Just Power

At the Macchapucchare Base Camp lodge, there was a Buddhist review magazine, which during an idle hour I flipped through, and came across an article that I think is essential reading for anyone concerned with the shifting tides of power and its manifestations in society and religion. It's only available online for a paid subscription to the mag, so I am going to type it out here.


JUST POWER: In a talk given at Smith College, Helen Tworkov reflects on a half century of American Buddhist women and reimagines the future of power.

Imagine leafing through a pamphlet or perhaps a monthly magazine and coming across a guide to good behavior with advice that included the following:

Put on an ever-smiling countenance.
Do not move furniture and chairs noisily.
Do not open doors with violence.
Take pleasure in the practice of humility.
Always strive to learn from everyone.
Speak with moderation, gently.
Express yourself with modesty.

For many contemporary Westerners the asumption that this advice was intended for women probably runs so deep as to go undetected. Maybe your imagination has already leaped ahead to the idea that this could be a list of idealized feminine virtues of the Victorian era; or a set of guidelines for prim boarding-school girls of the 1940s; or perhaps a compendium of traits that the feminists of the 1970s rejected in favor of male behavioral models. But in fact, these behaviors were extolled in The Way of the Bodhisattva, a seminal text by the great Buddhist sage Shantideva, and delivered to his fellow--all male--monastics at Nalanda University in eighth-century India.

Throughout Buddhist history the enlightened masters have advocated behavior--such as the quintessential bodhisattva ideal of putting others before oneself--that progressive women today can easily associate with a legacy of oppression. And yet, with the world in such perilous straits, and in light of recent patriarchal and god-sponsored warfare, these behavioral archetypes have ramifications that, like the teachers themselves, expand far beyond gender. Putting down the cultural baggage, however, is easier said than done.

A thirteenth-century Zen teaching points to how the mind variously refracts the same object, and offers us a way to approach this issue:

Fisrt mountains are mountains.
Then mountains are not mountains.
Then mountains are mountains again.

This saying, first attributed to Ch'an master Ch'ing-yuan, has itself been refracted through many interpretations and differing doctrinal schemes. In the first line, "mountains are mountains" can convey a conventional view of reality based on accepted, collective, perceptual normals. The second line expresses a deliberative remove from convention, in which "mountain" is understood to be a construct of the human imagination, devoid of any independent meaning or existence. In the third line, when once again "mountains are mountains," there remains only the pure, unfiltered view, neither constructed nor deconstructed, beyond acceptance or denial, beyond the duality of relative and absolute.

Using this Zen teaching as a lens through which to view Buddhism's prized attributes--those that many Western women associate with oppression--we first see a mountain of human attributes classically associated in the West with the feminine: gentleness, modesty, speaking softly, humility, equanimity, altruism, consideration, obedience, generosity. With the second line we can deconstruct the cultural reality to uncover the myth of normalcy. Here, we are forced to consider that the cultural ideal has often been a very poor fit with the actual experience of women's lives, that living a life of duty to one's family, husband, children can be accompanied by tightly harnessed feelings of anger, inadequacy, and humiliation. Here the attributes appear as external masks, so that, say, generosity masks greed, kindness masks anger, obedience masks servility. In this view, not even women embody the so-called female virtues: mountains are not mountains, and women, as defined in the first line, are not women, any more than the traits they exhibit are virtuous. In the third and final line, the mountains appears again to represent the same attributes we see in the first view, but now, generosity is just generosity itself; obedience is just obedience--with no subtext, no gender, no psychology, and no history. Just obedience, just modesty, just humility--beyond female and male, beyond oppressor and oppressed.

It's important to note that the above traits do not actually lie outside of constructed values, and in this way, do not reflect Zen teachings represented in the third ine. Just the same, Shantideva identifies these attributes as those most appropriate for the followers of the Buddha; they are conditioned behaviors allied with taming the ego. But supporting liberation from self-centeredness, they help create possibilities for engaging in the sacred nondual dance of interdependence beyond relative and absolute.

