We all met at the Quetzaltrekkers headquarters at 11pm to get ready for our important mission. There were about 50 of us, give or take 3. We had come from all over the world: Finland, Canada, California, and even a few from Guatemala. We had come to summit a volcano by the light of the moon. After giving us the proper gear of sleeping bags, backpacks, jackets, scarves, hats, gloves, and many warnings about how freezing it would be at the top, our trusty guides fed us potato soup and Guatemala’s version of French bread. Mmmm, so tasty, so comforting...can we go to sleep now? Oh no, we have a hike to do!

We set out to the base of Santa Maria in a rickety yet sturdy pick-up truck. With the wind blowing through our hair, we got to know about each other’s travels, goals, and intestinal tracts during the 20 minute ride to the base. Jumping out of the truck in high spirits, we started up the mountain. After more than an hour of relatively easy walking, we enjoyed a concoction of granola and peanut clusters, which gave us a midnight boost of energy.

One more hour of mercy and then the real climbing began. And it continued, for about 3.5 hours. And it was steep. Everyone had their own strategy of surmounting the slope which seemed like the equivalent of a rocky wall. Wishing for suction cups, using the trees for support, we hopped, crawled, and clawed our way to the top.

At the summit, I quickly started digging through my bag for those extra scarves, hats, and gloves, hoping to get them out before my fingers and limbs froze in place, rendering me a statue incapable of movement. Luckily, I made it in time and bundled up into my sleeping bag. Just when I had gotten thoroughly cozy, the smaller volcano next to Santa Maria puffed some smoke up at us, welcoming us with one of its frequent explosions.

Before we knew it, light began to infuse the world around us and it was time to walk around and marvel at the panorama of views and colors coming into focus around us before the rising of the sun. The feast we experienced through our eyes that morning made everyone forget about the difficult journey of the night before. We were surrounded by mist-covered mountains and volcanoes, set against a backdrop of alternating pinks and blues. Wow!

At some point, a light brown dog with long, smooth hair showed up and enjoyed the generosity of some gringos who shared their breakfast sandwiches with him. He belonged to no one in particular, but to the mountain itself. The perro joined us on the walk down the mountain, protectively barking at strangers we met on the path. At the end of our journey, this creature was possibly the only one who had any energy left. As the rest of us were drunkenly stumbling over each other and tripping over rocks, the dog seemed ready to climb the mountain again! We left him at the base to wait for the next bunch of sandwich-wielding trekkers whom he can assist and protect from all those trekkers who didn’t share their sandwiches. Although exhausted, everyone felt happy to have supported a school for orphans and a clinic through their support of Quetzaltrekkers, a volunteer organization which donates all of its profits to the Escuela de la Calle and the medical clinic, Primeros Pasos.

1.) One of the many views of Lake Atitlan from the town of San Marcos

2.) Doing karma yoga on Sunday morning...hiking up to the waterfall and cleaning up trash on the way down. Mucha basura!

3.&4- The majestic fog of Lake Atitlan.

5.) My little home pyramid for the past two weeks..

will be saying farewell to the pyramids this Friday and going on to the mountain town of Xela/Quetzeltenango to focus on Spanish, volunteering, and salsa dancing!

I was scared earlier today, but not anymore.

¨For what gives value to travel is fear. It breaks down a kind of inner structure we have. One can no longer cheat- hide behind the hours spent at the office or at the plant (those hours we protest so loudly, which protect us so well from the pain of being alone)."

Albert Camus

I was scared when my taxi dropped me off at the busy bus stop in Guatemala City and I didn´t know which bus to take.

A man said, ¨You go to Panajachel, you take this bus."

He walked with me and took two of my bags in spite of my protests. He placed them on the top rack of the bus. As I sat down, I held on to one of my bags. He said, ¨"Oh, this one has to be up here too..." something about the police coming and checking, yada, yada. He spoke quickly. I didn´t get it. I went with it, although I smelled something fishy. He got off the bus. I took the same bag down and pulled out the most important thing in there-my passport. I put it in my safety pouch, around my neck, just in case. I also took out my Spanish grammar book, even though I was on alert and could hardly focus. I put the bag back up since the same guy is on the bus again.

Five minutes later, I see the man behind me moving around. I turn. He is taking my blue bag, the same one I had tried to hold on to. No time for thinking. I react. "Esta mio," I say loudly, over and over. "It´s mine, you jerk!" If I knew how to add the last part, I would have. I feel like a kindergartner fighting over a toy...yet, that is my frickin´bag you got there mister, so if I have to resort to being a kindergartner, resort I will. He places it on his seat and walks off the bus, right past me, clearly uncomfortable that he´d been caught. I take my toy back and put all my bags on the seat next to me. No one will separate me from them again, not if I can help it. I´ll scream and be rude and obnoxious if I have to. Heck, I´ll PCS them if I have to, but I learned my lesson. Having my bags right above me is not close enough for comfort. I need to be on them, next to them, attached to them like velcro.

I stay on alert, ready to snap at or bite anyone who tries to ´help´me in any way, as the bus weaves through traffic and picks up more and more passengers. By the time we leave the city, we´re packed like a can of sardines, no less than 3 people per seat...this is one of the popular chicken buses that most people use to travel throughout the country.

As we distance ourselves from the fumes of the city, I start to relax a bit and to notice the beautiful people around me. Mostly, they are Mayans wearing their indigenous clothing-women in bright turquoise and purple dresses with sashes, ribbons in their long, black hair. They are like princesses of the Earth, women who are clearly proud of who they are and happy to show it to the world. Thinking of all the prosecution these people have been through because of their heritage, in the hands of different regimes, it awes me how proud they are, how unafraid to say "This is who I am, like it or not." Instead of burying their history, after so many were killed during the revolution, these people wear it gloriously. As we get closer to Lake Atitlan, traditionally dressed men in colorful, patterned suits and cowboy hats come onto the bus. Although I´m still weary of the environment and not willing to take out my camera, I am amazed by the courage of these people in their multi-colored splendor.

On the boat on Lake Atitlan, the lest leg of my journey, I am one of 3 white people amongst around 40 indigenous princes and princesses. They laugh when I fall as I get on the boat. One of the girls helps me up. I´m laughing too. I feel closer to them, after the shared laughter, even though we are worlds apart in language, looks, and way of life.

I make it to San Marcos safely, all luggage intact. My ticket is overpriced, but I don´t even care at this point. I´m so grateful to have made it to my destination.

Paula shows me my room...a little pyramid bungalow in the meditation center Las Piramides. It´s a garden paradise, right on the edge of Lake Atitlan. There´s a Spanish school pretty much next door. Perfect. There is also a massage/healing center here which is owned by a Bulgarian woman. I´ll have to meet her. Something else to check out...there´s an arts center called Cambalacha which teaches kids of the villages in the area to sing, dance, paint, etc. They have an organic garden and possibilities to volunteer.

This evening, there was a basketball game in the center of San Marcos, played to loud, danceable music. It was a joy to dance and play capoeira with volunteers at Cambalacha and other travelers from the USA, France, Germany, Spain, and of course the locals. A few Mayan kids were attracted to the fun, dancing foreigners, and joined us in doing cartwheels. Perfect.

To me, the value of traveling lies not in the fear itself, which is essential and possibly inevitable...the value of traveling lies in the possibility for transformation which appears as we get psdy the fear. Getting over the fear is essential...wallowing in it for a long time is miserable and not very valuable. Yet, it´s possible to allow fear to teach us and shape us without letting it suffocate our hearts. Dancing is a great tool for that!

