Category Archives: travel philosophy

q&a – (kind of edited, but not updated) as of 9/08

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a rare appearance at the other end of the camera, New Zealand, 2003

a rare appearance at the other end of the camera, New Zealand, 2003

q & a — (kind of edited, but not updated) as of 9/08.

: : : What Is This?

This is the live travel journal of a perpetual pilgrim (“sol”) as she, equipped with backpack, blog and her sense of Wonder, wanders aimfully across the continents…

: : : How did it start?

It started out as a quest to pursue a “personal legend”; a term coined by Paulo Coelho in one of my favorite fables “The Alchemist.”

“…whoever you are, whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It’s your mission on earth. To realize one’s Personal Legend is a person’s only real obligation.” – “The Alchemist“, Paulo Coelho

Of course, I don’t feel as if I know anything, let alone my “mission” on earth. But what I do FEEL — is that I must move. Pursue. As for WHAT I am pursuing, I haven’t any concrete idea. Nor am I really all that interested in what prize my hunt may capture. It’s the “pursuit” itself that has thus far enticed me into the last seven-something years of unforgettable adventure through over 35 countries and across six continents. It’s the pursuit itself that ignited my passions for volunteer work, salsa dancing, spanish, scuba diving, Eastern philosophy, experiential education and photography. It’s the “pursuit” that has taught me the lessons on life that I searched for, but never found, in my textbooks at university. It’s the “pursuit” that has humbled me both as an American and as a human being, grounded my respect and understanding for the intelligence of nature, and sparked my spiritual quest, setting fire to both my heart and heel.

You know that feeling when you look up into the night sky and fall dizzy in questions of our place in that space? We’ll I’ve decided to dedicate this life, to seeking and understanding that mystery of being. I don’t really fancy finding answers. I find my fancy in the questions themselves.

Neither do I have inspirations of being entertaining, making money, being popular or enlightening anyone. I’m just documenting my travel adventures, as well as the progressive realizations made on the path of my pursuit, and inviting anyone along for the ride.

There are only two things that I ask of myself in this life; to seek inspiration, and to share it. THIS is simply my way of combining my greatest passions: travel, writing, and the web, to realize that mission.

: : : Where Are You Going Next?

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it. Keep the channel open, follow your heart, and everything else will take care of itself.” – (?)

I love those three words — a “vitality”, a “life force”, a “quickening within” — for they come the closest to describing that feeling that moves me to make the choices I do. Why Guatemala? Why Spain? Why by boat? Why by plane? Why here? Why him? Why her? Why then? My choices and directions in life have become increasingly dependent on that “quickening within.” But with each decision, Intuition has reaffirmed that my trust in her is secure and worthy. I once saw a sign in a beach town in Costa Rica that read, “A true traveler is never intent on reaching a destination and knows that her best adventures are usually found off the original path.”

Where am I going next? Where omens and opportunity lead me.

: : : How it Started

About eight years ago, I bought a plane ticket to Costa Rica and sat down with my boss to tell him I was taking a month of vacation from work.

“No you’re not.” He said.

“Yes, I am.” I told him.

*very long pause*

“No you’re not.” He continued. “You have two weeks of paid vacation that you’ve already used. This is THE most critical time for this company. It is unfathomable that you take leave right now. Maybe in six months we can consider some extended vacation. But right now? Absolutely impossible.”

I followed my original itinerary. And when I returned from that life-altering adventure my boss said, “Well. You were right. Everything worked out smoothly, and looking back now, there was NO better time that you could have taken leave.” (Of course, at the time, neither of us was expecting that month abroad to inspire my complete resignation and the purchase of a one-way ticket…)

Regardless, I think it was that confrontational day that my self-erected wall of “life rules” came crashing down, along with the authority in the words “impossible”, “unfathomable”, “absolutely” and “no.”

There are so many “rules” of life to which we simply subscribe, without questioning. We have so many freedoms that we never exercise simply because we’ve never tugged at the phantom-chains that bind them. Of course, the first time I challenged those rules, the notion seemed nothing but comical…

“Ha! Imagine what my boss would say if I just bought a ticket to Costa Rica and left for a month!”

“How crazy would it be for me to just quit my job and travel for a year! What a dream!”

“What a silly thought…me? A scuba divemaster? I could never be a divemaster. I can barely swim.”

“How could I ever work as a photographer? I don’t know ANYTHING about photography!”

“I could never spend two months walking 700 miles across Spain!”

OR…could I?

The first time “I could never” turned into “hell! I just did!” — life irreversibly changed. Why? Because for one, I figured out that this world, this society, this system, didn’t really care about my individual life. I had broken “the rules” and the gates of hell did not open and consume me, I wasn’t arrested and sent to jail, my parents didn’t ground me, my friends didn’t disown me, and my boss didn’t fire me. I had slipped right through the societal-cracks and landed on two free feet.

My “silly notions,” “dreams” if you may, were perfectly real and attainable — and I had every right in this world to move my free feet and take pursuit of them. Now I take my “silly ideas” more seriously than Newton’s laws of physics. They STILL always start off as laughable, but now that the pattern has been recognized, my giggles quickly transition to a grin and a “oh no, here it comes…” nervous anticipation of an oncoming challenge. Now I know — and can recognize — my most wild but “serious intentions” masquerading in the sheeps’ wools of “silly notions.”

So in December of 2000, at age 23, I resigned from my position as Senior Editor at CollegeClub.com and bought an open-ended ticket to Guatemala, whereupon MercuryFrog posed the following “comical” question:

“Why don’t I build you a site so that you can write about your adventures and share them with your online community as you experience them?”

My laugh quickly turned into a serious grin.

Solbeam.com was born in January of 2001 by the kindness and talent of MercuryFrog. (Merc is both the developer and designer of this site, and compliments should be sent directly to him.) It should also be noted that Merc is continuously and selflessly facilitating the dream chasing process for numerous individuals *beside myself* and that he has secured his place in the “Solbeam’s Exceptional Human Beings” Hall of Fame.

And thank you also to Slava and ThinkHost.com for swooping a silent hand into my life, in a perfect act of altruistic kindness, to support the website and fanciful aspirations of a perfect stranger.

I consider the two of you as nothing less than my guardian angels.

Since January of 2001, those of you watching this site have adventured with me through Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, El Salvador, Mexico, Cuba, South Korea, Thailand, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, The Dominican Republic, Spain, Morocco, Portugal, China, India, Ecuador, Colombia, Sikkim, Nepal, and Tibet together. We learned Spanish and how to salsa together. We scuba dived off Cayes, in oceans, through Cenotes and into sink holes together. We learned to bartend and danced on tabletops together. We were robbed at gunpoint together. We raved on bay islands together. We battled with hairy spiders, sand flies, lice and scorpions together. We volunteered with children of a dumpster community together. We mediated and fasted at multiple retreat centers together. We hiked volcanoes and watched them erupt together. We got on wrong planes together. We rock climbed together and we boogie-boarded together. We hosted multiple stomach parasites together and suffered countless colds and mysterious skin infections together. We taught English and escaped monsoons together. We got in motorbike and car accidents together. We rode elephants and got attacked by baby monkeys together. We worked tirelessly at Club Med together. We walked 1,200 miles of the Camino de Santiago and Chemin de St. Jacques together. We saved turtles and learned to surf together. We made many trails through the Himalayas together. We were adopted into a Colombian family together. We fell in love with India countless times together. We discovered a passion for Eastern philosophy and spirituality together. We watched the stars and pondered at our place in the Universe together. And we shared multiple sunrises and sunsets together.

You laughed with me. You cried with me. You danced with me. You learned with me. You supported me and you believed in me. I give my ENDLESS thanks to all those of you who keep up with this site and have shared these experiences and emotions with me. Because IT is the only physical thing I have to grasp onto after returning from these adventures. How I could ever give any inch of accurate representation of my travels abroad “over coffee” is inconceivable. “You just had to be there” will have to suffice many inquisitions…but for those of you who WERE there, WITH me, my mind can smile and sigh in relief. I’m not so alone after all. And for that ease of heart and mind, I have you to thank. I may live out of a backpack, but solbeam.com is my home and you, a family.

: : : Who Are You?

My parents would say I’m the daughter that they gave birth to in Anchorage, Alaska and raised in Portland, Oregon. I’d be the one child that insisted on school in California where, since my departure, they’ve received phone calls about once a month *if lucky* — usually only alerting them to my next skydive or adventure abroad. In comparison to my three happily-married and “home-body” siblings, I’m certainly the “black sheep” of the family. My high school friends would probably say I’m the “late-bloomer.” While they experimented with boys, drugs and other freedoms, I was busy pullin’ a 3.9 GPA and a strict midnight curfew. In college, I was the “girlfriend.” I dated the same *fantastic* guy from week three of college through graduation day. While I never, for one second, regret that choice — I currently have a *possibly unhealthy* aversion to relationships and tend to avoid commitments to anything more than a lunch date… made at 11:45.

