Churches and Temples part 1

I have tried to pack in as many experiences that I have been able too these first few weeks here in India. Sadly, I have caught a case of the “Thou shall not move about the world” and since have done very little.             I have lost a great deal of weight and have yet to regain an adequate get up and go to get up and go anywhere. I hope to restart the get up and go this Monday night, for there is a celebration at the Shiva Temple here in town. I’m sure there are greater parties out there, but I am here for school first and for most. So, I’m going to rest up and hopefully get blessed by the destroyer of the universe.

It seems as if I’m carrying a torch to search out all the religiousness that can be found in India whether that be Buddhist, Christian, Sikh, Hindu, or Muslim. As I may have mentioned before the call to prayer rings out within earshot of my apartment, and there is a reverence that I tune with that. I have been the Mosque, but have yet to go. However, I plan on going before I exit this wonderland of questions. The outside of this Mosque is absolutely astounding, but I feel that it is par for the course here in many respects. Moreover, I have a sense of safety living in the Muslim area of town.

In no way does this say that everything else isn’t here as well. From my apartment I can see a private shrine, and just on the other side sits a Ganesh shrine. Although Ganesh didn’t help with my illness, or the Hindi test that I just took. I think tomorrow I might throw some rupees his way tomorrow before I head off to school just in case he feels like doling out some luck for me. Then just around the corner I have seen a Pentecostal Church. I for sure want to hit this place up before my exit. My hesitation is that once I saw the exiting and I saw that there seems to be a white shirt and black pants dress code, and I don’t have a white button up shirt with me, or even the closet at home. I’m sure they would let me in regardless, but I just want to be in compliance with the natives. It’s the least that I could do to blend in just a little.

I have went one church service thus far, but as I have said the ability to sit more than any hour anywhere has me a bit nervous about going just yet to more. The service I did attend was interesting insofar as that it seemed that I was still in America. It was a Methodist Church, and to be very honest there was very little difference. This is down to the hymns that were sung, the projection screen, the hymnbooks (printed in America), and the sermon.  Every aspect of this service screamed America, and this did lesson the fish out of water feeling. However, I did get the giggles when they sang “And He Touched Me.” What can I say? Sometimes I revert back to the twelve year that hides in the shadows of my mind, and only decides to come out at inappropriate situations.

In all honesty there were two things that did standout. The first is that the pastors didn’t were shoes on the pulpit. I would later come across this again in my own adventures. It seems as if this is a long tradition of not wearing shoes in Holy places. My guess is that somewhere along the Church history the Missionaries convinced the people to make a compromise, and this is what the compromise was. The second (and I’m not 100 percent on this) is the use of the anxious bench. Right before the choir chimed in for the collection song, the pastor started his prayer. This led people to the front of the church to pray on the anxious bench, and low and behold there is its namesake! Later I would be able to give a quick history lesson to my professor (the one who took me to the service) all about the anxious bench. It made me feel a little bit better about the last few years at Ashland, and my self-doubt as to why I study any of this stuff at all. I have to admit that happens from time to time. I seriously question what have I gotten myself into to? However, every time these thoughts float across my mind, that same teacher reminds. Even though the good you do is merely a drop of fresh water in the ocean. It still amounts to something.

So, I decided that going on a trip would do me good for my whirlwind spring break trip I am planning. There were two spots about six hours away on bus from here that I wanted to see; one is Arunachala, and the other St. Thomas martyrdom church. Since Arunachala was on the way to the church I thought it best to stop by Arunachala first.

Since this place isn’t very popular, as I said, I would be taking a bus. So the adventure really starts there. The place I was actually going is this: Thiruvannamalai. I could not say it to this day in order to save my life. So, while at the bus station I would just show people where I was going.

