Well, after a few conversations and explorations of the internet, I found a brilliant opportunity to do business plan development for one of the national forests in northern California. This is like a dream job for me as it will allow me to explore the idea of living in California (something I have wanted to do since graduating from college); enable me to gain some knowledge and experience working in the environmental/ecological preservation sector - I new found passion of mine after spending so much time contemplating nature this past year; and come complete with housing in the forest - a beautiful and serene setting to transition from my life as a traveler to that of business consultant.

Over the course of December, I sent in my resume and supporting materials and underwent two telephone interviews. In early January I received an e-mail offering me the position.

Of course I accepted, and then began making my plans to get home to NY to exchange my backpack for a brief case, in order to arrive in Redding, California on January 31st for orientation.

The end of my travels, start of a new job, returning home - it is all quite exciting and a bit scary.

I opted to keep notes from the last few weeks of travel in a notebook as internet was expensive and inconvenient (besides, knowing I was coming home soon made me less than enthusiastic about spending extended time in front of a computer). I have a few entries that I still plan to write (on love, children and long bus rides), and will be happy to share with you so stay tuned.

In the meantime, know I have greatly appreciated your generous readership and encouragement.

Love and light,
Jyll

As you may have guessed, I am fine as I am miles away on landlocked Laos. I as in Khao Lak just over a month ago, and from what I hear that was the area that was hardest hit. I am certain the lovely bungalow I stayed at just meters away from the beach is no longer. I hope the many people that took care of us there are safe -- but unfortunately there is no way for me to determine that.

A dear friend of mine used to live in Phuket and only recently returned back to the US a few months ago. Below I have attached an e-mail that was sent to him from one of his friends who is still in Phuket. It is mind-blowing!!!

Let's all continue to think thoughts of health and safety for those directly impacted by this incredible act of nature.

All the best for 2005,
Jyll

It began as a beautiful sunny Sunday ? Boxing Day. We were at the caf? and my yoga students and I had just convened upstairs for our Sunday session. Just as we were laying down our mats (about 10am), my friend Q got a call from her boyfriend who had been on near-by Nai Hahn beach. She was obviously shocked and in disbelief about what she was hearing him say. She said "Get out of there!" But his keys ? everything had been swept away. So she left immediately and the rest of us continued with yoga, unaware of the severity of this "freak wave". Soon the air was filled with sirens, screams, and fumes of burning boat engines. I tried to stay focused on yoga but it was difficult amidst so much commotion. Mid-way through yoga, our chef Noo came upstairs and said "Excuse me, police say everyone must go. Big wave." OK. How serious is this? I?m thinking.

The staff looked scared and eager to get out of there ? our shop and house are only a few hundred feet from the sea. However we are on a somewhat protected bay where many boats are or where anchored, so the power of the waves diminished a bit before hitting our shore. Still there was much damage. Mark was out running errands and heard there were big waves coming. Being a surfer, he had to go check the surf! He drove down a small lane heading towards the sea only to find a mob of people running toward him screaming "GO! GO! GO!" Behind them was a black wave rushing quickly towards them. Mark spun around on his motorbike and escaped. He saw the third wave come in at Rawai beach and got out just in time as well.

He arrived back at the shop and we quickly drove home to check on our dogs. Thankfully the water had not reached our house, thanks to the big lighthouse and drainage ditch directly in front! Some of our neighbors were joining the evacuation, packing their TV?s and rice cookers into their trucks. We had no way of getting our dogs to higher ground so we stayed and watched the water. The biggest waves had already hit, but we saw a few others batter the shore. The current was tremendous! Boats had been thrown up onto the road, cracking the cement wall of the lighthouse.

The damage on our side of the island was minimal compared to the side open to the Indian Ocean. We are somewhat protected being on a bay. We still have running water, electricity and even customers! That?s the good thing ? people still need to eat. Even though the majority of the tourists are leaving, most of our customers are residents. One Dutch customer emailed and said he?s coming to Phuket soon and is still interested in franchising a Bagels & Beyond! So it seems like not everyone has given up on Phuket.

We have a lot to be grateful for. Other people are not so lucky. There was absolutely no warning of the tsunami traveling 400mph towards us. The biggest tragedy is that the U.S. was the first to register the quake and send out warnings. The on-line Thai newspapaer "The Nation" just let out the info that the pathetic government officials in Bangkok received the warning, sat and discussed what to do for a long time and decided to do NOTHING. Not even warn Phuket. WHY? Because IF there was NO tidal wave and the hotels being100% full, then they would have big "BROKEN FACE". Hmm, lets see... worse case scenario: if we warn people and nothing happens then we have broken face. OR we DON'T warn people and the tsunami DOES hit and thousands die. I think better not to speak and save face. OH MY GOD!!!!! Sadly this doesn't surprise me. We witness this kind of cultural paralisys every day here. In fact on the day of the tsunami we saw a fire quickly burning out of control, nearing homes. We told the police (in Thai language) who stand at the traffic circle... what did they do? They stood there and laughed and studdered like Beevis and Butthead, "Tsu... na...mi." OH MY GOD! So we went to the police station where we found some semi-interested police who maybe did something about the fire. We later went back to the site of the fire and it had been put out just before it got to some big trees.

We drove up to the highest point on the island where many others gathered. Then we drove up the coast and were in absolute shock at what we saw. It looks like a war zone. Trucks, buses, boats crumpled like tin cans and thrown up on top of buildings like toys. Other buildings and houses that were on the beach are completely GONE. Nothing left but mud and rubbish. Many bodies buried under the rubble. I just found out today that a very nice woman we knew was walking her dogs on Ya Nui beach when it hit. They found her body 800 feet into the valley the next day.

Thankfully, none of our other friend's lost their lives (as far as we know), but many friends lost their livelyhood. A yoga student?s shop in Patong is totally destroyed. Our friend?s dive shop in Kata Noi is gutted. Our friend who sells BBQ chicken out of her little tin shack near our house had her shack completely gutted. Thankfully she and her twin daughters are ok. Our friend Shy who owns Ao Sane bungalows at Ao Sane beach lost his home and restaurant ? completely gone. Three beat up trucks strewn about the beach like crumpled tin cans, his pet Sea Eagle crying in its cruel cage. Our friend Troy who owns the submarine business here didn't loose the sub, but 50% of his pre-booked customers have canceled. Our friend Chris who drives the sub was just closing the hatch with tourists inside when the wave hit! Their boat almost toppled on top of the sub, but he somehow got everyone out of the sub and onto the boat, safely to shore!

The hotel that sits right on Kata Noi beach has every single first floor window smashed into lethal shards. Beds inside the room turned up on their sides. Patong - the biggest tourist trap on the island - was the worse we saw. Total devastation. As we approached a shopping mall, we saw some people pull out a dead body. A man ran into the crowd to identify the body of someone he loved. He and a woman collapsed with their heads in their hands and cried. That was the heaviest moment for me to witness.

The dive resort area of Khao Lak got hit the hardest in Thailand. It was there that the Thai King?s grandson lost his life as he was diving. All the hotels were only a few feet from the water ? there is nothing left of them now.

It struck at a very bad time ? peak season, but it could have been a lot worse if it had struck the day before ? on Christmas when hundreds of families were on the beach ? or worse yet if it struck an hour later ? many more people would have been on the beaches. Yet still those people were sleeping in their rooms, clueless to the massive wall of black water heading their way. It was black. Divers were diving and got tossed around like leaves, unable to see anything. Some rose safely to the surface, others are still missing. A little 5 year old Thai boy was found the next day clinging to a floating tree 6 miles off the coast of Koh PeePee. When asked what happened, he said, "I don?t know, all I saw was white people dying all around me." Many children are missing parents, many parents missing their children.

Of course some people are looting and some hotels in the safe zones are charging triple, so are taxi drivers going to the airport. On the positive side, there are free flights leaving Thailand and many people are volunteering to help in any way they can.

Now we sit back at our caf? and listen to peoples? stories. We talked with a Marin/San Diego couple who have been sailing around the world for 5 years. They were heading out of Chalong bay (where we live) when the tsunami rolled in. They made a wise decision and did a 180 - turned around and SURFED the wave back into the bay! They and their boat were undamaged.

One Florida native just sailed his boat in and wants to live here, so again, some hope for the future of Phuket. Our staff on the other hand is hinting that if they go home for their pre-scheduled New Year holiday, their families will forbid them to return to Phuket. I guess we will deal with this one step at a time. I?m sure there are many people who need jobs now, so if they don?t come back, I hope we can find new staff. They?re sure another tsunami is coming. The fishermen here don't even know about what a tsunami is or does.

It?s a serious wake up call for education and an installation of a tsunami warning system. It?s also the beautiful humbling power of nature at work. Thailand has barbarically and ignorantly destroyed and paved so much beautiful nature in the last year it?s tragic. Well, now we can all see the incredible power of Mother Nature cleansing herself !

