The Spell of a Magician's Mind

Loyalty and Love in the Nepali Context

Loyalty is abiding by the laws of the self, other, or spiritual entity.  Sometimes the mind can be led towards loyalty to an idea that it doesn’t necessarily believe in itself.  People and places and voices and words can seduce the mind into change.  Whether that voice wants peace, love and harmony, or war, hate and violence;  such forces can be very strong and can pull the malleable mind into it’s vacuum.  The force of war, hate and violence is unfortunately a vein that many Americans get sucked into because we Americans are prideful of our accomplishments, money, social stature, etc.  Unable to let go of attachments to possessions, people lash out in fear.  They are loyal to the self and the pursuit of the sparkly diamond and cast away, or make the others who question them appear foolish.  Out of fear, desperation, and greed they use distraction and avoidance techniques to take attention off their malaise.  The magician can manipulate the whole environment around them into making another person look jealous/greedy/disloyal/whatever it is that they need in order to disguise that quality within themselves and direct attention outward.  They are only powered by those who are easily manipulated.

In Nepal, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by magicians of a different sort.  These magicians understood the need for love, affection, and a sense of belonging.  It is hard for people age 14-30 to find romantic love and affection within a dating relationship because they pretty much doesn’t exist.  Pre-marital relationships aren’t typically encouraged unless the community is trying to set up a love marriage.  For male Peace Corps Volunteers, this meant lots of proposals for marriage and lots of “no thank yous”.  My friend got proposed to at least once a day.  For females, it pretty much meant avoiding the whole scene, or going undercover.

The beautiful coping strategy that people invent to deal with coming of age, but not being ready for marriage, is to spread their love everywhere and literally love friends as family.  In some ways, it seemed immature and juvenile, but it works.  Boys would love each other, hold hands, and show affection publicly.  Girls share time together and become friends with each other very fast.  Boys don’t attach to girls and girls don’t attach to boys as a rule of thumb.  I never went to a co-ed middle school, but in some ways I imagine that the environments would be very similar.  Adult male sexual tension was diffused by simply being available for love regardless of the sex and having a strong love of the self.  

If there was an individual that seems to need love and affection, the community will accept and keep private whatever that individual needs to do to receive that love.  If that person has a loving energy, they are received with open doors in pretty much any household.  People are very intuitive and can gauge whether someone is just out to take, or is willing to work and happy with just having a meal, friendship, and shared time.  Those who have money give without reservation because that is their need.  Those who receive don’t complain about their role in life and find the joy in their work and those with whom they share time.  If someone trips, they usually make light of the situation and let that person try to stand, but if that person is really extremely lonely, or sad about their situation- it’s just an opportunity for someone to help pick them up and create good karma.

We must be loyal to this law of love no matter our cultural or religious backgrounds.  If we aren’t, we are only fighting ourselves and sucking others into our own internal conflict.

Bohemian Fantasies

A Gypsies Tale

Give me the strength to plant these seeds 

and when I must leave, that I will not grieve.

For I may not see them sprout and grow

These seeds, these seeds that I sew.

I wander the world and give my love.

Let there be no push and shove.

For I walk my path as others look on

Tempting, tempting me to attach upon.

Upon a dream, a promise, a hope

Tying me with their leather and rope.

The seeds were never mine, but yours.

Can’t you see?

They never belonged to me.

I cannot wait, I cannot pause.

There are rules.

There are laws.

Laws of money and sense and pain

What’s to loose, when you have that to gain?

I am sorry my seeds, but do not die

Upon my friends you now rely.

So drink in their love and soak in their rain.

Hold with you this truth and your life will sustain.

Freedom Beauty Truth Love

Are all these things worth dying for?

The current of the underworld is stronger than your greed.

Because you will never understand that money cannot feed

The passion that burns in the hearts of our breed.

Only by plunging into this fire can you be relieved

Of your small mind and your blacks and your whites.

The flare of bombs your only lights.

When a whisper turns to a scream

It will hit you like a beam.

So go and cry that your piggy bank is broke

We have other ways to cope.

Truth

Truth is meant to be found, not told.  Most of my life has been steered by people telling me what I don’t want, or what I’m not good at.  It took me a long time to realize that was a good thing.  Being a person born with lots of confidence, and being raised in the states where people tell you that you are good at things when sometimes you’re just not, I think I grew up in my teen years and twenties jumping at every opportunity to try anything.  I had to learn that I didn’t like drugs.  I had to learn that I needed time to myself to reflect and regenerate.  I had to learn that just because I failed at something didn’t mean I was a failure.  There is always a silver lining.  Money in my pocket, knowledge in my head, a warm place inside my bed.  I always seemed to be led to something better.  Call me crazy, but believe I have angels to thank for that.  The biggest thing I wasn’t taught was how to manage the universe and complexities of the soul.  Maybe there isn’t a way to teach that though.  Maybe it can’t be told.

In Nepal there are few “type A” personalities.  Those born with competitive, outgoing, ambitious, impatient and/or aggressiveness are labeled Type A.  If people are born with that spirit, they are encouraged and rewarded for it, sometimes despite the consequences.  Typically these leaders are male, but when parents were open minded enough to respect their daughters as fully functional, intelligent, capable human beings, they were also women.  These women were people like my younger sister Neera.  She led with quiet strength, but relenting commitment to her faith and family.  She encouraged me to learn Nepali culture no matter how much I complained that I didn’t want to wash all my clothes and laundry on the 4th day of my period.  She worked for an NGO fighting for HIV Aids awareness at a time when it is becoming a serious threat in the Far West of Nepal.  She fought for women’s rights, for the rights of all who refuse to be victimized.  

I am a “type B”.  I admit that.  My older sister growing up was the boss.  I was more daring than her, but she pointed me in the direction of my dreams.  She was the first to live in a third world country.  She lead by example.  It wasn’t until going to Nepal that I learned the strength of the Type B.  The Type B leads another to truth gently.  They assist their people in learning their own truth. Its having the strength to say:

“How can I help you?  What do you want me to do?”  

and honestly mean it because doing that opens the door for the other person to achieve their dreams.  Usually, in a collective society where the end goal isn’t money/fame/ego the dream is best for everyone.  

