Mogley's Box

This beautiful box is from Varanasi, my favorite city (so far) in India.

It carried a vile of sweetgrass essential oil that a young local named Mogley gave me after he be'd with me at the outdoor crematory along the ghats in this most holiest of cities, explaining how death is not taboo in India...that only us Westerners think it's distasteful to see someone's head melting over a fire in the great wide open, or the local pack of stray dogs fighting over human bones.

It is - as Mogley pointed out - the natural order of things...

Even though the vile of oil has been long gone, I can still smell the sweetgrass on the box.

I can still see Mogley, sitting with me on the floor of his family's tiny apothecary, him explaining what oils would be best for me and me giving him energy-work, clearing some pain from his heart, in exchange for his warm and trustworthy hospitality. Both of us smitten with gratitude...

I can still feel myself getting lost and happily surrendering to his leadership as we weaved past cows and around piles of shit down the thin back streets of the City, where parades of mourners carrying their loved ones' coffins towards the ghat to be burned and I seemed to be the only tourist around...

I can still see the lassi shop that Mogley took me to. I can feel my ambivalence to the shop owners' offer of some Bhang.

As I stopped tonight to marvel at this beautiful box, I can feel India stir in my blood.

I can feel the level of aliveness that I felt in each and every moment there...Always something new to see or experience, always a little on edge because I was traveling alone and therefore always so present with everything and everyone around...

There is a certain level of trust in the chaos of India. A deep knowing that Spirit's got it covered there...and tonight Mogley's box is a beautiful reminder that Spirit's got it covered Everywhere.

The Road from Manali to Amristar

Layers of India are peeling off,

And I see deeper into "the game".

Street kids who read minds,

And holy hot springs too scalding to enter.


In the cold nights of the Himalayas,

I dream about past lovers,

And I create my future.

A one way ticket to my destiny.


Fellow tourists commiserating about the cauldron of emotions that bubble on the buses and trains.

Sad to leave but ready to go.

Unexplained tears roll down my cheeks.


How exhilarating it is

on the dirty, dusty 

16-hour local bus to the next City.

When Infinite possibilities lie ahead.

alone again,

to be reborn, 

To be FREE.

If only we could remember 

this is Truth in every moment...


There's something that happens 

around hour 11 of the 16 hour bus ride,

After the teenage boy vomited several times,

And many have been standing the entire ride,

And a flat tire at midnight that took 1 hour and a dozen Indians to fix...

The I's on this overcrowded bus melt

Into one collective.

We are ONE energy.

now I can feel everyone's eyelids heavy from lack of sleep,

Not just my own.

We bounce from the bumps on the road in unison.

Over the potholes together now,

I am no longer a tourist.

I am part of this lovely Indian heartbeat

on the trail from Manali to Amristar.

This strong heart that still smiles and laughs 

On hour 11 of this 16 hour journey.

And I realize that I am amongst Buddhas.


A prelude to Amritsar,

Golden Temple of Oneness.

Tears trickle down my face again

This time from sheer beauty.

A prayer or two matches each thali plate 

filled with love 

and cleaned from Seva,

pure service. 

My heart is open 

From the utter magnificence,

the uncanny resonance,

And the sweet Parshan

That I share 

With everyONE.


Thank you Mother India,

for reminding me in the most unexpected of moments.

At 1am on the winding road

from Manali to amritsar.

And for leading me to this holy Temple

made of love and gold.

India Has Mesmerized Me

India has mesmerized me.
At first with her smells.
Wafts of sweet rose
and fresh dirt.
Homemade meals packed with spices,
Burning incense and charcoal fires.

She has showed me her wealth,
As I found myself being waiting on by servants and traveling with drivers.
And in true form,
she also showed me more garbage and dirty pigs,
more rusty, broken pipes than anyone should see, let alone live with.
...But then somehow even the dirty and smelly and broken in India becomes beautiful,
Simply because it is part of her too.

The land of opposites and extremes indeed...

There are people, cars, cows, tik-tiks and buses EVERYWHERE.
All of my dancing in the rhythm of Chaos has made it surprisingly easy surrender to the mayhem of the roads,
Trusting that the lane my auto rickshaw driver created for himself,
In between the garbage truck who is driving on the road's shoulder and the cow looking for grass to chew in the middle of the street,
will get us safely to our destination.

I am constantly in awe of India.
In awe of the Sikhs who pause to pray together on the train after dusk while a man passes their berth offering homemade chai.
Of perfectly folded saris made with the most beautiful and boldest of colors:
Bright blues and purples, blood oranges and reds worn with pride,
Amidst the mud and the monkey shit.
Of adorable little Indian girls who recite to me the story of Rama and Sita,
And tell me how they learned in school that the most important value is cleaning up after yourself:
To throw away your garbage.

And on the inside,
I've had tons of moments already in India where I'm sure I've know that person,
or witnessed that scene before, or already had that conversation.
Déjà u moments.
I make them mean I am still going strong on my path.
(But then again, can we ever REALLY be off of our paths?)

Life is a dance,
and we are the dancers.
I feel that India is taking me for a glorious and wonderful whirl.

She is showing me that every time I follow my heart, the Universe (God, whatever word you want to use) provides. Always.

When I let go of all the thinking and journey from my mind into the depths of my heart, I am always provided for.

A mysterious game that I am collecting all the pieces of the puzzles for,
Following the bread crumbs of my existence.
I am being led by God
(when I let God lead me).

Life unfolds like a perfect dirty rose,
And I am shown the divine order in the midst of the chaos.

When I move through the shock and discomfort of a brand new moment,
I feel more alive than ever before.
I feel alive without ego.
Without pretense.
I am so small and insignificant in a massive world whose magic I won't ever understand
and will never cease to enjoy.

In almost every free moment I find myself acknowledging India,
Saying her name to myself like a new lover whom I can't help but adore
I get thrilled, humbled and grateful for the opportunity to be here.
For the opportunity to grow here in all the ways Im not even present to yet.