Part II: My Amoeba and Me, or Buck Up Because I Still Have All My Limbs

Part II: Buck Up Because I Still Have All My Limbs

A few days ago, on Sunday I think, I was wandering though the back streets of McLeod Ganj, exploring a nice terraced hillside and looking for a short cut from one of the main roads to another hillside just slightly outside McLeod Ganj where I like to hang prayer flags. The terraced hill boasts a sign for something called Yogi Cottages. Yogi Cottages, whatever it is, and the presence of a few small Hindu shrines (stupas/chaityas?), have thus far protected this lovely green space from being smothered by yet more monstrosities of concrete; a bulwark against the further transformation of McLeod Ganj into a suffocating warren of soot-coated postmodern-Indian architecture, little more than a backpackers' ghetto of guesthouses and shops. After confusedly navigating the periphery of McLeod's development and basically walking through a few peoples' houses, I finally caught sight of the other hillside. As I made my way towards it something caught my eye. I suppose what I saw isn't all that exceptional, but in the context, as I wallowed in self-pity at my (relative) misfortune, it was so perfect it might as well have been the work of providence (or the Buddha!): a three-legged doggy hobbling after his master.

[Be warned, I digress a bit here] The disfigured, the maimed, lepers...all are common sights in India and Nepal, I feel a bit callous saying so but they have only succeeded in guilting me in the moment, never moving me on a metaphysical level in a positive way. So often, these beggars shove their disfigurement in your face, play it up, showcase it in a way that deliberately disturbs. Their methods are cold, calculated, and they work; you see their suffering, you feel like shit, and you give them some rupees. You feel guilty and then you give to assuage your guilt, but in the end it is (often, but not in all cases) the beggar who is using you, shoving a mangled limb in front of you and expecting an almost robotic response to it. What has happened to these beggars is truly unfortunate, and they deserve compassion, but being compassionate does not necessarily equate to perpetuating this game of giving in which nobody gets to have any dignity. [Digression over]

Though this doggy had only three legs, it was not a pitiful sight, there was a beautiful dignity to him. He was beaming, making the best of a unfortunate situation and smiling as he struggled to hobble after his owner. In his eyes, there was no self-doubt, no fear, no notion of inferiority, no sense that life had dealt him a shitty hand and that he deserved pity because of it. This put my own struggle well into perspective. This doggy had totally gone beyond the unbelievable hardship he had been dealt, refusing to let his disability define him and experiencing great happiness in spite of it. So much strength, so much confidence. Like being slapped in the face and told to "wake up!" it dawned on me that my suffering was so much more a mental construction than anything else. What little physical suffering I did have was laughable compared to what the three-legged doggy had to deal with everyday, to what millions upon millions of beings have to deal with everyday. I had an amoeba, so what! It was diagnosed early, I had medicine for it, it would be gone in a number of days, why was I still letting it reign over me. It was so transient, so empty, the real cause of my suffering was my obsession with the notion 'I am sick' and the weight I gave to that silly notion. Only on the first two days did my amoeba ever actually stop me from doing things (thank you amoebic dysentery); the cause of my paralysis after that came from my brain, not my bowels. The most important means to overcome anything is not physical ability, it is will. The will to act, to persevere, to overcome. Our brains are so complex that we constantly second guess ourselves, doubt ourselves, resign to fatalism, give up before even trying. Thanks to our big complex brains, some of us can do calculus, create mathematical theories that explain the very origins of the universe, discover new species, prove Einstein wrong, and write symphonies. And thanks to our big complex brains some of us cannot bear living another day, sharing success with those less fortunate, coexisting with those who are different, or even loving their own children. Because of our big complex brains, it is a lot harder for us to have the same purity of will as the three-legged doggy, but it is not impossible. Ultimately, it does not matter whether we run, walk, or hobble through this precious human life of ours, just that we keep going.

The Frequency is Courage,
-Doug B.

Part I: My Amoeba and Me, or Buck Up Because I Still Have All My Limbs

 Part I: My Amoeba and Me...

It is said that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, this however, is not the case when it comes to parasitic infections of the bowels. Dharamsala is many things to many people, but for me it is now synonymous with gastrointestinal trauma. Three years ago it was giardia, this time my bowels have been ransacked by a different micro-organism, an amoeba! Variety is the spice of life, right. But this is no ordinary amoeba, this one is special. In the flurry of research I have done following this most unfortunate diagnosis, I have discovered a great deal. For starters, one tenth of humanity is infected with some form of amoeba, but more than 90% of these are commensal; the infection is absolutely harmless. The one I have, which infects around one in every 140 human beings, is a special one. It is quite harmful, fatal even! Just my luck...The single-celled protozoan jackass currently swimming around my lower intestine is Entamoeba histolytica. An infection by E.histolytica is called Amoebiasis. Amoebiasis can be asymptomatic and last for years before finally sucker punching the host in the colon (or the liver). In my case I was lucky though; again, the very best way for the very worst to happen in this precious human life of mine. If my life were a novel, the very best way for the very worst to happen would be a major motif. My symptoms manifested almost immediately as Amoebic dysentery. I would define Amoebic dysentery as such: the continual, rapid and violent explosion of one's butt. At first, second, and third glance, this might sound awful. And, indeed it is, but it's a hell of a lot better than Amoebic liver abscess, Amoebiasis cutis, Amoebic brain abscess, or dying (I'm not trying to be dramatic or fish for sympathy, 70,000 people die every year from amoebiasis). Also, given how quickly my symptoms appeared, it is unlikely I was a carrier for very long. So I'm pretty sure I didn't unknowingly give the gift of amoebiasis to anybody else.

