People who are also beverages cannot drive

dreams of the east fill my mind. not in the jungian dichotomy of east/west, although he brings up some interesting comparisons and ideas in his writings, but a true image of the east as it is now. imagine a world where a bowl of noodles costs less than a dollar. where the streets are cleaned and people scuttle along on their private business in the latest and strangest of fashions. dialects swirl around you as you try to decipher what people are saying to each other and to you. sometimes you smell stinky tofu. want to try some new foods? take a trip down a snack street. organ meat abounds, pig ears and snouts poke playfully out of vendors carts. these things dance into your stomach and romp around a bit before settling gracefully as you down a cup of green tea. burst into an open-air market. there are things to be bought, things to be haggled for. haggle, haggle. there is a strongly commercial character here. communism with chinese characteristics indeed.

50% of your birthparts?

greetings! long time no hear from, i know. but i've been busy, and i'm lazy. a lethal combination, oxymoronic really. the sort of desperate struggle for your core values that defines the modern human in the face of ceaseless homogenization, commercialization and endemic idiocy. when you value the quiet, the good, what must one do in the face of this onslaught? soldier on? buy a new hat? what if you don't like hats? in that case, can you instead replace your organs with mechanical replicants, powered by a machine-hate for the organic? everyone wants to be a cyborg in the modern era. interface with me! will they accept you if you only have 50% or less of your birth-parts? can you feasibly, morally, destroy those who counter you with hate, ignorance or inane questions? this is inane. in this face of my and our rapid degradation, must we destroy ourselves to be born anew? but i digress.

when you wander the streets of beijing, what does one see? faceless cyborgs? radioactive mutant love-porcupines? communists? its hard to say. but this city is thriving, no matter the populace. chinese and waiguo's [foreigners] pour into the space like gloopy denizens of a strange honey-world, battling for living space, jobs and a seat on the subway [chinese people win, usually]. however, the chinese have superior queuing skills, compared to those of india. the mad free-for-all exists, but is slightly less hazardous for one's health. so much is going on, people everywhere, street vendors vending all variety of vendable wares. you can buy pirated books, music, pineapples (pirated? the cyborg clone rearing its head again?), sweet potatos, clothes, guinea pigs, all life's staples. and haggling is on like donkey kong! i think america needs to embrace a haggling lifestyle, in addition to bringing back bartering. 'dont have any money you say!, well just trade me your rendered body fat for the keys to the kingdom!' what an option, what a lifestyle.

language instruction is going well, my mandarin has definitely improved since i've been here. it's such a funny language though, some of the ways you say things are positively hilarious. for instance, i was telling my laoshi (teacher) that i hadn't been to san francisco, but my parents had, albeit before i was born. this is expressed by saying i had not entered (the world) with success. sadly, we are all failures.

