Friday, January 28, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
A moment in time.
I have a gray hair, and each morning that I see it I think, "Hello little one!".
So the sun is shining in lovely Southern California, making evening and morning runs more than possible. I'm on the start of a seven day spring wake-up, shedding some of the aches and creaks left over from winter hibernation. It'll involve a morning run, an evening run, and nothing to eat before 12pm but a lovely tonic broth of ginger, garlic, sage, black lava salt and parsley (with a dash of miso thrown in for good measure).
And of course, moderate mostly raw meals for lunch and dinner. And lots of tea! But thats not new.
How delightful is the cycle of the seasons.
It's also time for me to begin to gear up for the migration up the coast, during which i'm expressing my excitement through the preparation of various art goods. Dream catchers, marmalade, poetry, and sketches that will come up the coast and hopefully find new homes once we get there.
Jessie loves that art.
love&light
Jess
So the sun is shining in lovely Southern California, making evening and morning runs more than possible. I'm on the start of a seven day spring wake-up, shedding some of the aches and creaks left over from winter hibernation. It'll involve a morning run, an evening run, and nothing to eat before 12pm but a lovely tonic broth of ginger, garlic, sage, black lava salt and parsley (with a dash of miso thrown in for good measure).
And of course, moderate mostly raw meals for lunch and dinner. And lots of tea! But thats not new.
How delightful is the cycle of the seasons.
It's also time for me to begin to gear up for the migration up the coast, during which i'm expressing my excitement through the preparation of various art goods. Dream catchers, marmalade, poetry, and sketches that will come up the coast and hopefully find new homes once we get there.
Jessie loves that art.
love&light
Jess
Saturday, January 1, 2011
What it is.
So the deal is.
The last six months have been spent on an off the grid, organic farm on the Big Island of Hawai'i. Yes it was great. What was it about?
It was about Enoch and I, it was about sacred spaces, it was about living with the land and feeling her breath.
It was about many things. Sleeping in the darkness and waking up at dawn. Footprints in the dirt. Calloused hands and long thorough days.
Individuals to see, day in & day out, who work with the land and care for it, who share that caring with me.
These ideas of community have grown big within me, flavoring all of the other concepts and ideas that i hold dear. At this point I am completely convinced of the necessity of small communities that work together to build and share local resources to keep the planet and our species healthy. Enviornmentally, socially, politically, ecologically, personally. So I am off to live in a small, earth based community to grow my skills and see for myself what the difference can be. What difference can be acheived through the cooperation, skills, knowledge, and care of a small community. Intentional Community/Ecovillage time it is.
The initiation has been completed. This last six month venture has been the step forward into the focus for the next few seasons.
This interim in LA is a quick pause in the movement before we head off on the wind to the Pacific Northwest to work on our skills with a community or farm there.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
And we return, to our regularly scheduled programming.
It certainly has been a minute, now hasn't it?
Jessie is back in Los Angeles on yet another sojourn home. It's solstice season and the sky drips solid little raindrops onto the waiting soil. A lovely time to be in Southern California, by all accounts, with breaks in the deluge relished through hikes in the foothills of our neighbor mountains.
It's amazing to be back in touch with a computer after near 6 months of no wireless, no broadband, no electricity, and little want for all of it. The sheer accessibility of it all is quite staggering, and I find it needs balancing lest I spin completely into the vortex of this little laptop screen.
Current mission; spend time with loved ones, draft and complete art projects, replenish the bank account, and start the next leg of the journey. What is this leg? Well, it's beginning.
Right now, we are at the start of the beginning. What a lovely place to be.
Love&Light
jess
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Of Sun and Food.
So I'm bathing in the joy of sunlight drifting in through my kitchen window, warm smells of cornbread in the oven, and the question of whether to add dill or rosemary to this week's carrot soup.
This week's farmer's market run included blueberries, strawberries, 5 beautiful heriloom tomatos, 9 lemons, an impressive knob of ginger, 7 fresh carrots (tops still on for soup stock), and, like every week, a bunch of beets. Have i mentioned how much i love beets?
If anyone needs me, I'm stationed in my kitchen basking in the simple pleasure of southern california spring air on my body while i make food for the family.
love&light
jess
This week's farmer's market run included blueberries, strawberries, 5 beautiful heriloom tomatos, 9 lemons, an impressive knob of ginger, 7 fresh carrots (tops still on for soup stock), and, like every week, a bunch of beets. Have i mentioned how much i love beets?
If anyone needs me, I'm stationed in my kitchen basking in the simple pleasure of southern california spring air on my body while i make food for the family.
love&light
jess
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Oh Dear.
I re-fall in love with LA on the daily.
Reasons:
1. Modern Art.
2. Classical Art.
3. 24 hour internet connections.