When I graduated, I spent a few months in Europe and returned with some hefty credit card bills that needed immediate attention. I fit everything that I owned into my car and drove down to San Diego where I had heard that it was 75 degrees year ’round. I landed a job at CollegeClub.com, having no idea that it that would forever change my life; “Travel Freak Becomes Web Geek”. I put in 80-hour weeks *under web cam surveillance* and was labeled “loco” by friends & family and “passionate” by co-workers.

In December of 2000, I put in my resignation and purchased a one-way ticket to Adventure. I have, for the most part, been travelling ever since.

: : : What Does “solbeam” Mean?

“solbeam,” was my username on CollegeClub and the common name by which I was known in the CC Community. “Sol” means “sun” in Spanish. My skin color most likely comes from my Spanish ancestors (rather than the German ones) and in addition to being a complete sucker for sunsets (and rises), the sun holds special significance for me as it was what led me from Oregon to North California, from North Cal. to South Cal., and from Cal. to Central America. When I come to crossroads in life, both figurative and literal, regardless of how more or less traveled they are, I opt for the path with the most light, the most warmth…the most “sol.”

: : : Can You Give Me Some Advice on Where to Travel?

I’m sorry, but I do NOT give out any specific advice or recommendations on places to go for one very good reason: travel is extremely circumstantial. Each person’s adventure is totally unique and completely dependent on multiple factors including, but not limited to: weather, health, holiday, attitude, company, length of stay, and financial situation. If you want advice on specific places to go, I recommend you simply research online (LonelyPlanet.com, Iexplore.com, About.com) or browse the Travel section at your local bookstore. As for travel guidebooks, I recommend both the Lonely Planet and Rough Guide series.

: : : Are You Travelling With Anyone?

This is another ambiguous question. Am I travelling with one person (or friend) for my whole trip? No. I prefer to travel “alone.” But that’s the funny thing about traveling. By traveling “alone”, you actually meet MORE people. Travellers seek each other out. But what is probably more important, is that on the road — you are surrounded by others who share the same passions in life and who find the same excitement in the pursuit of something “different.” On the road, we’re all alone, all “in between” careers, all out of our element, and all vacationing from societal influence. And I’m learning that as wonderful as being “independent” and “alone” and “different” are, there is also something so very special about finding a community of people who share your same tastes at the dining table of life.

: : : Where Did You Get All The Money To Be Able To Travel?

This is the biggest complaint I hear; “I would travel…if only I had the money.”

I pay for ALL my travel expenses.

Please don’t think for a second that I’m pracin’ around on Dad’s plastic. My parents “taught me the value of a dollar” by letting me pay my university tuition (at a private school no less). Not a chance they were about to finance my world stomp. I still have thousands of dollars in school loans yet to be paid back (one can usually defer school loans for up to three years). Why am I telling you about my financial situation? Because I want to emphasize that anyone who REALLY wants to travel – can.

If you want something, you do what it takes to get it. I saved. I’ve chosen “travel” as my treat. I count my money in days spent abroad. I don’t own a car and I’ve only slept on hand-me down beds and futons. I’d simply rather spend that money on airfare, hostels and bread & cheese. I understand the trade-offs and have made a choice. Anyone can travel if they want to. All it depends on, is how bad he or she really wants it.

And one of the biggest myths of travel is that it’s expensive. A person can travel easily on $10-30 dollars a day abroad, if you’re keen on bread and cool with dorm rooms. You won’t be a “tourist”; You’ll be a traveler. Your daily expenses (rent, food, clothing, entertainment) in The States surely amount to more than $30 dollars a day. (Please don’t e-mail me and ask me to explain this further or tell me it’s not possible *people often do*. It IS possible, but I really don’t feel obligated to give proofs or find deals for people.)

But without a doubt, it is cheaper for me to live abroad, than in the States.

In addition to saving a lot and spending little, I always work while travelling abroad. Bartending, volunteering (in exchange for room), working as a divemaster, teaching English, working as a photographer, and guiding tour and student groups are all means that were not only gentle on the savings account, but also rewarding cultural experiences. When I first started working abroad, I didn’t have any experience and knew very little of the local language. All it takes is desire and initiative. You can search for jobs abroad online before you depart (I’ve found three jobs to date through GoAbroad.com), or just go door-knockin’ at all the bars and restaurants in town until you come up with something. And if you’re really looking, something ALWAYS turns up.

I currently work as an “Experiential Education Guide” leading groups of college students on 3-month semesters abroad programs for a brilliant company and intimate family, Where There Be Dragons. I usually work one or two semesters a year and find some type of volunteer work (abroad) that pays for my board during my “downtime.”

: : : How Do You Have So Much Time To Travel?

It’s not about “having” time, but rather “making” time. You just put you stake in the ground and say, “this is what I’m gonna do” and then you do it. No one EVER has “extra” time to travel — at least not before they’re retired. People, time, events will allow you to do whatever you wish – as soon as you make the decision to go.

“The universe always conspires to help the dreamer.” — “The Alchemist”, Paulo Coelho

When I’m abroad, I’m not “on holiday.” Travel is more than a priority in my life; it’s my WAY of life. I have intentions of continuing my travels abroad for many years. Periodically, I have, in the past, found myself frequenting a little “Universal Township & Experiment in Living” in South India called, Auroville, in which I love to snuggle down for extended periods of rest and reflection.

: : : What Advice to You Have For a First Time Traveler?

Let nothing get in the way of your desire to travel. Buy the ticket now and worry about the details later; They WILL fall into place. Travel while you’re young. You have no commitments, your parents are healthy, and you have the back that can withstand a pack and legs that can climb a volcano. This is the only time in your life that you will enjoy staying in dorm rooms or have the gut to drink the locals’ poison into the wee hours of the morning and wake up when the rooster crows at 5am the next day to catch a bus to another country.

One of the biggest MYTHS of American society that I’ve uncovered in my travels is this; “Two weeks of vacation each year is enough.” Two weeks will never be enough. Adequate time for emotional, spiritual, physical and extracurricular development IS necessary in mature adult life too! And this doesn’t mean you have to cross any actual US borders to engage yourself. “Work=life” is just a faulty equation in my book. Take time for yourself to discover and develop your passions. You need it. You deserve it. And as Americans, it’s high time we put our foot down and stomped out this socially-supported falsehood. Try questioning “the rules” with your boss, parents, school, etc. Push a little. Pry a little. Stretch a little. Fight a little. You might be very surprised with the results.

I was.

And remember, regardless of the “where’s”, “when’s”, and “what’s” — everything WILL work out. If you miss your train/bus/plane — laugh and recognize that your adventures are never lost, but only changed.

Also, if you do fancy taking your adventure abroad, you might check out my Travel Disclaimer.

: : : How Can I Contact You?

Simple. Send an e-mail to: solbeam@gmail.com. I’m a pretty busy girl, but if you send me a note or question, I’ll try my very best to get back to you. (If I’m not stationary in a country, a reply could be delayed by a few weeks.)

Always remember that if you take the initiative to pursue your dreams, the Universe will, ultimately but not always obviously, work in your favor.

I sincerely wish you the best in your physical, emotional and spiritual travels!

sincerely,

:) sol

“When you step off the edge of the unknown, you will either find something to stand on, or learn to fly.”

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subconscious’ shadow speaks

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“Hey! So, listen. You’ve got help me out. I have no idea what to do. I spent all day, and I mean all day, like 12 hours, researching airline tickets, and then I finally, finally, figured how to make all the connections work out, and then I checked all my finances and made sure everything was ready to go, and I was just about to put my credit card number down, and I froze! I’m frozen! I mean, what am I thinking? I’m going to a country for 7 weeks where I’ll only be able to communicate in a language I started learning two months ago? And then I’m going to hike for five of those weeks? Along a path through mountains that I know nothing about? And camping alone? I mean. Can I just do that? And then Senegal? After all, it IS a country on the “dark continent”. And I’ve never really been to Africa before. And the one time I did, I got chased down the streets for being a single white woman walking alone. And Mumbai? I mean, isn’t that a big scary city that I’ve never been to before? Where there were bombings just this week? And travelling through India alone was so intense last time. Am I really ready for that again? And I’m going to be spending ALL my savings. I won’t have anything again. Is that really what I want to do? Anyway. You’ve got to give me some advice. I really need your help. So….yeah…call me back when you get this message.”

