Growing Souls

A Psalm of Life

2011-03-06T14:24:00.001-08:00

Here's a poem I encountered on a barefoot run to a thrift store yesterday morning.

A Psalm of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

2011-03-04T08:26:00.000-08:00

I want to write about a couple of good days and and the blowing winds of change.

On the 27th day of February I woke from a string of awful dreams. They were all about me feeling small, weak, and inadequate next to just about everyone in the world: pretty girls, family, friends, young men, old men. I went to church and cried through most of the service while Rachel Epp-Miller offered a beautiful sermon on the church's duty to welcome and invite people of all sexual orientations. I could feel so much poison in me, I could see it so clearly in many of my family members, and I could feel some small portion of it leaving me with my tears. Another step toward wholeness.

During the service I also felt convicted about returning to Indiana to fight a great war. It will be a war for my soul, and I know that I will lose many of the battles, but I am also confident that I'm not going to give up. That may be the most important lesson I've learned in my last two months of traveling: that I may make compromises and I will continue to make lots of mistakes, but I will keep struggling to be a better person and to be more loving and honest. I'm going to co-create a garden in Elkhart.

Another concern I had leading up to this Sunday service was the potluck that always follows church on the last Sunday of the month. Lately I've been deaf to the needs and signals of my body. At potlucks I eat piles of rich, sugary, fatty foods until I feel emotionally and physically awful, and I was sure that this one would be no different. I considered leaving church before the potluck began or even fasting all day on Sunday, but I didn't have to. After having a good long cry during the service, all I wanted was lots and lots of salad. I ate such healthy foods and enjoyed wonderful conversation with friends at the church. I felt stable.

That afternoon, during a rousing game of Settlers with friends from church, I happened to look out the window to see Hannah Eash in the backyard, sitting on a sunny picnic table, playing her guitar, and singing while her dog Milo stood attentively at her feet. I was stirred with attraction and appreciation for her beauty and music and the whole joyful day. When I got home that evening I had to do something with all the energy that was bubbling up inside me, so I went out for a barefoot run. Somehow I got completely turned around and ended up on a much longer run than I had intended. It felt great to get lost and explore a new part of the neighborhood and it led me to some interesting places. I got home to see that my best friend, Marilyn Reish, had called and we ended up talking for nearly 100 minutes about her awful day and my great one. It was a perfect end to a great day.

The next day was pretty boring so I won't write about it. But the day after was noteworthy. So here's the note: It began with the usual green smoothie, after which I biked the six miles down to work odd jobs with my eccentric boss. He had very little for me to do until an hour later when we drove all the way back to my neighborhood to begin a bathroom remodeling project. After a fairly easy day he took me out for the most delicious Bubble Tea I've ever had. When work was done, I decided to bike up to the Witte Museum, which has free admission on Tuesdays. At the door to the museum I realized I had forgotten my lock at the workshop on the other side of the city. The museum superintendent said he had nowhere safe for me to put my bike, so I turned in resignation to bike home. A woman who had overheard the conversation stopped me and said that I could keep it in her car while we walked around the museum. And that's how I met Karen Marsh.

She and I walked around the museum together, playing with the interactive exhibits, looking at stuffed animals, and talking about life. Afterward she treated me to a delicious meal of Vietnamese food and then drove me home. My fortune cookie said, "You desire to discover new frontiers. It's time to travel." Word!

Yesterday I got an email from David Young in New Orleans. He invited me to help him work on his garden there before driving back to Indiana together in mid-March. It feels like a good option. I also found a craigslist ride leaving San Antonio in two days to head to Mardis Gras. I think that's where I'm headed, but I'll have to wait to confirm the ride.

I'm going to enjoy my last couple days in Texas and I'm looking forward to heading back to springtime in Indiana. In other news, I got a call from Gould Farm inviting me out to spend a year as a volunteer there. After looking at my resume, they said that I'm at the top of their volunteer list. I like that.

Meme Dreams

2011-02-16T18:33:00.000-08:00

While riding a bicycle to my current San Antonio residence last week, I saw my name etched in the sidewalk. "Nick," it said. I smiled. Then, ten feet later, I saw it again, but with the addition of the last initial "L." Always looking for signs and meaning in the world around me, I stopped, looked left and saw a building with a large sign that said, "Eckankar: Religion of the Light and Sound of God." I went to investigate, took a free pamphlet from outside the door, and decided to visit the next day. I didn't find the religious philosophy very compelling, but I did like it's emphasis on dreams. I resolved to pay extra special attention to my dreams that evening with the hope of discovering something new about myself or receiving some communications from beyond this earthly realm.

My nights have been full of dreams lately and the pages of my journal reflect crocodiles, sunken ships, adventures, and mysteries that I unconsciously encounter each night. I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down something that I didn't understand at all. "How many femes are needed for manhood?" I thought that was the question posed to me by an unknown entity in the dream, but I wasn't sure about that word "femes. The first letter could have been an 'm' a 't' or something else. When I went to the Eck center the next day, I was greeted by Henry, an old devotee of the religion who gave me a cup of tea, lots of space, and free reign over the library. Before I left I asked him if the word memes was part of his religion. He said he'd never heard of it, but that often he will find that the meaning of mysterious dreams will become clear within a few days. He sent me off with more literature on Eckankar and never put any pressure on me to join his religion.

I forgot about the femes in the midst of my wanderings around San Antonio. Thomas Merton's book "Seven Story Mountain," has had me questioning the worth of protestantism as he argues so convincingly that the Catholic Church is the one true Church. I've also been regularly attending Sunday School and Worship at the San Antonio Mennonite Church. There I've been contemplating questions of intimacy, sexuality, and relationships with friends and members of the congregation. I've been wondering about the place of individuals within community, what kind of community I want to be part of, and whether any community will encourage my growth in love and truth like the Divine Love community in Australia. So, I've got four distinct faith paths vying for my attention at this point: Catholicism, Anabaptist Protestantism, Eckankar, and the Divine Love Path. Then I met Oscar Alvarado.

I was meandering around on my bicycle last Saturday, enjoying the beautiful weather, when I saw a striking mosaic sculpture in a front yard where a man and woman were talking. I stopped to say hello and inquire about the art piece, and within a couple minutes the artist, Oscar, asked if I wanted a job. He is starting an online business selling 3-speed vintage bicycles and needs someone to help clean up and repair the bikes. "Cool, let's go." So, I had a job for the afternoon. I worked a couple hours and made a little money while Oscar told me about his life as an artist, a building contractor, and an atheist. He argue convincingly for atheism and it didn't take long before I felt his words working their way into my mind and thoughts.

That evening a friend placed a TED video in front of my and I watched a woman talk about the importance of thanking others in the ways they need to be thanked. It wasn't very convincing, but then the mystery came full circle. I watched this video of Susan Blackmore explaining "memes" and her idea of "temes." http://www.ted.com/talks/susan_blackmore_on_memes_and_temes.html

Here's what Wikipedia says about memes: "memes identify ideas or beliefs that are transmitted from one person or group of people to another. The concept comes from an analogy: as genes transmit biological information, memes can be said to transmit ideas and belief information.A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes, in that they self-replicate, mutate and respond to selective pressures."

In her book The Meme Machine, Susan Blackmore regards religions as particularly tenacious memes." (Wikipedia).

All the religions and ideas that have found their ways into my mind can be thought of as things that want to be replicated. Regardless of whether or not the individuals within the religion want to spread it, the very existence of the religion as a concept is what seeks replication. It's unclear why some memes take such a prominent place in our society-suits and ties for instance- and why others die out-- like Beanie Babies. I'm also left wondering about how much choice I have in deciding which memes will be replicated in my life. Will I spread the teachings of one of these various religions or choose to believe in a purely scientific view of the world? For today, the only meme I'm spreading is the meme itself.

And just to offer some balance to this meme machine, here's Wikipedia's note on the uncertainty surrounding the concept: In his chapter titled "Truth" published in the Encyclopedia of Phenomenology, Dieter Lohmar questions the memeticists' reduction of the highly complex body of ideas (such as religion, politics, war, justice, and science itself) to a putatively one-dimensional series of memes. He sees memes as an abstraction and such a reduction as failing to produce greater understanding of those ideas. The highly interconnected, multi-layering of ideas resists memetic simplification to an atomic or molecular form; as does the fact that each of our lives remains fully enmeshed and involved in such "memes". Lohmar argues that one cannot view memes through a microscope in the way one can detect genes. The leveling-off of all such interesting "memes" down to some neutralized molecular "substance" such as "meme-substance" introduces a bias toward scientism and abandons the very essence of what makes ideas interesting, richly available, and worth studying.^[24]

Sorry about my inability to format this without so many italics. In other news, I'm planning to stick around San Antonio for about another month. I should be making my way to Indiana by early April, just in time for some warm weather and garden planting.

Community & Fitting In

2011-01-31T08:53:00.000-08:00

I've been in San Antonio, TX now for nearly three weeks and my plan is to stick around for another week or so. My hosts and friends here have shown me a degree of hospitality that gives new meaning to the word. My experiences here have been closely connected with Christians in both the Mennonite and Catholic faiths and I've attended services with both congregations. While I feel much more at home with the Mennonites, I'm so glad to have experienced the ACTS Catholic Mens' Retreat last weekend.

I had a hard time connecting to some of the Catholic ritual and tradition. The reciting of the Our Father and Hail Mary prayers, for example, stirred no deep, spiritual feelings in me. The experience of Confession, one of the seven Holy Sacraments, was very powerful for me. I was able to share some heavy burdens with a wonderful priest who helped me achieve a greater degree of forgiveness and self-acceptance than I imagined was possible. The men I met opened up to one another and became vulnerable in a very real and beautiful way. I was honored to witness and experience small pieces of their lives as they shared their stories and struggles. I also found them to be extremely supportive of my spiritual journey.

After returning to the home of Paul and Katherine Hess, my generous hosts who invited me to participate in the ACTS retreat, I received an invitation from Hannah Eash and her community in SE San Antonio to spend some time living with them. I took them up on the offer and the experience has been outstanding. The Mennonite Church they attend just finished a three week series of sermons, discussions, and intentional prayer time based on Henri Nouwen's book, "Reaching Out." I flew through the book in order to take part in some of the discussions and learn what Nouwen had to say about the three movements of the spiritual life: from loneliness to solitude, from hostility to hospitality, and from illusion to prayer. These are all ideas that I've spent much time contemplating and Nouwen's reflections offered me much more focused and refined food for thought. I want to look at the latter two movements.

First, moving from hostility to hospitality is something that I am currently experiencing in the "Vine House" community that has been hosting me for the last week. Nouwen's call is for community to be a place that invites in a stranger, not to be changed by or to conform to the way of the community, but to have space to find a more authentic way of being. That is exactly what I've found here. This colorful, comfortable house has been opened up to me as the three residents, Phillip, Hannah, and Michelle all go to work during the day. I am free to come and go as I please, to take part in meals or not, to be engaged or not. However, I also feel very welcomed and wanted here and there is a profound level of mutual respect and care for and between everyone in the community.

Now I'm comparing this new sense of community with some of the teachings I learned in Australia on the Divine Love Path. I just read a new blog by Mary, one of the teachers of Divine Love, all about our need to fit in and how this aching feeling pushes and pulls us all over as we seek to find "our place" and "our people." These are terms I've used often in the last few weeks as I try to explain to people what it is that I'm looking for. I want to find my place. And what does that mean? I want to fit in. And what does that mean? I don't want to feel the painful emotion of not belonging. I feel queasy as I write this because I really don't know what to do with these emotions. In the last few days I've been feeling more confident about eventually returning to Indiana, working on a community garden project, and then going out to Gould Farm to do some work. But when I spend some time reading and listening to Divine Love teachings, I realize just how deeply my motivations come from fear. The fear of not being accepted by friends and family. The fear of not belonging to a place. The fear of not having enough food or money or safety or support. The fear of feeling my emotions.

Nouwen points to God and the movement from illusion to prayer. I hold on to some hope that I can be part of normal society, maybe be part of the Mennonite Church and carve out a little life for myself somewhere like San Antonio. But God is not really at the center of these plans and desires. I say that I want to know my God and experience her love, and yet my actions prove otherwise. I have been using cookies and other foods to numb out the painful feelings and I have such minimal desires to really examine myself, my motivations, and my true emotions. I am doing better today and I want to move forward with stronger, purer intentions to rely on my Divine Mother's Love instead for comfort and healing. Nouwen suggests that prayer is something that cannot be separated from community life; that in order to move from illusion to prayer we must engage in this Divine Communion privately and always within the context of a supportive, prayerful community. I love this idea and it makes some sense to me. It doesn't necessarily contradict the Divine Love teachings either.