4. Music scene.
5. Good friends.
6. Late nights.
7. LGBTQ scene.
8. Vegan restaurants.
9. Genderqueers walking the streets, checking me out.
10. Me walking the streets, checking genderqueers out.
11. Genderqueers.
12. Tribe Called Quest on the radio.
13. Biggie on the radio, followed by Pac on the radio, followed by Biggie on the Radio.
love&light
jess
Reasons:
1. Modern Art.
2. Classical Art.
3. 24 hour internet connections.
4. Music scene.
5. Good friends.
6. Late nights.
7. LGBTQ scene.
8. Vegan restaurants.
9. Genderqueers walking the streets, checking me out.
10. Me walking the streets, checking genderqueers out.
11. Genderqueers.
12. Tribe Called Quest on the radio.
13. Biggie on the radio, followed by Pac on the radio, followed by Biggie on the Radio.
love&light
jess
Friday, January 29, 2010
One Now, Some Sometimes'
I now spend all of my time in the kitchen, either cooking, cleaning, or sitting at our large drop down wooden ironing board writing.
Sometimes, when i lean over my computer looking for a particular song, i get distracted by 8tracks, proceed to check up on my messages, look at genderfork, remember in a sharp slap of memory which song i wanted and then (to avoid this lengthy process again) end up putting together a playlist- i then become so engrossed that i forget i'm in my kitchen leaning over a chair to look into the monitor. As i stand up and turn around, somehow i find myself thinking that because i've been so distracted all the dishes will be done. I am, thus far, always mistaken.
Sometimes when i drive around LA i feel like i'm in a videogame. This has become more frequent since they put out that
Sometimes i wonder if anyone reads this, and if they do, what they (you?) glean from it.
Sometimes I listen to The Fugees.
Sometimes i listen to covers of Radiohead, which i try to locate to put into my blog, only to fail.
love&light
jessOn With the Grub!
While I'm home, I'm working on two main projects.
Project One: Integrate mindfulness into every moment of my life.
Project Two: Feed my mother good vegan food.
Both are large and both require a lot of my attention. In fact, Project One requires all of my attention, but we'll revisit that one at a later date. Project Two is something that I'm very blessed to be spearheading. The seeds of this tree of change took root when my mother visited me in Beijing; I cooked her 7 days of beautiful vegan fare, sparing no amount of love or skill. She was so pleased that, upon hearing of my return home, she requested that I take her meals out of my brother's meat covered hands and do for her again what i did in Beijing.
I am now lucky enough to be cooking all of my mother's meals, all vegan, and all gluten free. This is something that I've wanted to do for years, something I thought I'd have to haggle my way into if i was going to get it at all- but low and behold, patience is, if not a virtue, at least fruitful. I'm making all my mother's meals, filling them with love and wholesome nutrition. And I couldn't be happier about doing it.
Below is a menu of the last 6 or so days, to give you an idea of the how things are starting out. In fact, this is a list of everything I've made for her since we've started this venture. Everything listed is homemade by the hands and heart of yours truly, using only fresh/whole ingredients (all veg/fruit from the farmers market, grains/pulses from Whole Foods)
Project One: Integrate mindfulness into every moment of my life.
Project Two: Feed my mother good vegan food.
Both are large and both require a lot of my attention. In fact, Project One requires all of my attention, but we'll revisit that one at a later date. Project Two is something that I'm very blessed to be spearheading. The seeds of this tree of change took root when my mother visited me in Beijing; I cooked her 7 days of beautiful vegan fare, sparing no amount of love or skill. She was so pleased that, upon hearing of my return home, she requested that I take her meals out of my brother's meat covered hands and do for her again what i did in Beijing.
I am now lucky enough to be cooking all of my mother's meals, all vegan, and all gluten free. This is something that I've wanted to do for years, something I thought I'd have to haggle my way into if i was going to get it at all- but low and behold, patience is, if not a virtue, at least fruitful. I'm making all my mother's meals, filling them with love and wholesome nutrition. And I couldn't be happier about doing it.
