Gangotri

September 5 (continued): Shortly before we reach Gangotri, we pass a military base. It is a rambling encampment of buildings on both sides of the road. Soldiers walk alongside the road, or traverse their routes on motor scooters. Delivery vehicles of every sort site along the shoulders. At one point we observe that there is a helicopter. Only an observation.

Gangotri is the last village accessible by road as you travel toward the headwaters of the Ganga. Some say that at one time it sat at the snout of the glacier that becomes the Ganga River. Today it is several miles below the glacier. Arriving, you immediately notice that it differs in some ways from the many other villages that we have experienced. Gangotri greets you with a gate, the town dump, and a parking lot. The gate is old and concrete, straddling the road. It is chipped, the paint faded. The dump, which is smoldering, is evidently also home to some of the town residents.

Our drivers adroitly thread the cars into parking spaces where they are to remain for several days. We are assured that we can leave anything that we won’t need in the cars. I find myself leaving behind much of what I once thought indispensible. It is no longer indispensible, and I trust that it will be there on my return. I am learning what is important. I am learning India.
It is late afternoon. We will not be able to trek today. Instead, we walk up the road in Gangotri to the guesthouse that is expecting our stay to begin in another three nights. They are able to accommodate us. We go into a restaurant, and up a flight of stairs, emerging on a terrace. There is some concern about the rooms that are first shown to us, and we are offered others further up. However, in this case, further up turns out to be a bit treacherous. We walk/climb up along the broken top of a wall that is six inches wide to reach the next level. From there, we go up another level along an inclined sidewalk. Later we will find the stairs that go from the street level. They are outside the restaurant, and offer their own challenges. Some of the steps are eighteen inches or more in height.

Gangotri is an unexpected treat. Tonight we will get to visit the temple at sundown, to shop for woolen hats and gloves (which we will need in the next few days), to eat in a restaurant, to pour warm water over ourselves as we shower, and to sleep in a bed. Each room has a small balcony overlooking Gangotri, the Ganga, and the river valley. I spend time marveling at the beauty, and taking pictures.

Tomorrow we leave for Vojbasa. The next day, we will go on to Topovan. At 14,600 feet, this will truly be the peak experience of the trek.

Patience

Traffic. Flooded roads. Travel delays. I am sure you have experienced them, as have I. However, never have I experienced them in the same was as in India.

September 5 (continued): Shortly after leaving for Gangotri, we find that the road ahead is blocked by a landslide. We turn around, and head back a few minutes to the last village we had passed. There is time for breakfast. As we enter the small eatery (I am not sure that I have ever seen an American equivalent), our guide and drivers have already started assisting the proprietor at the stove. Soon we are being served chai, freshly prepared bread (one of the many forms that bread takes in India, though I don’t remember which), and butter. There is a school located up the hill behind us, and as we eat several boys come in the buy new pens. I am sitting at the front table, closest to the cash register, and observe these transactions. For most, it is a quick exchange, pen for rupees. Then one young boy, perhaps eight or nine years of age, comes in. He must try the pen, then another, and yet another. The clear plastic barrels, the colored caps, the ink are all the same yet he tests each one, comparing the results, before finally settling on one of them. I wonder whether this is a habit that will follow him through life, and how it will serve him.
Breakfast is leisurely. We know that when we get back on the road, it will be open or it will still be blocked. There is no need to rush to find out.

In fact, we discover that the landslide that allowed us breakfast has been cleared. However, not many kilometers ahead there is another. This one is much more substantial. As we drive toward it we pass a huge bulldozer starting to warm up. It will be a few hours before it passes us, parked on the side of the road. When we travel as far as we can, we pull to the side of the road and park. The parking is a bit random, some vehicles on one side of the road, some vehicles on the other. There are buses of pilgrims, taxis, motor scooters, cars, and trucks. Everyone knows that we will be here for hours. I confirm that for myself firsthand when I walk down the road to see the massive rocks blocking our way.

Imagine this. You have a travel itinerary, a destination. The plan is to drive to Gangotri, drop some gear at a guesthouse, and begin the next trek. Instead, you and hundred of others will be waiting for an apparently significant period of time on a mountain road. For us, the experience was very Indian, amazing, and thought provoking.

Some took the opportunity to nap, either in their vehicles or along the rocks on the side of the road. Others read. People walked up and down, stopping to meet others and to talk. We had passed a waterfall shortly before we stopped. The sun was out, so it became a place for people to do their laundry. Some (myself included) set shoes and clothes out in the sun to dry. There was dancing and singing. There were processions of pilgrims. What was missing was the anger, the vitriol, the impatience, the honking of horns, the expressions of rage that such a circumstance would have elicited anywhere I had ever been before.

Eventually, the road was opened. It took a bulldozer, dynamite, and a large road crew. It is 3:10 in the afternoon; we have been here over six hours. People move back to their vehicles and, slowly, our pilgrimages resume. We reach our destination three hours later. Tonight we will spend at a guesthouse in Gangotri. Landslides happen, itineraries change. It is about the journey. Namaste

Leaches, Leavings, and Landslides

September 4: How glorious! A bucket of hot water from which to pour my shower, one ladle at a time over my head. My clothes are washed, hopefully to dry by morning.

Our trek from Dodital to Sangamchatti was fascinating. Shortly after we started out, we found ourselves sharing the trail with water buffalo and a family that was herding them. We followed for quite some time before we were able to pass. We then came into a village that has come to represent, for me, so much of this trek. It was shrouded in smoke, perhaps mixed with clouds. It is not that there aren’t any places with similar living conditions in the States; I know that there are. But they are conditions that those of us who trek India are not used to seeing. And yet, as with so many other places and times, we were greeted with total warmth, acceptance, and joy.

We stopped for tea before proceeding on down the trail. Much of the day was spent walking in and out of clouds. I remember one time thinking that if I were to slip and fall, to roll down the mountainside, what a beautiful place this would be to die. It was so lush, so verdant, so embracing. It was neither a fear nor a wish, just an incredible acceptance of the possibility, the inevitability, and the beauty of where we were.

By the time we stopped for lunch, the sun was out. The donkeys were grazing in a corral below a concrete patio. When we arrived we were surprised to be told that we should remove our shoes and socks. Although we were used to removing our shoes at religious sites, this did not look like a shrine. Nor was it. The reason was much more pragmatic. Shortly before arriving there, we had crossed an area that was known for leaches. Sure enough, they were in our shoes, in our socks, and in many cases already attached to our bodies. Salt and sunshine was enough to rid us of most of the leaches. However, as I discovered when we arrived at the guest house this evening, one must have hidden in the fiber of my sock and spent the entire afternoon enjoying a banquet of my blood.