If today doesn't inspire me to resurrect this blog and write again, I don't know what will. What a day! It started out in Austin, TX at 4:30 in the morning. The best sister in the world and her wonderful boyfriend drove me to the airport, although they could have easily made me walk for getting such an early flight!

What could have been 3-hour direct flight to Guatemala City became a full-day journey, bouncing me through Memphis and Miami before spitting me out in Guatemala City. Ah, the lengths I would go to just to save a hundred bucks...

On the last stretch of the journey, there was a movie about a female author who was writing about this adventure hero, Alex Rover, a man who never seemed to be afraid to try new things. Alex was always diving into risk and danger head first, worrying about how to wiggle out of the mess he'd created later. The ironic thing was that the author herself, Alexandra, was freaked out to leave her own apartment. She was terrified of the world...until she gets a plea for help from a little girl who's stranded on an island (a high-tech, fancy-schmancy island with wi-fi access). Although petrified, Alexandra sets out to find the island and help the girl. Along the way, she learnes to trust, even when things aren't going her way. She finds she's actually capable of living a life of adventure, not just writing about it.

One of the reasons I love to travel is that, along the way, I remember to trust. Traveling itself forces me to trust, actually, whether I want to or not. There are just too many variables that are out of my control and I just have to trust that, whatever happens, it'll be alright in the end.

So, I'm in Guatemala City...I've made it through declarations and passport control and I'm waiting for my one little checked-in bag to appear on the carousel. This is the same bag that I got for free, by applying for a delta credit card. All shapes, colors, and sizes of bags show up, get claimed by their owners, and happily move on to their next destination. After more than half an hour, my bag is nowhere to be seen, as are the people I shared the flight with-gone. I feel like a third grader whose nanny forgot to pick her up from school, all alone, whimpering softly. A soothing voice appears in my head..."just trust." It's been saying that for the last half hour, and the five hours before that. What are my options? I always have options-I could break down and pout and whine, or I can trust. I go and ask the airport people if anyone has seen my little, black bag. Nope, they haven't , but I should talk to that lady over there.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a little black bag...come from Miami." me

"Did you have connections within the states?" her

"Yes, Austin, Memphis, Miami, Guatemala." me

"Ah, yes, they didn't transfer your bag-it's still in Miami. It will come tomorrow, but we'll give you $55 for emergency purposes." her

Well, at least I know where my bag is now. Whoa, $55, that's probably worth more than the content of my bag! Hey, you can leave my bags wherever you'd like, anytime. I didn't say that.

She introduced me to Isaac, who happened to be a Mormon. I told him I live in Utah-we got to talking about the temple and his missionary friends who are from Utah. He gave me a little emergency bag with a t-shirt, toothbrush & paste, deodorant (it's fair to say that I was pretty stinky at this point) and any toiletries I may need. What service! Thank you, TACA airlines...I'm impressed.

A while later, I met my couchsurfing host, Harold. He was born in Guatemala, but lived most of his life in Princeton, one of my favorite towns ever...we shared happy memories of Princeton while driving through Guatemala city. Harold has started his own home-based English-teaching business for executives in the city...classrooms double up as bedrooms for couch surfers. I met one of his students, Ricardo, a man who works for the second largest coffee company in Guatemala. He reports directly to the big boss, the CEO, who happens to be Japanese. Ricardo was having a conversation with Bill and Betty-the retired couple from Minnesota who's also couchsurfing with Harold. They have a friend whose daughter's in Peace Corps, Bulgaria right now, in a little town called Lom. Lom happens to be the place my grandpa was born. Small world. I trust.

Hanging out in the heat of the day by the Collosseum in Rome;

Being silly with Eliz, crazy, wonderful friend from Scotland.

Resting after loading bales of hay onto the truck;

a person in Pompei who was frozen by the volcano ash of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 A.D.

we are the audience and the players in the amphitheater in Pompeii.

For even more pictures, go to... http://www2.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=162149973/a=83622079_83622079/fromupload=true/t_=83622079

Snow? Dust? Flying puffs of cotton? Nope, none of the above...it's droplets from the nearby fountain showering the scene.

Ataturk is looking at the youngsters...he's still watchin' you, kid! he's a big national hero who brought to Turkey the latin alphabet and created a day for kids on the 23rd of April, which was exactly when we were there...thus, there were posters of Ataturk everywhere! The nameless hero next to him is stationed on top of one of the many stores in the center, keeping the peace.

Some views from our Bulgarian group and the international group we stumbled upon, with representation from Poland, Romania, France, Italy, Malta, and OF COURSE Turkey, the organizers of the 'Urban Photo Album' project. We learned a lot about our perspective countries during International night and individual country presentations.

These are some views of the 'Ulus'...the older part of Ankara, which is currently economically disadvantaged, and yet the people seem to be happy and unburdened.

Turkish ice cream is absolutely delicious and chewy...it looks like cotton candy on a stick. The ice cream man constantly mixes it and tosses it and turns it. It makes for quite a show! It also explains the high fitness level of ice cram people in Turkey. Then, they put it on a cone, but you have to grab it at just the right time. Otherwise, he turns it around and you lose it. ..watch that cone! The man in the red shirt is going to get an ice cream cone, I just know it!

Oops, we weren't supposed to take pictures...but everybody's taking picture. It's ok, it won't break the glass to take a picture!

This is a kid who is happy to have his picture taken...play on, happy kid :)

On top...the girls who put a whole lotta work into theatre and did a kick-ass production of the Native American Cinderella.

And left, hanging out at the hija with my big sister and Chris and my friend/colleague Mariana and Yovcho...we got to spend a fantabulous 5 days together and now everything feels really dull since they left...even the weather. but it shall pass...

T

What's cookin'??

Thanks for writing, dear readers...it's good to know you're out there :)

I've been doin' a whole lot of whooooooooping these days with the kids who participated in the Native American Cinderella. We rehearsed for about 2 and a half months and finally did the play on the stage yesterday with a live audience with face paints, braids, feathers, a wigwam (native american hut made out of hay) and bows and arrows...we even had a little bear and a bear chase that took place in the whole theater and got people standing up to let the little bear pass (in the end of the chase, the bear falls as if hit...the villagers all gather to celebrate the prize and when they leave, the bear dusts itself off and runs off) It felt so good to hear from the audience how professional the kids' presence was on the stage and how interesting it was to watch even for the people who didn't understand English...of course, I knew the kids were doing a kick-ass job, but it felt good to have it reflected from the outside community as well.

The play was a Native American folk tale from the Abenaki tribe in Eastern Canada. It's about a warrior, Strong Wind, who is brave and handsome and can make himself invisible! Comes a time in his life when he's looking for a wife, but it's really important to him to find an honest woman, so he uses a clever trick to test the truthfulness of all who seek to win him. He makes himself invisible and his sister, Blue Moon asks all suitors whether or not they see him, saying that he will marry the first maiden who can see him, although he is invisible. Many try, and although they can't see him, they claim that they can...Blue Moon sends them on their way until Cinderella comes and says that there's no one there when her cruel sisters pretend to see him. They get married and the sisters are turned into aspen trees by Strong Wind...no one will ever be cruel to her again! The play is from the wonderful website... www.storiestogrowby.com . There are different scripts from international folk tales with fun twists and which are based on important moral lessons...

Here is the description of the play in Bulgarian....

