Nothing is ever straightforward in life...

as usual, nothing in nepal is straight forward and, possibly, becomes even less straight all the time.  

local politics is a mess w/ the vague and awkward sense of things falling further apart or, as yeats said about ireland a century back, 'some rough beast slouches toward' kathmandu -- if nothing rights itself in the coming month(s).  

there is an odd sense of foreboding in the air as the maoists and other parliamentary parties diverge further day by day.  but, this is the land of the midnight miracle, so we roll along, hoping against the daily reality that the center will hold and the peace process gets back on track before it goes completely off-track...

while i spent time in the garden today on the first day of a three day maoist national 'bandh' (strike), moving rocks by wheelbarrow that i'd piled up over the past year to another spot in order to slope the corner where they'd been resting, as well helping laxmi (our newest gardener/gita relative/straight from the village 'gaonle') transplant some audacious orange-colored bouginvillea to a distant back corner, where a neighbor has built his home, to provide security and beauty in one fell swoop of a lovely south american (trans)plant -- like some of us, to the powerful draw of these impressive himalaya.  

'tomorrow', as they say, 'is another day'.  

since i only have ten days left in my current contract til the end of january, i'm not working officially much the next four weeks, i have plenty of time for other pursuits and pleasures -- besides the new constitution and nepali politics.   finish a few books, stroll the garden, some writing and seeing friends before shaku, leah and i go to bangkok and koh samui on the 28th.  

this week, i'm also the advisor-in-chief for ezi's multiple college applications, due mostly the first or fifteenth of january.  he's ensconced at claudia's writing these essays while josh has braved the winter storm to meet his gang in new york before they all fly out to see narayan in vancouver and ez goes down to spend a week at mom's in florida w/ claudia's son, daniel, and finish his college applications.

did i mention that ez has been invited for an interview at deep springs college?  his three part essay to apply for the next round of he process was truly wonderful, insightful and full of passion.  deep springs is definitely an outside type of education (i'd never heard of it before ez sent me looking it up on the web...), but possibly perfect for ezi's unique ambitions and sense of the utopian ideal.  altho, naturally, impossible to really get in (14 out of 250 applicants, or something like that).  so, just getting to the second stage where 40 young men are invited out to the high altitude academic monastery for interviews is quite an achievement in itself.  it'll be a fascinating experience to travel on his own somewhere near death valley in southern california.  then, it's up to the g-ds to see where ezi will eventually end up next year...

nothing is certain in this life: not politics in nepal or the future direction of our childrens' lives (much less our own...).

A FB Recherche with Housemates of 30+ Years Time Past

Below is a lengthy FB thread that caught me unaware when house-mates from 1978 found me on FB and wanted to hear what had happened in the 30+ years in between.  Enjoy reading as the last days of 2009 wane while the new moon rises over the Kathmandu Valley below (and Joni Mitchell enlivens the iMac...). 

Larry Kraftowitz

Keith, your story sounds like the most unusual "bio" of anyone's. Would love to hear lots of details -- please spare no length.

 

Keith D. Leslie

Hmm... vas 2 say? Doctor, lawyer, Indian Chief... I took a side trip to Aja ('when all your dime dancing is through, I'll come to you...' Steely Dan), fell into the amplitude of time (and space, I suppose...), got caught up by the world around us (although less visible within the USA...), crossed the Himalaya (a bit lost at times...), disappeared... into Mother India (a gift and a surprise...), found work on the Cambodian border when the energy finally waned (courtesy Save the Children...), offered a job in Nepal for six weeks (that turned into 26 years and counting...), fell in love (bound my feet and heart, as they say...), had two sons and a daughter ('who call me pa... that's must be what it's all about..." Bob Dylan). I guess, like the rest of you, I just found my own elephant to ride. Simple, really. You open one door, then another, then another and pretty soon you're checking your hairline, reflecting on adored photo albums and rediscovering lost roommates on FB. Glife, as my son, Ezi, says...

Neil Stoloff

Excellent bio, Keith! Are follow-up questions permitted? (If not, don't answer...)

 

Keith D. Leslie

'If not, don't answer'; if yes, what am I supposed to do?

 

Neil Stoloff

Do what you did -- answer a question with a question... But answer me these: Before Cambodia, you had the energy not to work? What about India was a gift and what was a surprise?  What do you do in Nepal? What about the world around us is less visible in the USA than elsewhere?  (Isn't it all one world and do we not all have eyes? Is it possible your world is less visible from here, and our world is less visible from there?)  Careful: I often find that each answer raises two new questions....

 

Larry Kraftowitz

Keith, your tale is a gripping a masterpiece of compression (and Zen-Speak, whatever that means). We all (and Leo Tolstoy, too) could take lessons from you in conciseness. 

Keith D. Leslie

Work: meaning paid employment in an orifice at 9 am. I guess not. Call it a 3 year Masters course in Meandering Thoughtfulness by the (very) Open University. Reading, writing, meeting and moving take a lot of energy. Fortunately I was w/ my friend, Scott, so our bond sustained us through much of the rigor and demands of travel. 

Ahh, Mother India... the unknown, the ancient monuments, the simple poverty, the luxurious colors, the vast religious landscape, the cruel poverty, the magnificent Himalaya, simple vegetarian meals, the masses, the seekers, Ganesh and Hanuman, Bodh Gaya and Ajanta.

For 20+ years I was the Nepal, then Asia, then Himalayan director for Save the Children. Then for 1.5 years the Sr. Advisor in the National Human Rights Commission. Now team leader for the Civil Society component of the UNDP Constitution building project.

What is visible and what is not seen? Good question! I departed the States b/c I couldn't believe what Walter Cronkite told me was out there. Not that he meant ill, he just could only perceive from Manhattan and news clips. I vanted ze whole enchilada. I vanted to get outside the world I knew, our Judeo-Xian universe (as Jung did...) and sit in silence across centuries, if not millennia. A wise person can do it sitting lotus legged in their apartment. I wasn't that wise. I needed space and time to create that possibility. 

Maybe the best we can do w/o travel (which is the mind...) is to watch Al Jazeera news. If we're stuck to CNN or Fox, then DEFINITELY we see through a very limited American worldview. Often, depending on what you read, it's a wonderful and wordly worldview, but it is often narrow and limited and solipsistic.

Yes, the rest of the world can be the same. That's the point. It's good to have eyes on both sides of one's head to look both ways in this world. Otherwise you can be blindsided...

Of course in the "whole sight or all else is desolation" department ('Daniel Martin' by John Fowles), the Vorld Iz Von! But back here on the conventional, human, slightly misaligned but often adorable plane (Bob Thurman, dharma hero and father of Uma: 'don't deprecate the conventional!'), the world is complex, disjointed, multi-facetd, fascinating and not exactly Oneness personified. 

