Today is Day Three of my fast, which none of you all even knew i was doing in the first place.
Fasting for me is spiritual as well as physical, a way to cleanse all layers of my self and take a look at the things i have, the things i need, and the things i think i need. It's deeply meditative and restorative, it helps me look at the things i do everyday and the way i get attached to them.
it's damn healthy.
i don't have a whole lot of energy to make a coherent and read-able blog post, so i'm going to sum this quick post up by giving you some fasting links in case you're curious. After today, when i'm finished with this fast and have more energy, a longer blog post about this topic will be in the works.
http://www.healthy.net/scr/article.aspx?ID=1996
http://www.healingdaily.com/juicing-for-health/fasting.htm
I want to quickly stress that the two above links are concerned with health, which is something that you can regain if you fast responsibly and fast for the right reasons. Fasting to slim your waist line is not a responsible reason, drinking enough water on your fast is not responsible, and attempting to work out on your fast is not responsible. If you want to do a fast, you need to do research about it and ideally consult someone you trust who has done a fast before. More on this later.
love&light
jess
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Inspirations Through Actions.
I love doing things that inspire people and I love people that do inspiring things.
I always remember when I see someone who does something that I’ve been scared to do in the past- or even something that I never thought I could do, or something I’ve never thought to do at all. I remember the first time I saw someone in China use a plastic bag as a to-go container for soup. I remember the first time I saw an old wine bottle with a cork used as a water bottle, and I remember the first time I saw a tourist teach and Indian child how to juggle. Seeing these things makes a big impression on me for two reasons; on a small scale I want to do this thing but have never had the courage, but on a bigger and more important scale I am impressed to be a person that emboldens others to do things they thought they couldn’t (or shouldn’t). Do you get what I’m getting at? I love trailblazers not only because they make something new accessible, but because they create new trailblazers in their wake. It’s always best to lead by example, as we’re told- and this is something in which I firmly believe.
There are some things in my life which have become points of inspiration for others. I’m not saying this to brag, I’m saying this because there are a lot of things that I’ve gotten over my fear of doing, and a lot of these things are rather outside society’s current conception of what you can and can’t do. One of these things is my traveling, at a young age and on my own dollar. I know that when people talk to me and hear about my travels, it allows them to think about travel and their life plan in a different (hopefully more malleable and accessible) way. Another thing is my veganism. I now need two hands to count the people in my life who have gone vegan (or are in the process, starting with vegetarianism) merely because of being around me and seeing me do it day in and day out. Because I live it, and because I love it while I’m doing it, people get to see that it’s not an arduous and difficult lifestyle. And of course, I’ll always remember the person who first inspired me to take the step to make that choice in my own life. Recently, I get to add something new to the list, something that I needed to be inspired and re-inspired multiple times to do.
I’ve shaved my head. And, aside from a bevy of compliments that I really didn’t anticipate, I’ve already had two different women tell me that though they’ve always wanted to shave their heads, they haven’t been able to find the courage- though after seeing me they are changing their minds.
That really means a lot to me, and it reinforces the idea that everything I do I do not only for myself, I do for others as well.
A big thank you to all those women I've seen who took the plunge first, enabling and empowering me to do it myself.
love&light
Jess
I always remember when I see someone who does something that I’ve been scared to do in the past- or even something that I never thought I could do, or something I’ve never thought to do at all. I remember the first time I saw someone in China use a plastic bag as a to-go container for soup. I remember the first time I saw an old wine bottle with a cork used as a water bottle, and I remember the first time I saw a tourist teach and Indian child how to juggle. Seeing these things makes a big impression on me for two reasons; on a small scale I want to do this thing but have never had the courage, but on a bigger and more important scale I am impressed to be a person that emboldens others to do things they thought they couldn’t (or shouldn’t). Do you get what I’m getting at? I love trailblazers not only because they make something new accessible, but because they create new trailblazers in their wake. It’s always best to lead by example, as we’re told- and this is something in which I firmly believe.
There are some things in my life which have become points of inspiration for others. I’m not saying this to brag, I’m saying this because there are a lot of things that I’ve gotten over my fear of doing, and a lot of these things are rather outside society’s current conception of what you can and can’t do. One of these things is my traveling, at a young age and on my own dollar. I know that when people talk to me and hear about my travels, it allows them to think about travel and their life plan in a different (hopefully more malleable and accessible) way. Another thing is my veganism. I now need two hands to count the people in my life who have gone vegan (or are in the process, starting with vegetarianism) merely because of being around me and seeing me do it day in and day out. Because I live it, and because I love it while I’m doing it, people get to see that it’s not an arduous and difficult lifestyle. And of course, I’ll always remember the person who first inspired me to take the step to make that choice in my own life. Recently, I get to add something new to the list, something that I needed to be inspired and re-inspired multiple times to do.
I’ve shaved my head. And, aside from a bevy of compliments that I really didn’t anticipate, I’ve already had two different women tell me that though they’ve always wanted to shave their heads, they haven’t been able to find the courage- though after seeing me they are changing their minds.
That really means a lot to me, and it reinforces the idea that everything I do I do not only for myself, I do for others as well.
A big thank you to all those women I've seen who took the plunge first, enabling and empowering me to do it myself.
love&light
Jess
Addendum.
Addendum
This post is an addendum to the previous post, Ambassadors, Hetero Men, and Ambassadors who are Hetero Men.
