It's much more fun sharing cake.

Sitting In open hand cafe alone, a lovely fairtrade crafts establisment, with the luxury of a/c and good carrot cake, another young man sits next to me, with cheese cake, taking advantage of the wifi, just as I am. I am secretly wishing we could just have one bit of cake and share it together. This, I think, would be much more satisfying. But instead we sit silently, committed to our iPads, munching away on our separate sugar infused treats. Open hand cafe has a lovely ambience, and it's a place where you can come and really feel like you're back in England, France, Sweden, anywhere in Europe really, where you can keep yourself to yourself, no one will have a conversation with you and people will avoid making eye contact. HA! I'm here because the wifi in my apartment is broken today, my belly is feeling healthy and I want cake, and I have no more social engagements for the afternoon. Until I venture out into the sweltering 45 degree heat again, and get swept along to the next chai meeting, which will inevitably lead to this evenings dinner, tomorrow mornings birthday party or the next musical beer gathering.

I have been thinking about solitude and togetherness and my constant inadequacy with both. In India when you are outside alone, one things for sure is that you're not alone, and if you want, you can end up having chai, sugar cane juice, or soda pop with any old Raj, Rajat or Kumar in minutes. I stroll along assi road, from my apartment down towards assi ghat to take in the Ganga, or to meet some friends for chai, and all the way there is the constant varanasi theme. The lethargic but eager ramblings of the rickshaw drivers, namaste Madame, where you go? Lanka? BHU? (Benares Hindu University, which is a lovely oasis of green and calm and one of the biggest universities in the world apparently) Then the youthful touts, between 15 to 25, with more of a swagger in their approach, "namaste, your name? Which country? Marriage? Why no marriage?". Why no marriage?????? I used to feel so shocked by this question. After 5 months here, I am beginning to wonder!!!

Life is so different for the youths of Varanasi. All my indian friends live with their families, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, grandfathers, grandchildren, all living together. Arranged marriages being planned, perhaps secret romances being hatched amongst the youths in the family. One friend told me of his plan to help his best friend go and stay at another girls house on a Saturday night when her family was away, by telling some porkie pies about a wedding to his friends parents. Fortunately it's wedding season here, so that's useful! (banging wedding parades go past my bedroom every night, people with the biggest flashing contraptions on top of their heads, 2 different bands playing music, women dressed in sparkles dancing, and men marching along, just bonkers!!!). I asked him about the outcome, eager to know if they "got it on" wanting to know the juicy details, these men are in their twenties you see, and by this time in England young men are knocking back pints and living in student housing, perhaps engaging in numerous sexual relations. I find it fascinating that these young men are still lying to their parents and it reminds me of a story of when I was 15 or 16, on holiday in Dorset at our family holiday haunt, Rockley caravan park. I was "in love" (I fall in love very easily by the way) with my "6 week summer holiday boyfriend". He was a local, worked in the Burger King and gave me free hamburgers. How romantic! My father had this habit of leaving me there alone, as my brother and sister had started university, and he would return back to essex for work. I would always ask when he was coming back but he never really gave me an answer, leaving anticipation and guessing in the air. With an unpredictable father like mine you become a very astute detective, and sensitive to all the nuances in his behaviour to guess what might happen next. Naturally, upon my fathers departure, I would throw parties, smoke in the living room, cook pot noodles, and have the boyfriend of that particular school holiday over. As I write this I suddenly realise, I wasn't bad/naughty/rebellious, I just didn't want to be alone! Scrabbling, searching, longing for company. I was spending my school holidays in a solitude that I wasn't quite ready for. I feel this exact same feeling when I am alone now, I struggle to know what to do next, to nourish myself, and to enjoy my own company. I become desperate for company yet when the company arrives, I often feel inadequate, obese, ugly, boring, gregarious, a pain in the arse, taking up too much space, not interesting enough. I am finally seeing through these stories in Benares, and the bright block colours of these views are transforming into translucent sprays of mist, though still very painful at the same.

Anyway, we were smooching away in the bedroom and through the tin walls of the mobile home I heard a car pull up. "Oh Shit!" I promptly forced open the bedroom window, and shoved my boyfriend out head first, closed the window and ran to the front door, leaving him outside in his Sunday best! Fortunately it wasn't my dad, it was my friend Claire, knocking for me ready to drink some "woody's", the alcopop of the time. Then we'd merrily take the ten minute walk "up the top", collecting any other friends along the way, to watch the red coats sing their hearts out and then go for a dance at the disco, to ace of base and dj quicksilver. It turns out my indian friends friend, didn't have a dissimilar experience, only it involved hiding behind a mirror, and his girlfriends father DID come home. Holy shit!!!

So we all long for romance connection, togetherness, love, wherever we are in the world. I have cut myself off from these feelings for many years. Everybody I meet in India is completely tied to their family, they have an unfaltering loyalty that puts me to shame. Now although this isn't always healthy, it has revealed to me how important the family unit is. How depending upon one another is healthy and nourishing. I have spent years silently telling myself I don't need anyone but myself, I suppose this is the coping mechanism one develops in the face of repeated abandonment, but it's not healthy. I am beginning to see the integral part that I play in allowing others to be there for me, allowing others to see me, and allowing myself to develop the support network I deserve. It doesn't matter if i am somewhere for 1 day, 1 month, 1 year, I can form connections and be in relationship with others. Being alone in Benares has forced me to do this, and slowly but surely I am seeing the value of myself as a chai chatting partner, as a companion to walk along the ghats, as a friend to another. However I'm still  stumbling into my fair share of knocks and falls, awkwardly bumbling around trying to find connection in all the wrong places and all the wrong ways. I have just spent the morning slamming the phone down on the poor young man who has treated me so well over the last few months, giving me love, affection, attention, compliments, fun, laughter, connection, but I want more. It's never quite enough, and I push and push and push until this person is deeply drained by my demands. It's a familiar compulsive pattern and living alone in Benares has really tested my capacity to compete with this addictive snatching and scrapping. When I have spoken to people about this romance most people advise me to be careful, in fact, I  think he's the person more in need of that advice!

However, it's not all bad. Living alone has tested me, and this quality that has once felt cemented into my soul (whatever you take that to be.....) feeling heavy, solid, immovable, stuck, is perhaps beginning to lift is some way or another. For my entre life it has been like sugar, like drugs, the more I feel it's presence the more I want to shout, scream, demand, blame and be the victim of this addictive feeling, of this desire to constantly perceive people as not caring for me and not loving me, and whatever their actions, I will find a way to turn the situation into the one in which I am unloveable. After 10 years of therapy, 5 years of meditation practice, a few months in a fellowship in London, and five months in India, sitting alone in my living room this morning in Benares, I can feel all of this as mine. I feel the pain of my fathers absence, the emptiness of waiting at the school gate until 10pm, the fear of knocking on my front door to a cold silence, the anger at a phone that rings endlessly with no answer. And as the phone of my boyfriend  rings endlessly in Benares (this has only happened on one occasion), neurosis kicks in, anger bellows it's fury through my lungs and I repeatedly dial his number thinking "where the fuck are you you fucking arsehole" with the underlying belief that this man should be at my beck and call 24/7 and should only ever think of MY needs. Fortunately in India it's quite common to call someone ten times if they don't pick up the phone, so I didn't seem so crazy. However this is a dark place for me to be in, and living in the strong energies of Benares has helped me face this thick sticky swamp of tar, that I so often become submerged within in romantic relationships. 

