. Fort Road.
From Frommer's:
My choice, Hotel Dragon , which is outrageously expensive for this area. My daughters stayed in very nice rooms (Ive seen photos) for only $4 a day around India, so maybe there's room to barter.
Phone 01982/252139, 01982/252720
Fax 01982/252720
Web site www.travelladakh.com
Room Information 33 units
Prices Rs 2,700 ($62) standard double, Rs 3,000 ($68) deluxe double; Rs 4,000 ($91) suite. Rates include all meals
Credit Cards Not accepted
In its price range, the Dragon offers the best stay in Leh. Owned by Ghulam Mustafa and his brother Mohiuddin since 1974, this popular establishment has shown consistent improvement over the years. Each floor of the squat, traditionally styled building has its own terrace, and you can catch fantastic 360-degree views of Leh from the rooftop. The limited number of suites are well worth the extra $6 -- they're considerably better than the doubles with their kitschy shiny bedcovers. Also, the suites have tubs (although you should think twice before filling a bathtub in this water-strapped region). Upstairs, room nos. 131 through 133 are more spacious than the other, typically small -- but neat and cozy -- doubles. At night, when a campfire is lit, the small garden courtyard becomes an ideal spot at which to wind down the day. Delicious Ladakhi and Tibetan meals are served in the dining room, which is decorated with gorgeous paintings by Ghulam Mustafa, one of the owners.
General Tips
It is advisable to take it easy for your first 24 to 48 hours in Leh in order to acclimate to the high altitude. You should also drink plenty of water and abstain from drinking alcohol.
For More Information
Leh Tourist Office Main Bazaar Road; +91 (0)1982 253462.
Tourist Reception Center Around two miles (three kilometers) south of the town center on Airport Road; tel. +91 (0)1982 252094 or +91 (0)1982 252297.
Jammu & Kashmir Tourism Department
Countdown to Leh
In a few days I'll take off for Leh in northernmost India. I have tried to prepare in a variety of ways for the great physical challenge of an arduous journey to a very high altitude. Originally, I was going to lose 15 pounds. I was going to do a lot of cardio strengthening. Just two weeks ago my daughter's boyfriend assured me that I could make a difference in just two weeks time if I worked hard. When my daughter entered a ten day meditation, I was going to quiet myself down too in solidarity with her, and most definitely I was going to eat a vegetarian diet. I was going to get rid of the pain in my jaw and the accompanying earache. I tried all of these things, some with great vigor. But in the end, I haven't really done any of these things successfully. I've only obsessed about not doing them.
I have spent most of my energy trying to resolve the pain in my jaw and trying to calm my fears about that. I've had a tooth pulled- that didn't help. I've had an MRI, an xray, and an emergency room visit for sudden deafness. The diagnosis stays the same: dislocation of the jaw, presumably from a fall I had in June in a cafeteria. I've done ear candling. I've taken two courses of antibiotics. Yesterday I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and started on blood pressure medication for the first time ever. Nothing has changed, so I'm not going to worry about it anymore. I can't. The flight is nonrefundable, I have to go. None of the doctors have told me not to.
I imagine my daughter and I browsing the little Ladakhi and Tibetan shops and visiting monasteries that contain ancient paintings, statues and documents. Word has it that stories of Christ's early life appear in scrolls at Hemmis monastery outside Leh. These stories are mostly discredited, but there could be a grain of truth there somewhere.
I read about NGOs in the area and wrote to a few, offering to help for the ten days we are there. One theater group has recently presented a Chekhov play! There are solid well-established groups working to empower women, to help children, to preserve the local culture. I am bracing myself for bits of disappointment- I know that the cultural values from the West have infiltrated even to this remote plateau and I might see local kids in blue jeans and black leather jackets with substance abuse issues, listening to Ipods. But it's those beautiful ancient faces I long to see.
The very marketplace pictured in that 1909 National Geographic photograph that my friend Ginger and I saw as children, hanging on the wall of our classroom, is exactly where I'm going in my dotage! I know the luster of the past will shine forth in Leh...the modern veneer won't bother me.... Countdown!
I have spent most of my energy trying to resolve the pain in my jaw and trying to calm my fears about that. I've had a tooth pulled- that didn't help. I've had an MRI, an xray, and an emergency room visit for sudden deafness. The diagnosis stays the same: dislocation of the jaw, presumably from a fall I had in June in a cafeteria. I've done ear candling. I've taken two courses of antibiotics. Yesterday I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and started on blood pressure medication for the first time ever. Nothing has changed, so I'm not going to worry about it anymore. I can't. The flight is nonrefundable, I have to go. None of the doctors have told me not to.
I imagine my daughter and I browsing the little Ladakhi and Tibetan shops and visiting monasteries that contain ancient paintings, statues and documents. Word has it that stories of Christ's early life appear in scrolls at Hemmis monastery outside Leh. These stories are mostly discredited, but there could be a grain of truth there somewhere.
I read about NGOs in the area and wrote to a few, offering to help for the ten days we are there. One theater group has recently presented a Chekhov play! There are solid well-established groups working to empower women, to help children, to preserve the local culture. I am bracing myself for bits of disappointment- I know that the cultural values from the West have infiltrated even to this remote plateau and I might see local kids in blue jeans and black leather jackets with substance abuse issues, listening to Ipods. But it's those beautiful ancient faces I long to see.
The very marketplace pictured in that 1909 National Geographic photograph that my friend Ginger and I saw as children, hanging on the wall of our classroom, is exactly where I'm going in my dotage! I know the luster of the past will shine forth in Leh...the modern veneer won't bother me.... Countdown!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Being alive: Gratitude to My Father
I can't believe how lucky I am. I live in the very very very EXACT house of my dreams. I walk up to it at night after I get out of my car and I think "God, even if it ends tomorrow, thank you so much for granting me this blessing, this house for raising my kids, this house to still be living in and rattling my old bones around in, way too big for me, but such a comfort to remember the children here when they were young, and all they went through here."
Once in the sixties when I was living dangerously.... hitchiking back and forth across the country to California and back and travelling in Europe and having such a grand old time, and dabbling in religions and philosophies, I spent a few weeks back home in Pittsburgh, brazen, tanned, exuberant and flush with the thrill of being alive....My father asked me one night over cocktails how I would continue my lifestyle...and I replied "God is taking care of me!"....and my father, ever humble, ever my admirer, ever with the gleam of understanding in his eye, acquiesced....but my mother piped in..."That's not God, that's your father and the credit card he gave you that's been taking care of you." Damn! That's true! My sister and I travelled all over the USA and Europe using our parents' top-of-the line Carte Blanche credit card. (Do those still exist?)The whole family used to jokingly call it "carty blanky." I'm sure my dear mother, God rest her soul, could have had many more diamonds and cashmeres if it hadn't been for my casual and selfish abuses of carty blanky.
I remember once my dad told me he was glad I didn't end up being just some effluvia on a sheet! "Ah Dad! Noone was ever funnier or more understanding than you!"
And so we come down. And so we age and get wiser, and appreciate what we have. It was my father's money that enabled my life, for better or worse. My mother and dad were two of the funniest and most generous people I've ever known. And indeed I have paid a price for not having realized it sooner. But still I trust in God, and know that there is a higher power, an intelligent and ineffable power, that leads us on and allows us to enjoy life, if we are fortunate enough to acquire a sense of being alive, and to have humor about it.
Once in the sixties when I was living dangerously.... hitchiking back and forth across the country to California and back and travelling in Europe and having such a grand old time, and dabbling in religions and philosophies, I spent a few weeks back home in Pittsburgh, brazen, tanned, exuberant and flush with the thrill of being alive....My father asked me one night over cocktails how I would continue my lifestyle...and I replied "God is taking care of me!"....and my father, ever humble, ever my admirer, ever with the gleam of understanding in his eye, acquiesced....but my mother piped in..."That's not God, that's your father and the credit card he gave you that's been taking care of you." Damn! That's true! My sister and I travelled all over the USA and Europe using our parents' top-of-the line Carte Blanche credit card. (Do those still exist?)The whole family used to jokingly call it "carty blanky." I'm sure my dear mother, God rest her soul, could have had many more diamonds and cashmeres if it hadn't been for my casual and selfish abuses of carty blanky.
I remember once my dad told me he was glad I didn't end up being just some effluvia on a sheet! "Ah Dad! Noone was ever funnier or more understanding than you!"
And so we come down. And so we age and get wiser, and appreciate what we have. It was my father's money that enabled my life, for better or worse. My mother and dad were two of the funniest and most generous people I've ever known. And indeed I have paid a price for not having realized it sooner. But still I trust in God, and know that there is a higher power, an intelligent and ineffable power, that leads us on and allows us to enjoy life, if we are fortunate enough to acquire a sense of being alive, and to have humor about it.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Understanding George Mallory: "Because It's There"
In May of 1999, when George Mallory's body was discovered frozen into Mt. Everest, the skin of his back gleaming in the sun like alabaster seventy some years after he died, I wrote a poem. I've lost the poem but I remember posting it at www.mountainzone.com, where it was absorbed into the ethers.
I had been feverishly following the Mallory-Irvine Research Expedition online, buying my kids t-shirts in support of the search, and listening with them to the reports broadcast by Eric Simonson from Everest. Conrad Anker made the find, later describing it this way:
" I saw a patch of white, that was whiter than the rock that was around and also whiter and whiter than the snow that was there, and went there. And within a few minutes of being there realized that this wasn't a body from recent times; it was something that had been there for quite awhile..... He seemed to be at peace with himself. He had been there quite awhile, and there was something very, very subtle about his being there, not really scary and violent. "
The photographs of the body were beyond thrilling to me. There's no way to express the poignancy of the image. Mallory's arms reaching upwards, his bleached white body melded to the mountain forever, his earnestness so clear even in death, trailing bits and pieces of wool and cotton clothing still, even a clearly legible name-tag sewn lovingly into his shirt. The thought that his camera might be found, and a statement by the Kodak company that they very well might be able to develop the film, was truly provocative.
How does someone tackle the likes of Mt. Everest, the high odds of death, the altitude, the weather, the strain? What shadows and forces would drive a man from the safe haven of life in Cambridge to the highest and most difficult peak in the world? He and his friend Andrew Irvine succumbed while struggling together to this peak, casting logic aside, the bond between them unfathomable to those of us ordinary mortals who lust only for what's close at hand.
Mallory was famous for responding to a reporter who asked why he wanted to climb Everest: "Because it's there." Reporters continued to ask him variations of the question again and again. "It's of no use", he said. "If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life".
So to the nice woman who recently asked me what I would take along to India next week to occupy myself, and why in the world I would go to Leh ( a mere 11,000 feet) and the Tibetan plateau, I defer to Mallory, who found it hard to explain, but shut them up by saying "Because it's there."
I had been feverishly following the Mallory-Irvine Research Expedition online, buying my kids t-shirts in support of the search, and listening with them to the reports broadcast by Eric Simonson from Everest. Conrad Anker made the find, later describing it this way:
" I saw a patch of white, that was whiter than the rock that was around and also whiter and whiter than the snow that was there, and went there. And within a few minutes of being there realized that this wasn't a body from recent times; it was something that had been there for quite awhile..... He seemed to be at peace with himself. He had been there quite awhile, and there was something very, very subtle about his being there, not really scary and violent. "
The photographs of the body were beyond thrilling to me. There's no way to express the poignancy of the image. Mallory's arms reaching upwards, his bleached white body melded to the mountain forever, his earnestness so clear even in death, trailing bits and pieces of wool and cotton clothing still, even a clearly legible name-tag sewn lovingly into his shirt. The thought that his camera might be found, and a statement by the Kodak company that they very well might be able to develop the film, was truly provocative.
How does someone tackle the likes of Mt. Everest, the high odds of death, the altitude, the weather, the strain? What shadows and forces would drive a man from the safe haven of life in Cambridge to the highest and most difficult peak in the world? He and his friend Andrew Irvine succumbed while struggling together to this peak, casting logic aside, the bond between them unfathomable to those of us ordinary mortals who lust only for what's close at hand.
Mallory was famous for responding to a reporter who asked why he wanted to climb Everest: "Because it's there." Reporters continued to ask him variations of the question again and again. "It's of no use", he said. "If you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life".
So to the nice woman who recently asked me what I would take along to India next week to occupy myself, and why in the world I would go to Leh ( a mere 11,000 feet) and the Tibetan plateau, I defer to Mallory, who found it hard to explain, but shut them up by saying "Because it's there."
