An Accidental Philosopher

I went to this school. One of three. I originally signed up for a degree in Business. Yes, business. Go figure. I am not cut out for business. At least not cut out for what they teach you in college... who teaches you how to kick ass and become your own boss? You either have this intangible quality or you don't. What is taught in school, in my opinion, is how to safely and securely climb the business ladder. How to secure your footing in the corporate world and become a profitable slave. It's a good position, but an unhappy position as well. It's the rat race everyone seems eager to join, but once they get on board, they find that it lacks lustre and that their lives suck. This sounds harsh, but think about it. How many people do you know that wake up every morning, and love what they do? Most will say, "My job's okay. It pays the bills. I get by. It's not really what I had hoped to do in my life..." There are even others who will say, "My job sucks but the money is awesome. I take vacations whenever I get the chance..." I've been there my friends. I hated being there. Never again. I am not wired to become someone's lemming. No one is. But how we compromise, how we sell ourselves short! Most of the time it's because we don't know what it is that we want. So let's pause, stop, and think. Check back in. Find yourself in your childhood dreams again. Figure things out. Work it out. Make the change. Or continue as usual, but with a renewed sense of purpose and energy. Love your life.

I love my life. If I make money I make it, if I don't, I don't. I know though, with what I have chosen for myself, I'll never lack for the basic necessities, and everything else has been a bonus. I think its because I know I can get by even when I cannot, that it keeps me keeping on. This is the real bonus. An unflagging spirit. My life is a bonus. And I sleep like a baby every night. How radical is that?

So, at this school, while I was still talking myself into enrolling in Business, I had signed up for a class online that I thought was Business Ethics. I had gotten the call number wrong and in my carelessness signed up for a class called The Philosophy of Love and Sexuality instead. I couldn't drop it, because it was too late by the time I caught the error. I bit it and took the class. It was an eye opening class. It was here in this room that I discovered a latent talent and love for esoteric philosophy. It was also where I fell in love with Socrates and another philosophy professor.

The first time I stepped into the philosophy department I knew that I could no longer consider a degree in business. Plus accounting was the DEVIL. It will be the one and only class I have ever found it impossible to find anything redeemable. No pun intended. When I walked in, there was no one there, but there were pictures, posters and such on each professor's door. The one I walked straight to and actually knocked on was the door which had a huge portrait of a Sufi hanging outside. It sent shivers down my spine. It was an amazing feeling. Previously, at William and Mary the professors were all getting off on Kant, Descartes, Hobbes, Rand, Berkeley, and the rest of the boring analytical gang. It was a Western thing. Moreso, it was a safe, rational, BORING thing. My experience at William and Mary helped cement my distaste for philosophy and the entire discipline within the "rational" Western domain.

But the school here with the giant Sufi painting and Love and Sexuality would break down any preconceptions I previously had. This department was on fire. We had radical thinkers from Harvard, SUNY, Yale, teaching classes on mysticism, esoteric erotica in religious scriptures, radical Nietzschean ideals, Hegelian dialectics, post modernism, and most especially, they offered classes on the notions from the East , like Sunyata, Nothingness, Buddhism, Sufism, Taoism... And not only were they teaching these amazing subjects, they were living their lives that way. I cannot begin to tell you the paintings, and other forms of art they were gifted in, half of them had already traveled to India on spiritual journeys, and on top of that, the majority of the department were vegetarians. Unbelievable to be part of these amazing human constructs. It was always such a happy place. And not tree hugger dirty hippie happy. But happy in the brilliant thought, eureka!, lightening ideas, deep love of life, happy. I was in my niche place. Up until then, I don't think I have felt as comfortable in any other academic environment.

Needless to say, I was deep awe of the professor that I would later meet who owned the Sufi painting. After meeting him for the first time, I was so blown away at having found someone outside of my family of like mind, that I signed up and took every class he offered, Space and Time, Philosophy of Sport, Chinese Philosophy, Japanese Philosophy, Metaphysics, Philosophy of Pleasure ... and that is how I became the accidental philosopher. It was never my intention. I discovered so much of myself in my few years there. He still has the doll I brought back to him when I went to New Orleans for the first time years ago. It is there today in his office bookshelf. Next to a book by Rumi. He told me he couldn't think of a better place to set it next to, and I wholly agreed.