My future plans are to move to the home of Lisa and Clinton on Wednesday and to stay there for at least another week. I don't have any definite plans for the future, but I would still like to see the Grand Canyon and possibly visit some other friends and folks in Colorado. I have some fear about going west and out into the cold desert. Is my sleeping bag warm enough? Will I have enough food and water? These will be good tests of my faith and I pray that I continue to walk with God. I'll end with this Hesychast Prayer that Nouwen suggests, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me." Although the language is not something I'm accustomed to, I have found it powerful and humbling.

Divine Signs? Changing Plans.

2011-01-20T07:19:00.000-08:00

With a heart that is both light and surrendered, I have decided not to go to Mexico. This decision has been difficult and painful to make, but I feel confident that it was the right choice. I have been in San Antonio now for nearly one week and it's been full of gifts and lessons that I'm determined to accept.

On the night I wrote my last post, I was invited to the home of some young Mennonite folks who were playing a board game. There I met a handful of wonderful, energetic, and authentic people who welcomed me in, fed me delicious popcorn made with an air-popper, and taught me to play a fun strategy board game. I also met Hannah Eash, a woman with who I share much in common. She grew up just down the street from my grandmother and about 3 miles from my own childhood home. She and I rode the same bus together to elementary school and her family once purchased a horse from mine. She and I both graduated from college in 2007 with degrees in Peace Studies and Spanish (she went to Goshen) and she studied for a semester in Quito, Ecuador where I did my study abroad. The final great coincidence appeared as I was talking to her at the San Antonio Mennonite Church potluck and noticed something peculiar about her jewelry. "You're not going to believe this," I said, "but my mom made your earrings."

That morning I also attended Sunday School and enjoyed a great conversation about the difference between and transition from "Loneliness to Solitude" from Henri Nouwen's book "'Reaching Out." I had a lot to say and afterward I enjoyed talking with Lisa and Clinton Graham, a young couple who recently moved to Texas from Kentucky. Lisa said that they had an empty, efficiency apartment behind their house that I would be welcome to stay in if I ever wanted to. I had just been listening to a Divine Love teaching on being open to the gifts God is offering us, and I couldn't very well ignore this one. I took them up on it.

Between the transition from Jim's to the Grahams' home on a Tuesday afternoon, I spent some time at the Catholic Worker House where Jim, my host, met Marilyn, my college roommate, 8 years ago and where Dorothy Day's granddaughter, Martha, gave a talk on MLK day. I was inspired by Day's commitment to the poor, to living a life of service and simplicity, and her belief in Holy Anarchism. Although one of her first political acts was to fight for womens' suffrage in Washington DC, an action for which she was arrested, humiliated, and abused, she never once voted in an election. I was challenged by some of the guests at the CWH and felt simultaneous desires to run away from and ignore their suffering and to move toward them, to live with them and try to understand their suffering in order to know greater depths of love. Between the volunteers and the guests I noticed a division that is probably inevitable: there are the givers and the takers, those in need and those who feel abundant. I still don't can't be sure on which side of that line I fall. As a dumpster diver, an eater in soup kitchens, one who prefers to stay out of hotels and restaurants, I gather my sense of abundance from what is given freely. Are these gifts from God I'm collecting? The pecans I gathered from beneath a tree yesterday surely felt like Divine Providence. I suppose I am both. I am broken and in need of healing, but I also have some ability and desire to offer strength, refuge, and help to others. I'm not good at it. But I want to know this generous side of love. During Martha's talk at the CWH I met Katherine Hess. She respected that I had studied peace and that I was on a spiritual journey, and she also invited me to stay in her home, about 15 miles north of San Antonio.

I decided to stay with the Grahams for a day while I tried to make a decision about Mexico. I wandered around the Alamo and, in addition to taking in some history, I met two men who were to be my next sign. The first was a professional photographer who approached me because I was carrying my big pack and taking a photo of the Alamo. He was kind, respectable, and curious about my travels. His advice was to stay away from Mexico and to go to the most beautiful place in the USA: Havasu Falls, AZ. I thanked him for his advice, although I wasn't convinced. I hopped on the bus and there I met a man who was a professional chef, also very friendly and interested in my travels. Without knowing anything about my conversation 15 minutes earlier, he said, "Stay out of Mexico. You ought to go to this place near the Grand Canyon called Havasu Falls. It changed my life." OK. I'm listening.

Because Lisa and Clinton had already promised the apartment to Clinton's parents for this week, I was only able to stay with them for a day. Fortunately, Katherine Hess from the CWH said that I could stay with her and her family for a few days. I spent yesterday wandering around San Antonio's beautiful, winding River Walk and listened to a guided tour of the Alamo's history. I have more respect for Texas now and I'm glad to be a bit more informed about the state's rich and colorful history. I'd also like to learn more about David Crockett, a national hero and volunteer at the unfortunate battle of the Alamo. I remember watching a black and white tv series about him as a child, and that I had a coon-skin cap I loved to wear.

As I walked to meet Paul Hess at a bus stop near downtown, I saw a long-distance Mexican bus company with destinations all over Mexico and the US. My heart jumped. I realized that I could make the decision right then and there to hop on a $95 bus to Guadalajara and still make the gathering in Mexico. I asked the clerk about prices and times and then sat there in the terminal for a long time, thinking, writing, and seeking clarity. Finally, I knew that it would be better to stay in Texas. I want to get to know Hannah and folks from the Mennonite Church and the CWH and I have a feeling that San Antonio has much to teach me. Also, cilantro is really cheap here and the ground is littered with pecans in some places. I'm enjoying the sunshine too.

I looked forward to the gathering in Mexico as a time for intense spiritual reflection and development and missing that was one of my regrets in choosing not to go. However, I've been reading Thomas Merton's Autobiography, "Seven Story Mountain" and gaining a whole new respect for the Catholic Church and Christianity. The Hess's are a liberal Catholic family and I've enjoyed getting to know them through their stories of family and faith. Last night they invited me to a three day Catholic mens' retreat that begins this evening and ends with a Mass on Sunday. I'm excited to learn more about Catholic Faith as I spend these days focusing on God and exploring my spirituality. In addition to inviting me to the retreat, they offered me a scholarship to waive the $150 registration fee. I feel blessed.

Wandering South Again

2011-01-15T12:14:00.000-08:00

On the 26th anniversary of my birth I set out for Paoli, Indiana as a passenger in my younger brother

Andrew's car, along with his girlfriend, Jackie and his dog Greta. He took me to the home of my Aunt Becky, Uncle Bill, and cousins Kyle, Lily, and Erin, and family pets Peaches the dog and Chumly the cat in southern Indiana. I stayed there for a couple days before continuing my journey down toward New Orleans. I feel such a strong connection to their family and I want to return to Paoli's hills and simple, quiet lifestyle, but not quite yet.When David Young drove down from North Manchester to pick me up, he let me know that our route didn't have to

be direct to New Orleans and that I could make suggestions for any place I'd like to stop along the way. I knew right away that I wanted to go to Gethsemani, the monasetery in Trappist, Kentucky where Thomas Merton spent much of his life. Merton, a Catholic Trappist monk, is one of my favorite writers and although we arrived just after dark, I was humbled and awed by the massive, simple sanctuary, the robed monks, and the deep silence of a place created solely for humans to connect more intimately with the Divine. As David and I sat in the back of of the long sanctuary with towering, vaulted ceilings, a single hooded monk walked slowly into view near the alter, knelt in reverence, and began walking slowly toward us. I began to cry and my quiet sobs echoed and mingled with the organ music he practiced a song, apparently just for us. As we walked back out into the chilly night, I noticed that all visitors had to walk through a small graveyard that serves not only as the entrance to the monastery, but as a stark reminder of our true nature and fate. Death is the destiny of these fleshy vessels. May I remember that and maintain my focus on what is eternal.

I took over driving and after a couple hundred miles I had to work hard to ignore a very distressing sound. When I could no longer ignore the sound and I saw smoke rolling out from behind the explorer, I decided to pull over. The left tire of the utility trailer we were pulling had long ago disappeared and I had ground the rim down almost all the way to the hub. Fortunately, we were very close to an exit, so we drove to the nearest gas station at around 10:30 at night. Even more fortunate for us, there was a mechanic open right there and he fixed us up with a spare tire in under 30 minutes. About 15 miles down the road, our good fortune gave way along with the new tire and David had to drive on the rim to the next gas station where we would stay for the night. The next morning we got back on the road and the rest of the trip to New Orleans was pleasantly uneventful.

I had considered the Big Easy as a place where I might spend a few months or more working, volunteering, or soul searching. I did some of those things while I was there, but I didn't feel a strong connection to the place. It's a fascinating, colorful city full of history and life. There is still a lot of wreckage from the hurricane and neighborhoods that were once bustling centers of activity are now full of vacant lots that are grown up to jungle height and density with weeds and trees. New Orleans is a watery, wet place with lots of rain and rivers and canals running everywhere. In the two weeks I spent there I did see some nice weather, but winter is clearly not the best time to visit. I spent some time volunteering to hang drywall and do some mudding at a housing project in St. Bernard Parish, just outside the city of New Orleans. I enjoyed parts of the work and wouldn't mind doing more of it, but I knew that I was being called to something else.

In moments of clarity, humility, and connection to God, I felt that Mexico was calling me. I felt a desire to go and teach both English and Spanish mixed with some of the Divine Truth I have learned in the last year. I want to be a force for good in the world and I know that I love to teach language. I'm sure that I can combine these things and I think that Sayulita might be a good place to try it out. I decided that I would try to make it to the 7777 Ajna gathering near Tepic, Nayarit on the 23rd of January, and I began to look for rides to Texas.

I caught a Craigslist ride to Austin with Jessie, a woman from Maine who is an activist, cheesemaker, farmer, and who slaughters of own animals for meat and is learning to use horses for logging. We also picked up Bo Champagne, a man from Baton Rouge who is a renowned racquetball player and coach. Bo was going to Austin to see one of his ex-students and there I was invited to stay in the very comfortable home of a man who is a lobbyist for the tobacco companies. He used to be a gun lobbyist for the NRA, but tobacco companies pay better. It was interesting to hear his perspective on the work he does and his belief is that he is defending freedom. He admits that he's defending the peoples' freedom to make a very stupid decision, but it is freedom nonetheless. I really can't disagree, although I would find the work pretty distasteful.

Yesterday I walked around Austin with my backpack and without much of a plan, except that I might either go watch a racquetball tournament where Bo would be a referee or that I might start hitching down to San Antonio. I was walking along singing "Streets of Laredo" when I ran into a guy walking around and playing his guitar and singing. Together we sang that old favorite country standard as he read the chords off his i-phone, and a homeless man sat down next to us as we finished the song. The guitar player and I listened to his sad story as I took in the image of this man with awful red sores on his face, snot perpetually running down his long mustache and over to his dirty beard. I stayed and listened long after the guitar player walked away, and I began to cry as I asked Andy if I could pray with him. He said yes, and after I finished the prayer my tears poured out on the sidewalk. Why is the world so cruel? Why can't Andy stop drinking and get his life together? Why do I have so much privilege? Why am I so afraid of suffering? I sat and cried alone on 6th street for awhile after Andy walked away.

Eventually I made my way to the Interstate 35 overpass with a handmade sign for San Antonio and stuck out my thumb. I only had to wait about 20 minutes before an F350 stopped long enough for me to run up, throw my pack in the bed, and climb in. I had a great 2 hour conversation with three Mexican guys, all illegal immigrants, and all happy that I spoke Spanish. Our talk ranged from family to the injustice and unfairness of world history and my white American privilege to a fun and engaging lesson in English language that reminded me how much I love to teach. After a quick fix of a leaky roof in a San Antonio suburb, they dropped me off at the home of Jim Grossnickle-Batterton, from where I'm currently blogging.

Jim is a friend of my best friend Marilyn and he and I are both quiet spiritual seekers. He's 10 years older than me and has a composed, calm, self-assured nature that I hope to achieve in my life. I'll probably stay here until Monday or Tuesday and then I'm headed down to cross the border at Laredo.

Some of my persistent, nagging thoughts of late are about the right and wrong of leaving Elkhart when I did. I felt so overwhelmed there and I wonder if I'm just running away from my problems, or if I really needed to get out of there to continue soul searching and getting to know myself. I do feel a lot lighter now that I'm back on the road. My diet has improved and moved closer to being all raw and I'm excited to get into a climate with a greater abundance of tropical fruits. Papaya! I also wonder about the Divine Love Path and the experiences I had in Australia. To what and to whom is my allegiance? I'd like to say that it is to God, but I'm not writing this for God. I'm writing it for me and for you. I think about whether to return to Indiana and finish the garden project I started, or to move toward something that feels better for me. I'm not too worried at the moment. I've got a warm place to stay, food to eat, and a destination in mind.