That state of mind is for the mystics among us.

Actually, mystics, misfits and missionaries -- that's who they say live for long periods away from their natal culture... 

Or some combination of the three, I suppose... ;-)

 

Jill Storey

Keith, I remember you as having a unique mind and heart, both of which have clearly blossomed in remarkable ways over the last 30 years. I have other ex-pat friends who talk about the different worldview it gives them, but none as eloquently as you. I am very happy for you that you found -- made, actually -- such a fulfilling life.

 

Larry Kraftowitz

Keith, your writing has a lyrical, even whimsical quality to it -- almost a musicality, if you will -- that is very easy on the ears. The words are meaningful yet dance lightly across the page. They really are poetry. Please keep writing.

 

Neil Stoloff

Beautiful thread. Keith, I admire your desire to "get outside the world you knew," and your courage in acting on it.

Brian Steinbach

Keith, I just got around to reading your stuff. Would love to hear more about Nepal and what you do there. I've followed the politics there a bit through the Economist but as good as they sometimes can be know that is only part of the story. (I also have a poster/calendar for the mid-70's a friend brought back in 1980 from a hashish shop in Kathmandu but that is a different story.)

 

Keith D. Leslie

Brian, I missed a few threads, but noticed your interest in my work. Since I'm there now, I won't take long, but just suffice to say that I'm leading the UNDP Civil Society team for their constitution building project. Nepal is trying to draft a new constitution that will bridge the Maoist demand for state restructuring and social inclusion while not upsetting the status quo ante apple cart of the mainstream political parties. Given the fascinating diversity of Nepali society w/ over 100 ethnic groups including nearly 40% of the country, there's alot of civil (and uncivil...) society to bring in the tent. This builds on the work I've done over the years with marginalized communities in Nepal, both ethnic and Dalit (ex-untouchables in the caste system). The process is a bit shakey right now given the growing rifts b/n the Maoists and parlimentary parties. Major issues that are not yet resolved. Always fascinating if not a bit frustrating. My life shifted from the halls of Capitol Hill to the hills of the Himalaya...

 

 

Leah's Hannah Montana Diary after a KFC Meal

just a morning vignette before i run off to work: 

leah bought a hannah montana diary yesterday evening.  we had taken her to the newly opened KFC on durbar marg to celebrate her orange team's decisive, triumphant win at the lincoln school kickball championships last week.  as ms. leah was co-captain (with preeya), she was more than happy with her team's achievement during the elementary school's annual 'kaliedescope' adventure.  she was adorably shyly proud when she told us.  as only an eight year girl can be...

so, against our better judgement, we promised her a KFC treat (and to our own chagrin...).  she'd seen it on the street.  (it's impossible to miss...)  we patiently stood in line for a half hour yesterday after work w/ all the jostling and queuing that is ever so patently south asian.  as expected, there was that unsettling aftertaste with this food.  leah said she didn't particularly like the chicken (good!), but in true leslie-chan fashion loved the french fries!

afterwards we stopped at the bluebird department store for her to buy a holiday season gift for a classmate (the under 500 rupees rule) and, not surprisingly, ms. leah came out with her own HM diary with the friend's gift.  

the beautiful thing is that leah really, really wants to write!  we came home and did her math (a bit problemmatic...), then memorized some of her spelling (actually, not so bad...), but the whole time she wanted to take breaks to write in her diary and, of course, discuss w/ me where she should hide the key (as it's a locking book).  

hiding the key was rather important, given all those peering eyes who want to know the intimate secrets of leah's third grade class.  imagine that!  (they'll never find out on this blog, that's for sure!)  so, she came up with a suitable location (the little jewelry box grammy gave her... shhhhh!!!), and then huddled on her bed to write away to her heart's content, occasionally looking up to ask me to help her spell a word or two -- but, mostly, scribbling away on her own about her deepest secret pleasures.  

leah did look up at one point and asked, "daddy, why is everything made in china?"  she'd read on the side of the case that the diary had been made in china, even though the cover was splattered with hannah montana photos.  but she was back her scribbling almost before i had time to think of an appropriate adult answer.

for it was a father's joy to watch little ms. leah rose as she covered nearly two full pages of her new diary all on her own.  of course, she did worry a bit that she wouldn't be able to read it when she's older since she knows that she can't spell correctly yet -- but, after thinking about it for a moment, not longer, she figured she wouldn't worry too much about that right now as she had so, so, so much more to say...

this morning, on a chilly wednesday, that's the word from the eastern front here in budhanilkantha, where winter has set in.  i've graduated, too.  now i'm wearing long grey gym pants out to the morning bus stop with leah instead of my usual revealing, decorative boxers.  

even lyle noticed this morning when he said a bit ironically and teasingly as he gave me one of his famous out-of- the-side of his eyes glances i sat down by him near the street corner tea shop, 'a little colder now, keith, eh?'

memories of events is the past recalled

ahhh, eduardo, dave, lee and scott...

i still just get a thrill writing your names and knowing that we know each other so fondly 30 years on.

it's a gift.

for me, as you can imagine, there is another set of complex emotions as i was out in the backyard this afternoon trimming bamboo and strolling the garden below shivapuri w/ bans and nigalo (small bans) from different places in nepal and oregon.  nepal isn't just a beloved memory for me, it became my life.  whatever that black magic didi in larjung put in my b'fast never quite got out of my system.  the ephipany i felt in tuckhe turned into shakun, a wife, ten years later.  
 

the complex political journey that has been nepal since the cute authoritarianism of raja birendra through the murder of his whole family to our maoist colleagues filling the streets on thursday/friday has been my life.  ex-king gynendra's grand daughter is even in leah's class (and one of her close friends...).  
 
20 years with save the children and now another 3 with the un.  a home.  a garden.  three kids.  a modicum of nepali bhasa by which to flit and wing around the country in a language i would never have imagined being so comfortable speaking.  who'd uv thunk it?
 
yes, nepal for me is that last trudge up tharong-la in the freezing morning, followed by the long exhilirating walk down to mutkinath, the leisurely stroll along the kali gandaki, the forests of gandrung, the site of pokhara after six weeks round the annapurna, then, once again, the travelers and pies in kathmandu that lingering autumn, my first in the himalaya, the unworldy iconography, the friendships, the breaking of barriers, the going beyond beyond, the dreams, fearlessness and simple joyful experiences that were enhanced by such luck, innocence and openness.  
 
after all these years, these few decades, alas, nepal is more even than a home, a wife, my children raised here, the many friends and the nest that i've created (even sitting here tonight...).

yet, it all cycles back to that maha-circumambulation around the annapurna in the fall of 1979, thirty years ago this week, with all of you.  

it's time to crack open the leather-bound journals tomorrow and put the dvd i just had burned of all of my photos of those days in the window-sized iMac in front of me. 

reflection is the gift of the passage of time, it seems...
 
tomorrow i've planned to walk over shivapuri ridge w/ some friends.  it's a good 5 hour hike up 2,500' and back down to our garden.  you've sent my imagination off now, to sleep, perchance to dream of the younger us and the many joys and, just as sweet, memories of joys that we've created together.
 

