Maiti Nepal

I read something a couple of months ago that has continued to float its way in and out of my consciousness ever since. It was a poem that compared two ways of giving: "fixing" and "serving." It was written in the context of helping another person, although I imagine the idea could be expanded further. Basically, the author describes a "fixer" as someone who isolates a given phenomenon, decides it is in fact broken, and considers themselves equipped to swoop in, put it back together as they see fit, and then pat themselves on the back for it. This concept is contrasted with the idea of a "server," who strives to give of themselves humbly and fully, acknowledging an infinite uncertainty to the universe and an underlying wholeness that is not of his or her own design. (Do I say "universe" too much? I don't want to be that flaky "universe" blogger)

The last lines of the poem read: "When I help, I feel satisfaction. When I serve, I feel gratitude. Fixing is a form of judgment. Serving is a form of connection." 

I had never really thought about such a distinction, nor had it occurred to me to associate any form of volunteerism or civic engagement with the egotistical. In retrospect though, I do recall a Friends episode in which Pheobe lets herself get stung by a bee in a desperate attempt to prove to Joey and herself that it is possible to do a selfess good deed. While she clearly felt pain, "the bee got to look cool in front of all its bee friends." 

One could certainly argue that ultimately the origins of your actions don't really matter, as long as the support (in whatever form) is being offered and received. 

But it's interesting. And from the perspective of the fixer/server it's hugely relevant, and something I continuously encounter within myself when volunteering at the hospital. To my disappointment, though I'm afraid not to my surprise, I find my behavior tending always toward the conceptualized "fixer"- craving that satisfaction of 'knowing' that I 'helped,' annoyed to be cleaning toys or organizing the playroom instead of becoming that person the child will always remember from their time in the hospital.... really it seems to be just coming from a place of self-serving, manifesting itself under a veil of serving others. Not maliciously, but arrogantly, selfishly, ignorantly.... I've been trying though, to effect that paradigm shift from fixing to serving, and every so often I catch a glimpse and it's so freaking great that it's actually made me laugh out loud. All of a sudden, it's not the patient who's privileged to have you around, but you who is privileged to connect to another human being forced face-to-face with their own vulnerabilities. For that 0.1% of the time I feel what I imagine that poet to have felt. I suppose one could also argue, like Joey, that even behavior that takes the form of 'serving' might also be self-serving in some way. After all, Pheobe didn't realize at the time that the bee had to sacrifice its life to make that sting. However, I think some potential catches to that argument are:

a) the server embraces that reality rather that delude themselves otherwise, and so they feel grateful for the opportunity to serve

b) the line between 'self' and 'other' for the server may be more fluid and dynamic, and so again from that perspective the overlap is not necessarily a negative thing

CNN created an award show acknowledging 10 "2010 Heroes," all of whom are nominated by their contemporaries and receive $25,000 toward their cause. OK, honestly, I highly suggest watching the entire thing because these people freaking live it. We're talking former Cambodian child soldier who now removes land mines (14,000 so far) and runs an orphanage, Kenyan man who distributes free lanterns he invented to village children so they can do their homework at night, Mississippi woman who revolutionized her town from the most obese in America to a health conscious community. Like, these people are not messing around. 

But one woman got voted CNN Hero of the Year, and this woman quite literally moved me to tears. Streaming down my face tears. Click here to see the video they played to introduce this beautiful beautiful BEAUTIFUL woman, Anuradha Koirala. (AKA The Video That Blew My Mind)

**I know, the 30 second ad at the beginning feels impossibly long. Who has that kind of time to wait for online videos these days? I actually found myself multitasking while waiting for the video to load- whole other can of worms**

"You have to join hands. You have to take each child as your daughter." If you look up more videos of her (which I have done exhaustively), she continues to emphasize this point. She continues to dissolve that barrier between self and other, and says that if you truly do so then you will feel the sorrow of these girls sold into sex slavery. GIRLS SOLD INTO SEX SLAVERY. What an absolutely insane and horrifying idea.

I think often we rationalize keeping those borders up between people, quickening our pace and turning our heads, by telling ourselves: if I truly felt for the suffering of others I wouldn't be able to get up in the morning and live my life. But the thing is, she goes on to say that after the sorrow you will feel the strength that comes out of that sorrow. In addition to spreading preventative awareness about human trafficking in vulnerable Nepalese villages, Anuradha Koirala has been nicknamed "The Terminator" for saving over 12,000 girls who have been sold like objects by raiding brothels and stopping transports at the India-Nepal border. She has housed these girls, clothed them, fed them and empowered them through emotional support, education, and skill-training. She has freed them. She has taken the strength that comes out of her daughters' sorrows and used it to propel her life. As you can see in this video and others, they are so so grateful. And so is she.

The Trouble with Condiments

I have been propelled from bed-to-blog by an all too powerful force, created of course, by me.
It's that feeling of being off center, that indefinable inability to shift things into place internally, despite a painful awareness of their discordance. To be fair, it's a delicate balance to maintain: feeling grounded enough in oneself to channel your presence into the present, without losing that liberating humility which allows for the embrace of  change. And I seem to have lost my fleeting grip on it yet again, floundering in a discomfort which I can only hope to transform into creative tension without tripping open the floodgates of self-indulgent melancholy.

Ugh.

I recently became annoyed of my own blog (present company thus far included) AKA annoyed of myself. Which, as you can imagine, makes this entry a bit paradoxical given its attempts to relieve (?) my current state of _______. I think in part it's because the nature of my social life as of late has been CATCH UPS. ENDLESS KETCHUPS. With people I love, with people I am so happy to be crossing paths with again, with people whose lives and well being I am sincerely interested in- and yet, unavoidably I am required (and rightfully so) to balance out the conversation by summing up my past 3-6 months. And I'm getting so annoyed of hearing myself say the same thing over and over, gloss over the same ups and downs, discuss the transition from university student to "undecided...." NOT because doing so is in any way invalid or superficial, only because I have become anxious to add a little more to the story that I have become so obnoxiously well versed in reciting.
Certainly, it was difficult to adjust from juggling an overflowing schedule to, well, not. But for months now I have reveled in this inheritance of time and space- I have read books for pleasure, walked the dog, watched movies, ate slowly and spent time with myself- just the X of us. Really, I have found beauty and value and pleasure in my current, far from bustling, state of affairs. I think I've even recovered from India ;)
But much to my dismay, I must report that recently I have encountered boredom on more than one occasion. What an existentially disparaging feeling it is to be bored... to actually put into practice that horrific saying of "killing time." It's time, I think, to take on a little more, delve into some new stuff.

And so I've been feeling a bit off center. A bit annoyed with myself and the tale of "what I'm up to"- again, not because I resent the opportunity to share myself with people, but because I have come to a place where it no longer feels honest or true to where I'm at. It feels retold to the point of disconnect and I almost don't even identify with it  anymore. I guess it's no wonder then, that I'm "feeling weird." I let my self slip away from myself and get lost in a vast sea of KETCHUP... floating in pieces of dates and events and decisions and facts. And honestly, what's more annoying than when you can tell so clearly that someone's being fake?

It's like I'm reciting when I want to be creating. Not here- I strive for honesty in this blog above, I think, all else. But it became suddenly difficult to think of subject matter, whereas until now it has just flowed into beautiful expression (beautiful in the sense that it has felt honest and liberating and FUN). And it was that newly formed gap that I found endlessly annoying. I think that's just because I've fallen briefly out of touch, confusing my ketchup-me with current me (and probz a disillusioned absolute me has been thrown into the mix as well).

Hilarious, that just expressing that confusion rather than brainstorming ways out, veiling it with certainty, or even distracting myself with talk of other things, was actually what just felt so great. Shame it took me so long (although I can't really be sure of time periods, due to that whole eternity syndrome issue I described in earlier posts- ie. I often feel like what I am experiencing is how I've always felt and how I will always feel). Not that speaking something banishes it out of existence; quite the opposite, language creates and makes real-- transforms from "feeling weird" to articulated concerns that can be embraced or addressed or dismissed.

Thanks for giving me the space to write. Here's hoping I haven't annoyed any of you reading (thank you for reading) as much as I've annoyed myself in the past indeterminable amount of time. Oh, and also I'm menstruating so who really even knows if this will all just pass on its own with the cycle of the moon...

India Revisited

A funny thing happened this summer: I went to India. I'm not really sure why. When I asked a guru in Jaipur who inexplicably knew very mysterious details about my family, he responded immediately that I had chosen to visit India because I spent a great deal of time there in my past lives and so was drawn back to the country.  This differed slightly from my usual response of, "I want to bring my Religious Studies major to life," and that "I had read many wonderful books about the region and was fascinated by its religious, cultural, and geographical diversity." Whatever. Really I just thought it would be a crazy experience with a great exchange rate and colorful scarves so why the hell not? So off I went. With a backpack. And in my backpack was a swiss army knife that I never once used, an exhausted supply of moist towelettes, hiking boots that gave me blisters, impractically large novels, and North American clothing unsuitable for Indian heat waves and societal norms. And in my friend's backpack was a lot of great supplies that I had forgotten. The relative compactness of my bag likely earned me a level of street cred amongst travelers that she could have only dreamed of, but she was kind enough to let me use her vegetable peeler and facial sunscreen nonetheless.