*beeeeeeep*

I left that monologue on the voice mail belonging to two of my best friends last night. And when, by the next day, no one had returned the call, I knew it was for a VERY good reason…

Someone, smirking down upon me, had obviously pulled up the strings on all the characters in my personal life puppet show, hushed the audience and said, “No, no, no. Don’t give her any hints. She has to make this one her own.”

And as I’ve found to be the nature (and purpose?) of dreaming, it seems that over the night, some unnamed higher self sat on Fear and played typewriter on its chest till it cried “mercy!” and my subconscious was settled. High on some ethereal amphetamine administered overnight, I sprang out of bed (sans morning meditation) and raced to the computer where the Courage that had congregated at my finger tips (has anyone else noticed Confidence’s tendency to coagulate on finger pads?) salsa-ed its way, forward and back, all over the keyboard dance floor until three tickets (France, Senegal, India) were plotted, purchased, reserved and confirmed. *dip*

It’s a lot like cliff jumping — ticket purchasing. You’ve just got to stop looking over the cliff, muster your muscles into accord, hold your breath and JUMP. How could I forget this precious piece of counsel that I offer a dozen times a year to those inquiring? (Isn’t it just in the nature of the divine comedy called “Life” to give us plenty of opportunities to take our own advice?) But what an interesting adaptation of my old standby to twist, “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?” to “What would you do if you were yourself?” I guess it all depends on how you define “self.” And since I’ve got a higher one out there, that I’m ever aspiring to chase down and be, I suppose it’ll all one day make sense, in some future version (13.1?) of reality.

In any case, I just thought it important to share that I am not without fear, hesitation, an annoying rattling inner-dialogue, self-doubt, anxiety, or a mother. And that the monologue above is one that — even I — am prone to having with myself and message machines.

The good news is that, also like cliff jumping, ticket purchasing is fun. And once you’re over the ledge, you’re pretty much above, and over, the anxieties and fears as well. I’ve found that there’s little time, while hurtling through the air of direct experience, to look over my shoulder and contemplate from where I came or wonder if my health insurance is still in effect. Nope. The jump itself is usually just an all-consuming combination of a heightened awareness of the six senses, an acute sense of presence and an exaggeration of time and minutes.

Oh. And bliss.

Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Which I have found, never in the pits of (inner) self-sacrifice, conformity or material comfort, but always under the rocks of surrender, surprise and simplicity. Bliss, which, as opposed to Confidence, prefers to loiter on the upper-end corners of my lips.

Where it lingers now.

And bless insecurity, self-doubt and anxiety for giving me something to hurdle over. For giving me the air to fly through. The fall to surrender to. The unknown to adventure within. I just can’t get over the depth, intricacy, and ingenuity behind the coordination of all the lines being pulled in Life’s puppet show. I don’t need to witness miracles or hear promises of heaven to believe. Life’s method is proof enough for me. So evidently divine by the intelligence of its nature indeed.

*****

A quick FYI for any others investigating/contemplating their own leaps of faith and flight: In my research, I gathered three different quotes from air brokers on Around-The-World tickets, but in the end found that I was able to beat all those quotes by over a thousand USD via www.sidestep.com and www.kayak.com.

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*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and MercuryFrog for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

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to be made and unmade

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“I have no desire for one life partner.”

“I feel most inspired and alive on my own.”

“I don’t believe in marriage (or any other sacrament that needs a government’s stamp of legitimacy).”

There are things that I say that often elicit gasps, hushes, disbelieving “no’s” and disapproving nods. The above statements are such.

For this reason I kept quiet for many years. I took especially serious the comment, “Oh, you’ll grow out of that.”

But you know what I’ve recently realized?

I’m not going to grow out of it; I’ve grown into knowing it; I LOVE being alone!

I love waking up in bed alone. I love walking alone. I love chasing my life path alone. I love making my self-realizations alone. I love owning my accomplishments alone. I love how open I am to all interactions when I’m alone. I love retiring and retreating alone. I love taking responsibility for all my mistakes alone. I love the communion with nature that I find when I’m alone. I love being able to choose when I don’t want to be alone. I love the appreciation for food that I have when I eat alone. I love the quality of space and silence that surround me when I’m alone. I love how sensitive I am to my sources of inspiration when I am alone. I love navigating the solitary space of meditation alone. I love choosing my adventures alone. I love the lightness of being alone. I’m closest to being the person I aspire to be when I’m alone. And I think it’s time for me to come out of the closet on my love of being alone. (Or, maybe, stay in it?)

Maybe I’m unhealthily introverted. Maybe I’m just selfish, shallow and self-absorbed. (I’ve certainly been accused.) Maybe I fear commitment and responsibility. Maybe I’m just naïve. Maybe I’m afraid of people or deep relationships. Maybe I’m avoiding pain. Maybe I’ll never know the depths of truly self-sacrificing love. Maybe I’ll change my mind when I’m old and ugly. Maybe I’m made for the monastery. Maybe I just have cold heart. Maybe. I’ve considered them all, but have decided that these are question marks I’ll take on individually if and when they snake their way into my reality. I’ve learned that dedication to a life of Presence means shelving the “maybes” to a proper place of consideration, but never as justification for a position of inaction.

But I do agree that this attitude might not be healthy if I didn’t like people. Fortunately, I really like people. (In fact it’s often for the very purpose of meeting more people that I love to be alone.) I love people! And anyone who knows me knows this. In fact, many times I have to play down just how much I like people knowing how the way I “enjoy and love” people can sometimes be misinterpreted when transposed upon the laws of love as they have been defined by the greeting card industry. Equally I feel misunderstood when my love is defined by level of attachment. I really appreciate the people in my life who know me intimately enough that I am able to confidently sign my letters with, “Not missing you, but loving you. And knowing you know the difference.”

It amazes me how taboo it is to not be seeking a life partner. It seems like this is simply an unquestionable assumption that defines life progress and accomplishment. The societal conditioning is so thick that the question never has the chance to even arise. And it took me a full quarter of my life to realize, “Wow. The last six years of a solitary life path have been a perfect combination of challenge and inspiration. I feel great right now.” (And since I judge my future to be a perfect reflection of my present), “ So why not another six years? And why not the rest of this lifetime? Just me and you Life. Why not?”

I’m not saying that I’m going to define my future (no, no, no) by this or any other expectation (especially in light of the fact I don’t know much, and what I do know is constantly being looked back upon as being stupid); only that I release another socially constructed ideal and open my life to the very real and exciting possibility of walking, and taking responsibility for, my life path on my own.

The smirk on the face of the divine is inspired by the punch line of one of life’s cutest little pranks; that the minute an individual lets go and finds and centers him/herself freestanding, people seem to suddenly flock to that person. This just makes sense; that people love the essence and lightness of unburdened being and are attracted to those who internally and independently generate (and share) their own energy without dependency or borrowing. So while the advice of, “Find yourself, and then find another,” has a tone of truth, I’d also chime in with, “But if you find your relationship with life a challenging and exciting enough match of wit and emotion, then consider making a commitment to that partnership.”

As for love, I don’t know why, but I think I do feel it — not better or worse — but differently than the majority. Although it rationally makes sense to me; intuitively I simply can not define love by level of attachment, physical presence or time. I have felt the depths of my love plunge when looking into the eyes of people whose names I don’t know. And I’m actually scared by how my love does not flinch at the absence, departure and even decease of those I’ve loved for years. Perhaps it’s because I feel hardly constrained to this one little lifetime; that I’m confident and comforted by the opportunity of many more to reunite and exchange again. Even my romances I take on like sandcastles; mythical, magical little creations to be made with playful aim, but without purpose, and in full blessed consciousness of the crashing waves to which we will inevitably surrender our foundation for a fresh slate; on which we can begin again. And aren’t the waves benevolent? For what they know (but a truth which we often desperately resist), is that there is little joy in a dry and standing sandcastle. The point of a sandcastle is to be made and unmade. And a divine plan indeed has been devised to make this life a colliding and cascading collage of exactly such endless opportunities.

But enough of my rant and ramble; Rumi said it all better in eight little words;

“No better love than love with no object.”

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*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and MercuryFrog for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

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sculptor of dreams

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(I’m still tied up in the sheets of the “love post” and have yet to make that bed of thoughts. At the same time, I’ve been dealing with a family emergency and for this reason have neglected the site. Please accept my apologies and another chapter from my adventures along the Camino de Santiago. In my succulent anticipation of my return to the Camino de Santiago (this time in France), my mind won’t stop knocking on the dusty doors of memories from my pilgrimage along that magical path. And since this blog holds hands with my heart, we’re just going to have skip down this memory lane together.)

***** Santiago Staff

Many pilgrims walk the Camino with the assistance of a walking stick.