Another, more significant, surprise awaited many of us this evening. At dinner it was announced that of the twelve who had begun the trek, four were leaving in the morning. A fifth did not hesitate to let it be known that if transportation had been available, he would have left as well. I, too, had formulated my exit strategy over the past three days. When I was not meditating on where to take my next step, I was on occasion justifying why I shouldn’t have to. Yet one does not just “get up and leave” in the middle of a trek. You have to arrive somewhere first. And, when we arrived at Sangamchatti, the joy, the sense of gratitude and achievement erased all other thoughts. I can do this. I have done this. I will continue to do this.


September 5: This morning we are smaller by 1/3 of our original group. We have relinquished one guide of two. We are now comfortably in three cars and are heading to Gangotri. What we are soon to discover is that the road, a national highway, has been blocked by a landslide.

Honoring

There is much more to recount of this journey, but I find myself stepping back and reflecting on an insight that hit home with me at about this time in our trek.

Throughout this trip, others were there to serve us. Our drivers met us at the airport; when we reached the cars they had damp towels and bottled water to refresh us. They drove us eight hours or more some days. When we stopped to eat, they often joined the proprietor in preparing and serving our meals. When we stopped, whether at a guest house or hotel, they helped to bring our luggage in. When we trekked they took care of the luggage that was not with us.

We also had guides, and porters. As we prepared to set out in the mornings, they handed us snack packs. They disassembled the camp, and packed it up. When we couldn’t use donkeys, they carried everything we did not: the tents, the sleeping bags, the stoves, the food, their own gear as well as much of ours. When we filled out water bottles from the streams, they had the iodine. The carried our lunch, and set it out for us. When we arrived at the campsite, it was already being set up: the latrines dug, the mess tent and dining tent up, food being prepared. We didn’t have to set up our tents, our unroll our sleeping bags. We didn’t wash dishes, or boil water for drinking.

Special thanks is due to Aaron. As always, he handled all of the logistics from landing to departure. Even after his leg was broken, he ensured hotel arrangements for us in Rishikesh as he headed to Delhi for surgery.

Throughout, we were served with respect, with joy, with love.

Some see this service by others as their due, an entitlement, owed by virtue of privilege, status, class, or economics. I came to know that it is an honor to be served in this way, and it is humbling. I also know that without this care, this service, I would not have been able to complete the trek.

To all those who served me on this journey, I honor the divine in each of you, and express to all my appreciation for the service you provided. Namaste

Make It Effortless?

September 3: Make it effortless. If you have ever achieved this—in your yoga, your running, your lifting, or whatever training you do—you know the feeling. Your body may be sweating, your muscles will be sore tomorrow, and you are flowing through effortlessly. It can take considerable strength to achieve effortlessness. However, it is strength of focus—not muscle—that brings you to this point.

Last night we camped at Seema, at slightly over 11,000 feet. Today we will be going over the Darwa Pass, and begin our descent, camping overnight at Dodital. It sounds so easy, effortless. It won’t be.

Before we leave, Aaron reminds us to breathe through our noses; taking breath in through the mouth begins to activate the lower chakras; you “move into survival mode.” The climb out of camp is steep, and within minutes I am breathing through my mouth. This is not effortless. Sometimes, the only thought can be, “Where do I plant my pole? Where do I take my next step? Where do I plant my pole for the support that I need, and so it doesn’t become wedged? Where do I plant my foot so there is a place to plant my next foot.” Even these thoughts sometimes just skim the consciousness. I am panting, breathing deeply through my mouth. And I stop.

Finding Aaron, I ask for a refresher on breathing through my mouth. It will be days later that I realize my starts have been fueled by adrenaline; once I learn to control that, I am able to maintain my breath as I should. Now, with intention and attention to my breath I begin to move forward again. We switchback our way up toward the pass. It becomes effortless. My mind opens back up, and I know that this—make it effortless—is the mantra not only for this journey, but for what I am seeking here. I don’t know what that means, or how to do it, in terms of my quest, so record the observation in my journal.

We stop at Darwa Pass where we eat lunch at approximately 13,000 feet. The descent is steep, muddy. We encounter a family herding water buffalo. As I observe them, their smiles, I understand that they have so much less than I do, and so much more. I begin to think about the importance of letting go. Tonight at Dodital I journal on how so much unhappiness is the result of “need” and expectation, both of which are artificial creations of our culture. I begin to record what I have been letting go of: dry shoes, dry feet, dry clothes. Letting go of all the scents we put on our bodies in various guises. Letting go of hot showers, or any showers. Letting go of being in control. It is small, it is temporary, it is experimental. Yet it is important.

I sleep with a smile on my face.

Starting to Trek

On the morning of September 1, the sky comes awake as we drive from Rishikesh to Jankichatti. Shortly after 6:00, as dawn is breaking, the drive becomes steeper. We eat lunch, or perhaps a late breakfast, in Barkot. It is now noon, and we are at approximately 4,000 feet. It is too early for us to appreciate the comfort of this altitude, or the fact that the paved roads on which we have been driving much of our trip will give way shortly to eight days of unpaved roads, washouts, landslides, and trails. In this moment we enjoy the children heading to school, the blue sky, and the clouds that still wrap the mountains.

We get to Jankichatti an hour and a half later than we had expected to arrive. For those of us new to India, we have yet to learn that is not a delay, nor anything to be concerned with. It is the flow of life.

Our first trek is to Yamunotri and back. I pack my knapsack as I intend to pack it for the longer treks; for me, this is a “test flight.” I pick up my poles. I don’t complete the trek, turning around and returning to the guest house after an hour and a half on the trail. Lesson 1: I do not need to (and physically will not be able to) carry my 35mm digital (for color) and my 35mm film (for black and white). Lesson 2: I am okay with the altitude. Lesson 3: It is not a race. Lesson 4: Enjoy the scenery. On the way up my focus was the destination; on the return I see the monkeys, the green birds, the clouds wending their way through the valleys and along the trails. I consider the trek a success; I have learned important things about how to succeed going forward.

September 2 (16:13): We are at camp, at Seema. In Jankichatti we stayed in a guest house. It was my introduction to a bathroom where the toilet is a porcelain basin in the floor (Lesson 5: When using, only bring your pants to your knees). For a shower we order a bucket of hot water, and scoop it over ourselves. Tonight in camp the toilet is a hole in the ground (inside a latrine tent), and there will be no shower for another two days.

Overnight the rain was incessant. Halfway from Jankichatti to our starting point in Hanuman Chatti, the road had been washed out. We left the cars, starting the trek kilometers early. As it turns out, there had also been landslides that blocked portions of the road. All in the life of a pilgrim….