Recently my grandfather, Jim Simons, rode his Harley Davidson to Laredo, Texas simply because he loves this song. As a lover of the song, I'm excited and honored that I'll be walking those streets and singing it very soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSzfWLlvlAE

As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come an' sit down beside me an' hear my sad story.
"I'm shot in the breast an' I know I must die."

"It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.
"Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.
"First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.
"But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today."

"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.
"Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.
"Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.
"Roses to deaden the clods as they fall."

"Then beat the drum slowly, play the Fife lowly.
"Play the dead march as you carry me along.
"Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,
"I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."

"Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,
"An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
"But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
"Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."

When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.
The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.
We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,
And there stands his marker, we made, to this day.

We beat the drum slowly and played the Fife lowly,
Played the dead march as we carried him along.
Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.
He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong.

Creature Comfort

2010-09-27T17:44:00.000-07:00

Today I went across the street to explore a swamp where I used to play in my childhood. The dry bed of the swamp, usually home to about a foot of murky water, was testimony to the low rainfall of recent months. I walked over the spongy, black humus, never sinking more than an inch or two into the damp ground. Clear afternoon sunlight poured into the dry swamp, lighting up old, fallen trees and the earliest autumn leaves turning subtly from green to yellow and orange.

I was wondering about the creatures that occupied this wetland when it was full of water and what they might be doing now that it had dried up. Then I heard what that sounded like thousands of wet tadpoles writhing in the mud, gasping for water. And that's what I found. It was fascinating and heartbreaking to watch them suffering, and I felt an urgent need to do something, to help them. I picked up a handful of those that were still wiggling and rushed them back home to put them in a bucket of water. They furiously swam about and then died because the water was way too cold for them. Does that make me a murderer? Disheartened, I took a break and wondered what to do.

Plan B: I would transport them from the swamp across the road to the swamp down below our house and hope they wouldn't mind a drop in elevation of about 100 feet. I found that some in my earlier bucket of dead tadpoles had miraculously been revived, and I immediately set off into the lower wetland. Before long I was traipsing through a similarly dry swamp, but this time through dense brush, small trees, and any number of stinging, poisonous plants. The tadpoles weren't looking good after being sloshed around for 30 minutes as I sought out a watery shelter for them. I finally found a place, released them, and felt a mix of satisfaction at having done something great and regret that I couldn't have been more gentle. I was plagued by the immensity of the problem as I realized that I would need many buckets and many difficult trips walking through forest and mud to save the remaining tadpoles.

I sat down in the yard behind my parents' house to pick burs out of my clothes and I saw a red-bellied woodpecker sitting inside our fence. When I walked out of the house it was startled and gave a small bark, whereupon I suspected it would fly away. But it didn't. It just sat there, just like an injured bird. Again, I immediately went into savior mode and stepped toward the bird to administer first aid. But then I stopped. I decided to just pick burs and watch the bird. As I picked and watched, it occasionally called out to other red-bellies in the surrounding trees, and they called back. I felt sorry for it.

Then I noticed a small yellow spider crawling on my right hand. I had never seen one that looked quite like it, so I leaned in for a closer look. It had four legs on its left side and only one front leg on the right. How bizarre, I thought. It must have lost the other three in a gruesome battle. Then I aided the little spider in its descent to the grass, took a peak at the bird that hadn't moved, and pulled out a few more burs. The bird suddenly flew up into the air, into the forest, out of the trees, all the way around our house, and then back into the forest. I could hear it celebrating with friends and family.

The spider came back. It was unmistakably the same spider. Four legs on the left and one on the right. It crawled all the way up the chair, up my shirt, and back onto my right hand. OK. What are you trying to tell me? I strongly believe in the Law of Attraction: every moment of every day I will attract into my life the people, creatures, and situations that I need to help me heal, grow, and learn more about Divine truth and love and about myself. And that is what I want more than just about anything. What can I possibly do for these animals? What can I do for a tadpole, a woodpecker or a 5 legged spider? The spider had moved to my left hand, attached a small strand of web to my finger, and began to dangle in the wind. Before I could stop it, the spider released himself and flew away, out into the yard.

I began to cry. The grief was unrelated to the animals. It was about pain that I've been carrying with me since childhood. It was the feeling that there was no trust and no love in my family. Mixed into that pain was the realization that nearly everyone in this world, probably everyone on my street, and in the communities around me, everyone I know is suffering. And what can I do but cry? The sun had found a new, lower position in the afternoon sky when I finally felt that I had let go of some small part of this grief. I felt a new peace with my suffering and with the suffering of the world. It's not my job to save anyone or any creature. I saw that the lives of the animals crossed my path today in order to teach me a couple of lessons. The first was from the suffering tadpoles writhing and gasping in the drying mud: we are the same. You are suffering just like us. Why do you think you can save us? My desire to save is rooted in my discomfort with suffering. I don't want to allow suffering and I have been so arrogant as to believe that I could do something to stop it. The truth is, I believe, that I cannot heal anyone or anything else until I've healed myself.

To believe that I can save someone is to perpetuate the disempowering belief that they need to be saved. To put the bird or the spider in a box would be to limit their opportunities to experience life. Clearly, both were entirely capable of taking care of themselves and of teaching me a valuable lesson. I don't know what will happen to the tadpoles, but I've observed that life has a way of balancing itself out. I pray that I can continue to observe it with enough patience that I might eventually be able to achieve some balance in my own life.

PS: I didn't take the bird photo. I just took it from somebody's website. Thank you somebody.

Two August Tenths

2010-08-11T21:07:00.000-07:00

Dictionary.com says that august means, "inspiring reverence or admiration; of supreme dignity or grandeur; majestic" I've recently come to believe in god, and I think august is an appropriate word to describe a little bit of what god must be. But this isn't a post about divine fractions.

I'm at Brigham Young University in Hawaii. Yesterday, after an amazing flight from Melbourne, Australia, to Sydney, and then to Honolulu, I arrived in my country's only island state. I left early in the morning on August 10th and I arrived early in the morning on August 10th. That's not a typo; it's just what happens when you cross the international date line. I'd never done that before, and the experience was a mixed bag.

My first 10th was extraordinary. I woke up early on a rainy Melbourne morning, packed my bags, had a big raw breakfast of grated and chopped apples, sliced bananas, cinnamon, and soaked chia seeds all over a big bed of green lettuce and celery. That's what I've been eating just about every morning. Then I went to the train station to do some busking. Here's what Dictionary.com says about busking:
1.Chiefly British . to entertain by dancing, singing, or reciting on the street or in a public place.
2. Canadian . to make a showy or noisy appeal.

I was doing the British version with my flute. On the way to the train station I knew that I would walk by a special house in the suburban neighborhood of Caulfield. The house was special because right out in the front yard there was a little orange tree that was dripping with beautiful, ripe oranges. The grass in the small front yard was long and there wasn't a path from the house to the tree, indicating to me that no one was taking advantage of this fruity bounty. I had been wanting some of those oranges for two full days, on and off. I stopped in the drizzling rain, looked at the oranges, contemplated hopping over the knee high brick fence and grabbing a few. But that brought up some moral questions. It would be stealing. I believe that stealing is wrong.

What was stopping me from going up to the door, knocking, and asking if the owner minded if I picked a few off the tree? Nothing but a small fear of a word that has taken on an unnatural importance in my mind: NO. I didn't want to hear that word. But, the truth is, the owner of that tree had every right to tell me no and I would have no right to be upset with him if he did. Once I had that worked out, I rang the doorbell, asked the grumpy old man who answered if I could pick a few oranges, and he said...."Yeah, OK." Haha! Victory! Honestly acquired, fresh, nutritious vegan pirate treasure. Lately, I've been going mad for fruit and vegetables. I hesitate to eat anything else.

Anyway, busking. I walked into the train pedestrian tunnel, opened my green cotton satchel up in a way that would, I hoped, invite many gold coins to be tossed in it, and placed the oranges artistically around its corduroy perimeter. Then I began playing a mix of Nepali folk tunes and a few little devotional ditties that I've created myself, and I smiled with my eyes at the commuters, students, and other folks who walked through that music filled tunnel. The fact that it was cold and raining usually seems to deter people from sharing their hard-earned money with vagabond flute players, but some kind of magic was happening in the Caulfield Train Station's Pedestrian Tunnel on the morning of August 10th (the first August 10th).

Forty five minutes later, when my fingers were aching with cold, I decided to close up shop (my bag) and hopped on the train to Southern Cross Station with an extra $16. Not bad for a quick day's work. From there, the bounty of August 10th continued to increase geometrically as I received love, food, friends, and veritable "get out of jail free cards" at every turn. I could do no wrong and every person, place, and thing in the universe was conspiring not only to make my life easy, but to make it downright joyful.

That was, of course, until I flew into my second August 10th.

My second August 10th landed me in Honolulu International Airport. I felt strange, sleep deprived, too hot in the humid, tropical air, and confused about what to do and where to go.

Goals, Pyush, and Trees

2009-08-08T23:18:00.000-07:00

Of the four classes on my schedule this semester at Kathmandu University, two of them seem very interesting, so I have agreed with my program director that I will take only these courses, and spend the rest of my time being a better Ambassador of Goodwill. The two interesting courses are: "Public Policy" and "Population, Development, and Natural Resource Linkages." Both courses have already filled my head with new thoughts and ideas.

A few days ago my friend Safal invited me to his home to spend a few hours and visit with his mother who was in town from Pokhara. The visit was very pleasant and I was even offered home grown tea and popcorn from the Ghimire home in Pokhara. Safal handed me a book called, "You Can Win," and, though generally I find such books distasteful, I decided to flip to the section on goals. I'm sorry if I misrepresent the words and ideas of the author, Shiv Khera, but I'll try my best to summarize his ideas and my responses. He says that if we have no goals then we will never accomplish anything or go anywhere. I'm not completely convinced that this is true, but I decided to keep reading. Khera then said that, in order to define our goals, we must first define what success means to us.

My definition of success includes happiness, health, meaningful relationships, financial security, and maintaining a positive attitude. Many of these indicators of success seem to be maintained through my practice of meditation. However, I realized that if I identify a few skills that I could acquire, both for income and for pleasure, that could contribute to me achieving a greater level of success, then I would be more likely to achieve my goals. So I made a list of smaller goals that seem achievable. Here they are:
* Serving & Volunteering
* Creating art, playing music, learning the banjo
* Building bread ovens and biogas systems
* Vehicle repair and maintenance
* Storytelling & Listening
* Cooking
* Learning/Teaching Yoga and Meditation
* Singing & Dancing
* Sustainable Agriculture

Also floating around in my mind are thoughts of long-term goals that I might like to pursue. Paul and I have been talking about starting a farm on some property that his family owns in central California. We would make a point to employ young people who are being emancipated from the state after going through residential treatment facilities. Paul is really excited about the idea and it is something we will continue talking about about planning during this year. I've also been thinking about getting into counseling or therapy.

In order to achieve my goals of spending more time in service and volunteering, this week I spent a day planting trees in the town of Banepa. I also spent a day packaging Pyush, a chlorine solution, which will be sent to Western Nepal for a Cholera epidemic that broke out about a month and half back. A Nepali friend of mine got together with his friends and decided that the town of Banepa needed more trees. So they organized, petitioned people, got some support, and started planning. I called my friends and went with a crew of 7 to shovel, pick, and carry for the day. Despite the rain, we all had a great time and I look forward to going back to help plant the rest of the 700 trees intended for the main highway. Check out the pictures in the new album under the "Links from Nepal" box.

The Pyush project was also very interesting. Cholera had disappeared from Nepal 10 years ago, and now it has come back with a force. This organization has already sent at least 5,000 little bottles of the solution, each of which can clean about 600 liters of water. They are in the process of packaging thousands more, but they need a lot of people power to do all the packaging. This week I plan to help plant more trees and package more Pyush. I am also talking with my home Rotary Club to see if they can offer some financial assistance to ENPHO, the organization that is heading up the Pyush project.

That's all for now. Thanks for reading!

Nagarkot and Shantaram

2009-08-02T06:50:00.000-07:00

This weekend a small Manchester College reunion took place in the village of Nagarkot, about two hours outside Kathmandu. Paul Sparks, Dawa Sherpa, Kashish Das Shrestha and I, along with a few other Nepali friends, spent a night in a comfortable hotel perched on the side of the mountain that Nagarkot clings to. The destination was clearly a spot for wealthier Nepalis to escape the insanity of Kathmandu, and for trekking tourists who want to enjoy a few Western comforts.