Thank you for all of your emails and support and concern. It means a great deal to me. I?ll keep you posted on the unfolding events as often as I can.

Lots of Love,
kk

After a few weeks in Siem Reap and Phnom Penh I headed overland to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam. Restaurants playing tunes by the Beatles and the Beach Boys and museum exhibitions revealing the crimes against humanity that were committed during the Vietnam War, Saigon seemed to present an easy blend of warm nostalgia and historical documentation of the horrors of the days when "Charlie" had a heavy presence there. I departed Saigon a few days after I arrived, headed to the beaches of Mui Ne. Not much to speak of there other than the company of a charming young man from Canada and a skinny dip in the ocean after everyone else had retired to sleep for the evening. Dalat, a hill station a few hours north of Saigon, was memorable mostly for its cold weather and the brilliant nuns at the Truc Lam Thien Vien Pagoda where I was invited to practice meditation, eat and receive Buhhdist teachings.

Convinced that Vietnam was going to be somewhat of a disappointment, I began making plans to hustle through the next few towns and make my way to Laos. Then I arrived in Hoi Ann.

Lazy lanes and maze like alleyways guided me through this picturesque town of yellow-washed building and dark wood carved doors and windows. Each street has a charm all its own, filled with art galleries, cafe's and boutiques. The people lack the aggressive edge I have noticed in other parts of southern Vietnam, still hawking their goods and services but with an air of indifference to whether you buy or not.

It is amazing that no matter how many times I have seen the local women walk or cycle by with their traditional cone hats shading their skin from the sun, it is still a mesmerizing sight. Riding my bike out to the beach each afternoon, just a few kilometers away, was a welcomed way to watch the days fade into evening.

Hoi Ann is perhaps my favorite town from this entire trip, possibly of all the cities and towns I have ever visited. They ooze of romance, charm and down to earth elegance. I leave tomorrow for a 12-hour bus journey to Laos, and for the first time I am sad to be departing, feeling I did not get enough of Hoi Ann. Or perhaps it was that charming boy from the beach of Mui Ne that I did not get enough of.

We crossed paths again in Dalat, spending a fun afternoon hiking and riding a motorbike through the green hills. Every minute of time with him has been pure joy, although rushed as we both have had tight travel agendas, trying to adhere to our previous plans with our respective travel mates to see as much of Vietnam as possible with the one month visa we have been provided with.

Catching up again in Hoi Ann seemed to bring a slower pace, and an ability to appreciate the quality rather than the quantity of time we were spending together. For over 48 hours we were essentially inseparable, walking hand in hand, sharing stories and bowls of sorbet, constantly gazing into each other's eyes, and stealing kisses whenever privacy permitted such affection.

Like the cycle of life, this romantic interlude too must come to an end. Ryan departed early this afternoon en route to northern Vietnam and I leave tomorrow for Laos. As I spent my final afternoon in Hoi Ann by my lonesome, I was sad to see the sun set, and my last day here come to a close. Wishing I could freeze this moment, this place, this romance, just as it was, yet knowing that is impossible, I am off to pack my bag and continue on.

These last three months have been the most challenging and rewarding period of this trip and possibly of my entire life. The process of identifying the greatest depths of suffering experienced by my body, soul, psyche, and inner child has been surreal, making it impossible to describe in words that others could understand, and inhibiting me from calling on friend and family for the type of support I so desperately desired. While it was a process that I largely had to undergo on my own, I depended on images and memories of friends and family to connect me with my heart where the painful and therapeutic work needed to be done. Consequently I have never felt more connected and simultaneously isolated from the people dearest to me.

Once as a small child I pursued love with no inhibition only to be met by a simple ìnoî that shattered my courage, self-worth, and faith in my loving instincts. While I have intellectually realized the negative impact of this incident on my life for some time now, it is only in the last few months that I have unearthed the imprints of this event on my heart and soul and the physical and social habits I have unconsciously developed to prevent the pain of this or any other similar experience from surfacing.

I am now faced with the task of altering the way I carry myself and interact with people, particularly those that I perceive as threats to my emotional safety ñ the same people that have the greatest potential to provide me with the experience of love I have been longing for. As I take this on my mind shifts to a photo I took while living in South Africa. The image is one of a young, rural, African woman, leaning on the headboard of a bed, which is situated next to a window in her mud hut. A gentle breeze rustles the curtain as she looks off into the distance deep in thought, pulling the warmth of her blanket close to her body. I titled this image ìFragilityî as this woman maintains a softness and femininity even while surrounded by the textures of the very culture that colonized her country: the head board is striped, the curtain is lace and the blanket is plaid. The fragility I am referring to is not one of something easily breakable but the seeming quality of delicacy that is usually associated with women and the human spirit. I say ìseeminglyî as beneath the tender exterior one can often find a resiliency and durability beyond imagination, if they only bother to look. This has always been one of my favorite photos, and was displayed prominently above my bed back home, not because I ever felt I could relate to this woman but because I always wanted to.

Over this past summer I seem to have unearthed my own tender, feminine and fragile side and when I have allowed it to surface, have experienced magic, compassion, relatedness, and intimacy that I have never known before. These moments and exchanges made me think that perhaps I had completed what I have come on this journey for and thus it was time to head home. Then I realized that I did not make this difficult climb to simply view the valley and mountains beyond and then revert back to where I came from. From here I have become aware of experiences that I have never known or only heard of, and to simply return to locations and people that are familiar would, in the end, not enable my future to be much different from my past. Thus I am starting the second half of my journey, one that is destined to discover the safe, loving and joyous haven within myself that I will call my new home.

When I called to ask about the play-by-play of the delivery and to wish her all the best, I realized I could no longer relate to her experiences and emotions as I did back in college when we were both single, bi-racial women with crazy curly hair taking on the world of social injustice. Back in the good old days we would masquerade as sisters, with me being the oldest. Today I look comparatively at our lives and feel as though my little sis has not only grown up but also matured beyond me in many ways. The commitments of love, marriage and bringing a child into the world are still simply aspirations for me. Yet they are achievements she has taken on with courage and grace that are both so becoming to her.

My insecure inner child misses and feels dependent on the regularity of communication we used to share to remind me of how much I mean to her and how much she loves me. And then I look at the photo of perfect little Oren and realize she now has a child of her own and a husband that warrant that time and attention. The nature of change has taken its course and there is nothing I can do to turn it back. Nor do I want to - really.

The birth of my journey (which really began back in September 2003 when I first began planning this trip) coincided with that of my brother's new life as a married man. Knowing the physical distance that was going to be between us in the coming months and years (Trevor has recently purchased a home in the U.S. Virgin Islands where he will be spending the better part of his time) I began observing him more closely in order to imbed sweet images in my heart so that I may keep him close no matter where either of us may be. What I have come to notice is that my brother has been and continues to be on a journey as life changing as the one I am on. I am sure evidence of his evolution has been apparent for some time, but I have only just begun to notice the many subtle yet profound changes that Trevor has undergone. In assuming responsibility for the happiness of his wife, and moving beyond the familiar confines of New York to the U.S.V.I. where he has begun creating a life defined purely by his own terms, my brother has filled out the suit of manhood with great heart and courage. As he stated in his wedding vows, his relationship with Debi, his wife, has made him a better person, as he has begun to develop a gentler and kinder side with an enhanced facility to wear his love for others on his sleeve. For the better part of my adult life I have felt emotionally distant from Trevor as our life priorities were so different. Our present physical distance has ironically enabled me to feel closer and more connected to him than ever before.

I have noticed similar changes in the lives and relationships I have with so many of the people I am closest to. Having babies, buying homes, quitting jobs, moving away, sacrificing independence for partnership, entrusting loved ones to make choices on their own, pursuing dreams . . . I am inspired by all of those people who are pursuing life with the same spirit as I am this journey. I only wonder if these people are as aware of their great strides forward as I am without the luxury of time and space to quietly reflect and observe.

As much growth as I have noticed in others and myself, I am ever aware of the areas where change is slow to come. I have noticed my stagnation when exchanging with certain friends by e-mail, as these communications are riddled with clichÈs and absent of emotional calm and clarity. The physical pains that I am still enduring in my neck and the grinding of my teeth that continue to go unremedied and unexplained remind me daily of the fears and pains of the past I am still yet to identify or heal. My solitude throughout this journey (specifically referring to the absence of male companionship) informs me of the emotional development that I still need to undergo.

