The Road Less Travelled

Loving-Kindness

2012-01-14T23:40:00.000-08:00

This blog entry is not going to be all that hunky dory of a topic, but it is something that has been germinating in my mind for a long time now and I think is an important one. Plus, what is life without a bit of balance right?

I’d like to start out by saying (disclaimer tone) that Sri Lanka is an incredible country, there is no doubts about that. Its scenic overload, fresh coconut curries, and, for the most part, incredibly welcoming people are unparalleled by most other places I’ve been to. This little teardrop island packs a lot of punch in the regard of awesomeness. It is also generally a safe place (Mom, this point if for you). It is a communal society where people are invested in the lives of their neighbors, friends and families and once you are included in one of those groups, people will break their backs to make sure you are fed, clean and happy. Often I find myself overwhelmed by the incredible generosity of people I just met.

At this point one might wonder “well then, Kelly dear, if Sri Lanka is so darn dandy and all, would you ever consider living there?” The answer to that question is yes, EXCEPT (and the emphasis is huge here) for the way men have been taught it is appropriate to treat women. Usually I would go on to make another disclaimer that “well, not all men, that kind of blanket statement is unfair” but to be honest, it is far more of a culturally ingrained mentality than that, so deeply part of the way things function in Sri Lankan society that it even seems to transcend the most decent and ethical of chap. To put it pointedly: sexual harassment in Sri Lanka is unreal. Absolutely unreal. And yes, yes, out of all of my travels to and fro across this globe, I do understand that countries have different gender roles and the relationship between men and women are not going to be the same as what I am used to. But honestly, out of every country that I’ve been to, Sri Lanka is hands down the worst when it comes to rampant sexual harassment of women, both local and (perhaps especially) foreign. I’d even go as far to say that it is worse than India and Ghana (the two other places that this has been a problem) COMBINED. Yeah…for those of you who know or have experienced what it is like there, that is not a small number.

Let me begin by some specifics (and blame it on the science, but I relish these kind of data collection opportunities). The past two days I’ve keep track of the number of cat calls, sexually suggestive comments, hand gestures, and exposure to gentlemanly private parts (yes, oh yes) that I get between my house and the local super market 30 minutes away. I feel like it is important to note that the road that I take is a back road in a residential and generally well to do neighborhood. I have grouped the comments to their most relevant category.

Very forward “Hi”/ “Hello”: 11

“Nice”/ “Nice______”: 6

“Hey, Sexy”/ “Sexy!”: 5

“Come!” “Come here!”: 5

Baby, where you going”/ “Hey baby”: 3

“Sweetheart”: 2

Male genitals: 1

This is one hour of walking over a two-day span of time in a relatively secluded area. This does not include figures from riding buses (groper’s paradise), going on trishaws (a constant battle to defend why I do not want to marry you), and walking to the university (where I have been flashed countless times). A week or so back my friend was stuffed into a public bus and where the bus conductor proceeded to run his boner along their bodies as he collected the bus fare from passengers. Although I am incredibly fortunate to not have been touched by anyone (which would result in their imminent death), the point I am trying to make is that this is not an uncommon thing. The verbal abuse especially.

I think that there are several reasons for this. The first is historical. Sri Lanka in many ways is a very modernized society, but it is also a state in transition, especially after the civil war. One residual aspect of a more traditional worldview is an emphasis on male dominance. That combined with having one of the world’s highest rates of alcohol abuse explains why Sri Lanka also has one of the highest numbers of domestic abuse cases in the world. Being a foreigner only adds to this problem for two reasons: 1. I am fleeting. Most assume that I have no family connections here and their actions will not be reprimanded by the collectivist society. Sri Lanka is a small island, everyone knows everyone, which is why being an outsider to this system makes the think they can get away with a lot more, and 2. Pornography. This point came as an “Oh my God! Why did I not think about that” moment when a fellow Sri Lankan male friend of mine and I were talking about this issue. Despite pornography being a federal offence, most men’s only interaction with a white woman is through the porn’s sites on the internet. Alongside the exported American media they see, which, let’s be honest folks, is basically pornography , their primary interpretation of white women is that we are ready, willing and non-discriminating with our sexual desires. This has very real repercussions. For a long time I did not understand why they were so obsessed with us foreign ladies, but it is because more often than not me walking down the street to go to the supermarket is not just me going to the supermarket, it is me caked in their fantasy and expectations of who white women are that results in the transmutation of me into not just Kelly-on-a-stroll, but a Sex-Goddess-From-Outer-Space-Here-To-Please-You. Strong words? yes. Slightly exaggerated? sadly only slightly.

So what does one do about it?

I’ve oscillated from getting violently upset and yelling back at them, to looking at my feet and passively walking by (like most Sri Lankan women do), to learning Sinhala phrases to rudely snap back, to not going outside at all. But what I’ve learned (aside from the fact I am really bad at sitting still or being passive) is that any kind of attention only feeds it. So, after a lot of thinking about the issue, I’ve been working with what I set out to Sri Lanka to accomplish: a study on compassion. In Buddhism there is a phrase “May you be well, may you be happy.” It is a part of a meditation called metta, loving kindness. And although there are some things that are intolerable and would warrant other action (when verbal harassment turns physical for example), this method has had beautiful resultsRather than getting upset or walking shamefully by, I look them in the eye and say (either to myself or out loud) “May you be well, and may you be happy.” I've started to look at these guys as husbands, grandfathers, brothers and Dads, not just ugly, awful human beings. And what I have seen as a product of this is incredible! . I’ve realized that these guys have actually been the best teachers of compassion and loving kindness I’ve encountered in Sri Lanka. My walk to the store, my bus rides, my trishaw conversations have become a practice, an embodiment and opportunity for compassion. And that means, in turn, each time they call out at me they give me a gift, and for that I am grateful to them. It is circular. The more they enable me to practice, the more I am grateful to them, the more loving kindness I have to give. Interconnectivity at its best. The other benefit of this method is the changes I have seen in the way this physically manifests. When I see a large group of preteen boys ahead, as I walk towards them I send them kindness and keep telling myself may they be well and happy, and by the time I reach their group the anticipated chorus of rude remarks that I have grown so accustomed to there is only a mild trickle of one gutsy boy in the back, the rest just stare blankly as I walked by. Its not full proof by any means. But the point is I have seen a difference. I don’t know if it is because I am viewing things differently or I am giving off some kind of funky pheromones. Regardless, I’ve learned that although I cannot change a culture, I can change the way that I interact with it. There is a lot of power in that.

I suppose the other moral of the story is that you find what you are looking for in the most unexpected places. I came to Sri Lanka to find compassion in Theravada Buddhist monks and have found it in the cat calling men on the streets. How beautifully ironic is that?

So much to be learned from the mundane.

May you be well and happy :)

Love,

An-Ever-Learning-Kelly

Another Year Has Come and Gone

2012-01-02T05:28:00.000-08:00

Watching the sunset on the 2^nd day of the New Year. ‘Tis the season for reflection falalalalala. Looking back on 2011 I can be nothing but grateful. I have graduated college, worked incredibly hard on the GRE, applying to graduate school and research, made new friendships, fostered the old ones, won a Fulbright, traveled to Japan, India and Sri Lanka, had the blessing of participating in my mom’s lovely wedding, and, most of all, encountered so much, both difficult and beautiful, that has deepened my understanding what it means to be a good human being. My resolution for this next year: take that learning and implement it. There are others (15 to be exact) saved in a Word document of trivial things I want to accomplish this coming 365 days, but to be honest, if I can accomplish this goal in even the slightest form I am a happy lady. Putting what I believe in into practice. Enough philosophy for this lass, give me some sweet, sweet praxis!

In terms of an update: the few weeks have been a hodge podge of running around, Christmas parties, Buddhist monks, and travel. We just returned from Colombo where I rang in the New Year with my toes in the Indian ocean surrounded by a group of individuals who have been nothing short of inspiration since coming to Sri Lanka. Last year I spent New Years Eve alone, fasting, and meditating. This year I spent it surrounded by people who I have grown so much appreciation for. I think if anything is indicative of a shift in worldview over this past year this might be it. As nice as introspection and retreating might be, I’ve learned, at least from my tiny perspective, the meaning of life is connectivity with others. Therefore, I happily thank the circumstances that have allowed me to be where I am.

For Christmas a few of the other Fulbrighters, two of our Sri Lankan friends and Mike, a fellow American now residing in Kandy proper, all came together for what we called “An Ugly Moo Moo Party.” Similar to the uniquely American obsession with “Ugly Sweater Parties,” we decided to host a Sri Lankan flavored get together by encouraging the proud display of ugly housedress attire. My poor fashion sense, potentially shamefully so, was the source of inspiration for this idea, ever since my purchase of a certain orange moo moo the first week in Sri Lanka. Decorated with square snowflakes (because we forgot how to cut them), fake tinsel, and a branch (yes, just a branch, i.e. fragment) of a pine tree our landlords elusively found for us and left on our doorstep, and two dirty ankle socks we colored red with our names on it for stockings—the party was a hit. I made mulled wine and sweet potatoes and Bryanna made her infamous pumpkin pie.

Before Christmas we (Mike, Bryanna, Malia, Kelly and myself) partook on the revered climb to the top of Sri Pada (Adam’s Peak). Sri Pada is a cone shaped mountain in central Sri Lanka, famous for being the location of religious relics for Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims. To complete the hike before sunrise we set off around 1:00 in the morning, following a lit path of over 5,200 stairs, dotted with temples and avid devotees along the way. Despite the rain and frigid winds we saw everything from flocks of bare footed monks, grandmothers being carried up by their sons, a man with a catheter, and Buddhist with white strings they tied at the bottom of the mountain and strung all the way to the top of the 7,000 foot peak. When we arrived to the top we waited for the sun to rise, the winds to pick up and listened to the chanting from a puja inside the temple where Lord Buddha’s left footprint is said to reside (the right footprint is somewhere in Thailand. Yes, the physics of this is baffling to me as well). Not only was the journey epic in it of itself, but I was so very nourished by being surrounded by mountains. Roasting marshmallows in the fireplace of the hotel to make Sri Lanka style smores was also a crowning moment of the trip (shockingly, it was THAT cold).

Today I went to a Dana, direct meaning: generosity, at my friend’s Ken and Vishaka’s house for several monks passing through. Since monks are not supposed to deal with money a Dana is equally a giving of kindness to them through the donation of food, as well as a social occasion for swapping the dhamma. I was able to meet an American monk, now living near Colombo at a temple, who was very interested in my project and a former counselor and social worker himself. He told me about a meditation center in Colombo geared towards lay meditators that might be a good place for my research. One of the major roadblocks I am facing here is actually finding people who meditate! You’d be surprised how incredibly rare intent practice is being a Buddhist country. I keep joking that I came to Sri Lanka to find out that I would have an easier time finding participants in the USA. I am meeting with him and one of our mutual friends for lunch tomorrow to discuss this prospect. Regardless, mere exposure to so many interesting concepts and people is such an opportunity. I feel like my understanding of Buddhism, as both a religion and a method, has developed so much since being here. And although not much has transpired in terms of quantitative data collection, I am positive my ability to be a sensitive researcher in this field in the future is going to benefit greatly form all of these experiences. Learning, learning, learning.

This next month I plan on tuning my research design and finding proper places for testing, as well as welcoming my Dad and his wife June to Sri Lankan soil for two weeks (YAY!). There is so much to look forward to. And although this next year has so many scary unknowns in front of me ( i.e. not even knowing in what part of the continental US I will be living in) I am excited to see what happens. Sometimes there is great grace in letting go and seeing what presents itself. So with that I let off a big sigh and smile at the coming days.

I hope this year brings happiness to you all.

Great love from Sri Lanka.

Kelly

Only Once

2011-12-19T07:23:00.000-08:00

After about a month of not writing, it is clear that my mastery of procrastinatory behavior is still at an all time high. Sorry for the lack of postings friends; I honestly don’t know where the time is going! Although I still have 5 months in Sri Lanka I am amazed that rather than the “9” button or “8” button on my keyboard, it is the “5” symbol that accurately represents the amount of time before I have to say goodbye to this beautiful country (at least temporarily). If any of you have some kind of unspoken deal with God or any of his friends, let me know, I’ll willingly pull a Sri Lankan and slip him a feel hundred rupees to slow down time just a bit. Just throwing it out there…

Despite the past month whizzing by, it has been fantastic. I suppose that is where the euphemism comes from after all. As far as actual events that have happened since the last time I wrote it is hard to even begin. Ranging from the usual Sinhala lessons, Jataka Tales classes, and Dānas, to the not-so-usual late night clubbing in Colombo with Afgan-Canadians and Marines, being invited for dinner at the Iraqi Ambassador’s house, meeting many beautifully minded monks, making a 1,000 year old Buddhist recipe recorded in the Pali Canon, and learning how (and by that I mean attempting) to slackline with a new friend— things have been going pretty darn swimmingly. Instead of glossing over them, however, I am going to be contended with enticing you with such a list and focus on one the most striking event that has happened this month (and simultaneously quite possibly the least action packed): a meditation retreat.