The interesting thing is that three or four people would ask me where I was going. Just random people, until I put some thought into it. Thing is that the bus station that I was at does not send a bus to the city that I cannot name. Thus, these people were rickshaw drivers who want to rake me over the coals to get to the other bus station. So, each and every one of them would say, “Oh, you can’t get a bus here for that. You have to go to the other bus station.” I put my faith in my Ninja Gopal, and I had faith that he wouldn’t just send me here for nothing. I was right.

Those people were right in a sense. There was no bus at that station that would take me where I wanted to go. However, I could buy my ticket there and take a shuttle. This only has furthered my faith in my Ninja. However, as I bought my ticket the attendant gave me a rather funny look and said, “You really want to go there?” I nodded. “Okay, platform 17.” With that off I ran.

This shuttle bus was packed, and I didn’t get on it right away. It looked like the bus I should be getting on, but I thought that maybe I should put away my this-is-were-I-want-to-go-sign and smoke a cig to contemplate this leap of faith in such a crowded bus.

Just as was to light my no longer wanted habit the bus started to move, and everyone that was milling around started to pile on and make it even more crowded. I thought since I was in India I had better do what the Indians do and joined the crowded bus.

This would mark a journey rife with uncomfortable bus rides. Yet, the first part of the journey was rather quick and painless. I did feel for the ticket man who had to maneuver his way from the back of the bus to the front of the bus and charging people. I on the other hand did have a pass to the other bus station and all was good. There was stopping in the traffic where the doors would open and people would get on and off a shuttle bus. I found this to be kind of strange, but in a land where streets are crowded and it can be hard to get around I think I can understand this a tad. However, that does not lend to the idea that I thought it was normal. For here it is I’m sure.

Once I found my plat form that my real trip would start I decided to go to the bathroom. This would be the very first time I would have to pay to use the loo. In front sat a man on a make shift table made of milk cartons and plywood. As each person entered he’d hit the table both make aloud thud and jangling the change. This action in many ways felt threatening and I suppose it was mean to be interoperated as that. I also got to see an exchange without money when someone entered without paying. The shouts back and forth as the man continued into the bathroom without paying were enough for me to pay and not receive an abrasive tongue-lashing. However, after I paid he still hit the table as if he’d won a bet.

Once I entered and the stench hit me I had suddenly felt like this man had just ripped me off. This was the dirtiest bathroom I have ever seen at this point, as I stepped in the whatever was on the floor I began to wonder, what was it that I had just paid for again? And as I stared down the cockroach as I urinated I thought, oh yeah I didn’t want yelled at. That’s what I paid for.

It was time to board the bus, and after I asked around to find the bus, I stood and admired the 1970s African safari looking, perhaps in the last of its days chariot. In the back of my mind I wondered if it was going to get where I was going. There was a twinge deep inside me to forget the whole trip and just head home, but I had the ticket and I didn’t want to go back on a promise that I had made to my good friend. When I got in and sat down I was packed in-between to gentle men. There was no comfortable position, and there was no napping on this bus. This ride actual got to the point of hurting within 3 hours of the bouncing and light smell of exhaust due to the surrounding traffic.

Just as I was about to go insane the bus stopped, and my first experience of an India bus stop began. Like always there are the stray dogs running back and forth looking and smelling at everything that happens to fall to the ground. And just like all of India fair type vendors selling random food items. Since I’m new to this whole thing I just stood close to the bus and smoked. At one point I headed to the bathroom, I tried to hand him a 2 rupee coin and he told me that it was 3. Other than the two rupees the next lowest I had was 10, and I didn’t think he was going to be willing to make change, I just got that vibe. I decided that I didn’t have to go that bad and smoked one more for prosperity sake. The ticket guy blew his whistle and it was time to get back on. It was something I had to force myself to do. It was just so cramped. I’m not super fat, but I’m not small either. In comparison to the Indians I’m rather huge and that seat didn’t fit me. It was on the second leg that I had decided that on the way back I was going to spend a ridiculous amount of money on a private bus to get back to Bangalore.

