India: Louder Than Words

India absolutely blew my mind. Words could never do justice to what I saw, heard, smelled, and felt. These photos represent just a snippet of this whirlwind experience, but I think they tell the story pretty well themselves. Love you all!

More - ish - us

Mauritius. More - ish - us. Quickie update :)

If ever you have the urge to pick up and get the heck out of dodge, call United Airlines immediately and book the earliest flight to this tiny island off the coast of Madagascar. You probably never even heard of this place before you saw it listed on my itinerary and that’s exactly the reason why you must go, like now.

I feel spoiled beyond belief to have been afforded the chance to run around an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean with my closest friends without any responsibility whatsoever. We made it to port early yesterday morning, jumped off the boat with our bathing suits and towels, and booked it straight to the beach. I can’t convey to you how amazing it felt to actually swim in the pristine waters we sail through and stare at day in and day out. I felt like a broken record because I kept saying to everyone “I am soooo happy! This is amazing!” Swimming, floating, lounging in the sun, volleyball, and great conversation made for an absolutely perfect day.

Because we only had one night here and many of us had trips planned for early this morning, we opted not to stay over in a hotel and camped out in our floating dorm room instead. It’s definitely strange being “at home” when you’re definitely not “at home.” There are however some phenomenal resorts that I hope one day I can come back and share with family and friends (family reunion? Hint hint).

It wasn’t a total lounge fest though… today I had the opportunity to survey the variety of Mauritian health facilities with visits to a traditional Chinese medicine shop, nursing school, public hospital, an ayurvedic wellness center, and a private hospital. Get this: healthcare is free for everyone. Even alternative medicine practices are free. Private hospitals are available for those who can afford them, but only 10% of people actually utilize them. This isn’t a public service announcement for socializing healthcare in the states, but people here really do seem to be impressed with what they’ve got going on.

Now I’m back at it. So long Africa, get ready India. Four days until my trip is officially half way complete, I truly cannot even believe it.

Until next time :)

"The Laughing Bishop"

It is mandatory that every member of the shipboard community take a class titled “Global Studies” which is basically like global issues for aspiring philanthropist high school seniors. The been-there-done-that attitude means the Union, where these lectures are held, is rarely at capacity and if you walk out to use the restroom you’ll return and find that most people are completely checked out and on their computers emailing friends and family. When it was announced that there would be a special guest lecturer in a joint-session of Global Studies, students camped outside the lecture hall the morning before readying to snag good seats just like those people who wait outside the Apple Store for new iPhones. Everyone knew what was coming, the hall was packed and abuzz… 0930 had never rallied so much excitement. Our dear friend Desi, as we all call him affectionately, arrived at the doors of the hall and danced his way up to the front, tapping people on the head and giggling through the aisles. Plopping himself onto a chair he sighed, scrunched up his shoulders, and burst into infectious and exuberant laughter.

His two hour lecture, if you could call it that, was a pinch-me-am-I-awake-or-this-actually-a-dream type of amazing. Albeit a wavy day I was able to capture a fair amount of video footage that I just can’t wait to share with you all soon. Under the umbrella of apartheid he spoke about Nelson Mandela, the townships, raising a family, unity and individuality, reparation and reconciliation, justice, and most emphatically… being joyful and keeping the faith. I was completely transfixed. Here is a man who has seen the absolute worst of human nature, of ruthless hatred, and still believes that people are made for goodness, that truth will prevail, and that laughter will heal a broken world. It never ceases to amaze me that it is the people in this world who have experienced the most evil that end up being the most hopeful for the future.

There were so many treasures he shared, but one of the most important before traveling throughout his homeland was the following:

“With all of its faults, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission is the best thing that happened to South Africa. Let people tell their story, it was… it IS therapeutic. The wounds have not yet been healed, but they are still festering. There is still work to be done.”

Even though there is so much reason to rejoice, South Africa is still in the middle of quite an identity crisis. Apartheid ended just sixteen years ago and its legacies are still very real for most of the country. At least 35% of the population is HIV positive, the country ranks highest in the world for homicide and crime, 28% of men are unemployed, and millions of families live in squatter camps. There is still work to be done. Just because there is freedom doesn’t mean there is equity or justice. I knew that within its geographic beauty there was something heavy and ominous lingering throughout. Don’t be fooled, I thought, tread lightly and with eyes wide open.

On the morning of our arrival, I sat in a dewy pool chair, bundled in a blanket on the seventh deck, taking in the beauty of the new day with gratitude and anticipation as we slowly pulled into the V&A Waterfront.. The stars behind me were fading over Cape Town as the horizon before me morphed from the deepest navy, magenta, orange, pink, until in an instant the sun made its grand appearance. My friends and I spoke no words, exchanged no glances – there was this sense of profound fellowship though, as we all processed independent thoughts and truths about the world and ourselves. It’s funny now looking back because our arrival in South Africa and this sunrise seems so long ago, but I remember having one of those out of body moments where my mere existence was absolutely mind boggling and the fact that the sun rose and set every day without fail gave me so much comfort. Maybe I’m just hyper-aware of the phenomenon because I watch it take place almost every day now. In any case, this small epiphany helped ease some of the apprehension or eagerness for discovery that I had accumulated from my pre-port lessons on the history of this fascinating nation.

Par usual, I tried to cram each day with as much I possibly could without sacrificing too much of my sanity or sleep. The V&A Waterfront was a total tourist trap, but at least had a full-fledged grocery store (where I spent the best $75 of my entire life on oatmeal, dried fruit, and nuts) and some nice restaurants. I was happy to head out of the port and spend three full days hiking up and picnicking atop Table Mountain, visiting a local medical clinic that works with HIV/AIDS patients, and playing with children in the Marcus Garvey Rastafarian Township.

I spent the remaining three days on an amazing Safari in the middle of Kruger National Park. Making our way from Cape Town to Johannesburg and onto Hodespruit, I stopped in an airport bookshop to pick up any form of news I could get my hands on. I spotted TIME and Newsweek, and gleefully made my purchase. Back at the terminal I opened up TIME to page 27, a photo of none other but Desmond Tutu. WHAT! Crazy, right? The photo accompanied a feature article on his retirement from public life made official on his 79^th birthday. The article is titled “The Laughing Bishop” which I’ve titled this blog in tribute.

