#65. The Summer Diaries: the frame/Os Diários do Verão: cantinhos

[texto em Português logo abaixo]


#1. The Puzzle

 The pieces are scattered on the table. Somewhere between then and now I decided to try putting together this 50.000-pieces one. That means I left behind my safe, mid-potential 2.000-piece puzzle to dive into an endeavor that will cost me these three months of summer. My puzzle has the picture of a snowy mountain, cows, blue sky and some huts in the background.

Those who are into puzzles are aware that the first step consists of putting together the frame of the picture, and only after that we can come up with the cows' faces, the snowy top of the mountain, the shadows of the chalets. Sky, grass, the earth tones: those are all left behind to be confronted when most of the picture already makes sense. The end is just a matter of matching a cloud with the other.


#2. A House of cards

You give me the puzzle. I find a house of cards.

It's not that I'm showing off; I'm not saying that I'm 100% sure a will finish it by summer. But fact is that I've already finished framing. Yes. I found out that I had confused a piece of the sky with the cow's paw. What is it all about - a mountain or a cloud? There's a lot to be done, but I have the everyday-of-three-months to be finished.

Of course 50.000 pieces is a lot and the whole floor before me is covered cow-sky-inside-out-upside-down, and I walk slowly, carefully not to unmake the whole thing. Me walking inside the house of cards that you granted me with.

A wrong step to the side and everything can fall on my head. I don't want to break the pieces of your eye by mistake.



3. A Domino Path

... meanwhile, I sit by the same coffee place in Andaluzia.

I arrived here a week ago and I'll stay one more month before moving somewhere else. The owners here are Sufis and know me from last year. They like my presence and spoil me: my coffee comes in a beautiful cup printed with a map of Brazil.

The music is good and ranges from Brazilian songs to flamenco, Sufi mantras and Beatles. And so do I - an oscillation myself, I walk from my blog to hotel reservations and my thesis. Many friends from the sangha are around yet I'm not so into speaking. Staring at the mountains and the river outside, that's what I love the most. Some days I can even see the sea from here.

So in this summer I decided to put together my 50.000-piece puzzle hopefully without bringing down the house of cards. By end-September, then may I be able to blow away my sand mandala, cow's-face-and-paws-cloud-grass-mountains-elephant-sky; walk on the top of these cardboard-made pieces; take a ride on a train that crosses the domino path so that I can watch it falling down, piece-by-piece, until there's nothing else left but the collapsed, kind of dead path behind.


*These are The Summer Diaries. They'll be written in real time in the various countries where I'll be living until end-September. They are the record of my journey of meditation, silence and satsangs with my (sat) guru in the next months.
So that I can throw away my puzzle. Or to say it in different words: kick the door, walk across the border, stamp my passport with the flag of ladosladosdela.


***

#1. Quebra-cabeça

Em cima da mesa está a caixa, e eu vou espalhando as peças. Algum lugar a meio-caminho daqui eu decidi fazer este enorme, de 50.000 peças. Abandonei, portanto, o potencial médio e seguro das 2.000. Vou ocupar a mesa inteira da sala e os próximos três meses da minha vida pra terminar este daqui. O meu tem a foto de uma montanha nevada, vaca pastando, céu azul e umas casinhas no fundo.

Quem gosta sabe que a gente começa a montar quebra-cabeça pelos cantinhos e pelas imagem mais discerníveis. Primeiro é encontrar as linhas retas e as esquinas, e logo a gente tem a moldura. Depois a cara da vaca, a pontinha da montanha com neve, o telhado do chalé. O céu, a grama, os tons de terra: estes a gente deixa pra depois, quando já der pra ver que a maior parte da foto faz sentido. Quando só fizer falta acertar uma nuvem com a outra.


#2. Jogo de varetas

Você me dá o quebra-cabeça, eu encontro o jogo de varetas.

Porque o projeto é ambicioso, eu não quero soar pretensiosa demais e dizer que vou conseguir terminar tudo neste verão... Mas a verdade é que eu já encontrei os cantinhos. Por enquanto acabei de descobrir que eu tinha confundido o pedaço do céu  com a pata da vaca. Ou onde foi que inventaram isso da montanha ser também nuvem? Falta muito, mas eu tenho o todo-dia-de-três-meses para terminar.

50.000 peças é bastante, e agora é o chão inteiro da sala que está assim, vaca-céu-nuvem-de-cima-pra-baixo-do-lado-avesso, e eu caminho devagar pra não desmontar nada de lugar nenhum. Eu caminhando dentro do jogo de varetas que você me deu.

Um passo pro lado e se eu não prestar atençar pode ser de desmoronar tudo aqui em cima de mim. Ou eu posso desmontar um pedaço do seu olho sem querer.


#3. Um caminho de dominó

... enquanto isso eu sento no mesmo café na Andaluzia.

Estou aqui há uma semana e fico mais um mês antes de me mudar pra outro país. Os donos são Sufis, me conhecem do ano passado e gostam de me ver aqui. Todos os dias tem esse mimo: eles servem meu café com leite numa xícara com desenho do mapa do Brasil.

A música vai assim, entre uma cantora brasileira cafona, um pouco de flamenco, mantras Sufis e Beatles. E eu vou assim, entre o blog, a reserva de um hotel pro meu pai e o sumário da minha tese.
Tenho muitos amigos da sangha mas muito pouca vontade de falar. Eu gosto mesmo é de ficar olhando as montanhas e o rio aqui do lado de fora. Às vezes dá até pra ver o mar.

... porque nesse verão eu decidi montar o meu quebra-cabeça de 50.000 peças sem deixar nenhuma vareta cair em cima de mim. E quando setembro chegar, então eu vou soprar a mandala de areia, cara-de-vaca-nuvem-grama-montanha-elefante-no-céu, dançar em cima dessa bobagem feita de 50.000 pedaços de papelão, subir num trenzinho e viajar neste caminho de dominó, um derrubando o seguinte, chegar no final pra ver se esse monte de peça morta faz algum sentido.

*Estes são os diários do Verão. Escritos em tempo real e entre os diferentes países onde eu viverei até outubro chegar, eles são o registro em tempo real da minha jornada de meditação, silêncio e satsangs com meu (sat) guru daqui até lá.
Para poder jogar fora o quebra-cabeça que estou tentando montar. Ou, dito de um outro jeito: chutar de vez a porta, atravessar a fronteira minúscula, carimbar meu passaporte com o selo de ládosladosdelá.

#64. My tips on teachers and places to meditate

"But I don't want to go among mad people", Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that", said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad".
"How do you know I'm mad?", said Alice.
"You must be", said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here".
[From Alice in Wonderland]

Gratitude

It happened, then, that one year ago I took off on a bike tour whose final destination was a kingdom that lies beyond the body and the mind.
Unnameable, of course, this kingdom is Alice's Wonderland; it is an enchanted castle full of disillusions; it is a gateway into the beginning of a new journey; it is the killing of so many things I believed to be real; it is my personal dead end whose only way out is a door called L O V E.

