Out of the Way Back Machine

In the midst of working on tonight's stream of conciousness post, I came across a blast from the past.

This little (and by little i mean lengthy) gem was drafted on 1/19/2009, from the reaches of icy cold beijing, from the grips of a life consuming 24/7 personal tutor job.

For your nostalgic reading pleasure:

Alright lovelies, it's a little late and I'm a little tired, but just for all of you i thought i'd dash off a quick little love note before i tucked myself away for the night.

I'm still in Beijing, which means I'm still more distracted and less contemplative than i was when i was away from home. To me, this is both nice and a little irksome. In about 10 days though I'll be packing myself back off to the Southern reaches of China, so I think I'll enjoy this respite at 'home' while I can. I've just gotten myself a load of fantastic books from the tiny tiny book store up across the street from the Lama Temple, which is making work much easier to deal with. Sinking my teeth in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is helping me to relish all those hours that I'm sitting around CCTV amidst hectic preparations for their Spring Festival Extravaganza.

Had I not mentioned that yet? My current student is envolved with it, and as I go where she does I now spend a significant portion of my time holed up inside the claustrophobic, smoky interior of CCTV. They have some truly beautiful and amazing things lined up for this Spring Festival show, and some truly bizarre things as well. They have pandas on unicycles, panda contortionists, and even pandas on yoga balls. It's like Chinese stereotype land met the college of preforming arts and had a springtacular love baby.

To wrap this up, I've been doing a lot of reading lately and have been getting more solid information and facts about those things I believe in the most. Mainly, veganism, environmentalism, and eating/consuming/producing locally. To me they all tie into one another, and are things that i try my best to incorporate into my life as much as I can. A lot of the time, since I am living in Beijing currently, these things are ideals. A lot of the time, though, decisions I can make everyday keep me on the right track. Always taking my own bag to the grocery market, not purchasing any packaged foods, and sticking to my vegan diet are all things that help me get there. I had a close moment earlier today when i set my first foot into Jenny Lou's on the way home. For those of you unfamiliar, Jenny Lou's is a chain store in Beijing (maybe in all of China?) that specializes in imported goods and markets to those expats starving for a taste of home.

They have everything I thought I'd never find in Beijing and more- granolas, baguettes, jams, peanut butters, candy bars, the list goes on- and theyre all the same brands i'm used to seeing at home. I felt overwhelmed, excited, and dumbfounded. They even had all those ridiculous prepackaged cake mixes from brands like Duncan Hines and Sara Lee- ridiculous because not only is making up your own cake mix minus preservatives a cinch but because 99.9% of Chinese people do not (and I feel I can say this without being racist because I've had a number of Chinese people say it to me themselves) ever EVER bake things at home. ever. They also have the largest and most comprehensive cheese section in Beijing- I've often heard the Cheese section at Jenny Lou's discussed in reverent tones at parties when Beijing's culinary differences to Europe pop into the conversation. These things having been said, it was the granola that was my downfall. With no oven of my own, I cannot make my own- which makes me want to cry. I love granola. It's so beautiful, so versatile, such a perfect meal anytime of day. Cereal in and of itself...don't get me started.

I could spend an hour easy perusing the cereal aisle of almost any store, and a good 2 hours on the ones in health food stores. My love of cereal and granola I had put away until returning home...but then, in Jenny Lou's, I saw a spectrum unlike any i could have imagined in China. They even had (though I wouldn't buy it and do not prefer it) Honey Bunches of Oats. Insanity. And then, THEN, a box of Amaranth clusters on sale for a fifth the price of all the others. I grabbed it. I grabbed two. I would have grabbed three, but a third there was not. I was exhilarated. I imagined myself in bed, with a bowl, a spoon, fresh soy milk from around the corner and my darling sweet amaranthy goodness. Then i thought about the distance it had traveled to reach me. The processing. The workers. The ridiculousness of eating something whose source was so utterly unconnected to me when I could just as easily eat the unrefined oats with corner store dried fruits from inside China- not to mention that the latter would be much better for me. I waffled. I sulked. I put the cereal back, in a show of epic and unheard of self control for this granola loving beast. The environmentalist/locally dedicated being inside me lived to see another day.

When I started that paragraph, it had a totally different aim than where it ended up. Since I'm so tired, I'm neither going to split it up to edit it nor revisit my original target. And I'll leave you with that.

love!

Touchdown.

Coming to you live from sunny SoCal, these words are tinged slightly with nostalgia, motivation, raindrops, jetlag, hot tea, cool nights, reflection, longing, decisiveness, and indecision.