Benares is holy, is beautiful, is bonkers, and has a dark, thrilling edge to it. The edgy rumblings of this city that are so visible to me and it's what I love about it, combined with the constant holy clanging of bells and ritualistic celebrations, I have been drawn back to this place. Apparently Lord Shiva likes you if you like this city! Fortunately my boyfriend still likes me after that episode. Maybe he didn't really notice, but I certainly did, and I realise that it's ME that doesn't actually like me! This week I resolved to be kind with myself about this, rather than feel ashamed. It's the first time in my life that I have brought kindness, a genuine kindness, to this matter. I am afraid, but I also know that I will be home soon, in the loving arms of my friends and family, to shuffle me along, guide me a little and give me the encouragement and support I need, and hopefully I will allow them to do this for me with just a little bit more ease than previously, and all with a lovely big piece of cake to share. 

Just sitting. Just sweating.

I'm back in Benares, I'm no longer sick, I am in love and I am having the time of my life! My meditation practice has dropped backed into place, I can cook my own meals in my apartment, and my taekwondo is slowly improving. This city breathes life and passion into my lungs, right down to the deep and dark troughs of residual stagnant air, filling this often underused swamp of carbon dioxide with light and life. Beaming, I am beaming!

I am learning how to propel myself forwards, throw my centre into the epicentre of life. I am alone in Benares, though I have made many friends here. If you remain open it is impossible not to make friends. My social life is buzzing I feel like a beautiful butterfly, fluttering through the atmosphere, noticing the beauty of the world, and seeing this reflected back in myself. What a treat! Though I am noticing how my tendancy has been quite the opposite in the past, and this still flickers over my experience. 

The familiar feeling of crippling self conciousness, anxiety, fear, still live with me, but I have seen something. It's like the victim part of my conciousness has shrunk, and the strong, assertive part of myself has grown. It's that simple, more balance, more confidence. Perhaps from realising that I am a strong women I can get myself around India alone, and I also managed to get here in the first place. In fact when Lloyd was here with me, I quite brusquely shoed him away whenever he tried to help me with my bags, "I can do it myself, thank you!" I would grumpily and rudely snap at him! When my mum thanked him for looking after me he replied "oh don't worry she can look after herself" which made me laugh, because I know exactly how he would've said that, and that's why I love him so much. I am a strong woman, I can always get through the most trying situations and come out the other side with myself all in tact, but i think I could now foster a bit of softness and willingness to let others help me. But this new assertiveness is integral to my growth, I now find myself asking others "shall we take chai?" Rather than waiting to be asked all the time. I love this place, I love this country, I love the constant flow of social interactions and chai sipping. People are important. Relationships are important. I feel the most connected with humanity than I have ever felt, and I feel myself naturally moving outwards. Wanting more and more to share with people, and less and less to try and hold onto to what I need to do to feel like I am having a "good" day. My social awkwardness and anxiety is lifting, though still present, and I am feeling more at home with a sense of community and sharing in my life. 

I have been mediating every morning since I arrived in Benares, and feeling an ease in my practice. I have put down the beating stick. Or at least I think I have, there is perhaps still a beating stick disguised as something else, but for now, I feel I have let go of this cane, put it down, and started to experience the present moment just a bit more, amongst all the fantastizing about getting married and having beautiful little chocolate coloured children! But that's another story! So I have moved into a regular practice of the mindfulness of breathing and the Mettabhavana, and a spot of just sitting, only I am not just sitting, I am also just sweating! I am drinking 8 litres of water a day and a continuos flow electrolyte sachets. This heat is something else, but I am enjoying the slow pace it brings about, the absolute nescetiy to rise at 5am every morning and catch the sunrise and cool air, and the bikram style sweat it brings about during taekwondo class. I feel healthy, revived, hot, tired and alive. I am content to just sit, and just sweat. 

There is so much to say and I can't quite manage to channel it. I have seen, experienced, felt so much, just as we all do. Just this morning I Was watching the sunrise on the Ganga, at 6:36 am it was already about 26 degrees possibly hotter, and I let the sun beam onto my face and chest as I sat in my new salwaar kameez, feeling very smart, comfortable and satisfied. Then three young girls came and sat on the steps in the shade, 3 sisters, with an obvious pecking order, and they started working away, slicing and splitting some soft bamboo type stripes. They were beautiful, slightly scruffy, slightly dirty, but all with salwaar suits on. This is the thing about India, no matter how poor people are they make sure they are dressed well. A lot of the children I have taught so far are dressed well with smart hair, then you shake their hand and you feel the grit and grain of dirt, and you look at their feet to see dark matted leather like feet, that have a constant relationship with the hot tarmaced floor of the streets. These three young girls are from a lower caste, I assume, and they work, they don't go to school, they spend their days peeling this soft bamboo material, sitting together, limbs draped over one another, staring curiously at foreigners like myself, slowly building up the courage to smile back as I smile at them. They are beautiful girls, so beautiful, yet they are trapped in a system that doesn't enable them to move forwards, to propel themselves into the epicentre of life. I want to help them, they are not begging, so I think I should give them money. I think twice, and I don't give them any money. A constant challenge in this country, a constant source of dis ease for myself, especially if I am being asked for money whilst I am with my local indian friends. I feel a pierce of shame as I ignore their advances for the rupees in my purse. I resolve that I need to find a way to connect with these people, a boundaried, yet friendly interaction, which acknowledges their humanness without giving them money. 

Appearance and social status is all so entwined and of great importance here. I am constantly trying to figure things out, see who's who, what's what, and how this has all come about, but I never quite manage. I think it would take years of living here to understand the complex structures that envelop this country and all the people within it. For now I am slowly adopting the fashion, the pride in what the Indians wear and I am absolutely loving it. I have two sari's, bindis, bangles, two salwaar suits and many man scarves, and at a fraction of the price than you would pay in England. I feel beautiful, I feel smart, I feel comfortable. It makes a change from the constant track suits I wear at home in London. I feel like a woman, and just last night the man I am so passionately in love with told me "you are beautiful". He never fails to share his appreciation of me. It is a lesson in how to be open with our feelings, generous with our speech. I see, if we don't tell other people how we see them, how we feel about them, then how do they know? They just don't and I am learning to express these positive kind of feelings without needing anything back. If I manage this, I experience freedom and joy. The joy of giving. My lack of self esteem has always needed a response in the past. Now I feel the groundedness  of simple giving. my self belief is growing and I fantasize about returning to London and constantly asking people to go for tea, spontaneously and randomly. Though I am sure the reality of the "London schedules" we are all so tied up in will challenge this fantasy. 

