orlando, florida - february 23, 2007

it's bobo's birthday. none of you reading this will know who bobo is, but i do and i needed to get that out.

happy birthday, bobo!

this will be my last post to this blog. it's served its purpose. and i can hear my voice again, calling me. calling you, too, so you can look for me here. (that's a link, btw, for those who've been wondering....)

but by way of transition, here's something that emerged while i was trying just to write a straightforward e-mail to one o' dem types we sometimes call a best friend about my arrival in disneyworld...i mean, orlando:

or LAN dough

how weird is it to be
in suburban orlando
behind a gate with a manufacturer's label
'timber isle'
but there is no isle with timber
and the closest grocery store is a wal-mart
and if you listen real close
you can hear the waltons
wishing themselves
a financially good night

tricia is learning how to play the electric guitar in the living room
which has something to do with poetry
and jigsaw puzzles
and girl guides earning science badges
and what does "digital" mean, anyway?
or so she asks
while i print a banana walnut bread recipe
'cause we have overripe bananas
and too much spare time
even though the spare is flat
and we're kind of bumping along
and pretending it's just the uneven road
which it is
but not just

some inflation required
our boxes should read

[breathe]

so i can thank you
for taking care of yourself
and turning into the wind and spray
thrown up by your prow
plowing through fear's dark harbour

that
i mean this
is what it feels like
to throw open your arms
to hold the hazy wraith of disappointment
'cause nobody who loves you
and i mean you
will walk away

waterlemon joice, or the day a leaf insect flew into my startled hand, regained its composure and tasted my olive oil - february 9, 2007

an impression of india (not the greatest or the first or the last, but one of them): so many dogs with testicles

i've been in auroville since january 28. it was (and remains) intended to be a city of 50,000 aspiring towards the ideal of human unity, but after 40 years, remains a loosely-knit aggregation of 1800 people (in peak, winter season) in several, small strung-out communities. one needs transportation. i chose a low-tech push-bike (there are no hi-tech push-bikes to rent).

yes. i've been a cyclist for almost 2 weeks and will forever appreciate what those who choose to cycle in the western world must go through, though the traffic here is less dense than it is manic and unpredictable, there being no real rules of the road beyond the murky basis of the honking system. i inhale lots of dust, fumes and bugs. i brake for cows, goats and children, sometimes all at once. i pull over and stop for buses. i do not have a butt of steel, but as la mophead reminded me today, my butt is perfect, so what am i talking about?

the scene: "rush hour" in the village of kuillapalayam as i return a la bicyclette to my little flat in the aurovillian community of douceur. i am irritated. momentarily. really fleeting. but it's enough. i am irritated because i am having to move extremely slowly. i am stuck behind another, very slow-moving cyclist because oncoming traffic is too thick and dangerous. why is the cyclist moving slowly during rush hour? well, she's a village woman wearing a dark blue sari. and she has a load of firewood 4 feet wide and 2 feet in diameter strapped to the back of her bicycle. and after having got up early in the morning to cook, feed, wash clothes, sweep and maybe even work (which may involve carrying dirt or cement in a basket on her head) she is probably going home to use the firewood to cook supper for her family. then she will get up in the morning and do it all over again.

wash. rinse. repeat.

the highlight of my time here has been the gift of learning from a remarkable, originally north american woman now named bhavana, to whom i was introduced during the 5-day orientation last week. she joined auroville in 1971 when she was 27 after her psychedelic experiences opened up her consciousness. at that time, auroville was little more than an arid plain, still at serious risk of desertification after the british cut down all of the forest 300-400 years before. although she had no previous bovine experience, she was invited to milk and care for some cows. she accepted and was lodged in the cow barn with a bed and a mosquito net in a stall next to the ruminating creatures. (NB: amma also was initially lodged in a cowshed, which remains on her ashram as the kilara temple in which puja is performed every morning at 5am).

bhavana chose simplicity. she lives in a small, domed, single room. it contains a bed, some bookshelves and 2 chairs. the north wall is a huge bug screen with a door. bhavana leads vipassana and metta meditations. she also leads work in "village action", involving herself in developing relationships with the many villages that are either nearby, or in some cases surrounded by auroville. i have been meditating regularly with her, getting up at 4:30am to cycle for 3o minutes from douceur to verite (gentleness to truth...no less) for the daily morning meditation at 6am. then i join the savitri reading group (savitri is sri aurobindo's epic poem--the longest in the english language--and has been called the clearest expression of his vision) from 7-8am. then i scrounge for breakfast and get on with my day.

last tuesday, i had the opportunity to experience bhavana's class, "auroville, villages & human unity". we visited the village of sanjeevinagar and the mohanam culture centre, which is a 90-year-old tamil house that, through the joyful effort of 11 local boys (they are now young men, some of them just married), was reclaimed and restored. it now serves as a kind of living museum and a creche for local children.