I made it to Hodespruit and let my mind get swept away by the amazing scope of the African bush. Safaris are basically everything you imagine, but even cooler. Hippos, Elephants, Rhinos, Giraffes, Lions, Warthogs, Eagles, and Impala are the names you’ll recognize, plus many many more. I felt the same feelings here that I experienced in Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Alaska, even the middle of the Indian Ocean… I hope one day if I have children, they will be able to see this. I get nervous. The more I read about the combinations human footprint, mass consumption, rapid economic development, resource depletion, and crumbling biodiversity, the more anxious I become that future generations will not experience the natural profundity of our planet, our home.

Here’s an armchair perspective (literally and figuratively) of what I see taking place in South Africa after dabbling in a few different facets of culture and society:

On my flight from Johannesburg to Hodespruit I sat next to a South African national who worked for USAID administering and assisting with HIV/AIDS treatment. She was traveling to a small village in the northern region of Kruger to check on a trial drug some members of the community were testing. We talked about a range of topics – family planning, treatment options, and stigmas associated with the disease. On the flight back to the ship from Johannesburg to Cape Town I sat next to a business man who has lived all over the world working for Dow Chemical in plastic resource manufacturing. I had requested a water and peach juice from the flight attendant, he pointed to the containers and the accompanying cups with ice and said to me “I work to round this up all across Africa,” and smiled. It gave me the shivers.

South Africa is a country of extremes: wealth and poverty, overabundance and famine, both diversity and racism. Apartheid is over but the gaping cleavages it left are just getting wider and wider. It seems that the country is being carried in two opposite directions – one toward recovery and rehabilitation, and one toward capitalism. It emphasizes our mentors wisdom: There is still a long way to go.

My Grandma Beard has this great saying, “God can’t move a parked car.” Despite the paradoxes glaringly present in South Africa, if we think of the state as a car, it certainly isn’t parked at all; it’s moving all right and it’s trying hard to figure out where it really wants to go.

There is still a long way to go. But it is going, and that is a blessing.

Everywhere, All At Once

Starting my post-port blog just keeps getting harder and harder as the semester continues. In a sentence, my time in Ghana was rich, full, emotional, and entirely too short.

Walking up from the beach on our last afternoon we passed a little deserted apartment complex with a sign out front that read For Sale, Yours Now. I looked at the tattered and faded pink building, fairly amicable compared to its distant neighbors, and had a very dangerous idea: STAY. Stay? Are you kidding? You’re almost twenty-one years old and you think you can do this, now? The moment was fleeting, and soon interrupted by the myriad of wisdoms that took a vacation for that passionate split second. Ghana just had so much more to teach me, and saying a premature goodbye was difficult.

I’m staring a blinking cursor, thinking of what to share, and my (amazing) roommate Amanda says to me, “Kels, you’re stressing out about this way too much.” She’s probably right. I’m bombarded by not-yet-formulated ideas and conclusions about my time in Ghana so trying to lasso a good sentence together, let alone a report on the matter, feels impossible. Well okay, that’s what the perfectionist control-freak side of me nags at least. Amanda suggests I write something like: “Ghana was amazing, I’m alive and safe, not much to say yet, come again soon.” But I think that would be a cop-out because this blog is just as much for me as it is for any of you lovely people who might be reading it. When I look back in 30 years and cannot make any sense of what is written in my journal, I can turn to this and say, “Okay, there was a literate human being in that 20 year old body somewhere.”

So instead of trying to make something pretty here, I’ll give it to you in skeleton form. There are four things (of I’m sure many) that make up Ghana: poverty, community, resilience, and happiness (okay, well maybe gratitude but you can decide that). They’re everywhere, all at once.

Poverty: It’s everywhere. Despite the fact that Ghana has twice the per capita output of poorer countries in West Africa, at least 30% of the population still lives on less than $1.25 a day. Acquiring basic human needs like clean water, nutrition, health care, education, clothing, and shelter for many Ghanaians is a daily struggle. In Takoradi, most housing consists of scrap wood, concrete blocks, or corrugated tin – affluent areas outside the cities are rare and are still well below most Western standards of living. I spent two days in Cape Coast, two hours east of port, and took a cooking class from a women’s co-op called Global Mamas using Ghanaian staples like: yam, cocoyam, plantain, cassava, okra, canned tomatoes, onions, garlic, peanut butter, palm nut oil, and a few spices. Health note… I notice that these primary starches are easy to grow, but lack the nutritional punch of other complex carbohydrates that our bodies really need. What they do, however, is fill you up quick and keep you full for a long time – extremely important when getting another meal for the day is not always guaranteed.

Community: It’s everywhere. Not in my short life have I ever seen or taken part of a community so devoted to the welfare of each and every member. A Ghanaian university student sailed with us from Casablanca to Takoradi and she explained to us in pre-port lectures that if a child is out in public misbehaving, an adult does not ask who the mother or father are, they ask what village the child comes from. Villages raise children, literally, and each members contribution is a reflection of the community as a whole. There is no my house or your house – surpluses are spread to those according to their need so that everyone can be the most productive member of the community as possible. Theoretically, the college experience would support the “we’re in this all together” model, but so often we (myself included) get caught up in our own needs that we forget that we need to carry each other so that everyone can “survive” and be successful.

Resilience: It’s everywhere. I can’t tell you how many people I talked to who sang the same sort of tune “You know, life is hard but it is good, finding work is hard but I have my family and I have my health, I have freedom and I have justice.” This country was once the main hub for the trans-Atlantic slave trade where 12 million Africans were held captive in European slave dungeons on West African coasts and transported by ships to the New World between the 15^th and 19^th centuries. And even though the slave trade was officially banned in the mid-1800s, British colonial rule did not end until 1957. The people here are not angry though, rather grateful actually and hopeful for the future. Shaun and I share a magnet that says “Keep calm, don’t feed the pug, and carry on” and nobody epitomizes that better than the Ghanaian. They carry on all right, and they celebrate what they have with song and with dance and with light. I was in a cab one day heading to lunch or something and we passed by a church hosting a huge wedding. Attendees wore their brightest kente clothes and buzzed around the bride and groom cheering, singing, kissing, hugging. Life is hard, but there is always reason to rejoice.

