Category: Travel

It was a really beautiful, gentle journey. I ate the medicine (surprisingly delicious!) under Árbol la luna and meditated while it was coming on. I felt a lot of internal sensation and emotion begin to arise and began to cry. I was having mild-moderate CEVs but little open-eye visual change throughout the whole journey. It was almost entirely internal. I don’t know how long I cried for, maybe 30 min, maybe an hour? I cried for the grief of my breakup, for my heart and inner child – afraid to be fully present, retreating from the pain of the world. I cried for my uprooted ancestors, for the feeling of contempt within myself. I had an I Ching reading a week ago and ‘Approach’ came up – the book said it was associated with the ‘appropriate contempt’ that a noble has for a lower class person. So I was sitting with and crying for the feeling of this emotion while pondering how it might be appropriate. I’m sure I cried for more reasons, but these were the most salient.

Through all this, I was seeing spirals of mushrooms, caterpillars, beetles, dragons. I saw an Amanita and realized that my ancestors would have had a relationship with this mushroom – something I’d like to investigate further. I saw rainbows – which my mind associated with the protection of Archangel Michael, and I felt a presence of protection. Any time it began to get overwhelming, I could open my eyes and the world appeared normal – perhaps a little extra sparkly.

My mind was tracing a psychological and ancestral lineage of spirit and thought – I don’t know if I fully believe in DNA codes and all that, but that’s the feeling-idea that came to me as the pace quickened. It came to an identification with or even passage through Christ consciousness and something in that scared me. A fear of madness in myself. And a fear of death. I asked the medicine – is there a gentle way to learn this lesson? I looked down at the dead leaves, the worms, the fungus and decomposing earth – this is the gentle way, to see that everything dead becomes new life.

When the meditation came to a close, I hiked down to Cascada Las Nubes – I began to rhyme in Spanish and English and felt my inner child coming out to play. I was thinking about my voice and spoke the mantra Todo es Luz, Todo es Amor, Todo es Perfecto. I shocked myself with the strength and depth of my voice.

Arriving at the waterfall I began to feel… impatient somehow… like I needed to be doing something. But of course, nothing needed to be done, and in that moment I realized how destructive my impatience has been in my life. My dream of the night before, which had confused me all morning, suddenly made sense. In the dream, I had followed some snails, slugs, and worms down a path into an empty house, an empty workshop. In that moment I saw that they were showing me that slowness and patience were the path to consistent creation. In my impatience, the workshop was empty!

I began to do some Qi Gong while facing the waterfall and then began to intuitively dance, feeling the movement of energy and feeling that the expression of dance was a way of speaking truth without speaking. I stayed for a while down by the waterfall, meditating and moving and playing, until I felt it was time to return.

By the time I got back I was in the warm glow of the end of the journey which lingered until I went to sleep. I played guitar for a while, thinking again about the power of patience and slowness. I had dinner by myself, really savouring it, and then spoke with another guest while they ate. I also booked horseback riding the next day on a strange impulse and dreamt of a competition of Knights that evening.

Overall, it was very peaceful, as I had requested. I was able to process a lot of personal and ancestral grief, and had some powerful insights.

I’ve found a routine that brings me to some semblance of functioning as a normal human being. 400mg Ibuprofen, 1000mg Tylenol, and 30mg Codeine 3 times a day, though I offset them a bit so that I’m always on some kind of pain reliever. If I take the tylenol/codeine right before bed I can actually fall asleep! I also roll out my back on a foam roller twice a day which is beginning to show signs of longer term improvement. Despite all this, I still go most of the day as if I’m walking through a swimming pool.

Robin’s family has come to visit and we went to the Harry Potter Studio Tour and the new Harry Potter play. It’s interesting to see in Harry Potter a combination of a story about magic and a cultural force that for all I know has actual magic behind it with such a large influence on so many people. The sheer number of people and scale of the undertaking necessary to bring the books to life in movie form is unbelievable.