They come in all forms and sorts; metal, wood, extendable, expensive, carved, curved, thick, thin, painted, pointed, burned, blackened, short, tall, adorned with scallop shells or still sticky with sap. An assistant not only to walking, a “bordon” or “palo” is also an aid to fending off small beasts, a form of swashbuckling and martial art entertainment, a sweeper of cobweb-cluttered paths, a wet jacket rack, and a carving block for artistic expression of self.

Along my Camino, a small collection of tiny stones, pieces of colored glass, shards of broken tiles, bits of broken mirror and slivers of lost sea shells have found their place engraved into the wood of my own “Santiago Staff” (which found me in an enchanted forest on the second day of my Camino).

It is with this stick, that on the downbeat to the step of my feet, my palo and I announce our arrival by playing out our walking pulse (pad-pad-plunk, pad-pad-plunk) on the tiled floor entrance of a particularly new and plush pilgrim refuge. In a mirage-like vision, and to the toe-squirming delight of my tired soles, I find at the entrance of this hostel a “foot fountain” specifically designed for the purpose of refreshing feet belonging to those of pilgrim-ing inclinations.

“What a incredible fountain!” I declare, upon arrival, in delight and agreement with my feet.

Pupils dilated in joy of what my eyes spy, and attention focused on the fountain (and object of my affection), I do not at first notice the character that guards this treasure. Just as I feel him turn and take notice of me, he suddenly steps vividly into vision and his enormous presence unmistakably claims rein of the scene. Although by all accounts a very big man, there’s no need to cower, as his eyes are as wide as his smile and outstretched arms. And bowing to my clapping anticipation and astonished delight, the big man lifts his tree-trunk legs and transplants them directly INTO the fountain.

“Yes! Welcome pilgrim! Come now child. Come now here! This is what you do!”

He bends into the fountain and, with huge cupped hands, brings a handmade bowl of water to his face. He splashes the water up onto his arms and then cups his hands again to anoint his neck, head and face with the freshness that only water inspires. He excitedly shakes the water from his hair and smiles at me once more with all the innocence and energy of an enormous wet puppy.

“Hurry child! Follow my suit. Take off you shoes now. Come, come!” He jumps out of the pool and beckons me to take his place.

Without hesitation, I accept his invitation and strip my feet of shoes and socks. I jump in, douse my arms and neck, baptize my head, and then kick up the water in a small dance of delight. The big man’s joy in witnessing mine makes for an exponential energy curve which culminates in a final burst of shared laughs aloud.

A peace fills the pause after our thunder of laughter and then he places a delicate hand on my shoulder and his eyes rest upon me with the softness of the water now reclaiming its composure in the fountain. With a heavy sigh he says, “Ah my child. There are pilgrims, and then there are pilgrims.” He shakes his head and then takes my hand with a gentle grace normally bereft big men and leads me to the entrance of the building, “Welcome to our house. Please come inside.”

As he makes to pick up my bag, he suddenly halts, noticing my walking stick leaning nonchalantly against the wall. I notice how he approaches the stick as he would a friend, greeting it with the same delicate touch that he demonstrated in our own handshake. He picks up the stick, squints his eyes in scrutiny, and scopes its carvings and engravings carefully as he runs his sixth sense across the piece.

“Well look at this,” he whispers, more to the piece than to me, “You’ve crafted this with love. The heart of this wood beats.” He relieves the stick of duty, turns his attention back to where I’m standing at ease and eyes me cautiously with a similar round of re-consideration. Then he turns his attention back to the wood and the animation that defines this character re-consumes his body as he suddenly booms, “but you need to fill in these cracks! And olive oil! You need olive oil!”

In one sweeping second he fills my hands with a bucket of clay, scalpel-like tool, bottle of oil and a thick painting brush. With expert hands he swiftly demonstrates how I must fill in the cracks in the wood with the clay. Pat, pat, pat; he tucks the clay into cracks and the splits in my stick, like magic, disappear. He explains softly as he shows, “After the clay, generously paint the wood entirely with olive oil. At least three coats before you sleep. See? Like this child; extra coats on the ends. Do you see? Just like this…” Slap, slap, slap; the wood stains dark as it absorbs the oil in a thirst so strong I imagine that I hear the stick sighing in relief.

I am still watching this magical transformation of my palo to bordon and “stick” to “staff” when something in the peripheral of the scene catches my eye that suddenly demands my attention and simultaneously drags my body in tow to the corner of the patio. Still carrying my walking stick and clutter of tools, I slowly approach the great fallen tree on its altar of multiple supporting stands. I drop the tools and my humbled walking stick in order to free my fingers to dance along the grooves, curves, cuts and ridges of the mother spirit of all walking sticks. The pages of childhood history books begin to dance back into my memory, thumping to the percussion beat that always themes the tragic tale of those native to the North American continent. This sacrificial piece, in falling, did not lose life, but at the hands of this man, is being eternalized in the new form of carved sacred symbols. I put my hands on the wood. The pulse of the piece is strong; no doubt it is synchronized to beat in resonance with the heart of its own creator – who stands modestly beside me allowing just the right amount of space and silence for me to absorb the oil of its own essence.

Finally he puts the period on my open-mouthed awe, “…a totem pole. We will erect it here in the plaza of this hostel this month on the day of Saint Santiago.”

There are no words, but I try to stutter a few out anyway, “…it’s, it’s, so…. so beautiful!”

He brushes the compliment aside with the same stroke he used with the olive oil.

“Come child. Do not misplace credit, for is the spirit of the Camino that breathes life into this piece. And since you, pilgrim, ARE the Camino — you must help. Stay here tomorrow and I shall teach you a bit on the art of woodcarving and you will make your mark on this wood and add your own spirit to its story. Yes? Yes.”

He picks up my bag and enters the hostel and I follow him.

***** Scu
lptor of Dreams

I sleep late and after all the pilgrims have left, I assist the hostel staff with cleaning sinks, mopping floors and tucking in beds. When the chores are finished, I go outside and find the wood sculptor at work. The fresh bark dust wafts lazily about the floor and scents the new day’s air with the freshness of forest.

“Ah child! Good morning! Quite a day we’ve been blessed with today, yes? You’ve had tea yet? You must start the day with tea. Wait. I’ll get you some,” he excitedly declares as he, in one giant stride, disappears into the hostel kitchen.

I am still admiring the finest details of the scallop shells, birds, and other animals and symbols that adorn the totem pole when he returns with tea. He hands the cup to me and I observe with admiration that this man makes no favors for anyone. His every offering of kindness is made only for the delight that the act of giving itself inspires. If I asked this man for the moon, not only would he deliver it on a silver platter, but he’d praise me for coming up with such an ingenious idea.

He picks up the chisel and hammer.

I’m suddenly nervous. He doesn’t really expect me to taint his work with my inexperienced hand, I wonder?

He addresses my silent question as he begins to work on the wood and demonstrate by slow and exaggerated example…

The wood melts into smooth curves under his experienced hand as he explains, “You are already an artist of life child. Wood carving is only another channel of expressing and giving form to that same life force.” He continues, “The well of creation is already within you. All you must do is draw upon it. Art is the universal language that bridges the dreaming and waking worlds and although today you will use a chisel, you may always utilize the same tools to sculpt life as you would wood.”

He then turns to look at me and instructs, “Stand yourself in front of this piece of un-carved and clean wood. Good. Now, close your eyes child. Because every single task in life should warm up with an exercise in imagination. The elixir of eternal youth is only a limber imagination; and we must toast and take a shot before starting. Yes? Ready?”

“Now imagine your clean and un-carved wood in front of you. Have you an idea of what image you would like to carve into that space? There are no boundaries – this is important to realize. Do not box yourself into something you’ve done before. Feel out and find the edges of your experiences, and then — and this is important — take one step over that border. Are you on the other side with me? Good. Because this is where we always start. This is where the horizons of creativity spread. Do you see? Now you are standing in the place where dreams and the universe conspire to realize. Now just wait and watch. Something always rises out of the stillness of this spot…”

I straighten my back, breathe deeply, envision and watch the space. He gives me a few minutes and then whispers as if not to disturb the emergence of something wild on the horizon, “Do you see it? Can you see what you want to carve?”

Straddling the border of reality and dreams, where I have been instructed to stand, I listen and wait; and sure enough, I catch a glimpse of something in the distance. It shimmers like a mirage and I quickly learn by trial and error that the more I squint, the harder it is for me to make it out. But if I settle and wait patiently, like a vision from a forgotten dream, the image emerges of its own accord.

“Now look at the image on the wood in your mind. Your chisel has not yet touched it. But look at what you see sketched on the slate of your mind. Isn’t the image of you what you want to see, in fact, already there? You see, mere conception of a vision or dream, in some formless and untouchable way, brings it into existence. The inspiration within you is REAL and an outline of it already exists in some realm between your mind and the material.”

