Friday Out

Well, this is the last "Friday out" - next Friday, we'll all be cramming, Saturday morning is the final exam, and Sunday (9 days from today), you'll hopefully be hearing from a new yoga teacher. Last Sunday, I had my first experience of teaching a yoga class - the fact that I was a nervous wreck and did a pretty lousy job in general, is consoled only by the fact that most of the other people were pretty much the same. I'm getting another chance to make things right this Sunday (day after tomorrow). Would you believe it, I am seriously starting to think about actually doing this part time...

A few days ago, while we were down by the lake for our afternoon session of bending and stretching, the heavens opened and the rain started pouring. Actually, this happened while we were busy doing the "sun salutation", which involves a lot of stretching up to the sky and bending down to the ground. Evidently, someone up there got his signals mixed (I don't know if there is any such thing as "rain salutation"), and we ended up getting rain in our faces every time we stretched up. Now, considering the fact that the surface we stand upon while we are doing these exercises consists of cow dung (yes, and the sun salutation also includes getting down on our tummies and touching our face to the floor) - it won't be too surprising that the teacher ended the lesson (not before we finished some ten or twelve rounds, mind you). What may have been surprising was the reaction we gave - I believe that it may have had something to do with the fact that we've been such peaceful, law-abiding citizens up until now. We went berserk. A few of us started dancing in the rain, the majority ran down the stairs and jumped in the lake, and one crazy lady (yes, you guessed it, of course, yours truly) started screaming with pure joy. Let me remind you once again, that it is a proven and documented fact that there are crocodiles in that lake. I believe that they ran for their dear lives on that particular afternoon. To tell you the truth, it's been two or three days since that rain, and I still haven't really calmed down. I've been dancing in the meditation hall during the afternoon breaks since then, and it doesn't really contribute to the calm, relaxed atmosphere, which is required in order to turn your thoughts inward... Oh well...

There isn't too much to write about today (or maybe my brain is just switched off, short-circuited by the rain). And anyway, it's raining again, and I want to get at the beach before it stops (the beach is no fun at all to me unless it's raining). So I'll be signing off short today. After today, I am not going to get out of the ashram until next Sunday (9 days from now), after which, I will be back in the world of communication.

Another week gone by

Here it is, Friday again, and only (?) two more weeks to go on the course. It's hard to tell how I feel about that - on the one hand, it would be nice to have some time to call my own. On the other - it seems that ashram life really does agree with me, basically. The atmosphere suits me, I really like what I'm doing, and the people are so nice. I know that I'm going to be really sorry to say good-bye to some of them. I have sort of been adopted by a group of native boys (somewhere in their twenties, I suppose) who are doing the course with us. They hardly speak a word of English between them, but we usually sit together at the lectures (they have simultaneous translation). We have some form of primitive communication, mainly based on smiles and nods, and looking out for each other occasionally. And they call me "Mama-ji". I think I'm going to have Itai and Eyal call me that when I come home...

What else can I say? Maybe I'm starting to get Indian, it's beginning to be normal to me that everything (except the driving, of course) is done in slow-motion. There have been a few more performances in the evenings - the Kathakali dancers (did I tell you-all about that the first time?) gave another performance several days ago. Now, the first time they came, which was close to the New Year, I was pretty tired, and the performance went on and on and on... Every movement, every color on the dancer's face, every article of clothing - means something, and they mainly improvise according to the pre-defined story line - which is fine, if you understand the sign language they're using. If you're a simple plebian, who doesn't talk with his hands (well, at least not exclusively) - then all you're seeing is a few guys in skirts with green paint on their faces waving their hands around (okay, maybe I'm putting it a bit over-simplistically). Evidently, the authentic performances last all night long (something like 10 hours), and the natives come in and go out, take naps and have conversations while the whole thing is going on. Anyhow, the point of the story is, that the second time they came - I actually sat through the whole thing (we westerners get the shortened version - only 2 or 3 hours), and also enjoyed it. The same thing happened when the musicians came around - a whole band of singers and players, plopping down on the floor of the stage, and sitting there cross-legged, singing for quite a long time. The songs somehow seem to be long-winded tunes that meander up and down the scale, apparently with no real direction in life, twirling around a little, speeding up and slowing down, lilting back and forth - but somehow, everyone (in the audience) is either tapping his foot, waving head or hands, or just generally shaking his body one way or another. My Indian friends told me that at least one of the songs is taught in school, and everyone has to know it by heart (and although I liked it, I didn't really notice that it had a melody or anything that you could repeat with any kind of precision).

