Tag: spirituality

  • Reflections on a Birthday: Wandering, Searching, & Answering the Call

    Yesterday, I turned 24.

    The past year has been anything but boring as vagabonded my way from Europe to Africa to the U.S. and back, teaching yoga, doing marketing, starting work at elephant journal and publishing over 100 pieces of writing along the way.

    Some of it I’ve written about here; much of it I haven’t. I’m committed to keeping this a travel blog only, and so today, that’s what I’d like to focus my birthday reflections on: this journey.

    A little over a year ago, I decided to go on a vision quest—four hungry days and nights alone in the Vermont wilderness.

    I was looking for something… I didn’t find it.

    I found nothing, in fact, save for a few lovely dragonflies, ducks, and one very long, very cold night stranded beneath the stars.

    Traveling—maybe—is a little bit like that.

    First, we answer the call. Second, we set out into the unknown. And third… third maybe we bring back nothing from our journey. What then?

    As I’ve written before, I’m not searching for [fill in the blank], and so it’s very unlikely that I’ll find “it” anytime soon. And sometimes I find myself stranded beneath those metaphorical stars—cold, hungry or lost… or all three!—and I wonder how the hell I ended up there. What crazy, impulsive, excellent decision got me there?

    But it’s always the right place.

    The stars never wonder why I’m there; they know, and at least that’s one of us.

    You see, I have a philosophy I love about journeys, choices and life, and it basically goes like this:

    Each of our lives is like a forest, or a valley, a mountain a desert, etc—it doesn’t matter—absolutely covered in paths.

    When we look around, we see all of those paths—infinite options, possibilities—choices to be made.

    But when we look behind us, we see only one path—our footsteps in the sand, tracks through the woods, etc—our path.

    That path—our path—is the only path we could have walked, because it is the one we have walked. And each choice we make—once it is made—is the only choice we could have made, because there it is behind us—another footprint, another step on our path—past.

    We answer the call; we make our choices. 


    I find this outlook deceptively simple, quite practical and deeply compelling. Maybe you will too.
    When I look at the year behind me, I see each step that has brought me to this place (a cozy couch in London, England at this particular moment). I regard that winding journey without regret and with no small measure of appreciation, for without it I would not be here—the only place I could possibly be.

    When I look at the year ahead, well, I do so with butterflies in my stomach and wings on my heels, because the forest is so vast—the paths so numerous—that I can take in but a fraction of it at a time.

    And that is every life—not only mine. Every year, every birthday, every moment and every step.

    I believe that, and the stars agree.

    Thank you for being a part of this journey—as a reader, a friend, a star, or all three!

    ***
  • When the Power Goes Out (a poem for quiet moments)

    When the Power Goes Out (a poem for quiet moments)

    I wrote this during one of Kenya’s (frequent, albeit brief) power outages. Though inconvenient, I find they can offer some much-needed respite from the constant activity that light, connectivity and music demand. They leave a bit of space for reflection…

    When the Power Goes Out: Quiet

    When the power goes out,
    I return home to pen and paper
    and write by the glow of a single
    (electronic) lantern on the bar.
    When the power goes out,
    the hum of never-ending action pauses,
    and I can hear the wind in the leaves
    and the whine of mosquitoes—
    Magic stillness.
    When the power goes out,
    Quiet touches the darkness
    with its fingertips
    and wraps around my mind.
    When the power goes out,
    I take a deep breath,
    wonder—for a moment—what to do,
    And smile.

    Power outages, delays, mistakes… so many blessings in disguise. Don’t you think?

