The Year of the Tentacle

 In Bodh Gaya, when we were waiting to meet the Karmapa, the Oregonians on my study abroad program decided that we needed to have a new year's party when we got back to the States. Of course we needed a theme, and after a little brain storming, we decided that (obviously) the changing times demanded that we wear tentacles.

It would be two-thousand tentacle.

This came to pass. Gladly. A lot is often made of New Years, what with resolutions and ridiculous parties and finding someone to kiss... This year it was relieving and beautiful to put on tentacles with a small section of my sangha. We went to the beach and played games and read from the dictionary and drank Blue Moon beer in honor of the blue moon. At the stroke of midnight I reached my arms for the ceiling, laughed a little, and then went to bed.

Now I'm back at Carleton, where my pipes keep freezing and my to-do list keeps growing beyond what can reasonably fit on a sheet of notebook paper. Instead of rain there are icicles--they reach for the ground, but can't quite touch... But it's been lovely to reunite with long-lost friends, and I'm intoxicated by the smell of books. I've been bustling around, constantly late, but I've made a point to make every walk from my house to campus a walking meditation. (Note: eyelashes freezing to scarf.)

On New Years Day, we tentacle-ers went out to the beach to bid farewell to the sea. We stood without speaking as the wind and roaring ocean bored into our eardrums, at once grand and beautiful and a little bit cruel. My friend Lilly looked out over the raging, exquisite foam and spoke:

"The ocean is here. All is well. It's going to be a good year."