I was trying very hard not to pay attention to how long it was taking and my I-pod became my best friend. I just tried really hard not to feel every bump in the road, which where too many to count, and that I couldn’t move, or that I was touching both guys besides me.

Suddenly the bus stops, the lights turn on and the ticket man is pointing at me. “This is your stop," he says. 

 I stand up, grab my bag, navigate through the people lying on the floor, and exit. No sooner had I stepped off the bus it sped away. I was not at a bus stop that I could see, there were three people honoring a shrine, and as far as I could tell I was at the edge of town. I glanced at my watch to discover that it was 4 a.m. My thought process was where is the Waffle House, Denny’s, or Ihop? Well, what would you do in a small Indian town that you knew NOTHING about at 4 a.m.? I walked into town like anyone else would. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Just keep moving and wait for it to be light out.

To be continued…

The School

I think I need to give an account as to the environment that which I am studying in India. Like everything in India it’s an organized chaos and within that chaos somehow, someway things happen and get done. I’m only registered for technically two courses (I’m lumping nearly 12 hours of Hindi as one class), but since I am here I might as well listen in on all the other classes.

The school is a converted two-bedroom house. It’s small in fact there are only two students this semester. In short the school is small super small. So small that if the roommate and I throw a party the entire school comes! This has not always been this school’s case. At one time this school had upwards of a thousand students. Sadly, 9/11 happened and the school’s attendance dropped.  

This used to be in many ways a large export and import of foreign students. If you were an American student they would bring you here to finish any number of subjects here. Also if you were an Indian student you could start here and they would ship to places like Kentucky University or Alabama State. However, after our immigrant laws received stricter rules in America they were unable to export students, and became experts and importing them.

The reason that they now are so small is that they can better attend to the students needs, and let me tell you they really do go beyond the call of duty on that one. Never in my life have I been asked if I’m okay in so little time. They even have provided me with a maid. I’ve never the opportunity to experience a maid except for those rare occasion I have stayed in a hotel for more than one day, and even that type of made isn’t as good as this one.

The food is either delivered here at the apartment, or directly to school. Breakfast is the only time that we are on our own, and I swear if I asked for pickled eggs to eat for breakfast they would do everything in their power to obtain the odd request.

The apartment is in the center of pretty much an Americanized section of the old British settlement known as Frazer Town. Within walking distance I the place I can go to are including but excluded to Pizza Hut, KFC, McDonalds, and Subway. The placement of the school is less than five minuets walking distance as well. In short this place is the Bee’s Knees.

Also are planned upcoming field trips to experience culture, and they are trying to find a wedding to take us to! There is a great deal more here than just book learnin’

The first thing to note about the actual learning part  is the class schedule. In the very lecture fashion that Naropa taught me how to learn, they implore the one-day method here. The one-day method is that it is one class per day for three hours. At the end of the semester you have amassed the correct amount of credit hours for your class. However, since I’m taking four structured increments of Hindi, that class is 2 hours everyday. Thus, one class lasts only approximately three weeks.  

Moving that quickly through something my brain doesn’t take well to in the first place is absolutely daunting. In other words I have done a complete semester of a foreign language in less than a month, and on top of that I am required to be proficient enough to pass a final exam. So, imagine a class you have taken, or taking now cram all of that in Three weeks and bang you have what I have done in Hindi. Every time my teacher (who is amazing) mentions a test she looks at me and says, “Don’t worry it’s not that big of deal you’ll do fine.” The past few quizzes she was right and I’ve done fine, but it still scares me every time.

They also tell us that we have done really well in Hindi. In that amount of time I can read a little, speak less, and construct sentences. Nothing too big, just thing like: The cat went up the tree and I have a lot of pens and put that book on the table. In fact they say we are doing better that most of the native peoples.