buns, buffalos & beards

Buddhist monks like sticky buns. The grounds of the Mahabodhi temple are littered with packaging from the mass-produced sticky bun company, delightedly serving snacks to the thousands of monks praying, reading and performing ritual ablutions while facing the Bodhi tree. The mess is staggering after the monks leave around 4.00 pm, leaving the Mahabodhi caretakers to sweep, dump out the brass pots filled with water and flowers that ring the temple, roll up the carpets and prepare for another day. In all this monk madness, thousands of pilgrims stream through the grounds everyday from all the countries of the Buddhist world; reading Pali scriptures, spinning prayer wheels, throwing coins at colorful Buddhas. This, the holiest of Buddhist sites, is countered by Varanasi, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. On the banks of the Holy Ganga, Shiva's city is a riotous, howling monolith, inhabited by humans for thousands of years. Let's get one thing straight. Shiva is a pothead. The guy loves to smoke his chillum, do his meditation thing, maybe sometimes spring for a bhang lassi with the wife. Thus his city sports the finest of drug wares, offered to you by likely and unlikely suspects all over the ghats (steps down to the river, used for bathing, cricket matches, kite flying, clotheswashing, what have you) and the galis (alley streets that lead to the ghats). Shrugging these fellows (and children) off is an art, accomplished most easily by a serene benignity, a measured and studied neutrality of expression and action that leaves these easily excitable folks distinctly nonplussed. Once you shoulder your way around, through, over packs of these guys, Varanasi opens its arms to you, sweeping you down to the banks of the Ganga, simultaneously serene and chaotic. Early morning baths by the pilgrims, a couple farmers washing their (filthy) buffalos, washer folk beating clothes on a stone, this is the morning tableau. In some of the galis you find yourself caught up in a solemn procession bearing a body swathed in brightly colored cloth down to the main burning ghat. Manikarnika ghat is an incredible vista; the site of several hundred public cremations daily and a true depature from the realm of my normal experience. Dying and being cremated in Varanasi is particularly auspicious, as those who do escape the cycle of reincarnation into moksha (liberation). A truly amazing place. Fast forward to Amritsar, via Agra and Jaipur, skipping over falling ill on the train, subsequent sickness, the Taj and Jaipur jewelry scams. The holiest city of the Sikhs, Amritsar houses the golden temple, a place I found far more amazing than the Taj, by virtue of it being a living expression of the Sikh faith, rather than the cold stone of a lover's tomb. There is housing for pilgrims on the grounds of the temple, and even a dorm for foreigners, filled with all manner of fellow travelers. The temple is situated in the middle of a holy water tank, patrolled by spear-wielding Sikh guards. Pilgrims line up to file through the temple, which itself is inhabited by a range of Sikh holy men, some singing and playing instruments, live music that is broadcast through the grounds of the temple. Additionally, Sikh temples offer a unique feature that relates to the inclusiveness and equality that is intrinsic to the faith; a free dining hall. A whopping 70,000-80,000 meals are served here daily, and the all-veg fare is really tasty. However, I think such a feature would be dangerous for fat Americans, as food is brought to you, buffet style while you sit, and topped up at your desire. If you have a passionate interest in beards, Amritsar is the place to go. Fantastic facial hair, combed and curled, groomed and gushed over, the kind that men (and women) dream of having, the sort of beard that has roots in its owners soul. The place is a beard-lovers wet dream.

More to come soon, I promise.

the fuzziest sweater vest

It's been awhile, so I'm just gonna ramble along. In Kolkata after finally escaping Varkala after five weeks. When you build a nest for yourself someplace, padding it with comfortable friends, food and locale, and settle in for some serious downtime, it becomes quite hard to remotivate yourself to get a move on. Caught up in indolence; my sad life. Kolkata, on the other hand, is a complete 180 from Varkala. Scads of people everywhere, human traffic jams on use-every-inch-of-space back alleyways. Shops selling all the shit you could ever want and never need. Street food! My god, the street food here is amazing. Need a meal? Buy a Bengali curry and rice plate for 30 rupees. Snacktime? Peruse the samosa, momo and sweet carts, or buy a hot kati roll, stuffed with paneer, chicken, egg or mutton. The options are endless, and its hard to go wrong with anything (unless you contract an intestinal parasite...) A study in difference, Kolkata is not the 'Black Hole' of yesteryear. Like the rest of India, a strong 70s theme of mustaches and bellbottoms runs through the populace like a current. Thought you saw a mullet? You did. Sweater vests in a range of colors, men wearing fuzzy pink that would look appropriate on a seven year old girl. People pissing next to the sidewalk, people living next to the Hooghly, take no prisoners traffic ceaselessly honking, swerving at the last second to avoid hitting the peds. All around, this city is awesome. Mind you, I haven't been here during the monsoon, the worst season for Kolkata (although the hot season is a muggy second-best) as streets flood and the city, rich already in decay, creeps a little further into ruin.

An Indian anecdote: Seller A, who runs a small factory for incense and oil production, tells you that Seller B's product is substandard and watered down, available to you at a cheaper price because it is cheaper and of less quality. Seller B, who plies his wares in the central market, assures you that Seller A is full of shit, and his product is of the highest quality, but he chooses to sell to people at a more equitable price. Truly a man for the people. Seller C, a seemingly wealthier merchant, serves you chai and offers you the same goods as Sellers A & B for even more money than Seller A, while telling you the facts of life (in relation to oil sellers). This same process occurs in the trading of all merchandise (maybe not food, generally cheap across the board); silks, cottons, drugs, trinkets and jewelry. Who can you trust in this maelstrom?

why is it so?