Immediately upon my return to Canada, I fell ill to a bout of diarrhea that was clearly of foreign origins. I recovered about 5 days later, but had retained absolutely no memory of the 7-week trip. I didn't think about it. I didn't talk about it. I was too busy writing emails and trying to figure out what the f-bomb I was going to do now. My analysis, which by no means is necessarily accurate, is that the experience had so blown apart my comfort zone and was so unrelatable (at least on a superificial level) to everyday life in Toronto that I had simply compartmentalized the whole ordeal and put it away for a rainy day. A couple weeks later, I was walking home from the subway station and a construction worker whistled at me. Instinctively, without any conscious intent, I shot him a glare that had been cultivated and perfected on the streets of Northern India. With my eyebrows furrowed in that familiar look of disgusted-how-dare-you-objectify-me-I-am-woman-hear-me-roar-even-if-you-don't-let-your-wife, I realized that I should probably create some space in my mind for reflection upon the journey that transformed me into a ruthless bargainer who could tolerate spicy food and 14 hour bus rides on unpaved roads like it ain't no thing. Which brings me to today's downpour.

First things first, there are ALOT of people in India. The men are generally a lot more chatty than the women, at least they are to foreign girls they want to a) sell things to b) engage in sexual relations with or c) help out because they realize the intensity of our vulnerability. But every so often, one is fortunate enough to sit next to a woman on a 2nd class train ride who is writing her phd thesis on the plight of women in rural Indian villages, and after speaking passionately about social justice asks you giggling what it's like to kiss a boy and if it's true that you'll get bruises if you do so before your married. The streets of major cities are literally teeming with a chaotic montage of motorcycles, buses, cars, rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, cows, goats, camels, donkeys, all of which come to a screeching beeping mooing halt when one pedestrian extends his palm outwards and crosses to the other side. And no, I was not surprised that Delhi was inadequately prepared for the Commonwealth Games.

As I began attempts to reflect upon my "summer vacation," I could recall only instances of
severe physical discomfort- ie. 23 hour drive down the Himalayas where on a chai break my dear friend stepped in human poo while wearing sandals, 48 degree heat waves, pausing to breath every 10 steps while climbing a mountain 5000 m above sea level for 9 hours when we had politely requested an easy stroll
fear for personal safety- ie. rickshaw stalling on a bridge full of trucks during lightning storm in the middle of the night, being scammed on our very first day by a fraudulent government tourist agency into booking a flight to a terrorist zone, accidentally taking a general class train ride and nearly being trampled, skinning my knee and tearing new flowy pants in attempts to escape terrifying gang of street dogs at 5 AM.

Disconcerting, to say the least. I tried going out for Indian food, but quickly realized it was way too soon for another round of Aloo Gobhi. In a frenzy, I left a distraught message for my former travel partner begging her to, at her earliest convenience, remind me what else went down on our trip to India. HOW COULD I IMPOSE AN OVERARCHING THEME UPON THE TRIP AND RETROACTIVELY FIT IT INTO THE COOKIE CUTTER PROGRESSION OF MY LIFE, IF I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?

Thankfully, she returned my call and for hours we reminisced about the absurdities, hilarities, turning points, breakthroughs and ridonkulusnous of our experience together. And we laughed and we laughed and we laughed and it was therepeutic in a way that nothing else possibly could be. And then she reminded me that on our first day (after realizing we had signed up for that terrorist adventure) we made the conscious decision to not take our "spiritual journey" to India too seriously, to just let it be what it will be, and to find beauty in however it unfolds. She reminded me that we learned it wasn't about controlling our thoughts or emotions as much as it was about watching them, becoming aware of them, even loving them, but at the end of the day laughing at them. Not out of superiority, some fabricated notion of transcendence or self-deprecation, but out of a sincere sense of awe and wonder at the beautiful absurdity of our existence.
I had gotten so caught up in trying to make sense of what I learned in India and what the point of going was, that I missed the point entirely, and somehow forgot that from beginning to end it was never linear, never goal-oriented, never regimented in that way. We had no plan or purpose or design for the trip. We just went, naive, overly trusting, and dangerously open-minded.  And it just was, as life is. It flowed, it was rich and hilarious, beautiful and emotional and scary, experiential and unpredictable.
Since coming home, when people ask whether I loved India I have never felt certain how to respond. I am now reminded of the many conversations had about the nature of love while overlooking Himalayan mountain ranges, misty monsoon rain clouds, intricate architecture and devastating poverty. And through it all, love emerged as pure in its independent nature, as prevailing regardless of inevitable transformation and changes in circumstance.
And so I feel now as though I can answer yes, I did and do love India. Not because it is perfect, and certainly not because it is a place I'd like to someday raise a family, but simply because it is- it pulsates with the very breath and breadth and depth of the human experience. And I know, to the extent that I can know anything, that that love is intimately intertwined with the awe inspired laughter of slowly letting go

It hurts my feelings when people say I look 18, even though it doesn't actually matter

Last week 4 different people on 4 different occasions thought that I was 18 years old and/or in highschool. For reasons unbeknownst to each subsequent age-evaluator, my responses grew increasingly hostile. To their credit, they had no way of knowing that the issue had become a sore spot for me over the course of last week.
I feared the worst: that moving back home had not only led to a learned helplessness surrounding grocery shopping and other domestic tasks, but to a physical regression as well.
In a gametime decision at Eglinton West station, and largely out of opportunistic bitterness, I asked for 10 student tickets instead of 10 adult tokens- half price and at least four extremely formative years younger- the man gave them to me! And even worse, he called me sweetie. How goddam patronizing. My ego was furious that he imagined my university experience out of existence. Please don't judge. Actually, do whatever you want- just don't tell the TTC. And please, don't tell me I'll appreciate it when I'm 50- it only sends me tangentially reeling because I'm not even sure if I relate to that 50-year-old version as still me.

This issue has featured most prominently amongst parents at a hospital where I volunteer, who assume I am completing my required high school hours. I can't even bring myself to tell them I'm actually completing my required hours to be an eligible candidate for graduate studies, it's simply too embarassing for us both.
Speaking of volunteering, my all-too-predictable ego has struggled in that domain as well- Yesterday, my presence was simly not needed. There was no lonely child calling out for a playmate, no parent that desperately needed a lunch break, not even any toys to disinfect! How annoying. Not even screening a Toy Story parody in my head, inspired by the hilariously labeled "Dirty Toy Bin" in the playroom, could give me the sense of fulfillment I so desperately craved.
And that's when it hit me- I felt entiteled to heart-wrenching hugs from sick children, to crayon images spelling my name with innocently backwards letters, and maybe even to a bouquet of exotic roses from an especially appreciative parent. I felt entitled to being needed and valued by these families. Even more so, I felt entitled to a "rewarding and meaningful experience" that might provide some peace of mind, inspiration, or professional direction, AKA might make me feel good.

I felt I deserved these things, because I was setting aside THREE HOURS A WEEK that were not just about me- but yesterday I think I realized that they still were about me, that this endevor was more so self-serving than devoted to the serving of patients. Uch, dammit. What a funny little game we play, "my" ego and "me." And what a funny little game I play, imagining that I am somehow separate from it...

And, of course, what a funny little game we are all playing who have our basic human needs meant and are afforded the luxury of abstract pondering... imagining things into existence and mistaking them for absolutes, accessing stimuli with our senses and mistaking them for reality, rationalizing and intellectualizing and conceptualizing and mistaking our conclusions for objective
Note my noncommittal, fearful tiptoeing around the gaping vat of nihilism lurking behind my every existential corner.

Maybe that TTC employee got it after all. Maybe he knew I was over 18, but that by "believing" I was in highschool he created a universe in which I was, and therefore could ride the TTC at half price. Maybe he just thought, "what the hell, this is all a big joke anyways- I might as well"

Or maybe, likely, I just look young and need to get over myself and enjoy the ride- at half price!
Budum bum CHING

?

I recently returned home (?) from a visit to Montreal- AKA, to my past life.

Before I delve into the existential whirlwind so obviously churned up by said visit, I'd like to note that again I am reminded of the striking contrast between Bodhi ("our" new puppy) and myself. She is barking at her bone right now. She has the time of her life digging holes. She would be happy licking her own poo. She could easily travel to an awesome city, hang out with loved ones, and not feel compelled to deconstruct the vast majority of her visit. Or maybe I'm forcing her to be my imaginary foil or even, GASP, to be my opposite. See!? She would never force me to be her imaginary foil! (and there it is again)

Anyways, I guess I found it a somewhat _____ experience to come face to face with the reality that things just carry on about their merry way, sans you (or me, in this case). I used a French word there, as indicated by the switch to italics, because I was speaking about Montreal and people sometimes get mad there if you don't know French. I mean, on the one hand obviously the entire city can't screech to a halt simply because I completed my undergraduate degree, sans any actual marketable skills. But on the other.... you know? Like...I dunno it's weird.

Of course, I shouldn't complain. I find the ever looming possibility that this entire existence might be nothing more than a fabrication of my own mind-in which case Mtl would, for all intents and purposes, vanish upon my departure- to be quite alarming. I suppose that renders me difficult to please. Which I'm sure is exhausting for everyone involved. Thank you, if you are still reading.

I was fortunate to have a great discussion last night, with someone far smarter and more experienced than myself, about. . . DECISIONS. To sum up several hours, sans the tangents (too much?), it would just be the coolest if we could learn to be comfortable with uncertainty and embrace absurdity, instead of incessantly fooling ourselves into believing that we must surely have insight into absolutes and formulas to isolate the variables of life.  

There is such a strong tendency, it seems, to desperately rationalize and justify our past decisions; to force them into frames of illusory certainty and hang them in perfect rows along the corridors of our past. By the way, that's slightly different than what I do to Bodhi because the impositions on her involve tin foil not picture frames. ellipses. 

We make choices and then convince ourselves, whether consciously or not, that they were Right or Wrong, ad infinitum. I just typed "ad infinitum" into  Google to be certain I had spelled it correctly (loosely relevant). 

