"Great Truths Are Distruibted Into Smaller Forms of Chaos"

A lot of laughter was to be had at high altitudes and although there was lack of oxygen there was by no means a lack of silliness. That ability to take ourselves lightly, cured us from the aches and pains that went hand in hand with the hours of trekking that day.

The Stellera chamaejasme L is from the family known as Thymelaeacea. Medicinal usage of this plant is to relieve disease and pain from swelling. It is used as a antiseptic for open wounds, poultice for swellings and fractured bone. Although it's slightly poisonous, seemly all plants in the Upper Dolpa are, and can cause headache if smelled, was one of the most vibrant plants we came across.

The funny thing about medicine is that it's main usage is for relieving, treating or preventing disease.

Last night a friend and I had the opportunity to see an exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Denver. As we walked up to the second floor, echoes of our feet and breath dragged behind us in a whisper, bouncing off the cement and metal that acted as the stairwell. We arrived to the Damian Hirsh exhibition. Eyes roamed past a few instillation's and rested on the wall across from us. Directly in the middle of the wall, large white shelves had been installed and various prescriptions were displayed. It could have been any ones medicine cabinet or any of the multiple drug stores that sweep across this country and those of others. I vividly remember walking into a Tibetan "hospital" and seeing this same display of bottles. Some where bandages, small glass bottles with medicinal plants resting within, and westernized antibiotics. There, in front of me last night, plastic bottles and cardboard containers were labeled with terms that are roughly unfamiliar to me, although I did happen to see an underlying theme. RELIEF. "constipation relief" "head ache relief" "relief of fever or swelling" "relief of pain" "Prozac" and "zantac".

I couldn't help but recognize the theme that is running through our country. People are constantly seeking relief. Relief of heartache, cold, sickness, stress, anxiety, bodily aches, emotional pains, or economic relief. If we get a cut, we stick a bandage on it. If we get a stomach ache, we take something to subside the discomfort. A fever = take Tylenol. Sleepless = sleeping pills. Infection: antibiotics. It's interesting to see that we have forgotten that these symptoms are our bodies way of communicating to us that something needs to change within our daily lives to restore order. We are seeking external material to restore an internal issue.

A fever is a good sign that the body is heating itself to kill off a virus. A bodily discomfort is the bodies way of saying "something isn't right here, what ever you are doing please stop" A stomach ache could possibly mean an allergy to a food. Stress could be a clue that you need to take more time for yourself and encourage time for reflection and ways to include more peaceful activities into your daily life. To be constipated could me various health issues but it could be as simple as adding more fiber and water into your diet. Many people turn to food, shopping, drugs or alcohol in order to suppress emotions.

While we are eager to get our hands on external remedies we aren't as easily ready to make the change within that might be able to prevent our ailments. Take the presidential election for instance. We are putting a lot of pressure on just one man to relieve our countries aliments. It's like saying, " Tylenol or Advil ". McCain vs. Obama. We can continue to pop a pill but the pain won't stop, it will only be suppressed and will continue to show itself until we get to the root of the problem. Our countries problems are not the result of just one man. Absurdity is what I call blaming a wrongful president for ALL the current chaos of our country. If we should point a finger it should be at ourselves. If the PEOPLE are unwilling to make the change there is no way the President of the United States can make it for us. If we are unwilling to understand what our bodies are telling us the pills will do nothing but mask the destruction.

Take consumerism for example. The average American wants food, clothes and gas at the absolute minimal cost. The result is overseas manufacturing ie. child labor in China, Indonesia or Thailand, while also creating less jobs here within the United States. We want organic or natural foods but won't support local farmers because it's too expensive. In order to satisfy a growing interest of less toxic foods, the FDA diminishes the regulations for an organic title, allowing major companies, previously not adhering to sustainable methods and growing mass amounts of foods with pesticides, permission to slap on the "FDA approved Organic" sticker. The result is mass produced "organic" foods and local farmers who go bankrupt in the process.

We say we don't want on or off shore drilling within the United states. We say that we don't support this war. We even get it printed on a bumper sticker. Those of you who use a car but don't support the war.... do you realize that the war exists partially because we "need" more oil here in the states? Do you recognize that you pumping gas results in more American and foreign deaths every day or are you not yet willing to take any form of blame? Step away from our cars, step away from foreign reliance and we can step back from the war. But we are not yet willing to step away from our cars or our spending. We are not yet willing to minimize our spending we are not yet ready to reel in our consumerism mentality. Our entire country is a walking contradiction and please don't get me wrong, I fully acknowledge that I fall into this category. We consume, consume consume.