____________________________________________________________________

THE INDIAN CINDERELLA

======================

/ Индианската пепеляшка/

Росица Максимова- STRONG WIND–СИЛНИЯ ВЯТЪР

Сание Мюмюн- BLUE MOON – СИНЯТА ЛУНА /

СЕСТРА НА СИЛНИЯ ВЯТЪР

Айсун Али-CHIEF – ШЕФА/БАЩА НА ПЕПЕЛЯШКА

Айсун Хюсеин-YOUNGEST DAUGHTER /CINDERELLA–

НАЙ-МАЛКАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ /ПЕПЕЛЯШКА/

Енгинар Емин-MIDDLE DAUGHTER – СРЕДНАТА

ДЪЩЕРЯ НA ШЕФА

Васи Тонева-OLDEST DAUGHTER-НАЙ-ГОЛЯМАТА

ДЪЩЕРЯ НА ШЕФА

Айсун Алиосман- FEATHER BRAID – МОМИЧЕТО С

ПЛИТКА

Мериан Емин-WHITE FOX – БЯЛАТА ЛИСИЦА

Сине Евяпан-LITTLE FEATHER-МАЛКОТО ПЕРО

Сена Евяпан-THE BEAR- МЕЧКАТА

ПЪРВО ДЕЙСТВИЕ

СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР, силният войн на племето Абенаки и единственият който може да се прави невидим, споделя със сестра си, СИНЯТА ЛУНА намеренията си да се жени и споделя колко важно е да се ожени за честна жена. Сестрата го закача като казва че жената може да е честна, но какво ако не може да готви, да чисти, да шие... За СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР обаче, единственото важно нещо е това тя да бъде честна. Той се прави на невидим когато идва МОМАТА С ПЛИТКА, която трябва покаже че е честна, за да може да се омъжи за него. Тя се прави че вижда СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР, но по начина по който тя го описва, СИНЯТА ЛУНА разбира, че тя лъже и не е честната дама, която е тъй желана в това семейство. След това идва БЯЛАТА ЛИСИЦА, която също се опитва да види СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР, който е невидим, но също не успява и се прави като че ли го вижда само и само да може да се омъжи за красивият младеж. СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР и СИНЯТА ЛУНА продължават да търсят честна мома...

МЕЧКАТА

Малкият войн, МАЛКОТО ПЕРО, се обръща към СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР да му покаже как се може да се хване мечка тай като малкия иска да е добър ловец като батко си. Следва игра на гоненица. Най накрая мечката пада и двамата ловци решават че са я уцелили. Цялото село се събира да празнува успешният лов. След веселбата, мечката става и си продължава по пътя.

ВТОРО ДЕЙСТВИЕ

Докато ШЕФА и СРЕДНАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ си говорят, а НАЙ-МАЛКАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ чисти къщата, изведнъж пристига НАЙ-ГОЛЯМАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ на ШЕФА. Тя съобщава, че СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР си търси съпруга. Всички се радват от тази новина, включително ПЕПЕЛЯШКА. ШЕФА заповядва на големите дъщери да се приготвят да говорят със СИНЯТА ЛУНА, да може една една от тях да се омъжи за СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР тай като той няма да разбере че не могат да готвят и да чистят преди да е минала сватбата. Истината е че ПЕПЕЛЯШКА върши всичката работа в къщата. ШЕФА се скарва на ПЕПЕЛЯШКА за това че се е нацапала ужасно, и не и вярва когато казва че сестрите са и сторили това. Когато ПЕПЕЛЯШКА заявява че и тя иска да се омъжи за СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР, всички и се смеят и се подиграват. ШЕФА тръгва с двете дъщери за къщата на СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР като си мисли че ПЕПЕЛЯШКА остава вкъщи да чисти. Фактически, най-малкото момиче тръгва след тълпата която отива към СИНЯТА ЛУНА.

ТРЕТО ДЕЙСТВИЕ

СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР и СИНЯТА ЛУНА се връщат от търсенето на честна дама, изтощени и без никакъв резултат. След кратък разговор СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР се прави на невидим и сестра му решава да си почине. Тъкмо в този момент пристига семейството на ШЕФА. НАЙ-ГОЛЯМАТА и СРЕДНАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ правят опит да видят СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР, но не успяват. И двете се правят като че ли са го видели и показват колко готови са да кажат лъжа за да получат това което искат. Показва се НАЙ-МАЛКАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ, която е достатъчно искрена, за да признае, че не може да го види и че никой не го е видял. СИЛНИЯТ ВЯТЪР оценява нейната честност и решава да стане видим. След като предлага на НАЙ-МАЛКАТА ДЪЩЕРЯ да се оженят, обръща големите и сестри в дървета за да не могат никога да я закачат повече. Освобождава ги само за края на пиесата. Оказва се че честната жена е тази която може и да чисти и да готви и да се справя с всичко. ШЕФА от своя страна осъзнава колко е великолепна СИНЯТА ЛУНА, и предлага женитба..тя от своя страна казва, че той е твърде стар за нея.

___________________________________________________________________

In other news....we're leaving to go to Ankara tomorrow to take pictures and participate in an international project called "Urban Photo Album", then my sister's coming with her honey...yaaaaay : ) and contrary to my initial feelings and resistance to being here, I'll be staying one more year in Momchilgrad...we've gotten a lot of things started here and October feels too soon to leave, so...that's it for now, but i'll be back...

Some pictures...

An Easter 'kozunak'...a HUGE one! This is a typical Bulgarian sweet cake, which is eaten by the tons around Easter!

These are some lovely colored Easter eggs...an international tradition which is fun for kids and big kids alike :)

Below are three lovely ladies whose fates have interwoven in an interesting way...in the middle is my friend Sunai from Krichim, the blond lady next to her is Mariana, assistant director of one of the schools in Momchilgrad, and Sunai's friend from high school days...thanks to the Peace Corps and to the fact that they placed me in Momchilgrad, they reconnected after more than 20 years! I'm grateful to know both of these strong women and to be part of their lives in some small way!

Down below are the chickens of Momchilgrad, waiting for their money transfer from Western Union! "Hey we're all workin' for a livin' here...give us a break! We gotta get some reimbursement for all those eggs we send abroad to be dyed and all that!"

These are two happy Momchilgrad grandmas tending the park garden...

I don't know if anybody checks in to this blog anymore, it's gettin' a little bit rusty, but i'll write anyway just for 'kef' (the Bulgarian word for 'fun', in case ya didn't know :)! The problem is...if i have some time to write and there's not a whole lot going on, there's nothing to share on the blog, and when there's a whole lot going on, well then there's no time to share and so i put it off and put it off and now it's been so put off that i just don't know where to start...it's all like a Purple Haze of activity mixed with moments of calm, spiced with djodjan (a spice that's used to make patatnik, which is like a banitza {which is a fillo dough dish made with feta cheese and yogurt and eggs and it's eaten for breakfast a lot here and thanks to it, my horizons are expanding...the horizons of my bottom, that is} with potatoes). For anyone who followed this curvy train of thought, my mind is on a food wavelength since we have been cooking dishes that are traditional for the Rhodope mountains in Bulgaria (which are my home at the moment) and we are making a book of recipes with pictures and it's all very exciting!! I may just learn how to cook and that may be dangerous, as much as i love to eat!!

If you're reading this, write a comment!! Let me know if there are still readers out there!!

These are some Hopi words of inspiration for the New Year, sent to me

by a special friend and mentor in New Jersey...just a tip as you read...you may not understand it if you read it with your "head". It will be easier if you use your ____________ (insert part of body...i'll give you a hint, it's not your foot or ear or nose or tummy or knee or lung or intestine...soooooo, what is it?)

A Hopi elder speaks:

You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this *is* the hour. And there are things to be considered:

Where are you living?