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Entering Vipassana
Today my youngest child, 22, called before turning in her phone and entering ten days of silent meditation at Dhamma Salila in Dehradun India. She says she is looking forward to it and to the rigors of it, and to emerging from it feeling lighter.
During this time about 80 people gather from all over the world to commit to these disciplined days. Although the orientation is Buddhist, you can keep your existing religious tenets with you. Honna says one of the nice things about the place where she is is that nearly 90% of the attendees are from India. Many have done this multiple times. The programs run continuously, with one Vipassana session a month.
During this time you keep silent, called "noble silence"- you don't read or write, you don't make eye contact with anyone, you sit in structured meditation up to ten hours a day. There is a guide who gives a lesson at the end of the day. There is also a person assigned to address any concerns that may arise requiring communication, such as health issues, family emergencies, etc. Of course not everyone lasts the full ten days, and some will fall by the wayside, and that's ok too. There is light breakfast and a vegetarian meal served for lunch, and only tea after that. The day begins at 4AM and ends at 9PM.
You slough off the world and delve into the infinite, gradually, day by day. The technique is ancient, thousands of years old, and used to go on much longer than ten days. There are Vipassana centers all over the world, including here in the good old USA.
Honna called this morning to say that she had ridden a bus out of town, then tracked through some muddy paths, then waded across a churning river to get to the Vipassana Center. She is assigned a clean room with a 25 year old Dutch girl who has travelled extensively in India with Deloite-Touche in the past. They have their own bathroom. The Dutch girl is worried about whether she'll be able to maintain silence because she is a talkative type, but Honna said it will be fun having this roommate. Men and women are housed in separate quarters and do not see each other very often (if at all), apparently. No eye contact allowed anyway!
So she's off and incommunicado until I am ready to board my plane for India. Namaste!
During this time about 80 people gather from all over the world to commit to these disciplined days. Although the orientation is Buddhist, you can keep your existing religious tenets with you. Honna says one of the nice things about the place where she is is that nearly 90% of the attendees are from India. Many have done this multiple times. The programs run continuously, with one Vipassana session a month.
During this time you keep silent, called "noble silence"- you don't read or write, you don't make eye contact with anyone, you sit in structured meditation up to ten hours a day. There is a guide who gives a lesson at the end of the day. There is also a person assigned to address any concerns that may arise requiring communication, such as health issues, family emergencies, etc. Of course not everyone lasts the full ten days, and some will fall by the wayside, and that's ok too. There is light breakfast and a vegetarian meal served for lunch, and only tea after that. The day begins at 4AM and ends at 9PM.
You slough off the world and delve into the infinite, gradually, day by day. The technique is ancient, thousands of years old, and used to go on much longer than ten days. There are Vipassana centers all over the world, including here in the good old USA.
Honna called this morning to say that she had ridden a bus out of town, then tracked through some muddy paths, then waded across a churning river to get to the Vipassana Center. She is assigned a clean room with a 25 year old Dutch girl who has travelled extensively in India with Deloite-Touche in the past. They have their own bathroom. The Dutch girl is worried about whether she'll be able to maintain silence because she is a talkative type, but Honna said it will be fun having this roommate. Men and women are housed in separate quarters and do not see each other very often (if at all), apparently. No eye contact allowed anyway!
So she's off and incommunicado until I am ready to board my plane for India. Namaste!
No you don't, you just think you do
One of my favorite lines from a movie in the past year was in "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford." The Brad Pitt character and the Casey Affleck character are hiding out in a farmhouse, trying to be quiet in an upstairs bedroom. It's night-time, they are sleeping restlessly because there's some sound downstairs. If memory serves me, the Casey Affleck character says to Brad, while they are laying side by side in twin beds, "I have to go to the bathroom." Brad (Jesse James), shushing him up, gets up to check out the noise, strapping on his holster and says, "No you don't, you just think you do."
I try this on myself in various ways, and am very pleased with how effective it is."I need to have a hamburger." No you don't, you just think you do. "I can't go exercise, because I'm exhausted and I need to take a nap." No you don't, you just think you do. On and on. You think you need to buy something you didn't even know existed five minutes earlier. No you don't. You just think you do.
I picture Brad and Angie saying it to their kids when someone insists on finding a bathroom asap. Gotta go. Nah! You just think you do.
I still have not resolved my jaw-ear ache of three weeks now. I start to panic about my upcoming trip to high altitude. I imagine being transported by Red Cross helicopter, from death's door, to a lower altitude because I'm too physically weak to handle the stresses. No I'm not. I just think I am.
Try it out and be cool like Jesse James. Don't over-emphasize it, be calm and strap on your holster and get going. You're the little engine that could.
I try this on myself in various ways, and am very pleased with how effective it is."I need to have a hamburger." No you don't, you just think you do. "I can't go exercise, because I'm exhausted and I need to take a nap." No you don't, you just think you do. On and on. You think you need to buy something you didn't even know existed five minutes earlier. No you don't. You just think you do.
I picture Brad and Angie saying it to their kids when someone insists on finding a bathroom asap. Gotta go. Nah! You just think you do.
I still have not resolved my jaw-ear ache of three weeks now. I start to panic about my upcoming trip to high altitude. I imagine being transported by Red Cross helicopter, from death's door, to a lower altitude because I'm too physically weak to handle the stresses. No I'm not. I just think I am.
Try it out and be cool like Jesse James. Don't over-emphasize it, be calm and strap on your holster and get going. You're the little engine that could.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Tattoo in Leh, Ladakh
I will definitely get a tattoo in Leh if I survive there. It will be something between my thumb and forefinger, where I've always wanted one, (even before I saw Helen Mirren's). I work in a school so have to be careful. It can't be anything too much. Maybe a half-moon, or a star...whatever seems right when I am at the top of the world, on the Tibetan Plateau, for the one time in my life.
I remember when I was in Mexico 40 years ago and nearly got the Virgin of Guadalupe tattooed on my hip by a very old (and I'm sure holy) Indian man, having had at that time a feeling of adoration for Mary, that particular religious image with the babe and roses at her feet and the beams of light emanating from her, but then I stopped, thinking "What would my mother think?" I asked the guy to stop and ended up with one simple blue dot on my hip forever. I remember we were in an adobe shack in a desert at the time, and his delicate pens and bottles of ink were laid out so neatly in this little place that had no water.... I felt fine. Well my mother is long gone now, and it's 40 years later, and I can do what I want. I'll take it from here mom.
Let's see what happens. It's gonna be great. It's gonna last forever. Me and Otzi the Iceman from 5000 years ago, who had dozens of tattoos. Maybe a dot or two on my left knee and my right ankle, like him. We'll see. It'll definitely mean something.My daughter might feel that way too.
While I'm at it I'll get some henna on my hair to make it more natural looking than the hair-gadgeted girl today made it. Time to rise and shine and give God our glory, glory, children of the Lord!
I remember when I was in Mexico 40 years ago and nearly got the Virgin of Guadalupe tattooed on my hip by a very old (and I'm sure holy) Indian man, having had at that time a feeling of adoration for Mary, that particular religious image with the babe and roses at her feet and the beams of light emanating from her, but then I stopped, thinking "What would my mother think?" I asked the guy to stop and ended up with one simple blue dot on my hip forever. I remember we were in an adobe shack in a desert at the time, and his delicate pens and bottles of ink were laid out so neatly in this little place that had no water.... I felt fine. Well my mother is long gone now, and it's 40 years later, and I can do what I want. I'll take it from here mom.
Let's see what happens. It's gonna be great. It's gonna last forever. Me and Otzi the Iceman from 5000 years ago, who had dozens of tattoos. Maybe a dot or two on my left knee and my right ankle, like him. We'll see. It'll definitely mean something.My daughter might feel that way too.
While I'm at it I'll get some henna on my hair to make it more natural looking than the hair-gadgeted girl today made it. Time to rise and shine and give God our glory, glory, children of the Lord!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Good Old Fashioned Fourth of July Party
There are still good old-fashioned Fourth of July parties, full stop, and they aren't just in the Midwest USA. At Congress Hall in Cape May, New Jersey, you can experience what you always thought was right: Curtis Bashaw's presentation of the real deal: a Fourth of July celebration with a bar-b-que and watermelon and a brass band and a patriotic choir, and fireworks over the Atlantic Ocean. This is as close to the real deal as you can get. Not a bit of fakery about it, it's totally real and unaffected. Do everything you can to make sure your children experience this! Happy Fourth of July!
Going to the Beauty Shop in the USA Before Heading for the Indian Outback: Stranger in a Strange Land
OK. I hate beauty shops but I love some things about them. I'm getting ready to go to the far reaches of India, so I want to look natural. At the same time, I want to look half-way respectable to my daughter, who has already been in India for months. She maintains her equanimity no matter where she is, so my hairdo is not going to destabilize her,but still I don't want to be conspicuous. She has been studying the ancient healing arts and is about to enter a ten day "noble silence" in a Vipassana Institute in India, after which I will be meeting her back in Delhi and going with her to the highest elevation possible, in Leh. She's an old soul, and will lead the way to Leh.
So, as far as my attire and hair go, which way is most respectable? Do I go with the "I'm your mother and I'm here from the Western world to escort you home again" look (highlights, expensive linens, carefully selected bracelets) or do I go as I already am, a little dishevelled but not too much, a little fat but not too fat, a little old but not too old, a little whatever but not too whatever. Believe me, I won't waste too much time worrying, this is my lifelong destination, and my lifelong friend Ginger has verified it because she remembers sharing the dream from when we were children, but then again..Oh well I already went to the beauty shop. I told them what I wanted (a smidgen darker) and they just went ahead and did what they wanted and made me a whole lot darker. All my $200 foiled highlights washed down the drain.
At the beauty shop, what else could they do? Here I am, an outlier, someone who only shows up a few times a year and never is too specific about what she wants.I don't bring any photos, I just say "I'm going to India, I want to blend in." So they figure the hell with me. Who the hell goes to India anyway except some nut? I say "I'm going to an elevation of nearly 12,000 feet, I'm a little worried about it", and the beautician says "What are you going to take along to occupy yourself?"
I'm a stranger in a strange land: always have been, always will be. That phrase didn't start with Robert Heinlein by the way, go back to the Wilhelm/Jung edition of the I Ching, itself many thousands of years old, hexagram 56, The Wanderer, here's the whole thing, I've always loved it:
"THE WANDERER. Success through smallness.
Perseverence brings good fortune
To the wanderer.
When a man is a wanderer and stranger, he should not be gruff nor overbearing. He has no large circle of acquaintances, therefore he should not give himself airs. He must be cautious and reserved; in this way he protects himself from evil. If he is obliging toward others, he wins success.
A wanderer has no fixed abode; his home is the road. Therefore he must take care to remain upright and steadfast, so that he sojourns only in the proper places, associating only with good people. Then he has good fortune and can go his way unmolested.
Six at the beginning means:
If the wanderer busies himself with trivial things,
He draws down misfortune upon himself.
A wanderer should not demean himself or busy himself with inferior things he meets with along the way. The humbler and more defenseless his outward position, the more should he preserve his inner dignity. For a stranger is mistaken if he hopes to find a friendly reception through lending himself to jokes and buffoonery. The result will be only contempt and insulting treatment.
Six in the second place means:
The wanderer comes to an inn.
He has his property with him.
He wins the steadfastness of a young servant.
The wanderer here described is modest and reserved. He does not lose touch with his inner being, hence he finds a resting place. In the outside world he does not lose the liking of other people, hence all persons further him, so that he can acquire property. Moreover, he wins the allegiance of a faithful and trustworthy servant–a thing of inestimable value to a wanderer.
Nine in the third place means:
The wanderer's inn burns down.
He loses the steadfastness of his young servant.
Danger.
A truculent stranger does not know how to behave properly. He meddles in affairs and controversies that do not concern him; thus he loses his resting place. He treats his servant with aloofness and arrogance; thus he loses the man's loyalty. When a stranger in a strange land has no one left on whom he can rely, the situation becomes very dangerous.
Nine in the fourth place means:
The wanderer rests in a shelter.
He obtains his property and an ax.
My heart is not glad.