Happiness: It’s everywhere. In my Global Studies class on the ship, we’re taught that prosperity leads to greater happiness around the world. On paper it makes sense – someone who makes $200 a day has a better chance at self-actualizing compared to the person who lives on $2 a day who struggles to meet his or her basic physiological and safety needs. But when you get down on the ground, this barometer is useless. If I’ve learned anything in life it is that everyone’s version of happiness looks different, so it’s absolutely impossible to judge. If you get your hands dirty or in my case get completely soaked in a rainstorm, you’ll meet people who have nothing and everything all at the same time. I spent my third day in Ghana trekking around the center of town, eventually winding deep into the cacophonous and pungent markets. The women at every shanty shop clamored over us, dropping buckets of shrimp or platters of plantain onto the muddy ground to welcome us. It was superiorly muggy when we left the ship and it didn’t take long for the equatorial rains to break the tension, ushering vendors and shoppers under the auspicious tin overhangs. We tried to keep walking; all decked out in our North Face gear, but were pulled by the arms to a fabric shop (F333) and scolded for “trying” to catch a cold. We were instructed to sit with her until the rain stopped, the women in the shops across and around F333 nodded in agreement. She began to tell us about her life and her family, asking us questions about school, about our faith values. She was so full of hope, full of gratitude, making us promise we would pray every morning and every night thanking God for our multitude of blessings. As the rain started to calm down she asked me, “where do you see God?” and I responded, feeling it with absolute certainty, “I think Gods light is right here, right now.” She smiled, hugged us both, and we went on our way. I’m not naïve enough to think that an hour spent with this woman in her lean-to fabric shop represents the spirit of an entire country, but the happiness she experienced was built upon the “attitude of gratitude” that literally everyone in Ghana was outwardly displaying for the world to see.

I loved Ghana. And not in the oh-how-precious, people-can-be-happy-with-nothing type of way that I’m witnessing a lot of my fellow sailors experience. I loved what it showed me about myself, and I loved how it pushed me to the edge of something big that I’ve sometimes tiptoed away from. That smack you up side the head reality check that says “you were lucky enough to be born into a situation where you can do anything you want in the world, you have the power to make a huge impact in whatever pulls at your heart.” I don’t love the poverty. I feel pretty strongly that people shouldn’t romanticize the struggle. But I’ll carry their experience, the struggle and the joy, forever. I’ll carry it and look at it and know that I can be as strong as them too.

Desmond Tutu, or Arch as he wants us to call him, has made several appearances in the past few days. I’ll log back on to share some of his stories and wisdoms about South Africa soon. He is SUCH a goofball, and on that note I’ll leave you with a funny encounter… some friends and I were eating breakfast in one of the dining rooms and he comes up to our table and asks “so were you glad to take your test yesterday, girls?” We laugh and respond “well, I’m not sure if we were glad to take it, but it went okay.” He giggles, looking off into the distance, “Well that’s good, at least you’re not a masochist!”

Much Love

Assalaamu Aleikum!

We disembarked from Casablanca, Morocco at 2100 on Tuesday, September 14th and have since had little time to email family let alone update my blog. As soon as we can no longer see the shoreline, classes and “typical” university activities are back in full swing. The 7 days and 8 nights that we spend at sea between Morocco and Ghana are all school days, meaning that today, Sunday, I got up at 0800 for class and will have two more classes before 1630. No complaints, but the words recuperate or relax have been almost completely stripped from my vocabulary.

Morocco was a whirlwind, and I predict that most of my future blog posts will begin with this sentiment. We arrived early into Casablanca and made our way out of the industrial (phosphate, yuck) port and into the city to be introduced to our first real taste of the term culture shock. Absolute chaos converged at a four-way intersection with people, cabs, donkeys, trucks, and about 100 bright-eyed and bushy-tailed American students trying to cross the street with no lights signals or assistance. It took us 15 minutes to make maybe 400 meters progress.

Thankfully, the first hour in Casablanca did not characterize the entire visit… but it did set the stage for what I’ll be up against as the voyage inches its way east.

Over the course of the next 4 days, I made my way from Casablanca to Marrakech, Marrakech to Essaouria, Essaouria to Safi, then back to Casablanca. I did not know what heat was until I stood in the Jamaa El Fna, Marrakech’s most famous souk and square, in jeans, a sweater, and a scarf (for modesty). I’ll tell you, it felt like death. I have so much more respect and empathy for Muslim women who absolutely boil in the Sahara or Middle East in their hijabs, let alone burkahs. Jamaa El Fna is everything that you’ve seen in National Geographic and more: snake charmers, monkeys, hookah, orange juice, spices, brightly colored textiles, mint tea, berber rugs, and more. Bartering, yelling, drumming, flutes – noise, noise, noise. It sounds silly, but in Marrakech I felt like I had stepped into the behind-the-scenes version of the Disney movie Aladdin.

Other parts of Morocco, however, do not proselytize this famous enchantment. Quite the contrary – the humble and bumpy bus ride from Marrakech to Essaouria told a story of devotion to Allah, family values, and hard work. A splattering of stony communities surrounded by maybe a dozen or so argan or olive farms were the only semblances of life that interrupted miles upon miles of sprawling dirt and rock plains. Approaching the coast, we traveled through a number of small towns – each one distinguishable from the next based on the uniqueness and stature of their Mosques – where men sat outside cafés drinking espresso and children played in the dirt. Finally, at the seashore, young boys littered the beaches and the mood of the Medina and souk is much more relaxed and easy.

It’s amazing how across the globe the differences between dense urban cities, plains, and coasts are so pronounced. My time in Morocco would not have been the same without each special perspective of lifestyle and sense of purpose.

I spent my last day in Morocco at a slower pace, beginning with a mid-morning misty visit to the Hassan II Mosque – second largest and most impressive to Mecca. Wow. Unbelievable. I’ve been lucky enough to experience some of the world’s most elaborate Christian holy monuments, but nothing compares to the marvel that is Hassan II. The Mosque is set on a cliff that overlooks the Atlantic Ocean, but on this particular morning the fog was so dense that the whole place felt like it was sitting on a giant cloud. The mosque was for the most part desolate so the reverie of the silence – next to the chaos that is Casablanca – was extremely humbling.