Life here is a luxury. Far more relaxed than the other parts of India I've traveled in, life just goes at a slower pace here. The tourist scene, while sometimes obnoxious, is more subdued than in Goa, India's other tropical paradise. Amazing Keralan dishes that have a profusion of coconut and fresh caught fish have provided the majority of my diet here. Everyone you meet in India, foreign or Indian, tells you how beautiful Kerala is, and its true, there is lush verdant greenery everywhere. But palm trees can only go so far. The mental image of a thing somehow doesn't correspond with reality. It is beautiful, true, but perhaps its more the feel of a place that gives it its beauty. There is consensus, such a thing is beautiful, but why is it so? Standards of human beauty have changed throughout history; have standards of landscape beauty correspondingly changed as well? Or is there something intrinsic that speaks to us about the beauty of certain places? People go mad for sunsets and sunrises (if they wake up in time), but why? Is it through depiction of a thing as beautiful, or because of some inner knowing that a thing has beauty?

thin veneer

there was a bar. people there, foreigners and indians alike. drinks, laughter, companionship; these things were natural and welcome. two small dogs playfully chewed on hands, feet, bags, bangles, all were welcome into their maws. beers, wrapped in newspaper, the ultimate stealth covering, surrounded our table. multiple tongues flowing, english spoken with a score of accents over Richard D. James. suddenly there is no music. lights are turned off, indians hunker down. they know.

confusion reigns among the westerners. 'are we getting kicked out?' 'shit, i'm not done with my beer.' nothing seems to be happening. sitting in the dark, giggling, there is no tangible reason for the darkness. i mean, its only 12.30! the police are coming, we're told. we wait for the moment to blow over. i joke about feeling like i'm back in college. not quite.

suddenly, four khaki cops are there. striding around, imperious. they hold the traditional indian police stick, a seemingly quaint convention from the past. things escalate rapidly. there is shouting at the owners, the workers. indians we are hanging out with are grabbed, shouted at and then slapped, hard, in the face. we start yelling, 'stop, those are our friends!' an indian is released from police cluthches, another grabbed and pulled by his lapels. they don't look the police in the face. they are questioned, and respond or not, the only answer is being slapped in the face. we are told to disperse. the workers tell us to get out of there, that its ok. we protest, 'this is fucking bullshit man, they can't just hit you like this.' 'its ok, just go.' many leave. a few of us cluster together, watching as the cops leave with one man, press marching him down the cliff road. we decide to follow; as western tourists, we have somewhat of a free pass with the police, it becomes a far more serious encroachment if they hit us. because we don't have dark skin.

we follow, but they are moving too fast. they don't stop when we yell at them. disappearing into the darkness we chase after. at this point, its too late. we find them, and they've beaten the shit out of this guy with their quaint sticks, no longer so innocent when covered in human blood. the worker from the bar is surrounded by his blood, his arm looks broken. he is in bad shape, but manages to escape when we finally get close enough. the police run off, unwilling to face such a large group, now inflamed with anger. they pretend to chase off after another 'rule-breaker'.

returning to the bar. an indian tells me, 'the police are mad because there are so few tourists. when there aren't many tourists we can't afford to pay baksheesh (bribe money) to them.'

fucking horrible.