  • I Went on a Vision Quest and All I Brought Back Was…

    At exactly 3:00pm today, I passed the “Town of Middlebury” sign on Route 7.
    I’m back.
    Though it will be days, weeks, or perhaps months before I begin to understand the last ten days, I wanted to share with you my first impressions. A selection (hodge podge) of thoughts and verses from my journal. Some spiritual, but more not.
    I will be recording more organized second, third and fourth impressions in the coming weeks, but I think this might actually provide a more visceral glimpse of my experience.
    I could sum it up by saying nothing happened. Or everything happened. Reality is probably somewhere in between. But I would rather share the journey…
    On Wednesday, September 17, the night before my departure, it takes me hours to fall asleep. Hours upon hours upon hours.
    Thursday, September 18
    I am searching for the cause of my searching.
    Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt made guest appearances in my dream. Really?
    Friday, September 19
    It is becoming clear that I brought far too many books to fill very little down time. (I packed a stack of ten…)
    Saturday, September 20
    I have decided to leave behind my camera (Sorry, that does mean no pictures), and my yoga mat. I have a feeling I won’t need them…
    I am leaving behind the known. Soon I will begin (or continue!) to walk my path into being. Yes!
    Sunday, September 21
    Today, I found my place of power (location for my solo time: 4 days and 4 nights). I hope. It is a solid 45 minutes, maybe more, from base camp… a little bit apprehensive about the walk out after four days of fasting. Close to the shore (Lake Sommerset, Southern VT), but back into the woods a little ways, and in a lovely circle of young trees that sing back to the wind.
    [Frog is making me laugh, trying to be so stealthy as he walks past my sleeping bag.]
    Today is Monday, September 22
    How many kinds of blue have passed before my eyes today, rippling across the lake? Could I name them all? Aquamarine. Periwinkle. Turquoise. Navy. Sky reflected in lake blue. Blue within and upon blue. What do we call that? Sky blue. Royal blue. Midnight blue. Blue that flutters in the wind. Blue that reaches beneath the surface. Blue that reflects a sudden bit of sunlight and sparkles. Do we have names for so many kinds of blue?
    Broken trees and branches are guiding me through the woods today.
    Sometime this afternoon it hit me: Shit, days are really long.
    Today is Tuesday, September 23
    I just spent the entire morning doing absolutely nothing. I’ve been lying on the rocks trying to take in as much sun as possible. The sun is hot, but the air is cold—I’ve had to keep rotating to keep warm. I feel no desire to do any ritual right now, no restlessness… I could do with a slightly more comfortable “do nothing” spot, though.
    No matter what, I’m telling myself, I will come out of this stronger, and knowing myself better—for that alone it will be worthwhile.
    [I’m hungry at this moment.]
    The sun may not have set yet, but I am ready for bed, and to move on to the next day. I let my stomach know that we still had 2.5 more days until food—best not to dwell on it.
    Waiting for Dusk
    As the water turns from shimmering teal to gray,
    And the last drops of sunlight fade from sight,
    I am here, waiting for dusk.
    She gathers herself—slowly, slowly—
    One wispy purple shroud at a time,
    Like the longest dimmer in the world, lowered without haste.
    And still I am here, waiting for dusk.
    The wind never tires, but my body asks for rest;
    The birds chatter on, and the flies collect around my tarp—
    The sky holds on stubbornly to blue,
    As I rest here, waiting for dusk.
    [Definitely still hungry. Dreaming about breakfast Saturday morning!]
    Today is Wednesday, September 24
    When I finally rise, the sun is already high in the sky, and the last wisps of fog glide silently across the water until they vanish. Soon, they will be only a ghostly memory. Now, the lake is a perfect mirror with foggy edges, and the grass along the shore sparkles with dew, iridescent.
    I have never felt so much doubt. I don’t feel any different; still have no idea why I’m here, what I’m trying to find. My mind holds on stubbornly, along with my stomach, to normalcy.
    My journey thus far, from Mother Earth’s perspective (abridged)
    I saw here wandering through my forest, so lost.
    I heard her cry out for guidance, but she will find her way.
    I listened as she lamented her doubt, her lost-ness to Tree, to Rock and to Lake.
    The brown leaves on which she sat carried them to me.
    I heard, but I did not answer…
    Maybe I will appear to her in spectacular fashion. Maybe not.
    This journey she finds herself on—the truth and vision and clarity she seeks—
    Well, it is all within her, and I can only play a supporting role.
    When she learns this, she will be ready to meet me.
    For then, it will no longer matter.
    Today is Thursday, September 25 (Last day of solo time)
    I want a fucking steak.
    (On the last night of a quest, many people choose to stay up from sundown to sunrise in something called a purpose circle. Inadvertently marooned on my chosen spot, far from my sleeping bag and other gear, I managed to stay up all night. Not because I wanted to in the end, but because I couldn’t make it back in the dark, and because I would have turned into a popsicle if I didn’t keep moving!)
    On the night of Friday, September 26, back in my tent and with food in my belly, I wrote this about the experience:
    The Darkest Night
    Strange calls rise up across the water, break this eternal quiet.
    A faint light hums at the horizon, taunting me with the thought of dawn, but that is far away still.
    There is no moon, this night.
    There is no rest, this night. No respite in sight.
    Icy dew falls heavy upon the earth, chills me to the bone.
    Geese honk through the sky, in a hurry to get where they’re going.
    I, too, am desperate to return.
    I, too, have called, unanswered, too long. Slowly my voice fades from song.
    I know there will be no more fire, this night.
    Any warmth must be my own.
    This is the darkest night, and nothing will break it but dawn.
    But I don’t see that Light has been there all along,
    Because it was right before my own eyes.

     I don’t know exactly what I learned or what I am bringing back from my time away, but I intend to find out.
    ~

  • Why I am Doing a Vision Quest

    (This article was originally published here at elephant journal. I decided I wanted to share it on this blog, too.) It’s just settling in that I am leaving to do this tomorrow…

    On the 18th of September, I will leave Middlebury for 10 days, 4 of which I will spend on a solo fast.