Anyway, there went my business degree. I did learn how to play golf from the experience though. Golf is actually a super fun game to play. So all is not lost.

Here is a song I like:

Recycling old writes...

Stranger

I've never been a big fan of Chennai (what was formally known to the world as Madras). It has to be one of the most conservative cities in South India. The humidity there in and of itself is the worst ever. It is comparable to the East Coast in the States- summers are a major yuckfest for sure. When I was younger I loathed to go there. Except for the beaches, it was my least favorite place to be. It's interesting because I dislike living in VA for the same reasons!

When I went back after not having visited in many years, I was shocked at my response. I was pleasantly surprised! The second I landed and exited the airport in Chennai, I fell in love with the place. Because of the humidity and proximity to the Arabian Sea, EVERYTHING grown in Chennai tastes amazing. The fruits and vegetables were like ambrosia. More than that, I felt like I had come home. I thought for sure I'd feel that way when I landed in my birthplace a few hundred miles north, but I didn't. I felt like a stranger in Bangalore. Initially. But that would change as well...

About five years ago, while I was at work, I turned to my co-worker and said suddenly, "Gosh, I feel so strange wearing this skin. I feel so estranged from the sounds that come out of my mouth. I don't know who I am anymore. I feel like a fakir." Of course my co-worker had no clue as to what I was talking about and just smiled, nodded, and walked away. I probably didn't know what I was saying either. Much of the time I'll blurt out things that only make sense to me afterward. Sometimes, eve years afterward... I find I do this even when I pass by someone and I get instant impressions about the person. And they usually end up being accurate forecasts. I guess some people call this intuition, others, psychic abilities, and for the really super imaginative, "weird" or "crazy". As for myself, I just think it confuses the heck out of people sometimes, even me. Well, at least, it used to until I started owning these split second impressions and working with them. I don't ever second guess myself or impressions anymore- they are like my stick girls, my best friends, my look out boos. I love this about me. I have made it this far with the few bruises I have because of my incredibly prescient ally residing deep within.

When I was in Chennai, I felt like I recovered my skin, my tongue, and my self. I felt so at home. Language is so powerful. Tamil, my mother tongue, is spoken in Chennai. When I speak Tamil, I never feel masked. I never feel like a stranger to myself. My family, my people, were everywhere and I felt so safe and so alive. It was a blissful and cathartic revelation. I understood what I was lamenting over five years ago. It made sense. It made sense, because a few months after being back here, I am starting to feel the malaise of forgetting myself again. But I will not allow this to happen! I will exodus soon...

Which is why I am such a geek for languages. I feel at home in the world of non-english speakers. Whether it is in French, Hindi, Kannada, Arabic, Farsi, or Chinese. I'm not sure why this is, but I just don't relate to myself in English as well, or at least I don't want to just remain in the world of English. It is also all the more difficult to relate to others in English, especially when there are other factors like culture, upbringing, values, education, likes, dislikes, and other preferences that are not in alignment. The gaps become even more pronounced. I suffer from cabin fever when dealing with mono-linguals, I guess. Language is but the tip of an iceberg when it comes to another human being, but it can tell us so much, offer so many clues...

On becoming.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his. ~Oscar Wilde

I was sent to India during my tenth grade year, for "bad" behavior. I guess, I was a wild child, with wild ideas, wild music preferences, and basically just uncontrollable. Who knows, really. All I know is that, now looking back, I'm pretty sure I terrorized my poor parents. Especially my mother. When I would cry and moan about not getting my way when I was in elementary school, my father would ask me questions like what the the worst thing that could ever happen to me... and I'd answer very seriously that it would one of two things: either "Sitting alone in the cafeteria at school..." or "Ending up like Amma..."

The first very worst of all things that I could imagine happening to me, happened in high school, at my graduating private school here in the US, where most of the students were all very generically wealthy, good looking, and booooooooooring. Oh well. I survived. I am hoping, like sitting alone in the cafeteria, I will also one day "end up" like my Amma. When I see her now, when I spend time with her, when I think of her, I know there would be no greater honor.