Gora

Sucharita summoned up all her mental strength to remain alert and firm. 'Aren't you a member of some party too?' she asked.
'I am a Hindu. Hindus are not a party after all. Hindus are a community. So immense is this community, it is impossible to express its essence by confining it to any label. Just as the ocean can't be described by its waves, Hindus can't be described as a party either.'
'If Hindus are not a party, why do they resort to party politics?'
'When you try to kill a man, why does he try to defend himself? Because he has a living spirit. Only a lifeless stone would lie passive in the face of all assaults.'
'If Hindus take for an assault what I understand to be my faith, what would you advise me to do?'
'I would urge you that, since what you consider your duty is a painful assault on the great entity called the Hindu community, you must ponder very carefully whether there is some delusion or blindness within yourself, and whether you have contemplated everything from all angles, in every way. It is not proper to cause such a great disruption, taking the customs of one's own party to be the truth, through sheer force of habit or out of laziness. When a rat begins to nibble away at a ship's hull, it goes merely by its own convenience or natural instincts; it does not realize that boring a hole through such a great refuge will cause far greater harm to everyone else than the little bit of ease it will gain for the rat itself. Similarly, you too must consider whether you are thinking only of your own party or of humanity as a whole. Humanity as a whole - do you realize the magnitude of what that signifies? How diverse are the natures, tendencies and needs that it encompasses? All human beings do not occupy the same position on the same trajectory - some confront mountains, some face oceans, others open fields. Yet no-one can afford to remain idle; everyone must move on. Do you want to impose your own party's sole authority upon everyone else? Do you wish to turn a blind eye, imagining there's no diversity among human beings, that everyone is born into this world only to enlist with the Brahmo Samaj? Those brigand races who believe it's best for the world if they vanquish all other races to extend their sole empire, who are too arrogant about their own power to admit that the distinctiveness of other races is of priceless benefit to the world, who spread only slavery across the world - how are you people different from them?'
For a moment Sucharita forgot all her arguments. Gora's voice, deep as thunder, swayed her entire soul with an extraordinary force. She forgot Gora was arguing about something, aware only that he was speaking.
'It is not your Samaj alone that has created the twenty crore people of Bharatvarsha,' Gora continued. 'On what grounds do you seek to utterly flatten out this vast Bharatvarsha, by forcibly seizing the responsibility of decreeing which course of action is suitable for these twenty crores, or which beliefs and practices would ensure sustenance and strength for all of them! The greater the hindrances you encounter in your impossible attempt, the more angry and disrespectful you will feel towards your own country, and the more your contempt will alienate the very people you wish to help! Yet, the Lord who made human beings so diverse, who wishes to preserve this diversity, is the very One you imagine that your worship. If all of you truly believe in Him, why are you unable to recognize his decree? Why does pride in your own intelligence and your own party prevent your from accepting its significance?'
Observing that Sucharita was listening in silence without trying to offer any reply, Gora felt sorry for her. He paused, then continued in a gentler tone:
'Perhaps my words strike you as harsh. But don't view me with hostility as a member of the enemy camp. Had I perceived you as an enemy I would not have spoken to you at all. It pains me to see your natural broad-mindedness confined within the limits of a party.'
Sucharita's face grew flushed. 'No, no,' she protested, 'don't worry about me at all. Please continue what you were saying, and I shall try to follow your argument.'
'I have nothing more to say. View Bharatvarsha through your natural intelligence and natural emotions. Love Bharatvarsha. If you see the people of Bharatvarsha as non-Brahmos you will distort their image and regard them with contempt, and constantly misunderstand them. You will never get to see them from the perspective that allows one to see them whole. The Lord has made them human; they think in many different ways, act in many different ways, follow many different beliefs and customs, but underlying all this is a basic humanity; within all this is something that belongs to me, to Bharatvarsha, something that, when viewed from a true perspective, will pierce its outward shell of pettiness and incompleteness to present before us the vision of a great, noble entity. It is infused with the spirit of long endeavour; in it I can see the ancient sacrificial fire still burning amidst all the ashes, and I have no doubt that this fire will transcend its pretty location in place and time to cast up its flame at the centre of this earth. The people of this Bharatvarsha have been saying many big things for a very long time; they have accomplished many great tasks; even to imagine that all that has become utterly futile is to show disrespect for the truth, and that itself is atheism.'
Sucharita had been listening with bowed head. Now she raised her head and asked:
'What are you asking me to do?'
'Nothing,' asserted Gora, 'I only say that you must understand that the Hindu faith has tried to nurture people of many attitudes, many views; in other words, the Hindu faith alone has acknowledged people as human beings, not as members of the same group. The Hindu faith accepts the illiterate as well as the learned - and not just a single facet of learning, but the growth of knowledge in many dimensions. Christians don't wish to acknowledge diversity; they say there's Christianity on one side and limitless destruction on the other, with no shades of difference in between. Because we follow those Christians, we feel ashamed of the diversity of the Hindu dharma, failing to recognize that Hinduism strives to perceive the One through the medium of the many. Unless our minds break free of the fetters of Khristani learning, we cannot claim the glory of understanding the true nature of the Hindu dharma.'
It seemed to Sucharita that she was not merely hearing Gora's words but seeing them manifest before her eyes; she felt Gora's contemplative gaze, fixed upon the distant future, merge with his words. Forgetting all shame, forgetting herself, she raised her eyes to Gora's face, which glowed with the intensity of his emotions. In that face Sucharita saw a power that seemed to realize the greatest resolves through its own spiritual energy. She had heard many philosophical discourses from many learned and intelligent members of her community, but Gora's utterance was no mere discourse, it resembled a new creation. It was so tangible that over time it could dominate one's whole mind and body. Today Sucharita beheld Indra, the kind of deities, armed with his thunderbolt; as the words forcefully assaulted her ears, shaking the very doors of her heart, she felt flashes of lighting dance through her blood from moment to moment. She no longer retained the strength to determine how far her opinions coincided with Gora's.

