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“In order to establish a proper relationship with pain, many traditions incorporate painful situations as part of spiritual training. On my first trip into Tibet, I traveled to a remote monastery high in the Himalayas. Because I was providing care for the monks, I was allowed to stay inside the monastery, which is usually forbidden. On my first morning I woke up before dawn to the sounds of young monks outside my room. I stepped outside to see the exposed courtyard lined with monks reciting and memorizing texts in the biting cold. The monks were bobbing back and forth furiously trying to stay warm. I was struck with this level of discipline, it seemed nearly abusive to me, so I asked one of the discipline masters pacing behind the monks about this degree of hardship. He replied, ‘Tough on the outside, soft on the inside.’ The discipline forged a resolve in these monks that would serve them as they grew into more demanding spiritual practices. The rigors of the path are always held in the context of tough love. It is rough on the ego but loving to the spirit.” – Andrew Holecek

People often ask me why in the world I would want to hike such long distances over such challenging terrain in such unforgiving weather. When I read the above it struck me as a more useful response than my usual shrug and reply of, “I dunno, I like intense experiences?”  I’d like to think there has always been some wisdom in me that knew pushing myself to become increasingly strong would allow me to become increasingly gentle as well. Something I seem to value more and more these days.

Earlier this week I returned from my final prepatory hike before I embark on the Pacific Crest Trail on May 1.  Returning from South America, I flew directly to Albany NY where my darling mother met me (laden with gear and supplies I had mailed to her) and we drove to Great Barrington MA to spend the night at an inn before I began hiking south towards NYC. After losing several games of mahjong to my ever sharp matriarch (and eating an entire tin homemade cookies) I set off on a cloudy and cool morning to test my will and my skill against nature and the trail.

Continue reading The Long and Winding Road

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring…  -Walt Whitman 

I’m back! Just returned to Iquitos Peru from 12 days deep in the Amazon jungle for a traditional Shipibo plant based healing retreat. The Shipibo are an indigenous people along the Ucayali River in the Amazon rainforest in Perú. In the Shipibo culture, shamans—called curanderos—work as plant-based healers of physical, mental, and spiritual ailments.

Shipibo healing comes from seeing the sacred healing energies that come from the plants. They can be seen as the codes of the Ikaros (songs) that express their healing energies and are seen by the healers in their visions. The Shaman “see the songs” and “hear the designs” at the same time in a phenomenon known as synesthesia, the blending of the senses. The plant doctors’ ikaros work through the Shaman by penetrating the patient’s energy body to heal and protect it.

Seems a decent premise, right? After all, who couldn’t use a little energetic healing and protecting of the body? Turns out it was quite a wild ride. 23 of us jaunty jungle journeyers from all over the world set off to immerse ourselves in a whole new world.

First perhaps a little set and setting. We traveled for an hour by boat from Iquitos up a tributary off of the main river and then hiked for another hour to the center where we got settled in our Tambos (Cabins).  Then off to dinner, which was a continuation of the strict diet we’ve been following for weeks including no pork, red meat, dairy, spicy food, oils, processed food, sugar, alcohol, or caffeine.

Day 1 we awoke, somewhat rested after a mildly disconcerting first night. Turns out the jungle is alive. Very alive. Critters of all shapes and sizes abound. Once I negotiated a truce with my cockroach roommates and shooed away as many mosquitos as I could I settled in under the mosquito netting over my way-too-short bed to be serenaded by a cacophony of jungle sounds. Was that a Jaguar?? I’m pretty sure that was a Jaguar.  He sounds awfully hungry.

Our first event in this magical healing retreat is what’s known as a Vomativo.  Perhaps you can guess what that was.  Yep, pre-breakfast we line up outside to drink a bowl of unknown tea and then as many bowls of warm water as fast as we can until everything comes back out to the light of day.  Hoofa. Ok, stomachs cleansed. Everyone’s system clear. Talk about an icebreaker.

After this vigorous opener our days settled into a more consistent routine.  A personally tailored litany of plant remedies and stimulating ginger oil massages every morning. Group discussions during the day, and flower baths in the evening before the nightly ceremony. Time in between for jungle hikes, lazy naps, personal reflection and spacious conversations.

The main event every day was the evening ceremony. In the lantern lit Maloka (main gathering house) we gathered for a little yoga and meditation before the five Shipibo healers arrived. Once they arrive the lanterns are dimmed and the Ikaros begin. First a group song by all of the healers, and then they rotated around the circle singing to each of us individually. Sort of a personal diagnostic and healing. It was a truly beautiful and powerful experience. Some of the  songs were mournful, and others celebratory. The healers were completely immersed in the singing – fully embodying and manifesting the energy of the songs.

It really was a powerful and magical experience. Such energy in the room. Such reverence. Such connectedness. Just incredible to be able to witness this beautiful and ancient tradition so full of wisdom, love, and healing.