There is light at the end of the tunnel.....or so they say. But if your eyes are closed you can't see the light and if you don't walk the tunnel you won't get out of the tunnel. Unless we acknowledge that more things; drugs, food, gas, clothes, homes, cars and accessories will not bring us true happiness, then our country will continue to head down the same path it has for decades. Bringing a new president into office won't change that. Another prescription won't get rid of the disease. A new job. A new outfit. A new car. A new house. Things will not bring constant happiness. They will not change anything. An external solution will not solve an internal problem.

There is always a door to be opened and a door to be shut. It just depends on if we are willing to close the door on a room that no longer serves us. Unless we are ready, will we be able to fully push back the door to a new room; a new way.

Reaching Within

I am learning to embrace stepping within.

To Find A Balance In Life During It's Constant Movement Is A Challenge.

Not Impossible.

Everything that ever was is defined in terms of contrast. Dark vs light. Good vs bad. Right vs. wrong. Awake vs. sleep. Happy vs. sad. Love vs. hate or rich vs. poor. Are all of these things not just words that are taped on the side of a box; a defined square of judgement withholding emotions or visions that the human language labels? They sit in a box cluttered in a restrictive category, entangled in guilt because they can be nothing other then the label on their box.

When is enough enough? When do we say, "what's the difference"? One laughter is an others howl. One sound is an others deafness. One closed heart is only an others open heart. Balance is tricky but it's not unattainable. The "vs" within the contrast of two items is what keeps them separated. What if we took out the "vs" and just left it as is? Happy next to sad is basically saying happy IS sad and vise verse. Balancing could be as easy or as hard as walking a plank that sits on a sharp edged stone. Maybe the best place to have your feet planted is somewhere in the middle, either that or taking the plunge off the one of the sides. Is it possible to find the balance in extreme difference? Is it possible to find find steadiness in constant movement?

Escaping

I have been writing about a home grown life vs. life on the road. Is it possible to have both? Is it possible to roam the edge of the world and then come home and grow a vegetable garden? Who would maintain that crafted home with the wood stove and the compost pit next to the chicken coup while the other half of you is gone roaming around and shifting the world? Would one life abandon the other life? Would the door swing open, everyone jump ship and leave one life behind? What if you want both? What if you want to pull back that swinging door that sits on the edge of the cliff and slam it shut?

Getting Entangled

A friend recently said to another friend, "I want to get all entangled in your life".......
Isn't life entangled either way? Aren't we all just moving from one experience to the next wrapping ourselves in each others lives and leading a spool of thread on our trail? Life is meant to be a web of thoughts and ideas, friendships and careers, intimacy and connection. Wouldn't it only make sense to get yourself entangled?

A perfect example would be my hair. It's curly. Straight. Flat AND fro, all in the same moment. It's entangled almost 99% of the time. It's messy. Dramatic . Graceful. Soft. Crunchy. It gets caught in friends earrings. It gets caught in spiky branches in the trees or in the thorns down low in the forests. I have most of my day stuck in my hair. It's as symbolic and as beautiful as having lines on the face of older women and men who gather up years as they continue to stride forward. You can't really show that you have lived this life without proof. So again, isn't the saying wanting to get "all entangled in your life" one of the most fluid, graceful AND beautiful things that you have ever heard?!?!?!

I say GET ENTANGLED. Get as deep and lost within someone else as humanly possible. Get as captured, mixed up and involved with all of life, as you can.

That's my profound "ah ha" of the the week.

Skipping Over The Lilly Patch

I have been writing about the past. A fogged up memory of something that once was and as beautiful as that image is, when is it time to truly let go of something that only exists within a compartment of you brain?

When is it time to sift through your photographs, emotions, and dreams that no longer are?

When do you hit that delete button?

Choosing to Swim

I am ALSO, besides everything else, in this constant, slash stagnant, place within my writing. For the past two months I have been stuck. It's not like I have been stuck within my life although, is being stuck within my writing an example of being stuck within my life? Or is this "stickiness" a classic example of writers block? Is it normal to throw out so many questions knowing very well it's not like the the black hole within this satellite connection is ever going to answer me?

