"My dear friends, suppose someone is holding a pebble and throws it in the air and the pebble begins to fall down into a river. After the pebble touches the surface of the water, it allows itself to sink slowly into the river.
It will reach the bed of the river without any effort. Once the pebble is at the bottom of the river, it continues to rest. ... it allows itself to fall without making any effort.
Resting is a very important practice; we have to learn the art of resting.
We are always struggling; struggling has become a kind of habit. We cannot resist being active, struggling all the time.
It is very important to realize that we have the habit energy of struggling.
...When an animal in the jungle is wounded, it knows how to find a quiet place, lie down and do nothing. The animal knows that is the only way to get healed-to lay down and just rest.
In our consciousness there are wounds also, lots of pains. Our consciousness also needs to rest in order to restore itself. Our consciousness is just like our body.
...We worry so much about healing, which is why we do not get the healing we need. Only if we know how to allow them to rest can our body and our soul heal themselves.
...But there is in us what we call the energy of restlessness. We cannot be at peace with ourselves. ... and that kind of restlessness makes us unhappy.
The Buddha said that the past is gone and the future is not yet here. Let us not regret the past. Let us not worry about the future.
...the present moment is the only moment where you can touch life."
-Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk, teacher, poet, peace activist.

(Photo from Green Cay the other day)

Ashland (delayed post)

Hey, I don't think I ever posted anything about Ashland!
Well, my two favorite cities in Oregon were Portland and Ashland. I started out in Portland and ended up a little over a month later in Ashland, which is in southern Oregon.
When Bob and I finished our 32-day hike at Fish Lake, we got a cab to Medford, Oregon, and Bob paid for two rooms in the Holiday Inn Express. The next morning he flew home to Minnesota, and I decided I'd go to Ashland (I didn't want to skip Ashland, if I was already so close, like 15 miles away...) Bob so generously prepaid by phone for me to stay at a Holiday Inn Express in Ashland and gave me some cash, and I set off from Medford by bus. Well, I meant to go by bus. But near the bus stop was a grocery store, and I went in to buy a snack and ask which side of the street the bus will be on. A woman answered me, and as I was walking back to the stop, she was driving out of the parking lot with a man. They stopped and asked if I want a lift. The man said he was driving all the way to Ashland (but that he'll be dropping the woman off and then stopping at home first). I said sure, that's where I need to go, and got in and stuffed my backpack in next to me. The man dropped the woman off somewhere in Medford and then we continued on. We stopped in front of a small house and the man hopped out. "By the way," he said. "That's a loaded gun over there."
Right next to me was a fucking loaded gun.
HUH.
I wasn't scared, more flattered that he trusted me. I trusted him.
I wondered why the heck he thought he needed to go around with a loaded gun (I did ask him about that afterward. Seemed like he felt he wants to be able to "save the day" and shoot down a crazy gunman if one happens to show up somewhere).
My oh my.
We got to Ashland, the guy let me off  RIGHT in the center of town, which was awesome. Downtown Ashland is pretty much three blocks long, with shops and restaurants. Many of the shops are vintage/artsy-craftsy shops, and hippies sat and played music in the main square, which gave the whole downtown a nice atmosphere.
This day and the next day were probably the days I felt F R E E S T on my whole trip. I really felt so wonderful walking the streets alone, being surrounded by friendly people, nice weather, plenty of vegan food, cute shops... This is what I love, really. But most importantly (above the physical surroundings), I was internally free, at that time and space.
And that was good.

From the hotel to downtown and back, twice, I ordered a cab from the same company. And all the drivers were women, and with all of them I had interesting conversations.
Maryann said she's also active, but in something else. She's actively against abortions.
Eventually she asked me if I believe in god, if I believe in a higher spirit. "Well, perhaps," I said. "I'm not religious but I'm spiritual."
With Dana I also had an interesting conversation but I don't remember it anymore. Oh right, she had a dog kennel. And there was D.J., but I don't remember what we talked about.
I told the three of them about the trek.
Maryann couldn't believe.
When I got into the cab with Maryann, I told her last night I drove with Dana, and then she was on the phone with Dana and said "I'm with Miriam... You know, the hiker from Israel!" And then I could hear Dana laughing happily on the other end and Maryann laughing too. They were two sweet women.
Maryann said to me, "I'm gonna remember you for a long time!" When I got out of the cab.

So that was Ashland.

Birds

I just remembered a lesson I learned when I tried to save a baby bird.

