Movie time: City of Ember, Heaven on Earth, Stone of Destiny

I remain, on some level, unwilling or unable to write about the themes and ideas that typify my life these days. However, my urge to blog has not abated in the least – especially as I read the regular updates by my good friend and fellow blogger over at Bookphilia. Highly recommended reading :)

So the question arises: What subject I shall unleash my words upon? Well, the obvious answer at this moment is the myriad of movies that I watch. Yes: I relish a good read, I thrive on travel and I savour the flavour of well-prepared food – but I am also a cinephile to the core. Regardless of genre or origin, nothing pleases me more than a well-made film.

At the Movies

I go to the theatre several times a week, because I believe that films are made to be seen in this setting. Widescreen TVs and home projectors are all fine and well, but there is something about the experience of entering a temple to vision and sound, filing down plush carpeted aisles and sidling across a row of politely angled knees (excuse me, excuse, thank you) to immerse yourself in the experience of a movie. It just cannot be replaced…

Do you go to the movies?

Find a friend in the films

Hold hands with the hero

Fall in love with the heroine

And I even go to the movies alone quite often, melting into the anonymity of the luxurious dark space and allowing myself to sink into the plot and spend quality time with the characters.

Now frequenting of the theatre has a downside as well, as the higher the number of films you attend, the more bad or merely mediocre films you encounter – especially here in Halifax, where the usual Hollywood releases dominate screens and art films barely squeeze into the margins.

But the diamonds in the rough are worth it, and I have found a few of late. Lets take a VERY perfunctory tour of a few of the flicks I have seen of late:

City of Ember (Gil Kenan, 2008) (Park Lane) Ember was built as a haven for the survivors of a great unknown calamity that made life on the surface of the earth untenable. Buried 1000s of feet underground, the city is powered by a great generator that is reaching the end of its usable life – a problem multiplied by the fact that some 200 years of subterranean existence has bred a collective amnesia under the thrall of which no citizen understands how to maintain the technology that keeps the city alive. Even more importantly, however, is the fact that the population has long forgotten that there is a world outside of Ember.

Enter two youths with unquenchable curiosity and vigour that refuse to accept that there is no alternative, and the dangerous and delightful dash towards the outside world begins.

Except that despite an excellent cast (including artful casting of Tim Robbins as a father who tried to escape Ember in his youth and Bill Murray as a more bored than villainous mayor) and an amazing set comprising the clockwork city of Ember itself, there is no visceral sense of danger, and the delights are equivalent to ridding a log jam at the local amusement park.

Which is not to say that I did not enjoy City of Ember, but more to say that I enjoyed the look and feel of the movie more than the story and message – which is never explored beyond skin deep. I hope that the eponymous book, by Jean Drapeau, explores the psychological, physical and/or moral issues arising from post-cataclysm existence more deeply than this film, and hope to read it someday. In the meantime, I can definitely recommend The Chrysalids for a taste of the real thing…

Next!

Hmmm… I expected these reviews to be more brief, and am now wondering where to go with the list of about 12 other films that I have seen over the past month or so. I guess the best course of action is to skip on to one that I can recommend unreservedly.

Heaven on Earth (Deepa Mehta, 2008) (The Oxford): Chand is a beautiful, well-educated young Punjabi woman sent from her home in India to consummate an arranged marriage with a young Indian living in Toronto, Canada. Almost immediately upon arriving in the frigid winter of central Canada it becomes apparent that the cold of her new homeland is a physical manifestation of the bleak and unloving life she finds.

This includes a mother-in-law who sees Chand as an intruder intent on stealing her son; a job in a local laundromat that wastes her university education; isolation from her family and community with not even the chance of a phone call home; and a sullen and angry husband whose physical abuse of young Chand is horrific to witness.

Indeed, this is a powerful film that reaches out and touches the viewer on a visceral level – but it is not enjoyable in the strict sense of the word. A desperate lack of hope pervades the film right down to its mechanics, as it is shot in raw, hand-held black and white that is grainy and lacks the post-processed “the sun always shines on TV” patina that typifies most films.

And that first instance of violence – that first brutal slap – hit me where it hurt. An icy hand crept into my chest and constricted my heart. I left the theatre with this feeling and took it home to my comfortable bed, falling asleep with the chill and even awakening with an eerie echo of the emotion.

No, this is not a feel good film that imbues you with joy at the wonder of life. But it is a film that achieves what only a few of the best films can – it makes you feel at one with its protagonist, taking you inside her experience so completely that there is no luxury of considering it from a distance.

And one more thing that I feel is important about this film is the fact that it is set in Canada. Water and Fire, two other films in Deepa Mehta’s quartet about the experiences of Indian women in the modern world, are both set in India – which allows the Western viewer to consider them in the abstract, as parables or lessons. It is happening over there to those people. Heaven on Earth, on the other hand, is happening in North America, here, where we live, among us and as a part of our social fabric as Canadians.

This film will not allow you to ignore or dismiss it. You won’t enjoy it, but in this case that is the film’s primary virtue…

Stone of Destiny (Charles Martin Smith, 2008) (Park Lane) This Canada/UK co-production is based on the true story of a group of Scottish university students who break into Westminster Abbey in the mid-1950s to steal the Stone of Destiny, an ancient relic on which the kings of Scotland were crowned for centuries before the nation fell under British dominion. (Run-on sentence!)

I will be brief about this one, because I really only have one thing to say: this movie made me smile. It was such a sheer pleasure to watch that I became aware at one point of a silly grin playing across my face as an unbridled expression of how fun and suspenseful the movie was.

Why? Because it is an unabashedly enthusiastic adventure in the vein of Enid Blyton, whom many of you may remember from childhood forays into the Rat-a-Tat Mystery and The Secret of Cliff Castle.

And while we are on the subject of films that are a pure pleasure to watch because of their youthful and innocent esprit de corps, another "made in the UK" film that you may want to check out is Starter for 10. Recommended viewing!