    I have decided to do a vision quest.

    Anthropologists coined the term “vision quest” to describe a particular Native American rite of passage. The practice of going alone into nature, fasting, and seeking vision, insight or clarity.

    However, this practice is ubiquitous across human histories and beliefs. Jesus, Moses, and Siddhartha Gautama all completed “vision quests” of a sort. I’m not trying to say I’m like any of them, of course. My point is this: such a tradition has roots in so many groups and cultures, and belongs to none.

    The program I have chosen to participate in strikes me as an archetypal rite of passage, following the classic anthropological characterization. There is a beginning (“severance”), a middle (“threshold” or “liminality”), and an end (“reincorporation”). There are, additionally, a fast and a period of isolation. The form, meaning and context of the ritual, however, depend on the individual.

    The vision quest has a rich and varied history. Still, I find myself sheepishly telling some that I am “going camping” for 10 days. Others, I know will understand and support my intention immediately. And some, upon hearing my real plans, ask, “Why the hell would you want to do that?” An answer is never quick to reach my lips.

    And so, I am sharing this letter of intent (requested by my program) for the first and the last category of people. For those whom I have not had the courage to tell, and for those who have not understood. Because I am proud of myself for choosing to embark on a journey that twines with the sacred and echoes across time. I want those people, and others like them, to understand why.

    I want to do a vision quest because the prospect of going alone into nature, facing my fears, finding my path, and meeting my deepest self appeals to me on a primal level.

    I feel that I am at a moment of deep transition. I have recently graduated from college, and stand with one foot through the door to the rest of my life. Not just the physical trappings, but also the emotional, metaphysical, and spiritual material of my life seem to be hovering in limbo.

    I would argue, too, that physically the last 23 years have comprised a prolonged transition from total protection and dependence to total self-sufficiency. These shifts call for ritual. I believe we need ritual and ceremony to mark significant passages, and I have chosen that which speaks to my Truth.
    I see my preparation for this journey as an opportunity to articulate for myself and for others the kind of transition I hope to undergo.

    I want to bury frivolity, selfishness and vanity. That is not to say I wish to let go of levity—the six-year-old girl who laughs unstoppably at silly jokes and chases after bubbles can stay. That is also not to say I wish to part with confidence, for that is possibly the greatest strength I possess.

    The 18-year-old woman who tested her power at the expense of others can stay in the past, though. So too can my high school make-up and gratuitous “selfies.” The pride that stops 22-year-old me from asking for help or accepting criticism may stay behind as well.

    Every coin has two sides. I would like to exchange frivolity for meaning, selfishness for generosity, and vanity for humility. I want to discover the outlines, the shadow, even, of the path I am on—the underlying purpose of my actions, choices, and the work I find myself doing. I want to explore the gifts I have not had the chance to cultivate, and then I want to share them with those who might benefit. Finally, I hope to do this for the right reasons, to avoid both praise and confrontation. I intend to return quietly, with grace.

    Moreover, I invite an abundance of joy, laughter, adventure, magic, spirit and stardust into my life. I wish my journey to be a never-ending pursuit of these things.

    Now the hard part. What obstacles block me? What do I really fear? I am afraid I don’t know my weaknesses. I don’t know what I really fear. That in of itself seems a major lacking of knowledge. I cannot fully know myself without it. Maybe it is dangerous to wish for, but I hope to find my fears while I am alone. Until I know what they are, I can’t confront them. Until I know what they are, I can’t defeat them. I am, undeniably, afraid to find out.

    Lastly, my strength. It flows from water. From the moon. From the earth and the stars. I do not connect with these sources often enough. That is, to end where I began, I do not spend enough time alone in Nature. When I stop to listen, though, the wind whispers secrets in my ears. The trees teach me to grow roots. The birds teach me to grow wings. The earth sets a rhythm for my heart to follow, and the rivers sing as they flow through my hair. They know why I am drawn to do this. I want to do a vision quest so they can tell me too.

    ~
    I will, clearly, be mostly ‘off the grid’ for the next ten days. I look forward to sharing some of my experiences when I return.