So I keep asking myself, "Do I even write at all?" Do I sink or DO I SWIM....even if it's only doggy paddle?

I have been writing about hearts opening, closing and re-opening

I have been writing about things that should be more black and white but ARE NOT


I have been listening and writing,with pleasure, the rustling of death in the trees

I have spent hours writing about the constant color and beauty in my life





I have spent hours writing about the ground and constant movement in life



I have spent hours writing about LOVE.......

I have ALSO written about:

Art. Brilliant people. Creative concepts. The color of EVERYTHING. My mind is racing with new things to write about and constantly shifting and changing it's topic every 2 seconds.

Change IS an inevitable process of life. Aren't we always going to be in constant flux? Isn't it silly to hold on to anything be that an idea or relationship? Isn't it silly if we never wanted to change at all: too afraid of what lies ahead but knowing that movement is what is necessary for growth?

How boring would we be or how boring life would be if there wasn't some sort of movement to it.

Our summer has shifted into Autumn. Leaves are turning a crazy collage of color. Each leaf being dipped in it's own separate compartment of paint. Each one falling at any given moment but the right time for the individual leaf. They fall after they peak. While a lot of folks are driving around to involve themselves in the "LAST " weekend to go hunting for a golden red fire in the hills, there are those of us who are also about to peak emotionally and physically. We then start to make room for winter to come in with a soft and silent presence as all signs of a fast paced summer burns itself out.

Seasons all have their peaking months. Jobs peak. Songs and books peak... do we all in a sense "peak" within a relationship, job, creative form, athletic time, or as a whole on a specific time or date? I'd like to think that it's best to leave a social gathering when it's at it's prime. That way you don't over extend your stay and all the drama that takes place later on in the night isn't something you have to carry on into the morning. BUT what if you place such a high or low expectation on the "peak" experience that you never actually get to live the peak experience because you cut it off before it has it's chance to play out? What if you end the job, relationship, creative form BEFORE it peaks?

My hands often find themselves wrapping around multiple tree trunks a day. I like holding on to things that let me hold on to them. Have you ever tried to hug a tree that pulled away before you were done hugging it? But the point of this side tracked story wasn't the hugging of a tree. It was about discovering perfectly bright orange and green streaked leaves and finding running fingers latching onto these leaves, tugging on them so that they would "fall" into my hands. Do I push the peaking to meet my own needs? Do I push and pull too hard because I THOUGHT that the leaves should be in my hands rather then complete it's cycle? YES. Why?

Why do we think we know when something should be over, removed, moved on from or let go? We make constant plans that all take place in the future, in a "time" that hasn't even manifested itself yet and while we do this we also make a ton of unknown expectations. I wonder what would happen if we literally just LET GO. What if we took everything in this one moment and surrendered it over? What if we let this moment reach it's full potential? Would we all be wiser, kinder and more compassionate to allow the day to play itself out before we had the chance to capture it in a cage of meaning?

I have written about being ungrounded. Grounded. Sinking and swimming......

Being thrown off guard. Being hurt. Sad. Liberated. Excited. Heavy and light all in one sentence


As the weather seems to be reflecting emotions these days, the lightness has settled in and the laughter is constant. Some of the most incredible art presents itself when emotion reaches an extreme low or high. There is an on going joke with the brilliant musicians and artists in my life. The joke is this: Thank Jimminy Cricket, god, and the universe for the heartache. Tragedy. The falling. Crying. Worthlessness. Thank god for the disaster. The unexpected in greatness and disappointment. The lack of loyalty. The friends and intimate relationships that PUSH so hard there is no where to go but down and then back up again.

I wouldn't have the material. I wouldn't be the artist that I say I am.

The greatness in my life is reflected in my art. This is art. This expression. This chaos. This structure. This ability to let it ALL JUST GO......is my art.

Some of our best work comes out when we least expect it because the door is left swinging open minus the expectation. Some of us need to do a better job of letting go of our judgements of ourselves and to be, ONLY, ourselves.

The truth lies under all of our layers. Remove them for a second. Can you feel that the breath just created a little bit of space within the corners of your life? Did you get a glimpse of balance?

Are you reaching within?