Body of Lies (Ridley Scott, 2008) (Park Lane) Fun action movie with lots of explosions but a story that is too thin and scattered to support itself. Russell Crowe does his usual great job, while Leonardo DiCaprio seemed too baby-faced for the role. Basically, this story has been done to perfection in Syriana, so go to see it for action movie fun, not an in-depth look at American meddling in the Middle East

Passchendaele (Paul Gross, 2008) (The Oxford) This is a love story, which does not in and of itself make it a bad film, it just makes it a movie about love and passion rather than a horrifying moment of history. Without a doubt some the highest production value I have seen from a Canadian film.

Burn After Reading (Joel & Ethan Coen, 2008) (Park Lane) The Coen Brothers, Francis McDormand, John Malkovich, George Clooney, Tilda Swinton, Brad Pitt – need I say more? This film seems more cynical than other Coen brothers ventures, with a little less comedy attached to its blackness - infinitely worth watching.

Donkey Punch (Oliver Blackburn, 2008) (The Oxford) Yes ladies and gentlemen, we have a new contender for worst film I have ever seen – and I knew it from the opening credits and still subjected myself to the full length. Not even the gratuitous, essentially hardcore porn scenes made this intriguing in the least…

Flash of Genius (Marc Abraham, 2008) (Park Lane) Good “based on the true story” plot that ends up being as grey and flat as the 1970s architecture that it is filmed amidst.

A taste of freedom: Spiced Dal

Not much blogging going on around here, is there?
I asked a friend the other day how long she figured a blog had to languish without update before being considered "defunct." I am happy to say that she replied that her subscription to my blog (you can subscribe to my blog???) would tell her about a new post whether it were to appear one week or one year in the future - and that she would read it :)

One week later...
...I have put some thought into why this page has seen so little activity, and have a few theories. The core of these ideas is that I don't know quite how to write about the experiences I am having now, since they seem so out of place with the trajectory I thought that I was building (and blogging about) while on the road.

After 16 months of traveling, visiting friends and - well - pondering, I find myself in a cold northern city, sitting at a desk in an office in front of a computer and wondering where the inspiration is in this experience.

What about the dream of freedom I hatched in India.

I am fully aware, of course, that freedom is in the heart, soul and mind and can survive and flourish in the dankest dungeon - let alone at a desk in an office in front of a computer - as well as on the most pristine beach at sunset.

I'm still just a little disappointed, I guess...

A taste of freedom
To switch gears, the inspiration for this particular post is the desire to give my few remaining readers a literal taste of my time on the road.

Since returning to North America, I have conjured up a few Indian feasts that have ranged from poor imitations to genuine feasts for the senses. The most recent - prepared with the help of my visiting sister and consumed in the same good company - was by far the most delicious to date: spiced Dal (lentil stew), hearty Palak Paneer (spinach with white cheese) savory Chicken Curry and garlic naan to sop up the juices with.

Now when most people about Indian (or Nepali) food, they think about curry. But one of my discoveries in the land of spices was that Dal is actually the literal heart of Indian cuisine - being analagous to the Kimchi on a Korean table. The recipe below is by far the best I have tried to date, and I hope you enjoy it!

Spiced Veg/Non-veg Dal
1 cup red lentils
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 tbsp veg oil
2 tbsp minced fresh ginger
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 large onion, halved & slivered
2 tsp ground cumin
1/8 tsp ground cloves
Pinch fresh turmeric
4 cups fresh veg/chicken broth
4 ripe plum tomatoes, seeded & cut to 1/4" pieces
1/2 cup coarsely chopped parsley
Salt/pepper to taste

1) Heat butter and oil in a heavy-bottomed pot on medium heat. Add ginger, garlic and onion and cook, stirring, for about 10 minutes. Sprinkle in teh cumin, cloves and turmeric.
2) Stir in lentils, add broth and bring to a boil on high heat. Simmer uncovered about 20 minutes till soft - not mushy. Skim off foam as it rises and stir occassionally.
3) Stir in tomatoes and parsley and cook, stirring, for about another 15 minutes.
4) Season with salt/pepper to taste.

I have found that this dish benefits greatly from being prepared ahead of time and then heated up just before serving - it allows the flavours to mature and meld.

Bon appetite! I shall try to write more in the das and weeks that follow...

Desiderata

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

OGENKI DESU KA?

I once asked a girl what was the most romantic thing that ever happened to her, and she replied that once a boy she was seeing spontaneously bought a rose for her as they walked down the sidewalk - even though it seems a cliche, that moment touched her heart.

And who is to say what funny little thing can touch our hearts?

Tonight I rewatched the movie "Love Letter", directed by Shunji Iwai, and was transported in time to one of my most romantic moments even as the film's power and grace brought tears to my eyes.

In 1998 I sat in a dark movie theater in Seoul, hunched down as far as possible in the plush seat with my ear millimeters away from soft lips that quietly translated that same movie for me line by line.

OGENKI DESU KA? WATASHI WA GENKI
How are you? I am fine!

She was my entrance to that world, but also tinged it with a little bit of who she was - in the words she chose and the pauses when a scene stole her from me for a brief second of time.

However, it seems that Iultimately missed much of the film's import. Ironically, it seems that the one part of the plot that went over my head was the love letters in the film - the small symbolic acts that showed someone's love more honestly than words could say, but ultimately proved inscrutable.

And believe me, each line translated softly into my ear, the warm breathe tickling the lobe, was a small love letter that burned the experience in my mind and lit a fire in my heart - setting another stone in a foundation that would not crack for many a year to come...

But you know - and forgive me for being so inscrutable, as I am certain few others have seen this masterpiece - in the film recognizing those love letters and their import is part of letting go of the loved one...

Moving on :)

Where Am I?

Halifax, Nova Scotia
That's the easy answer to the question that I have received in a few e-mails from people wondering both where I am physically and where my blog posts for the past few months are.

Well, first of all, I have to say thank you for reading my blog during my travels of the past year - it has really been beautiful to find out how many people followed my path and thought about me while I was gone.

The Cobequid Basin
I am actually spending most of my time in Upper Economy, Nova Scotia, where my Dad and Carolyn have a beautiful house sitting atop dramatic cliffs that fall 50 feet to the Cobequid Basin, part of the Bay of Fundy. This enormous stretch of mud flats (at low tide) and creamy white caps (high tide) is famed for having the highest tides in the world.