  • Escape to Paradise


    The universe provides. Yes, she really does, and I will explain the recent series of events that have bolstered my belief in that statement.  Three days ago I woke up at the Golden Fisth Guesthouse in Siem Reap, the developing Cambodian town twelve kilometers from Angkor Wat.  The temple ruins were as spectacular as I had hoped, with the murmurs of history humming beneath every stone, and I had spent two days biking back and forth to visit them.  I had also spent an enjoyable couple of evenings at the Angkor What? Bar with some new friends. In short, now I was ready to leave.
    I packed my bag (a process that has shortened from thirty minutes to ten), checked out, and spent a while deciding where I wanted to go next.  The boat to Battambang, a pretty colonial town a few hours downriver and one of my potential stops, had already left. Not wanting to waste a day, I bought a ticket to Sihanoukville instead and spent a decently comfortable night’s sleep on the ten hour bus to the coast.  In the interim, I began to hear rumors that Sihanoukville—praised for its pristine beaches and calm atmosphere—had been ruined by an excess of parties, neon paint, construction, loud music and loud tourists… exactly what I was not looking for.
    I arrived at 7am and set out on foot for town, as per usual, stubbornly ignoring the tuk tuk drivers’ warnings that it was eight kilometers away. Eight means four, generally, which is manageable.  I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, because after well over an hour I arrived not at the beach, but at the port.  It is a large, dirty collection of warehouses, smog, street food I don’t want any part in, construction, and minimal signage.  Frustrated and unwilling to retrace my steps, I formed a plan B.  Maybe I shouldn’t be stopping in Sihanoukville at all, I thought.  Maybe this means I should be continuing straight to the islands, said to be some of Southeast Asia’s finest.
    I found my way to the passenger ferry area where a few tourists from the Czech Republic were waiting.
                “Where are you guys going?” I asked.
                “Koh Rong.”
                “Is it a nice place?
                “We hope so!” They laughed.
                “Alright, works for me!”  Tickets were twenty dollars and the boat left four hours later.  I bought my ticket, found breakfast (hunted down breakfast, really), and played cards and chatted until 2pm—departure time.  In the interim, I flipped through my friends’ Lonely Planet and realized the island was a bit beyond my budget.  Oops! Perfect timing for Dave to step on the scene. The dreadlocked Aussie appeared around 1pm wearing angry birds shorts and carrying bags of supplies to the docks.  I guessed that he must work on the island.  He owns two guesthouses, in fact, one about to open, and that is how by the end of the two hour boat ride I had work decorating the soon-to-be Vagabonds Bar in exchange for room and board.  And that is how, less than twenty-four hours after leaving Siem Reap I found myself behind the bar of Island Boys Guesthouse mixing drinks and drinking in my fully affordable  new island life.
    So if you don’t hear from me over the next week, it is because I am temporarily lost in paradise with a lot to get done.  You can call it luck, fate or providence, but I am exactly where I was meant to end up, and I credit the universe.

  • When Cultural Sensitivity is Overrated and Mosquitoes Should Be Killed

    “Never step over people or tables. Don’t put books on the floor. Never point your feet at someone.” While we sat on cushions around the edges of the room, our Tibetan instructors listed for us the dos and don’ts of their culture.  “Don’t kill bugs; in Buddhism, you should show respect for all sentient beings.”  Girls should never reveal shoulders, knees or cleavage. Men and women shouldn’t touch. Never wear clothing inside out.  Presentation and cleanliness are very important to Tibetans. If you don’t follow these cultural guidelines, “you might make your families feel uncomfortable or offended.”

    My first night with my Tibetan homestay family, my homestay father zealously attacked several bu, bugs, crawling along the wall.  My second night, my homestay sister entered the room wearing pajama shorts and an inside-out T-shirt.  Day three, my homestay father wandered around with no shirt on, and day four my homestay mother wore her chuba (traditional Tibetan dress) with no shirt underneath it, revealing both cleavage and shoulders.  Their attitude, casual at all times, did not indicate any concern for the aforementioned cultural norms.

     I observed these incongruities with amusement.  My family’s behavior, so perfectly opposite from what my teachers had led me to expect, illustrates the limitations of cultural sensitivity.  In the documentary film, “Dalai Lama Renaissance,” the Dalai Lama said, “Sometimes I really find difficult dialogue with mosquito and my pain.  First mosquito come, sometimes I give blood, the second come, then the third, then difficult.”  If even the Dalai Lama feels the urge to kill mosquitoes, then we should hardly be surprised that my homestay father, an average lay Buddhist, might do the same.  The tendency to show an exaggerated amount of respect towards cultural practices not our own, to bow and scrape, even, to what we[1]don’t understand is in my opinion a little bit silly.

    Undoubtedly, our teachers’ advice proved relevant for many of my peers, but I wonder if the flood of instructions ultimately serves anyone well.  “You will make mistakes,” they concluded, “but don’t worry—Tibetans love to laugh, and they don’t hold grudges!” If breaking the rules will result in laughter, are we better off forgetting them? No; they still teach us a lot about another culture.  Nonetheless, as we worry about political correctness, cultural sensitivity and respect, I think we would be well served to not take any of it too seriously.

    The view from my roof in Bouddha!
    [1] By we I mean self-aware Americans, SIT students, anthropologists, etc…