What to do

The truth is that so far this trip has been me stepping in and then getting shook upside down by my ankles with everything flailing and change falling out of my pockets, etc. I'm questioning everything. Nothing seems real, everything seems real, nothing the way it was, and yet really clear that this is how is has always been. In short, as in practice, what has changed is me.

With this in mind, I'm doing a lot of thinking about what my priorities are and what they ought to be, what my intention is, and where I'm putting my efforts. It seems that one way to do this is to set fire to everything and then sort through to see what remains. Another way is to hold one object/concept in each hand and see if I can tell which is more important, more real, more valid, useful, and which isn't. This method is a little more challenging because we all get so attached to things we think we are--but really we are nothing.

Specifically, I'm going back and forth on what I'm doing here in India, studying at AYRI, my "career", Livingmysore.com, this blog, as well as some other things (or are they "commitments"?). So, this means that this blog in particular has an uncertain fate. I haven't made any final decisions yet, but because of this process, I've been absent from writing lately. I'm debating whether or not I'd like to go private as I'm pretty sure I want to keep writing. Tough decision though, considering I feel very strongly about sharing and access to information and all. Hmm.

Update

I didn't die of rabies and neither did the dog (in case you were wondering). No. My absence is a result of something else. Call it writer's block if you like. I have nothing to write. Yes I'm here doing all my silly little India things, absorbing a lot, but a little bit unable to process at the moment. I'm still learning how to balance on two feet. Maybe I should just keep it simple.

Southern Star Hotel Breakfast Buffet is tasty.
Sandhya's looked tasty but I was stuffed with the breakfast buffet.
Sandalwood factory sounds fun.
Lunar eclipse on Sunday so no practice until Monday.
Sunday's afternoon conference is canceled on account of the moonday.
I'm reading "First there is a mountain" but can't get into it.

There--that's a start.

On nothing at all

I haven't been in to practice for the last few days but I suppose that technically, every moment is practice. I'm riding the scooter which is so much fun and always questioning what is really me and what is conditioned. Yes, that was me drinking coffee at breakfast the last three days. Yes, that was me on the right side of the road but mostly I've got the left thing down (it is a lot less strict than hand differentiation).

I've reached the end of my dizzying catapult into this new place and am now starting to make out the edges of all the boundaries. Like where I end and where nothing begins. I'm starting to realize that there is no other lump in the bed besides my pillow and that the loss of human connection is a hole that is not easily filled. I'm beginning to remember the spoons. I want this month to go quickly so that you'll arrive sooner, but I want it to go slow because this is all the time we have.

Tomorrow I'm back at the shala and I feel like it is where I'm supposed to be (naturally). It just makes sense. I feel like I have no say in what happens from day to day but have all the say in what I attach. Or maybe it's just the altitude. You know who you are.

Scooty's are for girls

So I have a Kinetic.

"You have licence?"
"Oh yes, international."
"But you are riding?"
"First time."
Head wobble/smile.
Head wobble/smile.
"Helmet?"
"Okay okay--tomorrow."
Head wobble/smile.
Head wobble/smile.
Done and done.

It is a little bulky, a little old, a little toy-like, but I'm having fun. So far, me and the Kinetic have had an oil infusion, a visit to the mechanic, new spark plugs, a couple of kick starts, an unreliable gas gauge, and a finicky start button. I feel like I'll be an expert soon enough. Plus I think I have an extra advantage considering I got my crash course in Indian scooter driving from an Indian. "So when do I honk again?" I ask over and over. "Whenever anything is moving?"

It isn't so easy learning how to ride with a passenger. It makes it much more challenging for the beginner to balance the weight. "Do not get a motorcycle," my teacher tells me. "I can tell you that 100% you will fall." One has to appreciate the honesty. And here I am almost a week later wondering how I managed to ever do without. The fun part? It is easier to balance the faster you go...

Coffee Invigoration

And there I was, covered in muck, inhaling coffee and thinking about childhood.

I was two years old again with a big cup of milky sweet coffee in which I dipped my gigantic breakfast cookies (champararas). We had journeyed to visit family in some overgrown bougainvillea Latin country and I never wanted to leave. Not that I knew that then. But now that I am inhaling the aroma of my roots, I know that I want to go back. And I want a cup of coffee real bad.

