Numbers Games

In my 20’s, a good male friend of mine and I were contemplating the challenges of finding the perfect partner. It was tough – to get the right blend of characteristics that were a fit to our unique personalities. Both of us had had not much success in the long term relationship department and over a few beers concluded that it was all ok, but if we got to the age of 35 and we were both still single, my friend proposed “lets hook up and smash out a couple of kids”. Romantic, not really, but was it practical? At the time, it was a long way into the future and both of us thought that the time would never come. One of us surely would be dutifully married and have a couple of tiddly winks. Surely? As 35 approached, funnily enough neither of us had found “the one” or had any children (that we are aware of) but also realised that 35 was perhaps not the cut off point. Compared to the rest of our friends, and perhaps society, we were perhaps starting to stretch the boundaries of norms, but neither of us have been very good at conforming so I figure why change now.

Recently a dear friend of mine shared “well I am turning 35 this year, I must get my shit sorted!” and it got me thinking about the dynamic of age and our perception of what we “should” and “should not” be doing by the ripe age of 35. Or 30, or 40 or 50 for that matter. Other than some obvious biological reasons for women and the desire to have children, what does it really matter what we are doing in our 20’s, 30’s, 40’s....what dictates what is “right” and “wrong”. Whilst traveling I have met some amazing people – of all ages. It seems that there is not a pattern with a particular demographic. I have had the pleasure of meeting some of the most mature and grounded 21 year olds and also the unfortunate experience of meeting some 30 somethings that behave like 16 year olds. So I am beginning to think that age really does not matter. What perhaps sealed it for me was chatting to a Tibetan friend the other day and the subject of age came up. I asked how old he was – he replied 25. Hmmmm, interesting because he also had told me that he came to India when he was 18, spent 7 years in a monastery and then had left the monastery nearly 4 years ago. It didn’t add up. So what year were you born I had asked? Well, I am not sure he had replied. What? How can you not know? My date of birth is 8.8.1982 – I am quickly doing the math, well, easy, that makes you 30 this year. No, he had replied, that was the easiest number for me to remember, when I arrived, the man on the desk said I will make it easy for you, you will remember this. And so his date of birth had been established – by an Indian man at the Tibetan refugee reception centre that was making it easy for new arrivals. It wasn’t until years later he had told his mother in Tibet and she said that it was impossible he had been born in 1982, it didn’t fit with her 8 other children, however, she confided she had no idea of the actual year. So he could be 25, or 27, or 29....no one really knows. 

Does age really matter?

 So when we get so hung up on “I should be doing this because I am of the age” I am wondering if I like the way of the Tibetans, make up a number that is easy to remember and to hell with counting the years. As my Tibetan friend so aptly put it, what does it matter anyway? Fair point.

Man in the Mirror

Michael Jackson released a beautiful song in the 80’s that was deeply profound and incredibly meaningful. Not that “Bad” wasn’t moving, but “Man in the Mirror” had a clear message. It spoke of change, of taking responsibility, and often I find myself humming the lyrics to that song as it reminds me constantly of so many lessons. My friend Paul even managed to play this song for His Holiness the Dalai Lama at the Kalachakra (check out the link below to see it) A pretty amazing occasion. So many people came up to him after and commented that it was a perfect song for such an event as the Kalachakra was dedicated to world peace. And when we talk about peace, it doesn’t simply mean that the Obama’s of the world own it, although they certainly have a substantial amount of influence, but what His Holiness often teaches on is how we can take responsibility for our own worlds. We own our own peace; we can and should live a life with compassion for all sentient beings. 

This song is speaking volumes to me this week. Daily I walk the streets of McLeod and today I walked the Kora around the temple. In India you are always greeted by beggars, especially on the Kora as they know the score, Buddhists will typically give to them. I have become immune. I walk past the cripples, the limbless men and women, the blind man that can sense you as you walk past and will greet you with “Namaste”. The starving children, the mothers with their babies, the down and out and the destitute. I walk past, avoiding their longing gaze, their pleas for money. It is harsh, but when it is a daily occurrence you begin to protect yourself. It feels like the only way. Until this morning. I walked past the same man I often see, he is missing part of his leg, and a hand. He sits patiently in the cold each day, hoping for a few small coins. Today I looked at him. I saw his wounds, I saw the pain he must be feeling. I realised I have been avoiding doing this, as it is too much for me too bare. If you have been to a poor country, you will know the feeling. It is overwhelming. So you protect yourself, you look away, you don’t acknowledge that these people are hurting, they are hungry, they are cold. You can’t save all of them, so you don’t save any. The lyric from the song came to me “who am I to be blind, pretending not to see their needs?” I have been blind. Protecting myself. 