Biology 101: amoebas are not bacteria, so antibiotics are entirely useless for dealing with amoebic infections. So how then does one get rid of an amoeba, you might ask. One word: Amoebicide, literally meaning amoeba killer. My colon is going to the last colon these amoeba ever fuck with! Just from the name alone, you know these drugs mean business. Amoebicide sounds like the name of something the Japanese tested on POWs during the Second World War, and in my humble opinion, the name inspires a lot more confidence than antibiotic does. Anti-amoebic leaves wiggle room, but amoebicide doesn't pull any punches; unfolding inside me is the wholesale destruction of every last protozoan, an amoebicide indeed. The Jains would not be happy. Jains believe that in addition to divine beings, humans, and animals, even plants and micro-organisms (and in some cases, matter itself) are considered to have souls. I am making some pretty sweeping generalizations about Jainism, so investigate for yourself before quoting me on any of this. I'm not actually sure if Buddhists consider single-celled organisms, such as amoeba and bacteria, to be sentient beings; I've heard conflicting explanations. Technically, they are not, because sentience means consciousness, the ability to think, and the capacity for subjective feeling and perception. Sure micro-organisms are alive, but I'm not about to argue that bacteria are aware. Simply living does not equate to sentience, and certainly not sapience, I've known a number of people who don't really seem to think or feel anything, Rick Perry for example. 

Here is the Sparknotes version: I have an amoeba, I'm taking some medicine for it, I will be fine. Please excuse the preceding technical diatribe. It's a lot longer and a lot more boring than I thought it would be, so I apologize for that. It's kind of like the preface to a book, no one wants or bothers to read it.

To be continued...

-Doug B.

The Reason Why, Or A Message From the Heart

Why do I believe in Buddhism?
There are many reasons, and I could ramble on about the philosophy and how I have judged it myself to be true, but that is only a part of it. I believe, because never in my life has anything brought tears to my eyes in the way that the teachings of the Buddha and his disciples have. Please excuse me, this is not meant to be a sermon extolling Buddhism. I believe this can happen with any faith that truly resonates with us, in my limited experience though, I have never known anything that has moved me (besides the literary works of Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and the music of Radiohead) in such a profound manner. Words will surely fail in my attempt to express why, because the feelings that arise in me are beyond what language, or at least the English language, can convey. In a way, the feelings I have for Buddhism are kind of like love. Not infatuation or obsession, but in the way they arise. I don't just agree with the words, I don't just venerate the images, I don't just respect the customs. The totality of Buddhism, whatever the hell that means anyway, resonates with me on a level that transcends concepts of subject and object. If all sentient beings could know what I feel when I am in the presence of great Lamas or sacred images or merely when I am hanging up prayer flags, there is not a single doubt in my mind, that for those few fleeting moments, they would be truly happy. I have never known an idea, a concept, a notion, a formulation that actually affects me in a way as if it were a living thing. I agree with socialism, and pacifism, and environmentalism, but when I think about such philosophies they don't move me internally the way that the Dharma, the teachings of the Buddha, does. Again, words are lacking, but brilliant luminosity is the best thing I can think of. A kind of glowing, St. Elmo's fire-like warmth that could even dispel the most brutal cold. This is what I feel. And this is why I believe. Imagine climbing to the top of the most beautiful, untouched Himalayan peak. The sky is unbelievably vast, the most brilliant undefiled blue you have or ever will see. The horizon is a jigsaw of snow capped peaks and rising behind you is an even higher mountain covered in snow, and glowing white. From the valley floor, you had seen this peak and were captivated by it. From here, though still far below its summit, it brings you to tears. This is what I feel. And this is why I believe.
By the way, tomorrow, the 17th of November is Lhabab Duchen, the day that Śākyamuni Buddha descended from heaven back to Earth. It is believed that on this day, one's actions, be they positive or negative, are multiplied ten million times. So do good things tomorrow! As for me, I am hiking nine kilometers up to the 3,000 meter peak of Triund to hang up more prayer flags than I ever have before. These are no ordinary prayer flags, I have had them all consecrated by some very nice monks at Gyumed Gompa, which is the unsuspecting top floor of a guest house near the center of town. I cannot become enlightened by hanging up prayer flags, but by doing so certainly I can work towards it.

The Frequency is Courage
- Doug B.

P.S. The summit of the other peak is nirvana.