American women have come a long way through hard-won ideological battles and changes in our educational and legal systems. All these efforts have significantly altered the way we live, and have increased possibilities for women. There's a lot more work to be done, but I think that we've come far enough to ask ourselves not only how we can increase opportunities but also what we are going to use them for. The commitment to equality without attention to its application threatens to leave us emulating the flawed system we fought so hard to change. The shift that we;re seeking is not a lateral gender move away from, say, George Bush to Condaleezza Rice, although in some quarters, this is precisely what is happening. Consider, for isntance, that the commanding officer at Abu Ghraib was a woman, as were two of the six U.S. soldiers charged with sadistic abuses at the prison. For many of us in the West, the photographs of Abu Ghraib, and in particular, the one of PFC Lynndie England holding an Iraqi prisoner on a leash, reinforce the necessity of rethinking women's strategies for equality; as well, they intensify the need for a whole new experience of what power might look and feel like from an enlightened perspective.

For a half a century, in the name of gender and religious equality and values, American women and American Buddhist leaders have beaten a path from the cultural margins toward the center, as if the center itself held the key to the kingdom. At this point in history, to continue in that direction without examination seems foolish, if not dangerously destructive. We're challenged to do no less than formulate another view of power, or to adopt one more consistent with our Buddhist values. Returning to Shantideva, his injunction to "remain like a log" provides an apt image around which we might initiate a discussion about enlightened views of power.

Remaining like a log is not an action the American military would associate with the exercise of power. Yet Shantideva uses the phrase again and again to depict internal strength. For Buddhist practitioners who have struggled mightily to overcome the dominance of ego, "remaining like a log" can suggest new definitions of control, of dominion, and of power.

When the urge arises in the mind
To feelings of desire or wrathful hate,
Do not act! Be silent, do not speak!
And like a log of wood be sure to stay. (5.48)

Shantideva advocates restraint, discipline, and nonreactivity. He speaks of taming, training, and subjugating one's own ego. The invitation in Buddhist practice is to yoking, or leashing, one's own mind, not another being's.

Considering this nontraditional view of power, it's perhaps not surprising that when Buddhism entered into the margins of American cultural, gender played a pronounced role. In the 1950s we see two distinct streams of attraction to dharma: one was almost all male, the other almost all female. We have an intellectual interest catalyzed primarily by the books of D.T. Suzuki and Alan Watts, and championed by the Beat poets. But, with few exceptions, this interest did not extend to practice. The Beat scene was pervasively male, and for all its attraction to Eastern philosophies and its pungent and theatrical critiques of the United States, it enshrined the ethos of rugged cowboy individualism as much as Hollywood Westerns.

At the same time--the late fifties--the first Zen retreats were held in the United States. Photographs reveal that almost all the participants of these first Zen retreats were middle-aged women. Taking the time to sit down, keep quiet and "do nothing" was apparently a very unmanly activity, despite the fact that of all the Buddhist traditions, Zen strikes many as being archly masculine. But Japanese Zen came packaged with the so-called Zen arts, such as tea ceremony and flower arranging. And in the United States, appreciation for art (not making art--that was male) was considered a woman's domain. The refined aesthetics of Japanese Zen went a long way toward legitimizing Zen in this country, and particularly among women. So there was a period when the Beat scene--which definitely popularized Zen--was as solidly male, with its aggressive homoeroticism and its legendary chauvinism, as the Zen retreat scene was female. It would be another few years, and not without the advent of the counterculture, before Zen retreats would have equal numbers of men and women.

The counterculture of the 1960s derived from opposition to the culturally sanctioned Vietnam War. But there was also a division within the counterculture into spiritual and political. The spiritual wing was characterized by, as Timothy Leary famously put it, "turning, tuning in, and dropping out." A lot of these people, including muself, are those who--if we got lucky--found our way to Buddhism.

Both the political and spiritual wings of the counterculture were characterized in part by defying gender stereotypes. While some feminists experimented with decidedly male forms, the spiritual wing embodied a feminized form. Both men and women who dropped out were wearing long hair, loose, braided, beaded; both genders were wearing jewelry and the slogan of that time which best encapsulates this feminization was "Make Love, Not War."