The center is about 2 hours away from Kandy, sandwiched between tiers of tea plantations and a pine forest on the side of a mountain. Despite its enticing location, to be honest, as I boarded the bus to go there I could not help but feel a bit skeptical. Even though I plan on my life’s work to be intimately involved with Buddhism and its respective philosophy, I consider myself-- and as of recently (blame Stephen Batchelor) quite avidly--a meditator, not quite ‘Buddhist.’ I am not sure if it is my own personal exposure with Buddhist practice, being involved with a particular approach that on a spectrum of religion is as far removed from dogma or religiosity as possible, or if it is my current experiences with Sri Lankan Therevada, although beautiful in its own accord, much more of a political infrastructure than a contemplative practice in my opinion, that made me feel this way. For whatever reason, going to this retreat center was a challenge for me. But, like many challenges, it turned out to be an incredibly fruitful experience. The teacher, Upal, is a lay meditator (meaning not an ordained part of the sangha, and therefore, a bit removed from its cultural activities). It turns out that 20 years ago (that tells you how long this guy has been at it) was selected as a participant for one of the first EEG experiments on Buddhist meditators. As a result, he was quite excited about my experiment and openly expressed interest in assisting the project. I had to assure him that my time there was for “inner research” but that I would come back to do the other kind. I plan on returning after the Christmas festivities die down, this time with a recorder in hand to document our conversations. The retreat itself was really good for me, allowed me to see some missing parts of my own practice…but I wont bore you with those details. The highlight of the retreat was a chance encounter with an astro-physicist from Malaysia. After the evening meditation we both decided to go out and look at the constellations. She showed me the 7 Sisters, Taurus, and divulged passionately facts about the universe that made my head spin (partially due to the fact that there are so many big rocks and scary space things spinning around one another our there!). But as it turns out, she had to quit her job teaching children about the night sky in Malasiya because of a cut in government funding and become a business analyst for a large company. It made me so sad. I thanked her for her passion and we both retreated to our rooms. Coming back from the bathroom, however, I looked up into the sky and it was a full lunar eclipse directly above where we were standing. I cannot express how eerie the feeling is to see something that that without the least bit of forewarning. Entirely unearthly (badumchick). I hurriedly knocked on her window and we both dragged out plastic chairs to the garden and meditated together for the hour and a half it took for the moon to come out of darkness (cough obvious symbolism cough). In Sri Lanka the full moon is an auspicious occasion, known as Poya Day, where all shops and business close down. To witness a full lunar eclipse at a meditation retreat, in Sri Lanka at just the right moment with just the right person did indeed feel auspicious. I could not help but think of Gary Snyder's poem "Once Only" (http://wenaus.org/poetry/gs-onceonly.html).

I think this universe is great. End of story.

This week a bunch of friends and I are headed to Nuwara Eliya, a tea plantation area in the highlands, and then onwards to climb Adam’s Peak, Sri Lanka’s holy mountain. It is tradition to climb the mountain during the night and to arrive at the summit at dawn. I am so excited to get out into some mountains and play….I think I have been missing Colorado this time of year a bit too much. Although Sri Lanka does not really boast the best snowshoeing, I’ve been promised we get to see Buddha’s left footprint along the way, which will also suffice.

When I get back I am really going to hunker down on research (fingers crossed!), am starting Pali lessons at the university, teaching English lessons for a Korean nun’s niece, and getting ready for my DAD and JUNE to visit in a few weeks! So much to be thankful for.

I miss you all and am wishing everyone wonderful holidays from afar.

Kelly

Island Time

2011-11-15T05:54:00.000-08:00

I am currently sitting over a steaming bowl of tamarind chickpeas and listening to Buddhist chants ebb through my window from the nearby temple. Evening has set in on yet another Sri Lankan day of running about to and fro from office buildings, stores, administrative posts and bureaucratic stepping stones, only to succeed in a single goal: accomplishing absolutely nothing. For days we’ve been trying to get library cards to the university, a swimming pass, internet and trivial things like buying vegetables or meeting with the head of a department. After days of not understanding why the one person who needs to sign the one paper that would allow me to accomplish the measly task at hand is perpetually not at work, I come to the realization: relativity is at play. Sri Lanka is profoundly, inexorably and unavoidably engulfed in what is known as “Island time.” Island time is by no means a rare phenomena, and in fact, is a quite prevalent feature of ocean dwelling landmasses and otherwise. A mixture of culture, ample relaxation, heavy dosages of heat and the incessant reliance on old-colonial-paper-work-run-bureaucracy are several factors that I have identified as primarily contributors to this very real Einsteinian distortion. For the control freak or easily flustered this kind of lifestyle might be the tipping point for a near emotional breakdown, but to be honest, I find myself relishing in its absurdity.

Island time example #1: This past week I’ve finally met my advisor from the psychology department, a recommended Fulbright contact I have been trying to get in touch with since my arrival. As it turns out, the email I was given was wrong and the number I had been given for some reason was for a different department’s secretary. It was not until I had the fortuitous luck of literally running into her in a hallway that we were able to meet at all. At that point I introduced myself and once she realized who I was, hurriedly ushered me into her office across campus. “Oh wonderful Professor! We’ve been expecting you!” were the greeting words, setting off the initial “Hmmm there must be some confusion here,” voice in my head. As the conversation progressed and I assured her I was only a measly undergraduate student here for independent research, not worthy of such a title and totally unable to teach, the realization set in: there was a massive miscommunication at hand. Finally, after an hour of explaining the difference between a student scholar (research) and a senior lecturer (a US professor selected to teach for a year in their field of expertise) her conclusion was: “Oh, no matter, how many classes do you want? Four? Five?” After, and in true Sri Lankan style, negotiating my class load from 5 to a Cognitive Psychology course for second year students the discussion was over. I was told to come back on Monday ready to lecture without the slightest idea about what, where or for how many students. And obediently I came back Monday morning ready to teach my first class, only to find out that the Head of the department had decided to take a vacation to Colombo and the class schedule had not been posted yet. When I went to the secretary’s office (the silent but definitive magic makers of a bureaucratic society) to inquire about this confusion, she told me not only was Cognitive Psychology not on the list for courses this semester, but that students were not going to be registered for another 1 week, which after further inquiry turned into another 2 weeks. The fascinating part of this delay is that the university has already been postponed for over 2 months due to consecutive strikes by staff and faculty.

Ode to Island time!

Despite the fact I think I am incredibly under qualified to teach in the first place, I am excited to have the chance. It is my dream to teach and research at the same time, so having the opportunity to do that is something I am looking forward to. Despite the small frustrations of never knowing when things will actually happen or simple things like being told that I am not allowed to see the final examination worth 60% of the student’s grade, I feel like I am learning so much through the minutia of every day interaction... most of all the virtue of patience. Even when I may for the first time be considered a teacher, I am equally a student— as it should be. :)

Love to all.

Homes, Holes and Happenstance

2011-11-03T02:44:00.000-07:00

Hip hip hooray! I have finally moved to Kandy for the rest of my time in Sri Lanka! Three cheers for a little less transiency. Colombo has been great, but I am happy to finally be somewhere a bit more permanent. Annnnnd to compound the joy of prospective stability, after a month of searching for a house, we (another Fulbrighter and myself) have found a place to live. Alas! We are living in what is known as an “annex,” a very popular Sri Lankan phenomenon, where part of a house is rented out for short periods of time. Annexes can vary dramatically between being a detached “servant’s house,” only sharing property with the family, or it can be as intimate as living inside someone’s house with a room to call your own. The place we’ve decided on is a happy medium between the two. We have two bedrooms, a small kitchen, a long corridor hallway and a living room that are all built on the side of a house that is built on the side of a cliff. If this was not already enough of a bizarre set up, smack dab in the middle of our kitchen floor is a hole leading down to a narrow set of black spiral stairs and into a separate room with a small medicinal herb garden. It feels like something out of Alice and Wonderland—a rabbit hole in our very own kitchen. After trying to decide what to do with this space, either a meditation area or a dining/pub/hang out room, we’ve gone with the latter. The reason being, our next-door neighbors just so happen to be 1. A Buddhist school and 2. A massive stupa. Much like a mosque’s call to prayer, in the morning the temple blares chants from loud speakers, echoing across the nearby hills and directly into our annex. As a result, our entire apartment may as well be a meditation room… whether we like it or not. :)

The past few days in Kandy have been wonderful. The day I arrived I ended up meeting some friends of another friend’s friends (i.e. the social matrix that all of Sri Lankan society is embedded in and the means by which everything seems to be accomplished) for a class on the “Jatakas,” the stories of Buddha’s past lives. The people who were holding the class are Buddhist scholars from the US living in Sri Lanka and have written a book about the Jatakas. Seeing as they were expatriates themselves, I drove their house for the class thinking that the majority of the audience would be primarily foreigners (Kandy has a surprisingly well linked expatriate network). Much to my surprise, however, I did not walk into a room of expatriates, but a room of smiling bhikkus and bhukkunis (Buddhist monks and nuns) from Malaysia, Bhutan, China, Japan, Laos, and Myanmar. Ken and Vishaka (the authors) have been English teachers in Asia for over 30 years, so part of the class is to not only talk about Buddhist texts, but to help new student to the University with their English. Many of the monks and nuns there were also students working under the same advisor at the University as me. Afterwards I walked home with ne of the monks from China, who is doing hi PhD in Buddhist Psychotherapy. Sometimes I am taken aback by how widespread the interest in the relationship between contemplative practices and psychology are. We talked excitedly all the way back home and have since been pdf swapping.

The next day I was invited to go to the International Buddhist Center with the same group of students for another class about Buddhist economics. Again, not knowing exactly what to expect, I drove up to a temple outside of Kandy. Although we talked some about the readings that was given prior to the class, we ended up playing “Buddhist Trivia” for the majority of the time. Not only would I be bad at a game called “Buddhist Trivia” (and yes someone actually did manufacture this) in a regular setting, compared to these students bad was an understatement. It was wonderful. Despite the fact I was the clear loser of the game, it was an endless source of laughter and a prime learning experience.

To completely contradict my expression of the “joy of not commuting to Colombo” any more, tomorrow I leave for Colombo yet again. Haha. We’ve been invited to attend the “Marine Ball,” which is a celebration put on every year by the US Embassy to celebrate the Marines and their hard work. Much like many of the US’s ever so wise allocation of resources, the ball from what I hear is nothing less than an extravaganza. Dancing, food, drinks, processions (did I mention Marines?). It should be fun. All of us Fulbright ladies have bought saris to wear to the event, which will be the first time I’ve worn a sari since I was 16. We’re hoping to find someone in Colombo to help us tie them, considering negotiating such a massive piece of fabric is not only daunting, but near impossible for the average Westerner.

After this weekend we’ll move into out apartment and then real research will begin. But in true Sri Lankan style, you never know what the next day will bring, let alone next few months, which is also precisely why I am so grateful to be here. Life is one adventure after the next.

I hope everyone is well and love from afar!

Kelly

Babies and Broad Strokes

2011-10-27T05:58:00.000-07:00

I am listening to the call to prayer as the monsoons rage outside. This is our final weekend of language training and last few days in Colombo together before we scatter across the continent for our respective projects. It is hard for me to believe that almost a month has passed. Times flies, I suppose. The past two weeks we’ve been commuting by train between Colombo and Kandy. In Kandy I’ve been staying with Bryanna’s (the other Fulbright researcher in Kandy) host mom from her time here as an exchange student. The experience living with a Sri Lankan family has been irreplaceable. Every morning we wake up to a slew of boiled beans, coconut curries, spices and tea. An hour or so later Sheshan, a 1 ½ year old boy arrives at the front door yelling one of the four Sinhala words he knows “Balla,” (dog), “thatthi” (granddad), “aya” (brother) and “ali” (elephant). Sheshan is our host mother’s grandson and he spends the day at the house while his mom teaches English at the University. I’ve never had the chance to really be around a kid his age, apart from the occasional babysitting back in high school, so I’ve been relishing in the opportunity. Sitting at the table with him propped up on one knee, a scoop of rice in my hand, whilst attempting to bribe him to eat his food by inventing comical dances and songs related to how fun eating can be, reaffirms my desire to be a mother someday. There are so many lessons to be learned. Annnnd if baby humans was not enough…our host mom decided to adopt a new born Pomeranian the first week we arrived (and if you know me at all, you know that this warrants excessive amounts of joy and squeaking). Playing with Mimi (a perfect name for the puff of fur that is a puppy Pomeranian) while our host mom is busy chopping away jack fruit from the garden is not a bad life at all.

The last week two of the other Fulbright girls, who will be based down south, came up to Kandy with us. It was the first time I’ve had the chance to go from a potential tenet to a sightseeing tourist while being in Kandy. Seeing the city through a different set of eyes was really nice. We went to the Temple of the Tooth, an elaborate temple in the heart of the city where allegedly Buddha’s tooth is located, an elephant orphanage outside of the city, and the largest botanical gardens in Asia—all of which have reaffirmed my love of this country. Sri Lanka is breathtaking.