At my (outdoor) workplace about a year ago, a baby bird fell out of a tree, and was lying there in the corner curled up. A tiny, helpless being, not even chirping, barely moving. The guy with the airblower wanted to just blow her away and I begged him to shut off the thing until I get her. I gently scooped her up into an open box and placed her next to me until the workday was over. Then I walked with her to my next job, and from there got a ride to a man who specializes in bird care. The bird was still barely moving. The kind woman who drove me to where the man would meet me, told me to cup my hands over the bird, because my body heat can revive her. I did that, and right then she started flapping her wings for the first time! It was amazing, like a miracle. The simple warmth from my hands around the chick's body practically saved her!
She was so young and so fragile that she died a few days later but I got to see how simply sharing body warmth with a helpless creature can be life-altering.

Another post (an afterthought) about the Pacific Crest Trail

I am practically forgetting what being on the trail was like...
I remember thinking before the trek that after it I'd feel so accomplished, and that when I eventually would go back home to Israel I'd feel so great having done what I was about to do. But I don't have that feeling at all. I feel that the memory is fleeing from me, as if it happened in the blink of an eye and I can barely catch a glimpse of it now...
So I'd like to write an additional post about the trail (additional to the one I wrote on this blog about 4 weeks ago, which I shortened by the way, so you may wanna go read that, or the whole blog for that matter. I'm pretty proud of this whole blog) so that maybe I can revive the memories, even for just a little while.

I had no idea really what I was about to do. I knew I was going to be driving with Cameron in a shuttle/bus (which ended up being a private driver in a limo) from the hotel Cam was staying at, to Timberline Lodge, where Bob and Paula had been since two days prior, after they had hiked a few days together. From there Paula would go back to Portland and then home, and Bob, Cameron and I would start backpacking through Oregon (Cameron hiked with us for five days). I had never backpacked before for more than five days, but I was confident I'd make it the whole 32 days even without what would be considered sufficient preparation. Some people were a little skeptical, or even outright against my trek (not that it mattered. I'm my own independent human being) because I was going to be hiking with a male, a "stranger" I had met on the internet, and for so long! Out in the wilderness! It's not safe in the wilderness! But public opinion didn't matter much to me once I decided this is what I'm going to do. That decision happened while watching the movie "Wild" with S in the theater. It must have been around April. I was so inspired by the movie (by the movie-making - the acting, the videography) and by Cheryl Strayed's difficulties, suffering and courage, that I decided that I'd do this. Why not?

So, I did it. Bob later told me he and Cam thought I'd bail out after the first few days, when I had aching blisters between my toes...
But I honestly didn't even consider bailing out.
Later, the blisters went away, or I ignored them (one or the other, I'm not sure), and my knees started hurting me. They hurt a lot. Walking downhill (or down steps) was especially hard because of the bend the knee needs to do. I kind of stepped down sidely, slowly, with the help of the trekking poles. I limped for a few days, maybe a week, maybe more. It didn't bother me much. I joked that worse comes to worst my knees will be forever damaged, but I didn't actually believe that. I know my body is young and strong and can heal itself... And can endure pain... And can keep walking, one foot after the other, all day long...

And that's exactly what we did.
We awoke in the morning, yelled good morning to each other from inside our tents (and commented on the weather if there was something unusual about it), got dressed, ate our breakfasts, folded up our stuff into our backpacks, and then folded our tents (and attached them to the top of the backpacks) and continued on the trail. (The campsites were usually along the trail. Sometimes campgrounds- which are fancier than campsites, with a picnic table and sometimes an outhouse- were a little way off the trail, so we'd get back on the trail in the morning.) Then we'd walk all day, which usually meant between 10 and 15 miles, and stopped for the night at another campsite...

During the day we sometimes walked together and sometimes separately. Usually after about a mile or two whoever was first would sit and wait for the other, and then we'd continue walking.
Sometimes we were silent, sometimes we talked (usually Bob talked. I didn't have so much to say. I asked questions, that I did. But when Bob asked if I also have stories I can tell I said I'm not good at telling stories. Bob was good at telling stories.)