my love is creamy

One thing has bothered me since I've been in India. A great disturbance in my mind, driving me to distraction, leaving my very soul parched. Here where cows hang out like drug dealers on the city streets, their udders swinging heavily, (the drug dealer udder is a well-disguised fact) it seems like it should be easy to find a glass of milk. Not so! One can't simply approach these cows and start chugging and pulling; these are ladies after all, and must be treated with respect. A procedure, a code must be followed, permission asked of cow and owner. These things take time, one can't stress these Hindu cows. I need it now though! Enter the milk parlour.

What a treasure trove of goodness! Like a child in a candy store, I approached the milk parlour, naked milk greed on my face. Here is my power, my god. I feel as if I'm a young droog, drinking my ultramilk straight from the breast, filling myself with its strength. Milk madness overwhelms me and I order the almond flavored milk, guzzling it down in a trice. So many flavors to sample, I'm flooded with possibility. Small bottled god, you are my salvation. Straight from the cow.

An eggplant-shaped truth

Greetings from Bangalore! IT capital of India, this city has a great relaxed feel, helped most noticeably by the beautiful weather here. Unbelievably, its almost cold here at night! Wild. Bangalore is really big, but there are a few main areas that are of most interest to travelers. The MG (mahatma Gandhi) road area has a ton of shopping, bars, clubs and restaurants in a fairly compact area. Next door is the large lovely Cubbon park, great wandering here. The High Court and State Central Library are in the park itself, while Karnataka's central government building, the Vidhana Soubha is across the street. Bangalore is busy, but not teeming with people like Mumbai was. Traffic, as always, is heavy and pollution is bad, but the charm of the city and its people is undeniable. It has been really easy to meet people, even on the street. Why, just the other day I met a man outside the park. We exchanged ritual pleasantries, shared a nice walk and conversation together and he even propositioned me at the end! I was flattered, but was already late to meet up with my couchsurfing host, and had to crush his dreams.

I am surfing here with this guy Dev, a software programmer who is trying to become a professional photographer. Really cool guy, he agreed to host me when my original host had to fly to Mumbai on short notice to meet with a client. The Bangalore couchsurfing network is really well-developed, met a bunch of them at this club (called, hilariously enough, Couch) for their weekly Wednesday meet-up. Really great people, friendly and open, but also, quite obviously, a close-knit community of friends. It was quite the experience, definitely something I want to be a part of wherever I may live in the future. The nightlife in this town is great, although by law all bars and clubs have to close by 11.30. While this is a drawback, it just means people go hard from like 7 till close, really squeezing all they can out of the partying scene.