It is undeniable that the vast majority of individuals perceive themselves as heterosexual and project this self perception into the world. This, and the generally accepted power structures inherent within heterosexual relationships, are the main reasons that the most common form of street harassment occurs across the hetero male to female spectrum. This is definitely not to say that I, as a female, have never been harassed by women who perceived me as a woman, by men who perceived me as male, by genderqueers, by androgyns, or by any other of the wide spectrum of genders there are to choose from. I want to make it clear that I’m not saying, within this piece, that the only harassment that occurs is perpetrated by hetero men who are overly aggressive to women, or that men harassing women is the only kind of harassment that is truly harmful (or even that gay men do not harass hetero women, or gay women, or…). All attention that is unwanted or causes the recipient to feel uncomfortable is harmful, not matter which two individuals it is between.
I chose the example used in Ambassadors/Men because they are my most recent encounters; it’s important for me to note that in southern India I was sexually harassed by a woman. That’s right- in India, land of heteronormativity, I was propositioned in my hotel room by an Indian woman. If it’s sexual harassment, you name it and I’ve likely seen it- once you make the leap into gay/lesbian/bisexual/pansexual/asexual you start to get all kinds of wickedly odd harassment you don’t encounter as a practicing heterosexual (or a closeted queer). Not to mention the difficulties that lie in the grounds of genderqueer, trans, or androgyn.
So in summation, all harassment is equally damaging and some groups have the poor luck to have misogyny, homophobia, or just straight up hate/disgust mixed in with their particular lot.
Can’t we all just get along?
Love&light
jess
This post is an addendum to the previous post, Ambassadors, Hetero Men, and Ambassadors who are Hetero Men.
It is undeniable that the vast majority of individuals perceive themselves as heterosexual and project this self perception into the world. This, and the generally accepted power structures inherent within heterosexual relationships, are the main reasons that the most common form of street harassment occurs across the hetero male to female spectrum. This is definitely not to say that I, as a female, have never been harassed by women who perceived me as a woman, by men who perceived me as male, by genderqueers, by androgyns, or by any other of the wide spectrum of genders there are to choose from. I want to make it clear that I’m not saying, within this piece, that the only harassment that occurs is perpetrated by hetero men who are overly aggressive to women, or that men harassing women is the only kind of harassment that is truly harmful (or even that gay men do not harass hetero women, or gay women, or…). All attention that is unwanted or causes the recipient to feel uncomfortable is harmful, not matter which two individuals it is between.
I chose the example used in Ambassadors/Men because they are my most recent encounters; it’s important for me to note that in southern India I was sexually harassed by a woman. That’s right- in India, land of heteronormativity, I was propositioned in my hotel room by an Indian woman. If it’s sexual harassment, you name it and I’ve likely seen it- once you make the leap into gay/lesbian/bisexual/pansexual/asexual you start to get all kinds of wickedly odd harassment you don’t encounter as a practicing heterosexual (or a closeted queer). Not to mention the difficulties that lie in the grounds of genderqueer, trans, or androgyn.
So in summation, all harassment is equally damaging and some groups have the poor luck to have misogyny, homophobia, or just straight up hate/disgust mixed in with their particular lot.
Can’t we all just get along?
Love&light
jess
Ambassadors, Hetero Men, Ambassadors Who Are Also Hetero Men.
People ask me what I think of different countries I’ve visited, and I’m always at a bit of a loss as to what to say. How to paraphrase an entire country? Even were this gargantuan feat possible I can only give my experience, which will differ greatly from everyone before me and everyone after me who has visited the same place. Usually I end up giving the only answer I feel I can honestly give: In every country there are good people and bad people, times I’ve enjoyed and ones I haven’t. This is the only truth I can offer, and the only one I sincerely believe is true. Everywhere I have been there have amazing, friendly beautiful individuals who have made my stay, and in a lot of cases my life, much much brighter. And then there have been those individuals that have made me embarrassed for humanity as a whole. This concept of good aspects/bad aspects is certainly true of American tourists I’ve met- some make me truly proud to be American when I see the way they represent our country: others have made me ashamed and disappointed that the rest of us are being given a bad name. It’s on this scale where no absolute ‘good or bad’ exists that I analyze my travels, and my interactions.
Now, for the past month or so, I’ve been reading a lot of Fugitivus. This is a blog run by the no nonsense and highly amusing Harriet, a blog that has some really insightful posts about communication between men and women, and how and why some men choose to intrude on the space of women and make them feel uncomfortable, in danger, or just plain disgusted. A decent amount of the material is pulled straight from Harriet’s life and deals with issues of rape and abuse, in a way that is well thought out and engaging without blaming all men everywhere for the horrible reality that is rape. To boot, it’s got a lovely section titled “Streetluv” where female readers post incidents in which they have been approached, in public spaces, by males and made to feel nothing but happy, beautiful, and safe. The blog and that section in particular are definitely worth a peruse.
Now, the reason that I’ve introduced both of these subjects today is that two spectacular examples of all four points (good ambassadors, bad ambassadors, men who make women feel comfortable and secure and men who don’t) have been thrown into startling 3-D Interactive Technicolor, right before my very eyes. Allow me to elaborate.
Example 1
I’ve sprained my ankle (as you know if you read here often). Before spraining my ankle, I had the good fortune of happening in to the café next to my hotel, which is run by a younger Indian man and the older American woman who rooms with his family (in a business partner kind of way). The guy’s name is Vicki (or Vikki, or Viki, or Wiki if you’ve got a German accent) and his family owns the whole two story building next door. This is the guy whose mother has been massaging my injured ankle, and he’s been up and down the three flights of stairs to my room too many times to count in the past days checking to see if I’m ok, if I need anything, and bringing me things to eat from the café. In the space of time that I’ve been here, not long, we’ve developed a nice little exchange. We’ve had long conversations, tease each other, and I’ve spent an entire day, literally, out in front of his café chatting with him. Even though there is a relationship built, when he comes down to check on me he always knocks (I’ve been leaving my door unlatched during the day as friends come and go and it’s painful to get up to unlock it each and every freaking time someone wants in), comes into my room only after being invited, and never stays in my space after he’s ascertained that I’m A) ok and B) not hungry.
