“The outer journey of an inner traveler”
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
La muerte de Señor Cucaracha
A funny thing happens when you become an observer; you begin to see things...
Although I have already seen many iconic sites on my journey; from the Golden Gate bridge to Big Ben to the Eiffel tower, the purpose of my travels is not only checking off items on some invisible inner bucket list of places and things. There is also a second, concurrent journey happening; an inner journey, a time to reflect and take inventory of where I truly am and would truly like to be. And just like the trusty Michelin Guide I picked up on my first day here in Spain, I am not without "guide books" for the inner journey as well. Among other things, lately I have been reading and rereading passages from "The places that scare you" by Pema Chodron and auditing a UC Berkley "Intro to Buddhism" class via iTunes. I find most of this stuff boils down to the same practice. Be in the moment...observe. Perhaps it's an oversimplification probably informed by the fact that all my days consist of is observing: go someplace, see something, process & repeat. It's an interesting parallel. So I study and reflect and meditate, not quite sure if anything is changing. I don't feel zen or peaceful or one with the universe. Quite the opposite. When you begin to open that channel, you feel like a crazy person.
Enter Señor Cucaracha.
I have just put my bag down and am waiting for my overnight bus to Bilbao when I see him; merely inches from my foot, motionless. I wonder if he's dead. If anyone knows me they know my aversion to cockroaches. Now I know no one "likes" them but my dealings with them border on the irrational. I once called a boyfriend in the middle of the night because I had found one in my apartment. It was clearly dead; on its back, yet I was having a near panic attack, frozen with fear and unsure what to do. He stayed with me on the phone and after 20min I was able to summon the courage to sweep it into a dustpan. But I couldn't throw it in the trash; couldn't have it in the house so I opened the front door, ran to the curb, and flung it across the street. That's just one example.
But as I am now a Zen master, I have learned that just because I am bothered by something doesn't mean I have to react. I can sit and observe. So I tell myself, "This cockroach has as much right to be here on this earth, in this bus station, as I do. He's not actually doing anything to me". So I sit and I breathe and even though the inner panic starts; instead of pushing it away, I bring it closer. I try to quell my thoughts and focus on the feeling of fear underneath that's fueling them and I just try and experience the physical sensation; the hairs on the back of my neck; the twitchiness of my muscles; the heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It's intense but instead of continuing to panic the emotion subsides. Señor Cucaracha & I? We cool.
As I sit and wonder at the power of my mind and pat myself on the back for being able to harness my thoughts, a bus worker comes by to smoke a cigarette and steps on the cockroach; not enough to squash it, mind you, just enough to mangle one of it's legs and flip it onto it's back. I jump up and move away. I look down at the cockroach and watch it's legs and antennae flail around as it struggles to right itself. I watch the cockroach struggle and then...well...then I start feeling the cockroach struggle. I want to help it but I can't bring myself to. I haven't magically stopped being insurmountably grossed out by cockroaches, I've just been able to tolerate this particular one's existence for a few precious moments. But now I am in a panic. Noone else notices what is happening. DOESN'T ANYBODY SEE WHAT'S GOING ON! Maybe I can find a broom or long stick and nudge it right side up. The only other option is to ask someone to help me which is absurd. I imagine the quizzical looks as I ask someone in Spanish to help me "salvar la cucaracha", save the cockroach. At best I would be ignored as someone who did not have a basic understanding of the Spanish language or at worst only serve to hasten the cockroach's death. I watch it struggle and think, "it's struggle would be no different from mine in the same circumstance" and still I can't bring myself to help him. I can only watch from a distance and feel crazy with guilt and shame. Only when I realize they are making the final call for my bus do I tear myself away from the scene.
As the bus rolls out and I calm down, I am amazed by what has transpired in me; the internal drama of what would normally be an ignored scene. This is absurd, I tell myself but in a deeper place I realize that it's not. It's open. It's connection. It's yoga. It's just new and unsure and unfettered. I feel bad that I didn't help the cockroach but I couldn´t. Really, I felt paralyzed. I could not help it even though I wanted to. Then my mind's eye began flashing on moments in my own life when I felt people could have...should have...helped me out but didn't. Then I started having real compassion and understanding for the possibility that maybe they wanted to but were also paralyzed by their own fears. I, know! I know! It all seems a little insane that my heart and soul crack open from a momentary encounter with a Cucaracha but that is the reality of inner exploration. Damn this stuff is potent! I am completely petrified and exhilirated by the prospect of what's next....