I stayed in Italy longer than I needed to when my parents first sent me to India. I was fourteen, carrying a one way ticket to the homeland. I was angry and felt very misunderstood. I had my headphones on 90% of the time of my travel and tuned out the rest of the world... Anyway. I had absolutely no desire to be in India. None at all. I was given a male chaperone that was to escort me from Norfolk, to New York, to Italy, to Mumbai. He was this Indian man in his early thirties that kept looking at me, you know, in ways he wasn't supposed to look.

I hated him instantly. I was really mean to him. I look back on how nasty I was to him, and I have to laugh. I mean, seriously, I was such a horrendous brat. But he was weird. So he deserved it. And as you know, I was forced to undergo this trip. I hated being forced or told to do anything. Absolutely hated the loss of my "freedom". Anyway, I tried to lose him at La Guardia. I purposely missed the connecting flight to Rome. But then he did too, and to my disdain, he sat in the same first class connecting flight with me. I was grossed out for the whole trip. I couldn't even enjoy the upgrade. I'm so funny with people's energy that I don't like. I think I have always been this way. If I didn't like you, I'd want nothing to do with you. If you gave me diamonds and I thought you revolting, I wouldn't touch it, I would throw it away... There was this guy in my class in college a long time ago. He would always stare at me, like he was undressing me with his eyes, but never say anything. Every time I felt him staring at me, I would get chills up and down my spine. I thought he was the creepiest guy in the world. One day, I had walked out of the classroom when the class was over but had left my bagged lunch behind. He ran after me and gave me my lunch. I took it from him and threw it away in the trash. Because, well, I could no longer eat it after he had touched it. I know. I am very strange. For sure there was no doubting who I liked or disliked, you could read it every cell in my body. I loved you or I didn't. There was never an in between.

Anyway, I finally lose the chaperone and spend as much time as I can in Rome. By myself. As a fourteen year old girl. I actually tried to run away to Italy when I was fourteen. It is a story I love recounting because I felt like I was so fearless when I was younger. I stayed there for a few days, and when I ran out of money, I finally caught the connecting flight to Mumbai. During the time I was hanging out in Italy, a French man asked me to marry him, (I was FOURTEEN, jesus), an Italian steward for the airline I was traveling with by the name of Alberto told me to look him up when I turned eighteen, (I never knew why that age was so important to him, until I turned, you guessed it, eighteen), and I found that the macaroni and cheese in Italy was not, disappointingly, the same macaroni and cheese in America... I remember now that even then, I was a very strict vegetarian, and would always ask, no, demand, that I be served vegetarian foods. And so I ate pasta and gelato for days... Till the phone calls my mother was frantically making to the airline people trying to locate me caught up to me, and so finally I left, out of guilt, and out of cash, to India.

When I arrived, I immediately felt this rush of "home" hit me when I stepped off the plane onto the hot, humid, chaotic smells and sounds of the Mumbai tarmac. I hadn't expected to feel this "coming homeness." It was surprising, odd, and unexpectedly very, very, comforting. As much as I did not want to like being in India, as I wanted to pout forever and "punish" my parents for punishing me, the lure of this vast and crazy country was so much more stronger and more defiant than a silly fourteen year old girls' sour attitude. So, yes. I was happy I was in India. The love of adventure and travel won out over redemption and vengeance. And I allowed it to emerge. I stayed with my Aunt in Mumbai, and then a day later, caught a flight to Chennai, where it seems, my mother and my entire extended family were waiting for me, I think mainly to make sure I did not escape. My aunt treated me to sodas, junk foods, and as many Bollywood movies I could stand. (FYI, I can stand a lot). I then took a train with my mother to Bangalore, where I was to stay with my grandmother and attend school. I met my cousin there, and it was like a mini vacation. All we did was eat, laugh, read Archie comics, and watch tons and tons of Bollywood films. By this time, I was having so much fun I had already forgotten the injustice done to me by my father, and I was excited and looking forward to my new life in India. I don't hold onto anger and resentment for too long :) It's a good trait to have, no? But it doesn't matter sometimes that I let go of anger and resentment fast. Because when my anger is once roused, it is very hard to stop, and can be very damaging. It burns and singes to cinders everything in sight. I am not exaggerating. I have made grown men cry. But when the forest has burned and I have cooled down, I wonder why the other person is still reeling and wanting to seek revenge... ah LIFE. So fucking precious. Lots of laughs.