To me, he is a shining example of both a good ambassador for his country, neigh, a stellar ambassador, and a considerate and polite male. He’s gotten both of these awards for the same reason; he’s gone out of his way to be helpful and he’s not expecting anything in return for it. It’s clear that he sees me as a person and himself as a person, rather than seeing me as a female body and himself as the male earning privileges to it by being nice. Never once has he ever made me feel like I owe him for any of the massive number of favors he’s done for me, and that’s the biggest feat of all; acting like a solid human being. Go Viki.
Example 2
Now, with my sprained ankle, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room. Today, I was sitting on the stone fence of my balcony watching the sunset, when something unprecedented and irksome happened. I’m sitting on top of the very corner of this fence, with my feet over the 20 foot drop in front of me. A group of small Indian children have collected on the construction site across the way, and they’re alternating playing and asking for five rupees. The door from the stairway to the balcony opens, and I hope its Viki returning with some vegetables he’s promised, though I’m doubtful as he always knocks on my door and never uses the one that’s swinging open. Out walks an Indian man, in his boxers and a tee shirt, who proceeds to walk across the entire length of the balcony and come to stop about a foot away from me, leaning on the rail. Right off the bat I’m uncomfortable; in India, not only do you never go anywhere bearing more skin than you would in front of your grandmother and the pope (let alone pants-less!), but you certainly don’t get this close to an unknown woman (if you’re male) and then strike up a conversation. It’s just not in the culture. It’s not really in any culture, if you’re strangers. He begins to talk.
Man: What are you doing here?
Me: I’m sitting. (Already very wary, and not being very friendly) What are you doing?
Man: I’m looking at you.
Me: (Uncomfortable silence, accompanied by a shift away from the man. I can’t move much, as I’m perched on the corner over a drop, and he’s blocking the only exit.)
Man: Are you here alone? Do you have a boyfriend, fiancé?
Me: Does it matter?
Silence.
Man: Where are you from?
Me: (mentally getting ready for the leap from “I’m American” to “I’m a porn star” that some people abroad make) USA.
Man: Do you want a massage? (he has just done the mental leap in his head)
Me: No. No, I don’t want massage.
Silence.
Man: Can I see your room?
Me: No.
Man: From the outside? Look in from the doorway?
Me: No.
Silence.
Man: Can I massage your legs?
Me: No.
Man: I’ve studied. Free of charge.
Me: No.
Man: If you want massage, in the night, call me.
Me: I don’t want massage.
Man: Are you mad at me?
Me: No, I’m very uncomfortable.
Man: What is this (pointing to the mala on my wrist)?
Me: It’s a mala.
Man: (physically taking my hand) Oh really? (turns over my palm, puts it next to his, and attempts to trace the lines on my hand across to the lines on his, maybe wanting to show me that we’re actually long lost soul mates from another life and THAT’S why he’s chosen to intrude on my space and make me very uncomfortable.) You see?
Me: No. Maybe you should go back upstairs now.
Man: Ok. Bye. (takes my hand in some kind of attempt to kiss it. I want to hit him.)
When I turn to look at the stairway, he’s in it, with his boxers down. In sight of the kids. I yell and he runs up the stairs.
I should have been much more direct in turning him down, though in retrospect I can’t say it would have altered the end result. It’s difficult to get over my natural compulsion to be polite to people at all times, even when they’re being impolite to me and invading my space. I had hoped that he would get the message and leave me alone, without having to make a scene. Obviously that didn’t happen. I will not make the same mistake again, though I will be careful to not allow this incident to make me overly negative to every person who approaches me.
It’s important to examine and discuss these issues when they come up. On the one hand, to reinforce and applaud positive behavior; by placing this account on a public forum I can hope that someone somewhere will be inspired by it and act in a similar fashion. On the other hand, to make it clear that some kinds of behavior are not OK, and that these kinds of behavior in no way reflect upon the person being harassed.
In today’s society, when an individual is friendly and generous with no sexual motives whatsoever (or at least, without imposing them on the other person) I am impressed to the deepest depths of my being. It makes me feel warm, happy, and tips me off that this is a person who is good to have in my life. In fact, it makes me want to give this person my phone number.
With these contrasting points of hope and disgust, I leave you to consider the interactions in your own life, and how you react to them.
love&light
jess
Now, for the past month or so, I’ve been reading a lot of Fugitivus. This is a blog run by the no nonsense and highly amusing Harriet, a blog that has some really insightful posts about communication between men and women, and how and why some men choose to intrude on the space of women and make them feel uncomfortable, in danger, or just plain disgusted. A decent amount of the material is pulled straight from Harriet’s life and deals with issues of rape and abuse, in a way that is well thought out and engaging without blaming all men everywhere for the horrible reality that is rape. To boot, it’s got a lovely section titled “Streetluv” where female readers post incidents in which they have been approached, in public spaces, by males and made to feel nothing but happy, beautiful, and safe. The blog and that section in particular are definitely worth a peruse.
Now, the reason that I’ve introduced both of these subjects today is that two spectacular examples of all four points (good ambassadors, bad ambassadors, men who make women feel comfortable and secure and men who don’t) have been thrown into startling 3-D Interactive Technicolor, right before my very eyes. Allow me to elaborate.