I have made so many friends here, we have been sharing our lives, our hearts, our beings. I will never forget this trip. I am often overwhelmed by the thought of leaving, by returning to London to this.....

Where car parks inside those designated white lines! My indian friends saw this photo and pointed at the white lines and cars and muttered something in Hindi in a confused manner. Oh my gaaaaaad, it even looks odd to me, just after four months of being here. So sterile, so ordered. I am not quite sure how I am going to manage the return, but I will, as we do, we just manage don't we. For now, I will try and stay int he present and i will continue my practice of just sitting, just sweating!

Lovesick

Feeling nauseous and tired I cross the laxman jhula bridge, to make my way over into the small tourist town of Rishikesh, dominated by young Israeli hippies. I decide to take a look in the Hindu temple before meeting my dear friend Lloyd for lunch. He arrived two days ago, bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to explore India, and unfortunately I have come down with a nasty stomach virus, leaving me either bed bound or very grumpy. Poor Lloyd!

As I upwardly circumambulate the fourteen floors of this religious building, the feeling of sickness and fatigue gradually lifts. I find my breath and stroll gentley and calmly, smiling at the stall owners,  "namaste" I say. They are keen, eager with opportunity. "Madame, only looking, no buying, come, I give you very cheap price". I smile and move on, familiar with the endless conveyer belt of glittering prizes to be bought, rolling along into the westerners gaze, assited by the continuous hard sell of the friendly Indian opportunist. We are consumers, and don't they know it!

I am constantly astounded by how much I consume whilst I'm here, I have so many clothes, objects, possessions. I have made a resolution to myself that when I return to England I will downsize, I will live with less. Whilst I earnestly dwell on this decision, I simultaneously plan what material I am going to buy for a new salwar kameez, and which colour matching bracelets I'd like. It's just so cheap you see! Such a bundle of complex contradictions!

I stroll around the temple gazing at the endless Hindu gods and goddesses. It's the indian holidays, and brightly dressed families of dark skinned beauty intermittently ring bells as a sign of their devotion. I am in love with the indian fashion, the colour, the sparkle, the pride in what they wear. I wonder, what difference does it make if I bow down to these Hindu deities as opposed to the Buddhist deities that I have bowed down to in the past 5 years? I know I'm a Buddhist, and now I've opened up to bowing down to something other than myself, something higher than me, mysterious and so incredibly vast and expansive, I can feel more at home in this Hindu temple than I previously would have. I don't identify so strongly with Hinduism, I can't manage to get past the idea of the caste system that is so entrenched within the Hindu beliefs, but I do love the colour, the devotion, the coming together, the celebrations that is the nuts and bolts of this faith. I engage in a shiva puja, and i feel the effects of walking all the way up these fourteen floors only to come down again. To a large proportion of western society this would seem a pointless act, but now I see these rituals are overflowing with beauty, an opportunity to reflect, a space to taste some freedom. And on my way down, I ring every single last bell with a beaming smile on my face. 

We have now left rishikesh, we took an overnight bus to delhi. The driver was late, and to make up for lost time he drove like a lunatic. For the first two hours of the bumpy ride I really actually thought I was going to die. I started to mentally prepare myself for this possibility, whilst I simultaneously flew up and down in my seat, head hitting the ceiling (no joke!!!!). We spent a night in Delhi and now I'm on a 20 hour train ride from delhi to Darjeeling, and courtesy of the dear Lloyd, we are travelling first class, YO!!!!!

Swit swoo!!! It makes a change from the sleeper class travels I've been used to so far. Each experience has it's pros and cons, I like both! I especially like the earthy and gritty feeling of India you get with being in sleeper class, but move beyond 3 tier a/c, then 2 tier a/c, and you have arrived ever so gracefully into the welcoming calm and spaciousness of 1st class a/c, where one is served a "meals on wheels" dining experience, in actual crockery! Lloyd and I slumped here for twenty hours, playing name that tune "cabaret" style, list the countries of the world through the alphabet, and other mindless travel games, that have led to silliness and hysteria. It's been a treat, and we haven't had one argument on this train! (There have been a multitude of bickerings in rishikesh and delhi so far!!!) One thing I do feel, as we stop at each train station and look out to the platform, Is a slight sense of disgust at my wealth, It feels obscene to be travelling first class. Yet I am still considered relatively "poor" in London! The rich want to be thin, the poor want to be fat. The dark want to be light, the light want to be dark. The absurdity of this all touches me deeply, and I still have a deep yearning to be thinner, more exotic, more physically beautiful. 

My three week break is moving towards its end, and I can't tell you how excited I am about this in many ways. First of all, travelling around backpacker style isn't for me. Moving from one place to another, with no real purpose, spending a few days here and there, not really leaving anything behind, not really depositing much of an imprint on the place or the people in it, feels so empty and pointless. I much prefer staying somewhere for a while, becoming part of the community, absorbing the lifestyle and making connections through having a purpose. I'm keen to get back to Varanasi, to socialise and to start volunteering again. I'm also excited to rekindle flames of romance, but I'm mindful of keeping those flames gentley lit, trying not to fan them too much and build up a colourful firework display of expectation!

As I move into the end of my break, I feel that  90% of it has been coloured by an upset tummy and quite negative mental states. Lloyd thinks I'm lovesick.......... However, his bedside manner has been just perfect. Doctor Lloyd has delivered tonic water, rich teas and momo's!  

I wonder how much of my physical health and emotional well being is linked, I wonder how deeply the premature ending of the tour has effected me, and also the premature ending of the retreat I attended at Tushita in the beautiful Mcleod Ganj. There is so much I could say about both endings, but the key thread I am revealing with both incidents, is they are just as they should be. Everything  is just as it should be. It would be nice to have a shiny finished product with which to show everyone, and I have spent so many years, repeatedly attempting to tirelessly present these products in all areas of my life.If i didn't, I would hide, make excuses, lie, beat myself with negative words, and feel like a failiure. I would go on and set myself up again, ready to go, to attempt the next hurdle of creating a shelf full of successful experiences, all packaged perfectly, properly, presentably. 

This time, in India, I am trying to embrace how these version of events have panned out, and when processing my decision to leave Tushita prematurely, amongst the silent, floating, 60 odd beings, I noticed the first place my mind went....... "What will everyone at home think" it was such a clear thought, which I was able to see, and laugh at, and cry at. It's a thought which constantly dominates my world and although I felt the teaching at tushita was weak, lacked eloquence, and avoided any two way dialogue between student and teacher,  I did gain an insight in being there, so all is not lost.

