Between the Extremes...

Hellos to all from Dharamsala. The extremes which I have experienced In India since leavingBali have been simply mindblowing, stretching me to the edges ofmy own heart and mind. My last day in Delhi was bothinteresting and challenging. At my request, my rickshaw driver,Shog (who I have come to really like and trust), took me to seeseveral of Delhi's most beautiful temples, including the largestHindu temple in Delhi, a smaller Hindu temple dedicated toShiva, a Baha'i temple built in the shape of a lotus blossom,and a Sikh temple where I happened upon "bhajans" (devotionalsongs) performed by three bearded men in turbans playingharmoniums and tablas. I also visited Mahatma Gandhi's shrine(thanks for the tip Kartik!) where I felt what I can onlydescribe as the softest, sweetest vibe I have yet to experiencein Delhi. The serenity there helped carry me through the roughspots of the day and the remainder of my time in Delhi... Iwon't go into details now, because they're pretty gruesome, butif you read my last posting you can imagine what I mean. But let me just say, your imaginings can only scratch the surface ofwhat is common, frightening reality for so many people overhere... The overnight bus ride from Delhi to Dharamsala proved to be oneof the most insane bus rides of my life, and as such, offeredits own set of challenges. Much of the road, especially throughthe mountains, is narrow and mauled with potholes. Tocompensate for this, bus and truck drivers tend to drive in themiddle of the road - at night, and around blind curves. When anoncoming vehicle approaches, there's a twisted littlegroove-dance that happens between the drivers. They sort ofhang out in the middle of the road as long as they can, as ifpreparing for head-on collision, and then moments before thecrash they blow their horns as each vehicle swerves out of theway to avoid certain death. Why do they do this? I can'treally say. I can only say that they do it - and it went on allnight... So after what turned out to be a gruelling, fifteen-hour, allnight bus ride, I arrived (virtually sleepless but happilyalive) at the mountain village of Dharamsala in Northern India. The vibe here is beautiful... giant mountains, pine forests,Tibetan prayer flags swaying in the wind... Dharamsala is a small village with a sort of internationalscene. There are shops filled with Tibetan handicrafts andgarments, yoga classes, and cafes that claim to cook all theirfood with sterilized water. Most of all, however, Dharamsala isthe home of Tibet's exiled spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, andheadquarters of the exiled Tibetan Buddhist Government. I amcurrently staying at the Namgyal Tibetan Buddhist Monastery in aquiet room surrounded by hundreds of Buddhist monks, nuns, andTibetan families who have fled Tibet. My room is simple, butit's all I need. The view looks out to the Dhauladhar Mountainsand the Kangra Valley lying below. The monastery sits at around6,000 feet, but surrounding peaks rise to over 12,000. I arrived here at about 8:00 a.m. Monday morning and immediatelyheaded for the Namgyal Monastery, hoping they would have anavailable room for me. There are several Buddhist monasteriesup here, but Namgyal is the largest and the main one, seeingthat in includes the Dalai Lama's personal residence, and themost important ceremonies are carried out in Namgyal's maintemple, a beautiful place called Tsuglagkhang, adorned withamazing images of the Buddha and various other buddhas andbodhisattvas. To my surprise, the paths that led through thenarrow streets and up the hill into the monastery and templegrounds were crowded with people - Tibetans, Indians, evenWesterners. Turns out the Dalai Lama was in town (he's oftenabroad or in the U.S.) and a special ceremony which he wasadministering had just begun. Moments later, I found myselfsitting amidst hundreds of robed Buddhist monks, gazing intoTsuglagkhang, and peering at the Dalai Lama seated cross-leggedon this raised, golden cusion with a big smile. The Buddhistimages in the temple rose boldly behind him, while Tibetan hornsblew and cymbals crashed around him. The ceremony continued forabout two hours, complete with drums, bells, incense, chanting,and concluded with an oracle (kind of like a prophet) dressed inelaborate, ceremonial costume going into a trance dance in themiddle of the temple. It was wild! The Dalai Lama departedwith the oracle and a crowd of senior monks and personal guards,and then two more hours followed of deep Buddhist chanting withperiods of intermittant horns and cymbals. I wrapped myself inmy purple, Balinese sarong, smiled, fell deep into the drone ofthe monks' voices, and drifted off to a sweet, deep place Ihaven't been to in a while... or at least since Bali. Enjoying the breaths, between the extremes...Hope everyone is well!Thanks to all who have written. More to come...Ari

Namaste'

Delhi.