From within this sphere of the dropout counterculture, Buddhism began to attract young Americans new to dharma. Reflecting the compromised glory of the Vietnam War, many identified with the Vietnamese (and Buddhist) victims of American aggression. So, in completely monolithic, relative, and reductive terms, the hippie movement, which includes convert Buddhism, looks very feminine compared to the conventions of the mainstream middle class.

Through the seventies, we see the growth of several big Zen centers, and we have the development of the Vipassana community in Barre, MA. And by the early seventies, we begin to see an influx of Tibetan teachers. We see equal numbers of men and women students, but almost all male teachers and a disproportionate number of men with organizational authority.

I started my own Buddhist studies with Tibetan teachers. Then, in 1981, I moved into the Zen Community of New York, where every morning we chanted the names of our "ancestors," which happened to be eighty generations of Zen patriarchs. What was more subtle and difficult to apprehend was that "the ideal Zen student"--in whatever body, male or female--looked a lot like a classic old-fashioned version of a gentleman's perfect wife.

Particularly in the Tibetan and Ze scenes you had, more often than not, an authoritative male teacher surrounded by students who were, more often than not,

Soft-spoken
Deferential
Subservient
Modest
Respectful
Receptive
Smiling
Willing
Passive
Without strong views or opinions

Now, it so happens that we see very similar kinds of behavior in people, and particularly in women, with issues of low self-esteem, or with very entrenched neurotic patterns of worthlessness that fit together perfectly with identifying oneself as the servant. And, as it happens, there were a lot of students who, with issues of self-esteem and/or abuse, were very comfortable with a continuation of certain neurotic behaviors, especially if that meant they were upheld as ideal Buddhist students. This, not surprisingly, became a source of great confusion. After all, we know that the quintessential core of Mahayana Buddhism is putting others before oneself. And that historically the quintessential work of womanhood was--and in many parts of the world still is--to put the needs and wants of husband, in-laws, parents, and children first. Thousands of texts present this bodhisattva principle, but to quote Shantideva again:

With perfect and unyielding faith,
With steadfastness, respect, and courtesy,
With modesty and conscientiousness,
Work calmly for the happiness of others. (5.55)

And so it is that if I want contentment,
I should never seek to please myself.
And likewise, if I wish to save myself,
I'll always be the guardian of others. (8.173)

We know that to embrace unenlightened female forms may affirm individual and collective patterns of abuse and low self-esteem. If we continue to look at them as expressions of male dominance, then, of course, we will wish to abandon them. Yet to reject these qualities is to reject the teachings of the buddhas. If we trust that they are gender-free Buddhist values, then we may be able to use them to help frame a distinctly different value system.

By the mid-eighties, Buddhist women began looking at their own practice centers [MISSING SECTION]
--and by a widespread awareness of environmental devastation, some political voices in the women's movement proposed traditional "female" qualities as critical to pulling the world back form the brink--qualities such as compassion, deep listening, nurturing, serving. They identified the so-called "weaknesses" of women as the very strengths that the planet most needed to survive. Yet while this ideology can infuse a context for change, without an internal shift, and one that goes far beyond the issues of gender, its effect will--and has--remained limited.

Within a decade, young women became openly antagonistic to the feminism of the baby boomer generation. "Feminism" itself became a dirty word, and the feminists of the sixties were faulted for advocating a male value system at the expense of female-identified forms. Rather than engage in literal and symbolic bra-burning, young women retained the quest for equal opportunities but dressed up in Victoria's Secret. The quieter feminism of the eighties, which advocated an embrace of female-identified behavior, did not get much play either. And consequently the very nature of power itself was not questioned. At the same time, the gorund for change has been tilled. And the rise of patriarchal fundamentalism and of religious militarism is so untenable that perhaps the time is right to make real shifts in how we understand power.

Perhaps the unmasked politics of fundamentalism, economic domination, and the loathsome consequences of unbridled greed have descended to such horrific lows that, however unwittingly, they can spawn a new story, or uncover and unborn dream by which we can navigate the realities of where we are, who we are, and who we wish it to be.