I spend my days marveling at the stunning beauty of the bay, trying in vain to gain some respite from the black flies, gnats and mosquitoes, which are legion, and practicing to be on a chain gang. Seriously (almost)!

Dad has a great love for physical labour, and considers its truest form to be embodied by the shovel, the wheelbarrow and mounds of dirt and rock. We are currently digging out about 30% of the front driveway with the aim of softening the approach to the house by replacing the gravel with luscious lawn. I measure my days by the wheelbarrow, with 15-20 loads comprising an average turn of the earth

Where Am I
But this is really a much more complicated question than can be answered with geographic details or numbers of barrow loads.

I spent a year in India and Nepal, wandering the countryside and exploring new areas of life such as kirtan (devotional singing), yoga, massage, meditation, dance and energy work. These were, as the "pages" of my blog indicate, inspiring experiences that seeded dreams of how to incorporate them into my life.

And some of them, like yoga, are in my life in a very tangible manner. I have found a great yoga Podcast called YOGAmazing (www.yogamazing.com) and do workouts at least once a day. What is harder to put a finger on, however, is how the less tangible experiences I had on the road are manifesting themselves.

For instance, has Kirtan had an impact on me? I know it has the potential to have a significant impact if I follow the path further, but what is the net result of the month or two of exposure now that I am back in the "real world." What is the impact of it if I taste it and find it nourishing, but then do not feed on it?

The New World
What I find interesting in this context is how much North America has changed since I left it a little more than a year ago. The whole continent is abuzz with the environmental messages that have quietly sung in the ear for decades, and everyone is talking about clean energy, organic eating and the need to do something to change our society and its impact on the planet.

Of course this is in keeping with longer gestating "trend" of wider acknowledgment of lifestyle choices such as "well-being," but what I find even more interesting is how paper thin it remains in most cases. Society has seen the impact of our lifestyle vis-a-vis the health of our planet and is tasting the alternative (at least those that are packaged and advertised attractively), but is the collective diet of our society changing in favour of more nourishment?

Call me cynical, but people are concerned about the planet these days because gas costs too much, not because the planet or our society is in trouble. - if gas fell to 70 or 80 cents per liter again this entire shift in consciousness would evaporate.

So please call me cynical...

The Canadian Shield

Marathon, Ontario
This is a small town abutting the shores of Lake Superior and clinging to the cold, stone surface of the Canadian shield, and perhaps distinguished by only one thing: it is roughly equidistant of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and Toronto, Ontario.

By virtue of this fact alone, I find myself sitting in a cheap hotel room abutting the trans-Canada highway, which runs a straight-arrow course across this true North strong and free country and is the path that I follow towards what was once a home - and hopefully still holds the promise of such comfort.

Pilgrim's Progress
And thus this pilgrim's progress continues, having passed out of the booming oil-rich sprawl of Calgary in a raging blizzard, having spent a few alcohol-infused days in Winnipeg in the comfort of friendship long-cherished, and having since skirted the edge of the above-mentioned Lake Superior with its gorgeous white-rimmed shores and half-frozen blue depths.

This beauty is stunning - as was the scenery during the early days of my travel, traversing Northern Oregon, Washington, the southern corner of British Columbia and the great and seemingly never-ending Canadian prairies.

And so I continue, with Toronto lying ahead tomorrow, and many more destinations closer with every meter of highway covered: Ottawa to see my younger brother, Montreal to meet and old friend....

City of Lights

I have nothing but respect for Paris, the "classic" city of lights (and love), but think that Hong Kong can as easily wear the appellation - this city of towering office and apartment buildings glows at night with the soft hues of a million neon signs, a million lit windows and a million headlights. To appropriate a line from Milan Kundera, this agglomeration of soaring concrete and glass adds up in the end to an "accidental beauty"...



My 26 hours in this hybrid of London and Tokyo makes my heart warm and exercises an amazing draw on me - it seems that it is easier to take the man out of the North-East Asian mega-city than it is to take the mega-city out of the man! It warms my heart and brings a smile to my face just walking these crowded Asian streets with their aforementioned riot of light and color, shops and restaurants of every persuasion and - in sharp contrast to my experience in Seoul - people from every corner of the world speaking every language imaginable!

The Quintessential Tourist
I have done a lot here in 26 hours! Arriving yesterday afternoon, I soon met a young South African and the two of us hooked up to do a whirlwind tour of a few highlights.

First order was to get into the city and find a room, which was accomplished in short order with the help of a businessman from Botswana who introduced me to "Chun King Mansion," a 12-15 story tower crammed floor by floor with what can best be described as "micro-motels." Semantics aside, I soon deposited my luggage in a cozy 1.5 x 2 meter room that contained a bed and a full bathroom (including hot shower) - this was smaller than any room I have ever slept in in Tokyo!

And off we went, first heading to the world's largest seated bronze Buddha, where we rode a cable car up the mountain to gaze at a 25 meter or so statue that stunned us both to silence with its serene presence - despite its towering dimensions, the figure maintains a meditative aura that calms the spirit. Now I don't know my Guinness Book of Records, but can only assume that, as the name suggests, there are larger Buddhas in the world that are either: a) not seated; or b) not bronze. Oh well...


Speaking of The Guinness Book...
While we are on the subject of the Guinness Book, we next shuttled back into town to ride the world's longest escalator through the area of Hong Kong known as the "mid-levels." This brought us to the "Soho" district, aptly named after a foreign neighbourhood considering that there is NOTHING Chinese about this area, not even the people in it! This was seriously the most Caucasians I have seen in 9 months, all chattering and quaffing ales in a myriad of pubs and fancy eateries.

So no Dim Sum, but some sumptuous Mediterranean fare!

Solo Again
And with that my South African friend headed to the airport, and I headed down to Hong Kong harbour for a ferry ride that gave me a magnificent view of the city lights at night, reflected on the water of the bay, and got me back to my bustling neighbourhood and my cozy little cubicle.

Morning in the City
Morning came quickly, with my first Starbucks Latte in about 9 months to give me a kick (pathetic, isn't it?) as I headed to the that carries tourist masses to the crest of Hong Kong Peak for a magnificent view of the city center. Now I don't know if my line of sight was obstructed by a romantic mist in the air or a vicious cloud of smog, but one way or the other, it was a peak worthy of climbing...

