Sorry for the gap in communication and content. Don’t worry, I am still here in Goa and still doing very well.

Our training program is winding down nicely toward our ending ceremony Saturday afternoon. I hope to have time on Sunday to share more details and use that oportunity to process some of what has been transpiring. Right now all I can say for sure is that I am a little leaner, a lot tanner and extrememly thankful for this adventure.

If by chance, Sunday passes without additional correspondence, please send me positive energy for an uneventful journey home. If you remember the challenges I had getting here, just know that was the “better half” of my travel itinerary.

Lastly, if you want to see entire photo slide show (so far), please visit: https://picasaweb.google.com/yogakeith/GoaIndia2011#

Now, centered, grounded, fed and coiffed, I don’t feel at all like writing about the training, so I will take the easy way out and talk logistics. I won’t dwell on the weather because most people reading this are not presently enjoying warm sunny days and gently comfortable evenings. So I will move on to geography. Where exactly am I?

Geographically, it is straight-forward enough to say I am at the Whispering Lakes Retreat Center between Arambol and Mandrem in Northern Goa (on the West Coast of India). I am living in a simple bungalow on what appears to be a small man-made lake or a large man-made pond.

The retreat center surrounds the oval body of water. If the lake were a clock, the yoga shala (where we practice) is all by itself at 12 o’clock. The bungalows, kitchen, dining area and reception area are all along the bottom (from say 4 o’clock to 8 o’clock).

We are a short walk from the beach and a totally different world. If you have never been here, it is difficult to describe Goa. Our part of the beach is tame compared to infamous party towns like Arambol (a 20 minute walk North) and Anjuna (a 40 minute taxi ride South). Imagine a multi-national Burning Man with an ocean to jump into when things get too intense. There are fire twirlers, drum circles and always music to be found somewhere (some of it welcoming some of it frightful). More than once we have chosen our dinner venue based on the sounds permeating outward.

Unlike other (more “respectful”) beaches in India, many people are very nearly naked. Not surprisingly, those wearing the least, often have the most to cover. That being said, the crowd still leans favorably toward the “more attractive” end of the global spectrum. Maybe that’s the yoga?

There are people doing yoga everywhere. I lost count of the number of places offering yoga classes. Many people just do their own practice on the beach (or at least show off there). With this yoga culture comes a wealth of healthy dining choices including “Raw” food and some very tasty vegetarian hang-outs.

Thankfully, there are no large gaudy resorts here. Instead, the accommodations are generally simple and flawed in that “what do you expect on the beach in India” kind of way. We have come to knock on our “attached bathroom” door before entering, just to make sure we don’t surprise whatever might be in there. While relatively expensive for India, lodgings are relatively cheap for the rest of the world. So the world comes and much of it sticks around for a while.

There is a whole community that come to Goa for “the season” (roughly November to April). It might be there winter get-away, it might be part of a migratory lifestyle that includes other calendar-appropriate stops in places like Thailand, Bali and wherever home used to be.

Not surprisingly, there are many Russians here. Their winters are famously uninviting. Their domestic beach options don’t come readily to mind. Goa makes sense. One of the reasons I have been told it is a “slow” season is that the Indian government recently cut the maximum Russian visa from 6 months down to 3. Why bother going for a mere 90 days?

For me, 5 weeks is the shortest of my five visits to India so far. I can see the appeal of staying here longer, but I am also looking forward to coming home. Then again, I will only be home for a week and a half before heading to another beach (this time Mexico). I love my life!

I had only known my escorts Safah and Riannon (from the Teacher Training program) for 2 days and 6 hours, respectively, but I remembered the band, Kundalini Airport, from my last visit to Goa in 2009.

We were primed by a traditional Goan dinner as the sun set over the Indian Ocean. I don’t remember the names of the dishes (and couldn’t spell them regardless). After dinner, Vinod, the restaurant owner, sat for a round of drinks with us, but again my birthday was low on his list of motives.

After dinner, we wandered over to the Surf Club for the music. The open-air club is not very big, and it wasn’t very crowded when we situated ourselves conveniently at the bar near the stage. As the music brought in the people, the vibe started to flow. Observing the crowd was a big part of the experience (let’s just say anything goes in Goa).