Faith is a huge, if not the most important, part of Moroccan culture. Luckily and unluckily, we arrived in Casablanca a day before the end of Ramadan. Ramadan is a month long holy practice that involves Sawn, the fourth pillar of Islam, of fasting during daylight hours. Beyond food, drinking, smoking, and sexual activity are also renounced from dawn to sunset the entire month as the entire community experiences solidarity in the practices of unselfishness and abstinence from desire. We were lucky in the sense that we bore exquisite witness to ending and subsequent celebration of such a sacred practice so close to it’s origins. We were unlucky because of our indiscrete American presence and the association we bore to the Floridian pastor who threatened to burn Korans. I didn’t run into any trouble, Moroccans are phenomenally hospitable, but some people I know did (and for good reason, to be perfectly honest). I approached the entire situation as follows: I am only one American, but my actions can work to remedy the ignorance and selfishness that define pockets of a nation. The Moroccans I communicated with received me kindly, and any inconspicuous thoughts they may have had about my culture or me were hopefully remedied by my respect and desire to learn about their families, their homes, their traditions. I could spend another 500 words describing the utter disgust I feel toward this pastor or whoever subscribes to his same worldview, but that too would be selfish and in the spirit of Ramadan’s close, I will refrain.

After some time to reflect, I realize that I left Morocco with only half the story. All of my encounters were with men. Men dominate this part of the world – banks, cafés, the souks, restaurants, taxis, tour operations, etc. The women were “around” but they were eerily silent. As most of you know, I’m absolutely fascinated by women and the Muslim tradition. I noticed the absence of female interaction maybe much more than my peers because I believe their experience to be especially unique to men. We stopped at an Argan co-operative in the middle of who knows where on the way from Marrakech to Morocco where I tried to make conversation with the female employees – much to my surprise, the women that did speak English-French were actually immigrants from Israel. Go figure. A community, a country, a world can only be half defined by its male population so I can’t leave Morocco with its entire truth.

I’ll come back to Morocco someday, and get the full story. For now I keep my short and wild time there in my heart as I continue my journey to sub-Saharan Africa: Ghana, another country of wonder and excitement, and the first of all Africa to gain independence from colonial reign.

Until next time, love to you all.
Ma’a salaama

Tapas, Vino, Vida

Before I even start this blog, I feel like I should set the stage by mentioning that I'm using my personal computer with public WiFi, sitting on the steps of a giant Cathedral in middle of a public square in Cadiz where people are enjoying desayuno and café con leche at little cafeterias in the sun. To my right, a French-speaking family and some SAS students are chatting and to my left, a group of homeless people are enjoying white wine out of champagne flutes and asking the passerby's if they would like to share.

Spain is nothing and everything I expected it to be. Just like in the States, each city in Spain has its own unique personality. Los Angeles isn't just like San Francisco, and accordingly Madrid isn't like Sevilla or Cadiz. I'm so glad I've gotten to experience all three, you'll see why.

We made port in Cadiz, Spain which if you look on a map is basically the bottom southwest-ish tip of the country. I took a train with a new travel buddy, Michaella from CO, from the coast to Madrid where we spent 3-4 days taking in the city almost entirely by foot.

We made an effort to get to a few big ticket items (The Prado, Royal Palace, Reine Sofia, Plaza Mayor...), but wandering lead us to the best parts of Spain that were relatively untainted by the idealized and romanticized versions of Madrid that have been fabricated by the business of tourism. We both wanted no part of Flamenco, Bull-fights, or guided bus tours and therefore spent a lot of time navigating the metro, walking into bars asking for directions, getting flat out lost, and just stumbling into cool spots by accident. There is something so liberating about having absolutely no idea where you are, but knowing you're safe and will find a way back to where you need to be eventually. We probably walked three or four miles from wherever we got off on our first metro jump, and took in the most amazing sunset, sights, smells, and sounds before "dinner."

I put dinner in quotes because meal-patterns are probably the most foreign characteristic of Spain compared to other big cities worldwide. People rave about the food here, and I'll admit it's been fun, but I don't know how they do it! Spaniards basically eat some variation of the same thing for each meal: potatoes, olives, eggs, cured ham, tomato paste, bread, and cheese. The only place you can even get paella or any other "spanish" dish you've heard of can only be eaten at the restaurants with pictures outside the windows (tourist magnets). Oh, and beer, wine, or coffee is consumed all day long. Like seriously. Beer - for breakfast. Beer or espresso and potato crisps and maybe some toast and tomato paste spread.

Anyway, enough about food. Some highlights over the next 2 full days in Madrid included lots of time in the metro, some unplanned emergency shopping stops, great art, photography adventures, food, and countless attempts to order tap water, not bottled at the bars.

My unplanned emergency shopping stop? Zapatos. SHOES. Not even two hours into our second day walking around Plaza Mayor searching for El Rastro (a big farmers market type thing), my leather sandal broke! The part that attaches in-between your big toe and that second toe just straight up ripped out. We spent the next 45 minutes flopping around the square searching for shoes -- harder than you'd think because every store near us was either selling ham or postcards. I ended up blowing 15 Euro on a funky pair that I'll never wear again to get me through the day. We missed out on the market, but a good sense of humor led to other fun sights that day.

Michaella and I decided that on our way back to Cadiz we'd get off the train in Sevilla, put our bags in lockers, and see what the fuss was about because the SAS folks were totally raving about it. We spent the first hour trying to figure out how to get to the historic district and honestly, after all the hassle getting there, it wasn't even worth it. My experience might be tainted by just how tired we already were from our time in Madrid, but Sevilla is honestly the most touristy place I've ever been in my life. Uggh. We visited the big Cathedral, which was cool, but everything else was dedicated to that romantic imaginary Spain that I talked about earlier. Horse drawn carriages? Flamenco-style aprons for sale on every corner? No thanks. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we made the stop, but only for the revelations that grew out of what we experienced. We opted to take an early afternoon train back to Cadiz where we parted ways and I spent the evening wandering on my own through this little fishing town.

The 6 hours last night and the 4 I've spent this morning walking around and dining alone,have been the most rewarding of my entire time here. Last night after I dropped my backpack off at the boat, I got as far away from the restaurants with menus printed in English and into this back alley little Cafeteria/Bar (everything is called a bar here) and ate all the tapas the bartender recommended and was treated to a glass of his favorite vino tinto on the house. :) I sat there for probably three hours just listening to all the people laugh, eat, and drink around me as I wrote in my journal. It was amazing. I felt relief and contentment in the truth of that place. Hard to explain.

This morning, too, has been equally rewarding. Just walking around, picking up some fruit at some side market, stopping for café con leche and listening to the chatter among groups of friends or neighbors. This pace and independence makes my heart happy! Tonight, we push-off at 8 pm and by late tomorrow afternoon I'll be in Morocco. So surreal. SO SO surreal. Go to sleep in one land, wake up in another. I've loved getting emails from you all! I'll get back to them when I can get internet again, in the meantime I'll say a mass "I LOVE YOU!" to everyone.

