Creation and destruction: a list
Namaste- “I recognize the divinity within you”
I’m trying to understand the role that evil, “the dark side,” plays in the world, one’s life and self. We have been sheltered from it but it still pulses undeniably through things. Here I feel people walk more comfortably alongside the evil, the tragic, because one confronts it on a daliy basis. Creation and destruction are both revered, worshipped, great beauty, happiness, and great evil coexist.
Bodies being burned on a grey riverbank. Acrid black smoke in my nostrils. Sounds of weeping and sobbing. Monkeys grabbing you, children begging, people hustling, inviting you to indulge, take advantage of their offers. Sadhus half naked, bodies painted, wearing metal thongs, knotted dreads. Me and Dev passing as hindu, being able to enter the temple, getting in for free while Jamie has to pay. Tourists. Shops everywhere. Yak sweaters, wool beanies, pashmina shawls, silk scarves. Carvngs of Hindu deities, Tibetan thanka paintings. Exaggeration of culture to create marketable products. Power failures. Slow internet connections. Rationing of water, of time, of food, of money. Being afraid of running out of money, strength. Keeping one’s emotions at a stable level. Keeping a close watch on the group dynamics. Staying physically healthy. Caution. Feeling a little scared, freaked out. Rites of passage, tests of strength, a vacation, a pilgrimage, an adventure, an exploration. Tarot card readings, horoscopes, prayers, spells, prophetic dreams, deja vu. Expeditions, treks, mountains, intense physical challenges await us. Also love, family, happiness, smiles, bliss, stability await us.
Bottled mineral water. Black boogers. Milk Bikis. Health rules. Chiyaa.
Stinking gutters and toilets. The smell of piss, smog, cow shit, incense. Cows, dogs, monkeys, men who make eye contact. People who are able to be bought. Trannies. Wandering Fulbright scholars. Confused Westerners. Israelis, Japanese, Germans, French, Icelanders, Hippies, trekkers, mountain men. Nepali women, men, and children. Motorbikes narrowly missing pedestrians and other cars. Ceturies old temples, holy places, Buddhist stupas, statues, monestaries, strings of long, transparent, colorful prayer flags. Young Buddhist monks chanting and clanging cymbals, playing long horns. Beaded necklaces an bunches of flowers. Handkerchiefs held to my nose and mouth. Packed taxicabs. Volunteer tour guides. Shoe check rooms. No cameras allowed. Letting go of our Los Angeles lives. Realizing what this journey is about a little more day by day. Figuring it out on the path. Packing light and buying nothing unneccessary. Packs on our backs, guarding our money and passports. Finding chill spots to smoke. Feeling really good after taking a bath. Being slightly dirty. Exhaustion. Looking forward to the next day. Being thankful for this experience, for being safe, healthy, and surrounded by friends.
M. Light
identity crisis #1
My journey begins in LA- boxes packed and stowed away, two fellow travelers, a self proclaimed artist and a self proclaimed writer by my side with grand ambitions of using words, art and visual technology to virtually link up the world around our intended adventure. This very prospect makes me enharently nervous. What the fuck- I just want to go on a big trip. Meet travelers, see cool stuff, put myself into strange and glorious situations. I have no world domination ambition for this trip. This is my trip. I’m not even sure I want to share it at all. I have my own projects but haven’t proclaimed myself an anything yet. We’re just not there yet.
I’ve been a styled blond since the age of 20 when I unknowingly allowed Yu to put streaks in my hair- “they’ll look great! give you more texture!” Little did I know that maintaining my blond ambition would require an extra effort throughout my young twenties, where effort and strain reap rewards and calm serenity do not. (I’ve been in sales.) Fast forward 4 years and a few jet planes later and I’m in New Delhi celebrating the festival of Holi. Our fantastic host family arranged for our “Safe Holi” celebration with family friends and only water based colours- no arsenic or other heavy metals like the rest of India uses to smear all over each other in happy war. As a result (pictures to follow) my hair has turned a beautiful rainbow with green at the front, red, orange, yellow all over the place. My identity shift happened through indirect choices. I perhaps knew of the risk to my lovely locks but didn’t hesitate to participate fully in the colourful clash of civilizations (all water based of course). I feel awkward. We’ve left New Delhi for Kathmandu, Nepal and I have become a caricature of myself. JameboBright they call me. (Jamebo was a loving (?) nickname for me in highschool French class.) New friends and people I meet walking down the street ask me to buy clothes that match my hair. Am I really a flaming hippie now? Dev says it’s the real me finally emerging. I’m just not sure. New friend Mike calls me Rainbow. I’m not sure who exactly he’s talking to.
We went to the stupa in Kathmandu and while deep in rumination about my hair, a Nepali photographer propositioned me. He loved my hair so much that he wanted to dress me up and take photos of me in Nepali clothing for his photo album that he would show to future costumers. I was flattered! My hair, though little children point and laugh and the word hippie is tossed around far more often than I’d like, is getting me a free photo shoot? In Nepal? Cool! So it took a long time, I gathered a crowed, couldn’t see because I have blue eyes and the sun shines brightly (I wear big LA sunglasses all the time), I have 4 very cute photos of me posed wearing Nepali lady wear and a mountain lady outfit. Complete with headpiece! Yay! A monk came over and posed with me too! How fun!
Now we’re in Pokhara. It’s amazing here. 7 hours in a bus and a 45 minute walk, we’ve found a great guest house, I’ve gone hunting for Clement’s friend RedCap to no avail… I had a map but it wasn’t very helpful. I even asked around- in the rain! Marjorie came with me for a while but bailed at the missions’ half-complete point. I continued on but found nothing. RedCap could be anyone. I don’t even know if he’s Nepali. He probably isn’t. But he is a hookup here so I might keep trying.
I might dye my hair all one colour. Maybe blue? Maybe normal? Maybe nothing. We’ll just have to see how I feel. Met up with Kumar today, he might be our guide on our trek. Maybe not. Met him through couchsurfing. We’ll have to see. More on that later. Now I’m going hunting. The odds are good- but the goods are odd. Kind of like my hair? Until next time…
Music Making Monks
I met an old woman today who let me take her picture in exchange for 2 Nepali rupees and an American quarter. I told her that I didn’t have much, and I gave her the coins. She smiled at the quarter and asked me “What’s this?”
“It’s an American quarter, probably worth about 15 rupees”
“Oh, thank you very much. So this is all you have? You should really carry more money, how will you buy anything with this?”
shrug
“Anyway, you can take my picture now”
I lined up the shot and she gave me a big smile, then she took the 2 rupee coin and put it in her coin bowl. She kept the quarter in her hand.
As we were trying to get back to the road after roaming atop the stupa, we heard some noise that sounded a lot like music coming from the second floor of a monastery. Though my traveling companions didn’t think we would be able to get in, I simply asked the guard and the monks if it was okay to check out the place and we were in. A room full of adolescent males dressed in monks robes were sitting on the floor in rows, jamming out with drums, horns, cymbals, and their voices. A 12 foot golden Buddha watched over the entire scene from the back of the room. The monks were reciting mantras over and over again, which when layered by 30 different voices sounds dope. Then they’d break out into their horns, and the drummers would bang the huge bass drums twice, and then again, and then the cymbals would crash and rattle, and then the chanting would come in again, and it was all in perfect rhythm. I couldn’t figure out if there was a conductor. It looked like it was an older guy sitting in the front, but I really couldn’t tell, I may have just seen him as the conductor cuz he was older. They might just have been in sync on their own.
-Das