A friend had this incredible idea that we should spend our day of rest (Saturdays there is no yoga class) at the Windflower Hotel spa called Emerge. A car would pick us up at the coconut stand and the rest would be pure bliss. We drove about 25 minutes across the city and into a remote area with lots of vegetation and a view of the mountains. The hotel was beautiful with lots of open space and manicured gardens, etc. It took a while to pick my poison, but I settled on the "Coffee invigoration massage" which consisted of 90 minutes of pure relaxation and invigoration and anti cellulite super powers (or so the menu said).

I was escorted into a lovely treatment room, got kind of naked and sat in a wooden chair. I had two therapists. One placed my feet in a rosewater soak while the other gave me a head oil massage followed by back, neck, and shoulders. After I was sufficiently incapacitated, they led me to a wood table where I was given the ayurvedic oil rubdown followed by a coffee scrub and mask. I was covered in goo. It was fabulous!

Guest Blogger: Jordana

Yoga newbie, Jordana, shares a glimpse of her practice today with Ajay (one of the "other" ashtanga yoga teachers).

Although my life is moving slowly, my days are still filled with adventures, mishaps and a lot of bendy body positions.

Every Thursday "Ah Jay" holds a special class called "Vinyasa class". [This is not one of those flow-happy ashtanga variations popular in the west. Instead, it is a class which focuses largely on the "vinyasa" part of the ashtanga practice.] It is hard to explain what a vinyasa is but basically he wants me to sit cross legged, then using my arm and ab strength to lift my entire body off of the ground, move my legs through my arms and end in a push up position. I tried to tell him that my legs just don't fit through my arms. His response..."madame Jordana...you are much silly." Strangely enough, after an hour of squeezing, contorting, and sweating through every piece of clothing I had on, I made about an inch of progress. Better luck next Thursday.

The class then continued to include shoulder and hip opening. Being new to yoga I obviously have very closed shoulders so Ah Jay paired me with an advanced student...Nilesh. Nilesh is from Delhi and is doing his teacher training. He has a long pony tail, is quite hairy and does yoga in a small pair of bicycle shorts. To open my shoulders, I sat cross legged and crossed my arms behind my back, Nilesh sat across from me in a straddle position with his thighs resting on my thighs for extra pressure and then held my hands (which are still crossed behind my back). I don't know if you can completely get the pose, very hard to describe, but the point is....it was very close and very sweaty! At first I was a little bit uncomfortable when the sweat dripped from his forehead onto my chest, but within time....NAMASTE! Woah India.

The "locked in" story

From the sordid tales and mixed up files of Mysore Musings, I bring you the terrific and harrowing tale of Jordana and Aliza...(aka the "locked in" story).

My Air India flight companions were the sub-continent newbies from Canada known as Jordana and Aliza. After battling the impossible, they secured a wonderfully located apartment near the shala etc. One of the many benefits of this particular property is the almost daily maid service (general cleaning--never the toilet--plus laundry). Jordana is at Anu's while Aliza is coating her face with bright green (was it?) face mask. A maid approached outside and upon reaching the front door (a screen door with metalwork permitting unauthorized entry)--knocked. Thinking no one was home, the maid entered with her own key. Unawares of the announced visitor, Aliza walks out to the living room and greets a bewildered maid. The maid doesn't speak English and Aliza doesn't speak Kannada. The maid wants her laundry, Aliza doesn't want washing today. The maid gestures with her arm--chop! Aliza says "no" by shaking her head realizing it was more of a head wobble and might mean yes. The maid thinks it is yes and moves onto more explicit demonstrations.

The maid pushes past Aliza into her bedroom, reaches under the bed, and retrieves a machete.
Aliza's face is--well, you can only imagine.

The maid motions again-chop! Aliza: Um...no thanks. The maid is back in the living room, Aliza slips into her room and closes the door. The maid leaves.

When Aliza emerges a little later to meet Jordana across the street for a meal, she realizes that she is locked in.

You see, in India, regardless of whether or not there is a "regular" lock on your door, there is usually also one of these locks. Not exactly sure why this would be commonly located outside the door. Perhaps many families have crazy uncles or other shut-ins? Who knows. Anyway, the maid had locked Aliza in from the outside. She had no cellphone. She waited. And she waited. And then she started banging on the door, begging pedestrians to let her out. Eventually Ganesh hears the commotion and maybe even sees Aliza's chin poking between the bars on her screen door. "Jordana!" He calls, "I think your friend needs you!"

Just a warning

Reading this or any blog could be constituted as a distraction.

