Cosmopolitanism in Paris

I've been fortunate in that I've spent much of the last ten years traveling all over the world.  I've been lucky enough to visi much of Asia and Europe, as well as parts of Africa and Central America.  Despite my fortune, I've never visited Paris.  I've been to Charles de Gaulle airport many times for transfers, but I never left the airport.  Part of the reason that I've never seen Paris (or any of France for that matter) is that I've always had opportunities to travel other places.  But at the same time, I was always slightly reluctant to visit Paris.  For so many Americans, it is the place they want to visit, and I've never been one to do what everyone else does.  And when people describe what they like about Paris, they say things about how "French" or "European" it is.  Another reason for my reluctance has been that I simply knew I would visit Paris some day - Paris isn't going anywhere. 

This past weekend, I finally visited Paris.  In four days in Paris, I managed to eat plenty of bread and cheese, as well as Lebanese, Thai, and Chinese. I drank more than a few espressos.  Vanessa and I saw some of the sites that everyone raves about: Notre Dame, Sainte Chapelle, the Louvre, and the Champs-Elysses.  I saw the Eiffel

Image by bramhubbell via Flickr

Tower in the distance, but I never got too close.  We were fortunate to visit during the festival in Montmarte, and got to drink fresh, local wines on the steps of Sacre Coeur and look out at the city.  I understood why everyone loves Paris - it is beautiful and amazing.

At the same time, Vanessa and I visited the Institut du Monde arabe, which had two amazing exhibits going on. One was a special collection called "the arts of Islam" that had an amazing diversity of Islamic art from all periods until the early twentieth century.  There was also an entirely different exhibit on contemporary Palestinian art.  It captured the rich contemporary artistic culture of Palestine that so few people see, instead of the ubiquitous notion of Palestinian being linked to terrorism.  And then we made it to the Grand Palais to see "De Byzance à Istanbul," to see an incredible new exhibit that showcases the history of the city from its early neolithic foundations to Constantinople the capital of the Byzantine Empire through the Ottoman and present day Istanbul.

We finished off the four days with a little nod to stereotypical France, sitting on our balcony eating brie, chevre, pears, and figs with freshly baked bread, while drinking red wine. 

The four days sounds like a whirlwind on paper, but we actually weren't too busy.  There were lots of moments sitting around and just taking in Paris.  By the end of the trip, I realized how comfortably "classical" Paris coexists with this incredibly rich and culturally diverse Paris. This isn't necessarily surprising, but it's not what one expects on a trip to Paris. It's what made the trip so special, and reminded me how easy it is to make assumptions about people and places.  But as I begin to look closely at everything, I can see how my initial impressions can't fully make sense of the complexity of a person or place.  I should have guessed that Paris would surprise me based on my other travels, but for some reason I just kept assuming that Paris couldn't be as great as everyone says.  I now want to return and see more.

First Days and Worlds of Possibilties

Today was the first day of classes. Nothing really ever gets taught on the first day - it's more just a day to hand out syllabi and course introductions, meet the students, introduce myself, and make it possible to jump right into full on teaching on Monday.
At the same time, I was realizing how much can be accomplished in a different way on the first day. I've begun to focus more on the possibility of what can be learned over the course of the year and less on the nuts and bolts. I realized that like so many teachers, I used to get hung up on making sure that students know the rules and are ready for real classes to begin. But with each year of teaching, I have begun to realize that some of my best days of teaching are when I focus less on the main idea and let the class wander more. Students start thinking about material in new ways. There's less worrying about making sure that all the details get covered and more emphasis on the processes of thinking and learning. Students start to do what Paulo Freire in Pedagogy of the Oppressed describes as "problem posing education," which allows them to shape the learning process more. It's a better way to begin the year than a day "banking education."
A few years ago, another teacher told me about a quote from Dune, which describes the learning process in such a great way. In my world history classes, it's the first thing my students look at today. Students, hopefully, begin to see that learning is a process, and it's one in which they have so much control over. I also just like the idea of starting of with a quote from a science fiction novel.

Many have marked the speed with which Muad' Dib learned the necessities of Arrakis. The Ben Gesserit, of course, know the basis of this speed. For the others, we can say that Muad' Dib learned rapidly because his first training was how to learn. And the first lesson of all was the basic trust that he could learn. It is shocking to find how many people do not believe they can learn, and how many more find learning to be difficult. Muad' Dib knew that every experience carries its lesson.

- Frank Herbert, Dune

Switching gears

It's been almost a week since I've left India and came back to NYC. It's not really possible to summarize my trip in a few sentences, yet I keep trying to do that over the last few days. When I tell people that I spent four weeks in northern India, people want details. And although I can tell them about amazing views of the Himalayas, beautiful Buddhist monasteries, and rides on local buses, none of those things really capture what made the trip so wonderful.
Good trips are more than the sum of the things you do. There was something special about this trip in the way that I was able to truly get out of my NYC bubble and find a place where I was so mentally and spiritually at ease. I keep thinking about how I can keep that feeling here in NYC. If anything, I don't want to switch gears now that I'm back in NYC. I want to stay in the same mental place I was in Ladakh even if I'm 8,000 miles away. Now the challenge begins....