The native language is another story. Almost everyone who lives here speaks 5 to 6 languages. That is because in India there are 418 known languages. 11 of those languages are extinct. Meaning that if you go anywhere you better know how to talk to those people. For example I went on a small trip I shall write about soon, and they didn’t know much English. I tried Hindi and that was a wrong choice too. They really only understood Talimanu. I get frustrated sometimes at the language barrier, but I constantly remind myself it’s me not them. Like I said before India is an organized chaos that still manages to get done what needs to be done.

So, after Hindi on Mondays and Fridays I have my literature class that was supposed to be a mythology class. In what I can only describe as an insight into Indian ways of life and a better fit for a class at Ashland has this happy accident has turned out for the best. At first I was a little upset at this miscommunication, but the head administrator assured me just tell her what you want to read and you will be able to adjust your course accordingly. I was told on the second day here that I would receive an electronic copy to send home to make sure that all was kosher with the class structure. I have seen a handwritten outline, however, I have yet to receive the promised document. They are working on it.

I pretty sure as of right now the teacher isn’t sure what we are going to be reading. Dr. Aune wants to know what we will be reading. I haven’t the heart to tell him I don’t know and I’m 95% sure they don’t know either. Well, that is except for the Ghandiji book we will be reading, and I’m betting that is a required reading for everyone that passes the gates to the school. There is a loose idea and as things come up we will go in that direction. Thus far we have met three times and have only covered the early stuff that only exists in Sanskrit. When I asked if I could read some of it she said she’d look, but doubts that there is very little of it directly translated into an English form. There are excerpts she says and she is on it, but I probably wont see it for some time. Patients in India is not a virtue, it is a requirement.

She says that we are going to look at how the occupations of the various groups of India have shaped their thinking and their writing. Once this class takes off it should be really, really good, and fit right into the slot that Ashland has. It’s just obtaining the correct paper work to make it legal.

The other days of the week I participate in only what can be described as a whirlwind of information. There are three classes that I sit in on. Indian religions, civilization, and culture these three classes are taught by the same woman. After being in these classes she teaches it just like it really is here, all there together. A mass of information is poured into the brain over a period of three hours. Some days I check the room before I leave class just to make sure I still have my brain, and that it isn’t lying there on the floor.

One particular day she was speaking on the caste system, which is still very prevalent today. Being she is a Christian and a liberated woman it was still surprising when she uttered these words.

“I try not to adhere to the caste system I allow my maids into the house and the kitchen, but they could never sit and eat with me.”

I think I need to learn to keep my surprised face hidden, because I’m most sure she saw it all over my face. For she then asked me, “Well Jason, would you let a bum in rags eat with you?”

My response of yes I would wasn’t taken very well, and in fact that was the end of that class period. The insight to this is that even though she is highly progressive, the idea of the caste system is so deeply ingrained that it in a limited way is still in use.

Today I met with a Professor from America that is from Bangalore and he told me an interesting old proverb: The tears of a strange are not my worry. While the nature of this place is very peaceful it still contains 4000 years of hang-ups. The greatest insight is to see the affect the Christian Missionaries have had on India, and that the presence is still being felt. Moreover the need for current missionaries is still a demand.

A point made to day and I will end with this thought. What is the use of the Vedas? Yeah, they have been around for 4000 years, but they really haven’t done much for our civilization have they?

Last Three Days

Have you ever been to the fair? Dirt roads, paved roads, paved roads with lots of dirt, while navigating around those sheriff and vender golf carts, animals milling about, the republicans booth next to the democrats booth, and an ever wafting of food just underneath all the smell of animal poo, well that’s India. That is pretty much all I think all day and every day as I move about the place. Wow, this is just like a fair, one big happy jolly fair.

The last three days combined have only been me and my new BFF Katy milling about, getting lost, and enjoying every minute of it. The first day or concierge Gopal took us about in a quick jaunt and showed us the things that we’re really close to. And amazingly it’s a lot like home; McDonalds, Subway, KFC, and Pizza Hut just to name a few familiar things.