I have discussed the benefits and perils of societies and economies that have become totally dependent upon tourism. There exists a giant paradox in this dilemma: tourists bring lots of money and business, but they slowly (or very quickly) begin to change local culture, customs, and values. The general sense that I feel when I am in a town that has completely dedicated itself to serving the economic and consumer interests of travelers is that the town has no soul. Places that were described 30 years ago as friendly, rural, honest towns have been transformed into streets filled with pimps, pushers, and touts who aggressively try to convince you that you are in desperate need of their "sexy girls, hashish, and very cheapest hotel rooms."

I don't think we can implicate anyone as the certain creator of these cut throat worlds of greed and disrespect, but few of those involved are left unvictimized. The sudden introduction of foreigners with loads of money they are willing to spend quite freely inevitably creates gross inequalities within these communities. The additional demand for drugs, sex, and all things Western brings with it myriad other violent changes to these societies. Not the least of these changes is the abrupt transition from being always focused on the needs of family and friends before one's self to the very Western tendency to worry excessively about "I, me, and mine."

There are also benefits that can be identified from the advent of tourism in previously "undiscovered" places. The introduction of expanded educational facilities, increased access to drinking water, health and sanitation, and access to internet and other multimedia facilities are a few of the advantages that tourists often bring to developing places. The crux of the problem lies in weighing the costs and the benefits. I don't envy the person who has that job.

In other news, after many favorable recommendations, I have begun reading the book, "Shantaram." It's a long book, but after just 150 pages I absolutely love it. I would highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in learning more about real Indian culture or who is just looking for an amazing and enjoyable book.

India and Vipassana

2009-07-30T22:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends and Family,

The last month has been full of travels, adventures, and profound life lessons. A good friend came to visit and we took a three-week trip to India. After my return to Kathmandu I went to directly to a 10-day Vipassana meditation course that was extremely challenging and rewarding. I feel more and more at home in Nepal and I can’t believe that 7 of my 12 months here have already passed. I anticipate that returning to an Indiana winter will be a challenging transition, but I look forward to catching up with my home community and sharing many lessons, experiences, and photos.
My first semester classes at Kathmandu University finished at the end of June and, in keeping with my secondary title, “Casual Scholar,” I didn’t spend much time worrying about exams. I strongly agree with Rotary’s philosophy that, while I am here in Nepal, my primary job is to be an Ambassador or Goodwill, which means that my time is much better spent creating friendships, serving this community, and traveling around this beautiful, ancient land. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I am certain that I won’t be receiving a degree from KU. I am very comfortable with this, and although my professors would like me to work harder to pass their classes, they seem to understand that my studies are not my primary purpose in Nepal. My second semester classes will begin in 4 days and I look forward to exploring new subject matter with four new professors. I will be taking courses on Nepal’s environmental and development policy, Statistical analysis, and macro and microeconomics.

I left for India on the 1st of July with my Australian friend, Casey Deng, and an Indian friend, Deep Sedai. Deep is from the town of Kalimpong in West Bengal, India. I recently read a novel called, “The Inheritance of Loss,” much of which takes place in and around Kalimpong. The town was a beautiful mix Indian culture with British architecture, all nestled up in the foothills of the Himalayas. In addition to giving us a tour around his home, Deep took Casey and I to his brother’s wedding. The wedding was an amazing example of ancient Nepali traditions and it took place at a rural temple on a hill right on the border between India and Bhutan. Because there was no security or fence, I can now add Bhutan to the list of countries I have visited, albeit for five minutes. I hope to upload some photos very soon.

After Kalimpong, Deep returned to Nepal and Casey and I traveled on to Darjeeling. Because this part of India was recently “acquired” from Nepal, nearly everyone speaks Nepali and I observed many similarities between these two areas. I developed a fever in Darjeeling and stayed in bed for about four days. I was planning to rest for a few more when the hotel manager frantically knocked on the door and informed us that, because the police had just shot a member of the Ghorkaland National Liberation Force (GNLF), a political separatist group, there would be a strike that would leave us without food, transportation, or anything else. Therefore, we had to leave at that moment. I staggered out of bed, packed my bags, and we searched for the elusive jeeps that all seemed to be full of people fleeing the town. When we finally found one, I was happy to be moving again, on our way to a train station for my first Indian train ride.

Unfortunately, there were no seats left on the train to Benares, the next stop on our journey. We had to make the 18-hour journey sitting on the floor of the train. I didn’t mind the ride, but I was relieved to finally reach our destination. The Indian landscape seen from the train door was breathtaking and thought provoking. I saw so many expanses of rice paddies and other agriculture land that was being ploughed with ancient, handmade ploughs and oxen. These scenes looked as if they could have been from one or two hundred years ago. As Casey and I sat in the open door with our legs hanging over the ground flying below our feet, we wondered about safety and regulations. In developed countries, there are many fewer opportunities to die. There are guardrails, flashing lights, laws, people to enforce the laws. Life is very safe and comfortable. In developing countries, there seem to be many more opportunities to die. Safety is not a priority. This results in more unnecessary deaths, but it also lends itself to a more intense and visceral experience of life. As we travel around these countries, everything is always unknown, exciting, never boring. This is a bit exhausting at times, and I appreciate people like food inspectors and police offers in my own country. It seems that as countries achieve greater levels of development, they have more rules and restrictions and, in some respects, life becomes a bit duller. An interesting paradox.

The town of Benares was incredible. The expansive, winding maze of tiny streets is full of cows, religious pilgrims, and vendors of everything from tea and t-shirts to haircuts and hashish. A doctor quickly diagnosed me with an upper respiratory infection and I started my daily regimen of antibiotics. The city of Benares is famous for the massive Ganges River that flows slowly by the dozens of ancient temples and burning ghats on the eastern bank. The ghats are where two to three hundred Hindus are cremated every day and they are burning from morning till night. Casey and I took an early morning boat ride on the Ganges and, despite the fact that the river is the only sewage management plan for many cities along the banks, and the bodies floating in the water, we decided to go for a swim. This is an ancient tradition that all religious pilgrims must perform in order to wash away their sins. I’m pretty certain that we were dirtier after the dip. In many developing countries, waste management is a very serious problem. The Bagmati River running through the center of Kathmandu is also supposed to be a holy river, but it, too, is the cities only sewage management plan. The sewage from most of the houses in the valley runs directly into the river, untreated. When approaching the river from any direction, you can smell the stench from half a kilometer away. A number of factors are impeding progress on these issues. First of all, due to a collective feeling that it must be the responsibility of someone else, few people are willing or interested in taking action on these issues. The sheer size of the problem is also overwhelming: in both the Ganges and Bagmati, the waste of millions of people is pouring into the rivers every day. Additionally, weak environmental policies, political instability, and giant, corrupt, and bureaucracy-laden governments make the design and implementation of effective policies very difficult. As they dismissively say in Nepali, “Ke Garne?” (What can be done?)

My time in India ended with a 12 hour train ride to Delhi, and on that ride we actually had beds in a sleeper car! As soon as our train arrived (an hour late) we hopped in a taxi for a mad rush to the airport. Although I missed my flight, a friendly woman at the airport put me on the next one for no extra cost. Thank you friendly lady! Casey and I had a fast and tearful goodbye as I quickly filled out my customs form and ran to the plane. She headed back to Australia and I went to my meditation course in Kathmandu. The course began that afternoon and I had to go directly from the airport to the meditation center.
As soon as I arrived at the Dharmashringa Vipassana Meditation center, I had to turn in my passport, paper, pens, books, phone, camera, and any other valuables, forms of entertainment, or snacks I might have. I could only have my clothing. On the second morning I and the other 150 meditators took vows of silence and agreed to abide by five precepts: no killing, lying, stealing, sex, or intoxicants. Easy enough. From the first day we began meditating for 10 hours per day and I quickly understood that this would be a very difficult experience. My legs and back began aching, but as the teacher explained, this is exactly the same experience that every meditator has had throughout history. The purpose of the technique is to learn to observe all sensations objectively and with equanimity. After 10 days of practicing this technique I feel that I am much more peaceful and that I am better prepared to deal with life’s challenges. I am now sitting to meditate for one hour every morning and every evening. These Vipassana centers are all over the world and there are a few in the U.S. I would highly recommend the course to anyone interested in learning more about the nature of suffering and mind.

Now I’m back in Kathmandu, sitting in the kitchen of my friend, Paul Sparks, preparing for a short weekend trip to the town of Nagarkot. I've been missing all the great people I was meditating with, and who I didn't get a chance to talk to until after 10 days of sitting together all day every day. But as they repeat over and over in the course, everything is Anicha (Impermanent). Everything in the universe is constantly changing. Thanks all for reading my blog and sending your love. I can’t wait to get back to the US to share more photos, lessons, and experiences.

May everyone be happy!

Educational School Trip or Wild Party?

2009-06-11T00:57:00.000-07:00

My life here is becoming routine. This brings a sense of ease and comfort, but it also carries with it a feeling of restlessness. My classes will wrap up this month, but because I don't have to pass the classes, I cannot share in the frantic, end of semester-oh-my-god-I-have-to-study hysteria. I have enjoyed most of my classes and I've learned much about the dynamic and confusing field of international development. My most important lesson has been that this field is so complex and difficult to understand that it will take years for me to get a handle on it. I have also realized that in order to understand the nature of development I need to have a much better understand of economics and statistics. Daunting.

A couple weeks ago my classmates and I were very excited for our first class trip/field visit to learn about hydroelectric projects, landfills, a proposed airport site, and each other. We left Kathmandu early one morning and drove for about 12 hours to the Kaligandaki Hydropower Project. The bus full of 17 students and one advisor wound its way through the mountains, along narrow roads that sometimes dropped sharply down 100s of feet to the rocks and rivers below. We sang songs, danced, and napped until we finally reached the small town where we would be staying. The "organization" of the trip was hilarious and very characteristic of Nepali society. When we arrived, the sun was setting and no one was sure where we would stay, what we would do, or if there was food available. But nobody worried. Instead, we found a little tea shop, ordered snacks, and danced to cellphone MP3s until some of the senior members of our class informed us that everything had been taken care of.

The next morning we traveled 10 minutes down to the Kaligandaki River, home to Nepal's largest hydropower project. The facility was incredible. I gained an entirely new appreciation for engineering projects and I'm actually looking forward to going back to the U.S. to visit the Hoover Dam. This project provides Nepal with most of its electricity, which is certainly a great advantage. However, we were approaching the dam with our Environmental Impact Assessment and Natural Resource Management classes. As the dam diverts nearly 50 kilometers of the river and leaves it bone dry for half the year, the environmental impacts are considerable. Unfortunately we didn't have a lot of time to spend at the site, so we didn't get to ask many questions about the actual social and environmental impacts of the dam's construction.

After having breakfast (dal, bhat, tarkari, the usual) we began traveling back toward the giant tourist town of Pokhara. We were supposed to visit a number of different projects in and around Pokhara, but since none of our professors showed up for the trip and the only advisor was really just a secretary who has no background in our courses, we spent the rest of our time boating on Begnas Tal, a beautiful, clean lake, and dancing at some of Pokhara's famous bars in the evenings. The trip was a lot of fun, but we didn't learn much. The only complaining I heard was from a girl who drank too much wine one night. I'm told that future trips will be much better organized and that we will spend most of our time learning. I'll let you know.

Paul Sparks, a good friend from my days at Manchester College, arrived in Kathmandu about two weeks. ago. He has been staying with me as a settles into the city and begins his internship with an NGO (non-governmental organization). From the first day I met him, Paul shocked and inspired me with his Los Angeles vernacular (What's up homeboy?) and endless, memorized recitations of poetry from Rumi, philosophy from Camus, and his own inspring songs and poems. His atheist, marxist, Church of the Brethren perspectives gave a special flavor to me early college years on the first floor of Garver mens' residence hall. Four years have passed since Paul and I lived in the same state and I am amazed at our common thoughts on development, economics, spirituality, and life. I'm so relieved to finally understand what he's talking about and even to offer him some food for thought.

That's all for now. Thanks for reading.

PS: I'm becoming conversational in Nepali, more tolerable while practicing my flute, and my family just purchased plane tickets from Chicago to Kathmandu for August 15. Right on.