Teachings of the Dalai Lama Day 3: Science, Buddhism, Investigation, and Open-Mindedness

Today began with us arriving early to Choglamsar. Maybe it was the driver, or maybe there was simply less traffic, but either way it was fortunate. Vanessa and I quickly found seats, and the Dalai Lama came on stage just a few moments later. He was beginning a full hour earlier than the past two days.
He began by quickly recounting the main ideas of the past two days’ teachings, with a special focus on the ability to use reason and logic to understand the teachings of the Buddha. This introduction led into a short discussion about the relationship between modern science and Buddhism. The Dalai Lama explained that modern science uses observations and inferences to make sense of the material world. But even with a complete understanding of the material world, one is not truly happy. He stressed that the mind also needs to be understood and in good health, in order for one to be happy. He explained that Buddhism, and especially Tibetan Buddhism, investigates the mind in the same way that scientists investigate the world. The main point was to emphasize the links between science and religion, as opposed to assuming that they are mutually exclusive.
The Dalai Lama then focused on the way in which Buddhists follow the dharma. He stressed that it’s important for monks to closely learn the scriptures and apply reason to them. Without any sort of a critical tone, he stressed that it’s most important for Buddhists to follow the dharma as closely as possible and be less worried with how nice the monastery is. At the same time he was encouraging the monks in the crowd to be good Buddhists, he also encouraged monks to supplement their study of the Buddhist teachings with studies of other “modern subjects.” He saw the two types of studies as being beneficial to monks who will be able to see how the dharma applies to this world.
The Dalai Lama also encouraged followers of one Buddhist tradition to study other traditions. He saw this sort of study as helping Buddhists better understand their own traditions. He referred to this sort of exploration as cultivating a “pure vision.” I was especially drawn to this idea, since he was looking at education in a more cosmopolitan light. He understood that studying multiple subjects and learning about other traditions not only exposes you to those subjects, but it helps you to better understand and appreciate those traditions in which you were raised. My favorite part of this section of the talk was his last sentence in which he warned that if one becomes too attached to one’s own tradition, it’s easy to become prejudiced towards other traditions. That lesson seems so crucial in today’s interconnected world. I often think that too many Americans think the American way of doing things is the only way. It helps to adopt a more cosmopolitan perspective.
After about an hour of these opening comments, the Dalai Lama went back to the discussing the texts that he was discussing yesterday. He resumed with the discussion of how one understands what the “I” is. His explication of the texts was a bit confusing, and I think the translator was having difficulty finding the right words to use to explain the Dalai Lama’s ideas. At the same time, one of the main elements of this discussion was the importance of continued investigation of the I. He emphasized that one must keep using reason in order to understand this complicated issue. It was so refreshing to hear a spiritual leader emphasize how much more important logically exploring the texts and the teachings is than simply taking his words on faith.
The explication of the texts only lasted a short while, and then a period of initiations began. These initiations were different from yesterday, since they were intended for monks. A lot of what was going on was confusing, and the translator was often just repeating what the Dalai Lama said instead of translating. At the same time, it was obvious from the rituals happening on stage, that the initiations were important. It was a slightly disappointing way to end three days of teachings confused about what was happening in front of me, but at the same time I know that I have learned so much in the last few days. The Dalai Lama really has an amazing ability to connect teachings about Tibetan Buddhism to much larger issues. It’s truly inspiring.

Teachings of the Dalai Lama Day 2: Debates, Reason, Dependence, Emptiness, and Initiations