So, anyway. I had come to India to go to school. So there was that reality brewing in the background. My mother took me to my great uncles house to discuss my schooling. My father was a huge fan of Jiddu Krishnamurty at the time and wanted me to attend the Rishi Valley School in India, Rishi_Valley_School , and my uncle had the wherewithal to get us introductions and such. Also, in India, it's mostly all about who you know... Merit is nice, but connections are equally, if not more important. That's just the way it goes. I love my country, but I am not impervious to all her faults and flaws. Anyway, he knew of a neighbor that had a son that attended the Valley school and that would've loved to show me around. In fact, I think my great Uncle was trying to play match maker. And of course, I was immediately averse to this. An Indian boyfriend? Gross. At least until I met him.

I used to keep tabs on him. Married, three children. And what a small world it is. I was driving around with my cousin, sari and jewelry shopping, a few years ago while I was visiting India and she was telling me in earnest, "M, please get married. I can't wait to come to your wedding, it is going to be so grand, so beautiful, so fun!" I said, "Well there's one person I'd marry without any misgivings and I'd marry him tomorrow." She said, "Really? Where is he? And why can't you?" I said, matter-of-factly, "Because. He's already married." I told her my story of my long lost almost Valley school love, and then she asked me his name. At first I hesitated, but thinking she'd never know who he was, I told her. Then to my consternation, she said, "ReallYY?? Wow. I know exactly who he is!!" I groaned loudly. What are the odds?? Jesus. She went on, excitedly, "He is very very handsome, very charming, oh man, would've been the perfect guy for you, but he's married." I quietly tried to change the subject and tried to tell her I was just kidding, but she'd hear none of it. Dang. And my mom? "You should've married him when you had the chance." Still. There will always be that story teller in me imagining an alternate real life "choose your own adventure" theme...

So, I went to the Valley school, interviewed with my mother, and left. I was later told that I would not be a good fit and was not accepted to attend. You know what? This bothered me for a very long time in my life. I really thought I was a prefect fit. Freedom loving, out of box thinker, avant garde, don't box me in intellectual type... I was stunned that they did not see me fit to attend. I went to apply to few schools after that, (I mean come on, it was only the TENTH GRADE!), how difficult could it be? Turned out nobody wanted an American in their classrooms. Thought I'd be too disruptive, thought I was too dumb based on me being American, (yep, people do think Americans are dumb), etc.,

I was really disgusted by the process. I hated these people. They didn't even know me and were coming to so many conclusions based on appearance and background. But it was my fate, I guess. It followed me everywhere I went... In America I had a hard time because I was Indian and "different", in India, I was having a hard time because I was American and "different". Damned if you do... It still follows me. I used to feel so alienated, suspended... But today? I embrace it. I love my time alone. You ought to try to step outside your box and live a little too... it's nice outside of that box, so come on, come play...

My mom then tried this last ditch school. The headmistress at the prestigious all girls private school said she couldn't "afford" to enroll me but knew of a headmistress that would probably take me. And she was right. My mother and I went to the private Catholic school near my grandmother's house, and I liked the head mistress and she liked me, immediately. She was warm, forward, and completely welcomed me with open arms. I felt like she could clearly see and understand the me that was hidden to the rest of the world. I think it was fate that brought me to that school. It was one of my most exciting and rewarding school years. I loved the experience so, so, so much.

