Two Things

#1 Nilambe Meditation Center

I spend a lot of unmediated time with my consciousness up in this misty jungle retreat. Meditation comes surpisingly easily despite my two-week break from the practice, except for when the meditation teacher tells me to unfold my heart like a towel at 5:30 in the morning (still sleepy and grumpy, I turn my heart into a venus fly trap instead). There is no electricity at Nilambe. At nighttime a crazy German lights his path with a single candle in a house of mirrors, and the fireflies are vivid as they tote around stolen bits of moon.

#2 A Close Encounter with The End of the World

Up in the hill country there is a national park called Horton Plains, where one can visit a spectacular geological formation known as "The End of the Word." Intrigued, Gabe and I make our long-winding way up into the clouded heights of the tea hills to see this place... does the land just turn into empty space? Are there sea dragons of the sort that would have consumed Columbus and their crew if they had taken a wrong turn? These questions churn in our minds as we walk through a jungle that is oddly like northern California with a dash of African savannah. Our adventurous aspirations are thwarted, however, by a 15 dollar permit fee. Who knew you have to bring that much money to the end of the world? We try to sweet-talk the gatekeeper, but he will have none of it, so we semi-bitterly eat a bunch of banannas at the entrance and then walk back down the road to the train station.

In retrospect, it is apparent to me that it would have been foolish to actually go to the end of the world. It was so foggy that no mysteries would have been demystified, and we almost certainly would have been eaten by dragons.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving dinner was consumed with an Italian and a Pole in a Sri Lankan guesthouse. We tried to explain to the foreigners what Thanksgiving is all about. Gabe said that this American holiday denotes consumptive gluttony and empty symbolic thanks for stolen land. While I think that there is some truth to this, I tend to be more optimistic. I like to think that, even as the subtle profundities of this world succumb to capitalism, Thanksgiving can still be simply (and profoundly) about thanks.

So thank-you, universe, for winking sunlight off of palm fronds and for lightning storms and mountains and everything that is unequivocally beautiful. Thank-you for the preservation of mystery, for deep friendships, and for the absurd freedom to traipse across the globe as a learner and an asker of unanswerable questions. Thank-you for a family that gave me anything I could ever have asked for and then let me go unfettered to be confused and make mistakes. Thank-you for oceans and the tolling of bells. Thank-you for love.

After our Thanksgiving dinner, the kind Sri Lankan family that cooked our meal gave me fresh cloves from their garden, which I put in my pocket. I called my family this morning since that's dinnertime in the U.S., and my love for them felt immanent and real despite the oceans that divide us. After my telephone call a Sri Lankan man grasped my hand and said, "I am so so GLAD that you come to my country!" I gave a beggar some money, and the morning sunlight is laughter turned to photons.

And I am thankful.

Infiltrating the Hermitage

We had to get special permission letters from the Buddhist Publication Society to enter the jungle where the hermits dwell, and then we took a three-wheeler up through the hills, trees, and monsoon downpour. After a long bumpy ride through a labyrinth of gravel roads, we were deposited at the porch of a nice house that looked out of place in the forest. After some awkward window-peeking we were greeted by a friendly Dutch monk, who invited us to sit down in his living room. We introduced ourselves, explained that we are students conducting projects, and then broached our particular topics of research: love and justice.

An interesting conversation ensued. The monk explained to me that romance is entirely based on delusion and thus leads only to suffering. When Gabe asked him about poverty and the sorry state of the world, he talked about how freedom from suffering can ultimately be found by escaping the the illusion, not by changing it. Our worldly concerns didn't seem to phase the hermit at all--when he thought about things such as passion and pain, he leaned back in his chair and looked peaceful, a half-smile on his lips.

After the interview (and, inevitably, tea) Gabe and I prepared to walk back down into Kandy before it got dark. "Be careful of the leeches," warned the monk. He gave us soap to put on our feet to ward of the leeches that apparently are rampant in Sri Lankan jungle, and we walked off through the the darkening green-black jungle toward town (as always, you must add bright rainbow umbrellas to this image to really fathom what it was like).