Uploading My Life

Uploading photographs on a slow Internet connection is kind of what it feels like to be in my head right now. I have tried to wrap my hands around the life that I have been living the past year. Kind of like the way a piece of seaweed clutches to sticky rice. The rice being the experience and the seaweed my hands..... the experience isn't sticky enough for my hands to grasp, nothing has settled, and so everything just kind of hangs there, uncomfortable with the obvious.

I now sit in a small, white, rocking chair out on open marsh land in St. Michael's, Maryland. The Chesapeake Bay stretches across the horizon, my lap top stretches across my exposed thighs. Fireflies latch on to my obnoxiously bright screen and little itchy red bites forming around my ankles due to the beloved mosquito. I upload my photographs like I upload my thoughts and every now and then the connection shows four bars instead of one, and then all is lost. My reality is all jumbled up in a field of wild flowers. It smells beautiful, it looks beautiful and it is beautiful, but by the gift of chance.

This is my life. The photographs posted happen to be part of it and the only thing I can share with you during my one bar time.

Same Same BUT Different

I hate to say it but I A. don't have their names and B. I can't tell if the computer made these photographs too dark or I did. Either way, will modify them when I can.

At the very beginning of my trip I noticed, and wrote an earlier post about it, my lack of motivation to photograph the people that covered the streets of Nepal. The lack of motivation wasn't actually due to physical stamina, although I wish it had been, but by the overwhelming guilt that I had for the richness of my life AND the severe poverty that lingered around every corner and crack that I came across.

In those around me, I was painted with an air of wealth and instead of my usual roaming eyes, they stayed secure to the ground in front of me. Roaring with sadness and helplessness I turned off my camera and hid it in a bag in my hotel room. For over a month both camera and heart remained in hiding. Partially due to malfunction, the obvious of what happens to a camera when it sits in rainwater for a night in a leaky tent and partially due to the hardness that took over and the walls that I built in order to keep my tears under control.

No matter where I stepped or what road I traveled down, my pant legs and arms were tugged at by little hands covered in dust and sticky with sweat and fruit juice. They roamed the streets eager to find a foreigner with some extra rupees tucked deep in their pockets. I was once convinced of buying a tattered book after I had stupidly asked to take a look at it while my cab driver sat in traffic. A book that turned out to be fairly interesting but seemed to be lacking pages 130-172 and then consistently being out of order there after. By the way, I highly recommend bypassing buying books from kids selling them in the middle of street lanes, during rush hour traffic in Delhi. While I got accustomed to over tipping rickshaw drivers and buying extra bananas at the local veggie stand so that I could hand them out on my way home, I never could get accustomed to my lack of eagerness to sit beside these people and learn of their stories. And no matter how many times I walked passed the same person on the street to say namaste or give away some food, I never quite got the courage to take their photograph.


Present Day.

The same three smiling men walk or hobble up and down one main street in Dharamsala, India. I walk by them daily in my mad dash to my Thangka painting class. The first few times I smiled, my hands to my heart, bowed, and not out of character, kept my eyes to the ground. The next few times I would walk by them afraid to dig through my change providing either too little or too much of what I had. The other night I knew I had a bill of 500, ran into one of them, told them that I would find them tomorrow, then felt guilty and ran to the nearest store to grab some smaller bills and chased him down.

Today I took a seat next to two of them, names of which I will have to add later, my Hindi isn't the best and I say that with a smirk. There were onlookers and those who didn't notice, but we slowly began talking a bit about their conditions. One, a man who loves to talk to you in Hindi even though he knows I don't have much concept of what he is saying, I can read his gestures. In his broken English he told me he has a little boy of six years who attends school and is looked after by his mother. His hands have been filed away to near stubs as his feet showed the same condition. Leprosy is his genetic curse, a disease that often casts one out of society and leaves them fending for themselves in the street. It's been 11 long years.

The other man had to have his leg removed when he was 24 years old. He was hit by a truck and a very old prosthetic hitches on to the very top of his left thigh baring the little he has left. He is 39 years old. The third, of who I have yet to get his full story from, I find out, had polio at a young age. Bow legged and large square blocks as feet, he moves unsteadily on his crutches. A tin can is always clutched in one hand along with a beautiful crooked, toothless smile. Unable to open or carry an umbrella when the monsoon rains fall, he moves quietly drenched in downpour. He is the one that moves me the most. Hearing their stories I nod in apology as If I had something to do with their misfortunes and then we all nod together in understanding. Such is life.