I tilt my head in observant study of the image I see in my mind.

“Now don’t lose me child. For I know this understanding can be difficult to grasp. Do you see that your creativity sprouts from something beyond you? That your dreams are seeded and nurtured by the hand of a grander and guiding force? Do you get that it is not just an opportunity, but your responsibility to foster the growth of these divine seeds of creativity which start as dreams? And do you see that that only difference between your vision and reality is the chisel in your hand? You just need to pick up the tools and start working to bring it into reality. Just pick up the chisel and start carving it into life, one chip at a time. Now don’t be overwhelmed by the whole picture or your task of making it all happen exactly as you had hoped. Don’t constrict yourself to working within your outline. Allow your contours and design to move and change as they are brought to life according to your new inspirations. The trick is to not expect, or even want, the final work to follow the exact line of the original idea. Because your dream, as it comes to reality, will grasp a new life of its own. And as it builds upon itself, it will in turn birth contours and dimensions that you had never imagined yourself capable of the creativity to conceive. Your final masterpiece will bear resemblance to your original inspiration but, over the process of actualization, will evolve to become more than you ever initially dreamed.”

With some hesitation, I explain honestly, “I do see it. But I doubt my skill to realize my vision because I’m not a wood carver…”

His contagious confidence spreads with his supple suggestion, “Move your body and you are a dancer. Put pen to paper and you are a writer. Walk and you are a pilgrim. Step into any place unknown and you are a traveller. There is no trick to this equation. Whatever you want to be, you just start being it; right now.”

With my eyes still closed, I feel my hands lifted. A sharp chisel is placed into my left hand and a soft hammer in my right.

“And now child, you are a wood carver.”


******

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and MercuryFrog for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

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tackle & tangle

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“No more satisfying work than work with no purpose.” – Rumi

To build a sandcastle right in the face of an oncoming tide. To climb a tree that I must eventually come down. To write with rhyme but without reason. To walk without a destination. To let my imagination wander through realities undefined. Isn’t the sentence that ends in a question mark ever more interesting than that which ends in a period?

Someone wrote me recently and asked, “But what are you looking for?”

I answered; “I just like the way magic and mystery unravel when I’m chasing the yarn ball of life.”

He didn’t like my answer; told me that I either do not know, or am refusing to share, my real objective. Ironically enough, I thought my response was about as close to brilliance as I’ve ever gotten.

To my mind comes the image of a cat, flickering its tail, watching the ball out of the corner of its eye, waiting, in time-ignorant anticipation, for the perfect moment to pounce. The ball itself is lifeless on its own, but innately full of potential and animated by only the enthusiastic will of the cat to bring it to life. This is my life. I tackle it. And in return, we engage in exhilarating and exciting play.

Is there an objective in my life? Yes. I think there is. And I bet it’s a very important objective. Do I know what that objective is? Hell no. Do I know better than to try and plan a route to an unidentified goal?

A long time ago, I had a life plan. I had a timeline plotted with little dots and slashes slotting space for my courtship, engagement, marriage, first and second child, work, and retirement. The only thing I forgot to put at the end of that little line — was death. And then one day, thanks to some armed men in the jungle of Guatemala, I had a near death experience. Near death experiences, by the way, have gotten a very undeserving bad rap. In defense of the indicted, I would just like to say that my encounter with Death was my best date yet (and not just because I got lucky). On that day, two parallel worlds crossed; one where I escaped and one where I didn’t. I may have been graced with an opening along the safe path, but I carry that parallel world in my pocket, which is where I want always to carry Death; rubbing right up against the skin of my vitality.

On that day, I took my timeline, looked at it curiously for a long time, marked “death” with a small dark dot at the end, turned the graph upside down, erased everything that followed it and reviewed the new representation with content. I don’t think life is a sentence that ends with the exclamation point, question mark or period of Death. Rather, I think it drops off with a dot, dot, seed. Like a sapling sprouting from the decomposition of its predecessor, I believe that our potential springs from our very rot. (I bite my lip on the potential for a perfect political metaphor referring to our government’s current state as a piling heap of…) From funk to fertilizer; now isn’t that a nice equation? Sure makes life easier when I remember that for every inch I fall, I’m given an extra inch to grow. This is why, to the hushing and discouragement of many around me, I always say, “Do whatever you want with your life.” If you need to cheat and steal to learn about Truth, then take to the mall with your dirty five-finger discount. The thing about life is that its laws are universal and its lessons indiscriminate. Newton made it his third law. Buddha called it karma. Bruce Willis calls it revenge. The Bible says we reap of it what we sow. Sol says, “play with a ball of string and you very well might get tied up, but half the fun is in getting knotted up, and the other half is in straightening it out.” My point is simple; Instead of walking the line, I think it’s time to tackle and get entangled in life — no matter how messy it gets.

(And mine, at the minute, is messy.)

But this leads me to the other more daring, dangerous and rousing half of Rumi’s rhyme…

“No better love than love with no object.”

I’m still rolling around on this one so I’ll save my rambling ponder on it for next week.

———————————————
*sol bows her “namaste” and gratitude to World Nomads Travel Insurance, ThinkHost and MercuryFrog for their ever-supporting roles in the realization of her dream.

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art of alchemy

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3 times stranded without cover in sudden rainstorms. 3 expeditions sent to “get help” to pull our minivan out of the mud. 20+ group efforts to push or pull our car out of muck-ruts. 6 snapped towropes. 1 dead engine. 30 miles of ankle-to-knee-deep mud. 700 mosquito bites (averaging 50 per person plus Raphael’s 200). A fair number of unmentionable words sworn. 1 jaundiced leader suffering from a (as of now) confirmed case of Hepititis A. 1 nail-less big toe. 11 pairs of squishy boots. 4 expressed emotional breakdowns (unknown private ones). 4 mysterious rashes. 1 mule stuck in the mud. 1 dead tarantula. 1 hour walking in the dark with 1000 sets of shiny spider eyes reflecting the light of our headlamps. 2 tarps short of covering the hammocks and cooking fire from a sudden downpour…

2 tarps suddenly found to save our dry clothes (and souls) from another drenching. Numerous hysterical laughs when one could do nothing with the situation but crack. 11 of the best Snickers bars ever tasted. 8 hours of the most exhausted, and thus sound, hammock sleeping. 1 graceful surrender for the sake of safety. 1 sunrise at the top of a pyramid at the ruins of Tintal with views of the jungle-covered temples of Mirador and Nakbe peeking above the canopy of the Peten rain forest. Many sightings (and soundings) of both spider and howler monkeys. 5 AMAZING local trek guides with unlimited energy, enthusiasm and knowledge of the forest and its animal and plant inhabitants. 100’s of enormous bright blue Morpho butterflies flaunting their easy flutter as we sludged along. 2.5 oranges per person, per day. 11 bodies surrendered fully and finally to the mud. Dozens of unexcavated ruins left by ancient Mayan civilizations lining, like small rolling hills, both sides of our trail. 5 girls laughing so hard they were mistaken for monkeys. 2 royal “throne” jungle outhouses. 1 ballpoint mustache. 1 impressionable sight of a full chicken bus coming to our tow-rescue. 2 video remakes of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” 11 excited hoops of hurray when the minivan was finally yanked out of the mud. 1 angel sent from heaven with a 4×4 pick-up truck to save us from being stranded. 1 unforgettable experience scarred from skin to soul.

Dear Students,

Our last day was, by any Hero’s definition, “epic.” And although it felt much longer than the 24 hours that a day usually confines itself to, dizzy with disbelief of each unfathomable moment as it fell upon us, I somehow lost the time to communicate my congratulations to you.

I suppose we each have a point where we (think) we can take no more. And to my (perhaps sick, yes) delight, I witnessed many of you reach that point this week. But my satisfaction comes not from seeing you suffer, but from witnessing you each successfully limbo what you thought to be your bar of ultimate endurance. Tears were cried, words were sworn and the existence of hell realms on Earth were certainly questioned. But it is only through these soul-shaking and reality-challenging encounters with our limits that we have the opportunity to push our walls in life an inch out, up, higher and lower; creating some space (in the box of Life that limited perception creates) for us to sigh, breathe, play and grow in confidence.