The only person you have to believe is yourself, and sometimes you need people to help you do that.  You need people to let you make mistakes, fall on your face, wallow in the muck and then help you to stand.  We need to learn NOT to believe what we are told, and to NOT trust the “truths”, the “words”, the “system”.  The answer and truth is within you.  If you are deceived, you deceive the whole world and everyone you encounter.  We walk in a confused fog of promises to each other and dangling carrots in front of donkeys when we don’t even have a map of what we want in life.  

You don’t have to try hard to find that.  Please, don’t.  Maybe you think it’s something you like doing.  STOP doing that.  I dare you.  STOP doing anything that brings you happiness as the loss of that thing, that person, that activity, that life can only lead to one thing…sadness.  

So what then do you DO-You motivated, skilled, intelligent, bored, driven, creative mind?  Listen.  Listen to the wind.  Listen to the birds.  Listen to your soul.  The truth is there and it will lead you with no effort whatsoever.  You can have a playground without toys.  Just close your eyes and be it.

It Was Time to Go...To Goa

I came here to Goa one month ago knowing I needed to do internal work to strengthen my mind and shed myself of the collective ego portion of my brain.  I will always hold Nepal in my heart, but I can’t hold the longing for what is past and I can’t grieve forever.

What I can do is share my story.  When I came from Nepal my ego was full of voices.  Monkeys/noise/purpose/plans/pride…you name it.  I also left with a HUGE feeling of loss.  Loss of never having again what was honestly the best 2 years of my adult life.  I knew having to transition from that was going to be difficult.  I was not focused.  I was distracted, but I’m realizing now at the end of the program that my mind, body and soul is so much stronger, healthier and focused than I was when I left for Peace Corps.  I say focused but I don’t mean on a goal.  Focused on being peaceful; of just being who I am and loving that.

Who I was in Nepal was “Anjali”.  Although I love the name “Sarah” because my parents gave it to me, I have always disliked the fact that I was always one of many many “Sarahs” in any social situation.  The name “Sarah” is a combination of my mom’s initials “SA” (Sally Anderson) and my dad’s initials “RA” (Richard Anderson) and it will always be my given name, but because my experience was so positive in Nepal, I am more proud of and attached to the name “Anjali” now.  I have even considered changing my name officially.  It was given to me by the first Nepali family I lived with and means “hands full”.  

I sobbed during the 1st or second ending of the meditation when we were told to chant our names while walking.  I chose to chant “Anjali”.  As I walked, I could feel my body fight to say the name through the tears.  As I heard myself chanting the name, it felt like an out of body experience.  It was as if I was in the body of every family and friend I had met in Nepal and was trying to call to myself, but unable to because I had left Nepal and was unsure of when I would ever return.  As I was calling to myself, I felt myself disconnecting farther and farther from them.  Luckily, I had the perfect guru/coach to encourage me to let it out.  He was sympathetic and respectful of my situation.  He kept saying “Let them come out.  Let them speak.”  By the 5th day, I was singing my name and getting bored of the drill.  

My heart and mind had strengthened.

Owning my new sense of closure, I threw my mind into the philosophy and meditation classes.  To understand the pronunciation of the Hindi and Sanscrit words better, I was asking the instructor to check my devanagari script handwriting.  Something in my subconscious was telling me I didn’t want to forget the language.  Better yet, I wanted to learn Hindi.  

Hindi is very similar to Nepali, and pretty much all of the youth age 3-20 speak it.  Funny how now as a 32 year old, I consider a 20 year old to be “youth”, but that’s beside the point.   The only way I’ve heard of people learning Hindi is from TV.  Not liking any of the Hindi TV shows that I have seen so far, and having a somewhat deeply rooted anger against India for bullying Nepal after the earthquake by refusing to provide petrol, I proudly admitted to people that 

“No, I don’t speak Hindi.”  

However, being here in in the South of India, and spending time with people who speak not only Hindi, but the local language Konkani, I’ve enjoyed picking up on words here and there that I understand.  I have been spending my evenings at a local restaurant on the beach called the “Mariposa” (Spanish for Butterfly) and have been enjoying listening to Hindi as well as speaking Nepali with the staff.  There are many staff who come here from Nepal to work.  All guys.  Makes me miss my Nepali girlfriends, but hey…guys are funny and entertaining.

I have also discovered that my own entertaining skills have come to very good use.  About a week ago, I was walking by the Mariposa restaurant with my friend and the manager asked if we wanted drinks.  My friend wanted juice and they didn’t have that, but I asked him if I could fire dance that night for a free meal.  He was more than happy to allow me to do that and I enjoyed a cup of tea, studied for my yoga course exam, then enjoyed a fancy table for one with my feet in the sand.  The live music was fun to listen to and I got up and fire danced both before and after my meal of calimari and king prawn.  So delicious.  I had so much fun that I invited some friends from the yoga course to join me later that week on Thanksgiving day for another show.  The manager really enjoys having me around and part of me wishes I didn’t have to leave.

However, the winds of change are calling me home.  I look forward to the holidays and spending time in the arms of my mom and dad once again.  It has been one year and 3 months since seeing my family which is the longest time I think I have ever been away.  I will miss Goa, but something tells me it’s not my last time here.  The spirit of relaxation, combined with a growing yoga culture makes it tempting to return and teach some day.  For now, I am thankful to be returning home with a 200 hour yoga teacher training certificate, a clear mind, open heart, and cast iron soul.

How to climb a tree in Goa...with a harness and metal stand that you inch up the tree.

The food was very similar to what I ate in Nepal every day.

Me practicing by teaching the teacher

My guru Jagjeet Sing

The Words that Come When I Have Nowhere to Run

This Little Light of Mine

The mind that believes the truth is blind
Open your soul and you will feel the sublime.
Take in the sights and smells and breeze.
The world can feel like one big tease.
If you are aware of the past, but can stay in the now.
You'll realize that truth lies below the brow.
Below the thoughts and words and sights.
Let it come out
The world needs to see your lights.