The Studio has many of the sets from the movies still intact and thousands if not millions of props all over the place. The sets are filled with props, small details all over the place. Things that you almost certainly can’t see in the movies. In the dormitory rooms there are wizarding comic books strewn about. Hundreds of potions around in the classrooms. So much detail. I was wondering why all the sets needed to be so elaborate, to have so much detail, and then the tour answered my question. Filling the sets with tons of detail allows the directors and cameramen to shoot the scene from any angle without needing to worry about whether the set will look interesting from that angle. By putting in the extra work in set design, it gives them so much more freedom to find just the right shot when filming.

Throughout the tour I kept thinking about how much fun it would be to work on these things. To imagine other, magical worlds and to bring them into being. I yearn to create art. This is something I’ll prioritize when I return from my travels. Art is a form of magic.

I think for the rest of this post, I’ll just let these pictures speak for themselves:

Edit:  Will update with better quality photos when I have a better internet connection

A demonic rend in my back tortures me. Pain is my whole existence. My body screams: a howling that blocks out my ability to think. These last few days after flying to London have been utter hell. A cold saps my energy and a stomach bug makes me constantly queasy, the combination confining me to our closet-sized hotel room. My eternal wound fills these hours with agony.

The pain has flared up beyond anything I’ve ever known. My back and arm seize in pain and swell to many times their usual size. I am practically carried to the hospital by Robin and a host from our hotel. But the local doctors, as always, have no way to help. In fact, in their view, there’s nothing really wrong with me beyond swelling and that minor detail of excruciating pain. They tell me they can’t even prescribe me pain medication. I need to go to a GP for that.

Eventually I find a clinic that will do something for me. They prescribe some muscle relaxers, and some Codeine-tylenol pills. Codeine, it turns out, is a terrible drug. It does next to nothing for me. In fact, I research this and find out that codeine on top of being an inconsistent vehicle for morphine delivery, has it’s effectiveness reduced by another medication I take. Unfortunately, despite telling them this, the doctors decided to prescribe me a mild-pain-for-a-normal-metabolizer dose of Codeine. Either they are inept or too afraid of the government to prescribe me some proper opiates. Of course, at that point I would’ve taken pretty much anything, so I don’t complain. None of this situation is helped by the fact that I’m an American and not part of their medical system.

My quest lays forgotten for weeks. All I can do is think about my pain and how to reduce it. Robin and others say that I seem like I’m underwater. I can’t hear anything but my pain. Perhaps I am approaching the demon who left me with this unholy wound. Finding it seems the only way to cure this, but how will I ever be able to do so if I am incapacitated by its very presence. I must research these demonic energies so I’ll know what to do when the time comes. And I must start working to strengthen my magic and mind.

I woke up in excruciating pain. My physical therapy exercises only seemed to make things worse. Despite the fact that I could see the demonic wound in my back, I knew that mundane medicine could help relieve the pain in the short term as I’ve had success in the past. A cure is the answer I’m looking for, one of the goals of this trip.

So after a night of pain and restless sleep, Robin and I caught a taxi to the traveler’s clinic in the tourist part of town. It is, in fact, a very highly-respected clinic, so I was hoping they’d be able to help me out. I did not expect the positively medieval treatment I ended up receiving.

The doctors talked to me as if I hadn’t heard it all before. Your pain isn’t really that bad… All you have to do is this one stretch and everything will be okay… Oh? Is it really that easy? Really?!? I nearly punched one of them. However, they agreed to give me a stronger anti-inflammatory and insisted I come back for my last 3 days in Nepal to receive physical therapy treatments. So I showed up later that afternoon for the first.

We walked out of the main building into an adjunct building that might have been a shed in a past life. Inside were a number of gadgets and gizmos pulled from an early 1900s mad-scientist laboratory: Frankenstein or Jekyll and Hyde. It was neither comforting nor homey. He had me lay down on the sterile aluminum table and started by massaging the tight muscles in my back. While doing so, he asked me if I’d ever had dry-needling. I had not. He started telling me about the benefits of it as he began cupping my back and using the cup to massage my agonizingly stiff muscles. His diagnosis was that the only problem was a single muscle that was too tight, despite the fact that my back, neck, lats, and chest were all in quite a bit of pain, as the trapped demonic energy seeped into all of those areas. It wouldn’t be any use, of course, to tell him this.