This describes a wanderer who knows how to limit his desires outwardly, though he is inwardly strong and aspiring. Therefore he finds at least a place of shelter in which he can stay. He also succeeds in acquiring property, but even with this he is not secure. He must be always on guard, ready to defend himself with arms. Hence he is not at ease. He is persistently conscious of being a stranger in a strange land.
Six in the fifth place means:
He shoots a pheasant.
It drops with the first arrow.
In the end this brings both praise and office.
Traveling statesman were in the habit of introducing themselves to local princes with the gift of a pheasant. Here the wanderer wants to enter the service of a prince. To this end he shoots a pheasant, killing it at the first shot. Thus he finds friends who praise and recommend him, and in the end the prince accepts him and confers an office upon him.
Circumstances often cause a man to seek a home in foreign parts. If he knows how to meet the situation and how to introduce himself in the right way, he may find a circle of friends and a sphere of activity even in a strange country.
Nine at the top means:
The bird's nest burns up.
The wanderer laughs at first,
Then must needs lament and weep.
Through carelessness he loses his cow.
Misfortune.
The picture of a bird whose nest burns up indicates loss of one's resting place. This misfortune may overtake the bird if it is heedless and imprudent when building its nest. It is the same with a wanderer. If he lets himself go, laughing and jesting, and forgets that he is a wanderer, he will later have cause to weep and lament. For if through carelessness a man loses his cow–i. e. , his modesty and adaptability–evil will result.
________________________________________________________
OK so Once when my sister and I were young, our cottage in Santa Barbara burned down. The following day, a man we had known together in London mysteriously showed up, totally randomly, John Eichinger, and he helped us go through the fire rubble. My I Ching had burned in the fire, down to Hexagram 56. He walked in, a stranger in a strange land, with his backback on, someone we had last seen at Westminster Abbey and never contacted since, and he picked up the burned I Ching in the rubble, and read from a remnant of the only visible page, nine at the top of Hexagram 56: The bird's nest burns up.
SO back to the beauty shop and the girl tending my hair who wondered what in the hell I was going to take to the Tibetan Plateau to occupy myself?!?! But I love the beauty shop girls, and how nice they are, and how they have the little gadgets and doo-dads in their hair and how they keep talking so nice about the simplest happiest things. Why can't I be like that? Well, though I've always laughed a lot, I was always dealing with the heavier side of things, now I sort of wish I could have lived my life a little more towards the light side, even though that's not really me. Pleasant small talk is key, though. Truly a gift. Maybe it was that Bob Dylan song making fun of people talking about the weather and Time magazine that botched me up. Cause guess what? He was wrong on that one. It's great to be able to talk pleasantly about the weather!
My sister says how could we have been raised in the same household, me with my romanticized view of going to a difficult faraway place and getting a tattoo, for reasons unbeknownst even to me in full? Maybe I was too well-educated for my lot in life, too mystic in my approach. Maybe it was all the anesthesia from childhood eye operations, maybe I was a little off in space from the get-go.
SO anyway, my hair will be too dark in India, majorly inauthentic looking, and my daughter won't mind, and I will take a minimum of stuff, and put it in a little shoulder bag full of sleeping pills and altitude pills, and maybe we will take an oxygen tank, but hey I'm sixty-one, so WHATEVER!It's all gravy from here on in. We'll definitely be talking about the weather. Or dare I say...yakking about it.
So, as far as my attire and hair go, which way is most respectable? Do I go with the "I'm your mother and I'm here from the Western world to escort you home again" look (highlights, expensive linens, carefully selected bracelets) or do I go as I already am, a little dishevelled but not too much, a little fat but not too fat, a little old but not too old, a little whatever but not too whatever. Believe me, I won't waste too much time worrying, this is my lifelong destination, and my lifelong friend Ginger has verified it because she remembers sharing the dream from when we were children, but then again..Oh well I already went to the beauty shop. I told them what I wanted (a smidgen darker) and they just went ahead and did what they wanted and made me a whole lot darker. All my $200 foiled highlights washed down the drain.
At the beauty shop, what else could they do? Here I am, an outlier, someone who only shows up a few times a year and never is too specific about what she wants.I don't bring any photos, I just say "I'm going to India, I want to blend in." So they figure the hell with me. Who the hell goes to India anyway except some nut? I say "I'm going to an elevation of nearly 12,000 feet, I'm a little worried about it", and the beautician says "What are you going to take along to occupy yourself?"
I'm a stranger in a strange land: always have been, always will be. That phrase didn't start with Robert Heinlein by the way, go back to the Wilhelm/Jung edition of the I Ching, itself many thousands of years old, hexagram 56, The Wanderer, here's the whole thing, I've always loved it:
"THE WANDERER. Success through smallness.
Perseverence brings good fortune
To the wanderer.
When a man is a wanderer and stranger, he should not be gruff nor overbearing. He has no large circle of acquaintances, therefore he should not give himself airs. He must be cautious and reserved; in this way he protects himself from evil. If he is obliging toward others, he wins success.
A wanderer has no fixed abode; his home is the road. Therefore he must take care to remain upright and steadfast, so that he sojourns only in the proper places, associating only with good people. Then he has good fortune and can go his way unmolested.
Six at the beginning means:
If the wanderer busies himself with trivial things,
He draws down misfortune upon himself.
A wanderer should not demean himself or busy himself with inferior things he meets with along the way. The humbler and more defenseless his outward position, the more should he preserve his inner dignity. For a stranger is mistaken if he hopes to find a friendly reception through lending himself to jokes and buffoonery. The result will be only contempt and insulting treatment.
Six in the second place means:
The wanderer comes to an inn.
He has his property with him.
He wins the steadfastness of a young servant.
The wanderer here described is modest and reserved. He does not lose touch with his inner being, hence he finds a resting place. In the outside world he does not lose the liking of other people, hence all persons further him, so that he can acquire property. Moreover, he wins the allegiance of a faithful and trustworthy servant–a thing of inestimable value to a wanderer.
Nine in the third place means:
The wanderer's inn burns down.
He loses the steadfastness of his young servant.
Danger.
A truculent stranger does not know how to behave properly. He meddles in affairs and controversies that do not concern him; thus he loses his resting place. He treats his servant with aloofness and arrogance; thus he loses the man's loyalty. When a stranger in a strange land has no one left on whom he can rely, the situation becomes very dangerous.
Nine in the fourth place means:
The wanderer rests in a shelter.
He obtains his property and an ax.
My heart is not glad.
This describes a wanderer who knows how to limit his desires outwardly, though he is inwardly strong and aspiring. Therefore he finds at least a place of shelter in which he can stay. He also succeeds in acquiring property, but even with this he is not secure. He must be always on guard, ready to defend himself with arms. Hence he is not at ease. He is persistently conscious of being a stranger in a strange land.
Six in the fifth place means:
He shoots a pheasant.
It drops with the first arrow.
In the end this brings both praise and office.
Traveling statesman were in the habit of introducing themselves to local princes with the gift of a pheasant. Here the wanderer wants to enter the service of a prince. To this end he shoots a pheasant, killing it at the first shot. Thus he finds friends who praise and recommend him, and in the end the prince accepts him and confers an office upon him.
Circumstances often cause a man to seek a home in foreign parts. If he knows how to meet the situation and how to introduce himself in the right way, he may find a circle of friends and a sphere of activity even in a strange country.
Nine at the top means:
The bird's nest burns up.
The wanderer laughs at first,
Then must needs lament and weep.
Through carelessness he loses his cow.
Misfortune.
The picture of a bird whose nest burns up indicates loss of one's resting place. This misfortune may overtake the bird if it is heedless and imprudent when building its nest. It is the same with a wanderer. If he lets himself go, laughing and jesting, and forgets that he is a wanderer, he will later have cause to weep and lament. For if through carelessness a man loses his cow–i. e. , his modesty and adaptability–evil will result.
________________________________________________________
OK so Once when my sister and I were young, our cottage in Santa Barbara burned down. The following day, a man we had known together in London mysteriously showed up, totally randomly, John Eichinger, and he helped us go through the fire rubble. My I Ching had burned in the fire, down to Hexagram 56. He walked in, a stranger in a strange land, with his backback on, someone we had last seen at Westminster Abbey and never contacted since, and he picked up the burned I Ching in the rubble, and read from a remnant of the only visible page, nine at the top of Hexagram 56: The bird's nest burns up.
SO back to the beauty shop and the girl tending my hair who wondered what in the hell I was going to take to the Tibetan Plateau to occupy myself?!?! But I love the beauty shop girls, and how nice they are, and how they have the little gadgets and doo-dads in their hair and how they keep talking so nice about the simplest happiest things. Why can't I be like that? Well, though I've always laughed a lot, I was always dealing with the heavier side of things, now I sort of wish I could have lived my life a little more towards the light side, even though that's not really me. Pleasant small talk is key, though. Truly a gift. Maybe it was that Bob Dylan song making fun of people talking about the weather and Time magazine that botched me up. Cause guess what? He was wrong on that one. It's great to be able to talk pleasantly about the weather!
My sister says how could we have been raised in the same household, me with my romanticized view of going to a difficult faraway place and getting a tattoo, for reasons unbeknownst even to me in full? Maybe I was too well-educated for my lot in life, too mystic in my approach. Maybe it was all the anesthesia from childhood eye operations, maybe I was a little off in space from the get-go.
SO anyway, my hair will be too dark in India, majorly inauthentic looking, and my daughter won't mind, and I will take a minimum of stuff, and put it in a little shoulder bag full of sleeping pills and altitude pills, and maybe we will take an oxygen tank, but hey I'm sixty-one, so WHATEVER!It's all gravy from here on in. We'll definitely be talking about the weather. Or dare I say...yakking about it.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Feeling Shipshape!
Never thought I'd climb out of the fog but going back to work did wonders. No longer any need for even Advil. I still look like a chipmunk, but I feel so positive about things in general that I just booked my flight from Delhi to Leh in Ladakh. I'm leaving the US on the 16th for ten days in one of the highest cities on earth! I am completely out of shape and live at sea level, so I hope it's not a recipe for disaster. I'll have plenty of time to get ready- can you lose 25 pounds in two weeks? My daughter says we can buy portable oxygen tanks. The doctor said not to take the high-altitude medicine, just drink lots of water. He also said "You'll be fine! You're healthy!" Ok.
My slightly obsessive tendencies will no doubt take center stage when I start gasping for breath within the first 24 hours. I will probably hyperventilate myself straight to the nearest hospital, which, if all goes according to my little plan (made at the suggestion of an understanding friend), will be right next door to my hotel.
This is so exciting. I can't find a single thing online about people like me (fat, lazy, old, easily excited, BUT JOLLY) going to high altitude places. So I'll rely on the power of prayer and positive thinking. Countdown begins! Leh surely is a pure unsullied little Lhasa!!
-Photos of Leh and Ladakh @ by Brad Carlile
My slightly obsessive tendencies will no doubt take center stage when I start gasping for breath within the first 24 hours. I will probably hyperventilate myself straight to the nearest hospital, which, if all goes according to my little plan (made at the suggestion of an understanding friend), will be right next door to my hotel.
This is so exciting. I can't find a single thing online about people like me (fat, lazy, old, easily excited, BUT JOLLY) going to high altitude places. So I'll rely on the power of prayer and positive thinking. Countdown begins! Leh surely is a pure unsullied little Lhasa!!
-Photos of Leh and Ladakh @ by Brad Carlile
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Wisdom Tooth Extraction and the Codeine Follow-Up: Guilt and a Song
Since having a truly brutal wisdom tooth extraction yesterday, I have been following the doctor's prescription of antibiotics and...somewhat guiltily, codeine. It's like when you're driving and see a cop car, you feel a little rush of fear and guilt, even though you're not doing anything wrong. I'm just born for guilt I guess.
The codeine dose is extra heavy and takes some getting used to, as my jaw swells and bruises and I see a nasty place at the corner of my lips where the oral surgeon apparently had to rip my mouth open. In my twilight sleep I remember him saying "I just can't get this damn thing out!" (Of course I have a tremendous crush on him now)
Since I really should be going back to work on Monday, I'm getting a tiny bit worried about having to give up this nice codeine relief, and wondering omigod am I getting addicted after just two days?!" A little while ago, I thought "God the heat today is really getting to me. I feel like hell. I just have to go upstairs to my air-conditioned bedroom and have a snooze." Then I realized I was already there, having a snooze. This is spooky.