At the front of the stage was a traditional tablas (drums) player with magic fingers and the vocalist with a less traditional electronic sitar that was later excanged for a lute. behind them were a bass player and a “western” drummer. Off to one side was a digiery doo (sp?) and on the other side a guy with distant eyes on a mixer/synthesizer/keyboard thing. None of these details remained from my initial viewing of the band two years earlier because they were at the far side of a large open space in the middle of the Night Market. But the funky rhythmic world/dub beats were as soul rockin’ as I remember and more so.

When the show ended, I bought the four CDs of their that I didn’t already own and got their contact info. Who knows, Kundalini Airport just might end up as background music for a series of yoga CDs/podcasts by some yoga teacher you know.

For those of you wondering, the clubbing boozy nightlife is NOT part of the yoga training. The “work” starts tomorrow.

Roughly 6 hours later, we finally arrived at Whispering Lakes retreat center in Goa.
I did managed to stay awake for a couple of well deserved beers and sunset on the beach. Let’s just say today is going much better than yesterday. It’s supposed to, it’s my birthday!

I’m not just selling, I’m a buyer too (and I contend that most retreats are needlessly overpriced). By my own admission, I am a “retreat junkie”. My total days-in-retreat count is about 300 and I will be upping that number about 10% in the near future!

Between now and Mexico (Feb 19-26) I will be attending two separate yoga retreats: 4 days in Napa with Stephanie Snyder (late October); 4 WEEKS in India with Tribe Yoga (Jan 9 – Feb 6).

Why do I go on retreat? For the same reasons I cite when promoting them: Deepening my practice, challenging myself to learn new aspects of yoga (and self), immersing myself in natural beauty, getting away from my “norm” and giving myself space for new growth. Most of my periods of significant growth and clarity are linked directly to retreat.

I chose Stephanie’s retreat because I know her to be an amazing teacher, but her regular classes are not conveniently located or timed for my schedule. Why struggle to make any one class when I can join her retreat and get six?

The India adventure is a whole ‘nother story. I will be in Goa completing my 500 hour Advanced Yoga Teacher Certification. My teaching practice has come a long way in the last eight years. Why not give it a boost? There are always more aspects and asanas to be explored.

I hear so many “justifications” for why people don’t attend retreats. Any worthwhile adventure provides hurdles and challenges our comfort zone. I understand completely. Neither of these retreats fit nicely into my busy calendar or my meagre budget. I will be giving up 10% of my annual earnings, missing my loving wife and having to find substitutes for about 85 classes. I will be traveling and spending my birthday alone. I won’t know anyone attending either retreat and look forward to an 8-hour overnight layover in the Mumbai airport. I happily choose the experiences over the excuses.

“There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom”…Anais Nin

The disconnect was that he was standing there in full uniform next to his DPT scooter printing out a parking ticket to some poor unsuspecting soul. He was the enemy! A parking Nazi!

It is so easy to put a label on someone or something. I am sure many people have categorized me based on my chosen profession. I only hope I help them see things differently (as I did yesterday).

To be fair to my kind and gererous hosts, Kanika and Vellayan, the south Indian world that they moved back to (from the states where I met them) is simply not set up for life as we know it in the west. Traffic is aggressive in a stampede like way and infuriating to the point where if I were to have driven anywhere, I would have needed the rest of the day to recover. When I asked why no one stopped at the clearly painted “stop” lines on the roadway. I was told that you would be smashed into by whatever car, bus, truck or motor bike might be pushing you from behind. Then, in the inevitably subsequent argument (which we wittnessed multiple times), you would clearly be the one in the wrong. Furthermore, parking is often non-existant, so someone has to stay with the car anyway.

So, drivers are a given. But, similar arguments can be made for the rest of the household staff which included nannies, housekeepers, a cook and a guard. If this sounds heavenly to you, consider the management issues and the groceries needed to feed the whole team (even if someone else is doing the shopping). Add in language barriers (Tamil Nadu has it’s own language) and general Indian inefficiencies and one might argue that the system was more effort that luxury.

To put things in perspective, the lives of my hosts looked similar to many married couples I know in The Bay Area. They live in a nice home and are both successful professionals running their own businesses and trying to find a healthy balance between home, work and family. Their two energetic sons Karthik (6) and Kabir (4) keep them on their toes when the challenges (not to mention the heat) of the day might encourage a more restive pose.