Next week, and the week after that, we will all be teaching classes in yoga - Itai and Eyal, you might as well get mentally prepared for mandatory yoga classes after I get home - I'm going to need to practice on somebody... Altogether, this stay is quite educational - I'm learning some new skills that will doubtless be useful for the rest of my life. For instance, using a squat-down, hole-in-the-ground toilet, that doesn't flush (the trick is - to open the tap and start the bucket filling as soon as you walk into the toilet, so that you have something to flush with by the time you're done) or getting in and out of a mosquito-net without letting any bugs in with you. But my real pride and joy is this: I now know how to change my tee-shirt in a room full of people, without showing any skin. Remember how I told you in my last letter about the tight schedule and uniforms? Well, we Indians are inventive in our solutions...

One of the things they keep talking about (in the philosophy classes) is the ego. This is evidently one of the major (if not the biggest) stumbling block towards true Self-realization (Self, with a capital S, for reasons I will go into only if you ask). So there we are, 150 yogis, all working hard at keeping the ego to a minimum, at the same time that we're trying to stand on our heads and touch our heels to our heads and our foreheads with our toes (which, when you think of it, should be enough to get anyone's ego flat as a pancake, especially when you see someone else who can actually do that). Fair enough endeavor, you may think, and quite noble at that. But then, there comes this fire-ritual ceremony (complete with imported bare-chested, white-painted swamis, incense, bells, enough smoke to make a foot-thick layer on the ceiling, and banana-leafs to kneel on while you're throwing your own personal little flower-petals into the fire as an offering), and we were told that it is only fit and proper to cleanse ourselves and wear our best saris for the occasion. So naturally, out comes my best (and only) sari, and I have a great chance to see if I can put it on all by myself (yet another skill I have acquired). Let me tell you, I received more compliments that evening than I have received in the past 5 or 10 years. The first time I wore it, it felt so weird that I took it off and went to sleep after 10 or 15 minutes. And I didn't really believe the people who told me that it looked nice - mainly because it felt so strange. This time I stayed for several hours (taking pictures) - and now I ask you - what to do about the ego thing? It's going to take me at least a couple of months (if not years) to cut it down again to where it was before, after all those compliments and my Indian friends going bananas and wanting pictures with me, etc., etc. Maybe these things are sent to try us - things like this, and like mosquitoes, which are actually tests of how-far-are-you-going-to-take-this-"non-violence"-philosophy...

A few personal words: You wouldn't (or maybe you would) believe big Victor's "story"!! (This is an Indian guy we met at the ashram) Remember when we went to Thiruvananthapuram together (yes, I can still pronounce it - one more skill), and he ran out of money and asked me to loan him 100 rupees? He said he would pay me back on Jan 8th, when he received money from somewhere. He kept on saying that, to several other people, including the health hut, etc. Guess what happened on Jan 8th? Out the ashram gate, amid many sweet goodbyes & farewells. No big deal, it wasn't that much money - but I did really have a peculiar feeling about him, and I wasn't terribly surprised.

Also, I got the names of the places we visited on the Kanya-Kumari trip: the first temple, by the waterfalls (where boys came to take a shower and men came to brush their teeth - in the waterfall, not the temple), is called the Tripparappu Mahadeva Temple (the temple, not the waterfalls). The last temple, the one with the 7-story-high stone roof carved completely with various gods and legendary heros, where the drums, bells and horns were going the whole time, is called Suchindram Thanumalaya temple.

Lots and lots of love to everyone, and the lesson for today is:
when you're doing what you really want to be doing - you really do love everybody (and for the more advanced students among you, the moral of the story is - how you feel about everybody else is going to start with how you feel about yourself).
Please forgive the philosophizing, I can't help myself.