Slave to the Self

The slave of another can be free in the mind.
They are not wanting, or needing.
They can have freedom of focus and peace.
But sometimes it takes a little elbow grease.
Who is the master?
Show me the woman/man
who walks their path with an open plan.
Open to change; they do not attach upon.
Absent of the ego; the mind is calm.
Above all it's known there is always something going on
In the mind, or body, or earth, or space.
For this there is a time
For that there is a place.
I hope we can walk together in this snail race
Because I want to leap, I want to skip, but without you
I loose my grip.
On what it is to be human
and...
me?
Of this, I feel, we all agree.

What the Heart Hides

200 hours to love
200 hours to heal the heart
A bandaid was not enough
It had to be broken, then torn apart
To really find out what was hidden inside
Underneath layers of ego and pain
Was a seed of passion I could not tame
Passion for adventure, knowledge and the new
I planted that seed, and watched as it grew
Growing as a flower stretches toward the sun
My life burst forth
It had nowhere to run.
I am home now inside this heart
And of this I know...
I am always at the start.

Midnight Dreams

Nothingness can be scary.  The idea of being alone.  Of not fitting in.  Of isolation.  The mind thinks it needs “noise”.  If someone comes from a family where they always had people around, the emptiness can be unsettling.  Emptiness of the mind.  Emptiness of the physical luxuries.  If isolated in the jungle, some lash out and destroy the harmless ants, animals, trees, and humans around them because they don’t trust the earth.  

They 

are 

vulnerable.  

People don’t believe that vulnerability is a strength.  Some predators take advantage of vulnerability.  In our day and age, men are conditioned to be predators.  To take if they think the person wants to be taken.  Sharing a cup of tea that was never offered.  What they don’t know is that it harms themselves in the end.  They are the fearful ones.  The scared, the one who is too weak to deal with internal demons alone.  

In a loving environment, a baby bird fallen from the tree gets saved.  The plant with no water gets rain.  The mother with no children gives birth.  Life is created and people aren’t afraid of death.  Death is just change.  Rebirth.  What in our subconscious helps that change be realized?  Hope.  Hope dies with layers of noise.  Layers of people and mazes and puzzles saying:

“That’s not possible.  That’s not what the scientist, doctor, God, mother, father wants;  therefore it is wrong.”

That scientist/doctor/God/mother/father needs validation.  Whether it be money, prayers, devotion.  You feel guilty and shamed not giving them that.  If you don’t, then everything you knew is wrong.  Flipped.  Questioned.  

Vulnerable. 

But what if that chain of doubt and fear is reversed?  What if we saved that baby bird?  Gave that tree/bird/child/mother/father/people/country hope?  The present moment is the death of the past and the beginning of a new.  Resurrect your dreams, share the tea…but do it in peace and love.  Do it without reservation.  Do it with strength.  It’s your choice. 

The Waves of Transition

The Transition

As I stand on the shore of a new chapter in my life, I have been reflecting, lamenting, and visioning my past life in Nepal and the new path I will walk.  It has been a truly eye opening journey the past few weeks here in Goa, India on the shores of the beautiful Agonda beach.  I have had the privilege of time to see my life's dreams clearly and what I see I am liking more and more.  

Here are some poems that I have been writing here:

The Temples We Seek

We all seek to follow rules and are fearful of the breaking
Our temples made of walls create a safe place to be absolved of sin.
When the bubble breaks and our temple falls we feel sad.
Do not mourn the image of perfection.
The perfection exists in rebirth and change.

Youthful Dance of Love


Paradise is something you think in your head.Maybe brought to you by a book you read?
As a child, you danced and set that dream free.
Joyfully believing that someday it would just be.
Then people and places and noise from the ground came rushing to your toes.
You dance around them and try to stay calm.
Your life you hold in the center of your palm.
Look at your palm and see the love it receives.
You know, you know and everyone agrees...
That love is not love unless it is shared.
Choose wisely my friend and do not be scared.


The Sound of My Heart Upon the Shore

Our bodies crash with the beat of our heart like waves upon the shore

Coliding, combining, evermore… evermore

My soul is dry as sand without your wave to beat my heart

Crash and beat… then fall apart

The day my heart is set free the waters are calm

No pain of the beat, your wave rushed upon

my shore with her shells and her stars and her trash

Please let my heart beat like a shore with no crash

You think you are helping the beat of my life

But I want calm waters 

With little to no strife

So lay yourself down upon this heart I uphold

Lie over me softly; my life I unfold

My Final Day as a Nepal Peace Corps Volunteer

TODAY is my last day as a Nepali Peace Corps Volunteer.  I went to the office and had my ID card punched through with a hole.  I am free...

Here is a journal entry from exactly one week ago in my village:

10/21/16

Today I was honored at the District Office (Alital VDC, Dadeldhura, Nepal) for my 2 years of service.  Sir told me to arrive at 12:30pm, so I did.  Then I had to be patient and wait through a 2.5 hour meeting about indicators that the government had set for our VDC.  The Female Community Health Volunteers talked about how many households reported on the different indicators.  Honestly, I was 1/2 sleeping through most of it.  Then, sir talked about me.  I busted out the video recorder on my phone like a true narcissist and took in the love.  He talked about how I went home two times.  Once after the earthquake and once for my brother Nathan's wedding.  He mentioned how I walked all over the VDC for my job and worked in the food security sector.  He mentioned how I selected mother's groups and did a mushroom project, about how I helped my family and about the 3 goals of Peace Corps.  I also held an English class and was not allowed on motorcycles.  I don't like motorcycles anyways, so that was OK with me.  Sigh...parting is such sweet sorrow.

I tried to teach many people in my village about how to grow vegetables, trees, etc., but if there is one thing that Nepalis' know how to do it's grow a lover.  Grow a person that is focused on family, protecting each other, loving each other and hands down, pitching in anything you can do to help a friend or family member carry out his or her dream.  Friends literally are family here.  I am leaving feeling like dreams can come true.

I miss my family and the winds of change are calling me home.  I've been blessed to have the freedom to dance by the rhythm of my own soul and share my dance with others.  To those who listened carefully enough to my messed up, backwards Nepali-I touched.  I understood that many of them might not have been able to receive my language, so I tried to do acts of service such as giving and planting trees.