The cattle that roam the streets are interesting, it is sort of a big deal to Katy, but having stayed with the great Mark Frey I’m used to standing next to a cow. In fact that was my response, “eh I’m kinda used to it.” Well, think about it. You wouldn’t find me in a bog city all that often, and you don’t see cattle in big cities. When the two are put together the response would be, eh I’m used to it. What I’m not used to are the dogs… Oh the damned dogs. There are stray dogs everywhere, and then at night when one howls, every last one howls. I could quote the Grinch, “Oh, the noise, noise, noise.” These dogs are far from mangy; those dogs are well feed.

On the milling part one can find themselves near a temple just about every other city block, and at the temple you will always find an exuberant amount of trash, lots and lots of trash. It took me sometime to decipher this little puzzle. Then one day as I left my humble apartment I saw some cows, cows eating trash, and then it hit me. They leave the trash at the temples to feed the cows! Strange I know, but I think that is why they don’t eat the cows, for they’d taste like garbage.

            There is a great deal of people, but it’s a different crowd than that of America. Much like the driving you just attempt to veer out of each other’s way, and no one give you dirty looks if you bump into them. I do get stared a great deal. It’s finally good to feel out of place and really without a doubt, be out of place.

            I did spend an entire day in immigration, and that is an odd feeling. I was contemplating a great deal, like people trying to get into the U.S. and how scary it must be. Just like the traffic and nearly every other Indian activity this immigration experience was something.

            So, you get a token. It’s just like taking a number at the BMV, but the wait is much longer. Here they take your picture, and look at your papers. I must have made my guy mad and he stole my passport copy, but I have Gopal sucker you aint stopping this train! Gopal would later get me another copy. So, you get your paper work together, take a number, and then wait. They call your number! Heck Yeah! I’m so in. The dude in front of the door takes your papers, checks them, and then said to me first floor. I’m excited this was going to be quick and painless.

            I got my number at around 11 o’clock, and made it to the top floor by noon, and there I sat. We left for lunch around 1:30 and I made back in time to see that they had only moved two numbers since before noon. The waiting as Tom Petty points out is the hardest part after all. At around 4:30 I finally got to see somebody, and he looked at the first page, and mumbled, “This needs to be typed, I need a photo idea to see who this is, come back tomorrow.” But I had Gopal there would be no returning tomorrow.

Gopal and I hopped down to the local computer shop and typed that paper up, and then he headed off to the school to obtain the rest. He uttered his now famous words, “I’ll be back in twenty minuets.” Those words are only famous now because any time he utters them expect an hour.

            He returned wthin the allotted time slot  of an hour and had everything I needed. And I headed back up stairs. This time the guy looked over everything and stopped at the photo.

            “Who is this?”

            “Um, it’s the photo that you said I needed?’

            “Hmph. This is fine go to the next counter.”

            Two counters later I had my paper that said that I can go anywhere in India, and that paper is worth twice it’s weight in gold I assure you.

            Katy had a similar experience, however, Gopal our ever battling against the India dignitaries guide went once to get Katy’s papers right, and now they were wrong again. So, outside the building we decided that since my papers looked like her papers, we’d take out some of her papers and try again. It worked, and that ended our day.

            So, tomorrow we are going to meet with our teacher, for we are the only two students this semester! How exciting! It appears that we will be able to shape how are classes go. Also it seems as if they are going to infuse us into the community here through a children’s school and other community projects that arise.

Until next time…. Keep your nose out of the sand.

And so it begins.

At the airports (all of them) I was nervous. Overly nervous would be putting it lightly. I’m not too sure as to why though. I think maybe it’s all because I haven’t flown much. It’s not the actual flight that gets me it’s the customs I find to be a bit crazy. The first flight was not an issue and went off with no problems. The second flight on the other hand did not go so well. As we were about to leave on a 14 hour flight the pilot come over the intercom and said it was going to be a wonderful flight, and that there was no way that we were going to be late, for there was a tail wind that was super duper amazing.