Josh's Ode to His Nepal

Don't worry Nepal cause i am coming home
i don't know why
could it possibly be an ineffable feeling
that constantly places a tear into my vulnerable eye.
i really don't know
maybe its your effortless beauty
hidden by the disparity
creating undeniable poverty.
Or could it be
something else?
a feeling felt
underneath my left breast,
that make it possible at night
(with the knowledge of You)
to put my head to a comfortable rest.
Because my Dear
only the ocean's separating us
cause me to fear,
that my idolatrous feelings toward you will disappear.
Yet,
the memories and roots
cause me to realize
i love you,
and
hopefully, i will be looking at You when i die.
The last sight in my eye.

Joshua S. Leslie

December 2009

Washington, D.C.

Runaway Bunny, the son's version...

You fight the inevitable and therefore will doom yourself to dissatisfaction.  I WILL have my own life, you WILL have your life, this is how the world works, but this world also isn't that big.  

No distance is insurmountable; it is the way you perceive it and work to make the spiritual gap smaller that will ultimately define the relationship we have. 

Don't fight rock with water.

I have accepted the inevitable.  It is time for you (guys) to come to terms with it. 

Our relationship will never be the same, but in its place it will be replaced by a new relationship.  Not new people, just a new relationship. 

Enjoy it!   As long as we both wish to maintain a strong relationship, which I know I do, than we will never face an endless rock, but if you keep trying to pretend that you can still fight the rock with water, then you will get nowhere.

Love, Ez

PS: The Rain King is always just around the corner - -that's the magic of living on a sphere,,,

Thirty Years Ago in Nepal

Journal entry 

Nov. 5th, 1979

Tukche, Mustang

Nepal

"The pleasant moist air of the afternoon has swirled into somber grey clouds of dusk. Niligiri's veiled. The laughter has vanished. A lone dog on a stone wall barks to no one."

THE SONG OF THE TRAVELLER'S JOY

THE SONG OF THE TRAVELLER'S JOY FAIRY 

Traveller, traveller, tramping by 

To the seaport town where the big ships lie, 

See, I have built a shady bower 

To shelter you from the sun or shower. 

Rest for a bit, then on, my boy! 

Luck go with you, and Traveller's Joy! 

Traveller, traveller, tramping home 

From foreign places beyond the foam, 

See, I have hung out a white festoon 

To greet the lad with the dusty shoon. 

Somewhere a lass looks out for a boy: 

Luck be with you, and Traveller's Joy! 

(Traveller's joy is Wild Clematis; and when the flowers are over, 

it becomes a mass of silky fluff, and then we call it Old-Man's-Beard.)

Ezra's Moment of Silence (and Simplicity) at NMH Last Month

For those of us who are of the Jewish faith today is the Day of Atonement.  Today is Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur signals the end of the High Holy days and the Days of Awe that separates the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashonah, and today, Yom Kippur.  In Jewish tradition the Days of Awe represent G-d’s writing of each person’s name and their fate for the upcoming year, and on this day he seals that fate.  Jewish men and women around the world today will abstain from work, from food, and attend services at synagogue.  

Essentially Yom Kippur is the last day to atone for the sins of the past year and more specifically for the sins between man and G-d.

There is a short story I would like to share today with all of you about a young Jewish man who wanted to learn how to atone for his sins.  

The young man went to his Rabbi and asked him if he may observe the Rabbi atoning for his sins.  The Rabbi asked the young man how he atoned for his sins, and the man said, ‘I hold the prayer book in my hand and read from the text, I am nought but an ordinary Jew.’  The Rabbi looked at him over his glasses and said, “Child, I too then am an ordinary Jew, and do just as you do. If you want to see an inspiring atonement go to see Moshe, the tavern-keeper.” 

So the young man did as his Rabbi told him and went to the tavern and asked to stay the night.  Moshe said with sorrow, “I am sorry child I don’t have any rooms this is a mere tavern, but I see that you are tired and weary if you wish I can make you a bed in the corner and you can sleep there.” The young man gladly accepted and took up his space in the corner feigning sleep, but in truth patiently waiting for the moment of atonement.  

Just before dawn Moshe rose, and called on his wife to bring him his diary. He then took his notebook sat on a stool, and lit a candle. Slowly he opened up his diary and began to read out loud what was a book of misdeeds and transgressions.  As he read through his list of small sins (a word of gossip, oversleeping for prayer, forgetting to give a coin to charity) the young man sat quietly in the corner observing.  Soon he realized that Moshe’s face was bathed in tears and he continued to read for more than an hour.

Finally, he put down his diary and called on his wife to bring him his second diary. This was a list of misfortunes and troubles that had happened over the past year (the night he was beaten up by his drunk customers, the day his child fell sick, the days during winter when he was unable to supply firewood for his family, the morning the family’s cow died) and again he read for over an hour the entire time his face was bathed in tears.

When he closed his book, he knelt down on the floor, closed his eyes, looked heavenwards, and said, “So you see, dear Father in Heaven, I have sinned against You.  Last year I repented and promised to fulfill Your commandments, but I repeatedly succumbed to my evil inclination.  But last year I also prayed and begged You for a year of health and prosperity, and I trusted in You that it would indeed be this way.

"Dear Father, today is the eve of Yom Kippur, when everyone forgives and is forgiven. Let us put the past behind us. I'll accept my troubles as atonement for my sins, and You, in Your great mercy, I hope will do the same." 

With that Moshe took his two diaries lifted them above his head and said, “This is my atonement Lord, this is my exchange.”  He then threw his misdeeds, transgressions, misfortunes, and troubles into the fire and soon the coals turned his tear-stained pages to ashes.            

Although Yom Kippur is a holy day for people of the Jewish faith, reflection is a universal ability.  Yet, with the hectic lives we live these days there is very little time to reflect, so for a moment let us reflect and take the opportunity to turn our tear-stained pages to ashes.

Let us be silent. 

And what's it all for?