If I were to measure my success the way Peace Corps tries to do it (measurements like how many people did you teach x, y, and z to), it would not be accurate.  Just yesterday, I went to see how many trees were still surviving after we planted them at the school and about 3 of the 20 are still there.  One got ripped out because a kitchen was built, many of them didn't get watered during the dry season, etc, etc.  This is not my success.

My success and privilege was time.  Time to open my hands and heart.  Time to have countless glasses of tea with friends.  Time to observe:

1.  3 successful litters of kittens born by my sweet sweet cat June.
2.  2 monsoon seasons which came with different diseases every time.  The first year I got erythema nodosum and couldn't walk.  I was hospitalized for a week on IV antibiotics.  The second year I got two gnarly infections.  One on my hand and one on my toe.  
3.  2 MANGO seasons!  Yum
4.  5 visitis and 3 swims in my village's sacred lake named "Alital".  Trekkers welcome!
5.  3 visits from honored guests of the office.  Two from the country director, one from our director of programing and training, and one from a government inspector general right after the earthquake (who I was assuming would be super intimidating but was actually very kind, balanced and receptive to feedback.)
6.  3-5 memorable pig meat feasting events.  One was a wedding, others were at my neighbor friend's house where it was always accompanied by local rice wine, beer, or vodka.

What do I go home to?  I have been showing pictures of my family to everyone here.  Thanks to my mom, I have 2 beautiful Christmas cards that I've been carrying around.  I told people in my speech today that I am going home for them.

Here is the rest of my speech...

My time here in Alital is coming to a close, but the memories I have made will last me a lifetime.  I will never forget all of you and how you have stood behind me and helped me in every endeavor I have undertaken.  In the US, I worked as a Veterinary Technician for 5 years.  I woke up around 11am, went to work at 3pm, and came home around 2am.  I wore the same uniform every day and was part of a machine.  I slept, and repeated the cycle everyday.  I got bored.  I came here to experience something new, to help contribute to the community, to learn your culture, and to teach my own.  Each day has been different.  Sometimes I would plan something, and have that plan not work, so I would try plan B, if that didn’t work, there was a plan C.  The day did not always go as I had originally planned, but I think I accomplished what I came here to do.  I can say that the past two years have been the best two years of my life that I can remember so far.  It is hard to walk away from that, so I won’t say good bye, but see you again soon.

Take your friend’s, lover, partner’s hand in strength, love, and peace.  Love can save the wold.

Thank you for making me feel welcome.  To see my soul look towards the moon.  You have made my heart like a diamond.  

Namascar

________________

As this chapter in my book comes to a close, I can only imagine, and am lucky to have the gift of imagining the future.  Wherever I walk, I hope there are gardens, wildflowers and the sound of crickets.

"For this is what America is all about.  It is the uncrossed desert and the unclimbed ridge.  It is the star that is not reached and the harvest sleeping in the unplowed ground.  Is our world gone?  We say "farewell".  Is a new world coming?  We welcome it."  - Lyndon B. Johnson

When the Heart becomes Home

Written October 18

Home

When you’re young, home is where your mother is.  It’s where you get your milk and if you’re lucky like I was lots of love, affection, songs and smiles.  If you’re lucky it’s also where your supportive dad is who does everything and anything in his power to make sure his wife and kids are fed, happy, focused, and free to make their own decisions.  

Then you grow up and move around and realize that your “home” begins to become restructured.  It turns into a frame of mind that you carry with you.  In college, home is still where your mom is usually, or girlfriend/boyfriend maybe.  But love hurts and people change and it’s hard when you want to attach to something so bad that ultimately becomes fleeting and temporary.  

Eventually you realize that your home is not in your head, but carried with you at all times.  Your home becomes your heart.  Your center.  Your being.  It’s up to you who you want to invite into that home.  Hopefully you have learned what types of people/places/situations make your heart sing, and which make it die.  Listen carefully.

Temptation can arise when you realize that you missed out sometimes.  Maybe you feel guilty for leaving someone who you know could have loved you to the end of the world and back and you try to return to them only to find them moved on, or still yearning for something that has already died.  Then one day, you realize that the circles of madness must end.  The earth hickups and quakes, and you realize that what you had been wanting has been standing in front of you the whole time waiting.  Maybe you put him/her there on purpose and maybe they found you on their own.  Suddenly, you realize you are gazing at your soul's reflection in a still pond.  The earth is quiet, peaceful, and feels like…home.

I came, I biked, I conquered.

I once saw a t shirt with a picture of a snail riding on a turtle’s back saying “Weeeeeee!”  I was reminded of that cartoon on my bike ride, as I passed a snail in the road about halfway through.  Riding my bike felt like I was going faster than walking, but I was definitely a snail compared to the big rigs and busses flying by.  

The ride took 8 days.  Up until the 7th day we were one day ahead of schedule and my friend Garrett had hopes that we could arrive in KTM one day early.  However, we arrived at the base of the biggest hill of the trip around noon on the 6th day and if we were to have started the hill at that time it was not guaranteed that we could find lodging along the way.  I advocated for spending the day where we were in Hetauda not only because of the lodging issue but because my left knee was hurting.  Luckily, one of the Peace Corps staff who grew up in Hetauda recommended to Garrett over the phone that we stay the night there.  

The next day one of the hardest, and most memorable days.  We started the day at 6 am and as we cycled out of Hetauda, I noticed many Nepali’s out on morning walks.  Never in my 2 years have I seen so many Nepali people out exercising for fun/fitness as part of a daily routine.  Nepali’s get up early for many reasons…to milk the cow, to cut grass for the cow, to wash dishes, to cook food, to fetch water, etc. but it was rare to see people out on morning walks in a city where foreigners were a fairly rare site.  These people all had jobs in offices, not fields.

It took us 7 hours to reach the top of the hill to a place called Simbhanjyang at 2488m.  Towards the top of the hill I noticed my asthma acting up.  It usually only acts up when I am exercising in extreme situations and I think the altitude combined with the extreme exertion caused it to happen.  Once we reached the top, it was amazing what a temperature change there was at the higher elevation.  I was shivering not only because it was misty and cold, but because I was drenched in sweat.  