The second day of the teachings began with Vanessa and I finding a seat more centrally located in the foreigners’ section, which was to the right of the stage. In front of the stage, there was a debate going on between two Buddhist monks. Even though you couldn’t see the debaters or understand the Tibetan they were speaking, it was clearly a debate from the occasional sound of the monk’s hands clapping when he would make a point. The motion of slapping one hand into the other is meant as a way of emphasizing a point and symbolically suggests the closing of the cycle of samsara.
When the Dalai Lama began speaking, the sound of the Tibetan broadcast was drowning out the sound of the English translation, and it was difficult to focus on the English. A surprisingly large number of people left within the first thirty minutes, so Vanessa and I quickly found ourselves sitting at the front of the foreigners’ section, no more than thirty feet from the Dalai Lama. The sound also improved significantly, and we were able to make more sense of the translation.
The Dalai Lama began the teachings by discussing the differences between the Theravada tradition of Buddhism and the Mahayana tradition. He emphasized that while the Theravada tradition only relies on the original texts and the life of the Buddha himself, the Mahayana traditions benefit by drawing on the other teachings of the Buddha associated with the bodhisattvas. He added that these extra sutras elaborate and expand on the original teachings of the Buddha, and that the teachings of the past 2,600 years are just as valid as the original “Four Noble Truths.”
Recognizing that people may dispute some of the additional teachings and emphasize the importance of the original scriptures, the Dalai Lama made it clear that one doesn’t just simply read all the scriptures and take them at face value. He explained that it’s important to use “intelligence and reason” to understand the scriptures, so that you can fully comprehend the teachings of Buddha. His larger point was that that the Mahayana tradition of Buddhism, especially as practiced in Tibetan Buddhism, helps individuals more fully understand the teachings of the Buddha because it takes the lessons found in the scriptures and applies the accumulated wisdom of Tibetan lamas and reason to the scriptures.
The Dalai Lama then explained the meaning of some of the sutras in more detail. He focused a lot on teachings that are more associated with Tibetan Buddhism, so I did not understand some of the phrases the translator used and some of the ideas themselves. A few of the points that he focused on were the different types of mind that people have, the value of regular practice in order to fully understand the teachings of the Buddha and Ultimate Reality, the importance of recognizing the inherently interdependent nature of the world, and the notion of emptiness.
His discussion of interdependence especially appealed to me. He emphasized the importance of recognizing that all beings are dependent on others, and that no one is “independent.” He described this dependent nature of the world as “the treasure of the teaching of the Buddha.” I loved this description and the value it places on this way of understanding the world. If more people could recognize how fundamentally interdependent we are not just on each other, but on all living creatures, the world would be a better place. When we deny our dependence on other species and people, it’s easy to think that our actions have no effect on others. In reality, every choice we make has an effect on others.
The other great part about today’s teachings was the amount that the Dalai Lama seemed to be laughing and enjoying himself throughout the morning. He would often have a wide smile on his face and would laugh out loud. At times, he engaged in discussions with the other lamas surrounding him, and they seemed to be sharing some sort of a joke about his teachings. At one point, the Dalai Lama was explaining the concept of emptiness by using the example of the Ladakhi people. The translation of the analogy didn’t make much sense, but it was clearly humorous to the thousands of Ladakhis sitting around. It was so nice to sit around learning from the Dalai Lama, while he seemed happy and joking for three hours. It’s so easy to think that learning, especially when it’s related to religion, is supposed to be serious, but the Dalai Lama constantly reminds us that learning can be fun.
As the Dalai Lama finished with the teachings for the day, he began to discuss the Avalokitesvara initiations that he was about to do. The initiations are for lay people who want to take on the Dalai Lama as their guru. He carefully explained what the initiations entailed, and the different vows that people would have to take. He made sure to explain that the vows weren’t something to be taken lightly, and that people were committing themselves to following the teachings of the Mahayana tradition and helping others. As the initiations began, I was surprised by the number of foreigners who participated. In a world in which secularism and materialism are so often seen as being important, it was refreshing to see so many other people who believe in the importance of a spiritual basis for their lives.