Return
And here I sit, back at the airport barely a day later, waiting to depart for North America with a hurricane of thoughts in my head. The tug of the city I am leaving makes me nostalgic for life in Asia and all too aware of how easily I could have it back, but the lessons of life and of this journey simultaneously telling me my path lies on a different trajectory.

I will see many of you soon....

Around the Corner...

Kathmandu Calling
I am not yet back in Portland, Oregon - or, more generally, North America - but I am just around the corner, so to speak.

I leave Nepal tomorrow (Mar 25) and, after a hellish itinerary that involves sleeping and or lounging for extensive periods in not one or two, but three airports, will arrive PDX on Mar 27...

I don't quite believe that this trip is ending, but look forward to seeing family and friends...

Lightening Crashes

Family Ties
Since last posting, my super cool and way-to-hard-working sister has been to India and departed. We spent most of her two weeks on the beach at Agonda, South Goa, which I believe I have raved about in previous post(s).

It was great to see Kristin, as we are pretty close but have few chances to meet face to face. It was especially cool to have her come to meet me at the tail-end of my trip - I return to North America next week, and this was a chance to think about and talk through some of the ideas about myself and the world that I have pondered in India, and how they may fit into my new life. This, of course, includes feelings of excitement and fear at the unknown vastness of it all.

Lightening Crashes
On the day after Kristin's departure, I returned to Agonda Beach and immediately walked down to the scorching sand to survey the endless sea stretching to the distant horizon. My adoration of the wonder was rewarded by the spectacle of a lone dolphin in the bay, leaping ecstatically in the air with an abandon that most of us can only dream of. My amphibious friend threw him/herself into the salt-tinged air once, twice, a third and a fourth time.

What a welcome!

Of course the whole day, like a whole life, cannot be made entirely of perfect moments such as this, a fact made clear in the following hours as menacing storm clouds built in the sky that had remained pristine blue for weeks and even months before.

The humid, sticky and dark day that ensued - more reminiscent of Portland at this time of year than my experience of Goa to date - heralded the rapidly approaching end of the tourist season ahead of the monsoon rains of summer. Indeed, the gray afternoon, as beautiful in its own way as the glorious sun that has since reasserted itself, was punctuated by the hammer falls of crews dismantling some of the resort colonies behind me, which are actually torn down and reconstructed every year to escape the wrath of the seasonal winds and rains.

By sundown the tension in the air was palpable, with low rolls of thunder rumbling from the next bay across a sea that was eerily calm.

Lightening Crashes
A child cries in a coco hut nearby and, as if on cue, dogs begin to howl.

A symphony of thunder begins to play directly above while the first fat drops of heavy rain pound on the palm fronds above my head.

Lightening Crashes
The world flashes incandescent as brilliant white light, diffused by low cloud cover, seems to come from every direction at once - a flash photo being shot of everything, from every conceivable direction, at once.

Lightening Crashes
The show has begun! With ferocity that is inconceivably just a foreshadow of the powerful monsoon season to come, the elements unleash themselves on the shore. While most of the flashes are strangely diffuse, the horizon serves a cinema show of electricity, with one, three, and even five bolts slicing the sky from heaven to sea simultaneously.

And I sit entranced as the seemingly inexhaustible fury play before my eyes for minutes and then hours. The elements, of course, ultimately prove to have more stamina than I, and I soon retire, drifting to sleep to the unseeming lullaby of the cataclysm outside my suddenly fragile hut.

Far from ruining a beautiful day, the squall crowns it with awe-inspiring splendour.

Rising Dawn
And the following morning? Brilliant tropical sun bakes several kilometers of sand, now a shade darker with the influence of torrents of rain absorbed through the night.

I spread my mat on the damp sand and begin to stretch and relax in the warm rays of sun piercing a sky that harbours light, fluffy white clouds that seem another species compared to the wrath of those that closed over us the previous night.

The Morning After
As I sat and wrote this post in my journal that same morning - literally hours after - banana lassi at hand and pen scratching feverishly, hoards of birds were squaking and reeling overhead as evidence of tension that is building once again. Ominously, dark clouds begin to gather yet again, harbingers of the next storm to come...

Return to Paradise

That Glorious Stretch of Beach & Bass Beats
I am in Goa again, at Palolem - the same party-hard beach I wrote about disliking so much a few months ago. What a difference time and circumstances can make! This time I return to a place that is familiar - something rare on the road that warms the heart in and of itself - and to the friendly faces, warm smiles and welcoming hugs of many travelers I met on my last stay and who seem to never move!

Yesterday I explored a beautiful beach called Patnem, slightly south of here and a beautiful place, and today I will check out a stretch of sand called Agonda - one of these two will win the grand prize of hosting Kristin (my younger sister, who arrives tomorrow) and I for a good portion of the next two weeks.

I have a good feeling about Agonda, as it is reportedly relatively undeveloped - which means it should be "boring" enough to keep away the drugs and alcohol crowd - and apparently has an Osho center that does Satsang (teachings) every morning.

I am pretty sure that Kristin and I are on the same page regarding activities over the coming weeks, which can be summed up as reading, drinking lassis, swimming, eating Palak Paneer (spinach cottage cheese) and veg curry, and talking about life and the world as the sun sinks into the sea - lather, rinse and repeat!

Me. Myself. And Why I am Here
As for me, I am in a pretty good place now physically and mentally. Some of you know that I was hospitalized for a few days again last month, but I have bounced back fully and am into a regular yoga and pranayama practice that I feel good about.

But the health alerts on this trip do make me think about what I expected from this trip, which was - to be embarrassingly honest - a "yoga miracle" (as I have written about in previous posts).
Well, if i have had a miracle it is in a more subtle sense than the classic "water into wine" deal that the world immediately conjures in our minds. I have learned new practices and precepts that will make life a miracle everyday if I am diligent in their application - which means incorporating them into everyday life when I settle into Nova Scotia in the not so distant future.

So don't expect an entirely "new" me - but even if I look relatively the same, don't doubt that it is an "improved" me!

Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

Land of Spices

In the mountain range that surrounds Kumily, Kerala, temperatures soar in the day, but plummet at night, making a warm blanket and a hot shower seem less of a luxury and more of a necessity. The cool temperatures are actually a relief after months of humidity and heat on the sweltering west coast of south India.