Political Unrest and Rice Planting

2009-05-23T02:14:00.000-07:00

On May 3rd Nepal's Prime Minister, known by his Maoist code-name "Prachanda", fired the Army Chief due to a disagreement about incorporating Maoist Rebel Fighters into the country's national army. The army was engaged in a violent battle with the Maoists for a decade and only recently is the country enjoying peace. However, the next day the Army Chief was reinstated by the President of the country, who actually has power over the military. That day the Prime Minister stepped down. Now the country has no clear leader and since then, busloads of Maoists have been coming from the rural areas of Nepal to demonstrate and protest in the city. I am amazed at the response of the Nepali people. I imagine that in a similar situation in a Western country, there would be some kind of chaos. We like to know who is leading our country. But perhaps people in Nepal are very accustomed to chaos and, prime minister or no prime minister, everyone goes on with business as usual. I asked my friends about this and they said that it happens all the time. The don't have any expectations of political stability.
There is a lot of infighting amongst the political parties, many of whom seem to be very self-interested, while many others are trying to satisfy the very diverse needs of their constituents. Thus far, the protests have been peaceful, but there does not seem to be a clear end in sight. I will keep you updated as I learn more.

I recently took a trip with three Nepali friends to a small mud and stone house in a small, mountain village north of Kathmandu. We had to walk uphill, carrying all our rice, lentils, and potatoes for about five hours to reach the house, which is owned by Guru Dev. This spiritual teacher used to be a wandering holy man who spent 22 years of his life living alone in this hut. Now he runs an ashram and school and he has a large following of devotees in the Kathmandu area. He allows anyone to go and stay in house in order to practice meditation in a peaceful environment, far from the city. It was a difficult experience and it made me realize that I am quite weak and reliant on others for so many of daily needs. I don't think I would survive for long alone up in the mountains. I was very appreciative of my Nepali friends' expertise in cooking on an indoor, open fire. Every meal was a delicious, heaping mound of hot rice, lentils, and curried vegetables. We spent our days collecting firewood, walking down the mountain about 15 minutes to buy buffalo milk from an old woman twice a day, and digging a big hole as a compost pit for the hut. I had some amazing conversations with the villagers in the area and I even visited a school that had received a lot of benefit from Rotary!

Three days ago I had another unexpected vacation from school, so I took a three day bicycle trip to different towns around the Kathmandu valley. I went alone so that I could more easily make friends and interact with local people. This decision turned out to be very fruitful. Everywhere I went I was greeted with smiles and invitations for tea. I saw so many beautiful scenes of mountain and village life and I even spent an afternoon planting rice with women in the small village of Soontan. After a long and bumpy ride down a mountain road that was paved with small jagged boulders, I was so happy to finally see pavement again. I quickly rode past the women, dressed in their bright red traditional clothes, knee deep in mud, quickly but carefully pushing plant after plant into the muddy water. I have long been interested in the cultivation of rice, so I turned my bike around and rode back to ask about the process. Two minutes later my boots were off and I was knee deep in mud, clumsily trying to plant a handful of the small starts. The women thought it was hilarious and they immediately began asking if I was married and if I wanted to marry a Nepali girl. After finishing that field and planting one more in a rainstorm, the women took me back to their home, where they live as a joined family, with all the uncles, aunts, and cousins in the same block of houses. I enjoyed a wonderful dinner with them and I slept in the room of a boy named Kedar. His family is from one of the higher castes in Nepal, and they seem to be having some great success with their agriculture. They own a lot of land and now all of the cousins are studying in good schools and going on to higher education. The family's prosperity will most likely lead to an end of their agricultural practices as they transition into the modern age. We spent about an hour that night trading MP3s of my American songs from my USB drive and in exchange I received several hundred Nepali and Hindi songs! That is not what I expected to find in a small, farming village. I promised that I would definitely be back in four months for the rice harvest.

The next day I rode down into the ancient town of Panauti. The town was full of beautiful Newari architecture and elaborate wooden temples. I found a Saddhu sitting on the steps of one temple and he beckoned for me to come and sit with him. I was surprised to find that he spoke English quite well and I spent the next couple of hours learning about his life as a wandering, ascetic holy-man. He said that he was orphaned in India by his mother, who was presumably a prostitute, and that his whole life has been very difficult because he has no people to call his own. He just wanders around the world, surviving on the charity of people who believe that they ought to give something to these holy men who sleep at the temples. This man really changed my perception of Saddhus and helped me realize that, despite the long dread-locks, big beards, and lack of any attachments of material possessions, they are still humans that suffer from the same fears, desires, and pains as the rest of us. In fact, this particular Saddhu begged me to take him to the U.S. This was a common theme on my trip through the country. I was asked by at least four different people to take them or their family members to my home. I wasn't sure how to respond to such requests, so I mostly kept silent.

During a slow climb through the remote villages between Panauti and Kathmanu, I gained a clearer perspective on the beauty and hardship of living in such a rural area. Although the houses in that area are connected to the electric grid, many of the children must walk along the muddy dirt road for nearly an hour to reach their school. Access to transportation is limited to maybe one or two buses that pass each day, and it would be extremely difficult to get any kind of emergency medical services. After reaching the rim of the Kathmandu valley, I began the adrenaline-ruch of a downhill ride toward the city. The road was muddy and steep and my brakes were in poor condition. I survived the ride and rode into Kathmandu feeling exhausted but gratified.

Classes are wrapping up soon and on Thursday of the coming week I'll be taking a four-day class trip to learn more about Natural Resource Management and Environmental Impact Assessments. My good friend Paul Sparks, who graduated from Manchester College one year before me, will be arriving in the city on June 1st and he will be staying with me for a few days. Around the beginning of July I'm planning to spend about two weeks traveling around India!

That's all for now. Thanks again for reading. I just posted 10 new pictures.

Earth Day, Godam Chaur, and Caring

2009-04-22T21:49:00.001-07:00

Earth Day

Earth Day fell on my own dear mother's birthday this year (maybe it does every year). I decided to skip my class at KU in order to attend an Earth Day celebration for the street children in Kathmandu. I rode my bicycle to Basantapur, one of Kathmandu's oldest, most beautiful Royal Palace Squares, and joined a large group of young people as they drew earthy pictures with paint, pencils and crayons. I learned so much about the reality of the street childrens' lives and the services that are available for them.

I also met, Gita, a woman who works for an agency that offers food, shelter, and educational and medical services to the kids on the street. Her job is to walk around the little neighborhood where the kids spend their time, break up fights, and take any weapons or drugs from them. There is a big problem with the kids sniffing fumes from adhesives. She works 10 hours per day, makes very little money, had a bandaid on her finger from a bite wound, and also drives a taxi at night so she can have enough money to send her own two kids to school. She was always smiling and she knows about 140 kids names.

Godam Chaur

Kiwako, a Japanese woman who lives in the same building where I am staying, and her Nepali boyfriend, Rashin, invited me to visit a village that lies about an hour south of Kathmandu (travelling by bicycle). About five years ago they met a family from the village and they have had an amazing relationship ever since. The family is from the untouchable caste and when Rashin first asked if he could have tea with them, the family's first question was whether, being from a higher caste, he would be allowed to drink tea made by their hands. These divisions between castes are still strongly upheld by many high caste Nepalis, particularly in rural areas. I have found that in Kathmandu, especially among my generation, people are disregarding the caste system and trying to embrace everyone more equally. This is a very slow process.

During my four-hour stay with the family I enjoyed some limited communication using my slowly developing skills in the Nepali language. Although the depth of conversation was probably not very impressive, they appreciated my effort and went to great lengths to be sure that I was comfortable in their modest home made of mud, stones, and bamboo. Their newly-wed son's wife made tea, rice, lentils, and vegetables for my two friends and I and the food was absolutely delicious. She prepared everything over an open fire in the small, dark kitchen. This cooking system is very common in rural areas around the world and I recently read from the book, "Readings in Human Development" that this kind of air pollution leads to approximately 1.8 million premature deaths every year. Kiwako and Rashin have been working with the family to increase their access to services like running water and they hope to find a way to install an effective ventilation system in the kitchen. On our next visit we might also help them install a water tap so that they don't have to walk so far to fill their buckets.

Caring and Friendship

I recently read another article called "The Invisible Heart: Care and the Global Economy." Fortunately, I even found a link online! http://hdr.undp.org/en/media/hdr_1999_ch3.pdf

I want to give a short summary of this article, but please take the time to read it and let me know what you think. As I understand it, the article is saying that the world's current economic practices are bad for families, they discourage care, and ultimately these practices are counter productive, even from an economic perspective. The economic practices that accompany globalization tend to focus primarily on income, employment, and education, but neglect the importance of people caring for one another. This includes caring for children, the elderly, the ill, and anyone else, young or old, who needs care. As the world becomes more competitive, people have less time for one another and often women have to carry a double load, working outside the home for supplementary income and then doing all the cooking, cleaning, and childcare that they have traditionally been expected to do. There has also be a tendency to privatize care, allowing private companies to care for our children, the sick, and the elderly.

These circumstances have created a serious decline in the amount and the quality of care that people are receiving. This leads to entire generations of children who are resentful, unproductive, and unable to offer care to others. Caring for people has become much less important than efficiency and generating income. Because caring for sick children doesn't immediately increase GDP or company profits, parents are often penalized for taking time off from work to care for the their families. This is having some really devastating impacts on most of the world.

However, some EU countries recognized the value and importance of care early on, and they accounted for this using policy and market based solutions. People pay very high taxes and the government requires all companies to give maternity and paternity leave to their employees. Mothers can be compensated for up to one year in some countries! If you read the article, you'll see the rest of the statistics on policies that encourage care. Very encouraging.

My personal experiences and observations in the USA lead me to believe that care is also becoming much less important at home. I feel like I received adequate care from my family, but they spent much of my childhood working. At school I received an education from teachers who were poorly paid. Most of my teachers were not expected to care for their students, nor did they bother to offer us much. I imagine that many of my country's problems could be solved with a bit more care at home. And in order for that to happen, huge reforms in economic and government policies need to take place. I'll try to be optimistic.

How has this dearth of care affected me? And how does it manifest in Nepal? The reality of this Invisible Heart is becoming painfully clear. I resent care. This a strong statement. It's not something I'm proud of, and I'm trying to learn to accept care, but it is the truth. This is how I know: I estimate that, since arriving in Nepal, I have met 20 young men who were really, really excited to meet me. They were so eager to shake my hand for five minutes while bubbling over with enthusiasm about how much time we would spend together during my time in Nepal and being certain to get my email, phone number, address, and any other pertinent information. In short, they are very warm and friendly. This inevitabley leads to me receiving lots of text messages that say things like, "I really really miss you! Please call soon!"

The first few times I received such messages, my initial mental reaction was, "What the hell do you mean? I met you for four minutes yesterday, how can you possible miss me?" I resented these messages partly because I seriously doubted their honesty, and partly because they seemed incredibly inefficient. If I send little text messages every day to all the friends I've met since arriving in Nepal, I would need to set aside an hour or two per day. But now I realize that Nepalis interpret the word "miss" very differently, and their intentions are really quite beautiful and pure. I am interacting with a generation of youth who were extremely well cared for by their families. Their relationships with their mothers, fathers, siblings, and all their other friends and family, have been the most important part of their lives. They love to be with people and they are always so eager to share everything that they have: food, feelings, stories, beds, etc. As my American readers know, we do things differently in the U.S. I need to spend at least 6-12 months with someone before I send them a message that says that I miss them. And even then, I would hesitate to share a bed with the person.

I feel like my own American generation can be characterized by our sense of social awkwardness. It's no wonder that so many young people feel that they can't get together without drugs or alcohol. What would they talk about? What would they do? We don't understand care because so many of us have received so little of it. In more caring societies, young people get together and...it's hard to describe exactly what they do, but it is a constant process of subconsciously showing their care and affection for one another. Although my own parents were often very busy, I think they did a great job of making time for my brother and me. I am learning to appreciate this now as I am living in a society of people who really know how to care for one another. So I am trying to be more open. I sometimes feel strange and awkward when spending time with my Nepali friends. They know how to be together, to just sit and enjoy each others' company. I am trying to learn from them.

I try to respond to my many text messages with reciprocal words such as, "Thank you so much for thinking of me! I miss you too!" This isn't entirely honest inasmuch as my American English and culture are concerned. However, this is an honest projection of what I want my world to look like. I want my friends and family to spend more time thinking about each other than about themselves. And I want to spend more time in the same way. Rotary's motto is "Service about Self." I don't know that I've ever met anyone in the U.S. who really lives this ideal. This is ironic because we are supposed to be one of the richest and most successful nations in world. But in Nepal, supposedly one of the poorest countries in the world, many people spend much more time thinking about others than about themselves.

Nepali culture in Kathmandu is changing with globalization. Many parents now have to work very long hours for very low pay, leaving their children alone with no care. There has been a serious rise in the incidents of youths perpetrating crime in the city. I see that many of them are much more restless, violent, and angry than their peers in the villages who spend most of their time at home with their families.