At this point I was pretty desperate for any pain relief, so I consented to the dry-needling. Now let me paint a picture for you. I lay on a metal table in a small, dimly lit shed filled with questionable medical technology in the middle of a foreign country with not-the-best public health standards. Needles emanated from my back and multiple sets of electrodes connected me to a machine. My needle-strewn back twitched from the shocks as an infrared light heated up the muscles under my skin. I was honestly surprised that he didn’t break out the razors and start bleeding me.

I then repeated this treatment two more times over the next two days. It did seem to successfully loosen that one muscle he was targeting. Unfortunately, that muscle was only part of a larger problem, I was still in a lot of pain, and what little relief the treatments had provided would prove to be short-lived as I boarded my plane for London.

As I write these blog posts a month after these events happen, I find myself following along an interesting line of thought. I’m seeing that my recall, interpretation, and narrative voice are being affected by the books I’m reading and thoughts I’m having now, a month later. In each post I almost feel as though I’m writing two posts. I’m telling you explicitly about the events that occurred and I’m telling you implicitly or perhaps subconsciously about what I’m thinking or feeling now.

For example, when I wrote the “Ghosts in the Night” post, I was reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula. And I could feel as I wrote that a different frame was being applied to the thoughts and ideas I was expressing. My style was more journalistic, more pensive, more mysterious. And as I wrote my lastest post about being in Pokhara, I struggled to relate the feelings I was having then because I’ve since had changes in my thinking and attitude that are relevant to the topics I was writing about.

All narrative is, of course, colored not just by the writer’s changing viewpoint but also that of the reader. But I wonder now, as this fact manifests itself to me so vividly in my writing, how often we read narratives and descriptions and take them as being fixed, as being objective? Prior to starting this blog, I had already thought about this topic. I had thought about the meaning of authenticity and the inherent unreliability of all narrative. And yet I was still surprised at how strongly I had this sensation when I was writing! If people who think about these things can still be surprised by their force, what does that imply for people who have never been exposed to these ideas at all?

Yesterday we flew into Pokhara and it is absolutely stunning. In a small valley, surrounded by mountains, every direction shows us beautiful green hills and the lake reflects this beauty threefold. Nature stretches and flexes and lets her magic course through this place. We spent the first day here just becoming acclimated. Simply laying and sitting around in cafes reading and looking out over the view. A sort of lethargy settles upon us. In these places of intense natural beauty and power, the magic in the air seems to interfere with normal thought patterns, and it takes some time to adjust. And that doesn’t even take into account that after months of working nonstop, we finally have a moment to breathe. And in that moment, stillness and inaction rule. Tomorrow we can pursue action. Tomorrow we can continue our journey.

The next day begins our exploration. We’re looking for places of special power . We’re looking for magical experiences. There are multiple notable geological sites here in Pokhara and we decide to go visit them. Following google maps leads us unexpectedly through farmland, through an even quieter area than the main town of Pokhara. The sun beats down on us in this open field, and by the time we reach our first destination, we’re already exhausted.

Paying a small fee, we enter Devi’s Falls. The story behind these waterfalls, and the reason they’re gated up and fenced off, is that a Swiss woman named Davi, swimming in the river near the falls, got caught in the current and drowned. The falls crash dangerously down into a cave and become an underground river. Cliffs hang over both sides of the waterfall; once you fall down there, there’s no way back up. With all the spirits and creatures I’ve been seeing and reading about, this is a sobering reminder of the power of nature itself.

The second site we visit is actually just across the street from the falls. There is a temple built around an entrance to the cave system into which the falls crash. I am once again reminded of how much closer to nature the religion and spirituality of these people lies as compared to the west. It seems that nowadays we in the west want to completely separate nature and man. And in the west, this makes sense. Man has wrought such destruction on the earth that it often seems best to force him apart from it. But here, the temple is built into the natural entrance to the cave. And it doesn’t destroy the cave, but instead augments it. It uses the cave as a structure around which to place artistic images and create meaning.