In this post you can find the teachers who I have so far met in my way. You can also find my tips on places to meditate and videos to check - and because I'm living in Europe for almost three years now, then most of the people I mention here teach mainly in this continent. If you're faraway, then you can always learn from their videos (some I posted here, too).

This is my way of sharing the beautiful teachings I have received with all my friends who have been asking about those tips. It comes with the deepest gratitude to all of these teachers.
Namastê.

Now it's up to you: follow the white rabbit, Alice.

Meet the teachers:

These are the living teachers who are the closest to my heart. I have not met all of them in person yet, but I was lucky enough to cross their way, be it in presence or in physical distance.

Most of them are related to a spiritual tradition that is very dear to me - the so-called Advaita Vedanta tradition. But Jetsun Khandro is Buddhist. And there's also Adyashanti, who does not affiliate himself with any tradition. 

In the core, they are all very similar and teach the very same thing. They just point to different entry doors. When it comes to the mysteries of being-ness, then the path of each seeker is singular. In much the same vein, the form each realized being uses to transmit her/his realization is also singular without leaving behind the belonging of such teachings to the very Unity of everything. So if one particular teaching among these all touches you particularly deep, then you probably found your way to go.

Ah! I have also many teachers who have already left their bodies and whose teachings are very special to me, but I'll write on this maybe some other time.

 

 Mooji

All gratitude to my beloved Guru. 

Mooji stays most of the time in his very simple ashram "Monte Sahaja", located in the south of Portugal. But he also travels around the world offering retreats and intensive sessions, mainly in Europe. For his schedule, check the website. There you can also watch his videos and buy his (beautiful) books:

www.mooji.org

 

Saraswathi Ma

Ma is a former student of Sathya Sai Baba and Mooji. She is also my direct teacher and a beautiful being who definitely has the ability to take me into those remote hidden corners of mySelf whose existence I insisted on denying and that I thought I would never be able to reach.
Yes, self-knowledge is not always easy yet it is undoubtedly rewarding.
Ma also travels around the world and teaches mostly in Europe. This year she will spend one month in the south of Spain (June-July). You can check her schedule here: 
http://www.saraswathima.org

Paul Hurcomb

I have been dreaming on meeting Paul, yet our schedules have not yet coincided. A former student of Mooji, too, Paul teaches mainly in England and Spain. I think I've never listened to someone as still as him, and in times of turbulence I always remember his voice to come back to a place of inner silence. Here you can find his website:

http://www.meetingsinstillness.com/

Her Eminence Mindrolling Jetsün Khandro Rinpoche

She is based in India yet she teaches a lot in Europe and in the States:
http://www.khandrorinpoche.org/

 

Adyashanti

Once I crossed a photo with a saying written on it and I got mesmerized. The phrase never left me - and then I found it had been written by Adyashanti. His website is here:

http://www.adyashanti.org/

..and the saying is this one:

"Enlightenment is a destructive process. It has nothing to do with becoming better or being happier. Enlightenment is the crumbling away of untruth. It's seeing through the facade of pretense. It's the complete eradication of everything we imagined to be untrue".

Buddhist meditation in Geneva and around it:

 

Centre Vilamakirti

Buddhist center directed by lay teachers in the center of Geneva. Very simple and beautiful. Vipassana meditation once a week; sessions last around 1 hour and are suitable for beginners. The center is located at a small street by Rue de Lyon, some 10 minutes walk from Gare Cornavin. http://www.vimalakirti.org/

 

Sapan Association

It was created by the Swiss Buddhist practitioner Anne Heriatz under the guidance of her teacher and root-guru the Venerable Kenchen Lama Sherab Gyaltsen Amipa Rinpoche.

The Association functions at Anne's house and follows the Sakya tradition of Tibetan Buddhism. Since the passing away of her teacher on the 14th of April, 2014, Anne is away in a 6-week meditation retreat and will be back on the 12th of June/2014. Meanwhile, the meditations are being conducted by me and our sangha friend Jutta every Tuesday at 6.30p.m. We practice silent Avalokiteshvara meditation focused in the personal recitation of the mantra "OM MANI PADME HUM" for 1 hour and a half. 

The center lies at Rue Citté Villars, 10.  The association is in the 2nd floor. For further information, call me on: +41(0)789042755.

 

Sakya Tsechen Ling

This center follows the Sakya tradition of Tibetan Buddhism and is located in a small city very close to Strasbourg. After the passing away of the Venerable Kenchen Lama Sherab Gyaltsen Amipa Rinpoche, the teachings in the center are now given by the Venerable Tashi Sangpo.

Rarely in my life did I feel so well-received in a place as I was here. Being there helped me discerning my spiritual path and understanding Buddha teachings deeper. So if you're interested in diving deep in the Buddhist path, I suggest you to have a look at the schedule and to make your way there:

http://sakyatsechenling.assoc.pagespro-orange.fr/

 

Avoid!!!! - Vedic Meditation Geneva

I was very frustrated when I checked this place in Geneva - I had high hopes because the name of the meditation it advertised contained the word "Vedic". I thought, then, that I had found a center somehow dedicated to the ancient source of knowledge called the "Vedas". Don't be misled by it. Although the leading person in the organization seemed to have good intentions, the vague and doubtful arguments of spiritual authority he used really impressed me - in a bad way. It also shocked me to see the way he turned meditation into a commodity in his discourse... And the ridiculous amount of money he asked for this (supposedly) ancient technique he was teaching. 

Because it is so misleading, then I felt it would be important to warn people who are not used to meditation to avoid looking for genuine spiritual knowledge here.

http://gvameditation.ch/

Meditate at home: 

 

Guided meditation by Mooji-ji:

 

Guided meditation by Saraswathi Ma:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kydknkL8hMA

 

Guided meditation with Paul Hurcomb:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_C5Jwbu3wU

 

Meet the teachers in your own home:

 

Her Eminence Mindrolling Jetsün Khandro Rinpoche

"Sometimes a bar of chocolate does better than a session of meditation!" 

Saraswathi Ma

"Intuition is the knowing that you know without knowing how".

Mooji-ji

"Then grief - let grief happen. Because grief allowed to happen is healthy".

Paul Hurcomb

"Rather than giving any core message, the invitation is to really stop and be still".

Adyashanti

Most of us wants to feel better; we don't want to see we're mis-perceiving things. But this is the core of spirituality".

#63. All synonym of all/Tudo sinônimo de tudo

[Versão em português abaixo]

I carry in my heart a 2013-2014 CV in which it is written a "3-and-a-half-months bike tour in Spain". It was not supposed to be "a spiritual journey", but looking back now
I cannot see anything more spiritual than watching the sun going up and down, the days starting and falling apart in the full integrity of a transient world which insists on keeping moving no matter how fast my legs were able to cycle to catch up with it.

In my 2013-2014 Curriculum there is also this entry saying "Found a Guru" and "Spent 1 Month in India"     yet I never told it to anyone because maybe I thought nobody would ever understand that    but the moment I saw my beloved teacher he transformed himself into an Ocean so that I could not learn from him anymore the way I thought a student should take a lesson (I discovered then from him that there was a new way of learning).
But coming to teachings, it was a crowd of so new friends in India     Brazilians Israelis Serbian Slovakian British    who taught me different ways of loving.