Although I have already seen many iconic sites on my journey; from the Golden Gate bridge to Big Ben to the Eiffel tower, the purpose of my travels is not only checking off items on some invisible inner bucket list of places and things. There is also a second, concurrent journey happening; an inner journey, a time to reflect and take inventory of where I truly am and would truly like to be. And just like the trusty Michelin Guide I picked up on my first day here in Spain, I am not without "guide books" for the inner journey as well. Among other things, lately I have been reading and rereading passages from "The places that scare you" by Pema Chodron and auditing a UC Berkley "Intro to Buddhism" class via iTunes. I find most of this stuff boils down to the same practice. Be in the moment...observe. Perhaps it's an oversimplification probably informed by the fact that all my days consist of is observing: go someplace, see something, process & repeat. It's an interesting parallel. So I study and reflect and meditate, not quite sure if anything is changing. I don't feel zen or peaceful or one with the universe. Quite the opposite. When you begin to open that channel, you feel like a crazy person.
Enter Señor Cucaracha.
I have just put my bag down and am waiting for my overnight bus to Bilbao when I see him; merely inches from my foot, motionless. I wonder if he's dead. If anyone knows me they know my aversion to cockroaches. Now I know no one "likes" them but my dealings with them border on the irrational. I once called a boyfriend in the middle of the night because I had found one in my apartment. It was clearly dead; on its back, yet I was having a near panic attack, frozen with fear and unsure what to do. He stayed with me on the phone and after 20min I was able to summon the courage to sweep it into a dustpan. But I couldn't throw it in the trash; couldn't have it in the house so I opened the front door, ran to the curb, and flung it across the street. That's just one example.
But as I am now a Zen master, I have learned that just because I am bothered by something doesn't mean I have to react. I can sit and observe. So I tell myself, "This cockroach has as much right to be here on this earth, in this bus station, as I do. He's not actually doing anything to me". So I sit and I breathe and even though the inner panic starts; instead of pushing it away, I bring it closer. I try to quell my thoughts and focus on the feeling of fear underneath that's fueling them and I just try and experience the physical sensation; the hairs on the back of my neck; the twitchiness of my muscles; the heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It's intense but instead of continuing to panic the emotion subsides. Señor Cucaracha & I? We cool.
As I sit and wonder at the power of my mind and pat myself on the back for being able to harness my thoughts, a bus worker comes by to smoke a cigarette and steps on the cockroach; not enough to squash it, mind you, just enough to mangle one of it's legs and flip it onto it's back. I jump up and move away. I look down at the cockroach and watch it's legs and antennae flail around as it struggles to right itself. I watch the cockroach struggle and then...well...then I start feeling the cockroach struggle. I want to help it but I can't bring myself to. I haven't magically stopped being insurmountably grossed out by cockroaches, I've just been able to tolerate this particular one's existence for a few precious moments. But now I am in a panic. Noone else notices what is happening. DOESN'T ANYBODY SEE WHAT'S GOING ON! Maybe I can find a broom or long stick and nudge it right side up. The only other option is to ask someone to help me which is absurd. I imagine the quizzical looks as I ask someone in Spanish to help me "salvar la cucaracha", save the cockroach. At best I would be ignored as someone who did not have a basic understanding of the Spanish language or at worst only serve to hasten the cockroach's death. I watch it struggle and think, "it's struggle would be no different from mine in the same circumstance" and still I can't bring myself to help him. I can only watch from a distance and feel crazy with guilt and shame. Only when I realize they are making the final call for my bus do I tear myself away from the scene.
As the bus rolls out and I calm down, I am amazed by what has transpired in me; the internal drama of what would normally be an ignored scene. This is absurd, I tell myself but in a deeper place I realize that it's not. It's open. It's connection. It's yoga. It's just new and unsure and unfettered. I feel bad that I didn't help the cockroach but I couldn´t. Really, I felt paralyzed. I could not help it even though I wanted to. Then my mind's eye began flashing on moments in my own life when I felt people could have...should have...helped me out but didn't. Then I started having real compassion and understanding for the possibility that maybe they wanted to but were also paralyzed by their own fears. I, know! I know! It all seems a little insane that my heart and soul crack open from a momentary encounter with a Cucaracha but that is the reality of inner exploration. Damn this stuff is potent! I am completely petrified and exhilirated by the prospect of what's next....