Coming From Nowhere, But Going to Somewhere

Tashi Delek friends, family, acquaintances, miscreants, and and all others who happen to come across whatever this is. Today is absolutely beautiful. Everyday is absolutely beautiful. You'll have to excuse me, for whatever reason, I'm in a rather slaphappy mood. As I was walking down Temple Road here in McLeod Ganj, some very wonderful and beautiful thoughts arose in my mind which I thought might be quite nice to share with whoever felt like listening...sadly, I have forgotten these thoughts. All compound phenomena arise and fall, such is the nature of existence. Maybe they will arise again. Slowly, perhaps too slowly, my (mis)conceptions about Dharamsala are being washed away. A long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away?) I came to India largely because I wished to visit Dharamsala, because I thought this place would be paradise. Three years ago in late October, I managed to spend about three days here. Those three days were among the most terrifying, painful, and brutal experiences I have had in this lifetime. At the time, this was no Shangri-la, it was hell. True suffering, the kind that makes for good stories and defines our existence, does not unfold in any kind of controlled manner. It drowns us like a tsunami. The tsunami I felt during my short time in Dharamsala three years prior was the coalescence of a great deal of factors and phenomena, in Buddhism we might call this Vipāka, the result of karma--the fruition of karmic seeds, the ripening of past actions, the end result of the equation. Karma literally means action, Vipāka literally means result. It really couldn't be simpler. But that is enough Buddhist philosophy for today. Back to the issue of Dharamsala. In the three years since leaving Dharamsala and India and the greatest group of individuals I have ever been a part of, I have returned to the place of my greatest defeat. The place where the fruition of my past actions proved to much for me to handle and sent me packing. Though I left India, a little bit of India came home with me in the form of typhoid fever to ensure I paid my dues in full. The law of Karma-Vipāka is infallible; it cannot be cheated or avoided. You might wonder why I would ever want to go back to Dharamsala or why I look back on my previous time in India so fondly despite it ending so awfully. Often, we only see the negatives in unfortunate situations, especially when the situations are what we might define as tragic or terrible and we are in the middle of them. In a way, going home when I did was incredibly fortunate, for both myself and those who cared about me. I cannot begin to imagine the unfathomable suffering and fear that would have tormented my family if I had come down with typhoid fever in India. Don't get me wrong, the Indian medical system is excellent and they can diagnose and treat typhoid fever rather easily, but if your child were to come down with a potentially fatal disease more than 12,000 kilometers away on the other side of the planet Earth, I highly doubt that assurances of the Indian medical system's efficacy would do anything to assuage your worries. So for me, leaving India when I did and coming down with typhoid fever in Washington D.C., where my parents could see me and stay with me in hospital at any time and in a moment's notice was profoundly fortunate. In a way, I see it as the very best way for the very worst to have happened. Sometimes, and I am certainly guilty of this, we fail to realize that even when we experience awful phenomena, we can be quite lucky. After all, if you live to tell the tale, then not everything went wrong. I would like to talk more about the dissolution of my wrong perceptions of Dharamsala, and Tibetans, and Western tourists but I have already used up too much of this precious day and I would like to go for Kora around the Tsuglagkhang, home to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and the primary gompa in McLeod Ganj, to hang up some prayer flags and then maybe go for a hike.

The Frequency is Courage,
- Doug B.

A Little Piece of Wisdom...from a Ten-year-old

I sincerely apologize for my total failure to update this blog with any sort of regularity. My short time in Nepal thus far has reminded me of a supremely valuable life lesson: nothing goes according to plan, and if it does, it is a hell of a lot less valuable of an experience. Hopefully this time, I will not forgot it. Another lesson: not every white person who goes to Nepal thinks, feels, or appreciates things as you do. In fact, at least for me in this currently unfolding experience, it has frequently been the opposite. I hate to rant and complain, as it will only fan the flames of suffering, flames that I will have to extinguish through my own right effort if I am to ever escape the oppressive heat of my ego. Our unenlightened notions of a permanent self are like a fire, obscuring and distorting and consuming our actions and perceptions. The fire of ego burns so ferociously in us that we will go to almost any length to satisfy it. We amass useless fortunes when billions live off a few dollars a day, collect hordes of exotic luxury cars when many have no access to transportation at all, pay thousands for a worthless mass of carbon atoms (diamonds) that fund civil wars and genocides, undergo elaborate surgical procedures to reshape our nose or have a bigger bust even though burn victims cannot get skin grafts because they lack the right insurance, and destroy others' lives as well as our own just to feel powerful or popular or 'good' for a few fleeting moments. To see through the smoke and flames, the fire of ego must be extinguished. What lies beyond the blazing delusions of ego? The true self that transcends notions of subject and object: the Tathagatagarbha, or Buddha-nature. This is what the Buddha taught. Granted, I am a hypocrite, full of flowery and lovely speech but severely lacking in right view and right intention and just about every precept of the Noble Eightfold Path. I can make plenty of excuses, but they are just that, excuses, empty and devoid of any lasting form or meaning.
Anyways, that has nothing to do with why I started writing this post. It has virtually nothing to do with my (there's that damn ego again) time here, does not convey any useful or exciting information about my experiences, and hasn't made me feel any better about the less-than-ideal relationships (if they can even be called that) that have materialized between myself (ego) and the others in the group. Another pertinent lesson that even trying to develop attachment towards others will only bring suffering. I'll leave you with this, a poem written in my (ego) home stay sister's annual school magazine. It was written by a ten-year-old Tibetan girl, more proof that wisdom and kindness have nothing to do with misguided notions of maturity. Enjoy and take note.

If You Want To...

If you want to eat, eat anger

If you want to talk, talk gently and politely

If you want to fight, fight for truth

If you want to help, help the poor

If you want to build, build your character

If you want to increase, increase your knowledge

If you want to keep something, keep silence

If you want to learn, learn manner and discipline

If you want to see, see yourself

By Tenzin Riksang, Class V

Ketchen Dzong Reborn, Or Something I Wrote for Class

The following is from 2 October 2011:

Ketchen Dzong Reborn

“From the plains below, the old royal fortress of Ketchen Dzong appears as a corpse, lifeless and forsaken; for centuries, left to wither atop an otherwise barren hill overlooking Lo Manthang, or so it would seem…”

Gusting up through the Kali Gandaki Gorge like the kamikaze of Japanese lore, the relentless Mustang wind blows over Thak Khola and sweeps through the furthest reaches of Lo, past the Chinese border checkpoint and on into Tibet. This great lung (Tibetan རླུང་, wind) is just about the only thing the Chinese can’t stop from crossing the border. Like clockwork, as the sun approaches its zenith, the wind picks up and does not yield until the sun is again below the jagged horizon. To those who do not know otherwise, Ketchen Dzong (Tib. རྫོང་, fortress) and the ruins below look as though they may be from the time of ancient Sumeria. Yet, in only a few centuries, the blistering winds have done to Ketchen Dzong what five millennia on the Giza plateau could not do to the Great Pyramids of Egypt. This once unassailable fortress of the kings of Lo has been ground down to its foundations, a few walls managing to have weathered the elements thus far.