Suddenly I remembered this old song from 1964. There's a 5 minute version that is the most depressing thing you've ever heard, which of course I used to love back then. But I will spare you and show you the one-and-a-half minute version. Check out the audience- just itchin' for a change! What do you think those guys looked like a year later?
From the 1964 Newport Folk Festival, right before all hell broke loose in the good old USA, here's the short version of Buffy Sainte-Marie's "Cod'ine" - (before she defected to Sesame Street). Gotta love that shaky voice!
The codeine dose is extra heavy and takes some getting used to, as my jaw swells and bruises and I see a nasty place at the corner of my lips where the oral surgeon apparently had to rip my mouth open. In my twilight sleep I remember him saying "I just can't get this damn thing out!" (Of course I have a tremendous crush on him now)
Since I really should be going back to work on Monday, I'm getting a tiny bit worried about having to give up this nice codeine relief, and wondering omigod am I getting addicted after just two days?!" A little while ago, I thought "God the heat today is really getting to me. I feel like hell. I just have to go upstairs to my air-conditioned bedroom and have a snooze." Then I realized I was already there, having a snooze. This is spooky.
Suddenly I remembered this old song from 1964. There's a 5 minute version that is the most depressing thing you've ever heard, which of course I used to love back then. But I will spare you and show you the one-and-a-half minute version. Check out the audience- just itchin' for a change! What do you think those guys looked like a year later?
From the 1964 Newport Folk Festival, right before all hell broke loose in the good old USA, here's the short version of Buffy Sainte-Marie's "Cod'ine" - (before she defected to Sesame Street). Gotta love that shaky voice!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Dream of my Father
I was beginning nursing school with some of my daughters in an upstairs open-air hall or casino in a section that looked like an airport gate waiting area which had desk tables and chairs in a long curved line. Jule didn’t want to sit with us but she was there too,and gave us a little wave and smile, like "I'm fine" - also Lelah and Ava were there, We were all excited to be taking the same class, becoming nurses.
My father appeared…First I saw him attached to an IV in a hospital gown…he said he was going to go to the bathroom….it was a unisex bathroom and I went in too…I waited while he went in one of the stalls…and saw other people washing their hands etc. The floor was covered with water, I didn’t want my dad to slip when he came back out….but I went back to the class and left him there.
I said to Nancy S., an old college friend, "My dad's here, isn’t it wonderful?" I realized I shouldn’t have left him alone in the bathroom so I started looking for him. Suddenly he appeared in the classroom area, dressed in one of his beautiful light brown tweed sports jackets… looking hale and hearty, smiling at me with that gleam in his eye, about 60 years old, one hand in pocket, one holding a beer can, so happy and alive and smiling…looking so good! I could tell my young medical instructor was impressed that I was his daughter ....the great Dr. Chapman!...…I was so proud!...
Daddy sat down on the windowsill behind me as I took notes then I turned around and he was gone, there was just a stain - and a dark organic thing like a griffin on a tree stump in the window area where he had been, he had changed form. I started to cry at the table where my notes were. I asked Nancy if she saw him too…and told her, crying, that he was gone…
Then I got up from my seat and turned around and there he was again, restored, looking wonderful. He had just gone to get something! He held up a wide but short piece of paper that had numbers and writing on it, he looked amused…,he knows how messed up I am about money...and most clearly I realized that it was a bill he had picked up at some "office"....there was an $8 charge to be paid by me to "the main office", for seeing and feeling him so clearly. He kind of pointed to his pocket with a smile and made me realize that since he was not really of the flesh, he couldn’t pay it, and he was asking with a twinkle in his eye if I could take care of it. I said “Daddy I would pay $8 every day ! For this! “ He gave me that smile. I reached up and hugged him, feeling his broad shoulders and rubbing my hands along his back, feeling only the most fragile bones,not at all like shoulders and a spine, so differently aligned from human form....puzzling...…but holding together for this brief moment, so alive! It was a wonderful warm real big bearhug, we both knew it was in the dream world, and I said “Oh Daddy, Daddy thank you. Thank you. I miss you so much. You’ve been so good to me.”
The simple words I wish I had said at his deathbed. Thank you so much. I'll miss you. You've been so good to me.
Then I woke up. And decided to try to find out if this dream came via India. Because I have definitely had some supernatural experiences lately involving people my daughter knows, a guru and a swami in India.
ADDENDUM: Several days after this dream I spoke by phone to my daughter in India and she told me about a dream she had had of Grandpa. She was fascinated by the dream and (not knowing about my dream) described it something like this: "Grandpa came to see me and he looked just like his old self. He said some really nice things about me being in India and then gave me a big hug. I noticed that some make-up rubbed off from his face and he smiled and winked and said that he just needed to put on some regular-world stuff so that I would recognize him."
My father appeared…First I saw him attached to an IV in a hospital gown…he said he was going to go to the bathroom….it was a unisex bathroom and I went in too…I waited while he went in one of the stalls…and saw other people washing their hands etc. The floor was covered with water, I didn’t want my dad to slip when he came back out….but I went back to the class and left him there.
I said to Nancy S., an old college friend, "My dad's here, isn’t it wonderful?" I realized I shouldn’t have left him alone in the bathroom so I started looking for him. Suddenly he appeared in the classroom area, dressed in one of his beautiful light brown tweed sports jackets… looking hale and hearty, smiling at me with that gleam in his eye, about 60 years old, one hand in pocket, one holding a beer can, so happy and alive and smiling…looking so good! I could tell my young medical instructor was impressed that I was his daughter ....the great Dr. Chapman!...…I was so proud!...
Daddy sat down on the windowsill behind me as I took notes then I turned around and he was gone, there was just a stain - and a dark organic thing like a griffin on a tree stump in the window area where he had been, he had changed form. I started to cry at the table where my notes were. I asked Nancy if she saw him too…and told her, crying, that he was gone…
Then I got up from my seat and turned around and there he was again, restored, looking wonderful. He had just gone to get something! He held up a wide but short piece of paper that had numbers and writing on it, he looked amused…,he knows how messed up I am about money...and most clearly I realized that it was a bill he had picked up at some "office"....there was an $8 charge to be paid by me to "the main office", for seeing and feeling him so clearly. He kind of pointed to his pocket with a smile and made me realize that since he was not really of the flesh, he couldn’t pay it, and he was asking with a twinkle in his eye if I could take care of it. I said “Daddy I would pay $8 every day ! For this! “ He gave me that smile. I reached up and hugged him, feeling his broad shoulders and rubbing my hands along his back, feeling only the most fragile bones,not at all like shoulders and a spine, so differently aligned from human form....puzzling...…but holding together for this brief moment, so alive! It was a wonderful warm real big bearhug, we both knew it was in the dream world, and I said “Oh Daddy, Daddy thank you. Thank you. I miss you so much. You’ve been so good to me.”
The simple words I wish I had said at his deathbed. Thank you so much. I'll miss you. You've been so good to me.
Then I woke up. And decided to try to find out if this dream came via India. Because I have definitely had some supernatural experiences lately involving people my daughter knows, a guru and a swami in India.
ADDENDUM: Several days after this dream I spoke by phone to my daughter in India and she told me about a dream she had had of Grandpa. She was fascinated by the dream and (not knowing about my dream) described it something like this: "Grandpa came to see me and he looked just like his old self. He said some really nice things about me being in India and then gave me a big hug. I noticed that some make-up rubbed off from his face and he smiled and winked and said that he just needed to put on some regular-world stuff so that I would recognize him."
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Le Bassin aux Nymphéas by Monet: Eighty Million Spent Today, for a deathbed comfort?
I don't know about corporate art purchases and how that works, but tonight I have a fantasy about a man who has just spent $80,000,000 for a soothing painting to hang in a room where he will die someday.
If money were no object and I were that man who had lived a long and busy life, acculturated by education and life-style to the finer things in life...perhaps had many lovers, many wonderful dinners,a spouse or two, some children perhaps, much travel, and then found that life was closing in on even me.... and that my days were numbered... I might buy a remarkable painting by Monet of a soothing pond of water lilies. At this point in my life, I would be thinking of my dying days and wondering which face I might be looking into in my last moments. Good God not THAT ONE I hope!...Being none too sure about that, and whether I would really want any of them there, I might choose to run the gamut and purchase something of solid provenance...a soothing Monet. Blow my wad on the thing. Hang it in the bedroom. Be sure to have beauty there at the end, and peace.
People run their own little trips on you when you're dying. They think you need to hear a certain Bible passage or a certain poem or a certain song. They think you need to have certain memories. They argue at the deathbed among themselves and their old little personality conflicts come to the fore while you are getting oxygen and breathing your last. The only really meaningful thing anyone could say is "Thank you." "Thank you for all you have done in your life and for what you have done in our lives, and all that you have meant to us. We'll carry on, we'll carry you on in memory. Thank you, thank you."
But it doesn't go that way. People mess up. They can't make it there, their plane is late, the kids are sick, they're in the middle of a divorce, they're upset, they say the wrong thing, they're uncomfortable guilty and sobbing, they're broke, the doctor or night-shift nurse says no-no to letting the little ones come in, the ones who might have reminded you at the end of your tenderest times. The times before you got caught up in life. The times when you were a child being adored, playing outside, feeling curious, the times when you were a young adult, feeling the sweetness of life.
So as insurance against things going wrong at the end...you spend $80,000,000 on a Monet that won't let you down. Your children will prosper, they can sell the thing when you're done for whatever price, but there's no reaon why you shouldn't have it all right there in front of you at the end. You deserve it.You can stare at it until they turn your bed around for their own convenience and say "oh he can't see that anyway. Can he?"
I imagine this man tonight and congratulate him on his heroic effort. But, sir, I would be there no matter which way they turn your bed. I would make sure you could see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear and feel what you want to feel and have what you want to have. I will read to you and we will admire reproductions of Monet in excellent large books, I will soothe you and herald the way for you. You are someone in my dreams and I am in yours, and rest assured, I am always here. No price attached. I'll bring the books.
If money were no object and I were that man who had lived a long and busy life, acculturated by education and life-style to the finer things in life...perhaps had many lovers, many wonderful dinners,a spouse or two, some children perhaps, much travel, and then found that life was closing in on even me.... and that my days were numbered... I might buy a remarkable painting by Monet of a soothing pond of water lilies. At this point in my life, I would be thinking of my dying days and wondering which face I might be looking into in my last moments. Good God not THAT ONE I hope!...Being none too sure about that, and whether I would really want any of them there, I might choose to run the gamut and purchase something of solid provenance...a soothing Monet. Blow my wad on the thing. Hang it in the bedroom. Be sure to have beauty there at the end, and peace.
People run their own little trips on you when you're dying. They think you need to hear a certain Bible passage or a certain poem or a certain song. They think you need to have certain memories. They argue at the deathbed among themselves and their old little personality conflicts come to the fore while you are getting oxygen and breathing your last. The only really meaningful thing anyone could say is "Thank you." "Thank you for all you have done in your life and for what you have done in our lives, and all that you have meant to us. We'll carry on, we'll carry you on in memory. Thank you, thank you."
But it doesn't go that way. People mess up. They can't make it there, their plane is late, the kids are sick, they're in the middle of a divorce, they're upset, they say the wrong thing, they're uncomfortable guilty and sobbing, they're broke, the doctor or night-shift nurse says no-no to letting the little ones come in, the ones who might have reminded you at the end of your tenderest times. The times before you got caught up in life. The times when you were a child being adored, playing outside, feeling curious, the times when you were a young adult, feeling the sweetness of life.
So as insurance against things going wrong at the end...you spend $80,000,000 on a Monet that won't let you down. Your children will prosper, they can sell the thing when you're done for whatever price, but there's no reaon why you shouldn't have it all right there in front of you at the end. You deserve it.You can stare at it until they turn your bed around for their own convenience and say "oh he can't see that anyway. Can he?"
I imagine this man tonight and congratulate him on his heroic effort. But, sir, I would be there no matter which way they turn your bed. I would make sure you could see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear and feel what you want to feel and have what you want to have. I will read to you and we will admire reproductions of Monet in excellent large books, I will soothe you and herald the way for you. You are someone in my dreams and I am in yours, and rest assured, I am always here. No price attached. I'll bring the books.