Hey everyone!
Just a note to keep myself connected to some sense of
familiarity. I use this e-mail travelogue/journal as a way of
reflecting on my experiences and sharing them, but also
(especially now) to keep emotional contact. So thanks for being
there.
Delhi is absolutely insane! They say there are about 14 million
people living in this place and most of them are dwelling in
extreme poverty. The streets are out of control - and I've seen
some pretty heavy and intense places in all my travels - but
this place is beyond any of them. The goal here is simply to
survive. Things are so filthy. Living conditions in the heart
of the city are horrendous. There's no consciousness of health
here, the focus for many seems to be on finding water to drink
(even if it's dirty), food to eat, and avoiding being run over
or stepped on. Even spirituality seems to hover on the far
fringes of life. Death is lingering everywhere.
Sure there are exceptions, women roaming in their bright-colored
saris, people hustling to work, government palaces and business
centers, etc. But mostly, the streets are filled with cars,
soot, smog, grime, scooters, busses, auto rickshaws (basically
3-wheeled golf carts), and bicycle rickshaws. People line the
streets, some standing, others walking, sitting, limping,
meditating, sleeping, begging, dying... Traffic scurries like
rats, moving in every conceivable direction simultaneously. A
guy on a scooter crashed into our rickshaw. Nobody was hurt.
The two drivers yelled at each other for 20 seconds and then it
was over. My rickshaw driver (who I spent about 3 hours with
today racing around Delhi) soared the wrong way down one-way
streets at approaching busses, and raced around like a teenager
playing on the bumper cars at an amusement park. But he's not
alone. That's the way they do it. This is the Delhi ride at
Disneyland's new India theme park. Only it's for real and
people are dyin'!
People are constantly honking, and just as often avoiding
potentially dangerous accidents by inches. Animals are
everywhere: skinny, wandering dogs... cows and bulls laying by
the side of the road. At one point, as we raced through
traffic, there was an elephant walking down the middle of the
street. Scooters charged in front of her, rickshaws tailed her
giant feet, honking. She roamed unphased. These are no little
country roads, but pothole-ridden, paved streets, lined with
broken-down shops and littered with trash. I saw a family of 5
on a single scooter. Dad drove, little boy was on his lap, two
girls sat behind, one on mom's lap. I don't know how they all
fit, but they were doing it. Zipping through madness!
Teetering on the brink!
I've seen some really seedy parts of this city in the
less-than-36 hours since I've been here. One could get
swallowed up for good in this seething sea of humanity. It's
hot, muggy, and there are people who appear to be wandering
hungry in every corner... I don't feel comfortable eating here,
so I'm living off purified water, bottled juice, spirulina
powder, and some power/energy bars/snacks that I brought with
me.
Tomorrow my rickshaw driver will meet me and take me to his
favorite Hindu temple, a Sikh temple, and some other special
sites that he knows about. His name is Shog-Vedi and he is 54
years old and says his son is about my age. I'm glad I found
him, he drove me around this town searching for a place to stay.
Some of the conditions of the hotels are so bad one would be
better off wandering the streets or staying up all night. But
I'm tucked away in some little room that's pretty decent. I've
seen some Indian business-looking men in and out of here, but I
haven't seen one tourist. Not that I expect to, but I guess
they all go to 5 star hotels and stay away from most of the
intensity that Delhi is full of. Maybe they're smart.
So after some temple visits tomorrow, Shog is taking me to the
bus station and I'm outta here. I'm going north to Dharamsala
by overnight bus which takes about 14 hours. It's a Tibetan
Buddhist colony in the mountains loaded with temples and
monasteries and stunning views of distant Himalayan peaks (so
they say). It'll be nice to see a completely different part of
India... and to continue on with my journey.
Toto, we're not in Bali anymore.
I'm survivin' - that's my goal!
Peace... from the edge of the world.....
Thanks for reading,
Ari