The point is- (ish)- that collapsing the wave function in that singular moment of time at which we make a decision does not negate the probability cloud. In other words (I took one physics class in University and fell in love with probability clouds) there does not seem to be anyway to be absolutely, 100% certain, whether a decision is the Right one or the Wrong one. That fact does not change, even if ultimately a choice is made. Even more so, once something is decided Right and Wrong in a sense must fall away- in that everything that unfolds following that choice becomes simply "what 'is.'" There is great value, I think, in remaining conscious of the uncertainty of all decisions, decision makers, and the process decision making itself. Rather than obliterating all awareness of that uncertainty through rationalization and justification after-the-fact, an acknowledgment that all things still exist as a probability cloud no matter which way they happen to be channeled, facilitates the cultivation of both honesty and humility. Honesty, and humility.

That's not to say that we should therefore just leave our life up to chance, because nothing makes sense anyways. Only that we can't Know (like knowknow, not just superficially know) that we did the right thing. And from my young, likely naive perspective in which I'm responsible for no one but myself, I can say with resounding enthusiasm that all we can do is our best and THAT'S FINE LET'S JUST GO WITH IT WOO HOO.  Of course it's more comfortable to pretend that things are clearer than that, more predictable, easier to reduce and make sense of it. But whatevz!

We are always making decisions, and we should continue to try our best in doing so because otherwise we stagnate. And there is nothing worse that a stagnated human. The final lines of the book, Why I Became a Buddhist Monk, What I Learned, and Why I Quit, reads: "If I have a mission, it is to help [my students] to question the things they believe most earnestly. After all, if I've learned one things it's that the pursuit of truth has more to do with letting go of certainty than finding it." I freaking love that last line. What I'm saying is, at this point in my life, however fleeting these sentiments may be, I am striving to become more comfortable with the uncertainty of all things. I am striving to make space for that uncertainty instead of stabbing at it with the pointed corners of those stupid frames hanging in the corridors of my past or whatever it was I said. In that way, I can make space for the vastness of life/truth/god/reality/squirrel/spaghetti itself.

I loved my time at McGill. I think it was a wonderful fit for me. I think I learned tremendously, and I think I made a difference in the lives of others. But I cannot impose the knowledge of hindsight on my grade 12 self, the young gal in sweatpants who made that decision and cried to friends at lunch time about which school she should attend. She had no clue. And even now, I cannot claim to know that choosing McGill was absolutely the best decision I could have made, in large part because I don't think such an option even exists. The reality (?) simply is that it was. And that it was wonderful often, sucky sometimes. And that even though my time there is over, I will always live with and within the decisions that led me in and out of that space because all that has unfolded since is the natural progressions of those very decisions, beautiful and terrifying (unfortunately) in their uncertainty. 

On that note, I'm going to seguay (sp?) into a love letter I wrote to my internal source of certainty thus far. Just to mix things up. (OK the truth is I wanted to post this because I like it, but didn't want to put it up on it's own, so I'm basically just tacking it on to the end here and trying to make it all fit together. Which everything does on its own anyways.)

Dear Heartbeat,

Thank you for your quiet patience, your subtle way of reminding me that I am alive and that it is wonderful- that I am full with wonder. That if I still my racing mind and give myself a hug, I can feel you in my arms.

Thank you for your unwavering devotion, for your commitment to breathing life into the blood coursing through my veins. For working forever behind the scenes to fuel my exploration.

Thank you for giving me space to find my own way back to you, pulsating with the quiet conviction that I am grateful and in tune, even if I do not yet realize it. That our relationship internally grounds me. That my life, though always changing, eternally orbits about your faithful beat.

Thank you for the way you connect me to humanity, and to many animals as well. Our lives are governed by the eternal thumping of your place in our chests, and in this way we are all together dancing to your music.

Whatever. 

My Mother is in Better Shape Than I Am

After the longest hiatus of my conscious decision-making life, I have officially decided to reincorporate exercise back into the orbit my universe. **Can someone please get back to me on whether universes actually do orbit, how one could go about measuring such a thing, the implications for my daily life (always a concern) and also what exactly a universe is?**

...After formally retiring from competitive athleticism in March of 2010, I immediately resigned to letting myself go. In fact, I welcomed the opportunity.
"Amy, don't you think you should keep in shape?"
"Wanna come to the gym?"
"It's not just about looks, it's about your overall health and quality of life!"
"Did you eat the whole box of Halloween chocolates we bought to hand out to the neighborhood kids?"

To each of these comments, and to many more like them, I have responded with the utmost of confidence and certainty. "I am letting myself go."
And yes, I did eat all of those chocolates. Do you have anymore?

Don't get me wrong, I bike to work, walk the dog, dance about and do still play sports occasionally, although now it's "just for fun." Whereas before it was about overcoming gender stereotypes, diversifying my portfolio, and achieving the riches and glory of a female varsity athlete amongst a largely indifferent student body, administration and staff. **sarcasm**

I just needed space from the evaluative, competitive, comparative, and X-ive nature of fitness testings, elite group workouts and summer training programs. I just needed space, such an undervalued luxury, so that I could return to exercise in my own way and at my own pace.
During the summer I went for a run. One run.
My running partner was faster and had far greater endurance, and before long I felt myself entering that all too familiar zone I like to call Pushing Myself Through Blatant Discomfort. And then it hit me: I do not have to do this. There is nobody clocking my time, nothing I am training for, and no need to compete with anyone but myself and the goals of my choosing. For the first time, I just stopped running. And we walked together. And we actually did smell the flowers. And it was nice.
I had pushed my body hard for years and years, and was now more than happy to facilitate the natural development of some cushiony flab for it to lay down and rest upon.

But now it is time. I miss the endorphins, I feel pale and out of touch with my body, and I crave an awesome sweat. Finally, I made the grandiose announcement to my mother that I was ready to join her for a yoga class. Let's just say that eight months of minimal physical activity can really take a toll on a gal (me). She was balancing on only her hands with a leg twisted impossibly over her shoulder, and I was struggling to even touch my toes. I was the drill-breaker, lagging forever a step or two behind the class of fit practitioners, and entirely out of tune with my breath. Who would have thought there would be consequences to my actions? The experience was extremely discouraging, and after reassuring my ego that I was just recovering from a cold, I resolved never to exercise again.

A couple of days later, I joined my mother for her daily work out. This time we went to a weights/ball class, in which I hoped, if nothing else, that my youth could provide me with an upper hand. The hip-hop-turned-techno beats started blasting, and before long an entire room of middle aged women in excellent workout apparel were out-dipping me. And that's when I felt the old flame of competition I had come to increasingly dissociate from my identity begin to spark.

I have printed off a calender of November 2010 that I downloaded from the internet. On that calender, I have  strictly alloted slots for exercise. And I have filled those slots in with pen.
And I will start after this weekend, either next week or maybe the following one depending on how busy I am.
By the way, I had the best cheesecake of my life yesterday.

Humbled by the Common Cold

I've been foiled again by the common cold. You know the one. It gets me every time.
That strategic phlegm-bot that creeps up on you just as you allow yourself to believe you've gotten away with too little sleep and too much of every thing else. Just as you begin to pride yourself on either your transcendence of a need for pause and stillness, or your ability to self righteously rearrange your hectic schedule and pencil in time to pay money for a space to reflect where people will see you and know that you're spiritual BAM

SORE THROAT IN THE MORNING-->THROBBING HEAD ACHE--> CONGESTION--> COUGH

and of course, there is often an underlying emotional process that progresses hand-in-figurative-hand with the aforementioned physical symptoms:
DENIAL (i'm not sick, it's nothing, I just need some orange juice and I'll be fine. I never get sick.)-->
SELF PITY (why now! this couldn't come at a worse time. life is so unfair.)-->
IRRITABILITY (everyone and everything is so annoying, I know I would be truly happy if I just didn't have this runny nose)-->
ACCEPTANCE (lie immobilized on the couch, indulging in the realization of a freedom to watch endless romantic comedies with a box of kleenex close by so that you can wipe your tears or blow your nose or both at the same time)

Perhaps your process differs from mine, but either way you have to admit that you like those little arrows I made out of dashes and those almost-triangle things that you use in math sometimes. And either way, once the humbling and irreversible steps of the common cold have been set in motion you have no choice but to surrender to the calling of congestion. And the fact that the very ailment that's plaguing you is by its very definition absolutely ordinary, completely commonplace, leaves little room for an egotistical reworking of this phlegmy reminder of the fragility of our daily lives.

After missed connections all over India this summer, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama and I finally coordinated our schedules for a chat this past Friday. The venue was the Rogers Center, and he double booked me with roughly 25,000 other people. Nonetheless, he salvaged the somewhat embarrassing situation in a way only a reincarnation of the deity of compassion could, and I must say he looked very endearing in his maroon visor. Now, I was looking forward to engaging the big ONE-FOUR in existential discussions of emptiness and suffering- the perfect opportunity to fool myself into thinking that the use of Buddhist philosophical terminology  naturally locates me en route to enlightenment (if I haven't already achieved it, that is).

Imagine my dismay when my unbelievably generic and conventional common cold cast me in the role of Congested Girl 1. SHIT, I thought as I blew my nose for the infinite time, NOW THEY'RE ALL GOING TO KNOW I'M HUMAN

Are you ever just absolutely struck by the ridonkulous attempts we all make to pretend we're not humans? To pretend we're not fragile, to pretend we're not scared, to pretend we're not uncertain or that we don't care or that we're not vulnerable. Someone told me the other day that a recent survey suggested that 95% of people feel like frauds at their place of work. I know absolutely no details of the reliability or legitimacy of this survey, but I do find the discrepancy between the delineations of a given role (ie. guy on the phone from Rogers, server, doctor, teacher, mother, boyfriend, religious practitioner) and the vastness of a human being to be profound. Not only can the act of squeezing ourselves into these various boxes leave one feeling like a phony, but it also creates an environment in which people relate to eachother as ______ (fill in any designation or label here) before human being. Granted, I realize that our society likely could not function in any other way and at this point I can't even dissolve my patterns of thought enough to begin to conceive of an alternative. For now though, attempted awareness and small acts of defiance (wrong word, but something like that) somehow seem enough for me.