With all these servants it seemed that someone had to rest. So, I took it upon myself to shoulder that burden. Yes, I had been in meditation for about a month, but that was not really rest. While in Chennai, I still had time to meditate every day, but also got to read and catch up on my delinquent blog entries and e-mails (and continue my fruitless attempts to get even rudimentary levels of service from multiple banks, but we won’t go back there).

My biggest challenge was practicing the art of receiving. I certainly wasn’t contributing much (though I did lead a series of yoga classes at the posh Madras Club, but that was not especially taxing). I eventually got used to one of the staff following me around, picking up after me, doing my laundry and continually asking if I want tea or food or anything. But, being a “guest” has it’s down sides as well. I was used to being a free spirited traveler doing whatever I want with no one to answer too. How am I supposed to know what time I am going to want lunch?

One of the nicest parts of the visit was being welcomed into a warm and vibrant social network. One of Kanika’s associates, Pearl, was staying at the house as well. In addition, there were multiple opportunities to meet other close friends (many of whom attended the yoga classes). Saturday evening had a particularly familiar feel, when a group of friends came over to the house. We talked, we laughed, we ate and put a serious dent into the family collection of California Cabernets (all of which had been “carried-on” from one trip or another).

In the end, this chapter of my travel adventure was a nice opportunity to deepen my friendships with the Kanika and Vellayan. In addition, it let them see that the yoga teacher they knew was really just a normal guy bumbling his way through India. It let me see that good people are good people wherever they go and no matter how many servants they may have to deal with.

…Keith

One of the beauties of vipassana meditation retreats is how concepts come up in dharma talks, discussion groups and Inquiries and then work their way into better understanding of experiences. The concept explored here is my interpretation of dependent arrising. Please note I am likely mixing up multiple concepts and using inappropriate terminology. I am not even sure I am spelling it correctly, but none of that has ever stopped me before…

When something happens, let’s say it’s bad (because our dark sides all seem to like reading about tragedies rather than successes), we often blame ourselves, or blame another, maybe we share the blame, maybe we say there was no blame and call it fate. The Buddha suggested that all events occur simply because circumstances allow them to occur. It’s OK if that doesn’t make sense, it was just a rambling way of introducing two examples of random occurences, one favorable, the other a pain in the ass. Neither example is particularly deep or meaningful, so if you are looking for insights and wisdom, feel free to look elsewhere (inward is always a good choice).

A few years back (when I was still living in the City), I was preparing to teach an after work yoga class. As this particular class was on a Friday, I had taken the bus downtown dressed in the street clothes I was to wear out afterwards. My yoga clothes were packed in a backpack, or so I thought. When I went to change, I discovered that my shorts were not in the backpack. With only minutes left before the class, I ran upstairs to the shop and desperately looked for anything that would work. Among the limited selection was a pair of black “esprit” length (down to the calf for most of the male readers who have probably never cared what esprit means) yoga pants. They fit, they were on the “clearance” rack and my employee discount made them a steal (at about the price of two beers). So, it didn’t really bother me that I bought them with the expectation that I might never wear them again. The yoga class was saved, the pants performed flawlessly, made their way through the laundry cycle and were then deposited (and forgotten) into my seldom-opened bottom drawer.

As fate would have it (if Buddha’s teachings allowed for fate), the bottom drawer is also where my travel clothes live. Jump forward a few years to when it came time to pack for this trip. Packing is serious business (especially when 20% of my weight and space is alloted for an industrial strength yoga mat). So my first thought upon seeing the black yoga pants was, “those might be nice for the trip, but I don’t think there will be room.” They ended up being the last item packed: the final draft choice. If they turned out to be unnecessary, I would feel no guilt cutting them from the team (as other higher draft choices have since experienced). As it turned out, I wore the pants every day as I taught the morning yoga classes. I kept them on most days through my personal yoga practice. I washed them often and they dried quickly. They were very comfortable and the perfect length to be acceptable for the multiple conservative cultural standards of a Thai buddhist monastery in India. Basically I was getting away with wearing shorts in a no shorts environment because all the circumstances allowed events to occur as they had.