To reach Ketchen Dzong is no easy feat, especially for those unused to the altitude. Figures are unreliable, but the settlement of Lo Manthang, the capital of Upper Mustang, sits around an altitude of 3600 meters above sea level. From Lo Manthang, it is at least a three kilometer walk as the crow flies, ascending roughly half a kilometer over its course from the river crossing on the outskirts of town to the hilltop upon which the largest remnant of the dzong still stands. There is no real path leading from the plains to the hill tops, so any ascent must ultimately be improvised on the faces of the hill that are not so steep as to be unnecessarily impractical. The only company one can expect on such ascents, besides the interminable howl of the wind, are the crows that occasionally swoop along the hill side and seldom a vulture, effortlessly riding the thermals up to the heavens.

Ketchen Dzong, like so much else in this trans-Himalayan desert, is a pertinent reminder of impermanence (Tib. མི་རྟག་པ་, mitakpa). In the Four Noble Truths (Tib. འཕགས་པའི་བདེན་པ་བཞི་, pakpé denpa shyi), Śākyamuni Buddha (Tib. སངས་རྒྱས་ཤཱཀྱ་ཐུབ་པ་, śakya tubpa) taught that all compound phenomena are ultimately impermanent. Even the towering 8000m peaks of Annapurna (Nep. अन्नपूर्णा, Goddess of the Harvests) and Dhaulagiri (Nep. धवलागिरी, Dazzling White) that dominate the Southern horizon, will eventually turn to dust. The truth of impermanence becomes readily apparent climbing the slopes to Ketchen Dzong. With each step further, the hillside crumbles beneath the weight of one’s boot; dislodged pebbles and rocks cascade down the slope as wisps of dust and sand are swept skyward by the wind. On these loose slopes, the movement of but a single large rock can trigger a dramatic chain reaction, sending vast swathes of earth tumbling down the hillside and into the plains below. It makes for an apt demonstration of the Buddha’s teaching on the interdependence (Tib. རྟེན་འབྲེལ་, tendrel) of all phenomena. That the carcass of Ketchen Dzong, the peaks which surround it, the Kali Gandaki River, and indeed all of Mustang will eventually cease to exist seems less a stretch of the imagination and merely a matter of time upon reaching the base of the dzong itself.

In Buddhist ontology, the finality of death is held to be an illusion. Rather, death is an intricate aspect in the endless cycle of samsara (Tib. འཁོར་བ་, khorwa), for death marks the genesis of new life: rebirth. In Buddhism, perception is paramount. Flawed perception causes suffering (Tib. སྡུག་བསྔལ་, dukngal) and traps beings in samsara, only through right perception can beings achieve awakening (Tib. བྱང་ཆུབ་, chang chub) and realize nirvana (Tib. མྱ་ངན་ལས་འདས་པ་, nya ngen lé dé pa). Flawed perception is why, from the plains below, the old royal fortress of Ketchen Dzong appears as a corpse, lifeless and forsaken; this however, could not be further from the truth. For once inside the dzong’s battered walls, it becomes readily apparent, that the old royal fortress has taken a new rebirth. What appeared to be the withering skeleton of a once glorious past is actually a blossoming lotus of Buddhist faith.

Triumphantly, long wooden poles adorned by victory banners (Tib. དྷར་ཆོ་, dar cho) pierce the sky, hoisting dazzling strands of prayer flags (Tib. རླུང་རྟ་, lung ta) into the roaring wind. Printed on the victory banners and prayer flags are innumerable mantras (Tib. སྔགས་, ngak), sacred combinations of syllables that when recited, reverberate throughout the universe, purifying obscurations and generating tremendous merit. In Tibetan lore, the flag’s mantras are spread by the winds, riding the gusts over the land and up to the heavens, where they go to the benefit of all sentient beings. Securing the victory banners in place are massive piles of mani stones, large rocks on which Buddhist mantras have been ornately carved. These mani stones and the five meter high wooden poles they anchor were not found atop the dzong; they were carried up the wind-beaten slopes by individuals driven through a profound faith in the Buddha’s teachings, the Dharma (Tib. ཆོས་, chöe). The sheer number of fresh prayer flags and ritual scarves (Tib. ཁ་བཏགས, khatak) is a testimony that Ketchen Dzong is again very much alive. The innumerable mantras riding the ferocious Mustang wind, combined with the sincere efforts of those who have completed the arduous journey to consecrate the hilltop, have spiritually charged the dzong. Endowed with a new religious life, Ketchen Dzong has indeed taken a most fortunate rebirth.

Ketchen Dzong Reborn

Dear Robert...