I happened to be given a ticket to the opera last night. The opera! Who would have thought? And you know, what struck me the most was how nice it felt that no one was pretending those people on stage weren't acting.

Afterwards we went out for crepes (I love crepes!) and left a little note for our server with the bill that said,
"Dear human, You're doing great. Love always, human"
I think the gesture was probably quite silly of us, but honestly I was so painfully aware of the restaurant-script we were following and so desperate to crack through it, and just couldn't conceive of what else to do.

But-- bringing it home-- no matter how far we drift from an acknowledgement of the unity of humanity (a concept the big DL spoke about at length, although he managed to do it with a lot of light hearted chuckling and apparent serenity) the common cold will always bring us to Earth and back together again. Unless this ColdFX thing is for real, then I don't know what the hell we're gonna do.

So anyways, all that to say that I was recently humbled by the common cold and forced once more to acknowledge:
a) my fragile and fleeting human state
8) that I live on a planet filled with other humans who have also had a cold and can therefore relate
r) the beauty of hot tea and honey.

SelfleS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSAD;FLKJAS;LDKFJLAS;DKJFASL
....
as;dfasldfkj;l/

OK. good.
You should know that I'm drinking a generously poured glass of red wine right now. And that I was the one who poured it. And that I probably got the idea from some conglomeration of classic films in which the protagonist, feeling angsty but looking GREAT, pours her heart out online (or on paper, era-dependent) . And that my father just burst on the scene and although he had the best of intentions, it frustrated me because I had already grown so attached to my carefully calculated contemplative atmosphere (can't find a 'c' word for atmosphere...) And that he just held the puppy atop my head as she licked my ears. Do they not understand the artistic process?

Transitions are a funny thing.
I realize that is an incredibly vague statement. Substantiation can be made available upon request, I just don't feel like it right now
Even funnier is the fact that we spend "our" whole lives with (as?) ourselves and yet it is still virtually impossible to predict how we're going to react to any given change. Throw menstruation into the mix and it's a complete crapshoot. Speaking of which, I think it would be really romantic- in terms of my relationship with the universe- if the lunar cycle and my own were completely in tune, and I always got my period on a full moon. 


But I think for me, at the moment, it is funniest of all when we assume we have a Self* at all. This statement I will happily substantiate although it is certainly not an original thought of my own, but merely one I have been flirting with for the past little while- depending on the phase of the moon of course.
*by Self, I am referring to some essential, intrinsic, independent, identity. something that is not subject to change.

To be clear, I don't think it's funny when one considers the existence of the Self seriously and ultimately concludes that there is in fact a fundamentally unchanging element to his or her being. I only think it's funny when such a colossal statement is simply accepted as a given. Or when one's decision on the matter, in either direction, is attributed with the status of absolutes.

As far as I know, the engagement of humans with their universes is necessarily dynamic, and our existence is in a constant state of evolution (I don't mean that evaluatively). On the behavioral level, we are interactive social beings. We exchange ideas, enter and exit and try to exit relationships, and conform and resist and challenge and accept. We adapt to our environments, we establish order and we form attachments. We change. Granted, some seem to more than others.
On the cellular level too, things are always changing within us, for better or for worse. We metabolize we metastasize, we mutate, we amputate and we vaccinate. Every single cell in the body is eventually renewed over a span of seven years, at least that's what I heard on Grey's Anatomy. Whatever, you get the gist.

There is a Buddhist parable that tells of a chariot. The wheels are changed, one at a time. Several planks of wood that make up its floor are replaced, and it is repainted. Some time passes, and the seats are redone. At what point in this process of change does it become a new chariot, and how many times? What is it that could possibly serve as the determining factor for establishing the discrete quanta of different chariots? Like the chariot, we too are always changing, but I bet you spotted that parallel being drawn from a mile away. Certainly some things for some people change more quickly, dramatically, and irreversibly than other things for other people. But we are all always changing.

My senses seem to indicate that permanence is an illusion. I suppose my sensory perception is an illusion too, considering the subjective nature of my experience and my inability to see the old woman in that optical trick, so I'm not really sure where that leaves me....

The point is that (perhaps) implicit to our incessant attempts to predict is a belief that our 'self' is a constant, and therefore a phenomenon we can understand and maybe even control.
My own experience with the myriad of transitions that surround graduating university (including but not limited to switching cities, moving back in with my parents and leaving a lifelong structure of quantified excellency) is that my "self" exists only in a constant state of flux, that I am always changing, and that I can in fact be quite unpredictable even to myself.
Lately, I've often perceived my behavior as erratic, but maybe that's because my assumptions of how I will react are based on a simplistic understanding of who I am, or even of who I was last week or last year.  Needless to say, this can be a bit disconcerting.
My discomfort with the discrepancy between expectations of myself and the reality of my behavior are fundamentally rooted in an attempt to crystallize who I am, and thereby predict my behavior. I think.
Far more comfortable, it seems, would be to make peace with the impermanence of all things- MYSELF INCLUDED- even though that would seriously mess with my superior knack for gross self absorption (hence this blog... how about if I shut it down you'll know I've finally gotten over myself)
It would be just wonderful to go with the flow of my emotions, dance with them (mental image of cotton eye joe) and stop being so exhaustingly determined to understand myself and what I am likely to do next. Because to understand ourselves is to collapse the wavefunction into a snapshot. And even if I do manage to get a good look at one image it would quickly become outdated. Sometimes I wish I was "my" puppy. She literally frolics around chasing after dandelion fluff floating in the air, and scratches her own back for hours.

But wait, because here's the thing.
If on a holistic level we are constantly changing, then what is it that makes us who we are, how do we come to know ourselves, and what are the implications for our relationships?
Please refer back to the first three lines of this entry, for my thoughts on that matter.

Mind-Shop Version Beta

You know when you're just feeling off? 

It's the psychological equivalent of all at once feeling bloated, having frizzy hair and an unfamiliar taste in your mouth, and knowing that your butt crack shows over the top of your jeans every time you bend over- without necessarily requiring any of those physical symptoms. 

As my good friend Alannis one said to me, it's a black fly in your chardonnay. Even if it's not black fly season and there couldn't possibly be a black fly in your chardonnay, the way you're feeling about your chardonnay today, you'll just mind-shop one in anyway. By mind-shop, I'm referring to our uncanny ability to alter objective facts and create our own realities as simply as we reduce red-eyes with photoshop. And yes, I think that virtually every experience most of us have, goes through mind-shop before taking its place amongst the rest of our memories as a screensaver.  

Today I mind-shopped billions of spoons into the picture, even though all I really needed was a knife. 

I hope I'm not crossing that very fine line between blog and online journal by divulging the convoluted details of my nonexistent glass of chardonnay. However, because I still don't really know what it is that I blog about, nor have I ever drank chardonnay in its literal form, I guess I don't really have much to lose. Right?

Anyways, it's really only been about 2.5 days that the silverware drawer of my life has felt so imbalanced.

Unfortunately though, I suffer from an eternity syndrome which swiftly erases from my memory all past mental states, thus leaving me certain that how I am feeling now is how I have always felt and how I will always feel. 

Don't ask me when I was officially diagnosed, because I have no idea- it feels like forever. Ha. Oy. Hmm.

...Although I've really enjoyed writing this blog once a week, I woke up this morning and decided I would rather hide beneath the quilt of my eternal slump than make myself feel better by doing things that I enjoy. After all, I fabricated that quilt myself! In a flash of uncharacteristic decisiveness, my self-deprecating choice was made: I was not going to write today. Eureka! (I just realized that I don't think I've ever said the word Eureka out loud. Could be the eternity syndrome acting up again though...) 

I pulled the Quilt of Stagnancy back over my head, thereby propelling my conditioned mind onward in its patterns of illusory rationalizations as to why I should make decisions that are not conducive to my own happiness. 

Now is when I wish I could tell you that I regained control of the mind-shop program and engineered myself some good times, but the truth is that I sort of just wallowed for most of the day. 

BUT I did eventually manage to plant myself in front of this computer, and as I write a couple things are becoming clearer.  

**If you have managed to navigate through the superfluity of my ridiculous metaphors and make it to this point, then I really appreciate  you sticking with me**

It's just that--and again, if I were in a bad mood I'd probably find this really obnoxious-- life is so absurd and also appears to be so short that it just doesn't make sense to not enjoy. 

We just might as well be happy, rather than weave quilts that drag us down. 

Even as I write this, I know that I will constantly forget it and inevitably fall in and out slumps for the rest of my life, but right now in this moment all I can think is that we just 

might

as well

enjoy.

We just might as well.

In a strange flash of clarity that point seems so laughably obvious. 

It doesn't mean that I have to change what I'm doing, or that I can't read in bed all day, it just means that I might as well just really enjoy doing it.

Mind-Shop Version Beta.

Now suddenly, the thought of drinking a black fly doesn't even seem like such a big deal. And when I think about it, I don't think I really need a knife that badly. A spoon would probably do. 

... I wonder how long I can keep this mindset going for. I'm taking bets.