I continue to be busy meeting people and learning more about the different avenues my research can take. Once we settle into a house (hopefully within the next few days) I look forward to starting to meet with people and learn more about where I’d like to do my work. The other day I had my first meeting with my advisor, an 85 year old Buddhist monk and Pali scholar at the University. We only met for a few minutes, but I ended up talking to several other Buddhist monks who were pursuing their Phds, one whose focus is on the psychological impact of meditation. In the midst of our conversation I was taken aback by a moment of inner celebration, realizing how satisfied it is to finally be doing the kind of work I love. I look forward to the coming days.

I hope everyone back home is well. Once things are a bit less busy I hope to blog on a regular basis, hoping to avoid posts like this one that are littered with a lack of detail and miss so much of the smaller moments I’d love to share. But until then, love to all!

My Roots Have Grown

2011-10-14T19:16:00.000-07:00

The Start of Ceylon

2011-10-13T08:30:00.001-07:00

Hello all from lovely Sri Lanka!

I am sitting here in a multicolored moomoo nightgown, munching pomegranate seeds and watching yellow geckos scurry across the wall. The wave are crashing outside my window and the streets of Colombo are settling in for the night. So in fewer words: happiness. Sri Lanka is an incredibly endearing place, I cannot even begin to explain the surprise I have gone through upon arrival. Although I love India for many reasons, Sri Lanka seems to have all of the beauties of the subcontinent without many of its difficulties. I think it is something about Sri Lanka being an island—everyone is a bit more mellow. The fact 80 percent of the nation is Buddhist may also contribute to that sense of serenity, even amongst the clamor and smog of the city.

The past week I have been kept very busy with Fulbright lectures security briefings, finding a place to live, getting a banks account set up and socializing with the 8 other wonderful Fulbright kin. I’ve been commuting between Kandy, where I will be living, and Colombo, where we are taking intensive language training on the weekends. The train ride to Kandy is one of the most phenomenal rides I have been on, with train tracks built in 1847 and a wheezing train winding its way up the hillsides. Emerging out of the seaside town of Colombo reminds me of the stories my grandma used to tell me before bed of Pete and Patty and how they would rise above the clouds into “lala land”-- that is how Kandy feels. The whole town is blanketed by a quilt of green velvet. Kandy itself, although a city, is much more manageable than Colombo. With charming British buildings dotting the road and a lake built in the center of the town, where the Temple of the Tooth (allegedly the location of Buddha’s tooth) floats on the river bank.

Having recently returned from the somewhat atheistic approach towards Buddhism in Japan, I have been pleasantly surprised (and relieved) by how prevalent and practiced Buddhism is here. Although there are the pray-and-go type Buddhist, who go to the temple, lock their hands, pray, throw a few coins at the Buddha’s statue and go, there are also many people who stay and meditate along the temple walls. For selfish reasons, this makes me very happy (finally in a place where meditation is around!) and for academic reasons, this is fantastic. A smiling monk in red or saffron robes scuttling between the streets puddles and traffic is a common sight.

For the next month I plan on focusing on learning the language, applying to graduate programs and learning about the new software I bought for my project…afterwards I hope to start conducting research. I still have not met my contact at the University of Peridineya, but I have met many helpful people through Fulbright, including a Fulbrighter who has returned to the country to complete some work with women nuns, known here as Bhikkhunis. I am so happy to have met her and we’ve been collaborating about places where I may be able to conduct research. I’ve decided that I want to work primarily with women, for cultural reasons, so this is a fantastic encounter. I feel like I’ve been floating around the past week and things are just falling into place. I don’t want to communicate an artificial sense of ease here, considering it still takes twice as long to get absolutely anything done, but I guess what I am trying to say is being here just feels right. And with that, I am grateful.

I hope everyone is well back home and despite the distance I am still thinking of you all.

Love.

Kelly

First Impressions and A Taste of Tokyo

2011-08-21T03:07:00.000-07:00

Soooo....despite my incredible lack of blogging this trip, I have been keeping really good notes! And will be writing from past to present in the coming days. Here are the first two posts, with hopefully Kamakura and Kyoto to follow soon. LOVE TO ALL!

First Impressions and Broad Generalizations

I will go straight out and admit it from the start: before coming to Japan I virtually knew nothing about Japan, Japan's culture, the Japanese language, Japanese food (turns out there is more than just raw fish. A shocker I know), and so forth...so stepping off a of a 13 hour plane ride across the Pacific Ocean (my first time flying west! And therefore full circumnavigation across the globe by airplane!!!) was a bit like a slap across the face. A big slap across the face, with extra wasabi for taste. The first impression I had was the sheer amount of people there are! Millions of people buzzing about in well put together outfits, tiny high heels, and heavy black business suits...yet somehow different than India, one of the world's most populace countries. Despite the amount of people in Japan, at all times everything seems to be incredibly orderly, non-aggressive, and perpetually elegant. Who knew mob mentality could be so beautiful. It reminds me of the big schools of fish or clouds of black birds you see on the Discovery Channel. People have an incredible skill for coordination and efficiency here, an almost intuitive force that allows things to flow just so.

My second impression of Japan was out of all of the well dressed, well organized peop

le racing around me, basically no one (and I mean this: NOBOBY) speaks English. As a girl who has fancied the post-Colonial English countries in the past, this too was a big surprise. After miming my way into the acquisition of a sum of converted money and a bus ticket to Tokyo with a friendly lady in electric pink lipstick and perfectly coordinated dress suit (which of course would not make sense with out the ridiculous straw hat with a big bow to match the lipstick), I was on m

y way to to the city. When I got on the train I was greeted by a big bow from a man wearing white gloves (which I later learned is known as a “pusher” and whose job is to push people into the trains during rush hour like sardines and still enable the door to efficiently close)...which brings me to my next impression: the Japanese bow.

This could easily be my favorite part about being in Japan. Every transaction, hello, goodbye, “excuse me” or “I'm sorry,” any subtle acknowledgment of someone's existence is met with a bow. Bows come in many different flavors. Some are low, some are long, some are erratic and dizzying to watch as old women chatter on in agreement, some are mechanical, like when a vendor passes through a train and before exiting they give the whole car a great big bow from the hips and carry on. The bow is great. I find myself bowing about like it is no one's business without even thinking about it and it is such a great way to convey information....in a non-verbal manner, which of course is fantastic for the mute white girl trying to make her way. So yes, the people, their efficiency, and the bowing are my first three overall initial impressions of Japan and somehow I feel like they may not be mutually exclusive aspects of society, rather totally supportive of one another. If there is anything that is apparent, it is that Japanese culture is not apparent. It is complex and deeply nuanced, in need of incredible respect and attention to detail.

Tokyo

Being an ever-increasingly avid mountain and nature lover, I never would have thought that Tokyo, the world's largest city, could possibly have stolen my heart in the way it has. What had originally been a pit stop on my way to Kyoto, has transformed to one of my favorite places in the world...and if I may be so bold, possibly even my favorite place to travel (besides Switzerland...ahem Silvana ahem). But really though, Tokyo is fantastic. You can walk for miles and only see skyscrapers, yet still tucked in between is a rich, thriving culture of food stalls, Zen gardens, sake bars, temples, shrines, and people from all over the world dressed in everything ranging from Pokemon pajama bottoms to slutty Frank Sinatra themed outfits ( I know, I know, bizarre). Literally the second I stepped on to the train to the city, I met one wonderful person after another. The first night I was there I met two girls from France, a girl from Belgium, a guy from Canada and a guy from New York and despite my sleep deprivation we went out to a sushi and sake bar. I was happy to be with people who knew a bit of Japanese, primarily one of the French girls Diane, because knowing what kind of bizarre concoction upon rice to order was beyond me. I ended up trying raw squid and plum sushi, which was an accident I have not since repeated. Haha.

Unfortunately, however, due to my sleep deprivation in conjunction with general and complete airheadedness, I ended up leaving my wallet (with all my money, cards, passport, important health documents, so on and so forth) in the bathroom of a run down sake joint. It was a bad capstone for a great evening. But thankfully Diane knew of these things called “Police Boxes,” which are apparently on like every street corner and assured me that “people in Japan do not steal. They just don't.” Thinking trying to rescue my lost things was a fruitless endeavor, I still went down to the alleged police box and had Diane (attempt) to explain my case to a somewhat begrudging officer. After a tedious battle of words and wit, it was communicated to me via handrawn map and the police officer saying “wallet, wallet” that my wallet had been turned in to the main police station. YAY! The next task, however, was trying to decipher in the dark where this said Police Station resided. Luckily the wonderful friends I had met joined me in the pursuit and with the help of an incredibly kind family who took the time to walk us all the way there through back road streets and deserted temple grounds, my wallet and I met again. Alas. Reason one hundred and seventy five why Tokyo is great.

The next day I woke up early (4 in the morning early). I suppose this is the only time in my life that jet lag has worked for my benefit, because I was able to make my way over to the world's largest fish market for the morning tuna sale. A huge arena with big hacked bodies of fish and hundreds of shouting bidders surrounded me. Because most of the stuff there has been dragged directly out of the sea and plopped on mats, the whole market smelled of ocean and, not surprisingly, had a somewhat of an oceanic floor. I was one of the few people there that did not have big boots on or some kind of water proof shoe. Occasional blood and bones floated by in big puddles. I could not be more happy. There were enormous squids, strange colored eggs, seaweed like hair strands, tentacles, eels, and big shells cracked open and displaying their gooey innards. After making my rounds and deciding to buy a bit more “mild” breakfast (a melon bun filled with sugar) I went to Subisha, where the world's busiest cross walk is located. It is also the high fashion shopping district where all of the modern gizmos and styles are displayed. I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around awestruck at literally every street corner. That night I met up with the rest of the travelers from my hostel from the night before and we went to the top of one of the tallest buildings in Tokyo to have drink and enjoy the view. We made it to the top just in time for a lightening storm. Sitting there drinking plum wine and watching the city hum below the black clouds, I was reminded how truly blessed I am. That night one of the French girls Pauline had heard of a fireworks show in a park so we all went. Apparently it is one of Tokyo's biggest firework displays and people dressed in the traditional Japanese dress and wooden shoes flooded the park to see it.

Much more is to be said about Tokyo adventures, but time is short. :) Love to all.

2011-05-08T12:08:00.000-07:00

I recently completed an Asian Thought class here at Goucher with Steve DeCaroli (by far one of my favorite classes. ever). The final assignment for the class was to write about the complicated, and often paradoxical, philosophy of Zhuangzi, a Taoist writer in the 4th century BC, in a way that would be accessible to children. The theory being Taoist thought should be spoken about in a simple, direct fashion. The short story I wrote, "Adventures with Mrs. Pu," uses tales from Zhuangzi's original text and places them within a contemporary story of a nanny and two children: Austin and Melody. An additional author's commentary for children is always included at the end. Enjoy! (NOTE: apologies for some of the spacing and indentation issues. blogger html is funky).

Adventures with Mrs. Pu: A Reinterpretation of Zhuangzi

By: Kelly Anne Graves

Goucher College

The doorbell rang, but Melody and Austin were too preoccupied throwing Austin’s two black marbles across the dining room floor to take notice.

It was their mother, flustered and hurrying toward the door, that got their attention. They realized that there was something unusual about the person on their front stoop. It was unlike the adult-head-hat-and-coat outline that typically appeared through the stain glass window when someone knocked. This time it was different.

“Oh well hello Mrs. Pu!” their mother said, opening the door. “It is so nice to see you again! Excuse me for keeping you waiting, we were just finishing packing. Please, please let me take your bag.”

First came mother. This was expected. Then came a bright red bag. This was less expected. And then, something neither of them anticipated, stepped the two tall legs of a large white crane.

“Hello there kids!” said the crane to Melody and Austin, who were frozen stiff with the sight of the large bird standing in their living room.

“Don’t be rude,” said mother.

Austin was the first to speak up “Hi,” he said blushing a bit. Melody backed further behind him. They had never met a talking bird before.

“This is Mrs. Pu. She recently moved into the neighborhood and will be your nanny while Dad and I are away.”

Their mother kissed them on the cheek, loaded the suitcases in the car and reminded Melody to water her sweet peas before the car zipped off into the distance.

“Well look at that,” said Mrs. Pu, “It is already noon. Time for cookies and tea!” Melody and Austin followed her out to the porch, where they were handed two crunchy white cookies and a glass of hot, green water.

“How come you are so tall?” Melody asked behind a mouthful of mashed cookie. “I’ve never seen someone so tall.”

“Plus!” said Austin, “You’re a bird! Birds can’t talked,” he accused.

“Ahh, I see,” said Mrs. Pu. “Let me tell you a story.”

“Once upon a time in China there lived a great King, known by his people as Royal Relativity.”

“Really-what?” said Austin.

“Relativity,” said Mrs. Pu. “I’ll give you an example of what it means. One day Gaptooth, the city peasant, was trying to learn the difference between right and wrong. So he ventured all the way to ask Royal Relativity what he thought. Royal Relativity replied ‘How could I know that? If people sleep in the damp, their backs hurt. But is that true for an eel?’”

Austin had recently learned about eels in science class, and giggled at the thought of an eel having a sore back.

“‘But if the eel lives in trees, they shudder with fear. Is this the same for the monkey? Of these three who knows the right place to live? People eat cattle, dear eat fodder, maggots eat snakes, and hawks enjoy mice. Of these four who knows the right taste?’