Tea and spices form the backbone of the local economy, and surrounding hills are verdant with tea bushes and aromatic plants forming the backbone of a spice trade that traces a lineage in centuries: cardoman, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and dozens of others.

But Kumily also boasts a lineage of tigers that are said to haunt the nearby, more-than-700-square kilometer wildlife sanctuary of Periyar. Local officials claim a population of 35 to 45 of the majestic beasts, so I set off with a few new friends yesterday morning in anticipation of an intimate encounter with the animal that symbolizes my very life - my 1974 birthdate falling in the Chinese zodiac's year of the tiger.

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

In the forest of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

We set off at dawn to meet our guide at the sanctuary ranger station, where we were faced with the several dozen other intrepid tourists eager for a taste of the exotic. As groups of 5-7 camera and binocular touting Europeans set off at short intervals into the so called "tourist zone" of the park, I began to realize that I might be harbouring unrealistically high expectations...

But off we went, into a lush but obviously highly trafficked forest echoing with the mating call of the black monkey. And the monkey is pretty much where the romance of this safari stops, as this powerfully-lunged simian was not nearly outshone by our subsequent encounters with a pig (yeah!), a chicken (yeah) and caterpillar (yes, a caterpillar - yeah!).

Now in all honesty I never expected to see a tiger, but had harboured faint hopes of a wild elephant or two, or maybe a herd of bison or Sambar deer - all dashed, of course, as this reserve is surely the Disneyland of all wildlife reserves in India. Hundreds of package tourists a day pass through its gate and add to the labyrinth of tracks and cacaphony of morning noise that ensures no tiger in its right mind would come close.

The Big Picture?
But what about India's other wildlife reserves? Less accessible tracts of land only visited by adventure tourists that make it a priority to visit the wild outdoors rather than an after-thought on a crowded itinerary.

I am sad to say that it is not a pretty picture, with USA Today reporting that "India's population of royal Bengal tigers is half of what it was just five years ago, and only about 1,400 remain in the wild, according to a new study." (Feb 13, 2008)

A sobering fact, pointing to yet another of the most majestic species on our planet that does not stand a chance against the tide of modernization and globalization that is sweeping it away - the Polar and Panda Bears being other examples that come to mind...

Charity

As might be expected, the quiet French charm of Pondicherry in early evening did not survive unscathed in the hot equatorial sun of the day, with its attendant surge in the daily Indian life, incongruous though it seems in these surrounding. The French quarter is still very peaceful in relative terms, but that peace is tenuous as rickshaws careen past, men spit paan juice and beggars implore.

Alms
Leaving my guest house the other morning and entering the bakery next door for a cappuccino and a croissant, I was accosted by two elderly Indian women making the standard gesture of petition - a food to mouth movement that is crystal clear in its intent.

Now the standard wisdom amoung travellers in India is to ignore the beggars with a thousand mile stare, or, for the more stubborn - usually the younger ones - one is sometimes forced to resort to such a harsh and direct NO that there is no doubt left that this tourist's heart is too black and hard to consider charity.

But both of these options leave you feeling like shit and the undoubtedly poor and hungry supplicant no better off than before.

So I choose my moments of charity depending on a criteria that I am at a loss to explain beyond the fact that I give when the spirit moves me. And I give food, not money, a policy that separates the truly poor from the professional opportunist very quickly - the latter scorning your gift and the former returning a smile of true thanks for benevolence.

You Just Can't Win
So on this day I purchased a few croissants and handed them to the ladies upon exiting the bakery - but to my surprise, the numbers had swollen since my entry, and I was left with two croissants for three women that were just going to have to share, but were visibly and vocally loathe to do so.

With my act of charity thus nullified in the resentment of its clear inadequacy, I set off down the street feeling slightly chagrined. A sentiment that was multiplied moments later by my need to return to the guest house for a forgotten item, which left me facing the same three women, all seemingly unaware that I had fed them moments before.

Where was the humble look of thanks for the goodness I had bestowed? Where was the moment of satisfied silence where I was able to bask in the purity of my motives and the reward of satisfaction and justification - justification for coming from a rich country, a comfortable home and life and a bank account to cushion the peaks and valleys of my life.

What Its All About
But its not about me. Its not about my satisfaction. Its not about me feeling good about myself and my benevolence.

It is, in the end, about these women and their hunger. These women and their poverty. These women and the fact that my croissant makes barely a rain drop of difference in the ocean of their lives.

And its not about winning or losing - because in that paradigm I am always the winner and the beggars are always the losers. And those labels are not ones that I wish to ascribe...

So I will just continue to mete out my charity how and when I see fit, as the raindrops of water I bring to this ocean of need...

Pondicherry, A French Twist

Arriving in Pondicherry, the former French enclave abutting the Bay of Bengal on India's East coast, the slight scent of salt in the air excited the lungs, quickened the heart and put a smile on the face of this maritime boy.

I checked into an overpriced, underspaced room overlooking the canal that runs through the heart of the French quarter - really a trickle of foul smelling effluence of a strangely green color - took a quick shower and headed towards ocean. A short stroll brought me to the waterfront, where the Bay of Bengal breaks hard on the coast, sending dramatic plumes of sea spray into the air and a salt mist over the boardwalk.

I was in love with this town, with its continental elegance built of low-lying French architecture flanking wide, tree-lined avenues and boulevards. The streets are still choked with modern Indian traffic and the noise and pollution that is part and parcel to the urban India experience, but the ambiance is unmistakable in its charm...

I only plan three days in Pondicherry, but it looks as if these days will be filled with surprisingly good food, seaside promenades, French-era cathedrals and local galleries sellign beautiful paintings at prices that are lamentably more in the range of package tourists than scraggily backpackers.

Could I possibly get "trapped" here for a longer span...?

Creature Comforts

I seem to - once again - have been remiss on updates of my progress, but that should be interpreted as a good sign - I have been out living India instead of inside blogging India!