Adios for now! I can't get pictures to upload for some reason, I'll get some up sooner or later though.

Across the Pond

Greetings from the Atlantic Ocean! My first six days at sea (and in school, let me remind you!) have been more full, frenzied, and surreal than I think I could possibly articulate on the amount of sleep I’ve been getting. I’ve experienced different variations of exhaustion throughout my young adult life, but sea faring has given “jet lag” an entirely new meaning. I advanced four hours from California to Halifax before I even handed over my passport. Each night the ship purser reminds us to set our clocks ahead one hour so by the time we arrive in Spain on Saturday morning we will have “eased” into our new time zone. The time-warp is only compounded by the effects of attempting to learn 700 new names and faces, taking new classes as we pass through 10-12 foot hurricane waves, and planning trips in foreign lands with friends I’ve barely just yet met. Sensory overload, much?

I don’t want to drag on too much about life on the boat and how strange it is to just be a speck in a huge ocean -- it certainly is strange -- because life is good, and I’m so grateful for every exhausted, frantic moment of it all. I will tell you that the food and workout regime has been a bit of an adjustment. There are about a dozen cardio machines that people have to sign up for at 1800 the night before, you can only reserve a 30 minute time slot with no double booking. They go like hotcakes! The food is standard cafeteria-style fare. I’ve pretty much decided that when I have to eat on the boat, I’m a vegetarian. Think back to your college caf and you pretty much get why. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are some variation of refined carbohydrates, potatoes, a meat dish, and steamed veggies. Bring on the veg! For those of you who know me, I’m really not a picky eater at all… I’m just incredibly spoiled in California with great food, everywhere, all the time. Thank goodness for Amazing Greens Superfood Bars!! On the upside, ho-hum food makes the anticipation for our arrival even more exciting!

When we make port in Cadiz, a new friend and I will take a train to Madrid and stay in a cute little hotel near the Parque de Retiro. I hope to find myself sitting outside on the terrace of some humble cobblestone street near La Plaza Mayor with some café negro, my camera, and the sun beating down on my shoulders. I met a very nice girl in my Environmental Politics class who actually goes to college in Madrid, so she’s given me tons of great tips for wandering and experiencing the best of Spanish culture. I’m so excited!

I’ve seen Archbishop Desmond Tutu around a few times with his wife Leah. He spoke to us on the second day of orientation of his love for young people and the energy we bring a man of his age and his experience. I am truly a lucky girl to have had many people in my life who have loved and encouraged me as I’ve tried to figure out what I want to do or who I want to be… but when “You can change the world and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently” is whispered by this man, it just doesn’t get any more inspiring. I hope we cross paths at some point, I think we will. I’m hopeful.I’m realizing now, this entry is sounding a little more journal-like than I was hoping to impart, but it might be good for everyone to know a little about the springboard from which I’m about to jump out into the world from. T-minus 24 hours! I love and miss you all!

Send Good Ju Ju

Internet is spotty, but you can email me at the following address:

khbrown@semesteratsea.net

Feel the Love

Tomorrow I will leave behind some of the most inspiring, compassionate, funny, and important people in my life for the arms of a bright and big world. To my friends and family who have patiently listened to me, held me, and laughed with me through this process... all I can say is but thanks, thanks, and thanks. I love you to the stars and back again and again and again, I'll carry you all in my heart as I make my way around the globe!

There are a few things that I'll miss out on over the course of the next four months, so please indulge wholeheartedly and often in the following as a way to keep me in your hearts too:

1. Visit your local Farmers Market and eat organic foods.
2. Hug friends and family.
3. Listen to National Public Radio.
4. Sweat it out in Hot yoga.
5. Feel the love for Oprah Winfrey's "Farewell Season."

What We Decide to Pack

I’m sitting in my room, staring at 120 liter rolling duffel bag that rests limply on the floor. Next to it is a basket of clean laundry and I am realizing that the next time my laundry will actually feel clean again is exactly four months from today. I’m not bothered or worried or grossed out by the reality, it just strikes me as a moment – a moment where the gravity of, and the truth behind, what you’re about to take on is captured so beautifully in the smile you create all by yourself.

I figure a week out from departure is a good time to start thinking about packing. I know that for some people this process started weeks if not months ago, but the extent of the physical “stuff” that (in my opinion) needed to be fussed over before now has been more malaria/vaccination/how-do-I-actually-pay-for-this oriented.

So now I have this big suitcase and need to figure out what to put in it. Spending the majority of my summer living out of two different suitcases has taught me a lot about what I own, why I choose to take ownership of it, and how much of what I own do I actually use. The truth of the matter is, I own more than I need and end up mostly drawing from a pile of comfortable shirts, fun sweaters, and a rotation of jeans and shorts. Oh and, well workout clothes is a separate story. If you break a (real) sweat 6 days a week, that whole laundry situation becomes even more interesting. I get this a lot: “oh my gosh, 100 days in 14 countries?? How in the heck are you going to pack?!” I don’t respond with my dissertation on society’s complex and disturbing dependence on material comforts... rather with something like “Ah, yes! But it sounds more difficult than it actually is starting to look like” because in truth, wardrobe is the least of my worries.

The point of this entry isn’t to elaborate on the Deet or the toothpaste or the new pair of TOMS Shoes I plan to haul on the boat. The concept of “deciding what to pack” extends beyond the tangible and to a level of consciousness that I find crucial to engage in before I take any big, new steps in my life. What habits, thoughts, perceptions, or past experiences do I want to take with me…? But more importantly, what do I want to leave behind? A mild detox, a purging of sorts. I’m looking at the empty bag and am thinking, you know what, I’m not filling that bag with any of my physical crap until I get some things “upstairs” retired or recycled. Too often we distract ourselves with money, and things, and checklists and don't leave enough room to consider the moment in time we occupy and notice the giant "backpack" of history, worry, regret, ideas, and hopes for the future that's totally strapped to us and maybe slowing us down. Before filling my duffel with shampoos and scarves and shorts, I need to do a little organizing.

I'll pause for an asterisk here: I never wanted this blog to be a diary, so I feel no need (nor do I think I am brave or willing enough) to drag on about the process of sorting through what I want to unload or reaffirm. But I do bring it to the table because I think it’s something important to share with you, whoever reads this, to think about what you’re going to "pack" with you as you transition from one phase to another.