“So you see,” said Mrs. Pu, “it is for this reason I am big.”

“Because I am a monkey and you are an eel?” joked Austin.

“Exactly. It is a matter of perception” Said Mrs. Pu, “Now come, let’s go for a walk!”

The two children sat there for a moment confused by what had just transpired, but finished their cookies and followed Mrs. Pu.

“I have to water my sweet peas before we go!” said Melody.

“Can we go swimming?!” asked Austin.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Pu. “Go grab your swim wear and I’ll help Melody water her flowers.”

“What a beautiful place!” exclaimed Mrs. Pu.

“Thanks,” said Melody, “Mom and I have been working on it since I was five. Last year I was so good at watering the tomato plants, Mom said I go grow something all by myself. I picked sweet peas because they are pretty and pink”

Melody maneuvered between a series of freshly laid manure and rows of green leaves budding up from the earth

“Here is my patch!” she said, pointing out the southernmost corner of the garden in the shade. “It is the best place in all the yard.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mrs. Pu, “It is really nice. But where are your flowers? I see only dirt.”

“They…well, they are just taking their time,” she said, “but I water them everyday so they’ll become big.”

Austin came whirling out of the house and into the garden, “Ready! Re-a-d-y! Let’s go swimming! C’mon Melody!”

The three of them walked down the stone path, up the hill, and to the woods. While they walked Mrs. Pu began to hum, and the three of them marched on looking at butterflies, toads, and leaves. Finally, after 20 whole minutes, they reached the water hole.

“Here we are!” said Mrs. Pu. But Austin and Melody didn’t respond. “What’s wrong? Why are you not getting in?”

Melody sat down on the rock. “You tell her Austin, I’m not going to.”

“What? Don’t you know how to swim?” asked Mrs. Pu.

“No.” they replied in unison.

“But we’ve read books about it!” said Austin.

“And Mom and Dad told us about swimming!” added Melody.

“So we figured we’d just…pick it up when we got here.”

Melody began to sob. Austin sat next to her to sulk.

“Oh I see.” Nodded Mrs. Pu, “Did I ever tell you the story about Wheelwright Slab and Duke Huan?”

“No, we just met you,” pouted Austin.

“Ahh, I see. Let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time in China there was a skilled craftsman named Wheelwright Slab. He worked long hours and was always kind to whomever he met. One day while chiseling a wheel in the royal courtyard he noticed Duke Huan reading a book. He’d always wanted to talk to the Duke, because he respected him greatly, so Wheelwright Slab put down his work and approached the Duke.

‘Excuse me, what are you reading?’ he asked.

The Duke said ‘The words of the sages.”

Confused, Wheelwright Slab asked ‘But are the sages still around?’

The Duke said ‘They are dead,’ and went back to reading.

‘Then what M’Lord is reading is nothing more than leftovers from the ancients.’ The Duke got very mad at this comment. How dare a craftsman talk to him in such a way! He ordered an explanation, and if Wheelwright Slab had none, he would be killed”

Melody looked up from her hands. “Oh no!”

“But Wheelwright Slab said ‘Your servant looks at it from the point of view of his own business. When I chisel a wheel, if I hit it too softly, it slips and won’t bite. If I hit it too hard, it jams and won’t move. Neither too soft or too hard—

I get it in my hand and respond with my mind. But my mouth cannot put it into words. There is an art to it. I’ve done it this way seventy years and am growing old chiseling wheels. The ancients dies with what they could not pass down. So what M’Lord is reading can only be their leftovers.’”

“Like meatloaf?” asked Austin.

“How old is the meatloaf?” asked Mrs. Pu.

“Blah, always too old at grandma’s house,” said Melody.

“Then yes, exactly like meatloaf,’ said Mrs. Pu. “And this is the same reason why you can’t learn how to swim from reading a book. Or hearing about it from your parents. It is like eating old meatloaf and thinking it will help you learn how to float. You will surely sink. Now come, take off your shoes and I will teach you about water.”

For the next two hours Mrs. Pu taught Melody and Austin all that they needed to know about water. She floated them on their backs one at a time, and taught them that in order to swim, they must first forget about the water altogether. She taught them about how the streams would bend around sharp earth and big boulders to flow into the water hole, and that they, too, had to learn how to bend. Austin and Melody were very happy.

When the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the gathered their things are headed home. Being so excited about their first swimming lesson, Austin and Melody skipped and jumped off the fallen logs and rocks with glee. They all sang songs and ran through the woods. Mrs. Pu took out her large wings and flew in and out the branches with ease.

But soon the sky began to get darker, and they realized that a whole hour had gone by. “Shouldn’t we be home by now?” asked Melody.

“Hey, I don’t remember that big oak tree,” said Austin.

“Oh no!” they said together “We’re lost!”

“What will Mother think? If we’re lost, where will we get our mashed potatoes from? Who will feed us dinner?” asked Austin in horror.

“Who will take care of my sweet peas?” cried Melody.

“Now, now children. Come, we’ll find our way home. Don’t’ you fret.”

“But Mrs. Pu,” said Melody, “I am scared.”

“Well, have I ever told you the story about the man and his boat?

“No. You just met us.” said Austin.

“Ahh, well I see. Well listen up while we walk.

Once upon a time in China there was a very poor man. He only had a pocket full of seeds and an old boat that had been passed down form his father’ father’s father.”

“That is a long time!” said Melody.

“Yes. And the boat was the most precious thing in the all the world to this man. When he would sleep, he would dream about his boat, when he would wake he would check to make sure his boat was still there. His whole life he was afraid of losing his boat. But then one day…”

“Did he lose his boat?” interjected Austin.

“Not yet,” said Mrs. Pu, lifting the two children over a large log in the middle of the path. “One day the man hid his boat behind some brambles off the side of the lake. He picked some underbrush and laid it across the front of the boat so no one could see it. But as soon as he began to walk away he heard:

‘Well hello there friend!’ It was a butterfly. A large orange and black monarch.

‘What do you want insect?’ asked the man. ‘I am busy.’

The butterfly danced around his head and over to his boat, ‘You know, a strong man could come and take your boat away if you’re not careful.’

‘Why are you harassing me butterfly? What have I done to you? I have hidden my boat in the brambles and underbrush, no one will find my boat. I am the only one who knows exactly here it hides.’

‘Ahh,’ said the butterfly, ‘but don’t you see foolish man? I have been living in this forest for years. I have seen many things come and many things go. You can’t just hide your boat in some branches and expect it to be safe!”

“Well what do you want me to do? It is my only possession, I am a poor man!”

“Hide it in the world and then you have nothing to lose.’

‘The world?’ How do I do that?’

‘If you hide it in the world, you can never lose it. Even if someone comes at night and steals it. It is still always where you put it.’

“I don’t get it,” said Austin. “Wouldn’t that mean it would still be lost?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Pu, “If you hide your boat in the world, not just on the side of the lake, you can never lose it, it has simply changed location.”

“Just like us!” yelled Melody. “We are lost in the world!”

“Not anymore,” said Mrs. Pu, “we’ve found our way home.”

The children had been so engrossed in the story, they hadn’t even realized that they had walked all the way up the stone path and were standing in their backyard.

“How about some pie in the garden?” said Mrs. Pu.

The two children cheered and happily made their way to the backyard. The sun was setting and the whole world seemed soft. They sat and watched the colors turn from bright pink to a calm purple, and then, finally, to the first black of night.

Suddenly Melody jumped up. “I’ll be back,” she yelled.

A few minutes later Melody came back screaming: “They’ve come! They’ve come! My sweet peas have come!” Both Austin and Mrs. Pu ran down the path to Melody’s plot and saw the miracle. The seeds had finally sprouted. Small little stems surfaced above the dirt. They were all ecstatic and danced around Melody’s masterpiece.

“I knew it! I knew it! The sprouts where there the whole time!” yelled Melody.

“Yes, well what a beautiful surprise Melody. But it is getting late, let’s walk back to the house and wash our hands before bed. And while we do that, I want to tell you a story about those sprouts.

Once upon a time…”

“In China!?” yelled Austin.

“Yes, in China,” smiled Mrs. Pu.

“Once upon a time in China, there was a man named Zhuangzi. He was a curious man and decided to go for a walk near the Diaoling preserve.

Suddenly, a strange magpie hit him in the forehead and then crashed into a chestnut grove! Hitching up his robe and tiptoeing forward, Zhuangzi pursued it bow in hand. But on his way, he saw a cicada forgetting itself in a pretty bit of shade. A praying mantis took advantage of the cover to grab for it, forgetting its own body at the sight of gain. The strange magpie was right behind, eyeing the prize and forgetting the truth. Zhuangzi shuddered ‘Eeee! How things are entangled!’ He threw down his bow and ran all the way home.

Three days later, Zhuangzi finally came out of his house. When asked where he had been, he replied ‘I was guarding my body, but forgot about myself.’”

“Your stories are always so confusing,” said Austin.

“I thought this story was about my sweet pea sprouts!” whined Melody, still excited about her achievement.

“Oh, but it is about your sweet pea sprouts Melody,” said Mrs. Pu, “When Zhuangzi yelled that things where entangled, what did that mean?”

“Sometimes my hairs get all tangly,” said Melody.

“Yes, and when your hair is tangled what happens?”

“They get all tied together.”

“Yes, so similarly, Zhuangzi sees that the cicada, the praying mantis, the magpie and himself all tied together. They are connected.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with my sprouts,” said Melody in exasperation.

“What did your sprouts need in order to grow?”

“I don’t know, seeds maybe.” said Melody.

“But what about the water?”

“Oh, yes, that too.”

“And what about the sun?”

“I forgot about that.”

“And what about the dirt? And the worms? And the clouds?

“Yes, those too, I suppose.” said Melody.

“And what about you? Where would those sprouts be if you hand not planted them? And your Mom? Where would those sprouts be if she had not bought you a packet of seeds?”

Melody was quiet.

“Don’t you see Melody, your sweet peas are more beautiful than you thought. They are not sprouts that needed to be cultivated. They are a combination of everything around you! They are the whole world! Without everything else, those sprouts would not grow.”

And with that Melody and Austin slipped into the covers and began to dream about all of the adventures that had happened that day.

THE END

Author's Commentary

Introduction

The “Adventures of Mrs. Pu” are based off an ancient text, written by a man who lived in China, named Zhuangzi. Zhuangzi was a writer and was most famous for his contribution to the religion known as Daoism. Unlike some religions that you may be familiar with, Daoism has no God, no moral laws, and no Sunday school! Instead, it can be viewed as way of living.

The world Daoism comes from the word “Dao.” Dao can be either a verb (an action) or a noun (a thing). But instead of being just one action like “run” or just one thing like “cat,” Dao is all actions and all things at the same time! That is the tricky part. Dao is like a big blanket that falls over the world, covering everything that it touches. It is similar to when you turn on a light in a dark room— everything that is illuminated by light is part of the Dao. This will become clearer as you read on, but for now, consider Dao to be the basis of all things, just like how the cells in your body are the basis for you. It is the substance that things are made from.

There is a very important name in this book, Mrs. Pu. The word “Pu,” is Chinese. When you write it in Chinese it looks something like this 樸. It means: “uncarved wood.” Did you know that before your chairs and tables were in the shape of chairs and tables, they were once a tree? In order to make a chair and table from a tree, you must carve away wood. This turns it into the shape it is. The word pu refers to before the wood has been carved into these different shapes. This is a very important image in Daoism, because everything is made of the same substance, Dao, it is important not to look at things as objects separate from the rest of the world. Or in terms of tables and chairs, to see the tree behind their shapes.

This uncarved block is a symbol for what is known as pure potential. The amazing thing about an uncarved block in comparison to a chair or a table, is that you can make anything from it! It is like when you have a ball of clay before it is dry. You can bend it into any shape, big or small, long or short, bumpy or smooth. But as soon as you shape it and let it sit in the sun, it is stuck. You cannot change it into another shape without it breaking. In Daosim this state of uncarved wood is very important, because it symbolizes all of the different objects at the same time. A very famous man named Laozi once said “the greatest carving cuts nothing off” (Lau, 1982). When you carve very little away from the wood, the more potential there is inside of the block. Instead of looking at one thing at a time, like a table or a chair, in an uncarved block you can see it all at the same time. In Daoism, this is very much how the world works.

Mrs. Pu was named this because in the book she is a great teacher. She tells many stories about Daoism to Melody and Austin. Naming her “Mrs. Pu” represents her ability to see the world without prejudice, preconceptions or illusions. The commentary below will discuss some major themes seen in Mrs. Pu’s teachings and how they relate to Daoism.

Royal Relativity: Shifting Perspectives

In Daoism there are no ultimate truths, everything is relative to something else. Instead of something being big or small, bad or good, an extreme is only an extreme in comparison to other things. When Melody asks Mrs. Pu why she is so tall, Mrs. Pu tells her the story of Royal Relativity and how each animal eats, lives and behaves according to what they think is right. But upon comparison, it is clear to see that it is all a matter of perspective. Have you ever stood at the top of a very high building or been in an airplane? The world looks very different from up high than it does from down below. But the amazing thing is, everything stays the same size! It is you, your perspective, that changes.