Teachings of the Dalai Lama Day 1: Medicine, Love, Compassion, Effort, and Focus

While we were in McLeod Ganj a few weeks ago, Vanessa and I were often asked if we wanted to see the Dalai Lama. My reaction was often similar; it would be nice, but I wouldn’t go out of my way. It turned out that while we in McLeod Ganj, the Dalai Lama was off in Germany. We did find out that while we would be in Leh, the Dalai Lama was planning a two week trip to Ladakh, which included three days of teachings at his complex in Choglamsar, just outside Leh.
Getting to the complex involved an early morning wake up and a quick breakfast, before we got into the shared taxi. At first, our driver raced through Changspa and central Leh. But then as he began to reach the edge of town, the traffic jam appeared. Police offers were funneling four lanes of traffic into one. Our driver seemed unable to find any of the moving lanes, and we even bumped into the car in front of us. Fortunately, we all seemed to be in good spirits, despite thinking we would be late to the teachings. We eventually reached the complex, where we were thoroughly searched. As the attendant searched my bag, he seemed particularly amused that I was carrying my own set of bamboo eating utensils, including chopsticks. We finally found a place to sit in the foreigners’ area that was close to the stage and near the speaker broadcasting the English translation. Despite the traffic and the searches, we still managed to arrive before the Dalai Lama began.
Within a few moments, the Dalai Lama arrived in his SUV. It’s not quite the Pope-mobile, but he does have a nice yellow seat cover on his seat. The Dalai Lama walked through the crowd and took his seat on the stage. He began by greeting the crowd with his hands clasped in prayer before his face. He also asked the crowd to raise their hands if they could understand his “Central Tibetan dialect.” It seemed that most people could.
The teachings followed a standard format. One of the local monks would read a verse from one of the sutras about the teachings of the bodhisattvas, and the Dalai Lama would discuss the verse. He began with a long analogy about how the teachings of the Buddha were like medicine. They not only cure the symptoms of illnesses in this world in the cycle of samsara, but they ultimately can cure cure people as well and help them to awaken “Buddhahood.”
The first teachings focused on the importance of “love and compassion.” The Dalai Lama stressed how these feelings were important in both the beginning of understanding Buddhism and in the “middle and end.” He explained how love and compassion were essential to our being humans, since we are “social animals.” He stressed that love and compassion come easily in how we treat family and even pets, but that we also need to practice love and compassion with our enemies. Given the interdependence of human society, and how much we rely on others for our food, shelter, and clothing, it is essential to treat others with love and compassion. Even things like friendship or fame depend on others, so love and compassion is always important. He repeatedly emphasized how love and compassion are virtues that we need to cultivate both if we want to attain buddhahood or if we simply want happiness within the cycle of samsara. As the Dalai Lama explained these ideas, local Ladakhi women dressed in traditional clothing began to serve butter tea to the crowd. As the sun grew intense, here were women practicing the very compassion of the Buddha.
The Dalai Lama then explained how the Buddha does not fault evil people themselves. Instead of blaming the actor, the Buddha faults the emotions that cause someone to do something evil. In this way, there are no innately evil people, there are simply people who have yet to find the effort to cultivate love and compassion.
To begin cultivating love and compassion, the Dalai Lama gradually transitioned his teachings to how we apply effort in the cultivation of virtues, such as love and compassion. He discussed the different ways in which we can apply effort to how we live and the focus in which we use to think about the teachings and applying them. He emphasized that the effort should be “joyous,” and that we should gradually expand our resolve to apply the effort at all times in our lives. In thinking about the teachings, the Dalai Lama explained that it’s not simply having a sharp, analytical mind, but that people should have a “focused” mind. We need to be “calm abiding.” In that way, we can best think about and apply the teachings to our whole lives. He then discussed some specific strategies in how we can train the mind to be more focused by finding specific objects and virtues to think about. As he reached the end of the day’s teachings, he reminded people that they shouldn’t just trust him because he’s “some Lama,” but that they should think about the wisdom of the teachings themselves. He also stressed that it’s not enough to simply to know these teachings, but that we have to make them part of our own experiences on a daily basis.
For me, it seemed like the hardest challenge. It’s always easier to know what is the right thing to do, the difficulty is finding how we implement love and compassion for all on a daily basis. How do we find the focus that allows us to live our lives in the way that we know is best?

The Happiness of Less

How much is enough? It’s a simple question, but the answer seems complicated. I know that when I’m traveling, I can get by with less food and fewer luxuries each day. But when I’m in New York, I find myself eating more, spending more time online, listening to music more often, and generally just living a busier life. But as much as I love my life and career in New York, I’m not necessarily any happier there than I am right now in Ladakh.
The other day, Vanessa and I saw a preview of The Economic of Happiness, a new documentary by the International Society for Ecology & Culture and Helena Norberg-Hodge. In the film, she looks at how globalization has changed people’s lives all over the world. One of the main issues is that globalization has encouraged a form of consumerism that encourages, both consciously and unconsciously, us to want more and more. The message is not a radical one, but it is more obvious to me when I’m in Ladakh. I don’t see iPhones on every corner, like I do in New York. I don’t see lots of advertisements on every bus, subway, and street corner, like I do in New York. I don’t think of myself as overly consumerist, but I’m definitely aware of how all those advertisements have an effect on me.
It’s been nice to escape all the advertisements and awareness of the latest gadgets here in Ladakh. I find myself reading more. I’m walking at a more leisurely pace. I find myself having more pleasant interactions with the people in restaurants. The challenge is how do I bring this feeling home with me. Because as much as I love Ladakh, I also love New York. I enjoy the energy of the city, the museums, the great vegetarian options, and my job. If anything, I have the knowledge that I can be just as happy with less.

