Never Quit

Shocking isn't it? Two posts in one month! This one is going to be brief, and mainly someone else's words rather than my own. I am often sent very profound words of wisdom from others, and this story I find particularly inspiring and uplifting. Unfortunately, I don't know the original author of the story, but my dad found it posted on the Sai Bhakti Radio website.

So often we find ourselves comparing our own accomplishments with others. We struggle to understand why 'bad' things happen to 'good' people, why success reaches some of us more easily than others, why we seem to fail even when we try our best. Maybe after reading this story, you can reflect on such moments, and remind yourself that those encounters you thought were bad things, failures, struggles, were not actually negative - they were opportunities for growing stronger.

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One day I decided to quit...quit my job, my relationship, my spirituality... I wanted to quit my life. I went to the woods to have one last talk with GOD. "GOD", I said. "Can you give me one good reason not to quit?" His answer surprised me... "Look around", GOD said. "Do you see the fern and the bamboo?" "Yes", I replied. When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good care of them. I gave them light. I gave them water.

The fern quickly grew from the earth. It has brilliantly covered the floor green. Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo. In the second year the Fern grew more vibrant and plentiful. And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did not quit on the bamboo." GOD said." In year three there was still nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would not quit.In year four, again, there was nothing from the bamboo seed. I would not quit." GOD said. "Then in the fifth year a tiny sprout emerged from the earth.

Compared to the fern it was seemingly small and insignificant...But just 6 months later the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall. It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive. I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle." GOD said to me. "Did you know that all this time you have been struggling, you have actually been growing roots?" "I would not quit on the bamboo. I will never quit on you." "Don't compare yourself to others." GOD said. "The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern. Yet they both make the forest beautiful." "Your time will come", GOD said to me. "You will rise high" "How high should I rise?" I asked. "How high will the bamboo rise?" GOD asked in return. "As high as it can?" I questioned. "Yes." GOD said, "Give me glory by rising as high as you can." I left the forest and bring back this story.

The 'M' Word

Most of you are already aware that in 30 days, I will officially have moved back home! Some time around October last year, I found myself elbow-deep in teaching, marking, and writing the first chapter of my thesis. I realised that if I wanted to finish this PhD by the end of my third year, I'd have to give up my other responsibilities. And so, it is with quite a heavy heart that I am packing my things, ending my teaching responsibilities, saying goodbye to all my friends and colleagues, and moving home to finish my thesis. But it's not all sad news - I've spent the last 2 and a half years drifting between Canada and England, never settled in one place for very long, and always missing my family. This will finally give me a chance to just be at home, without worrying about booking flights or when next I'll get to see my family and for how long. As my colleagues have already expressed to me, writing a PhD thesis can be an extremely depressing and frustrating time in one's life, and I can't think of a more uplifting, nurturing and blessed environment than my home to experience the trials and tribulations of writing up.

But aside from the thesis, I've also been thinking of something else which probably awaits me upon my return: the big M question. Because as Katrina Kaif's character says in Meri Brother Ki Dulhan (which was quite a cute Bollywood film by the way): After an Indian girl turns 25, the only question on everyone's mind is "when is she getting married?". I've witnessed so many of my girlfriends experience a similar onslaught of questioning after turning 25 (most even earlier). I've always managed to escape this because of my endless studies. If there is one thing that Indian people respect as much as the sanctity of marriage, it's education. But now that I'm coming to the end of my studies, and I've exhausted all further education options, and I'm moving back home, there will no doubt be a number of people asking 'so when are you getting married? are you seeing anyone? how old are you now? isn't it time to settle down?' ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

Truthfully, I have been thinking a lot about marriage lately. In the last 12 months, five of my colleagues have announced their engagements (none to each other, but I still think they need to check the water supply in our office). Most of my friends back home are either married, engaged or in serious relationships which will soon lead to engagement. And I'm probably one out of two or three un-wed female cousins left on both sides of my family. If all your friends, colleagues and relatives decided to dye their hair purple, I'm sure eventually, you would also consider a trip to the salon. So yes, marriage is something I've considered in my long-term plan. But I do have reservations. Because we live in a society where marriages fail almost as often as they succeed, and to me, that's a big problem.

In Canada, 4 out of 10 marriages end in divorce, whilst in the US, this statistic is much higher (in fact I'm almost certain that in the US, the divorce rate is more than 50%). Either way, that's a lot more married couples divorcing than our parents' or grandparents' generation. And yet, people are still getting married all the time! Even worse, it seems that few people articulate any concern that they might be part of the 40% or 50% of marriages ending in divorce. I don't even know who I might marry one day, and the thought of divorce is a frightening one. So I did a bit of research, to try and find out how you can raise your chances of having a successful marriage. And here's a top five list - the percentages in brackets reflect how much you reduce your risk of divorce by:

1) If you have a university education (13%)

2) If your annual income is more than US$50,000 (30%)

3) If you have strong religious beliefs (14%)

4) If your parents are happy in their marriage (14%)

5) If you marry AFTER the age of 25 (24%)

(Taken from 'The State of Our Unions' by Barbara Whitehead and David Popenoe)

I should probably clarify first off that these statistics are based on American data, so I'm being a bit presumptuous by applying them to my Canadian and British experiences. But perhaps we can all agree that regardless of the exact percentage, these five points are most likely all positively correlated with reduced risk of divorce in the western world. There is a lot to say about each of these factors, but what I find most interesting in this list are points 2 and 5. Generally speaking in the South Asian community, women who get married after the age of 25 and women who continue working and successfully earning money after they get married (and ESPECIALLY after they have children) are both seen as women who make 'poor life choices' also known as PLCs. But according to this data, getting married after 25 and ensuring that you are earning what I would consider a reasonable salary, cuts your risk of divorce in HALF (in fact slightly more than half if you're following the percentages closely).

But here's another problem with our dearest community: thinking that the women who aren't getting married by a certain 'desirable' age are somehow making an active choice not to. A good friend of mine and fellow Master's alumna who shares my age has spent the past two years fighting an uphill battle with her mother and other female relatives. Nearly every week, one of them calls her home, asking why she isn't married yet. What's worse, her own mother has told her that she's getting too old now to be picky, and just has to marry 'whatever comes along' or else soon enough, she will be facing a lifetime of permanent single status. Let me just clarify that my friend does want to get married, and is making every effort to find the 'right' person. She's joined Muslim dating sites, and met several potential partners, but she just hasn't found someone who appreciates her lovely personality the way they should. Because whilst South Asian girls raised in the west were taught to imbibe the qualities of a 'good Muslim/Hindu/Sikh/Catholic girl' they were also taught to be free thinking agents, to be strong, educated, independent and successful. And this perfectly describes my friend and most of my South Asian girlfriends: they are deeply religious and spiritual young women who are unashamedly smart and successful.

Why can't these women find suitable partners? Clearly, since there is such an endless pool of men to choose from, it HAS to be because the women are too picky! Yes, all this education has gone to their heads and now they think they're too good for so-and-so's son. No. That's not the problem. The problem is that the average South Asian woman today knows how to manage her home and her finances, whereas the average South Asian man can only do one of those things. We raised our girls to balance on this tightrope between traditional femininity and modern womanhood, but few have raised their boys in a similar fashion. Yes, we do have an endless pool of men who are smart and successful, but they lack the emotional toolkit and sense of modernity they require to really 'fit' with the women of today. Returning to my friend's situation, if she expresses a desire to keep her surname after marriage or return to work after having children, it doesn't matter how good of a Muslim she is, suddenly her behaviour is rendered inexcusable, or what most guys would call 'a turn-off'. And that's because at no point in these young men's lives did their parents teach them the importance of learning how to cook or how to express their feelings. They were raised with a very ill and narrowly defined version of what masculinity means. And when you threaten to take that away from them, they lack the emotional intelligence to deal with it. I also strongly believe that this is linked to the high levels of alcoholism amongst South Asian men - who often turn to a bottle because they are unable to fully express themselves otherwise. Again, this is a phenomenon that gets largely neglected because as South Asians, we are so terrified of admitting our faults to The Community.

But rather than consider the disparities in how we raise our boys and girls, the South Asian community finds it much easier to do what they've always done: blame the woman. And I can already envision the number of people reading this right now who completely disagree with my assessment, and who know of a number of handsome, educated, young South Asian men who are emotionally intelligent and as savvy in the workplace as they are in the home. Men who have been raised to respect women, respect their choices, and respect their equal right to the same opportunities as men.

In which case please feel free to forward their contact details so my single friends and I can investigate...

Resolution Three, or, Becoming Your Own Beholder

I know, I know...this post is VERY delayed. And I'm sure those of you who are perceptive about when I post will have noticed my sneaky attempts to fake consistency by modifying the 'post date'. And to the less perceptive readers out there: no, unfortunately I do not have the power to go back in time and post on my blog from the past (though as far as superpowers go, I have to say that would be quite a lame one). I know I'm not fooling anyone, it's my slight OCD that needs to see that little (1) next to each month on the side of the main page.

So despite the publish date which reads December 31st, 2011, I would still like to wish you all a very happy new year! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas holiday with your loved ones. I thoroughly enjoyed my 2 weeks at home with my family. For new year's I flew back to London and met with some friends there. We brought in the new year on a boat in the middle of the Thames river, watching Big Ben strike midnight and the subsequent 15 minutes of fireworks (which apparently cost the city 4 million pounds!). The energy, the vibrance, the madness of it all was exhilarating and I felt impervious to any jet-lag that wanted to pull me down. Looking up at the sky and seeing endless fireworks literally shooting out of Big Ben and the London Eye was one of those magical and surreal moments where you think to yourself: 'I am going to remember this for the rest of my life'.

So now getting on to the more important 'stuff': resolution three. The third and final resolution I made for 2011 was a creative one (as you all know), but more specifically, it was a musical one: learn how to play the guitar. I've always admired people who can pick up a guitar and play a melody or strum the chords to a particular song. They make it look so easy and, like with running, it seems these days that everyone can pick out a song or two on the guitar (which made me think it can't be THAT hard to learn how to play). Serendipitously enough, a friend of mine gave me one of his old acoustic guitars last year which made me think it was the perfect time to start learning how to play.

The year started off successfully enough. I was self-teaching by watching lessons on YouTube and DVDs and picked up a few basic scales and strumming/picking techniques. Then for my mom's birthday in April, I sent her an audio clip of me playing Happy Birthday on the guitar (just picking out the melody though, not strumming chords). Even during the first half of the summer, I rented a guitar in Canada (my acoustic guitar here is in need of a case for travel) and I kept at it, learning more scales and a few simple songs. It all seemed to be going quite well, and I thought 'for sure by Christmas I'll be strumming carols for the family to sing along'.

But then it all went downhill. And funny enough, the descent started because of my first resolution, my Vipassana retreat. For 10 days I was without a guitar. When I returned from the retreat, I got so wrapped up in trying to meditate for 2 hours a day that somehow there just wasn't enough time in the day to do everything I wanted to, including practising guitar. Then I went to Miami with my parents for a week, and then to Vancouver for 10 days, and when I got back it was time to arrange for my departure to the UK again. And now I'm sitting here writing this post, looking at my poor Yamaha in the corner of the room, which I haven't picked up in months to play!

If I had to assess the success of my third resolution, I'd say I was 50% successful. I did spend the first half of the year practising quite regularly, and learning the basics, but I'm nowhere near the level of competence I expected by the year's end. Just because it's the end of the year, doesn't mean the resolution goes to waste. It's just something that will carry over and hopefully, with more time and practice, I will eventually get better (I really need to take formal lessons once I'm in a stable place though, because this self-learning really isn't working for me). I guess the more important question to ask is, have these resolutions proved that I am capable of taking on challenges, or, is my dad right - do I always look for the easy way out? Well I would have to say that 2.5 out of 3 is not a bad score at all, and if I had to rank how difficult each of my resolutions were to complete, I'd say that the two which I successfully completed were the most difficult (Vipassana first, running second).

That being said, I have wondered whether I would have created any of these resolutions at all, had I not been called out on my laziness in the first place. Which also makes me think that in many ways, having character flaws and acknowledging their existence in yourself, can often be of benefit to your development. Think about it: if I didn't in some small way agree with the idea that I avoid challenges, then I wouldn't have gone so far out of my way to prove otherwise. I would have been completely confident and ignored the comment. But instead, I rose to the challenge of taking on challenges (see what I did there?). Not to prove anything to my dad, but to prove to MYSELF that I am capable. And ultimately, no matter what other people say about you, what matters most is what you think of yourself, how happy you are with yourself. Don't confuse my words for selfishness. I'm not saying that you shouldn't think of others - I'm saying that you shouldn't look for affirmation from others, because you are your best judge.

People always say 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'. Well I'm not so sure that's true. Aren't we all our own beholders, constantly surveying ourselves in addition to others? Then surely we must be able to see our own beauty (and our ugliness) too. In many ways I have a new found gratitude that a) I have flaws and, more importantly, b) I can recognise them in myself because that's what allows us to put in more effort, to strive to be better human beings. Without flaws, and without recognition of them, we are as immobile as a rock, and how boring would that be?Now it's a new year, and the perfect time to become your own beholder: what is your beauty? what is your ugliness? and what are YOU going to do about it?

Resolution Two

Before I start writing about the 'topic of the month' for this post, I just wanted to make mention of a comment I received regarding my October post. Unless you are a logged in member of this blog, then you probably don't receive updates regarding comments, which normally isn't a real issue. In this case though, it's clear that I've disappointed a relative, and a reader with my words. I've already provided my thoughts in my reply, but the situation more generally-speaking, reminded me of how accountable our words become when they are written as opposed to verbal. I came across this very appropriate and encouraging piece of advice when it comes to writing:

'In order to write at all we must write on the basis of our present beliefs. If you are unwilling to write from the honest, though perhaps far from final, point of view that represents your present state, you may come to [the end of your life] with your contribution to the world still unmade and just as far from final conviction about the universe as you were at the age of twenty'.

There is something about the permanence of a written thought, that leads us to believe even the thought itself is permanent. The truth of the matter, as most of us are aware, is that nothing is permanent. I sometimes read old blog posts from my time in Leicester and cringe at my own writing, desperately wishing I could somehow take the words back and erase them from the minds of my readers. Clearly this is not possible. But when I read the above quote, I feel a sense of reassurance. My writing might never be perfect, but it comes from a place of truth and honesty in the moment it is written. When someone is struggling to think of the 'right' thing to say in a speech, the advice given is always the same: speak from the heart. The same is true of writing. I've never explicitly stated anywhere in my blog, that what I write comes from my heart, but this has always been the case.

When I was in grade 9, I took my very first and last physical education class. I hated gym. I was awful at sports, those long, baggy shorts hung from my waist like they would off a hanger, and worst of all, almost everything we did involved running. In fact come to think of it, aside from the terrible fashion, it wasn't really gym class that I hated. It was running. Three times in the year, once at the beginning, once in the middle, and once more at the end, we had to complete a 12 Minute Run. As the name suggests, we had to run for 12 minutes around the gym and were timed in order to gauge our abilities in relation to our personal best across the year but also in comparison to others. Not once out of those three attempts do I recall being able to run for 12 minutes straight without stopping to regain my breath.

For years I had convinced myself that I just wasn't a runner. I was one of those 'dancers' or yoga practitioners who was flexible and had good balance as opposed to someone who could run for ages without gasping for air. But then a couple of things happened last year which gave me pause. The first was a comment one of my family members made about how I always take the path of least resistance. It's been a bit of a running joke (no pun intended) in my family that when I want to do something, I always look for the way which requires the least effort. For instance, I was, am, and will always be terrible at math. So instead of choosing a degree in university which involved continuing math (like Business or Medicine), I went for Communications, knowing that I would avoid any and all encounters with mathematics (I should probably add that as convenient as it seems, I was genuinely interested in studying Communications, avoiding math was a bonus - look no further than the fact that I'm now doing a PhD for proof of this). Anyways, the point is that the joke is already out there so now whenever I do something that seems like a short cut (what I prefer to call being efficient), without fail, someone will take notice, and label it as being 'my way of doing things'.

Last year, I was in the car with my parents on the way to my cousin's home, and somehow the topic came up of 'things that bother us about each other'. Out of curiosity, I asked them 'what about me bugs you, that you complain about when I'm not around?' to which my father replied 'always finding the easy way out'. Ouch. It was one thing for this mentality of mine to be a family joke, but an entirely different thing to know that it is a possible character flaw. Usually, these kinds of comments don't tend to 'stick' with me for very long. But for some reason, I became obsessed with a) figuring out whether I truly do avoid challenges and b) proving otherwise by taking on more challenges. There began the development of my three new year's resolutions: goals that were only possible through 100% commitment and effort, goals that could not be made easier or simpler. I also wanted to cover a good range so that I could determine if I demonstrate a greater willingness to be challenged in some areas over others. I came up with three resolutions: spiritual, physical and creative (I figured mental/intellectual were covered with the PhD).

As you should all know by now, the spiritual goal was to attend a Vipassana retreat, which required a little push (from none other than my father) but was accomplished. However, the Vipassana was something I wanted to do for myself, so of course I was willing to put in the effort. The physical goal, I decided, had to be something I didn't like as much. And immediately, I knew the only thing it could be: to become a runner.

The second 'thing' that happened last year which pushed me into running was what I consider to be a resurgence in running culture. Everywhere I turn, I see people of all shapes and sizes running, at all hours of the day, in the city and in the suburbs. And suddenly, when I started talking about running, it turned out that most of my friends and acquaintances run too. For years, I've been surrounded by runners and had no idea about this secret society of high-stamina people. And they all talk about running as if it is a Godly experience which liberates them from the dull routine of their daily lives. At this point, I started to get a little excited about my resolution - 'Was it possible?' I asked myself, 'could I actually enjoy running?'.

After 11 months, I am happy to report that I am in fact, a runner. I can't run for very long - I start to break down at around 5 km, but I can easily run for 35 minutes to an hour without having to stop, and without feeling like my lungs are about to implode. And you know what else? I do love to run now. I completely understand what the runners are on about. It is such a liberating experience, to just run without any limits or controls, just put one foot in front of the other without worrying about anything else but that simple motion. You suddenly become in tune with this natural part of yourself that says ‘yes, this is what our bodies were designed for’. In many ways I wonder if I accidentally created two spiritual resolutions instead of one. Not only do I enjoy running, but I enjoy the challenge of running faster, or longer, or both! If I'm on a treadmill, I like to push myself each time to achieve a new personal best. I'm even looking forward to hopefully running in a 10K race or half-marathon next year if I have the time to train for one.

It’s kind of funny how people often think that you are at your athletic peak when you’re a teenager. When I think back to my grade 9 gym class, I am not struck by an image of a strong, athletic version of myself. Instead I think of a scrawny kid who lacked the motivation and confidence to push herself further. It’s not that I was physically incapable of running 12 minutes non-stop, the problem was that I gave up too easily. My mind had not reached its athletic peak. And after spending this past year developing my stamina and encouraging myself to run more, I’ve realized how powerful the mind can be at telling the body what it is capable of doing.

You might have come across a story in the news recently about a gentleman by the name of Fauja Singh. He is 100 years old and recently became the world’s oldest marathon runner. He started running at the age of 63, and ran his first marathon when he was 89. He is an inspiring reminder to all of us that you are never too old to start something new, and you should never give up on yourself or think that your athletic peak passed you sometime in your teenage years.

As for resolution three, and whether these resolutions have proven anything about my ability to take on challenges, it will have to wait for next month – I promise this story has an ending!

To be continued…

How many stones have you cast?

For some reason a few people have mentioned that they want to hear my reflections regarding the death of my cousin, five weeks ago. I'm not really sure how to interpret this. Of course I am deeply saddened by Ravin's passing, as everyone who knew him feels in varying degrees. But I truly believe that grief is something which only becomes more tolerable over time - there is not much that I can say or do to magically heal someone's sadness. All that any of us can do in these situations is to offer our support to those who need it most.

I suppose, in terms of reflections, what has been on my mind since his passing are the many memories I have of Ravin. Some are silly, some are stupid, but the one that stands out most is when I heard that he was going to be a father. Sure I was happy for him, but what I remember most is my budding feminist voice, feeling so irritated by the entire situation. 'Of course they're all celebrating that Ravin now has a child out of wedlock' I thought to myself. I was angry because I knew that if the roles were reversed, and one of my unwed female cousins was having a baby, there would be no celebration - there would only be disappointment and shame. I feel terrible to admit this, but I judged Ravin for his actions, and I judged my male relatives (and let's face it: most men) in Trinidad who celebrated their sexual liberation and yet still labelled their female equivalents with degrading slangs. I knew that I could never remove the stigma from women, instead I wanted there to be an equal stigma for men. So I judged Ravin for his actions.

Obviously, I have major issues with the cultural, political and social inequalities women face in our society. But judging men in order to create stigma across both genders is not the solution (it's judgemental thinking that got us here in the first place). I knew this on a theoretical level already, but it was and in some cases still is difficult to put into practice. I do remember though, the moment I heard Ravin had died, all judgement was suddenly transformed into gratitude. I felt so grateful that at least, before Ravin left this earth, he was blessed with the gift of fatherhood. Whatever the circumstances in which it occurred, he shared so many precious moments with his son. And the gratitude I have is probably nowhere near the gratitude Ravin must have felt to be a father, and to see himself unmistakably reflected in his child (who apparently looks and acts exactly as Ravin did when he was a young boy).

A situation I once looked upon with such bitterness, I now see as God's grace. I am reminded of a very popular quote from the Bible: 'Let him who is without sin cast the first stone'. We are all guilty of casting judgements on others without first reflecting on our own flaws and misconduct. But in addition to that, we judge others without knowing what the Lord's plans are for that person. None of us know what karma we have come with from our past, or what is in store for us in the future. Why then, do we continue to place blame, guilt, and judgement on others? For me at least, Ravin's death has created an opportunity to reflect on my own judgements from the past, of the stones I have mistakenly cast on others. Perhaps there is an opportunity for you to reflect on your past judgements as well.

Rest In Peace Rav

Vipassana: Part Two

So I think I covered quite thoroughly the basics of a Vipassana retreat in my July post - the code of conduct and the reason for Noble Silence. But as I also mentioned, these are not really the most important parts of the course - they are just practices which help one to develop the Vipassana meditation technique. By now you're probably wondering 'what exactly is Vipassana?'. Apparently, it was the type of meditation that the Buddha was practising when he reached enlightenment (I don't exactly have the space or time to tell the entire story of Buddha here, but if you aren't familiar with his life or teachings, I highly recommend doing some reading, even via online resources). Apparently, the Buddha went through all kinds of meditation techniques in India, in order to find one that would allow him to attain enlightenment. Finally, he sat under a Bodhi tree and vowed never to arise until he found the truth. Fourty-nine days later, at the age of 35, it was said that he became awakened to the truth (known in Buddhism as The Four Noble Truths) and was from that point onwards known as Buddha, which roughly translates to 'the enlightened one'.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), the Vipassana retreat doesn't supply Bodhi trees for each student to sit under for 49 days until we too become like Buddha. What we do learn however, is to simply observe our selves and our surroundings with equanimity. Having an equanimous mind means that you lack craving and aversion. Why is it important to be equanimous? To answer that I probably need to explain what the Four Noble Truths are:

1) suffering is an engrained part of existence

2) the origin of suffering is craving for sensuality, acquisition of identity and annihilation

3) suffering can be ended

4) following the Noble eightfold path is the means to accomplish this

I really don't want to also explain what the Noble eightfold path is (because they are quite basic teachings that stem from all religions, and also because this post isn't meant to be a lesson on Buddhism). My point is though, that if all suffering comes from craving (or being averse) to various experiences, then logically, it would make sense that by eliminating those cravings and aversions, you eliminate your suffering. Make sense so far?

So here's how you put it in to practise. All over the surface of the skin there are constant little bio-chemical reactions taking place. We sometimes feel these as itches or tingling sensations, muscular twitches, or sometimes it feels like maybe an insect is on us but when we look there's nothing. In Vipassana, they refer to these sensations as 'sankhaaras'. Throughout your life (and if you believe in reincarnation then you can add your past lives as well), we have moments where we react to things either positively or negatively. Vipassana meditators believe that all these reactions get stored in your mind as sankhaaras. Some of your reactions are very superficial, and they come and go quite quickly, think of ripples on water. But there are other moments in our lives where we carry these cravings or aversions with us for very long times, and we hold on to them forever (some people even believe that at the time of death, these very 'heavy' sankhaaras get taken with you to your next life and continue to cause misery and suffering). These type of sankhaaras are described as being like a deep line etched into a stone. When you sit quietly, and still both your mind and your body, sankhaaras slowly start to bubble up to the surface of the skin and manifest themselves in the form of sensations. Some of them (the 'lighter' sankhaaras) are subtle sensations while others can be quite gross, intense sensations (such as pins and needles). The idea is that when you feel these sensations arise, the reactive part of your mind will always want to pay attention to them, it will want you to either develop a craving for them or an aversion.

This is where equanimity comes into play. You have to teach your mind how to observe these sensations without reacting to them. If you feel an itch on the tip of your nose, don't scratch it, don't react to it. Just sit and observe it. If you feel a pain in your leg and you want to change your position, don't. Just sit and observe it. You have to remind yourself of the law of impermanence. Nothing in life is forever, nothing stays the same. Everything changes, or as they say in Paali: Anitchya. When you realise that whatever sensations you feel are bound to dissipate eventually, you can learn to accept them, and observe them, without reaction. This is how you get rid of your 'old stock' of sankhaaras. But again, you have to be careful that even this doesn't become a craving. It's very easy to sit for meditation and crave freedom from your sankhaaras. That's not the point though. The point is to become equanimous, so that you desire nothing, and you are averse to nothing.

Perhaps I sound like a crazy person. Even if you don't believe that your cravings and aversions are stored in your mind and bubble to the surface in the form of tingles and itches (and I don't blame you if you think this sounds like utter 'bull'), anyone who sits in one position for long enough, in silence and stillness, will eventually feel the kind of sensations I am talking about, and will desperately want to react to them. There were days towards the end of the retreat where I could feel subtle sensations throughout my entire body (and apparently these sensations are constantly there but our mind is too cluttered to even notice them). There were also days where I had such a severe pain through one of my legs that I thought would never go away, and it didn't. But I experienced some moments where even though I had the pain, my mind had become so equanimous that I knew the pain existed, and I could feel it, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew eventually it would pass. Anitchya.

I can feel the scepticism already and I haven't even posted this! Is all that I learned from these 10 days, and 100 hours of meditation, how to sit and detach from pain? Not at all. Because when you realise that physical suffering is impermanent, you begin to apply your equanimity to other non-physical situations in the 'real world'. It is so much easier to learn this lesson by feeling it physically, before you can learn to apply it to more abstract experiences and reactions. And I'm not in any way completely equanimous in every situation. I still find things upset me or hurt me - but the reaction is nowhere near what it used to be. I'll give you an example. About six weeks after the retreat, I went to Vancouver for my friend's wedding. The flight there was extremely turbulent (and it was quite late at night so the sky was pitch black). I am not a very confident flyer, and a flight that turbulent would normally have been grounds for some serious freaking out. But instead, I sat quietly in my seat, and I thought about my life, and I asked myself:

"Divya, in the unlikely event that this plane doesn't make it, would you be all right with your life ending now?"

And normally I would have expected a response like this:

"Of course not! There's so much more I want to do. I still need to finish my PhD, and I need to find a job, and I need to meet a nice person and get married, and I need to become enlightened" and so on and so on.

But instead, I felt so...so strangely fine with everything. And maybe I knew that the idea of a domestic, 5 hour flight crashing and killing everyone on board was so impossible that I made peace with a rare outcome, but the even stranger thing was that during all the turbulence, I actually fell asleep for the rest of the flight (and slept quite well oddly enough). Have I overcome my fear of flying because of Vipassana? Of course not. Turbulence is scary, and the idea of falling thousands of feet to your death or exploding in an airplane is something that nobody wants to happen to them. But I think the little pocket of peace I managed to find was more about accepting that life doesn't last forever, and that death isn't a demotion, it's a promotion - so why fear it? Yes there is grief, yes there are tears in those sad moments, but why do we develop aversions to them? If you're grieving, just observe your grief, don't react to it, don't try to fight it, just accept its impermanence. Anitchya.

Farewell Canada!

So clearly, I haven't yet been able to write the follow-up on Vipassana since Miami (hey, what can I say? I've been busy). Five days after we returned from Miami, I flew out to Vancouver for my friend's wedding (had a wonderful time out there) and when I returned home, there was just enough time to finalise my departure to Leeds (which is happening in a couple of hours).

As you can imagine, this post is going to be very brief (and yes, a bit of a cop out - sorry). The past four months have been such a treat - I am immensely grateful for all the time I was able to spend with friends and family and all the travelling I managed to squeeze into the past month. Thank you for all the lovely dinners and sleepovers and visits - you know who you all are. And to those who unfortunately I did not see this summer, I'm still looking forward to our meeting at some point (perhaps Christmas?).

I can feel the routine and discipline which awaits me in Leeds (and can also assure you that I will make up for this small post next month!). But I welcome them both with open arms, because it's time to head back to school, time to return to my research with fresh eyes and renewed determination, time to start the end!

And so it begins...