Before Bangalore I was in Bidar, in the far northern corner of Karnataka state. There is a really great old fort up there, still in the process of being opened to the public. This place was huge, surrounded by a 6 km long wall and accompanying moat. Its free to get in, but you can give a guide a small tip to get showed around the locked areas of the palace, so I was able to check out the Raja and Rani's private quarters and meeting areas, as well as some of the underground sections where gunpowder was stored. Really fascinating place, and a great walk out from the city to get there, like 5 km, so a really good chance to see a small Indian town close up.

I picked up a book the other day by Rabindranath Tagore, India and Bengal's premier man of letters. The book is Gora, a work about Bengal in the late 19th century that examines the emerging nationalist movement from the eyes of an orthodox Hindu man. Tagore is a really amazing writer, profound emotions and otherworldly sights co-mingle in the minds and discussions of his characters. Here is a true image of Bharatvarsha, one that seeks to bring all the disparate elements of Indian society together into a unifying whole of disunity. Paradoxical, yes. But quite moving and beautiful at the same time. Highly recommended.

Paranoid Castle

Man! Indians are some serious stare-ers! Not sure about that spelling, but lay off, you bastards. It's uncanny though, their eyes are just drawn to me. I realize that I am ridiculously beautiful, with a dazzling smile, healthy glowing skin and an extraordinary aura of friendliness, but is that what brings the stares? No, its probably that I'm just a weird, bearded, dirty foreigner wandering around with a giant backpack and shorts on. Shorts! E gad, how uncouth. But seriously, so far it seems staring and hanging around with other dudes is the primary occupation of many of these guys. There isn't shit going on, but there can be just packs of males lounging in the shade, snickering and staring at strange white tourists. Most are friendly, only want to know what country one hails from. Some exchange jokes in their native language, obviously at the expense of the non-comprehending foreigner. One accepts these things with a smile, and a casual knock at the male Indian predilection for holding each others hands. Always with a smile.

Met an interesting character at Golgumbaz, this really big mausoleum built in the 17th century for a Muslim ruler from Bijapur, in northern Karnataka. (Incidentally, the dome on top of this building is the second largest freestanding dome in the world after St. Peter's Basilica) Manjunath is a journalist, environmentalist and photographer who works for Karnataka state in classifying and preparing historical sites to be viewed by the public. He has done a lot of traveling across southern India and was able to recommend a variety of different places that I should travel, highlighting the best parts with some well-shot photographs he had on his computer. We had dinner together two nights and really got along pretty well, had similar literary interests and shared some of our favorite authors with each other for future reading. Manju was also able to get me in for free to some of the other sites around Bijapur, which is always a bonus. Prices are always higher for foreigners, but the scale is ridiculous. It costs 5 Rs for Indians to get in and 100 Rs for foreigners. Granted, 100 Rs is only like $2, but its the damn principle!

Before Bijapur I was in Hampi, a really fantastic place in central Karnataka. Amazing ruins scattered all over these crazy looking boulder mountains, so much territory to explore, and really some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen. Unfortunately, the wave of good health I'd been riding to this point crashed down around me in Hampi. Last sunday I got sick and made many, many, many trips to the bathroom over the next few days. The squat toilet was my dear, dear friend. Haven't been eating much since then, and am starting to look positively gaunt (for me); don't worry I'm not the Messiah...yet. Feeling way better in the last couple days, hopefully will graduate to eating meals again today, been strictly on a banana, coconut and water regimen. Alright, I'm bored, later.

Study vs Experience

Palolem in south Goa has been absolutely gorgeous. Bright sun, bringing a delightful tan to my previously pasty body, the cool Arabian Sea swirling around your feet, dodging the advances of beach vendors who just want to ask you something. So much more relaxed than Mumbai was, way less honking and just a generally slower pace to life. The beach hut I'm staying in is fantastic, only a couple hundred yards from the water with real live electricity! (sometimes) The food continues to be excellent, I've been eating seafood in almost all my curries, except at the times I can't resist having biryani. Goan seafood is often very spicy, but a butter roti takes the sting off the tongue as surely as a glass of fresh squeezed pineapple juice does. Ah, the pleasures of a tropical country!