What We Eat and How We Grow It

It is easy to think of the twentieth century as a century of war and genocide. Those issues dominate the global political narrative of the century. At the same time, the most significant changes seem to be social, cultural, and especially environmental. The relationship between humans and the environment underwent a radical shift in the twentieth century compared to previous centuries. In Something New Under the Sun, John McNeill analyzes the historical causes of the dramatic change in humans’ relationship with the environment, our increasing exploitation of its resources, and the potentially disastrous consequences we are now facing. Most of us are familiar with these issues: global warming and climate change, desertification, lack of drinking water, and increases in lifestyle diseases. We’ve reached this critical point not just because of the cars we drive and the planes we fly in (although those don’t help), but also because of the foods we eat and how they’re grown.
One of the most significant technological advances of the twentieth century was Fritz Haber figuring out how to synthesize ammonia from the atmosphere in 1911. With a virtually unlimited amount of ammonia, humans could produce far more nitrates for synthetic fertilizers. Access to these fertilizers, along with other changes in the types of seeds used, fundamentally altered how we produce food in the twentieth century and allowed for significantly more food to be produced. The story seems like one that should have a happy ending, but it doesn’t. Because of consumer demand and companies pursuing profits more often than long-term environmental security, one of the most significant global changes of the twentieth century has been the emergence of a global agricultural system that encourages monoculture far more than agricultural diversity. This profit-driven, fertilizer-intensive, monocultural agricultural system is threatening the environment, economically benefits wealthy consumers (like most Americans and Europeans), and hurts individual farmers.
The other day, I had a chance to witness first hand how this shift has affected the farmers of India and Ladakh and some of the strategies to address these environmental problems. The Ladakh Women’s Alliance held a two day festival to celebrate local Ladakhi culture and women’s place within it. One of the key speakers was Vandana Shiva, who spoke about the recent developments in agriculture throughout India and their consequences for India. She began with a simple anecdote about how as a child she could remember traveling in India and eating pakoras in local villages as snack foods. When you travel around India now, you find bags of Lays potato chips and Pepsi. Thomas Friedman may hail this development as evidence of the success of globalization, but what it also means is the collapse of local culture and agriculture.
Shiva then explained what happened when the Pepsi corporation (which owns Lays) moved into India in 1988. It first set up agreements with local farmers in Punjab to grow special hybrid potatoes that would work best for the production of Lays chips. Farmers in Punjab saw potential profits, and Pespi only encouraged them. Farmers invested in new seeds and fertilizers in order to grow the “right” kind of potatoes, since local potatoes wouldn’t meet Pepsi’s demands. Farmers in Uttar Pradesh soon also began to grow potatoes for Pepsi. Pepsi only encouraged this growth in the supply of special hybrid potatoes, since it lowered the price of the potatoes. And Pepsi was the only consumer, since the hybrid potatoes can’t be used in local dishes. Pepsi was able to drive down the prices for the hybrid potatoes. Farmers gradually began to lose money, and locals were without adequate food supply. She finished by telling an anecdote about how farmers in Uttar Pradesh have found it cheaper to destroy their potato harvests than paying the costs it would take to transport the potatoes to the market to sell to Pepsi at such a low price.
At the festival, local women showed off the local agricultural products. It was incredible to see (and taste) the range of produce. There were chapatis served with local cabbages and potatoes, traditional Ladakhi brown brea with apricots, and a variety of locally woven textiles. Shiva also discussed what this changing global agricultural system means for Ladakh. By switching to hybrid potatoes, it undermines the local agricultural diversity. Instead, she encouraged the farmers of Ladakh to continue to maintain the local agricultural diversity. She explained that selling potatoes to Pepsi may be more profitable in the short term, but not in the long run. If there is a crop or monsoon failure, farmers are left with nothing to sell. They end up suffering economically in the long run, as well as the surrounding community which no longer as reliable a supply of food. And the fertilizers and pesticides needed to grow the hybrid potatoes gradually suck all the nutrients out of the soil, and the environment suffers in the long run. This is a process that has been going on for about a century now. Farmers either get locked into an endless cycle of fertilizers and new genetically improved seeds, or they maintain traditional methods of farming based on agricultural diversity. The second main speaker was Helena Norberg-Hodge, who echoed the importance of local agriculture.
After the festival, I visited a local organization Dzomsa. They sell a variety of locally-produced agricultural products and offer refills of potable drinking water. One of the products is Seabuckthorn juice, which is produced from a local berry. It was refreshing and tasty on a warm, summer afternoon. I was then able to refill my Sigg Water bottle with perfectly clean and safe drinking water from local sources, instead of buying water packaged in plastic bottles. (By the way, Aquafina bottled water is another Pepsi product.) Dzomsa also offers facilities to recycle batteries, which is great in a place with as many tourists and cameras as Leh. One of the great things about this trip has been seeing the number of places in Leh and McLeod Ganj that have facilities to refill water bottles with clean drinking water. The message about environmental conservation and local agriculture even shows up around town and on the school buildings.
As a traveler and a consumer, I’ve become more increasingly aware of how I spend my money and how it affects the local economy and the environment. Every day I have a choice to purchase cheap convenience in the form of bottles of Aquafina and bags of Lays, or I can buy products that help sustain local economies and don’t harm the environment. Choosing to purchase the local produce, I’m helping the farmers maintain their economic viability. It’s a choice that we as consumers all have. The more of us who make the choice, the more it will preserve the environment and pressure companies to make decisions that prioritize environmental sustainability over maximum profit.