After reaching the top and having two portions of “daal bhaat” (lentils and rice), we started the long decent.  The downhill made every moment of the long uphill worthwhile!  As I flew downhill, I blew my whistle to alert people and cars in front of us to move out of the way.  I felt a lot like a bike police and began to enjoy asserting myself as such.  

It was always a little more dangerous around 3-4pm when school got out and the 7th day downhill was no exception.  As we came around a corner, I blew my whistle I kept around my neck as usual and noticed a girl in a school uniform hear the whistle, then pick up her food plate and make a bolt for the other side of the road with her head down right in front of us.  Garrett was ahead of me and couldn’t stop his bike in time to avoid her.  He tried to pass in front of her, and she tried to pass in front of him and they eventually collided.  Luckily, she didn’t fall to the ground and the only damage seemed to be a grease mark on her school uniform.  Everyone observing could tell that it was her fault, and after hearing her family reprimand her in a language we couldn’t understand, we continued on our way.

We arrived in Naubise on the 7th day just as it was getting dark.  Naubise is just 27.5 km from Kathmandu and Garrett had a crazed, greedy look on his face like he wanted to continue riding into Kathmandu that night.  I intervened.  

“Garrett, do you know the story of Titanic?”  I asked.  “The captain wanted to arrive in New York ahead of schedule and you know what happened to them, right?”  Lets just call it a night and head out at first light tomorrow morning.

So that’s what we did.  I couldn’t sleep that last night.  I kept having nightmares and flashbacks of big rig trucks rolling down mountains and coming around a corner right in my face.  By 5:30 am we were on the road and heading up the last uphill toward Kathmandu.  I was actually pleasantly surprised by the respectful speed that the busses and trucks passed us.  I put on my bike police hat and pushed forward.  

As we started the downhill into the valley, it started to lightly rain.  To my delight, the Prithvi Highway was full of mud and we cycled through it, splashing mud all over ourselves.  It was such an adrenaline rush that I hadn’t expected!  That last day was more of a high than I have ever felt in my life… more than skydiving.  It’s probably due to the fact that I had suffered through the past 8 days to earn the reward of riding into Kathmandu.

Garrett and I decided to celebrate our finish by eating something we couldn’t find anywhere but Kathmandu…fancy foreign baked goods!  I had a cupcake and Garrett had a slice of cake.  After that, we headed to the Peace Corps office, took pictures and pressure washed our bikes down.  

I was honestly surprised by the fact that I had completed the trip.  Before leaving, it seemed like an interesting challenge, but I gave myself about a 70% chance of actually making it all the way with no bike, or health issues stopping me.  I was lucky to have Garrett as my teammate.  I could handle the hills ok, but on the long straight aways I hid behind Garrett and drafted as much as possible.  Garrett also has a very mellow, chill personality which was a nice balance to my more irregular moods.  He even gave me a pep talk or two!

Thanks to all of you who donated to my fundraiser!  I was so happy to have your support.

Head to my Facebook page to see pictures!  https://www.facebook.com/sarah.anderson.37604?fref=ts

Go Legs Go! Is it Suffering, Happiness, or both?

As some of you know, I am starting a bike trip today from the Far West of Nepal (Attaria) to the capital of Nepal (Kathmandu).  The trip is 650 km and will take 8 days.  My friend Garrett who lives in the Far West was planning to do the trip, and I decided to tag along!  It is 650 km and will be the longest bicycling trip I’ve done in my life and I am crossing my fingers that my body and bike will not fail me.  I will be riding a $200 mountain bike that I bought with the help of Peace Corps about 2 years ago.  Since buying it, I have had to fix it three times for the same problem.  Because the roads where I live are so rocky, the derailleur gets a beating and has been knocked and bent more than I ever expected.  The fix costs anywhere from 650 NPR ($6.50) for a new hanger, or 1700 ($17)  for a new deraileur.  While that may have seemed like a bargain to me in the states, it’s equivalent to a few days wages for me here.  Also, the original pieces are only found in Kathmandu, so it has been a struggle trying to access them.  Because of the difficulty of fixing it, I have been very possessive of the bike and tell anyone and everyone who tries to grab it and ride it that today is not their lucky day, and will they please give me my bike back.  As I am getting ready for this trip, and preparing for the suffering that will come along with it, I remember all the situations in which I have been given the honor of participating in the suffering of the people of Nepal.  While I will never fully understand what life is like for those who live here, having the opportunity to experience their struggle has left me with with a sense of perspective, gratitude, and compassion.  “By definition, compassion involves

opening oneself to another’s suffering.  Sharing another’s suffering.” (Cutler, 117).  The people of Nepal have embraced me, accepted me, taught me, and welcomed me.  I have shared my personal struggles with them, just as they have with me and we have both cultivated compassion for each other in the process.

Now, in order to explain why either of us would want to take on each other’s sufferings, I turn to the wise words of the Dalai Lama found in the book “The Art of Happiness” who says “I feel that there is a significant difference between your own suffering and the suffering you might experience in a compassionate state in which you take upon yourself and share other people’s suffering.  When you think about your own suffering , there is a feeling of being totally overwhelmed.  There is a sense of being burdened, of being pressed under something-a feeling of helplessness.  There’s a dullness, almost as if your faculties have become numb. Now, in generating compassion, when you are taking on another’s suffering you may also initially experience a certain degree of discomfort, a sense of uncomfortableness or unbearableness.  But in the case of compassion, the feeling is much

different, underlying the uncomfortable feeling is a very high level of alertness and determination because you are voluntarily and deliberately accepting another’s suffering for a higher purpose.  There is a feeling of connectedness and commitment, a willingness to reach out to others, a feeling of freshness rather than dullness.”(Lama, 118)  The Dalai Lama then goes on to explain how this rush is similar to what an athlete might experience when exercising.  Although the pain and exhaustion is great, the athlete feels a great sense of accomplishment and joy from the experience.  Such a joy would not come about if perhaps the athlete were told to labor over doing something that was outside his or her workout routine.

While I am forced to accept many aspects of life here such as having to walk 100 feet to the toilet through urine and dung soaked mud, I am also given great autonomy with what I choose to take on, suffer through, and learn from, and what I choose to avoid.  For example, I try to do at least one productive thing with my day, but I don’t help out as much with the cooking as I suppose I could.  I have learned that great joy comes to me in the moments when I am interacting with the Nepali people, teaching them something I have learned, and sharing

time together that isn’t forced or contrived.  When I am helping someone, or they are helping me it is for no other reason than the fact that we both get joy out of the experience.  This is a feeling I often didn’t get from working jobs in the USA.