Example 1
I’ve sprained my ankle (as you know if you read here often). Before spraining my ankle, I had the good fortune of happening in to the café next to my hotel, which is run by a younger Indian man and the older American woman who rooms with his family (in a business partner kind of way). The guy’s name is Vicki (or Vikki, or Viki, or Wiki if you’ve got a German accent) and his family owns the whole two story building next door. This is the guy whose mother has been massaging my injured ankle, and he’s been up and down the three flights of stairs to my room too many times to count in the past days checking to see if I’m ok, if I need anything, and bringing me things to eat from the café. In the space of time that I’ve been here, not long, we’ve developed a nice little exchange. We’ve had long conversations, tease each other, and I’ve spent an entire day, literally, out in front of his café chatting with him. Even though there is a relationship built, when he comes down to check on me he always knocks (I’ve been leaving my door unlatched during the day as friends come and go and it’s painful to get up to unlock it each and every freaking time someone wants in), comes into my room only after being invited, and never stays in my space after he’s ascertained that I’m A) ok and B) not hungry.
To me, he is a shining example of both a good ambassador for his country, neigh, a stellar ambassador, and a considerate and polite male. He’s gotten both of these awards for the same reason; he’s gone out of his way to be helpful and he’s not expecting anything in return for it. It’s clear that he sees me as a person and himself as a person, rather than seeing me as a female body and himself as the male earning privileges to it by being nice. Never once has he ever made me feel like I owe him for any of the massive number of favors he’s done for me, and that’s the biggest feat of all; acting like a solid human being. Go Viki.
Example 2
Now, with my sprained ankle, I’ve been spending a lot of time in my room. Today, I was sitting on the stone fence of my balcony watching the sunset, when something unprecedented and irksome happened. I’m sitting on top of the very corner of this fence, with my feet over the 20 foot drop in front of me. A group of small Indian children have collected on the construction site across the way, and they’re alternating playing and asking for five rupees. The door from the stairway to the balcony opens, and I hope its Viki returning with some vegetables he’s promised, though I’m doubtful as he always knocks on my door and never uses the one that’s swinging open. Out walks an Indian man, in his boxers and a tee shirt, who proceeds to walk across the entire length of the balcony and come to stop about a foot away from me, leaning on the rail. Right off the bat I’m uncomfortable; in India, not only do you never go anywhere bearing more skin than you would in front of your grandmother and the pope (let alone pants-less!), but you certainly don’t get this close to an unknown woman (if you’re male) and then strike up a conversation. It’s just not in the culture. It’s not really in any culture, if you’re strangers. He begins to talk.
Man: What are you doing here?
Me: I’m sitting. (Already very wary, and not being very friendly) What are you doing?
Man: I’m looking at you.
Me: (Uncomfortable silence, accompanied by a shift away from the man. I can’t move much, as I’m perched on the corner over a drop, and he’s blocking the only exit.)
Man: Are you here alone? Do you have a boyfriend, fiancé?
Me: Does it matter?
Silence.
Man: Where are you from?
Me: (mentally getting ready for the leap from “I’m American” to “I’m a porn star” that some people abroad make) USA.
Man: Do you want a massage? (he has just done the mental leap in his head)
Me: No. No, I don’t want massage.
Silence.
Man: Can I see your room?
Me: No.
Man: From the outside? Look in from the doorway?
Me: No.
Silence.
Man: Can I massage your legs?
Me: No.
Man: I’ve studied. Free of charge.
Me: No.
Man: If you want massage, in the night, call me.
Me: I don’t want massage.
Man: Are you mad at me?
Me: No, I’m very uncomfortable.
Man: What is this (pointing to the mala on my wrist)?
Me: It’s a mala.
Man: (physically taking my hand) Oh really? (turns over my palm, puts it next to his, and attempts to trace the lines on my hand across to the lines on his, maybe wanting to show me that we’re actually long lost soul mates from another life and THAT’S why he’s chosen to intrude on my space and make me very uncomfortable.) You see?
Me: No. Maybe you should go back upstairs now.
Man: Ok. Bye. (takes my hand in some kind of attempt to kiss it. I want to hit him.)
When I turn to look at the stairway, he’s in it, with his boxers down. In sight of the kids. I yell and he runs up the stairs.
I should have been much more direct in turning him down, though in retrospect I can’t say it would have altered the end result. It’s difficult to get over my natural compulsion to be polite to people at all times, even when they’re being impolite to me and invading my space. I had hoped that he would get the message and leave me alone, without having to make a scene. Obviously that didn’t happen. I will not make the same mistake again, though I will be careful to not allow this incident to make me overly negative to every person who approaches me.
It’s important to examine and discuss these issues when they come up. On the one hand, to reinforce and applaud positive behavior; by placing this account on a public forum I can hope that someone somewhere will be inspired by it and act in a similar fashion. On the other hand, to make it clear that some kinds of behavior are not OK, and that these kinds of behavior in no way reflect upon the person being harassed.
In today’s society, when an individual is friendly and generous with no sexual motives whatsoever (or at least, without imposing them on the other person) I am impressed to the deepest depths of my being. It makes me feel warm, happy, and tips me off that this is a person who is good to have in my life. In fact, it makes me want to give this person my phone number.
With these contrasting points of hope and disgust, I leave you to consider the interactions in your own life, and how you react to them.
love&light
jess
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Mother India, as She is known.
It’s 6:11pm and the sound of prayer bells is sweeping in through my windows, from across the waters of the Ganges. The scent of firesmoke drifts in from a cooking fire made by the workers across the way, and voices are echoing off the hills. It’s gotten a bit chill, so I’m wrapped up the blanket/shawl that I’ve bought to replace my thinner one.
All in all, it’s a beautiful time to be in India.