My Life on the Run

There I was, cruising down the Allen Road en route home from my Sunday morning washed up women's ice hockey game. Windows down, radio up, belting out Coldplay's hit single "Green Eyes," I didn't even notice the increasing pressure I was exerting on the gas pedal as I relived my glory years as female athlete at a research-focused Canadian University. My hair would have been dancing gracefully in the wind had I not been so sweaty.
And I came here with a loooooaddddd, and it feels so much- Oh no! What's this up ahead? A convoy of police cars?!
SLAM ON BREAKS AND TRY TO MAKE IT SEEM CASUAL, WINDOWS UP, RADIO DOWN, PLEASE BE TOO BUSY RUINING SOMEONE ELSE'S DAY TO NOTICE MY TRANSGRESSION x3.
Are they beckoning me over? They couldn't possibly be motioning at me, is it, no, wait... Shit. It's me.
Radio off.

**While I've got you at the pinnacle of suspense, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you that against all odds I have fallen in love with my mother's puppy and am currently attempting to feed her. But she is for some reason terrified of her food bowl and barks wildly at it. She creeps up towards it as if about to pounce, but ultimately cannot overcome her fear of open-topped silver semi circles that read FOOD in the age-old font, Comic Sans Bold. She works herself into an absolute puppy frenzy and I have to actually scatter her little brown poo-pebbles of food (which she eats everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner) across the floor before she can work up the courage to eat the meal that was literally given to her on a silver platter. My doubts of her ability to survive in the wild are further confirmed each time we pick up her shit in tacky red bags decorated with little pink hearts.**

An apologetic policeman approaches my car window and shows me the radar. "You're ruined," it said, in capital red letters. Ok, it didn't actually- but it might as well have. And I didn't have my driver's licence. And I wasn't wearing a bra. I stepped out of my (my dad's) car, arms folded awkwardly in front of my chest, and walked over to his. The power imbalance in our newfound relationship has quickly become explicitly clear. I made a really lame joke as we walked over, and he was nice enough to laugh, which I appreciated.
"How bad is this?" I asked the man in authoritative uniform, who I desperately hoped was in a good mood and/or was a big fan of women's athletics and the residual smell of hockey gloves before I get the chance to wash my hands 7 times with soap.
"Shhhhhh," he whispered, "don't say anything, but we can fix this."
WHO IS THIS MAN AND HOW DID HE BECOME SO OMNIPOTENT??!?!
... and while we're on the topic, how do I become omnipotent? or even just semi-potent?

In a flash, during which time he did absolutely nothing, he had NOT deducted 4 demerit points from my finite and, as of yet, untapped supply, NOR had he charged me 220 dollars. Do you know how many blogs I'd have to write to make 220 dollars? Instead, he gave me a ticket for not having my license (continually spell that word wrong) and told me that if I go to court my chances are 99% that they "drop the charges," and "my record stays clean."

Bewildered, I slung my satchel full of space for potential demerit points over my shoulder, and with one arm still awkwardly folded across my chest in an incredibly unnatural seeming manner, I made the walk of shame back to my vehicle.
I hope it's not a bad idea to publicize my experience dodging the harsh hand of lady (?) justice on the internet. Am I still allowed to be prosecuted for my heinous crime, or could this fall under the category of double jeopardy? What's double jeopardy? Let's just keep this between you and me, K?

As I drove home, careful to obey the bolded demands of the metal rectangles someone attached to poles one day, I wondered- have I learned my lesson?
Green eyes.....
Who was that man who giveth and taketh away, and what kind of mind games just went on out there to leave me ecstatic at a $110 ticket, pending my willingness to jump through the hoops of my local house of justice?
you're the one who, something something.....
Is it a waste of water to flush the toilet if it's just a pee, and why bother to go through the formalities of a pant suit in court if everyone knows they're just gonna say "lol, nvm!"
lalalalalala green eyes....
What am I going to do next year, and where would I like to raise a family? Should I write my LSATs?

Hello, I Am a Human. Please Handle With Care.

A man yelled at me yesterday for riding my bike on the sidewalk.
I recognize that legally he has a great point, and that the context left him little time to gather a thorough understanding of my situation before passing judgment, very loudly, in public. And that even if we had all the time in the world, my case would likely not hold up in court unless I could dig up some serious dirt on his past, thus rendering his credibility extremely questionable.
It's just that, sigh, I had decided earlier that day that I wanted to reduce my ecological footprint, at least to only using up a couple Earths orsomethinglikethat,idon'treallygetthemeasurements. But, twirls hair around finger, biking on the street makes me nervous. What's a gal to do?
And that's just it, we're all biking around on the sidewalks (metaphor) trying desperately to balance our goals and fears. Fears and goals. Fears of goals? Too much. And more often than not, we're not wearing helmets (metaphor.)
Not only that, we're simultaneously attempting to navigate the convoluted web of our own priorities (on our bicycles, on the sidewalk, no helmets usually). What we always assumed our priorities are, what we think they should be, what they actually seem to be judging by our behavior... and after cycling around in laughable circles for-- oh, so far, about my entire life-- it becomes painfully and hilariously clear that making an enumerated bullet point list of priorities isn't really a realistic exercise. Unless your reality is an entirely linear one, coloured largely by black and white, filled with spectrums and the ability to track progress along them, and of course, opposites- and you KNOW how I feel about opposites.
Note: if you actually do know how i feel about opposites, I really appreciate you reading my past blog entries. Thank you.
So, I guess what I'd like to say to Man Who Yelled At Me For Breaking The Law and Possibly Putting Him in Physical Danger, is the following: You have a great point. Legally I should not be on the sidewalk, but the thing is sir, I'm trying to reconcile my goals with my fears and I'm feeling a little vulnerable about it so could you please not yell at me in front of all of these people? Perhaps we could have a nice little chat at this teeming intersection in which we might discuss the ridiculous dualities we impose on the universe and the terrifying speed at which we're depleting our natural resources, and then I could walk my bike on home so as not to disturb you. If you start to feel really comfortable with me, maybe you'll choose to open up about your goals and fears as well, and I'll do my best to listen and make you feel supported and not alone. Have a nice day :).... or something along those lines, that was really just a rough draft.

Since then, I have been inspired to mass produce those "Hello, my name is:" labels, and hire someone (preferably overseas so I don't have to pay them as much) to cross out "my name is:" and replace it with "I am a human." Black Sharpie recommended, but not mandatory. Then, using a personable font and a warm and easy-to-relate-to colour, I'd like my offshore child workers to write "Please handle with care."
The finished project should read: "Hello, I am a human. Please handle with care," and be easily fastenable to baseball caps, winter coats, hoodies, ball gowns, etc.
I'm thinking with the current levels of general insecurity, especially amongst high school kids, I'll be able to sell those bad boys at five bucks a pop. Of course, I'll have to put the goal of reducing my ecological footprint on temporary hold, but just until I have enough cash to improve the biking lanes on the main streets of Toronto.

A Vendetta Against Opposites

First of all, in the interest of maintaining the honesty and integrity of this blog, I should tell you upfront that I'm wearing a blazer right now.
As a follow up to point #1, I should also tell you that wearing blazers (singular, I only own one) somehow convinces me, if only for the duration of their stay, that I am a professional young adult with all my affairs in order. In fact, it may be in large part due to said blazer that I have mustered the confidence required not only to use the word vendetta, but to launch one against the timeless practice of forcing phenomena to opposite ends of some socially constructed spectrum invented entirely by the human mind.

Let's jump right into it with some concrete examples, shall we?
A cat is the opposite of a dog- what the hell? What does that even mean? What type of criteria has been used to polarize these domesticated creatures? Does that include all members of the feline family, or just cats that have been named by humans? Is the type of dog a relevant feature? As new breeds continue to be produced by unlikely canine couples, will it be possible to engineer a "dog" that is not the opposite of a "cat"? WHERE DO BUNNY RABBITS, HAMSTERS AND IGUANAS COME INTO THIS? Do they get opposites too, or are they not popular enough as pets?

A boat is the opposite of a car- I have vivid memories of learning this in grade school. I believe I had to draw a line between a picture and the image of its counterpart. How fitting. Perhaps as a progression to that exercise, middle school students could continue to plot pictures along that spectrum, between boat and car. A plane! Well, it certainly transports people. It is similar to a boat in that its driver doesn't really have to be concerned about traffic in the same way as it would on the road, but it also tends towards a car in that it has wheels and does drive for a short while on the runway. Could it be possible that an airplane falls exactly between a car and a boat on the imaginary illusory spectrum of transportation? OF COURSE NOT, THAT QUESTION MAKES NO SENSE! So yes, I guess it could.

I am unusually passionate about this issue. Perhaps I've found my niche. Along with combating poor contact care, debunking the illusion of opposites is a cause I could really see myself sinking my metaphorical teeth into.
Inherent to such oppositional and dualistic thinking seems to be the packaging of phenomena into discrete boxes that can then be lined up in some sort of aesthetically pleasing row. I feel the linearity jabbing at my kidneys. I don't know if I sympathize more with those things that get forced to a pole by the stifling Opposite Wand of humanity, or those that are less familiar or useful to us, and thereby get neglected entirely. I would imagine that question means absolutely nothing, because why would a chocolate truffle care if it "has" an opposite or not, so I'll just let it disintegrate. The question, not the truffle- that I'll eat.
**Please keep in mind that I am wearing a blazer**
I have discussed this issue many times, dressed in a vast assortment of clothing and accessories. Once, the conversation concluded with the exciting option that perhaps something's opposite is its shadow!! (I think it was a scarf that day) But then, alas, what about when it's not sunny, or when you're not on Earth, or when you are the sun! ... something to keep in mind before you cast your lot with the scarf side, in case you should encounter any or all of those three situations.
Another perspective was that Pokemon is the opposite of Aloo Gobhi (a popular Indian dish of potatoes and cauliflower) - because why the hell not? (Jasmine pants)

The jury is still out on this one folks. Until any conclusive results come in, which is absolutely not possible (in part because of the power that an everchanging wardrobe exerts on decision making), let's spread awareness about this issue through stylish hoodies (I'm thinking as a tagline: "FREE PHENOMENA"), hunger strikes, and really long walks.

