red dot little duck

The first festival was crazy awesome. It was the last of a ten-day celebration of food. Mostly sweets. Mmmm, sugar. India special. But that wasn’t what I was there for. Oh no, it was much bigger than a festival for sweets.

It was evening, as most things like this happen after dark. Binu, and Aji took me to a temple dedicated to whom I believe was Murugan, Ganesha’s brother. A handsome god; he’s powerful and rides a badass peacock that’s usually standing on a cobra. Everything was lit up with old bulb style Christmas lights. The walkway, the trees, the temple. Huge depictions of Murugan placed throughout the grounds. Little stands everywhere with sweets and toys and fun things to look at. Hundreds of Indians. Maybe six white people, including me. It was nice to have my two Hulk like escorts. Not only did I feel protected, they took me to the behind the scene spots where I wouldn’t have gone otherwise. It was the end of a 40-day preparation, of what I was told to be nearly two hundred men, consisting of restricted diet, no touching women, daily offerings and pujas. All day people were getting ready for the event. Surely the mound of hot coals had been burning for hours perhaps days. The energy was amazing. Both light and heavy… intense. Beautiful smiling faces waiting in anticipation.

The grand finally? A skewer through the face and a nice walk over the mountain of coals. Bare foot fire dancers.

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Before being led through the awaiting crowd these men, some just boys, had a rod put through their face. Shish kebab style. There really is no other description for it. After putting the end parts on the rod they ended up with a trident through the face. We weren’t allowed to see them in person but several cameras captured the action and displayed the scene on large screens throughout the area. I watched in awe. Unbelievable.

All of a sudden the crowd shifted, and the men cam running through. Each participant had two other men escorting them; they held garlands of flowers and peacock feathers mounted on a wooden arch around their shoulders.

After a short time, perhaps more blessings, they started to come out, one by one. Some walking, some running some stomping or literally dancing through the mound of coals. A few paused in the middle or stuck their hands in the pile and tossed coals into the air. They kicked at it, danced around it… played in it. It was amazing. Something I had never seen. And may never see again.

Festival two… again brought by Aji and Binu, who both watched out for me as they sent me into the midst of the action. I really don’t understand what this one was about. It seems that there are four more days of it. And then another, for another temple, will take its place. This is what I wrote while sipping pineapple juice and waiting for Bhajan to start, which I ended up missing do to my curfew.

“Om namah shivaya… What that actually means in me?  Sitting here in India, after witnessing some awesome festival proceedings, listening to some terrible 90’s American club music in a Tandoor/Mexican/Chinese restaurant owned by a guy named Darma. Surreal. Was at temple earlier watching and listening to some awesome drumming. I mean these guys were going for it. So rad. Powerful. They were accompanied by some sort of horn – looked like a clarinet on steroids. They were preparing for the festival but it felt like it already was the festival. There were floats with different deities on the back. Lit up and doused with marigold and jasmine flower garlands. Prasad – offerings, of orange “juice” and butter biscuits being passed around the grounds. Children all dressed up with flashy dresses and make-up. Three people… men? Women? Not sure – one dressed at Shiva, one possibly Parvati and the other… not sure about that either. They were all waiting for the elephant to show up who would lead them on a long walk to another temple, conveniently located just down from my house. I hope the music doesn’t play all night. Time to go. We get to the road and WATCH OUT! Here comes the elephant. That thing had the biggest penis I have ever seen! Holy shit! After the shock wore off … watching him slowly wonder by. Sensing he is not happy. Almost wonder if it is on drugs or somehow – some part of it – has just ultimately given up – succumbed to it’s existence of captivity. But still it has a power, a presence as it passes by. Magnificence and control. We continued back to the rickshaw. To Molly’s, yeah… that’s the name of the restaurant. Eventually the festival procession will pass by and the real celebration will begin.” 

It did, it will go on for another three days. And then it will start again at another temple. And then another and another through the end of the month. God I love Kerala.

Happy Valentines day to all you lovebirds, lovers and lovers of life and light.

The moment I got to Kovalam I knew I was going to fall in love. And I did. I fell in love with the ocean. Fell in love with sunshine, the shops, smiling faces… the ease of a beachside afternoon. Come on! But there seems to be a small side effect to this smittenness… one I was surely not expecting.

First off, I get asked some strange questions:

“Have you taken your lunch?” or breakfast or dinner. Why do they want to know that? Seriously?
“Where are you staying?” (Not telling you that)
“Are you married?” if I answer honestly they say, “why not? You have a nice face.” I respond with an, “Uh, thank you.”