And back in Geneva I  started writing my thesis so I put my hands on Paulo Freire's book for my 1st chapter. And I read him saying that when the oppressed rebel to transcend oppression without desiring to becoming oppressors    then they are acting with love towards the oppressors, liberating not only themselves but the oppressors too - and that's the only possible kind of true liberation.
And that reminded me of the Buddhist concept of compassion and liberation of all beings.
And also of the Beatles' song which is written in the abandoned ashram in Rishikesh and which says that in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Or the documents for my thesis in which people in the 60s argue that the true gospel of Christ means acting with selfless kindness into everyday life towards everyone.
Which in turn echoes my present assumption that my ashram is the world if I am able to see it as such.

Love is wherever with you.  All just a synonym to the very same word.

* * *

[Versão em português]




Eu levo no meu coração um currículo 2013-2014 no qual lê-se "3 meses e meio andando de bicicleta na Espanha".
Não era para ser uma viagem espiritual ou algo que o valha, mas olhando para trás agora eu entendo que:
não existe nada mais espiritual que assistir os dias que começam e se despedaçam, íntegros na roda de um mundo impermanente que insiste em continuar mudando não interessa o quão rápido pedalem essas minhas pernas para tentar alcançá-lo.

E em outro lugar do meu currículo, agora em 2014, há uma seção que menciona "Mariana Carpanezzi encontrou seu guru" e também o de que "Mariana Carpanezzi passou 1 mês meditando na Índia".
Mas pra dizer bem a verdade, o fato é que eu não contei direito pra ninguém, talvez porque achei que ninguém ia entender (nem eu mesma), mas no exato momento que eu o vi, o meu querido guru se transformou num Oceano, e a partir daí eu não pude mais aprender dele do jeito que eu achava (antes) que um aluno tinha que aprender a lição          Além do Mooji, então na Índia outros professores vieram, amigos    brasileiros israelenses sérvio eslovaco inglês    que me ensinaram a amar de um jeito diferente.

E então eu voltei pra Genebra, e para escrever o primeiro capítulo da minha tese eu tive que ler este livro do Paulo Freire. E ele diz que o oprimido tem que se rebelar, mas que para transcender a opressão ele precisa ir além, sem querer transformar-se em opressor. Fazendo isto, ele age com amor, liberando a todos - a si próprio e aos opressores. Esta seria a única forma de liberação.
O que me lembrou do conceito budista de compaixão e de liberação de todos os seres.
E também da música dos Beatles que está pixada no ashram abandonado de Rishikesh e que diz que in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Ou dos documentos para a minha tese, nos quais as pessoas dos anos 1960 defendiam que o verdadeiro Evangelho de Cristo só poderia existir na ação concreta, todos os dias.
E que, por sua vez, ecoa minha convicção, hoje em dia, de que o meu ashram é o mundo, e que o mais importante é ser capaz de vê-lo assim.


Love is wherever with you.  Tudo sinônimo da única e mesma palavra.

#62. On Meditation

*Such a lifelong seriousness, you know?
Taking life too seriously, taking myself too seriously, taking others too seriously, and giving all of us a trouble big time - hey, why did you show up late? why did I say that? why did you break my heart when I loved you such much? I'm so so so sorry... (and keeps going)     not to mention the moral hangovers, self-consciousnesses, shame of going to the library with my wonderful pajama-like blue pants.

*There's also this thing of all-that-you're-supposed-to-do at a certain moment of Time.
So it felt so painful back then this silly thing that I was the last one to kiss a boy at school when I was 13, and the last one to have my period    and at 29 I got so afraid of turning 30, because when I'm 30, well, I have to be all wise and I'm so fucking faraway from wise with these insecurities and fears, including this big one for a woman at that age: that at the moment I had no such supposedly-natural feeling of becoming a mother. [and the clock felt to be always ticking]

*Not only time but also Space.
When everybody settles, and friends become Families with apartments, or even when I listen to those who have their favorite city in the world    I watch from the inside my inability to find a place in all 5 continents where I would like to stay for more than 2 years     or, to go a little further: not able to even decide if I prefer a house or an apartment, if I am urban or if I like the countryside
Or this uncomfortable one of not feeling particularly Brazilian although not having any other identity to replace it: Exiled from nowhere with no asylum country.

*And there's also the Being a Proper Good Person.
So I read Dostoievski when I was 15, got good grades in hateful biology and chemistry, studied Law at a very good university, refrained from dancing Macarena in public, wore dreadful high heels, exercised regularly and so on (thanks God I've been a smoker for 20 years now).

* * *
Then it came this one day when I realized that it was maybe too much, huh?
Following others' advices, I tried to imagine I was my best friend and that I was hugging myself and so on. But some things are too deep-rooted to be taken care of this way.

And it was then, sitting in the cushion, that I understood that there was no way to fix myself because there was none to be fixed but the stories I had created about this me.
So I dropped everything and quickly came to this understanding:

:Life's a balloon ride


* * *

#61.Os Diários da Índia: Om Namah Shivay/The India Diaries: Om Namah Shivay

[English version below]

É fim da manhã e eu estou numa praia na beira do Ganges. Não tem ninguém: hoje somos só eu e o sadhu que seca um pedaço de pano no dia sem sol.  Lento, assim, ou ainda mais precisamente: para além do tempo     é esta praia vazia, o rio hoje que passa devagar, o nublado que me resiste calor, sombra e vontade de tomar o banho sagrado no último dia de Rishikesh.

E porque não existe mais nada pra fazer, então eu sento em Silêncio. E me vejo perguntando se eu existo quando não tem ninguém pra escutar o que eu digo         que nem agora.    Ou o que é que existe quando não tem ninguém para escutar. Ou se na verdade alguma vez houve alguma coisa que eu falei que realmente precisou ser dita.

Entre dormindo e acordada, aqui neste lugar vazio de algum jeito que não é na cabeça eu entendo que todas as palavras são inúteis. Que viver de palavras é do reino do Absurdo.        :O Essencial é do reino do indizível

E eu vejo como uma bola de futebol o nonsense dispensável que é o Pão Nosso de Cada Dia: os gestos, as tentativas, os erros e os acertos; todos os momentos de planejar, todos os planos e sonhos, a memória das pessoas que eu amo, meus pais sentados no banco do quintal lá em Curitiba, meu irmão acordando com a cara amassada. A solidão da Suíça, os amigos que sempre estão lá longe, minha viagem de bicicleta, o futuro pós-doutorado, a casa que eu já deveria ter comprado, o companheiro que eu deveria ter encontrado, o filho que eu já poderia ter tido. Tudo que eu deixei, tudo que eu ainda não consegui deixar, tudo que eu tenho medo de perder. A morte – a minha e a dos que eu amo, e mesmo meu desejo de Verdade.