Valley of Stone
The past few weeks have seen me leave the crashing waves of the Western coast and head inland again. I spent about 2 weeks in Hampi, which 500 years ago was the capital of an empire that carved its first city from the rock face of the earth itself. This place is alive with energy that is all about the minerals that you walk on, climb on, sit on and gawk at.

One great shield of rock that at some point experienced such a cataclysm as to rend it into massive fragments (if you will excuse the seeming oxymoron) that literally litter the earth. Boulders ranging from the size of apartment buildings to houses, to cars to toaster ovens are piled and scattered as far as the eye can see. Each mound has its cave of rock carvings, its temple to Krishna, or its elephant stables (seriously). For those in Nova Scotia, think the coast around Peggy's Cove multiplied many fold.

I am not a boulderer myself, but I spent many many hours in a close approximation that I would call "scrambling" over the granite.

Goodness
I also met my mortality again in Hampi, contracting another strain of gastroenteritis that landed me in hospital for a few days. I won't belabour this point, as I am through it and recovering as I type, except to say that I once again have to thank the legion of truly good and kind people that seem to far outnumber the evil or small-minded amoung us.

It is amazing how keen your perception of people can become on the road - you just KNOW who you can trust and who are good people. Not only did travelers who had been strangers days before spend hours helping me in my illness, but those same former strangers carried and cared for my passport, wallet and all of my cash and TCs during my illness and never abused that trust. Thank you.

Western Comfort
So now I sit in the tech center of Bangalore for a few days of R&R that is doing the body and mind good in a strange sort of way - going to see western movies in gleaming shopping centers with Baskin Robbins ice-cream, Tommy Hilfiger stores (!?!?!) and Sony shops. I can highly recommend "The Golden Compass" if you have read the book first (which I also highly recommend), and, in a very different genre, "American Gangster."

Sometimes even a taste of the worst of western, capitalist, consumer culture can be a breathe of fresh air on the road....

Rhythm

In Search of Secrets
Tonight I found what I came to India for - again, I guess, as I seem to get more and more glimpses of it as the months go past.

Which perhaps raises the question for many of you: "What did Yuri go to India for?"

Well, many things really, but at the moment all that is relevant is to say that I came here to come to a better understanding of myself - in terms of my mind, my heart and soul and, most relevant in this case, my body.

My Thai Yoga Massage course continues in Palolem, South Goa, and is an incredible opportunity to better understand the body and learn to love it more. For someone as uncomfortable with the physical sphere as myself, it is a powerful experience to spend 6 hours of each day manipulating the bodies and vital energies of fellow students - it often calls for touching and manipulating the body in ways that are intimate and personal, demanding openness and trust from masseur and recipient.

Modern Dance
But tonight I had an entirely different experience that I am not sure I can capture beyond saying that I had a conversation of sorts via touch and scent and energy alone.

Christian, a fellow student who is a dancer and actor in "real life," led a few members of our group in a series of exercises used as warm ups by dance troupes he has worked with. We began with "dance games," which involved partners alternatively throwing their body weight to each other, hoisting a fellow student on the back and allowing them to experience briefly the feeling of free flight, and generally letting go of all tension and restraint and TRUSTING the people we were playing with.

Free Form
Then, eyes closed and wrist gently touching wrist, we began to slowly and subtly lead and follow our partners in a sort of free form dance that began as wide arcs and gentle pirouettes, but built slowly - as the power failed and candle light replaced electric glow - to bodies leaning on bodies in a purely instinctual and mutual dance following rhythms of vital energy rather than any tune.

I will never forget this evening or my beautiful and graceful partner. Tears came to my eyes as our slow dance came to an end, and the beauty of the moment overcame me - the depth of the conversation was overwhelming. And profound.

Thank you.

Fear On the Road

I want to write today about the fear that we feel when we are traveling. Not because I am afraid or depressed at the moment, but because my blog so far is one of elated discoveries and soul-touching experiences, without a mention of the fear I am certain that all backpackers in the wide and unknown world feel but seldom share.

Thai Yoga Massage
In fact, quite the opposite of fear, I am feeling very good these days. My ankles and knees are in pretty bad shape, and the beach I am on - as I mentioned the other day - is less than idyllic, but I am swimming every day, doing yoga each morning, and spending the bulk of my day learning Thai yoga massage - which is an exhilarating experience that is pushing me out of comfort zones that I think need to be challenged.

Fear and Insecurity
But fear is with you when you are out on the road - and I don't mean the type of fear I felt when confronted with many dark hours on a mountain in Cambodia perched on my dented and dead motorcycle. Rather I mean the shadow over most new countries and towns that you arrive in almost every other week as you work along a coast or across a continental mass.

I bring this up because I think that backpacking, more than many experiences in life, brings you face to face with your weaknesses and your insecurities. Every time you find yourself in a new country or town you begin a process of making a dozen or so important choices, each of which is fraught with peril of a sort - and each of which can arouse feeling of incompetence or insecurity that challenges the image of the savvy and seasoned traveler and generally amiable and interesting individual that you like to believe in yourself and to portray to others.

The challenges that arouse this fear and insecurity include the fact that you have to find a "home" in that town, you have to discover clean but affordable local eateries that fit the budget without endangering your health, you have to face and befriend at least a few amoung the crowd of travelers that are already settled and comfortable, but nameless and faceless to you in your tired and sweaty state. You also face a army of businessmen ranging from rickshaw drivers to lodge owners, all of which know you are new to town are eager to separate you from as many Rupees as possible - a true battle of wits if there ever was one!

Each of these examples leaves you in a situation where it is easy to make a wrong decision that you will regret or even literally pay for - and those wrong decisions are impossible to avoid altogether. When one or two add on top of each other as you fumble around new environs, you can end up regretting your decision to leave the last comfortable little town you new well in order to visit this new place that challenges your ego and leaves you feeling pretty insecure and literally out of place - and there is no friend to turn to for reassurance, just a dingy, loud, smelly room to curl up in and feed on your negativity and the fear of this perceived weakness.

Solace
The great thing, however, is that it almost never lasts long. You can change your lodging the next day (I have changed 4 times in the last 5 days on this party-central beach, but am comfortably settled now, try a new restaurant next meal, and meet a friendly face around the next corner.