Get offered things all the time. Usually juice. And by juice I mean orange soda or something like Tang. Some want to buy me beer. A few. (No, have’nt taken anyone up on that.) Or chai or bananas. Get some pretty good lines too…

“You look like a traditional Indian woman. Pretty face.”
“I will show you things by the beach. No paying. Only as a friendly.”
“I am your friend, I make you food at my house.”
“Oh. So pretty. Pretty lady.”
“You have a beautiful smile. My God. So beautiful.”
Rickshaw driver with puppy dog eyes, “Call me, oh please. I want to see you next time.”

It goes on.

Of course some of them are probably trying to sell me something. But some are super random and it is surely surprising when it happens.

Just this morning, as I was walking to class at 5:45am a boy selling papers came up and started chatting me up. “Can I have your mobile number?” “I don’t know my mobile number.” I say. He continues, “I will give you my mobile and you can call me. Then we can talk every morning. Will you call me? Please call me.” OMG.

The topper, I would have to say, was coming home after an overnight excursion to another beach to find a small basket of… bird and flowers… and a note from one of my more prominent admirers… Aji. He most definitely has some of the best lines.

Maybe I was made for India. Made to have Indian men buy me orange soda and bananas and random basket things and tell me I’m awesome. Goddess power. Although this Hallmark holiday is uncelebrated in this glorious place of smittenness, St. Valentine lives on here, in the heart of Kovalam. For sure.

Knew it was a good omen when I met a charismatic woman from Argentina in the Bangalore airport. After asking for the use of my computer to confirm pickup at her destination, we found our itineraries to be quite similar. Destination Kovalam. She offered me a cup of chai and we settled in, awaiting our flight. While watching a flock of small birds fly through the food court she told me what she does for a living… teaches sewing and origami. And not in some conventional way – in a creative and interesting way. As she explained it to me, how she had left a job that wasn’t fulfilling and found this new thing, I heard the creativity I have been craving to find in my own life. Beautiful. Inspirational moment… I believe there will be many in the coming weeks.

Arriving in Kovalam.
First impression… it’s damn hot. Humid. Shit. Then I saw the ocean… BEAUTIFUL. Nothing quite as powerful and mesmerizing as that. It’s incredible. I could sit and watch the waves all day and never get bored. Burnt to a crisp perhaps but not bored.

A man named Saji picked me up at the airport. Brother to the owner of the house I am in, Aji. Yes… Saji and Aji. The house is beautiful. It has a kitchen, A/C in the bedroom, teapot, five-minute walk from the beach. It’s a ways from the main area, Lighthouse Beach, where the yoga is going on but that is kind of a good thing too. Really digging the separateness of it. Best of all, I’m on my own here. Some much needed personal space. Aahhhh. So blessed.

The house basically came with a driver/PA, Binu. Lifelong friend of Aji and Saji. In India if someone can’t do something for you, their friend or family member can. No problem. So far, he’s pretty awesome. Picks me up for class in the morning, brings me home after. Takes my laundry someplace for washing (only some… I wash the intimates and yoga duds), empties my “rubbish bin” and cleans. He checks in too, makes sure I’m ok, kind of like my bodyguard – plus he makes me laugh. So, that’s a bonus.

The Yoga.
It is so nice to be able to simply go into the room, put my mat down and start. No waiting, no pushing, no… BS. Practice, breathe, practice, breathe. And of course… it’s with David. There’s a bit of a transition happening in me. Some notions of not knowing exactly where I am with my practice and perhaps a little fear of moving beyond my current stopping point. Still striving for a sense of feeling grounded. A solidness. Focus. Like something in me is still not fighting hard enough to access the tipping point. You know, the one that will blow the doors off the house of self-doubt.

The difference.
Between Mysore and Kovalam – it’s like night and day. Two very different intensities. I miss the fresh flowers for sale on nearly every street and easy access to fresh fruit and veggies. I miss Shri Durga, one of the best restaurants in Gokalum. I miss watching the morning ritual of entryways being cleaned, prepped for the coming day and the creation of fresh rangolis. There are even certain aspects of KPJAYI that I miss as well. BUT – I am certainly feeling the love, finally, and in a big way.   ~ Nothing takes the place of that ~

India. The quest for inner quiet and clarity. Leave behind the typical day-in-the-life, cast the usual distractions aside and create space for something simple. Practice, breathe, practice, breathe…

Reflection. The “not always quiet, not always clear” portion of the program. Investigating the possibilities of this and that and all the actions that can either stand in the way or break a trail for each. A swim through the channels of self-study, if you will. Yes… some parts are clear. Abundantly. However, the resistance to action and how to handle that resistance is not.