Is it possible to imagine that power might be defined by presence of mind; that the more one is no longer controlled by compulsions, addictions, patterns, habits, the more power one has to act in service of wisdom and compassion? What if we said that power is internal freedom, that power is the capacity for choice? Can we--women and men--stand te heat of appearing to be passive, of remaining like a log? Can we imagine, compassionately, that in our society this might be much more difficult for men than for women?

Following 9/11 there was never a possibility of not bombing Afghanistan. It wasn't just the President and the politicians who disallowed nonaction; the mindset of the American people demanded retaliation. I use this example not to suggest that inaction in this particular case would have been a more enlightened strategy, but to suggest that "strategy", or any form of intelligent, wise consideration, was made impossible by the blinding thirst for revenge. A primitive, dualistic response--however easy it was to explain--ruled the day. Remaining like a log is not a political position. It is neither passive nor pacifist. Rather it describes a state of mind capable of making wise decisions, unplugged from the emotional charge of compulsive reactivity. Remaining like a log describes a mind that has options, one that is not merely being jerked around by selfish responses to external circumstances and that can therefore serve a larger reality with clear, cool insight.

In my own experience, Buddhist practice is indescribably difficult. I know of nothing in this world that is more challenging than the Buddha's invitation to an enlightened way of life. I don't think that the actual process of transformation from the selfish, self-oriented, me-first person into a bodhisattva of wisdom and compassion who consistently puts others first is any easier for one sex than it is for another. Yet my hope for all those living on the American sidelines--such as women and Buddhists--is that we use our compromised status to our best advantage; that we capitalize on our experiences and strengths and training to investigate alternatives to conventional views of power. Perhaps it is worthwhile to figure out what it takes--and what kind of power is required--to "remain like a log."

Panchakarma

Life goes on here much the same as ever; some days a million things seem to happen, and other days the time melts away before I'm even fully awake.

This week I've been studying the panchakarma therapy in Ayurveda, which literally translates to "five actions" and is a detoxifying treatment. Classically it goes for 28 days, or 54 (though that's seriously intense), but the center here has developed a 14-day "seasonal" panchakarma course as well, which is only two of the five traditional treatments. Each of them takes a toll on the body and has a deep impact on the mind, which is why they say it flushes out the "mind-body system." Even ayurvedic medicines (herbal, oral) cannot go to the root of a problem without first flushing out the body with panchakarma, which balances all three doshas and prepares the body to receive medicine with cleaner and more sensitive organs, better circulation, and so on. If a person takes medicine--even very strong, or allopathic medicine--it will have only 25-50% efficacy compared to its real potency depending on the presence of toxins in the body.

The five therapies are vamana (induced emesis or vomiting), virecana (induced evacuation or bowel movements), anunasana basti and niruha basti (two kinds of enema; basti literally means "bladder") sirovirecana or nasya (nasal cleansing, but includes ears, nose, throat, etc.), and finally and less commonly raktamokshana (bloodletting). The bloodletting practice was added from a different source specializing in surgeries; the others all came from the same classical text of the Carak Samhita.

Each of the treatments works to balance a specific dosha (vaman-kapha, virecana-pitta, bastis-vata). The therapy course is developed beyond the basic treatments appeals to each individual's specific problem. Each day of treatment includes smooth/external oleation therapies (i.e. abhyanga, cakra therapies, sirodhara, picu) to help the body relax and be at ease. Some of the smooth therapies, such as cakra basti, involve mixing specific herbs and oils that not only are appropriate for the patient's constitution, but also target specific diseases or problems like joint pain.

The amount of preparation that goes into designing one person's program (which is all-encompassing: diet, routine, oils and herbs, etc.) for even a single day is staggering, and on top of that, there are ways the body itself needs to be prepared. The first six days or so of the 28-day treatment are spent preparing the body with smooth therapies, proper diet and routine. Before each of the five panchakarma treatments, three days or so of custom ghee preparations (clarified butter with particular spices and ingredients) is given to the patient. They have very deliberate functions--for example, the ghee preparation before the vamana treatment serves to coat the esophagus to protect it from any damage during the vomiting, and at the same time brings out the mucus and heaviness in the chest and respiratory system that needs to be vomited up.