He told me about how his father just died one day when he was a young boy, about his hardworking mother, about how he got out of being recruited to fight in Vietnam in the 60's, about his photojournalism career before he started AEI in the 70's, and about his wife and daughters. He also told me about his company (AEI) when I asked. (I kind of felt ignorant not knowing anything about finances... Well, even after his explanations I still know nothing. But having met Cameron and Paula and Bob, I got the feeling this company is quite unique in the type of [honest and kind] employees it has.) We had conversations about human nature, about Americans, about religion. We both held similar opinions on many issues, with Bob being a liberal and a feminist, but in other ways our lifestyles (and age, of course) were very different.
I was inspired by Bob in many ways and I think he was a little inspired by me too.

He mentioned quite a few times that he was so impressed by my courage at coming out here to hike, so far from home... I didn't feel so courageous, but I appreciated his saying that.

I mainly felt anxious and confused (about things unrelated to the trail). I tried so hard to just be there in spirit, and I thought I managed most of the time, but maybe the fact that the trail memory is fleeting now means I wasn't really there...
(Or maybe, at second thought, this is the type of big experience from which the memories will unfold and come to me over time.)
Looking back, I wish I was freer when I was out there.
I wish I had no strings attached to anyone or anything.
But of course that was impossible. It always is. I had so many aching and complicated strings attached...

But why, or how, am I missing life? Why is it rushing by me without letting me really soak in it? It's honestly so sad...

There were physical types of anchors (like the "spot" device) which effected my mental feeling and hindered my spiritual freedom.

I did not gain from this trek all that I wanted. (But I WAS there, experiencing it all while it was happening.)
Maybe that's why I don't feel accomplished.
I reached the "end line" with no feeling of excitement.

But it was, in many-a-way, great.

And I go back to the opening sentence of this post... I think it's not that I am already forgetting, but that I haven't yet remembered. As time goes by I remember more, and the memories become riper and better.


(More "afterthought" posts will come later, as I remember specific things from the trail.)

Scottsdale, Arizona

I am now in Scottsdale, Arizona.
I left California and arrived here (rode on the subway to the airport, got to the airport, went through the airport control, waited for the plane, boarded the plane, flew here and landed here and found my uncle outside in his car waiting to pick me up) with the same serene winds that I was able to engulf in when I was in California. I finished Buddha's Book of Meditation here in Scottsdale in the backyard of my uncle's house, sitting on a chair under an olive tree, in the warm desert air. I finished the book and walked back inside, only to be summoned by my weakness towards pop culture and by my lack of other occupations and, well... sat down and watched TV... Some of the TV shows here in America are just mind-rot material, in my humble opinion. So that was pretty bad. The amounts of money wasted on some of these mindless shows is s little tragic.

But anyway, meditation... I like trying to live in mindfulness meditation. It's hard because the winds in me change fast. My energies are positive and negative within minutes of each other... And in a way, I don't want to give up the anxiety, because I've come to know it so well and have it all figured out. But I want to let go of it, in spite of it being my pretend friend, because I want to give way to new attitudes, which will be able to bloom only when I rid the pessimism.
If I want to believe that I can be free and happy no matter what (which I am positive I can), that can only happen when I meditate freedom and happiness instead of imprisonment and bewilderment.

I stayed at my uncle's house for a few days, and then "moved" to my grandparents' house when they arrived here from their other home in Illinois.
At my uncle's I got to sleep at night with a cat curled up beside me (sometimes two, sometimes two cats and a dog), I got to sit out back in the large yard, I ate vegan food Meryl so kindly bought for me, saw Sedona again and went on a mini-hike there with them and their friends, I went to an art fair with Perry and Meryl, which was wonderful for the eyes and the heart, I went to a "hot yoga" class with Mari, I peeked in some "Indian" stores in downtown Scottsdale (I put ["] there because sometimes they aren't really authentically Indian anymore), got some ideas from those stores for things I'd like in my own house (like place mats, like the kind Ben&Steph have), and bought a little "Arizona" shot glass (which is something I like getting in different places I visit) with the Indian figure called Kokopelli, which I like. It's a flute player, known as a fertility god, a healer and a story-teller.

___
There are many myths of the famous Kokopelli. One of which is that he traveled from village to village bringing the changing of winter to spring; melting the snow and bringing about rain for a successful harvest. It is also said that the hunch on his back depicted the sacks of seeds and songs he carried. Legend also has it that the flute playing also symbolized the transition of winter to spring. Kokopelli’s flute is said to be heard in the spring’s breeze, while bringing warmth. It is also said that he was the source of human conception. Legend has it, everyone in the village would sing and dance throughout the night when they heard Kokopelli play his flute. The next morning, every maiden in the village would be with child.
___

Meryl and Perry are very hospitable. They welcomed me so warmly and insisted, "feel at home." My first evening in Arizona felt to me a little stumbly on my part, because it's hard for me to be good at speaking when I first come in contact with someone. I am verbally inept sometimes, and only when I get to know someone better or feel more comfortable around them, my brain is able to process my thoughts into more solid, audible and smart sentences. So that happened, already by the second day. But the first evening was a little word-mazed for me.