Tudo aquilo que É Evidente desaparece no momento em que não existe nada, em que não há ninguém para me testemunhar a não ser eu mesma, sem disfarces       sem sol        num lugar desconhecido.  Tudo que sobra é Nada, e esse nada é o que eu sou.

Tão pura, ela me vem assim: para além do gostar ou não gostar, a Índia é uma forma de morte.

***

[English version]

Late morning and I'm sitting by myself facing the Ganga. Quiet around: today it's me and the sadhu who dries his piece of cloth under the cloudy sky.  Slowly or even better     :timeless        this place is empty, the river flows lazy today and the gray sky asks me not to run for the supposedly holy bath in my last day in Rishikesh.

And because there's nothing else to do       then I do sit in Silence.  I'm soon asking myself if indeed I do exist when there's none to listen to what I say, like now        Or      What is it that exist when there's none to listen to what I say         Or        Is there actually something worth saying beyond Silence itself?

Half awake-half asleep        here in this empty place I understand somehow that every and each word is useless.  Living from words is to dive into the Absurd         :the Essential knows no word.

Just as if it were a soccer ball       then I watch the nonsense that I am used to play with everyday: my gestures and words, trials, mistakes, failures and successes; every planned and planning moment, every future plan, the memory of those ones who I love, my parents sitting in the backyard side by side under the orange tree and my beautiful brother waking up late in a Sunday. The Swiss solitude, my friends scattered all over the world, my bike tour, my future after the PhD, the house I should have bought at this point, the man I should have met at this point, the child I should already have had at this point.  Everything that I have left behind, that which I could not yet abandon, all I'm afraid of losing. Death - mine and my beloved ones'. My clumsy Truth-seeking journey.

And all of this which has always been so evident disappears in this moment when there's nothing and none to watch but a Bare Me       no need to pretend        in this me alone   by the river    no sun    in Rishikesh.  NOTHING is that which is left; that's only that which I am       no lies allowed here

So pure, she gives me its vertiginous gift: beyond loving it or not, India is a sort of death.

#59. Os diários da Índia: todas as formas de amor/ The India Diaries: all forms of Love

[English version below]


a mulher sentada na beira do caminho tem uma folha entre os lábios, e a vaca que se aproxima com a língua para tirar dessa boca a comida é abraçada com carinho depois do beijo
na sala de satsang uma pergunta surge com a voz do medo de morrer para encontrar conforto neste ensinamento que diz que há o amor se você se jogar do trapézio sem rede de segurança
são duas da tarde e uma família de porcos descansa ao sol ao mesmo tempo em que cabras e pessoas e crianças e cinzas de mortos e restos de plástico encontram seu caminho nas águas do rio Ganges
dois turistas americanos pechinchando as estátuas lindas do Buda que o indiano vende a 20 reais
na privada do meu hotel barato bóia uma camisinha usada e meio amarela dos antigos hóspedes
as buzinas de motos encontram a voz dos santos em alaranjado que cumprimentam seu Hare Om

: faz sol, e eu sentada com alguém num banco imundo      rindo desde um lado de mim        enquanto do lado avesso eu vou amando de um jeito diferente e tentando aprender essa coisa que a gente chama de Partida

***

she is sitting by the dusty path with a leaf in her mouth and the cow that is now approaching gets her warm hug after the lunch kiss from those human lips
the question crosses the satsang hall enveloped in the fear of death to find comfort in the teaching that promises love if you throw yourself from the cliff with no safety net
it's 2 pm and a family of pigs catches the sunshine at the same time in which goats and people and children and plastic bags find their way in the water currents of the Ganga
two American tourists bargaining in front of the beautiful Buddha statues that the Indian man is selling for 5 dollars
inside the toilet of my room sits a used condom from the previous guests
and this sound of motorcycle horns meeting the silence of the Babajis who greet us their Hare Om

it's sunny, and I'm sitting with someone in a filthy bench in the street        I am smiling from one of my insides for having the chance of loving in a different way        while from the other one I try to accept this thing we call Leaving

#58. Diários da Índia: residir no coração/ The India Diares: resident in the heart

[English version below]

Chego em Rishikesh.

Vou caminhando e vendo que estou no meio de um milhão de ashrams. Eles estão em todas as esquinas, tudo está em todas as esquinas porque tudo aqui é feito de labirintos, de becos, de curvas, de lugares escondidos       este lugar das esquinas
a cidade consagrada a Shiva, na beira do Ganges sagrado, aos pés dos Himalaias, a capital mundial da yoga, todos os gurus e todos os charlatões reunidos e cheio de gente e de vaca e de lixo e de esgoto e de sujeira e de brancos fazendo curso de yoga ayurveda meditação e sabe-se lá o que, porque também aqui é o mundo e essa vontade existe        às vezes     de comprar a iluminação     de arrancar a Verdade do pé pronta como se fosse um abacate ou uma jaca
então eu não entendo direito como é que assim       desse jeito       sem mudar nada     uma coisa pode ser também tão linda

então eu continuo caminhando, e de repente eu vejo o Mooji que vem na minha direção, caminhando com poucas pessoas em volta
ele é pequeno e parece um ursinho de pelúcia
eu paro, cumprimento
ele me chama, a gente se abraça e eu só consigo dizer thank you, Mooji, thank you, thank you
meu amigo chega perto dele, eles conversam, mas eu não tenho vontade
 eu estou tão feliz
acho que nunca fiquei tão feliz assim
se eu tivesse que pegar meu avião amanhã e nunca mais vê-lo, ainda assim eu estaria feliz

e essa incrível sensação de amor besta, o retorno para um lugar que parece minha casa, esta gratidão por encontrar residência no coração


*Este e o segundo de uma serie de posts escritos on the road sobre minha primeira vez na India, numa viagem que estou fazendo para estar na presenca do meu guru Mooji, em Rishikesh. E, portanto, mais um diario de aventura espiritual do que um caderno de viagens.
**Em gratidao ao querido Mestre, estes diarios sao dedicados a ele e aos amigos maravilhosos que, de uma forma ou de outra, me acompanham por aqui.

--------

In Rishikesh.