It was quite the trek. I was carrying my 35mm digital. It kept on swinging and bouncing. When I anchored it with my belt, I found myself being pulled forward by its weight. I could not lengthen the strap enough to be comfortable. Tomorrow it will go in my pack. It is too much; I will use my point and shoot and be content.

Today I often found myself thanking Mitchel for the challenge, and the variety, of my training. Those thanks will be amplified in the days to come. I also expressed thanks for quick dry clothing (even though, in the clouds and the rain they remain wet as I write this). And, thank you to the discovery of trekking poles. I am the only one with them; and I find them a tremendous help.

Today was a struggle. I learned a few more lessons. Lesson 5: There is always one more ankle-deep stretch of mud to traverse than there is clear glacial spring to ford. Lesson 6: The mud is never pure. Lesson 7: The best place to set down your next footstep has been marked for you in the recent past by a cow, a donkey, or a water buffalo.

Tomorrow, my mantra will be, Make it effortless.

I Am Back

Yes, I am back from India. It was quite the journey.

Actually, the journey is continuing. As I settle back into my life, I know that there are things yet to be learned, yet to be understood, yet to become a part of my life. I returned seven pounds lighter, 2,000 photos richer, and physically, mentally, and spiritually stronger than when I left. As I seek to sort out my images, my impressions, my journal entries, and my memories, I have yet to find a clear way to articulate it all. Perhaps I never will; perhaps it is not meant to be neatly reported.

What follows is my first “post-India” blog. I will continue making entries each weekend.

August 31: We are on the road from Delhi to Rishikesh by 5:00 AM. Though I don’t know it yet, this departure is a great awakening for my senses, and will serve me well in the weeks to come. As we drive this morning, the sun doesn’t rise, so much as the haze becomes increasingly luminous. Over the next two weeks we will experience many sunrises, from the road and on the trail. There will be those days when we look up to see the sun lighting the tops of the mountains above us, and look down to see the clouds engulf the mountains below. In Seema, sunrise finds us inside the clouds, while at Tapoban the sky is blue, the peaks of Shivling and Bhagirathi glistening white and gold. These experiences still await me this morning.

Today as the haze grows brighter, it is clouded over at times by the dust from the road, or the infrequent patch of fog. The cacophony of noise, even at this hour, is almost overwhelming. Painted on the rear of every truck is Horn Please. We oblige, frequently. Honking, like so much else on the roads of India, carries a different meaning than it does here in the US. It is not about aggression, or dominance, or bravado; nor is it an expression of testosterone. Honking is a means of communication. It is telling the driver in front that you are behind, and that you are preparing to pass. It is telling the driver around the curve that you are coming in the other direction. Each time you honk, you are asking the other driver to be aware of your presence, to let you know if “the road is clear” to pass, to pull further to the left if possible (in India you drive on the left side of the road).

I quickly begin to learn the language of the horns, and to trust our drivers. The first of these lessons is interesting. The second is indispensable. Two lane, two way roads quickly become one way as vehicles pass one another in an intricately choreographed dance. The bicycles, motorbikes and oxcarts dance with the cars, taxis, buses, and trucks. Each moves at a different pace, finds its own space. All forms of conveyance share the roads, whether highway or byway, city or—increasingly—country. Tractors pull carts laden with grass while oxcarts are loaded with brick. Mini-buses (many three-wheeled), bicycles (again, many with three wheels), donkey carts weave a living fabric of noise, sight, sound, and motion. Through all of this wend the cattle, the dogs, and the pedestrians. One lane in each direction becomes two, three, or even four leading a single way. The road doesn’t change width, only flow, until there is no choice but to reclaim its original two-way identity.

We stop along the way for breakfast. This is our introduction to virtually two weeks of vegetarian eating, though we don’t know that at the time When we arrive in Rishikesh, all of our senses are awakened. We will rely on them in ways unanticipated in the coming days.

My Bags Are Packed

Well, not quite packed. However, the last purchases have been made. They included a compass at the camping goods store, and a bar of laundry soap at the supermarket. The clothing has been accumulating in a dresser drawer that has been set aside for that purpose since June. The boots have been trekking through the streets and subways for weeks.

Today we received our final itinerary (subject to change). Tomorrow I will pack. Tuesday, I head to the airport. If you want to trek along with me, it will need to be after the fact. There is no internet (or cell phone service) most of the way. I will be back with a blog when I return. In the meantime, here is our travel.

August 30 - Aaron Star Delhi Tour and lunch at the Imperial Hotel

Sep 01 - Rishikesh drive to Jankichatti, trek up to Yamunotri and back. (We will be leaving very early in the morning.)

Sep 02 - Trek Hanumanchatti to Seema

Sep 03 - Trek Seema to Dodital

Sep 04 - Trek Dodital to Sangamchatti (roadhead) and stay in a hotel nearby

Sep 05 - Drive 5 hrs to Gangotri and trek to Chirbasa.

Sep 06 - Chirbasa to Tapovan.

Sep 07 - Tapovan to Gangotri and drive further (possibly to Uttarkashi).

Sep 08 - Uttarkashi to Kedarnath Base

Sep 09 - Kedarnath hike up

Sep 10 - Kedarnath day

Sep 11 - Hike down - head to Riskikesh

Sept 12 - Stay in Rishikesh

Sep 13 - Rishikesh to Delhi then fly to New York

I am home September 14. Namaste.

Good Advice

Earlier this summer I had dinner with my good friends Susan and Sima. When I arrived Sima was already there, and we had a chance to talk before Susan arrived. One of the first questions she asked was, What do you have planned for after your return? She went on the explain that she and Susan always plan something for shortly after a major event; it is something that they find great pleasure in, so that they don’t have time to experience that post-event let-down.

My plans are far from clear, but it is good advice. I have begun thinking, what is my training goal after I return? I know I don’t want to just stop, and I know it will be difficult to maintain a regimen without a goal/objective. What is my next challenge? I don’t know; but, I do know to be open to recognizing it.

I really don’t have anything significant planned for after I return. It is definitely good advice. I just haven’t really figured it out yet. Suggestions are welcome.

When the Student is Ready

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

This Buddhist proverb is so true for me. I am not sure, yet, what I am ready for. At the same time, many teachers have appeared in my life in the last months. Today it is time to say, Thank you. Namaste.

Thank you. Namaste, to Aaron, my yoga teacher who has provided me with the spiritual guidance to find my way back to the path of my life. Thank you, also, for guiding the trek.

Thank you, Namaste, Paul, for walking with me as my step became sure and steady.

Thank you, Namaste, Michael, for your help in bringing this funky pizza called life into balance.