My mother and I butt heads. A lot. A total understatement. If you used the Kiersey personality assessment you could see why- she's an outgoing, practical, charismatic ESFP, and I'm an other worldy, impratical Entp. She's very here and now, very practical, very much grounded and real. She doesn't cry at the movies, she very rarely falls for sob stories, she never gets ill, and she's just all round super tough. Everything she touches grows. She's like the goddess Kali. Totally fierce and protective. I never got along with her growing up because I thought she was so controlling and overly protective of me. I felt suffocated. If a boy called me at home, she would answer, and never in a pleasant manner, "WHO IS THIS?? What do you want with my daughter!" And if they succeeded getting past my nazi mother, my mother would listen in on the other end... When I look back now, I have to laugh! I hope it scared away those ne'er'do'wells that wanted to take advantage of me. Especially as I am always bringing abandoned strays home... in more ways than one. It's comical. There is a scene in Il Postino where Beatrice's aunt takes out a shotgun when her paramour comes calling. My mother is that protective Italian Aunt.

But when I was younger, I did not get along with her at all. I would complain to my father about her repressive rules all the time. He was more lenient. He was experimental and very avant garde regarding our upbringing. My father and I always had a close relationship growing up- well, at least when I wasn't fighting him, (I don't know, I pretty much fought everyone). He got me and understood me like no one else. But as a team, they were both very protective and not into being overly submissive to my extreme demands. I was very demanding. I was very spoiled. I threw tantrums. Oh my god, why am I admitting to all of this online? I was a brat. I am happy my parents survived the reign of terror that was their headstrong second offspring. My mother always threatens that I would have children like me as punishment one day and I always poo pooed it away. But now, it scares me, lol. If I have a daughter that was like me, off to boarding school she goes. No time for that bratty bs drama.

*Obviously, my future daughter would never be a brat. I'd make sure of it. I'd raise her just right. Just saying. (Famous last words? Time will tell).

I went to my third ten day vipassana sit last September. When we finished, like always, I met lots of really amazing, cool, like minded practioners. Of them, one lady stands out in my memory, as she just recently called me, inviting me to this weird landmark forum, and the memories of my time in India as a precocious teenager came flooding back. So I write... This lady happened to teach at the Valley school before she moved to the States with her husband. She was too young to teach when I attended the tenth grade, so, not that crazy of a connection, but an inspiring one nonetheless. Meeting her was really, really, interesting. Because. It was during that particular ten day sit that I unearthed these long forgotten feelings of rejection from the Valley School beofre meeting her. I mean, what are the odds, that I would meet someone from there?!

Anyway, when I found out what she did and where she used to teach, I said ruefully, "I applied, but they wouldn't accept me. I guess I wasn't intelligent enough to attend." It was the first time in my entire life that I shared this with anyone. I have never admitted to anyone that I was once unsure about my academic ability. And she smiled and immediately said, "No, no, no. I don't think it had anything to do with your intelligence. You're such a clever and free-spirited girl, you would've been perfect." I don't know. Maybe she was flattering me and trying to make me feel better, so I shrugged and let it go. But she didn't. She pursued this line and asked me, oddly enough, if my parents came with me and what they were like. I told her in a nutshell about my parents, at least my perception of them both and I finished by saying, "Yes, but only my mother came with me. She's not really into philosophy or anything esoteric, it was mostly my father that wanted this- but he was in the States." And she lit up and said, "That's exactly why! It's not you that wasn't a good fit! It's your mother. Her traditional, religious, protective ways were not going to be a good match for the school. And because she is your primary caretaker, it would affect what you could do or not do in the school... Not a good fit."

And that was it. It was the answer that I was looking for. They didn't reject me, it was never personal. I was just not a good fit... For awhile this explanation quelled my nagging feeling of inadequacy and I felt better. Until I didn't.

The more I thought about it, the more I hated the thought of someone thinking my mother in that way, and the less I wanted to be part of schools like that; the less intellectual I, myself, wanted to be considered. I was shedding lots of layers... These three years, from 2008 to now, has been tremendous in my skin shedding. Tremendous. Tremendous. Tremendous.

I grew up worshiping philosophers, intellectuals, the out there esoteric thinkers, witty poets, artists; I grew up worshiping my mind. Post vipassana, I wanted only to understand the heart. Only what was actionable. I tweeted one day that I found a great use for all of my philosophy papers from the past that I had written... I tweeted that I used them to line my cat's litter boxes. I was not lying or exaggerating then, and I am not now. I cannot think of a more useful place for those papers.

