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Published: March 6th 2007
Varkala. Varkala. Varkala
Say it. Var-ka-la.
Say it again. Varkala.
It is pronounced as it is spelled.
Again. Varkala.
This time, say it with a Keralan accent, as though you have a million of the tiniest pebbles in your mouth and in order to keep them from spilling as you speak, you must hold them all under your tongue.
Varkala.
Say this word, and you have said a word worthy of speech. Varkala.
Feel it. Varkala.
Feel it in your mouth. Varkala.
Feel it biting at your lower lip. Varkala.
Feel it cut across the back of your tongue. Varkala.
Feel it scrape across the tip just before it rolls redeemingly off of your tongue. Varkala.
Etch the word into your mouth. Etch it into your mind. This word represents a place of great beauty.
Search the word. (Not using Google, Spencer! Search your mind.)
Find what you will in the word itself. If you discover enough, it will call to you and you'll be on the next flight over. Then, I'll tell you which restaurant makes the best barracuda.
We are in Varkala. It has been a long time since a new blog has been posted. Thanfully, the ink dam has burst and we are writing again. It's a good thing. I was really beginning to miss you guys. In the past two weeks, Sarah and I have seen a lot, done a lot, and thought a lot. We've got enough material to write for hours and hours. I'm not going to do that today. Instead, let's have a little fun. Try something with me. This is interactive blogging!
Ready? Ok.
In a moment, I would like you to close your eyes. When you close them, begin to focus on your breathing. Take a big, slow breath in through your nose and feel the air enter into your lungs. Hold it there for a moment and then let it out. Feel it exit through your nose. Do this several times until you feel yourself relaxing.
Ok, go ahead. Humour me. Close your eyes and breathe...
Well done. By the way you just did that, one would think you've been breathing for all your life. (Sorry, I get it from my dad.)
Now, you're going to do that again. This time, once you feel youself relaxing, take one more step.
Continue breathing please, but shift your focus. With each breath, picture a number. Say it in your head as you try to see it. Start with then and count backwards down to one.
This is not an easy step. Stay with the number until you can see its form clearly. You may have to say 10, think 10, and breathe 10 fifty times before you actually see it.
Once it is there, move on to see nine, eight, seven...but do not move on to the next before you have seen the last. Relax, and enjoy the challenge.
There is one more catch. In an outside thought enters your head,
anything other than the number you are trying to see, (that includes how annoying you find me, this exercise, or this blog to be) you must start again from 10.
See if you can get down to 1. It often helps to lay down.
(For some of you this is basis. See how fast you can do it. Think of it as a meditative 100-yard dash.)
Ok, close your eyes again, please. What's the harm?
So I am well aware that most of you did not humour me. That's ok. Who am I to give you direction anyway? Really, I just wanted you to slow down for a moment. If I were a better writer I would have been able to help you relax passively, just by reading my words. I'm not a better writer, so I had to ask for a little help from you. Thank you for indulging my shortcomings. Let's move on.
The reason that I wanted you to relax is because I'm going to ask you to use your imagination. It's always a much easier thing to do when you're not already thinking about scrubbing the toilet or picking your nose.
Imagine yourself with me right now. If you don't know me, you know me now. You are here, in Varkala. I am holding your hand in mine. Together, we are standing side by side. We thouch no where but our hands, yet we are as close as an embrace. Wind encloses us, marring and heightening our senses at once. We are so close to the edge that, with your head held as high as it is, you cannot see what lies below.
You see only blue. The sea spills before us in great creativity and beyond it is a horizon that feels impossibly close, reacheable. The sun burns in a cloudless sky. The air smells of salt and thali. Though you cannot yet see them, you can hear the fierce waves crashing on the brown-black rocks in chant many meters below. Our toes play fitfully with the edge of the cliff on which we stand. My hand is warm, intertwined with yours. Our palms sweat with connectivity. The wind runs through your hair like the caressing fingers of your mother, lover, child. A rush of deep love courses down your spine.
Are you still with me? Close your reality and open your eyes wider. Indulge your senses in your mind. Really be here with me, if only for a moment. Close your eyes and see it.
If you managed, even for just a moment to see it, then you have had success. You were in my state of mind yet I am in India and you are there.
One night in Panaji, in the throws of sickness I was tossing around an email I had received, in my mind. One of the lines mentioned the writer's desire to be travelling in India, having the experiences and learning the lessons that I have th opportunity to. This sentiment has been written to me numerous times and considering the other very interesting content that that email contained, it was strange for me to be dwelling on that single thought. That sentiment, as common as it is, has always stuck out to me as an awkward, backwards thought. What I couldn't understand, was why?
Then, as I tossed and turned with nausea, it hit me. What India has given to me is the ability to open my mind. It gives me the time to think. It gives me the freshness of environment. I realized a long time ago that familiarity has a way of stifling the mind. The act of travelling brushes away the thick layer of dust that settles over me when I am somewhere familiar. This is one of the many reasons I find myself needing to travel. I don't just want to, I need to. However, every happiness, every joy, every sadness, every tragedy, that I have seen, heard, touched, felt, experienced, in India, every thought, every lesson can be found in its exactness waiting to be had in the exact place that you are right now. Though it lubricates the slide, it is not necessary to venture to the far reaches of the Earth in order to slip into this state of mind. Opening one's eyes and scrubbing the dust away is facilitated by travelling. Travelling is like a giant dustbuster. But, with enough elbow grease, the same can be achieved from home. Everything I am learning was waiting for me in Vancouver. I just couldn't see it. I just didn't want it badly enough. Learning this also lead me to understand that it is ok to return to Vancouver. I struggled with the thought of this, of the thought of even travelling farther from where I already was because I saw all of the things I could be doing to help out exactly where I was. I needn't move another inch. So, despite the drastic difference between a place like Panaji and a place like Vancouver, if Vancouver is where I want to be, there will be no shortages of things to lend my hand to, or of new experiences to have, or new lessons to learn. I think India might have sprayed me with some anti-dust spray when I wasn't looking.
I just re-read this and am balking at its randomness. It's been a long time since I've written. I guess I should expect rust. Oh, well. Enjoy!
Love Carlie
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Molly Baigent
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Burnt Porridge
Carlie, I'm Sarahs Gramma, and have been totally enthralled by this blog from the biginning. This mornings didn't disappoint me. While I was cooking my breakfast, I checked to see if we had another installment, when I found it, I couldn't leave a word unread, until I smelled the porridge burning! Uninportant, back to the blog, isn't most thinking random wandering? You are your worst critic. Keep writing, every blog is being gratefully received. Thank you Carlie and Sarah.