This can be seen in the famous Daoist symbol, called a “yin yang.” A yin yang is a picture drawn in black and white, two opposite colors, that together form one object. If you look closer, there is a small white dot inside the black side of the symbol and a black dot inside the white side of the symbol. This represents that opposites may appear to be extremes, but really they are part of each other. Just like how Mrs. Pu is a tall crane and Melody and Austin are small children, they are really part of the greater whole.

Another famous example of relativity in Daoism is known as the “Butterfly Dream.” It goes like this: “One night, Zhuangzi dreamed of being a butterfly—a happy butterfly, showing off and doing as he pleased, unaware of being Zhuangzi. Suddenly he awoke, drowsily, Zhuangzi again. And he could not tell whether it was Zhuangzi who had dreamt the butterfly or the butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi” (224). In this story, everything is relative— whether he is a man or a butterfly, awake or asleep. In order for this to work, you have to be able to shift between two perspectives. The reason that relativity and shifting between different perspectives is important in Daoism, is because if everything is all part of the same thing, Dao, then everything is in relation to one another. They are all part of the greater whole, just like the black and white sides of the yin yang. If you want to see a picture of the “Butterfly Dream,” go to page 15 of your book. This is a famous painting of Zhuangzi dreaming.

Wheelwright Slab: Non-Conceptuality

Daoism has a very special relationship with words. Unlike what many teachers and parents will say, in Daoism words are only a tool. They are not as important as experience. In fact, words can actually keep you from really seeing the world around you! When Melody and Austin reveal that they cannot swim, but that they’ve read about it in books and heard about it from their elders, Mrs. Pu decides to tell them the story of Wheelwright Slab.

The conversation between Wheelwright Slab and Duke Huan casts Wheelwright Slab in a heroic light. He is a good worker. When he asks the Duke what he is doing and learns that the Duke is reading the words of the ancients, Wheelwright Slab is unhappy. He does not see the point in reading the words of people who have passed away. He calls these leftovers. He says that the ancients died with what they could not pass down.

This story is very important in Daoism, because it characterizes something known as “wu-wei. Wu-wei means “non-action.” When Wheelwright Slab tells the Duke of his occupation as a wheelwright, it is clear that Wheelwright Slab views it as a highly skilled art. It is something that “he cannot put into words” (235) And if he did, then the words he chose would not encompass the entire picture. It is something that is “non-conceptual.” Non-conceptual means without using words. Often times it is based in experience. When Wheelwright Slab works on his wheels he enters this realm of wu-wei, which is an effortless, non-conceptual action. This is why even if you’ve read a million books about how to swim, the only way to truly learn how to swim is to master it through experience. Words may teach you a lot about floating and different types of strokes, but it is not sufficient. This is why in Daoism in order to truly learn about the world you must experience it, not read about it in a book or do it because someone told you to. You’ve probably experienced this before, like learning how to ride a bicycle for the first time.

Once Melody and Austin realize this, Mrs. Pu teaches them how to swim by teaching them about how water works and letting them experience it. Water is a very important symbol in Daoism, because it is able to flow around objects with ease. This also is an example of wu-wei. The water does not try to flow in a certain direction, it simply follows its natural course.

Hiding Your Boat in the World: Formlessness

When Melody and Austin realize they are lost in the woods, they become very afraid. Austin points out that he does not recognize the oak tree up ahead, and they are not where they are supposed to be. Mrs. Pu, however, does not become afraid. Instead, she begins to tell the children a story about a poor man and a boat. This story is an example of the Daoist notion of formlessness. Formlessness means “without shape.”

In this story the man obsesses over his boat, the only thing he has ownership over. He can’t even sleep without thinking about his boat. One day, however, he hides his boat and while walking away, is approached by a butterfly. The butterfly is an allusion to the “Butterfly Dream” discussed earlier, and is supposed to be a symbol for Zhuangzi. The butterfly tells the man to not hide his boat in brambles, but to, instead, hide it in the world. If he does this, the boat can never be lost. The man is clinging so tightly to his boat, that he allows his life to be ruled by the fear of losing it. But what the man fails to realize, is that because everything is part of the Dao, it is all connected. He cannot shave off a slice of the world, his boat, and call it his own. It will inevitably disappear. By hiding his boat in the world, he embraces

this natural law, and his boat can never be lost, only moved from one part of the world to another. Similarly, Melody, Austin and Mrs. Pu cannot be truly ever lost, they are only in a different place than they expected.

Forgetting Yourself: Interconnectivity

The final story that Mrs. Pu tells when Melody’s sweet pea sprouts finally come up, is a reference to two things: 1. Another famous Chinese writer named Mencius and 2. The interconnectivity of the world. Mencius was a Confucian writer. He believed that everyone had “sprouts of goodness” inside them, making people naturally good people. In Mencius’ point of view, it is society’s role to cultivate these sprouts and let them flourish (Chan, 2002). Mrs Pu, being a Daoist, uses Mencius’ words and asks Melody what else the sweet peas needed in order to grow. Melody answers “the seeds.” This is a very Confucian answer. But Mrs. Pu points out that the seeds in the earth may naturally have the potential to grow, but that there were so many other things in the world that the sprouts depended on to grow. Rather than merely being a matter of cultivating seeds, like Mencius believed, in Daoism the world is connected— everything depends on something else. To view the seeds as individual entities capable of growing flowers would be a misnomer, because it overlooks the contribution of the soil, the sun, the clouds, the rain, Melody, her mother, and in one way or another, the entire world!

An example of this would be if you drew a circle on a page of white paper and labeled it “a seed.” In this example, the circle stands alone and is distinct from the rest of the page. But a Daoist drawing of the situation would be very different. Instead of being a circle alone on a page, it would be many circles with lines connecting them together. This is what the word interconnectivity means: that everything is entangled, just like the magpie, the cicada, the praying mantis and Zhuangzi. This is why in Mrs. Pu’s story they all “forget themselves,” because they realize that nothing is separate from the rest.

Conclusion

In this commentary you’ve learned several big words: relativity, non-conceptuality, formlessness, and interconnectivity. Despite how large these words may appear, don’t be intimidated! They all represent very basic themes of life. The goal of Daoism is to get in touch with the simple realities of the world around you. The more you think about the meanings of these words and the stories Mrs. Pu told, the more you’ll begin to see them in your everyday life. Have you every sat at the edge of a brook or by the ocean? Next time you do, think about the water and how it relates to formlessness. Next time you see a flower bloom, think about how many things contributed to its growth. And the next time you see something from a different point of view, think about how your perspective influences the way you interpret it. The more that you experiment with these ideas in your own life, the more you’ll be able to experience them for yourself.

Works Referenced

Chan, Alan K. L. (ed.), 2002, Mencius: Contexts and Interpretations, Honolulu:

University of Hawaii Press.

Hansen, Chad (1983), ‘A Tao of Tao in Chuang Tzu,’ in Experimental Essays on

Chuang Tzu. Ed Victor Mair. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Ivanhoe, P. (2001). Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy. In J. Ivanhoe & B.

Norden (ED,).

Lau, D.C. (1982), Chinese Classics Tao Tao Ching. Hong Kong: Chinese University

Press.

2011-05-08T08:47:00.000-07:00

Poetry 2.0

2011-04-16T17:16:00.000-07:00

When we die

every toenail will become a seed

for another spring flower

our molars will chip against stone

the black mulch of skin

will be swallowed by crabgrass

our bones will hollow and dry

but when the rain comes

all things will yield

and the water will wash us to sea

the fine dust of our body

will float on the surface

and then, slowly,

begin

its long descent home.

Six Sense Doors

-- the Buddha

Leg pain, back pain,

stacked bones are pain.

Loud pain, soft pain,

each pitch has pain.

Word pain, thought pain,

all tongues speak pain.

Sweet pain, reek pain,

lust breeds more pain.

Your pain, my pain,

to see us is pain.

Brain pain, mind pain,

the home of all pain.

But no pain is pain,

since sense is self pain.

fMRI

These cells

once were

a pebble

in the surf,

the salty

leather of a

bookbinding,

the underbelly

of a sliced

red pepper,

a blue ribbon

tied neatly,,

the innermost

chamber

of a lemon—

but now

they are

mind.

Vipassana

When I sit

I feel my body like an object

Turn it over in my mind,

To acquaint my self with self.

Every time, the first time.

Except in this object,

Unlike other objects,

I can feel it change

(because they all do)

And learn.

I learn.

Sometimes sharp—

Red anklebones,

Leg veins like wires.

Prickling nerves,

Too many edges.

But then deep, deeper

Blood hum, liver groan

A distant thickness,

Things ticking,

The surfacing of bones.

Mind follows,

Motion organ!

Always spinning

Quick quick!

I anchor stones.

And then finally

(not always)

it comes

slowly

only breath bubbling up from a cold mountain spring.

Poetry

2011-03-21T17:25:00.000-07:00

Since I am not traveling at the moment, I thought I'd post some poems to spice up this long-neglected page. Enjoy!

Bug Dharma

Compassion

Silently, without eyes,
the Great Earthworm
owns 5 whole hearts.

Awareness

In stillness—
The grasshopper interprets
Summer’s pulse.

Interdependence

An outsider watches,
the honeybee colony,
heave in concord.

Impermanence

Leaving its natal waters,

the aquatic nymph
emerges as a blue dragonfly.

Buddha Nature

Again! Mistaken
For a speck of dust,
The mite carries on…

Reflecting Pool

There is nobody here.

The breeze has stopped

the hum of summer.

All things dissolve

in the water.

But water

is nothing.

My face

is nothing

but water.

In the water

all things dissolve!

The hum of summer--

The breeze has stopped.

There is nobody here.

Spring Chōka

The sculpture garden,

with ancient metallic men,

is a stagnate place.

Where human beauty stands still

and so few viewers

see the living artistry

of Spring’s first cherry blossoms.

There is change

These

Pine

Slab

Stairs

That

Have

Been

Worn

Smooth

After

Years

The

Old

Man

With

Hard

Soled

Boots

And

His

Quest

For

The

Morning

News

And his

wife who

Stills wears

The same

Dry rouge

He bought

Her back

When her

Pink minks

Still bloomed.

Change is there.

Questions of Travel

2011-03-01T05:48:00.000-08:00

"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one's room?

Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?"

Elizabeth Bishop

Back in the Subcontinent

2010-08-12T06:10:00.000-07:00

Hello other side of the world, Vannakam, Namaste, Namaskaram!

I am currently sitting at my own researchers desk, adorned with name plaque, personal fan, and layers upon layers of demographic forms. The air is heavy with mumbled sanskrit mantras from the temple out the back window and the unrelenting hum of mosquitos. India. I love this place with all my soul. I really feel like a part of me has been awoken by even the few days I've been here. Marching around dusty paths lined with coconut trees and shrines in bright tunics, scarves,and my leather laptop case full of research methodology= bliss. Two worlds collide into one and it is almost too much to handle.

Flying here was a breeze. In fact, despite all of my pre-flight-to-third-world-countries-fears, once I stepped on the plane it felt like normalcy. Like swapping shoes from Boulder to some kind of reoccurring vagabond. My Colorado to New York flight was, although energetically charged with all of the goodbyes, rather uneventful. Peanuts were served, obese women cushioned my ride. Dubai, 12 hours later, was wrapped in a golden sham of dust and heat. It reminded me a lot of Burkina Faso or Ghana during the Harmattan winds. True bliss was stepping back into an air conditioned plane after a several minute walk in the thick environs.

I was surprised by my lack of total emotional chaos stepping off the plane in India (partially due to my sleep deprived stupor I am suspecting). But I gathered my bags, walked out the airport door, and the first person I saw was a beaming Indian man with a “Stroop” sign in his hands. Ravi, the professor I am working with, sent his star pupil and researcher of yoga's influence on diabetics to greet me. The 2 hour traffic jammed car ride to the jungle sanctuary where the university resided, was filled with exchanged brain facts and Sanskrit phrases. When we arrived at the campus, we met Ravi (the elusive figure I've been corresponding with now for a year and a half) and went to his house for a home cooked South Indian meal of joy. One thing is undeniable: South India food is a way to my heart. Immediately me and Ravi's mom (in her late 70's) hit it off and are now attending early morning Upanishads lectures together. She is also letting me cook dinner with her tomorrow night.

The campus is beautiful. A richly colored temple in the heart of the campus and open air yoga halls dot the landscape. Walking around the campus at any given moment you witness fleets of yogis chanting and bending their bodies in unison. Ravi took me for a walk in the surrounding jungle, where a huge Shiva statue was situated. I've been meditating under it for the past few days. The food here is primarily locally grown, all vegetarian and quasi-bland. But that is what one should expect of a yogi diet. All the students sit on the floor together in the dining hall and pray before every meal.

The past few days Ravi and I have been collecting pilot data, making changes to the software and editing our script in preparation for next Monday, when we'll be heading to the traditional gurukalam school 30 km away. This school houses boys from a very early age who have been sent to study under a guru until they are 22. It is intensive training and the form of school that existed long before the British invasion. I will be the only girl on the campus, and am lucky they are letting me in. Oh the power of neuroscience.