After a delicious, but ultimately ill-advised lunch, we decide to set out for the World Peace Pagoda. At the top of one of the hills looking over the valley is an enormous Buddhist Pagoda. Many people ride taxis up there, but we decide to hike it. Our maps told us that it would only take around an hour to get up there, so how bad could it be? Ha. The heat bore down on us the whole way. Within 10 minutes I was entirely drenched in sweat, and our umbrella did little to shield us from the sun. Imps hiding in the bushes and kobolds hiding in the rocks on the side of the road snickered at us from their places of shade. I wonder how many travelers they see making this mistake?

But for me, the exertion proves ultimately to be positive. I find that whenever I do very strenuous exercise, it puts my mind in a calmer state. All unnecessary thoughts are wiped away and I am filled with a sense of peace and clarity akin to what I feel when meditating. This, as it turns out, was the perfect way to approach the World Peace Pagoda. The clarity allowed me to approach with an open mind and really feel the beauty and joy of this place. And it made me want to meditate more and learn more of the Buddha’s teachings. I could finally see a way forward through my pain and through my curse. I did not see a solution, but I saw that the will and resolve I would need to make it past these trials was already inside me. I’m going to need to explore these ideas and this state of mind more as my journey continues.

The nights are filled with strange occurrences. Only two nights ago I awoke to the sound of drums beating and crowds cheering, but upon waking Robin the sound ceased. Looking out my window cast no light on the source of the sound which stopped so suddenly. I can only attribute the sound to the spirits in this place.   Far more spirits roam the streets of Kathmandu at night than in San Francisco. Or at least, they act more openly. Last night, on our walk back to our lodging we were confronted by an angry dog standing on the balcony of the third floor of a house. At first it appeared to be just a dog, but upon taking a second look, I was frightened. The dog had the face of a man! What demon or creature can possess an animal in this way? I must make a note to do some research.

Last night also saw another strange occurrence, for Robin and I both woke up at almost exactly the same moment from nightmares. I couldn’t be sure in my groggy state, but I thought I saw some shadow escape through the window.

Other strange things have been happening, too. While I recognize why high humidity might stop my sweaty shirts from drying over night (it’s been very warm), can it make them get wetter? Or can it make dry shirts I haven’t worn wet? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it seems to be happening. Perhaps this is just a normal thing that I’ve never experienced since I’ve been living in dry climates my whole life… Or, it could be the creature a student we met told us about. According to her, she watched a bug climb up the outside of her window, then leap into her room and begin flying. It then landed on the ground, but in the place where the bug should have been only a puddle remained! How can one account for that? Perhaps these odd creatures have been dampening my shirts at night?

I have been reading a book about Kathmandu, and it seems the locals also tell of spirits in this place, though many much more sinister sounding. For example, the Kitchkandi are spirits in the form of beautiful women that try to lure men to their doom, whose only tell is that their feet point backwards. However, the locals have noted that since more electric streetlights have been put in, it seems fewer spirits roam the streets. This might explain the disparity between Kathmandu and San Francisco. I will need to research this further and see if I can shed some light on why electric lights might do this.

In any case, I will be on the lookout, as any of these spirits could be the key to lifting my curse.

Pashupatinath: one of the largest and most sacred Hindu temple complexes in Nepal. In the courtyard, we were greeted by some meandering cows. We wandered through the entry area, not exactly sure how we should go about seeing the temple. Eventually, we came across a sign that said entrance. Unfortunately, being escorted by Robin’s Nepali cousin didn’t shield us from the entry fee or a tour guide. On the plus side, the tour guide shared quite a bit of interesting information with us.

“Ah yes, so you see how it is, Hindus believe that the soul only lasts 24 hours in the body after death and so people must be cremated within 24 hours of death so that their souls can be freed and washed down the river. Buddhists believe it lasts 48 hours, so it’s less of a rush. You can see a pyre being built down there right now.” One pyre was already burning and another was being prepared. I could envision the spirit being released from the vessel that had contained it for many years. I could understand the desire to want the best possible afterlife for your family. To do anything that might help those you loved.