Feeling like I had just made some friends I asked to photograph them, explaining that I write about my travels and the people I encounter and that I would like to write about them. I told them that once it was up on the computer I would take them into a Internet cafe and show them the "article". Which I still plan to do. The photographs are haunting and graceful. Full of laughter, sorrow and sometimes awkwardness of the camera that seeks to capture something no words or image could capture. (I provided you with a few, there are more in my care which I may or may not share with you.)

I do not have missing limbs and do not need to beg for money on the street, but there is a saying here in this part of the world. "Same same. But different." We are all the same experiencing this life but no doubt in different ways. We have ups and downs, joys and sorrows, mothers and fathers who are still with us or who have passed on. Children in school, brothers and sisters in different towns or on different continents.

If one looked at some of the photographs of these men they would see two ragged beings, mangled limbs and begging for a better way of life. But if one would just look a bit longer, a bit deeper, they would see a story of two beings that are very much like everyone else. We all have a history, a story that goes along with the life that is present. I no longer see poverty and mutation as sad or even hard to look at. These men have made me see the absolute beauty even in all of their pain. They smile with each other OFTEN. They collect money for their families, for their children's education and more food on their plates. And while I once thought that I could never even begin to make a difference within the lives over here, my eagerness to ask them questions and to sit with them, to not just throw them some change but to engage with them, has made all the difference in the world. They have a story to tell and few who will listen. I was able to provide an outlet for that.

Nearing to the end of my trip my walls no longer hang too high. My camera and I have reunited and my sadness doesn't take me by surprise like it once had. I have learned to fight my way around the traffic of cars that crowd the narrow streets, banging on the side to let the driver know I am passing them. I no longer jump when a jeep or bus horn blasts in the back of my head, but move quickly and unfazed out of the way. My eyes no longer search for something more pleasant to keep it's gaze but more often find their way into the soft and kind eyes that sit in contentment on a side stoop.

I can never again judge a book by it's cover. I can never again just hand out a banana or some spare change. My journey has proved successful because I have been forever changed. I have not mastered, but understood that underneath all the pain still lies the beauty and while pages often go missing the overall story stays the same.

MAYA: A serious love of my life

The appreciation that these Tibetan people eluded was incredible. I have never felt so at peace and so grateful for their hospitality during the trip. My guide Tsering Passang (shown in red and blue jacket) was incredible and although we both lacked each others first language, which proved to be a huge emotional headache at times, he provided outstanding assistance in guiding me to the people who needed our donations the most.

this is the reason why Upper Dolpa was our destination

altitude sickness on one of many 17,000 ft passes ( these three photographs were provided by http://www.solbeam.com/ because she rocks and my camera broke)

I have just recently re-emerged from "the upper dolpa" as I call it, with a fresh new perspective on life and just straight up love for it. The time in the mountains rocked me to the very core and it's just too hard for me to explain how that happened, and I am sure you will learn of it more in my future posts. It's taken some days to get back into civilization but it has been all too easy to eat anything but dal bhat and enjoy simple things like calling friends and family, telling them that I love them, catching up over e mail, and reading about what has been taking place within the rest of the world while I was lost in my own great nook of it. A nook that now holds all of my fears and dreams in the cracks of the dirt, roaring rivers, and spirits that guard each pass.

You know you have shead some serious layers both physically and emotionally when you stroll into town, ask for the nearest international phone, and call home; caked with dirt, hair mated to my head, trekking pants being held up by an extra shoe lace, and my emotions SO raw that tears strolled down my face as soon as my sister and mom both answered the phone 5am east coast time. "I am out, that was the most difficult and scary thing I have ever endured. I messed up my ankle, but I am fine. I am changing my flight and will see you in August. I love you." was pretty much all I could muster up and say before the connection was pretty much lost within a crackling line and 15 Nepali men eyeing me like hawks.

And while there are just too many stories to get lost in on one post, and this might excite you, I have decided to update more frequently with hysterical and emotional dailies of sorts so that you can feel like you yourselves were on the roller coaster of a journey.

I am still recovering from a retched bout of food poisoning, which by the way I got our first day out of the wilds and into an actual "town" which was more like a village gone mad and trying to become a town. Electricity and cellphones, refrigerators but still cooking on a clay oven using fire. Tibetan based hardboard beds and National Geographic on TV. Yeah, National Geographic TV, is in a village in Lower Dolpa. It was nice though, red bucket to my right and a NG special on rare alligator species.