"How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. So far, so much between, you can never go home again. You can go home, it's good to go home, but you never really get all the way home again in your life. And what's it all for? All I tried to be, all I ever wanted and went away for, what's it all for?

Everything was... better than he ever deserved; only whatever it was and however good it was, it wasn't what you once had been, and had lost and could never have again, and once in a while, once in a long time, you remembered and knew how far you were away, and it hit you hard enough, that little while it lasted, to break your heart."

A Death in the Family
James Agee
(found in my 1977 journal)

The Year 1977

While looking for a copy of Hobbes' "Leviathan" for Joshu's theology course downstairs in Claudia's Philadelphia basement this afternoon, where so much of my American 'sctuff' is kept, I came across one of my earlier journals written in the year immediately after graduating from Amherst.

1977 was quite a year of physical, emotional and spiritual transition in my youthful life. I'd come to Washington, D.C. (ironically where Joshua has come to start his college life in America) after an extra autumn in Amherst, slowly digesting the change from the peaceful academics of college life to the realities of work and professional challenges ahead, spending a year on Capitol Hill working for a U.S. Senator.

2009 means that I'm looking back some 32 years, across the decades of a life lived abroad, professional accomplishment, international development, human rights, with marriage, young children, college children and the personal perspective that such physical, emotional and spiritual distance offers.

I think the line in the 1970s Paul Simon song from 'Heart and Bones' about Carrie Fischer refers to 'an arc of a love affair'.

For our lives aren't merely momentary points on a continuum, nor linear lines of grades, salaries or achievements. Rather, we are human parabola, arcing towards a still point of self-knowledge which, when fully realized, we arc gently away again.

Solitary souls in our body kyacks paddling gently, steadily away from our origins, our births, to middle age to observe more calmly with the safety and quiet silent distance provides the nature of these lives we live, before we turn back to that distant shore, where we return our rented kyacks and ready ourselves for the next journey.

Reading these thoughts of those years, the past Keith speaks still so directly to the present Keith.

In some ways, there was a prescient part of the much younger Keith, even in his turbulent confusion, who could sense the distant future and began to capture some of those feelings in his journals of his 20s where he sensed what he would know -- what life would teach him -- more fully in his 40s or 50s.

"An arc of a love affair..."

The College Search

I'm in Georgetown now, staying in Matthew's Mom (Janice)'s exquisite, book-line home a block away from the Dunbarton Oaks gardens. What a gift of a place to stay while I visit Joshua!

I spent my last morning in NYC going with Eileen to get a flu shot. Eileen insisted (and I thought she was getting one, too), so we left early from her place on the 23rd St. cross-town bus (her favorite steed...) to reach the NYC Dept. of Public Health on 26th and 8th Avenue.

It was quite a trip seeing America from the under belly up. As the offspring of doctors, I'd never visited the public health world of American society -- which is ironic given how much work I'd done over the years on public health through Save the Children in Nepal and a handful of other countries around Asia.

So, without much forethought, I was in line, with a hundred other souls from all parts of the globe living in Manhattan. I recognized a couple of young Tibetan/Nepali women, plenty of Hispanics, a bevy of Chinese, a few Indians, some Russian and, possibly, Polish and other European immigrants, as well as Black Americans and a handful of othe native English speakers. Although the whole process took nearly four hours, the shot was free and all the public health services staff were individually kind, warm and attentive. In this world, that's saying alot.

On Thursday I came by AMTRAK down to DC to meet up w/ Joshua who is in his first year among the Jesuits. (As I say, 'when in doubt, send your kids to the Jesuits').

For me, as others, it's equal parts amazing and painful to see our offspring grow up. I'm too much a sentimentalist to let go of these beloved youth easily. Altho there is definitely a sense of parental pride in their growing independence, their character, and their heroism in finding their places in the larger world.

We did it once, too, but we weren't the parents in the story at that time.

I can offer a few vignettes and insights from our tour. Ezra and I visited Williams, Vassar, Bard, Sarah Lawrence and NYU. For us, Bard and NYU were the stand-outs (partially b/c we got to meet Magic Johnson at Bard, where his son was looking around while the Prez of NYU stopped by our tour and gave us a few of his insights on what this process is all about...).
ENaturally, Amherst and Williams are both brilliant academies for the mind, altho a bit isolated from la vrai world compared to an NYU, Columbia or Georgetown.

Ezra is also looking seriously at St. John's (The great books school in Annapolis or Taos), as well as a totally outside the box place, Deep Springs College in the desert of southern California, a two year intellectual monastic ranch for a couple dozen outstanding young men. Ezra wants a 'game-changer' school which will help him move the world in the direction we all need to go in the coming century. One can't fault his logic or question his moral ambition...

In truth, Georgetown works for Joshua as he was ready for a real city and DC is a purrrfect size city in the States. Altho Josh is now talking about a South Asia Dept. which Georgetown doesn't have, so I've told him, if he does well, he could think about a transfer to Columbia (who wouldn't want to go to Columbia?) after two years since they have a strong South Asian Dept.

But, also, these schools are all ridiculously difficult to get into these days. I call them the 'Impossibles' and the 'Near Impossibles'. Some take only 8-10% of their applicants, whereas none take more than 20%, so it's best to play the field and try to get interviews since our kidz are likely to impress most admissions folks if they can get their toes in the door.

Fortuitously, Ez had 15 mins. w/ the Bard admissions director . We loved Bard for its academic rigor, intellecual stimulus, attention to the individual student and manifold charms. It's a special place, sans doubt.

Yet, it's a tender process emotionally when it's your own child as opposed to our selves. As parents, our hearts are on our sleeves as our kids have to go through this demanding, time-consuming and exposed college search and application process.

Ouch! doesn't do it justice.


We just need to be kind to ourselves, and children, in order to find the college or university where they would really enjoy being a student. There are scores and scores of great schools around the States. We shouldn't get too attached to only one or two school ideas; instead leave oneself open for new possibilities. America is gifted with great and noble academic institutions.

The Rain King Returneth

and so w/ a vulcan wave and an intimate smile, ezra disappeared down the apartment corridor w/ the our own carole lombard, vivacious, charismatic aunt eileen, to the dark, throbbing and yielding new york streets below for his day and life ahead.

'alas, alone, along, alove, the...'

i borrow from james joyce's end of 'finnegan's wake' as a backward glance and nod at the current sarah lawrence college president who we were told teaches the course on 'who's afraid of james joyce?' (who's not??).

in truth (outside of beloved literature) are there any 'good' endings to life's drama or necessary partings? any decent or at least not fretful ways to say 'goodbye?' -- especially to one's own child?