Twenty minutes after that he came on again and said there was some sort of baggage issue and we couldn’t take off, not worry we’d still be early. 45 minutes after that he came on and stated that we’d still make it on time. Can you see were this is going? Because, an hour and fifteen minutes after flight time we still werent’ off the ground and he said he would let us know as soon as he knew. Two hours of sitting on a plane that I inevitably would be sitting on for fourteen hours the pilot returned to give an explanation and the details of our up coming journey. The reason that we couldn’t take of was that there was a problem with the new software that they were using. Apparently all flights must be proportioned correctly in the baggage area. This proportioning is done through a computer system based in Phoenix. Here we are in Chicago waiting on an information database to tell the pilot it’s all good.  And we were off.

The overnight flight wasn’t bad. I mean it could have been much worse. Although it was a tight fit and I swear after this if I ever go on a flight that long again it’s gonna be at least business class. I must also note this was the smoothest landing I have ever been in a plane for. Without the sound it was barely noticeable that we even landed. There was actually applause for it.

The next leg I had to check in with customs, check in with the new flight, and find the gate.

It sounds easy, and now that I have been through it I could do it again with ease and less angst. The worst part I think was after out exit of the plan the walk to customs was enormously long. Walking from a downtown parking garage in Cleveland to Cleveland Browns stadium I think would be about the right amount of time and length of this walk. Long enough to really, really psych yourself out and make things really unnecessarily nerve racking.

So after I get the passport stamped, lose the dudes pen cap (making him rather annoyed) I got my bags and went looking for baggage check. Customs was really light. I only handed a guy a piece of paper that was it. Customs check over. While this search for I for a check in that look nothing like the check in I am used to I get waylaid into a “visitors center” they then give me a paper with English on it times and plane numbers, but for the life of me unintelligible. So, as I am attempting to get out of the visitor’s center I hand my English yet undecipherable get out of jail card to the India military gentlemen. Who only says, Bangalore!? You better hurry you only have an hour!”  

The next uniformed man, who had to be able to here the last uniformed man, took my paper reluctantly I forced it upon him just so I could ask… Where do I GO? Just then in the largest airport that I have ever been in the power goes off. The amazing part isn’t that the lights went out it was the reaction of the people in the airport.

In short there was no reaction to the lights going out. Things just kept going, there was no computer lag once the power was restored, and the entire place didn’t see this as out of the ordinary. The unaffected uniformed man 2 said go to G.

As I ran, about looking for a G that wasn’t there, I swear the letters went from D to H so I randomly went about looking for India Air, which had way to many check ins. This wasn’t helped by the lack of information on their screens. I just had to go up and show them the paper, and they would point further and further down. I finally reached the letter D and found the place I was supposed to be. I had to go through another carry on bag check, and then I was finally able to get to my gate.

And? It was the wrong gate. It was in reality the next gate over, but this pissed off the guy checking the tickets. I am in the end a stupid American, or just like customer service in America, there are stupid people everywhere.

Then this plane is delayed almost identically to the first one only I’m not in the plane thank God. Once on this plane this was probably the best flight out of the three in terms of comfort and hospitality. This flight was super sweet because we unloaded on the tarmac like all those sixties and seventies movies portray. This trip solely based on that was worth it hands down.

So after I was transported to the baggage claim and got me bags I became worried to not see a sign with my name out it. In fact it scared me to death.  I was late, about three hours late now, and I thought maybe my ride had gone home. I had my plan though I was ready. I was just going to get a taxi, get a room, and call someone in the morning. But Alas there was a troth of people out side and all of them had signs.

There it was my name, and I was saved. This was my first experience in the only thing I can describe as India’s organized chaos. Well, the whole find the check in was chaotic, but I blame that on in experience more so than to India. This was a mess of people all milling about in there own direction bumping into no one. As we walked to the car and had scant conversation, we approached what I assumed was or line of cars. I saw the small little van off in the distance, and began to mutter, “oh please let it be that one let it be that small little van over there. It was our ride, oh sweet mother of Marry it was our ride.