(sidenote: we were told that mohini, from which the centre's name derives, is the name of the female incarnation of vishnu, who took that form in order to become the consort of shiva and bear shiva's child)

although some villagers are now living in sturdy, stuccoed homes, many also continue in their ancient, traditional mud and palm-thatch huts, which is all that sanjeevinagar was when bhavana arrived 35 years ago. many of these people are existing at essentially pre-rational survival level, in very tightly nit, complex, blood-based kinship units and are very quick to anger when novelty arises. aurovillians are here to move from the rational, ego-bound mental level, to the transmental (or "supramental" in aurobindo's language).

but i've lost the plot (low blood sugar).....it happens. but i'm sure you've all figured it out anyway.

let's just say that watching my irritation while riding a bicycle behind a hard-working village woman was a moment of absolute clarity.

and it occurred the day i was returning from the village....on my way to spend two nights in the uber-swank dune village beach resort, right in the small village of pudhukuppam 10 km north of auroville, where the universe opened up an opportunity in late january into which i flung myself. i had to pay, in advance. non-refundable.

so i did my best to soak up the leisure of the "beach house", the unit closest to the beach and as far away from anyone as i could get. what luck! my w.c. was at the end of a concrete bridge opposite the louvered-shutter bedroom. the al-fresco shower was in a separate, open but thatched structure surrounded by a spiral bamboo wall. the food was truly spectacular, much of it organic, hypotoxic. i walked on the beach, consenting to be licked by the soup-warm bay of bengal and collected seashells, which i haven't done since i was a child.

now i'm back in auroville, trying to stay present, though i will be flying back to north america in 2 days.

yes, y'all read that correctly. after 6 1/2 months, it's time to touch base with the western world, but being far too cold, no time to return to calgary just yet.

i fly from chennai on february 11 and arrive mid-day in vancouver on february 12. i'll spend 4 days there adjusting my wardrobe, shedding some luggage, hugging dallas and then move to orlando on february 16. how long i'll remain there, i don't know. i'm floating in intense gratitude for the invitation from tricia for the invitation to stay with her indefinitely. (circumstances required a practical shift from our desire to meet in southeast asia).

so the next time you here from me, i'll be in a timezone closer to you.

stay tuned for details.

indian express - january 24, 2007

from page 9 of the Indian Express (January 24, 2007, edition), tortured syntax entirely intact:

Bhadohi (UP): A man, who buried himself in a grave, had to be forcibly taken out by the local people after 12 hours, in Bhadohi district of Uttar Pradesh. According to sources, Mohammed Idris, a native of Bareilly, had buried himself alive at a graveyard at 'Shahar' Konwali area on Monday, as he wanted to have an experience of "death." The news spread like wildfire and a large number of people gathered near the spot and took Idris out alive of the grave.

[btw, if you check the "breaking news" on the front page of the website, you'll see that "Canadian Pig Farmer Denies Murder Claims". my first "news" from Canada since i left! glory!]

streaks, tips & highlights - january 23, 2007

yes. i know.

when last heard from, your less-than-reliable correspondent was contemplating, with some trepidation, an overnight bus trip from Goa to Hampi. the trip to Hampi wasn't so terrible, though i got little sleep: i was in a comfy, reclining seat next to the second-most beautiful man i've ever met (the most beautiful man knows who he is and needn't be mentioned here by name). although before we spoke to one another, i thought he was french or belgian, he was in fact, from newmarket, ontario, having moved to montreal when he was 18.

Hampi itself was very pink and dusty and full of banana plantations and weird bouldered hills. after 2 days of roaming among the ruined temples and palaces i was, frankly, ruined, which made the horror of the return to Goa even more spectacular: i was trapped, between the window and a young japanese woman, in a coffin-like upper "sleeper" berth with no ability to sit up for 10 hours, no sleep and little opportunity for proper leverage in the event of a need to roll over. the result: the second set of lower back spasms since leaving canada.

after encouragement from my friends, Toni and Clasina (from the child haven tour), i headed straight from Goa to Amma's ashram at Amritapuri on january 6. although they gushed about the fantastic "essence chiropractor", Ganganath, they doubted that i would get to see him since he was "blocked solid". the universe works in magical ways, however, and his schedule offered an appointment the next day. i can't explain his technique, or how gentle it was, but it was remarkably effective. was there a possibility of follow-up? why yes! indeed. and when would that be? on january 11, (a) the day after my friends were to leave the ashram (the thought of being there alone was terrifying) and (b) the day Amma was scheduled to return to the ashram for 10 days before commencing her south india tour, a tour that would end the day my indian visa expires and i would be required to leave the country.