Just thought you ought to be made aware of this.

I thought I might as well ask and please feel free to give your honest opinion...

Is this blog a bad thing? Should I take it down? Or make it private? Is it the antithesis of what I'm trying to do? Is it worth it?

I met a couple of people today who kindly told me that it was definitely a detriment to society. Is that how you feel too?

I'm not writing for anyone but myself. I hope that my family and friends can use it as a window into what I'm up to because sometimes it's hard for me to say what I mean in person and to keep up emails. And for those of you who have stumbled across, I hope you get something out if it too.

I await your responses.

Shipwrecked part 2

[I'm the rag doll and India is the person.]

"I love you wake up!" Huh huh what? I heard that. My eyes open.

[How it actually happened.]

John and I are standing in front of across-the-park-house-number-one negotiating a room price with the owner. That's when the landlady's not so nice German Shepard jumped o to the fence, wiggled part way through, and bit me on my arm. "Your dog just bit me!" She smiles and wags her head "you wash".

The other time was when on my way to practice I heard some leaves on the side of the road rustle. I looked expecting a bird and instead saw the cutest tiniest stumbliest puppy in the whole world. (Really, it was that cute.) I mentally calculated my estimated time in India, what I projected for the next 5-10 years and had enough self knowledge to turn around and continue down the road to the shala. Five hours later I'm sitting at the coconut stand when I notice that same puppy in the arms of a small boy walking along side his plastic bag collecting family and I smile.

Okay okay I'm here.

Shipwrecked

Sometimes you have to just start from the beginning. It sucks because everything demands effort and it is almost impossible to let our attachment to the fruits of our labor go but in order to transform, it has to happen. Destruction as a form of creation because nothing is ever as it once was.

And so as I settle in, I notice that maybe people smile a little differently, the rickshaw fares have gone up, does he or doesn't he (Sharath) remember my name? Stupid little things that mean nothing but the newness still shocks the system. It's like sliding into a pair of old sandals that once fit like a glove but now your foot rests clumsily inside--different now than the imprint of the past you's foot. Same same only different.

Tired, but feeling considerably less of the jet lag. I suspect establishing some sort of routine this time around has been helpful. I still must admit that I feel completely sucked dry from all of it: leaving my love back home, family, friends, my teacher, my shala, everything to start all over from the beginning again here in Mysore. I wonder if it is like this every time you come. Everything is erased and you start from the beginning and as your experience matures, it takes less and less time to acclimate.

For instance, in practice at the end of last year's trip and in practice in New York, I found back bending after a primary only practice to be torture (relatively speaking of course). But after having my body completely destroyed in all the traveling since Thursday, I feel like the slate was wiped and leveled the playing field. Everything felt stiff and by the end I stopped thinking about it and my mind wandered to how lonely I felt, how sad I was, and what the fuck was I doing here because this is such a fucking joke. I'm doing wheels...123...and then I stand up and standing toe to toe and nose to nose is Sharath. "Oh hi!" I say. He smiles. "I have two more"I say. He tells me he'll wait (he doesn't always). I want to cry inside or maybe laugh because everything is going to be alright and it is. That's what it is like here. You are thrown into a pool and told to swim. That's how you learn. Even if you can't, they'll let you hit your edge and save you before you drown.

Tina opened her new breakfast place today on the other side of KRS Road. It was so good to see her and enjoy a little comfort food. I usually dive into the act of eating but since I've gotten here I've felt a bit detached from it. My mind is somewhere else but I'm not sure where. When I find out, I'll be sure to let myself know.

It's shala time! / my first day back at AYRI

My brain is having a hard time putting together cohesive thoughts and what does come out are bursts of jittery fragmented ideas with no transitions from one concept to the other. I think this is jet lag.

I went back and forth a bit yesterday--do I register or do I not? I decided to leave it up to the fates. If I got my pin number for my debit card right, I would go on and register, if I got it wrong, I wouldn't. I grabbed my bag and walked down the road to the shala passing through the day-long tree cutting project in its first stages (by the end of the day, it was all gone and in the process was complete chaos). Heavy limbs were falling, people were gathered around yelling "watch out!" and I was tip toeing over branches and leaves as a heavy limb fell a few feet behind me.