And isn’t it such a peculiar and relieving confidence that is inspired, not by conquest, but by surrender? Just when we think we have reached the wall of our will, the unfathomable pushes us right through it and we suddenly find ourselves on the other side with the realization that the walls of what we think we can do in this life are actually illusions. And suddenly we are laughing out loud at the all the unnecessary time we spent dreading, worrying, expecting, defining, avoiding, denying and hesitating…

Remember on our first day when we set out in our dry and clean clothes? We took enormous care to scout and then hurdle ourselves to each dry island along the path. We employed machetes to hack down what we thought would be a faster track. At each rest stop we took twigs and scraped the mud from our boots. We cringed at each raindrop that landed on our dry clothes and threatened an entourage behind it. And with such desperation we dug through our bags for our expensive Gortex jackets when the clouds grew dark. But isn’t the rain one to humble even Mr. Gore himself? For as we clearly saw with Storm Stan, is there anything that Rain can’t eventually drench, uproot, sweep away, flood, or famish? Despite what any REI clerk will claim, in the ring between Gortex and a tropical downpour, poor (but expensive) breathable plastic never stood a chance.

And thus we were drenched.

But, really, how often do we humans get truly, thoroughly and without resistance, wet? Looking at my own history of umbrellas, ponchos and shelter-sprints, I’d say I’ve spent a good portion of my life skirting, swerving and scowling at the sky’s natural showerhead. So imagine my surprise when, after observing the unrelenting rain go from saturating my “protective barriers” (2 minutes, by the way, Mr. Gore) to forming an impressive drainage system along the natural divots and divides of my skin, I realized (or remembered?) that the only completely impermeable and breathable material on this Earth is skin. And eyebrows and eyelashes work together as an impressive windshield-wiper team. And, (oh blessed surrender to my 7-year old self!), stomping in knee-deep mud to the tune of a full volume storm is invigorating and liberating!

“Surrender” has gotten such a terribly undeserving bad name in our dualistic-minded society. (But then so have Surrender’s friends “emptiness”, “minimalism”, “death”, “stillness”, “different” and “darkness” – but wouldn’t that be an essay.) Yet in my life I continue to learn that it is not my conquests that make me stronger, but the experiences that humble me in beauty, bigness or recognized brotherhood. Contrary to all I was socialized into believing, it’s the events and visions that make me feel smaller that make me feel more comfortable in my proper (little) place in this world. It’s the ocean, the sunset, the full moon, the dark sky, the pyramids, the jungle, the thunder, the lightning, and yes, a full pummeling by a storm that make me realize just how small I am — and just how “okay” it is to be small.

So we did not reach our original destination. But we did push our inner and collective endurance to heights and horizons that make the pyramids of Mirador look small. Many of us have admitted that some of our most challenging days on this semester, and in the field of Life, took place on that muddy little path this week. But it was certainly an experience worth the lesson of coming to know (intimately) the depth of the mud that we can successfully trudge through. And isn’t it exactly the swamps of life that allow us to walk with renewed appreciation for the ease of the drier paths in Life’s more maintained and manicured parks?

In Buddhism, a “bodhisattva” is one who is enlightened, but consciously chooses to stay on Earth to “participate in the sorrows of the world with joy.” When I look back at the epic tale of adventure that we wrote last week, it’s the picture on the last page that I most remember. It’s the vision of you all — knee deep in the mud, covered in dirt, car broken down, sun setting, mosquitoes swarming, hours away in either direction from any shelter — and smiling. And not just smiling, but laughing, dancing, singing, and sighing at the sight of the near full moon putting a fantastic sunset (and epic day) to bed; participating with joy in a situation that would by most definitions be defined as miserable.

So congratulations to you on an ace on your first exam in Alchemy. For you have all shown yourselves as promising Alchemists — whose art is only that of changing obstacles into chal
lenge, the horrific into epic, the unknown into adventure, misery into magic, metal into gold.

*****

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travel disclaimer

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Travel Disclaimer

Should one decide to drop ones current life, in pursuit of something unknown, and specifically (in this case) in foreign lands for variable amounts of time — it should be warned than any of the following may result, and that such effects are the full responsibility of the person, and that the world (nor solbeam or her affiliates) may not be held liable for these consequences.

1. Self-dependency. Traveling takes courage, passion, endurance, independence and an immense amount of self-dependency. Although these qualities within may not be initially recognized, it takes all of them JUST to get on the plane. And then, through continual and rigorous on-the-road application – these traits begin to strengthen and solidify. You might suddenly find yourself feeling STRONG, solid, complete and capable of anything. You might find yourself adverse to old ideas of finding someone else to “complete yourself” and instead find a new passionate relationship with life that fills an emptiness that you may have once misidentified. Self-recognition as a complete and whole person, in need of no thing or other person, could bring unlimited personal freedom.

2. Belief in Magic. Las Vegas, Disneyland, Seaworld and other such amusement facilities may suddenly lose their charm when such realizations are made as: the Luxor Pyramids actually DO exist — in Egypt; that castles ARE real — and exist is misty mountains throughout Europe; that dolphins spin, flip, smile and squeal all by their free selves in all the wild oceans of the world; and that all “performed magic” is really inspired by, and in immitation of, some greater “natural magic.” Those said American establishments may begin to take on the flavor of imitation crab and your refined tastes for experiencing the originals may become insatiable. On the road you may also personally witness the “miracles” and “magic” of life and nature personally. Such experiences may include, but are certainly not limited to: erupting volcanoes, phosphorescent underwater light shows, asteroid showers, overwhelming remains of ancient civilizations, natural hot springs, towering waterfalls, and animals you’ve never seen behind cages at zoos. Simply because things are new, and because they lack explanation, they may become nothing less that an act of magic, or of the Divine. Your interest in life may become more childlike, and your new perception, delightful. Your new belief in “magic” may even evolve into into the theory that we each, individually, with only a slight change in perception, have the power within to make everything in life mystical and/or magical.

3. New taste for the simplicity of food. Physically seeing (maybe for the first time) where food comes from and watching (or partaking) in the harvesting of it may give you new respect for the beauty of that process. You may become suddenly disturbed by the idea of eating anything that is plastic-wrapped, “instant”, or chemically manufactured. Instead, you might be more inclined to chose those items you can pick off trees and out of the ground — those foods that you can see whole and were naturally made perfect for nourishment. Also, traveling through countries where people who have so little food, and witnessing their heartfelt appreciation of what little they DO have — may inspire admiration, if not a change in your own relationship with something you may have been previously taken for granted.

4. Questioning and redefinition of Religion. As you come face to face with, and find yourself in serious respect of people of other cultures who practice religions of entirely different beliefs, you may begin to: 1. Question the authoritative forces in your life that defined for you what exactly is “right” and what exactly is “wrong”; 2. Realize that there is no “evil”, “devil” or “hell” and only that there are two different perspectives and forces acting on the end of every spectrum and question – none being more valid or less “good” than the other.; 3. Chose to reject and/or redefine for yourself new laws of living life.

5. Disinterest in materialism. After traveling, you may find yourself holding a pair of nylons or a tie in your hand, staring at it quizzically and asking, “why?” Material possessions may lose their logic…and therefor their luster. Excess of money may be seen only as “binding” to responsibilities you no longer desire. Cars and houses and other such items may become commitments you no longer want to agree to. On the road you may even acquire a renewed interest in bartering. You may begin to take greater joy in the personal exchange of services for services and find new respect for the beauty of putting “love” into something you make, and receiving in return, something that was MADE with “love.”

6. Discovery of new passions that could certainly change, and possibly consume, your life. You may be subject to any of the following: foods you’ve never tasted before, music you’ve never heard before, landscapes you’ve never seen before, cultures you’ve never smelled before, freedoms you’ve never felt before, and people you’ve never realized existed before. One or more of these new awarenesses could possibly spark something inside of you that could level everything else in your life to menial. And one of these passions or persons might even go so far as to claim itself as your “destiny” in life, prompting you to disregard or deny your *former* life as it was known in pursuit of something that “speaks to your soul.”

7. Respect for the intelligence of nature. Being subject to both the beauty and power of nature may change your personal relationship with it. Finding yourself at its mercy at some point in your travels is entirely likely. And this confrontation may justify a new overwhelming respect for life. In the midst of jungles, oceans and deserts — witnessing the ecosystem at work first hand — may bring to mind a list of unanswerable questions in regards to who or what is really orchestrating this melody of intelligence. You may be subject to a renewed interest in the cosmos, and the questions behind it. You may no longer need Ansel Adams in your living room, for after witnessing such glimpses of beauty regularly, you may recognize his gallery as petty…. at least in comparison to the living one now in your mind.

8. Conscious Living. As a direct result of placing yourself in completely foreign and unknown environments, you may find yourself with heightened awareness of your senses and life. Because everything (sights, smells, touches, tastes) in a different place IS different, you will actually notice and appreciate those differences. You might actually even feel as if you are “awake” for the very first time. This new heightened awareness, or conscious living, might even be carried BACK with you when you revisit those places you thought yourself familiar with. Things may not have changed, but your perception of them might and though your physical travels may have discontinued, your new appreciation of life may tread onward.