The teaching felt rather contradictory, a waterjet of facts and formulas to try and manage life, rather than a profound and ethereal teaching of the dharma, encouraging us to take responsibility for our experience. We were instructed to sleep on our right side to avoid bad dreams. My immediate reaction was, "f*#k you! I'll sleep on whatever side I like, thank you very much!". That's the angry teenager in me, afraid of being controlled by any authority figure, which I spotted right away. I took a deep breath into my body and connected with the ground, perhaps this man has something to teach me? But it did seem a little absurd, I mean here we are, on retreat, trying to come into relationship with our universal suffering, bad dreams included. In fact I love a bad dream, and a good discussion about it the next day with my friends, seeing the symbolism that arises from our subconscious. Such a juicy mythical world to be inhabited, full of magic and suffering, so let's not avoid the bad dreams. Let's BRING IT ON! 

We were also informed of "cognitive fusion" and how instead of falling Into this trap of believing someone  is bad because of what they do, we should attempt to separate "person" from "action" which in fact is a very helpful formula, however Glenn then went on to tell us, if somoeone does act negatively towards you, you need to address their negative behaviour. Tell them they need to see a therapist about their negative behaviour. This wasn't a once, off the cuff remark, he said it at least 6 times, probably more. It felt a little ludicrous to me, like "oh yes, I'm a mediating Buddhist, I have decided you're behaviour is "negative" and so you must go and see a therapist". Whatever happened to looking at how we respond to other people? Surely that's where the seed of practice is? perhaps someone does need to see a therapist but I don't think giving this blanket repsonse to 60 novice Buddhist enthusiasts is very helpful. Somewhere along the line you're probably going to end up getting a shiner! 

Then we moved onto the topic of karma, Gawd 'elp us! I can't even begin to explain the ludicrousness of it all, my anger levels rose and decided "I cannot compromise my integrity and stay on this course with this imbecile any longer". In hindsight, I see a very strong reaction, but for the first time, I feel like I had a strong opinion and I acted upon it. I normally sit in self doubt and a lack of confidence, not knowing what decision to make or where to go next. I decided to sleep on my decision to leave, and the next morning I spoke to the course leaders and the director of Tushita before departing. Normally I would've upped and left at the first sign of dissatisfaction, without talking to a soul. I feel accomplished, I have achieved something new, something different, something that I feel will shape me. I feel my sense of right and wrong dispersing into the atmosphere, becoming a haze of nowness, a part of my "becoming". Despite my views, I can accept this retreat centre and what they are doing as useful, just not useful for me. That's quite a relief. I don't need to set up an army of attack against this body of spiritual practice. What's most important is the spreading of the dharma, and I do think they are doing this, just not in a way that suits me. Glen is also a very popular teacher, loved by the Israelies, so I have to swallow my pride and accept that!

So, we have arrived in Darjeeling, and it's beautiful up here in the hills.

The ride here was something to be experienced, and I am feeling very poorly, but the views are beautiful and I am with my dear friend Lloyd! My mind is dwelling in the future of Varanasi. The possible magic it holds, and buzzing with excitement at meeting my romantic endeavour at Cant station at 10:30am on Friday 18th April, ready to board his bike again and snuggle our way through the final month. I'm also dead excited to start working with these beautiful children again!!!

No right, No wrong

It's exactly 08:17am and I've arrived in Delhi. Sitting on the second floor of mustards food junction, which looks out over the forecourt of New Delhi station, I have just had a sweet lassi, and I wonder what to do next, as some faint traditional indian warbling voices sing in the background, a sign on the wall makes me laugh, and the ac blows on my neck, and I realise I have grown accustomed to the warmth of this country.

I sit here feeling relaxed and content, although slightly self concious of looking "idle", it's the first time I have been alone in India, with no one to answer to, no one to consider when thinking about strategical decisions, no one to tell me what to do. Just me, my overweight backpack, and crackers my teddy. I can't tell you how good this feels. I realise it's a combination of things, of letting go of the team, of leaving an adrenalin filled romance behind, of falling out of the chaos of Varanasi, and into the recognisably more ordered Delhi. Watching the commuters and drivers of various transport methods swamp the forecourt, it has just dawned on me how crazy Varanasi is. The roads are something else, and I had settled quite comfortably into it, riding on the back of a motorbike, squished between bullocks, rickshaws and auto's, driving the "wrong way" around roundabouts, but snuggled quite comfortably up against a young man who has settled deeply into the romantic crevices of my heart. 

Benares and the people in it have changed me. I am feeling so humbled and gracious for the people I have met. As I travelled on the sleeper train from Varanasi to delhi, I felt such a sense of relief to be alone, to have some space to reflect and write in my diary, and digest the last few weeks. 

The festivals

The parties

The happy holi ritual of painting eachothers foreheads red, whether you know one another or not...

The endless chai at kashi's coffe shop, the place to go and bump into any friends, or make new friends. In fact I spent so much time there, sitting nervously at 6:30am in the morning, waiting to teach circus or do taekwondo, it was always a great opportunity to catch the morning sunrise and happenings along Assi ghat. This is my favourite time of day.

 

I also took up the bad habit of smoking there, and spent many afternoons with my dear friend Ashley, smoking, chatting about life, getting dosed up on lemon, honey & ginger tea or the infamous Chai Aspecial, Served by the very sweet and straight down the line, Kashi. Wedding processions would float by with beating drums, on the way to bless their union down at mother Ganga, or bullocks would labourisly walk pass in there packs, and sometimes scruffy young children begged for food and money. Yet I also felt a huge pool of drowning sadness at leaving, and so, despite the rising heat in Uttar Pradesh that the locals have warned me about, I will go back before I return to the UK. Part of me wonders if I'm bonkers, another part of me just wants to live life. I know I don't allow myself to fall in love with people or things, and act from that place, for fear of being seen as foolish, for fear of feeling shame. I am in love with everything about this place, and I want more. But first things first, I must go on retreat and give up smoking!!!

Just a few days ago we were enjoying Holi! Apparently the most wild place to celebrate this festival is Varanasi, and I can tell you it's like nothing I have experienced before. First of all, it's not safe for women to go out alone. Most men will be drinking, and the firewater is pretty strong out here. Team that with a particularly archaic view of women and their rights by a large proportion of men, and you have a recipie for sexual harassment and perhaps worse. Though I am by nature quite shy, I don't stand for any shit, and don't like to be hemmed in or told what to do, hence my mothers nickname for me "little Pirhanna". So after playing Holi with ashley on our rooftop, looking down at the street, I said to ashley, "come on, let's go and check it out, it doesn't look too scary down there". Part of me wondered if the men were just scare mongering us in the run up to the festival, advising us not to go out alone as women, so the men can stay in charge and in control. As we walked along the safer back streets that led from our guest house to Assi ghat, we were met by a friendly looking, small and stocky indian man, his face and arms covered in silver paint, we later found out this is a tactic to stop the bright colours staining your skin, my hair is still green and I'm continuing to scrub the remains of dye from my skin today. He was holding hands with his other male comrades, as all the indian men do here, and they stopped to wish us a happy Holi. Him, his friends and all the children excitedly created a waterfall of blue and red liquids over our heads. He offered to escort us safely around the streets, not letting us go out alone. Turns out he is well know in varanasi and has a black belt in some form of martial art. We struck gold, he was trustworthy, his name was Vijay and he knew all the best Holi parties for the foreigners to go to!