The lotus flower is referenced often in Buddhists texts, as a symbol of the perfection of nature. Thus I am familiar with its form despite the fact that I have never seen a real one in bloom. When I first arrived in Kashmir I noticed a field of green plants growing in the water just in front of the house where I was staying. I was informed that it was a field of lotus flowers that would bloom sometime in July. For lack of any other schedule to adhere to I declared that I would stay in Kashmir until the lotus flowers blossomed. Well just last week I noticed a large pink and white flower, shaped like a bowl with perfectly formed pointed petals reaching for the sky -- my first lotus. It was simple, elegant and peaceful -- well worth the six-week wait.

Just as I waited patiently for the beauty of these flowers to reveal themselves, I must wait for my own inner beauty to immerge. Pressuring this process will be as effective as watching grass grow. Thus I will simply continue my travels and let life take me where it may. It looks like my next destination is Leh, Ladahk, a.k.a. "little Tibet." I will let you know what I find when I get there.

I traveled here with Rahil, a brilliant young Kashmiri man who has an old soul, wise mind, and responsible and generous heart. We met in Bagsu, where Rahil is owner of a precious and semi-precious stone shop. Enchanted by the healing and energetic properties of the unique stones and their delicate settings, I decided to purchase a few to support me on my journey. I wear the ring and malas daily, and feel naked without them as they have quickly become a part of my inner and outer identity, as if they have adorned my body from birth.

Even after the purchase transaction for my jewelry was complete, I found myself frequenting Rahil's shop for cups of chai and long conversations about everything and nothing. Through these visits I came to realize that Rahilís friendship is even more precious and rare than the stones that he sells as he is one of the few men who are capable of cultivating a true friendship with a woman with no ulterior motives.

During one afternoon of chai, Rahil announced that his sister had just gotten engaged to be married. As the only son and main financial provider for his family, even at the young age of 29, he was excitedly obligated by tradition to travel home for the engagement party. Wanting to escape the monsoon of weather and emotions in Bagsu, I happily accepted his invitation to come along.

By the afternoon following our day of departure, I was sitting in the kitchen of Rahil's family home sipping tea and listening to the loud, warm and enthusiastic Kashmiri chatter of a family happily reunited. It did not require much time in the company of the Guroo family for the sources of Rahil's many great qualities to become evident. Ghulam, Rahil's father, a retired and formerly successful travel and tour operator, is a very quiet yet extremely confident man (much like the personality of my own father), who allows the vibrancy of his wife and daughters to color the energy of the household. Rahil's mother Hasina and two sisters Mahbooba and Rifat are all bold, bright and beautiful spirits who have clearly contributed to Rahil's profound understanding and respect for women.

Most activities center around the kitchen were food is always being cleaned, cooked or eaten. It seems a pot of Kashmiri tea -- characterized by green tea leaves and the saffron, cardamom, cinnamon and almonds that this part of India is famous for -- is also always in brew in expectation of the unannounced but always welcomed guests that are continually stopping by. Since tea is never consumed here without bread or biscuits, baskets full of diverse baked goods are also always being offered.

There house is a sweet two floor A-frame that is not quite finished but completely charming all the same. It is situated on a small island just along a canal that serves as a main artery of travel. All day and well into the evening colorful shikaras -- long colorful water taxis with bright, covered, cushioned and curtained sitting areas -- pass by leaving romantic Kashmiri love songs lingering as they move into the distance. It seems like everyone who lives here has done so for generations as the boat traffic is always accompanied by greetings and gossip being hollered from water to land and land to water.

I spend lots of time in my room, the only completed one on the second floor of the house, perched by the window where I observe the going-ons of the community. From this vantage point I have seen small children bounce out of their boats and into the lake as they play with one another. I have watched Hasina carefully select vegetables for the dayís meals from the veggie walla (seller). I have witnessed the shikara driver known to all as "old man" quietly slip from his boat to a quite and westward facing part of the lawn, to bow in evening prayer. I have observed Ghulam meticulously and lovingly attending to the flower garden that borders the front yard. Mostly I see shikara's filled with Indian tourists lazily passing the time of their holiday en route to nowhere in particular or Kashmiri men and boys parking their boats in the yet to blossom field of lotus plants just across from the house, where they sit and leisurely pass the day fishing.

I have noticed that I am not the only one who likes to perch in the windows of the second floor bedroom. On more than one occasion I have been visited by local birds that are less afraid of me than I am of them. My favorite visitors are a couple of nightingales who like to fly in my room to take a rest on my curtain rod. Other fluttering and soaring friends I have had the pleasure of watching include eagles, water hens, woodpeckers, and my favorite, the turquoise feathered kingfisher.

It is more than just the exotic and friendly birds of Kashmir that come right to the house for visits. There seems to be a mobile shop for every need one could imagine that always floats up to the house just when you need them to. From the shore of the island one can purchase bread, milk, fruit, vegetables, clothes, fabrics, plastic containers, ice-cream, flowers, saffron, carpets, jewelry, live chickens, and barbecued mutton. My favorite sales boat is the one I call the "bodega (a Span-glish term used in New York City to refer to the corner store) boat" offering everything from toilet paper and cigarettes to soda and choco-pies.

The values that govern the Guroo family as well as most people's lives here in Kashmir are conservative and defined by their Islamic religion. The women of the home pray five times a day, everyone visits the mosque on Friday for prayer, no one in the house consumes any liquor, and the woman ensure that their heads are always covered, especially when the calls from the mosques are heard announcing that it is prayer time. While dramatically different from my own belief system, I have found a great respect for their devoted commitment to their traditional ways.

The only practice they have that leaves me a bit uncomfortable is their constant annihilation of flies and mosquitoes. My Buddhist vows of not killing and serving all life forms in our common desire to exist in peace and happiness has left me with a greater appreciation for the life of insects and routinely saddened by their execution (for the record, even I am surprised that I have become an advocate for the humane treatment of bugs). Recognizing that these values are not part of the Guroo family moral code, I offer respect by biting my tongue and shoeing the flies towards an exit in hope that they will escape an encounter with the swatter. I am happily rewarded when I observe that the familyís lack of compassion for bugs is made up for by their regular consideration of the fish and birds around their island. Rifat often saves her mutton bones in order to feed the crows, and any leftover rice from someone's plate is routinely dropped in the water at the joyous pleasure of the fish.

The serentiy and lack of schedule I maintain here is a nice change for me and as such I expect to stay for a while.

It is impossible for me to not have some confidence in the predictions offered about my future when aspects of my past were so accurately described. He mentioned events I have endured that I have never told another living soul about. He brought up very specific relationships in my life and characterized them to a tee. He knew I lived in Africa in the mid-1990's, and pointed out that I was an artist but not one whose livelihood depended on my creative pursuits. All of this was done based on my date, time and location of birth -- nothing more.

Not sure how much merit to give to these predictions, yet certain not to disregard them (just in case), I have been having fun living my life as if I know how events are going to unfold over the next 14 months. Whenever an opportunity poses itself for me to take action to support the direction I have been prophesized, I do it, as I would be quite thrilled if it all works out according to my astrological plan.

The family I have been living with in Kashmir puts enormous stock in the predictions offered by their Sufi (Muslim guru), and during one of his recent visits encouraged me to ask him about my future. Wanting to see if his visions confirmed or contradicted those of the astrologer, I posed a few questions to him. Despite the fact that the sources used to read ones future are completely different, his visions not only concurred with that of my astrological chart but offered some specifics that I had not known before. Actually these extra details have raised the stakes as they have put the course of events on a "real time" table.

The predictions seem to make perfect sense considering the direction that my life is heading in, and the future it describes is very much aligned with the desires of my heart. In short, I can see myself living this future. Yet how I get from here to there, especially in the specified timetable, is beyond the scope of my imagination. So much so that all I can do is allow life to take its course.

On one side it is very comforting to know how things are going to work out over the next year +, as I do not have to expend energy pursuing paths that will mislead me. At the same time it is bizarre to take the wonder out of ones future. It is particularly challenging for a strategic planner like me to already know the certain outcomes of my 14-month plan, especially when I have no concept of the actual course to get there. Nonetheless, my brain can not help but start to envision the reality and begin planning for its arrival. All of these perspectives are buzzing around my head while a small shadow of a doubt lingers in order to ensure I am not disappointed if it does not materialize. Once again, I find myself in strange and unfamiliar waters.

If these predictions are true, I can not help but question if it is unnatural to know them ahead of time. It seems one could put forth efforts to derail their future if it is one they are not looking forward to, or in my scenario, one could get fixated on the future so much so that they could lose their ability to allow the course to occur naturally. Perhaps knowing ones future is such an inherent part of life in places like India, that comprehending how things will turn out is the natural order. But for me it feels like I know about my own surprise party which certainly changes the nature of the party. Although, if I take this metaphor a bit further, I realize that knowing only removes the element of surprise. Actually, ensuring the guest of honor is in knowledge of the plan does make it easier to facilitate the event, and a party is still a party.