Yesterday I was asked to give a lecture to all of the faculty, P.h.D, graduate, undergraduate and visiting students. Haha. So I of course enthusiastically whipped up a series of slides and went to the designated lecture hall at the designated time. And, as unsurprising as it should be knowing India, I was greeted by a massive audience all sitting on the floor on bamboo mats awaiting my arrival. Oh lordy. Explaining executive and spatial attention and its relationship to neuroplasticity and meditative practice is hard enough to do to the general population, adding a room full of Indians who can barely understand my Western accent only compounded the problem. But much to my dismay, I was met with a room full of bobbing heads and many insightful questions. Walking around campus I am frequently met with a small bow and smile now. Did I mention I love India?

Okay. There is far more to be said, including lessons in html programming (wtf?), being asked to stick strips of cloth through my nose and pulled out of my mouth and put turmeric in my derriere to cleanse my energetic channels (fml). But will have to wait.

Life never ceases to amaze me.
*existential sigh *

If I cannot write again for a bit this is why:
16th-18th: Traditional gurukalam testing
19th-22nd: Visting Aadithya, Kaviya and Aruna in Chennai.
23rd-26th: Testing control group at a college in Bangalore.
26th-2nd: Either meeting the darling Lucy Richards in the north to frolic around for a bit or attending a 3 day Vipassana retreat/paying my dues to Coimbatore.

Great Grey Clouds

2010-08-03T19:04:00.000-07:00

It is time to sweep.

Sweep up the layers of Sahara sandstorms never written about, the malarial lone travels across Togolese boarders, and the illegal Beninese motorcycling I would have loved to pay tribute to in words. But it is time to sweep up the memories that have been silently biting at me all summer, in order to finally move on. So, with a few tattered sentences holding the spaces for those memories, I resolve to let them rest in full richness only in my mind. The nice thing about sweeping, however, is that although at times a rather dirty process, it is always a good way to come clean. And at the crossroads of another adventure, clarity is most welcome.

So sweeping up West Africa with one swoop (insert frantic broom noise), I am ready to embrace the new. And what a delightful handful of new has been tossed my way since the last entry! I went from sweating profusely to the tune of tongues pouring in through a small window, to the cool summer rain of a Durango thunderstorm where I sit today. Time is a potent force. And this summer has been entirely too exemplary of its drastic impact.

The past two months I've been living in Boulder, Colorado, working at the Consciousness laboratory at Naropa University. Naropa is one of the only accredited Buddhist Universities in the world, and has been one of the major reasons my conception of reality (what a hefty assertion makes she!) has been cracked open this summer. Ironically, this crack-age was partially due to working on a project concerning quantification of a person's worldview- a line of research that is dangerously qualitative, yet unbelievably interesting (as well as absurdly thought provoking in the realm of my own worldview). I've had the pleasure of working with Dr. Peter Grossenbacher, who quickly morphed into a not only a figure of respect, but a profound role model in my life. Looking back at my decision making process for working at Naropa this summer, rather than the Cognitive Neuroscience lab in Denver or the fleets of other places I applied to, I realize hunches sometimes are worth following.

After all of this contortionist work, bending myself through different countries (13 so far this year), it was returning to the dear old Rockies of my birth that have fostered growth (curse you Candide!). Although, I am not sure if growth is even the right word for what has happened. It feels more like regression to a temporarily, but necessarily, set aside person. Perhaps forgetting yourself for awhile is a good way to remember. Rather than constructing yet another guise for a temporary place (a process I am making an art form out of), this summer I've been working on the process of unmasking. And as a product, I feel a sense of very real happiness. Wild bike rides, summer flowers, babbling books, thick books, geeky intellectualism, poetry slams, late night stupor and new faces have also been contributions to this feeling of satisfaction. Ahhh sweet summer, you have been so good to me this time around! And for that I am thankful.

So, setting overly dramatic life changing narratives of self discovery aside, I am proud to announce the next chapter: India. Three days stand before me and another transatlantic plane ride. But this time, unlike the others, it feels like I am flying towards an old friend. Homeward, these shoes.

So, alas, let the all too familiar ritual of goodbye and hello commence. The process of leaving has taken all forms in the past: complete earth-shattering sadness, numbness, and incredible joy, but this time it has a new texture. I recognize a large component of this leaving is sorrow, but one that is conditionally linked to acceptance. Ephemerality is no longer comparable to a rainbow, an analogy I've frequented, but the grey clouds left drifting in its aftermath. This kind of constancy, one that supports, but is not encompassed by ephemerality, feels very graceful to me. And although faces fluctuate and geographical distances shift, I realize my body and heart, the shreds of constancy in this transient equation, have the capacity to hold them.

And for that I feel whole, drifting.

2010-04-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

PART ONE: Procrastination, Waterfalls, Togo

The past few months have fed my soul. Truly. There are too many things that I should have written here and have skillfully neglected, culminating into a mass of experiences inside me shared with no one. It is unfortunate and frustrating that I’ve allowed this to happen, since my intent for keeping this blog was not only to be a record in case of eventual amnesia (a brain lover’s quiet fear), but also an attempt to avoid one of the major frustrations I felt coming home from other travels: an inability to express. Questions of “Oh my God! How was (fill in the blank)” left me with an ever increasing feeling of injustice. An injustice to the person I was talking to, attempting to squeeze a monumental amount of things into the simple phrases of passing etiquette, as well as an injustice to the complexity of the events themselves.

So alas, I fail. But in the case of any split second stumble, a person can recognize their destined fall, stare at it intently, and commit to it. By acceptance of a preordained demise, falling with a bit of grace might even have a chance. This is what I hope to do in this blog, knowing right now that details (far too many details) will be lost and my dear old friend injustice will make his reoccurring visit.

To start I will copy and paste the beginning of a blog written 5 weeks ago that has been resting, frustrated at the composer, on my desktop. It goes as so:

“I am currently sitting in my room (with power! Alas! The beauties of fully functioning fans and lights!) after eating fufu (pounded plantains and yams) and spicy groundnut soup (liquefied, spicy peanut butter). We got back from Togo, the post-colonial French country directly east of Ghana, last night after one of the most fascinating trips of my life- black magic, dictatorships, and ancestral, speaking cowry shells. But before I delve into that I feel like I should cover a bit of what has been happening since I last wrote. *le sigh*

The weekend before last I went to the Volta region, which is an area due north of Accra and home of the world’s largest manmade lake, monkey sanctuaries, giant waterfalls, and traditional beading villages. We stayed in a small encampment in a village near the dam, which included private stilt houses, a kitten, and a rather aggressive monkey tied to the tree directly out my door (It was always an adventure bringing in the day with a stare off with a rabid primate). Haha. But nevertheless, it was beautiful, and I thoroughly enjoyed.”

The two events mentioned are referencing a hiking trip through the waterfall region of Ghana and my first journey to a different West African country. The trip to the waterfall region was incredible, dusty dirt roads out of some kind of Indian Jones movie through verdant hills blanketed in mossy greens, and spears of water dropping from vertical height A to less vertical height B. It was intrepid, yet elegant. The trip to Togo was during their elections, an event that has not happened for roughly 30 years, in an attempt to over throw the dynasty of a deceased dictator and his first of kin carrying on his legacy of corruption. Attempting to go anywhere in Togo was a bit hectic, streets packed with yellow shirted men, machetes, parts of palm trees, and constant drum playing. As we were crossing back through the boarded, our car got mobbed, being pushed from all side with protesters and the politically impassioned.

Interestingly enough, however, the first hand witness of raw governmental unrest was nothing in terms of shock value when compared to the voodoo priest village. After getting a tour of the very obvious illegalities of elephant heads, porcupine quills, gorilla feet, poisonous snakes, various strings of back bones, leopard skins, dehydrated monkey heads and the likes, we were summoned to the inner chamber of the complex, where the voodoo priest sat. Inside was a small muddy mound protruding from the ground painted with a face, which symbolized the god of the village. After asking for all of our names and blessing the occasion, the priest distributed a series of small objects, while ringing a bell. All of the objects symbolized different aspects of life and had powers over them. After the blessings of the objects, we were asked to put them into a hollowed out turtle shell and follow the priest into the next room for private consultation. I was the first to go. He asked me to squat with him on the floor to ask the gods the price I had to pay for the blessed objects (tactful con work if you ask me). He threw a series of cowry shells into the dust in front of us three times and read the way they fell in order to determine my price. And of course, being a white woman the Gods (or his conscious/unconscious psyche) asked for a sum beyond belief. So, as a response, I asked to barter with the gods. After throwing the shells and persuading the gods to lower the price we came to an agreement and I took my items thinking I was done with my voodoo experience for the day. But as is the case with most things in Ghana, or so it seems, things are never how you think they will be. As I climbed into the car to leave, I felt a firm grip take a hold of my arm, preventing me from shutting the door behind me. It was one of the workers for the priest. Turning around surprised, I was informed that the priest urgently needed to see me. After arguing with my program director for a few minutes about whether or not she would permit me to go, I was taken from the car, led back to the room with the mud god, and sat in silence with the priest. Eventually he took out a small red trinket from a satchel and told me he had a very important vision about me. The trinket symbolized love, and was one of the ones we could have purchased during the blessing ceremony. I had purposefully decided not to mesh magic with love, so I had not bought it. But he insisted on giving it to me for free, and told me to pour 3 drops of perfume on the wood, rub it with my right hand and say my name and the name of another 7 times. After ensuring I knew what to do, he took the object and held it even with his eyes and said: this is very important in your life. I was then asked to leave the room and make my way back to the car.

I am not sure what to think about that experience, and have since tucked away the object into my suitcase under my bed.

PART TWO: Mole, Hip Hop, and Fashion

Hurling ourselves towards the Burkina Faso boarder with nothing but flakey plans and a serious amount of belly laughter my friends Elsa, Arsalan and I began a trip to the most famous game reserve in West Africa, Mole. Ironically, we didn’t even see a single elephant, yet the trip was one of the most fulfilling of my life. This is where the mentioned injustice gets a bit sticky. I feel like the more important an experience is to me, the less likely I am to even write about it. Sometimes verbiage is unsatisfactory. This is a case of that. But basically, after a 13 hour bus ride, getting haggled by a Ghanaian mob, hiring a tro tro for a 4 our drive down the most washboarded roads known to mankind, getting caked with at least ½ an inch of electric red dirt, and being dumped off at the cross roads of a random village, we found ourselves in Larabanga. Larabanga, an unsuspecting locale, went from being a one nights whim, to a temporary home. Instead of continuing on to Burkina Faso or the hippo sanctuary as we had planned, we were adopted by the village. Pounding fufu in the mornings, learning how to ride motorcycles in the evening, sleeping on hay stuffed mattress pads on the top of mud huts under Orion, dancing with a plethora of village children, attending wedding processions, getting involved in the local healthcare system, sneaking into the oldest West African mosque, and observing how local shea butter was made were only a few of the happenings in this 100% Muslim village. Our trip to Mole was an inconceivable adventure. Although not dramatic in words, it was the details of the experience that defined it. Sleeping on handmade mats, skin drenched in sweat and freckled with hungry flies, learning about the traditional chief system in the sand drawn with sticks, and waking to the call of prayer as dawn drew near. There are stories to be told about this one. Unfortunately not here. :)

Okay….so sometimes I feel like the randomosity of life is overpowering, and the last two weeks have been exemplary of just that. Not only were me and my friend Elsa involved in the making of a famous hip hop rapper’s music video on a boat, but we were selected to be runway models for a national fashion show promoting sustainable agriculture. The music video was for a rapper named Guru, who Elsa knew indirectly through a friend in one of her acting classes. We were picked up in the morning in an air conditioned car (yes that is a big deal), music blaring, taken to the mall and told to buy whatever we wanted. Clothes, food, whatever. SO of course, Elsa and I eagerly made our way to the vegetable isle, where rows of imported spinach lined the wall carrying hefty prices of $10, right next to the peaches for $23. Fresh produce, a rarity, in hand, we made our way to the red wine, ice cream and the likes. When we got to the beach house where the music video was being filmed, the first thing we did was meet a crew of hip hop participants and board a massive yacht called “The Hooker” to drink Baileys with the director. It was absurd. I found myself in heaven at the discovery of a pet dog (also a rarity in Ghana) and a small plastic fishing boat the house keeper allowed me to paddle around near the yacht.

As far as the fashion show, Elsa and I were seen from afar by a woman who works for a major PR company in Accra at a dress rehearsal for a play our friend Daniel was in. The next day we found ourselves in a car on our way to meet with the top model, Miss Universe, Pearl Amoah to be fitted for clothes. After trying on a slew of produce themed outfits, it was determined I would be the flower girl and Elsa the fish woman. Haha. The next day we were picked up, chugged through hair and make up, and dolled up into the most ridiculous costumes imaginable. I, the proud owner of a Big Bird-esque yellow flower hat and a cake layer dress, found myself standing in line to walk down the catwalk with a slew of professional models in a state of existential hilarity. I knew nothing about modeling, nothing about how to walk on a runway, and had never experienced anything quite like it before. But I found myself wadding down the catwalk in, negotiating the bevy of frills and fake wings, rabbits and seeds, feeling ecstatic. Not only was the experience hilarious and fascinating, but also was an easy way to make $100 (in form of a gift, of course, dear dear Visa man).