A Born-Again Only Child- The Conversion Process

Well. In a strange turn of events, I, have just become an only child. I should have seen it coming, all the signs were there. My mother's erratic tears, high pressure shopping excursions, definitely the whole puppy thing, and yet it has somehow still come as quite a shock to me that our home has been vacated by my younger siblings in favour of academia. I can't help but feel like some sort of ceremony should have been held, perhaps with musical accompaniment, or at the very least someone should have rang some sort of bell. Really there should be an on-call orchestra available for situations like these, so that I can be sure I'm not the only one swaying to an emotionally-riveting symphony of melodrama several times a day. 

Now, I should clarify that I have in fact been my parents' only roommate once before. But I was 2 years old and likely more concerned with hurriedly replacing my childhood sense of wonder with the conceptualizations of my community and the ability to divide the world into categories. OK I realize that was a cheap shot. But it's fun and easy to critique society without offering any practical alternatives so don't make me erase it, K?

That said, I'd love to share with you one of my Current Self's favorite paradoxes. I think it is so beautifully hilarious that so many spiritual movements advocate the unraveling of the conditioned mind as a means to attaining true bliss, even though we all presumably started off unconditioned (at least to a far greater degree) to begin with. So basically, we spend our whole lives trying to still our minds, let go of our egos, and dissolve the boundaries of conception we've constructed while simultaneously slapping on more and more layers of delusion to our unenlightened minds simply by virtue of having developed attachments to "our lives" throughout our lives. But- and here's the punch line- most of us, despite our best efforts, have also spent our whole lives moving away from that ideal, which we once embodied in so many ways as children, as our increasing age provides us with more opportunity to crave, to conceptualize, and to cling. Even funnier to me is that I think it's a brilliant endeavor!

Yes, I agree that it is overly simplistic to cast the child as a wholly spiritual ideal- but I do think the idea of directing the quest for happiness inwards, as a navigation through the layers of delusion and division we have acquired throughout our lives (and are likely acquiring even as we search) is an absolutely beautiful one, and inclines me towards thinking of the universe as a playful and ridiculous prankster. I love laughing along with it (and by "it" I mean my absurd personification of a phenomenon I completely do no understand and have not even researched enough to realize the depths to which I do not understand it) and wish I didn't forget to do so on such a frequent basis.

There is a quote attributed to the Buddha that reads, "When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky."

Now, let's be honest here- when things are going great, I'm feeling really "spiritually in tune," maybe I'm wearing something long and flowy, my hair curled nicely that morning, the sun is shining, I freaking LOVE this quote. Love it! Think it's just tops. BUT *smile collapses quickly into stern expression* if I'm menstruating, a little overtired, frustrated by absolutely anything, (let alone if something actually tragic has just taken place) and have passed my threshold for optimism, THEN THIS QUOTE IS ANNOYING AND THE LAUGHING BUDDHA JUST LOOKS OVERWEIGHT AND DRUNK. 

 Because when I get really emotionally bound up in something, my mind decides my fun friend the universe is now a jerk, my overly complex rhetoric flies out the window and I completely forget everything I thought I had figured out about what makes me happy. In fact, I find the suggestion that I should get some perspective, acknowledge the absurdity of the situation and laugh, to be quite obnoxious. I'm starting to find my self absorption exhausting. Cue the orchestra  (in case you didn't notice, I just realized in this blog that I could italicize things)

But you know when someone puts something so simply, yet it resonates so deeply- like it's struck the truth chord inside you? Like you knew it all along, but you didn't even realize you did, and now you're SO HAPPY AND COMFORTED to be reunited with it on a conscious level. In my biased verification of this theory, I file those instances as evidence and anxiously await the day that they outmuscle slight hunger pangs in determining my emotions.

WHATEVER I met cool backpackers in India with Sanskrit tattoos who meditated every morning AND agreed with me, so it must be legit **plays the final desperate card, loses credibility in attempt to gain it**

...So ya, I was once an only child 20 years ago, but I don't think I made it so complicated back then.

My mother had a dog made online

It all started before I, my parents' eldest human child, was born. Although I find it quite a challenging exercise in humility to conceive of my parents beyond the boxes of mother and father that they have come to occupy so thoroughly in my reality, there is documented evidence that they existed before I was born.
That said, I have not entirely ruled out the possibility that the universe clicked into being on January 11, 1988 at the exact moment that my abnormally large and bald head transitioned from womb to world-- you should know that although I've grown into it, my head was once so disproportionately large that the collars of my shirts had to be cut by those parental figures I told you about... and that I was bald for an unusually long time.
But really, I have not yet figured out how to access the world by a means other than my fickle (but not malicious) senses, so technically (probably not technically) my universe started then.
It is therefore, in the self absorbed vortex of my own subjectivity, appropriate to say that BEFORE THE DAWN OF TIME, my parents had a dog named Doobie. You know, like a joint.

Anywho, Doobie may or may not have been out of her mind, depending on what that phrase means and if it makes sense, but she jumped all over everyone, licked the lotion off my mother's calves and for the last several years of her 15 year old life pooed and peed all over our basement.
Nonetheless my mother adored her endlessly, my father played it cool but did as well, and my siblings and I coexisted in relatively disinterested peace alongside her- my parents' eldest child.

Doobie, z"l, died nine years ago. Slightly less than 9 years ago, my mother began her petition for a new dog.
Thwarted (awkward word) time and again, my mother ultimately resigned to her fate of living in a house with only human beings, the occasional short lived fruit fly infestation, and the vast multiplicity of organisms that we assume do not exist because we cannot see them with our own eyes.
**FAST FORWARD THROUGH BRACES, NATURAL DISASTERS (INCLUDING SOME NOTABLE ONES THAT WEREN'T IN IMPOVERISHED COUNTRIES), MOVING TO FOREST HILL, THE FINANCIAL RECESSION AND MY YOUNGEST SISTER'S GRADUATION FROM HIGH SCHOOL**
My parents were on the verge of becoming empty nesters, and alah vashalom (pronounced "all of a sudden"), a canine love receptacle was back on the table. But the thing is, they're not really becoming empty nesters- I'm moving back home!! (two thumbs up, forced smile, uncomfortable head tilt)
So, it came to pass, that after months of deliberation and my dad having a nightmare that my mom got in a violent car crash which prompted him to become very accommodating during waking life, my family (mother) decided to "get a dog."
An exhaustive online search led us (her) to an Illinois-based breeder with a batch of Aussiedoodles, a strain of dog not found in nature, but manufactured by Joyce (?) for international distribution.
After making it explicitly clear that I have no intention of taking this dog for walks in the dead of winter as my mother sips Merlot and reads her latest book in the living room, I allowed myself to be comforted by the soothing voices of dog trainers imported into our kitchen via the audiotapes that underlay daily life as we counted down to the arrival of our American package.
Finally, on Thursday evening my parents went to THE AIRPORT to pick up "our" dog. She had flown into Pearson, after a several hour layover in Atlanta, and needed some human aid in clearing customs.
**Is that not the most absurd thing you've ever heard?**

Truth is this dog is beautiful. But when I see her scampering around the kitchen I can't help but think, "what the hell are you doing here?" I find domesticated animals an absolutely hilarious and mind boggling phenomenon, but as a good friend pointed out we can't really reverse the process at this point, even if we wanted to. Case in point: the dog pooed outside. We all applauded. But then my parents had to cut off chunks of her butt hair because there was poo stuck to it . And it was irritating her.
Are you serious? I feel like I'd have a better chance of surviving in the wild than this little creature that now lives in my house, licks my toes, and can't be left alone without crying.
I just hope she doesn't hijack all of the attention, and leave me to spiral downward into the grips of post-undergrad uncertainty without the parental attention I've grown so melodramatically accustomed to...oy.

I can't believe it's not butter.

So.
I've started a blog.
Excuse my redundancy, obviously that's obvious (and again). But the thing is, it appears I'm not entirely comfortable with it.
Reasons include: I'm just a regular everyday gal who's (whose?) moved back in with her parents after gallavanting around in pursuit of an undergraduate degree for 4 years. That's misleading, I don't think the degree was really the focal point of my time at McGill because, let's be honest here, it was made clear to me as a socially awkward young tomboy that its attainment was never really in question.
So I guess really I was just gallavanting. Now I'm back in Toronto after backpacking India for 7 weeks- where surprisingly I actually did not locate myself, but did pick up some harshly worded intestinal bacteria- and apparantly have to discern what goes down in early September if not a back-to-school shop for new highlighters to replace the ones I never used last year. And how to feel succesful and productive if no one gives me a three-hole punched rubric explaining the criteria for excellency. Maybe an Ultimate Frisbee leauge?
hmm..
Anyways, I'm insecure about starting a blog because the assumption that people care is a leap I'm not quite ready to make. But, my mother and grandmother have assured me they'll read it. That's three generations including myself- not a bad start.
While in India, I wrote three mass emails home. I've pasted them into this blog because it makes it seem more substantial, and because they were really what got this ball rolling
And by ball rolling I mean people enjoyed the emails and suggested I should blog, I immediately got defensive and refused, deliberated for weeks, brought it up in conversation with people I already knew would support me and thereby generated the positive reinforcement I needed to make a WEBSITE

Let me just say that every single website name is taken. It's hard enough to think of something not-lame, let alone throw in dashes and take out vowels because the billion other bloggers that will handedly outshadow your feeble attempts have already thought of them. I tried all my favorite pallindromes (I love pallindromes), even spotblog.blogspot was taken. I'm actually thankful about that. It's not even a real pallindrome anyways. I even tried pterodactyl.blogspot, after looking up its proper spelling online. TAKEN. That one hurt.