There is a man that always hangs out in front of the shala. You go to him and tell him what you need and he generally points you in the right direction with a grin. "Can I register?" He wags his head and motions for me to follow him inside the shala (which is also where Pattabhi Jois -- Guruji -- and his family live). "I need to get money first." He wags again and sits down. I walk around the corned to the State Bank etc. to try my luck at numbers. I'm rolling over the possible combinations. You see, I thought I had the pin written down, but threw it away in one of the mass purges last week which obviously wasn't the brightest moment in my career. I thought I new it, but the more I thought about it, was that 2 a 6?, the 8 a 0?, the 1 a 7?, and so on. I think about things visually and as I pictured the code scrawled on that paper, the numbers morphed form one to the other. I enter the atm room, shove the card in a few times, pound in the password too many times and get my card blocked. Great.

At this point, I'm pretty much set on practicing the following morning (Sunday) and so walk back to the shala and tell shala man that I broke my card and so don't have money but can I still register please? He makes a face that says it all and then tells me to go ask Sharath. I climb the infamous shala stairs, past clusters of havaianas to which I add my own and step into the waiting room/vestibule of the shala. The door to the shala is open and I step inside onto the massive area rugs. As I peek into the office, I see that there are many people gathered and decide that I better wait my turn. I pace in the waiting room for what seems like years until the other students come out and I head in.

First, I see Guruji who is sitting in the chair behind the desk wearing a skull cap. Sharath is standing next to him and offers me a seat. This is when I start spewing sentences and stumbling over my words like a drug addict in withdrawal. He tells me to come back the next day at 4:45am to register with the money. Now I really need to get the money.

I call the bank, I call everyone, I lose hope, it works out (thanks Kim), I get the cash, and then hit the hay at about 7pm and wake up this morning at 3:30am for practice/registration.

It is very quiet and very dark outside except for the occasional creak of a gate or slapping of a yoga student's flip flops on the way to class. It is important to realize before anything else that the clocks in the shala are about 15 minutes in advance, this is also known as "shala time". You walk through the dark alongside silent faces to the front gate and then you wait. By now it is 4:30am. By a quarter till, shala man opens the gates and the usually quietly composed and serene yoga students push each other like fiends up the stairs and squeeze through the doors to get a space. One might assume that there is a spot for everyone, however, not all spots are created equal.

The bum spots:
1. By an open window -- breeze and mosquito central
2. Next to a wall -- you have to move and re orientate yourself during some of the postures or risk running into the wall
3. By the bathroom -- the ceiling is low and some people can't extend their arms over their heads
4. In the dressing room and waiting room -- breezy, mosquitoes, and you're not really a part of the group
5. The hump -- the shala floors are made of marble (or is it granite?) and are covered with massive multi-colored area rugs. At the places where the mats layer one another, a hump is formed. When it is really crowded, your mat might be moved on top of this making practice very awkward, lopsided, and uncomfortable

My spot today? Next to Nuno (of Portugal) and Lea (Ashtanga Canarias) on the far left side of the room. I practiced here a bit last year and I guess that as far as spots go it was great!

After putting my mat down, I went straight to the office to register. I was relieved that Sharath didn't laugh in my face and say that he meant 4:45 in the afternoon. I sat down, filled out the application and promised to bring my photo and passport tomorrow. I gave him the shala fees (27, 530 rupees which is a huge stack of bills) and he filled out a registration card with my name, date, expiration, and mysore practice time of 7am. Nice! I flipped over the application to sign my agreement that I would not practice asana or pranayama with any other teachers in Mysore, stop when the teachers tell me, and there was one more stipulation but I don't remember what it was. Then, I gathered all my courage and asked Sharath about the poses from last year and how "it" works. One week of primary was his answer. So today I had the led class, then Monday through Thursday will be mysore style where I will practice primary series. On Friday and Sunday, I will go to the led first series class and then Monday I will practice mysore doing my full primary practice plus the second series postures I got last year up until Dhanurasana before I end with back bending and finishing poses.

Practice was electric. I was shaky, stiff, and slightly disoriented from the jet lag and days off from yoga. I sweat so much from all the traveling and from working so hard. Sharath teaches like no one else. Muscles become used and blatantly obvious in ways that I can never manage to create on my own. The hard moments were in utthita hasta padangustasana, navasana, sirsasana, and of course uthplutih. But I was proud of myself and how far I've come from last year. There is always a struggle, but at least I could keep up (twitching and all).

After practice, everyone heads outside for a coconut and then I headed home for a rest. I still am so excited that I am actually here!