Here I Am Again

Well, It's been one hell of a week!! There must be around 250 people at the ashram now - all served by one computer and one telephone (neither of which works consistently). You have to book a 15-minute slot two days in advance in order to write an e-mail (and it takes about 15 minutes just to write the addresses in the "To" line), and if there happens to be a power shortage during your time-slot - then you have to re-book all over again, for the day after next... This would explain the long silence, after I got you all used to my constant chattering...

BUT TODAY IS OUR DAY OFF !!!

Fridays, they let us out of the cage (hmmm), and I took a bus to a fairly near-by sea-shore town. So here, while all the other tourists are getting massages and buying sea-shells, here I am, once again in front of a computer... Which means I can finally get at my own e-mail address, and spend as much time as I want at it (at least, until the bus leaves to go back to the ashram).

So, what's been going on, you ask? (You're not asking? Please ask.) We had a grand initiation ceremony. One hundred and forty people came up on the stage to get their foreheads smeared with ash, sandalwood paste, and kumkum, which is a red spice (no, not a tea-kettle, as you Israelis would think). We all got our little manuals and 2 uniforms (tee-shirt & drawstring pants). And since then, we've been scurrying about like mice - 6 AM wear the uniform to morning meditation, 8 AM take the uniform off for yoga practice, 10 AM eat, 11 AM chores, put the uniform back on for the 12 o'clock and 2 PM lectures, take it off again for the 4 PM yoga practice, and put it on again for the 8 PM meditation. There are a couple of Israeli girls in my dormitory, and we agreed that it feels just like basic training back in the army. Hard to explain the smile on my face, considering that in addition to this we actually have to hand in homework every day, but there is it - go figure.

And yes, the smile is real - I am still really quite happy about what I'm doing! Can't say that I am completely committed to the cause (I do spot the occasional sign of - well, not quite brainwashing or cult-culture, but - how shall I put it mildly? excess enthusiasm...) - but I've always been pretty good at taking what suits me and leaving the rest, and I have to say that quite a lot really does suit me.

I'm learning some more about Hinduism - we're reading one of the holy scriptures during the 12 o'clock lessons - the "Bhagavad Gita". It really is interesting, and the philosophy behind it is right up my alley. You can easily see the foundation for Buddhism in there, and I like it. Most of the lectures revolve around the idea that the reality we see and relate to is all illusion, that it is sort of a drama that is being "projected" onto a screen, and that the screen is the only constant and real thing there is. And then you really want to know what that screen is, and get a first-hand knowledge of it, but your mind keeps getting distracted by all the great stories that are in the drama. Hard to put into words, I guess. Anyway, I really like it. So one of the ways to get yourself capable of comprehending the "screen" is meditation (just like in Buddhism), and practicing yoga just helps you do that. All this fits just perfectly into my own little philosophy of life, so I (still) feel right at home. I just would probably feel a bit better, if they didn't have the idea that chanting can also get you there. Although some of the tunes are really catchy, I think I could do rather well with less of them.

Considering that it will probably be a week (at least) before I can write again, I want to tell you a few more things that I never got a chance to, before I forget. About that Kanya Kumari trip that we took just before the course started. That last temple that I told you about - the one with all the bells and drums and pavilions? I didn't mention the monkey, and the monkey definitely deserves mention. We are talking here about Hanuman - the monkey god, who, if I am not mistaken, symbolizes devotion. We are also talking about a wooden statue that is at least two stories high, surrounded by a little fence, and a staircase that leads up to the top of the monkey, where his tail curls cutely above his head. No, you don't get to climb up the stairs - that's for the priests to do. What you do get to do is - buy a piece of banana-leaf that has butter in it, hold it close to your heart (to make it your own), and then give it to the priests. They go up the stairs, and smear the butter on the monkey's tail, as an offering (so, you can see where that wood gets it's shining luster). Or, you can do the same with some rosewater (I think it was - I'm already forgetting...) The advantage here, is that the water will drip down the statue, and you can walk around it, catch the water in your hand, drink it and/or smear it on your own head, and this brings benefits to your own self. I have to tell you - it was a real experience to see and hear.