One of the things that I’m trying to uncover is what I think of India, or even what I think of the city that I’ve been laid up in for the past two weeks, Rishikesh. Before you come to India you hear many things- that India is amazing, a country of sights, sounds and textures; that India is inexplicable, that you have to experience it; that India is a rollercoaster of emotional episodes, from deep deep love to horror and pain; that India will bring you closer to your real self than you ever were before; that India is a land defined by her people, who are defined by nothing. So many things, from friends, travelogues, books, from everywhere. So many people have said, in different ways, that India will tear away all that you thought was true and replace it with an idea that is closer to who you really are, and how you really perceive the world.
But what the hell does that mean?
I’ve been pretty wary, after all of these 'sunshine and light' style comments, about deciding on anything that has been presented to me in India. I judge things pretty slowly anyway- and I think a lot of those statements have been made by people moving to India directly from a privileged, first world country- even the poorest of the poor in the states have many things that those in India can only dream of. When you move from your bubble into something so utterly and inconceivably different, it's only natural that you're going to rexamine your values and the very way you look at and interact with the world. Coming from China, and having been to some of her smallest villages, I think that I was spared this initial shock at the visceral nature of life in the thirld world. Yes, Indians live out their daily lives in full view of everyone else, yes their culture is in your face and unabashed, yes a lot of it is below standards considered safe or hygenic in the states, but for all intents and purposes, it is in many other places as well- southern China, Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam…
Why then of all of these south asian countries is India singled out as this megalith of spiritual awakening and self realization? I still don’t know. It cannot be that the traveler to India is a different traveler all together- most travelers I have met here have also run the usual southeast asian gambit (Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia…). It might be that they are seeking different things, but I’ve met both the spiritual seeker who has gone only to Thailand and the average site seeing tourist come to India. What is it about this country that breeds this reaction, and breeds it so heavily across the board?
Anyone have any idea? I’m still considering the issue.
love&light
Jess
All in all, it’s a beautiful time to be in India.
One of the things that I’m trying to uncover is what I think of India, or even what I think of the city that I’ve been laid up in for the past two weeks, Rishikesh. Before you come to India you hear many things- that India is amazing, a country of sights, sounds and textures; that India is inexplicable, that you have to experience it; that India is a rollercoaster of emotional episodes, from deep deep love to horror and pain; that India will bring you closer to your real self than you ever were before; that India is a land defined by her people, who are defined by nothing. So many things, from friends, travelogues, books, from everywhere. So many people have said, in different ways, that India will tear away all that you thought was true and replace it with an idea that is closer to who you really are, and how you really perceive the world.
But what the hell does that mean?
I’ve been pretty wary, after all of these 'sunshine and light' style comments, about deciding on anything that has been presented to me in India. I judge things pretty slowly anyway- and I think a lot of those statements have been made by people moving to India directly from a privileged, first world country- even the poorest of the poor in the states have many things that those in India can only dream of. When you move from your bubble into something so utterly and inconceivably different, it's only natural that you're going to rexamine your values and the very way you look at and interact with the world. Coming from China, and having been to some of her smallest villages, I think that I was spared this initial shock at the visceral nature of life in the thirld world. Yes, Indians live out their daily lives in full view of everyone else, yes their culture is in your face and unabashed, yes a lot of it is below standards considered safe or hygenic in the states, but for all intents and purposes, it is in many other places as well- southern China, Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam…
Why then of all of these south asian countries is India singled out as this megalith of spiritual awakening and self realization? I still don’t know. It cannot be that the traveler to India is a different traveler all together- most travelers I have met here have also run the usual southeast asian gambit (Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, Malaysia…). It might be that they are seeking different things, but I’ve met both the spiritual seeker who has gone only to Thailand and the average site seeing tourist come to India. What is it about this country that breeds this reaction, and breeds it so heavily across the board?
Anyone have any idea? I’m still considering the issue.
love&light
Jess
Give a little love to the world...
And the healing never stops! You want to know how it is that on the third day after my horrific sprain I’m up and hobbling around, with little pain but lots of trepidation about falling over again? Ok, I’ll tell you!
Let me give you a quick rundown of the situation as it’s been thus far:
(By quick I mean probably too long winded for anyone but my mom to actually enjoy)
Evening of the 9th: I fall down the stairs and brutally sprain my ankle. After assessing the situation and deciding that there is no break, I make the decision to not mention it or send for help, and spend the night alone with my ankle. I do this because I want to direct healing energy to it and make sure that I can fully assess the situation on my own, without anyone else getting into it and clouding my view, my judgement, or my body’s natural healing powers. It is massive amounts of painful. I give it Reiki and lots of love, telling it first that I’m sorry, second that I’m grateful to it, and third that I love it and it is a part of me.
Morning of the 10th: I manage to crawl my way up three flights of stairs to find someone to go next door to the café that my friends run, who then come over to look at me and ask what the hell happened. It bears no weight. It bears no movement, let alone touching. My ankle is very, very swollen, enflamed on both sides, hot to the touch, and I can’t move it beyond a feeble half inch to either side- and even this is brutally painful. Did I mention painful? Did I also mention that I’ve got a really, really high pain tolerance, so all this bitching about painful is legit? Forget about rotating it or turning it in a complete circle; I can wiggle my toes with some difficulty, but not quickly and not with much dexterity. And it hurts.
I am treated to two immensely, earth shatteringly painful massage sessions by Ganga (the mother of the owner of the café), who comes to my room, grabs my ankle and proceeds to forcefully massage all the tendons and tissues that are inflamed- she also grabs each toe in turn and shakes my entire leg with it. I beg for mercy, and ask her to please dear god stop. Despite this, I feel it is a positive session. The second session that night is painful, but not as bad as the previous one. I don’t say fuck even once (though I do degenerate into repeating, over and over, that it hurts like a bitch). I notice marked improvements in my range of motion and stiffness. She finishes by giving it a warm oil/tumeric rub and then wrapping it in bandage supplied by another friend. My foot officially smells the best it has, possibly ever. I get a Reiki session from a friend who has just been initiated into level two- it feels really good and I get a very positive energy surge straight from my foot up into my heart chakra, which then settles onto the outside of my shoulders. Just typing that, I feel like a blissed out new-agey person, but maybe that’s what I’m turning into. I fall into a much needed sleep.
