Wednesday, May 12, 2004
India and the Ayuhauscadero, Part Two
The Struggle
I have always been comfortable writing. Though not my life, writing is not a fear, and I can convey my point of view easily and without too much struggle. Thus, it was quite a shock that I found myself dry and uninterested in writing when I was in India. This seemed quite peculiar, as it went hand-in-hand with other passions that also held no interest or energy for me during our time.
I love birding. It is a major avocation. India represented a whole new country with a wealth of unexplored possibility. Before I left, I was chomping at the bit to see Indian birds. Birding? No interest. Picked up my hauled-along, expensive binoculars once for half an hour.
Photography? I brought along my digital camera with dreams of capturing terrific images. After all India is a photographers dream. I love photography, and always record my travels with great enthusiasm. I took six photos the first day and put my camera away, never to touch it again.
When my bags were lost en-route, it was more than clothing and mosquito repellant that was removed from my intentions and well-considered packing list. It seemed like India was beginning to strip away old parts of my identity, getting at a more essential version of who I was. The sadu process, one of renunciation, seemed to be playing havoc with my personal possessions and interests. If I wasn't doing what I liked, with my stuff, what was I going to do? Who was I going to be?
This wasn't a problem while in India. I liked not being attached to old, familiar ways. I reveled in leaving my stuff behind. I was curious about who I could be without my familiar attachments (noting that I was still keeping balloons close at hand). But when I returned and began to start my paper, I found I still couldn't write about India. I sat and stared at my computer a lot. I tried to write three or four times. Nothing was coming up. Absolutely nothing. This was not good, for the only thing standing between graduation and me was my paper. Damn! Was this some kind of cosmic joke?
The Breakthrough:
Months before leaving for India, my four dearest friends, wife Jane, and myself made plans to meet in Philadelphia, to work with a medicine woman a few days after my return. She was going to lead us through a two-day ayhuasca journey. Ayhuasca, meaning "vine of the soul" in Quechua, is a powerful, and sacred medicinal plant for many South American indigenous peoples. It is also a very strong hallucinogen.
Obviously, this didn't seem like good timing. Four days after returning home, I was driving seven hours in a car to blow the top of my head off? Was I nuts? I am as game as the next person for an experience, and I am not unfamiliar with these realms, but still? I am a long way off from my early days and consider myself to be a very sober guy. I drink ten glasses of wine a year, never drink beer or coffee, smoke pot about once every two years and am highly selective and very sparing in my use of traditional medicinal plants. I always journey with my wife, and my last was two years ago. That's about my average. As a consequence, I am typically the group-designated driver. So this was quite a leap in good judgment. Besides, I was still sick from my travels.
The Journey
What occurred during my journeywork was a direct reflection of a very recent trip to India. I was broken-open and propelled like a rocket along a path that began with our pilgrimage. The "other half of my soul" cemented itself in profound ways--my journey didn't just reflect India, it was India. The lessons of our pilgrimage, the meaning of certain dreams, the actualization and transformation of key behaviors all occurred because of India. Ayhuasca didn't necessarily give me anything new. Instead, what occurred was a deepening and sharpening of what I had already experienced. It is why I am writing about this event as my post-paper. Bede Griffiths, the great Benedictine monk, started an ashram in India as a way of blending East and West. He went, to "find the other half of my soul." Catholicism was quite well versed in the masculine, but Bede felt strongly that Hinduism, especially in India, was a balance of the mystical feminine he could not find in the West. I was able, in a smaller way through ayhuasca, to blend my own struggling parts in a never-before realized personal level. And like Bede, my journeywork was deeply influenced by the divine feminine.
I have always been comfortable writing. Though not my life, writing is not a fear, and I can convey my point of view easily and without too much struggle. Thus, it was quite a shock that I found myself dry and uninterested in writing when I was in India. This seemed quite peculiar, as it went hand-in-hand with other passions that also held no interest or energy for me during our time.
I love birding. It is a major avocation. India represented a whole new country with a wealth of unexplored possibility. Before I left, I was chomping at the bit to see Indian birds. Birding? No interest. Picked up my hauled-along, expensive binoculars once for half an hour.
Photography? I brought along my digital camera with dreams of capturing terrific images. After all India is a photographers dream. I love photography, and always record my travels with great enthusiasm. I took six photos the first day and put my camera away, never to touch it again.
When my bags were lost en-route, it was more than clothing and mosquito repellant that was removed from my intentions and well-considered packing list. It seemed like India was beginning to strip away old parts of my identity, getting at a more essential version of who I was. The sadu process, one of renunciation, seemed to be playing havoc with my personal possessions and interests. If I wasn't doing what I liked, with my stuff, what was I going to do? Who was I going to be?
This wasn't a problem while in India. I liked not being attached to old, familiar ways. I reveled in leaving my stuff behind. I was curious about who I could be without my familiar attachments (noting that I was still keeping balloons close at hand). But when I returned and began to start my paper, I found I still couldn't write about India. I sat and stared at my computer a lot. I tried to write three or four times. Nothing was coming up. Absolutely nothing. This was not good, for the only thing standing between graduation and me was my paper. Damn! Was this some kind of cosmic joke?
The Breakthrough:
Months before leaving for India, my four dearest friends, wife Jane, and myself made plans to meet in Philadelphia, to work with a medicine woman a few days after my return. She was going to lead us through a two-day ayhuasca journey. Ayhuasca, meaning "vine of the soul" in Quechua, is a powerful, and sacred medicinal plant for many South American indigenous peoples. It is also a very strong hallucinogen.
Obviously, this didn't seem like good timing. Four days after returning home, I was driving seven hours in a car to blow the top of my head off? Was I nuts? I am as game as the next person for an experience, and I am not unfamiliar with these realms, but still? I am a long way off from my early days and consider myself to be a very sober guy. I drink ten glasses of wine a year, never drink beer or coffee, smoke pot about once every two years and am highly selective and very sparing in my use of traditional medicinal plants. I always journey with my wife, and my last was two years ago. That's about my average. As a consequence, I am typically the group-designated driver. So this was quite a leap in good judgment. Besides, I was still sick from my travels.
The Journey
What occurred during my journeywork was a direct reflection of a very recent trip to India. I was broken-open and propelled like a rocket along a path that began with our pilgrimage. The "other half of my soul" cemented itself in profound ways--my journey didn't just reflect India, it was India. The lessons of our pilgrimage, the meaning of certain dreams, the actualization and transformation of key behaviors all occurred because of India. Ayhuasca didn't necessarily give me anything new. Instead, what occurred was a deepening and sharpening of what I had already experienced. It is why I am writing about this event as my post-paper. Bede Griffiths, the great Benedictine monk, started an ashram in India as a way of blending East and West. He went, to "find the other half of my soul." Catholicism was quite well versed in the masculine, but Bede felt strongly that Hinduism, especially in India, was a balance of the mystical feminine he could not find in the West. I was able, in a smaller way through ayhuasca, to blend my own struggling parts in a never-before realized personal level. And like Bede, my journeywork was deeply influenced by the divine feminine.