There as always someone putting their hand out in India

 In a community that is currently mourning, as people in Tibet continue to self immolate in protest to the Chinese, I am stuck for words at how the world can stand by and allow the persecution to continue. I am not well versed on the political situation, and don’t feel equipped to enter a debate on the issue, but when you live here, amongst the Tibetans, it is unavoidable. When I see the pain and anguish of my friends that have no country, I can not help but wonder if like me on my daily walk, the world is pretending not to see what is happening, protecting ourselves in our little cocoons of safety and security as “it is someone else’s problem”.  But in the words of the famous Mahatma Gandhi “You must be the change you wish to see in the world” - maybe Michael was on the same page as the great man himself -  I encourage you to take at least read about what is happening to the people of Tibet and decide for yourself, and rather than sit back and wait for someone else to do something, take a stand and show support.  

Can we Save Tibet?

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=QBsVcxFIARQ#t=2479s 

To see my friend Paul perform for His Holiness the Dalai Lama at Kalachakra

http://unitednations4freetibet.com/unfft/ 

For more info on the situation in Tibet

And from Michael.....

I'm Gonna Make A Change, For Once In My Life
It's Gonna Feel Real Good, Gonna Make A Difference
Gonna Make It Right . . .

As I, Turn Up The Collar On My Favourite Winter Coat
This Wind Is Blowin' My Mind
I See The Kids In The Street, With Not Enough To Eat
Who Am I, To Be Blind? Pretending Not To See Their Needs
A Summer's Disregard, A Broken Bottle Top
And A One Man's Soul
They Follow Each Other On The Wind Ya' Know
'Cause They Got Nowhere To Go
That's Why I Want You To Know

I'm Starting With The Man In The Mirror
I'm Asking Him To Change His Ways
And No Message Could Have Been Any Clearer
If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
Take A Look At Yourself, And Then Make A Change

I've Been A Victim Of A Selfish Kind Of Love
It's Time That I Realize

That There Are Some With No Home, Not A Nickel To Loan
Could It Be Really Me,
Pretending That They're Not Alone?

A Willow Deeply Scarred,
Somebody's Broken Heart
And A Washed-Out Dream
They Follow The Pattern Of The Wind, Ya' See
Cause They Got No Place To Be
That's Why I'm Starting With Me

Coming home

I had a day the other day where I was feeling, well strange. I was anxious, agitated, restless for no apparent reason. I could just feel the resistance within me arise. Nothing in particular had happened, I wasn’t plagued by consuming thoughts that triggered it, I just felt weird. Nothing special had happened, it was a day like any other, but yet I felt the agitation, my skin crawled with it. I tried all the usual distractions, internet – nope, reading – definitely not, listening to music – excruciating. The undeniable restlessness sat there, refusing to budge. Almost taunting me to find something to hide it, mask it and shove me back into ignorant bliss. So I decided to roll out the mat, the familiar territory of my yoga mat. The friend that has been with me the entire trip (although I did upgrade in NYC) but the constant in my back pack. The grains of sand from Goa are still embedded, the stains of tears from holding a hip opener, the secrets my mat holds are endless.

Since travelling I have attempted to maintain some kind of routine and regular practice. I must admit my idea of “practice” has shifted from the need to do a 90minute sweat pouring session in the yoga studio to some simple stretches in order to prepare my body for what I now truly savour, the sitting in meditation. My practice has moved from hours on the mat to a more gentle and subtle sitting with my breath, stilling the mind, allowing my thoughts to come and go. My mat is still home to my practice, but it is of a different kind. Some days child’s pose is all I can muster before I take my seat, other days I might stretch it out and go with my body to the places it knows it needs to. Nothing strenuous, nothing fancy, I am not rocking out handstand or even some crazy arm balance, but a gentle and slow movement to the places of my body that cry out for attention. Today I can feel the resistance in my entire body, I breathe, I take my breath to the ache in my calves from the 200 steps I climb each day, I take my breath to my hips that are screaming at me from hanging onto my emotions. My breath takes me to the back of my heart where a simple cobra is almost excruciating. Slowly but surely, my body starts to move, my breath taking it to where it needs to go. My mediation has already begun as I focus on the slow rhythm of my breath.  I am coming home, coming home through my body, through my breath to me. To meet myself. To find the space not only in my body but more importantly in my mind.

I sit with my breath. I sit with my mind. I am home.  