The Place of Pace

These first three days in Leh could be described as lazy days. I don’t think I’ve traveled beyond the half kilometer radius of my hotel since I arrived four nights ago. I’ve managed to walk to the nearby incredible cafe, Booklover’s Retreat, each day and take advantage of their tasty food and wireless connection. But the main reason for my “laziness” is that Leh is at 3505 meters, which is a little more than 2 miles high. I’ve experienced some altitude before, but nothing quite like this. No matter how much water I drink, it’s not an easy adjustment. Yesterday, my yoga practice that is normally ninety minutes lasted about thirty minutes before I found myself gasping for air.
Given this challenge, I found that the pace of my days has slowed down dramatically. Often when I travel I try to balance seeing sights, meeting and talking with people, and some relaxation time. I have over-endulged on the relaxation for the last three days. It’s not really over-endulgence - it was necessity. I’m beginning to realize that this change of pace isn’t such a bad thing. When I’m in New York, I find myself getting caught up in a lot of projects and moving at a pretty hectic pace. I don’t necessarily think that it’s a bad thing, especially since I love living in New York City, but it’s easy for me to lose sight of how much I’m trying to do and how little relaxation I leave for myself.
In these last three days, I’ve also started reading The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, with a commentary by Sri Swami Satchidananda. The sutras themselves are challenging to understand, but Satchidananda’s commentaries really help. The first few sutras focus a lot on how we see and understand ourselves and how this understanding of ourselves affects how we view and make sense of the world. One of the first steps in understanding ourselves is learning how to control and restrain our minds. As I read his words and think about the way in which I’ve found myself slowing down the last few days, I’m beginning to see other ways in which I can exercise more control over my mind and my actions back in New York. And what I’m realizing is that place doesn’t have to affect pace.

The Middle Way to Leh

According to Buddhist tradition, Siddhartha Gautama spent the first twenty-nine years living a life of luxury. When he decided to leave the palace in which he had his entire life, he began to realize the suffering that all people endured in the world, and he entered into a life of asceticism. For the next few years, Siddhartha and his companions practiced extreme asceticism in order to achieve enlightenment. After nearly dying, Siddhartha realized that his asceticism had failed to lead to enlightenment. Instead, he began to practice what Buddhists now refer to as the Middle Way - a path of moderation that balances the extremes of self-deprivation and self-indulgence. This Middle Way led Siddhartha to becoming enlightened, and ultimately being known as the Buddha, or the “Awakened One.”
In many ways, it seems that how one travels reflects one’s spirituality (or lack of it). I’ve met many travelers who will deny themselves anything more than the cheapest room, no matter how dirty, and eat from the cheapest street vendor, no matter how unsafe the food looks. At the same time, I have met travelers who only travel in the most luxurious conditions. They fly everywhere in first class, regardless of cost or the ecological footprint. They eat only at the nicest restaurants and stay in the fanciest of hotels, regardless of how poorly treated the workers are or how many resources are wasted. It seems to me that there should be some sort of Middle Way travel philosophy. Traveling isn’t about how luxuriously or simply you travel; it’s about the way in which one travels.
In deciding to visit Leh, Ladakh in northern India, I knew that I was choosing to visit a place that wasn’t easily accessible. It’s in the northern most part of India in a valley in the Himalayas. At the same time, I was hoping that Leh could be a sort of place where I could spend time relaxing and focusing on my own thoughts and how I live. The tricky part was how to get to Leh. Given its remoteness, it’s not that simple to visit. It’s possible to pay a couple hundred dollars and grab a quick hour long flight from Delhi and show up in Leh, but for me that seemed to luxurious and easy. At the same time, I read horror stories about public bus rides from Manali to Leh that take two days, in which drivers spend most of their time drinking cheap whiskey and the seats are filled with passengers vomiting from motion sickness. (Andrew Harvey does a wonderful job of describing this sort of experience in his A Journey in Ladakh.) That option sounded more like an exercise in self-deprivation.
While in Manali, I discovered that you could share a taxi (a large SUV type jeep thing) to get to Leh. The shared taxi cost more than the bus, but it also took nearly half the time. It wasn’t as quick as a plane ride, but it was probably a little better for the environment. The shared taxi had three rows of seats. I shared the middle row with Vanessa, so we had a little extra space to spread out, but it was hardly riding in a fancy Winnebago. The taxi left Manali at 1:00 AM and arrived in Leh at 8:00 PM the same day - a voyage of nineteen hours.
The trip was not without its discomforts, but none were excessively painful. I never feared that my driver was too drunk to drive that I wouldn’t make it to Leh. In fact, the driver Suraj was friendly and amazing at navigating the narrow roads. At the same time, the ride was a test in endurance. There were rough roads (sometimes the road didn’t even exist). There were lots of Indian Oil trucks that took up almost the entire road that needed to be passed. There were significant changes in temperature, and I never imagined India being so cold in August.
The voyage also had its amazing moments. Watching the Himalayas for hours was incredible. It’s hard to describe just how beautiful they can be. Talking to people who live in the little “towns” in the Himalayas was also rewarding and reminded me how wonderful humanity can be. I enjoyed watching Suraj refill the gas tank using the cut-off top of a water bottle as a funnel - a nice reminder of the ecologically friendly ways in which so many Indians reuse things. And getting to eat momos (Tibetan dumplings) while sitting at the foot of the Himalayas was a moment I’ll always remember.
Although I would never think of myself as a Buddha, I do like to think that I found the Middle Way to Leh.