What are you doing?

What are your relationships?

Are you in right relation?

Where is your water?

Know your garden.

It is time to speak your Truth.Create your community.Be good to each other.

And do not look outside yourself for the leader.

There is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift, that there are those who will be afraid.

They will try to hold on to the shore.

They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly.

Know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river,

keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water.

And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally.

Least of all, ourselves.

For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather Yourselves! Banish the word "struggle" from your attitude and your vocabulary.

All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

WE ARE THE ONES WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR.

Oraibi,

ArizonaHopi Nation

I thought a thought...but the thought I thought *wasn't* the thought I thought I thought. If the thought I thought I thought had been the one I thought, I wouldn't have thought so much!!

Try saying that 15 times fast, with a plate of fruit on your head, while carrying an egg on a spoon, walking on stilts, and juggling baseball bats with your free hand. A humbling experience to say the least.

The past few weeks have been a flurry of emotions...

Chitalishte 'Nov Zhivot' finally got the funds to start our project, "Life as One Family" (3 months after the anticipated date...they were sent to the wrong account, then a few weeks later, they were sent to the same wrong account...hey, it happens! It's actually better this way since there are more kids around now and they're more in the mood to learn and create stuff. In the summer, they're either with their grandparents or at the sea),

My wonderful boyfriend, Erkan, and I, broke up. It was a mutual decision since my time here is passing quickly and, as much as we like each other, his place is here, his family's here, his home's here. My place isn't here...i don't know exactly where it is, but not here...hanging out with each other and falling in love and talking about making a family is just too painful, knowing that we're going to have to part soon.

My wonderful friend Nejda came back to teach for another year in Momchilgrad!! She's married in Bursa, Turkey, but she's finishing her masters in psychology here in Bulgaria and it was just the best option for her to come back. I'll take it!! It was such a nice surprize to know that we can hang out for one more year. Welcome back, Nej!!

I lost one gsm, and acquired two gsms...one from a cousin and one from a fellow PCV who's moving on to other adventures...sometimes when you lose, you gain.

There's a story about a farmer who lives with his son in a country called Zambaria and relies heavily on the one horse they have, to draw their cart, to take them to the city. Well, one day the horse runs away and the farmer is left without a form of transportation. The farmer's neighbors come by and shake their heads, apoligizing for the sad occurrence. "What a tragedy..." "What will you do?" The farmer only says...."We will see, we will see..." After going through a few days of struggle, the horse comes back with three other horses from a wild group of horses. They all stay with the farmer and his horse. The neighbors come by again, this time applauding, celebrating the happiness of the farmer. "What a lucky man you are!" "What a fortunate occurrence." The farmer says only..."We will see, we will see..." A few days pass and one day the farmer's son is outside training one of the wild horses when he falls and breaks his leg. That's hard on the farmer since the son did a lot of work around the farm and they're not a rich family. The faithful neighbors come by again, saying "How terrible" "I'm so sorry, neighbor" Of course, the farmer says again..."We will see, we will see." Three days later, war breaks out between Zambaria and Bavaria and all the healthy men are called upon to go fight for their country. You can imagine what happens afterwards.

You can interpret it however you want to, but the point is...everything changes...when you lose, you gain, when you gain, you lose...just don't lose faith, 'cuz if you do, faith just might come back in a few days with more faith, from a wild group of faith.

"Helloooo, are you alive in there, in the

dungeon? Hey, you are alive...and you're

lookin' kind of funny. Ha-ha..."

From the dungeon to the garden... Mom and I in the Garden of Eden.

The best landlords ever! Zdravko and Diana show us around rocks and dungeons in the MOmchilgrad area.

Back in the garden...."aaaaagh, I"m naked! Go away, Adam, don't take my picture now...I'm going to read about my naked condition in hopes of getting some clarity...that's why i'm holding these books."

From the garden to the dungeon...at least it's a dungeon with a view.

Turkish folklore dance group "Zeybekler" opens

tennis match in Kurjali. We don't look too

happy about it though!

Mira as a little baby...where is she? Nobody knows.

A mysterious stranger has swept her away to

a place unknown. If you're so inclined, please

pray for her well-being.

Puppies playing...Mira's the one jumping on everyone. That's my girl! Come home, Mira!

Humans playing...we're too 'civilized' to jump on each other, so instead we just jump around!

Happy sisters :)

In our meeting space in Tsarevo, at camp

Zaedno Napred. Gokhan, Albena, and Toni with

her fancy new glasses.

Welcome to my messy apartment!

Who are those wild and crazy PCVs?

On the Black Sea, after playing some frisbee and rolling around in the sand.

Let's go to the local discotheque and get down with our

bad selves! Whaddaya say ladies?

I have a new house mate.

We go for walks every day and play games a lot.

Her name is Mira.

The kids in the neighborhood love her and come to my house every day to ask "Can we play with Mira?"

She's pretty hairy...more hairy than me even!

She likes to chew on furniture and slippers and your hands and anything she can get her little teeth on.

She also likes to eat her poop, but i won't mention that part ;-)

Some fellow PCVs and i found her and four siblings in the trash in Tzarevo, where we helped out with a Multi-Ethnic Camp. Apparently, the owner of our hotel had had puppies and, not wanting to be a dad to screaming, hairy creatures, put them in the trash to die. Well, our collective conscience couldn't let us leave them there, so we used an abandoned building by the seashore to take care of them during the week and turned them over to dog-lovers after we left, except for Mira, who came home with me, and is making my apartment into a war zone. I'll eventually have to find a nice house/yard for her to be able to run around outside, but I wouldn't give up the experiences we've shared together for the world. Thanks to my fabulous sister, she has a toy snake, a squishy ball, and a beaver to chew on. She keeps herself pretty well occupied most of the time.

In other news...I was really happy to have both my mom and my dad and my aunt in fabulous M-grad this summer. They got a chance to meet my friends and colleagues and see the surrounding mountains, rocks, the paintings of my boss, Kamber (which are pretty much part of the landscape!) gardens, buildings, cafes, etc. We walked, we talked, we played with Mira, mom and I got sick at one point and practiced our 'synchronized barfing',(one day we'll perfect it!) dad and I walked around a bunch of rocks and sat on something that was once a throne, but now looks a whole lot like a rock. One day my sister will come too and one day i will put more pictures up on the blog, to trail the adventures of this summer and beyond.

After going to an international seminar in Macedonia, I can successfully juggle (for about 5 seconds, but that's a minor detail), make a balloon sword, flower, dog, lion, and other assorted things, and paint palms on people's faces. These things may sound trivial to adult beings, but they're absolutely magical when working with kids...especially when teaching kids how to do these things and they feel a sense of accomplishment when they make a balloon doggie and start biting you with their balloon doggie.

Now i'm back in M-grad with a real biting doggie and trying out ways to apply everything I learned this summer, in the camp, in Outward Bound, and in Macedonia to my work here with the kids, so that it makes for a meaningful experience for all involved.

My best friend, Nejda, got married on July 9th and is now living a totally different life in Bursa. I'm really happy that she's with the man she loves, but gosh darn it, i miss her! My wonderful site mate, Cynthia, also left in July, to go to grad school in Ohio. I miss her too...been feeling lonely for female friends. To top it all off, i lost my gsm about a week ago while playing with the kids and Mira, so I'm pretty disconnected from the world outside of M-grad right now. Someone's picked it up, but they're not giving it back. So it goes...

Enjoy the dwindling days of summer, dear readers...

What've You Come For?