Then there was the pavilion of the nine stars, or planets - I didn't really catch exactly what. You get a metal plate with nine candles, and you walk around the platform of the pavilion nine times, and then you set the plate on the platform. If you're really devout, then you spin around yourself every time you do a twirl round the platform, too. (I suppose the dizzy feeling you get after all this can be attributed to the gods?) The only problem was that there was so much noise going on that I couldn't really hear all the explanations, and they were well worth hearing. Swami Govinda, who was leading the whole "pilgrimage", really loves his country and his heritage, and it shows.

I have to tell you one more thing, that has nothing to do with anything. On our way here (a nice, long, two-hour journey, in a bus that was cleverly engineered to have just one centimeter less leg-room than necessary for you to be able to sit straight), passing the usual banana-bushes and coconut trees, big houses and little houses - we passed by a group of straw-roofed huts that appeared to be built out of mud-bricks. Just as I was thinking that would be a nice picture, I saw a boy drawing water out of a well by one of the huts, wearing, as usual, nothing but his little sheet (dhoti). Maybe my mind was on the poverty of the nation at the moment, but it came at me very strong - the great luxury that this particular boy was enjoying at the moment was not running water or electricity, but the fact that the well was right next door. I swear that the hut nearby was - in totality - smaller than my bedroom. And yet, when he saw us passing in our little bus, his face was transformed for a moment with a look of pure joy (I saw this with my own eyes), and he smiled from ear to ear and waved at us as we "zoomed" (I use the word figuratively, considering the road conditions) through. So - in keeping with our Bhavagad Gita philosophy - what do you really need to keep you happy? It really is relative, and you don't really have to look as far as India to see that. And I'm still thinking about the implications of that.

Preparing for the course

This might be my last e-mail for a while, because the course is starting the day after tomorrow, and there will be 190 people coming, and they all have to be processed thru this little computer, and the staff already groan every time they see me coming towards the office with the "e-mail" glint in my eye.

We had a grand tour of the ashram today (about time, after 3 weeks living here...). And I have news for you!! There is a pavillion down by the lake (yes, the one with the crocodiles). This is where we sometimes have yoga class (don't worry, the crocodiles can't reach that high up). Do you know what the floor is made of? Remember, we here at the ashram like to be natural, eco-friendly world citizens... Yup, you guessed it - cow dung.

YIKES !!! Once again, they are throwing me off the computer. I can't live like this.

More Thoughts from India

Considering that I was brutally interrupted yesterday, I want to continue writing today (you can feel completely ok with just throwing this away if you're not in the mood - I won't know anyway). Anyway, what I wanted to tell you about was the Hindu thing.

I'm just now beginning to learn a bit about Hinduism. The first thing I found out was that although they pray to about 300,000 different gods (or more), the basic Hindu religion believes only in one god, which encompasses everything - plant, mineral, animal, matter, energy, thought - everything. All those elephant-headed, six-armed, five-eyed colorful things are just manifestations of the one and only.

This already was news to me, and I've been looking at things (Hindu things) a bit differently since then. We saw a video last night, that is about "The Tibetan Book of the Dead" book. I actually have the book, believe it or not. This is not the "Tibetan Book of Living and Dying" that was written several years ago - this is a religious work written many centuries ago. It is read aloud to people who are on the verge of death, and different chapters are read after death - to the person who has died, in the belief that his spirit (or whatever you want to call it) is still there.

The idea (as far as I understand it) is that every individual self/spirit/soul/whatever is actually a limitless part of the limitless entity that is god. When the soul inhabits the body, it becomes so attached and involved with everything that is called "I", that it sort of "forgets" that it is really something else, that can actually exist beyond the limits of this identity. Liberation is identified as "remembering", or recognizing your true self, and the "Book of the Dead" is read aloud to help the spirit remember that.