India -- Round Two

My original intention (while I was scheming in the middle of some airport somewhere in India) was to publish my sleep deprived ramblings that covered 20 hours (or 2 days) -- same same only different -- but have since thought better of it. Not sure that I'm much more coherent 5 hours since I stopped keeping count, but at least I'm writing.

All that said, we (my two travel companions and I) were greeted on the tarmac with the simultaneous wave of humidity and unreasonable acts of kindness. We smiled the whole way. I dropped the pair off at the Green Hotel and have now planted myself in front of a friend's (with whom I plan to stay for a couple of days) computer . Some sandy-eyed reflection time, Chinese laxative tea, a shower, and a coconut are sure to set me right.

But the point? I've landed. I'm here. It feels like I have never left.

Going to Mysore!

Things to do on your last two days:

Get a fabulous haircut
Pack
Eat delicious Italian food
Practice
Drink tap water just because you can
Say goodbye to family and friends
Wear short skirts, low cut shirts, and expose your shoulders
Get all finances settled
Go to the movies
Get all documentation in order
Eat sushi, peaches, thai, apples, new mexican

Wave goodbye!

Don't you see I love you? And tips for karandavasana

Picture me shaking a rag doll viciously while screaming "I LOVE YOU!" while its head bobs back and forth and the stitch securing its button eye loosens and the eye is dangling down. And now imagine that the rag doll and I take turns shaking each other but we can't seem to figure out how to both be rag dolls or people at the same time. It goes like this: Hug the doll, love the doll, freak out and shake the doll, hug the doll again.

I wanted to practice, I wanted to swim, instead I'll run around this fantastic city and hopefully remember to remember that it won't be surrounding me tomorrow.

Kirsten's Tips for Karandavasana
1. Be sure to make the lotus as tight as possible
2. Stretch your knees up to the sky first as if someone were pulling you up. This helps you to find the bandhas
3. Steady your breath
4. Simultaneously lean your shoulders forward as you wrap your pelvis around an imaginary monkey bar. Aim your knees for your kidneys.
5. As you move, think of being inside a cylinder. You are compacting yourself and dropping straight down.
6. You have to lean your chin forward more than you think (like in bhujapidasana) to counterbalance perching your knees on your arms.
7. And then you come up and jump back. The end.

My tips for karandavasana?
1. Picture yourself on the main lawn of central park having yoga playtime/picnic with friends.
2. Be calm, relaxed, almost lazy--the grass smells fresh
3. Look forward as much as possible--you can see your thumbs and past that thousands of blades of grass
4. Stay soft yet in control--the grass is cool under your forearms
5. Nick your upper arms and then bounce to the floor butt first. Then laugh and try again.

Full Circle

About one year later I am again sitting with Kate in front of a computer listening to php fetch css go in one ear and out the other with one foot here and the other in India. Bless her patience. My flight to India is almost a day away and I want to give New York a big squeeze. I feel unprepared every time I say goodbye and one part empty one part giddy as I stand on street corners alone.

I'm all packed up and ready to go and worrying about the silly little things instead of the big ones. Maybe they seem easier to fix or maybe those are the things that make something special. I'm stepping cautiously and feel like Bambi learning to stand and the rug gets pulled out from under me and I stand and then a rip current pulls everything away but I'm still there in shallow waters watching my belongings dragged out to sea. A little sadness tugging at the bottom left corner of my heart, a little happiness and excitement pulling up the top.

I was hoping to post a picture of me happily perched in pasasana or karandavasana as a "final project" or something to punctuate my time in New York, but instead we'll all have to settle for the intangible glory of tears and toil and little glimpses of liberation.

As I savor the last few moments with my closest friends (and a few tears) I can smell the masala in the distance and can't hardly wait to shed this skin.

Upcoming Solar Eclipse

I hope I can see it from inside the plane!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20080725/sc_space/viewersguideaug1solareclipse

Yoga--The Ultimate Health Tonic?

I just finished reading this funny little book called Yoga, Youth, and Reincarnation by Jess Stern. The author spends some time studying yoga (and all things hippie and new age) in Concord with his teacher, Marcia. He goes from absolute neophyte to adept shoulderstander and believer in the magical benefits of yoga practice. Among the claims of relief from aches and pains, increased energy, change of appetite, reduced stress levels, etc. are claims that his teacher hasn't been sick in years because of the yoga. Yoga is so great. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda.