Om Mani Padme Hum

Yesterday was my last day in Dharamsala, and I visited the Tsuglagkhang Temple Complex. The site is a remarkable mix of functioning Buddhist monastery, tourist attraction, and museum to the experience of the Tibetan people. One of the most striking aspects of the complex are the walls of Mani prayer wheels surrounding the Tsuglagkhang Temple. Inside each prayer wheel are thousands of Avalokiteshvara OM MANI PADME HUM mantras. As you pass by, you turn the prayer wheel clockwise. Each turn of the prayer wheel supposedly earns you merit equal to the number of mantras inside the wheel. I sat for a while watching people turn the wheels, as well as turning them myself more than once. But what stuck me most by the wall of prayer wheels is the variety of people who walk by. I saw people from all over the world. I saw monks. I saw men and women and children. I found myself reflecting on the amazing variety of peoples participating in such a simple and inspiring ritual.

A simple cup of chai

Traveling in India presents many challenges and wonders on a daily basis. The word I use most often to describe my time in India is "intense." It sometimes seems impossible to simply be in India. You have to constantly engage people in order to walk down the street, or you have to constantly avoid the salesman-masking-as-your-new-friend. For many this sort of an experience sounds awful. But for some reason, I seem to love it. And just about every day, the intensity rewards you with something meaningful.

Today we (Vanessa and I) took a little excursion to Bhagsu, which is about 2 km outside Mcgleod Ganj. Bhagsu is a suburb of a suburb, so to speak. Along the way, you pass by a large concrete wall advertising "Funky Town." There really couldn't be a better sign to introduce you to Bhagsu. As you enter the town, the first thing you notice is the prevalence of Hebrew on all the menus and posters. Multiple restaurants serve falafel and hummus. And it seems like more Hebrew is spoken than Hindi. It's a surreal experience feeling that you've walked out of a Tibetan community living in India into a Jewish Israeli community living in India. Every now and then you see an actual Indian - just enough to remind you that you are still in India.
As we walked down the main street, a friendly gentleman sitting in a cafe said "Namaste." For a moment I debated if he was just being polite or inviting me into his cafe to eat. There was something about him that seemed genuinely friendly, so we stepped into the cafe. The conversation began with the normal questions: "where are you from?" and "how long have you been in India?" But that was it. There were no questions about potential treks or journeys to Rajasthan. Within a matter of minutes, we found ourselves in an intense discussion of yoga. Akhilesh practices and teaches Iyengar yoga. He lives in Bhagsu for six months a year, and he travels for the other six months. I told him about my Jivamukti practice.
Once a bond had been formed over yoga, out conversation began to wander in many directions. He told us about the different Hindu deities he has worshiped at different points in his life. He shared stories about Ganesh. He told us about the first time he rode a bus into Dharamsala and how scared he was, so he kept saying "Om" the whole way into town. I told him about my teaching, travels, and photography. We discussed the similarities between Hinduism and Buddhism. And when I asked him about the prevalence of Hebrew in town, he said "Welcome to Israel." The whole conversation lasted an hour or so over a simple cup of chai. Sometimes Namaste really does mean letting the light within me honoring the light within you.