Yes, really. Sure, as an influential figure in the technology world, his death deserves to be reported. As to why it has to be the front page story on every single English language news site, with further pages of analysis and commentaries and pictures, is completely beyond me. The tragedy here, which is not limited to Steve Jobs' passing but is endemic to the modern news media, is that this frenzy perpetuates ignorance and displaces or eliminates the reporting of actual news. Knowledge is the seed of action. If people do not know, if the means of spreading awareness (the news media in this case) are instead used to amuse and insulate, then of course people are going to sit on their asses and watch Project Runway or play Call of Duty while the polar ice-caps melt and famines turn the Horn of Africa into one giant graveyard. To illustrate my point, on September 11th, more people actually died as a result of the Second Congo War, than from the terrorist attacks on the U.S. In all, five and a half million people were killed during the Second Congo War, making it the deadliest conflict since the end of WWII. And yet, because the people dying were poor Africans and not rich white folks, their suffering was ignored entirely by the Western (sorry Isabelle) media. That is not to say that thew news media should relentless hammer images of conflict refugees, mass starvation, and general suffering into our heads on a daily basis as that can also desensitize and demotivate people just the same (see Narcotizing dysfunction). But back to the issue at hand, concerning your claim as to Mr.Jobs' charitable nature, he's actually notorious for his lack of philanthropy, especially considering how much money he had and how much of that money came from Apple using sweatshop labour to produce its products. As for who thinks it as a tragedy, there's an app for that.

xoxo
Doug <3

P.S. Thanks for pointing out the typo, I can´t believe that got past me. I´m usually a real stickler for spelling.

A Sad Day in the Apple Store

I found out recently that there are more Americans in absolute poverty than the entire population of Nepal combined. Greatest country on Earth, right? India is a whole different story, but this minor statistic makes dealing with beggars in Kathmandu a little less soul crushing. I still feel like a schmuck refusing to give 10 rupees, or 7 1/2 cents, to people who really look as though they could use it, just not quite as much of a schmuck.

R.I.P. Steve Jobs...oh, and the tens of thousands of children who will die today from poverty and disease. But really, I can see how the death of a 56 year-old fantastically rich white male, whose greatest contribution to society was a personnel music player, is the real tragedy here. My heart really aches at the loss of the founder of the world's wealthiest corporation.

Out of the Solar Cooker and Into the Frying Pan

I'm back from Mustang! A million things to say, a million things to do! Alas, I don't really have much time. In all fairness, nobody really has much time. This precious human life of ours is so short, and that's assuming we live to be nice and old and senile and lose control of our bowels and have a walker and wear depends. And that is a big, big, big assumption concerning the tincy, wincy, little, sliver of the illusion of time that is a life. At least, if you believe in reincarnation, you get an infinite number of times to get it right. I recently read it took Shakyamuni Buddha (born Siddhartha Gautama), the Buddha of our age, 550 lifetimes to attain enlightenment. If you're really interested in a story of triumph, a real feel good story, look into a little somebody named Milarepa, perhaps the most beloved individual in the history of Tibet. His life's story is recounted beautifully in the book The Life of Milarepa, translated by Andrew Quintman (a former SIT: Tibetan Studies student!). I don't want to spoil anything, but Milarepa kills 33 people and destroys an entire valley with black magic and then goes on to totally rectify his karmic misdeeds and fully realize Buddhahood in a single lifetime. How's that for a successful rehabilitation. Why did I start writing this post...oh right! Okay, first off, even though I'm "connected" to the digital world again, I'm still going to neglect the blog for a bit longer because I have three papers to write, two of which were apparently due today. Khey Garney (A characteristically Nepali response to situations beyond one's control, literally meaning 'what can one do'). They are short, so I should be able to manage. It's lunchtime, I'm not hungry. I'll leave you with a little something written by one of my SIT comrades that I feel is a lovely contribution to the human race or whoever else is on the receiving end of the bajillion electrical signals that form this blog. Enjoy.

The Frequency is Courage,
-Doug B.

For stupid, and immature, and unenlightened, and shitty reasons, I am angry. I am angry at other people, which in turn is causing me to be angry at myself, because directing anger at others is perhaps the most pointless and self-destructive action an individual is capable of. Therefore, this is going to be quite brief, even though I have oodles and oodles of thoughts that I've been kicking around in my head, and oodles and oodles of experiences and happenings that I figure (since you are still reading this) are interested in hearing about. Well sorry, but that's not gonna happen. Anger fucks up everything, including my willingness to articulate with a moderate thoughtfulness. Ok, today we took a 7 hour bus ride from Kathmandu to Pokhara. There are so many white people here, relatively speaking; I'm not sure if I like it or not. Early, early, early tomorrow morning, we fly from Pokhara, through the world's deepest gorge, to the world's most dangerous airport in Jomsom, Lower Mustang. Maybe it is just me, but I feel it is kind of surreal to be flying, to the world's most dangerous airport no less, on the 10th anniversary of you know what.

Expect turbulence is a pretty apt description for life,
-Doug B.

Blogging in the Dark

The following is from 7:51PM on 8 September:

More often than not, I find myself disparaging the West’s recent obsession with material science (I say recent because not so long ago, when the Chinese and Indians were studying the stars, inventing gunpowder, and perfecting meditation, Europeans were still rolling around in the mud and killing each other with sharpened wooden sticks). Not only is this ironic, it is a bit pigheaded on my part. Though I don’t always like to admit it, material progress and the advancement of scientific knowledge isn’t a bad thing. Indeed it has alleviated a great deal of human suffering and allowed for countless more beings to appreciate this precious human life. After all, I’m here halfway around the world because two brothers from Ohio figured out how to make objects that are heavier than air pretend, so long as they have adequate power, to be less heavy than air. I have clean water to drink because someone figured out how to kill viruses, bacteria, and protozoa with ultraviolet light and carbon filters. Why the sudden change of heart? Because the battery, the microprocessor, the LCD screen, and the 8,000 other patents that make up my laptop, allow me to write this blog post despite the fact that the power is out right now because of load-shedding. We can all thank the Second World War for the computer, I’m still not necessarily sold as to whether 55 million human lives are a fair trade. I guess the jury’s still out.