(i remember the start of durrell's 'alexandria quartet, when the 'sea is high w/ the thrill' -- or is it 'rush' -- 'of the wind...' as he longs achingly for 'her child', justine's child... and then the drama unfolds...)

i wonder if any of the colleges ez and i visited this week teach such a course? 'tears and fears in american literature: separation anxiety at a child's departure' i'd sign up immediately! or, if no one has yet claimed the academic space, be ready to teach the course if it could bring me back in time and space closer to my own children...

the time, once again and always, disappears. so much expectation ('great expectations'...) and then -- whooosh -- the time with ezra recedes so quickly like the faint car lights following behind us on the taconic (iconic? ironic?) parkway as our mutual journey disaggregates and i am left alone, in the car, on the subway, on the train, traveling now and once again by myself in the vast and echoing american landscape.

i lie in bed this morning, trying to catch up a bit on the sleep i didn't get while together this week, seeing my second son in my perpetually cluttered mind's eye finding his taxi to port authority, boarding the bus ('all aboard for greenfield, that's a last call for greenfield!'), throwing his NMH laundry bag of old clothes and bare necessities underneath the 'buus while lugging his precious ibook and headphones up on the stairs into the quiet of the transport for his early 6 am journey back to the isolation and stimulus of boarding school.

i want, at such times, to thank-you my sons for sharing this life's journey with me. i feel, at times, it's tedious for them, worldly and smart teenagers bursting out to be real adults, yet still having the father around with his incessent humor, tense at times about arrangements, over-scheduled, rushing to college tours and still full of the memories of his life on these fragrant shores -- all those agonizing and fraught moments a child must endure with their parent.

yet, these sons are kind to be patient with me, as i, at times, seek to be w/ them. it is another aspect of the parent-child relationship, but now they are close to real independence. they have wings on their sneakers, altho with deep roots in our family love.

alas, again, what to say, but i do love being w/ them, having them nearby, observing their ease and comfort with whoever they meet, their bright, eager intelligence and casual humor, their deep and caring thoughtfulness about the world and those within it.

shakun says i love my sons too much. maybe she's right. altho she says it w/ a wry smile knowing, as i do, that there's hardly such a thing as 'too much love'. maybe too much attachment. too much attention. too much sentimentality et al. but love? never too much love, methinks.

so, off y0u go, dear son. i must toss you back in to those wine-dark seas. each of us our own odysseus. each anchored to our own noble quest.

for the world is your oyster and i am simply the ancient mariner on the shore watching the gulls frolic, the fish leap, the seals splash as the sun sets spraying light of such brilliant, diffuse color over the distant horizon..

om shanti! om shalom!

Bard, Bardic and Bardo along the Hudson

oh, great bardic madhyamika buddhist monk in the heart of compassion along the hudson valley,

i do accept your wise and subtle teachings sans question. they are noble, concise and, of course, clearly cutting through spiritual materializm. toute suite!

they are full of the emptiness ('sunyata') that is at the core of our understanding of the universe. not to mention, our place within it.

in that regard, i don't think i am out of place to shout down the morning canyons of manhattan:

OM MANI PADME HUNG!!!

so loud, even big bob thurman sitting meditating at columbia university on the forms and nature of student dakinis dancing in front of him...

among whom ezi and i had dinner last night at a bustling, noisy, crowded, exquisitely collegiate bistro with scott and sochua's lovely and talented daughter, malika, a first year columbia student straight from 18 years in cambodia to the source of american academia.

like josh and ezi, another of these youthful, wise and observant blended souls whom, as parents, we have offered as our hopes and sacrifices to the 21st c..

OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

down the through the ages as only van morrison could wail. rave on, van morrison. rave on!

illuminating the world's sacred heart and teachings through music for those of us without the time to read the holy texts.

yes, and yes again, let me say for through the cosmopolitans, lamb chops and tuscan wine reuniting us 'til 1 am along the sleepy hollow estates of the great hudson river with the conversation only subduing because of a one hour darkened drive to our evening rest stop in carmel with a 10 am tour at sarah lawrence the next morning, alas.

HUNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

says the teachings. the pure lotus rises through the muck, drama and forgetfulness of human existence. the heart of our noble quest for truth, clarity and love.

oh, yes, and did the buddha mention 'friendship'?

(it may be in one of those heterodox mahayana canons written in kashmir in the 7th c. with that bengali tantric influences referring to the nature of joy and freedom...)

the jewel in the lotus.

the jewel in the crown.

the jewel in our lives.

it was a very lovely and inspired evening.

there along the darkened shores of lethe,

oh, charon!

my eternal guide and companion.

Never Really Alone

mom, i spoke to claudia the other night.  she said you were going to grandma rose and ben-henry's graves the next day outside nyc.  i can only imagine how emotional this was for you to return to your parents' grave sites six months after dad's departure.  

i wish i could have been there, too.  i'm sure it was good for your soul and thoughts to be near their resting site for a quiet conversation w/ them.  when i mentioned this to shakun, leah was listening and asked me if you put a stone on the grave.  she knew that jews do that as a token of remembrance from a children's book she'd read.  (we read it again last night...)   

how wise and observant children are in our lives.  they speak such simple truths so openly...

still, for us, as we age, we learn to acknowledge that we'll never really know what happens after death.  

yet, we feel, as well, that these after-life conversations carry emotional presence or substance to an unseen/unseeable world.  we believe that in an uncertain existence, anything is possible -- including some form of spiritual communication w/ those we love who have gone.  

we hear ourselves speak from our hearts, at the very least.  which in itself is important.  

then, if the ones we love can hear us, too, in whatever hearing may mean in the great beyond, at least some flicker of recognition and affection, then all the feather weight of those words and emotions travel truely.  

if they merely echo across the empryean, we believe the echo itself is a form of life.  like the lightwaves that that our science mind tells us travel to eternity across the open, empty space of the universe, there for those to see who have eyes and and recognition, our words, prayers and love may travel, too, beyond any world we could ever recognize, or reach.  

yet, as we look inside and out, we smile gently, if a bit wanly, as we look up to see the universe stretch beyond our imagination knowing that the people we have embraced and love still may have formed their own light waves or sound ripples cascading 'across the universe' (as the beloved beatles sing...).  

so we reflect, we pray, we remain silent, we go down on one knee or put our hands together in solicitation.  we close our eyes to meditate, or open them to stare w/ slack jaws at the immense beauty and distance of the stars above.  

either way, we stand in awe and appreciation of the brief time we are given to acknowledge the surprising existence we find ourselves temporarily inhabiting on this wondrous world.  

we are fortunate to see and perceive.  

we are fortunate to have each other.  

we are fortunate to have had so many who have gone already.  

we are fortunate.

of course, the pain and loss never leave.  the reality of the shortness of breath.  the gut-wrenching fear that something has gone wrong..  the sudden disappearance of those we love.  the broken shelter they offered us in this vagrant world lost, forever.  

yet, to where, we can never know.  so we speak in our silent voices, standing at the graveyard or on the sacred mountain or in the quiet of our own homes.  we radiate our loss and our love.  we send out to that dark and distant universe the love we feel and will never forget.  the message of connection and affection.  the truth that is even greater than the loss.  that time and distance have not broken, nor ever will.  

we love, therefore we are.  we love, therefore, we weep.  we love, and in loving will never forget.

are never really alone.