so, you can see how forces were massaging me into place for a meeting with Amma in order to experience her darshan, in which i would receive a hug and perhaps see fireworks or know that i was meant to become a devotee. at the very least, i would be embraced by a living saint. i don't say that lightly, btw--she's an extraordinary being in every respect. to put her in perspective, when a guru has attained the scope and stature of Amma (e.g.Sathya Sai Baba), darshan, which literally means "vision" or "to see", means just that: you get to see the guru, maybe from a considerable distance. Amma hugs everyone who comes to her, an unbelievable feat. she is tireless in her effort. think about a simple woman from a small Keralan village physically embracing everyone, male and female, from the around the world, who comes before her. think about it.

i stuck it out. i lingered in a bizarro world populated by so many people wearing white. i felt like an alien who'd left his home planet headed for earth, but who drifted wildly off course and landed in a COMPLETELY alien world that had nevered been scanned by his home planet sensors. what was even more bizarre was the slippage between the intention of the whites--e.g. purity and letting go of worldly attachments and desires--and the reality of the whites--some people in the very simple, plain cotton stuff available in the ashram, and others in an entire array of varying styles, ornamentation and price tags. the westerners rarely seemed to mix with the indians.

bizarre. bizarre. bizarre.

i volunteered. i was the "supervisor" (giggle) of the western canteen dish-drying at lunch, where i was overwhelmed with help from really lovely people, though i could still not get used to the adoption of indian spiritual names by inescapably white westerners. i also served dinner in the evening under the supervision of a super-cool and super-beautiful queer woman from the U.S. seeing her out of her blue server apron, drifting along the walkways of the ashram in her flowing (but simple) white sari always made me smile.

i was also blessed by the brief (until i left) friendship of yet another beautiful young scandinavian woman, Anu, from Finland. she was a tremendous teacher and i'm so grateful for the opportunity to have learned with her to laugh at our freedom and the remnants of our attachments.

so....i received my hug from Amma on january 13. it lasted about 3 seconds and is a real, full-on body embrace. any of you who have read Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald will know what i'm talking about. it almost made me giggle when she murmured "ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma...." in my right ear as i was clasped to her ample bosom, followed by something incomprehensible, which i assume was something in her native Malayalam. there was no indication of "recognition", no fireworks, no moment of brilliant clarity during or afterward. however, as i walked away from the experience, i felt a kind of release. it doesn't matter whether it was Amma or me, because there is no meaningful distinction between us in this context. but i felt free to leave and to continue my exploration. this sense of freedom was significant: i had considered the possibility of remaining in Amritapuri until february 11 and seeing no more of india. i contemplated the possibility that it might be time for me to renounce the world and dive into a spiritual relationship with Amma as my guru.

but no. not yet, anyway.

so on january 16, 10 days after arriving, i went to Fort Cochin, about three hours north of the ashram, but still in Kerala. Fort Cochin is the old dutch and portuguese part of the otherwise bustling metropolis of Kochi, most of which is on the mainland across the wide expanse of the Kerala backwaters (everyone: please read The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy). in kochi, i stayed at a really beautiful homestay, called Delight. the owners, David and Flowery (yes, you read that correctly) were wonderfully kind and generous. their house, the dining room and common room of which were open to guests, is a 300-year-old portuguese mansion with 15-foot ceilings and 2-foot thick walls. the rooms were beautiful. (i admit to treating myself a bit here.....). while enjoying the really laid-back lifestyle and the friendly people, i experienced the incredibly weird world of kathakali dance and a full-day, eco-friendly backwaters cruise. the "eco-friendly" part was primarily due to the absence of a motor on the boat, which was punted with spectacular patience and momentum by a wiry little man who left me feeling withered and useless after about 2 hours. what the others on the cruise experienced, i don't know, but gawping at life along the backwaters eventually seemed a little.....unseemly. i was glad when it was over.

kerala also gave me the opportunity to wear a lunghi (or dhoti as it's called in some parts of india) as often as conveniently possible. yay for men in skirts!

on january 21, i flew from Kochi to Chennai and made my way immediately to Pondicherry, about two hours south (by car). i wasn't aware that the French had much of a presence in India, but Pondicherry is the former capital of French India and bears an unmistakable gallic imprint, including the neatly laid out grid of french-named streets with a central (and now completely foul) canal. in pondi, i've indulged my comfort on an even grander scale, though i'm still in a skirt. i wanted to stay in one of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram guesthouses, but they are completely full, so i opted for the opulence of the Hotel de l'Orient. (i move to less extravagant digs tomorrow morning...)