Monday, June 23, 2008
A vignette of India
In the interest of keeping the homefires burning, I spoke by phone to my daughter in India and suggested that she go see a recent U.S. block-buster movie, just for fun. Thinking I might be irreverent and manifesting horribly,since she is there studying pranic healing, I said "Go see something like Sex and the City, they must show it there." She, ever ahead of the game, said that in fact, she had seen it last month in Bombay. I, having read "How to Manifest Horribly and Enlighten Others" back in the sixties, backed off.
Although she had no intention originally of going to Bombay on her present journey, she did end up there for a few days after being waylaid by riots in Jaipur. She had been in Rajasthan, the area where Guijars were closing down railroad transportation and torching busses and so forth, and had had to sacrifice her ticket to Delhi and fly south to Bombay to circumvent the riots. She claims she never felt endangered. Sitting at home watching the news reports, I saw it differently.
While in Bombay, which was oppressively hot and congested, she and a friend decided to escape to an air-conditioned theater to see some Bollywood, but they ended up seeing "Sex and the City." Before the curtain went up, the entire theater audience stood up to sing the Indian National Anthem. Imagine! Why don't we do that in America? It reminds me of the 50's here in the USA. Whose economy is on the rise?
I don't know economy, but isn't theirs doing pretty well, all things considered? I know that people who will rise to sing their National Anthem before watching "Sex and the City" have a mighty special place in my heart and remind me of those times as an innocent child when I sang loud and clear, hand on my heart, fifty some years ago, about how much I loved my country. Maybe afterwards, on the weekend , I paid a quarter to go see "The Blob" or "Return of the Mole People", but my heart could sing out any patrotic tune with love, anytime anyone expected me to. I'll be glad to do it again. Someone make me!
Although she had no intention originally of going to Bombay on her present journey, she did end up there for a few days after being waylaid by riots in Jaipur. She had been in Rajasthan, the area where Guijars were closing down railroad transportation and torching busses and so forth, and had had to sacrifice her ticket to Delhi and fly south to Bombay to circumvent the riots. She claims she never felt endangered. Sitting at home watching the news reports, I saw it differently.
While in Bombay, which was oppressively hot and congested, she and a friend decided to escape to an air-conditioned theater to see some Bollywood, but they ended up seeing "Sex and the City." Before the curtain went up, the entire theater audience stood up to sing the Indian National Anthem. Imagine! Why don't we do that in America? It reminds me of the 50's here in the USA. Whose economy is on the rise?
I don't know economy, but isn't theirs doing pretty well, all things considered? I know that people who will rise to sing their National Anthem before watching "Sex and the City" have a mighty special place in my heart and remind me of those times as an innocent child when I sang loud and clear, hand on my heart, fifty some years ago, about how much I loved my country. Maybe afterwards, on the weekend , I paid a quarter to go see "The Blob" or "Return of the Mole People", but my heart could sing out any patrotic tune with love, anytime anyone expected me to. I'll be glad to do it again. Someone make me!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Trans-global Pranic Healing Experience
My daughter is currently studying Pranic healing in India. On short notice, by phone this morning, my beautiful daughter Honna arranged a long-distance half-hour meditation for me in Cape May USA, with her, her teacher by her side, and her teacher's teacher (both of them older men in Uttar Pradesh- aka Uttarakhand) at some distance in another part of town. My daughter told me to sit facing east with my feet on the ground and my palms open facing up. She called to say that the session would begin and then called half an hour later to say it was ending, to instruct me to give thanks for the healing and to pray that I will receive positive benefits from it, which I did.
I have a healthy skepticsm about these things, but if you read my earlier post you will know I have a healthy skepticism about modern medicine as well. When I was young, I identified myself as a "seeker" and went out in the world looking for some truths. I still look for the truth, and am particularly interested in things that are always true. I have found that it's always true that the gentler side of life, people who have kind, light and gentle spirits, wildflowers, simple things, are sources of comfort. And more than all else, faith.
While in my shared meditation extending from my living room in Cape May to the Himalaya, I experienced the most logical and clear feeling I could have: that I was being helped, that there was positive energy coming my way, and I felt the love of and for my daughter shining like a golden sparkling spinning healing orb.
During this remarkable experience, as I felt a number of physical phenomena, many memories opened up of my own youthful searches. I remembered my children, my beautiful babies around me in meditations ranging from Vedanta meditations in a dark room in Pittsburgh, to a Quaker prayer meeting, to Hands Across America on the Ben Franklin Bridge, to some whole earth meditation at dawn years ago on the beach, to solstice parties, glorious Thanksgiving meals, transcendent moments at the altar rail in the Episcopal church. I know things will go along well, all forces combined. And I remember the Reverend Claude Jeter singing "All Things Are Possible If You Will Only Believe."
I have a healthy skepticsm about these things, but if you read my earlier post you will know I have a healthy skepticism about modern medicine as well. When I was young, I identified myself as a "seeker" and went out in the world looking for some truths. I still look for the truth, and am particularly interested in things that are always true. I have found that it's always true that the gentler side of life, people who have kind, light and gentle spirits, wildflowers, simple things, are sources of comfort. And more than all else, faith.
While in my shared meditation extending from my living room in Cape May to the Himalaya, I experienced the most logical and clear feeling I could have: that I was being helped, that there was positive energy coming my way, and I felt the love of and for my daughter shining like a golden sparkling spinning healing orb.
During this remarkable experience, as I felt a number of physical phenomena, many memories opened up of my own youthful searches. I remembered my children, my beautiful babies around me in meditations ranging from Vedanta meditations in a dark room in Pittsburgh, to a Quaker prayer meeting, to Hands Across America on the Ben Franklin Bridge, to some whole earth meditation at dawn years ago on the beach, to solstice parties, glorious Thanksgiving meals, transcendent moments at the altar rail in the Episcopal church. I know things will go along well, all forces combined. And I remember the Reverend Claude Jeter singing "All Things Are Possible If You Will Only Believe."
Cynical about the Medical Establishment: Old root canals and old wisdom teeth acting up
My sister must have a tooth pulled this week and says it makes her mad that an old root canal has somehow gone wrong. She has taken very good care of her teeth all her life. This is the third story I have heard in one week about old root canals causing problems. I was interviewing someone this week who was hospitalized recently for nearly a week because of a serious infection in her head stemming from an old root canal. My son-in-law's father, aged 80, was hospitalized in Italy this past week for a similar problem. And now my sister. It turns out I may have oral surgery this week as well because of an impacted wisdom tooth gone bezerk here at age 61. The first x-ray said "dislocated jaw" - All of us have been vigilant, well-insured, and are of above-average intelligence. We go to good doctors whom we trust. Who really knows what lurks beneath? What doctor, what diagnostic test, is 100% fool-proof? At the moment I'd wager to say none, unless it's already too late.
The whole medical establishment makes us feel that if we pay good money to take care of our health then we will be ok. It's like a security blanket to go to good doctors on a regular basis. But it’s all kind of fake. You are either healthy because you live a healthy life style and/or have great genes, or you aren’t healthy and/or don’t have great genes. Tim Russert thought he was going along just fine. But the finest doctors didn't see it coming and neither did he. And I know of four people in the last week who have been surprised to discover that although they have not been neglectful,they're completely vulnerable.
will continue above with my pranic healing experience this morning
The whole medical establishment makes us feel that if we pay good money to take care of our health then we will be ok. It's like a security blanket to go to good doctors on a regular basis. But it’s all kind of fake. You are either healthy because you live a healthy life style and/or have great genes, or you aren’t healthy and/or don’t have great genes. Tim Russert thought he was going along just fine. But the finest doctors didn't see it coming and neither did he. And I know of four people in the last week who have been surprised to discover that although they have not been neglectful,they're completely vulnerable.
will continue above with my pranic healing experience this morning
Saturday, June 21, 2008
"You Can Call Me Al" - by Paul Simon, with some pretty enthusiastic assistance from Chevy Chase
This is one of the all time greats, a family favorite for years. My son Will loved this so much when he was five years old, totally got it, every nuance. It's crazy to say, but this video was truly formative in my kids' lives, they all have the best sense of humor, and I thank Paul and Chevy, in part, for that!
And while we're at it, Lelah's favorite from when she was twelve: "Take On Me" by A-Ha!
Lelah used to take countless photographs of the TV set when this came on MTV and she was twelve years old!
Friday, June 20, 2008
My Daughter's Beck and Call To India: Easy
So now I'm going too. To India. Bought my ticket, destination Ladakh, way up there on the Tibetan plateau. Can't wait. It won't be hard, as long as I survive the altitude. If I don't, put me out for the vultures on a hilltop, or whatever is easy....please don't drag me "home" - please just let me drift away in the Himalaya, according to local custom, and according to my life-long dream. I have loved my life beyond measure, my children and their mates, and parents and sister, and nieces and nephews, and cousins, and friends and all into eternity..... I have experienced moments of exhilaration beyond measure- it's almost unfair to those who struggle in this lifetime without joy, how much happiness my children have brought me. But thank you, my children, from the bottom of my heart. Let's hope for many more years for all of us.
So now I have purchased a ticket to India, way out of my budget, but within my crazy reach. My daughter kept encouraging me to join her - then an old practically anonymous college-time friend from 45 years ago gave me the push I needed....saying can't be sure how much time we have left...then Tim Russert died and that day I bought the ticket..just a moment in time in cyberspace, not quite sure how it all happened... My goal is to go to Leh in Ladakh with my 22 year old daughter who is presently feeling comfortable in Dehra Dun, and to not succumb to high altitude sickness nor, well , God forbid, cerebral edema. I've wanted to go to Northern India and/or Tibet, since I was a kid reading my grandparents' old National Geographics, and saw those beautiful Tibetan faces. I used to dream and sing words like "Shey" and "Ringdom" before I ever even knew there really were such places.
I feel my old 60's exhilarating fearlessness coming back to me in my 60's. The same feeling I used to have when I hitch-hiked across country a dozen times, invincible, or slept under bridges in Paris, or lived in a lean-to on the beach in Mexico. How great is that? It was great then and it's great now. I'm ready for anything. I'm not easily fooled anymore, which is good for India, but I remember the joys of illusion. And would welcome those joys again any old time. Going to give it a go. The Princely State of Jammu and Kashmir, here I come.
So now I have purchased a ticket to India, way out of my budget, but within my crazy reach. My daughter kept encouraging me to join her - then an old practically anonymous college-time friend from 45 years ago gave me the push I needed....saying can't be sure how much time we have left...then Tim Russert died and that day I bought the ticket..just a moment in time in cyberspace, not quite sure how it all happened... My goal is to go to Leh in Ladakh with my 22 year old daughter who is presently feeling comfortable in Dehra Dun, and to not succumb to high altitude sickness nor, well , God forbid, cerebral edema. I've wanted to go to Northern India and/or Tibet, since I was a kid reading my grandparents' old National Geographics, and saw those beautiful Tibetan faces. I used to dream and sing words like "Shey" and "Ringdom" before I ever even knew there really were such places.
I feel my old 60's exhilarating fearlessness coming back to me in my 60's. The same feeling I used to have when I hitch-hiked across country a dozen times, invincible, or slept under bridges in Paris, or lived in a lean-to on the beach in Mexico. How great is that? It was great then and it's great now. I'm ready for anything. I'm not easily fooled anymore, which is good for India, but I remember the joys of illusion. And would welcome those joys again any old time. Going to give it a go. The Princely State of Jammu and Kashmir, here I come.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Waiting Neurotically For the Doctor to Call With the Test Results
A week ago I went to bed happy as a clam, perfectly healthy and woke in the middle of the night, unable to open my jaw. Ah the pain! Oh well, probably slept in a funny position, not to worry. Took a few ibuprofen and woke the next morning, it was worse: lockjaw for sure! It got a little better during the day, and not wanting my doctor to think I am neurotic, I held off til Saturday morning, suffering every night, before asking his opinion. My father, a doctor, used to always say that for neurotics, "A few good diagnostic tests are often the finest cure." I didn't want my doctor thinking that about me, Lord knows!
Luckily I had preserved a tick the size of a poppy seed in a napkin, having written on it "Deer Tick? June 5, 2008, found behind my ear" then stuck it in a Ziplock. My family, one and all, had squinted their eyes and sized the little thing up, assuring me it was not a tick. The doctor took a light and a magnifying glass to it and said yes, it's a tick, but it's intact, you're fine. "Wait a few days," he said, "and see what happens."
By Tuesday of this week, no relief. I felt a little feverish. I had researched TMJ, Lyme Disease, bone and thyroid cancer, arthritis, the works. The doctor ordered a TMJ xray, a hard one to get. It took the technician a few tries, increasing my exposure and making me wish I had fought the insurance company to go straight to an MRI.