Monday, August 6, 2012
All directions...one way
Indeed, I thought; it doesn't matter which way you go; you ultimately
end up where you are; and oftentimes exactly where you need to be. In my current incarnation as professional vagabond, this is a point that is not easily lost on me. Every day, without fail, I am called to make decisions about where to go, how to get there, how long to stay and when to move on. Sometimes everything works out perfectly and those days are AWESOME. But most days, something goes horribly wrong. Buses are missed; train schedules are wrong, places are closed, items misplaced, language barriers insurmountable. Those moments, if you let them; and I have, can derail the rest of a perfectly good day. If you let them. But I have also found that there is always a next train or a bus to someplace else that's interesting. Leaving something behind is an opportunity to gain something new. And language barriers can be a path towards new understanding. Ultimately, it doesn't matter which road you take, you will always come to the same end. I have come to learn, in a very practical sense that every day begins & ends whether or not I want it to; whether or not I have crossed everything off my sight seeing list. Whatever direction I decide to take, wherever I go or don't go; whatever I see or don't see; each step is moving me forward to the same place-the end of this journey.
In the penultimate sense, it's also true. All directions...one way. Every road leads to the same place for everyone. There is only one real direction we are traveling in, from the moment we breathe our 1st breath, and it is the march towards our last, towards death. And I don't mean it in a macabre and depressing way. It's actually quite liberating. It is a fact of life. One we are startlingly adept at trying to avoid. And I am not an exception. Yet again traveling like this, to so many places and for such a long stretch of time; the concept of monumental beginnings and endings is always staring me square in the face.
"Wow! I'm in London!"
"oh, I'm leaving London"
"Wow! I'm in Paris!"
"oh, I'm leaving Paris"
But beginnings and endings are all around us, always. And now that I have begun to settle into the lifestyle of a solo traveler these subtle beginnings and endings also start to reveal themselves; of breath and thought and emotion. I have started watching these things much like I'm watching the scenery outside the train to Valencia. Mountains come and go, cities pass, the sun begins to set and ultimately disappear into the horizon which itself disappears into the oncoming darkness of night. Soon I will be at the end of this day of my life; this small trip within my larger journey. Where to next? Mmm..All directions..one way.
Friday, August 3, 2012
God save the Queen: the UK Jubilee Tour
Here for your viewing pleasure..
Pictures of my chilly July in the Northern UK...
Pictures of my chilly July in the Northern UK...
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Stumbling into darkness in the city of light
*Prologue*
I wrote the post below over 2 weeks ago, while in Paris. I wondered if I had the courage to share it. To be brutally honest, It wasn't exactly the same post. The post I initially wrote was accidentally erased as I impulsively tried to upload it. "Well", I said to myself, "must be a sign from the universe! It wasn't meant to be shared." But it keeps popping back up in my thoughts; unfinished business. Before leaving on this trip, the fact was, I wasn't happy in my life and I didn't know where to go to find whatever it was I was looking for. So now I'm going everywhere and shaking things up and seeing what transpires. Not everything I've found is pretty. But if I can't even be honest in this blog, and with the people who love me, how will I ever find the courage to be honest with myself. So here goes...scarred and all...where I was..2 weeks ago...
..,It's 4 in the afternoon and I'm licking Nutella off my fingers; not because I've just indulged in a delicious French pastry in some adorable street cafe but rather I am getting rid of the evidence. Evidence of polishing off a jar of Nutella and a full size baguette, among other sundries, as if I were an athlete training for some championship eating competition.
I have always turned to food for comfort. Or at least that's how it began. But like a bandaid, food was never a cure; merely a temporary cover so the bleeding could stop. By the time I left for New York after college, turning to food was like breathing air. Hurt, angry, depressed, anxious, joyful, tired, bored: food was the solution. Soon my source of comfort became an act of violence. A textbook case of battered woman syndrome; I returned to my lover again & again, always thinking things would be different this time.