Though vamana is probably the most intense of the five treatments, the restrictions on who can receive it and the other "karmas" (no elderly, children, weak or fatigued persons, pregnant women, people with fever or infectious disease, esophagus problems, etc.) make it different from many other ayurvedic therapies. A person cannot just schedule a panchakarma treatment; the mandatory consultation first might reveal that the therapies are not appropriate for them. However, most people can receive the basti treatments, which is how the 14-day course evolved. The bastis have their own strong effects, though, which many people might not anticipate.

As always, ayurveda treats the person as a whole; panchakarma therapy is accompanied by consistent counseling and seeks to address the health of the patient through latent memory (which is often cellular memory and thus transformed into physical dysfunction or discomfort). In sirodhara, for example (a smooth therapy in which oil is steadily poured onto the forehead between the eyes), patients often fall asleep or into a kind of relaxed hypnosis, during which they will often cry or "lip" (speak without sound) without realizing it. During the basti (enema) treatments, the intestines are thoroughly flushed out and become intensely sensitive. Because they are packed with nerve endings, there is an immediate and extreme effect on the brain; everything that is ingested and sensed within the body is felt strongly.

As a result of the physiological sensitivity and the psychological effects of this sudden change in consciousness, people often break down emotionally at this point during the treatment course. Everything from depression to extreme agitation can occur. Though a patient would never know it (at least at the clinic I'm studying at), there are multiple doctors (M.D.s) and experienced therapy providers watching the reactions of the patient and using their observations to decide which abhyangas and therapies to use, and which oils and preparations to use in them, to bring up the source of whatever distress has contributed to the patient's disease. No wonder many patients unconsciously react with negative emotions.

From the cases that have been described to me (including current patients at the clinic), the behavior becomes almost childlike, which makes sense--can you imagine the shock to your mind and body if all of a sudden your adult self became as sensitive to the inner and outer environment as when you were a child? Personally, having an enormously heightened sensitivity when I came back from trekking, closely followed by several days of abhyanga therapies, I know it had a significant effect on me--five minutes of bickering with my sister had me in tears, physically feeling the effects of unpleasant conversation.

As a sidenote, after oleation therapies patients are usually given steam to dilate the channels (pores etc.) and let the oils, herbal powders, or whatever was used have direct passage into the main stream of the body. In combination, a full course of treatments aims to have preventive, curative, and promotive effects; it takes measures to boost immunity, increase digestive capacity, and lessen stress. This is whole body and mind rejuvenation, which may sound lovely in a brochure but in actuality can be a very uncomfortable experience. The goal of rejuvenation is not relaxation in the typical American "spa" sense of the word.

Anyhow, I figured it has been a while since I updated with any information on what I've actually been studying (or at all, actually), so this entry should remedy that (no pun intended). There are far too many things to really sum up in a blog entry, but I hope the blog gives at least a small taste of this endlessly interesting body of knowledge--a fraction of a fraction!

Holi!

Friday was Holi here, the Hindu festival of colors, behind which are a thousand stories. Essentially the celebration revolves around either Krishna or the demoness Holika, and involves throwing colors and water balloons, coloring the streets red and yellow and soaking everyone. Kids started throwing baggies of water early, though...on my way home from the clinic on Thursday, a group of teenage guys were walking by me armed with waterbombs. One of them politely asked me where I was from, and then whether we celebrated Holi in New York; when I told him no, he asked whether he could hit me with the balloon. I declined to be hit, and he ducked his head and smiled and went on his way. It was very sweet! Of course, about five yards ahead a group of much more mischievous younger boys got me and soaked my hair and jeans anyway.

On the day itself we all went over to Phuntsok's house and engaged in a gigantic waterwar with the houses all around. His roof is higher than any other in the neighborhood, so we had a grand time. It's a fabulous holiday...I can only imagine what it would be like in NYC; people hanging out their windows and heaving plastic bags filled with water across the streets. It's very good-spirited and warm-hearted here. Actually, I find that the children, especially boys, are extremely friendly and helpful, not at all like the insensitive buggers that roam the streets of New York--though they get up to plenty of trouble, I'm sure. Here they're always willing to help someone cross the street or haggle with a taxi driver, or translate to the best of their ability, or just show off whatever tricks they're playing at the moment. Maybe it comes from living in multi-generational homes.