Bali High

Hello folks,
Selamat siang (Good day)!
This afternoon I depart from the island paradise of Bali and a
whole new journey begins as I head to India. My time on the
remote west coast with Dario was phenomenal. The village of
Balian and that stretch of marvelous coast has left me with
life-long memories. The local villagers are sweet and humble,
many are rice farmers and fishermen. Cows and chickens roam
freely through lush, rolling green hills, and people smile here
- big WIDE smiles. Women and men wear traditional, colorful
sarongs and often roam barefoot. A tiny street runs through the
village to the sea. In the afternoons, women come and go
balancing baskets of rice or fruit on their heads. This is a
side of Bali that is still virtually untouched by Western
philosophies. The Balian people are Hindu. In this "lost" part
of Bali, though we lived close to the earth and more or less
camped-out, we had at least one meal each day at a local
restaurant in either Balian or nearby Medewi. Local cuisine is
based around locally grown rice, tempeh, vegetables, and fresh
coconut-milk curries and peanut sauces. A huge vegetarian meal
would cost us a mere few dollars. Balian has left me with
peaceful eyes, a relaxed smile, memories of long, peeling,
turquoise waves, and a few jellyfish stings. Living in our tree
hut warung has left me with more than seventy mosquito bites
(yes, I counted - Balinese mosquito bites are quite intense -
many of them turn into huge welts, so I've come to know each of
them well). Fortunately, almost all of the bites are on my legs
and feet and between tea tree and lavender oils and several
hours of soaking them in salt water everyday via surfing, they
never really bothered me too much. The strange thing is, these
mosquitos are so sly here I could never catch them biting me -
and my organic citronella insect repellents were basically
worthless. It's all good though. Ultimately, there's a give
and a take in every aspect of our lives. If you want to live in
a warung on the tropical coast of Bali, there's a price. Just
so, with our modern everyday conveniences, our cars, our
technologies, our fast-paced lives, our jobs... Everything has
a price, an effect, a result, something that must be given, or
sacrificed. We have so many choices to make...
On the fourth day at Balian, I broke a fin during an amazing
morning surf. Fortunately, there were a few spare boards at the
village. One was a classic, rainbow green, mid-1970's
single-fin. Dario and I resurrected this board which probably
hasn't been ridden in decades, and after a few quick repairs, it
was ready for the water. The thing is: Balinese locals NEVER
wear or use green on or around the ocean. That color is
reserved for the Goddess of the South Seas. There are numerous
local legends about her power and her curses, and the Balinese
villagers simply don't fool around with stuff like that. So
here I am walking down the trail to the sea with this bright
green, 70's single-fin, reluctantly daring the Goddess to notice
me. This old Balinese fisherman approaches, stops me, looks at
the board, and then says a whole bunch of stuff in Bahasa of
which I understood nothing. I looked at him and smiled, looked
down at the board, and then gestured with my hand toward the
ocean. I wish I knew what he said, but he closed our encounter
with a laugh and one of those sweet Balinese smiles. I felt it
to be his way of warning me, yet offering me a blessing. My own
ceremony to the Goddess of the South Sea (and every other
Goddess I know of - just in case) followed on the hot, black
sand before I entered the ocean. Then I paddled out on that
green piece of surfing history with total humility, a good dose
of cautiousness, and a great respect for the powers that rule
that land and sea. What happened? My session was marvelous.
It was like going back in time to another era, and I felt rushes
of that universal Goddess energy enfolding me on every wave. It
was fast, flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, rocket style surfing.
The session turned out to be one of the most highly-charged,
spiritual surfing experiences I have ever had in my life. Whew!
My last couple of days have been spent in the artistic heart of
the island, a town called Ubud, and relaxing at Randall's house
in the lush highlands overlooking the Ayung River. Ubud is home
to some of the island's most adept wood carvers, weavers,
sculptors, etc. Like I mentioned in my last posting, Balinese
art is a celebration of their deep spirituality, their sincere
relationship to their Hindu faith, and the Hindu and Buddhist
deities whom they honor. We saw a beautiful performance of a
dance called Barong and Legong, where dancers in very colorful,
traditional Balinese costume enact stories from the Hindu epic,
Mahabharata. They were accompanied by a live Gamelan
(traditional Indonesian music) orchestra of about 25 villlagers
with various percussion, drums, bells, gongs, and flutes.
Incredible.
In a handful of hours, I fly to Hong Kong and catch another
flight which will bring me into Delhi (northern India) by about
1:00 a.m. After a couple days of settling into India (if such a
thing is possible), I plan on seeking out my Tibetan Buddhist
monk friends at their temple in Delhi and journeying to
Dharamsala in the north. Another adventure begins.............
Blessings to all, near and far...
Stay well,
Ari