After quite the long trek across many seas, one ocean, and three continents (via one train ride and three flights), I find myself writing to all of you from the living room of my maternal home, sitting on a couch struggling to revel in solitude while all i am able to honestly manage is jostled. Every item, every room, every street, every vista in my current proximity is imbued with teeming memories, each flush against the next, slightly overlapped, individual moments reflecting from different pairs of my own eyes. It's so interesting to come back after such a long time, especially interesting after seeing something new everyday for so many day, for suddenly seeing so many familiar things is making me feel...claustrophobic? No, that's not quite right. I'm feeling the presence of myself quite acutely, tangibly- more acutely than i have in quite a while. The presence, that is, of the selves of many yesterdays. The presence of my past persons is palpable in the memories of the spaces around me. My couch remembers, the driveway remembers, the tangerine tree, the street signs, the clear air on the mountains at 6 after rain knows a me from each day of the last 15 years. Sitting or standing, walking down paths well worn by my own feet, I can't help but feel like a flip-book jessie, one single in a sequence forming a complete picture only when viewed in context and in motion.

This is the mindset that I'm coming to you from.

Surveying my audience from this mood, what can i possibly share with you? What kinds of reflections on India are possible at this juncture?

For an overview and in the neighborhood of brevity, India was a country to be reckoned with, an experience that lingers like 3am on my hands. Multitudinous experiences touching such a variety of nerves that eventually a system re-set of perceptions, emotions, and reactions was achieved. I shall not forget the role of China, who had a heavy hand in this as well- it's accurate to say that the process of re-assemblage completed by India was only possible after the disassembly artfully undertaken by China. Disassembly is a slow and painful process, the strip down of desires, impulses, and duality related attachments/concepts done more by force than choice; reassembly, on the other hand, was comparatively pleasant while equally momentous.

Today I am talking entirely about inner processes initiated and pushed to fruitation mostly by (what appeared at the time to be) outer forces. I better understand the myriad of ways people build up the experience of india; the skepticism and confusion previously admitted to have been, at least in some ways, relieved and sated. I leave you at this time with the previously revealed reflections, to return to you on a later date with more concrete relations of events and occurences, more clearly defined perceptions, more sensically wrought musings.

Sweet dreams.

love&light
jess

Yes.

Yes, I can deal with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Movement.

Coming to you straight from Rishikesh, India.

It's lovely out here, not the soggy heat of the south nor the blistering cold of beijing. Quite pleasant, indeed.

I want to give you all exciting descriptions and breath taking views, but i'm a bit at a loss for proper incentive to sit in here on the computer when i could be out there, in the cool night air under the almost ripe moon sitting on the banks of the ganges and breathing the air sweeping down from the himalayas.

you know, you can't really fault me for that.

to give you a short hand account would be cruel, because there are so many beautiful people, experiences, places, and events for me to gloss over them in a summation post. Suffice to say, it's quite vibrant. It's as though you took everyone in town who hangs around in fisherman pants and likes to juggle, introduced them to your yogi friends, and made them open a vegetarian restaurant. Only, make that idea into an entire city. And then place it on the holiest river in hinduism. Then add some monkeys. No, add lots of monkeys.

And make every night a jam under the stars, on the rooftop of the family that took you in.

Repeat.

My, it's hot.

Come one, come all to the magical mystery tour.

So far I've been in Trichy for about 3 days, and a packed three days theyve been. People, sights, smells, sounds, everything. I'm sitting now in one of the city's few internet cafes, a tepid room filled with about 20 old desktops and a rather surly propreitor. Because the keyboard im using makes me irritable (its not condusive to typing very quickly!) I'm going to be brief with this one, and promise more later.

During the time I've been here I've been camped out at The Modern Hindu Hotel (pictures when i can) a modest but clean establishment frequented by those indians working in abu dabi, malaysia, indonesia, etc, who need to come back to india to get visa renewals. it's the cheapest place i could find, and theres a certain threadbare honesty that i like. It might be a bit tough, but i also feel safe- as long as i don't show any weakness. You know, like prison. Ha.

The room is maybe 8 ft by 8 ft, with an attached bathroom- the kind that has a raised squat toilet (yay! just like beijing: ah, homesick already) and a spigot jutting out of the wall at a height of about 4 feet- just tall enough for me to fully squat under to wet my body before soaping. No hot water, not electricity between 11am and 5pm, and no cleaning service (or towels, or blankets, or toilet paper...) but i'm very comfortable anyway. Everything i really need it has; clealiness, running water, a place to sleep off the ground, and a lock on the door. So really, I'm golden :)

What else to say? Tonight I'm on a night bus to chennai, and tomorrow evening im off to Delhi- from there to our real goal of rishikesh, where on Dec 3rd I'll be starting a yoga intensive with Kamal of Tattvaa Yoga. Let the growth begin!

when I'm settled i'll post next, and lengthier, and in more detail, and hopefully with pictures.

much love from your cuz
Jess

医生, take one.

well hello, lovelies.
what can this be, but two updates in as many days? my goodness. jessie must have too much time on her hands.

what insights will be unfurled in this post? what secrets of the universe probed? more pointedly, have these probes been sanitized?

