An Exceptionally Brief Reflection on Begging

          The act of giving to a beggar has less to do with benefiting the recipient than it does with absolving one’s own conscience of guilt in that fleeting, yet unbearable moment. Having dispensed with a few rupees, the beggar can be forgotten and one can return to the more sanguine elements of the day. But, if one does not give, the guilt nags upon one’s soul like a terrible blister...that is, until one’s mind is pulled so far afield by some other distraction that the beggar and the guilt, indeed the entire incident, are rendered but one more forgotten sadness, buried so deep in the darkest recesses of memory as to never even have happened.

The Frequency is Courage,
- Doug B.

A Little Yin and Yang in the Land of High Passes

It’s been over a year since I last reflected and put my thoughts down on paper, or rather, imaginary paper on the internet. Finally, after more than twelve months of mental constipation, the weight of my collective experiences has forced my hands. A great deal transpired over the previous year, good and bad of course, but I don’t really feel like reflecting upon it now…maybe I will later, otherwise you will just have to wait for my autobiography (I already have several titles in mind). But, onto the present! For starters, I’m once more in Ladakh. For those counting, this is my fourth journey to this trans-Himalayan cold desert. Though the mountains high above, jagged and glistening white, seem static, immovable, unchanging, the valleys and settlements are in constant flux, as dynamic as the melting glaciers. This change, though it is the way of the world, is not all good. With the increase in access to information, medical care, and opportunity has come more tourists (not necessarily a bad thing), more trash, the throw-away mentality of mass-produced consumerist society, more vehicles, more drunkenness, and more pollution. And as the water channels running through the streets become ever more choked with discarded wrappers and empty plastic bottles there is less and less of what makes Ladakh such a wonderful and unique place. Less respect for religion and culture (a growing phenomenon among the local population), less sustainability, less village life, less farming, less respect and compassion. But who am I to begrudge the Ladakhis (or anyone else for that matter) the amenities and comforts I take for granted everyday back in America. Who am I to deny these people a satellite TV and a compact car, a washing machine and an electric stove? Though it makes for a depressing realization, the dream of the developing world is not democracy or the high-minded ideals of liberal Western intellectuals, no matter how much we might spout off about it. The dream of the developing world is an easier life, one with a certain degree of material comfort. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating the Ladakhis get rid of their cars and television sets and return to eking out a meager existence in the narrow valleys and arid pastures beneath the lifeless peaks. I have no good answers, no solutions to the curse of development. All I can really do is pose the following question in the hopes that someone more driven and capable and intelligent than I will be pushed to do something, if there is indeed anything that can possibly be done, and this question, actually questions, are as follows: was human life ever meant to be so comfortable, and as we seek to further insulate ourselves from the unpleasantness of the world around us, do we not block out something else? Something perhaps necessary to our existential wellbeing? Surely, as we immerse ourselves in decadence and lessen the hardships we face, something is abandoned, forgotten; a timeless element of our existence—let’s just call it calloused hands—by which I mean struggle and challenge and discomfort having a demonstrable, subtly positive effect on human life. Am I onto something…you be the judge.

                But that’s enough brooding for today. Rather, I’ll end with a little story from my morning hike. I was skirting the eastern edge of Leh, taking a purposely long and out of the way route on the way back into town. On the left side of the road was a little puppy, sleeping peacefully, or so I thought. As I drew closer, something was clearly amiss. A great many flies buzzed about, but the little pup did not move, its abdomen bloated, but terribly still. And so, a brutal realization dawned. This little puppy, having only recently come into the world, was dead. Its innocent spirit again being forced to navigate the crucible of the bardos, the liminalities all beings must traverse as they journey from one life to the next. I took out my headphones, uttered a few mantras, and made a quick prayer for the puppy to be reborn in a pureland, a dimension of no suffering in which enlightenment is easily attained in one lifetime. Nothing tears at me here quite like the suffering of dogs. Indeed, the first time I cried in India was after seeing a mangy, emaciated dog in New Delhi vomit up nothing but bile from its empty stomach, which other starving dogs proceeded to lick up. Brutal, right? Anyways, back to the story at hand. Having been vividly reminded of the Buddha’s First Noble Truth that all life is suffering, I continued with my hike, albeit, now a little distraught. It was not long before another dog, this one full grown, came trotting over a low rock wall, with, much to the benefit of my inner wellbeing, a little up in tow, this one very much alive. Judging by the size and colouring of this spritely pup, it was more than likely the sibling of the dead puppy lying some twenty meters behind me. And so, I was reminded of another eternal truth: the cruelness of existence is matched only by its beauty. For darkness and light exist side by side, complimenting and completing one another. As the Daoists would say, the Way, or Dao, is composed of both yin and yang. One without the other and the whole world would be but chaos. Harmony is balance, and so, for a few fleeting moments this morning, my world was harmonious. And that, dear friends, is as clean of an ending to a story you are ever going to get, from me, at least.

The Frequency is Courage,

-Doug B.

P.S. I would link unfamiliar terms for your convenience, but the internet is too slow for that to work at the moment.