Morning of the 11th: I wake up and notice that my ankle no longer feels like it is damaged, but feels stiff and sore instead. Unwrapping my ankle- hey! The swelling has gone down considerably. I hobble, assisted, upstairs, where I am informed by a friend who did some research that because my ankle will not bear any weight at all (a little weight is ok, but any pressure is met with horrible horrible agonizing pain), and due to the 48 hours of swelling (I really can’t stress how swollen it was- not only was the whole thing huge, but the right side of my ankle had a half baseball sized lump jutting out of it; the epitome of sexy) I have what is classified as a 3rd tier sprain- the most serious kind you can get, and advised that I should get an x-ray. I decide to wait and see how and if it improves, cause we’re not going to do much with the x-ray info either way, save know that I need to elevate it and not put weight on it- two things I fully intend to do anyway. I sit at the café for the whole day, chatting with Vikki (owner and son of Ganga) and drinking his strong ginger tea. Ganga comes by and massages the ankle, which is painful but not near the excruciating ordeal of the previous day. Through the day I have the constant urge to stretch and rotate it, which doesn’t hurt but instead, GASP, feels good. That night (or rather, tonight at the time of writing), Ganga sends a man into the jungle to find a specific leaf, gives me the massage (much less painful than even the morning session), rubs in hot (hot hot hot ouch of my god that burns! Is my skin crisping under this shit?) oil and tumeric, wraps my oil/tumeric covered ankle is said leaf, and then wraps the whole ordeal in a bandage- rather like a sprained ankle/tumeric/jungle leaf burrito, if you will.
And directly after the massage session- I can walk on the ankle. Let me repeat: I CAN NOW WALK ON THE ANKLE. Well, walk is an optimistic term- lets go instead with hobble. But dude, seriously…that’s such a massively vast improvement in 2 days time that I can’t even believe it. Everyone that saw my ankle two days ago visibly flinched and asked if it was broken. It was gnarly. And painful. Painfully gnarly.
This morning: The ankle can now rotate, and i can still walk on it. Well, I can hobble on it. Through the love and energy of Ganga, her son, my friend Caitlyn, myself, and the universe, my ankle is healing very well and very beautifully. And you know what, I'm okay with the injury and okay with the time it's taking to heal- long or short. Yes, of course short is better, but I'm learning so much through this process that I can only be thankful it happened. And i mean that.
Intense.
love&light
Jess
Let me give you a quick rundown of the situation as it’s been thus far:
(By quick I mean probably too long winded for anyone but my mom to actually enjoy)
Evening of the 9th: I fall down the stairs and brutally sprain my ankle. After assessing the situation and deciding that there is no break, I make the decision to not mention it or send for help, and spend the night alone with my ankle. I do this because I want to direct healing energy to it and make sure that I can fully assess the situation on my own, without anyone else getting into it and clouding my view, my judgement, or my body’s natural healing powers. It is massive amounts of painful. I give it Reiki and lots of love, telling it first that I’m sorry, second that I’m grateful to it, and third that I love it and it is a part of me.
Morning of the 10th: I manage to crawl my way up three flights of stairs to find someone to go next door to the café that my friends run, who then come over to look at me and ask what the hell happened. It bears no weight. It bears no movement, let alone touching. My ankle is very, very swollen, enflamed on both sides, hot to the touch, and I can’t move it beyond a feeble half inch to either side- and even this is brutally painful. Did I mention painful? Did I also mention that I’ve got a really, really high pain tolerance, so all this bitching about painful is legit? Forget about rotating it or turning it in a complete circle; I can wiggle my toes with some difficulty, but not quickly and not with much dexterity. And it hurts.
I am treated to two immensely, earth shatteringly painful massage sessions by Ganga (the mother of the owner of the café), who comes to my room, grabs my ankle and proceeds to forcefully massage all the tendons and tissues that are inflamed- she also grabs each toe in turn and shakes my entire leg with it. I beg for mercy, and ask her to please dear god stop. Despite this, I feel it is a positive session. The second session that night is painful, but not as bad as the previous one. I don’t say fuck even once (though I do degenerate into repeating, over and over, that it hurts like a bitch). I notice marked improvements in my range of motion and stiffness. She finishes by giving it a warm oil/tumeric rub and then wrapping it in bandage supplied by another friend. My foot officially smells the best it has, possibly ever. I get a Reiki session from a friend who has just been initiated into level two- it feels really good and I get a very positive energy surge straight from my foot up into my heart chakra, which then settles onto the outside of my shoulders. Just typing that, I feel like a blissed out new-agey person, but maybe that’s what I’m turning into. I fall into a much needed sleep.