Thank you. Namaste, to the authors whose books have entered my path. Roger Housden, Thich Nhat Hanh, Swami Rama, Nando Parrado, your wisdom is beyond me, yet has helped to make me wiser.

Thank you. Namaste, to the students, the regents, and the staff of the Pont Foundation. Your commitment to, and belief in, a future of justice and social equity is an inspiration to what we can become. Thank you, also, for teaching me once again how blessed I am in this life.

Thank you. Namaste, to Mitchel, who patiently has guided me in my physical preparations for my trek.

Thank you, Namaste, Seth, for ensuring that I am mindful of the divine in each of us. Thank you, also, for my Buddha in blue jeans.

Thank you, Namaste, all my teachers, my families, my friends.

The Preparation is the Journey

I know that at least a few of you missed me last week. I didn’t forget; I was fully engaged in what was one of my life’s truly peak experiences.

For the past year I have been mentoring for an organization known as The Point Foundation (www.pointfoundation.org). The mission of “Point” as it is known is to provide “financial support, mentoring and hope to meritorious students who are marginalized due to sexual orientation, gender expression or gender identity.” A few weeks ago I was invited to photograph the annual leadership conference. The Point scholars (this coming year there will be more than 80) come together with leaders from the organization and the LGBT community to explore and develop their own leadership.

The new scholars were provided a day of orientation on Friday. They were joined by returning scholars for an opening banquet that evening. The next two days were filled with working sessions, keynote addresses and relationship building. Throughout, I stood on tables and chairs, crawled on the floor, kneeled, leaned, and tip-toed to be as invisible as possible while taking almost 2,000 pictures. Now I am in the process of editing these, and compiling a portfolio for Point to use.

It was an amazing three days. The scholars range academically from incoming freshmen to Ph.D. MD, and law students. Their schools range from a small bible college in the Midwest to Stanford, Harvard, Columbia, NYU, and American University; both public and private institutions are included. There were gay men and lesbians, bisexual men and women, as well as transgender/transsexual female to male and male to female. Ethnicity, race, geographic origins, and religious traditions were broadly represented.

I put my camera down as I watched the new scholars participate in an icebreaker on Friday afternoon. I had already met some, and knew their stories. The tears came to my eyes as a half-dozen self-identified as having experienced homelessness. Twice as many acknowledged that they had gone more than a day without eating at some time in their lives because they could not afford food. Some have lost homes, and families, by being honest about their sexual identification. Some have experienced verbal and physical abuse: at home, in school, in their neighborhoods and in their communities. Some have been ostracized by the houses of worship in which they were raised.

As I listened to their stories, and observed the scholars, I realized that the preparations we make in life are our journeys. Each of these students brought their background into the conference, and for the duration of their time together explored ways in which they could draw from that background to lead into the future.

Perhaps the most amazing thing for me, however, is that their commitment to leadership is broad-based. It is not only in social justice for the LGBT community, it is in social justice for all. It is about leadership in politics, medicine, law, academics, corporate America, and in the arts. It is about leadership that serves all, not just their LGBT brothers and sisters. It is a dedication, a commitment, a passion for securing and improving not only our national, but also our global future. Yes, there is the idealism of youth. However, it is not an idealism grown of privilege, so much as one nurtured in pain. It is an idealism not of lessons learned as much as lessons experienced. It is a promise of hope for our collective future that I have not seen in a very long time.

Of Rumi, and Harry Potter

When was the last time you read a book twice? I honestly don’t recall when I have, though I am sure it has occurred. Most probably, it was a business-related text of some sort.

This weekend was one that became about reading a book twice. In fact, it was my second, and third, readings of the same book. Chasing Rumi by Roger Housden, is subtitled, A Fable About Finding the Heart’s True Desire. Set in the 1950’s, it is the story of Georgiou, an Italian of Greek descent, who goes on a pilgrimage to Konya. Konya is the Turkish city in which Rumi met Shams, the city in which Shams was murdered by Rumi’s jealous students, and the city in which Rumi wrote his poetry.

In part, I am sure that it is the parallel between my own upcoming pilgrimage and that of Georgiou that drew me in so deeply. (“Georgiou would go because his heart said so, without needing the words to say why,” p. 21). I, too, do not have the words to say why I am making this trip, even now, five weeks before I leave and after many months of contrmplation and preparation. In part, I am sure, it is the words and wisdom or Rumi that whisper off the pages to me. Perhaps it is also the hope that my pilgrimage, like Georgiou’s, will reveal itself both at the destination, and upon the return. And, finally, perhaps it is that it is a fascinating fable.

There is much of Chasing Rumi that will be transcribed into my Pilgrim’s Bible in the coming weeks, and that will accompany me on the trek.

As for Harry Potter? The final book in the series was released this weekend. I have read the previous six, and will, I am sure, read this one as well. Chances are, I will only read it once.

Random (?) Thoughts

In my first entry to the blog (Beginnings), I wrote about my Pilgrim’s Bible. This week, I took a trip to Atlanta. On the way down, I worked. On the way back, I read my Pilgrim’s Bible. This is excerpts from books that I have read that have particular meaning to me. I thought that today I would share some of what resonated with me at this point in my preparations, and my life.

If you utilize obstacles properly, then they strengthen your courage, and they also give you more intelligence, more wisdom. (His Holiness, the Dalai Lama)

Each day, write a few lines in your journal that you want to mediate on during the day. (Philip Cousineau)

Once you allow your own life to flow, you have the best chance of attracting the lover you should have. (Thomas Moore)

He saved his life by never risking it, and complained that he was misunderstood. (Dag Hammarskjöld)

The unveiling of the body is also the unveiling of the soul, because the body is the soul. To allow the body to be seen in its nakedness, to say nothing of being touched and embraced, is to show the soul in all its glory and complexity. But it isn’t always easy to be so thoroughly exposed. (Thomas Moore)

It is far too common and erroneous a misperception that artists make art because they see the world differently. I think this is backwards. They see the world differently because they are artists. (Brooks Jensen)

So live, then, that you may use what has been put into your hand. (Dag Hammarskjöld)

Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. (Kierkegaard)

Elvis (Presley) also taught me that the only lasting thing is what we do for others. (James Van Harper)

The purpose is to be in the present, and enjoy each step you make. (Tich Nhat Hanh)

Ouch!

“Man plans, and God (or, the gods) laugh.” My world shook with that laughter two weeks ago.

On Monday night, I was doing a photo shoot. I noticed that I was having a bit of difficulty moving around my subject, especially when attempting to kneel or sit on the floor. Tuesday when I went down the six flights of stairs to get my morning paper there was a pain in my right hip. As the week went on, the pain intensified, and began to radiate down the front of my right thigh. Wednesday night, I decided to see a chiropractor. I made the appointment on Thursday, and was in the office Friday.

