Paths -a story (Part 1)

Walking down the road, I came across a man seated at the foot of a great mountain. Eyes closed, he nodded. I said hello. Invited me to sit in. So, I laid down my bags, and, joined this stranger seated at the foot of a mighty mountain.

After a little while, of nothing but silence, he opened his eyes. Deep like the night. Serene and filled with hope. I said, how goes it, brother? He nodded again, and with a gesture honed by repetition, dug into the mountain, pulled out a handful, took a long look at the dirt he was holding, before putting the stuff in his mouth.

For a while, I sat there, in nothing but the sound of his chewing and swallowing, not really knowing what to make of what was happening. So, when he opened his eyes. Deep like the night. Serene and filled with hope. I went and asked him, what’s your story, brother? He said, Wanna hear it? I said, Sure do. The man cleared his throat, and with his right hand, drew a stick figure on the ground, right next to his feet.

There was a man who thought a great deal of himself. You know that kind of man, believes himself better than the rest of the world. Seen him, I bet, walking around, wearing his confidence and pride, like a badge of honor, and as if he owned the whole of life. Royalty without a crown, you know. Well, one day, that man who thought so much of himself, was walking on a low bridge to cross a river. Being in no hurry, he stopped in the middle and leant over the rail to gaze at the water.

The water was flowing slowly. It was so clear and clean, it invited him to jump in. So, without hesitation, our man took off his clothes, and jumped. There was a splash and then laughter, followed by cries of a playful nature. The man swam, and floated on his back, allowing himself to be carried by the river, without any worry for time -it was after all a beautiful day. There is no telling how long he stayed in the water, or how far he was taken. But, at some point, he reached a small island, which had the unlikely shape like an eye that was staring at the sky, set at equal distance from both banks. The island’s length was that of a tall man or woman.

Unable to resist the temptation, our man swan to this eye-shaped island, got off the water, and sat on golden sand spread thinly over a hard surface. The island was actually a large bolder. The top part, on which he was sitting, was fairly smooth and flat. Except for an area that had a perfectly circular dip on it. It was the size of a large vinyl record, hollow, concave, looked just like a bowl, and was filled to the brim with water. The man had sat right next to it.

Looking into the bowl, the man found his reflection, and thought to himself, Hey, look who’s here? He smiled, feeling on top of the world. A success story. He looked again. The smile faded, and a question arose, Really? It shook him from within, from head to toes. It demanded an answer. It demanded the truth.

Startled, our man looked away. But the question had been asked, and the iris was still there, unavoidable. The man looked again...

To be continued…

Chiang Mai walking...

Mid-morning hour, took the new birkenstok sandals, 300 Thai bhats, for a test-stroll. A stop at the railway station to change my departure train ticket to a later date. Then, off I go, camera at hand, to play tourist.

Meandering, I'm shooting randomly, at temple facades, and whatever else catches the eye. The mood is light, and, so is traffic. Slowly, I start feeling the beginning of a blister. It's been a few hours now since I left the guest-house.

Walking, the sky is clear, and the sun is settling nicely overhead, leading to a few stops at pretty available 7 Elevens for re-hydrating breaks. Afterward, a much-needed toilet stop -traditional style. Mosquitoes take advantage.

Walking through lunch time, siesta time. Blister growing. Time to head back. A watermelon, 30 bhats, purchased last night at a street market, waiting in the fridge, comes to mind.

Following pathways drawn by shade on sidewalks, staying close to walls and trees and business awnings, avoiding as much as possible the perpendicular touch of sun-rays, I advance.

Walking, through Chiang Mai's main shopping district, past Le Meridien, across the street from Starbucks. Grounds' cleaning hotel employee carrying a cat. Homeless, bed-ragged woman sitting at the corner, makes eye-contact, lazily raises a hand, moving her lips as if to say something.

Walking, I turn the corner, the hotel's employee is still carrying the cat, searching for something. On the sidewalk, street vendors are getting ready, and so are the shop owners. Along the way, Thai pop music is blaring out of a store. The bars are open, prostitutes seated quietly inside.

Walking, I pass tourists, young, old. Some smile. Crossing the street, I'm following an gray haired westerner, cellphone in one hand, tooth-pick in the other. Passing him, I watch, his hands move, over and over, as if from a nervous tick, or maybe, he's just strumming some invisible string...

Walking, along the river, brown, with a few kayak enthusiasts slipping by, racing one another, I cut across a couple of markets, through pars and bits of Chiang Mai, past a thousand Thai smiles, glances, gestures, words, conversations, laughs, past dozens of gilded temples, hundreds of quiet alleys, shops, massage parlors, restaurants, bars, whatever-you-might-think-of-and-more street vendors, cooked food stalls, fresh fruit stalls, tourist traps, travel agencies, crafts worthy of Ali Baba's cave, a million necklaces, colors, clothes ready to wear, bright fabrics to be fashioned as you wish, a brown river, trees, flowers, a few mountains looming in the distance, and closer to my feet, food offerings to the gods of good fortune, from rice to beer, from two simple items to a full menu.