Sacré Bleu, or The Tantric Approach to Unpleasant French Women

What follows is perhaps, almost certainly, the least pleasant interaction I have had with a human being, indeed any sentient being, whilst in Ladakh. And yet, as I have reflected on it since it happened this morning, I have thus come to realize this incidents value as a quite profound teaching as I attempt to walk the path of the Buddhas. It unfolded as I was going for kora, ritual circumambulation, around the Chokhang Vihara, also known as Gompa Soma (New Gompa), which is the main Buddhist gompa (monastery) and lhakhang (temple) in central Leh. To the best of my memory, this is how it unfolded.

I walk into the Chokhang, and as I begin my kora, I notice on older Caucasian woman, European by the looks of it, attempting to light up a cigarette. I can stomach and ignore tourists being loud, or rude, walking the wrong directions, wearing shorts and other revealing clothing, and most of the other disrespectful things they do while in Buddhist gompas and sacred sites, but not this. This was intransigence at its highest. The Ladakhis might be too nice to confront her, but I am not.

Doug: Excuse me, but you cannot smoke here.

Old French Woman:   [Looks up in annoyance]

D:        I don’t mean to be rude but…

OFB:   Go away [gives slight wave of hand, by which she clearly means ‘fuck off,’ and resumes attempting to light cigarette]

Realizing that this woman is far more determined to smoke her cigarette and disrespect this sacred place than I am to stop her, I continue with my kora and leave this foul soul to wallow in carcinogens and her even more noxious personality. Having finished my circumambulation of the Chokhang, I stand on some stone steps shaded by a few trees near the front of the main lhakhang, reciting some last few mantras of OM MANI PADME HUM (HRI), when the Old French Woman, walks up to me.

OFW:  You cannot talk to people like that.

I attempt to be conciliatory, and indulge her with an apology that she does not deserve.

D:        I am sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as rude, but I realize that I did.

OFW:  You cannot tell people what they can do.

D:        I know, but really, you cannot smoke here.

OFW:  [Clearly perturbed that I will not give up my admonishment] According to who, to you?!

D:        According to them…[I motion to the Ladakhis behind her and the literal writing on the wall behind them which states in big bold letters ‘YOU ARE SITTING IN A HOLY PLACE, DON'T USE ALCOHOL, TOBACCO IN ANY FORM’]…it’s actually written on the wall.

OFW:   [Boiling with anger] You’re from the States aren’t you?

D:        Yes.

With my affirmation, I have virtually no doubt as to the vitriol that is to follow.

OFW: You know you should just stay there, closed.

She pauses, so consumed by her spiteful emotions that she is clearly at a loss for words; unable to convey in English the disgust inside her that only knows the language of French as a vehicle.

OFW:  You truly are an unbelievable country!

Shaking her head in utter contempt and disgust, she turns around and walks away. Now I am at a loss for words, so taken aback by her odiousness. As she walks off towards the side exit, completely failing, as do so many other foreigners and Indians, to walk about the temple properly—in a clockwise manner, I manage to get in the last words, which are the only words (other than expletives) which suddenly pop into my mind.

D:        [Somewhat sarcastically] Have a nice day.

The End

The Misadventures Continue...

Namaste and Tashi Delek (Hello in Nepali and Tibetan, respectively) from Boudhanath, Kathmandu, Nepal. Where to begin, where to begin...I've only been here three days and yet there is so much to say and so much more to do. I suppose it's worth mentioning that on my flight to Kathmandu from Doha, Qatar I got upgraded to business class. I have only twice flown business class and on both occasions I was 'bumped up' from coach on a flight to Kathmandu. Business class on Qatar Airways is nice, really, really nice; it's even nicer when you don't pay for it.If that isn't nice, I don't what is.

Anyways, I have for more cogent things to say, or at least I think I do. It has only been five months since I was last skittering about the Kathmandu Valley, and yet, in those five short months, so much has changed. Then again, life seems to move so much faster here, and at the same time so much slower. Paradox? Let me explain. In the day to day (controlled) chaos of a bustling city like Kathmandu, so much comes crashing together, sometimes literally, right before your eyes. There is never just one thing to do, and nothing ever, ever goes according to plan. Even something as simple as going for kora, ritual circumambulation, around Boudhanath Stupa inevitably turns into an adventure as one discovers familiar faces, haggles with shopkeepers, encounters beggars, and somehow  always ends up having tea. It can be exhausting, the constant assault on the senses from which there is no respite save for the stiff mattress and sticky sheets that await back at one's guesthouse. Also showers, there is nothing like a cold shower on a hot day here in Kathmandu. Life starts to slow down in the shower, but not quite the same way as when it really slows down. What to I mean by 'when it really slows down?' I mean being totally absorbed in the moment, simply accepting and appreciating a singular instance of life as it unfolds. Truly according with things as they are, without disturbing the mind with anything else. No thoughts of past or future, no judgments, no machinations, no focusing on something else, no forced feelings. Just naturally being in the moment, like a lotus floating on the surface of a pond. Spontaneously beautiful, effortlessly harmonious. This usually happens, for me at least, when I hear the symphony of Tibetan horns and cymbals that invariably erupts from the monasteries around Boudha. In such a moments, a sort of unconditioned beauty, arises not from without, but within. Eventually, this beauty dissipates, but the beauty itself does not subside, rather it is one's perception of it that fades. Unfortunately, I have to get a move on, so this lackluster jumbling of thoughts will have to suffice for now.

The Frequency is Courage,

- Doug B.

P.S. My mobile # in Nepal is 011+977+9803212187. If you send me an entertaining text message, I'll buy you something nice.

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.

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.