Oh, and I had this romantic vision of myself "blogging" in my backyard. I literally brought this laptop outside on four different occasions today. Each time it started raining within ten seconds. "Well, I guess I can't start my blog today," I thought to myself. Now I'm in the kitchen. "Blogging." But at least I'm wearing a flowy scarf with nondescript flowers. But my hair is frizzy from the rain.

Whatever.

India Mass Email 3- July 27

HI!
HELLOOOOOOO
So the inspiration for writing this email came this morning. I woke up naturally at 7 am, a feat which is less impressive considering I had fallen asleep at 9 pm the night before (but I'm getting ahead of myself), and went onto the roof of my guesthouse. We have been in Leh since Thursday morning, an insanely beautiful little town nestled within the Himalayan mountains. Anyways, I thought perhaps I'd perch myself on the roof and by meditating on the incomprehensible vastness of the snow-capped Himalayas, maybe acquire some of that all-elusive humility. It was a valiant effort, but in actuality more closely resembled something like this: i'm so proud of myself for getting up this early and coming on to the roof, i wonder if i'll get weird attention if i wear my dress today, shit but if i wear a dress how will i wear my money belt, i'm getting hungy, what time is check out, will the electricity work today, lee would love these mountains (shout out!), uch but i really wanna wear my dress, maybe i'll write a mass email today!
AND HERE WE ARE, no less humble, but i definitely enjoyed the view and laughing at myself

SO last I wrote I had somewhat hijacked this medium to recover from the sketchy nighttime groping... I'm please to report I've since let that go to some degree and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my time in Rishikesh. We spent about 5 days there in beautiful, and much awaited, greenery. I have felt a bit of constant tension on this trip between wanting to cover as much ground as possible because there is simply so much to see, and settling in places that feel good. The Rish was one such place, and the slower pace, cleaner air, and more relaxed lifestyle was much appreciated. We also found an ashram there that ran without question THE GREATEST YOGA CLASSES I HAVE EVER TAKEN PART IN. I am by no means an expert, but this one just felt great... especially because it turned out I had been really missing being active, and that unique hunger you only feel after exercise. I liked it so much that I even went to a 6 AM class, after which I read my book while drinking chai. After which I went back to sleep for 2 hours. Other Rishikesh highlights included meeting some wonderful people and hiking to a beautiful waterfall, which remains our only swim in India thus far. I LOVE WATER.
From there we went to Amritsar, the Sikh hotspot and our first taste of the state of Punjab. We spent most of our time around the Golden Temple, which is a Sikh holy place and SO beautiful, both visually and spiritually, in my opinion. There was a 24 hour free kitchen. TWENTY FOUR HOURS. From what I was able to gather, the entire community shares the responsibility of running it and at anypoint in the day, anyone regardless of religion or nationality or gender or any other divisive labels can come and be fed a delicious meal while sitting on the floor among HUNDREDS of other visitors. So cool. I also spent several hours on the train over talking with an Indian female who was working on her Phd in woman and work in a rural village in Punjab. It was fascinating to speak with her, we both actually got quite emotional (me especially though, I'll admit) and such a pleasant change of pace to finally hear the voice of a woman (literally and figuratively!!!!)
There's absolutely no way I'm properly conveying how cool the golden temple was, if you're interested please do look it up.
We carried on to Chandigarh for a night on our way to the Delhi airport, thinking of it mostly as a means to an end. I suppose unsurprisingly, it was an incredibly cool experience as well. It is the only 'planned' city in India and as such had a totally different vibe. There we went to a crazy cool recycling garden that had walls made out of old outlets, women made of broken bangles, animals of tiles.. it was great! Especially since the accumulated guilt of incessantly purchasing water bottles has been slowly taking its toll on me. Not that this allowed me to stop buying water bottles, but at least it reminded me that recycling exists- whatever.
So fastforwarding to Wed night (and skipping a painful amount) we got to the Delhi airport at about 10 pm to catch a flight for Leh that left at 6 the next morning. We both are luckily gifted with the ability to sleep in any place under any circumstance, and had no problem sleeping soundly on benches until boarding time.

OK NOW I'M COMING TO THE BEST PART
Uri, Debbie's boyfriend who I'd never met, had been secretly conspiring with me via email to come visit for a week... and was waiting outside the airport with a flower. !!! I couldn't tell you, it was a secret.
Pre his arrival: was I excited: yes! was I super nervous about the implications: most definitely!
But turns out he's a fabulous fellow (shout out #2) who did not hijack my travel partner for a week long honeymoon in the Himalayas, but rather ensured that we all (I) felt comfortable. It was really fun :)
Ok it's getting too long I realize. BUT we went on a trek! A long series of miscalculations and miscommunications led us to do a four day trek in 2 days. We literally hiked 18 hours in 2 days. Before our departure, we told the travel agent that we were not looking for anything too strenuous, just wanted to walk through some beautiful scenery and have a nice time. When we got back trek leaders told us that THEY HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE DO THAT TREK IN 2 DAYS

That said, it was absolutely incredible. THE HIMALAYAS

The beauty and the altitude combined to create the most visually and physically breathtaking experience of my life. bold statement- but really. To the point that every picture I took frustrated me with its inadequacy and to the point that we climbed to a mountain 4900 m above sea level and had to stop every 15 steps or so to catch our breath and slow our heart rate.
Overnight we had a homestay in a small village, ate AMAZING food, nursed the biggest blisters I have ever seen, tried to get the Tibetan kids to take interest in us, and fell asleep unconscious for 10 hours before beginning all over again the next morning.

So that's why I went to bed at 9 last night. Good, now we're all caught up.
But I'm a bit nervous, tonight we're leaving Leh at midnight on a TWENTY HOUR ride in an 11 person car to Manali. Apparantly the overwhelming majority of the road is not paved, and the ride closely resembles a sort of hell. And we booked late so we have the worst seats. Hopefully that sleeping gift works its magic tonight. Or the drowsy anti-nausea pills I'm now going to search for.

Oy.

ALL MY LOVE (that phrase makes no sense)
Amy

ps. I feel frustrated with this email. there's so much i couldn't say. but to sum up: india is nuts, and this has all been quite the ridiculous experience. as i told some of you, i've realized that while ppl think you learn to let go in India via meditation or yoga, I think that really you learn to let go because everything is so potentially frustrating that if you don't you will vomit out your dignity and absolutely lose your mind.

India Mass Email 2- July 15

Greetings earthlings,
I hope all your worlds have been spinning smoothly since my last email. Today marks three weeks in India which, for me, is in itself a disorienting enough statement to warrant its own mass email separate from this update. I'd like to thank you all for existing in such a way that makes me feel comfortable writing this virtual journalthing because not only did I so appreciate your responses, but the process just honestly really helps me out.
Debbie and I ended up spending about 5 days in the relative tranquility of Pushkar, and with a promise to continuosly remind ourselves and eachother of the importance-NECCESSITY-of cultivating our "inner Pushkars" we strapped on our ridiculously conspicous bags and delved into the insanity of travelling India by train. Our next stop was Jaipur (you may remember it for its thriving callgirl industry). **inhale**we got on a bus and were stared at for the entire duration of the trip and it took us to a train station instead of a bus station like we thought and then we ran around the train station trying to find out if there even were trains going to japiur it turned out there was one in like 15 minutes but for some reason no one would sell us a ticket so we ran around yelling until we finally got one and jumped on the train just in time but it turned out to be general class which is INSANE but then we met this man who used to play for the national field hockey team (?) and had the biggest smile in the world and he told us when our stop was but we didnt anticipate the anarchy of stopping the train and when we tried to get off we were almost trampled by people trying to get on and i pushed with all my years of hockey training and with my elbows out and finally we made it off the train and the smiley man bought us ice cream **Exhale** Needless to say the inner pushkar didn't last long.

In Jaipur we met a rickshaw driver named Sabir who we hired to show us around all the Jaipur must-sees. After a really great day of sight seeing, which included a textile factory, a MONKEY TEMPLE, a water palace and an observatory that I did not even remotely understand, he and his cousin took us to see their guru.
OK. guru, i know. but the thing is, they swore by him, he was free, and whatever we were intrigued! This man looked like Ralph, seemed really exhausted and burdened by his gift/powers/obligation/?!?!! and KJNEW THE WEIRDEST STUFF ABOUT BOTH OF US. Moved us both to tears, very confusing and strange, and ultimately it just worked me into such a frenzy that I had to scour the city for a phone to call my mom. i know, i don't know, noknowno, whatever. but perhaps just take the instantly erratic change in writing style as an indication of how _____ the whole experience was.

ONWARDS- Sabir invited us home for dinner and even though we had a great day with him we were a little hesitant to accept because of the incesssant warnings we get from every Indian man we befriend NOT TO TRUST ANY INDIAN MEN. In the end (?) our desperation for goodness got the better of us and we agreed- I am so happy we agreed! It was really such a wonderful experience to spend several hours in an Indian home and be exposed to a more personal dimension of the people working the tourism industry that we constantly encounter. He told us on the way that he had a surprise for us... when we parked in front of his place the surprise greeted us in the form of his three screaming giggling and beautiful children and all their friends. Although Debbie's deep-seated fear of lice was extremely agitated, the whole evening was really so fun for us.