My legs take me for I walk, and all around me these ashrams, everywhere, in every corner, and this city is nothing but corners   encounters   dead ends   curves   hidden spaces   :the city of all corners

the sacred city dedicated to Shiva, by the holy Ganga mother, by the feet of the Himalayas, the world yoga capital, every guru and also every charlatan gathered together in unmoving peace. and people and cows and trash and western people taking all kinds of courses ayurveda meditation yoga whatever        because here is the world         and in it there is this strong feeling of attaining Liberation, so sometimes this urge expresses itself as "I want to purchase it now, please"      as if Freedom were this fruit we could get ripe from a tree   an apple   a mango    3 peaches.    and all this is also ok and understood

the joy fills me as I don't understand how          exactly the way it is     without changing any little thing         this Rishikesh can be so beautiful

thus I keep walking to suddenly catch a glimpse of Mooji who is coming in my direction, walking with almost nobody around him
he's small and his presence is a sun that invites embracing
I stop by, put the palms of my hands together and say hello, my face just a big smile
he calls me, hugs me, and I can say nothing but thank you, Mooji, thank you, thank you
my friend approaches him and they talk, but I don't feel like talking
I'm so happy, and this happiness now does not have space for words
It's happiness, I AM nothing but happiness
so I feel that even if I had to take the plane back tomorrow and not being able to see him again, even in this situation I would be the happiest creature on earth

: this incredible sensation of Love, the certitude of coming back Home, the gratitude for having found residence in the Heart

#57. Os diarios da India: nada de novo no front

Primeira posicao na minha lista de desejos desde sempre - la em cima, quilometros de distancia da segunda posicao. Por isso essa coisa inconsciente de pensa-la sempre como uma grande viagem. A Viagem Espetacular pela India Profunda, a Viagem Quintessencial, aquela que mudaria tudo, separando o tempo da vida entre o Antes e o Depois. Entao eu planejei que um dia eu iria, e li todos esses livros, e sabia tudo que eu faria muito antes da partida acontecer. (Minha cabeca, essa grande anti-viagem).

So que quando veio, veio assim: Ordinaria. Tao prosaica como pegar um onibus pra ir no mercado. Um dia o Mooji anunciou que ficaria um mes em Rishikesh oferecendo satsang para os discipulos. No meu coracao veio a vontade de ver o Mooji antes mesmo daquela vontade velha de India. Comprei um bilhete barato e voei ate Delhi. E e tao pertinho da Suica que eu fiquei sem entender porque nao tinha vindo antes.

Cheguei de madrugada, ontem. Assustadoramente normal, minha reacao foi de embasbacamento pela falta do Esperado. Nao me assustei com o transito, nem com a comida, nem com a pobreza, nem com o jeito de vestir, os barulhos nas ruas ou o cheiro onipresente, e nem fiquei achando tenebroso essa coisa das pessoas ficarem me olhando por eu ser branca e meio careca.

***

Acho que quando tudo e tao radicalmente estrangeiro, entender vira um pais distante. Da pra singrar as aguas turbulentas de interpretar e querer entender essa coisa que e completamente bizarra para todos os meus tipos de condicionamentos. Eu nem cheguei a tentar, e no primeiro momento foi reacao instantanea, e eu just let it go: passo a viver bem assim mesmo, sem entender nada. Tudo e fresco, nada me cansa porque eu nem me importo em saber o que significa. Sou uma tonga nas ruas de Delhi.

Melhor sensacao de leveza deste mundo, esta de encontrar um lugar onde a vida e surreal e taken for granted. Essa liberdade tao maravilhosa e excepcional que me faz sentir imediatamente em casa aqui em Delhi; a maravilhosa consciencia de me encontrar profundamente burra, quase nem sabendo quem eu sou.

Welcome to India, Mariana.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBqluZ5LieM


*Este e o primeiro de uma serie de posts escritos on the road sobre minha primeira vez na India, numa viagem que estou fazendo para estar na presenca do meu guru Mooji, em Rishikesh. E, portanto, mais um diario de aventura espiritual do que um caderno de viagens.
**Em gratidao ao querido Mestre, estes diarios sao dedicados a ele e aos amigos maravilhosos que, de uma forma ou de outra, me acompanham por aqui.

#56. The ashram diaries: standing still on uneven ground

Caught up in motion
Swirling around
Sometimes you're standing still
On uneven ground 
[Cornelia and Jane, by Yo La Tengo]

The celestial utopia, a spa for my all-over-the-place mind, a laundromat for the soul (wash it at a 100 degrees Celsius and you'll get rid of every stain). I took off to Finca La Luz, in Spain, hoping to enlarge that glimpse of peace I had learned to identify and managed to keep inside after my bike trip was over. Being in the presence of Saraswathi Ma, living in an ashram - that would be free peace; those would be overwhelming winds of love coming to cure me from every disease, past and future. Yes: let's go back to 1969 Woodstock, lots of music, everybody dancing and being crazy and walking and having flower-power fun.
Of course all of it was romantic Mariana swimming in the waters of caramel ignorance. No, awareness is not an item to be purchased. And just like psychotherapy yet a bit differently, the way into exorcizing ghosts out is never cheap. Not because they insist to stay -  not at all.  In the very end, I came into the learning that... yes, we all love our ghosts way too much to let them go that easily.

* * *

Ok, so here I am, at Finca la Luz. So let's start this meditation.
Sitting in the cushion, I quickly come to learn that to sit in silence, to live in the present means to be always fresh. Wow. To be fully aware and immersed in the here and now requires a level of abstraction of my prosaic life so radical that it almost feels impossible.
For this one who sits in silence is not staying there to contemplate the past, to surf into the waters of memory, to make plans, to imagine life, to think about my beloved ones. This one who sits in silence Now is almost like a space where the now happens by itself. This Now-Mariana does nothing but this: she sits to observe from the point of view of the unchanging/everchanging present the madness of being out of it all the time - and isn't it what everyday life's all about? Well, it is all easily seen, but it often feels a bit schizophrenic: am I getting nuts? Isn't it way too psychologically dangerous to divide yourself in two - the observer and the object who is observed? Am I imagining this all?
Experience answers, and I start to feel angry. I am angry with being here, angry because it is not fun as I imagined and everybody is silent all the time, and angry with ex-boyfriend who broke my heart and decided to follow me into coming to this ashram, angry with all other ex-boyfriends of my entire life and angry with myself for no being able to let it go. And specially I am angry because anger is such an ugly, horrible feeling that should not come here in my spiritual spa! Wasn't it supposed to be a cozy, sweet, painless sort of vacation from my busy everyday life?

***

In our bicycle days together, Judi once told me that in a long bike tour there's always a breakthrough moment. It's that decisive instant when your old settled "I" disappears completely and you become one with the tour itself in its ever present transience, and when you start to function by the day, no planning, and acts basically through intuition. Hers happened when she cycled Bolivia. Mine was in the desert of Aragón, and when it came it was so sharp that I remember thinking: "shit - she was right!".
I could say the same about ashram life and silent meditation.
So it happened that somehow one day I stopped being angry with anger, so anger was now not reacted to with more anger - it started to be observed. It was felt, too, and it was painful - but it was also observed.
And the shock was: Jesus Christ, there is so much anger here. I didn't imagine a little body like mine could store so much of it.
Not without feeling it, then a journey to the very heart of anger started. In sitting in meditation I observed that much of my actions in everyday life were actually reactions, and most of them structured through this very feeling of anger - sometimes hidden in some camouflage pretty smiley skirt, but usually there. As memory danced in front of me, I paid a visit to ancient events. I was not identified with then now: I was the observer. I could see the structure of anger down there. I felt ashamed and sad. The present anger with ex-boyfriend came many times, and I was then able to watch actual anger as it unfolded in the present. By watching it, I also watched my body reacting, the heartbeat going crazy, the thoughts and conclusions popping out, the shoulders contracting, my cheeks getting warm.
Well, my friends... A journey into the depths of those cupboard feelings are much more like a week on living hell than a fairytale spa.

***

I came then to the very obvious and simple realization that the anger feeling was there because it was my own created way to face situations I didn't like. I was not forced to adopt it - it was a part of me, of the way this Mariana had lived in the world so far. There was nobody else to be blamed for it. This anger was (somehow) Me. But it was not real by itself. It was an expression and a part of my identity at once, and when I saw it in depth, and when I experienced it... Then I could see a little bit who Mariana was, but with distance. The anger was acknowledged, so it lost its mysterious, unknown power.
Do this experience: picture yourself in your mind. Now strip yourself from your most potent feelings - pick two or three. Strip yourself from anger, from kindness, from your dreams of future, from your desire to be/have this or that, from some particular resentment. What would be left, then?

As for me, I got to understand that no feeling is one-sided, no sharp marks are written in our perception of the world. And now? Should I let this anger go? Wouldn't that create a passive, submissive Mariana instead of the fierce, proud, strong one? I was afraid of letting anger goes, because that letting go would mean abandoning identity. And I am in love with that sense of identity which is anchored in this lifelong experienced sense of anger against that which I don't like. It gives me the identity "Mariana, the warrior".

When I started to let go, sometimes I felt I was falling from a cliff. Sometimes I felt I was being absorbed into a dark hole. Sometimes I feared I was going crazy and losing my mind.  One day I realized anger was gone and I understood I had surrendered.

I felt spacious. I felt light. I felt like I had really fallen from a cliff and that I had not survived.
It was very good.

So this story does not have a conventional happy ending, because awareness is in itself a path of destruction. It is not painless. Good news is: all the pain is imaginary. You're standing still on uneven ground.

*"Cornelia and Jane", from Yo La Tengo's 2013 album "Fade".

** This was the last post of a series of three texts on my experience in "Finca La Luz", in 2013. "Finca" was a small ashram-like space in Andaluzia/Spain, where Saraswathi Ma offered her presence in satsangs between February and November, 2013. All these posts are written in deep gratitude for her, and dedicated to the beautiful friends I met there.

#55. The ashram diaries: empty before leaving

It's late September and I'm coming back from my 3 months bike trip hoping it won’t take longer than a week for me to go back to Spain. I miss her, I want to be at Saraswathi Ma’s ashram n-o-w.  In my plans, it is a quick stop in Geneva to wash my clothes, leave the bike, pack some winter jackets, start the procedures to renew my residence permit and immediately board a plane to Sierra Nevada.

(Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road )*

Yet bureaucracy with my residence permit is no smooth this time.  A month passes in front of me while I’m here, stuck in Geneva with my expired visa. Sort of living illegally in the country, not allowed to renew my health insurance or flying back to Brazil, this time I’m also homeless, living at friends’ places, bags and clothes spread between Ana, Juli and Victor’s apartment.

(Suddenly everything has changed)**

But it’s surprising. It feels incredibly so light.

Not having a place is a relief, fulfillment, completeness.

10kg skinner, I’m all in my enormous loose jeans and breastless t-shirts.

Stripped from sexy clothes, home, documents, medical safety, plans for the future and even from my former lovely long curly hair         I come to sit alone by the lake and wait for some unfolding, noticing that Swiss days now are getting colder. Autumn comes into place.

Once unbearable, Geneva has never been so beautiful.

Away from the bad smell of sticky and useless belongings I naturally come to true learning.

:Bare Nakedness is a gift.

Empty and joyful, I'm now ready to go.

***
* "Song to the Open Road", by Walt Whitman
* "Suddenly Everything Has Changed", a song by The Flaming Lips 

This is the second post of "The Ashram Diaries" - a series about my 20-days living at the ashram Finca La Luz between late-October and November 17, 2013.

With Love and gratitude to Mooji and Saraswathi Ma.

***

*Suddenly, everything has changed

*Moojiji

* Saraswathi Ma

#54. Os Diários do Ashram - Amor, este tsunami/The Ashram Diaries - Love, a tsunami

[English version below]

O amor como um tsunami. O amor, este terremoto. Amor, letal, ou assim: uma navalha*, uma avalanche.

* * *

When I first met him I knew right there that my search was over. Nestas histórias de "encontrei o amor da minha vida" e, na vizinhança delas, a daqueles que encontraram Jesus, a Yoga, a vocação; nelas existe a imagem do encontro que contém tudo, que sobrepassa o impermanente, que encerra o tempo, que fecha as portas da memória, que dilui o vício da esperança - que esvazia a expectativa, uma navalha naquilo que quer alguma coisa que a gente não sabe bem o que é para um dia que a gente não sabe bem quando vai chegar.
Estas histórias, contadas retrospectivamente são meio assim: tudo agora está completo, e tudo sempre foi, mas só precisava ser encontrado. My search is over.

Dos lados de cá, o amor sempre me pareceu a um só tempo o sinônimo e a antítese do absoluto. Contido desde sempre dentro da minha compreensão como a única coisa que importa, ele pareceu sempre escapar, sempre insuficiente em si mesmo, sempre possível de mais e ainda assim sempre irrealizado. Minha fome constante, minha decepção permanente, o amor que eu sinto é maior do que eu e ao mesmo tempo me esmaga porque nunca me dá tudo que pode. Nunca meus companheiros ou amigos ou família parecem transbordar a fronteira do amor que eu espero e que eu sinto aqui, dentro de mim ( como é que você não percebe?); e então o vazio, a sensação de que algo falhou, e o abandono tem as as mesmas proporções do amor infinto, mas do lado avesso.

E assim, do lado certo e do lado avesso, pendurada entre o amar inevitavelmente incompleto e a solidão das expectativas frustradas, eu chego no começo de setembro a uma comunidade alternativa no meio da Serra Nevada junto com o Marvin. É de noite, a gente senta com uma menina alemã em volta da fogueira e eu escuto ela convidando: tem uma mulher iluminada que vive na vila aqui do lado. Vamos?

* * *

Estou aqui, na frente dela, mas não vejo luzes saindo da Saraswathi Ma, nem sinto que estou fora do meu corpo. Nada. Nenhuma queimação, nenhum chamado, nada se apresenta como um sinal cósmico. Pelo contrário, esta mulher é a mais prosaica das criaturas, um pouco mais velha do que eu, unhas do pé pintadas de vermelho, uns brincos grandes, uma pulseirinha de pérolas. A fronteira entre nós duas é tão pequena, e o fato de que ela é assim, meio Mariana, me coloca um abismo: se ela despertou, como é que se parece tanto comigo?

Fico ali, sentada, ouvindo, e alguma coisa de mim levanta. Vou fazer uma pergunta na frente de toda essa gente que eu nunca vi na vida: "Saraswathi, o que e intuicao?"

E pluft. Sem fogos de artificio de nenhuma sorte, meu coracao bate tranquilo enquanto ela fala comigo. Ela ela fala devagarinho, calma, com um acento britanico de urso de pelúcia, e eu nao tenho nada a nao ser uma sensacao de estranhamento. Deve ser isso, porque a única coisa que eu consigo sentir aqui é que ela fala de um lugar que eu reconheco, mas que nao sei muito bem onde fica. Ela nao tenta me convencer, mas de algum jeito eu entendo o que ela quer dizer sem entender muito bem como.

E de noite, de volta às nossas barracas. "It´s so weird, Marvin... She speaks from somewhere that is not the mind - yet it is doesn't challenge my intelligence, man".

* * * E depois disso eu ja nao lembro muito bem como foi - mas sei que foi rápido.
Dois dias depois eu estou acampando num jardim pra fazer um retiro silencioso com Mooji, que é um dos professores dela.
(Sei que nunca vou descrever a alegria que eu senti ao ver este homem pela primeira vez.)
Uma semana depois volto à Finca La Luz, onde vive Saraswathi, e sem entender direito por que eu simplesmente choro quando ela me olha. Foi assim, e durou 2 segundos: nos olhos dela eu vi o infinito, e o infinito era vazio. E quando ela olhava pra mim, e eu pra ela, era como se ela olhasse para todas as pessoas naquela sala. Entendi que tinha visto o Aleph do Borges.

Volto pra Genebra, arrumo minhas coisas, e em um mês estou aqui, na Andaluzia: sem cabelo, vivendo no ashram dela junto com outras 4 meninas. Eu, a doutoranda dos pensamentos complexos - eu agora estou aqui, com a cabeça aos pés da minha professora, sabendo que só existe este lugar no mundo, já que o lugar na verdade nao importa muito.


When I first met you I knew right there that my search was over.


Este é o primeiro de uma série de diários sobre os 20 dias que eu passei na Finca La Luz entre outubro e novembro de 2013.

Toda a devoçao do mundo ao Mooji e à Saraswathi: obrigada de novo, meus professores queridos, por cruzarem meu caminho quando eu atravessava a Espanha de bicicleta sem estar muito interessada em onde chegar.

Aí está: meu primeiro encontro com Saraswathi virou vídeo - e eu ainda aqui, de cabelo comprido e roupa de ciclista

Meu outro professor. Lindo, lindo: Mooji, eu sei que logo vou estar na sua Presença



* "Love´s a knife" - essas palavras nao sao minhas: justiça seja feita, eu emprestei da Saraswathi Ma
* "Finca La Luz" nao é literalmente um ashram permanente de Saraswathi Ma, mas um espaço de silêncio em Órgiva, Andaluzia, onde ela ofereceu sua presença durante seis meses entre junho e novembro de 2013. Ma agora está em trânsito, e sua agenda pode ser consultada em www.saraswathima.org
----------

[English version]



Love like a tsunami . Love, this earthquake. Love, lethal love or so : the sharpest knife *.
:an avalanche.

***

"When I first met him I knew right there that my search was over". In these stories of "I found my soulmate" or of those who have encountered Jesus, their Yoga path, their vocation or sense of mission in this lifetime - in all these stories I have always recognized the image of some sort of Absolute. Although alien to my own experience, I could see right away that they spoke in their own way of an Encounter which contained all encounters, which surpassed the impermanence, which stopped the time into Now, which was able to shut the doors of memory and dilute the addiction to hope. The ultimate Encounter would be that one that could render every sense of expectation senseless - there´s no use for waiting for something. It´s all given, it´s all there. My search is over.

As for love, I would say that love, hidden inside my own little Mariana box, love always appeared to me in a quite contradictory manner.  It has always been crystal clear to me since I was a child: love and only love is real. Yet why has it always showed itself as the synonym and the antithesis of the Absolute? I've always come to you, love, but you've ever seemed to escape from my hands, always insufficient in itself - enormous but unavoidably unfulfilled. My constant hunger has your name, love, my everlasting disappointment is a big continent in which all the citizens are none other than you. And you've crushed me, for never did my lovers or friends or family, in my eyes they appeared never to exhaust love the way I saw it. And every time, every single day in which my hunger for you was not satisfied, then came this emptiness, this feeling that something failed. Abandonment, this is my sense of you, mister love - this is you, but inside out.

And it was just like this, oscillating from inside and inside out, that I arrived to an alternative community in the middle of the Sierra Nevada along with my beloved friend Marvin. Night, the beginning of September and we're sitting with a German girl around the campfire. It's late and I hear her saying: there is an enlightened woman who lives in the village next door. Shall we go meet her tomorrow?

***

There I was, right in front of her, but I saw no pink-violet-orangish lights coming out of Saraswathi Ma nor did I feel I was out of my body or some crazy stuff. Nothing. No burning inside, no cosmic call - absolutely nothing, nothing presented itself as to prove me I was in the presence of some sort of goddess. Rather, this woman is the most prosaic of creatures. A little older than me, toenails painted red, earrings and a pearl bracelet. Dressed just like any of my friends could, I sense that the border between us is so invisible that it almost does not exist. But the very fact that she could be a Mariana somehow establishes a gap in my perception of us: if she is indeed awakened, how come does she look so much like me?

I'm there around some twenty people, and all of us are seating in silence. Out of the blue something from me raises my hand: "Saraswathi what is intuition?"

And pluft. No fireworks cross the sky of Órgiva, but my heart beats peacefully as she answers my question. She speaks slowly with a British accent that makes me feel I'm in front of the most polite creature on Earth, having a mug of tea and discussing how life feels like in the countryside.  It doesn't feel neither good nor bad - it´s just strange. But there´s this one thing that triggers my attention - she's speaking from a place that I recognize, yet its exact address is not exactly clear. And there she is, speaking, not trying to convince me in any manner, but I understand what she means without knowing exactly how.

Night, we´re back in our tents: "It's so weird , Marvin ... She speaks from somewhere that is not mental - but it is does not challenge my intelligence, man ."

* * *

And after that it all came so fast that I can barely remember.
Two days later I was camping in somebody´s garden to participate in a 7-day silent retreat with a guy called Mooji - which is actually one of her teachers.
(And I swear nothing in this world can ever describe the joy I felt as I saw this man for the first time.)
A week later I return to the house of Saraswathi, and without understanding why I just cry when she looks at me. It lasts 2 seconds, but somehow in her eyes I see the Infinite, and the Infinite is empty. She looks at me, I sense as if she is looking at all the people in that room at the same time.
Yes, I got it: that's Borges' Aleph. This is definitely the full-meal Love, capital letters, I've been looking for. Impossible to be hungry at this lady's restaurant.

I come back to Geneva, pack my things and in a month I'm back in Andalusia. Now I have no hair and no house; now I'm living in her ashram along with 4 other girls.  Mariana, the PhD student of complex thoughts - here I am     now        head to the feet my teacher, not knowing where to go, yet knowing there´s nowhere to be.
And it doesn't really matter, for everywhere and anywhere are just exactly the same and at the same time.


When I first met you I knew right there that my search was over .

* * *

This is the first post of a series of diaries about my 20 days at the Finca La Luz between October and mid-November 2013.