We are also now blessed and cursed by new technology - I am amazed to see young backpackers touting around notebook PCs, iPods, cameras, portable gaming systems and cell phones amoung the many gizmos in evidence. I myself hit the rod with a digital camera and an iPod, but am now down to one such gadget - my camera.

Add the ubiquitous Internet cafe to this litany of communication devices and toys, and a quick call to a good friend, parents or a sibling for a taste of home and a reminder of who you are is as easy and cheap as a plate of paneer tikka (cottage cheese baked in a tandoor) at the corner eatery.

But the fear remains nonetheless, and in every town and in every situation we stare it down as we confront the unknown and make the best judgments we can. Regret of perceived incompetence and resulting insecurity can only last a short time, as the wonders I write about in most posts quickly eclipse them and the next decisions are coming at you fast - better be on your toes...

Insulation
At home in real life we are not immune to this situation, but have a lot more padding to insulate us from it. We have the cozy den of our homes to retreat to to escape the need to confront the unknown or uncomfortable, we have a steady job to give us a feeling of stability and competence and we have a community of steady friends and family to encourage and amuse us.

Home
Sometimes the traveler just wants to give up the road and go back to those insulating comforts of home, but thankfully the spirit of adventure and curiosity keeps at least this trekker on the go...

Sunsets Over the Beaches

Silent Vigil
Today my daily vigil was rewarded, with that large, shimmering globe of deep orange sinking slowly into the sea where it met the distant horizon - the haze that had swallowed the blazing orb every other day in Goa and in Tiruvannamalai had burned away, leaving a show of nature's glory that left me with a goofy smile of pure pleasure.

Returning from the rocky crags at the distant northern tip of Palolem beach, where I perch each evening to watch the setting sun, I paused a moment in front of my resort, opting to walk straight out into the welcoming sea rather than retreating to the confines of my little bungalow.

Wading into that vast ocean, the amazingly calm water seemed to be a sky in itself, reflecting the deep rose pink of the post-sunset heavens in a grand, sweeping work of art that gently shimmered as soft waves disturbed the glass-like surface.

Looking back towards the beach, the reciprocal was apparent, instead of the fading pastel of the waning day, the inky black surface was a deep and seemingly impenetrable portrait of night.

Yet the water itself still held a hint of the day's tropical sunshine, maintaining a pleasant lukewarm temperature that invited me to straighten my body, tense my muscles and arc forward, cutting the rose-hued surface to allow the salt water to swallow me and then gently support me

Coming back back up to the rapidly cooling early-evening air and the still startling sight of twin skies - one in its rightful place above and one like a watercolor painting below - I swept my wet hair from my eyes and took a deep breathe of satisfaction. Ahhh...

Palolem
I am currently staying on Palolem beach, in South Goa - the beach-studded province that hosted the Portuguese enclave in India. Apparently the legacy of that colonial period remains in magnificent churches in the heavily Catholic provincial capital, which I plan to explore with my sister when she arrives in India in March.

For now I am camped out on the beach and not even thinking about entering a city if I can help it - I am enjoying my leisure, eating my muesli, fruit and curd every morning and devouring the novel Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts, a page turner that I recommend VERY highly for a gripping insight into the underbelly of life in India's teeming cities.

However, I am also slightly haunted here, as I can see the shadows of the beauty that this place must once have presented - the seemingly endless crescent of white sand, with palm trees gracefully bowing over the border between lush tropical jungle and the expanse of fine powder sand sloping down to the whispering, green blue sea.

Now a jungle remains, but one of bars, restaurants and tourist accommodation established "in harmony" with nature - as some palms are allowed to grow through floor and roof of even the most offensive noise-making establishments. The amount of garbage on the beach and piled behind the the hut settlements is heartbreaking - much as it was on the peak of Mt. Arunachalla in Tiruvannamalai and in the soft flow of the sacred Ganges in Varanassi.

Such is man...

Thai Massage
I begin a massage course here on Jan 5, and hope that this will add to the larger purpose of my trip by helping me better appreciate the beauty and function of the human body - my own and those of others - and thus enforce the unity of body and mind that I am ostensibly fostering/strengthening on this trip.

I will try to keep you updated....

Happy Holidays

Best wishes for a happy and safe holiday season!
I left North America a long time ago. Looking back today, I feel that the sense of the specialness of the Christmas season has slowly dimmed over the intervening years .

But upon reflection, what has really dimmed is the concept of the commercial shopping mall Christmas. I find today that the holiday as an excuse/occasion to express that which should be said every day is as alive as ever:

I wish peace, good will and safety to you all
I wish for days filled with happiness and not clouded by fears,
I wish for safety and health and an absence of fear and decay,
I wish for harmony among all and no clash of swords or ideas,
I wish for unity, understanding and acceptance for all.

I wish you all the best in life for all the days that follow.

The Yoga of Devotion

Bhakti Yoga for the Kali Yuga
Sri Ramakrishna, in his teachings, tells us that Bhakti Yoga, or the yoga of devotion, is the path of discovery best suited to the Kali Yuga, or the Iron Age. That meditation on and devotion to the purity and goodness of God (in the universal rather than the sectarian sense) through chanting, song or other arts, is the surest way to self-realization amid the distractions and pitfalls of the modern world.

Swami Mukundananda
During my time at the ashram near Bangalore, I met Swami Mukundanda, a Bhakti Yogi who is apparently of considerable fame in India. One morning, sitting on crag atop the dramatic mound of Durga Hill, Swami-ji put his arm around me and said "Yuri, this path [the path of yoga asana, or physical practice] is not for you, you are a Bhakti in your heart."

Now this does not mean that I am about to drop the practice of asana, but it did start me pondering where the practice of devotion is in my life.

Bhajan
I have written previously about my feeling sitting in my parents' church as a child, feeling at one with a community while singing hymns with abandon. Those, of course, were battle hymns of the evangelizing Christian machine:

Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to War
With the cross of Jesus, marching on before

The other morning, sitting at the Bhajan at Upa House, here in Tiruvanamallai, I felt again that feeling of community - singing and chanting with abandon and ananda (bliss). But this time it was not crusade anthems, but chants of devotion to the concept of a pure God and his many incarnations in the form of the great prophets of history - and in each of us seated in that room, swaying, eyes closed, hand-in-hand:

Saraswati, Ma Lakshmi, Durga Devi, Ramana

Being truly in that moment, singing without a hint of self-consciousness, smiling a smile that expressed a true state of BEING.

Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare
Hare Ram, Hare Ram, Ram Ram, Hare Hare

Ironically, these were moments that embody what I am looking for on this trip, and were moments that, while not being indicative of the general tenor of my mind thus far in my life, have been repeated often in my experiences - generally when I am in song, but also in the company of family and truly close friends, of the people that I love and in the places that I love.

So I am not looking for something new herein India or at this point in my life, but am trying to foster a feeling I know well and have it flourish in every living moment; to have it burst forth self-illuminated and self-sustained instead of being dependent on another person or another place - or even on a song springing from my lips.

So I am a Bhakti!
I need to don white robes, join an ashram of the Bhakti persuasion and chant morn til eve! Well, not exactly. But I do need to find the rhythm that I know is in me, but never seems to translate into smooth moves on a dance floor, a tuneful rendition in song or any more than trepidatious tap tapping on a drum.

Four Paths of Yoga
In the bigger picture, there are four paths of yoga that all lead to enlightenment - or self realization. Bhakti is one amoung these four, and I am at different points on all:

• Bhakti - the path of devotion: I know I have a love of song and find joy and moments of pure self-realization in the ecstasy of song. So, I need to sing, dance and make music with abandon to bring that ananda to my heart and to help ignite it in the hearts of those around me;
  
• Karma - the path of service: I hope that giving my love, friendship and support to those I know and cherish and those I encounter in the travels and travails of daily life counts as selfless service to others. Beyond this, the charities - individual and institutional - that I choose to support are my karma yoga;
• Jnana - the path of knowledge: This path I have followed most days thus far in my life, studying literature and inquiring to learn from the people I encounter. I will continue on this path, with perhaps slight adjustments in focus;
  
• Raja - the path of physical and mental control: I set out on this trip 6 months ago to foster my practice of this path, and feel no need to judge the level of "success" I have met with thus far - that will be seen in the course of my lief rather than the days or mere months that pass. I have taken steps...

Vipassana Meditation

Dateline: Tiruvannamalai.
Having just finished a feast of fresh cooked parota, dosa and idly with chutney, I stepped out to the wet and muddy curbside of downtown Tiruvannamalai, accepted a steaming hot cup of chai from the wallah, and sighed in satisfaction.

The noise of the passing trucks, motor scooters, ox carts and buses could not touch me - they were all external factors that could not influence my internal contentment at the moment.

Looking around at the crowd of Indians and travelers from all corners of the world - this being a primarily Indian-patronized local eatery that is slowly being appropriated by tourists - I spied a set of bright eyes that held my attention and made me think twice.

Yes, its Pricilla!

Now I expect to meet friends in Bangkok. Exotic though it may be in itself, that is just something that happens whenever I arrive in old Siam. But in tiny Tiruvannamalai, in the shadow of mighty Mt Arunachalla and the embrace of Sri Bhagavan Ramana's spiritual legacy?!?!? Wow.

Spiritual Energy
And this mountain and this town is a place of incredible energy and focus. I am staying at a local ashram called Athiti, which is, for lack of a better term, "the real deal" - a place established for spiritual edification rather than profit, and expecting payment in the form of meditation time in addition to a cash donation of your choosing.

I spend a few hours a day meditating in the ashram hall, and the rest exploring the mountain and the other ashrams of the town. The other day I sat in contemplation for a few hours in a cave on the mountain where Sri Ramana lived and meditated for six years. It was a truly profound experience...

Contemplation
Meditation is something very new to me, and, like yoga, is something that is not yet a part of the fabric of my life. I hope that it will be eventually, and to that end I recently completed a Vipassana meditation retreat.

Vipassana meditation teaches the impermanence of all sensations and thoughts, in the process trying to free the mind of its dependence on external stimuli as its basis for happiness or misery. But I will not even try to paraphrase the philosophy of this ancient practice, so check out the homepage if you are interested: www.dhamma.org.

10 Days of Noble Silence
The retreat was, with no exception, the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, but not for the reasons I expected. It turns out that it is relatively easy to spend 10 days in noble silence, with no eye contact, no reading, no writing, no music or any other diversions. What is excruciating, however, is sitting for even just one hour without moving the body or even allowing the mind to wander.

The former I managed, if only for a few sessions - believe me, even if you reposition yourself 25 times to find the perfect, comfortable pose, you start to ache and pain after about 5 minutes and the body starts to scream in pain after about 30 more.

The latter is the bigger problem. The mind is exceedingly difficult to work with, especially if it has spent 33 years accustomed to being amused, distracted and otherwise entertained by whatever catches its fancy - TV, tunes, advertisements, people, clothing, cars, stereos, alcohol, food, etc. Even after 10 days of strict attention, I think I may be able to concentrate fully on 6 to 8 breathes in sequence if I am lucky...which is VERY frustrating.

Silver Bullet
That being said, this was a very positive experience, and one I learned a lot from. But it was not a silver bullet that solved all of my problems - as I knew it would not and could not be, but nonetheless hoped it to be.

Did I "love" it?
I don't think loving Vipassana meditation is possible until you have worked through a lot of physical and emotional pain. Goenka, the virtual teacher via recorded videos, keeps saying in the lectures that we are doing a "deep surgical operation," and I am very aware that I did not go so deep during this retreat - I am not being negative here, but am realizing that I went as deep as I was ready to / capable of going at the time.

What am I left with?
Well, the same thing I knew before in one way: That my mind is a mine field of distraction and aversion to self and environment, and that something has to be done to set my house in order.

I am also left with a new tool to attack this problem with, and the task of leveraging it instead of running away into the arms of the sensual world, which is very tempting (it even tempted me a lot during the course, with distractions often taking the form of sugar in various manifestations: brownies, ice cream, crepes, etc.

However, I am not sure that I leave the course actually prepared or equipped to practice Vipassana meditation as a pure technique. I am practicing anapana sati (awareness of breathe) regularly since leaving the retreat, and hopefully this will prepare me to either: 1) begin introducing the full technique in my life; or 2) do another course and more firmly establish myself in the practice.