            Do you know what the man who invented the AK-47 said (the AK-47 is the most mass-produced gun in history and a greater weapon of mass destruction than any hypothetical Iranian nuclear bomb ever could be)? He said ‘I wish I invented the lawnmower.’ The iPad, despite being hugely entertaining, is pure evil. No good can or ever will come from an iPad, save for it maybe deflecting a bullet or stopping a knife. I feel equally strongly about twitter. Tweeting is for the birds. Reason #1 to love Nepal: no Apple stores. Thank the Buddha. Reason #2: No McDonalds; there is however, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, or as my cousin Kate once said, a ‘Kenfucky Fried Chicken.’ Power’s back on! There is a gecko on the ceiling, making gravity look like a punk. Good for it, gravity is a punk, weighing our souls down on this rock while it hurdles around our Sun, while our Sun hurdles around the Milky-way galaxy, while the Milky-way Galaxy hurdles around the local group of galaxies, while the local group of galaxies hurdles around the Virgo supercluster of galaxies (one of millions of galaxy superclusters in the observable universe), while the Virgo supercluster hurdles around the cosmos. Don’t be fooled. The planet Earth is a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck. There’s a hell of a lot more out there, living and with various levels of intelligence. I’m not saying little green men with a penchant for anal-probing are abducting us and studying our physiology to eventually invade this planet. I’m saying the universe is way to freaking big for the Earth to be the only rock where some carbon got together with some oxygen and other stuff, and then started farting around forming cells, and nervous systems, and organs. Life is a diaspora, and there’s a lesson in that somewhere. Maybe, it’s because we are all born into this life as exiles from our own true nature, the Tathāgatagarbha or Buddha nature. Unlike most exiles though, all of us can go home, we just have to start walking the path. Peace.

The Frequency is Courage,

-Doug B.

P.S. Time to get used to squat toilets again.

Don't Let the Door Hit You On the Way In

Even on a slow day here, it seems like 5,000 some-odd things happen to you. And the last few days have been anything but slow. There is a great deal to tell, some of it happy, some of it less so, and some are merely the strange observations of a wandering fool. I'm going to do away with the pleasantries for the time being and just list some things that have happened whilst in Nepal, or the side effects thereof. Ok.

1. I have a rash on my fingers caused by some foreign irritant. Don't worry, I went to the travel clinic, they gave me some cream, all is well now.
2. We have just moved in with our homestay families in Boudha. My pala's (Tibetan for father) name is Tashi. My amala's (mother) name is Sherab. They are lovely. They have three daughters. Two are in America going to college at Bemidji State University and Trumann State University. Tashi and Sherab haven't seen them for two years. Talk about studying abroad. The third daughter is quite young, no older than 10. As of right now, she mostly ignores me.
3. Everything shits everywhere.
4. My jaded, reverse-orientalist idolatry of Buddhists has been shattered. Whilst circumambulating Boudha Stupa, I was scammed into giving a man 1000 rupees after talking to him sometime about Buddhism and the like. He said he was sick and could not afford his medicine. I believed him. That is what the Dalai Lama calls idiot compassion. I found out I had been scammed when I was relating what happened to another student on the program and was told the exact same man had approached him the previous day with the same story. They were smart. They didn't give him anything, so he called them evil. He seemed so sincere. Many of the people here really are. He was not. Live and learn, right?
5. I have a crush on one of my Tibetan language teachers. In fact, I'm writing this from the internet cafe that she also owns. I'm not sure if that qualifies as some kind of irony. Maybe a hipster would know.
6. We are not going to Tibet. That door has been a closed. This was related to us yesterday. We took all the precautions, all the extra steps, we even deliberately stayed away from the exile community. In truth, we were likely doomed from the get go. The Chinese government is scared shitless by young Americans going to Tibet. That apprehension turns to hysteria when those Americans are college students. So it goes.
7. I bought a Nepali hat called a Topi. I was already a big hit with locals because I smile and wave at everyone. Now I am a flipping all-star. Not really, but I do get a lot of comments and smiles, and one or two cat calls (I am flabbergasted over how difficult, and culturally inappropriate, it would be to try and start a casual relationship with a Nepali or Tibetan girl whilst I am here. So far the this is the only pick-up line I can come up that also complies with the traditional relationship dynamics that I am told are the standard fare: Will you marry me?).
8. Hindi and Nepali soap-operas and commercials are atrocious. They are so over the top that everything seems like it is deliberately making fun of itself. The acting is so bad. I don't even know what people are saying and I can still tell the dialogue is ridiculous. Every five minutes or so, one of the main male characters will look into the camera with tears streaming down their face. A face, that save for the occasional lip quiver, is as stern as a concrete block. Though I thought it impossible, television here makes Spartacus on Starz look good by comparison (I died a little just from typing that). I suppose I can always read books. Books, for those of you born post-1995, are collections of many sheets of paper on which information or stories are printed as words and are then read aloud.
9. The man sitting in the cyber cafe next to me is playing Farmville, but it is in Chinese. It hurts me to see this. His hypothetical thought process: 'I'm on vacation in Kathmandu, a city bursting at the seams in culture and history...and I really need to harvest the imaginary soybeans I planted on my imaginary farm so I can get to the next imaginary level, buy more imaginary animals, plant more imaginary crops, and waste more non-imaginary time.' (All of that in Chinese, of course.)
10. The Door to Tibet has closed, but the window to Mustang has opened. I will explain all this entails in a later post, but know that we are leaving on Saturday. Given Mustang's remoteness, this may mean that I will be incommunicado for as long as three weeks. "Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from [Buddha]." - Kurt Vonnegut

I'll let you know more, and relate some emotional gobbledegoop over the next day.

The Frequency is Courage,
-Doug B.