So, I am trying to learn about friendship and caring. I am trying to learn how to be a real friend to my many Nepali friends. I don't think there are any books on this, so it's not an easy journey. Basically, I'm trying to remain open to whatever comes. When a new friend calls and invites me to his family's home, or to a cultural event, or anywhere else, I try to always say yes. Often when this happens, I had other plans. But my plans are often just for me: read a book, meditate, cook dinner at home, so it's easy to change them. So far, almost every time that I let go of my own desires and I allow my caring Nepali friends to teach me about their lives, I have incredible experiences. The most difficult part of these experiences is the vulnerability. If I let someone else make plans for me, lead me around the city, then I am allowing them to be in control. I am learning to accept this and to be happy with it.

Thank you for reading my blog. Apparently I have some friends and family who care about me, and who know something about care. Send me some feedback, or just send a message to someone you care about. Thanks!

Holi War, Visiting Friends, Wild Meditation

2009-04-19T21:18:00.000-07:00

Now that my days have become more routine, I am finding fewer exciting topics to write about and less time to write about them. Despite this natural progression, I will try to write at least twice a month from now on. In this episode I will recount the harrowing tale of Nepal's yearly Holi war, a trip to a commune where traditional meditation is turned upside down, a brief visit from a friend I met in Mexico, and some thought provoking lessons from a recent return-trip to Pokhara.

Holi War

The city was dead silent except for the tortured screams of children running in the streets, parents nowhere to be found. Every narrow alleyway became a dangerous gauntlet; the few brave souls who ventured out were quickly targeted and dispatched. Not even the grandparents were safe. The streets were littered with empty, plastic artillery shells. Bands of feral boys roamed the city in search of victims, screaming their victory cry, "Happy Holi!" after every successful attack. It was the 10th of March and all activity in Kathmandu gave way to the annual celebration of Holi.

When I finally worked up the courage to leave my apartment, I was protected by a rain poncho and armed with water balloons and bottles. My mission was to run to the nearest neighborhood shop to pick up some red, colored powder and a packet of water balloons. Within 30 seconds two balloons exploded in front of me, a third landed on my head. The aggressors were quick and had already hidden themselves in their windows, two, three, maybe four stories up. I saw the screaming children, chasing each other with buckets, balloons, and water bottles. The bands of roaming boys came from all directions, smiling, yelling, all painted and soaked. Buckets of water were dumped by unseen persons on rooftops. At any moment one of these boys might run up and cover you with colored powder.

The celebration concerns a story from Hinduism. I have heard that there are various explanations, and here is what Wikipedia says: "
The main day, Holi, also known as Dhulheti, Dhulandi or Dhulendi, is celebrated by people throwing colored powder and colored water at each other. Bonfires are lit the day before, also known as Holika Dahan (death of Holika) or Chhoti Holi (little Holi). The bonfires are lit in memory of the miraculous escape that young Prahlad had when Demoness Holika, sister of Hiranyakashipu, carried him into the fire. Holika was burnt but Prahlad, a staunch devotee of Lord Vishnu, escaped without any injuries due to his unshakable devotion. Holika Dahan is referred to as Kama Dahanam in Andhra Pradesh.
Holi is celebrated at the end of the winter season on the last full moon day of the lunar month Phalguna (February/March), (Phalgun Purnima), which usually falls in the later part of February or March. In 2009, Holi (Dhulandi) was on 11th March and Holika Dahan was on 10th March."
After spending the day roaming the streets, throwing water balloons from my rooftop, and exchanging clouds of powdered paint with the children in my neighborhood, I got on my bicycle and rode for about two hours to spend some time at Osho Tapoban. This international retreat center and commune is just outside the Kathmandu Valley and it based on the teachings of Osho, a controversial religious leader who died in India in 1990. I didn't know much about Osho's teachings or meditations before arriving at Tapoban and the experience was certainly challenging and eye-opening. I decided to stay or a few days in order to experience communal life and to participate in the meditations. In order to participate, I had to purchase two long robes, one maroon-colored for the daytime meditations, and one white for the evening meditation.

Each day there are five meditations, each approximately an hour long, with a longer celebration in the evening. Many of these sessions involved dancing, humming, and during Dynamic Meditation, perhaps the most well-known, everyone is encouraged to express themselves in any way they please, regardless of any social inhibitions. Most people spend this time screaming, yelling, dancing, some cry, others laugh. Some sit silently. For me, this was a revolutionary way to practice meditation. I found that it was actually an extremely effective method of catharsis which led to a previously unknown calmness of mind. I continue to practice the Osho meditations in my apartment, but I keep the volume down.

A couple weeks later I received a message from Eric Rockey, a friend I met while I was living in Sayulita, Mexico. After leaving Mexico, I spent some time couch surfing at Eric's house in Seattle, and he told me that he might be visiting Nepal sometime in the next year. I hosted him in my apartment for a few days and we even took a short return trip to Osho Tapoban. I had an assignment from Kathmandu University to interview a leader, so I decided to Interview Swami Anand Arun, the leader of the commune. Eric and I had a great time participating in the meditations and my interview with Swami Arun was very interesting. I gave a brief presentation on Osho Tapoban and Sw. Arun to my classmates and a few said that they felt inspired to go to the commune to begin practicing Osho's meditations .

I'll end with my most recent excursion, which was an unplanned trip to visit Safal's family in Pokhara again. Safal's brother, Baman, called me one morning last week and told me that I should take another trip to visit him and his family. I told him that I would certainly consider it, but that I should probably stay and go to my classes. Later that morning I received a call from Safal, and he said that he was leaving for his family's home that afternoon! I decided to join him and I'm so glad that I did.

Safal's family was even more friendly and welcoming than the first time I visited. I learned a new phrase from his mother, who would repeat the same question with a smile on her face throughout every day that I spent at the farm, "Nicklai, ke din?" This means, "What can I give you, Nick?" The Nepali people are teaching me the true meaning of generosity. I spent every day feeling full from the time I woke up and had my first cup of steaming milk tea, prepared fresh from the family's cow, to the last heaping plate of Dal Bhat Tarkari (lentil soup, rice, and curried vegetables) before bed. I took full advantage of this peaceful break from the chaos of Kathmandu in order to a lot of reading, writing, and catch-up on school and Rotary presentations. I also took a short trip with Safal and some of his childhood friends to visit a small village called Luan. We traveled by foot and by bus, sitting and bouncing on the rooftop as the bus rolled through a wide, flat river valley, often driving through the river itself.

We saw many people from the rural villages, bathing and washing their clothes in the crystal-clear mountain water, grazing their cows and water buffalos along the banks, and women dressed in brightly colored clothes, working in rice paddies, with water up to their knees. Because this is a generally hazy time of year in Nepal, we only caught a short glimpse of the Himalayas. I can't wait until the late summer season, after the skies have dumped all their monsoon rains and the mountains come into full view.

When we returned to Pokhara, I had the opportunity to spend some time with Baman, Safal's older brother. Baman is a very brilliant, successful, and inspiring teacher of high school students. His English is impeccable, which is especially impressive because he received his education from the government schools that are notorious for teaching sub-standard English. He is very highly motivated and takes advantage of all possible opportunities to teach anything to anyone. I discussed with him his restless energy and where it comes from. At times I felt confused and even frustrated by Baman's constant stream of conversation and inability to sit still or be silent. I asked him about this eternal dissatisfaction and he replied that satisfaction was his greatest enemy. This surprised me because satisfaction is what I am searching for every day. Then Baman told me the story of his family. I will recount an abridged version here, and I apologize for not being able to offer all the heart-wrenching, unbelievable details.

Safal had explained to me on my last trip to Pokhara that his family was quite poor. However, they appear to be quite well off when compared to most rural Nepali families. Baman gave me a much more complete explanation. Baman said that when he was preparing to enter the forth grade, his family did not have enough money to pay the 400 rupee entrance fee (this amounts to less than $10). They asked their family members for money, but they were told that Baman should not continue his education, but should learn how to work on the farm instead. Baman's mother sold her gold wedding necklace and got about 2000 rupees, which they used to send Baman and his siblings to school that year and to purchase a Nanny goat. The goat annually produced offspring which they sold and used to pay for the rest of his education. At that time, Baman's father had almost no money, he was illiterate, and he could only earn about one or two dollars per day by working in the fields of his neighbors. The family had to use this money to purchase food items like salt, cooking, oil, and sugar. Baman said that it was quite rare for the family to be able to afford tea, and that they could only have meat once every year.

Baman devoted all his time to his studies and by the time he was 15 he began tutoring other students who were his age and older. He was so successful at tutoring that his clientele grew exponentially. Before long he had earned enough money to build a small classroom on his parents’ property. His students would then come to him to learn and he began teaching English at a high school when he was 17. His energy, enthusiasm, and genuine interest in the wellbeing of his students have impressed enough people that he was recently hired at one of Pokhara's top private boarding schools. He is making a high salary and, during a visit to the school, I personally witnessed that his students absolutely adore him. Now he and all of his siblings have either completed or are working on a master’s degree. His parents enjoy a happy, comfortable life, and Baman promised his father that he would never have to work in any of his neighbors' fields again. He is supporting his family and has built another room on the property which serves as his own bedroom. He has also been able to purchase a motorcycle to get around the city.

So, why am I different from Baman? I have never had to struggle for anything in my life. I think that is the basic answer. I have worked hard for a few things and that always paid off, but I have never had to struggle like Baman. His ambition gives meaning to his life. It has led to the survival and success of his family. The books on meditation and spirituality that I find so inspiring send a very contrary message: ambition will only lead you away from the present moment, which is the only place where an individual can find happiness. I created some mental suffering for myself because I was trying to reconcile my worldview with Baman's. After a long, emotional talk with him, I realized that we don't have to reconcile our worldviews. We can co-exist independently and joyfully as we live our lives in our unique and beautiful ways.

In other news, I have been spending more time with the Rotarians and Rotaractors of Kathmandu. Just yesterday I had a great time giving a presentation to the Rotaract club of Kathmandu Midtown and I was so inspired by the energy and enthusiasm of these young people. They are involved in so many social service projects and they were genuinely interested in learning about my home and my experiences in Nepal. I even taught them how to play Backgammon as we sipped tea after the meeting. I am planning to visit some of their projects, which include a low-tech, low-cost, highly effective water filtration system that people can use in their homes, distribution of food and clothing to the poorest people in the valley, and the construction of a basketball court at a low-income school.

My classes at Kathmandu University are interesting sometimes, but lately I am spending more time and energy outside of school. I find that the people I meet and places I visit are much more meaningful that learning lots of economic formulas or Nepal's Environmental Impact Assessment Policy. Please leave me some feedback and I'll try to write more soon.

Shiva Ratri & the Saddhu Sleepover

2009-03-08T00:47:00.000-08:00

Hello Friends!

Life in Kathmandu continues to be an endless source of surprises, lessons, and challenges. I am getting accustomed to life in the Nepali university system and I I attended a large Rotaract Conference in a town in eastern Nepal where . The 23rd of February was the celebration of Shiva Ratri (the night of Lord Shiva) when hundreds of thousands of devout Hindus from all over Nepal and India visit Nepal's largest Hindu Temple, Pashupatinath. Most recently I took an unexpected hike to the top of a small mountain where I stayed the night with some hermit-like Hindu holy men and three young students of Buddhist meditation.

Safal and I took an afternoon trip to the nearby town of Kirtipur. It is the equivalent of a college town in the U.S., but there are some distinct differences. The town is home to the students of Tribhuvan University, Nepal's largest and only public institution of higher education. The students are from all over Nepal and many of them come from very rural areas. As we walked around the campus, every wall and open patch of concrete was spray painted with Maoist-Communist emblems and political slogans. Safal told me that classes are often disrupted by political unrest and demonstrations and that it is very difficult to get a good education at this school. Nonetheless, it is the only option for most Nepalis. In order to pass a class, a student must pay the professor for extra tutoring outside of class and s/he must purchase special booklets with test questions at an unofficial univeristy bookstore. Fortunately, Kathmandu University is much more organized and legitimate. However, my classes are often subject to last minute cancellation by the professors and just yesterday I learned that all of my classes would be cancelled for the entire week! Now I am making a plan to travel around some of the town in the Kathmandu Valley.