With that in mind and without knowledge of the protocol for sharing one's predicted future with others, I am going to keep the details to myself, just to be safe. Besides, my plans may involve one of you and I do not want to take away your element of surprise as well. When it is all said and done we can confer with the family I have been staying with to confirm the accuracy of the predictions. I will let you all know when to yell surprise!!!

The approach of the monsoon is an exciting change from the monotony of bright sunshine and crystal clear blue skies that I see everyday here. At the same time the rapid, forceful and unpredictable approach of these storms also leave me feeling vulnerable, unsettled and scared.

These words describe the weather in Bagsu as well as my emotional and physical state since arrival here on May 6th. During my stay, I have engaged in a multitude of activities to purify my body and open my energy channels including daily private kundalini yoga instructions from an authentic Swami and yoga master; yogic cleanings of my internal body cavities; an ayurvedic diet course; and repeated massages and reflexology treatments. As a result of all of these processes my body and emotions are both releasing toxins. My face has been breaking out. My body has experienced extreme fatigue and lethargy as well as gasteral and respiratory sicknesses. I have lost my voice repeatedly, have been on the verge of tears at the slightest confrontation. My patient and stable mind finds itself being replaced by my short temper of old.

For the first time during this trip I have longed for the comforts of home. I find myself wishing for the familiar embrace of my last lover, wanting to hear the overprotective concern for my well being expressed by my parents, needing to hear the reassuring voice of friends, and questioning my physical and emotional resolve to endure this trip to its end. My experience of myself at this moment is one of being in a skin that is not my own. I question whether I have what it takes to live the life of honesty, virtue, clarity and transparency that I have committed myself to. At the same time, I have come too far to simply return to my old persona and way of life.

The hardest part of feeling this way while traveling alone, is that I have no one and no where to turn for comfort and understanding. While I have made many beautiful and kind friends along the way, none of these individuals know the distance or road I have traveled, nor do they have the capacity to understand it as they are all on their own journey and must focus on navigating their own course. While phone calls and e-mails from home brighten my day, these words are like postcards from a distant land, beautiful and interesting but not quite the same as being there in person.

For the first time in my life I have lost the desire to be trooper, always bearing my own burden with no need for the attention, affection and assistance of others. At this point in my life I simply long to be loved unconditionally. Unfortunately the sources of love that I generally count on, my friends and family, are simply not here. Thus, I am naked, alone, and exposed and it seems no one near by is concerned about my vulnerability except me.

My state of being, combined with the many physical temptations and temporary escapes from reality offered here in Bagsu, have weakened my will to resist a diverted path from the one I am on. I have been tempted by the beautiful smile of a charming man, offers of hash, and overly sweet foods, and shamefully admit indulging these desires -- anything to make me feel good, even if just for a fleeting moment or two. While these short periods of pleasure were a welcomed escape from my reality, the resulting experiences were ones of regret and disappointment and certainty that I was moving further from the direction in which I really want and need to go.

* * * * *

When I sit quietly and just observe the irrational movement of the storm and witness how fresh, calm and nourished the earth is after the clouds have moved beyond the valley, I am learning to love the monsoons and accept them as an important contribution towards the course of nature. However, these insightful moments are few and far between as, once again, my habitual inclination is to do something, go somewhere, or seek protection in order to avoid the discomfort and unfamiliarity of my circumstances and surroundings. But slowly, slowly, the wisdom and peace of acceptance emerges. I look forward to seeing the resulting lush that blossom in the months to come.

Who would have thought that some eleven days later, the three of us would be boarding another plane together ñ this one destined for the town of Jomson (2173m), nestled near the top of the sacred Mountain of Dhaulagiri. For 11 days we trekked through the Himalayan mountain range known as Anapurna, visited the auspicious pilgrimage site of Muktinath, walked through the Gandaki Gorge (the deepest in the world), dipped in the hot springs at Tatopani, watched the sun rise over the mountains at Poon Hill, and slept night after night in the blue shadows of massive mountains surrounded by endless skies of stars and moon. Every day we were met by a different terrain and climate -- one day dry arid plains in between snow covered peaks, the next terraced hillsides of wheat filled fields, followed by oak and rhododendron forests as well as apple and orange groves, all interspersed with suspension bridges crossing fierce rivers and waterfalls and cozy little tea houses where we made our temporary homes.

While these destinations were all spectacular the best parts of this adventure were the moments in between: sharing a plate of this and a portion of that with Sheila at almost every meal, our visit to the steam bath after ascending and descending more than 1,000m in two short days, alternating use of the valuable knee braces Clive brought along, receiving puja from one of the many Saduís who passed in route to Muktinath, meditating in a different monastery every day when traveling through territories that were once a part of Tibet, washing one another as we basked in the sun at the hot springs, inspiring each other with our triumphs over doubt and fear, laughing and crying about my adventure with a horse, doing yoga together in the grass at Ghorepani, racing down the mountain in order to get back to civilization before the Maoist rebels closed all the roads, sharing medical remedies and treatments all along the way. . .

One beautiful sunny day I was walking ahead of She and Clive, they often dallied about an hour behind me as they preferred to stop for cultural exchanges with the local children and merchants. Having some extra time, I opted to stop in a tea house to use a proper toilet rather than relieving myself in nature. For the record, the term ìproper toiletî is a relative term here meaning a small room with a hole in the floor and a bucket of water for washing (instead of toilet paper). This ìsquat toiletî is pretty much the norm throughout India, Nepal and Tibet and after several months of using them I have actually found myself quite fond of them (the ones that are clean) and, so I thought, adept to using them like an old pro (not so easy as there is a definite knack for balance and aim required). As I entered the toilet room I put my bag down and clipped my sunglasses to the front of my shirt. Next I set myself up with firm footing as I planned to be there for a while if you know what I mean. After completing my business I straightened my legs to wash up, leaving me in the forward bend position. Before I knew it my glasses had slipped from the collar of my shirt and fell into the hole. I tried to think fast as I had fear of them falling into the abyss of excrement, a place of no return. Lucky for me, my own pile of excrement served as a lovely obstruction to that path, holding my glasses right in the middle of the toilet basin. I stood there for a few minutes considering my options -- I knew I had several more days of trekking in the sun before reaching the land of opticians and eyeglass shops; the fact that the frames were Gucci and the lenses prescription made them far to valuable to just let go; and there were no tools around to fish the glasses out of the toilet -- thus I was left with one option. Acting like the true rough and tumble mountaineer that I was posing as for that two week period, I rolled up my sleeve, bent down, reached in, fished out, rinsed them off, rubbed some Purel (hand sanitizer) on them, slapped them back on my face, and went on my way ñ end of story!!!

Another morning I arrived in a picturesque town with cobblestone paths and traditionally carved decorative windows and doorways, known as Marpha. Eager for my daily meditation in the local monastery, I went straight to its gate and asked the monks (young boys that were between the ages of 8 and 13) if they could open the temple. Not long after they unlocked the door a few other tourists had arrived to see this historic institution (this monastery as well as many others in the region date back to the 7th century). As they walked around looking at the many paintings of Buddha on the wall, I sat down and prepared to meditate. As always, a few minutes passed, the other tourists departed, and I was left alone to absorb the energy of the thousands of other people seeking enlightenment who had sat here before me.

I was not alone for long as some of the young monks had noticed me meditating and were curious to observe me further. First they stood off to the side, watching and whispering. Slowly they came closer and closer, until they were literally sitting right next to me. The monk who was sitting directly to my right (he was so close that his knee was touching mine) pointed out to his friends the way in which my stomach would rise and fall every time I took a breath. Next he waved his hand across my lap to see if I was awake or asleep (of course I could see all of this because I meditate with my eyes slightly open as is the customary Buddhist practice ñ ensuring you are truly present). He even lightly poked my knee a few times to see if he could disturb me. I did not flinch. The calm and auspicious vibe of this historic monastery combined the childlike nature of these monks had me very present and very much at peace. I continued to meditate for a few more minutes and then I slowly opened my eyes to observe my observers. They were still sitting around me watching with there eyes opened wide. We sat and looked at one another for a few seconds and then the boy to my right asked, ìAre you a monk?î

Nothing could have made me happier than to be asked such a question by a monk himself. We sat together for a while, talking, laughing and taking pictures. Soon enough, I was saying good-bye and heading on my way. While I left them I have kept the image of their smiling and curious faces imbedded in my mind and heart.

After 12 days of walking and some serious knee pain, Clive, Sheila, Kabi and Devraj (our porter and guide) descended the mountains to the lovely and lazy lakeside town of Pokhara. Here I spent a few days simply reading, relaxing and eating. Actually there was one little Italian cafÈ we found that served delicious, authentic and organic food, that became my home away from the hotel while in Pokhara. I would arrive there at seven in the morning (often before they were even ready to receive customers) sit in their open air restaurant sipping tea and eating everything on their menu including eggs, pastries, fruit and curd, mixed green salads, pasta, pizza, ice-cream and cake. In between snacks and meals I would read, and read, and read. The only times I left were to buy another book, take a shower or sleep ñ what a decadent treat to do nothing.