For starters, it’s uncomfortable going inward and sifting through the hurtful-painful-scary parts. I believe most would agree. Kind of sucks actually – and the resistance is surely strong. I mean, who wants to do that? Seriously. Not what I’d call a good time. Distractions designed to shove those things down are created and reinforced. Reinforced. Then, through some miraculous event, genuine kindness, or other simple act of beauty, comes a sense of lightness. Peace. Joy. It’s wonderful and I want to stay there. And then it’s gone. Fleeting. Hide away again behind a wall, a force of distractions.

It’s work. It’s hard. And the hardness of it adds to the resistance. Which in turn makes it harder, more work. And so it goes. Am I really moving towards revealing my truest self? Will this ultimately enhance a sense of happiness?

Faith. If I show up, if I put in the time, eventually the wall will break and the old habitual distractions wont make sense anymore, not in the least. And once that happens all the pieces will fit. There won’t be any need or desire to hide. The shadows clear out one by one as the resistance melts away. Action takes its place and lightness becomes the norm. Peace. Joy.

Just like that.

Seven weeks have now passed. Practicing ashtanga yoga in a place that was once known to few, now known to most of the world. Word on the street… there were over three hundred students enrolled at KPJAYI at any given time during my stay. That means somewhere around three hundred students A DAY practiced – are practicing – under the watchful eye of Sharath, Saraswathi and their assistants. Three hundred.

Many different beliefs and reactions went through me during this time. The most jostling was led class. Getting pushed out of the way by others trying to get in the door. Jockeying for a space in the main room. Having someone literally place their mat on top of mine. Not feelin’ the love, man. Then I’d be all pissed off for the first half of class. Damn it. Never been much for crowds, and there were times this felt like a mob scene.

Eventually, I stopped fighting for space and went directly to the ladies changing room. Set up my mat in the back corner. Never got very warm in there and it was dark and felt kind of separate from the action. During my last led class I was contemplating all these things. Weighing the plusses and minuses. Somewhere around Navasana a group of people walked by the open window, chanting and singing with the accompaniment of chiming symbols. Would not have heard them had I been in the main room. So beautiful. It reminded me of the sacredness of this practice. Of this place. How completely blessed am I? In the end, it really didn’t matter if I was in the changing room or the front row.

Being stopped at Supta Kurmasana was a struggle. A fairly big one. It wasn’t so much about the posture as it was everything I told myself it meant. I’m not good enough. I’m too big. I’m not strong enough. And so on. So I had to dig deeper. Putting me in a position to really explore my body and my thoughts surrounding it. My habits, my beliefs. Finally, I was able to bind with Sharath’s help. But that is almost secondary. Most importantly, through the focused attention given to the primary series, my body has healed from past injuries, strength has been rebuilt and the fire for practice has been reignited. Whoa. And that happened because I let go, altered some habits and showed up everyday, facing myself.

Today I went to see Sharath. Wanting to say goodbye and to thank him and tell him how much the last seven weeks had affected me. How much this time here has impacted my practice, my thoughts. Even had a little speech worked out. As I sat there in the waiting area others started filing in. Some to register for another month – some had appointments. Others were also saying goodbye. I sat there with my little banana leaf wrapped flowers and contemplated what I would actually say in there. When I entered his office, he saw the flowers and said, “you are leaving?”  I responded with a yes and handed him the small package of jasmine blooms. He took it, placed it on the shelf behind him and everything I thought I wanted to say disappeared. Poof. I thanked him, he smiled, nodded and that was it.

Walking out I felt a sense of gratitude, nostalgia and relief. I’m ready to go, to continue the adventure and dive even further into the midst; see what comes from the next five weeks as there is more work to be done.

Off to Kovalam, 3am Friday, February 3, 2012.

Paying homage to the guy on the street tattooing passersby with his battery powered tattoo machine and enthusiastic side kick. I haven’t seen many tattoos on the local Indians. This guy however was super tattooed… uniquely.

It’s not everyday you get to see someone stop and get a tattoo while walking to the bus station. Kind of what I imagine tattoos in prison would be like. Maybe the guy above was in prison when he got his. Wonder which would be cleaner. Wonder if his mom is gonna be pissed. Wonder if he is going to wake up a little ways down the road with Hepatitis. I remember telling someone I wanted to get a tattoo in India… ummmh.

See the wires going into the little blue bag? Battery power baby. Those things on the ground are stamps for him to use for outlining images. Straight up.

Some of you saw this last one on facebook; the backpack and facial expression is just… priceless. Totally worth a second posting.