OKAY!

I am ending now, head hung low in the knowledge of all I left out. Cooking lessons, socialist rallys, kente cloth villages, marriage proposals, making ink from harvested bark, Tuesday philosophy groups, and a slew of travels. But alas, I must go pack my bags for a trip to a small village for an Easter festival and a hiking trip to the tallest point in West Africa. But I love you dearly, and love you even dearer if you had the tenacity to chew through my sludge of unsatisfactory narration.

I will be home in less than 1 ½ months. It is hard to fathom how tricky time can be. You think you have all of it in the world, and then, suddenly in the bat of an eye, it is breathing down your back. Both beautiful and devastating, I await my homecoming.

Sincerely, with love.

Kelly

2010-02-09T02:28:00.000-08:00

Hello from Ghana- sunburned, happy, and in obnoxiously vibrant patterned dresses. I just got back from a 5:00 a.m. run through the African bush (to beat the eruption of heat from the horizon associated with sunrise) past massive red termite mounds, a monkey tethered to a rope, Pentecostal megaphone preaching in the field and the clatter of tongue speaking disciples. Now I am sitting in my room, getting acquainted with my much adored ceiling fan, enjoying the ripeness of my new true love: mango.

The past few days we’ve been in Cape Coast, exploring the hidden paradise of the Guinea Coast, drinking coconut water off the tree, and learning the about the history of the slave trade in West Africa. It was an incredible trip- and I ended up making more money than spending it, since Goucher paid for the program and thanks to scholarships, I got to pocket all of the spending money for the weekend, which was extremely appreciated.

Cape Coast is west of Accra along the shore about 4 hours, which is apparently a long way according to Ghanaians considering the size of their country. We drove down with our coordinator, Mercy, and her family in revamped tro tro with our suitcases haphazardly strapped to the top of the roof. It was really nice to get out and see some of the less developed (developed being relative considering where I am living is still relatively pastoral) and get more of a sense of the breadth of the region. We passed little mud villages, children playing in streams naked, and fufu (which is essentially a mushy, dense dough you eat with spicy soup made of plantains and yucca) being pounded with massive wooden sticks along side the road. Chickens, goats, dogs, cats, lizards, birds and people living seemingly harmoniously. It is not rare to be in a shop here, and look down to see an assortment of animals running around. There is something splendid with living so in tune with nature.

We stopped at Mercy’s farm, which is located in a little village outside of Cape Coast and were able to tour on the deserted slave castles not open to the public made by the Dutch back in the 1800’s. In comparison to the other slaves castles we toured, I found this one of the most interesting (and sad). It was not altered for the tourist eye, and many of the dungeons were converted to be storage houses for series of saccharine soda drinks . The lack of reverence was a little bit unnerving. But we climbed to the top of the lookout towers and were able to listen to the fishermen chanting and drumming as they were coming in with the day’s catch. Lined with meticulously carved and painted wooden canoes and decorated with rusty hooks and brightly tied nets, the boats were not only tools to earn a living, but floating pieces of art.

Mercy’s farm was literally out of a story book. Blankets of green flora sprouting out of the red earth with flowers and fruit and jagged rock faces coated in foam. Being far too overjoyed, I found myself scrambling down the cliffs with Kwame barefooted, attempting to tactfully avoid the crabs shuttling in and out of the foam, to explore some hidden caves he told me about. They were incredible, laced with pink seashells and thick black snails. Crouching down in the coves, I felt like some kind of geeky pirate, too happy to be there.

We also went on a canopy tour in the national forest, which was essentially a series of ropes and boards tethered to trunks of the tallest trees. It was beautiful though, being able to walk above the canopy of the jungle, catching glimpses of monkeys playing on the branches and big butterflies was amazing. I was in need of a nature dose. For those of you who have read the Subtle Knife (yes, I am a Golden Compass YEAH!), I couldn’t help but think about dust and the canopies. Haha. I ended up leading the group of about 50 or so people who were on our tour, inciting fear for the poor people behind me by swinging the bridges back and forth. Haha.
Cape coast was also paradise, having an interesting mix of gorgeous white sand beaches, extreme poverty, and too many obrunis (white folk) to count. Out hotel had air conditioning, toilet paper and WARM WATER! Which is a clear indicator of high class living. I found it a little sickening though that from the beach (literally outside the backdoor of my room) overlooked the Elmina Castle (the biggest and cruelest slave trading castles in the region). So as we were enjoying our air-conditioned rooms and martinis on the beach, we were looking at one of the largest injustices in African history. The whole slave trading situation here is very interesting to me, but the most shocking thing, however, is the lack of hate there seems to be (and in Ghana in general). I had thought before I came that being one of the most oppressed and wronged colonial areas, that there would be much more hatred towards the white man, especially in the villages built around the castles. But walking through the villages, I found nothing but “AKWAABA OBRUNI!” (welcome white man- literally “one who comes from behind the horizon”) being shouted everywhere we went and smiling faces. A few of us decided to venture out off the main road and into the village nearby after our tour, and ended up taking part in a local checkers tournament with about 30 onlookers, dancing in a funeral procession, and taking pictures with the kids and their pet chickens. Ghana gives me hope for the racial tension that is so prominent in the U.S.

2010-01-27T03:50:00.000-08:00

How did I get here?
I went from climbing frozen mountains in Colorado, to a 9 hour drive through the boonies of the Southwest, to howling at the moon and fly fishing next to a campfire with my Dad in Arizona, to an early morning flight to California, to a pan-American-pan-Atlantic flight to England, to randomly, being shipped to the Middle East, to flying over Afghanistan and Iran,to finally (!) a red dirt caked country they in West Africa they call Ghana- all within 48 hours of eating my last Mexican breakfast burrito. Whew! A total of 34 of those hours were spent shooting through a metal tube at high altitudes (yes, I thought I was going to die of blood clots as a product of constant sitting and squishing of self between overly sized seat neighbors).
But lesson learned: the world is miniscule when it really comes down to it.

And this is where I will remain for the next 4 months of my life.
There are so many things I want to tell you about. But my mind is racing and have little ability to quantify the experiences that have washed over my clueless, wide eyed, self these past few weeks. I suppose the best ay to start is by telling you what I am seeing. Right now I am sitting alone in my room, fan fruitlessly whirling above in attempt to slice the thick, Africa heat, an open window with a series of bars being the only obstacles between me and the red bush baking outside, and a small bed with nauseous floral patterned sheets. I live on the fourth floor of a square compound, white washed walls and red roofs. I have a small porch out my back door where I sit and read on a dusty cloth draped chair, and watch the a group of characters I've grown to adore picking through trash alongside their band of goats and baby horses. There is usually a trash fire lit, eating away at the debris, and the pungent smell sometime circles up towards me. Besides the obvious first impressions of a slightly less manicured place of residence, there s far too much beauty to be lost in the occasional trash pile. Red roads weave in and out of low growing bushes (accurately known as the "bush" in Africa), little shacks made of sticks where workers live, and the hot glitter of Accra playing in the sun on the horizon.

I am located in Legon, which started as a village nearby the economic hub of Ghana, and has since merged into the more pastoral extension of a endlessly colorful and chaotic mess that comprises the city. All of the buildings, laced in a red band at their base from wind whirled dust, are linked by dirt paths and roads, pressed solid by the constant pressure of foot and shoe. Banana and coconut trees dot their sides, contrasting green with the dry earth below. There are hundreds of small buildings, rarely one larger than one story, where every academic department resides, acting as a physical embodiment of the outrageous and often humorous bureaucracy that dictates daily life. (in order to register for classes, you have to walk to each department separately, fill out different piles of tedious paperwork, and file each appropriate sheet away to the different layers of personnel, greeting each and every person you encounter or else you'll be ignored- as is such the Ghanaian culture).

There are many things i like about being here, including the panoply of fresh fruit and the fact I can get a ripe mango hacked away form its seed and flesh and into my happy stomach at virtually any time of the day, but nothing has yet surpassed my total infatuation of the Ghanaian market place. India looks like nothing in comparison. I've honestly never seen such a nucleus for cultural expression or been in a place where I am more gleeful due to sensory overload. Outside the dorm where i live there is a place called the Night Market, which is basically a miniature version of the expansive marketplaces that coat much of the city and its surrounding area. Smoked fish, rows of tropical fruit, big metal tubs of rice and assorted sauces, men pounding plantains, yams and yucca with massive sticks into a sticky goo, and charcoal fires sizzling meat and raw vegetables. Yesterday I ventured out to a market in a nearby village called Medina, where I bought fertility beads from a local vendor, which Ghanian women wear around their hips as a sign of fertility and femininity. The color and arrangement of the beads have a huge significance and are only supposed to be shown to your husband.

Since I've gotten hear, I've been shuttled round the city in attempt to get oriented with the new place and learning how to navigate myself successfully through the fleets of women carrying everything ranging from apples, to water, to puppies, to even refrigerators on their heads. IT IS INSANE! I find myself not only shocked by their ability to weave in and out of tiny, bustling streets, but also laughing and the total randomosity of items they decided to place on their heads in the first place. I've been filling my bucket up with water and practicing carrying it up and down my hallway in aspiration to be half as talented.

Yesterday was the first real day of classes (apparently it is an unspoken rule that professors don't show up to the first week of classes, which was last week). I am taking Traditional African Dance, Psychology of Religion in Ghana, Linguistics of Ghanian Languages, Geography of West Africa, Anthropology, Archaeology and Cultural Evolution and Introduction to Indigenous African Religion. I am also going to start volunteering as an English teacher at a local school and working with street girls and their children a few times a week. I am pretty excited about that, since it is something I found fulfilling to do in India and will give me an excuse to integrate a bit more with the larger community.

I've been really lucky and loved everyone on my program and been able to meet some awesome Ghanian friends (mostly who are on the Handball and Basketball teams at school, and who are predominately male. I am finding Ghanian girls to be very, if not near to impossible, to make friends with). We've been going to the beach for reggae night, which comes included with a bizarrely rastafarian subculture, ponies, dancing obrunis (which is the term for white person here...and is constantly shouted at you as you walked through the streets. The culture here seems to blatantly racial, and therefore, ironically, much more open to racial issues and accepting than the U.S. I'm pleasantly surprised by the acceptance of white people in the community here and the joking nature of the interactions. If there if one thing I've learned it is that Ghanaians like to laugh, so if something can be mocked, the better).

Another key part of life here so far is the sheer simplicity of existence. Internet is a gem, running water is a grace of God, and fully functioning power is a privilege. We went 4 days straight without any of it, and it is not rare to wake up in the morning and not have one of the above for a solid few hours. Everyone kept telling me upon landing "do you have a bucket?" and "oh, you must go buy a bucket." At first I had no idea why, for goodness sake, this culture was so bucket fanatic. But now I realize buckets are an essential. When the water goes out, you take bucket showers with any water you can find, when your clothes are dirty, you wash them by hand with homemade soap in your bucket, and when your floor is dirty you use wooden brooms and empty the dirt into your bucket to take to the trash. PRAISE THE GHANIAN BUCKET!

Annnd speaking of praising, I'll have to dedicate an entire blog to the religiosity of Ghana and all of its glories. I've never been so bombarded with Christian themed everything in my entire life. On the way to the tro tro station where I ride jammed into a small car with 24 other people, I could probably count near to 50 signs like "His Almighty Stamps" or "Mother Mary's Milk" or "Jesus Nail Salon" or "Christ Blood Laundry." Incredible, poetic, astonishing, blatant, hilarious. I will also have to tell you about my first Ghanian church experience, but am running out of time.

Okay...that is enough for now. I could go on, but I'll spare your computer scorched eyes for the time being. My computer has officially met its electronic death, so I am rendered computerless until I can figure something out. Frown! But I am going to keep on being positive and flexible. These things happen, and walking a bit for internet is not the worst thing that could happen. But if you hear about a white girl trying to sell herself to the circus as the "glow in the dark doll" or something ridiculous like that on CNN, know that the desperation has won. Haha.

Anyways, love you all with all my heart. I'll attempt to get some pictures up, but the likelihood of that is quite low. Internet is barely fast enough to load a page.

Kelly "The Obruni" Graves

2009-12-29T16:28:00.001-08:00

So….to assure that I thread the apparent motif of “holy smokies, it has been faaaar too long since I last wrote” appropriately, I will begin this post with yet another apology. This time it has truly been “faaaar too long” since I last wrote, neglecting my last, and probably most meaningful, days at Sussex, a trip to Paris with the one, the only, the Sam LeGrys, a night in Dublin, and an epic plane trip home via Chicago and its nearby hotel rooms: It has been a trip. Goodbyes, on so many levels, and assimilation back into the wild ways of the Western U.S. have both been frequent themes.

It is now impossible for me to recapitulate the minutia that gave way to the wonderful French wanderings that took place and the pangs of heartthrob as farewells were made and people scattered across the world into corners they called home.