I've been with my grandparents for a few days now. I love their house. The high ceilings, white walls, large wall-length windows that allow the house to be filled with a soft light. And I love the landscape in Arizona... The desert mountains and also the flat terrains with cacti scattered sporadically. The sky is blue, against the orange terrain and architecture. The architecture is also something I like here.

When I was in Berkeley I went with Ben on a motorcycle ride up the hills, and we saw some homes that to me seemed like Greek architecture. Ben said that it's true that there are some Mediterranean-style homes here because apparently the climate is similar to the Mediterranean one. And I was trying to figure out what made the houses look Greek (or Mediterranean) versus houses that were "American". I walked around Berkeley the next day and understood some of the differences. And I think again of those differences here, where the architecture is not the typical "American" architecture:

American homes usually have panels, and the doors, windows and all edges are bordered. The windows are square and usually centered to each half of the house. The roofs are triangled and paneled as well. The ones that looked Greek, and some of the ones I see down here in Arizona (or at least in Scottsdale), are more like what mud-houses look like (which I love): They don't have borders, their edges just round around to the next side. The roofs are flat, look just the walls. And here the tones of the houses are all earth colors, which I also love, and the homes are low, one-floor large houses.

I'm reading a lot here, which is absolutely wonderful for me, as I LOVE acquiring knowledge but usually don't have the patience to sit at home and read books. So now I'm taking this opportunity to do just that. I read Khalil Gibran's "Prophet", I read "The Unbearable Lightness of Being", "The Kite Runner", "A Thousand Splendid Suns", "Buddha's Book of Meditation", (and during the trail- a booklet with texts by R' Kook, and the book "The Road Less Traveled", and before the trail- "Wild") and today I got three books on environmental issues from the library.

I've got 27 days left before I get on the plane back home.
I'm eager to get back home already, but since I'm here, I'm trying to enjoy Here.
Every moment is a moment of splendor.

Berkeley, California II

Post-PCT: Berkeley, California I

I'm already writing a new post, even though the last one seems to me still hovering in the air like a thick cloud of bumble-bees. And maybe because of that, and not despite that, I want to write more. I feel the need to explain - after every long rant of specific emotions - that what I felt then is only part of a PROCESS of emotions, and that it is NOT the final word. It never is.
Writing down my precise feelings, aside from exciting me on the creative level of having written something with a certain aesthetic taste, helps me understand myself better than if the words were only written in my brain. When I read what I wrote (over and over and over again), I read it as if I'm reading someone else's story, and then I reconnect to it in an authentic way I was not able to connect to otherwise. And then I find which points have not yet found their deep roots of soil, and which have. I understand where I was mistaken in my understanding of myself, and where I may just not yet know it all.

I like Berkeley. A lot.
I like how there is a feeling of 'feng shui' when I walk down the streets. I feel that the size of the houses is proportionate to the width of the road, which is proportionate to the shape of the trees. (And the airspace proportionate to the matter-space.) And the colors and the architecture of the houses correspond with each other nicely, in a gentle array of tones. And the people are proportionate to the landscape, and do not look like tiny ants amidst high-rising buildings or never-ending roads. And the sky has been softly painted and the sun lights a delicate light.

I like Berkeley also because of all that came before it for me on this trip.
All that came before it lead me to be able to be in a wondrous meditative state of happiness.
I feel that this is the first time in my life that I am as calm as I'd like to be. I am IN PLACE in myself.

I hope this sense of serenity will not dissipate when I move on to my next destination, or when I fly back home to Israel and see myself melting back into the routine of life and the all-too-familiar landscapes and people.

It was Halloween a few days ago. We carved pumpkins and put candles in them. We ate butternut squash-and-bean chili and chai coconut ice cream, and we "scared" children who came to trick-or-treat. This was my first Halloween ever. It was my funnest, too.

Dominica sent me a gift from Portland. The shirt (here in the picture) and a beautiful wallet I saw when I was there but couldn't afford.