Kathmandu, Nepal...Day Two

Kathmandu, Day Two

One learns quickly when taking to the streets what is necessary to smooth the journey and take conscious care of personal needs. Sure it is nice to be with a group and guide and retreat to the bus when all is said, seen, and done. But the incessant energetic demands of being in an unfamiliar situation moving through and with a sea of individuals with economic agendas are constant. I have noticed that what was startling the first day on the streets, what demanded my attention, has faded into a growing level of “seen that”. The inner need to find and maintain a center of balance manufactures quick adaptation to the environment. One’s sphere of sensitivity diminishes. Motorcycles, once so confrontive and annoying, are now tolerable. A pattern begins to unfold: they honk more to let passersby know they are behind them rather than an invasive, get out my way!

This is, in a sense, the major goal of the traveler: move through the reactionary misinterpretation phase to embrace local customs and ways of the region and town. There is a fine line between the ugly american and the one world citizen...coming from the U.S. I am certainly used to taking care of my needs and getting what I want when I want it. On a narrow street with hundreds living, selling, and buying, one develops patience and a flow, or one does not survive these journeys out from the hotel compound. Why travel, if there is not a willingness to learn and flow? There is a way to respectfully say no to the panhandler with word, tone, intention, body language, and pacing. Hone these and the journey becomes amusing.

We took the bus with our guide to one of the holiest stupas in greater Kathmandu in the morning. It was the beginning of a 5 day Buddhist celebration and we had come to the centerpoint: Boudhanath, the lord of wisdom, one of the primary places of pilgrimage for the practicing Buddhist. Typical stupas are a center spire, filled with sacred religious relics, so the word on the street is. Colorful Prayer flags flow out like spokes of the wheel from the top of the spire. Around the whitewashed spire, or part of it, are circular paths, where pilgrims circumnavigate a clockwise rotation at least three times. 

Today marked the first day of the pilgrimage. When we arrived there were hundreds already seated up on one of the stupas’ 3 circular levels. Monks were chanting over the PA system to the many in saffron and burgundy colored robes. Plain clothed pilgrims walked clockwise around the stupa, either parroting the chant, reciting or singing Om Mane Padme Hum. It was an inviting scene. The brilliant white stupa was colored with pink paint representations of the lotus flower along its crown. It was a feast for eyes and ears and heart. We ascended the staircase to the right of the small temple and entered the procession. One had to walk the edge of the stupa around all of the people sitting.It was about an 8 foot drop to the shop level. A bit of a challenge, but, truthfully, the more we surrendered the less we focused on anything but releasing old frequencies. The ceremony cycled through a cd playing the official “Om Mane Padme Hum” chant, the monks reciting sacred mantras and verse by heart, and the classic Tibetan monk multi toned low chant with the clanking cymbals and trumpet horns. Three cycles...tears...pageantry...witnessing something very sacred and deeply meaningful to so many. We exited to shop in the many, many stores encircling the base of the powerful sacred edifice.

It was here that what was first a significant tragedy played out...I have been traveling with a Disney stuffed Tigger this whole trip and he has been a playful and constant companion, showing up in all the places we do and demanding his picture be taken. In fact, the Where in the World is Tigger? blog will launch in a day or so. Now, Tigger, being orange and white and a tiger, has been increasingly late in getting back from some of the Buddhist experiences we have had. And, after we had shopped, visiting so many stores and exchanging rupees, we headed for the bus. I asked the keeper of the Tigger for that day to let me get a shot of him on the drive through the streets to our next destination, some ancient temples in a town out in the countryside. To my shock, she indicated Tigger , along with the special sacred incense, were missing. We were already down the hill, and because the traffic in Kathmandu is so intense and hazardous we could not turn around. The gravity of the loss fell over us in a collective gasp....

He has been such a trooper, showing up with enthusiasm and confidence and delight and, when we were tired, his bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, aways gave us a second wind. But, Tigger is gone...for good. The realization soon became obvious...Tigger has come home, and whether he has found his way into the hip pocket of a monk, or into the delighted hands of a Tibetan child, or is sitting unnoticed, for now, in some shop of rugs, sacred cloth, malas, jewelry, or whatever...he is exactly where he belongs. It is plain to see that Tigger has a higher destiny. We have been honored to have walked this journey with him.