9. Increased concern for the environment. As you begin to experience the innumerable pleasures of this Earth, and for the first time witness the devastating effects the human race’s misuse of those resources, you may become seriously concerned about the future of the environment. When, for instance, you walk out of jungle trek, and see acres of it being ripped from its roots; or when you see a Whale Shark, and then learn that their population has decreased by 90% due to water pollution; or when you witness the crippling diseases of an entire community of people because of air pollution — not only may you begin to question the endurance of this earth, but also your personal responsibility to care for and maintain it. Any one of these c
auses might also prompt recognition of a role that “needs” to be fulfilled by you.

10. Humility as an American. As you learn the devastating and solely self-interested role the hand of the American government has played in the destruction and corruption of the countries you travel in, you may feel immense shame, as well as anger and despise for the Government and Media that has hidden this history from you. You may suddenly become aware of the “Ugly & Ignorant American” stereotype walls that you will have to peacefully break down in every interaction with someone of a different nationality. And you may suddenly feel immense guilt for the wealth of your nation upon the acknowledgment of how that wealth was acquired and of the alarming rate of how it continues to selfishly consume the world’s resources.

11. The possibility of a major change in career or educational direction. Your formal education and/or training may suddenly feel very low in value. As you recognize and appreciate it for its role in bringing you to the place you are now, you might feel that your “learning” has just begun and that your continued schooling may NOT take place in a classroom. While traveling, you may receive your most important lessons from teachers who are not literate or you may make your most startling self realization in complete silence while watching a sunrise. You may even be moved to work for something you are intuitively inspired to pursue. And you may realize your unlimited potentiality, and begin to feel obligated to live up to it.

12. Addiction to constant stimuli. At first, new worlds may feel overwhelming. But as you begin to recognize patterns in them and become accustomed to the constant bombardment of new stimuli – you may find yourself becoming “comfortable with being uncomfortable.” You may even become addicted to the high of having your limits pushed and may find yourself craving that constant and ever-upward learning curve. A former lifestyle — and its habits and customs — may suddenly become scrutinized, and may no longer be worthy of your attention or energy.

13. Heightened sense of intuition. As your prior concepts of everything “that the world is” are suddenly confronted with conflicting realities, you may begin to lose faith in the world your senses have created thus far. As you realize that not all things are as they appear, you may increasingly rely on how you “feel” in response to things – seeking direction within your intuition. And if this “feeling” proves itself trustworthy, you may become increasing dependent on IT to find Truth in everything.

14. Feeling “different”. Society and its players may subject you to the titles of “weird”, “crazy”, “irresponsible”, “lost”, “nuts” or “odd.” The fact that you have chosen to pursue something that 99.99% of world doesn’t have the opportunity, or desire, to pursue, will forever and irrevocably make you “different.” This feeling, when analyzed while under the influence of the paradigm of a particular society, can lead to feelings of discomfort BUT, on the road, and in the presence of other like soul-seekers, nothing (and I mean nothing) will ever feel so right or so good.

15. Questioning Authority. As you begin to witness first hand the international issues of prostitution, poverty, religious prosecution, political corruption, environmental destruction, etc. you may begin to question every “fact” you’ve been told, every “statistic” you’ve heard quoted. You may begin to wonder how this overwhelming reality presenting itself to you right now could ever be contained in one quote or statistic. How the rest of the world could NOT be immediately concerned, or even aware, of what is happening might become baffling. And more importantly than questioning what you have been told, you may begin to seriously question what you HAVEN’T been told – and WHO has and hasn’t been telling you those things. In addition to questioning all the “authorities” in your life, you may come to the decision, that the only conclusions you can have faith in, are those that you know intimately yourself.

16. Emphasis on the Present. A lack of concern for the past and the future, and a concentrated interest on only the “now” may begin to predominantly influence your decisions in life. As already mentioned, while traveling, you may feel “awake” for the first time. You may love your history for bringing it to this point now, and love your future because of your confidence in yourself to make it beautiful, but appreciation for this very moment in time may become the only that concerns you. You may also find yourself more in tune with those senses that perceive the “now”: the wind breezing across your shoulders; the songs of different birds in the trees; the feeling of body that is NOT in pain; or the warmth of the sun on your face. And your breath; You may find yourself acutely aware of that life giving force that is the difference between this world and the next.

17. Mental freedom. As you begin to really LIVE your life, fear of dying loses its influence on you. You may begin to think, “If I died tomorrow, at least I died living.” The words “I could” and/or “I would” may be replaced in your vocabulary with “I do” and “I am.” A growing history of personal conquests may give you a silent confidence that you will be able to confront, succeed, and learn from all those challenges that life chooses to present before you. Every event, every person, every place – becomes an opportunity for self-discovery. And simply knowing that you tried, and gave it all the chance you could — may lead you to the realization that the “outcome” was — all along – inconsequential. And finally, direct and unrelenting pursuit of your personal potential in this life may result in senses of peace and joy that may completely overwhelm your being.

Editor’s Note: It should be noted that this disclaimer was created only via the perception of one *young & naive* person and her, specifically, “travel-oriented” perspective. It is entirely likely that these same effects may be attained through other, different — but entirely equal in value — activities. The boundaries of this earth and all that one can do within it are limitless. Those individuals choosing to pursue their potential in life and the adventures wherein, will be held entirely responsible and liable for all such activities conducted through those experiences. Those said individuals — will also — hold the utmost respect and admiration on the part of the author of this disclaimer.

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white and red aliens

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I close my eyes and step out of my house in Oregon.

I shuffle down the driveway to the mailbox to pick up the morning paper and right before I cross the street a black fume-exhausting bus with flamboyant red, orange and blue-tipped flames painted across its sides stops in the center of my street. There are block characters written across the front of the bus but I am not familiar with the language and thus can’t read the script. A door opens and strange music and voices pour out. The instruments and rhythm playing on the radio inside are foreign and awkward to me, but it’s the strange tone and alien chatter of the inhabitants that startles me into an uncomfortable shyness.

Someone from inside the bus yells a command in a harsh voice and I assume it means, “get out” for suddenly a river of small and dark people drain out of both the back and front of the bus. The people that fill the street are like nothing I’ve ever seen; they all wear the same red striped pants with what look like black chaps that wrap around their waists and snap with strange buttons in the front. Their long sleeved shirts are also of a same uniform color, but with huge collars and cuffs of finely woven material with intricately knit symbols that I imagine as a code to which I’m illiterate. Baskets are suddenly tossed from above the bus to their individual owners who, with long leather straps that wrap around the bodies and rest the weight on their foreheads, delicately heave up their luggage onto their backs and into carry-ready stance. Despite their obvious intrusion into a reality where they stick out sore, the people possess a oddly unwavering confidence that they are in the right place.

My 7-year old niece (who lives next door) hears the commotion outside, opens her door, yells a good-morning greeting and begins to run down towards me on the street. When I turn my attention back to the visitors, I see that all the people in red pants are jostling excitedly in their baskets, where upon they all pull out paper and pencils and begin to sketch notes and little picture likenesses of my niece. One of the observers smiles and points curiously to my niece’s blue denim jeans. Another steps to the front of the group, points at my niece’s pants, and starts explaining something in a calm and confident voice. The group responds with collective “oh”s of understanding.

I turn around and shoo my niece back to her house and when I speak the group suddenly hushes each other to hear my words. The apparent leader stands on her toes again and seems to translate what I’ve said, for the end of her sentence is met with a group grunt of comprehension.

I finally muscle up my courage and step up to this strange leader, “Who are you? Where do you come from? And why have you come here?”

The leader translates my questions to the group and then turns to me and speaks in a strangely accented but comprehensible version of my mother tongue, “Why, we’re people from a land far away called, Todos Santos. And we’ve come here to study your culture, your language, your clothing and your traditions. Can we make some pictures of your house, your family and of you?”

I open my eyes.

But it’s still so impossible for me to imagine.

What could the indigenous people of Todos Santos possibly make of the white alien invasion of blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall and pale-looking strangers with heavy backpacks and bug-eyed black sunglasses that wander through their streets with huge cameras, strange languages, awkward confidence and silly questions?

Or do I dare ask at the cost of my confidence being rightfully shaken?

*****

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as it is

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(Sun setting on the clouds upon arrival in Guatemala.)