Really though, this isn’t a new or divine concept. On a biological level, nature supports the cleansing of the body in the springtime after the high digestive fires of winter began to wear on our systems. The heavy, rich foods that tend to be consumed in the winter cannot be maintained and Ama (sticky toxic products of indigestion) start to accumulate. If you don’t assist these toxins in moving out of the body, you can become prone to flu, colds and cough, or allergies. Or you might feel unusually fatigued, sluggish or drowsy. To remedy the situation we change our diets, spend more time in the sun, and begin anew.

See what I mean? I think the mind desires to purge just as the body does throughout the seasons. If you don’t get the funky stuff out, there isn’t as much space open to the possibilities for growth and joy. I think we owe it to ourselves to realize our greatest potential by coming to terms with what doesn’t serve us, and what truly makes us feel energized, strong, and ready to move forward. Let yourself go there. I’m inviting you to join me. I’ll see you on the other side… with a full suitcase, and a lightness of spirit to take on the road ahead.

Seeing the Big Picture

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. - Mother Teresa

Looking Out

I’ve spent the last three or four days trying to find a “cool” blog template to use for documenting my trip to share with others and I realized yesterday that the endless search was only supporting my procrastination to actually write on my pre-departure state of mind. I’ve reached the official 3-week mark on the countdown, and everything is starting to feel more real than ever.

I hate rollercoaster analogies… but it’s the only thing that’s coming to me now as I try to articulate this stirring mood. Here’s the feeling: you’re all strapped in (safe as could be) and the coaster car is clicking up, up, up the slope. The hubbub of the park has quieted because you’re up so high now yet there is still a low level of fervor amongst the fellow riders who are all giddy to finally have made it to the ride after a far-too-long wait in line. You’re already gripping the handrails below your cheeks, which is kind of embarrassing because nothing has even really happened yet. When the climb begins to flatten out, everything feels at peace as you look out over the suburb from your perch. A few butterflies check into your stomach and then, suddenly, you’re creeping forward and you can see that this steel mechanism you’re attached to is about to plunge straight down. You have to make a decision: to completely relax and smile or hold on tighter and say a prayer. The ride didn’t wait for you to make a choice, and 15 seconds later your hair is in your mouth because you’ve been screaming upside down. You can’t see your friends next to you, but you hope they’re alive and having as much fun as you are. A camera flashes, and after one last turn you’re whiplashed to a complete stop and you feel completely alive.

Right now, I’m in the sitting-on-the edge-of-a-cliff phase looking out with the oh-my-gosh-we’re-about-to-drop feeling. Does that even make any sense at all?

The point of that long winded story was to say that I feel like I’ve been walking around with a feeling of anticipation – knowing that this voyage is about to change me in ways I can’t even pretend to predict or imagine. Yes, of course I’m completely excited out of my mind… the spirit of adventure has always been alive in me. But I also am deeply conscious of my own small place in this world and how I wish to shape it by what I learn, see, and experience. I know that from previous travel experiences, each time you leave one culture and enter into another, you can (if you’re fully present) become informed to realities that your everyday “routine” has managed to overlook, and will be transformed by the enlightenment that said truth will reveal. My beliefs will be either strengthened or challenged as I surrender to the amazing forces of the universe and the people and places that I will welcome into my journey. Upon my return, I’ll begin to make newer and truer choices about my future – old priorities may become meaningless or more important than before I left. Time will tell.

Looking out, that is the feeling.

So. Clearly. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And when I don’t want to think, I head to a bookstore and park it in the travel section with a stack of books telling me what I “can’t miss!” or “avoid at all costs!” It's fun looking at the pictures and writing down ideas, but I'm not trying to tackle the whole world, rather get a taste of it. That means wandering to places with restaurants that aren't in English, and away from the hot spots in most Rick Steves books. I plan to prioritize a few good finds and let the rest happen naturally... hmm.

I’m running late to work now, best be going!
Catch you later,
Kelsey

Listen, Share, Act, Repeat

Going home, or coming home? The verb we assert in this proverbial phrase seems conflicting and important. Going home implies that your place of departure will meet you again, coming home implies some kind of ending, a closing to a time and place. I don't know yet if I went or came home from Nicaragua.

I've been holding off on writing about my trip for a while. When the blogging process was suggested to me, I assumed that it would be a fairly easy process to recount and arrange the stories of my short rendez-vous. It has been anything but easy. When I arrived back in San Diego and Shaun greeted me in the airport with a big hug and a "how was it!!!?" I responded, "I don't want to talk about it, how was work?" Poor guy. When I'm feeling pensive, I think I make things difficult for him (and my mom) more often then I probably will/would admit to. The first day back was just awkward. I was processing a lot, and on top of that, I was manifesting a lot of anxiety with how on earth I planned to ever be able to explain what I saw, what I heard, and the heaviness of my heart to others. When I finally had time to talk to my mom, I got really emotional, and then frustrated because, as I expressed: "I have no idea why I'm crying, it was a great experience, I'm not mad at you, I promise!"

Yoga. That would sort me out. I had just gone 10 days without any release of energy (a record maybe) and the mat was calling me. I don't know if it was the rain, or the music, or the the instructors guidance, but I left the studio with a renewed sense of stability and focus - a reset button for all that there was to share.

During my salutations, I remembered a time during one of our group reflections where our trip facilitator asked us to sum up our "feelings" in two words. Two words was lame, and people didn't even say two words they went into stories about playing with little kids and flea bites. So I went for four: listen, share, act, repeat. During the trip, my job was to listen. Listen to the stories of the people, listen to pulse of the earth, listen to the teachers, and listen to my heart. Now, as I was being reintroduced to my own overwhelming abundance, it was my job to share. And maybe I was getting too caught up on telling actual stories, like first we went here, then we went there, then we met with these people... blah, blah, blah. Stories like that will come in time, some of them, but most of them are just the memories that support the main idea: the story you share is the one that will inspire others to act, alter habits, and remind us how connected we really are to every person on the globe.

Repeat, takes me back to the crux of the whole coming home or going home consternation. I will certainly be setting sail again soon, to listen some more. But that doesn't mean I can't adopt the four word strategy to my life here, in San Diego. I went home, knowing that my stay was not permanent, that I would ship off again soon. But I came home too, to share and become an activist right here.

I don't really think that makes a whole lot of sense just yet.
So don't worry if you're not following. I'm not following either, really.