I am grateful that my mom was/is as protective and caring as she has been for me. She never gave two hoots what anyone thought or thinks of her, what she loves----> she protects, and the hell with everyone and anything else. She went to the Valley School mainly to please my father, but probably didn't think it was right for me, and this feeling was probably projected onto the admissions committee, and they very correctly assessed that I was not a good match. So, that's good! To this day, she says that school would've probably spoiled me. And. She's probably right. I was a naive, stubbornly silly, impressionable child. And the school was very lax with their discipline.. I know I would've gotten into lots of trouble. And not in a good way.

I don't care that my mother doesn't read books on philosophers, or watch dark movies that I love, I don't care that she's not "intellectual". She can out cook, out garden, out love, out last anyone. She is here, real, all earth, and all fierceness.


My beautiful mother, on the left:

Baby me:

In Mysore, 2011

Like Dexter, but better?

This is going to be a short one. I want to share an anecdote that makes me laugh out loud every single time I think about it. But first, a little background...

I love the show Dexter. Like all bad kids that won't go to bed on time, or know when to quit, or to not over indulge, I watched Dexter for the first time on netflix last summer, and watched the ENTIRE first season in one sitting. Then I sidereeled the rest of the episodes/seasons that were not available to me on netflix. And caught up on every season. There were a lot of seasons. Took me a week. I need, I want, I get. Wash, rinse, repeat. My motto in life. I also credit Dexter for getting all A's in my fresh science courses last summer... And what a summer it was. In one word:
I N T E N S E.

Did you know that engaging your brain cells in extensive scientific/mathematical/chess playing activity expends as much energy/calories as a light jog around the block? It's true! How many brilliant genius scientists do you know that are overweight...? I lived with a Chemistry PhD candidate and he would study at all odd hours of the night, (like me), and eat SO MUCH FOOD. He would literally order two large pizzas and EAT IT BY HIMSELF at 2am for weeks on end. Never got fat. That lucky bastard. He was strange too. In a weird good way strange. Like one summer he grew only chili peppers. That's all he grew. A hundred chili plants. And in the winter he gave them away. And said he was over it. Ha! We had some things in common that way...

So, back to my anecdote. I was out interviewing potential housemates, and came across these two very bohemian, artsy, and eccentric chics at the oceanfront. Obviously very much up my alley. Warm, affable, animal loving people. One was an art student, the other a biology student in the masters program, and both create and sell really beautiful jewelery. They had a husky and the other a kitten, so I liked them instantly. They liked me instantly. It was a big rommie love bru ha ha.

And then I saw the fur on the wall. I asked one of the girls, "What's up with the fur pellets?" And she responds, "Oh yeah! I collect them from thrift stores. I always have. I guess I'm strange like that." I ask, "Are they real?" She answers, "Yeah! All real! And look at this-" she proudly points to a stuffed squirrel hanging on the wall, "I shot that, right in the head!" she continues excited but then slows down, noticing the shocked look on her friend's face that she was unable to hide at this point, "I know, it's weird. I love animals-" And then I interjected,"So you hunt them down and shoot them?" Her friend then says, "Damn. I didn't know that!" I then say, "Well, I guess this is as good time as any to tell you guys that I am 100% pro animal welfare and vegan." The room got really quiet. Then the squirrel hunter turns beet red, and says meekly, "I know it's strange, that was a long time ago, I don't hunt anymore..." And I said, "Well, I hope it's not going to be a problem. I want my cats to live long lives..." And then I laughed. And they joined in, albeit, uncomfortably. I can't explain it. But it was so comical. Especially since she was such a sweetheart and such a free spirited artsy fartsy animal loving biology studying surfer chic. It really was a lot of fun. I do hope that she is open to cruelty-free lifestyles though. Oh how I love opportunities!

They happened to be mutual friends with my favorite co-worker who is also a very talented fine arts student and I told her my story. When I came to the part of the girl hunting and decorating her walls with animal remains her eyes got really wide and she said, "Malini, OMG, did she know how you feel about animals?? How did that make you feel?"

I turned to her and asked, "Have you seen Dexter?"

She said, "I love Dexter!"

And I turned to her, and said, "Yeah, me too. He kills people, but I still like him. She's like Dexter."

Fasting...