Unfortunately, this way of looking at things also applies to less pleasant outcomes…

On the way to Asia, I had a layover in Seoul, Korea. It was a few hours. I was hungry. I bought a sandwich. As I had no Korean currency (or even the awareness of what Korean currency is called), I charged the sandwich on my Mastercard. There is no reason to mention the name of the American sandwich company. They did nothing wrong and provided a pretty good sandwich. Chase Bank (a division of JPMorgan Chase and Company) does not qualify for the same imunity. Apparently, my purchase looked suspiciously like credit card fraud (surely every credit card thief’s first destination is to Seoul for a sandwich). Chase cancelled my card. I am still OK with circumstances allowing the events to occur as they had up to this point. I presume that Chase notified me by mail, but I didn’t know anything was happening until I checked my account on-line between retreats (I was curious how much my sandwich cost) and found that my account was simply gone. There was no mention of it when I logged onto the website. That’s when the adventure began.

I didn’t actually do anything until I was out of silence. In response to my first “secure” e-mail inquiry (each of which took me about a half an hour to get to in India’s archaic internet cafes; which did not feel like the safest places to be typing all my passwords to access my personal financial information). Chase instructed me to call them collect and directed to a website with instructions on how to do so from different countries. At that website, I was given numbers to call from India to reach either an MCI or an AT&T operator. All those numbers started with 000. My Indian mobile phone did nothing with 000. None of the phone vendors (local or international) could do anything with numbers beginning with 000. All of these vendors said a collect call from India was not possible.

My next secure e-mail was a little more animated and precise. I stated specifically, “do not ask me to call you with telephone numbers beginning in 000.” The response (which probably came from an Indian message center) provided two telephone numbers beginning with 000. While trying to maintain some semblance of minfulness, I begged, pleaded and escalated my “secure” online communications, but they would simply not tell me what happened to my card. Given no alternative, I bit the financial bullet and called directly. Here is when it was confirmed that my card was cancelled for suspected fraud. Though I finally had a reason, I was no closer to a solution. This did not really worry me, as my Mastercard was only for emergencies (not for cash). Then one day while meditating it dawned on my that my telephone and other bills were paid from that Mastercard. Let’s just say it ruined my focus for that sitting.

If you are having a good day and you want that to change, try to contact your phone company. Amazingly I found an even greater level of inaccessability. There is no way to reach AT&T from the web, unless I registered using your AT&T phone to receive a text with your password. I am sure my AT&T phone holds such a message as it sits safely in a drawer back home. Another international phone call, more waiting on hold while being assured that AT&Ts appreciaties my loyalty. Finally, I spoke with someone who confirmed my account was delinquent, but assured me that the collection vultures had yet to mount an assault on my defenseless credit rating. This was one thing I was confident AT&T could and would do with efficiency. All they required was the new credit card information and all would be well.

Chase had already issued me a new Mastercard (sent to sit in my unsecured mailbox for weeks). But no one at any level within Chase could give me the magic three digits on the back of the card. AT&T system would not accept a new card without the magic three digit number. Days went by. My meditations now regularly included visions of vultures circling, diving and ripping into my fiscal flesh and financial stability. Finally, after a few more correspondences and expensive phone calls, AT&T accepted Anna’s credit card.

All was well, until I attempted to withdrawl a sizable sum of money from a local ATM (to pay for my yoga retreat). The receipt suggested I had received 20,000 Rupees. The machine decided to keep the rupees instead. To my amazement, Bank of America and Canara Bank of India went to even greater lenghts to avoid their customers. I won’t bore you with further details of calling, holding, waiting and fuming. This issue still hasn’t reached a conclusion.

If all events occur because circumstances allow them to occur, maybe, we should allow a few financial institutions should fail (rather than being bailed out) and these non-communication circumstances might change.

…Keith

As I optimistically promised more words after the silent retreats, I am writing to re-adjust that forecast. I could easily say the universe is conspiring to make it hard to find computer time (when the electricity is on). But more honestly, I am not in the proper headspace of heartspace for writing right now, so I am honoring that.
I am doing well. I have moved on to the village of Sarnath (near Varanassi) where most of the meditation sangha (team/friend/family) have re-located with much looser parameters (i.e., we are not in silence). But there is still a fairly comprehensive schedule and I am still teaching yoga (so I need to find time to fit in my own practice). The transition into the speaking world has been a little more challenging for me than in retreats past, but this too shall pass.
I will write more (probably MUCH more) when the time is right. Until then, be well.

…Keith