I have to admit that I have nothing off the top of my head to post about, save that today I went to the doctor. I guess that works.

Attention! This post is now aimed towards sharing the experience of visiting a traditional chinese medicine doctor in china. I'm also going to mention that if Earth Wind and Fire had been smitten with the 24th night of September instead of the 21st night, I wouldn't have reminded everytime it plays that it narrowly misses my birthday. Man, how cool would it be to have that song coincide with your birthday? I have these thoughts EVERYTIME the song comes on. It kind of ruins it. Just a little.

That is so, so beside my point.

Today I headed over to the doctor for a little check up. My roommate Scott has an awesome doctor situated over by the JingSong subway stop, a hop skip and cab ride from the GuoMao stop in CBD. I mention the GuoMao stop cause it also happens to be beside my favorite of favorite vegan restaurants in Beijing, run by my friend Li. We swung by the Vegan Cafe and nabbed some delicacies of the cruelty free persuasion.

When you pull up to this clinic, it's in the bottom floor of a building around the corner from one of the largest libraries in Beijing (a whole floor of English language books! Goody!!). Walk straight down the corridor and you hit double doors leading into a very herb-y smelling waiting room. The lovely bit about this particular doctor is that his English is very good, and the clinic serves the Japanese speaking community as well as the Chinese and English. My particular visit was comprised of two main sections- first diagnosis and then treatment. I went into a cool back room where my doctor first asked some preliminary questions- medical history, whyd you come in today, hows your diet, any appendages burst into flame lately, etc etc. Then, to continue the diagnosis section of our visit, i had my tongue examined and lay (lied? layed?) down on a low examining table from which position the doctor took my pulse, felt my glands, and felt various assorted important places on my stomache and calves. Then he did a very interested and at this point unexplained chain reaction type thing where he had an assistant hold my hand while he grasped the arm of the assistant, and (supposedly) at some unintentional change in my hand her arm would twitch and then his arm would jump. i really have no idea what this was about. i need to ask.

maybe she just wanted to hold my hand.

anyway. this was the end of my diagnosis section. at this point i was handed over to the herbalist (the doctor who did my diagnosis was a muscoskeletal specialist), who was briefed by my other doctor and did her own short diagnosis using the meridian points in my hands a feet. Chinese Medicine is concerned, in large part, with the energies flowing through your body. Meridians are the main channels that these energies flow through, and main Meridian channels cane be found in your hands a feet. The way a Meridian check goes is, you supply your hands and feet (one at a time)to the doctor, who uses and electrical gauge (which is slowly pressed into each meridian's main point) to see how strong or weak the electrical charge is coming out of each point. This machine is hooked up to the computer which registers the electrical reactions as figures that then relate to your physical wellness (or illness) and even your family's medical history.

What, you want to know what mine said? Sigh. Well, she identified that my family has a history of hormone problems (such things as breast cancer, uterine cancer, etc), which is true of not only me, but i also think of most women at this point in time. The diagnosis also identified energy deficiency that relate to organs i've had trouble with in the past, and a few choice tidbits that I didn't entirely agree with. Apparently I have emotional problems. I'm really not sure I trust that particular diagnosis farther than I could throw the machine. Anyway.

After these things, she started treatments. this included but was not limited to some slight acupuncture and a little moxibustion. i'm sure most of us are familiar with acupuncture, but moxibustion is where small herbal compresses that very much resemble mini marshmellows are lit on fire and placed on the end of your acupuncture needles. you will feel like some kind of flesh/herb/steel specialty dessert while this occurs. the smoke from the herbs affects the energies that are being furthered stimulated by the needles, and also fills the room in some kind of smoke tastic cleansing type lung related thing.

I also got a bag full of herbs to be prepared as a tea every morning and taken morning and night for the next week. then i go back next week.

hopefully i'll be in beijing, but i think i'll probably be in shanghai. sigh.

any questions?

love you all,
jessie

Le Home.