All this is really interesting, because you can sit there and meditate, trying to disassociate yourself from your normal identity, trying to comprehend that everything that appears to be a part of you (your nose, your thoughts, your toothache) - is just a figment of your own imagination. And then try thinking the same about whatever is outside of you – the view from your room, the weather, the neighbor you don't get along with...

So this is what I've been thinking about lately. This is what's left, after you get into the routine of stretching your nose to your knees twice daily, and there isn't much else to do during the day. Don't worry, my Teacher's Training Course will be starting in 4 days, and then I won't have time for any of this - I won't have time to write either, probably.

I've been told here that I write too many e-mails. So maybe I should stop here.

More from India

Well, you got the first installment of our two-day trip a few days ago, in accordance with my belief that "getting there is half the fun"... Now I want to tell you about the highlight of the trip, as far as I'm concerned - the last temple we visited. The story is that we were at a waterfall, a temple (that actually reminded me of a soccer field, for reasons that I may elaborate on later...), then a palace (very impressive), and for the evening treat - we checked into a huge ashram-camp, that reminded everyone of army barracks. Then we went to the tourist attractions - the sea-side, which is actually the southern-most tip of India. We visited the Gandhi memorial and another temple (KanyaKumari, which means "virgin girl", a specific one to whom it's dedicated - three thousand years old!!). The next day we took a boat out to the rock islands that are just beyond the coast (beyond that - only Antarctica). I think I wrote a little about that in my Letter To Mom (I hope you guys don't mind - I just felt I had to communicate with her somehow).

After lunch we set out for a mountain-top (I'm using "we" in the spiritual sense - personally, I sat in the shade with a few other people at the bottom of the mountain and waited for the rest of the mad dogs & Englishmen to come out of the mid-day sun).

After all this, we came to the temple.

It was a bit of a ride before we got there, and the temple is in the middle of a small town that we had to drive through. The first thing that you notice is the roof, which is a seven-story pyramid of stone carvings. The whole damn thing is carved granite, little pavilions scattered around a huge enclosure, each one dedicated to a different deity. When we got in, evidently, the main event began. Bells clanging, drums beating, and somebody playing some kind of horn. The idea is that the gods, who are blissfully in nirvana, need to be woken up, if you want their attention. Nearly all the time we were there - at least an hour if not more - there were bells, drums, and the occasional horn. Not to mention the priest, proceeding from one pavilion to another, waving a potted fire in front of each little statue, and the devotees, prancing after him, hands in prayer position, wearing nothing but dhoties (which is what you call those little sheets, as I found out) and the occasional smear of color on their forehead and/or chest. Actually, those smears are much more than occasional, and we got our fair share of them... you can't visit a pavilion without a priest offering you a flower petal and some spices to smear on yourself.

Once again, I'm being kicked off the computer. I'm going to have to continue tomorrow...

Letter to Mom (who died shortly before my trip)

I have been thinking of you on and off ever since I got here. There is so much I want to tell you!! I know you would find this place really interesting, and especially the trip we took during the last two days. We traveled to the southern-most tip of India, and stood on a rock island looking south, where the Indian Ocean meets the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal. From here straight south, the next land is Antarctica (but we couldn't see it...) The Indians like to talk about the meeting-point of the three oceans, and from the way they talk about it, you almost expect to see a three-sided wall or a big hole with three waterfalls pouring into it, or at the very least three different colors of water!!! It's almost a disappointment to see that it's just plain old salt sea-water, and all of it, no matter whether south, west or east of you - is just as wet. Still, it is beautiful. There is a memorial to Gandhi (really weird architecture), a three-thousand year old temple, and a couple of rock islands, one of which houses another (newer) temple, and another that is so small that the only thing that will fit on it is one (huge) statue of a famous Indian poet, pretty much the size of the Statue of Liberty. At night when they light it up, you can almost think you're in Coney Island - except for all the Indian peddlers that are trying to sell you sea-shells.

I'll probably tell you more about this trip in my next letter, but in this one, I just wanted to tell you that I still miss you enormously, and think about you often. I know that so much of my capability to enjoy what I'm doing is due to you. I know that the way I see the world, nature, people and culture; and the way I tell about them afterwards - is greatly affected by the way you did the same.