Не сме дошли тука да мразиме, We've not come here to hate,

дошли сме да обичаме. we've come to love.

Не сме дошли да атакуваме, We've not come to attack,

дошли сме да прощаваме. we've come to forgive.

Не сме дошли да се подтискаме, We've not come to oppress,

дошли сме да се подкрепяме. we've come to support.

Не сме дошли да плачем и да се оплакваме, We've not come to cry and to complain,

дошли сме да играем и да се смеем. we've come to play and to laugh.

Не сме дошли тука да се разделяме и да се нападаме, We've not come to divide and battle,

дошли сме да се обединяваме, да работим заедно. we've come to unite, to work together.

Докато не правим това за което сме дошли, Until we do that for which we have come,

не можем да сме пълно и искренно щастливи. Out of joy and happiness, we'll rarely hum.

Под всичките човешки драми, травми, и конфликти, Underneath all conflict and drama,

ние сме всички деца на тази прекрасна Земя. we're all children of this Earthly Planet Mama.

Същото човешко сърце бие във всеки един от нас. The same human heart beats in each chest.

Същата кръв гори във вените ни. The same blood burns in our veins.

Същата вода тече в клетките ни. The same water flows through our cells.

Ние сме всички деца на тази прекрасна Земя. Children of the Earth are we,

Нека да си помагаме! Let's begin to help each other...one, two, three...

Wow, time is breezing by pretty quickly here...soooo much has happened in the past few weeks, gotta hold on to my seat so i don't lose it as life breezes by. Here are some of the highlights...

* Shopping trip with Nejda and Ailie, to the biggest pazar/bazaar/outdoor market in Bulgaria...Dimitrovgrad. I got T-shirts and sweatpants and popcorn (those weren't very sustainable, i'm

afraid ;-P). Nejda got a cute jean outfit, a sweater, and other assorted stuff for her "chiiz", the luggage that she'll be taking to Bursa when she gets married on July 9th. Can you believe she's getting married on July 9th and moving to Turkey? I still can't believe it...she probably can't either, for that matter...it takes a while for big changes to sink in, but dang it, i'm gonna miss her. She's been an amazing friend and inspiring colleague and motivational hiking buddy in the time we've known each other. Ailie got some clothes for her son, Giokai, who was taking an exam during our trip.

*Two-day excursion to Sandanski with a group of kids from the school Beron. Spent about 17 hours on the bus and, maybe 6 hours off the bus, but it was worth it, at least after the kids got tired of throwing up from the motion of the bus. We stopped at Rila Monastery, ate some pancake-like mekitzas, played frisbee, my neighbor/teacher Mima went to visit her relatives in the city, we walked around Sandanski for about an hour (there are beautiful monuments and mineral baths there that we didn't get to see due to shortage of time, nevertheless, we were there! on our walk, i met two hippies from Canada, who were heading to a mini Rainbow Gathering in a nearby village, i helped them buy some groceries...they left a trail of people talking about them behind their backs...for those who don't yet know this, drinking coffee and gossiping are two of the national sports in Bulgarian villages...the liberated Canadians aided in the sustenance of the latter). After the big tangent, we ate, slept, played frisbee, got on the bus, some of us threw up, then we went to Sofia Land, which is a mini, mini, mini Disney Land (i.e. there were about 15 rides there, but hey, it's a blast!), some others of us threw up on the rides, others got wet while floating around on logs, we ate McDonald's (it was a cultural experience ;) ), i bought a whoopee cushion (which created a big stir on the bus, for about ten minutes, before it got popped...it was probably a good thing for the bus driver that it got popped), we got on the bus again, Nejda and I read, the kids danced (this was a very good thing, as it kept their minds off of throwing up!), then Aishe and I played basketball with a bouncy ball, and a cup, and we came home with sore bottoms but happy hearts.

*Went on a picnic in Krichim with Sunai, Freddi, Andy (from the Krichim cast of characters), Nejda, and Andy's friend Kristal. It was so sweet to be back in Krichim...it's such a beautiful and amazing place. That night, we all went to a Chalga bar in Plovdiv and danced the night away. Going to a live Chalga (this is Bulgarian pop/folk music) bar had been a dream of Sunai's for, well, ever since I've known her, and perhaps longer, but she was sooooo tired the next day that she won't be going back for a while. 'Twas enough shaking of the booty and sniffing of the smoke and ringing of the years for about a year. Nejda went to classes the next morning (she's finishing up her Masters in Psychology), and I was happy to meet some of the wild and interesting people in her Masters class. Nej took a healing course based on the philosophy of Norbekov (a Russian man who studied in Tibet for many years), suggested to her by one of her classmates...it was a powerful experience for her, and i'm curious about it too. Mom, you may be interested in that course as well, when you decide to venture over here.

*Last weekend, went to a USAID English Conversation Teaching class in Sofia, which was helpful, inspiring, and well organized. More on that to come...but one of the highlights for me was walking around the center with my friend Zheni, who also went to India, and stumbling onto a pillow fight in front of the National Theater. In the background, a man was playing the saxophone, creating a gentle, mellow atmosphere, while all around him, people were banging each other with pillows and feathers were flying everywhere. Apparently there's a pillow fighting club that meets every two weeks...of course we had to join...it is fabulously relaxing and fun...possibly even better than yoga :-)

More to come...

Interesting Story:

A few months ago, i was sitting around with my colleagues in the Chitalishte...

we were all huddling together in our little officefor warmth. Nedka, our lovely accountant, was writing something on the computer. My boss, Kumber, zie creative painter, wonderful 50 year old man with a

beard, was looking at books to add to the chitalishte collection. I was standing close to him, doing something or other, probably picking my nose. At one point, I looked over at the list of books he was looking at. One of the books was called "You're Still a Sexy Piece of Meat". I thought that was pretty funny, so I read it out loud. Well, Nedka didn't realize that that was a book title since she was looking at the computer. She turned around and looked at me inquisitively with a bit of shock in her expression. 'You American girls just can't hide your feelings...couldn't you wait until you were alone in one room with the boss to let him know how you really feel?' Kumber and I burst out laughing and showed her the book. She had really thought that I was just feeling so turned on by the boss that I was about to burst if I didn't tell him exactly how sexy of a piece of meat I found him to be. I may be emotional and direct, but, hey....i do have my limits :-) We all laughed pretty hard for a while. And all was good.

As the weather is getting warmer, we no longer need to huddle so much for warmth and it's been wonderful to be outside more and to play frisbee and to hike and smell the budding trees and bushes. It's a sweet time of the year. Of course, this means less time on the computer, more time on the fields, so blogs may be a bit sparser for the next few months. No matter, I bet you readers would rather be outside than sitting in front of the computer as well.

Before saying goodbye, I'd like to share a poem with you, from a while ago...feeling inspired thanks to a poetry reading put on by the kids in the writing club of the chitalishte. I was blown away by the creativity and wisdom that the kids embody. Nedka's daughter, Vivi, won a contest put on by a Turkish/Bulgarian magazine called UMut.

Superconductor Multitudes of particles,struggling for control.A multitude of particles,who's gonna steal the show? Caught up in the act of

putting up resistance.

It's too hard to find the time

to provide fellow assistance.