I wrote the following entry while sitting in my room, chilling out to the grooving sounds of pre-molestation charges michael jackson. here it is for your viewing pleasure:

Well, whats been going on lately? A whole lot. Theres been a lot of travel, a lot of sickness, and a whole lot of positivity to round the whole lot out. Was in Shanghai for about a week, before that (if we recall) was Guangzhou. Now I’m back in lovely lovely Beijing until Sunday. I really wish I could stay longer. It's starting to warm up and the Hutong is turning absolutely lovely. Not that it wasn’t lovely to begin with, but now I can walk around without my face freezing, peeling off, and shattering on the floor within moments of stepping into the courtyard. it’s a rather pleasant change.

Whats it like around the hutong? Well…

In addition to the weather, my roommates are extremely lovely. I’m very blessed to live with extremely good friends who are sweet, considerate, intelligent, and challenging. Scottie, my Australian roomie, is a musician (saxophone, drums, kazoo, young lady’s heartstrings), and a fabulously intelligent motivated guy. He’s our resident tai qi master, having just started the intermediate courses from the world famous masters at Bei Hai Park. He’s been studying for just over a year now, and is getting the whole hutong on the bandwagon. And he’s on a wicked health binge with no drinking and no animal products- yay! It’s nice to have someone else around who is not into drinking, and even nicer to have another resident vegan. I love living with vegans. Ohad, my Israeli roomie, is as sweet as sweet can be, and is slowly being convinced to go vegan! Slowly but surely, he’s making the change, and turning his formidable culinary skills to the task. This man has given me some seriously amazing Israeli rock and folk music, not to mention pleased my belly with some insane veganized Israeli grub. I’m just waiting for the day that we turn into a crazy vegan cook-tastic tai qi household- it’s going to be beautiful.

In terms of the hutong itself, it’s set off from the incredibly major and busy DongZhiMen Street, tucked back in the winding myriad alleyways that Beijingers traditionally live in. It’s about a ten minute walk from the street through alleyways that house other similar courtyard homes and various assorted open air markets and small (think really small. now cut that in half, and stick in your pocket.) restaurants. The hustle and bustle of the Hutong has an extremely different feel from that of the rest of the city. It’s a neighborhood, it’s small, intimate and for the most part peaceful. The hutongs are one of the very few places in the city that you can’t hear the honk of car horns, where neon advertisement’s don’t dog your every step, and where you forget for a while that you’re in the capital of an extremely populous and consumer driven country. One of the nicest things about the hutong is that every building is one story- you can see the sky and the leaves in the trees and the sun and the moon every step home.

Have I sung the Hutong’s praises long enough? I could go on for a while, but I think you get the picture. The thing is, the city’s Hutong’s are disappearing fast. They are being torn down to build new developments, high rises and shops and streamlined apartments. A few, maybe 40 or 50 of the city’s thousands, are bound (in my opinion) to be saved, gutted and renovated, for rent to foreigners and rich beijingers in the future. Hutongs are traditionally passed down through the generations, so for a lot of Beijingers this means losing a large piece of their family culture, and it means the dissaperance of neighborhoods that are rife with life and lore.

It’s not cool, and I’m extremely thankful that I’m getting to experience the hutong lifestyle before it disappears. I wake up, look out my ground story room window at the leaves in the trees, walk out my door across the open courtyard, and make my way across a few alleys to the market. It’s just so lovely, and such a rare mode of life in modern day beijing. I'm extremely grateful to live on the ground and shop at a local un-plastic laden open air market. Sigh. So lucky.

Peace
Jessie

Oh yes.

Who’s the nigger with the fastest trigger?
Shaft.

It’s a lovely evening in Guangzhou, the air crisp and chill, the music in my ear of the Isaac Hayes variety, the surroundings gracing my presence of the silly-commercial-face-wash-photo-shoot genre.

Actually, in all honesty, I dig this studio. It’s much more swank than the others I’ve been in recently- bamboo floors, nice sound system, bookcases full of photography books. Not to imply that the lovely system is being used to bump Isaac Hayes- that’s all coming to me straight from my lovely lover of a laptop. Yay for the foresight to tell which days will present opportunities that make lugging the laptop worth it.

We’ve been the last week or so in Guangzhou, which is my favorite favorite of Chinese cities. The air is heavy and damp, warm like the air back home. The streets are lined with banyan trees and the markets are superb. Did I mention the Durians yet? Cause I’ve bought one for each day I’ve been here. And the coconuts…ohh fruit, how you do send me into fits of absolute delight. Creamy, custardy, fetid fecundity…how anyone can cringe at a Durian I do not understand. Few things make me as unfailingly pleased as fresh ripe fruit. Not to mention fresh, ripe vegetables. Let’s not even get started on fresh, ripe people.