We walked along the main streets, whilst vijay and his friends encouraged us to stay in the middle of the group. No other women walking the streets, just lots of men, throwing colour, with intense blood shot glassy eyes. It was on this day I really experienced how much of a man's world India is. Especially Varanasi, it's an intense place, where men are in charge, and I can't help but think, "for Christs sake women, if you just all come out on holi, in your groups, then there wouldn't be this thing that women have to stay indoors, it's that simple" but perhaps it's not, I don't know, so maybe  it's time for me to think about women's education in Varanasi, and how I could be a part of that. Any excuse to return for one month more, to continue falling head over heels in love with a man that is too young for me and impossible to date. Sigh!

So, in Varanasi I have been a bit of a man magnet, and as I've been single for quite a few years, this has felt great, although a little tricky at times. Men of all colours, cultures and ages, it's been quite a fine bazarre to be milling through, laughing and haggling. A stroll along the ghats with ashley one evening, ended with her saying, "you get so much attention". I thought it was the same for everyone, and shrugged it off as having blonde hair, but ashley openly and generously reflected back to me my nature, alive, bubbly, and connecting. Varanasi brings this out of me you see, it really makes me feel present. On the other hand, Varanasi hooks right into my dark places, gripping tightly onto my fears and pulling them up into my face, slapping them from one cheek to another without any respite. I hold on tightly, clench my molars, lean forwards and battle through, face thrown from side to side with my age old fears, again and agin, spit flying, sweat dripping, and I stamp one foot in front of the other, finding my ground, growling, but I make it through, and on the other side of this animalistic trek through the underworld of the great Benares, is something beautiful. Colourful and free, alive and unselfconscious, spontaneous and connecting. 

The places we find most challenging are where the fruits are hidden, I believe. Though that doesn't mean I saddistically stay in places I don't like all the time. There has to be something special about the challenge, some colours beyond the mud. Often it's a feeling I have, an instinct, which I am learning to trust more and more as I travel through India. I wonder how much of this male attention is what draws me back to Benares? Like all humans I am driven by sex and food, both of which I know I have a complex relationship with. I am not sure if it's the right thing to go back to Benares, and I am attempting to investigate my intentions, but it's not easy, and I am wondering if finding THE ANSWER is actually the answer! Perhaps a more gentle navigation will take me somewhere?

After having learnt to look after myself from a young age, I have spent many years trying to do the right thing, I am almost militant and obsessive at times about making the right decision, about being seen to be "taking responsibility", the "BIG R" as my therapist and I have gently and humourously named it. We laugh together each time I come to the session saying "so and so just ISN'T taking responsibility". The more I go on retreat, the more I dive into my spiritual practice, I slowly learn what it is to be responsible, to allow others to live their lives and to find a seed of stability within myself. So I have an overwhelming amount of passion towards Benares and the people in it, and I will go back, and it may be the wrong decision, and I may fall head over heels in love, but I have never allowed myself this before. So, I hope I can remain loyal to my resolution today, that the decision is just the decision I make. No right, no wrong, just a decision. 

The Varanasi Heebie Geebies

 I need to meditate, but somehow I can't manage to get myself to the cushion.

I have given up chocolate,and somehow taken up smoking.

I was coming into acceptance of my body, but now I obsess about not looking beautiful enough, and film myself dancing, semi naked, to see if I can appease this self loathing.

This picture has only made the loathing worse. Those who go for refuge to beauty, end up feeling ugly! 

I had found some peace, and now I am overwhelmed by anxiety.

I need to come back to myself, and this morning I feel like I don't know how. So I have decided to write. 

I am attempting to find some control over my experience. I am very happy in Varanasi, I love it here. But I am also engulfed by something that I can't quite manage to shake off. I think I need to mediate, or sleep, or stop. What I need to stop I don't know. I'm blown around in a typhoon, partly wishing to be at home in London, in my bedroom, looking over the green garden and hearing the movements of my housemates shuffling though the house, the familiar trips to the toilet, and the chanting from the shrine room above me, sometimes opening my heart, sometimes getting on my nerves. Another part of me feels overwhelmed at the idea of leaving on a train for dharamashala next Thursday, I don't want to leave. This is not the same feeling of being homesick that I have had so far on this journey. 

Next week I will be heading to the foothills of the Himalayas to attend a silent meditation retreat for ten days before meeting one of my dear friends Lloyd, who will travel with me for two weeks. I am longing for these moments to arrive, yet I am filled with fear by them. I think I need to cry, but I can't. Anxiety is rising. 

I am experiencing my reationship to men in a dark and heavy shadow. I'm sure this is what happens at home, but I have networks of friendships around me that I know and can, to a certain extent, trust. I also have my usual surroundings to distract myself, to keep me in check. Here, today, I feel like I am a burden to the city, to the people in it, and to the friends I have made. The lively, happy-go-lucky, spontaneous, cheeky cheeked part of me, so often commented on by people, is overshadowed by self consciousness. I know this is part of being In India and part of being on a transformative journey. But it's hard and I am grappling for ways to escape. I have moments of freedom, when I am dancing, when I am sunbathing, when I am engaged in something, but these last few days it's so very fragile and fleeting. It will pass, I tell myself. 

 

I look to other people around me for validation, in particular, men. I micromanage their every detailed response and tiny movements to confirm my worth. They look to the left as they talk to me, I immediately think they don't want me around. They smile into my eyes and I think they want to sleep with me. They look momentarily at me as I sit down, they must be in love with me. They say to me "so.......?" As if to indicate what happens next, I immediately think they want rid of me and make my excuses for a busy day ahead and leave. This is a tricky place to be, and I know I do exactly the same thing at home, I escape situations prematurely so that I can be absent before they abandon me. Or I hang on to a situation too tightly and out stay my welcome, ending in a deep sense of shame at my foolishness for misreading matters. No matter how much I write, reflect, do nothing, this feeling isn't passing. So I look closely and see if I can observe my actions and check in with my intentions. I sense I'm being too hard on myself, which isn't out of the ordinary for me. This is all I can do, look, sense, reflect, which I am struggling to accept. 

It will pass, it will pass. 

I want to be rescued, I want to be loved, I want to be accepted. And of course I know I am projecting this all outwards, and in fact no one can do this for me, but it's hard. I feel new emotions bubbling in my abdomen as I write this. This all consuming fear is slowly exposing some gaps for me to experience my sadness, lonliness, whatever it is. Perhaps I can go and meditate now, instead of picking up a cigarette (previously chocolate) to mask these feelings.

I will also go and find my friend ashley, a firm buddy in Varanasi, who's a gem and a half, and listens to an account of my obsessions daily. I will share with her that I have labelled this waffling, The Varanasi Heebie Geebies!