Post-Birthday Wax Philosophical, or A Letter to My Father

Thank you so much Dad. I know I don't say it enough and maybe its the fact that I'm +5:45 hours from you and therefore many thousands of kilometers away (physical distance is an illusion that can be overcome through meditation, by the way), assuming your still in Great Britain, BUT: I love you and Mom, more than you could ever know. And I am so glad (tears are welling up in my eyes, so you know I'm being sincere), and so thankful, and words are lacking to express what I know in my heart, to be your son. I am what I am because of you and Mom and the way you raised me, and though we all have our struggles, there is no one else I would rather be. I am supremely confident that you and Mom will have a most fortunate rebirth. In fact, perhaps this is presumptuous on my part, but considering your tremendous wisdom and rapid progress on the path of mindfulness, Dad, I think you might be a tulku, the rebirth of an enlightened being (google it, I'm being sincere by the way, I really think you may be. It certainly helps to explain why I am the way I am. Also, I found out yesterday that in the Sakya [Again, google it] school of Tibetan Buddhism, monks and especially accomplished lamas [In my humble opinion, you are the latter] are encouraged to marry. Indeed, the spiritual leader of the Sakya tradition is carried on in a hereditary line from father to son. I think and hope a daughter will enter the fold in the near future. By the way, though it is silly, on facebook there is a place to list people who inspire you, you are on there. Mom should be too, because she is so wonderful to everyone she meets, and Bek should be because she is following the Bodhisattva path (wholeheartedly working to alleviate the suffering of sentient beings) more than I ever could. Maybe, in time, I can inspire someone too. The Dalai Lama says if we cannot help people, the least we can do is not hurt them. I want to help people. I don't know why. I always have, but I am not special. I think everyone wants to help people, sometimes it just takes a while for people to find out they do. A lot of helping is misguided unfortunately, pray the gay away, right? I love you. I love you. I love you. I love. I needed to get that off my chest. Dad, this is for you: I know that sometimes you doubt yourself and that sometimes you are what we might call in Tibetan Buddhism, wrathful. (Another aside: wrathful deities in Tibetan Buddhism are protectors of the faithful and those they care about, and the powerful mindstream emanations of compassionate and enlightened Bodhisattvas [Sorry, but again, if you're confused or just interested about terms I use, google them. And if you're really interested, read Dharma books]. Growing up in a society built around material existence, it is so hard to realize our true nature, it took me eighteen years just to enter the stream, so don't feel bad. Don't be trapped by regret about how we have acted in the past. Be mindful yes, which I know you are, and dedicate yourself to the present and the future. Mistakes, like enemies, are the greatest teachers in the world. They show us our limitations. They remind us that no one, not even the Buddha, is perfect. We struggle, that is what makes us human, sentient. Samsara is hard, but without it, there could be no bodhi, no awakening. Back to my point, the past is the past. I know you feel regret for how you used to act. That is okay, but don't be trapped by it. I know that regret traps me all the time, but we have to try and move past it. That is not to say we should be callous, no, never. Simply, and I apologize for being a bit of a broken record, we must be mindful of the past but dedicate ourselves to the present. Negative karma can only be purified through meritorious action. Apologies are good. Righteousness in the here and now is better. Dedication to the path is better. And by God, do you have dedication. Be mindful of that accomplishment, but not proud. Pride ensnares us in the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. I don't know where I am going with this, I guess that st why I am a wandering fool (chuckle, chuckle). If it is ok with you, I'd like to post this on my blog, because I think everyone can appreciate much of what I said, but I'll censor whatever you would like me to. That's the least I can do. I love you. Enjoy London and England. Enjoy America. Thank you so much, for everything. And thank you for letting me be here. I realize, it takes a lot to let your child go back to the place where they got typhoid fever. A lot. Peace.

The Frequency is Always Courage,
- Your unbelievably grateful son.

I Love You

Tears well up in my eyes as I wonder at the majesty of this precious human life. May the Buddha smile upon you and all sentient beings as he has so graciously smiled upon me. The Tibetan horns don't hurt either. More to follow before the end of the day, I promise.

21 Plus 1

Apple Brandy...Enough Said.

Frequent Updates Are Easier Said Than Done

Sorry folks, but this'll be a short one. I'm quite tired, I have reading to do, and I'd like to be well rested for tomorrow as it is a very important day for most young American adults. Can you guess what it is? Well if you can't, tomorrow marks the beginning of my 21st year of existence on this here blue and green rock, at least the 21st year of this lifetime. Big deal right? Eh, not really. At least not here. I've had three beers since landing in Kathmandu. In Nepal, the drinking age is as nonexistent as the traffic laws. If you can pay, you can play. In my humble opinion, that is a pretty good system. But the hypocrisy and ludicrousness of American drinking laws isn't my problem anymore...cause I'm 21 bitches! Now what do I have to look forward to? 25 so I can run for Congress? 30 for the Senate? 35 for the presidency? While they might give my future birthdays some more purpose, I have no intention of joining the clusterfuck that is the American political system. Gandhi said we should be the change we wish to see in the world, but Gandhi never saw a modern American election cycle. Sorry that this post is so rife with cynicism. But isn't that normal? Aren't we supposed to abandon our dreams and aspirations, our individuality, the naive hopefulness of youth, and embrace instead the morbid outlook of the post-post-modern that has become so conflated with maturity as to be understood as one and the same. At least let me apologize for the fact that this post has nothing to do with Nepal and relates virtually no information to you about the phantasmagoria in which I am whirling about. All in due time, I promise. In the meantime, I'm sure as hell not getting any younger, so I should better start making the most of this most precious human life.