There is a mantra which was recently re-whispered into a valley of my subconscious and has now risen to an echo that daily booms and bounces off the mountains in my mind…

“anicha”

“anicha”

Right before I came again to Guatemala, I served and sat at a Vipassana (meditation) course where Goenka-ji reminded me of one of my most important lessons from Buddhism: That we humans tend to live in a never-ending cycle of suffering because we attach ourselves to two very dangerous emotions: craving and aversion. When we “don’t like” something we react with disgust, anger, disappointment and negative emotions that amount to the action of aversion. When we “like” something we react with longing, unchecked desire, mindless passion and an addictive “craving” for more of that same thing. The problem is that, despite all our wishes for life to be so, nothing is permanent; everything is transient and passing. And thus, in chase of the illusion of being able to attain some mythical state of stability, we spend our minutes, days, years and life hopping back and forth between these two, mild but constantly, painful states of being; aversion and craving. The key to leaping out of this cycle of suffering is to practice equanimity; to (first become aware of and then choose to) dismiss our initial inclinations to immediately define all people, places, events and things along our personal sliding scales of “good” to “bad” and instead, to accept each stimuli in life simply…”as it is.”

Or in Sanskrit,

“anicha”

(the rising and passing of a moment)

So when Dragons changed my fall assignment from the Himalaya to the Guatemala Semester, instead of pleading out my (devastating) desire to return to India, I simply shrugged and whispered to myself, “anicha”…

…as it is.

And now here I am; visions, memories, sights and smells of Guatemala deliriously swarming in and all around me, a vigor tingling at the tips of all my fingers and a energy stirring underneath every inch of my skin. An inner self is dancing, leaping with joy at being able to walk again in the land of magic and mystery that first inspired my entire quest as a perpetual pilgrim. Yes. Guatemala’s multitude and magnitude of majestic volcanoes have overshadowed the entire Himalayan range and left me bowing my gratitude and respect to the Divine Plan that always (always!) knows my place and path better than I. The only thing that grounds me is the absolute certainty that there is no place I should (or would rather) be, than right here, now.

And attesting to the universality of the (life) language I’m learning, I turned yesterday to an indigenous woman of Mayan decent with my ridiculous list of petty “why?” questions in regards to a bus schedule to which she replied, “Asi es. Porque asi es.”

“As it is. Because that’s as it is.”

*****

< A few new photos in the new Guatemala 05-06 Album

*****

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melted clocks

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T = (F + PT) * 0 + (APM ^)

Where:

T = Time
F = Future
PT = Past
0 = Constant that negates the existence of the future and past
A = Awareness
PM = Present Moment

(Where the future and past do not exist, time equals awareness of the present moment to the power of an undefined infinite degree.)

*****

On the path of every traveller is a shared minute-liberating moment when s/he scavenges the basement of a backpack for the estranged watch that no longer leashes wrist and mind to a defined conception of time…

“It’s Friday right?”
“No, um…I’m pretty sure it’s Tuesday ‘cause church bells woke us up a few days ago.”
“Was that really only two days ago? Okay…so Tuesday the what?”
“I have no idea. Wait, my watch has the date on it. Hold on a minute. It’s down here somewhere…”

This conversation is usually followed by a moment of dazed bliss, mild hysteria, or a laughing-fit; for the machine-less tumble in time (via a tunnel painted by Salvador Dali), with hands thrown in the air and mental fingers sticky with melting clock, can be quite an exhilarating experience.

And how egotistical was I before to think that Time actually cared about me? Imagining myself being gently nudged from behind and buffered from the front, prodded and poked in order to keep my proper place walking down an imaginary life timeline?

Who knew that Time was all the while laughing, waiting for exactly the moment where I lost balance, slipped, fell down the “reality” rabbit hole and landed on my (capital-A) Ass before it sardonically whispered to me its secret…

“Lose track of me, and I’ll lose track of you.”

And now here I am, years (measured not in days, but smiles, sighs and sunsets) later, with a staggering statistical measuring unit from the old abandoned lifeline that has somehow managed to limp a way back into my life. Now be careful, for the following five words have been known to arouse adverse reactions:

10-Year High School Reunion

Oh did you feel it? Because I did! I don’t know where you went, but I’ll tell you where I did: For a single moment, I reverted straight back to my 14-year old self; first month of my freshman year at a new school, lunch bell screaming in my ear, pulling a brown bag from a cold, beaten metal locker and silently begging (“please God”) that today I might find another soul as lonely as I with whom I could share an empty hour eating sandwiches.

Not a memory I like to live long in, so quick, bring me back and let me catch my breath on the fresh air of the present moment.

I wonder how I would have experienced high school differently if I knew then what I do now. In that parallel world, I think I’d join the drama club, run for class president, experiment with a lot more drugs, hang out with all the foreign exchange students, spend Friday nights reading, stand up and face off with arrogant teachers, skip a lot more class to go the beach, do my book reports on Gandhi and reincarnation, start a “Recovering Catholics” and a “Salsa Dancing” club, initiate all my dates, cram my schedule with art and photography classes, and eat lunch outside, barefooted, joyfully alone, every single day.

Well since by my equation the past no longer exists, I don’t have four years of high school to relive (which is sigh worthy). But I do have one day to newly experience old memories in a body, mind and spirit I’ve comfortably and finally grown into.

So a 10-year high school reunion that happens to be taking place during one of five months in the last ten years that I happen to actually be in town?

Awkward. Nerve-wrecking. Identity-challenging. Scary. Unnecessary. Reality re-defining. Interesting. Unpredictable. Strange. Uncomfortable. And yes, downright freaky.

And for exactly all those reasons; Let’s go!

Of course all that logic came quickly into question as soon as I entered the room full of vaguely familiar faces grimacing under the terrible tune of C & C Music Factory, which (come on DJ!) really should be restrained (by order if necessary) to the 90’s.

Yes, there was a slightly painful and scripted prance through the entrance catwalk. Lucky for me, I had at my side one of my best friends in the world who happens also to be the exact same soul “lonely as I” that “God” sent to my side freshman year in high school and who has held my hand through the ups, downs and ins and outs of life every single day since.

Soon enough smiles were recognized and so warmly remembered. Laughs I hadn’t heard for years brought back sweet memories so worthy of fond recall. Surprised hugs and forgotten friendships renewed relationships and inspired dates for further investigation. An hour and a half into the crowd and I hadn’t even made it to the bar (a good sign). Of course there were still awkward and even embarrassing situations (and specifically two pretty blush-worthy ones for me which are not worth the details). But one of the advantages of not being 18 any more was being able to address the awkwardness with, “So, is this uncomfortable or what?” “Um. Yes.” and the heightened consciousness it takes to call out and/or laugh anything off with the indifferency that discomfort deserves.

Adding a unique twist to my own personal experience was the existence of this weblog. It’s one thing to post your most intimate thoughts, experiences and opinions for an anonymous online audience, but it’s an entirely different thing to imagine your old high school classmates reading your personal diary. Most of the friends I make while travelling go for months without knowing about this website. Some don’t find out until they randomly find the site themselves years later. So I was shocked, humbled and self-conscious when it became evident that people other than my mother were reading my ridiculous run-on word rants. But really, what can I do but shrug, surrender to the inner-self exposure, and laugh it off with the indifferency that my discomfort deserves?

So I have an aversion to numbers in general as they seem to me limiting in their expression of many things that I consider constituted of unit-less essence. But after this weekend’s reunion, I’m gonna break from my normal annoying vague jargon, and say that 28 looks pretty damn good on people; perhaps because experience and confidence also look good on people. And I’m seeing an exponential trend as well; that with each time period passed, there is an equal and uprising unit of respect, appreciation and individual advancement. So despite the physiological advantages, there’s no amount of pickled mango (I’m currently missing India) that would ever make me trade 18 for 28. After all, 1-27 got me where I am, and “here” is my favorite place to be. And I guess that would be the APM^part of the equation.

As for my 14-year old self, I travel through time (because, I’m pretty sure that if travel is indeed timeless, then I can somehow *with a little more imagination* deduce that we are also able to time travel) and shout down to her the one message that I also hammer into the heads of all the 18-year olds I work with; “Fall in love or fall in hate. Get inspired or be depressed. Get confused or be straight. Flunk a class or ace a test. Become a slut or be reborn a virgin. Get fit or get fat. Make babies or make art. Speak the truth or lie and cheat. Live happily ever after or get divorced. Dance on tables or sit in the c
orner and be shy. Let me (scream or whisper) a secret to you: It’s doesn’t matter. Nobody’s actually watching. Life is divine chaos. Embrace it. Forgive yourself. Breathe. And enjoy the ride.”

*****

(world photogallery)&nbsp(about sol)&nbsp(some stories)&nbsp(LeapNow.org)&nbsp(travel disclaimer)&nbsp(packing list)&nbsp (photogallery guestbook)&nbsp (blogger profile)&nbsp(World Nomads Travel Insurance)&nbsp(WhereThereBeDragons.com)&nbsp (Auroville)

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