“So, is this temple devoted to any god in particular?”, I asked “I see idols representing multiple gods.” In truth, I’d already done some research, but I wanted to hear about it from our tour guide as he was knowledgeable about the temple and could probably provide more information than Wikipedia.

“Ah yes, this temple is devoted to Shiva. But many temples have shrines to multiple gods. For example, in the Hindu religion, Ganesh must always be worshipped first. So you see how it is that Pashupati is an incarnation of Shiva, so this temple is devoted to Shiva. Except these caves over here.” He gestured across the river. “These caves are a holy site for the Buddhists. You see, The Buddha is an incarnation of Vishnu, and the monks in these caves are mediating all the time on the teachings of Buddha. They are almost always smoking marijuana to reach even deeper states of meditation. It’s illegal here, but these monks have a religious exception. The Lord Shiva also loves marijuana, you know.” I later read that it was only illegal because of pressure from the US, and in reality no one cared at all and they didn’t even pretend to enforce the laws. Marijuana has a long history of recreational use in Nepal and trying to enforce those laws would be kind of ridiculous.

At this point, we started walking to a higher vantage point, and a dog started following us. And I could see that it wasn’t just a dog, but a spirit of this place. It belonged to this place as much as this place belonged to nature and to the gods. And it knew. It knew that I knew and could see it for what it was.

Noticing the dog following us, the tour guide told us a little about the animals. ” The dogs are fine, they’re just hoping you’ll give them food. But the monkeys… well, you see how it is, the monkeys have their hearts in their back, and any animal that has it’s heart in it’s back will think it’s a challenge if you look them in the eyes. So don’t look them in the eyes if you don’t want trouble. And be careful with your mobile phones. I’ve seen the monkeys snatch them before.”

I found the monkeys fascinating. And all the animals for that matter. So natural that they should coexist with humans, and yet, in Western cities, the only wild animals you see are birds and squirrels that are treated as pests: only around because they’re impossible to get rid of. In Nepal, the dogs would lay around in the street, on shop fronts, in temples, everywhere. It struck me that they were treated much like homeless people are treated in the US. They were mostly ignored, sometimes given pity from a few individuals, and treated warily if they were being aggressive. This comparison really drove home in my mind the terrible state of our society such that humans receive no more compassion than wild dogs on the street.

And the cows… well, as Robin put it, “the cows are just friends.”

“So you see, how it is: The cow has all 330 million Hindu gods contained within its body. This is why the cow is a holy animal.” I already knew the cow was holy, but this added an interesting new dynamic to it. The cows wandering the streets, laying on the sidewalks, and lounging in the courtyard. They were all gods?

“This shrine here is very old. It’s a tantric shrine. So you see, the reason it has these sex acts on it is that the goddess Kali will come down once a year to destroy humanity, but when she sees the sexual acts on these tantric shrines and temples and people practicing these acts, she gets embarrassed and flies back to heaven.”

Well, this all was a lot to take in. So naturally, we stopped at a small shop in the temple complex for some tea. And again, I realized just how different the pace of life was here. The tour guide sat down with us and waited for us to finish our tea. Would that ever happen in the US? Wouldn’t he have another tour he had to get to in 15 minutes? Didn’t he have somewhere else he needed to be?

Eventually we moved on and came to the main gate to the main temple. “Only people born Hindu with both parents Hindu can enter this part of the temple. Anyone can see the rest of the temple, but this section is too important, too holy. These goats here at the entrance, you see how it is: someone has given them to Shiva as a living offering. They belong to Shiva now and no one can claim them or slaughter them.”

Of course there are magics I will never know. Beautiful sights I will never see. Temples I can never enter. But now, more than ever, I realize that I must seek out the magic within my grasp and learn to harness it. How can I know this power exists and sit around in an office? Now, all I need to do is figure out how to find it.