I can honestly say that I feel meaningfully different now. It seems we all felt the shift. No longer as burdened by the unimportant concerns of life. Healthy, internally clean, spacious, and grounded. Through it all we somehow became a family too. Each and every person there became a dear and caring friend. I am truly grateful, to have had a chance to meet and get to know all of them. I also had no shortage of personal insights, but maybe they’re a bit much for the blog today. Forgive me dear reader, but I think I’ll honor them by letting them settle and sink in a bit.

Anyway, after a long and quite varied journey, with no shortage of surprises, my time here in South America is coming to an end. I’m boarding a plane back to the good old U.S. of A. today.  Landing in Albany and hiking 8 days down the Appalachian Trail from Western MA to NYC for a few days in the concrete jungle before heading off for my long awaited start of the Pacific Crest Trail on May 1.  Adios for now and more soon. Until then, here’s a few more jungle pics…

Far away indeed.  Greetings all y’all from the bottom of the world.  I arrived yesterday in Punta Arenas – the southernmost major city, and my last stop, in this fine fair country of Chile.  Hell, nearly the southernmost point in all of a South America.  Not far at all from penguins and icebergs and the South Pole.

I’ve spent the last five days pounding out body beating miles in Torres Del Paine, one of the most incredible places I’ve ever been to.  It was beautiful and brutal.  Amazing mountains, miles and miles of challenging trails, weather beyond belief, and even a glacier.  I was really quite lucky in that it only rained a little, but the wind was wild!  At one point I swear a gust of wind lifted my lanky body, pack and all, clear off the ground.  No small feat indeed.

I learned a few things too in this hikers paradise.  I learned that there is a wee bit of difference between being in shape, and being in long distance hiking shape. I worked my way up to 8 hour days of 16-18 miles, over many hills and very rocky terrain. Terrain not at all unlike the Pacific Crest Trail where I calculate I’ll need to average 23 miles per day over 5 months!  Needless to say I’ve got a little work to do over the next month. Especially since those 8 hour days left me feeling like I rolled down a hill in a barrel full of rocks.  Don’t fear though faithful reader, I am ever optimistic. If it can be done then I can do it!  And if I can’t do it then I’ll have a lot more free time this summer to go to the beach.  Win win either way if you ask me.

Other than that I took a very nice boat ride through the fiords on the coast for 4 days, which was quite lovely even though I was in bed most of the time with what was undoubtedly a case of pulmonary bubonic plague that I picked up mid-way through my time in Pucón.  After all, it wouldn’t be an authentic trip to South America without some sort of brutal illness, and at least mine did not involve my gastrointestinal tract.  Thank God for small mercies.

And lastly, before I regale you with some delightful Torres Del Paine photos I feel compelled as usual to ramble a bit about the state of my heartmind.  Wouldn’t want to leave my readers without some personal musings on my human experience.  Truth be told, this trip has been a lot harder than I thought it would be.  Here I was setting off on this grand adventure that would undoubtedly provide a plethora of delightful tales to reflect on fondly for years to come.  What I found however is that life presents no small amount of challenges no matter where you go or what you do.  I find that I’m not infrequently sad or lonely or homesick or just experiencing some low level of discontent.  This has been doubly hard because I’m supposed to be having a great time.  And I’m supposed to be a Buddhist.  A spiritual practitioner filled with peace, kindness, joy, and equanimity, not a mildly disgruntled and often discontent ingrate.

Fortunately though, the world provided and a dear friend recommended a very useful book called, “The Power and the Pain.”  A Buddhist book with a practical presentation that provided a powerful reminder that life is hard sometimes.  That meditating and practicing spiritually is hard sometimes.  Sure, both life and spiritual practice contain moments of bliss and joy and insight.  But they also contain great struggles.  As a friend of mine said, if you’re exerting yourself towards growth then the level of your difficulties is really the metric of your success.  That really helped.  It’s nice to remember that if everything isn’t great all of the time, or at least when I think it should be, that doesn’t mean that I’m doing something wrong.  That with the right outlook difficulties can be constructive.  That Chaos is good news.

So, I’ll keep on keeping on.  Doing my best to take it as it comes – both the easy and hard.  The pleasure and the pain. Until next time…

 

 

 

Tiger got to hunt,
Bird got to fly;
Man got to sit and wonder, “Why, why, why?”
Tiger got to sleep,
Bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand.

-Kurt Vonnegut

Hola mis amigos. My sincerest apologies for keeping all y’all on the edge of your seats for so long.  I have no doubt that you’re nearly overwhelmed with anticipation by now for the latest episode of Gulliver’s Travels. Where did he go?  Why don’t he write?  You don’t think he got bitten by a huge and terrifying spider, do you?!?  Nah, they don’t have those in Chile… except this one.