yesterday, i took what i thought was going to be a tour of the ashram in the morning, but it consisted only of a disturbing, 1960-ish video of the life of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother in the Bureau Central, then a series of stops at the various cottage industries in which the ashram offers opportunities for people to work (papermaking, silk-printing, scent-making), all of which are sold all over Pondicherry. i was disappointed that it was a shopping excursion.

in the afternoon, i took the Auroville tour. Auroville excites me. i can't really say anything about it. i'm that excited. i've been able to secure accommodation there for 10 days commencing january 28. i've timed it for a 5-day orientation to life in this beautiful, experimental community.

(met a cool environmental scientist/photo-journalist from Nairobi, Kenya, on the Auroville tour: Neil Thomas.)

(oh, and hoping to go to a "trance drumming" concert, "Tamil Voodoo", at a resort north of here on jan 26)

looking ahead (from which i can't seem to find the will to cease), i will come back to Pondicherry after Auroville and then fly from Chennai to Singapore on february 10. what my time in southeast asia will look like, i don't know. all i know is that Tricia (in Orlando) is making every effort to meet me in Thailand or Cambodia. can you say "scuba-diving and temple-browsing with tricia"?

sure you can.

i knew you could.

so that's what's been up with me.

[i can tell by reviewing this post that my dexterity with the english language is stiffening up. although i confess to writing that sentence primarily to use the word "stiffening".]

frequency modulation - january 2, 2007

leaving the 2 portions of my perforated NYE ticket intact, i declined the opportunity to communally welcome the so-called new year as much from a disinclination to mingle with strangers in the clamour and clang of poorly executed music (though "executed" is entirely apt) that continued until 4am, as from a very real sense of the slipperiness of time. this sense emerged from my awareness that, for most (all, really) of the people i love, their welcome would necessarily follow mine through the exigencies of longitude.

i was embarrassed, once again, by time.

my embarassment melted into my unique brand of compulsive despair, through which i pushed with my first truly "western" television experience since leaving canada: i watched most of collateral (tom cruise, jamie foxx, jada pinkett-smith) on HBO. i missed only the most superficially significant portion, that being anne's soliloquy from the rear seat of max's cab on her experience of the practice of law. (of course, the less superficially significant message of following through toward one's life aim--by improvisation, movement, change--i caught singlehandedly...once again.)

so NYE 2006 was, viewed from this perspective, a dramatic success

i leave colva beach tonight for a 10-hour, overnight bus ride to hampi (vijayanagar) in karnataka. i've roughly sketched my approach to the widely-scattered ruins according to my arrival and departure times in relation to the sunset and sunrise. (especially as one ages, proper lighting is essential.)

random pointmoment in spacetime....

...a modification to my expressed hope for posthumous dispersal: when sprinkling my ashes--and please do sprinkle, as scattering is far too solemn--please divide them more or less evenly between brad pitt and john abraham. (enough of the old black & white shit.)

we pause now for station identification

colva beach, south goa - december 31, 2006

perhaps because it felt like my "new year" began when i left canada on july 31, exactly 5 months ago, i arrived in the beach party capital of india this afternoon with little more than a slight gust of exhaustion.

i overcame my instinct to hide in my room and walked down the beach while the sun was setting. the beach was packed where i entered it, mostly with indians. i was beset by young indian men wanting me to rent bikes, jet skis and a para-sailing experience. i walked as far down the beach as possible and smiled alot at the unfamiliar way in which indian families enjoy a day at the beach. on the way back, i spotted a clump of human feces in the sand.

but the sun setting beyond the arabian sea and the few fishing boats floating just offshore was spectacular.

colva beach is in south goa, close to margao, from where i hope to catch a train to hampi on wednesday (jan 3). yes, i already can't wait to get out of here. way too many people on the weirdest night of the year. as part of the package i purchased through the travel agent in delhi, i was compelled to pay 2000 rupees (about $50) for a NYE bash at the Hotel Silver Sands Beach Resort.

i want to hide in my room. instead, i'm hiding in an internet cafe. it's now 6:45pm. the festivities start anywhere between 8 and 9pm. really. what was i thinking? if i knew (and trusted) anyone here, i'd be seeking out a psy-trance beach party, but i think they tend to occur in north goa. just as well.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE!

pushkar, rajasthan - december 26, 2006

weird things happen in india.

truly.

like oddly grand hotels on the edge of Pushkar, where i arrived about 2 hours ago from Jaipur. i did not expect the luxury of the Hotel Master Paradise given the relative shabbiness of the Hotel Residency Inn that i found myself holed up in in Jaipur last night (that would be christmas night, btw).