On the 20th of February I took an hour long flight to the town of Biratnagar in order to attend a Rotary Conference. Good fortune or fate placed me in a seat next to a young guy who was going to the same conference! Without him I probably never would have made it to the conference, which was in a town to the north called Dharan Gopal. Due to some political unrest and strikes, the roads were closed to all motorized vehicles, so we hired a couple of Rickshaw drivers to pedal for over an hour to the next town where we could catch a bus. The conference was organized by the Rotaract organization, which is related to Rotary International, but the members of not Rotarians. They are young people ranging in age from 18-30 years old and most of them are wealthy and well-educated. Much of the conference focused on global warming and I was invited to give a 45 minute speech on my scholarship, US culture, and the relationship between my country and Nepal. I tried to offer an alternative perspective to the prevailing understanding of development and explained that the world cannot sustain such rapid growth and industrialization. We must look for simpler, more sustainable models and we are much more likely to find those models in the rural villages of the global East than in the developed cities of the West. The audience of 150 young Nepalis responded with applause, but I got the impression that my call of simplicity fell on deaf ears. In Latin America I saw a similar phenomenon: people get an image of what a "good life" looks like and this idea so often comes from Western popular culture (movies, music videos, magazines, etc.). Most will agree that a simpler life is a nice idea, but very few people in the world seem to be willing to try to live in such a way. I am trying.

I saw some men who seem to be living starkly simple lives during Shiva Ratri. Saddhus are men who have given up their homes and families in order to wander around the country with nothing but a small pot in which to cook their rice and maybe a small bag with a few possessions. I tend to over-romanticize this life, but it really does appeal to me. I am told that many of the Saddhus are just lazy men who couldn't handle the pressures of work and family life and so they just sit at temples and wait for donations from Hindu devotees. However, there are many honest Saddhus who are seeking a more authentic life away from the rat-race of the city. The Saddhus were lined up all over the Pashupatinath temple, some with dread-locks that could be measured with a yardstick and most selling handfuls of marijuana for a few cents. On this day only the government legalizes the sale and consumption of marijuana and its scent was hanging heavily all around the temples. The main streets around the temples were closed and they filled with hundreds of thousands of people, all lining up to visit this ancient, holy historical site.

A few days later my class was unexpectedly cancelled so I decided to take a hike in Shivapuri National Park, north of Kathmandu. I had no destination in mind, but I heard that the park is home to a couple of Buddhist monasteries. I walked for a couple of hours, uphill through beautiful, dense, green jungle before I reached the first of the monasteries, Nagigumba. After sitting for awhile, enjoying my lunch and the amazing view of the Kathmandu valley, I met three guys about my age who were hiking to the top of the mountain in order to stay the night with some Saddhus who had a hut there. They invited me to go along and finally I decided that I might as well. We walked for a few more hours and I learned about their lives in the Dharmashringa Vipassana Center. They volunteer at the center and they have each completed a handful of 10-day courses. They offered some interesting conversation and good, peaceful company on the way to visit the Saddhus. When we finally arrived at the top, we were greeted by two, thin old men with big beards and long dread-locks. The were very welcoming and, though my Nepali is still very basic, we communicated the most important messages through smiles and laughter. They cooked a huge meal of rice and curried vegetables before we all slept in a pile of blankets in their hut made of clay.

On the afternoon that I returned from Shivapuri, I met a young Australian traveler who had been traveling around Southeast Asia for the past 5 months. We became fast friends and spent the next week exploring that Kathmandu valley together. We danced to the music of Kutumba (the band whose music is produced by my landlord and who practices on the first floor of my building) at Momomania. At his delicious little festival we celebrated one of Nepal's most delicious foods. The momo is like a small Chinese dumpling, filled with anything from vegetables to meat to fruit to a sweet paste of milk and nuts. We also went to a Nepali movie theatre for the first time to see Slumdog Millionaire. If you haven't seen it, I recommed it.

Thanks again for reading. I hope to have some more adventures this week and I'll try to post them with some new photos very soon.

Learning

2009-02-16T04:57:00.000-08:00

Namaste!

My classes at Kathmandu University began on February 5th and since that time I have been presented with some startling and disturbing perspectives. I met Ravi Bhandari, a professor from St. Marys College in California who is doing research in Nepal. I have attended a couple of his informal lectures on inequality, post-modernism, and the role of development agencies and NGOs in contributing to Nepal's poverty. I have been forced to reexamine many of my perceptions of such development agencies and my own aspirations of working for them. I am also reading a book called, "Confessions of an Economic Hit man" by John Perkins. The book is truly eye-opening and the author's story tells much about the dubious nature of traditional U.S. foreign policy. I am about halfway through the book and I highly recommend it.

I am currently taking four classes at KU. They are: Natural Resource Economics, Human Dimensions of Development, Natural Resource Systems Management, and the Environmental Impact Assessment. I have a great group of classmates who offer some good discussion and a diverse range of views. I am one of two international students in the school. All of my classes are taught with through PowerPoint and I'm not crazy about this format. However, I am learning. Class goes from 7:30-9:30 every morning except Friday. In Nepal most people only have Saturday as a holiday and they work six days/week. I don't mind this schedule because my whole day is free to explore the city, read, study, and learn more about Nepal. I finally figured out how to link a web-album to my blog, so more pictures should be on the way.

Just before coming to the Internet cafe today, I witnessed something. It was incredible, terrifying, sad, and inspiring. Two brothers, the oldest 10 years old and the younger probably 7, were doing a street performance on Patan's Durbar Square, the ancient plaza down the street from my house. It was probably the most outstanding street performance I've ever seen. Their bodies were like noodles. I watched as the older brother wrapped the younger in a cloth, bent over backwards, and picked him up the cloth with his teeth. He was holding all his brother's weight with his teeth! They walked on their hands as easily as they walked on their feet, and then, while standing on their hands, they put their feet on their heads. Try to imagine that. They danced and played a traditional drum with incredible skill. The highlight came when the 10 year old strapped two six-foot poles to his legs. They were home-made stilts fashioned from sticks that were not particularly straight. He had someone from the large crowd help him to his feet and he began to walk and dance around, far above the crowd. At the end they asked for donations and I gladly contributed.

Then they packed up their belongings and headed down the street. I had a million feelings about this. Of course, I wondered about their guardians. They said that their brother was waiting for them in a nearby suburb. I felt that their lives must be so difficult, that they must know more about suffering than I will probably ever understand. Strangely enough, one of the strongest feelings I experienced was envy. I am certain that they know more about survival that I ever will. They are stronger than I will ever hope to be. They are free in a way that I am not. They have so few attachments in the world and they are able to roam about, wherever they want, without worrying about classes, meetings, schedules, or much of anything except their own survival. They earned enough during their 20 minute performance to eat for a day. And they looked like they were having some fun doing their work. They have opportunities to travel and experience life at such a visceral level that my wealth and attachments will never allow. I am certain that they would trade their life for mine in a heartbeat, and at this point, I would not be willing to trade my lifestyle for theirs. But I realize that this isn't because I am completely satisfied with my life. I still have desires and fears and attachments. The reason I wouldn't trade this lifestyle is fear. I am afraid of not having security, despite the knowledge that my security is an illusion. We like to create lives that feel safe and that appear safe, but we cannot control the universe and this sense of security is constantly threatened by a million different worries and circumstances and possibilities. The boys I saw today readily acknowledge what most people will never admit: we are not in control of anything in this world.

After the boys left the square, I saw a toddler playing with a toy while his mother watched from a distance. The child was having so much fun, not caring at all about money, and not worrying about anything. This child will probably have a safe life, an education, and a loving home environment to grow up in. This must be the way that children should grow up. I say this because this is the way I grew up. And my readers will say this because this is the way they grew up. And this is the way that all children should grow up. Right?

Pokhara

2009-01-29T04:01:00.000-08:00

Hello friends,

My trip to Pokhara has been outstanding. Provocative life lessons seem to present themselves to me as often as I will allow them.

The seven-hour bus ride from Kathmandu to Pokhara took me through 200 kilometers of beautiful mountains, terraced fields, and small villages where old Nepali men and women sit in the sun and watch watch their grandchildren play badminton and soccer. I met a woman from Australia and a guy from Denmark and by the time we reached Pokhara we decided that we would all look for rooms in the same hotel. By the end of the night we were joined by a wise and adventurous Spaniard who shared stories from eight years of travel in India, Nepal, and the rest of the world.

After a few days of exploring Pokhara, eating Western-Nepali style meals engineered for hungry, homesick tourists, and attending three Rotary events in three days, Safal Ghimire arrived to show me his Nepal. I met Safal at Kathmandu University, where he is studying for his second year in the program that I am just beginning. He spent the first 20 of his 21 years living with his family on a farm in the outskirts of the ever-expanding Pokhara and he promised that if I ever wanted to visit Pokhara, he would be happy to accompany me. I took a taxi to Safal's home and shared a mountainous plate of daal bat with his family, sitting on the floor of his small kitchen and eating with my hands. This beautiful experience was to be repeated many times in the next few days. Before bed, Safal's whole family walked me to the property next door, which belongs to Safal's uncle. Safal's father has 7 living brothers and sisters and Nepali tradition requires that the father divide his land among his sons. So, Safal's father and his four brothers all live on the same large plot of land that has been in their family for over 200 years. The each have their own cows or buffaloes and they each have a small garden plot which feeds the family. In addition to tending his farm, one of Safal's uncles is a Pujari, or Hindu priest. The whole family and I sat in his small room with walls lined with shelves of ancient Hindu texts. Safal's uncle gave me a blessing and painted the small red Tika on my forehead to indicate the blessing. He told stories and read about the position and significance of the stars of the day of my birth.

Safal's own story is amazing. He has won numerous awards in Nepal for being the finest orator of the Nepali language. Whenever he translates for me, I not only trust that my message is being conveyed accurately, I am certain that my words become even more meaningful and beautiful when they reach the people I wish to communicate with. When he was about 10 years old his father asked him to quit school and to work on the family farm. Since then Safal has paid for all of his education by himself. He led an enormous group of young people dedicated to improving the environmental, social, and political situation in Nepal. He published many articles and poems renouncing the despotic monarchy and fighting for a democratic Nepal. He led street protests and was the target of military gunfire during the dangerous times of curfew before the monarchy fell. He organized a reproductive health education program, wrote a proposal to get a bit of grant money, and traveled with 15 of his friends to remote villages to talk with young people about the very taboo subject of sex and reproductive health. He also wrote, directed, and acted in very provocative street theatre performances to teach sexual and moral values and responsibility to his peers. Now he is studying Human and Natural Resource Management with me and his greatest dream is to travel to the USA to study Peace and Conflict Studies at a prestigious university. I would like to connect him to the program at Notre Dame. If anyone has any contacts that might be able to help Safal, I can think of no more worthy candidate.

The day after I arrived at the Ghimire home, Safal and I departed for the village of Ghachowk, where his mother's brother lives. We walked for three hours along dusty roads, across perilous bridges, and up and down the sides of the river valley. The more we walked, the fewer signs of "development" were visible. We stopped along the way to visit the mother of one of Safal's friends. She lives alone, survives on the foods from a small garden plot, and tends her buffalo. When we arrived she was so excited to offer of some peanuts from her garden and milk tea with milk from her buffalo. We sat and talked for awhile and Safal later told me that she was close to tears because her own boys are looking for work in the city.

Safal and I were warmly welcomed in the Ghachowk. After strolling around and visiting Safal's friends and family in the very remote village of about 3,000 people, we returned to his uncle's home for a big meal of daal bat. From morning till night, everyone is busy cooking, milking, and taking care of all the household chores. On the morning after we arrived, I was able to help out by churning butter. I spent about a half hour sitting in the small kitchen, seated in front of a cylindrical wooden bucket, pulling opposite ends of a rope wrapped around the handle of a paddle. The picture should make more sense than my description.

That morning, word spread that an old man had died in the village. All the men who knew him got together, collected some large pieces of wood, and carried his body to the river. There they made a pile with their wood and burned his body. As we walked out of town, we passed the men gathered around the fire. We stopped for a moment, but then had to keep walking in order to get back to Pokhara for an appointment at a local highschool.

Safal's brother, Baman, invited me to speak to his 9th graders about life in the U.S. I had a great time talking with the class of 50 boys and girls and they asked some good questions about school, tests, and dating in my home country. I also cleared up some misconceptions. They asked me if everyone in the U.S. has to move out of their parents' home when they are 17. They also asked if everyone has lots of money. One significant difference between the school systems in the Nepal and the U.S. is the Nepali focus on values. They aren't so focused on tests and standards so they are able to teach kids about respect, kindness to everyone, and living a moral life. Kids here are incredibly respectful to me all the time. I am humbled by their smiles and I only wish that we had a similar practice at home.