Truth be told I avoided the spider and they’re not actually poisonous.  What’s kept me away for so long is that I just plain have no idea what to say about the second half of the Buddhist program I just finished.  Everything was chugging along swimmingly.   Lots of study and practice, increasingly delightful fellow participants, sunny days, and starry nights. Then something happened, even though nothing actually happened (hence my reluctance to try and explain).  At one point after week two I had a humdinger of an experience.  Or more accurately I felt the aftermath of an unidentifiable experience.  Like an invisible Yeti stepped on my head.  I didn’t see a Yeti, and I don’t remember getting stepped on, but boy did I have a footprint on my mind parts.

And what was that experience you ask?  It was my ego.  It was my pride.  It was an overwhelming realization of my own spiritual materialism.  Of the subversive view I had unknowingly developed that I’m better than because I’m a Buddhist.  That meditating, studying, compassion, Shambhala, and this Guru were going to save me. That I was going to get something that I could keep forever and ever. An unshakeable sense of equanimity.  An unchanging knowledge of the true nature of life – of reality.  Who knows, maybe even the ability to levitate!

I say experience because I felt all of the aforementioned in a way that nobody every could have explained to me. No words, no pictures, no stories, and no songs could ever have shown me what this experience showed me.  How had I missed this?  How could I still be so foolish, so conceited, so selfish, so naive?  And when I saw this, when I experienced this, I was furious.  I felt so threatened, so destabilized.  It was like this little kitten we adopted as our mascot at the program first seeing herself in the mirror.  She saw merely the truth of her own reflection.  Saw herself, as I saw myself, and frankly our reactions were about the same.

click here to see…  A Glimpse

Well my savvy readers, I’m sure by now some of you may be thinking – that’s just Buddhism, no?  You see where you’re stuck, you treat yourself with compassion, and you move on the best you can.  And of course you’re absolutely right insightful reader.  That was actually the very intention of this program. To look in the mirror – the big cosmic mirror – and see what I see.  I just saw more than I bargained for and got leveled as a result.  I got a powerful feeling of being destroyed and left absolutely groundless.  A feeling of being completely heartbroken.

So what now?  I truly don’t know.  I’m not really sure how I’ll continue on this path of spiritual awakening. Somehow though, deep down, I know that I will.  Maybe just not in quite the same way.  Maybe I’ll see if  I can somehow manage to avoid rebuilding the same house of cards that just came tumbling down.  And if I can’t avoid it, let’s just hope a strong breeze comes along a little sooner this time.

Last but not least, since you’ve been so patient in slogging through this perplexing monologue, here are some pictures to reward your noble efforts.  Just arrived in Pucòn yesterday – Chile’s own version of Vail Colorado.

 

 

As Tom Petty said, “It’s good to be King, if just for a while. To be there in velvet (or blue fleece), yeah to give them a smile…”

Can’t say I have any aspirations to be King, but I did find this throne too irresistible to pass up.  A regal easy chair in a straw covered corner lot adorned by a beautiful mural. One of the many beautiful murals in this wonderfully eclectic and mildly chaotic city.  How ecclectic you ask?  How Chaotic?? Well, for example, here’s a picture of the front door of our Airbnb…

I’ll admit, it can get a bit drafty at times, and it does feel a wee bit damp when it rains. Still, you really can’t beat the view and the price is right for an under-employed wayfairing vagabond like myself.  Not to worry though, despite this humble abode I am making very good use of my time. In fact it took me less than a week to master this undoubtedly valuable skill…

 And of course I don’t stay in all of the time. I’m frequently out and about. Seeing the sights, making new friends. Really I’ve found that my lack of knowing any Spanish at all whatsoever doesn’t present even the slightest impediment.  Matter of fact on my second day here I made two very good friends and they’ve been loyal compadres ever since…

Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, it is paradise indeed. Every day it is a joy and a delight to be alive. Feel free to hit me up with questions, comments, or requests if there’s something you’d like to see.  Until next time…

This is Lee. Writing my inaugural blog post from Valparaiso Chile.  And no, this is not a picture of Valparaiso Chile.  Sure, I have some of those.  Stunning blue skied views.  An impossible jumble of houses precariously stacked one upon another.  Street art that would awe even Banksy decorating everty building, door, stair, and lamp post in sight.  Perhaps next post I’ll show some of those, but for this maiden voyage into the world of blogging, I decided to share a photo near and dear to my heart.

This particular picture  is so very dear to me not just because it’s full of greens that would make Kermit blush, but because that stack of wood with a folded towel was an impromptu meditation seat in the fields of my childhood home.  It is a seat that I sat on for an hour or so, feeling my body breathing. Feeling the earth below me.  Feeling connected to nature in a way I’d never imagined possible.  Somehow I knew when I finally rose from that seat that I was a part of something bigger.  Something magical.  And that it was only a matter of time until I set out with wide eyed wonder to see for myself.

So before I inundate you with vistas and sunsets and stunning views, I thought I’d share how it all began – on two blocks of wood with a folded towel in the middle of nowhere…