Here it is significant to note that we got leeches anyway. Black and sluggish, these icky creeping things were only deterred enough by the soap to slime their way up our calves. It sounds gross, and it was gross, but I felt mostly hardcore when I got back to my hostel and bled copiously from my leech wounds since leech wounds don't coagulate.

So that is the story of how I just infiltrated a jungle hermitage, asked a monk about romance, and then was eaten by leeches. One wonders about karma.

In other news, today is my last full day in Kandy. It is Thanksgiving, which means that Gabe and I will eat dinner with Giuliano, the philosophy professor from our program who incidentally doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving because he's Italian. Tomorrow we make our way to Haputale and a national park called "World's End," and then we plan on summitting an immensely sacred mountain and hopefully visiting some tea factories. It should be adventurous. Stay tuned.

Kandy

The lake is the centerpiece to this city. It contains monitor lizards and turtles and egrets and horrific devil geese, and provides a picturesque foreground to the Temple of the Tooth and the misty craggy hills of central Sri Lanka. The Temple of the Tooth is the pride and joy of Sri Lankan Buddhists--it is purported to contain a real live tooth of the Buddha. Sri Lankans don't care that, many years ago, Portuguese invaders claimed to have stolen the tooth and pulverized it. Apparenly such things as Buddha teeth are impervious to such threats. There supposed to be an elephant here to be mighty and look after the tooth. I have not yet seen this elephant.

So far Gabe and I have spent a lot of time walking around, trying to find interview subjects for our respective projects on socially engaged buddhism and loving relationships. This morning we traipsed into a monastery in search of English speaking monks, and later we plan on infiltrating a forest hermitage. "What about social action?" we will ask the hermits, "What about love?"

The "ethnographic field work" that I've been doing here in Sri Lanka has made me think a lot about the barriers that people construct between themselves and everyone else. It's funny, but I feel like my project has served as an excuse to talk to people about things that I would be interested in learning about anyway. Why do I need this pretense that I'm a student doing a project to approach my fellow humans and talk to them about something that everyone cares about? Why do we pass strangers on the street with barely a cursory nod? Why do I feel like I need an excuse to ask people what they think about love?

These are the things I ponder as I wander through Kandy being lost and brandishing a rainbow umbrella. Life is certainly interesting.

Mind Leaps in Lounge Pants: The First Week in Sri Lanka

It is currently pouring down rain with gusto, and the street outside of this small internet nook has become a lake. In the spirit of monsoon my travel buddy and I have purchased one large rainbow umbrella each. They are brand Penguin ("Sheltering the nation!"), and we are calling them our Wayfaring Staffs.

Thus far Sri Lanka has been the perfect combination of interesting, ridiculous, awkward, and adventurous. This country alternates between monsoon rain and overexposed tropical sunlight, the people here are almost unbelievably friendly, and my fingernails are perpetually curried from eating with my hands. I have found myself lost at random train stops in the hills as the night came out with giant fruit bats (like crows gone wrong) and curious men chewing leaves asked me, "What island are you from?" I have watched the lightning in the sky reflected in lightning bug butts while sipping tea on jungle evenings. I met the governor of a Western province after an elaborate alms-giving ceremony, and then found myself at a temple in the misty hills that was in fact a rehab center for recovering drug addicts run by an awesome and inspiring monk with a fluffy dog named Bhintu. I walked through the leafy earthy smell and whirring machinery of "number one" tea factory in Sri Lanka, and waved to small women in uniform sweeping tea leaves into large plastic bins. I have had several interesting conversations with monks and laypeople alike about what it means to love someone when all of existence is slippery and impermanent. And now I am in Colombo, with an awesome umbrella.

So it's been just under a week, but these six days in Ceylon have proven to me (yet again) that a) the universe is beautiful, and b) if you walk into an experience with open arms and no expectations ridiculous things are bound to happen. According to my guide book, the word "serendipity" shares etymological roots with the word "Sri Lanka." I like that.

Now it is time to puddle-wade.