Please stay tuned for another "story" in a day or so.

Night Stop in Kathmandu

Night stop Ktm, originally uploaded by bendinggrass.

I find it almost impossible to upload photographs, which I feel like I have said over and over again, possibly boring my few readers, SO if you don't see photographs, it's not that I haven't been taking them, it just takes about a full day to upload ONE, and for those of you who know me know I don't have patience for that. Now THAT was a run on sentence :)

Nepal overall seem to be in a bit of chaos right now and although it's new for me to be in such chaos, others go about their daily lives with nothing more than a nod of the head. I just overheard a woman vaguely mention that three bombs went off last night just down the street from where she lives. I am not exactly sure why, although I am sure I could figure it out. I guess that isn't concerning and to be honest it didn't quite phase me either BUT, I think it probably should have. I am on sensory overload, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on how you view it and have JUST begun to grasp the reality that I am presently living in Kathmandu at a VERY interesting and crazy time.

Petrol is just nearly COMPLETELY exhausted and the few vehicles that roam the streets do so because of some of it illegally sliding through the black market selling at an alarming rate. There is a prediction all will be gone by the 28th, just tomorrow, and who even knows if we will be able to get from Kathmandu to Beni and even further up to Jomsom or even further, what the state will be when we finally do re emerge from the mountains. Petrol usually provides a thick fog that hangs over the city and the lack of it has allowed us to experience clear skies and equally clean air for the last few days, something I have eagerly excepted. The other night on our way back from Thamel, a usually quick taxi ride, we saw the most astounding line up of vehicles and motor bikes, all taking their place to acquire some black market fuel. Word on the street is that most people wait close to 18 hours. Our driver spoke broken English swearing off the price increase and the diminishing fuel in his own vehicle that threatened to run out and suggest a late night walk the rest of our way home. Many other cars sat in the middle of the streets, petrol expired and causeing last minute dodging as to not collide.

Yesterday, after a long day of Dolpa planning, the three of us, myself and two friends, enjoyed a cold beer on the third floor balcony of our guest house that overlooks Boudha, seemingly worlds away from the streets below. For the first time since I arrived, I felt myself breath. That kind of breath is always accompanied by a deep sigh, followed by an act of surrender, and a further act of acceptance. " I am right where I should be." my very insides said as I aimlessly got lost in the blinding, white glow that individually wrapped itself around each exploding cloud. It was the first sunset I had seen for a painfully long time and the heat from it evaporated all thoughts and concerns about our approaching trip, that threatened to take me out of my meditative state.

Christina and I spent an exhausting although exciting, five hours with Sunil, our translator and permit "go to" guy; Tsering Passang, our Tibetan translator and Dolpa guru (his hometown is Tinjegaon Dolpa) and Gumpa Sherpa, our English and Nepali translator. Although I only heard two English words come out of his mouth, he proves to be an incredible addition to our team with his HUGE smile and genuine kindness. If you take precaution I will let you in on our itinerary, minus photographs of the map (slow connection... SIGH)

A TRIP TO DOLPA (which everyone else in the world pronounces AND spells as "Dolpo" )

June 1st: Kathmandu - Gemi (bus)
June 2nd: Gemi - Tataponi (bus)
June 3rd: Tataponi - Ghasa - Jomsom (jeep/ trek)
June 4th- 9th: Jomsom - Charka (trek)
June 10th: Charka (deliver shoes)
June 11th -12th: Charka- Tinegaon (trek)
June 12th - 15th: Stay in Tinegaon and deliver shoes
June 15th -18th: Tinegaon - Shimengoan - Tinegaon (trek/rest)
June 19th- 21st: Tinegoan - Toyu (trek/ rest)
June 22nd - 23rd: Chhumagaon (stay at Monestary)
June 23rd - 26th: Chhumagaon - Ringmo Lake (trek)
June 26th - 29th: Ringmo Lake (rest)
June 29th - July 2nd: Ringmo Lake - Kageni
July 3rd : Kageni - Dunai (trek)
July 4th- 5th Dunai - Ktm (flight/ bus)

ALL SUBJECT TO CHANGE and I say that with a HUGE smile as it will most definitely change.