The message was clear: nothing that caused spinal compression, no forward bends, no back bends, no hip rotation until I was x-rayed, and Lou (Dr. Lou Granirer, to my way of thinking the world’s best chiropractor) reviewed the films. The good news was, I could still get the x-rays taken that afternoon. The bad news, Lou was on vacation until the following Thursday. Well, I thought to myself, there goes training—both my workouts and my cardio—and most of yoga. But, I can still do savasana (corpse pose)!

It was a long six days. I continued my pranayama. I started taking the elevator. And, as the days progressed, I listened to the laughter.

Perhaps the most important lesson for me was that I could determine whether the laughter was laughing with me, or laughing at me. If worse came to worse—I could not go on the trek—and all of my preparation was solely for that purpose, then the laughter was definitely at me. As I thought about it, I realized that the gym-based part of the preparation had definitely begun solely for the purpose of conditioning myself for the Himalayas. I also realized that it had moved beyond that. I am finding great inner reward, and peace, in my improved health and conditioning. If I was able to accept the premise that perhaps this was all about improving my health and conditioning, then I, too, could laugh.

Late Thursday afternoon I was back in Lou’s office. The prognosis is positive. My pelvis is rotated, and elevated on the left; there is some compression in the lower spine. However, it is certainly treatable. I was back in the gym that evening. My cardio was on the elliptical trainer (holding off on the stairs, and the bike, for now). Mitchel was, as always, great. I had prepared him with a call, and he was prepared. We did all upper body, as we will continue to do going into the new week. I resumed my morning yoga practice on Friday (absent the pigeon for now). I was back in the yoga studio on Saturday, where I was able to do close to 75% of the poses throughout the ninety minutes of class; Mark, yesterday’s instructor, kept his eye on me to ensure that I did not push the limits! I have regular visits on the calendar with Lou. I am icing twice daily, and meditating on healing.

Understanding that I am not training for India, I signed up for another training package on Thursday night. This will take me well past the trek and into the fall. My plan is to be on the plane to Delhi in seven weeks. In the meantime, I will be listening for the laughter...

Namaste

Namaste. A belief. A blessing. A bow. What is “Namaste?”

In Yoga Journal, Aadil Pakkhivala defines Namaste as “a gesture (that) is an acknowledgement of the soul in one by the soul of another….Namaste literally means, ‘bow me you,’ or “I bow to you.’” For me, Namaste begins with the belief that there is the divine in each person I meet. Christian traditions speak to each of us being “made in God’s image,” each of us being imbued with the divine. Other religions deliver a similar message.

Try this for one day. Each person you see—your significant other, the mail carrier, the surly clerk at the grocery check out, the road enraged driver racing past—seek the divine. You may not see it. Like so many other things, in this we are often masters of disguise, even from ourselves. But for one day, seek it in each person you encounter. Seek it in yourself as you look in the mirror. Seek it in yourself as you go through the day. Namaste.

This is a part of my yoga practice. As with other aspects of yoga, it takes practice. I am far from having perfected it. But, especially when I find myself wanting to respond to negative energy with the same, I attempt to step back. Namaste.

“To perform Namaste, we place the hands together at the heart chakra, close the eyes, and bow the head,” (Aadil Pakkhivala, Yoga Journal). What could be more honorific than to bless the soul of another through your own soul? Namaste.

I found the importance of Namaste to me in a yoga workshop. We were doing a double circle exercise. There is an inner circle and an outer, with participants matched one-to-one. We were instructed, “Look into the eyes of the person across from you. Voice to that person something that you honor in them. It may be their wisdom, their looks, their compassion; it may be the divine that is in each of us.” Then the outer circle would move one person to the left. The instructions were the same. For some, honoring the divine was easy. It was so visible, right there looking back at me. For others, the divine was not visible, so I chose something else. This bothered me. As I thought about it I realized that the less visible the divine is in another, the more important that I seek it, honor it, allow it to rise to the surface. Namaste.

Namaste. A belief, a blessing, and a bow. Namaste, a new way of seeing. Namaste.

I Didn't Plan It This Way

As it turns out, yesterday’s yoga practice provides a wonderful lens through which to view the integration of my mental, physical, and spiritual preparation.

Our practice at the studio was 108 sun salutations in honor of the summer solstice. A sun salutation consists of 12 yoga poses, or asanas. You flow from one pose to the next. Each inhalation brings you to an expanding, stretching asana; each exhalation brings you to a contracting asana. 108 sun salutations of 12 asanas each is 108 X 12 = 1,296 asanas. Even if you make it effortless, it is definitely a physical workout!

“Sun salutation” is the translation of “surya namaskar.” Surya is sun; namaskar is Hindu for namaste, from the root, to bow. So a sun salutation is a way of bowing to, greeting, praising the sun. Why 108? The number 108 plays a significant role in Buddhist, Hindu, and other traditions as is evidenced in many ways. Buddhism identifies 108 different sins and worries. “Temples often have 108 steps, 108 columns, or some other feature.” Ancient Indian astronomers reported that the sun is 108 sun-diameters from the earth, and the moon is 108 moon-diameters from the earth. In fact these distances are 107.6 sun-diameters and 110.6 moon diameters. (With thanks to Mark Barone for his research on 108.)

Whatever its origin, 108 has strong spiritual roots. With each of the 108 salutations, we honor the sun without, its light, its warmth, and all that lives, grows, flourishes because of the sun. With each of the 108 salutations, we honor the sun within, the fire that burns in our belly, the light that shines in our heart. 108 spiritual sun salutations.

In fact, we did not do 108 sun salutations without stopping. Rather, we did nine sets of twelve salutations. Between sets, we would sometimes stand silently, observing the sun without and the sun within. At other times, we would lie on our mats in savasana, or corpse pose. It was during one savasana that one of our instructors read a poem.

Brown earth lay blanketed beneath
the weight of white snow.
People hold within their heart
the promise of light
Light that overcomes the night
Igniting fire
That burns a hole
all the way to the hot dry summer fields
The hope that the light holds in winter
becomes in summer
the knowing of the sun’s pathway back again
We poise on the edge of these great turnings
Balanced day and night
But for a moment.
Cheryl Ban

In hearing this poem, I understood, in a way that I had not before, that the sun within me is on its knowing path back again. That knowing—even when it is not knowing—is one of the gifts of this stage in my life. That knowing—of the promise, of the fire, of the hope—is the knowing that I seek to share with those I am mentoring. That knowing—both in knowing and not—is a source of great peace and equanimity.

As I honored the path of the sun without, I also honored—and understood a little more fully—the path of the sun within. 108 sun salutations brought more closely together my mental, physical, and spiritual preparation for this journey that I am on.