I am grateful for the opportunity to spend my time as I please, and I am reminded of that privilege day to day.  In training for the bike trip, I have been running often in the mornings.  Often on my runs, I pass by women and girls going to cut fodder for their animals.  They are up in the morning and labor not because they are concerned about their physical fitness, but because they need to.  If they don’t cut the grass, they can’t feed their cow; if they can’t feed their cow, they don’t have milk, dung, or urine (all of which are utilized here).  In passing them, I press my hands together in “Namaste”, smile, and jog on, leaving them slightly puzzled as to why I would be running if
I’m not being chased.  It’s the same feeling I get when I work with people sometimes.  They try to push me away and let them do the work because why would anyone choose to come here and do physical labor?  I smile and tell them with equal assuredness that I get joy from the experience and wouldn’t want it any other way.

This ability to pursue my passion, and spend my days, hours and minutes as I please is a gift that I hope to give to others.  I believe that the meaning of life is to pursue happiness and  everyone should be able to look for, find, nurture and keep that which makes them happy.  As many of you know, I am raising money for my friend Keshav to purchase a cricket bat which will allow him to try out for the National Cricket Team.  Keshav currently plays for two Cricket leagues and is also going to school to get a Masters in Sociology (going to Kathmandu to get a Masters in Sports Technology was not in the budget).  Over the past two years, I have seen how much Cricket means to Keshav and how natually talented he is with it.  If he were in the US and playing baseball he would probably be playing for the big leagues and be sponsored.  Now, asking for money for a Cricket bat might not seem like a worthy cause to you, but it would make a world of difference to the life of one person.  Dare I say, it could change his life.  

There is a story about two friends walking along the beach after the tide had gone out.  As the friends are walking, one of them keeps stopping to pick up starfish that are stranded along the shore out of water.  He picks them up and throws them back into the water.  His friend asks him 

“Why are you doing that?  There’s so many starfish along this shore, you can’t possibly make a difference.”

The first man picks up another starfish and throws it into the ocean.  “Made a difference to that one.”

Please donate to the fund.  Whether you choose to suffer to gain compassion, or follow your passion, we are all one in the search for happiness and we wouldn’t be anything without each other!

https://www.gofundme.com/keshavcricketfund

Run Rabbit Run

Yesterday I was on the bus and I saw a wild rabbit dash in front of the bus, then off into the jungle.  The bus stopped suddenly.  Immediately everyone started yelling 

“caraio!”  “caraio!”  Which means “rabbit!” “rabbit!”

I thought, “gee, everyone sure gets excited about rabbits here.”  People keep rabbits for pets.  I once brought a rabbit back from a village about a two hour walk away.  My sister seemed to really dote on the cute little fuzz ball, so I agreed to help take care of it.  After only a few days, I came home and my family said the rabbit had run off.  We had been letting it run around the garden.  I think a cat or dog got to it when they weren’t watching.  

About five guys sprang from inside and on top of the bus and ran into the bushes after the rabbit.  As they did that, they were picking up stones.  Wait, I thought.  What would they need stones for if they just want to catch it, take it home and feed it grass?  

“Kill it!”  They shouted.

Oh.

That made me think 2 things:

a)  Do they really think that they can kill a rabbit, which is faster than them, by throwing stones at it?  

b)  They must be doing it this way because someone, at some point was successful doing it.  If so, what a bad way to die.  Getting stoned?  Hmmmm.  

I was rooting for the rabbit.

After about a minute or two everyone on the bus started getting anxious and started shouting to the guys in the jungle that the rabbit had gotten away.  I chimed in too

“The rabbit is faster than you are!  It’s long gone!  Lets go!”

Since I was rooting for the rabbit, I was a little confused by how funny I found the whole situation.  Something about watching clumsy people chase animals is funny for some reason.  I’ve seen people running around chasing pigs, chickens, and goats, but never rabbits.  I think that, combined with the fact that this event was so exciting to them that they stopped the bus (which was crammed full of people) in order to pursue the prize rabbit just made me laugh.  

Finally, the boys gave up and ran back onto the bus.  The bus driver’s helper boy who collects money from people was boasting

“I hit it on the head!  I know I did.  But it ran away.”  

Sure you did.  I smiled to myself.

Later that night, about a half mile from my house the bus broke down.  Maybe it was karma for trying to kill the rabbit.  It wasn’t strong enough to go up the hill with the heavy load of people, bags of rice, fruit, car engine pieces, etc.  Once again, guys started pouring out of the bus at the request of the bus driver.  They started walking ahead of the bus.  After about their 3rd attempt to get the bus going, I got out too. 

“Where are you going?”  Asked the bus assistant.  It was dark outside and he seemed concerned.

“My home is close.”  I said, and took off walking ahead of the bus.  

The road was familiar to me since I ran it for my morning walk about twice a week.  Even though it was dark, I felt confident walking it.  The bus finally passed me up just as I was getting to the top of the hill.  It stopped at the top.

I debated getting on, but decided that I’d rather just walk the rest of the quarter mile.  It was a long bus ride and I was looking forward to a peaceful walk before getting home.

As I passed up the bus the second time the bus driver yelled “Where are you going?!”   

“My home is close.”  I repeated, and kept walking.

As I walked home, I felt a little bit like the rabbit.  Dashing ahead of the bus with the goal of reaching my house before the bus could pass me up again.  I could hear it having engine issues again, and was encouraged.  There was lighting in the distance and I was lead home by the constant flashes of light hitting the rocks in the road ahead of me.  

Finally, I reached home.  My heart was racing from the exhilaration of beating the bus .  The power was out and my family was sitting around about to eat.  I quietly snuck up to them.  My brother was standing up and I jumped towards him and shouted 

“haya!”

He jumped.  Everyone laughed.

“You got me”  He said.

Maybe he wasn’t a rabbit, but it was still fun.

Namaste 2072, Namaste 2073

I wrote this compilation during the final week of the Nepali year of 2072.  2073 began on April 13.  Enjoy.