Upon completion of the trek and visit to Pokhara I returned to Khatmandu and prepared for my trip to Tibet. This eight day, overland exploration of the land of snow was one of the most magical experiences of my life. I spent five days traveling in a caravan of Landrovers with 8 strangers (including my guide and the two drivers) from Khatmandu, over the Nepal/Tibetan border to the capital city of Lhasa. We visited important historical monasteries that are now just token reflections of the impressive institutions of spiritual learning they were before the Chinese occupation. We drove through numerous traditional Tibetan villages all adorned in prayer flags where people maintain a simple and hard life among the arid plains that distinctly characterize their country. We experienced the harsh extremes of weather so common to these parts including night temperatures that dropped far below freezing, snow, rain, hail, wind and blistering sunshine that leaves the cheeks of so many Tibetans stained a deep red. Our cars voyaged through many mountain passes, some exceeding 5,000m, marked by stupas and flapping prayer flags. As we got closer and closer to Lhasa we saw the effects of ìmodernizationî that the Chinese have brought to these peaceful and traditional people in the forms of ugly new commercial buildings, industry and a very public military presence.

Over the course of our journey I heard several courageous stories of people who made the treacherous journey across the Tibetan border in search of freedom, security and hope that they were not afforded in their homeland. Once such story was that of our guide Tashi. At the age of 13 his mother was killed by the Chinese authorities with his father passing away soon after that. Thus, at the age of 16 he headed out for the Solo Kumbu pass to Nepal. After 15 days of walking through the snow and over the very steep mountain range that includes Everest he arrived in Nepal and then made his way to Dharamsala, India. He had no intentions of returning to Tibet as long as his country was still occupied by the Chinese. That is until his brother (who was still in Tibet) informed him that he was receiving threats from the Chinese that would continue or manifest unless he could convince Tashi to return -- which he did just six years after he fled. He spoke of Dharamsala with fond memories and a tear in his eye. He expressed hopes to return some day with his wife.

Another girl I met during this road trip told me of her treacherous journey to India at the young age of 9. Leaving behind her entire family, she also walked through snow and cold of the Solo Kumbu Valley en route to Dharamsala. Now 19 years of age, she has returned to Tibet to take care of her sick mother (she is an only child). She too hopes to return to Dharamsala to continue her studies. She plans to depart sometime this fall, perhaps bringing some other young children in order to offer them a better life.

When I asked Tashi what was the worst aspect of the Chinese occupation of Tibet he replied, "They are destroying the Tibetan culture," specifically pointing to the demise of their language and religion. The decimation of their culture is glaringly evident when one visits monasteries and nunneries that serve as institutions of learning to less then º of their capacity due to strict quotas enforced by the Chinese authorities. The debilitating affects of these laws on the ability of the spirited Tibetan people to sustain the religious traditions that are so integral to their way of life was most present for me at the Tashilumpo Monastery in Shigatse. This Monastery is the seat of the Panchen Lama, the second most important religious figure in Tibetan Buddhism (second only to the Dalai Lama), and hence one of the most important institutions in the country.

Back in 1995 the eleventh reincarnation of the Panchen Lama was identified by the monks of Tashilumpo and approved by the Dalai Lama (as is customary) in a six year old boy named Gedhum Choekyi Nyima. The Chinese government was unwilling to allow the Dalai Lama to exercise authority over the naming of such an important figure, and thus have kept this young boy and his family under house arrest in Beijing ever since, making him the youngest political prisoner in the world. A photo of another young boy has been placed in the Monastery, a boy that the Chinese government hand selected to serve as the Panchen Lama. The monks and pilgrims who visit are expected to honor him as their spiritual leader, although most do not accept him as the true reincarnation. Due to the strict regulations that govern the speech and behavior of Tibetan people, there is no public protest, just a deep, unspoken sadness for all those who visit.

This sadness greeted me at the gates of Tashilumpo ñ I felt a lump in my throat as soon as I entered these sacred grounds that I could not explain. Upon entering the temple of the future Buddha, with his enormous golden form towering over me in the small confines of the room, I was overcome with tears, for the many lives and much hope lost over the Panchen Lama situation, including that of both boys.

Despite the systematic practices to suppress the Tibetan way of life, the spirit of these people is strong and its power is in force, especially around the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa. Starting in the early morning and continuing way beyond the fall of the sun, devout Buddhist stand in front of the temple entrance doing full prostrations for hours on end. Simultaneously others circle the temple again and again spinning their prayer wheels, grasping their prayer beads and chanting ìOm Mani Padme Humî. These acts are done with the intention of cultivating virtuous merits that will allow their next life to be better than this one.

The people surrounding the temple range in age and wealth as well as cultural sects of Tibetan culture (distinguished by the different ways in which they are adorned with clothes and beads). Despite these differences they all have a common warmth and joyous spirit that is unrivaled by any group of people I have ever met. My choice to wear a traditional Tibetan dress when walking among these people afforded me a special bond, especially with the older women. All would smile while other would take my hand and press it to their red cheeks. Often these beautiful women would shy away from the cameras of tourists, but they were so pleased by my choice to publicly honor their culture that they would gather around to join in a picture with me. None of these women spoke English and I spoke no Tibetan other than greeting them with ìTashi Delekî. But no words were necessary to express our mutual love, respect and gratitude for the other. Each of these exchanges (and there were many) made my smile bigger and made me feel at home, once again, in a distant land.

After 5 days of travle and 2 days in Lhasa, I boarded a plane destined for Khatmandu. On this day, the sky was clear with only a few fluffy clouds to be seen, perfect conditions for our flyby Mt. Everest. The snow covered pointed peak was an awesome sight. Everest and the surrounding Mountains were so still, so strong, so unshakeable -- a reflection of the spirit of the Tibetan people, or them a reflection of these mountain. I am sad that I was only able to spend eight days in Tibet, especially since the remnants of their culture will likely fade quickly under their present circumstances. I feel fortunate to have seen and experienced what I did.

During my various stops in Khatmandu I had the pleasure of staying with Leila (mother), Pasi (10 year old son) and Soraya (4 year old daughter) ñ friend of friends who quickly became like family. It was particularly appropriate that I was adopted by this family as they are the only African and white interracial family I have come across here, and of course I looked and felt right at home.

On my second day in Khatmandu, the people of Nepal were celebrating Holi, a festival of color to honor the end of winter. During Holi people walk the streets throwing balloons filled with colored water at one another, children and adults alike. On the Saturday of Holi, Ramesh, the family driver, showed up with all the supplies for a successful Holi including balloons, a water-machinegun, a bucket, and red powder to color the water. He filled the bucket with red water and placed it in the hatchback of the car as I filled the balloons. Next the whole family piled in to his friends taxi armed with a handful of water balloons. We pursued to drive all over the city doing drive-by hits on everyone we could while Ramesh would shoot red water at folks, refilling his gun from the bucket in the back. This was especially fun as we were told and had experienced that westerners were favorite targets on Holi. From the safe confines of the car we were able to turn those tables on the people of Nepal ñ ha ha!!

I so enjoyed the time I spent with the family and participating in the routines of their daily life. I was particularly amused by the 4 year old daughter Soraya as she reminds me so much of myself at that age ñ addicted to drama, a fiend for affection, and driven by a vivid imagination that is often difficult to distinguish from reality. Interacting with and observing the interactions between Leila, Soraya and Pasi have reminded me of how much I want to have children and a family of my own someday.

Outside of the generous comforts of the family home, there was a lot to see and experience in Khatmandu. Among my favorites was visiting the Bodinath stupa, one of the largest in the world and thus an important pilgrimage site for Buddhists. I was also fortunate to be here when the Jazzmandu Festival was going on and I got to hear many awesome jazz bands perform. I also spent 10 days at the Kopan Monastery studying and practicing Buddhism and meditation (which I wrote about in my last posting). How appropriate that my last day in Nepal, the birthplace of Shakyamuni Buddha, was also his birthday. In honor of this important event I visited the Swayambu Temple with many other Buddhist and Hindu pilgrims (these two religions have a unique overlapping relationship here in Nepal that was hard for me to understand but seems to flow so effortlessly and natural for everyone else).