So I got the xray Tuesday night after the radiologist had gone home, and I would get the results on Wednesday. "But my doctor is off on Wednesdays!" I mouthed in sorrow. They said "If it's an emergency we'll contact the doctor through his answering service." He worked today, Thursday, but doesn't make his calls until dinnertime, of course. Still no call. Is he putting it off because it's not important or because it's the Big One, the news that's hard to break?
Oddly enough, in the past two days, while waiting for the results, and going about my daily business at work, dining out, and at home, taking my temperature now and again, I have heard not one but two tales of people hospitalized for infections in their jaw and head that resulted from root canals gone wrong years after the fact.
I have never even considered going to the dentist! The pain in my jaw and under my ear, seemed so far removed from my mouth! But after all, really, how far is your mouth from your jaw? I mean, forget what your brain thinks: just look in the mirror.
It's probably that. Instead of panicking and thinking big, I should have thought small. Now the dentist is on vacation.
And so now I'm off to the opera at my local movie theater, a high-definition presentation of Puccini's La Rondine from Teatro La Fenice in Venice. I have found some old expired codeine- (never believe expiration dates!) So off I go- the doctor will have to wait to tell me what it is I long to know. Just what the hell is this excruciating pain? A week has passed since it started. I could blame the medical establishment, but it's nobody's fault but mine. He who hesitates is lost. Oh God! Lost!? Farewell!
Addendum: The phone message from the doctor later tonight says it's a dislocated jaw, and next I need an MRI.
Luckily I had preserved a tick the size of a poppy seed in a napkin, having written on it "Deer Tick? June 5, 2008, found behind my ear" then stuck it in a Ziplock. My family, one and all, had squinted their eyes and sized the little thing up, assuring me it was not a tick. The doctor took a light and a magnifying glass to it and said yes, it's a tick, but it's intact, you're fine. "Wait a few days," he said, "and see what happens."
By Tuesday of this week, no relief. I felt a little feverish. I had researched TMJ, Lyme Disease, bone and thyroid cancer, arthritis, the works. The doctor ordered a TMJ xray, a hard one to get. It took the technician a few tries, increasing my exposure and making me wish I had fought the insurance company to go straight to an MRI.
So I got the xray Tuesday night after the radiologist had gone home, and I would get the results on Wednesday. "But my doctor is off on Wednesdays!" I mouthed in sorrow. They said "If it's an emergency we'll contact the doctor through his answering service." He worked today, Thursday, but doesn't make his calls until dinnertime, of course. Still no call. Is he putting it off because it's not important or because it's the Big One, the news that's hard to break?
Oddly enough, in the past two days, while waiting for the results, and going about my daily business at work, dining out, and at home, taking my temperature now and again, I have heard not one but two tales of people hospitalized for infections in their jaw and head that resulted from root canals gone wrong years after the fact.
I have never even considered going to the dentist! The pain in my jaw and under my ear, seemed so far removed from my mouth! But after all, really, how far is your mouth from your jaw? I mean, forget what your brain thinks: just look in the mirror.
It's probably that. Instead of panicking and thinking big, I should have thought small. Now the dentist is on vacation.
And so now I'm off to the opera at my local movie theater, a high-definition presentation of Puccini's La Rondine from Teatro La Fenice in Venice. I have found some old expired codeine- (never believe expiration dates!) So off I go- the doctor will have to wait to tell me what it is I long to know. Just what the hell is this excruciating pain? A week has passed since it started. I could blame the medical establishment, but it's nobody's fault but mine. He who hesitates is lost. Oh God! Lost!? Farewell!
Addendum: The phone message from the doctor later tonight says it's a dislocated jaw, and next I need an MRI.
Friday, June 13, 2008
For Those of us Who Love Tim Russert: Watch Him Passing the Torch
On March 5th Tim Russert came onto the set of Morning Joe in a curiously elevated mood and talked briefly about a new age, and appeared to be greeting everyone effusively on the heels of some sort of Obama victory, and seemed to be passing the torch. I wondered why he had such an air of satisfied finality, pulling away, and he was over-the-top with happiness. Watch it if you can- probably only his wife or son Luke could have the clout to access it. But I swear, he seems to have a notion during his entry to the studio that he is nearing his end, there's a sense of finality, job well done. I know this because I started a blog about it that day that I never published because it seemed too strange.I don't know how to access footage of that day or I would post it here.
Friday, June 6, 2008
David Brooks' Column "Growing Up" (About Our Bi-polar Abe Lincoln)
Interesting article about one of our greatest presidents: Abe Lincoln, believed to have been bipolar, and one of the all-time best lines of thought: character building achieved by rooting out weaknesses forthrightly and with self-discipline, instead of brushing them under the carpet, talking a good game, and pretending they don't exist.
The Art of Growing Up
By DAVID BROOKS New York Times Op-Ed Columnist
Published: June 6, 2008
"In January 1841, Abraham Lincoln seems to have at least vaguely thought of suicide. His friend Joshua Speed found him one day thrashing about in his room. “Lincoln went Crazy,” Speed wrote. “I had to remove razors from his room — take away all Knives and other such dangerous things — it was terrible.”
Lincoln was taking three mercury pills a day, the remedy in those days for people who either suffered from syphilis or feared contracting it. “Lincoln could not eat or sleep,” Daniel Mark Epstein writes in his new book, “The Lincolns.” “He appeared at the statehouse irregularly, hollow-eyed, unshaven, emaciated — an object of pity to his friends and of derision to others.”
Later, Lincoln wrote of that period with shame, saying that he had lost the “gem of my character.” He would withdraw morosely from the world into a sort of catatonic state. Early in his marriage, Epstein writes, “Lincoln had night terrors. He woke in the middle of the night trembling, talking gibberish.”
He would, of course, climb out of it. He would come to terms with his weaknesses, control his passions and achieve what we now call maturity.
The concept of maturity has undergone several mutations over the course of American history. In Lincoln’s day, to achieve maturity was to succeed in the conquest of the self. Human beings were born with sin, infected with dark passions and satanic temptations. The transition to adulthood consisted of achieving mastery over them.
You can read commencement addresses from the 19th and early 20th centuries in which the speakers would talk about the beast within and the need for iron character to subdue it. Schoolhouse readers emphasized self-discipline. The whole character-building model was sin-centric. So the young Lincoln had been encouraged by the culture around him to identify his own flaws — and, in any case, he had no trouble finding them. He knew he was ferociously ambitious and blessed with superior talents — the sort of person who could easily turn into a dictator or monster.
Over the course of his young adulthood, Lincoln built structures around his inner nature. He joined a traditional bourgeois marriage. He called his wife “mother” and lived in a genteel middle-class home. He engaged in feverish bouts of self-improvement, studying Euclid and grammar at all hours. He distrusted passionate politics. In the Lyceum speech that he delivered as a young man, he attacked emotionalism in politics and talked about the need for law, order and cool reason.
This concept of maturity as self-conquest didn’t survive long into the 20th century. Progressive educators emphasized students’ inner goodness and curiosity, not inner depravity. More emphasis was put on individual freedom, authenticity and values clarification. Self-discovery replaced self-mastery as the primary path to maturity, and we got a thousand novels and memoirs about young peoples’ search for identity.
In the last few years, we may be shifting toward another vision of maturity, one that is impatient with boomer narcissism. Young people today put service at the center of young adulthood. A child is served, but maturity means serving others.
And yet, though we’re never going back to the 19th-century, sin-centric character-building model, for breeding leaders, it has its uses. Over the past decades, we’ve seen president after president confident of his own talents but then undone by underappreciated flaws. It’s as if they get elected for their virtues and then get defined in office by the vices — Clinton’s narcissism, Bush’s intellectual insecurity — they’ve never really faced.
It would be nice to have a president who had gone to school on his own failings. It would be comforting to see a president who’d looked into the abyss, or suffered some sort of ordeal that put him on a first-name basis with his own gravest weaknesses, and who had found ways to combat them.
Obviously, it’s not fair to compare anybody to Lincoln, but he does illustrate the repertoire of skills we look for in a leader. The central illusion of modern politics is that if only people as virtuous as “us” had power, then things would be better. Candidates get elected by telling people what they want to hear, leading them by using the sugar of their own fantasies.
Somehow a leader conversant with his own failings wouldn’t be as affected by the moral self-approval that afflicts most political movements. He’d be detached from his most fervid followers and merciful and understanding toward foes. He’d have a sense of his own smallness in the sweep of events. He or she would contravene Lord Acton’s dictum and grow sadder and wiser with more power.
All this suggests a maxim for us voters: Don’t only look to see which candidate has the most talent. Look for the one most emotionally gripped by his own failings."
The Art of Growing Up
By DAVID BROOKS New York Times Op-Ed Columnist
Published: June 6, 2008
"In January 1841, Abraham Lincoln seems to have at least vaguely thought of suicide. His friend Joshua Speed found him one day thrashing about in his room. “Lincoln went Crazy,” Speed wrote. “I had to remove razors from his room — take away all Knives and other such dangerous things — it was terrible.”
Lincoln was taking three mercury pills a day, the remedy in those days for people who either suffered from syphilis or feared contracting it. “Lincoln could not eat or sleep,” Daniel Mark Epstein writes in his new book, “The Lincolns.” “He appeared at the statehouse irregularly, hollow-eyed, unshaven, emaciated — an object of pity to his friends and of derision to others.”
Later, Lincoln wrote of that period with shame, saying that he had lost the “gem of my character.” He would withdraw morosely from the world into a sort of catatonic state. Early in his marriage, Epstein writes, “Lincoln had night terrors. He woke in the middle of the night trembling, talking gibberish.”
He would, of course, climb out of it. He would come to terms with his weaknesses, control his passions and achieve what we now call maturity.
The concept of maturity has undergone several mutations over the course of American history. In Lincoln’s day, to achieve maturity was to succeed in the conquest of the self. Human beings were born with sin, infected with dark passions and satanic temptations. The transition to adulthood consisted of achieving mastery over them.
You can read commencement addresses from the 19th and early 20th centuries in which the speakers would talk about the beast within and the need for iron character to subdue it. Schoolhouse readers emphasized self-discipline. The whole character-building model was sin-centric. So the young Lincoln had been encouraged by the culture around him to identify his own flaws — and, in any case, he had no trouble finding them. He knew he was ferociously ambitious and blessed with superior talents — the sort of person who could easily turn into a dictator or monster.
Over the course of his young adulthood, Lincoln built structures around his inner nature. He joined a traditional bourgeois marriage. He called his wife “mother” and lived in a genteel middle-class home. He engaged in feverish bouts of self-improvement, studying Euclid and grammar at all hours. He distrusted passionate politics. In the Lyceum speech that he delivered as a young man, he attacked emotionalism in politics and talked about the need for law, order and cool reason.
This concept of maturity as self-conquest didn’t survive long into the 20th century. Progressive educators emphasized students’ inner goodness and curiosity, not inner depravity. More emphasis was put on individual freedom, authenticity and values clarification. Self-discovery replaced self-mastery as the primary path to maturity, and we got a thousand novels and memoirs about young peoples’ search for identity.
In the last few years, we may be shifting toward another vision of maturity, one that is impatient with boomer narcissism. Young people today put service at the center of young adulthood. A child is served, but maturity means serving others.
And yet, though we’re never going back to the 19th-century, sin-centric character-building model, for breeding leaders, it has its uses. Over the past decades, we’ve seen president after president confident of his own talents but then undone by underappreciated flaws. It’s as if they get elected for their virtues and then get defined in office by the vices — Clinton’s narcissism, Bush’s intellectual insecurity — they’ve never really faced.
It would be nice to have a president who had gone to school on his own failings. It would be comforting to see a president who’d looked into the abyss, or suffered some sort of ordeal that put him on a first-name basis with his own gravest weaknesses, and who had found ways to combat them.
Obviously, it’s not fair to compare anybody to Lincoln, but he does illustrate the repertoire of skills we look for in a leader. The central illusion of modern politics is that if only people as virtuous as “us” had power, then things would be better. Candidates get elected by telling people what they want to hear, leading them by using the sugar of their own fantasies.