April 5 2016/Chait 23 2072

My mom came into my room to ask me something, then paused, looked at my trash bin and started fishing through it.  She pulled out an empty plastic jar of vitamins, washed it and put it in the kitchen.

April 6 2016/Chait 24 2072

My mom called my coffee “stinky tea” today.

I made a fly trap.  It caught about 10 flies, but only 3 died.  The other’s managed to escape.  My sister looked at the reused jar of peanut butter filled with sugar water and told me that there were dead flies in it.  “Ya” I said, “that’s the idea”.  She laughed.

Our cat is my new best friend after I started bringing home milk.  If she’s hungry she meows endlessley until I produce a small amount for her.  I told her to go catch a rat instead, but it didn’t work.  She’s pregnant so I am even more generous than normal.

April 7, 2016/Chait 5 2072

I woke up today and went to check on the spring where our water comes from.  We haven’t had piped water for about a week now and I wanted to see if the passage to our pipe had been blocked.  It had.  I moved the rocks and dirt in front of the other pipe and a girl appeared.  I explained that it is selfish and greedy to block the path to our pipe so that their pipe can get more.  I said that we needed to open it so that both places could get water.  She seemed to understand.  I explained it to her dad later too.

One of our FCHVs (Female Community Health Volunteers) is around 40 years old and just had a baby.  She was too shy to come to the health post herself to have the baby checked.  The baby was dirty and hungry.  The FCHV mom was having problems lactating.

I went to another village to check on a mom who had a malnurished baby.  She wasn’t there.  Here kids were though- hanging from hammocks in the one room hut.  One of the kids is maybe 2, the other close to a year now.  I wanted to plant some carrots and green veggies with her, but instead waited for an hour.  The young baby woke up and started crying intermitently.  Wondering if anyone was really listening to it.  It reminded me those babies in orphanages that are kept in cribs all day.  Not only were they abandoned, but they were hungry and hanging from heigths that could kill them.  I asked a neighbor where she went and they said she was washing clothes.  I hoped it was worth it.  They didn’t seem concerned. 

April 8, 2016/Chait 6 2072

Roosters crow at dawn

Coyotes howl at sun set

I hear the earth turn

Wheat cut, harvest, sell

A week worked, a pile of wheat

How much is it worth?

Here is your garden

You hope the seed will sprout, grow

Where does your trust lie?

I made my own food.

You don’t need to cook me bread

Oh, you wanted some?

April 9, 2016/Chait 27 2072

Bananas on the run

This morning I dragged myself out of bed for a run and noticed halfway through that a tea shop I pass by had a bunch of bananas hanging out in front of their shop.  Now, there are two varieties of bananas you can find here in Nepal.  The variety from India which is similar in taste and shape to the ones found in the states, and the local variety which is far superior in taste and much thicker and shorter in shape.  The local variety, when ripe, is so sweet and juicy it’s orgasmic.  I was happy to see that the ones hanging at this shop were plump, large local bananas.  On my way back, I decided to stop at the shop to get a closer look.  There is a general shortage of fresh fruits and vegetable in village, so it’s very exciting to see shops selling them.  

“Where are these from?”  I asked

“Sun Khola”.  He said.

Sun Khola is the name of the river flowing below the shop.  There are banana trees growing around and near the river.  The shop owner pulled down the best looking bunch of the group.

“I don’t have any money on me right now.”  I said.  “Can I pay you tomorrow, or the next day?”

“Sure.  Take them.”  He said

This is a common thing to do here and totally acceptable to have many IOUs going for an indefinite period of time.  The lady I get milk from never asks for money, I just give it when I have it and try to remember how many times I’ve filled my thermous.  

As I was holding the bananas, the little boy standing nearby proudly stated that they were 40 rupees per dozen.  That’s the equivalent of 40 cents.  I was surprised because I’m used to paying 5 rupees per banana for the Indian variety.  The local vaiety is cheeper AND tastier!  I could feel the shop owner cringing a little that the boy had blurted out the cost to me.  I usually pay the local price for things, but sometimes people charge me more because I’m a foreigner.  I think the shop owner would have asked for at least 50 rupees if the boy hadn’t said something.  

The thing was, the bunch I wanted only had 10 bananas and I didn’t want to carry one bunch and two bananas separately.  I was still planning to run the last mile and a half home after all.

“I’ll take these now, then when I come back to give you the money I will take two more, OK?”  I asked.

“Ya, Ok.”

I was off.  Me and my 10 bananas.  I didn’t bother to put the bananas in a bag, I decided to just hold them from the top.  Then people could see I was obviously carrying bananas, which saved them asking “What’s in the bag?”  

As I passed by a friend’s house the old lady standing out front noticed I was running with a bunch of bananas and pointed it out to her friend.  I raised the bananas and smiled.  I could hear them thinking “Oh, that silly American, what will she do next?”  I suppose not much I can do now would surprise them at this point.  Maybe they think all Americans run holding bananas for snacks.

As I was climbing the hill near my house I heard a rustling in the trees.  Looking up, I noticed the local clan of rhesus monkeys jumping around the trees.  Sometimes I encounter them, but I had a strange feeling that they were watching my bananas.  Not wanting to find out what hungry monkeys will do to steal bananas, I picked up the pase.  

Home at last, I admit I was happy that no one was home at the time.  I would have felt obligated to share my batch of bananas if they were.  Sharing food is a Nepali practice I never got very good at.  It’s 7:45pm now and I have eaten 3 of them.  Perhaps I will share the others.  Hmmm…what would the monkeys do?

I was happy to have the bananas while eating my breakfast not only because I happened to have bread and honey to go with them, but because while I as I was eating my concoction of a bowl of boiled egg, yesterdays cooked cabbage and potatoes, and yogurt I happened to notice something I hoped wasn’t what I thought it was.  Looking closer, the eyeballs staring back at me verified what my stomach hoped it wasn’t…a fly.  Yes, a housefly in my food.  I wondered how many times I had been served and eaten bugs here and not known about it.  Not wanting to throw out the forkful of food I had already raised, I ate that bite and decided to trash the rest.  I’m sure that last bite only had a tiny bit of fly juice, if any.  