While my visit to Nepal has been characterized by so many wonderful experiences, it is important to note that a civil war between the King, the various political parties and the Maoist rebels has been going on the entire time. On many days the entire regions would be closed to car traffic, sometimes for multiple days in a row. Towards the end of my trip the violence in Khatmandu was escalating resulting in almost daily brick throwing and multiple arrests. The sad thing is, it is almost like the people and government have accepted these interruptions as a regular part of their lives. They often speak of the devastating affects of the political instability on their economy, security and quality of life. I was asked by more than one Nepali man to marry him so that he could come to the US and earn a decent living to support his family (always offering half of their earning for the first three years in return for this favor).

While Nepal has brought me endless joy (ok, maybe not endless as it also gave me a lovely parasite that had me down and out on three occasions), I am saddened by the political situation. I feel powerless to return the happiness they have given me other than to share with others the wonders of this land.

Today is Wednesday May 5th and I am departing by plane for Delhi. Upon arrival there this afternoon I will board a train to Dharamsala, where the Tibetan government in exile resides. While you await my next posting know I among Tibetan people and thus I am happy.

Next I was instructed to reflect on the countless contributions that my father, grandparents, siblings, and other family members have made to my joyous life. From there my thoughts moved to the kindness of friends, teachers, doctors, colleagues, and neighbors as well as that of strangers. Finally I became present to the contributions that many people who could be considered as enemies have made by bringing me the experience of compassion through the very human expressions of suffering we both have expressed.

As I sat in silent introspection, I was profoundly moved by all of these people. As my thoughts transitioned from one individual to the next I was overwhelmed by the sea of faces that came to mind. My heart filled with joy as I envisioned each and every one of you as well as countless others I have never even considered as contributors to my life.

After cultivating awareness of the profound amounts of kindness and generosity in the world, I was asked to consider expressing the same level of unconditional affection and responsibility for all people and animals as my mother showed for me. I envisioned all people showing that same sense of concern and care to all fellow living beings. The image of the world that evolved was one of harmony, peace, joy, ease and comfort. All living beings were free of pain, distress, anxiety and fear. The world I imagined was the one we all hope to live in.

Throughout the course we were guided in similar meditations, cultivating universal compassion, generating a sense of equanimity for all sentient beings, literally taking the pain and suffering of others into our own hearts in order to bring joy and happiness to the rest of humanity. We also gained a profound understanding about the workings of the mind, humankind, and each of our individual roles in contributing to the suffering and happiness of all living beings.

Over the last several years I have been in search of something more fulfilling than the life I have been living. I have attempted to find this joy in a career of social service, a healthy body and lifestyle, stress reduction, financial success, new experiences, a comforting home, dear friends, wise mentors, positive thinking, recognition for my accomplishments and contributions. . . While each of these things gave me a sense of joy, the pleasure derived always seemed to fade with time leaving me in search of happiness once again.

A few years ago, my search brought me to the teachings of Buddhism, which I have been practicing with an increasing commitment ever since. It was this interest in Buddhism that sparked my desire to travel to Nepal and India, the birthplace of the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha, in order to deepen and broaden my understanding of the dharma (the teachings of Buddhism).

My various life experiences have helped me to realize that there is no permanent happiness to be found in the selfish satisfaction of my material, physical and emotional desires. Through this course I have discovered that committing myself to the provision of unlimited and unconditional love and compassion for all of humanity is the one joy that does not fade with time. Actually, as my ability to generate this type of generosity and responsibility for the world increases, so does my experience of happiness, so does that of those around me.

As such, I finally took my official vows of refuge in the teachings and guidance of Buddhism.

While "becoming a Buddhist" may seam dramatic, it was not for me as I have been living by the guiding principles of not killing, stealing, lying, and consuming intoxicants for some time now and already engage in a daily practice of meditation. It also does not mean I am giving up all of my material possessions or becoming a nun who will live out my days bald and in a monastery.

These vows represent a life commitment to the cultivation of increased consciousness and responsibility for how my thoughts, actions and words affect others. I have made these promises as I know that this is the path that will offer me the greatest sense of true happiness and afford me the best opportunity for delivering joy and peace to those around me.

When I sit in silent reflection every day, and recommit myself to this virtuous life, despite the many times I have and will fall short of treating everything and everyone with loving kindness, I find compassion for my own humanity as well as those around me. At that very moment, my heart stops racing, my breath slows to an easy rhythm, I am happy, I am at peace.

To an extent I must engage in thoughts of planning as my flight to Bangkok is scheduled for next month and thus I must decide if I am going to adhere to that date of departure or change it. Actually, that is the easy part as I am certain I want to extend my stay in India. The challenge is determining when to reschedule for. There are so many factors to consider including the upcoming monsoon season that is scheduled to hit both India and the SE Asian region I am planning to visit next, tentative plans I have made to meet friends at future destinations, a deep desire to see the south of India in the fall, a strong sense of responsibility to be back in NYC by November to cast my vote against the future of the Bush administration, a faint feeling that for once I should consider my responsibility to nurture myself through this voyage above my civic duty as a citizen. . .

This last issue is particularly present as I travel through Tibet. I can not help but feel an urgency to do everything in my power to ensure that the USA is governed by an administration with a commitment to building a just and humane world for ALL of it's citizens, one that will pursue such a vision through bold leadership and policies, both domestic and international, that reflect the democratic values that we stand for with the utmost of integrity. At the same time I am reminded of the passage in the end of the Dalai Lamas autobiography “Freedom in Exile” where he expresses that the best way for ordinary citizens of the west to assist with the Tibetan cause is to learn what they can and share their knowledge broadly. As I walk among the Tibetan people, with their rich Buddhist culture of selfless compassion for all sentient beings that is being forcibly dissolved against their will and at the hands of a political system ruled by a drive for power, I am deeply torn.

At this very moment I feel the unique opportunity I have to travel, learn, observe, record, and share my insights about my global brothers and sisters is in many ways a more precious contribution than one vote. This is the choice that allows my mind and heart to rest.

Thus, I am going to extend my trip, go deeper within the cultures around me and within myself, and hopefully cultivate some awareness that encourage those who read my postings to stop, reflect, question and tune into their own internal wisdom.

Today, on my thirtieth birthday, I wake up in Katmandu, Nepal. I flew into the cloud covered valley last night from Delhi.

It is amusing to look back on past birthdays and recall all of the effort I put forth to make sure my birthday was celebrated -- throwing myself parties, rallying friends to join me for dinner, drinks and dancing, making sure people knew it was my birthday as I was so afraid that they would forget and I would end up alone and feeling unloved (one of my deepest insecurities).

Interestingly, I never felt the celebration with my family really counted as they were expected to love me. As I sit in this distant country where I only know the people I met on the plane and the friends of friends who have generously offered to let me stay with them, I realize how special those family celebrations have been. My immediate family would gather for dinner (which is always best when mom cooks); my father would make a toast in my honor; my mother would disseminates a series of very amusing photographs from my childhood; my brother and I would reminisce about "the good old days"; my father would lead the family in singing a passionate yet highly off-key rendition of happy birthday; and we all (including the family dog) would devour a delicious cake compliments of my sister-in-law Deb. As I look back I can think of nothing more comforting and loving than the simplicity of this family tradition.

The absence of many gifts and lots of fanfare has also allowed me to notice the love of friends that I am constantly surrounded by even when they are thousands of miles away. For instance, I have been traveling for almost 40 days now and only spent my first two nights in a hotel. The rest of the time I have been generously hosted by friends, either those I have made during this trip or those I have made thanks to introductions of many of you from home. I can think of no better example of the nurturing care and love of the many wonderful people in my life than this extension of hospitality.

I can also think of no finer gift than finally being able to realize that everything I have always been looking for has been right under my noise, only I have been to busy searching for it to notice. What an amazing and profound happy birthday!!!

I spent three full days in Mumbai, and then boarded my first sleeper train heading north. After entertaining everyone, most notably my fellow traveler Tam, with the high-tech lock and chain security system for my bags, I settled in for the ride. Some 14 hours, one train and two buses later we arrived in Omkareshwar just as the sun was starting to shed light on the day. After getting some fresh poha (a slightly sweet breakfast of puffed rice, dalia or cilantro, chilies and a few other spices) and chai tea we crossed the gateway to the island where we would stay. Almost like magic, as we stepped foot on the bridge we were greeted by everyone with a warm "Hare Om" and small bow of their head as they held there hands in a prayer position. After a relatively long walk (especially with my big pack on my back) we arrived at the Ma Anandamayee Ashram.

It is hard to put in words my experiences at the Ma Anandamayee Ashram in Omkareshwar. The small island of Omkareshwar is essentially a big rock in the middle of one of India's seven main rivers, the Namada, reputed to cleanse people of their sins if they just look at it. This place is charming and beautiful marked by nature in its simple and raw form. It is also an important pilgrimage site as it has one of the 12 natural Shiva lingas. There are no phones or cars, just the traffic of its few residents and the many pilgrims who visit to walk around this auspicious island (which only takes two hours).