Greetings from the Island of the Gods

Hello to all from Bali,
I hope this message finds you well and happy. Bali is beautiful. The feeling here is deeply spiritual. The people are gentle, their traditions are a fascinating blend of Buddhism and Hinduism, and they are quite loving and devotional. The streets, even in the most remote areas, are often lined with statues and carvings of Buddhist and Hindu deities. Woven baskets filled with fresh, tropical flowers are offered in reverence to the Gods, they line the streets. It was 26 hours of travel to arrive here. I spent the first two to three days visiting with Randall who has recently relocated here. He lives in the mountains, several hundred feet above the Ayung River in the lush, tropical heart of the island. It was great to reunite with Randall and my surfing bruddah, Dario, after many months.The first few days we got massages, ate like kings (curried veggies, tofu, and tempeh are a staple of Balinese cuisine), and stayed mostly in the highlands. Dario and I didn't last long, however, and fled to a very remote part of the west coast to surf and be close to Mama Ocean and her blue waters. The journey here was about 4-5 hours by local transport to a tiny village called Balian. We are living now in a warung, it's a sort of thatched-roof, bamboo tree hut. We climb a ladder to get up into it. The cost is equivalent to about five dollars per night. It's incredible, it shakes and rocks as the wind blows. It seems totally unstable at times, but it's not, Balinese villagers have been living in them for centuries. We meet lots of interesting bugs though. The warung has a wooden deck where we keep our surfboards and practice yoga. It provides us with a stunning view of the Balian surf point, an amazing array of waves. The surf has been ranging from about5-9 feet. It's quite powerful, but it's somehow softened by the 80 degree ocean - like a warm bath. I have had intense, lucid dreams since arriving here, many of friends and family from home (east and west). The dreaming could be a result ofthe wet earthiness of this land, the amazing floral fragrances, the elaborate carvings and sculptures of deities... or the wild dreaming could be some crazyside-effect of the anti-malaria pills (mainly for India). It's hard to say, reality here is so different, so uncommon,but so deep and rich. From the deck of our warung we can smear our noses across plumeria flowers in the treetops and gaze at surrounding rice fields. I am writing to you all from a tiny resort called Medewi, about forty minutes by local bus from Balian. The resort in Medewi provides the only legitimate internet access on this part of the coast. There is only one computer and it takes FOREVER. But I'm happy to write to everyone. So many of you are flooding through my mind and heart. My feelings are so full.So much to say and tell, but some other time. Sorry I can't respond right now to individual e-mails (it's difficult to even pull up messages to read from here), but thank you to those of you who have dropped a hello my way. Lots of love and blessings to you all. Sending the spiritual love vibes from Bali,
Ari