Here is the deal with fasting. Fasting from anything. When you fast, you are allowing your body and mind an extremely potent opportunity to grow and evolve. Fasting is not about going without. It is not about sacrificing. It is not all about withholding.

When you fast, and are successful, you begin to see nuances in your self and responses to the external world you never noticed before. Water fasts are the most extreme, and also the most intense, and most rewarding, in my experience. When you water fast for a prolonged period, (I have completed one 12 day and one 21 day), you get to see parts of yourself that you never noticed before. Much like what vipassana does to your layers, fasting helps remove the layers and layers of onion peels we are covered with.

I read an update on facebook today about wanting to stop using emoticons. I did this emoticon fast last year because I felt it deflected from good communication and was essentially making me lazy and passive aggressive. When I stopped using the emoticons, I noticed after time, I abstained for months, I was making better use of my mind to communicate using appropriate words and language rather than reverting to lazy symbols. I want to stop using them again, and to stop using lol so much. It's lazy,at least for me. I want to feel authentic in all aspects of my communicating life. Authentically goofy, authentically serious, authentically loving. Goofy, serious, and loving, me in a nutshell.

When people immediately say "Oh no I can't do that! Too hard!" They are doing themselves such a huge disservice and setting the bar so low. Yes you can, is my motto. No challenge that cannot be overcome. When I met a girl in India in 2009 who was fasting for 30 days, the first thing I thought of was, man, I want to do that. Thirty days! AWESOME! That takes mad balls, YEAH! And I asked her what it took. I love these challenges. I absolutely welcome them with open arms. I like pushing myself, pushing my limits. I want to push till I can't push any more. I want to push myself so hard I burst free. So free all of the universe fits sweetly in the palm of my hands. I get so much out of these experiences. I get to learn so much about my self that is occupying this body, I learn so much about the person I was born to be, about this character that is Malini that was written back when all faces were original.

When you say "no I can't", you sell yourself so low, so short, and you miss out on so much. You really, honesty, truly, do. So, yes. You can. Trust me, you can. Whether it is a fast from eating meat, cheese, dairy, indulging in alcohol, using emoticons, or acronyms, engaging in sex, fasting from social networks, or whatever, from whatever amount of time you choose, a week, two weeks, a month, take the plunge, test your limits, push your boundaries, challenge yourself. You will so pleasantly surprised at what you discover about the person hidden inside the body you wear everyday. Do it. Fasting. It's not about what you are fasting from but what you are fasting to: Yourself.

PHOTO: Hanging out and meditating with the Buddha and the Daila Lama early morning at the Root Institute in Bodhgaya, India.

What a mad world we live in...

George Orwell writes, "We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."

I get what George is saying. But it irritates me. The whole soldier/war mentality annoys me. Men who fight for land and honor annoy me. We send innocents to die in wars, on both sides, because the men who send innocents to war don't know how to play in their sandboxes. And then we honor the dead as heroes who die for sand, honor, and in modern times, oil. It's senseless.

Outside of MANMADE wars and politics, I stay awake some nights because I cannot help thinking that rough men/people stand ready to visit violence on innocents in EVERYDAY life...

I received an email from my university warning us of a shooting earlier tonight. Some 20 year old junior was shot and killed tonight, most likely during a robbery and hold up. It made me so sad. A life snuffed out so easily and so wantonly.

When I drive, I sometimes imagine I see a serial killer, rapist, or super bad guy driving by, innocuous and unknown to the world. Coolly driving by, thinking about doing evil things, and then acting on them. I imagine that person, or this person, and see if I can will them telepathically not to do harm. Sometimes a car will pass me, and I will feel cold chills go up and down my spine. I know there are evil doers out there. I sense them. I hear about them, daily.

We live in such modern times. We live in an era where we are so advanced in so many ways. Ways of comfort and ease we couldn't even of imagined a century ago. Yet as for emotional or spiritual evolution, we are as wild as the animals living in the zoos we imprison and know that deserve better. Millions of years ago, we were battling lions, hyenas, and wild beasts in the brushes of what is now Africa for survival. Today, not much has changed, except we have shoved the animals far from our reach in our so called civilized life, and instead are now under constant threat from our own species, our fellow human beings. It's really strange to me.