But that was years ago. I paid my dues. Hit bottom, strained friendships, lost boyfriends, got help. I opened my Pandora's box and waded in the shit. And yet it seems, a stubborn spot remains.
Don't get me wrong, Traveling has been wonderful overall and I understood from the beginning that it was also going to be a challenge. I purposefully placed myself in a groundless situation. I have nothing to hold onto here. No person or place is familiar or constant. The only "things" I have are the few clothes & toiletries strapped to my back. All I have is myself. It's freeing to live this way; with nothing to hold you down. But even though I chose to walk off the cliff, I kind of feel like Wiley Coyote now; who only upon looking down realizes he's not on solid ground and begins to fall. And I am falling...
*Epilogue*
Since the day I wrote the above, I am in a different place...literally & figuratively! Distance allows perspective and I can honestly see the gift in having gone through that particular low point. To try & explain what's changed is challenging. In some ways nothing has changed...nothing concrete that i can point to. I'm still traveling, still exploring, still having highs & lows; challenges & triumphs. But there has been a shift. I still experience excitement and wonder & loneliness every day. I still experience peace & chaos; times of clarity and doubt. I still wanna eat. The difference? Instead of feeling strapped to this roller coaster of emotion; I'm learning to be a spectator. The feelings are still there, still intense but a space is opening and a road unveiling itself. And so I take a step forward even if it feels like I'm walking backwards and I remind myself a stumble is not a fall.
I wrote the post below over 2 weeks ago, while in Paris. I wondered if I had the courage to share it. To be brutally honest, It wasn't exactly the same post. The post I initially wrote was accidentally erased as I impulsively tried to upload it. "Well", I said to myself, "must be a sign from the universe! It wasn't meant to be shared." But it keeps popping back up in my thoughts; unfinished business. Before leaving on this trip, the fact was, I wasn't happy in my life and I didn't know where to go to find whatever it was I was looking for. So now I'm going everywhere and shaking things up and seeing what transpires. Not everything I've found is pretty. But if I can't even be honest in this blog, and with the people who love me, how will I ever find the courage to be honest with myself. So here goes...scarred and all...where I was..2 weeks ago...
..,It's 4 in the afternoon and I'm licking Nutella off my fingers; not because I've just indulged in a delicious French pastry in some adorable street cafe but rather I am getting rid of the evidence. Evidence of polishing off a jar of Nutella and a full size baguette, among other sundries, as if I were an athlete training for some championship eating competition.
I have always turned to food for comfort. Or at least that's how it began. But like a bandaid, food was never a cure; merely a temporary cover so the bleeding could stop. By the time I left for New York after college, turning to food was like breathing air. Hurt, angry, depressed, anxious, joyful, tired, bored: food was the solution. Soon my source of comfort became an act of violence. A textbook case of battered woman syndrome; I returned to my lover again & again, always thinking things would be different this time.
But that was years ago. I paid my dues. Hit bottom, strained friendships, lost boyfriends, got help. I opened my Pandora's box and waded in the shit. And yet it seems, a stubborn spot remains.
Don't get me wrong, Traveling has been wonderful overall and I understood from the beginning that it was also going to be a challenge. I purposefully placed myself in a groundless situation. I have nothing to hold onto here. No person or place is familiar or constant. The only "things" I have are the few clothes & toiletries strapped to my back. All I have is myself. It's freeing to live this way; with nothing to hold you down. But even though I chose to walk off the cliff, I kind of feel like Wiley Coyote now; who only upon looking down realizes he's not on solid ground and begins to fall. And I am falling...
*Epilogue*
Since the day I wrote the above, I am in a different place...literally & figuratively! Distance allows perspective and I can honestly see the gift in having gone through that particular low point. To try & explain what's changed is challenging. In some ways nothing has changed...nothing concrete that i can point to. I'm still traveling, still exploring, still having highs & lows; challenges & triumphs. But there has been a shift. I still experience excitement and wonder & loneliness every day. I still experience peace & chaos; times of clarity and doubt. I still wanna eat. The difference? Instead of feeling strapped to this roller coaster of emotion; I'm learning to be a spectator. The feelings are still there, still intense but a space is opening and a road unveiling itself. And so I take a step forward even if it feels like I'm walking backwards and I remind myself a stumble is not a fall.
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