Preparations 4: The Spirit

I grew up in the Episcopal Church. I was confirmed, and served as an acolyte throughout junior and senior high schools. I considered entering the ministry. I earned my Boy Scout God and Country award. I certainly had misgivings along the way. One occurred when the rector told me that worshiping in the woods at scout camp was not appropriate. “The outdoors is not a church.” I left the church for good as a college freshman when some poor counsel from the same rector almost caused an irreconcilable rift with my family.

Over much of the past 40 years, religion in my life has taken the form of christenings, bar mitzvahs and bat mitzvahs, weddings, funerals. A series of life-altering events over the past four years or so brought me face-to-face with my spirit, and my soul, and sent me on a quest to integrate them into my life.

Yoga became the catalyst for that integration. The yoga that we practice at the studio is Tantra-based. In the west, Tantra has become known as the yoga of sex; unfortunately, this is a significant misrepresentation. According to Pandit Rajmani Tigunait (Tantra Unveiled) “the literal meaning of Tantra is ‘to weave, to expand, to spread.'” Our practice uses asana (yoga poses), pranayama (conscious breathing), and sound, primarily through chanting. A primary focus of the practice is to bring awareness to the absolute (whatever name one may give it), to learn to live in this life with constant awareness of the divine that exists in everything.

Yoga, then, is one of the ways in which I am preparing spiritually for this pilgrimage. In addition to practicing at the studio on Saturdays, I have a daily morning practice. That practice, which begins at 5 each morning and lasts approximately an hour, begins with three poses (Viparita Karani, or Legs Up the Wall pose; Pigeon Pose; and Supta Baddha Konasana, or Reclining Butterfly Pose). This is followed by Kapalabhati (also known as Breath of Fire or abdominal breathing) for 4-5 minutes. I conclude the practice with Agni Sara, or abdominal lifts. The practice is a wonderful way to set my pace for the day.

Prayer is another element of my daily spiritual life, and follows my yoga practice each morning. The first is a prayer of thanksgiving. I follow the Native American cycle of prayer: to the east (for all the gifts that I will receive throughout the day: challenges, opportunities, laughter, tears, touch, learnings, etc.); to the south, for all that I bring to receiving those gifts (my mind, body, and soul; my humor; my tenacity; my courage); to the west, for all the gifts that I will give throughout the day, of for all those who will receive those gifts; to the north, true north, for guiding me through the day, and granting me a place of rest at night; to the earth, for food, clothing, shelter, the water I drink, the ground that I walk on, and for nourishing my roots; to the sky for the sun, stars, moon, the air that I breath, the light of day and dark of night, for the rain and snow); and to One, that I may live this day as one. I follow this prayer with a second. Om Shanti, Om Shanti, Om Shanti. Peace to me, peace to you, peace to the world. I offer peace to each member of my families of relationship and friendship, and to each of the communities that are a part of my life.

Just as our breath affects our body and our mind, so does the sound that surrounds us. There is a science of sound that I make no claim to understand. However, I have always recognized the power of sound to affect my mind, my energy, and my emotion. In the background when I work, and on my iPod when I am “on the road,” are sounds of integration, of oneness. These range from chanting of various mantras to Gregorian chants, to the rhythms and songs of numerous other cultures around the globe. While virtually none of this music is in my language, and I understand the words of only a small percentage, in hearing it I know the meaning, the message, and the power that it conveys.

Finally, in preparation, I meditate. I am not very good at it. I am not as disciplined as I would like to be. Like yoga, meditation is a practice. I am practicing.

Preparations 3: The Body

For me, the physical preparation was my primary concern regarding this trip. It is not that I am lazy; I just have never had a desire to go to a gym and work out. However, when I commit, it is a commitment of 100%+. Since January, I have been training three days a week at the gym, and have incorporated core training into my daily yoga practice.

Let me begin with the daily core training. It is really basic. There are four exercises, and I do two sets of each. First, I do twenty crunches; my legs are elevated at a 45-degree angle, with my lower leg parallel to the ground. As I do my crunch, I bring my legs in toward me, and roll my lower back off the ground. The next exercise is resistance walking. I do twenty steps to each side, using a bungee cord for resistance; this has helped to increase my hip stability. I then lay down on my back, and do twenty single-leg bridges with a press. For this, I place one foot flat on the floor, with the other calf resting on my knee. I lift up in a yoga-based bridge pose; at the top, I stop to do a press with a relatively light weight. (This exercise is done on one leg the first set, and the other leg the second set.) This has contributed to stability and balance, as well as strength. Finally, I roll over, and do ten slow diamond push-ups.

On Saturdays, my workout is strictly cardio. (I generally do yoga in the morning and the cardio workout in the afternoon.) After my stretching, I move to the bike. Using my heart rate monitor, I establish my training heart rate zones for the day. Then I spend 45-60 minutes on the bike, and the remaining 30-45 minutes (a total of 90 minutes) on the elliptical trainer. I vary the resistance to keep me in my heart rate training zones. Usually I am between 75% and 100% of maximum on the bike. By the time I get to the elliptical, it is time to back off to a lesser resistance and a lower training zone.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I train with Mitchel Heard at the New York Sports Club here in Hoboken. It has been a great experience, and I can definitely see the results! I begin with some stretching, followed by 20 minutes on the bike in advance of my work with Mitchel. We tend to train in “super sets,” groups of exercise with no breaks between one and the next. This helps to push up the cardio. Most often, the session will combine resistance training with cardio-oriented work (hop up/hop down, shuffle on the step, lunge walking with a medicine ball, mountain climber, agility ladder, etc.). Mitchel is constantly keeping an eye on my heart rate monitor. For those who are interested, this is my training chart for May 10.

Super set: Skull crusher (35 pounds, 15 reps); Reverse bench pushup (12 reps)
Super set: Lateral pull down (70 pounds, 15 reps); Seated row (95 pounds, 15 reps)
Super set: Bench chest press (dumbbells 20 pounds each, 15 reps); Bench dips (10 reps)
Super set: Incline bench row (20 pounds, 15 reps); Seated bicep curl (12.5 pounds, 15 reps)
Super set: Squats (Smith machine, 95 pounds, 20 reps); Stationary lunge (25 pounds, 10 reps each side)
Super set: Frontal lunge (10 reps each leg); Wall sit (1 minute)

For me, it has been an interesting experience as I have brought my yoga training into the gym. Balance, breathing, concentration, and practice are all concepts that have facilitated my physical conditioning. The heart rate monitor has been an invaluable tool. And Mitchel is nothing less than the best trainer I could ask for.