Somehow a leader conversant with his own failings wouldn’t be as affected by the moral self-approval that afflicts most political movements. He’d be detached from his most fervid followers and merciful and understanding toward foes. He’d have a sense of his own smallness in the sweep of events. He or she would contravene Lord Acton’s dictum and grow sadder and wiser with more power.
All this suggests a maxim for us voters: Don’t only look to see which candidate has the most talent. Look for the one most emotionally gripped by his own failings."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Congratulations to Barack Obama: So This is Christmas
Tonight I think about Barack Obama's victory and I am filled with all of the very best feelings I used to have when I was young. Can't stop thinking of how graceful he's been throughout. Can't stop thinking of Ted Kennedy's endorsement even from the throes of his illness. Can't stop thinking of John Lennon. Can't stop thinking of what it would be like to be young and filled with hope. Can't stop thinking how wonderful it is to be in my sixties and feel that way again.
With love, respect, and gratitude for all that Barack Obama seems to understand. And though I probably should apologize for posting this sad video accompaniment to John Lennon's Happy Christmas, War is (almost) Over. I know Mr. Obama understands, and will do something about it.
With love, respect, and gratitude for all that Barack Obama seems to understand. And though I probably should apologize for posting this sad video accompaniment to John Lennon's Happy Christmas, War is (almost) Over. I know Mr. Obama understands, and will do something about it.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Adventurers in India
In the last several years two of my daughters have gone to India, incidentally fulfilling one of my own lifetime dreams. It has thrilled my soul to "picture them" there. All of my children, their mates, and my grandchild thrill my soul day in and day out. But this India thing has me entranced, and I mean majorly entranced.
Why do people go to India? In my family, India has been salve and sustenance. I would say that my girls have gone for spiritual reasons, soul-soothing. One went to Darjeeling to work in a Tibetan School after heartbreaking revelations by her fiance, and a disastrous end to their engagement.
My youngest, my 22 year old, is in India now, headed off suddenly after working for eight months in Manhattan, feeling unfulfilled. She has been staying for the last few weeks in Udaipur in Rajasthan in a guest house called Dream Heaven, in a room with a beautiful view of a lake and her own bath and shower. Originally the room was $4.50 a night, but she and a friend who works in Udaipur bargained for $1.50 a night. The room was sweetly painted and decorated and clean despite having some lizardy things like geckos climbing on the walls. She has loved it there in her little room in that beautiful city, and is sad to leave.
Today she wrote to say that she has extended her trip annother six weeks and had checked out of Dream Heaven. She's on the move, alone, by bus to Jaisalmer, a ten hour ride, and thence to Chandighar, Amritsar and Dharmsala in time for the monsoon. She has signed up for a highly intensive ten-day meditation course, Vipassana, in Dharmsala. Then she'll head across to Darjeeling.
She sent me a phone text message from the bus she's on right now saying that she was in a cupboard above the seats, no air conditioning in 100 degree heat, and the "cupboards" were like fishbowls. She thought it was funny. But how funny can something be when you're alone in that situation, right near the Pakistan border in an area where rebels have been disrupting public transportation with the most primitive of weapons, including sickles?
I've been trying to think of a word to describe how I feel. It's an agitation, fear of the highest order, concentration, constant prayer, and excitement that defies description, my molecules are all astir, I know there's a word for it on some planet somewhere. That old nut Gurdjieff probably made up a word for it. I'm so glad that my girls have had this experience as young women. I feel enormously proud of them, but that's not even it. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh...in ancient crazy wild wonderful India! Drawn to the Himalaya, they journey north and leave bits and pieces of their DNA in the sworl of humanity there, as they brush their hair, touch the flowers, swim in the waters.
Even the thought of the Himalaya and beyond that, the Hindu Kush, sets my blood on thin-speed, and makes me feel an exhilaration I cherish.
I'm on edge.
I pray.
I'm there with you every step of the way.
I think of coming but may be too old,
I can't stand extremes of hot and cold.
When I was young
a room for a dollar a day
was just fine.
Do you think
I could still be that way?
So do me a favor
and try not to stare:
just tell me if you can
picture me there.
Why do people go to India? In my family, India has been salve and sustenance. I would say that my girls have gone for spiritual reasons, soul-soothing. One went to Darjeeling to work in a Tibetan School after heartbreaking revelations by her fiance, and a disastrous end to their engagement.
My youngest, my 22 year old, is in India now, headed off suddenly after working for eight months in Manhattan, feeling unfulfilled. She has been staying for the last few weeks in Udaipur in Rajasthan in a guest house called Dream Heaven, in a room with a beautiful view of a lake and her own bath and shower. Originally the room was $4.50 a night, but she and a friend who works in Udaipur bargained for $1.50 a night. The room was sweetly painted and decorated and clean despite having some lizardy things like geckos climbing on the walls. She has loved it there in her little room in that beautiful city, and is sad to leave.
Today she wrote to say that she has extended her trip annother six weeks and had checked out of Dream Heaven. She's on the move, alone, by bus to Jaisalmer, a ten hour ride, and thence to Chandighar, Amritsar and Dharmsala in time for the monsoon. She has signed up for a highly intensive ten-day meditation course, Vipassana, in Dharmsala. Then she'll head across to Darjeeling.
She sent me a phone text message from the bus she's on right now saying that she was in a cupboard above the seats, no air conditioning in 100 degree heat, and the "cupboards" were like fishbowls. She thought it was funny. But how funny can something be when you're alone in that situation, right near the Pakistan border in an area where rebels have been disrupting public transportation with the most primitive of weapons, including sickles?
I've been trying to think of a word to describe how I feel. It's an agitation, fear of the highest order, concentration, constant prayer, and excitement that defies description, my molecules are all astir, I know there's a word for it on some planet somewhere. That old nut Gurdjieff probably made up a word for it. I'm so glad that my girls have had this experience as young women. I feel enormously proud of them, but that's not even it. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh...in ancient crazy wild wonderful India! Drawn to the Himalaya, they journey north and leave bits and pieces of their DNA in the sworl of humanity there, as they brush their hair, touch the flowers, swim in the waters.
Even the thought of the Himalaya and beyond that, the Hindu Kush, sets my blood on thin-speed, and makes me feel an exhilaration I cherish.
I'm on edge.
I pray.
I'm there with you every step of the way.
I think of coming but may be too old,
I can't stand extremes of hot and cold.
When I was young
a room for a dollar a day
was just fine.
Do you think
I could still be that way?
So do me a favor
and try not to stare:
just tell me if you can
picture me there.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
"Uncontacted" Amazon Tribe - What Is Right?
If you click on the title above you will come to the website for survival-international, which has been featured lately in the news because of photos of "an uncontacted tribe" living in the Amazon.
Did any of you see this? Deep in the Brazilian forest at the Peruvian border, live people who point their bows and arrows at a plane flying (for the second time) overhead, and paint their bodies red and black to show their aggression..Their houses look almost like termite mounds. Something about it makes me so sad that my stomach brain and heart ache.
I don’t know how I feel about preserving these indigenous tribes. Why? So a few select scientists can get PHds, or daredevil adventurers can plow through the jungle and, mingle and breed and photograph, making their money writing books about it? Loggers in Peru are moving closer and closer, not caring and not able to care about such primitive Indian tribes. Human nature being what it is, the natives will be exploited in the most insidious fashion one way or another as they die out forever. What does "protecting" them really mean?
Have these people erected astrologically significant structures,cathedrals, produced literature or music that speaks to the grandest reaches of human endeavor? Doesn't look like it, when you examine the photos. Do they sit around at night upon a vein of emerald, diamond, sapphire, gold, or valuable oil? Have they developed a language or a religion which could solve the world's problems? Are they heirs, through hope, of an everlasting kingdom? Sure could be.
But I see frightened people living in abyssmal poverty. Fascinating beyond belief, fragile beyond belief, vulnerable beyond belief. I went to the website and nearly signed up, nearly wrote a letter to the Peruvian president to stop the loggers, protect the native people and preserve their environment. But why? Is that what's best here? Leave them alone, put a barrier around them, so they can die out in peace?
Why not assimilate and integrate them gently, gradually, lovingly over several generations, with the hope that we can learn from them, comfort them, honor them, cherish them, save them and help them become part of, and enrich, the larger blended human community? Is it possible? We've all seen the trials and tribulations of assimilation and even of affirmative action, and we know it takes generations even under the best of circumstances. Can we start from scratch and only show them the best of what we've achieved? Maybe send them a revised edition of the Voyager Golden Record? Introduce them to opera? Rembrandt's most soothing art? Honey-Nut Cheerios? I doubt we have any drugs that are better than theirs, so skip that. Why contaminate?
My heart is in shreds when I think about these people. I would love to go there and be with them, feel and touch and warm with them around a fire, share their meals, stare and cascade into their faces. But that would never work or do a bit of good. They wouldn't be afraid of me after they got to know me, nor I of them, that I know. If I could do it, and survive to tell the tale, and adopt one of their children, Madonna-style, sure that would be a thrill of some sort. I would be enlightened by them no doubt, their survival skills, their nimble limbic structures, their crazy godliness.
Should we leave them alone because they may be superior to us in some ways? Who do we think we are? Do we have anything to offer them? From the looks of things, I'd say we probably do. But they should decide what they want to do about the world, and then we could help if they want help.
They have to have the same problems the rest of us have. They are no doubt slaves to their hormones and their appetites- they must have leaders who have developed based on physical qualities of strength, attractiveness,or less tangible qualities such as wit or wisdom. They must have birth defects, addictions, mental illness, anger, grief, insecurities, betrayals, successes, joys. They may be brutal, apparently we don't know yet. But they're only human.
And so, flying out of Brazil with my thrill, back to the "developed" world, my heart would be heavier than ever. Wouldn't yours? Because there is no answer. It's all just going to happen. Someone will take charge, laws and human nature will click into action, and what will be will be.
Many of us know or have encountered people whose ancestors a few centuries back were "indigenous peoples." Many American Indians are enjoying life in the world as we know it, contributing to the arts, culture, and business. They may wish at times, as most of us do, that they could turn back the clock to a more pure and authentic age. But we all learn eventually that time stops for no one. Honor your ancestors, whatever bits and pieces you can salvage of their goodness. Carry on.
Did any of you see this? Deep in the Brazilian forest at the Peruvian border, live people who point their bows and arrows at a plane flying (for the second time) overhead, and paint their bodies red and black to show their aggression..Their houses look almost like termite mounds. Something about it makes me so sad that my stomach brain and heart ache.
I don’t know how I feel about preserving these indigenous tribes. Why? So a few select scientists can get PHds, or daredevil adventurers can plow through the jungle and, mingle and breed and photograph, making their money writing books about it? Loggers in Peru are moving closer and closer, not caring and not able to care about such primitive Indian tribes. Human nature being what it is, the natives will be exploited in the most insidious fashion one way or another as they die out forever. What does "protecting" them really mean?
Have these people erected astrologically significant structures,cathedrals, produced literature or music that speaks to the grandest reaches of human endeavor? Doesn't look like it, when you examine the photos. Do they sit around at night upon a vein of emerald, diamond, sapphire, gold, or valuable oil? Have they developed a language or a religion which could solve the world's problems? Are they heirs, through hope, of an everlasting kingdom? Sure could be.
But I see frightened people living in abyssmal poverty. Fascinating beyond belief, fragile beyond belief, vulnerable beyond belief. I went to the website and nearly signed up, nearly wrote a letter to the Peruvian president to stop the loggers, protect the native people and preserve their environment. But why? Is that what's best here? Leave them alone, put a barrier around them, so they can die out in peace?
Why not assimilate and integrate them gently, gradually, lovingly over several generations, with the hope that we can learn from them, comfort them, honor them, cherish them, save them and help them become part of, and enrich, the larger blended human community? Is it possible? We've all seen the trials and tribulations of assimilation and even of affirmative action, and we know it takes generations even under the best of circumstances. Can we start from scratch and only show them the best of what we've achieved? Maybe send them a revised edition of the Voyager Golden Record? Introduce them to opera? Rembrandt's most soothing art? Honey-Nut Cheerios? I doubt we have any drugs that are better than theirs, so skip that. Why contaminate?
My heart is in shreds when I think about these people. I would love to go there and be with them, feel and touch and warm with them around a fire, share their meals, stare and cascade into their faces. But that would never work or do a bit of good. They wouldn't be afraid of me after they got to know me, nor I of them, that I know. If I could do it, and survive to tell the tale, and adopt one of their children, Madonna-style, sure that would be a thrill of some sort. I would be enlightened by them no doubt, their survival skills, their nimble limbic structures, their crazy godliness.