The next morning we walked back to the train station to catch our 6 AM ride to Agra and see for ourselves about this whole Taj Mahal business. As it happens, we arrived on the anniversary of the death of the woman for whom it was built... in other words it was a HUGE muslim festival and there were pilgrims flocking from all over India AND it was free for the entire duration of our stay. (Normally it's 750 rupees for foreigners and 20 for Indians). OK, I really didn't expect to be at all emotionally impacted by the Taj... but something about the coexistence of its sheer enormity and minute intricacy was deeply moving for me.

At night we flew lit up kites from the roof top with the Indian family that lived next to our guesthouse, and reunited with some friends we made in Pushkar. Crap. The power died in here about 15 seconds ago and there are already beads of sweat dripping down my face.

From Agra we took an on overnight train to Varanasi. More affectionately termed in my head as 'vara-nasty'.. or even, 'VERY NASTY' depedning on my mood. But wait, I just have to tell you that I love sleeper trains. Love them. Uch they're so great. I asked Debbie if it would be appropriate to put 'sleeper trains' as my interests on facebook and she said prob unnecessary.
We took a sunset boat ride along the Ganges and watched the Brahmins performing their - FAN BACK ON- nightly rituals which was raelly fascinating. So much so that we got up at 4:45 the next morning to doit all over again with the sunrise- WOO HOOO

We also spent much of our time watching families build fires and then cremate the bodies of their loved ones on the banks of the ganges. Period.
We also met a yoga master who claimed to be able to stop his own pulse through concentration and showed us pictures of him swallowing five meters of cotton and then pulling it back out and various other nonchalant yoga practices.

OK. I'm sorry I know this getting lengthly. The thing is there's just so much more I want to share.

*skipping anecdotes to some thoughts*
I am having an experience in India that I really don't know how to apply any adjectives to. not in an 'ooo i'm so cool bc i'm in the exotic east and you wouldn't get it bc its just so esoteric' type way. Rather in a, 'shit, there's a lot going on here and i'm having a hard time working through it and dont feel so comfortable pretending i know the deal' type way. Ya know?

In no way do I wish to communicate some fabricated impression of perfection, inner peace or impending enlightenment. I have not fallen in love with Indian culture, I do not compare it wistfully to some notion of the spritually vaccuous West, and I will not return home only to berate North American commercialism and individualism as I parade around in my loose fitting Indian clothing and complain about Canadian chai.

I have been revolted to what I imagine to be my core at the oppressive displays of patriarchy and disrespect I've witnessed being directed towards Indian women and in some instances to myself. I have also been moved to audible laughter at displays of love and gentleness I've experienced from Indian men, and seen them show their grandmothers and daughters.

I have felt violated as a woman and targetted as a foreigner. I have felt protected as a woman and welcomed as a visitor. Serendipitous as it may seem, every instance of extreme negativity has been immediately followed by inspireing kindness. I suppose the pattern could be seen as progressing in the other direction, but I think I'd rather live my life with the arrows pointing this way for now at least.
And that's what I really like about India. There are 1.17 billion people and an enormous landscape. It simply cannot fit into a box. There is no box I can conceive of that is big enough. and as much as myself and the other travellers I've met have tried (and as much as I wish I didn't feel the need to try) we simply cannot label or define it. There is a popular saying here that 'not all five fingers are the same.' Even though they all come from the same place and are intimately connected, they are each manifested uniquely. Last night we were walking home and the city lost power. we felt we were being followed several times. A man drove right up to us on his motorcycle, turned off the light and grabbed my chest and then drove away. I didn't even see his face. We immediately turned into a guesthouse. The couple that owned it took us into their home, made us chai, and the gentlefaced husband tried valiantly, though unsucesfully to stop my crying. He introduced me to his mother and offered us rooms for free. Finally they sent us back to our hotel on motorcycles and made us promise to come back today and visit.

Not all five fingers are the same. I have no idea how to apply adjectives to this trip. Thanks for reading this far, and for giving me this space to write
I love you,
Amy

And please don't worry, we are being careful I promise

India Mass Email 1- July 3

Dear family and friends,
Please permit me to begin with the disclaimer that mass emails are new to me and I find them slightly awkward... if my likely disjointed recollection of the past 9 days in India is not of sincere interest to you, please by no means feel obligated to continue reading.

                                                                        * * *
If you've reached this point, it means you're on board! I do apologize that you are not each receiving your own message, but typing is stressful and computers are overwhelming and it's just really freaking hot here. I'm writing you from Pushkar, which is a small city in the State of Rajasthan celebrated by Hindus as exceptionally holy and by backpacking Israelis as so common a destination that falafels are actually on all the menus here. There are 500 temples dotting the circumference of a lake that takes 45 minutes to walk around and is now virtually empty due to lack of rain. It is famous for its "special" lassis (a yogurt type smoothie). Traversing the void of a once-lake considered so holy you have to take off your shoes to cross its bridge, I am again reminded that I have never before been so in tune with the weather as on this trip. Not only because the smoldering heat (we're talking upwards of 45 degrees) forces you to take notice, but also because the entire state is desperately awaiting the monsoon's arrival. I can definitely understand why communities so dependent on nature for survival would tend towards worship of associated deities.
Wait! Let me start from the beginning

**Interruption** the man beside me is researching "Jaipur call girls"- Jaipur is the capital of Rajasthan. Uncomfortable.
So Debbie and I met at the Delhi airport at roughly 5 AM on Thursday the 24th. After a long landing, I sprinted to the airport's bathrooms only to find a glorified hole in the ground which prepared me quickly for the weeks ahead. That morning foreshadowed a week of 5-6 AM jet lagged induced wakeups for me. Reunited and excited we began traipsing around Delhi like the naively confident tourists we were (are?). Within hours we fell victim to an elaborate, almost impressive scam. Although damaging to both our egos and our rupee supply, we were saved from much graver danger by a man named Naresh who may well have been our guardian angel. Please don't worry, we found a way out of the situation and are much more on guard (and I like to think wiser) for it. **details of scam available upon request** After the stresses of it all were relatively dealt with, we went out for drinks with him and another guy we met named Kumar (who showed us around Delhi's Hindu temples) and they showed us the beautiful India Gate lit up at night.
We stayed in Delhi until Sunday morning, and spent Shabbat at the local Chabad house. (Chabad houses are part of a Jewish outreach initiative that I find simultaneously alarming and enjoyable... but after realizing how vulnerable we were in the tourist trap area of our hostel, it was simply comforting. They fed us 3 meals and we met other travelers passing through Delhi)
3 days is far longer than many choose to stay in Delhi, largely because it is notorious for staggering pollution, a burgeoning population of the impoverished and homeless, and for scamming the shit out of India's new arrivals.
We have since been traveling through Rajasthan, which has been a wonderfully tumultuous experience. Though we have yet to head north and escape the heat, we have been fortunate enough to travel through much of this fascinating state. Memorable experiences (I hesitate to use the necessarily evaluative terms 'highlights and lowlights' since everything here is so irretrievably blurred) include an overnight camel safari in the sand dunes of a desert on the outskirts of a small village called Khuri. There we rode camels deep into the desert, passing on our way women traveling long distances in search of water, children leading their animals to drink from a small pool created by a recent rain, and peacocks-buffalo-cows-horses-goats-donkeys- and perhaps most memorably- beetles rolling camel dung along the sand. We slept amidst the dunes and watched the moon climb the rungs of the sky. I have never seen it so bright. We also visited a gorgeous little town called Mandawa where ppl live in havelis, immaculately painted mansions left behind by rich merchants who had profited immensely from the village's position on the silk route. They were mind-blowingly beautiful, and we stayed in a restored one that had been converted into a hotel for about 6 dollars each. A marriage procession passed by our hotel that night, and when I whistled to join in the excitement, the crowd literally went wild. The kids giggled and tugged at my shirt, urging me to do it again, while the men seemed to grant me nods of approval. Then the obviously beligerent brother of the groom literally dragged me into the center of the procession and I danced with them before peacing the scene for fear of the effects of an escalated drunken mob. We also went to a rat temple in Bikaner, which is a temple devoted to a Hindu God, which so happens to be inhabited by HUNDREDS...HUNDREDS of rats who never leave it. According to our guide book there has never been in incident of disease there in over 600 years. It was such a shock to our conventional notion of places of worship, and I found that surprise to be fabulously hilarious.
Pause- I know this is getting lengthly... I'm providing you with another exit point- Last chance to abandon ship.
There are many more anecdotes which I'd love to share, but I think I'll opt for some reflection now instead. I came into this trip with literally no concept of what I was getting myself into. I feared the heat (intense but bearable) and pooing in my pants (stomach turns out to be a huge team player so far). Really, I am being unabashedly honest when I tell you that my only reason for coming was for the experience, whatever it may be, and to hang with Deb... granted, depending on who was asking my response sometimes included an interest prompted by my religious studies major, but I think I fabricated its role in my motivation. For the first several days I periodically found myself asking Debbie what the hell I'm doing here. I still dont know, but I am doing a lot of laughing and am no longer consumed by the question. We are both working towards, in our own ways, letting go of our egos at least a bit (PLEASE) and just not taking ourselves, this trip, or its implicit spiritual quest too seriously. So far that strategy is working out great. :)

We are getting along very well, drinking lots of water, taking lots of pictures (posted an album on facebook, for those who are interested), covering our heads from the sun, meeting lots of people and really just doing lots of happy hanging. We have certainly encountered some obstacles in these short-but-incredibly-long 9 days, but we're working on letting go of their hold over us... wish us luck?
I sincerely hope this email finds you all well. I would really love to hear from each of you, even if only a quick message about where you're at. Thank you so much for taking the time to share this absurd journey with me... I'll write again after a reasonable length of time passes- I suppose when that might be is entirely unpredictable. :)

With love until then and always,
Amy
ps hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii