I could see that this place was coursing with magic as soon as I got in the taxi. Each collision we narrowly avoided was a new miracle, and our driver could only have been navigating with magic since there wasn’t a street sign in sight. Cars turned, stopped, passed, and avoided motorcycles and pedestrians with almost no structure to the roads. Traffic lines were suggestions and any rules that might have existed were clearly only guidelines.
And yet, in each moment, I could feel my own life energy surging. A pure joy at being alive not evoked by the mundane, rules-based traffic of the US. Improbably, we reached the Shakya House where we were staying for at least some part of our journey. Shakya was the clan of Siddhartha Gautama, so this house seemed like a fitting place from which to base my own mystical journey. I’ve learned quickly that coincidences like this are not an accident, but stem from a confluence of the magic in the world and the magic proceeding from ourselves.
Of course, we were terribly jet lagged. It took all of my effort not to immediately slump into bed, but Robin was insistent that we go to her family’s restaurant on that first day. On the walk we passed many temples and shrines that seemed to be in active use. I thought I could already see what might be meant by “gods living in the street.”
Unfortunately, when we eventually got to the restaurant, her family wasn’t there. But still, we were asked to sit and brought tea while we waited for Robin’s cousin to come meet us. Maybe it was the jet lag, but time seemed to be working differently here. Everything seemed slowed down. Sitting, waiting, talking, drinking tea. There was no rush to any of this. It was especially strange interacting with people who didn’t speak English. I wished I had a spell to translate what people were saying, but alas, I had to make due with reading body language and gestures.
After eating some momos, we went back to our hotel and slept for a long time.