After we left the school, Safal and I boarded a bus for the village of Saiswara. I had another very interesting experience on bus, which was so crowded that three people were hanging out of each of the two doorways and three more were standing on the rear bumper, holding onto anything that would keep them from falling off. Inside, a woman with a child had recently boarded the bus and I offered her my seat on the large spare tire that was lying on the floor. She gratefully accepted and she was then offered a real seat to sit in. Immediately after I exchanged places with the woman, a man said to Safal that he could not bear to see a foreigner, a guest in his country, standing on such a crowded bus. The man got out of his seat and insisted that I sit. In all the homes we visited, Safal and I were treated like kings, though the people we visited had very little money. Safal explained that in Nepal, the guest is always considered to be like God and should be treated as such. After we got off the bus, he told me that the old men on the bus began talking about America. The asked one another whether they thought that a foreigner would be offered a seat on a crowded bus by an American citizen. I am glad that I did not know more Nepali at that point. I would not have liked to have answered that question.

That night brought more warm, intimate conversations with Safal's friend Milan and his family while sharing another large plate of daal bat. We also drank many more cups of milk and curd from the family's buffalo. I asked Milan's father if he was happy with his life and if he needed anything else to be happy. He said that he was quite content with his life. He had plenty of fresh, organic food to eat, he had all the clean water he could use, and he had a house for his family. Another common theme that I heard from each of the houses we visited was that the family's were so honored that someone from America would visit their homes and eat with them. They seemed surprised when I explained that the honor was really mine. Many people also asked me about the promised land of the USA. I told them that there are jobs there, and there is money, but that it isn't like the movies. The truth is that I don't know many people in my country who are really happy, despite having plenty of food, money, cars, and giant houses. The truth is (and I may be projecting my romantic ideas of Eastern culture) that the people on those small farms seemed to more fulfilled, less depressed, less restless, and more generous than 99% of the people I've met at home.

I don't know if we all need to sell all our possessions and begin growing all our own food (but it wouldn't hurt). I am certain, though, that the simplicity of the peoples' lives in rural Nepal allows them to live with a peace unknown to most people in the west. They have to work hard to survive, but there is an indisputable purpose to absolutely everything that they do.

In other news, my classes at Kathmandu University begin on Thursday and today I went to a program to celebrate World Wetlands Day. I had never even heard of this day! But I went to a lake about 20 Km. outside of Kathmandu and found a group of about 50 young people who were there to enjoy the natural beauty, the clean air, and to raise awareness about protecting valuable ecosystems. I decided to join a group of about 20 people who were going on a long hike through the rice paddi fields and forests in the surrounding hills. As we began the walk, I noticed that a young guy tossed some pieces of trash on the ground. This is a huge social problem in Nepal and there is literally trash everywhere. The waste management system leaves much to be desired. I had a plastic bag with me and I made sure to be in the front of the line as I began picking up a few pieces of trash and filling my bag. Within 5 minutes I was joined by an energetic young woman named Mona. After seeing me, she had collected a few more plastic bags and then we began making a bigger dent in the polluted country side. By the end of the three-hour walk, nearly everyone was helping out, villagers thanked us and stared in disbelief, and we had together collected about 20 bags of trash. I think that this action really created some new consciousness among those few people. I hope it will spread!

Uttar Bindu and the Big Move

2009-01-17T20:43:00.000-08:00

Hey friends, sorry I've been absent for awhile. Kathmandu only has electricity for 8 hours per day and I never seem to be near a computer during those hours. Much has happened since the last time I wrote.

Dawa left for a 1 month visit to New York. I moved out of her house and into a 4th story, rooftop apartment just outside of Patan, Durbar Square. This area of Kathmandu is lauded as one of the most architecturally and culturally rich neighborhoods in all of South Asia. I cannot walk 30 seconds in any direction without running into centuries old Buddhist and Hindu shrines. More pictures should be coming soon.

Before leaving Dawa's house, I was invited to a Sherpa family party at Dawa's uncle's house. Dawa's uncle is the grandson of Norgay Tenzing, the Sherpa climber who, along with Edmund Hillary, was a member of the first climbing party to reach the summit of Mount Everest in 1953. Dawa's uncle himself has been to the top of Everest three times. We drank beer together and talked about Nepali politics.

With little to do on my last day at Dawa's house, I decided to take a walk uphill, away from the city and toward the gigantic Shivapuri National Park that is the border between Kathmandu and the Himalaya Mountain Range. The walk was beautiful and breathing fresh air was a real treat after choking on the grey, soupy air of Kathmandu for a week. I visited a Buddhist Vipassana center that lies just outside the park and I inquired about their 12 day meditation retreats. The 12 days entail about 10 hours of meditation per day, waking up at 4:00 am, eating a sparse vegetarian diet, and not speaking to anyone or making eye contact during the duration of the course. It sounds pretty intense, but I have a month-long break from classes in July and I think that a bit of silence would do me some good.

During that same hike, and despite not having single Rupi to offer, I was invited into a modest and out-of-the-way little restaurant to share a cup of tea with some young local guys. As I was sitting there, learning a bit of Nepali and appreciating the fact that so many young people in Nepal have a great grasp of the English language, an old dump truck rattled up the hill and began dumping piles of dirt and rocks in the uneven and sharply graded road. I asked a guy called Saroj about the road repairs and whether this was a government funded project. After asking a few more questions, I learned that this was actually the first project undertaken by Uttar Bindu, which is Nepali for "North Point." Saroj explained to me that Uttar Bindu is a recently formed youth organization that is dedicated to improving this small community north of Kathmandu. He said that the young people there realized that they could not wait for the government to help them, so they decided to get organized and to begin improving and beautifying their community. They hold regular meetings and they get funding by petitioning the wealthier members of the community. I was astounded by the initiative and power of these young people and I look forward to visiting Uttar Bindu to see what other projects they are planning for this year. This is the primary school in Budhanilkantha, the neighborhood where Uttar Bindu operates. The school was built recently, but it lacks many basic facilities like a safe area for students to play, hygiene facilities, and electricity. Saroj and his young friend are in the background.

The next day I spent many hours traveling around Kathmandu looking at apartments. I finally settled on a one room apartment that is fully furnished, nicely decorated, and that has an impressive view of southern Kathmandu. The best feature of this apartment, however, is the landlord and his wife. Mr. Mangal Maharjan has been a bookstore owner, a music store owner, an artist, and now he is a music producer for one of Nepal's most popular labels: East Meets West. On the first floor of his apartment is the room where Nepal's most popular young folk band, Kotumba, practices. His wife, Vishnu, is an extraordinarily joyful and boisterous lady who brews her own fiery rice liquor in a big blue barrel on the terrace. This shows Mr. Mangal, his wife, and some family friends who formed the band and spontaneous dance party that erupted on the night I moved in. The power was out for the first half of the party, so we celebrated by candle light. Vishnu was insistent that I continue tasting more of her Raskshi (the very potent, home-distilled liquor). We danced for hours and ate mountains of Dal Bhat, Nepal's national dish of rice and lentil soup. I went to bed feeling quite fortunate to have found such a great place to live.

That same afternoon, before the party, I contacted my Rotary host-counselor, Dr. Dinesh Pant. Dr. Pant is the Executive Director of Kathmandu's prestigious Administrative Staff College and after a very positive meeting with him, I was invited to the weekly Thursday meeting of the Kathmandu North East Rotary Club. Due to some strikes which led to unusually heavy traffic jams, only five of the 27 members of the club were present for this meeting. I took advantage of the low turnout by asking many questions about the club, their projects, and their knowledge of the Ambassadorial Scholarship. I came away from the meeting with some great ideas for presentations and a great feeling about Rotary's presence in Nepal. In Kathmandu alone there are 32 Rotary Clubs and there are more than 60 around the country.

Today I am going to the university to take my entrance exams. Then I hope to obtain my student visa. On the 20th I plan to attend a big party for Obama's inauguration and then I hope to spend about 10 days traveling around the country.

More Surprises

2009-01-11T07:24:00.000-08:00

Today I intended to go to the Ministry of Education in order to obtain my student visa. I rode on the back of a motorcycle and when the terrifying ride was done, I felt overwhelming gratitude for the support of the earth under my feet. I vowed that I would never ride a motorcycle again, especially not in Nepal.

The Ministry of Education is tucked into the back of a massive, unkempt government building in the center of town. As I wandered down dark, dirty, unlit hallways, being constantly redirected to another office for Student Visas, I gained a better understanding of Nepal's poverty. Government offices in the U.S. may not be inviting or attractive, but you won't find any offices that are unusable because they have been filled up with old trash. There seemed to be no communication or organization within these offices and everyone gave me different information. I left with some possible next steps toward getting my visa, but I felt a bit frustrated. Despite the mountains of red tape and bureaucracy we deal with in the U.S., I am really learning to appreciate that at least we have a standardized system with clear, enforced laws.

Instead of continuing on with my student visa process, I decided to walk around town for awhile. The Himalaya School of Music caught my attention and before I knew it I was on the back of another motorcycle, racing through the city toward to apartment of two amazing musicians. Rabin plays the Tabala and his wife plays the Sitar. She gives lessons and I am considering becoming a student. This video shows a short piece of the 10 minute private performance I enjoyed in their small apartment.

The jet lag is still a challenge, but I hope to sleep until at least 5:30 tomorrow morning. I have a meeting with the university faculty tomorrow morning and then I'll probably do some apartment shopping. Thanks to everyone who has been reading.

Kay Garnay

2009-01-10T06:53:00.000-08:00

I have been in Kathmandu for three days now. The voyage from Chicago to Nepal could be described as nightmarish, but thus far I haven't found anything about Nepal that I don't like. Although everything about the culture is completely new and fascinating, I have felt at home since I arrived. This is a photo of Dawa, my good friend and gracious host.

My flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, Germany was delayed more than 24 hours and about halfway through the trip to Germany I began to feel very ill. I was apparently suffering from a combination of dehydration and altitude sickness. The last two hours of the flight were spent lying on the floor in the back galley of the plane with three nurses hovering over me. I spent about an hour in the airport clinic in Frankfurt with an IV in my arm in order to rehydrate my body. I was able to make the nine hour flight to Delhi, India, where I had about an eight hour layover. The Kathmandu airport was a bit chaotic, but my good friend Dawa was waiting for me when I walked into the Nepali sunshine.

The jet lag is still affecting my sleep cycle and I have been waking up before 5:00 am every morning. By 7:00 pm I am exhausted, but I am forcing myself to stay awake. Dawa and her family are such gracious hosts. I cannot imagine arriving in a more comfortable and welcoming home. Since I arrived Dawa has been filling my days with tours of the city, delicious food, and many lessons in Nepali language and culture. I have also been meeting many young Nepalis who are very active and interested in the country's political situation. I will undoubtedly be writing much more about the Maoists' recent rise to power and the many political and social difficulties the people of Nepal are facing.

I will stay with Dawa's family for another two or three days and then I plan to move to an apartment in a neighborhood called Lalitpur . The new government recently imposed an electricity load-sharing policy which means that the people only have electricity for eight hours per day. The nights in January are quite cold and very few houses have any source of heat so everyone sleeps under a pile of of blankets. All of these circumstances will offer me a very unique living situation.

This afternoon Dawa and her family hosted a party at their beautiful home north of the city. I learned to make a popular, traditional Nepali food called Momos. This picture shows Dawa, her brother, her father, Sonam, and me.

Saturdays are called holidays and they are generally the only day that people take off of work. Many students are required to attend school 6 days per week. Classes at Kathmandu University will begin in February but I have a meeting with the university faculty on Monday. The city offers an incredible variety of cultural and educational opportunities. Temples, shrines, and monasteries are everywhere and some of them date back 2000 years. I hope to begin taking an intensive course on the Nepali language in addition to learning to play the Sitar.

It is clear that Nepal has a number of serious obstacles to its development. Many streets are lined with piles of trash, public health and hygiene are not of great importance to many people, the government is new, disorganized and, in the case of many officials, very corrupt. The phrase Kay Garnay roughly translates to "What can be done?" This attitude seems to contribute to the peaceful, agreeable nature of many Nepalese, but it is also a roadblock to effective social action. I cannot wait to learn more about the people, their stories, and their struggles.

Please leave more feedback and questions!

Leaving Home

2009-01-04T10:04:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow at 12:30 I will leave South Bend, Indiana to begin the 44 hour journey to Kathmandu, Nepal. I've been enjoying my last hours at home with my family, my friend Marilyn, and my dog Kiki. I also decided to have an extreme makeover in order to have a more professional image. The before and after pictures are included here.

Dawa Sherpa, a Nepali friend who I met while studying at Manchester College, will pick me up at the airport on January 7th. I will be staying with her and her family until I find my own apartment in Kathmandu.

Thank you to everyone who has offered me their thoughts, prayers, words of wisdom,and support. I feel blessed to know so many wise and wonderful people. I will write more when I arrive in Nepal.