The afternoons have been gorgeous for the most part, aside from occasional thunderstorms. I spent the afternoon working on assignments for my online medical anthropology class, which was great. The readings are totally fascinating; it almost makes me wish I could be back at Lehman for class, but of course being here is what makes everything so interesting.

First, a story

The following short tale is from the book The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I find it an apt moral not only for life in general, but specifically for trekking or any kind of journey in some sort of wilderness. There are many missteps to look out for, but we cannot spend our lives looking at the ground...

A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for forty days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.

Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man’s attention.

The wise man listened attentively to the boy’s explanation of why he had come, but told him that he didn’t have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours. “Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,” said the wise man, handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. “As you wander around, carry this spoon with you, without allowing the oil to spill.”

The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man was.

“Well,” asked the wise man, “did you see the Persian tapestries that are hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?” The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

“Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,” said the wise man. “You cannot trust a man if you don’t know his house.” Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

“But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?” asked the wise man. Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

“Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,” said the wisest of wise men. “The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.”

Bare snippets of trek notes

3/5/08
This is the third day of trekking and we are at about 3200 meters. It is getting colder and colder, but the views are spectacular. I feel like I've snapped into "trekker mind" today; the climbing is easier to bear and slowly the noise in my head is quieting. Yesterday there were a few points where I thought I would go mad from the irrelevant daydreams and memories. ...
One lovely thing about the mountains is that they teach every lesson. Impermanence, effort, instinct, attention, motion...big words that mean nothing without a practical experience. They are real in the moment of seeing, of witnessing my own helplessness; then a sudden moment of clarity, where everything shifts and something else takes control of my senses. I have seen the mountains breathing and thought that my mind simply cannot support the magnitude of this.

3/7/08
Instead of the triumphant experience I anticipated, this trek is showing me all of my weaknesses and I am plunging into a rather morose state of mind. Anyway, the trek from Chhomrong to Himalaya was quite hard but nothing compared to yesterday, going to Macchapucchare Base Camp. We trekked from tropical climate to the snow and ice-laden mountains, out of the hills for sure, up and down, ascend and descend. We crossed a river, hiked through a bamboo forest, passed through a waterfall, explored the Hinku Cave...great views of the increasingly bright and snowy landscape. The jungle was thick but the air was cold, and after descending we hiked through a foot and a half of snow for an hour across the river to avoid an avalanche. The sight was phenomenal as the valley opened up, but the trek uphill hadn't even begun.
Supposedly Chhomrong to HH was the longest day, but by far this was the roughest climb. And going back will be no easier because of the seesawing up and down; what goes up, must come down. Today we are at ABC but it's so cloudy that I can't see anything. Yesterday afternoon we climbed along the high ridge behind MBC and I got to sit in the clouds...we are at 4200 meters.

I'm dying to shower but there's no hot water, and even if there was, my head would freeze. I admit that at this point (day 6) I feel a little petulant and ready to just go home. Dreams featuring my apartment (especially my bed) have featured prominently the last two nights. Despite the intense disappointment I feel with myself, I see that the period before I go home can be very different than the last couple of months.

3/8/08
We began the trek back today. Despite not sleeping again and having the same restless mind, I feel much better--maybe because, as Vivek said, when you descend from the highest point you always are full of energy and enthusiasm. We're already in Bamboo, and the way down was impressively steep. My sense of achievement at reaching ABC is increased in retrospect...I didn't realize how much we had climbed overall, let alone in one day.

But perhaps my sunny disposition is actually due to a far more mundane cause--I got to take a shower upon arrival in Dovan. It was one of the greatest pleasures of my life. Being without the ability to wash myself for almost a week sounds like a trivial deprivation, but it is not. I was in such rapture in the shower that I nearly turned into one of those grossly inappropriate Herbal Essences commercials. I feel like myself again, and last night I was beginning to feel like an alien in my skin, unable to feel awe, wonder, pride, or even recognition of what was around me, let alone myself.