I was just talking to a girl in my dormitory, and she told me how her letters to her parents are only about the weather, because they can't understand what she would want to travel away from home for, and they can't understand her interest in anything outside the familiar circle of life. It isn't everyone who is fortunate enough to have parents who are so open and accepting, who take an interest in just about everything - who you can tell about your thoughts and adventures, and have a really open ear. I really am glad that we did have time to be together, to talk and to laugh (you mentioned it yourself when I was staying with you, how much we were laughing together). I'm glad that I learned all that I did learn from you - I think it was priceless, and I know that it is a huge part of who I am today. I wish I could have more time with you. I love you, and miss you very much (especially when I have stories to tell...)

Fascinating Trip !! - or - Ode to Those Who Know No Fear...

Just got back from a 2-day trip to the southernmost tip of India. Where to begin? There were 34 of us, and they packed us into 7 taxi-cabs (don't ask me why they didn't get a bus).
 
Now, there is something (actually, a few somethings) that you have to understand about Indian taxi-cabs. One is that, although they are manufactured recently, they are built according to the models that were all the rage at the turn of the century. So you go around feeling like you're in a classical old British film. Also, you go around feeling really very bumped and battered about, because the roads, in complete contrast to the taxis - WERE evidently manufactured at the turn of the century, and haven't been maintained since then. And of course - old model taxis didn't really have shock absorbers worth a damn...
 
The other thing you have to understand is that Indian drivers (and evidently Indian pedestrians as well) - have no inkling of the concept of fear, at least - not on the road. They (the drivers) also are really extremely fond of their horns, and they're not ashamed to let the world know about that. So you have to picture hurtling through a tropical jungle, on a road that is sometimes (although not always) about the same width as the car you're in (and when it isn't, then you can have first-hand experience of Indian soil and non-existent road-shoulders), and almost never has any markings or traffic signals. The road-builders also evidently had no idea of the meaning of the "straight" concept (way back when...), so that in addition to bumping up and down, you can complete the flying feeling with a back-and-forth motion.
 
Now add the music of constant beeping, of both your own driver, and any other one that may happen to be within hearing distance.
 
Now add in the fact that Indians, like Britons, drive on the left side of the road.
 
Now add in the fact that apparently, everyone in India has the right of way, all the time. Or at least, they think they do.
 
Now add in the fact that Indians, unlike Britons, don't like to wait for their turn to "blend" into the traffic.
 
Now add in the fact that if you can't pass the car in front of you on the right side, the way you might think that you were meant to do - it's perfectly OK to do so on the left side - even if there isn't really any road paved there.
 
Now add in the fact that pedestrians feel perfectly at home on the street, whether on the road-side or smack-dab in the middle of it, and they have a touchingly pure trust that the drivers just behind them really do care for their welfare.
 
And NOW, mix in the final ingredient, of total fearlessness – the driver's, the pedestrians', the other drivers' - in short - everyone else's except your own... This means that you are constantly passing vehicles (beeping all the while) - even when there is a huge, enormous, really BIG bus right there in front of you, coming at you. It means that the motorcycle behind you may decide to pass you while you are doing that. It means that neither your cab, the bus, or the motorcycle - will even glimpse at the thought of possibly slowing down for a fraction of an instant. Rather, they trust that Lord Shiva will help them to squeeze back into the small gap at the left of the road in front of the car being passed - simultaneously with the passing of that bus. And amazingly enough - it actually works (at least, I haven't seen an accident wreck yet, although I'm told that the north is strewn with bus carcasses).
 
And the other amazing thing is that - no matter what happens – nobody every gets upset (unless you count your own quaking fear, but you don't really count, because you're from out-of-town). It's perfectly OK that your front fender brushed the pedestrian's hand as you passed him, and he doesn't feel threatened by it. And while your hair is turning white at the sight of that truck that is carrying five times it's own weight in straw – about one meter in front of you and coming closer really fast - the only emotion your driver feels is amusement at the sight of your eyes bulging out.
 