Though, all jokes aside, as I was eating my Durian today I started to ponder one of those Durian or sex kind of questions. The thing I like most about fruit is, it loves me without expecting anything in return. Maybe I shouldn’t be revealing that there was even a contest between sex and eating fresh fruit. Maybe that’s just a little too far off the deep end…

Enough of that…what is Guangzhou all about? Well, it’s in Guangdong, which is where pretty much everything you buy that has a little ‘Made in China’ stamp somewhere on it is made. It’s also where most commercials, tv shows, and print ads are shot. As a result of these two insidious characteristics, everything in Guangzhou is simultaneously for sale and on sale. However, in contrast to Hong Kong, this does not lend to Guangzhou a commoditized, cloying air of consumerism. I think it’s because of all the trees. Or the fresh fruit stands. Everywhere. Whatever it is, I’ve been able to prance around this city non-stop for the last week and feel quite fulfilled. Shoots, both commercial and print, mean lots of time to amuse myself, which means hours of uninterrupted exploring. I’ve come across winding, wide banyan covered boulevards and cramped narrow alleyways lined with glowing over spilling shops. These two things within walking distance of each other cinch the contest of Jessie’s favorite city.

I think the alleys amaze me most. They wind deep into residential neighborhoods, tiny and cramped, and along their seemingly endless length are lined with all manner of fruit, spice, electronic, and odds/ends stands. They bustle and overflow with throngs that clearly walk these particular cobble stones daily, live a stones throw away, and are about their regular business. Buildings loom 5 to 6 stories on either side, wide windows thrown open tempting a breeze of the thick air. It’s just so inviting and luscious. Full of life. Full of movement. Fresh and unfettered.

As for the markets, well, you’ll find things in Guangzhou markets that you’ll be hardpressed to find anywhere else in china. I mean, I was under the mistaken impression that I had been to well stocked markets in Beijing and Shanghai, but I think no Chinese open air market connosieur can even call themselves such until they’ve stepped foot inside one of Guangzhou’s many amazing specimens. I’m talking fresh coconuts to fresh alligator to scotch bonnets to sour sap fruit to cured dog to purple kale to traditional Chinese medicinal cupping done with hand carved bamboo cups and a tea foot bath while you’re waiting for the rest of your party to finish up purchases for dinner. Word life.

I’m now listening to Balkan Gyspy Beats on my laptop while the little lady is showcasing herself in a red shift dress and unfurling a Chinese New Year scroll. Such is life.

Jessie

Ps. I find well toned arms are alluring.

Silence

It snowed this morning. So much for spring, and warmth.

I've just gotten to work (at 2 in the afternoon), and am sitting in the dining room of my students house browsing the internet in blessed solitude. The rest of the entourage is still sleeping- from the devastation of clothing, accessories, paperwork and shoes that is currently reigning unchallenged in the rest of the apartment I can only assume that everyone was up until all hours packing. Today we're leaving for a 3 month stint in Shanghai. I can only imagine what a movie star needs to tide herself over for three months away from her walk-in closet and floor to ceiling makeup cabinet. I mean, i've seen the mammoth suitcase that harbors 2 week's worth of necessities and as such i shudder to consider the planning, sorting, and stuffing that comprises preparations for a 3 month sojourn. poor assitants.

anyway, what i'm really trying to get at, what i'd like to give you a glimpse of through the haze of my cyclical musings and convoluted syntax, is how nice some moments of my day are. walking into the apartment at 2 in the afternoon and finding not a bustling scene of assitants, secretaries, and cooks, but rather the thick cottony hush that falls over a space when bodies still within it. On a day like this I will usually walk to the kitchen, brew a mug of warm tea and curl up on the couch with my latest novel- today i'm trading that novel for the novelty and letting you all in on one of the mercifully peaceful moments that occaisionally, unexpectedly, grace my schedule.

So here I sit, the new atmosphere album in my ear buds and a glowing little monitor in my face. Below is what i'm listening to right right now. It reminds of the problems that riddle an alarmingly large percent of the population of the most prosperous nation on the planet. it's what i'm playing at the moment and if you want to play it too, you can.



love you guys
jess

Here.

I made it to Hong Kong! First city I've been in where I don't speak a word of the primary language. Given, everyone here speaks mandarin and english in addition to Cantonese, but it's still pretty cool to me.

