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.