Moving... Clashing.... Moving, clashing and colliding,Wherever you look, clouds of activity are hiding. Perpetual motion obscures... the ability to see, the possibility to be, the state of being free. What these particles don't know is that...there's a force which supercedes the stormy weather,a current that binds all particles together. When the proper conditions arise,there will no longer be need for tries.Surrendering to the powerful force that binds,unlimited energy is what a particle finds. We humans are a part of nature,and of particles we're built.Could there be more to life,than a flower that will wilt? Could a human a superconductor be?Is there hope for a superconducting we? For those of you who've already read it...well, now you've read it twice. Don't worry, newer poetry is to come. If you're wondering whether I"m using this blog as a shameless plug for poetry and literature...the answer is...yes, yes, I am. You gotta problem wit that? I'll take you on in a 'poetry slam'! I may lose, but i'll take you. And i'll enjoy it ;-) Enjoy yourself, dear reader...nobody else is gonna do it for ya, so ya might as well do it yourself!

The ashram/

meditation hall,

affectionately called

"The Cake"...inside is a beautiful rendition of all the symbols of the main spiritual traditions in the world. The top of The Cake changes colors at night, going from green to blue to hot pink to orange, like an Easter egg that can't decide what color it wants to be:) The swan in front was affectionately called "The Swan" , the tree was affectionately called "The Tree" and so on...the date on the bottom is wrong, by the way. A contrast to the luxurious greenery found around The Cake..kids on the street often waved to us as we rode by in our large bus.

The Holland group, showing off their 'cheese'. Being an often cheesy person, myself, i had to take a picture with Holland and her cheese. Walking around The Cake was like taking a mini tour around the world...there's Holland in the field, by the tree, South Africa by the stairs, with the drums, the USA walkin' down the pathway, Thailand and China admiring the plants. Truly a One World Family experience...a smorgasbord of international strangers treating each other like kin!

My city-mate Ergin and the holy cow in front of the ashram.

The ashram garden...a wonderful get-away from the snowy, cold winter happening in

Bulgarland, as my fellow PCV Maeghan affectionately calls this place.

Lady meditating in the garden...notice how dress matches flowers, matches water bottle. It's a color-coded meditation!

One of the largest Jain statues in India...the name eludes me at the moment, but you have to walk more than a thousand steps to get to it. The Jain were around before the Buddhists and possibly before the Hindus. They're very careful not to hurt animals, including insects...some decide to go naked so as not to smush a bug with their clothes, others wear special face masks to protect the bugs.

Ergin with a group of school kids, who were all too excited to have their picture taken with a friendly foreigner. A happy moment for all!

On top of the "No-Name Jain statue"...our little group sneaked by the security guys to avoid the 14 dollar charge to climb to the top and pour water so that the statue can pee. Although we succeeded, it was not long before the security guys found us and escorted us down. Luckily, they couldn't shoot us, since they're Jain and can't hurt any living creatures...they did, however take 100 Rupi from each of us. Guess some things in life just aren't free, there are security guys that you just can't flee!

On our way to the multi-million people celebration at the airport...notice the cloud of dust? It was fabulous! The Bulgarian flag kept us all together in the massive hordes of people.

The stairs to the Jain statue...we left our shoes at the bottom and embarked on a mini-pilgrimage to the top of the mountain.

Courtesy of Jack Stoebner...

Send this warning to everyone on your e-mail list.

If someone comes to your front door saying they are conducting a survey

on Bulgarian Fleas and asks you to take your clothes off

and dance around to shake off the fleas,

Do NOT do it!!!!!!!!!

IT IS A SCAM!!!!!!!!

They only want to see you naked!

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday.

I feel so stupid now.

As I do not happen to have any brilliant, illustrative insights at the moment, I offer you the

last chapter of the book Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse...a taste of Indian wisdom that my fairy godmother, Brenda, sent me about two years ago, rekindling my passion for this brilliant and, at times wacky, author.

GOVINDA

Together with other monks, Govinda used to spend the time of rest

between pilgrimages in the pleasure-grove, which the courtesan Kamala

had given to the followers of Gotama for a gift. He heard talk of an

old ferryman, who lived one day's journey away by the river, and

who was regarded as a wise man by many. When Govinda went back on his

way, he chose the path to the ferry, eager to see the ferryman.

Because, though he had lived his entire life by the rules, though he was

also looked upon with veneration by the younger monks on account of his

age and his modesty, the restlessness and the searching still had not

perished from his heart.He came to the river and asked

the old man to ferry him over, and when

they got off the boat on the other side, he said to the old man:

"You're very good to us monks and pilgrims, you have already ferried

many of us across the river. Aren't you too, ferryman, a searcher for

the right path?"

Quoth Siddhartha, smiling from his old eyes:

"Do you call yourself a searcher, oh venerable one,

though you are already old in years

and are wearing the robe of Buddha Gotama's monks?"

"It's true, I'm old," spoke Govinda,

"but I haven't stopped searching. Never I'll stop searching,

this seems to be my destiny. You too, so it seems to me,

have been searching. Would you like to tell me something,

oh honourable one?"

Quoth Siddhartha: "What should I possibly have to tell you, oh

venerable one? Perhaps that you're searching far too much?

That in all that searching, you don't find the time for finding?"

"How come?" asked Govinda.

"When someone is searching," said Siddhartha,

"then it might easily happen that the only thing his eyes

still see is that which he searches for, that he is unable to find anything,

to let anything enter his mind, because he always thinks of nothing but the object of his search, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed by the goal.

Searching means: having a goal.

But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal.

You, oh venerable one, are perhaps indeed a searcher, because,

striving for your goal, there are many things you don't see, which are

directly in front of your eyes."

"I don't quite understand yet," asked Govinda, "what do you mean bythis?"

Quoth Siddhartha: "A long time ago, oh venerable one, many years ago,

you've once before been at this river and have found a sleeping man by

the river, and have sat down with him to guard his sleep.

But, oh Govinda, you did not recognise the sleeping man."

Astonished, as if he had been the object of a magic spell, the monk

looked into the ferryman's eyes.

"Are you Siddhartha?" he asked with a timid voice.

"I wouldn't haverecognised you this time as well!

From my heart, I'm greeting you, Siddhartha; from my heart,

I'm happy to see you once again! You've changed a lot, my friend.

--And so you've now become a ferryman?"

In a friendly manner, Siddhartha laughed.

"A ferryman, yes. Many people, Govinda, have to change a lot,

have to wear many a robe, I am one of those, my dear.

Be welcome, Govinda, and spend the night in myhut."

Govinda stayed the night in the hut and slept on the bed which used to

be Vasudeva's bed. Many questions he posed to the friend of his youth,

many things Siddhartha had to tell him from his life.

When in the next morning the time had come to start the day's journey,

Govinda said, not without hesitation, these words:

"Before I'llcontinue on my path, Siddhartha,

permit me to ask one more question.

Do you have a teaching? Do you have a faith, or a knowledge,

you follow, which helps you to live and to do right?"

Quoth Siddhartha: "You know, my dear,

that I already as a young man, in those days when we lived

with the penitents in the forest, started to distrust teachers

and teachings and to turn my back to them. I have stuck with this.

Nevertheless, I have had many teachers since then. A beautiful

courtesan has been my teacher for a long time, and a rich merchant

was my teacher, and some gamblers with dice.

Once, even a follower of Buddha, travelling on foot,

has been my teacher; he sat with me when I had fallen asleep

in the forest, on the pilgrimage. I've also learned from him,

I'm also grateful to him, very grateful. But most of all,

I have learned here from this river and from my predecessor,

the ferryman Vasudeva.

He was a very simple person, Vasudeva, he was no thinker,

but he knew what is necessary just as well as Gotama.

He was aperfect man, a saint."

Govinda said: "Still, oh Siddhartha, you love a bit to mock people,

as it seems to me. I believe in you and

know that you haven't followed a teacher.