In Memoriam A.H.H.

Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;

That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,

I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope

Lord Tennyson, 1849

Shana Tova 5769

Shakun, Ms. Leah and I came in from celebrating the Jewish New Year on Friday night w/ the Israelis in Kathmandu, a contingent of 300+ young people, mostly traveling through Nepal, at one of the city's ubiquitous 'party palaces', this one right behind now deserted Royal Palace.

These party palaces are usually the locations of Nepali Hindu weddings, pasnis (six month of birth), bratabandha (sacred thread for boys) or similar quasi-religious celebrations. They've become a feature of modern Kathmandu life, in lieu of more expensive hotels, where they cater mass 'fooding' (as they say...) to hundreds or thousands of family, friends and acquaintances for such evocative life events

I doubt, however, that many bar mitzvahs, Pesach seders or Rosh Hashonah celebrations have rattled these walls, much less seen bearded, impish Reb Kresky once again up on his make-shift chair singing to his heart's delight, black suit & black hat swaying to his own tune, to usher in the joyful fragrance of a new year.

Once again, the ecumenical and syncrenistic tendencies of sacred Nepal bridge even the deep cultural Jewish divide between a grandchild of the Ethical Cultural Society of the Upper West Side with the generations of European, now Brooklyn, mystical Hassidic culture. What the East River divides, Kathmandu can unite! Proving, once again, in the words of the ancient prophetic voice that even the secular can lie down with the religious on such peaceful and thankful occasions as the blessing of a new year.

We always enjoy these festivities with our dear friends, Reb Kresky and Chani, the Chabad rabbi & his wife. They are dear and pure souls. After all, Chani was the woman who first taught Joshua and Ezra their struggilng, inchoate Hebrew years ago for their bar mitzvahs in Haifa. In truth, she's a modern boddhisattva rebetzin (rabbi's wife), always full of joy, kindness and single-mindedness. Even when her best friend, the rabbi's wife, was murdered in Mumbai last year, she never lost her love for g-d, her family and the gifts of life. The spirit indomitable.

So we sat at the long table covered with plates of humus, challah bread, honey, pomegranate and salads with vivacious young Jews of all varieties. The ancient tribal identity singing in the sweetness of the year 5769. Of course, it's just a number, but it does offer some wizened and, hopefully, wise perspective on our sense of our selves and lives in this transient, fleeting, curious and miraculous world.

It seems that there is part of that Jewish identity which always looks back to find one's way forward. The ancient historical-theological imagination and pride. The grounding of the spiritual dimension in the daily reality of our lives. The silent, rapturous, yet cacaphoneous inner voice of G-d reflected in all of our thoughts and actions. More mystery compounded, I suppose.

Although, for me, these centuries offer too much precious and hard-earned cultural history to let go of easily after so many scores of nearly forgotten generations. A lasting gift and debt to my loved and respected parents and grandparents, who toiled long for our gifts in this world.

A gift and debt, as well, to my beloved children, whose lives are still being formed in the raw earth and spiritual values around them, and to whom we will leave this fluttering and uncertain world one day.

And on it goes, our human circle game with an artifice of numbers given to mark each cycle around the sun. Numbers that anchor us in all of the haze and mystery of existence.

An understandable human effort to provide some logical perspective on the immense twirling beauty of the planets as we make our way through space and time amid the riches and tragedies of our own history in the making.

So with Shakun and Leah by my sides, Josh and Ez on my proverbial shoulders, I am reminded once again of what a lovely circle game it is...

Don't Defer One's Dreams...

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun,

Or fester like a sore, and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat,

Or crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load,

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes 

20th C. American Poet

The Unforgiving Road

those characters
who travelled with us frequently
while the first kind dropped off the path
without so much as a whispered farewell

and beyond these were the multitudes
in the many lands, the shadows on the cobblestones

but we had not come to know them in such a way
those spirits through which we flitted
our eyes shyly averted
lest they draw us into their world
and in doing so save us from ourselves

this we could not bear
yet we knew this journey would end ere long
if we remained on the unforgiving road

meanwhile across the shimmering valley
of each new kingdom
beyond the morning hills
written in the fingers of haze
that promised a glimpse of our destiny
we smiled, gazing once more backwards

dreaming that you would hear from us no more
and you would be gladly abandoned
to stumble... on your own journey
to the far off land
as it has always been
and will be
forever more

God be with you!

Lorenzo Rajah 

Portuguese traveler in Asia, 1697

Ezra Settles back to NMH

"Well, I guess this is the first of my sporadic, albeit lengthy, emails to you guys over the course of the year (and as much as i know you enjoy my manner of communication I see no signs that I will change...although I will try...).

Life here at NMH doesn't really change, the faces change, the interactions might change, but it's still me heading off to classes, getting a bunch of errands done (to what end, who knows?) -- but they are errands that must be done nonetheless. 

Freshman orientation was great, I loved it!  The kids are great and it really was wonderful to be a part of the beginning of their high school journey and possibly even their adult life.  It's just so much fun to see that they're at a stage that they haven't even realized that they've reached -- I would look out at them and wonder if any one of them could recognize what a journey they have begun.  Chances are none of them have, but I guess that's the beauty -- since then it has just gotten better and better; putting them to bed, tucking them in, being a part of that young energy.

As with everything, there are always ups and downs, but it's all part and parcel in life so if you expect anything else, you'll be bound to being disappointed.  Classes are going well.  I'm in AP Env. Science, Biblical Interpretation, and Calculus.  Lets see how they go.  It's still way too early to tell what they'll be like, but as soon as I know I'll tell you ;).

Soccer is also going okay, not brilliant, but okay.  I think I have made the varsity team, but just barely -- they have a bunch of recruits so the team should be pretty good, but I still have yet to reach anywhere near my potential.  I actually sprained my ankle again yesterday, which is why I had the time to write this email now.  So I'm out for today and hopefully I'll be back tomorrow or on Saturday.  It's not a bad sprain, but it's best to err on the safe side of caution.