Preparations 2: The Mind

As I talk of preparations for my pilgrimage, I am finding it difficult to separate the mind, from the body, from the spiritual preparation. Perhaps that is because these three elements are woven together within us just as strands of DNA. One can pick up a strand and examine it. However, it is inextricably linked to the other strands. So, in the coming weeks I will seek to examine the strands of my mind, body, and spirit as I prepare for this journey. I will treat them as separate entities, even though they are not. Today, I will write of my mental preparations.

Do you remember everything you brought on your last trip, or everything that you forgot? If you are like me, it is the latter. I did not bring jeans or a sweater on the yoga retreat last week-end. Fortunately, I didn’t need them. At the same time, I could not tell you what was packed, and came home unused. Turning again to my favorite author on the subject, Philip Cousineau (The Art of Pilgrimage) writes, “If you don’t take the time to sit and reflect before you leave, you’ll surely be remembering what you’ve forgotten on the way to the airport or on the plane. By then it is too late. This tends to be true for what goes into your bags as well as what goes into your heart about your journey.”

No, my heart is not in my head. However, too often we use our minds to filter our hearts, to tell them what to feel and how to respond. With this in mind (no pun intended), I am working to free my heart of the judgment that is too quick to come as we visit other cultures. The reading I am doing, discussed in earlier entries, is one key to this. As I walk the streets, as I encounter others whose bodies, beliefs, economics, values, differ from my own, I seek to be consciously open and non-judgmental.

As a photographer, a great deal that enters my mind comes in through the lens of my camera. I am not sure that I find anything more powerful than a visual image. On the trains, in restaurants, passing through crowds, I take pictures. I have no camera with me (or if I do, I don’t pick it up). The pictures I take are in my mind. I ask, “How would I shot this person? In what way does his, or her, soul reflect outward?” I record the image.

I also dabble in words, so writing is part of my mental preparation as well. I have journals that contain myriad threads of my life. There are parts that are fully revealed in page after page of tightly penned entries. Other parts can be pieced together; it isn’t all there, but there is enough to know the story. For other pieces of my life, there are empty pages. I have vowed that this trek will not be empty pages in my life’s journal. And so I blog. I will soon renew the habit first introduced to me by Julia Margaret Cameron in The Artist’s Way, that of daily pages. I want to return to the habit of making a daily recording, so that I am prepared to do so in India.

Through words, pictures, and an open heart, I am preparing myself.

Preparations 1: Logistics

How does one prepare for a trek?

“Practice, practice, practice,” is certainly one part of it. Cousineau (The Art of Pilgrimage) writes, “Being ready mentally, spiritually, and physically makes us lighter on our feet, more adroit at making decisions, and perhaps can even keep chaos at bay.” In the coming weeks I will write more about my mental, spiritual, and physical practices. Today, as I prepare to leave on a weekend retreat, I want to focus on the logistics.

Aaron is a wonderful host for all of these events. Once we arrive in India, all of our arrangements are taken care of. There are no concerns about transportation, lodging, etc. We already have a list of what to bring (ranging from fleece pants to shorts) and what not to bring (the hair dryer and electric razor).

I have made my flight arrangements (it is a direct flight from Newark to Delhi), and recently received my new passport. (If you haven’t seen them, the new passports do everything but sing the Star Spangled Banner. Every page displays an etching of a different scene of Americana.)
In June I will apply for my visa, I will also see my physician regarding any shots that I will need. And, I will start to provision from the list we have been provided. The top item will be the hiking shoes, which will need to be well broken in prior to departing.

July will be time enough to start really stock-piling the film I will need. My digital camera is fine for color, but I will be carrying the 35 mm film camera for black and white.

I think the logistics bases are covered.

One

If you have never been to my apartment, imagine an open loft space with high ceilings, skylights, large windows with views of Manhattan, and a working fireplace. As is often the case, the fireplace commands a position of attention. Understandably, it is over the fireplace that I have hung perhaps my most prized photograph.

One by Nancy Burston is actually a composite of three photographs. I first saw it when I went to a gallery to see another photographer’s exhibit. While this photograph held my attention for only a few minutes, it remained with me. It spoke to me, and kept calling me back; I was constantly seeing it in my mind’s eye. The photograph is a composite of portraits of people who are likenesses of the commonly accepted perceptions of Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammad. It is in shades of orange. As the light changes, as you move from one place in the room to another, as you stand up or sit down, the image that you see changes. The Gods of worldly religions as One. They are ever-present—in my living room, and in my life.

The theme of one first entered my consciousness during a Yoga for Transformation workshop that began in the fall of 2006 and continued into the winter. One of the outcomes of the workshop was the development of a personal mission statement. This was mine.
T"o see the world in a grain of sand, in this moment, each moment. Every day seeking in that vision greater clarity and acceptance. And, sharing my sight with all whom I touch – with warmth, joy, and goodness of intent. " (From William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence, “ To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower. Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.)

Others have echoed this theme. One of the most eloquent of these was Black Elk. The first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes from within the souls of men when they realize their relationship, their oneness, with the universe and all its powers, and when they realize that at the center of the universe dwells Wakan-Tanka, and that this center is really everywhere, it is within each of us. This is the real peace, and the others are but reflections of this. The second peace is that which is made between two individuals, and the third is that which is made between two nations. But above all you should understand that there can never be peace between nations until there is first known that true peace which is within the souls of men. Wakan-Tanka is the term for the "sacred" or the "divine" as understood by the Lakota people.

One instructs me to look for that sacredness, that divine, within each of us. That I live this moment, each moment, striving toward one is my daily commitment.

What Makes This a Pilgrimage?

The complete circle is a universal symbol for the soul—an image of wholeness—and the goal of the sacred journey is to become as whole again as possible, (“The Art of Pilgrimage,” Phil Cousineau).

As I continue to reflect on why I am taking the Himalayan journey, I know that it does have to do with soul, and with spirit; and it has to do with continuing the longer journey that I am on to bring mind, body, soul, and spirit increasingly into alignment. In 1994 yoga became my catalyst for initiating that journey; it continues to nurture and move me through it. Meditation became a part of my day the next year; I returned to daily prayer last summer. Each of these practices has contributed to my journey toward oneness.

Mine is not a religious journey; it is a spiritual one. It is, as Cousineau suggests, about “becoming as whole again as possible.” It is a constant seeking for integrity in who I am and what I do; what I take from the world, and what I return to it. I am a long way from attaining the alignment that I am seeking. I am also a great deal closer than I have ever been.

As a change management consultant, I would often tell clients, You can only move so far without letting go of where you now are. Letting go, lightening my burden, has been an important part of this journey for me. At its earliest stages, the letting go was about possessions. For many years I was driven by acquisition and accumulation. A bad day? Buy a new shirt. Books by the hundreds, some read and others never opened, filled bookcases. Closets of clothing, drawers of CDs and DVDs, possessed me even as I claimed to possess them. I have let go of much of this over the past years; there is still more to go.