But we think there is something bigger happening here. Tigger simply loves to travel and take his very special brand of fun, fun, fun, fun, fun to all he meets. So, I am sending out a call. If you happen to spot Tigger along the highways and byways and towns and countries of this incredible world, please take a picture of him and post in on the blog, Where in the World is Tigger?. My heart, and my inner little boy would deeply appreciate it...Tigger, fare thee well...and yes, you are...the Only One!

Stopped for pizza at Fire and Ice on the way to Bhaktapar. The thin crust pizza was a welcome change to 13 days of Indian food...delicious though it is...too much of a good thing needs a break...the mood of the pizza feast was somewhat subdued...I would drift in and out of my travels with him...when the letters TGR showed up in pizza crust on my plate we knew it was time to go. We hoisted one for T-I-double G-rrr and hopped the bus...half expecting/hoping him to appear from out of a bag or under a seat...but, no, he was on the road to find out...

Now, Bhakatapur is a very ancient Nepalese Hindi/Buddhist city filled with magnificent temples and squares and shops. The tallest temple in Nepal was there...kinda like hiking from the field to the the last row in Texas Stadium...late afternoon delightful shadows pulled the eyes and heart and seduced the camera into multiple shots...all the while the guide told us details that disappeared with the next scene...they are in there somewhere, the collective experience that will appear holographically down the trail. Mysterious side streets serpentine from the center square...two young boys play a spirited game of badmitten on the raised platform across from the temple to heaven...motorcycles puncture the senses of everyone... they buzz by for no reason whatsoever...annoyance and maybe, tolerance...stop it!!!

Along the way I stop and pick out some brightly colored cloth to use in my sound work. The singing bowl store with the planet tuned bowls is closed...darn...something for everyone...a newspaper toting man sends a shrill announcement over and over as he walks through the streets...throaty voice altered until it could carry a long long way...disturbing patrons to buy just to quite him...

We have started to fade...just too much...our senses had been fabricating walls all day, and it looks like they had set the last stone and sealed the enclosure...hotel...please...now. The drive back afforded us with some rare clear views of the Himalayas towering over the closest range of smaller mountains surrounding the Kathmandu valley. Breathtaking...glistening white jagged peaks piercing the sky in an endless reach toward the All That is. It is hard to look away once one has seen them...the yearning to drink them in, to trace their edges...to stand at their apex and kiss the sky...to feel what it is like to look down upon life’s meanderings...the top of the world...right before our eyes..soul stirring and the hands reach out like an infant who wants to possess their beauty...photos...must...take...photos...get out the telephoto lens...quick ...we are descending into the city...the peaks shrink...traffic jam...hundreds of cars jammed to get rationed gasoline...thank you, God...look around...aaaaah...there they are...click, click...the clouds dance off the highest peak like smoke in the wind...Oh...My...God...

Hotel...exhausted...tired of the in house restaurant and not willing to enter the outside vibration again...we settle for the pub...a round of Everest Beers...how appropriate...the fire burns... spicy chicken wings call...we sit in the quasi circle of eight...hoisting our 22 oz beers to this magnificent life altering experience we seized by the heart today...clink, and as  the chicken satays join the festivities, we look into the dancing orange flames and remember...through our own being we remember and wish him well...listen...listen...yes, I hear it too...that song

The most wonderful thing about Tiggers

Is Tiggers are wonderful things

Their tops are made of the rubber

Their bottoms are made of the springs

They bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy

Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun

But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is

Iiiiiiiiiim the Only One

Varanasi, the oldest city in the world, the city of cremation begins to infiltrate our vibration...the letting go is upon us. The New year is grabbing us by the throat, and shaking our past like a poodle with a stuffed animal...we are falling apart...piece by piece...and our precious inner child self is saying, “hhhoooo hhhooooo”. ...and me, I’m crying as I write this...thanks Tigger for your beautiful blessing...