In the afternoon I didn’t eat lunch because my stomach hurt and I was feeling nauseous.  My family said that my stomach hurt because I cooked my own food yesterday.  I told them it was because of the fly I found in my breakfast.  I’m not going to tell them the real reason which is that I’m starting my period and the extra hot weather today made me dizzy and sick.  I don’t think I’ll tell them at all this month.  The day after tomorrow I’ll be leaving home for a few days and don’t feel like playing the menstruation game this month.  If they ask, I can just tell them it came while I was away.  The river of sin flowing out of my vagina will just have to go un announced for now.  And that’s the way it goes.  Viva la revolution!

April 10, 2016/Chait 28, 2072

How to dig a hole 

I have somehow volunteered to lead the building of two water collection ponds at a local school.  The project needs to be done as the waste water is running under a concrete wall that will eventually collapse.  The water will also be used to water the garden. I have no experience with such a project, but I’ve learned that doesn’t mean I can’t do it!  It’s all about finding the right people to help, doing research, and breaking the process up into small steps.  

“I can get you money in 4 days.”  The principal told me.

“Ok, well should I wait 4 days before buying supplies then?”  I asked

“Well, you can buy the supplies yourself now, then in 10 or 12 days I can get you the money.” 

“Hmmmm.”  The fact that he changed the time from 4 to 10 days didn’t help my confidence with getting paid back for buying supplies.

“I am a little nervous about spending money because maybe you won’t be able to pay me back.  How much money is available in the budget for this project?”  I asked.

“How much do you need?”

“$200?” I said

“200?!  Well, it’s for building two water collection ponds.  If that’s what you need.”

“Ok then.  I will only buy the supplies we need for digging the hole now, then when the money comes I can buy the rest of the supplies.”  I said.

He agreed and I gave him a tour of the garden I made at our house.  I hope I can end up just as proud of the ponds as I am of the garden at my house.  It’s amazing how many things I do here that start with diggging holes. 

Thoughts of home

For some reason, in the last week, I feel like when I allow my mind to be quiet and clear, I can picture home clearly.  It’s as if I can imagine myself at home when I get back and what I would be doing.  Going to a movie, going to work, cooking food.  Would I still be able to just be lazy whenever I want?  If it’s hot in the middle of the day, can I lie in bed for 3 hours?

The clarity of the image of me being home brings me happiness, but imagining the day I leave here brings me sadness.  I only have 6 months left and I want to make sure I do all the things I wanted to do.  No regrets.  Tik tock.

April 11, 2016/Chait 29 2072

I went into the ATM today and had a flashback (flashforward?) of being in America.  

April 12, 2016/Chait 30 2072 (NEPALI NEW YEARS EVE)

Approaching the Edge of the Begining

I spent the last day of 2072 in the Terai region of Nepal which is the southern most, hot, flat region of the country that boarders India.  On my request for an adventure, two girls ages 11 and 14 led me on a walk that ended at a river.  It was 4:30pm in the afternoon and the intense 100 degree heat of the day was starting to subside making it possible for an outing.

“Can you cross the river, sister?”  They asked me.

I looked at the river in the distance.  While during monsoon season it gets very wide, it was currently narrow enough to cross.

“I can swim across rivers, yes.”  For some reason my swimming ability is a big source of pride for me.  But while I was boasting about my aquatic abilities I realized that they meant walking across, not swimming across the river.

As we approached the water, the sight of gently sloping sand dunes and the feel of the gentle breeze made me nostalgic for home.  The girls ran to the water and I sat in the sand, removing my shoes and letting the sand play with the spaces between my toes.  I closed my eyes and was transported to the coast of Southern California.  The sound of seagulls was replaced with the sound of crows, and the scattered bones in the distance were of desceased water buffalo and not seals, but the fusion fo the two worlds made me feel like I was in some sort of intermediate dimension between home, and the home of my heart.  

The girls were by the water scooping up sand and examining the tiny bits of life inhabiting the space.  

“I caught a fish!  I caught a fish!”  They shouted, and ran to me to show me the tiny fish swimming around in their hands no bigger than a grain of rice.  

“That’s really neat” I said.  I remembered how I used to collect sea shells when I was their age and run to show my grandmother in the same way.

“Do they have fish were you live?”  They asked.

“Yes, they do.  My home is actually a lot like this.  I live by the ocean and people sometimes fish in the ocean.”  

“Wow.”  They said.  Then ran back to collect more handfuls of treasure.   Listening to them play was entertaining.  One girl would find a new piece of treasure and do something silly with it and the other would tell her 

“You’re just like a monkey, no?  Just like a monkey!”

Later, they showed me how to make “sand bowls” by pouring water over the sand and gently digging out the wet sand.  I showed them how to make drip castles. 

As the sun started dipping below the horizon, a gentle orange, pink glow of light was cast along the river and fields of grass.  The farmers began hearding their water buffalo, cows and goats back home and the women in the fields began collecting the fodder they had been cutting for their animals.  We gathered up our sandals and started heading home.  

There are times in Nepal when I imagine that I could live here forever and be perfectly happy.   I have learned that living in harmony with the earth and physically feeling a connection to the soil, plants, animals and souls of the people is more fulfilling than any paycheck or material posession.  I am sometimes hesitant to open up to others as it can be exhausting, but when I do I find new level of appreciation for the kindess, customs and culture of the Nepali people.  Here I sometimes feel a stronger sense of belonging than I did among the crowds and streets of LA.  In LA no one looks at each other in public.  Here, the simple greeting of “Namaste” to a stranger is meant to acknowledge and honor the soul, and spirit of the other person while in turn offering your own.  Saying it is both humbling and nurishing.  It is said when you meet someone, as well as when you say goodbye.

On this last day of 2072, I say “Namaste” to the people and events of this year.  Through earthquakes, festivals, weddings and handfulls of soil we have grown and changed together.  You have fed my soul and I have offered mine. 

And finally, to 2073, my family and friends, I offer the words of an Old Irish Blessing…

May there always be work for your hands to do.

May your purse always hold a coin or two.

May the sun always shine on your windowpane.

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.

May the hand of a friend always be near you.

May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

“Namaste”