I am off. Too many cookies, masala tea, and computer heat. If I don't post before I go, be sure to check back at the beginning of July to see hear some INCREDIBLE stories!

ma jut.tah li.nu Dolpo

little girl and her grandmother, or so i guess

Ma jut.tah li.nu Dolpo literally translates to "I shoes to take Dolpo" which I proudly taught myself this morning. This is what I will tell people when I am asked why I am here in Nepal. I haven't had the chance to use it yet, although I did manage to ask for some green tea this morning in Nepali. A HUGE accomplishment for me.

i am not going to capitalize anything, as the shift key is nearly impossible to hold down. AND i was told no more uploading of photographs so unfortunately this photograph here is the only one you get to see. FOR NOW.

yesterday morning my intentions were clear. get up and write a post up on my blog. i have been skipping around this task for the past few days. a question that keeps popping up in my head, and there are quite a few these days, is, "how do i write this experience, in words, to those back home" the day before that, i took out Christina's computer and hacked away, fingers moving ever so fast, but glitches have it, i couldn't transfer the material over onto a disk, and so there i was, with a pen in hand, slowly writing it down.

and NOW, sitting in front of a slow computer trying helpless to get a post up before i have a meeting with my dolpo guides assistant, Sunil.


as i completed my walk around the Boudhanath stupa i noticed all the monks from a nearby monastery take a seat in front of the stupa. ( boudha is where i am staying at the moment, and nath, i have been told, means street) they chanted away as hundreds of candles were lit. a foreigner leaned into an elder monk, i presumed asked to take a photograph, and without a hint of hesitation, this photographer stuck his camera in the face of the monk and began shooting away. i slowly crept back behind the crowd of monks and put down my camera. thoughts of unworthiness settled in and all of a sudden i rethought my my duties of sponsorship. i don't have it in me. i don't have that kind of confidence and arrogance to stick my camera in someones face, into a people i don't understand, into a religion i have only begun to grasp, where a language and culture are my main barriers.


"my lens doesn't do justice of the intimacy that i need to capture" i constantly remind myself. i am NOT the photographer i thought i was or still hope i could maybe be. to capture an emotion or mood is to NOT stick a camera in a face, as the moment is then lost and the emotion is soon suppressed. my zoom is small and in order to really capture a persons face i need to step it up. a photograph can say a thousand words and yet nothing at all. a true photographer can capture all of the human senses in just one shot. the rest of us just as well put our third eye down. i struggle with the ability to humbly take a portrait. why? because sometimes i feel like it would be going into the slums of nyc and putting my lens in the face of a homeless person and then just walking away. even if the photograph comes with a few rupee bills, what? money for your pain? or is the pain my own to and the ego to think that they ARE in pain?

while i was sitting on these steps contemplating my situation, two very young girls came up to me and started motioning for the camera. i took some random photographs and pressed replay for them to see. i then motioned to see if i could take a photograph of them and they easily smiled and posed for the shot. a few moments later, their grandmother came over and sat down next to them. she then motioned for me to take their photograph. she asked in nepali, or tibetan, i am still unclear of which and smiled with incredible gratitude. she told her eldest granddaughter to sit still and took the smallest child and placed her on her lap., then told her friend to come and sit as well. there were no forced smiles, although i did occasionally get some genuine grins from the youngest. the "grandmother", reminded me of my own grandmother, bossing all the grandchildren around. it's quite the same here in that respect and i absolutely love it.



"su. dar" " rahm.ro" she said, meaning beautiful and good in nepali.



i am completely take by the people here. they are so very kind and are so beautiful that i lack the words to express just how kind and just how beautiful. to have been asked to take their photograph was just short of incredible, and actually really good luck, because i need to show that i am working on some level :)



tourists, come, eat, look, shop, put their arms around old monks while friends take their photograph. which by the way DID happen and i was so appalled all i could do was stare. i am not a tourist. i am in no rush to wiz in and out of this place. for now, kathmandu is home to me and home is a place with friends. i device of a new plan. i will sit and become situated with these people, finding out their names, families, and stories. i will communicate in their language and allow them to feel comfortable with me. i will become their friend. taking someones photograph is very personal and i have not yet mastered it but, if the opportunity arises, like the little girls and women on the stoop, then i will gratefully take their photograph. BUT only if time allows.

this is all for now. nameste.