travel, india, yoga, buddhism, hinduism

From Shimla to Dharamsala

I've been in India for about five days now. The first couple days in Delhi were unexciting. We quickly headed north to Shimla, which involved a rather amusing toy train ride. Shimla looks like a Swiss village in the Alps with lots of Tudor buildings. It was also incredibly green and cold, two things I've never experienced in India (I've only been here in March, so it's right before the heat wave and monsoon). As nice as Shimla was, I want focus on the trip from Shimla to Dharamsala.
According to the guy who sold us our tickets, the trip would take about "nine hours," and the bus was "deluxe." Those words echoed in my ears twelve hours, two buses, and a taxi ride later. Riding on any bus in India, or much of the developing world, is always an experience waiting to happen. You can't get on the bus expecting things to go smoothly, and in a way that is a metaphor for life. It's how you live that matters, and the mindfulness that you cultivate. Finding that same mindfulness on the bus is a challenge, but one that is worth it.
Three hours into the ride, the bus overheated. We stopped along side the road, where I watched the driver try to refill the radiator with an oversized metal dixie cup. I smiled and was amazed at the persistence with which he went about refilling the radiator. Ultimately, he got the bus restarted, but he moved only as far as the nearest hose so he could keep refilling the radiator. It was a lesson in a little steps. We could have all piled back in the bus, but the bus was not ready for us.
Meanwhile, another bus to Dharmasala arrived, and we were told by the ticket man to get on the new bus. Given the large bags that three of us were carrying, I took the lead and ascended to the top of the bus and tied them down. This decision also meant that I was the last person to board the bus, so I was stuck sitting on the metal stairway. I shut out the craziness of the situation and focused on the journey at hand which was rapidly turning into an adventure. Passengers got off one by one, and ultimately Vanessa and I were able to sit next to each other. For the next five hours of so, we stopped in what seemed to be every small village along the way. We talked to strangers, visited smelly public toilets, and ate bananas purchased outside the bus stand. Throughout the whole trip, I found myself strangely enjoying the whole experience and glad to be exactly where I was. I found myself fully appreciating the moment at hand.
When we arrived at the Dharamsala bus station, we then shared a taxi with a French couple up to Mcgleod Ganj, which is where most travelers stay. They asked if I wanted to see the Dalai Lama. I replied it would be nice. I was thinking that it seems strange to "want" to see the Dalai Lama. Desire is the source of suffering. And even though it would be amazing to see the Dalai Lama, I didn't want to want too much. After twenty minutes or so, we arrived at the Green Hotel. Fortunately we got the last room available. Unfortunately, the room had still not been cleaned since the last guests had left. We ended up waiting for about another hour before we were finally able to go to our room, which is where I'm at now. Total travel time from leaving our hotel in Shimla to finally putting our bags down at the Green Hotel: about 14 hours.
Now, why am I writing this long epic when I keep thinking about climbing into bed. I realized something today? I always try to keep an open mind when traveling. Plans rarely work out. But for some reason, I seemed far more in the moment today. I stayed focus on the journey at hand and how I felt, acted, and behaved. In many ways, I felt like I was able to cultivate as much of the Buddha's right mindfulness as I had in a long time.

In the shadow of the King

Two weeks in Jordan with twenty-four teenagers hardly seems like the typical summer vacation for me. In ten years of teaching, I have purposely avoided taking students on international trips. All rules are meant to be broken.

Eleven months ago I got a phone call asking me if I wanted to co-teach a class on the Middle East in Jordan for Columbia University. After many meetings, emails, and a three day excursion to Jordan over MLK weekend, Culture and History: Understanding the Arab World is the result. The last two weeks have been spent in classrooms at the King's Academy, exploring the streets and hills of Amman, climbing to high places in Petra, watching re-enactments of Roman chariot racing and legions, and generally exploring Jordan.

This trip was my third trip to Jordan. I first visited in 2003 as part of a long overland journey from Istanbul to Cairo. Not surprisingly, Jordan didn't quite grab me as much as the architecture of Istanbul or Cairo or the old city of Damascus. In that trip, Jordan mostly stands out as the place where I passed up an opportunity to go on a two day rapid visit to Baghdad in order to visit Jerusalem. Given that I've been able to go back to Jerusalem since 2003, and I've yet to have the same opportunity to visit Baghdad, I guess I made the wrong decision. At the same time, I don't really have any regrets. When I was back in Jordan in January 2009, it was only for three days. Amman still seemed to be more concrete than culture. But I did get a chance to see Ramallah Underground live. Three days in Amman only left me wondering a little more if a class in Jordan was really worth it.

Well, after two weeks there, my doubts were misplaced. Amman isn't going to be winning any awards for the culture capital of the Middle East. And I definitely can't agree with the NY Times considering Amman "A Great Home and Destination." But I will admit that there is a lot of great things in Jordan once you get beyond Amman. King's Academy (a.k.a. Deefield in the Middle East) is a beautiful campus with state of the art facilities. Petra and Jerash definitely offer some of the better ancient sites to visit in the Middle East. And Wadi Rum is truly striking in its natural beauty. And just in case you thought you were somewhere else than the Middle East, rest assured that Jordan is just as authoritarian as all the other states in the Middle East: pictures of King Abdullah are everywhere. Just ask Moomtaza.

If you want to see a few other photos from my trip, check out my Petra photos, my Jerash photos, my contemporary Jordanian art photos, or my other Jordan photos.

A Manifesto

This blog is not my first. I have set up multiple blogs for my classes over the years. And for a while, I maintained a personal blog. I haven't posted anything there in well over a year, so I figured that it was better to let it collect more dust rather than try to resurrect it. That brings me to this blog. If you've seen my previous blog, you'll recognize part of the name of this blog. I still see my work in the classroom and my experiences in the world intersecting. At the same time, I wanted a little more direction and focus for this blog, so I added the "nonviolent lessons." I plan for the posts on this blog to reflect what's tattoed on the inside of my wrist.

A few other words. I'm experimenting with ways of maintaining my online identity. If you really want to know exactly what I find interesting online, check out my delicious links. Some of the things I'm reading, I want to share with the world, so you can find those on posterous or you can check out my shared items in Google Reader. If you really want to know a little more about me, check out my profile on Google. And then if you really are curious about what I'm up to, become my friend on Facebook.

In the next ten days or so, I hope to post something about my recent trip to Jordan. In the future, you can also expect some posts from my upcoming trip to Ladakh in northern India.

Peace.