The Ashram is equally as simple and poignantly beautiful as the island. Set in the side of a cliff overlooking the river, the whitewashed cement facilities climb a steep set of stairs, shaded by gently cascading flowers and jasmine bushes that lead from the river to the main path that encircles the island.

I opted to stay in the "kotia", a set of three single rooms set slightly off to the side of the main building that are generally reserved for people who want to engage in a serious yoga/mediation practice. While the setting of my room allowed for extra quite and privacy, it also required a slightly more rustic lifestyle as there was no electricity or toilets in the immediate vicinity. The circumstances of my locale forced me to quickly learn the art of making a fire and cooking over the open flame as it was quite a hike to get to the nearest place for food.

My travel mate Tam encouraged me to request some time to meet with Baba Shri Swami Kedarnath Ji, who is the guru that further facilitates the teachings of May Anandamayee (who has passed). I made a request to meet with him which was granted on my third day.

Meeting with Baba was a very special experience. Just being in his company facilitated a sense of calm and serenity as I was immediately engulfed in his thoughtful, generous, compassionate, and wise energy even before any words were spoken. He offered me instruction in all aspects of my spiritual practices, and answered many questions that emerged over my two week stay at the Ashram. I know I am incredibly fortunate to have had his undivided attention and guidance, and am certain his words will continue to source new and valuable insights as I go deeper into my introspective journey.

It only took a day or so for me to slip into a routine of waking at 6:30am to the chorus of birds announcing the arrival of a new day. I would then sit just outside my room, with a cup of tea (compliments of my dear kotia mate Tam who would wake at 5:30 or 6 to build a fire and boil water), and watch as the sun illuminated the river and land around me. At 7ish I would return to my room to engage in my asana (yoga postures), pranyama (breathing), and meditation practices.

I would be done around 9:15 and pursue to build a fire and cook some porridge for Tam and I. By 10:30 it was starting to get hot and I was usually sticky and stinky from the smoky fire, so I would head down to the river to bathe and wash my clothes. Bathing in the river was one of my favorite parts of the day as the water was cool and refreshing and the bank was often an ideal site for viewing island activity (including the passing of boats filled with pilgrims, a parade of cows, water buffalo or donkeys, and the emersion of other men and women in the holy waters of the Namada). As such, my baths often took an hour or so which seemed to be appreciated by the locals as they found my bathing routine quite entertaining, especially when I would rub my feet vigorously with my purple synthetic pumice stone and my hot pink nail brush. What can I say, a girls feet can get pretty rough and dirty in a place like this.

By the time I hung my clothes to dry and returned to my room, I would be summonsed to the main kitchen for lunch by the chiming of a bell (after a few meetings with Baba it was determined that I was serious about my practice and thus allowed to take lunch and/or dinner with the permanent residents and visiting devotees). Lunch was always a treat as it offered a simple yet tasty array of foods usually including some rice, dhal (lentils), vegetables and chapatti (round bread). We would all gather on mats on the floor and eat with our hands off of metal plates or banana leaves. Essentially the meals were taken in silence except for the constant offer of more food, which literally occurred every 2-3 minutes.

Lunch was usually over by 1, at which point it was to hot to do much of anything other than read, sleep, and write in the shad of my room. Before long the sun and temparature would start their descent and it would be time to get ready for satsung and arte.

Satsung was a forum for all devotees and visitors to the ashram to gather and ask Baba any questions they might have. This hour dialogue would be followed by arte, when everyone would join in the temple dedicated to May Anandamayee to sing beautiful hymns to honor and give thanks to May for her divine guidance and protection. Arte was another one of my favorite parts of the day as the passionate harmony of bells, drums and voices created a rhythm that soothed and lifted my soul.

By the time arte was over I was ready to retire to my bed. After washing and brushing my teeth at the main building I would strap on my headlamp to ensure I did not step on any snakes on my way back to my room. Yes, a friend convinced me to get a headlamp rather than a handheld flashlight due to the practicality of having my hands free. While he was absolutely right about the convenience of being able to see and use my hands at the same time, he did not inform me about the level of amusement I would once again be providing for the locals. Before long a little joke was being circulated about me being truly enlightened as light was actually coming out of my third eye.

I truly enjoyed the simplicity of my daily routine as it allowed for plenty of self nurturing and reflection. Equally as much, I enjoyed the breaks from routine or the special moments that made each day unique. There were so many, each a distinct memory, including: opening my eyes from meditation to see a VERY LARGE snake slither by just 10 feet away; walking the "Parikrama" or path of pilgrims at the early hours of the morning and interacting with more monkeys than people along the way; watching the sun set from so many different points on the island; visiting with the children who attended the ashram school (the only school on the island) and having the opportunity to tell them about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and teach them the electric slide; participating in the preparations for and celebration of Shivrati (the birthday of Shiva, an incredibly important day on the holy calendar with special significance in Omkareshwar); waking at 3am to bathe in the river before participating in the days first service at one of the island's main temples; returning to my room every day to the loving groan of enthusiasm from the stray dog that Tam adopted; walking to the market along the river bank in the late afternoon when the suns glow made everything soft and alluring; noticing how the disproportionate number of resident devotees were male yet were balanced by the strong female presence of May and the river; asking Swami Moglananda for some suggestions of places to visit and receiving a four page guide of favorites complete with stories and a show-and-tell presentation; many diverse dialogues with Tam that always left me challenged, inspired and hopeful; being nursed back to health after developing a sinus infection by a team of resident devotees filling the role of medical professional/healer; carrot and chocolate haluwa (a sweet snack); private instruction in asana and pranyama with Gurumit; taking photos of the children at the school; wearing my first Sari for the Shivrati celebration. . . the list goes on and on.

In addition to all of the above, I finally found the inspiration to begin shooting photographs. Consequently, I will be loading a few for you to enjoy in the near future (technology permitting).

On my last day in Omkareshwar, I found a book that was given to me by a young man in Pune. His name was Yaron Cohen and he is also the author of the book which is entitled "The Master: The Wisdom of Zen and the Tao Master Lao-Two." (To find out more about this book go to www.geocities.com/thetaomaster1). The book was a delight to read, offering simple Buddhist wisdom wrapped in an enlightening and fun story. It also helped me to find a quote that captures this experience better than I could say it myself:

It is possible to travel all around the world and be at home much more than someone who hasn't left his hometown.

I found that home at the Ashram and on this island -- a natural and effortless rhythm and an experience of belonging. My heart and head were light, I was happy and at peace.

* * * * * *

After 17 days or so, the rapid increase in temperature and the prospects of meeting my friends Michelle and Brad (who were visiting India for a wedding) lured me back to the mainland and north to Indore and Delhi. In Indore I stayed with Sarbjeet (Gurumit's brother and the Ashram treasurer) and his family where I was pampered with the comforts of home and family. Highlights include EVERY meal, and being wrapped in the beautiful sari that Shruthi (Sarabjeet's wife) had made for me. While this visit was short, it was rich. I hope to visit with them again in late April.

After two days in Indore I boarded a train for Delhi. It was a pleasant and uneventful trip. I was watched out for by one of Sarabjeet's students (he is a professor of business at a university in Indore) and engaged in an interesting dialogue with a young girl who was en route to a Krishna spiritual retreat. The 14 hours passed quickly and before I knew it I had arrived in Delhi

Under the guidance of Aparajita (my soon to be host and new friend) I haggled hard with the auto-rickshaw driver for a reasonable rate to her apartment. By the time I arrived it was about 7:30 am thus I decided to capitalize on the day by getting to know the surrounding area. The day quickly turned to evening and next thing I knew I was hanging out with Michelle and Brad, sharing stories of my adventures, hearing about the lavish wedding celebration they had been participating in for the past few days, and basking in the company of two of my favorite people. One day in Delhi effortlessly faded into the next, probably because Aparajita's company and apartment remind me so much of home including discussions of photography, oversized coffee mugs and olive oil (real rarities hear in India) and a photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging just outside my bedroom door. Some five days later, I was on the road again, heading to my next destination: Katmandu, Nepal.

This place has been a strange and challenging delight as it effortlessly embodies the contrasting diversity of India (and really the world): beauty and suffering, rich and poor, spirituality and capitalism, traditional and modern, East and West. With so much stimuli for all of the sense, I have been a little nutty here as I keep trying to understand it all. I have finally come to realize, thanks to the help of some of the wonderful people I have met that these things, as so many others I am to encounter in the coming months, can simply be explained with, "This is India" (Kev, that is for you!!!).

I was very anxious to jump into everything here: seeing sites, participating in meditative courses, reading books written by spiritual gurus, wearing the beautiful clothing and jewelry, taking photographs, making new friends, figuring out where I am going to next. . . that I found myself physically and emotionally strained by my second day.