As I lightened my possessions, I learned that I also need to lighten my emotional burden. Over the past few years, I have focused on letting go of anger, fear, resentment, jealousy, judgment, and other emotions that are energy consuming. In their place, I have focused on growing acceptance, peace, equanimity, joy, and other emotions that generate energy within and radiate it outward. This part of my journey, too, is incomplete, though I have taken many steps on the path.

This trek provides me with the opportunity, and challenge, of continuing to lighten my burden and to move further toward the wholeness I am seeking. That makes this a sacred journey, a pilgrimage.

Plateaus

(Original post May 4)

In his book Mastery: The Keys to Success and Long-Term Fulfillment, George Leonard writes, "if our life is good, a life of mastery, most of it will be spent on the plateau. If not, a large part of it may well be spent in restless, distracted, ultimately self-destructive attempts to escape the plateau."

It was good to remind myself of this earlier this week. On Tuesday it seemed that every way my trainer tried to push my limits, to stretch me, led to the same place: a plateau. Until now the climb had been steady. It had been hard work, but each session I felt that I had gone further, grown stronger, gained balance and flexibility. Tuesday, it felt that each place I reached for was just out of reach, just too far to stretch.

Fortunately, I have come to learn about plateaus, and accept them in my life. I have been there with my photography for a few years now, and am just beginning to climb again; I made some of my best pictures ever this past weekend.

Yoga is a place where we all have experienced plateaus. Sometimes it will be in one specific asana; other times it will seem to be our entire practice. For the past two years, my morning practice has begun with fifteen minutes of Viparita Karani (Legs Up the Wall Pose). At some point, it became routine and seemed to lose its power. I continued to do it, fifteen minutes each morning. Last week, just once and not for all that long, I felt a power and depth to my presence in this pose that I have never felt before. I know it will come more frequently now, for longer. I am preparing to leave the plateau.

That is what plateaus do. They allow us to stabilize, to strenghten our commitment. They prepare us to go deeper, further, higher than we have been able to go before. They are a place to rest in our weariness, and to launch our ascent to the next level.

I admit, I was frustrated when I came home from the gym on Tuesday. Wednesday I celebrated the achievement of a new plateau.

What Am I Learning About the Himalayas?

Today I did a photo shoot with Eric, my cousin's son and an incredible, beautiful, searching, and growing spirit at the age of 23. During the course of the afternoon he asked me, What are you learning about the Himilayas? Some people just get right to the heart of the matter.

Aaron has recommended a series of books to those of us who are taking the trek later this year. To date I have read two of them (Sacred Waters: A Pilgrimage Up the Ganges River to the Source of Hindu Culture by Stephen Alter, and Living With The Himalayan Masters by Swami Rama) and have begun a third (At the Eleventh Hour by Pandit Ramini Tigunait).

What am I learning?

First, that the world to which we are traveling is embued with spirit in a way that does not align with a traditional western worldview. The history, tradition, and even the day-to-day life of the region carries with it much that can not be explained in the language - or the minds - of "science," "logic," "rational thinking," or even Judeo-Christian mystery. This learning opens the door for another.

Let go of expectation. Expectation becomes a filter through which we allow, or block, experience. What gets through is re-shaped to fit our expectation; what is blocked fades quickly away. I don't know what to expect, and I know that - if it is allowed to be experienced - it will not fit neatly into the boxes that each of us carry with us to make sense of the world. Thus the only way that I can hope to be open to the mystery, the spirit, the soul of the Himalayas is to let go of expectation.

Related to this, I know I also need to Suspend judgment. Judgment comes when we - consciously or not - use a set of standards within us to measure what is occuring (within or outside of us). It implies a right or wrong, better or worse, good or bad, inferior and superior. It does not allow for acceptance of what is, as it is.

There is more to learn before I go.

My Fortune Cookie

(NOTE: I began this blog April 16 on the yoga studio website, which is only open to members. I am transcribing my original posts here, and will jointly post future entries. This entry was posted April 19.)

Last night I had a date. As interesting as that might be, it is a story for another time and place. Suffice it to say, after a cocktail we went to Bright Food Shop (Eighth Avenue and 21st Street in Chelsea, NYC). After another great Bright dinner the check came, along with the fortune cookies.

My fortune cookie read, Balance is more than not falling down.

Balance is one of the many gifts that I have received through yoga. It is a focus of my training for the trek. It joins me in my yoga practice. It accompanies my days. It is how I seek to live my life. And, it will be a presence with me in the Himalayas.

Balance is more than not falling down.

Beginnings

In January I signed up for a Himalayan trek with my yoga studio. That decision has initiated a series of beginnings for me.

1. Why am I doing this? In truth, that is a question whose answer I am seeking myself. It had never occured to me that I would visit the Himalayan Mountains, or even that I would want to. Yet, each time I saw the announcement on the studio website, I felt more drawn to it. I have learned over the years that if I follow my heart, the reasons will unfold. And so I signed up. I will learn why as I move forward.
2. When I asked Aaron, the owner of the studio and trek guide, whether he thought I could make the trek, his advice was, "Cardio, cardio, cardio." For the umpteenth time, I signed up at a gym. For the first time in my life, I am motivated to go to the gym. I have the sweetest, most affirming and knowledgable trainer. In fact, we are doing core strengthening and flexibility, along with the cardio. I train with a heart rate monitor, and he is constantly working me into my training zones. I was surprised early on to learn that my cardio capacity fell in the "very good" zone for my age. Four weeks ago it crossed the "elite" threshold for the first time. It has held there, and moved upward, since.
3. In his book "The Art of Pilgrimage," Philip Cousineau writes, "Because weight is one of the greatest burdens to the pilgrim, one way to stay in touch with sacred writing is to 'make your own bible' as Emerson suggested." My Pilgrim's Bible is a leather-bound journal into which I transcribe the writings of others, those things that I used to highlight and leave sitting on the bookshelf. Interspersed are photographs, mostly my own, and a very rare insight of significance. Aaron has suggested readings to those of us going on the journey. As I complete each, I am adding new learnings to my bible. It, along with a journal for the trip, will be the books I carry with me.
4. Photography is a sacred experience for my. My most sacred photographs are in black and white; you don't get distracted by the color. While I have gone digital, I have not yet been satisfied with conversion of those images from color to black and white. So, I am now on a quest for new black and white film. (My old film was discontinued about a year ago.)
5. Blogging is new to me, another beginning. Here I will record - and share - my journey to my journey; the journey itself; and the journey home.