Now I really know how the cleansing and purifying power of water and heat can so magnificently enliven the human body...and mind. I feel so much more prepared to greet the next few days and seize this experience, to make it into something else. Later I should think more about the remarkable effects of temperature and "the elements" on my health and state of mind. If ever there was a perfect opportunity to see this in action, it is a trek.

In Pokhara

I should write this entry before I forget everything from before the trek. Yesterday was full of jazz and history. In the morning we had a walking tour of Kathmandu with Anil Chitrakar, and it was fantastic to see him again. The tour was a very different experience. Walking the streets of the city near where the old palace and he king's residence were, seeing the remains of the buildings owned by great families of high caste (Ranas, Tamas, etc.) made for a definitively non-tourist tour. We learned about the bloody history of dynasty change, and the legacy of political ineptitude that tends to continue when "power" comes before "politics". Then we had a very pleasant cup of tea with Anil and decided to make plans to go over some books and paintings, to get a deeper view of the history that so clearly explains the present and even in a way predicts the future.

After that we headed to the monthly Kathmandu Jazz Conservatory (KJC) concert, which was amazing. A trio called Soulution played, made up of the incredibly talented German pianist and singer Beate, and two Nepali musicians, a monster sitar player and a tabalas player. They did some of the most awesome fusion wok I've ever heard, totally fresh, keeping the best of both classical Eastern music and bluesy jazz. I'm determined to find a way to bring them to New York. Later, Yanik and I went to Upstairs, where we ran into Beate again (which is nice--she's leaving Nepal in a week). The group at Upstairs is definitely at a level where they should be touring in Europe or playing in NY as well. A few of the group members have such similar characteristics and mannerisms to people I've met or known before...it's a trip to see how true it is that there are "types" of people. At least physically! Nobody can convince me otherwise.

The bus to Pokhara left early this morning (I'm currently here), almost empty; of the few other passengers, two were friendly young Christian missionaries on their way to teach Bible studies at the (tiny) churches in Pokhara and the mountains. They're based in Taiwan, though they're from the Midwest in the States. One of the guys, Russ, told me his whole story of being "born again" out of a terribly messed up situation, having a meth habit that cost $800 a day to being clean overnight by God's will. I found it a fascinating opportunity to speak the language of religion, but with the intention of discussing ideas that are beyond the form in which they're spoken. Religious belief is a volatile thing, as is any idea that people seize and make rigid. This guy, probably because of his own shadowy past, seemed a lot more laid back than many people full of the zeal for God. Still, there's a certain defensiveness religious people tend to have--a warning that I sensed if we got too close to breaking through the mental formations that familiar words represent.

Most of the 6-hour ride was taken up with staring at the breathtaking views as we wound our way through the farms and into the foothills. It inspired the kind of wonder that we all tend to forget is possible. By the fifth hour, though, I wasn't romanticizing the views anymore--they were still awe-inspiring (since actually everything is if you look at it properly) but the puppyish eagerness had worn off. I could strangle myself for not bringing the good camera! Upon arrival I was feeling addled from the contrast of my noisy brain and the quiet of the mountains, so the bustle of Pokhara was a welcome opportunity to (attempt to) prepare for the intensity of two weeks spent climbing towards the sky.

Anytime I am around hills or mountains of such magnitude, something in my psychology shifts. Time spent in wilderness or solitude changes people...if we can bear it past the limit of comfort, or even sanity. I didn't prepare myself for these couple of weeks much, and the result must be that relative solitude makes a strengthened impression...an uncomfortable one.

Meanwhile, I spent my last night in "civilization" watching a Hindi movie called Kal Ho Naa Ho (means something along the lines of "tomorrow may or may not be"...a seize-the-day message). Bollywood has captured my heart...these movies are so awesome, full of tragic scenes of tears between mothers and daughters, and fabulous song and dance sequences. I love the melodrama like it's unfolding in my own head! I'm completely, girlishly enchanted by Sharukh Khan.

Note from 3/16/08: In the following blog posts, rather than over-editing what I wrote during the trek, I'm just going to post fragments without turning them into a coherent and continuous narrative. Maybe eventually I will, but now is not the time to be concerned with writing a memoir.