School is just starting to light the fire underneath me again. It was a slow process, which also added a considerable amount of guilt to my "how do I proceed to share" complex. I should be so blessed to be "exhausted" from figuring out my schedule, attending meetings, etc. Higher education, well education at all, is such a blessing that I never want to take for granted. And I have I think, the last few weeks. So I turned to this little forum here to maybe hold myself accountable and poke my coals a bit to make good on the ideas and beliefs I may preach.

Here is an article that I found in my "Yoga Journal" on the airplane on the way from Houston. Not a coincidence, I don't think. I've read it a few times now, to get the fire going, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Next time, Free-Trade Zones... seeing the grip of globalization and mass consumption at work.

Your Guide to Sacred Activism: A plump Indian businessman, dripping with gold and diamonds, came one day to visit Mother Teresa, fell at her feet, and proclaimed, “Oh my God, you are the holiest of the Holy! You are the super holy one! You have given up everything! I cannot even give up one samosa for breakfast! Not one single chapati for lunch can I give up!”

Mother Teresa started to laugh so hard her attendant nuns grew scared (she was in her middle 80s and frail from two recent heart attacks). Eventually, she stopped laughing and, wiping her eyes with one hand, she leaned forward to help her adorer to his knees.

She said to him quietly, “So you say I have given up everything?” The businessman nodded enthusiastically. Mother Teresa smiled. “Oh, my dear man,” she said, “you are so wrong. It isn’t I who have given up everything; it is you. You have given up the supreme sacred joy of life, the source of all lasting happiness, the joy of giving your life away to other beings, to serve the Divine in them with compassion. It is you who are the great renunciate!” To the Indian businessman’s total bewilderment, Mother Teresa got down on her knees and bowed to him. Flinging up his hands, he ran out of the room.

The tremendous and simple secret that Mother Teresa was trying to communicate to the businessman is the message at the core of all the world’s spiritual revelations—that lasting happiness springs only from true love of the Divine, the world, and others, a true love that expresses itself tirelessly in wise and compassionate action.

The other side of this secret—also proclaimed by the world’s spiritual traditions—is that this true love of the Divine and others, when expressed in wise, compassionate action, can lead not only to lasting inner joy but also to profound transformation of outer reality. As Robert Kennedy said in 1966 so eloquently and accurately: “Each time a person stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he or she sends forth a tiny ripple of hope. And crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”

When the inner joy Mother Teresa spoke of, the joy of compassionate service, is married to a practical and pragmatic drive to transform our economic, social, and political institutions, a radical and potentially all-transforming holy force is born. I call this radical holy force sacred activism.

A sacred activist is someone who is starting to experience the inner joy and outer effectiveness of this force, who knows that the profound crisis the world is in is challenging everyone to act from our deepest compassion and wisdom, and who is committed to being, in the face of growing chaos, suffering, and violence, what Robert Kennedy called “a tiny ripple of hope” and a “center of energy and daring.”

Millions of people all over the world are now waking up to the need to become sacred activists. The collapse of the world’s financial markets, the growing universal understanding that the environment is in serious danger—and that a wholly new energy policy is urgently needed—and the menace of nuclear war in the Middle East and between India and Pakistan have started to change everything. The election of Barack Obama as the president of the United States, the focusing symbol of the free world, has opened up a new, sober, and urgent conversation about essential values, and the need for a radical transformation of our way of being is breaking out everywhere.

So how exactly do you become a sacred activist? I believe it’s by making a steady commitment to combine five interlinked forms of service—to the Divine, to yourself as an instrument of the Divine, to all sentient beings in your life, to your local community, and to the global community.

Service to the Divine
Without constant divine help, grace, illumination, and strength, no one can be a sacred activist. So turn to the Divine in whatever way you imagine it and serve it in devotion and adoration and gratitude and praise, asking it constantly and humbly to illumine your mind with sacred wisdom, keep your heart on fire with a passion of compassion for all beings, and keep filling your body with sacred energy for whatever work it calls you to do in the world.

Service to Yourself as an Instrument of the Divine
A sacred activist wants to be as healthy and strong as possible to do the work. This means looking after the soul through sacred practice, looking after the mind through constant inspiration, looking after the heart through deep emotional work, and looking after the body through diet, exercise, and sufficient rest.

For most sacred activists the greatest challenge is to look after the body. The Christian mystic Father Bede Griffiths once said to me, “Imagine that God is a great musician and that you are a flute He wants to play the most glorious music on. If the stops of your flute are filled with mud, how can the music that is meant to be played through you sound at all?” By removing the mud from the “stops” of your sacred instrument—yourself—with prayer, inspiration, and diet, exercise, and rest, you can allow your body to renew itself and live in balance.

If you honor the need to serve yourself as an instrument of the Divine, you will discover, over time, that you will have far more compassionate and healthy energy to give to your work. You will also find that because you are treating yourself with patience, generosity, and respect, you naturally treat others better.

Service to All Sentient Beings in Your Life
One day, when I was walking with Father Bede Griffiths in the grove of tall, ancient trees near his ashram by the Cauvery1 River in Southern India, he told me, “Everything would change if only we could treat every single being we meet, human or animal, as who they really are—a disguise of God. Your enemy is as much God as you are; the waiter serving you is God; the annoying old woman talking too loudly on the bus is God. The deeper you are taken into the heart of non-dual experience, the greater the tenderness and respect you cannot help feeling for all sentient beings, for you know, not sentimentally but by direct knowledge, that you are one with them in the One.” At that moment, a very old peasant woman, carrying some sticks she had gathered by the river, came walking down the path. Father Bede stopped talking, went up to her, bowed slightly to her, and took half of her bundle, giving me some to carry also. The old woman was beside herself with happiness, for, as she explained to us, she had bad arthritis in her hips and knees and walking at all was hard. We walked half a mile with her and when we parted it seemed as if we were all old friends.

Seeing all sentient beings as disguises of God and serving them is, I believe, one of the great healing powers of sacred activism. Service starts with your family, friends, and pets. Make a commitment to remember that those whom you deal with intimately are all secretly divine. You will fail in this constantly, as I do. Don’t waste time in judging and condemning yourself—that, too, can be a bitter game of the ego—just return to the practice with tenderness and self-forgiveness, and you will see that over time those whom you have to deal with intimately will become more and more precious to you. From this experience of forming increasingly sacred relationships, a wholly new vision of the sacredness of reality will start to emerge in you.