Below is a menu of the last 6 or so days, to give you an idea of the how things are starting out. In fact, this is a list of everything I've made for her since we've started this venture. Everything listed is homemade by the hands and heart of yours truly, using only fresh/whole ingredients (all veg/fruit from the farmers market, grains/pulses from Whole Foods)
Thursday (today):
Breakie: Yogurt w/ ground flax/pumpkin seeds, walnuts, cranberries
Lunch: Split Pea Soup, Chickpea/avocado/tomato salad
Snack: Fiberful fruit bar from Trader Joe's, Dark Chocolate
Dinner: Oven Baked Polenta, Curried Split Pea Soup, Chard&Kale Salad w/ Peanut Dressing
Wednesday:
Breakie: Yogurt w/ ground flax/pumpkin seeds, walnuts, pear pieces
Lunch: Chickpea Salad/Curried Potatoes/Salad
Snack: Trail mix, two tangerines from the backyard
Dinner: Split Pea Soup w/ Fresh Cornbread, Shredded Beet/Sesame Salad
Tuesday:
Breakie: Asian Pear, Banana, Dried Cranberries, Walnuts
Snack: Salad w/ walnuts, cranberries, butter lettuce, lemon/EVOO dressing
Lunch: Barley Veg Soup/Salad
Dinner: Chickpea Patties w/ Curried Potatoes and Broccoli
Monday:
Breakie: Yogurt
Snack: Almonds, Cranberries, Dried Apricots
Lunch: Barley Squash Cranberry Almond Risotto
Snack: Avocado/Tomato/Chickpea Salad
Dinner: Fresh Baked Cornbread with Barley Veg Soup
Sunday:
Breakie: Miso/Avocado Rice Noodles
Lunch: Black Beans w/ Brown Rice and Shredded Beet Salad
Snack: Trail Mix
Dinner: Squash Barley Risotto (w/cranberries, celery, almonds)
Saturday:
Breakie: Pancakes! Blueberry Pancakes! Bananas, Mangos, orange juice.
Lunch: Something I've forgotten. Salad?
Dinner: Bowl of Raspberry Yogurt*, chopped bananas, pumpkin seeds, flax seeds, cranberries, walnuts.
Some days we've had desserts of Cinnamin Squash Puree or Honeyed Tangerine, but I can't remember which days.
love&light
jessie, the live in health lady.
Some days we've had desserts of Cinnamin Squash Puree or Honeyed Tangerine, but I can't remember which days.
love&light
jessie, the live in health lady.
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:
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!
Monday, January 25, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Just a moment.
The date of today is January 5, though by the time I finish writing and post this the number will have turned to 6. A fast has been finished, a Vipassana session cancelled; a massage course completed, a new yoga undertaken.
Today has been a revelry of a day, but I’m currently at a loss for any earth shattering expositories or heartrending revelations. The mist has been sitting low on the foothills with what we in LA would refer to as ‘intermittent drizzle’ drifting in and out of focus. I’m currently sitting in my spacious lower floor hotel room, watching the candle light flicker off the peeling light blue paint- the walls have acquired the splotched melancholic beauty that only years of cheap paint and water damage poured in equal amounts over cold concrete can lend. It is, in each moment that passes, quintessential Northern India.
So as I sit here in the damp chill, said candlelight aflicker, I’m rather unmotivated to rouse my inner faculties and deliver a rousing story. I’ve had a day of quiet reflection, replete with meditation, and am as such feeling rather calm and quiet. I’d hoped you’d walk over the unfinished construction site outside my balcony, hop the little fence and rap at my bolted door, but alas. You’re a bit far for those kind of antics, aren’t you? I’ll be enjoying this candlelight alone, just me and my yoga, me and my tea, me and my small stone Buddha.
[If I could paint you a picture, I would. What I would paint, I do not know, and what insight the 1,000 words captured in said picture would grant, I cannot guarantee. I can’t guarantee that 1,000 words would be enough- in matters such as this you’re often left with two options; a tome of a treatise, or the subtle communication of bittersweet silence.]
This is the way that India makes me feel.
(It makes me feel.)
Today has been a revelry of a day, but I’m currently at a loss for any earth shattering expositories or heartrending revelations. The mist has been sitting low on the foothills with what we in LA would refer to as ‘intermittent drizzle’ drifting in and out of focus. I’m currently sitting in my spacious lower floor hotel room, watching the candle light flicker off the peeling light blue paint- the walls have acquired the splotched melancholic beauty that only years of cheap paint and water damage poured in equal amounts over cold concrete can lend. It is, in each moment that passes, quintessential Northern India.
So as I sit here in the damp chill, said candlelight aflicker, I’m rather unmotivated to rouse my inner faculties and deliver a rousing story. I’ve had a day of quiet reflection, replete with meditation, and am as such feeling rather calm and quiet. I’d hoped you’d walk over the unfinished construction site outside my balcony, hop the little fence and rap at my bolted door, but alas. You’re a bit far for those kind of antics, aren’t you? I’ll be enjoying this candlelight alone, just me and my yoga, me and my tea, me and my small stone Buddha.
[If I could paint you a picture, I would. What I would paint, I do not know, and what insight the 1,000 words captured in said picture would grant, I cannot guarantee. I can’t guarantee that 1,000 words would be enough- in matters such as this you’re often left with two options; a tome of a treatise, or the subtle communication of bittersweet silence.]
This is the way that India makes me feel.
(It makes me feel.)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Fast Day Three.
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
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
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
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