But haven't you found something by yourself, though you've

found no teachings, you still found certain thoughts, certain insights,

which are your own and which help you to live?

If you would like to tell me some of these, you would delight my heart."

Quoth Siddhartha: "I've had thoughts, yes, and insight, again and

again. Sometimes, for an hour or for an entire day,

I have felt knowledge in me, as one would feel life in one's heart.

There have been many thoughts, but it would be hard for me to convey

them to you. Look, my dear Govinda, this is one of my thoughts,

which I have found: wisdom cannot be passed on.

Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass onto someone

always sounds like foolishness."

"Are you kidding?" asked Govinda.

"I'm not kidding. I'm telling you what I've found.

Knowledge can be conveyed, but not wisdom.

It can be found, it can be lived, it is possible to be carried by it,

miracles can be performed with it, but it cannot be expressed

in words and taught. This was what I, even as a young man,

sometimes suspected, what has driven me away from teachers.

I have found a thought, Govinda, which you'll again regard as a

joke or foolishness, but which is my best thought. It says:

The opposite of every truth is just as true!

That's like this: any truth can only be expressed

and put into words when it is one-sided.

Everything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts

and said with words, it's all one-sided, all just one half,

all lacks completeness,roundness, oneness.

When the exalted Buddha Gotama spoke in his teachings of the world,

he had to divide it into Sansara and Nirvana,

into deception and truth, into suffering and salvation.

It cannot be done differently, there is no other way for him

who wants to teach. But the world itself,

what exists around us and inside of us, is never one-sided.

A person or an act is never entirely Sansara or entirely Nirvana,

a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful.

It does really seem like this, because we are subject to deception,

as if time was something real. Time is not real, Govinda,

I have experienced this often and often again.

And if time is not real, then the gap which seems to be between

the world and the eternity, between suffering and blissfulness,

between evil and good, is also a deception."

"How come?" asked Govinda timidly.

"Listen well, my dear, listen well! The sinner, which I am and which

you are, is a sinner, but in times to come he will be Brahma again,

he will reach the Nirvana, will be Buddha--and now see: these

"times to come" are a deception, are only a parable! The sinner is not on his

way to become a Buddha, he is not in the process of developing, though

our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these

things. No, within the sinner is now and today already the future

Buddha, his future is already all there,

you have to worship in him, in you, in everyone the

Buddha which is coming into being, the possible,the hidden Buddha.

The world, my friend Govinda, is not imperfect, or

on a slow path towards perfection: no, it is perfect in every moment,

all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself, all small

children already have the old person in themselves, all infants already

have death, all dying people the eternal life.

It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has

already progressed on his path; in the robber and dice-gambler,

the Buddha is waiting; in the Brahman, the robber is waiting.

In deep meditation, there is the possibility to put time out of existence,

to see all life which was, is, and will be as if it was simultaneous,

and there everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman.

Therefore, I see whatever exists as good, death is to me like life,

sin like holiness, wisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is,

everything only requires my consent, only my willingness,

my loving agreement, to be good for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit,

to be unable to ever harm me.

I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin

very much, I needed lust, the desire for possessions, vanity, and needed

the most shameful despair, in order to learn how to give up all

resistance, in order to learn how to love the world, in order to stop

comparing it to some world I wished, I imagined, some kind of perfection

I had made up, but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy

being a part of it.

--These, oh Govinda, are some of the thoughts

which have come into my mind."

Siddhartha bent down, picked up a stone from the ground, and weighed it

in his hand.

"This," he said playing with it, "is a stone, and will, after a

certain time, perhaps turn into soil, and will turn from soil into a

plant or animal or human being. In the past, I would have said: This

stone is just a stone, it is worthless, it belongs to the world of Maya;

but because it might be able to become also a human being and a

spirit in the cycle of transformations, therefore I also grant it importance.

Thus, I would perhaps have thought in the past.

But todayI think: this stone is a stone, it is also animal, it is also god, it is also Buddha,

I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into

this or that, but rather because it is already and always was everything--

and it is this very fact, that it is a stone, that it appears to me now

and today as a stone, this is why I love it and see worth and purpose in

each of its veins and cavities, in the yellow, in the gray, in the

hardness, in the sound it makes when I knock at it, in the dryness or

wetness of its surface.

There are stones which feel like oil or soap,and others like leaves,

others like sand, and every one is special and

prays the Om in its own way, each one is Brahman, but simultaneously and

just as much it is a stone, is oily or juicy, and this is this very fact

which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship.--

But let me speak no more of this. The words are not good for the secret meaning,

everything always becomes a bit different, as soon as it is put into

words, gets distorted a bit, a bit silly--

yes, and this is also very

good, and I like it a lot, I also very much agree with this, that this...

what is one man's treasure and wisdom

always sounds like foolishness to another person."

Govinda listened silently.

"Why have you told me this about the stone?" he asked hesitantly after

a pause.

"I did it without any specific intention. Or perhaps what I meant was,that, I

love this very stone, and the river, and all these things we are

looking at and from which we can learn. I can love a stone,

Govinda, and also a tree or a piece of bark.

These are things, and things can beloved. But I cannot love words.

Therefore, teachings are no good for

me, they have no hardness, no softness, no colours, no edges,

no smell,no taste, they have nothing but words.

Perhaps it is these which keep

you from finding peace, perhaps it is the many words.

Because, salvation and virtue as well, Sansara and Nirvana as well, are mere

words, Govinda. There is no thing which would be Nirvana; there is just

the word Nirvana."

Quoth Govinda: "Not just a word, my friend, is Nirvana. It is a

thought."Siddhartha continued: "A thought, it might be so.

I must confess to you, my dear: I don't differentiate much between thoughts

and words.To be honest, I also have no high opinion of thoughts.

I have a better opinion of things. Here on this ferry-boat, for instance, a man has

been my predecessor and teacher, a holy man, who has for many years

simply believed in the river, nothing else. He had noticed that the river spoke to him, he learned from it, it educated and taught him, the river seemed to be a god to him,

for many years he did not know that

every wind, every cloud, every bird, every beetle was just as divine and

knows just as much and can teach just as much as the worshipped river.

But when this holy man went into the forests, he knew everything, knew

more than you and me, without teachers, without books, only because he

had believed in the river."

Govinda said: "But is that what you call `things',

actually something real, something which has existence?

Isn't it just a deception of the Maja, just an image and illusion?

Your stone, your tree, your river--are they actually a reality?"

"This too," spoke Siddhartha, "I do not care very much about.

Let the things be illusions or not, after all I would then also be

an illusion, and thus they are always like me.

This is what makes them so dear and worthy of veneration for me:

they are like me. Therefore, I can love them. And this is now a teaching

you will laugh about: love, oh Govinda, seems to me to be the

most important thing of all. To thoroughly understand the world,

to explain it, to despise it, may be

the thing great thinkers do. But I'm only interested in being able to

love the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and me,

to be able tolook upon it and me and all beings with

love and admiration and great respect."

"This I understand," spoke Govinda. "But this very thing was discovered

by the exalted one to be a deception.

He commands benevolence, clemency, sympathy, tolerance, but not love;

he forbade us to tie our heart in love to earthly things."

"I know it," said Siddhartha; his smile shone golden.

"I know it,Govinda. And behold, with this we are right in the middle of the

thicket of opinions, in the dispute about words. For I cannot deny, my

words of love are in a contradiction, a seeming contradiction with

Gotama's words. For this very reason, I distrust in words so much, for

I know, this contradiction is a deception. I know that I am in

agreement with Gotama. How should he not know love, he,

who has discovered all elements of human existence in their transitoriness, in

their meaninglessness, and yet loved people thus much, to use a long,

laborious life only to help them, to teach them!