Discombobulated

Well, there's nothing like a bit of love to derail you from your inner most, heartfelt good intentions! For the past month, doing mitra study has felt like the most enthralling and engaging activity. I became a mitra with the Triratna Buddhist movement about 3 years ago, I ritually declared myself a Buddhist and agreed to attend mitra study once a week, with a group of about 8 women who have also been moved to do the same. Its' changed my life in many ways, the study can often be challenging, meeting opposing views and our own reactions to how it feels to be within a group, talking about what is most deeply in our hearts, and the day to day trials and tribulations we face in the context of our ever deepening understanding of the dharma, the Buddhist path. It is also filled with empathy, understanding, listening, laughing, hugging, chanting, meditating, talking about romance and lots of tea and biscuits. Whilst away in India I have come to realise what value this female group is to me, and I miss them dearly, even the bumpy and uncomfortable parts. Studying here in Inida, alone, without our weekly discussions has reaffirmed my decision to ask for ordination. However, tonight, all I can think about is the male of the species, in particular a 22 year old taekwondo teacher, which is a change form the 40 something's I have been romancing with over the past few years, and the allure of study has drastically wained to a somewhat dry and arid landscape with the odd bit of tumbleweed blowing past whistling the thought "oh yea, I should study".  How the tone of my desire to study has changed. What fluttering beings we are! 

Sitting down to read "This Being, That Becomes" by Divan Thomas, the Buddhas teaching on conditionality. For 6 chapters I have felt so captivated, excited, and inspired by his writing. My mind now flutters and flies from one fantasy to the next. From a singing in my heart that brings a beaming smile to my cheeks, to a whoosh of energy through my limbs that unleashes a desire to jump and leap forwards into the unknown. The words are remaining on the page, and the osmostic way in which they have previously been seeping into my imagination is now non-existent.

I feel fear. And it excites me, it has a tinge of the compulsive to it. I know this feeling very welll. I know the disasters it has been so bountifully pregnant with in the past. I know how deeply and tantalisingly destructive it can be. I also know it's what got me here to India. It's the feeling I sat with courageously on retreat last Summer as I began to create a performance solo. It's the feeling I so intensely felt as I ritually declared myself a Buddhist. I know, when used in a particular way, it can give birth to beauty, achievement, success. The tantric guru, Padmasambhava comes to mind, and I sit and write in my diary, noting these compulsions and where in the body I can feel them. I sense that over the past week I have toppled gracefully over into a pool of sumptious symphonies, submerged in a divine, sparkling, alluring whirlwind of pleasure. I enjoy this, whilst simultaneously feeling fear at the knowledge that this exact feeling has the potential to slowly and quietly transmutate into a darker energy that pulls me off centre and into obsession. For me, experience tells me this is only an inevitable outcome. But I also know I am a human being just as the Buddha was, and I have potential for change, transformation, growth. This deep groove of habitual romancing feels much bigger than me and my capacity to manage it, so it's time to button down the hatches, fill my stores with kindness and awareness, and have faith. 

I remind myself that on the 20th of march I have to leave Varanasi, and leave this "love" in the holy city. A city where devotional song wakes me at 5am every day, ritualistic bells along the ghats clang at dusk as the darkness draws in, the endless spray of colourful sari's and prayer brings a continuous smile to my face and presents a gift of my belief and faith in humanity. For the first time in my life, I have some foresight that joins me and my desire for quick bursts of  pleasure, that serves to avoid loneliness, boredom, myself. I am preparing myself to love and let go. After all, the affirmation says, if we truly love someone, we let them go! I know what they mean but, really?????? The idea of that drives me bonkers. 

Every relationship I have ever had has ended with me being dumped, even the ones who I didn't really like, the ones I would talk to my girlfriends, explaining quite dismissively, "ummmmmm yea, I'm not really sure, I don't really feel that thing, but I'll just give it a go, why not" then perhaps a few days later they finish the relationship with me. I'm left crying in the corner, despite my previous apathy, I feel wounded, abandoned, worthless and despairing. Whether I want someone or not, I always, without fail, want them to want me. As I write, I realise how absurd this is, how selfish in fact, but I know I will feel it again and again. Awarenss and kindness are the beginning steps to transform this pattern. I sense resistance, and a desire to fall wildly in love and to be swept off my feet by a knight in shining armour. That age old and quite useless fairy tale. 

Alongside this love story, another thread continues. One of challenge, distress and conflict, and yes, if you've been reading my blogs, you will have guessed it, it's team PWB India. It's week 9 and we continue to storm, relentlessly. For me, however, it's much less painful than it has been for previous weeks, perhaps it's the new found romance and taekwondo classes, either way it's a huge relief not to feel wounded, responsible, blamed. I have come to the conclusion that there is an almost irrepairable dysfunction within the group, unspoken complexities lie deeply and an underworld of resentments fester. This week I can see the depth and vastness of the deep rooted layers of messiness that exist within the team for what it is, as opposed to it being me, the damaged one. The one to point the finger at. I have begun to let go of feeling responsible for this endless terrain of mountainous boulders and hard hitting hail stones flying through the atmosphere. I can see it's a result of the collective, and hopefully I can began to move away from individual blame over the next few weeks. 

However what is difficult for me is my need to blame. I have spent my life blaming myself and others, in an endless journey of polarisation. A constant whisper has danced behind my back, telling me I am not liked, I am the odd one out, I'm not wanted here, I don't deserve to be here. It's a mischievous voice, cunning and crafty. It moves with speed and haste, like the small framed Indians in taekwondo. Centres' of gravity poised and strong, ready for their opponent, and at the right moment energy explodes forwards, backwards, sideways. Darting about with assertion and certainty. The untrained student flies around in response, out of breath, panting, limbs flying, always 2 steps behind, but with a consistent practice she will improve. So I know, with consistency in a skillful intention I can manage this whisper. If I meditate, if I make the effort to pause in my day, if I take time to reflect, if I don't over commit myself, if I can find moments of generosity and kindness. If I can just "be" with fear.

So, it is with sadness yesterday I announced my departure from the team. I will continue with them until the end of Varanasi but I will not join them for the project in Darjeeling. It has been a very tough decision to make, and I feel quite stirred up by the past weeks events. One team member left the team earlier this week, she is staying in a guest house around the corner. I helped her move and I check up on her every day, and the majority of the team continue to isolate her, ostracise her. It saddens me so much to see this happen. After all we are in India, away from home, with no one but each other.  I find it disturbing that four men boldly and immovably stand against one other woman, in a country where being a single white woman can at times be overwhelming. For me I see a display of ego, which I myself am also prone to. It saddens me so much to see this happen, and if anything, with hindsight I am sure something valuable and learned will come from this. As a result I have decided I can no longer be part of the team. With all the good intentions in the world, with the ideals of awareness and kindness, I don't feel able or evolved enough yet to be able to meet this situation with those qualities, so it seems the right time to leave. 