I must be doing something wrong because I have had a cough that sounds like I was brought home from a kennel last Sunday. I threw out our moldy shower curtain, dusted furniture, cleaned floors, turned off the AC, broke out the neti pot, and gargled salt water. When I'm sick or injured, I always think about how I don't appreciate feeling healthy when there is nothing wrong. I make a little vow to myself that I'll savor every moment, but usually, a day or two passes before I realize that I am not sneezing green boogers every two seconds.


Signed,

Mysore Musings--The Most Boring Blog in the World (cus it just don't go nowhere)

Could you please hold for a moment?

Sure, I'll hold.
As if I have another option.

6 days until my flight to India.

[Sigh.]

I just want to be alone. I feel like I have been living in a thrift store the last couple of weeks--lots of things once held dear. I just taught my last class and all my checks are in the mail (or so they say). The "throw out" stuff is thrown out. The "giveaway" stuff is given away. The "to sell" stuff is being sold. I've said a lot of goodbyes. I'm unraveling a sweater. I'm a tied-down hot air balloon waiting to float into the sky.

I need to check with my supervisor, can you please hold again?
Yes, of course.

My asana practice is a TV on in another room. I'm going, I'm practicing, and then it's the next day again. But even when I'm not looking at the TV, the shows keep playing and in practice the same holds true. I let out a yelp when I landed on my upper arms in karandavasana and then went on with my day as if it happened to someone else or me in a future time.

Waiting is the hardest part. Or is it being on hold?

You'll need to dial this number instead.

I wonder what a snake feels like when it crawls out of its own skin or a snail that trades its home for another. Is it like a much wanted shower or is it like a small death?

me, myself, and all the stuff I own (apparently)

"Hello?"
"What's up?"
"You called me."
"And I called to say 'what's up!'" I'm not getting out of this one.
"Well--" I'm standing in the doorway of my closet with one hand on the phone and one hand on the shelf, my face is buried in folds of clothing, and suddenly I can't breathe. "I don't think I can do this." Tears are welling up. They are just clothes. What's wrong with me?
"Come on, you're the most non-hoarding person I know!"
"But..." I begin to ramble between swallowed sobs.
She interrupts, "Well, anyway, guess what? The baby is kicking now." And "Did you know a milk shake is just empty calories?" And "Guess what? I'm getting married!" And "Remember that time when--" As my brain travels across the country to rest on my best friend's lap, my hands are throwing things into the toss-out-pile, the maybe-think-about-storing-it pile (because you can't handle the thought of not possessing it at the moment), the recycle-please pile, and sadly-the-garbage-bin.

Two people in one space surrounded by the years in New York, the years in love, the years cohabiting, the many avatars of ourselves and our imaginations. We can't walk without falling.

This is me as executioner. This lives. This dies.

I am supposed to kill artist me.
I am supposed to kill knitter me.
I am supposed to kill sentimental me.
I am supposed to kill living in New York me.
I am supposed to kill yoga teacher me.
I am supposed to kill academic me.
I am supposed to kill chef me.
etc.

Maybe if I only had to bury them it would be easier. But I know inside that I'd sneak some things out of the country. But they look at me with these sad eyes filled with hope and dreams of what could be and it's hard. I'm thinking this as I dust off the cover of the "Guatemala 2005" hanging wall calendar. Can I really live without this?

Purging on a full moon isn't a good idea emotionally as it gets quite intense. Or maybe that's the only day you should really do it.

Today I'm casually thumbing through the paperwork-to-be-sorted pile feeling good about last night's meltdown and subsequent breakthrough when a small piece of paper torn from a notebook falls to the ground.

I wish I knew
I was dying
50 years ago
because I would
have paid more
attention to what
I pushed aside

Past me watching present me and leaving her a note. Future me watching present me tells past me that leaving a note would be a good idea. Future me is past me and writes the note for present me. Present me is future me and past me too.

Happy Birthday Guruji! A look at last year's celebration

Amongst the moving, organizing, seeing friends, and doing research for the upcoming teacher training/immersion post, I 've been really busy. In light of the circumstances, I thought it would be fun to relive last year's birthday party...

http://mysoremusings.blogspot.com/2007/07/joys-of-eating-finger-food-and.html

Interesting note: Guruji's birthday always falls on the new moon and so does Guru Purnima. The event marks the birthday of Vyasa who was the author of the Mahabharata (among other deeds). Being that he was a great teacher, it is an occasion to celebrate all teachers. The name "guru" refers to "teacher" and "purnima" means "full moon".