“Violence is not merely killing another. It is violence when we use a sharp word, when we make a gesture to brush away a person, when we obey because there is fear. So violence isn't merely organized butchery in the name of God, in the name of society or country. Violence is much more subtle, much deeper, and we are inquiring into the very depths of violence.” Jiddu Krishnamurti

Why are we so awful to each other? Why do we as human beings want to commit violence against each other? It's so much part of our society and daily life. Every single day there is a threat that someone out there will harm you. Every day there is someone out there harming someone, whether it is through domestic violence, or straight up rage, or words, or lies, or actions, or whatever. Hurt. Pain. We seem so psychotic and sick as a race.

Is this dark? Sorry. I just don't want anyone to hurt you. I don't want you to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt, even a fly, either. There is this lull, this undercurrent of insecurity and threat of violence and harm that permeates life in society, sometimes I don't notice and I am lalalala happy happy happy go lucky. And sometimes I notice. And it is all I see. And then I feel estranged.

What would life feel like without this lull and threat of violence permeating everything all of the time? I think it would be amazing. Bright lights and souls lit up and awakened everywhere... wow. Speaking of J Krishnamurthi, he has said that we should be alert and aware in life like a deer is in the woods surrounded by predators. I understand that the deer has to always watch out for the tiger, the lion, the unaware hunter that wants to blow its brains out with a cowardly gun from far away; it has to always remain ever alert, ever mindful of the dangers it faces, day in, day out. It is never ending. It can never drink from that pool of water, completely at ease and relaxed, because at any time, BAM! DANGER! But are we really also like this? Is it possible for us to ever completely be relaxed and at rest? Why can't we stop hurting each other as a race, as a civilization?

All right, I will start. First, do no harm. I will practice this diligently, daily. And I hope you will also join me. It will be nice. I have nothing else... but love and to manifest the ability to do no harm. Like me, you have the same ability, equipped with as much love. You and I are not that much different...

In love with love, and so far, it has been pretty Procrustean.

"If I know what love is, it is because of you." - Herman Hesse

I honestly don't think that I have been in love romantically with anyone to feel this way. I think I have come close many times, but I have never felt this love, this love that eludes me and teases me. It is the carrot that I've chased after my entire adult life, in one way or another. For people, it is sometimes fame, it is fortune, it is power, it is money, it is that sailboat, it is that BMW, that blonde... for me it's been love


So, I have learned to... embrace it. And to embrace it as honestly and as authentically as possible. But I am not going to try to cut off someone's legs or arms for love, like that Greek sociopath Procrustes. Because what has happened with everyone in my past, every single person, without exception, is that I've wanted this elusive all consuming passionate love so much that I have allowed myself to settle for almost, for oh so close, for nearly all there... And now, I have decided. I am NOT going to cut anything off of me, either. For anyone. I am not going to turn on myself again. To love, one must start with self love. It is all there is.

So... I've learned over time that it was more my pride and ego that broke. Don't get me wrong, it hurts just as bad. My heart was never broken, it just felt that way, as it was an illusion overshadowed by the obsessive need of my monkey mind, which was broken via its ego and pride, and wow, such a tricksies. These days, I am so grateful for vipassana... I am putting the mind in the cage and in time out more and more as the days pass. It has had free reign for far too long in my life.

Someone very close to me said that what I once thought was love was merely infatuation and it would pass, and I know, that, as usual, he was right... In conclusion, I am done with Procrustean love. No more cutting. If it fits, it fits. If it doesn't, I am not going to force something that it is not to be, to be. I am moving on from the way I lived that part of my life.

"Our passions are true phoenixes; as the old burn out the new straight rise up from the ashes-" Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.


So, well, that's that. I've done confessed. In parting, I want to wish everyone very happy trails in love, in whatever ways that rocks your world. Now I have freed up so much room upstairs, I can focus with all my intensity on subjects that matter, like Chemistry...

Viva l'amore, viva le vie!

P.S. Want to know who Procrustes was, and the Greek mythology surrounding this cruel fellow? Read about him HERE (click)

Or you can go to the library and find out more...