Let's take a look at how i got here. Right now Spring Festival is still going on in China (the two weeks after Chinese New Year are included in Spring Festival, and are the biggest travel days in China), so plane tickets and bus tickets are quite pricey. Even though I had the advantage of being in Southern as opposed to Northern China (helpful when heading South to Hong Kong), plane tickets were still far too expensive. I'll cut through the 5 or so hours of irritated phone calls back and forth to different airline companies, and the different solutions that seemed like godsends but really fell through, and cut to what worked out in the end. So as I've mentioned, I've been in rural rural Southern China shooting, equidistant from two larger cities (equidistant being a four hour drive from both Guilin and Nanning). Luckily for me, one of the women on the shoot has an auntie in Nanning and, overhearing our conversation, told me there is a, GASP, overnight bus from Nanning to HongKong. Thank god. I got on the phone, booked a ticket, and shelpped myself out of bed on Tuesday morning to hitch a ride with some producers heading that way for a meeting. So, after two days of back to back 18 hour shooting I subjected myself to a 4 hour ride from 8-12, sat in a coffee shop from 1-7, and then sat on a bus from 8pm to 9am. Needless to say, I'm tired.

Whats Hong Kong like? Well, it's certainly interesting. The drive in over the bridge is absolutely stunning, high flying bridge over shining water descending into a shiny toy city. The streets here are the kind you see in old movies, cramped and winding and covered in neon street signs that obscure the sky above. I would love to have time to explore it, but I don't think I'm going to- work beckons.

Well, it's getting chilly and I have to pee so i'm going to go and find somewhere to eat, and, hopefully, pee.

Love
Jessie

Well isn't this a long post?

Sometimes my world travel exploration is really nothing more than sitting in a coffee shop in a new city, ordering a pot of tea and a plate of fries, and hanging out with my laptop. Really what I'm doing right now i could be doing from any city (well, any city with internet, tea, and fries)and indeed is something that i've done in most cities i've visited. So where is all the exlporation? Is it really travel if i stay within the confines of a familiar bubble, and upon moving, simple pick up the entire thing and shift it?

Ok ok, in all fairness i rarely do what i'm doing right now and the only reason I'm indulging is that I'm only in this city for about 8 hours, I have a heavy bag, and I need to stay in the vicinity of the bus station. But still, these ideas are something to consider, and things that I do often.

I've been thinking a lot about travelling and learning, exploring and discovering and what it all means. Right before i left Hawaii this last time i began to flirt with the ideas of exploring and travelling at home, delving deeper into the essences of everyday events as opposed to seeking the (sometimes) superficial knowledge of 'exciting' 'exotic' things. To say it another way, I've been contemplating the differences between knowing a lot about a little instead of a little about a lot. Now that I'm travelling more and more, indeed more than I ever thought I would, I find myself revisiting this topic more and more,and as I ponder my actions and their incentives I have been rolling three quotes over in my head. The first one is by Proust, something that lodged itself in my head incorrectly and, thanks to a conversation with a friend, i recently revisited and corrected my memory of. it goes like this:

The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes, in seeing the universe with the eyes of another, of hundreds of others, in seeing the hundreds of universes that each of them sees. -Marcel Proust

This is the first quote that I encountered along the lines re-discovering the old, and though it does not quite get to the roots of what i've been mulling over, i still think it is worth comment and it is something that I've thought about at different stages in my life. It's not only about rediscovering your daily life but also about acknowledging that we all see the world around us through certain filters, be they related to culture, age, sex, orientation, or something as simple as the differences between a right handed person's experiences and left handed person's. It is about not only becoming more familiar with your own reality but giving space to and exploring the realities of those around you. Very interesting.

The next quote also skirts around the edges of my main issue a bit, but is definately relevant to the way that i've been living my life the past few months. Those of you've that I've been talking to regularly know that in this particular branch of the tree that is my life (aha, i'm so poetic.) I've encountered something entirely foreign and rather challenging- i want to go home. I find myself pining for and lusting after a place that I've already been. Novel. For someone who has always been sniffing around the next plane ticket, it's an interesting and, blessedly, welcome change. It is a development that comes at a rather ironic and also quite challenging time, considering the fact that I've finally gotten myself into a lucrative and comfortable groove and indeed will not be returning home for a matter of months. Some of you may scoff at 'months' and advise me that it is but a blip in the saga of my far reaching life, but when a person hasnt lived in one place for more than 3 months in over two years time she begins to relate to time in different ways that most people. A month or two here or there is a very different concept in the world of Jessie than it is in the world of most people. Thusly, this interesting dilemma I find myself in is rather ironic, and though irksome and irritating, i must admit it is a predicament i find myself glad to be in. I look forward to arriving home and finally living without the constant itch of wanderlust invading my thoughts and senses. This next quote plays upon this theme,revolves around ideas of what exactly it is to use the time you have at your discretion in a truly useful manner. I know that I have been guilty of looking past the present in attempts to grasp at the future. It is something that though I am aware of, and was aware of while living in Hawaii, I find extremely difficult to stop- especially now that I feel I've found what I really truly want (to return home). I identify very strongly with this quote, and find that it is a rather good example of the way that I have not only been abusing my travel experiences recently but is also analogous to the way I misused a lot of my last respite period at home. It is from the book Siddartha, and was written as follows:

“Are you not also a seeker of the right path?”
There was a smile in Siddhartha’s old eyes as he said: “Do you call yourself a seeker, 0' venerable one, you who are already advanced in years and wear the robe of Gotama’s monks.”
“I am indeed old,” said Govinda, “but I have never ceased seeking. I will never cease seeking. That seems to be my destiny. It seems to me that you also have sought. Will you talk to me a little about it, friend?”
Siddhartha said: “What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.”
“How is that?” asked Govinda.
“When someone is seeking,” said Siddhartha, “it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, un­able to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, be­cause he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. You, 0' worthy one, are perhaps indeed a seeker, for in striving towards your goal, you do not see many things that are under your nose.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Very poignant, that quote. I mull over it quite a bit.

The third quote speaks directly to the concepts that have been most recently on my mind, and is by TS Eliot, a man whose writing i have never really taken the time to read. Interestingly enough, I just learned from Wikipedia that his birthday is 100 years and two days after my own. Odd. Anyway, onto the quote that I'm trying to introduce. In addition to chastising myself for wasting my time traveling being preoccupied with thoughts of home (a mirror of the time I spent at home fantasizing about travelling) I've been consdering where it is (spiritually speaking) all of this travelling is going to drop me off. I'll leave it at that for now and let you go ahead and read the quote.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
TS (Thomas Stearns) Eliot, "Little Gidding" (from the last of his Four Quartets)

On a similar, or unrelated note (depending on how you look at it) a song that was popular when i was in high is for some reason all of the sudden all the rage in southern china. and its playing in the coffee shop over my fries, tea, and L word. Sigh.

This post was written to the strains of Move On Up by Curtis Mayfield, a song that finds itself of late on constant repeat in the life of one Jessie Marie.

Love
J

Poisoned Beauty

I think Chinese markets are a glorious revelation, their herb, fruit, and vegetable sections intrigue and arouse me as nothing else in the world can- and it is fitting, I think, that my greatest love, awash with vivid colors, variety, and the honest faces of farmers, in one aspect so beautiful is in another aspect so horrible. To me these markets are the perfect example of all the rest of the world. On one hand, a brilliant and riotous showcase of all the blessings the earth has to offer. On the other hand, a poignant and true representation of the cruelest possibilities of human culture. Before I enter the alleyways of any such market, I have to steel myself.
One, steel myself for the revelation of rows upon rows of dirt encrusted vegetables that make me weak in the knees. The delectable existence of kimchi vendors- old women hunched amoung all manner of pickled vegetables, wares spread upon rickety wooden tables. Piles of jubilant citrus fruits, cool green leaves laying against gleaming orange rind. Tables piled high with bananas- heaping piles 5 feet across and 2 feet high. The little old men who spread carpets on the dusty ground and upend bags of peanuts, creating peanutty pyramids of delectable goodness to be weighed and distributed by the luscious pound. These things, the bustle of buyers and the multitude of fresh wares, arouse and delight me the way no lover can. So much variety, so much color, so much food! I die every time.
Two, I steel myself for the flesh trade. There is a curious habit of all the butchers that I’ve seen, and I’ve seen quite a few in Southern China, of taking a pig’s face and nailing it, through the nostril, to the front of their butchering block. Not the skull, just the facial skin. Most thighs and flanks still have the hoof attached at the bottom. Skulls with eyeballs intact usually line the left side a block, intestines and organs the front, and slabs of flesh the interior and right sides. Rib cages usually hang from hooks on the right side. And, when I say butchering blocks I mean it in the most medieval sense of the phrase- large wooden blocks line the coursing open air market, individuals wielding cleavers part bone from flesh and flesh from fat as you order. The only animals kept alive in the market are ducks, chickens, roosters, geese and ganders, fish, frogs and turtles. Cows, pigs, dogs, rats, gophers, ferrets, pheasants, and other small fowl are all killed and plied at market as corpses. I’m going to leave off here, as the subsequent posts get into my more visceral reactions.
Suffice to say, this is the dichotomy I encounter at the market. Delight and wonder lines one side, horrid suffering the other.