For all the generous people who donated money, this all remains with PWB, going into the charities projects. Despite this team malfunction PWB are doing beautiful work, and the money is always being well used and creating opportunities for vulnerable children all over the world. I have had a sublime time with the children, and I am so very sad not to be able to continue with the work, but I feel it's the best for all parties involved. I will take my three week break as usual, and for the final month I plan to find a women's empowerment organisation to volunteer at, or I will go woofing (volunteering  on organic farms) in the hills. Who knows what the future holds? I feel sad, vulnerable, relieved, excited. I hope to find some acceptance and kindness towards the last weeks events, and I look forward to continuing this adventure, as I now move through the heart of my journey, dancing through India! 

Week 8, part 2 - Buffalo curd

I feel the need to counter act my previous melancholic post.

I am feeling a wee bit poorly, and in these times I avoid immediate connection and try to look after myself, alone, which leads to a rather introspective and depressive state. It's all part of the natural unfolding, I keep telling myself.

This afternoon I actually said I was unwell to my fellow team mates, abi and ashley, and isn't it astounding what a few words from someone can do to one's mood! Suddenly I feel I exist again. Just from someone saying "go and get some antibiotics, drink lots of water, is there anything I can do for you". In fact, I wanted to get the antibiotics myself, and I didn't want someone else to do it, but it doesn't mean that I don't need anyone to say those things to me, to make me feel better. If only I could communicate sometimes, but instead I hide away feeling abandoned and unloved. 

After collecting antibiotics, from a rather blasé pharmacist, ready to dish out whatever I asked for, I thought "ah yes, yoghurt, I need yoghurt with its friendly bacteria and what not, it'll sort my belly out". India is famous for its lassi's and curd (yoghurt), and I found a lassi shop just two minutes away. During this two minutes a blockade of tuk tuks, cars, bikes, motorbikes, school buses, goats, buffalo's and rickshaws piled up in the road. A small round indian man on his motorbike, tried to squeeze between my vintage bike and the rather jam packed school bus ( i say school bus, it's much more like push bike with a box on the back, powered by a small wiry indian man). This man and his motorbike inched closer and closer, until I felt like I was sitting on his lap, and I felt the impulse to huff and tutt, but before I could he wobbled his head and laughed, and I laughed. We laughed together. I felt completely alive again, just from this small interaction. 

Back to the curd! On eating this, from the earth made terracotta pots that curd and chai are served in, I now understand more fully why this city is so densely populated with water buffalo's. The curd comes from Buffalo's and it's AMAZING! It's probably about 50% fat, but by golly, I am in love with the curd. So thick, creamy, everything about it is just heavenly, and I have an excuse to eat it every day at the moment, to restore some balance into my intestines. I now feel happy again, and in the right place. I sense these fluctuations of emotions are going to be an ongoing theme of my journey. But the most important thing for me is, I am here, enjoying India, and I feel alive again!

This one is more for me, than for you!

Should I stay or should I go now? If I stay there will be trouble, if I go there will be double.........

I love my friends, in explaining my problems over skype, one friend listened attentively and empathised with me, then gentley asked the question "and what affect will it have on the group if you leave?" 

These are the kind of friends we need. The ones who open heartedly accept you and your struggles, and simultaneously help you to expand beyond your limiting views, without antagonising you or negating anything you have previously said to them. It's a blend of kindness and wisdom that is like gold dust. I have missed this whilst on my travels, and also if I am honest, this same question has put a massive spanner in the complexity of nuts and bolts of problems I have built around myself. Part of me wishes she had never asked me that question, but a bigger part of me knows that this question is key to growth, development, transformation.

I may not stay with the team, and if I don't this question will reverberate in my mind, ensuring i leave with integrity, keeping the team in mind, attempting to move towards even as I move away. But it's not going to be an easy task. I already feel a wave of pain in leaving, fear of regret, terror of failure. At the same time, the situation I am in is slowly draining the life from my body. It's like all the red blood cells are slowly drifting towards my extremities and out into the universe, dispersing into the atmosphere. A limp white body remains, shuffling through Varanasi, looking for connection, life, joy. 

How much of this is my doing? Is what I always come back to. Am I sabotaging? Or is this feeling a result of the collective dynamic? I look at one friend on Facebook, who is also in India. She is a dancer, with lots of yogi friends, and they all seem to be on same wavelength, they all seem like they understand one another, they all seem like they are having the time of their life. The curse of Facebook! I long for what she has. Connection, understanding, maturity, listening, receiving, giving, kindness, care. Every morning I sit and have breakfast and wonder how I can bring more kindness to this situation. How can I make it work. I resolve to bring my reflections to the team, but as I enter into the team meeting, my belly cramps, my heart beats, my chest tightens. I am a living organism of fear. I cannot be what I want to be. 

Fear is consuming. I had not realised, until this trip, how much fear I feel on a daily basis. At home I cycle, dance, teach, meditate, eat my way through this feeling. Building a strong flesh like wall around it, and exercising this muscle, without fail, everyday, so as not to leave room for any slackness, any weakness, any suppleness in which my guise may be felt, seen, experienced. 

Perhaps this is a symptom of survivors guilt. Growing up in chaos and turbulence gives rise to a sense of not being able to fully relax into life, not being able to really feel like I deserve a positive, whole, nourishing, fulfilling experience. My parents struggled through my upbringing, so I, quite naturally struggle too. I deeply wish more happiness for my parents, more connection in their life. Feelings of guilt linger as I travel around India, seeing the world, and search for more meaning in my life. And I know that no one can do anything about this, I simply have to feel it, be with it, stay with it, breathe with it. And I don't want to. I want to eat chocolate, drink beer, find a man to kiss, run naked into the Ganges, call people names. I want hugs. I want to feel like I exist more than I already do somehow.

I have felt a need to leave the project for almost a month now. In previous years, I would've upped and left immediately, as a dear friend so rightly pointed out to me, reminding me of my personal progress. At the first signs of injustice, I would've shouted and then swiftly escaped. In enduring difficulty through my younger years I felt trapped, voiceless, unseen. I felt completely void of any power or meaning. At fifteen, I found something within, I stood up and said "NO MORE!" I cannot explain the sense of liberation I felt as I told the adults in my life, I am leaving, I am going, I am looking after myself. I proceeded to live alone, feed myself, get myself to school, smoke cigarettes, explore drugs, revise for my exams, have parties, and go for refuge to teenage love. As a sensitive and lonely 15 year old, hiding behind the "yea, well I don't fucking care" attitude, was incredibly painful. I got twelve GCSE's A-C and I feel a sense of strength and achievement from that part of my life. So, in times of struggle and injustice, my tendancy is to stand up and proclaim "I will not tolerate this!". The fierce independence that I embody, though integral to my survival as a teenager, now lurks in my experience, and confuses me. 