Morning of the 11th: I wake up and notice that my ankle no longer feels like it is damaged, but feels stiff and sore instead. Unwrapping my ankle- hey! The swelling has gone down considerably. I hobble, assisted, upstairs, where I am informed by a friend who did some research that because my ankle will not bear any weight at all (a little weight is ok, but any pressure is met with horrible horrible agonizing pain), and due to the 48 hours of swelling (I really can’t stress how swollen it was- not only was the whole thing huge, but the right side of my ankle had a half baseball sized lump jutting out of it; the epitome of sexy) I have what is classified as a 3rd tier sprain- the most serious kind you can get, and advised that I should get an x-ray. I decide to wait and see how and if it improves, cause we’re not going to do much with the x-ray info either way, save know that I need to elevate it and not put weight on it- two things I fully intend to do anyway. I sit at the café for the whole day, chatting with Vikki (owner and son of Ganga) and drinking his strong ginger tea. Ganga comes by and massages the ankle, which is painful but not near the excruciating ordeal of the previous day. Through the day I have the constant urge to stretch and rotate it, which doesn’t hurt but instead, GASP, feels good. That night (or rather, tonight at the time of writing), Ganga sends a man into the jungle to find a specific leaf, gives me the massage (much less painful than even the morning session), rubs in hot (hot hot hot ouch of my god that burns! Is my skin crisping under this shit?) oil and tumeric, wraps my oil/tumeric covered ankle is said leaf, and then wraps the whole ordeal in a bandage- rather like a sprained ankle/tumeric/jungle leaf burrito, if you will.
And directly after the massage session- I can walk on the ankle. Let me repeat: I CAN NOW WALK ON THE ANKLE. Well, walk is an optimistic term- lets go instead with hobble. But dude, seriously…that’s such a massively vast improvement in 2 days time that I can’t even believe it. Everyone that saw my ankle two days ago visibly flinched and asked if it was broken. It was gnarly. And painful. Painfully gnarly.
This morning: The ankle can now rotate, and i can still walk on it. Well, I can hobble on it. Through the love and energy of Ganga, her son, my friend Caitlyn, myself, and the universe, my ankle is healing very well and very beautifully. And you know what, I'm okay with the injury and okay with the time it's taking to heal- long or short. Yes, of course short is better, but I'm learning so much through this process that I can only be thankful it happened. And i mean that.
Intense.
love&light
Jess
Friday, December 11, 2009
Good morning, recovery.
Oh, how I have over estimated my bounds. Here I, presser of bruises (my own, not those of others) and survivor of a vicious bout of kidney stones (it took a week for them to pass!), known kinkster and embracer of breathing over painkillers (painkillers! No thank you, ma’am, my pranayama and meditation will see me through), I have been brought to my knees.
Or rather, I have been brought to the status of whimpering and writhing patient on the surgery table of my own bed.
I sense confusion. Allow me to clarify.
As we know, I’m in India. I’ve got a bedroom on the very bottom floor of a hotel that overlooks, with grand sweeping views, the holy Ganges river. Very bottom floor as in, three flights of stairs and one construction site down from the rest of the rooms in hotel. I don’t mind the distance- it’s quiet and removed, with larger windows and more natural light than the other rooms. And it’s one hundred rupees cheaper. Sure, theres no hot water, but it’s nice to be far from everyone else. I always have been a slightly elitist hermit. Just ask my mom. All in all, the situation is ideal- and made even better by the slight inconveniences that might throw others off.
It is one of those inconveniences that brings me to the position in which I find myself now, one foot elevated and wincing with each weight shift. On the way down my privacy ensuring stairs last evening, I missed the last one and spectacularly ate it to the bottom of the darkened staircase. Now, let us assess: Jessie, shaken and battered, curled over her throbbing ankle/foot which are both swelling by the moment. Help? Three flights up. Ability to walk? Firmly in both the future and the past. Situation? Moderately dire.
Luckily I was retreating back to the dungeon (as my room is referred to) after going up to request a bucket of warm water in which to bathe. A man would be down shortly with said bucket- I would not lie in a trembling heap until exhaustion overcame me and I was found days later, half eaten by monkeys ( a concern which briefly crossed my mind). Bad news- now I am stuck in an Indian hill town, without the ability to walk. Hill town. As in, the town is built on a hill. And I live at the apex. At the apex, and down three flights of stairs.
Suffice to say, I am now getting very familiar with the inside of my room.
But it is not this which has me whimpering and convulsing in spasms of pain, it’s the ayurvedic massage treatment that I’m having done on said ankle, mainly involving the mother of a local friend coming in and, with no reservations whatsoever, getting into the nitty gritty painful bits of my sprain and rubbing away.
Now, it’s not painful in a sharp bad pain kind of way, but in a horribly stiff sore muscle kind of way.
And it’s turning me into a bed sheet gripping, hoarse throated, begger-of-mercy.
But really, I’m ok. More on the situation later. Now, i'm hungry. Where have my crutches got to...
Love&light
jess
Or rather, I have been brought to the status of whimpering and writhing patient on the surgery table of my own bed.
I sense confusion. Allow me to clarify.
As we know, I’m in India. I’ve got a bedroom on the very bottom floor of a hotel that overlooks, with grand sweeping views, the holy Ganges river. Very bottom floor as in, three flights of stairs and one construction site down from the rest of the rooms in hotel. I don’t mind the distance- it’s quiet and removed, with larger windows and more natural light than the other rooms. And it’s one hundred rupees cheaper. Sure, theres no hot water, but it’s nice to be far from everyone else. I always have been a slightly elitist hermit. Just ask my mom. All in all, the situation is ideal- and made even better by the slight inconveniences that might throw others off.
It is one of those inconveniences that brings me to the position in which I find myself now, one foot elevated and wincing with each weight shift. On the way down my privacy ensuring stairs last evening, I missed the last one and spectacularly ate it to the bottom of the darkened staircase. Now, let us assess: Jessie, shaken and battered, curled over her throbbing ankle/foot which are both swelling by the moment. Help? Three flights up. Ability to walk? Firmly in both the future and the past. Situation? Moderately dire.
Luckily I was retreating back to the dungeon (as my room is referred to) after going up to request a bucket of warm water in which to bathe. A man would be down shortly with said bucket- I would not lie in a trembling heap until exhaustion overcame me and I was found days later, half eaten by monkeys ( a concern which briefly crossed my mind). Bad news- now I am stuck in an Indian hill town, without the ability to walk. Hill town. As in, the town is built on a hill. And I live at the apex. At the apex, and down three flights of stairs.