All my gratitude to Saraswathi Ma and Mooji for finding my way as I crossed Spain with no final destination.

Yes, yes - the moment of my first encounter with Saraswathi Ma was actually recorded and can be found at YouTube

Mooji, the Beautiful: happy because I know soon I will be in your Presence



* "Love´s a knife" - those are Saraswathi Ma's words
* "Finca La Luz" is not a permanent ashram of Saraswathi Ma - it is a space of silence in Órgiva, Andaluzia, where she offered us her Presence during six months between June and November/2013. Ma is now travelling, and her scheduled can be found at her website: www.saraswathima.org 

#34. The bike diaries, day 3 - Horse Stories

Day 3

Up in the mountains, light heart, heavy legs

 It´s the 1st of July and everything hurts, so I wake up late and look at the map to choose a route to my next city.
Two options: 1. either I follow the hikers' path in a quite flat and relaxed region...; 2. ... or I go up in the mountains in a hard yet gorgeous landscape.
What the hell.
And I take the road to the mountains. Guess I was not born to the easy ways.


But first I make a stop in the bakery to have breakfast. The cute tatooed waiter is looking at me as I place my order: a machiatto, 2 croissants, a cheese sandwich and one veggie snack, please.
- To eat here or to go?
- To eat here, of course.  And two more sandwichs to go, if it is ok for you.
And he keeps staring at me nonstop as I eat 2000 calories in less than four minutes.


There´s something about heading on a bike into the hard mountains. You follow the road, they stand right in front of you, and you're never sure you're gonna make it through. There's some sort of arrogance going on for you're defying them somehow, but you also need to show some respect for they can crush you easily in no more than two seconds.
As for me, I went all the way up 4 mountains, and more than once I thought I was about to die. I stopped to have water and to breath, no one around, and those for sure were the hardest 20km I have ever done in my life. Going down into the Rioja valleys was gorgeous, and I guess it was so only because I knew what I had to endure to reach 60km/h downhill for more than 20 minutes.
Yesterday I know something of mine was left behind in those mountains, for I arrived in Santo Domingo de la Calzada with a light, very light heart.


I arrive in Santo Domingo and go out to get some bread. In the door of the hostel a guy in weird clothes is just arriving in his horse (!) and asks for a piece of my baguette. I give him some and a banana, and he vanishes. Three hours later he's looking for me in the common area, a lemon in his hands. He gives me the lemon as a gift, lie his head in my thighs and tells me about his life around horses in England. In his highly polished British accent, he then tells me he likes to be around people sometimes, shows me his Swiss knife, asks about me, makes me laugh and cleans my extremely filthy glasses. "I need to leave now", I say, and he replies with a "it's been nice to lie on top of you". Then Dean says he likes me and promises he will write me someday, whenever he gets to a computer in his way to San Sebastian, up north.
Horse stories.

#31. Bike diaries - Towards Santiago, day 1 - El Camino and its beginning

Day 1- 29 June, 2013

Irun-Beasain, 70km, 5hours on the bike, valleys and hills

After 1200km riding my bike from Brittany to the border with Spain, I came to the end of the trip and realized I had nowhere to live and nothing to lose, but I also noticed I had strong (and now suntanned!) legs and a good bike to ride. After having moved 9 times in less than two years, I felt it was time to stop resisting and to take my pilgrim lifestyle to a whole other level. This is the story of how  I cancelled my tickets to Brazil and decided to take my chances heading to Santiago de Compostela. These, and the followings posts, are excerpts from my personal diary. They will be published both in English and Portuguese whenever I have the chance, for I'm only in my second day and I have no idea when I'll find an internet connection again...

*Ramdom thoughts/situations in my first day of pilgrimage:

I will never make it in these fucking mountains.

I can't feel my knees anymore.

Why did I have to act hipster and choose a path to Santiago that nobody knows? Where the hell are the cute guys looking for enlightenment?
[ramdom thoughts in my day completely alone in the hostel in Beasain while thousands of pilgrims were fighting for a spot in the hostels throughout the French way, the most popular route to Santiago]

Ok. Everything has ham, I got it. So bring me the damn tortilla and a double dose of Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.
[vegetarian pain in Spain, properly cured with huge doses of Jack Daniels, after a heavy day riding my bike in the mountains]

Where are the cyclists pilgrims to Santiago?

Where are the women cycling on the roads?

I can't stand these stinky clothes anymore.
No way I'm wearing these socks again in my life.

What time does the siesta stop in this city?

-¿Hasta donde vas en bici, chica?
- Me voy hasta Santiago.
- ¿Y te vas sola?
- Sí!
-¿¿En serio???
- Si.
- !Valiente!
-.. y vengo del norte de la Francia, ya he hecho 1200km y algunas montañas...
-¡Valiente! Que buenas piernas tienes...
- Gracias. Ahora dejáme, que necesito continuar.Que te vayas bien, chico.
[my usual, daily dialogue with professionalroad bikers that come along in the road to chat while I'm riding. with my 10kg panniers. I swear: this dialogue happens more than 10 times a day, but none of the guys is riding to  Santiago, so none of them can make me company for too long]

No... ¿Tú? En bici? Sola? Hasta Santiago? Mira, que nunca he visto eso!

Please, God, no rain tomorrow, please please please...

Please, God, no steep mountain tomorrow, please please please...

Can I borrow some ice to put on my knees?
[in the bar]

What do you mean by me crossing the Pyrennees, sir???





Thanks, God, for I've never been so happy.

#1. What it is all about

LáDosLadosDeLá, or FromTheOtherSide, is a geographical location.  By definition, it is the kingdom of Beyonds - that one Superman flies into after his "up, up, and away", and exactly the same one caravel-men sailed to a couple of years ago (yes, those same people who have mistakenly reached FromThisSide).  It is the place where those who have died live nowadays and, in its condition of special location, it is the preferential asylum for the families of those Who Have Not Been Touched by Knowledge and to that of the Unknown by Science.  In fact, in FromTheOtherSide reside all those who refuse to be known, and surely they do not speak the language of scientific discipline.  FromTheOtherSide is inhabited by those who we cannot see as One: 1. the disposable pieces that have never reached the form of a meaningful organism and defy all metaphysical convictions; 2.  the unlimited, boundary-free ones, that being as wide as they are we cannot dare to conceive - the infinite, the immortal and their relatives.  We get close    ...   and it's already gone.  It is a place that resist descriptions but accept pictorial approximations.  It defies meaning but invites experience.

* * *

- Just like a bicycle ride, my metaphor of life, for it implies constantly being and leaving somewhere at the same time.

- Like that which beyond the physical reality I feel    alone    in my own body    when I'm lying on my yoga mat.

- Exactly like my definitely arrogant vegetarian dignity.

* * *

Those are the things I want to talk about.  And I want to talk about it FromTheOtherSide - the asymmetrical countercouncept of FromThisSide, of everything that is already known, of the homeland.  As a matter of fact, FromTheOther Side is this house that has a sort of a decadent sign in which Exile is written in pale golden letters.  Welcome: it can be your home too, if you wish so.