Not feeling I could do much of anything I resolved to spend the next several days relaxing and allowing myself to adjust to my new environment (not just India but my life as a traveler). As is always the case, once I surrendered to the hand that life had dealt me, this seemingly sad space became one of magic and delight.

One by one, angels and gifts started dropping right in front of me, starting with Sandrine from France who took on the role of mother/care taker/sister/and devoted friend during my first few days. Next I met Tarika, a woman from Israel who has allowed me to live in her room (a beautiful, inviting and peaceful place) for the last week while she went to the beaches of Goa. I then had the pleasure of meeting David from San Francisco, who cracked open my shell of seeming like I had it all together, which has made me open and available to the generosity of so many people. Then I hooked up with Seble of Eritrea and Ameen from India, my two playmates who have made me a part of their lives as if we have been friends forever. Next there was Paulo from Italy, who touched my heart with his warm hands brilliant eyes and bright smile, all without being able to speak English. Kevin from Ohio (a seemingly old friend as we have been e-mailing for several weeks now thanks to an introduction from Bobbi), came all the way to Pune to welcome me to India in person, and has inspired me with stories of his adventures here and in Nepal. There are so many others to mention including Andrea, Yvette, Shashi, Mirjam, Mahesh, Dr. Girish, Luk, Kathleen, Fabrizio. . . that I could spend the rest of my voyage siting here writing about them, but I am sure they all know who they are even without the mention of their name.

One last angel that warrants mention is this very gentle, quite and deep Croatian man named Kruno who has been deeply caressing my soul over the last several days. I met Kruno earlier this week when he offered me a free massage as he is studying rebalancing massage, an incredibly penetrating type of therapy that involves deep breathing and removal of the emotional toxins and tension we hold in various parts of our body, and needs to practice. Every day I visit with Kruno for a massage -- these sessions have been incredibly profound experiences for me.

Yesterday, I was wandering around Koregoan Park in a sort of sad daze, trying to figure out where to go to from here. I feel I have regained my strength to take the next step of my journey and am anxious to experience a part of India that is not swarming with western tourists. Yet I have been tortured over the last several days trying to decide where to go. Shall I go to the beaches in Goa, visit the serenity of Hampi, do a 10-day Vipasana meditation retreat, engage in a program at the Spiritual University in Mt. Abu, visit the parents of a new friend in Mumbai where I have been promised to be spoiled rotten? I know it is ridiculous to have these kind of choices be like torture but there is more behind the suffering than just choosing a destination.

As much as I hate to admit it I am scared of the journey ahead. This is partly due to the fact that I do not have a clue about how to chart a course that is not about achieving a goal. It is very different and unfamiliar for me to make choices based on my heart and instinct rather than a strategic plan. I am also a bit intimidated by the transportation systems here, primarily because I am yet to use it. More importantly I am scared of the unfamiliarity of engaging in the kind of deep introspective emotional and spiritual work that this voyage has in store.

Just before my massage session with Kruno yesterday, he said, "I have noticed something about you that I would like to share. . . you are someone who has many talents and interests and thus can make wonderful things happen in the world. . . but you know, when you are so busy doing so many things you never allow yourself to experience yourself deeply. . . people like you often live this way as you are so afraid of experiencing pain and fear. . . I can not help you decide where to go next from Pune as you need to make that decision yourself, but I will advise you to trust your instincts and go some place where you can be still, be quiet and go deep. . . There is no right place for this as what you are looking for you will find in you."

Ever since I hurt my back a few years back I have been engaged in an introspective process to uncover the sources of suffering in my life. It has been a long, challenging and rewarding course that is far from over. However, during this time I have come to realize how hard I have worked to avoid pain and fear. With this insight I have taken many steps to confront many sources of pain and fear in my relationships with family, friends, lovers, and life choices. This trip is one of the many examples of such steps as it is a huge blank canvas of unknown experiences and challenges -- and it is the unknown that scares me the most.

As I said to a friend the other day who was experiencing sadness yet ashamed to let anyone know, "being sad, scared and hurt are as much a part of the human experience as love, joy, laughter, and pleasure. We should embrace them all fully as we are meant to experience them all." It is amazing that I could offer such wise words two days ago and yet be so frozen with my own fear and pain the following day. That is until my visit with Kruno.

When Kruno shared his thoughts about me, I was simply moved to tears both by the precision of his insight, and the wonderful experience of having another human being be able to articulate what I was feeling in my heart. After sitting in the comforting embrace of Kruno for a few minutes, I regained my courage to take on my fear and pain and to simply chose my next destination, some place quite with few distractions.

Thus today I decide to I am leaving Pune tomorrow, heading to Mumbai to visit with the parents of Aparajita (a new friend via an e-mail introduction from Michele) for a few days and then on to this small island called Omkareshwar which is near Indore in Madhya Pradesh. There is an Ashram there that sounds quite inviting. I hope to spend some time there, meditating, doing yoga, being still, being quiet and going deep.

I will be sure to let you know what I find.

Namaste,
Jyll

The trip began instantly as my flight was cancelled, my bags were lost and I was forced to gain perspective on what I need for this journey we call life.

I soon made friends with this really cool Indian couple who were en route to Bombay for a wedding. Together we found other people who were supposed to be on our flight and started a line which gave me a sense of comfort (we all know how I appreciate structure). Within two hours our line was moving and representatives were directing us on where to go based on our final destination. When asked where I was going to, I replied "Paris" as I was planning to visit my girl Magda for a few days before continuing on to Bombay. I was quickly informed to go to the front of the line as they would likely be able to get me on todayís flight since I was getting off at the first stop. Sure enough I was given my boarding pass and told to go straight to the gate. While I had already decided to accept that I was going home, I was thrilled that I would, indeed be departing NY tonight.

Once on board all was great. I got four seats all to myself where I slept from the moment I sat down. I loved be offered "chicken or vegetarian meal" rather than the typical "chicken or beef" offer of most airlines. And the vegetarian curry dinner was AWESOME -- the best airline food I have ever had!!!! It certainly curbed the curry craving I was having from the airport aroma.

Our flight arrived on time and about 6 people got off in Paris, 3 of which were booked on yesterdayís flight. Those three passengers started getting concerned when their luggage didn't show up immediately. I told them to have a little faith, it would arrive, and within a few minutes it did. I can not say the same for the rest of us. We waited for almost an hour before accepting the fate of our luggage as lost. We completed the necessary paper work and were told our bags would likely be delivered to us by tomorrow. Acting like an unattached and seasoned traveler I picked up my good attitude again and found pleasure in the fact that I did not have to lug my own bag to Magda's place and that I was traveling light enough to take a bus into the city rather than shell out all of that cash for a cab. I pursued to the Air France shuttle stop where buses to Paris are scheduled to depart every 12 minutes. After 35 minutes had gone by I asked some other patient travelers what was happening and they explained "there is a strike". I could tell by the way they said it, that this was a regular occurrence here. We all waited another 30 minutes or so before I asked a young woman and man if they wanted to split a cab, which they did. Soon enough we were on the road and within an hour I arrived at Magda's.

Paris is rainy and cold but the pulse is quite lively. I have spent most of my time here apartment hunting with Magda as she is looking to buy a place (it is a very cool way to see a city by wandering in and out of peoples homes). I have also spent a lot of time trying to get through to the airport re: my bags. When I did not hear from anyone after 30 hours or so I tried to call only to find the line busy every single time. I must have called 50 times on Wednesday and Thursday with no success in getting through.

As more time passed with no communication my positive attitude started to fade. I was starting to realize that if my bags did not arrive by Saturday I would have to replace everything I had spent the past four months carefully selecting for my trip in one day as I was not sure I would be able to find what I was looking for in India. I started creating imaginary lists in my head of what items were critical and what I could do without (the funny thing is I realized how much I packed that I really do not need). Stress was creeping in and I was not happy about it!!!!

Thus I decided to sit my but down on the floor and meditate to gain some clarity and perspective. After an hour of meditation constantly interrupted with thoughts of "don't forget to get some Cipro" or "remember to get the really good bug repellant", I came to realize everything I NEEDED, my health, my wits and my sense of adventure, I already had. Everything else was extra. I decided I would get what I could and that would be exactly what I needed to have, cest la vie.

Within the hour, and thanks to the assistance of my friend Hilah, I was able to get through to the airport to find out my bags were in Paris and they would be calling me soon to make arrangements for their delivery. As I sat here writing this message, my bags were delivered. Ahh, the magic of being unattached to help everything align.

In addition to the great lesson of keeping things in perspective that I learned from all of this, I have also decided to remove a third of the items in my bag that I do not need. This seemingly bad occurrence is a gift after all as I will be traveling lighter literally and figuratively through the rest of this journey.

Stay tuned for more stories upon my arrival in Bombay on the 27th of January.

Namaste,
Jyll