Should we leave them alone because they may be superior to us in some ways? Who do we think we are? Do we have anything to offer them? From the looks of things, I'd say we probably do. But they should decide what they want to do about the world, and then we could help if they want help.
They have to have the same problems the rest of us have. They are no doubt slaves to their hormones and their appetites- they must have leaders who have developed based on physical qualities of strength, attractiveness,or less tangible qualities such as wit or wisdom. They must have birth defects, addictions, mental illness, anger, grief, insecurities, betrayals, successes, joys. They may be brutal, apparently we don't know yet. But they're only human.
And so, flying out of Brazil with my thrill, back to the "developed" world, my heart would be heavier than ever. Wouldn't yours? Because there is no answer. It's all just going to happen. Someone will take charge, laws and human nature will click into action, and what will be will be.
Many of us know or have encountered people whose ancestors a few centuries back were "indigenous peoples." Many American Indians are enjoying life in the world as we know it, contributing to the arts, culture, and business. They may wish at times, as most of us do, that they could turn back the clock to a more pure and authentic age. But we all learn eventually that time stops for no one. Honor your ancestors, whatever bits and pieces you can salvage of their goodness. Carry on.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day on Whitsunday
Today I thank my mother and her mother and my grandmothers and all our mothers back through eternity who gave birth again and again and thereby gave me this great blessing of being a mother.
I wouldn't know where to begin to thank my children and their mates for all the happiness they have brought me today and always. I love you all so much, and thank God ceaselessly for each one of you, and for Maya.
It's thrilling to be a mother and to take part in the evolution of the species! Every one of you is raising the bar for humanity - adding humor, beauty, grace, intelligence, and making the world a better place.
Pentecost (White Sunday)happens to be today also. It is celebrated worldwide in various traditions as a time when the Spirit descends. Originally in the Christian tradition, the spirit descended upon the Apostles seven weeks after Christ's resurrection at Easter. White vestments are traditionally worn by celebrant priests and by babies being baptized.
So. Thank you, my children and all my mothers back into eternity, for making me into a mother. And for the blessing in churches worldwide, "May the Holy Spirit descend upon you and remain with you always."
I wouldn't know where to begin to thank my children and their mates for all the happiness they have brought me today and always. I love you all so much, and thank God ceaselessly for each one of you, and for Maya.
It's thrilling to be a mother and to take part in the evolution of the species! Every one of you is raising the bar for humanity - adding humor, beauty, grace, intelligence, and making the world a better place.
Pentecost (White Sunday)happens to be today also. It is celebrated worldwide in various traditions as a time when the Spirit descends. Originally in the Christian tradition, the spirit descended upon the Apostles seven weeks after Christ's resurrection at Easter. White vestments are traditionally worn by celebrant priests and by babies being baptized.
So. Thank you, my children and all my mothers back into eternity, for making me into a mother. And for the blessing in churches worldwide, "May the Holy Spirit descend upon you and remain with you always."
Old Dogs
A wealthy old Gentleman decides to go on a hunting safari in
Africa, taking his faithful, elderly Jack Russell terrier named
Killer, along for the company.
One day the old Jack Russell starts chasing rabbits and before
long, discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a
leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of
having lunch. The old Jack Russell thinks, 'Oh, oh! I'm in deep
doo-doo now!' Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he
immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to
the approaching cat.
Just as the leopard is about to leap, the old Jack Russell exclaims
loudly, 'Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there
are any more around here?'
Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike,
a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees.
'Whew!', says the leopard, 'That was close! That old Jack Russell
nearly had me!'
Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a
nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and
trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the
old Jack Russell sees him heading after the leopard with great speed,
and figures that something must be up.
The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and
strikes a deal for himself with the leopard. The young leopard is
furious at being made a fool of and says, 'Here, monkey, hop on my
back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!
Now, the old Jack Russell sees the leopard coming with the monkey
on his back and thinks, 'What am I going to do now?', but instead
of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers,
pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close
enough to hear, the old Jack Russell says...
'Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me
another leopard!'
Moral of this story:
Don't mess with the old dogs -- age and skill will always overcome
youth and treachery!
Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience.
-thanks to Carmen
Africa, taking his faithful, elderly Jack Russell terrier named
Killer, along for the company.
One day the old Jack Russell starts chasing rabbits and before
long, discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a
leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of
having lunch. The old Jack Russell thinks, 'Oh, oh! I'm in deep
doo-doo now!' Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he
immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to
the approaching cat.
Just as the leopard is about to leap, the old Jack Russell exclaims
loudly, 'Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there
are any more around here?'
Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike,
a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees.
'Whew!', says the leopard, 'That was close! That old Jack Russell
nearly had me!'
Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a
nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and
trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the
old Jack Russell sees him heading after the leopard with great speed,
and figures that something must be up.
The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and
strikes a deal for himself with the leopard. The young leopard is
furious at being made a fool of and says, 'Here, monkey, hop on my
back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!
Now, the old Jack Russell sees the leopard coming with the monkey
on his back and thinks, 'What am I going to do now?', but instead
of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers,
pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close
enough to hear, the old Jack Russell says...
'Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me
another leopard!'
Moral of this story:
Don't mess with the old dogs -- age and skill will always overcome
youth and treachery!
Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience.
-thanks to Carmen
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
To Thine Own Self Be True
"This above all: To thine own self be true,
and it must follow, as the night the day,
thou canst not then be false to any man."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Shakespeare's play "Hamlet", Polonious bidding farewell and giving advice to his son Laertes, who is about to travel abroad to France. He tells him to lay low, stay quiet, (listen more than talk), not draw too much attention to himself, dress conservatively (don't try to outdo the French when it comes to couture!), be careful choosing new friends, stick with tried and true friends, don't borrow money or overspend. Just be yourself. Farewell, you have my blessing:
Yet here, Laertes! Aboard, aboard for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for.
There ... my blessing with thee!
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg’d comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel but, being in,
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!
-- William Shakespeare
Farewell Honna! My heart will follow you to India.
and it must follow, as the night the day,
thou canst not then be false to any man."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Shakespeare's play "Hamlet", Polonious bidding farewell and giving advice to his son Laertes, who is about to travel abroad to France. He tells him to lay low, stay quiet, (listen more than talk), not draw too much attention to himself, dress conservatively (don't try to outdo the French when it comes to couture!), be careful choosing new friends, stick with tried and true friends, don't borrow money or overspend. Just be yourself. Farewell, you have my blessing:
Yet here, Laertes! Aboard, aboard for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for.
There ... my blessing with thee!
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg’d comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel but, being in,
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgement.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!
-- William Shakespeare
Farewell Honna! My heart will follow you to India.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Got Out the Obama Shirt Again, Gonna Sleep in it Tonight
I almost gave up and thought we'd have to deal with Hillary and Bill ad nauseum. But then I saw what happened in North Carolina tonight, and I listened to Obama's speech.
He's remained cool, calm and collected. He hasn't tried to pretend he's something he's not. He's young and full of promise. As he says, he's not perfect. But we can support and nurture him. I believe what he says about truth and I don't think he and Jeremiah Wright or he and anyone else have a secret agenda. He's not so power hungry that he's sold his soul. He loves the country, and I believe that, when he says it. He can transcend and inspire. The world is better with him in it, wherever he is.
Let's see what happens now. By Jove, I think he's got it.
Obama-McCain will be a much more interesting and civilized race to the end. Won't it? Hope we won't devolve into another civil war.
He's remained cool, calm and collected. He hasn't tried to pretend he's something he's not. He's young and full of promise. As he says, he's not perfect. But we can support and nurture him. I believe what he says about truth and I don't think he and Jeremiah Wright or he and anyone else have a secret agenda. He's not so power hungry that he's sold his soul. He loves the country, and I believe that, when he says it. He can transcend and inspire. The world is better with him in it, wherever he is.
Let's see what happens now. By Jove, I think he's got it.
Obama-McCain will be a much more interesting and civilized race to the end. Won't it? Hope we won't devolve into another civil war.
Sensitive to Springtime: Saved by Dogwood, Luscious as the Moon
When I was a young adventurer just in from California and Europe in the 60's, I drove to visit my grandmother one beautiful springtime evening. She was in bed listening to her radio preacher when I arrived. It was the 60's, and I had done some things I hoped she would never know about, but figured she probably understood through a veil, dimly.
I went into her dark bedroom, where she, hale and hearty at nearly eighty years old, had retired for the evening. I told her not to get up, just wanted to say hello and goodnight and see you in the morning. I saw her silhouette in the dim light from the radio and sat on the bed beside her, listening, but only a tiny bit, to the sermon in the box.
She held my hand and asked me how the drive was. I told her that the dogwood blossoms along the way had been so overwhelmingly beautiful that they looked good enough to eat.
She leaned back against the pillow, running fingers across her brow and through her long loosened grey hair, thinking that over for a moment. Then she said "Well, now I know that you are saved."
I was stunned, knowing in my heart that I could never meet the criteria imperative to her lifelong ideal of salvation. But somehow she managed to reach through eternity to my Druidic soul, and left me feeling open, forgiven, blessed and hopeful.
How did she do that? How did she jump from our preceding generations of indoctrination about what it takes to go to Heaven: daily devotions, church every Sunday, strict adherence to the Ten Commandments, unceasing prayer, hard work - to see that this little unfocused know-it-all lazy me, fragrant with the smells of the 60's, loving her, loving life, loving dogwood - was "saved", and part of God's eternal kingdom? And yet she did it, not through any dim veil, but with the wisdom of her years.
So if you believe, and if you know some young "sinner" who feels like eating dogwood, you can give him or her some hope for his future by taking a chance with your faith, slipping into his world for a moment, and saying something so truly forgiving, generous, loving, and kind.
Every time I see the dogwood bloom again in the spring, so tender, ivory, and luscious as the moon, I believe once again, thanks to my grandmother, that there's still hope for me, and of course always, for those I love.
I went into her dark bedroom, where she, hale and hearty at nearly eighty years old, had retired for the evening. I told her not to get up, just wanted to say hello and goodnight and see you in the morning. I saw her silhouette in the dim light from the radio and sat on the bed beside her, listening, but only a tiny bit, to the sermon in the box.
She held my hand and asked me how the drive was. I told her that the dogwood blossoms along the way had been so overwhelmingly beautiful that they looked good enough to eat.
She leaned back against the pillow, running fingers across her brow and through her long loosened grey hair, thinking that over for a moment. Then she said "Well, now I know that you are saved."
I was stunned, knowing in my heart that I could never meet the criteria imperative to her lifelong ideal of salvation. But somehow she managed to reach through eternity to my Druidic soul, and left me feeling open, forgiven, blessed and hopeful.
How did she do that? How did she jump from our preceding generations of indoctrination about what it takes to go to Heaven: daily devotions, church every Sunday, strict adherence to the Ten Commandments, unceasing prayer, hard work - to see that this little unfocused know-it-all lazy me, fragrant with the smells of the 60's, loving her, loving life, loving dogwood - was "saved", and part of God's eternal kingdom? And yet she did it, not through any dim veil, but with the wisdom of her years.
So if you believe, and if you know some young "sinner" who feels like eating dogwood, you can give him or her some hope for his future by taking a chance with your faith, slipping into his world for a moment, and saying something so truly forgiving, generous, loving, and kind.
Every time I see the dogwood bloom again in the spring, so tender, ivory, and luscious as the moon, I believe once again, thanks to my grandmother, that there's still hope for me, and of course always, for those I love.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Comfortably Numb: Live From Berlin- 1990- Roger Waters and Van Morrison
Celebration of the fall of The Berlin Wall- 1990- Roger Waters with Van Morrison et al
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Breathtaking Human Beauty and Grace From China
When my daughter sent me this this morning, I saw the beginning of the piece, and had no idea what I was about to experience. Can Wu Zhengdan be the most amazing ballerina ever? Sit back and renew your sense of wonder. This video can make you feel just glad to be alive! It's a bit of Swan Lake by "The Great Chinese State Circus" or "Guangdong Military Acrobatic Troupe". I'm actually less frightened now at the prospects for the Olympics in Beijing. And now that I've seen such a magnificent example of true marriage (her partner is her husband), it kind of raises the bar.
Thanks to Lelah
Thanks to Lelah
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
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