So in week 8, I sit here, unwell with a cold and period pain, and feel completely torn about whether to leave the final leg of the project in Darjeeling, and accept that my work here is done. Or do I endure the final month, in the hope that something will arise from this. The biggest part of me doesn't believe that there is any room for change amongst the team I am with. I also know, that as a teenager, my mantra was "it's pointless, they are not going to change". So i have to acknowledge that I hold this view of people, especially in times of turbulence, in times of conflict. I also need to feel autonomy in my life. So at this moment, I consider going to volunteer on an orgainic farm in the Himalayas for the final month of the project, in the hope that I may find more heart there. 

I also acknowledge, resistantly, that heart is to be found within. 

From death to life

A fourteen hour train ride, snuggled up on a sleeper, with crackers my teddy, and some dry rice crispies due to my first attack of Delhi belly. I feel grateful for my sleeping bag as our northwards motion and the night sky throws the temperature down to an unfamiliar degree. The increasing heat of kolkata is behind us, and I feel, as I drop to sleep, the ground softly merging to my feet, my shoulders melting down my spine, and my breath descending to my belly. My relationship to the earth is changing, rejigging, rebalancing. Sometimes, It's not until we leave the conditions we're in that we realise just what an effect they have on us. Balance has been a faint whisper in my experience....... And I haven't been practicing my head stands!

We arrive in Varanasi about 10:15am, welcomed by the familiar smell of urine that surrounds every indian train station I have been to so far. I feel the cool of the air and I am relieved for some lightness to the atmosphere. We travel in our tuk tuks towards Assi Ghat for the Ganga guesthouse, our home for the next week, as our apartment isn't ready just yet. I soon realise that the roads here don't have an official left side or right side, it's more a case of picking a space between the bullocks, bikes, tuk tuks, cars, 4x4's and Sadhu's, then drive for your life.

We are very lucky to have a beautiful view of the Ganges from our guest house. This is the spectacular view I mediate with. The sun, blazing forth, very apt for the Mettabhavana practice. 

Settling into the soft afternoon sun of Varanasi, also known as The Great Benares, I long for yoga, I long for embodiment, I long for balance. After laying in a Delhi belly induced savassana for what feels like days on end, my body needs life breathing into it, some praña. But I also sense a lethargy, a need to restore before I attempt to balance, and the thought which lies in a deep, dark groove of my mind, disguised as a whisper, yells at me to work hard, sweat, lose weight, be better. Fortunately, on this occasion, my heart gentley rises up over the bottomless gorge of disguised mumblings and cradles this fierce drive within me. I succumbe to what my whole being needs, and I go for a gentle stroll along Mother Ganga. I breathe in this new found spacious air we have been suffocated of in Kolkata, I take in the expanse of open space that is the Ganges and the holy land which lies beyond it. I smile and feel some space open in my sternum. Praña is born, Life resurfaces from my heart. Equilibrium has begun it's restoration.

Just as I start to re-ground, I stumble across a small burning ghat, and see a lifeless skull wrapped in cloth emerging from a maze of logs and branches. I spot a limp foot, and finally a static torso. It's a woman, for sure, and for some reason I think she's young, 20's or 30's perhaps. I take a seat in what feels like an open air theatre, and prepare to sit for a while, digest, and reflect on my own life force.

An old man, wrapped in white cloths and clutching a spear of lively flames appears, and circumambulates the mound of wood, flesh, bones, three times, dousing the fabric encased head, which saves our eyes from meeting. I feel the presence of life and death, sitting either side of me on the stone bench, not quite merged into one another yet, perhaps that'll come with "enlightenment", when or if I ever believe in that state of consciousness. I've yet to discover. I notice a number of boys collecting wood and coal from the glowing remains of various mounds, they laugh and joke just inches away from a dead body. This is their job, they start young, lifeless hearts and flopping limbs are no stranger to them. They see death, daily, in fact, hourly. I wonder if this makes them more aware of death? Because as I sit and watch this corpse burn, I cry for some time, I imagine the ascending smoke to be carrying her essence, I figure out who her relatives are among the crowd, I notice one young man rocking back and forth as he looks out to the Ganges and quietly whispers to himself, without pausing, no stopping, a constant monologue, praying I should think. 

Some bells ring in the distance, echoing in the background, framing this whole experience. The limbs burn into the ether, the torso and head remain, furiously flaming. Dogs intermittently bark wildly, and for me they reflect some primal howling that we all could benefit from if we were to gather in a pack and howl in unison, feeling eachothers pain. Bit we sit quietly, still sharing something profound. I feel very present and aware of all the sounds and sites around me. I cry some more. I feel humbled to grieve collectively. To share the final moments of this bodies existence. I gain perspective, and all the arguments which I have been part of over the past few days, seem irrelevant and futile. 

I will die.

I don't want to leave, but I feel this moment coming to an end for me. I exit the scene with a new found balance in my body, with a life force that breathes into my heart and down through the delicate bones of my feet. I walk, and gaze, and reflect. Lotus flowers blossom under my heels. I float, just for a moment, and then I find the concrete of the ghats slapping under my soles, and my robotic mind clunks back into criticism, of myself, of other. But death has just stared in my face, I held its gaze for some time, longer than I have before. I felt its caress, over my shoulders and onto the surface of my heart, I fear of loosing my life if I allow it to settle deeply into the crevices. With this, I resolve to notice every criticism that passes through the gates of my mind. Not meeting it with more criticism, just simple plain awareness. Which, after experiencing this cremation, seems to make much more sense. 

The day after touchdown and we are straight into teaching, no rest for the wicked! The children are absolute little munchkins, and a delight to teach. They are always eager to engage and have an abundance of energy. The main thing i notice about the Indian children is their relationship to others in terms of space. It feels like one ongoing bundle, and whilst I love to be tactile, I find myself craving personal space and order amongst the children. I diligently try and get the children to find gaps, move back, take their space, but it doesn't really translate, so I am beginning to see that this ideal is going to be part of the training, and finding creative ways to engage with and communicate this  is going to be the key. Perhaps our next dance piece is inspired by bundles......... Not for the faint hearted! 

Most children will live In a modest one roomed house with their family, all squished and bundled in day by day, sharing beds, sharing everything. Our ideas of personal space are so very different! How do I meet their experience with my own? How do I teach a dance class, which is all about our space in relationship to others, to these children who feel at home being piled on top of one another? I guess I use it. Its time to use my experience from teaching in east London's roughest schools. I have been dragged circularly around a school hall, sliding on my non-grip plimsols, as a year 5 boy tries to run from my clasp around his belly and simultaneously batter his class mate. I  attempted a dance class, seated, metres away from a teenage boy with acute autism, whilst his learning assistants shout at him and tell me I can't go near him, play music, or stand up. I have stood helplessly in a hall whilst 30 students run, howl, climb the walls, and I wonder what to do next. In each situation you have to improvise, you have to respond to the moment, you have to get creative. So, here goes! 

We have a whole month here, to work with these lively bundles of joy, and I look forward to consistency, to creating a show, to getting to know the kids and to responding to the moment. I find nothing more enlivening than being in this dance with life, in continual moment by moment responsiveness to what is happening before my eyes. This for me, is praña! From death to life, all in one week, in one city. The Great Benares!