OK, this letter is getting really long. I'd love to go on, but you may need a rest, now that we've passed through the roads of the jungle. So maybe I'll stop here, and continue tomorrow (or the next day - Indian time means that when you set a time - the scheduled event may possibly happen AFTER that time, but definitely not BEFORE).

Thoughts from India

Hi guys,
 
About the India-Pakistan situation - I don't really know what's on the news, but considering that I'm at the southern tip of India, I don't think I have much to worry about here, and of course, I'll check on the situation before I go north (which isn't planned until mid-February). The common language here is English, but considering the heavy Indian accent of some of the lecturers here, I'm not sure how accurate that statement is - it's really interesting to see/hear two Indians having a discussion IN ENGLISH, and not being able to understand a single word, while they understand each other perfectly. It also has to do with the speed they speak - you could launch a rocket to the moon on the wings of one of their sentences...
 
We had a New Year's celebration here last night - the fireworks were (please excuse me) pathetic. They kept going off on the ground instead of in the air, so people were jumping around trying to avoid getting scorched. Come to think of it, it was pretty entertaining to see that, if you take the noise lightly. I actually thought that we were being bombed when the first couple went off... (that shows you what living in Israel will do to your reflexes...)
 
All in all, it's pretty surreal - I've just finished having an existential discussion over a lemon soda with a German actor who lives in Italy, sitting in a straw hut in tropical India - not too bad.
 
To tell the truth, we haven't had too much philosophy thrown at us so far. They keep telling us that yoga is not just a physical exercise regime, but a whole philosophy of life; and they do meditation and chanting every morning and every evening (by the way, the staff here spend an hour chanting for peace every day here, and we are invited to join if we like) - but I'm still waiting to hear the philosophy more in depth. I have been told that I'll be getting that during the Teacher's Training Course. So far, it's just me and my thoughts, and they don't always come too clearly, especially just after a massage (after which it's not just my body that feels (and behaves) like a wet noodle; it's my mind as well).
 
I think that the thing that is most interesting (so far, at least) is to try to see how far you can go in stripping down the extras and leaving only the essentials of life. (At this point, those of you who don't care for my particular brand of philosophy may sign off and go for a cup of coffee...) The "what is life" question that kept all of us busy during our teen years has pretty much returned to haunt me during the last few years, and this seems like a really good environment to be checking that out. For instance, I have found that the only things that really bother me here are the heat and the fact that I can't get a hot shower (which could be considered a luxury, depending on your standards). Add to that the basics that I do have - a bed in a dormitory, a mosquito net, basic clothing, running water and 2 meals a day - and I can start to examine the meaning of the words "basic necessity of life".
 
And then, there is the really big question of "what do you do with your life" - which is actually pretty close to the conversation I just finished in the above mentioned straw hut. Supposing you get to the point where you have the "basic necessities of life", and you don't really want an extra swimming pool in your back yard (so you don't have to keep that time-consuming, stressful job) - then how are you going to fill in the time from now until you're dead, besides supporting yourself (which we've already established doesn't necessarily have to take up 85% of your life)? TV, trips to the riviera, etc - are actually just modes of entertainment - how much entertainment do I need? What do I need it for? Might it just be there to keep my mind off the reality? And then, what is reality? People here were saying "it will be hard to get back to reality" - but is life here any less real? Maybe it is more real, because here, we have first-hand contact with ourselves, our bodies, our minds, and nature?
 
I find myself less and less interested in the "reality" of my "normal" life, and more and more interested in whatever I can explore in an environment like this one. It seems so much easier to investigate the reality that lurks in my mind, just beyond comprehension - when there are less things to distract me. Just like packing for a trip to India - the less objects you take with you - the more free you are (because there are less things to worry about). You can't lose what you don't have, and you don't worry about what you can't lose. So how true is it that we create our own realities?
 
Hope I haven't put any of you into shock - I'm just allowing myself to think "out loud" - I'm too far away from any of you for anyone to come at me with a stick, so I guess I can pretty much say what I want here. Dirty trick, huh? Well, somebody here is already waiting for a chance at the computer, so I guess in all fairness I should stop gibbering, give you a rest, and give her a chance to knock her friends out with her own philosophy...