Even with him, even with your great teacher,

I prefer the thing over the words, place more

importance on his acts and life than on his speeches, more on the

gestures of his hand than his opinions. Not in his speech, not in his

thoughts, I see his greatness, only in his actions, in his life.

"

For a long time, the two old men said nothing.

Then spoke Govinda, while bowing for a farewell: "I thank you, Siddhartha, for telling me

some of your thoughts. They are partially strange thoughts, not all

have been instantly understandable to me. This being as it may, I thank

you, and I wish you to have calm days."

(But secretly he thought to himself: This Siddhartha is a bizarre

person, he expresses bizarre thoughts, his teachings sound foolish.

So differently sound the exalted one's pure teachings, clearer, purer,

more comprehensible, nothing strange, foolish, or silly is contained in

them. But different from his thoughts seemed to me Siddhartha's hands

and feet, his eyes, his forehead, his breath, his smile, his greeting,his walk.

Never again, after our exalted Gotama has become one with the

Nirvana, never since then have I met a person of whom I felt: this is aholy man!

Only him, this Siddhartha, I have found to be like this. May

his teachings be strange, may his words sound foolish; out of his gaze

and his hand, his skin and his hair, out of every part of him shines a

purity, shines a calmness, shines a cheerfulness and mildness and

holiness, which I have seen in no other person since the final death of

our exalted teacher.)

As Govinda thought like this, and there was a conflict in his heart, he

once again bowed to Siddhartha, drawn by love. Deeply he bowed to him

who was calmly sitting.

"Siddhartha," he spoke, "we have become old men.

It is unlikely forone of us to see the other again in this incarnation.

I see, beloved,that you have found peace. I confess that I haven't found it.

Tell me,oh honourable one, one more word, give me something on my way which I

can grasp, which I can understand! Give me something to be with me on

my path. It is often hard, my path, often dark, Siddhartha."

Siddhartha said nothing and looked at him with the ever unchanged,quiet smile.

Govinda stared at his face, with fear, with yearning,suffering, and the eternal search

was visible in his look, eternal not-finding.Siddhartha saw it and smiled.

"Bend down to me!" he whispered quietly in Govinda's ear.

"Bend down to me! Like this, even closer! Very close! Kiss my forehead, Govinda!"

But while Govinda with astonishment, and yet drawn by great love and

expectation, obeyed his words, bent down closely to him, and touched his

forehead with his lips, something miraculous happened to him. While his

thoughts were still dwelling on Siddhartha's wondrous words,

while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time,

to imagine Nirvana and Sansara as one,

while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in

him against an immense love and veneration, this happened to him:

He no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha, instead he saw

other faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of

hundreds, of thousands, which all came and disappeared, and yet all

seemed to be there simultaneously, which all constantly changed and

renewed themselves, and which were still all Siddhartha.

He saw the face of a fish, a carp, with an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the

face of a dying fish, with fading eyes--he saw the face of a new-bornchild,

red and full of wrinkles, distorted from crying--he saw the face

of a murderer, he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another

person--he saw, in the same second, this criminal in bondage, kneeling

and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his

sword--he saw the bodies of men and women, naked in positions and cramps

of frenzied love--he saw corpses stretched out, motionless, cold, void--

he saw the heads of animals, of boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of

bulls, of birds--he saw gods, saw Krishna, saw Agni--he saw all of these

figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another, each one

helping the other, loving it, hating it, destroying it, giving re-birth

to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately painful confession of

transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each one only transformed,was

always re-born, received evermore a new face, without any time

having passed between the one and the other face--and all of these

figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated along

and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered by

something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing, like

a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or mask of

water, and this mask was smiling, and this mask was Siddhartha's smiling

face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips.

And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the mask, this smile of

oneness above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above

the thousand births and deaths, this smile of Siddhartha was precisely

the same, was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate,impenetrable,

perhaps benevolent, perhaps mocking, wise, thousand-foldsmile of Gotama,

the Buddha, as he had seen it himself with great

respect a hundred times.

Like this, Govinda knew, the perfected ones are smiling.

Not knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted

a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there existed

a Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his innermost self

as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury of which tasted

sweet, being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self, Govinda

still stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face, which

he had just kissed, which had just been the scene of all manifestations,

all transformations, all existence. The face was unchanged, after under

its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again, he

smiled silently, smiled quietly and softly, perhaps very benevolently,

perhaps very mockingly, precisely as he used to smile, the exalted one.

Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears, he knew nothing of, ran down his old face;

like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest

veneration in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before

him who was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything

he had ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to

him in his life.

Ok, so I guess the picture link doesn't work at the moment, unless you're

on my friend Nejda's computer...soooooo, you'll just have to use your imagination for the moment,

which will probably better than the pictures anywhoo ;-p

I've somewhat retreated for the last few weeks,

been hangin' out in my internal cave and enjoying my 'bear-ness'.

Ever since I found out that the name 'Vassi' means 'poop' in Hindi,

I've been feeling kinda poopy

and down in the dumps. Go figure :-) Ok, not really...I actually

laughed a lot when my Indian friends shared this farce...

Maybe it's that for the past few weeks, I've just been trying to

embody my 'poopness' by feeling that way...poopy.

Somewhat unsure about what exactly I'm doing with my life...

what does it mean to be truly helpful and 'of service'?

How can I be truly

helpful and of service when I don't have any clear underwear?

Who am I to

think I can be really helpful and 'of service' when my name means 'poop'?

What

is the meaning of life, really?

What does it matter when you don't have any clean

underwear?

What *is* that purple stain on my couch?

Who took my dirty tennis shoe?

Was

my dirty tennis shoe helpful and 'of service'?

If so, there may yet be hope for me...

and all those sorts of deep questions in life that Peace Corps will throw in your face.

Luckily, I've found the answer to all these questions....

the answer is...

are you ready?

It's Ultimate Frisbee!

Well, ok, maybe ultimate frisbee won't help much with dirty underwear or

missing tennis shoes, but it has gotten me out of my cave, which is an important

step for a bear ;-) During the kids' spring break, we started to gather at the

Momchilgrad stadium to throw plates around. (The name for 'frisbee' in Bulgaria is 'letiashta

chiniya', literally 'flying plate'). The best thing is that none of the plates broke and no one

got hurt. The kids have so much enthusiasm that it makes me smile just thinkin' about

them...Engin and Ervin and Djoshkun and Tolunai and Ilker and Djengis and Beisim and

Ashkun and Denis and Ohkan...the kids had quite a few laughs as I tried to

pronounce their names. Hey, I'm learning their names... and they're learning frisbee.

It all takes time, but it's oh so wonderful to be learning something with enthusiastic kiddos.

And, the whole thing is thanks to Nejda...I shared the idea with her, thinking

we might gather sometime in the next few weeks...hey, it takes time to be a bear. She said, 'Great,

the kids are on spring break. So, if you wanna do it, you have to act fast.' And I did, and I'm oh so

grateful. Thank you, Nejda!

The amazing fruit pizza made by Cynthia (my site mate) and yours truly about a week before the India trip. It may sound weird, but it tasted amazing!

See more pictures from India at: www.msnusers.com/MyWebDocuments !

There will be pictures here within the upcoming week...hang in there, dear readers, and i'll do the same...be patient with all the things unresolved in your heart, and be patient with vassi's blog too, while you're at it :-)