Tuesday, April 23, 2013


I am back in Delhi, in the oppressive heat and welcome freedom. After months on the island, I can now go for a walk or eat a samosa whenever I want. And soon, I will have a whole apartment to myself. xo


Everything on stilts, in boats.


Shops closed for months due to strikes and political unrest. One man was selling vegetables here.


I feel like a stalker, this man is too precious, honest, serene. He is also a complete pain in the ass. I miss him.


I believe in tipis!

In what do I believe?

I believe in a divine pattern
I believe in duality
I believe in the law of attraction

As above so below, 
as without so within, 
The world is a mirror
And so am I.

Like attracts like,
My fears grew into
A flaming tower.

We must give it up to have it all
(The gift of the present moment)

Spiraling through time and space,
Ask and you shall receive
I saw the structure of a cell in my beer glass 
and the universe within that.

I believes in unity

I believe in fractals
I belong to you 
And you belong to me

Om shanti shanti

This week, I finally met the gem man. I was interested in his Tibetan mandalas, painted on rice paper with crushed stones and collected by his great grandfather from the mountains. I bought three, and then he opened his suitcases of jewelry.  From packs of folded white paper came a gorgeous array, I couldn't resist a small crystal egg and some moonstone pendants. I asked him if he had any rainbow obsidian, a stone I have been looking for (in the lava flows of eastern Oregon and gem and hippie shops) for about two years. He thought perhaps yes, but at his shop across the lake.  

So today again, he showed up at the island with a boat full of suitcases and an invitation to his home. After tea in a smoky dirt kitchen, and 6 hours and many gems later I found my rainbow obsidian, a 420 carat peridot, various topaz and the shiniest, clearest rose quartz I have ever seen. Like a deer in headlights, I didn't know what hit me.

So here I am, less traveling in India than living in Kashmir, painting on the walls when I feel like it, writing fairy tales to amuse myself and buying ridiculous crystals. 

simple pleasures

Of morning snow on the island, making my own milk tea with ginger and warm Kashmiri bread, two pieces. xo

The hawks are making joyful glides

And I am back in Kashmir. It is a month later and much warmer, though still cold enough for poncho and fire pot. I am staying on the island with two of my most favorite people here, a Finnish snowball and a Kashmiri prince. I am having two long shirts fashioned by the tailor, and a new green poncho. There is a strike and a curfew and all business have been closed for a week. 

More importantly, I am becoming aware of this pattern Hillary spoke of. It is a computer virus of the brain which multiplies at the slightest attempt to shut it down and is the source of much frustration. It has to do with jealousy, desire, and men who call me darling. I have realized that no one can take it away for me, I must bin it myself. 

As wise Ali baba told me, this is all my space. How do I want to use it?


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

patati patata

(blah blah blah)

My mind is on overdrive these past few days, in a good way I think. An emotional outburst from Ali has sparked some of my own questions, such as, how to be? And in what do I believe? And what am I willing to give up? Being in a Muslim culture is a godsend for bringing these topics to the surface.

There is a great ocean of distance between the West and Islamic east. I am constantly Trying to Understand, both sides, and within. 

I see so much beauty in the tradition here, from family life to daily prayer. I like the symbolism of cleanliness, and the shape of mosques. 

I have trouble with the intolerance of other ways.

Is this in itself intolerance?

I will always be an outsider to this gorgeous house,

But I will still creep around the garden

And try to catch a glimpse inside.

And I can't help but wonder,

Will anyone invite me in?


I am building a house

That will be the framework in which I live. My house is a triangle and a circle. It has three essential poles and nine to create space. The floor is the earth. The walls are creature hides. Inside, fire connects earth to sky.

My house is a tipi!

The tipi is a divine pattern: a mandala, made from the strongest shapes. If I can live within this pattern, my life will make sense.

But first, I have to learn it by heart.