- The Frequency is Courage,
Doug B.

Fives Days and 25 Cups of Tea Into the Journey

Please excuse the run-on sentences that follow. Proper sentence structure and semi-colon usage can bite my ass, just like the mosquitoes here; however, I will not abandon my penchant for correct spelling and wily diction. Now then, let's get on with it shall we. I'm not really sure how many days it has been since I arrived in the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal, née Kingdom. Technically I got here on 31 August (using the local date format is my way of fitting in) and since it is 4 September (at least where I am at the time of writing this), that would mean I've been in Nepal for roughly five days, but here, time seems to be a wholly irrelevant commodity. I suppose when everything one experiences is new and unfathomably exciting, time--which serves as the root of all perception, real and false, and is thereby the sense that is most difficult to transcend--no longer follows standard operating procedure. To give a mundane example, bus rides can feel like an eternity or a snap depending on how likely the next abrupt turn on a mountain road will cause the expulsion of my stomach contents. On the other end of the spectrum of suffering, climbing up 700 meter hills draped in Tibetan prayer flags, a physically exhausting but remarkably enjoyable task which takes about half an hour when moving at a brisk pace, seems to come and go as quick as the afternoon rains. This isn't really anything mindblowlingly new; time flies when you're having fun is a rather old cliche.

An aside: the smiles here are so full and blissful. When I smile at someone and they smile back, they radiate an emotional sincerity that is almost entirely lacking in the lands of white people. There are no feigned grins, no reluctant half smiles, no condescending smirks, only beaming contentedness reflected in the gleeful laugh of a little Nepali boy or the weathered but compassionate face of an old Tibetan woman whose wrinkles are as much from a life of hard work as they are from constantly smiling. That is not to say everyone smiles at you, because they don't, not by a long shot. There is great pain and suffering in many of these faces, be they human or not. It is just when someone returns the almost ignorantly jovial grin that invariably commandeers my face, they do so with such a genuine integrity that our two souls, otherwise divided by seemingly impassable gulfs of culture, language, and numerous other societal constructs, realize for a fleeting moment a connection so luminous as to dispel all the darkness in the world.

Sorry about that, I should've probably mentioned earlier, be prepared for some pretty lengthy asides. I still have so much more to discuss but I have been in this internet cafe for at least an hour and a half; there goes time again, being all moody and inconsistent. Given that there is free wi-fi in our guest house, I'll post again later today about all the amazing places I've been going, people I've been meeting, things I've been doing, and how my karma is far too corrupted to deserve any of it. Jeyla Jey-lyong (goodbye in Tibetan).


The Frequency is Courage!
-Doug B.

Welcome to Qatar: A Momument to Capitalism

As-Salamu Alaykum from Doha, Qatar. I still have another four hours to wait before my flight for Kathmandu is scheduled to leave. For those of you that don't know, Qatar is a small emirate nestled in the Persian Gulf that is rolling drunk on petroleum. Like Bahrain and the U.A.E., Qatar has used its tremendous energy wealth to create a modern, westernized, and wholly capitalist oasis of sorts amongst the rolling sand dunes of the Arabian peninsula. Behind the facade of skyscrapers, five star hotels, palm tree shaped islands, and per-capita GDP figures which eclipse those of Monaco and Lichtenstein is one of the largest human trafficking operations in the modern world. Anyway, the Doha International Airport would be largely unremarkable were it not for the Mecca to shit that is the Duty Free Qatar shopping mall. $400 bottles of scotch, hundred foot-long walls of nothing but cologne, netbooks, ipads, candy, cigars, DVDs, a Porsche, a Mercedes Benz, and more! Here's to Johnny Walker Blue Label and Toblerone!

I Am Dumb

My flight leaves in two hours and I have realized as I often do, that I am dumb. Rather than pack a jacket or sweatshirt in my carry on, as my mom suggested I do, I decided not to. Well, while sitting here in Dulles International Airport I got cold. Given that I have $40 which is about to become useless I figured I'd go buy a tourist sweatshirt that says "Washington D.C." So I did just that. But I really don't like the sweatshirt I bought. Why I do these things I don't know. I have a solution though. When I get to Kathmandu I'm going to find a nice, deserving street urchin and bequeath this 80% cotton/20% polyester blend to that far more deserving soul.
-The Frequency is Courage,
Doug B.

Pre-Adventure Jitters

Well then, in about eight hours I should be on a transatlantic flight bound for Doha, Qatar, the first leg in a day long journey which should find me in Kathmandu, Nepal by the end of the month of August. Before I arrive in the Himalayan foothills in which Kathmandu is nestled, I have two pressing concerns: learn the Tibetan Alphabet and write a paper. Both easier said than done. I have decided that somehow, I will accomplish each whilst at a cruising altitude of 30,000ft. Here's to procrastination. Since I got back home from my summer in another strange and foreign land, the Midwest, I have been involved in a long sequence of activities which I guess is what you might call my pre-adventure ritual. This ritual has taken the form of a number of arduous hikes on and off the Billy Goat Trail, DVR-ing and watching every show that I could find searching for "Nepal", "Tibet", "Bhutan", "Buddha", Buddhism", "Himalayas", "China", watching two BBC nature documentaries on Tibet and the River Ganges, and re-watching the finale of Avatar: The Last Airbender some six times by my last count. The final element of this ritual has been to hang up a new strand of Tibetan prayer flags for a safe journey, a safe return, and so that I may direct my time and experiences while abroad towards the benefit of all sentient beings. Well that's it for now. Goodbye USA, well meet again another day.

The Frequency is Courage (I'll explain what that means in a future blogpost)
- Doug B.