Other than that, I really have been out of the loop, being in freshman dorm is great, but the first couple of days/weeks are extremely busy and hectic because you are helping them get used to things and making sure they are all happy.  My room isn't completely setup, but it's getting there.  I'll probably buy a second pair of sheets so that I can have a double bed, and then as I told you guys I want to get some vegetation in here.

Mom you sound like your galavanting the political world of Nepal and doing all that you wanted so that sounds great just remember that happiness (and truth) begin and end from home. 

Dad your pictures are always wonderful to see and after all pictures tell a thousand words, so just make sure that you don't spend too much time commiserating with your sons across the pond: we're fine and before you know it we'll be seeing each other soon...

and Leah i hope you are painting your soul out....

lots and lots of love, ezi"

Josh Settles in at Georgetown

"College life on the hilltop has been exciting as I am meeting new people, going through orientation, meeting new people, finally starting classes, and, again, meeting new people, I know a bit tiring.  Yet, the fact is that everyday seems to be an adventure; whether it's walking all the way to White House or going to the DC United game and getting to meet and take a picture with Freddie Ljunberg, a famous Swedish football player whom I have watched ever since I began watching football.  This opulent city seems to have so much potential for inspiration and instilling a sense of direction that I already feel as if I can call it my muse, and if any of you pass through my city, yes I am taking it over, please do call because I would love to see you all."

Josh during his first week at college...

 

Sunday Late August Afternoon

It's another Sunday late afternoon at home.  I've just come in from sword fighting w/ Ms. Leah in the backyard with her bamboo stick and my cane one.  It was almost a fair fight, as she raced around the trees and, occasionally, tried a full-frontal attack on her dear dottering dad.  But, only when she found a 'whip sword', as she referred to it, did the tide turn and she got the better of me with a slashing forehand that snapped as the papyrus reed whacked me on my side.  

'Crouching Tiger' has nothing on us!  En guard, you unseen ninjas!!  To the parapets, for home and family!!

Coming in as the birds were dancing over the pond, taking their last minutes of lighted acrobatics, I remembered that half way around the world, Ezi was at the Port Authority still seeking a way out of NYC.  I'd called him a couple of hours ago to see if he's caught his 6 am Greyhound bus to Northampton, MA -- but he'd missed that bus b/c the office computers were down and he couldn't be issued a ticket.

So, calling up Skype (the international family's best friend...), I found Ezi already on another bus leaving the City.  He'd been given a ticket for an 8:15 am bus, instead.  After five days enjoying life in NYC at beloved Aunt Eileen's, seeing friends, shopping for the new school year, finishing his required reading, our dear #2 was heading back to NMH for his senior year.  Ez had left here last Sunday solo for the first time to the States, no doubt, with more trepidation in my heart than his...

Joshu is in his final days with us, as he leaves to go directly to Claudia's on Wednesday, where he'll sleep for a couple of days, before meeting my Mom in DC, where he'll enroll for his first year at Georgetown.   For Josh, this is getting to be a regular commute.  Since he went on his own for the first time in August 2007 for his first year at NMH, he's gone back and forth now five times from Nepal to the States w/o us over these two years.  

Actually, it's all too hard to believe, but Shaku and I are filled with both joy and amazement that we have raised these young men (no longer merely boyz...).  It's so hard to let them go, but it feels right to see the wings grow on their sneakers, like the ancient god Mercury, as they glide away with confidence and ambition to embrace the larger world around us.  

So, it's down to three.  Leah, Mom and Me.  Leah has started 3rd grade (very impressive, I know!) and is maturing nicely, esp. after most of a summer w/ her brothers.  Shaku is deep into indigenous politics (she's out in Dang right now...) while I'm still on a consultancy w/ UNDP managing their civll society outreach for the new constitution.  It's mostly stimulating and fun as it's like running an NGO project out of the UN -- not something that they're used to and I'm meeting some new & interesting folks.  The commute is a bear, but it pays the tuition and gives me great flexibility to go back and forth to see the boys and Mom a few times during the year.  

I'll be on the East Coast for three weeks in October for Ezi's Parents' w/end, then Joshu's Parents' w/end in Washington, DC, then at Claudia's in Philadelphia for Mom's first b-day w/o Dad.  I'm looking forward to that.  

All of that.  And more...

Monsoon Madness

summer, what a concept!  we've been back here since the end of june and the nepali expression for summer is called 'monsoon'.  

those bucolic summer days in the states turn wet, rainy and moist here most of the time.  of course, there are these wondrous cumulus clouds and lush landscape -- but i fight the leeches ('juga') in the back garden all summer.  they no longer psychologically disturb me quite as much as they used to... although i'm constantly checking my crocs or wellingtons to knock them off when they climb aboard. fascinating little, remorseless creatures w/ a mind to suck.  and suck, and suck...  

it's amazing to watch their single-minded devotion to the life's pursuit, but not quite as enviable to be the object of their fascination.  the slush up from a narrow, thin string-like creature to a fat, corpulent, over-intoxicated beast on the joys of my bodily fluids.  read: my blood.  

the best way to deal with them is either: a) try to flick them off with your finger, as i do fairly easily or, if the horror, the horror strikes you, b) put a dab of salt on them and they shrivel into non-existence as quickly as water on the wicked witch of the west.  alas, poor 'juga' i knew him well...

still, it's the same warm summer rain that brings out the leeches that feeds the bamboo in the garden and w/ some 40 varieties, i may soon have (or already do...) the most diverse, garden variety collection in nepal. 

on the weekend mornings, in between a bit of swordplay with our homemade bamboo fences, ms. leah and i go looking at the 'tusa' (shoots) to see what's literally come up.  we have these cute, thin 'nigalo' types and then these plump, tubular, 6" diameter priapic creatures rising from the soil.  each has its own beauty, esp. some of the crowns which resemble a javanese 'kris' (those short knives w/ wavy blades).  there are amazing colors and styles to each 'tusa' as it splits the earth and rises skyward at this time of year.  

leah also likes the multitude of small mushrooms that gather around their roots, too.  bold, orange or red little toadstools or amazing chocolate brown gothic creations, like the stucco islamic ceilings at the alhambra or the claw-like white, translucent tubes with dark, gnarled fingers at the end.  none of these more than an inch or two off the ground.  

all of these exquisite natural, visual, sensual delights for the eyes 

living quietly, each to itself, surrounding us in our own backyard during the monsoon;

just keep one eye for those little leeches, 

mindless of the remarkable beauty all around them...