Suffice to say, I am now getting very familiar with the inside of my room.
But it is not this which has me whimpering and convulsing in spasms of pain, it’s the ayurvedic massage treatment that I’m having done on said ankle, mainly involving the mother of a local friend coming in and, with no reservations whatsoever, getting into the nitty gritty painful bits of my sprain and rubbing away.
Now, it’s not painful in a sharp bad pain kind of way, but in a horribly stiff sore muscle kind of way.
And it’s turning me into a bed sheet gripping, hoarse throated, begger-of-mercy.
But really, I’m ok. More on the situation later. Now, i'm hungry. Where have my crutches got to...
Love&light
jess
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Forgive me. Or harbour resentment. Your choice.
Though I constantly beg your understanding of the fact that I'm traveling and lots of things are more interesting than sitting in front of the computer typing out blog posts, I forgot to ask you to forgive me for one big glistening issue.
Mispellings/grammatical errors.
On reading the last post, I found at least 5-6 typing errors or grammar problems. And I'm sorry. Really, truly sorry. You see, it's not that i'm illiterate, uneducated, or employing a small child to type out my handwritten memoirs- it's that when i make a blog post i type it out in one hurried go and then, well, do something exciting. Yes, exciting includes meditating next to the ganges and taking a nap in my room.
So you see, I'm both embarrased, apologetic, and unlikely to change my ways. So I hope you bear with me.
Love&light
Jess
Mispellings/grammatical errors.
On reading the last post, I found at least 5-6 typing errors or grammar problems. And I'm sorry. Really, truly sorry. You see, it's not that i'm illiterate, uneducated, or employing a small child to type out my handwritten memoirs- it's that when i make a blog post i type it out in one hurried go and then, well, do something exciting. Yes, exciting includes meditating next to the ganges and taking a nap in my room.
So you see, I'm both embarrased, apologetic, and unlikely to change my ways. So I hope you bear with me.
Love&light
Jess
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Re-Scheduling. And Monkeys/
You may be seeing more of me in the next few days than the last post lead you to believe. Due to untimely illness my yoga intensive has been rescheduled for a later date.
Then again, I'll be mainly resting, trekking, meditating next to the Ganges, planning travel movements for the new year, and living outside in the open air. So maybe you wont be seeing me after all. Since I am in front of the computer now, though, i decided to sit for a few more minutes and write a little post.
Shortly before I left for India, a friend of mine told me this story:
Once upon a time, there was a lady who had a monkey. A pet monkey. A cuddly simian who shared her living space, completely tame and friendly. One day a friend of this lady came to the house for a visit. The monkey, sweet and tame, went insane and tore off the lady's friend's face.
Now, I heard this story right before coming to india. I attempted to shrug it off. I tried to leave the horrible shudders of fear and revulsion that wracked my subtle body in Beijing. But no, this story lingers with me. And, in Rishikesh, there are monkeys everywhere. Cute cuddly monkeys. Mischeivious and naughty, but ultimely harmless.
Or so they say.
Now, two days ago i went to get some beetroot for dinner. Everyone says of these monkeys, which perch mostly on the bridges running over the ganges from one bank to the other, that they are harmless but will take things they want if they see them- ie, your shiny camera, a child's toy, a bag of peanuts, or your friend's face. (okay, they don't say that last one, but its what i mentally add to the list everytime i hear it). Knowing this, i'm generally pretty careful. Not only cause the monkeys freak me out, but because i want to keep my camera. This time, however, I must have been a bit careless as suddenly there was a large full grown monkey attaching itself to my bag of vegetables and hissing at me.
My only thought: If i kick it, is it more likely to drop the bag and run, or rip off my face?
It's a very unsettling situation to find yourself in- debating about the likelihood of a monkey (a monkey in the process of stealing you vegetables) ripping off one's face.
love&light
jess
Then again, I'll be mainly resting, trekking, meditating next to the Ganges, planning travel movements for the new year, and living outside in the open air. So maybe you wont be seeing me after all. Since I am in front of the computer now, though, i decided to sit for a few more minutes and write a little post.
Shortly before I left for India, a friend of mine told me this story:
Once upon a time, there was a lady who had a monkey. A pet monkey. A cuddly simian who shared her living space, completely tame and friendly. One day a friend of this lady came to the house for a visit. The monkey, sweet and tame, went insane and tore off the lady's friend's face.
Now, I heard this story right before coming to india. I attempted to shrug it off. I tried to leave the horrible shudders of fear and revulsion that wracked my subtle body in Beijing. But no, this story lingers with me. And, in Rishikesh, there are monkeys everywhere. Cute cuddly monkeys. Mischeivious and naughty, but ultimely harmless.
Or so they say.
Now, two days ago i went to get some beetroot for dinner. Everyone says of these monkeys, which perch mostly on the bridges running over the ganges from one bank to the other, that they are harmless but will take things they want if they see them- ie, your shiny camera, a child's toy, a bag of peanuts, or your friend's face. (okay, they don't say that last one, but its what i mentally add to the list everytime i hear it). Knowing this, i'm generally pretty careful. Not only cause the monkeys freak me out, but because i want to keep my camera. This time, however, I must have been a bit careless as suddenly there was a large full grown monkey attaching itself to my bag of vegetables and hissing at me.
My only thought: If i kick it, is it more likely to drop the bag and run, or rip off my face?
It's a very unsettling situation to find yourself in- debating about the likelihood of a monkey (a monkey in the process of stealing you vegetables) ripping off one's face.
love&light
jess
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