But it is not only your intimate circle that needs to be seen and served in this way. In the course of our days we meet all different kinds of people—bus drivers, shopkeepers, waiters, bank tellers, and telephone operators. Remembering to treat everyone with sacred respect is perhaps the most difficult practice for our goal-oriented, self-driven egos; we all tend to feel that our needs are most urgent and important and that others exist only to fulfill them as quickly and efficiently as possible. This is especially true in Western societies where nearly everything is based on bottom-line utilitarian efficiency. We are encouraged to see ourselves and everyone else as cogs in a machine that has to keep working relentlessly at all costs. The price we pay for this feverish coldness is immense; it deadens our souls and fills our bodies with nervous stress. Practicing sacred respect for all others starts to release us from these harsh forces and set us free to be our truest selves.

Service to Your Local Community
Nothing is more important than restoring public service in our communities. Modern life separates us from each other, and this increases suffering immeasurably. It has never been more essential for us to recognize that we are all in the same boat, that our local communities reflect the emotional, physical, social, political, and financial problems of the larger world.

Think globally, but act locally. When my friends and students who want to help ask me what they should do, I always say the same thing: follow your heartbreak. Determine which one of all the causes in the world really breaks your heart. When you identify this, you have found the cause you will always have the energy and passion to work for. Once you have identified this cause, act immediately in your local community, so your heartbreak doesn’t remain abstract but becomes a living force of practical compassion in your daily world.

Let me offer you a practice to help you identify your heartbreak and experience the focus and empowerment it can give you.

Set your alarm clock to wake you up at 3:00 a.m. This early hour of the morning, as many mystical systems know, is a particularly good time to do spiritual work because the noise of the world is hushed and it is easy to feel alone with the Divine. Sit calmly and peacefully and open your heart, perhaps with a prayer or mantra that you love. Only then—when you have grown peaceful and strong—allow yourself to feel the pain of what is happening in the world. Ask yourself, what is the cause I care for that breaks my heart the most?

When you have identified your heartbreak, imagine that your heartbreak has become a torch of flame that guides you down a spiral staircase into a small, dark cave. This small, dark cave is a symbol of your heart center. By the golden light that your heartbreak is emitting, you see that there is a letter on the floor of the cave with your name on it in your own handwriting. Praying for courage and clarity, pick up that letter, open it, and read it. Written in the letter will be your life’s purpose, spelling out your particular role in the world.

I have taught this practice with remarkable results. One woman, passionate about cats, saw that she was called to volunteer in her local animal shelter; a former teacher realized that his passion to teach was as alive in him as ever and decided to become a mentor to four young African American men and help them lift themselves out of the violent life they had fallen into; one middle-aged woman read that she was to help a local women’s prison and began giving free meditation classes there two evenings a week; an old Jewish rabbi started to speak for free in high schools about the ancient prophets and the acute modern relevance of their vision of justice.

What is remarkable was that everyone who did this practice and found his or her “mission” said the same thing to me: “Now that I am doing something real in my local community to serve the cause I care most about, I find my life is far happier and the free-floating anxiety about the world that I have been feeling for a long time is beginning to ease.” They all told me that starting to “follow their heartbreak” and put compassion into immediate action in their local community had inspired many of their friends to do the same.

I believe that part of what the world crisis is “designed” to do is to break open our hearts to the reality of cruelty and suffering. I believe, too, that if each person were to follow his own private heartbreak and then do something about it in his local community, a great lessening of pain would occur, replaced by an overwhelming surge of hope.

Service to the Global Community
In this world crisis, every single human being from every walk of life is in danger, and each choice we make affects everyone else. The only possible response to this acute interconnectedness is what the Dalai Lama calls “universal responsibility”: the decision to be conscious in the core of our lives of the effect all our choices have on every other being, and so to make all of our choices—economic, social, political—congruent with our most compassionate beliefs.

What does this mean in practice to someone who wants to be a sacred activist? It means always remembering to pray for the happiness and safety of all sentient beings, both when you begin your private spiritual practices and when you end them; it means dedicating all merits and benefits of your practice, both at the beginning and at the end, to all other beings everywhere; it means committing to being deeply informed on the major crises afflicting our planet, especially our growing environmental challenges; it means having the integrity to see that your money is not invested in corporations that destroy the environment or exploit sweatshop labor; it means buying a fuel-efficient car and taking as much public transportation as you can.

It also means honoring our duty as citizens in our various local communities and countries and voting for those officials whom we consider best qualified to safeguard the planet and address the real issues of financial hardship now crowding around us. It means scrutinizing our own consumerist habits. Finally, it means speaking out against intolerance of any religion or prejudice against any group.

All of this can and should be done without self-righteousness. Who of us, even the most conscious among us, does not collude in some way with the very forces of greed, competition, and exploitation that are destroying the world? Even the Dalai Lama takes planes. Even Mother Teresa got driven around Calcutta in a car. Recognizing this inevitable collusion makes you humbler and kinder and more aware of how hard it can be for many people—for all of us, if we are honest—to make the way we live congruent in every way with what we believe and hope for the future.

A major part of the hopelessness I see everywhere is the unspoken belief that everyone is so involved in the “system” that it is impossible to do something real and useful. This has, of course, some uncomfortable truth in it. It is also true that we have a great many areas in which we can step up and make choices that make a difference and give us a sense of integrity, which over time empowers us. This sense of empowerment, in both small and large issues, is essential to the success of sacred activism. It cannot be given to you, it has to be earned individually. Finding that you can become more congruent in all of your choices restores to you a living sense that things in general can be changed and that conditions in the world can be transformed.

When you fuse together these five forms of service in the core of your life—service to the Divine, to yourself as an instrument of the Divine, to all sentient beings, to your local community, and to the global community—you begin to discover for yourself the living truth of the sacred activism that is now breaking out everywhere and of the strength of hope, energy, passion, focus, and joy it can fill you with. As Rumi writes:

To be born in love
Is to serve all beings and all creation.
Real lovers serve ardently, hopefully,
And in an ecstasy of awe.
Look for the happiness
Of the servant of love
All the joys of the world are nothing to it.


Internationally acclaimed poet and lecturer Andrew Harvey is the author of over 25 books, including The Direct Path.

Adapted from The Hope: A Guide to Sacred Activism by Andrew Harvey. ©2009 Andrew Harvey. Reprinted with permission of Hay House.

Winter 2009