Sail Away, Ezi, Sail Away...

Well, it's 9ish Saturday night.  Ezi's finishing his dinner w/ Shaku and Shakuns Mom ("Mua"), while J & L are playing soccer with a small ball in the dining room near them.  We are all aware that Ezi goes tomorrow at 3:45 pm to Delhi, then waits there for the whole evening until his 2 am Jet Air flight to Brussels, then JFK and New York.  At least, he's gotten a voucher to stay in the Jet Lounge in Delhi airport while he waits some seven hours. Thank the g-ds for small favors... 

Of course, pour moi, it's a sad feeling to know that Ez will be gone from the house from tomorrow.  Although we haven't seen him alot recently, as he's had three friends from NMH for two weeks, plus his gaggle of Kathmandu friends here, it's still lovely to know that he's nearby and occasionally available for a good chat or smile or just to observe his interactions w/ other people. 

We know it's good for him to go as he's on his own growth curve in a way that our little Kathmandu couldn't continue to stimulate him.  Of course, there's much that he misses here, but he still (I think...) feels the tug of the steeper and richer jourtney in America at this stage of his youthful life.  He's challenged at many levels there, academically, intellectually, sports and consciousness.  But, Kathmandu, dear besmirched, politicized and familiar Kathmandu, is the tug of home, childhood friends, friendly neighborhood haunts and total acceptance.  

When he steps back into the fast pace of America (or possibly sailing along tomorrow night from the height of 60,000' with the stars above and the earth below), he will also see his past and future more clearly.  The strength and stability of his past and present continuous life in this Kathmandu Valley, as well as the even more (soon to be...) present continuous world of NMH and the future perfect possibilities in America.  

Yet, as a family, there is nothing better than being together or, at least, nearby.  We had that time in late May/early June in the States this summer, before the boys came back to enjoy our home here for three weeks w/o us.  Now, since Shaku, Ms. Leah & I returned at the end of June, we've had July and this early half of August together.  Our home has seemed full, joyful and busy.  A bit of quiet will descend tomorrow when the phone stops ringing for Ezi with Vijay or Suraj or Karuna or Lyle or Daniel calling to look for our precious prince.  

So, tonight, each in our own way (me writing...), we begin to feel the emotional bonds slip away again in the dark, distant sea; those gnarled metaphorical ropes that tie our hearts and limbs together quietly frey tonight so that they may release the beautiful, peaceful dove that is within Ezi and allow him to fly, on his own, to the worlds in America who also love him and draw him back.  His school, his friends, his teachers, our family, his cousins, his brother, my mother.  He is building his new nest there, a bit more fragile and passing than the permanence of our ten year old house & garden here on the hillside in Budhanilkantha, overlooking Kathmandu to the south, with the 8,000' Shivapuri ridge massive and comforting behind us.  

But his craggy dorm room nest, tucked up against the Berkshires in western Massachusetts along the Connecticut River, Student Leader next year in a Freshman dorm, will soon become Ezi's temporary abode in the States for the next ten months. 

After five days in NYC at Eileen's beloved home in Peter Cooper Village, Ez will find his way north to either Northampton or Northfield next Saturday, where a friend or teacher will pick him up and whisk him back to the pressures and romance of the boarding school life.  

Late August, cerulean skies, warm days, crisp New England air, an open ptich for the start of a new football (soccer) season, new academic courses, new challenges, dear friends, great books, a senior (at last) in high school, the completion of a journey begun a long time ago...  

Sail free, beloved son.  Sail on, yo captain and commander!  

The seas are yours, the wind is high!

Set your sails, man your rudder,

You have chosen the start of your course,

Feel the pusle of your blood and ambition rise in your chest,

Keep Kathmandu in your heart where she belongs,

Know what these Kathmandus (Ithakas) mean as you

Sail free, My Son, Sail free!

The Ellenberg Departure

Tonight, the house will be emptier than its been for the past two weeks, as Dave, Lisa, Lily & Iris are en route to BKK right now, possibly about to land, as I finish up today's work and begin to look longingly across the valley from my perch here in UNDP to the lush, rain-swept quiet of Budhanilkantha...

So, for us, the delightful friendship trail summer interlude that began with a very late (and lucky...) arrival in BKK on June 19th to reunite w/ the Ellenbergs plus Davis & Catherine that Friday morning and flying together to Phnom Penh with Scott, Sochua and Steve's friendly faces awaiting us comes to a final close.

It's been a full, fun and chaotic 12 days here on the Nepali side of Camp Kampot. The Licchavi Lane residence was warmly awaiting the Ellenbergs on their return to Nepal. Dave, of course, had been part of the Chorten Trail in the summer of 2005, while Lisa had been here last some 16 years ago with Lily in uterus, while Iris had never been here. Gita had her renown Nepali tea ready for the weary travelers, while Tek was ready to to drive our guests around the traffic jams of the Valley.

Tours of the historic sites with shopping happy afternoons filled the schedule, retreating to the vestal sanctuary up on the Hill for dinner courtesy of Shakun's well-planned schedule. Then, after a week of Kathmandu madness, softened, at times, by Shabat dinner w/ our Israeli friends, an early evening stroll on the Boudha stupa, an afternoon in Bhatkapur, french fries at BK's, the exquisite Patan museum, a discussion on Josh & Ezi's citizenship rights at the entrance to the Garden of Dreams, the Oregonians wisely fled to the tropical isolation of Chitwan national park and the peaceful beauty that our friend Emil created inside the park, complete with swimming pool and elephants to dream of and ride upon.

We had a lovely, transcedent long w/end at Machan's bluff within the Park watching the clouds gather over the Himalaya and the Rapti river flow.

Then, of course, stuck inside of Bharatpur with the Budhilkantha Blues Again as our Budha Air flight was delayed three hours due to the monsoon. But, fortunately, we each had our books ready, so finally, after another Nepali travel hiatus, near dusk we returned home Sunday night for an exquisite meal prepared by Shaku & Gita for Lisa's birthday.

Our time together ebbed Monday as Dave & Lisa shopped in the afternoon while we gathered for a final repast at Fire & Ice, followed by take-home Baskin & Robbins ice cream to see Ezi's favorite "Master & Commander" on the DVD in the comfort of our home.

This morning, leave them slow but leave them laughing, I took the morning off as we lingered in the garden, gathering a few more final leeches, trimming the bamboo and slowly winding our way around the congestion we call home to take the Ellenbergs to the airport and their journey home.

It has been good. Very good. Both the joys of group living in Kampot and two families together in Budhanilkantha. These times are special, precious and fleeting. We draw from them sustenance and life.