Normal

I think I lost my definition of normal the moment I stepped on that plane over one year ago. We all have experiences and preconceived ideas that shape our view of the world and define our boundaries on normal and perhaps the not-so-normal. Or in some cases plain out right weird and even wonderful. I am constantly reminded, challenged and tested on my boundaries. My comfort zone has been stretched to the max, and in some cases exploded. I have been profoundly smacked in the face with my fears and perhaps even harder still, the harsh bite of reality has given me a round or two. All of these things make life interesting and rewarding, sometimes challenging and heart breaking – but for the most, I guess it is what keeps me here.

Some of the places I have visited in the last year have truly tested me. From the rubbish and poverty in India, the orphans in Nepal, the crime in Guatemala.....but it was also the unexpected that I found challenging. The incredible waste in London, the obscene retail scene in New York, the harshness of the people in Paris – all of these situations you would say were once my “normal”. Cities like London, Paris and New York actually freaked me out more than any amount of rubbish in India. I felt out of place and foreign. It is something I have not thought about much, my definition of normal.  It wasn’t until recently when I had hung some washing out on my balcony only to come home and find my one and only yoga top missing. There was not much wind that day, so I thought it would be weird that it had been blown away. Highly unlikely someone would be able to get on to my balcony to steal it. Where could it be?? I was telling my friend and she said “oh the monkeys would’ve stolen it”. Of course. How silly of me to leave it there in the first place. 

Another blanket helps fight the cold outside.....

Monkeys stole my washing and I don’t bat an eye lid. It has become my normal. I walk past the piles of rubbish, the cows eating the piles of rubbish and I don’t even blink. The power goes out yet again and I simply light a candle. There is snow outside and I don’t have heat in my room so I wrap another blanket around me. And I won’t even begin to tell you about dating in this part of the world. That is a blog unto itself....out of the ball park for “normal”. So as I sit with my blanket around me for warmth, waiting for the power to come back on, I realise my sense of “normal” or what it used to be got left somewhere on that QANTAS flight. I was reminded yet again when I spoke with my Dad last night and he asked “how was your week? “ And I replied “pretty normal”. I began to tell him about tutoring students, oh then Wednesday we dressed in the traditional chupa and attended a prayer vigil for the Tibetan people who have lost their lives fighting for their freedom. Oh and then Friday we went to the temple to see His Holiness the Dalai Lama welcome Archbishop Desmond Tutu after which we had tea at a momola’s house (old lady) before heading out on Friday night where my friend DJ’d at the local “dance party”. My Dad laughed,” is that normal?? “I guess it is not, but in my world, it is really just a “normal week” in Mcleod Ganj.

The one thing I love about India (well there are many things, but this is perhaps one of the main ones) is the constant, and I mean constant opportunity to learn lessons. It is non-stop lesson learning territory in this place, from the practicing of patience with honking car horns , humbleness and humility with how lucky we are in the west to the art of letting go of “normal” (blog coming on that one). But for me at the moment, I am learning something different. Something a bit unexpected for me, and well if I am honest, something I thought I was actually quite good at. I am typically a head strong and independent minded (code for stubborn) kind of girl. I have my way, and I like it like it like that. So it was suprising and perhaps even a bit challenging for me this week as I slowly but surely was getting lesson after lesson in the art of saying “no”.

Some of you (perhaps Mum) are probably re-reading that last sentence, and thinking “are you joking?” but then some of you, are also probably smiling and shaking your head in acknowledgment (Bella, that is you). I have found I have a tendency, maybe it is old and maybe it is new, to not want to disappoint people, let them down and even leave them out to dry.  I want to please people, I want to help people, I want the best for people and often it is with no regard for me and my own interests. So instead, I grin and with gritted teeth say yes. Yes of course I will teach your friend English – I mean I should, really I am here tutoring other students, surely I can fit another one in, I can start working on my website/workshops/own practice some other time.....Yes of course it is ok that you dance that close to me with your stinky arm pits and horrible beer breath, this is your country it would be rude of me to tell you where to go, I am sure you don’t mean to be a sleazy/horrible/drunken man.....Yes of course I will forgive the fact that you have let me down once again, I am sure you don’t mean to, you don’t know better, you have other things going on that are more important than mine....

See the pattern emerging here? Small little things I know, and maybe I can take on the extra student as well, that is a good thing to do, but when my kind and giving nature is starting to be done through gritted teeth, it is a sign for me to stop and say to myself. No. Just say no. It really is not that hard. Don’t promise what you can’t deliver and don’t deliver at the cost of yourself.  So even in the life that I lead, there are always opportunities for balance. And “NO!”