reminders of the infinite stream

Sometimes it feels like the divine flow of life spit me out onto its bank and meandered somewhere out of my immediate sight. But I am in fact always in the stream of life, no matter the speed or pressure or conspicuousness.

Not all is gained from nothing. We must give up something to get anything. This is the Law of Nature. Surrender that which is most precious to you – perhaps your ego, your heart, an attachment – and see what happens. The most rewarding bounties come out of these actions.

A friend and yoga teacher, Yogishi, said to me the other day, “The only thing I want in life is to be happy and to live to my highest potential.”

I too have shared this same sentiment along this trip and given up all ambition to see the path Spirit laid forth. This path is always there, but not always apparent. This is the highest truth: The Law of Nature. Every other ambition involves some impermanence that will eventually prove hollow. When we open ourselves to the universe, she opens herself up to us.

I’ve barely begun to break ground on this notion of total surrender. The daily grind, excitements and disappointments are incredibly easy to slip back into. Sometimes running around in circles with a blindfold on our face pushing an empty wheel-barrow is just what we need to realize how goddamn silly we are.

But if we consistently ask ourselves what actions we could take to benefit our highest potential we might find more purpose and fulfillment in our daily lives, no matter what the outcome is. Acting solely for the purpose of our highest good can only benefit us as a result and the world at large. We turn the focus back inwards for the answers and our actions are no longer goal-oriented. Our minds and hearts automatically open to Possibility and we become aware of the infinite flow of life streaming through each and every one of us. There are no wrong answers here. There is no second place. This is the Law of Nature.

I’ve given up my plans for India to return to Thailand. Nepal has felt vacuous at times, and I yearned for the depth and magic I felt in Koh Phangan, yet my meditation practice is deeper than it’s ever been and I am clearer and more solid than I was when I left Thailand.

The valuable lessons I learned in Nepal and a bit of India were set a midst rugged mountains, simple village life and easy-going Nepali people who housed and fed me. I’ve tasted Tibetan Buddhism, a mind-blowingly complex religion. Kathmandu is what I imagine the end of the Earth and a fiery hell to be, yet the people all over the country are so gentle and kind. Many know at least a little  English and extend themselves to talk and share with foreigners – a welcomed change from Thai people. I give my deepest gratitude to Nepal and hope to one day be back for some incredible mountain treks.

I realize I am just a tadpole in this infinite stream. Life isn’t just about gaining. What can I give up today?

 

Alive and Present

After a 9-day debacle – others might call it a guided Nepali trek – that ended at a Vajrayana Buddhist monastery, I feel I’m finally getting my groove back. Things are moving forward and I’m at a good point to reflect. It’s been a long time since my last post in February.

Since then, I’ve gone through transformations big enough and in short enough a time to see the affects and I look forward to sharing. I’ve done back-flips off of quarry cliffs, washed ashore a magical beach, partied with international hippies at jungle raves, turned into a yogi, found love, escaped from Thailand only to be spit out of India on a rickshaw, traversed Nepali mountains where the weed grows as, well, actual weeds and meditated with monks.

I’ve traveled in planes, trains, rickshaws, boat taxis, supply boats, ferries, motorbikes, taxi trucks, taxi cars, buses, tuk tuks, 4×4’s, micro-bus and on foot. Now, I am here and feeling at home in the bustling, transient Kathmandu neighborhood of Thamel. Feeling healthy, apart from the baseball-sized knot in my right hip, present and alive.

I find comfort in a dirty bathroom’s lukewarm shower, a hot cup of instant coffee and a soupy bowl of milky oats. This is my town – at least for the next five days – as I bid a close Cali friend farewell and prepare for a 10-day silent meditation retreat set against Shivapuri National forest on the outskirts of Kathmandu.

This week, I’ll absorb as much literature as humanly possible and write as much as inspiration keeps my fingers tapping the keyboard. Thanks for reading. More to come.