I walk on, getting closer to my room. The new sandals have failed the test, and can now join ranks with the disappointing Vibrams I had brought from home. A seamstress with a shop on the sidewalk smiles. I bow, turn at the corner and enter the guest house.

Be well, and if you can remember, walk lightly, walk with a smile, walk with love.

P.S: The watermelon is sweeter than should be permitted. But like the walk, it is missing the magic of company. And, as the mad teacher goes on singing, "Seek solitude as you wish, oh Fool.. In the end, if you ever wake up, it is within the give-and-take of love with others that you really are home."

Did I ever mention...

That somewhere within lies a mad teacher, a bit impatient, a bit tired of explaining the obvious, a bit done repeating himself, a bit ready to reach for the proverbial stick -I think he's Japanese. Luckily, he is a loving master, whose patience towards me is a bottomless sea of the stuff, even if he wouldn't admit it if it were to save his wrinkly skin.

I mention this, because, during these last couple of months, while wandering through a world of darshans and satsangs, of avatars and gurus, I've noticed and been abducted/consumed by, an interesting phenomenon; nothing new really... Actually, the story is as old as woman/man's desire to understand her/himself, and why not find out whatever the meaning of this-thing-we-call-life could possibly be.

And to sum it up, so as not to insult your ability to put one and one together, my lunatic of a teacher stated, borrowing his words from another mad know-it-all, without taking his dreamy gaze from his favorite pond of quietude, where I suspect he does indulge in quite a deal of skinny-dipping when I am not looking, "Don't mistake the finger for the moon, hey."

Noticing my with-all-due-respect-what-the-huh-are-you-talking-about look, he kindly proceeded as follows, "Especially if the finger thinks he/she/it is the moon. Got it?!"

Then, and just to add confusion to confusion, he laughed, a roar of a laughter, until the earth and the sky began to shake -obviously I am exaggerating- concluding, "And never forget that when you believe that you're seeing fingers and moons, when you operate in duality, you can crave for the message if that's your style.

Or, you can high-jack the message and become a middleman between the light and the seeker. Although, and in my oh-so demented opinion, why waste your time being a profiteering finger trying-so-damn-hard-to-pass-for-that-big-old-moon, when you already are the whole starlit sky.

Be well, and if you're up for it, let us drop all middle men, and be the moon, the stars, and while we're at it, all that stuff we can't see

Gazing skyward on a clear night

Sean Hayes - Never Alone

Hope...

From a distance, news of social unrest reach our ears. Throughout the globe, the wind of transformation is reshaping the fabric of nations one at a time, gathering momentum, growing stronger. Sporadically, sparks are flying, and who knows where all this energy might lead us. Perhaps, the time is simply ripe for humanity, as a whole, to let go and take a leap of faith.

Traveling, I see much hope in what is to come. Wherever I happen to be, and no matter the cultural background I skim through, a constant remains. Today’s youth are moving with open-minds, and a bewildering ability to receive, adapt and be flexible whatever comes their way. On a quest, unburdened by the rigid framings of intellectual truisms, such as the ones that had shaped and limited those before them, they’re searching, graceful and honestly, for that which they have been denied, a grounding truth.

Born and raised in times of constantly shifting fads, of short-lived fabrications, of collapsing beliefs, of broken systems, and in continuously leading-to-dissatisfaction consumerist lifestyles, they have been toyed with, used and taken advantage of, and even today, marketing strategists are continuing to refine their craft in order to make a generous profit.

Yet, and somehow, these last couple of decades’ youth are coming around. Being conditioned to seek palpable pleasures through products tied to images of success, happiness, and even bliss, only to be disillusioned again, again, has somehow turned to their advantage, for they are naturally connected to the present moment, even if in the beginning the connection is mostly superficial.

Traveling, I meet them, and there is so much depth, and so much promise in their eyes. They come from all over the globe, to blend with ease, for theirs is a globally tied culture, where everything is possible. The rules and presented-truths of their world have changed too often, as if written on sand rather than on stone; nothing can hold them from receiving, from experiencing, and hence, from finding out what is truth and what isn’t.

Looking into their eyes, I am humbled and deeply touched by their openness, as I see all the paradigms of old, all the systems based on scarcity and fratricide that have stemmed from these fear-based ways of living, which are leading us to the brink of very dire times, crumbling, falling apart, for there is no room for them in the world of whomever is really opened to live, and be in the truth. So I have hope, because, while we once talked and discussed, and dreamt and envisioned our utopias, they are here to do and be.

Today, this is happening at the fringes, and of course, there will be resistance. But soon enough, it seems, the wind of change will pick up speed, as it is already doing, and we can either resist, and be broken, or allow ourselves to be transformed, with grace and compassion for one another. Maybe, I am just a naïve idealist… whatever the case, I truly believe that the time of ‘What’s in it for me’, is coming to a end, and soon, soon, we’ll have to join hands and hearts, be brothers and sisters, a big family, a global family, and what better time than this time.