Pushkar is the site of a lake created by Brahma and literally means "flower hand", meaning that it was created when Brahma dropped from his hand a lotus (one of of three) on the desert floor and up sprang (sprung?) a lake. Pushkar is home to the only temple to Brahma in the world. within the holarchy of the non-dual, transcendent, immanent, transpersonal, universal infinity of Brahman, the Hindu trinity, or Trimurti, of Brahma (creative force), Vishnu (preserving force) and Shiva (destructive force) has captured my attention and a good deal of my spiritual interest in the last two years. i really had no intention of coming to Pushkar. it just kind of happened. and tomorrow morning, a brahmin priest (pandit) will perform a puja for my dead parents. somehow when the subject came up yesterday while driving between Agra and Jaipur, i experienced only a moment's hesitation before saying "yes, i'd like a puja performed for my parents". of course, there will be a cost. it costs a Hindu family to have a pandit perform the puja. and if there's something in it for my driver, Ashok Kr. Gautam (!), who's been wonderful, so be it. he has 3 daughters to marry off. very expensive in this culture.

anyway. here i am in this gorgeous Hindu pilgrimage site, on the eve of a puja for my parents with a brahmin priest, after which, i will enjoy a 2-hour camel ride in this afghanistan-meets-okanagan environment.

stupefying.

and despite the hordes of (mostly indian) tourists and the hour-long queue on christmas eve day, the Taj Mahal is truly breathtaking. it was unfortunate that time prevented us from visiting Agra Fort, but we were able to be at the Taj while the sun set.

magnificent.

(by "we" i mean me and The World's Cutest Guide Ever, Pawan Singh--aka Nick--a 22-year-old dynamo studying spanish at delhi university in order to find a niche acting a s a guide for the spanish and south american market. i learned a great deal about the importance of succeeding at what you want to do. ahem. and, yes. yet another crush.)

with the help of the owner of the Hotel Residency Inn last night when i called home to convey my holiday greetings and then tried to make a hotel booking for december 28-31, i now have a reservation at the Hotel Classic in Aurangabad. this task required two calls to Aurangabad, which prompted the owner to ask why i was going there since not many tourists do. in turn, the older gentleman who had checked me in asked if i was a writer, and smiled, and when i waffled, he said "you're lucky", by which i understood him to mean that i am lucky to be a writer. this is the second time in india (the first being in a shop in Chennai) when i have been identified as a writer by an indian who seems to know something i don't.

i wasn't going to tell this story or mention Chennai, but after arriving in Pushkar, etc.--see above re the puja for the parents--i'm beginning to have a different experience of....something. i'm not sure what that is.

back to our main story.....

when i had to call the Hotel Classic back because (a) the connection was crackling and (b) i had trouble deciphering the accent of the clerk underneath the crackling, the owner came to my rescue, communicated my needs, obtained the tariff information for me and the hotel's bank account information, into which i was to desposit 1000 rupees. the owner even filled out the deposit slip for me, which he oddly had on hand. "the bank will open tomorrow morning at 9am," he told me. although i pondered the possibility that this was some scam to bilk me out of 1000 rupees, it occurred to me that the reputation of the hotel would be worth more than that, especially when in return for the favour, the owner asked for a favourable recommendation to Lonely Planet. once again, i trusted that i wasn't being led astray.

when Ashok arrived at 8am to pick me up for the day's sightseeing in Jaipur (Hawa Mahal or "Palace of Winds", Amber Fort and Jantar Mantar), he nervously asked if it was ok to take care of some business: he needed to deposit some money into his account in order for his wife to pay his cell phone bill or his service would end today. guess where he needed to make the deposit? yep. at the very same bank (ICICI) where i needed to make my deposit for the Hotel Classic, so no special trip was needed for me AND the bank was already open at 8am. in fact, Ashok took care of both pieces of banking business and provided me with the receipt i need once i get to Aurangabad and check into the hotel. he also allowed me to call the hotel on his cell to confirm the details of my arrival and the deposit of the money.

brilliant.

almost at Pushkar, Ashok (whose father is buddhist and mother is hindu), remarked on one of his favourite songs, which he began to talk about by explaining the three words of the title, Satyam Sivam Sundaram. when i remarked that one of my favourite songs at home (in fact, it's on my iPod) bears the same title, he played it for me.

same song. different singer. same song.

i feel right.

but weird things happen in india.