Still trouble meeting Westerners, but I've been hanging out and talking to a lot of the Indians I meet on the beach and that work in the complex of huts I'm staying at. Its a fascinating experience to go from book learning to meeting and knowing the way these people live their lives. Talking to a 16 year old beach vendor of jewelry, or the roving pineapple/coconut salesman, I'm really getting a sense of India. The 16 year old, Dimple, has been coming to Goa to sell jewelry for 10 years. Since she was 6! From Rajasthan in the north, shes here, sans family, for about 8 months out of the year, returning home only to make more jewelry and spend a few months with her family in their village. She is uneducated, other than the things that her younger brothers have taught her, but is only desirous of being able to help her family in any way she can. Even more interesting, she is waiting for her parents to arrange her marriage for her, a common practice in India. I pressed her about wanting to have a love marriage and she replied that she trusted the decision her parents would make, and wanted only to cultivate the skills that would help her to succeed with her husband and her husbands family. Fuck! was all I could think. I knew about these things before I came here, but knowing is one thing, and actively experiencing it, an entirely different one.

I am planning on leaving tomorrow (I've been trying to leave for the past two days, but its just been too gorgeous) for Panaji, the capital city of Goa to catch a bus to Hampi in Karnataka. Hampi is supposed to be really cool, the ruins of a medieval imperial capital, razed in the 16th century by a group of Deccan sultans. Can't wait!

J. Krishnamurti Ojai talks, June 1934

Questioner: What is the difference between self-discipline and suppression?
Krishnamurti: I don't think there is much difference between the two because both deny intelligence. Suppression is the gross form of the subtler self-discipline, which is also repression; that is, both suppression as well as self-discipline are mere adjustments to environment. One is the gross form of adjustment, which is suppression, and the other, self-discipline, is the subtle form. Both are based on fear: suppression, on an obvious fear; the other, self-discipline, on fear born of loss, or on fear which expresses itself through gain.
Self-discipline - what you call self-discipline - is merely an adjustment to an environment which we have not completely understood; therefore, in that adjustment there must be the denial of intelligence. Why has one ever to discipline one's self? Why does one discipline, force one's self to mold after a particular pattern? Why do so many people belong to the various schools of disciplines, supposed to lead to spirituality, to greater understanding, greater unfoldment of thought? You will see that the more you discipline the mind, train the mind, the greater its limitations. Please, one has to think this over carefully and with delicate perception and not get confused by introducing other issues. Here I am using the world self-discipline as in the question, that is, disciplining one's self after a certain pattern, preconceived or preestablished and, therefore, with the desire to attain, to gain, whereas to me the very process of discipline, this continual twisting of mind to a particular preestablished pattern, must eventually cripple the mind. The mind, which is really intelligent, is free of self-discipline, for intelligence is born out of the questioning of environment and the discovery of the true significance of environment. In that discover is true adjustment, not the adjustment to a particular pattern or condition, but the adjustment through understanding, which is, therefore, free of the particular condition.
Take a primitive man; what does he do? In him there is no discipline, no control, no suppression. He does what he desires to do, this primitive. The intelligent man also does what he desires, but with intelligence. Intelligence is not born out of self-discipline or suppression. In the one instance it is wholly the pursuit of desire, the primitive man pursuing the object he desires. In the other instance, the intelligent man sees the significance of desire and sees the conflict; the primitive man does not, he pursues anything he desires and creates suffering and pain. So to me self-discipline and suppression are both alike - they both deny intelligence.
Please experiment with what I have said about discipline, self-discipline. Don't reject it, don't say you must have self-discipline, because there will be chaos in the world - as if there were not already chaos; and again, don't merely accept what I say, agreeing that it is true. I am telling you something which which I have experimented and which I have found to be true. Psychologically I think it is true, because self-discipline implies a mind that is tethered to a particular thought or belief or ideal, a mind that is held by a condition; and as an animal that is tethered to a post can only wander within the distance of its rope, so does the mind which is tethered to a belief, which is perverted through self-discipline, wander only within the limitation of that condition. Therefore, such a mind is not mind at all, it is incapable of thought. It may be capable of adjustment between the limitations of the post and the farthest point of its reach; but such a mind, such a heart cannot really think and feel. The mind and the heart are disciplined, crippled, perverted, through denying thought, denying affection. So you must observe, become aware how your own thought, how your own feelings are functioning, without wanting to guide them in any particular direction. First of all, before you guide them, find out how they are functioning. Before you try to change and alter thought and feeling, find out the manner of their working, and you will see that they are continually adjusting themselves within the limitations established by that point fixed by desire and the fulfillment of that desire. In awareness there is no discipline.
Let me take an example. Suppose that you are class-minded, class-conscious, snobbish. You don't know that you are snobbish, but you want to find out if you are; how will you find out? By becoming conscious of your thoughts and emotions. Then what happens? Suppose that you discover that you are snobbish, then that very discovery creates a disturbance, a conflict, and that very conflict dissolves snobbishness, whereas if you merely discipline the mind not to be snobbish, you are developing a different characteristic which is the opposite of being a snob, and being deliberate, therefore false, is equally pernicious.
So, because we have established various patterns, various goals, aids, which we are continually - consciously or unconsciously - pursuing, we discipline our minds and hearts toward them and, therefore, there must be control, perversion, whereas if you begin to inquire into the conditions that create conflict, and thereby awaken intelligence, then that intelligence itself is so supreme that it is continually in movement and, therefore, there is never a static point which can create conflict.