Shiva Laughs

Everything into a bag again! I took the paintings and poems off my wall and swept the dust bunnies under my bed into the garden. After my Anthropology presentation tomorrow I am DONE with class, and on Sunday I fly to the former land of Ceylon and the current land of cinnamon and tea trees and elephants and beaches.

Shiva's laughing, I'm sure of it. As this Hindu god juggles the words "destroyer," "creator," and "transformer" in his many arms, he's using some extra appendages to yank the comfy carpet of monastic life from beneath my feet. Although I'm sad that this section of my life is coming to a close, I get a whole week at the Burmese monastery when I get back in December, and the adventurer in me can barely contain her excitement.

I have no idea what to expect of Sri Lanka, but I hope that I commune with big things like elephants and oceans, have wonderful conversations, and snorkel in the name of Love. Also, I pray to Lord Buddha that there are avocados.

Field Notes

My final anthropology project demands that I interpret pilgrimage as it is manifested by Sri Lankan pilgrims here in Bodh Gaya. In order to convey how fabulous/awkward/beautiful/confusing it is to "gather data" about human beings experiencing the sacred, I will share an excerpt from my field notes:

3:32 p.m. Arrival at Sri Lankan monastery. Sri Lankans were planning on leaving from there at 3:30 (according to a monk I talked to yesterday), but there is no trace of any pilgrimage group. Punctual folk. I proceed to the Mahabodhi temple to seek the pilgrims.

3:46 p.m. After initial confusion (mistaking a congregation of Thais for the actual target), we correctly identify the herd. They are sitting on the edge of the inner-gate, as if waiting for Bodhi-tree space. The group, in its density, is inpenetrable--singling out a lone pilgrim for interviewing is daunting. A couple of older women pass around flowers, which everyone touches. We gather courage.

3:53 p.m. We awkwardly trail a circumambulating trio of pilgrims. Chimi asks one of them if she's from Sri Lanka, and she smiles and nods. "Do you speak English?" Chimi then asks. "Yes, Lanka," the woman replies.

4:05 p.m. Excitement! Ritual! Two monks lead a group of 60 or so pilgrims carrying a long banner on their heads. There is a monk chanting into a speaker at the back of the pilgrim-banner-caterpillar, and everyone is chanting along.

4:24 p.m. After an almost-collision between banner-laden Sri Lankan circumambulators and a file of Taiwanese pilgrims beating a small bell, the herd completes three laps of the Mahabodhi. The banner is draped on the inner gate, and then the group congregates on the platform where we took Bodhisattva vows with Rinpoche. Once more, we gather courage.

4:27 p.m. Excitement! Interview! We decide that pilgrims with digital cameras are the most likely to speak English, and we approach a man who especially sends of that "I speak English" vibe. And he talks to us! About pilgrimage! And the flag thing! (See attached page for interview details.)

This sort of "field work" has gone on for several days now. My project partner and I call it "Sri Lankan stalking"--when studying pilgrimage, the Mahabodhi transforms into a strange and awkward Safari through the diversity of Buddhist culture. It will sure be interesting to talk to these folks about love in a mere week...

Halloween, etc.

I was a sugar-glider. We ate a catered meal in the basement of a hotel, and then DANCED with abandon and (gasp!) bear calves. Every costume was spectacular--they included, but were not limited to, a brigade of bicycle rickshaw drivers, Mario and Luigi, Batman and Robin, the trash on the streets of Bodh Gaya, a panda, conventional reality, a chai walla, two bodhi trees, Death, and a unicorn. Fantastic.

Also, I have not yet mentioned this, but this program entails an independent study project. This means that, in a mere two weeks, I will be flying to the bright isle of Sri Lanka to interview Buddhists about love. Specifically I want to know how a) loving relationships are reconciled with impermanence and non-attachment and b) how Sri Lankans conceive of romantic love. The details are still in the works... but it should involve the ocean and awkward conversations, which are really my element.

OK, now I really have to go work on my senior thesis (which is, incidentally, about the ineffable).