What I've Seen

There is a definition of veganism that is particularly poignant to me, and makes up one aspect of my multi-faceted choice to abstain from all animal products; it is known as ‘bearing witness’. It is the idea that at each meal a vegan sits down to, particularly those meals that include omnivorous and ovo-lacto vegetarian dishes, the vegan is acting as a silent witness for those animals slaughtered and abused to create the delicacies laid out. I am fond of this take on the issue. I like to think that each meal I eat, even those where I do not say a word concerning the tidbits comprising my companion's meals (which is most meals), or even those meals I eat alone or with other vegans, that by refusing to consume torture and debasement I am acting as a reminder of those things. In my early vegetarian days and even early vegan days, I sought to make it clear that I did not want anyone to feel uncomfortable eating meat or dairy products in my presence. I have since reversed that. I want you to feel uncomfortable. I want my presence to make it so that you cannot block out the cruelties inflicted on the hunk of steaming flesh adorning your plate, I want you to be pushed closer to consciously examining the actions you take part in. Consciously examine the ways that you have previously blocked this out, and I want you to be one step nearer to conscious liberation from the cooing and coddling of the meat and dairy industry, the cooing and coddling that made it possible for you to ignore the feelings of what you've been eating for so long. Past that, I want you to think about the global impact of what you eat. I want you to research it yourself, to become a blazing beacon of passionate curiosity about how each decision you make affects the planet. If I can do this by making you uncomfortable meal after meal, so be it. Let the uncomfortableness begin.

I want to supplement this with two excerpts, unedited, from my journal. I don’t usually put raw emotional reactions up here, cause those are private. These I think can be shared.

1/1/09 Lucid
The mornings haul: 5 mandarin oranges, 3 blood oranges, 2 apples, 2 lilikoi, 4 dried persimmons, 2 roasted sweet potatoes
Total: Somewhere around one American Dollar
Other acquirements: Smells of slaughter and torture, fresh pure vegetables line one side and cold cramped cages stuffed to capacity the other. Light on leaves of light green lettuce and feet on blood, shit, piss of disregarded creatures. Cries go unheard through the barter of the flesh trade. Woman torches hair off dog carcass (one of 3) while daughter (about 3) plays nearby. Small wizened old woman tips garbage pail into cart, tipping still warm organs into the refuse of hooves, hair, intestine. Toads bulge inside net bags, a similarly enmeshed turtle paws the side of a shining white Styrofoam cage.
You are no different, America.
Cattle farms, chicken coops.
Pet your dog while you eat your steak.
Hypocrite.

1/2/09 Lucid
Today’s market run yielded: 5 apples, 6 bananas, 3 large 1 small roasted sweet potato
Total: About 10 kuai
Saw more small dogs today, the butchered kind.
Also saw rats both roasted and laid out freshly killed, two gophers, something that was either a ferret or a large kitten. A shop with extraordinarily painful looking metal traps in various sizes outside. Bowls filled with glistening hearts grace the cage tops of their corresponding animals. Conical wicker cages the last housing for dirty, cramped fowl. Shops are two tiered. In the front, lining the street, iron cages cage birds 20 to every 4 square feet. Animals, feet bound still alive, are weighed while eyes roll and throats cry. Behind, inside three walls and a roof, the holding pens. Flocks huddle, waiting to be chosen for death and de-feathering. Women sit inside with the flocks, over bowls of dingy water plucking down from wings and breast. A motorbike, two breathing ducks strapped to the back, rumbles past.
The Nazis, at least, never ate their victims.

I want to make it clear that my opinion of these Southern Chinese markets is not any lower than my opinion of the meat and dairy industry in America. In fact, quite the opposite. At least the people here deal directly with their food. Go to the market, see the conditions with their eyes, handle the still warm and struggling creatures (or, rather, ‘food’) with their own hands and hearts and psyches. Most Americans, most large city dwellers in fact, are so utterly removed from this process that the closest they come to their food is plastic wrapped hunks of once warm flesh cooling in the local deli section. I would also like to clarify the fact that I made mention of the dogs and other small creatures more than I do the pigs, cows, pheasants, chickens, ducks, and fish because I am unused to seeing them. Not because I find their slaughter and consumption anymore cruel. I know some readers will be more upset to hear about these animals being treated in such a way, and I want those of you this feel that way to consider why some animals are OK to abuse and kill and eat, and others are not. If you realize that you feel that way because that is the way you were raised, because that is what big daddy culture told you, you are one step closer to living and consuming consciously. The next step is to plumb within yourself, and decide if you agree or disagree with what you've been told.

If anybody would like links to more information about veganism, or about ways that you can make a healthy transition in your life, here are some to peruse:

Nutrition

Vegan.org

Non-edibles

In addition to those information pages, I myself read (these are only a few of my addictions...)

Food Snobbery is My Hobbery

Get Sconed!

Vegan Crunk