Yes, Quite

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Mumbai!

So much to say about this city! Teeming masses, jam-packed rush hour trains(people hold on to the edges, hanging out the door) so many conflicting, mingling smells, some delicious, some just shit. The food has been wonderful, so cheap, so tasty, with the benefit of many unique and wonderful tastes I've never had before. So much to say, but I'll spare you all the details and just note a few highlights.

I had the fortuitous luck to meet a few natives who weren't desperate to sell me weed/hash/tour direction, meeting a Punjabi Sikh named Gurjot in a coffeeshop where all the other tables were occupied. We hit it off, agreeing that we both wanted to live our lives simply, seeking that which gave us the most pleasure. We wandered around together for an afternoon and then parted before vowing to meet again in northern India, where Gurjot will show me around his native state and generally wine and dine me.

Spent another day as an extra for a tourist movie and got to meet a few more Western tourists. Most foreigners seem to travel in groups or as a couple, so I've had some trouble getting to know many of them, but I met a cool Canadian, Australian and Brit during the day of shooting.

I will be leaving Mumbai this Thursday for Goa, a state some 600 km south of Mumbai. Goa has beautiful beaches and a lot of tourists, but I'll be heading to the somewhat quieter south Goan beaches. Sun, seafood and yoga in my future!

The old Raja

Nobody needs to go anywhere else. We are all, if we only knew it, already there.
If I only knew who in fact I am, I should cease to behave as what I think I am; and if I stopped behaving as what I think I am, I should know who I am.
What in fact I am, if only the Manichee I think I am would allow me to know it, is the reconciliation of yes and no lived out in total acceptance and the blessed experience of Not-Two.
In religion all words are dirty words. Anybody who gets eloquent about Buddha, or God, or Christ, ought to have his mouth washed out with carbolic soap.
Because his aspiration to perpetuate only the "yes" in every pair of opposites can never, in the nature of things, be realized, the insulated Manichee I think I am condemns himself to endlessly repeated frustration, endlessly repeated conflicts with other aspiring and frustrated Manichees.
Conflicts and frustrations-the theme of all history and almost all biography. "I show you sorrow," said the Buddha realistically. But he also showed the ending of sorrow- self-knowledge, total acceptance, the blessed experience of Not-Two.

Blog virgin

Trying to keep everyone updated on my travels is hard and I'm lazy. So hopefully I'll be able to update and post pretty regularly, but until I prove myself to...myself, don't expect a daily update. But ya'll have been without my presence in your lives for sometime now, so I'm sure that you've adjusted.

I'm heading out this Tuesday, the 3rd, so keep your eyes peeled for future posts. Please don't hesitate to get in touch with me by email, or leaving notes on the blog. I love ya'll and hope to hear from you soon. Accha!