This small little van was sweet, and even better it smells just like my 74 Beetle. That car had a very distinct smell, and still does to this day. I have no Idea what it is, or how that smell is created. I think I want it to remain a mystery. The most interesting thing is the longer the car is on the road the more distinct this smell becomes. I was loving it.

The roads here are bad, and the traffic is worse. It’s pedal to the metal horn blowing chaos, the horn is just simply a way of saying hello I’m here, don’t do anything stupid.

The views coming into Bangalore are interesting. You have modernity with ancient and very old tradition on top of one another. It’s daunting to grasp at first. The run down huts, and the out of date shops with 4G HERE! Signs in the windows. At night it looks very run down at night without people.

We finally arrive at my room, and I must say it’s quaint, but very nice. And I’m willing to bet that here in India it’s posh even. Gopal, and there will be lots more with Gopal said he would be by in the morning about 9, and that concludes the entrance into India.

T-minus 8 days and counting.

There were a few suggestions that I should post while I prance around India looking for things I can't find here, and furthermore keep those who are interested as to my doings there up to date with the frolicking. I will admit it's going to be nice to look back at the whole experience whence I have returned, and this is a good place to establish a solid foundation for my memories. And I promise to keep it clean!

So, as I finished my thesis I thought I might prepare myself for an exit to India, and the only way I know how to truly do that is to put on the Beatles white album, and bask in the glory of what they made there.  Since I have been a Beatles fan since I was in the seventh grade, this is also an opportunity to reflect how I'm even in the position to be traveling there in the first place.

After I returned home from the west from the first round trip, I had a great deal of questions. Although a great deal of the questions were steeped heavily in the tea mug of heart ache, I had more questions about what this life was, what God was about, who I was, and where I was going in relation to those around me.Not that these questions weren't posed earlier in some form or another; it was that these questions seemed important and there was an immediacy to them that wasn't present as before.

A friend of mine, who was in the same state as I, handed me the Autobiography of a Yogi. As I progressed through the pages a great deal of the answers I had been asking were addressed. I truly felt that Hinduism was a home I could reside in. However, as things move on, and they always do, I felt that a great deal was still missing. However, in the mean time as I was doing yoga and meditation I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and there smiling back at me was the originator of the line of gurus I had been studying under. His face was on a pin that George Harrison has wore during the concert of Bangladesh. I would be lying if I didn't think at the time this was somehow mean to be. I would later go home and reexamine the cover of Sgt. Pepper to discover three more gurus of the same line. To even hit the nail harder I owned their books. It felt odd that there was this connection; something I had been so obsessed about for so long (The Beatles) was a connection for later in life. Yet, as I studied, to reiterate, it just didn't feel right.

So, I went deeper into the Indian traditions and discovered Buddhism.

Just like Hinduism at first I loved it, and went so far as to study at a college that claimed to be the only Buddhist inspired college in North America. One would think this place would be a mecca of free, open minded, free thinking, understanding, objectively academic, and fun loving people. However, that was not the case. I will admit that most of them thought outside of box, but they had built a box of their own, stood on it and professed their way of thinking. Being that the Buddha had said that if you disagree with something you hear, you should question those who posed the idea in the first place, and then answer it for yourself.  I quickly discovered that any sort expostulation was out of the question.

So, once I again I found myself looking for more answers about myself and the direction I should head. Finding myself in Ohio and due to a slight miss direction (the miss direction taught me I can't do math) I found myself at Ashland University.

I feel privileged to have come in contact with those who reside at Ashland the students and the faculty alike. These last few years I have come to feel like I belong. My questions are never looked at as a hindrance, but only as exploration as I have always thought they were. It was here at Ashland that it was suggested that I finally make the leap to India in my quest for whatever it is that I'm searching for, and to be honest I don't even know what that is. Hopefully I can finally find it, and tell you about it as I do.