BUT I PRESENT THEE WITH:

Some highlights (since lists are easier than full sentences):

1. Tears, full grown Latino men, a Swiss Sussex pen, and friends at 4 in the morning waving goodbye.

2. Sam losing his wallet within 15 minutes of the trip…I know right?

3. Early morning bus trips, total sleep deprivation, watching London wake up to a day unfolding.

4. Flying away from Brighton with clear skies, seeing the white cliffs, the jutting piers, and the ocean/hill dichotomy I grew so fond of.

5. Hating life in the Paris metros, Sam struggling full force against the stupid little plastic ticket doors with our abundance of suitcases.

6. Not finding a taxi ANYWHEARE IN PARIS!!!

7. Finally getting to the hotel, being greeted by a beautiful (and cheap!) room, pink walls, sunny windows, and a foot sink (not for peeing, as I discovered).

8. Notre Dame, the Louvre, Sacré-Cœur, Christmas Markets, the Eiffel Tower at night, cheap wine and good oranges, ordering crepes and not knowing what the heck we were getting, seeing long lost Goucher friends, and general, joyous “getting lost” moments in small streets.

9. Dublin. In general. This is like the chilliest city ever.

10. Pub-bbery and hearty soup.

11. Good Irish music, walking aimlessly, German bratwursts (and then ordering more) me lying that I left a scarf in a church so we could see the inside, illegally.

12. Saying goodbye to a good friend.

Yup. That is probably the most terse, disgustingly void of detail analysis I could possibly provide, but it will have to suffice. I simply could not deal with moving on (AHHH GHANA!) without a little bit of recapping since the last hello. I am almost positive, however, that I will start fervently blogging again once I have far more cultural fodder to chew on. I have a feeling Ghana will be richly chew-able.

Until then, I am just enjoying being home, relishing the cold and mountains, and strengthening myself for yet another adventure (with hopefully a dash of GRE studying, graduate school researching, paper writing, internship applications, and seeing my dear old Dad). As par usual, there is a lot on my plate, but to be honest, I’ve never felt so able to deal with it. I feel like maybe it is just hyperactive positivity manifesting like a virus as a product of all of my neural epiphanies, or maybe it is a more long term development. I am not sure. But I feel so trusting in the fact “what needs to happen, will happen” and am finding myself floating along merrily as the tides shift. And when that happens, there’s not much too complain about. :)

t-12 days.

I’ll be in touch.

Kelly

p.s. more to come. SOON…that is a non-retractable promise.

2009-12-04T04:15:00.001-08:00

This is what you should blame for my total lack of blogging. I 1. apologize for my severe incapacity to write more frequently and 2. if you read the entirety of this essay. It is amazing how riveting I found writing 20 pages about neuroimaging techniques- worrisome almost. This week is finals, caked with unbelievable amounts of studying, packing, goodbyes and hellos. And then Paris/Dublin/Denver soon after that. I promise I will write some serious updates once life is slightly less turbulent (although wonderfully so).

I love you all.

The Fusion Point of Mind and Machine:

Can Neuroimaging Tell us Anything about Cognition?

Kelly A. Graves

University of Sussex

Cognitive Neuroscience

Introduction

It is arguable that the invention of neuroimaging, devices crafted with the intent of observing neural activity, has changed the course of human understanding in a way that no other machine is yet to supersede. What was considered to be matters of mere myth, being able to peel open someone’s skull and peer into their inner most cognitions, has been made possible, at least theoretically, by these recent technological advancements. The purpose of this essay is to evaluate this issue, whether or not neuroimaging truly has ruptured the boundaries between myth and reality, giving way to potentially the most potent tool of human investigation, or if the claim, although seductive, might need further consideration.

What is Neuroimaging?

In order to delve into this debate with any kind of accuracy establishing a general definition of neuroimaging, albeit rooted in blatant oversimplification for reasons addressed later, is paramount. According to the Oxford English dictionary, the word “neuroimaging” directly connotes “Imaging of the structure or activity of the brain or other part of the nervous system by any of a variety of techniques.” It is evident that this definition is purposefully broad. The notion of imaging someone’s brain activity can take place in various different ways through various different methodologies, with the common denominator simply being: understanding the elements that comprise neural behavior.

In general, neuroimaging can be divided into two classifications, functional and structural neuroimaging, where the major difference between the two is the notion of a time/space relationship. Functional neuroimaging is a class of techniques that will be the focus of this essay, and provide volumetric, spatially localized measures of neural activity from across the brain and across time; in essence, a three-dimensional movie of the active brain. This category includes such techniques as PET, fMRI, EEG, MEG, NIRSI, and SPECT. Structural neuroimaging, however, primarily examines the physical components of the brain irrespective of time; in essence, a three dimensional picture of the neural meat that gives rise to an active brain. This category includes techniques such as MRI, CT and in some cases TMS. Although a cursory distinction between these two types of neuroimaging is vital for definition purposes, further discussion of individual techniques, as well their potential for measuring cognition, will be addressed.

The Evolution of Neuroimaging Techniques

Although interest in mapping a brain-behavior relationship has dazzled philosophers, psychologists and biologists for decades, true ‘neuroimaging’ did not begin until the early 1900’s. In 1918, the American neurosurgeon Walter Dandy introduced the technique of ventriculography, the process of removing cerebrospinal fluid from the ventricles and injecting filtered air in its place in order to increase visibility of x-ray imaging (Beaumont, 1983). This process, although clearly not ideal for the patients being examined, sparked interest in the possibilities of brain investigation in vivo, which in turn, would open the door to understanding the brain outside the sterile confines of an autopsy operating room.

Although Dandy’s physiological achievement provided considerable insight into the living brain, not to mention earned a Nobel Prize, its ability to communicate information about complex cognitive elements was rather limited. Contemporary neuroimaging techniques, however, have since pushed this boundary, starting with the invention of cerebral angiography in 1949, the advancements of radioactive imaging in the 1960’s and the basis for MRI in the early 1970’s (Lister, 1991). A clear trajectory can be seen in the evolution of mechanical mastery, catalyzing questions about if such methods have crossed the threshold of communicating the depth of human thought.

The Debate

There is no doubt that contemporary neuroimaging has a lot to say about neurological function. To assert that neuroimaging is a fruitless endeavor, incapable of encapsulating anything associated with mental processes, would be an argument richly void of critical evidence--and certainly not the thrust of this paper. However, it is also clear that there are certain things that neuroimaging can communicate better than others; possibly limiting the claim that neuroimaging is able to encompass the richness associated with cognition.

Providing insight into the location, although typically gross estimates, and time, the rate at which a certain neuron or group of neurons fire, are two of neuroimaging’s crowing achievements. But the question then follows: Is there more to a cognition than plotting its coordinates on some kind of time/space grid? Or can being able to pin point where and when a cognition occurs, by default, encompass what a cognition is? And if so, why is patient feedback, almost always vital to analysis? The following section will examine these questions, stemming primarily from epistemological roots, in hopes of outlining the possible theoretical limitations of neuroimaging.

Structure/ Function Mapping

The first point is based on the age old debate of a mind/brain breach. Or in other words, can knowledge of a structure give way to knowledge about its function? Neuroimaging’s goal, by nature, is to analyze local brain structures in hopes of communicating something about their innate or learned function. As Martin Sarter asserts in his essay Brain Imaging and Cognitive Neuroscience: Toward Strong Inference in Attributing Function to Structure: “The potential use of brain imaging for the study of cognitive functions derives from the explicit or implicit assumption that cognitive operations are localizable to focal brain regions or systems” (Sarter, 1996). This notion has been referred to by its adversaries, with a slight sarcastic undertone, as being a “new form of phrenology” in reference to Gall’s mapping of personality traits to bumps on the skull (Simpson, 2005).

Similarly to medical biology, tagging known bodily processes to its appropriate organ can tell us a lot about the process, as well as what happens when the organ performs subpar. But the nucleus of controversy when it comes to matters of the brain, is that the processes appear to be far less corporal than that of a liver or a kidney, igniting much of the “black box” tactics assumed by Behaviorists (Skinner, 1938). Being able to manipulate complex mathematics, write a creative story, or appreciate the aesthetics of a Monet are processes that occur based on the specific structures of the brain, but are far less tangible than those of the rest of the organs, rendering the brain a unique, biological quagmire. In the book The New Phrenology: The Limits of Localizing Cognitive Processes in the Brain, William R. Uttal asserts that this attempt to map cognitions is as meaningless as “a neuroreductionist wild goose chase.” (Uttal, 2000). Sarter goes on to suggest that because of this complexity, mapping the brain’s processes on its structures that are unveiled through the uses of neuroimaging techniques, might not be as easy as one would aspire: “In attempting to map complex functions onto complex structures, there is a considerable likelihood that concepts and models at the functional (cognitive) level, although they may overlap, may not be isomorphic with concepts and models of neural systems or processes” (Sarter, 1996). A lack of function-structure isomorphism can hamper attempts to understand brain-behavioral relationships.

Epiphenomenalism

This assertion is at the heart of an epiphenomenalist, and sometimes holistic, critique of neuroimaging. Epiphenomenalism, although debated within its own philosophical discipline, is essentially the view that the identification of A's mental properties does not provide a causal explanation of A's behavior (Caston, 1997). In terms of cognition, this implies that the product (conscious/unconscious behavior) is categorically different than the parts that support such behavior (the neurological underpinnings). Sometimes this notion gets blended with the idea of holism when being contrasted to reductionism (the idea that the sum can be entirely explained by the parts). Thomas Henry Huxley, who held this view, compared mental events to “steam coming off of an engine” (Huxley, 1874), and William James “as a shadow following a person”(James, 1879), both entities that are reflective, but not bound to the objects that produced them. The notion of cognition being some kind of ethereal steam that cannot be characterized by an analysis of the nuts and bolts of a machine, presents a problem for the function/structure mapping often supported by neuroimaging findings.

Douglas Hofstadter creatively deals with this issue and its implications for brain studies in his Pulitzer Prize winning book “Gödel, Escher and Bach,” in a discussion between three fictional characters comparing cognition to an ant colony:

Crab: I reject reductionism. I challenge you to tell me, for instance, how to understand a brain reductionistically. Any reductionistic explanation of a brain will inevitably fall short of explaining where the consciousness experienced by the brain arises from.

Anteater: I reject holism. I challenge you to tell me, for instance, how a holistic description of an ant colony sheds any more light on it than is shed by description of the ants inside it, and their roles, and their interrelationships. Any holistic explanation of any ant colony will inevitably fall short of explaining where the consciousness experienced by an ant colony arises from.”

Achilles: I think you are still having difficulty realizing the difference in levels here. Just as you would never confuse an individual tree with a forest, so here you must not take the ant for the colony.”(Hofstadter, 1999)

This concept of levels that Achilles brings up in the end, is one of the underlying roots for an epiphenomenalistic approach, and can be further demonstrated by a simple analogy: a balloon. On a microscopic level, there are a set of physical laws that describe the velocity, location, and physical attributes of the particles whirling around in a gaseous form, whereas on a more gross level, there is an entirely different set of physical laws that describe the temperature, volume and pressure of the balloon itself. These two realties, although coexisting, are entirely separate. The notion of volume or temperature, although quite real qualities, mean nothing in the microscopic realm of particle velocity, and visa versa.

In an epiphenomenal analysis of cognition, a similar problem presents itself. What if there are layers, as is the case in laws of physics, in the brain? Perhaps on the neurological level one set of rules apply, whereas on a more gross level (the complex cognitive soup that arises from the neurological hardware), another set of rules apply? It is unclear where the resolution to this issue lies. A strong proponent of neuroimaging’s abilities might assert that no such breach exists, noting a slew of their newest studies directly correlating brain area to function, whereas his epiphenomenal adversary might assert neuroimaging is an irrelevant endeavor, as well as the data it supports, much like Hofstadter’s Achilles and Anteater. Nevertheless, an understanding of the issues posed by an epiphenomenal approach to neuroimaging is, at the bare minimum, important to developing a more critical eye when evaluating their findings.

A Verb or a Noun?

Ludwig Wittgenstein famously advocated that the words we use to express ideas are sometimes insufficient means of communicating concepts- largely due to relativistic interpretation of meaning (Wittgenstein, 1974). For that reason, it is vital to dissect the linguistic notion of cognition to further explore the neuroimaging debate. By definition the word “cognition” can embody two parts of speech: a verb and a noun. It can either indicate “the process of knowing” or “a result of a cognitive process.” This divide (cognition as a process; cognition as an arising entity), is paramount in coming to a conclusion whether neuroimaging can measure it.

As previously discussed, neuroimaging is particularly good at spatial and temporal measurements of neural activity. Take for example a classic PET study conducted by Corbetta et al., where they measured changes in regional cerebral blood flow of normal subjects while they were discriminating different attributes (shape, color, and velocity) of a set of visual stimuli (Corbetta, 1990). In this study, they found that attention to speed, color or shape changed the activity in the extrastriate cortex. What this study did, however, was measure the process of cognition, not that quality of the cognition itself, much like many other experiments in the scientific community today. The data analyzed was not what they patients were thinking about, but the process their brain under went in response to the information being reflected off their retina and to the occipital areas in a given context. In this regard, neuroimaging is an effective means of discerning where certain processes occur in relation to different stimuli, but not the cognitive result of these processes (i.e. what the patient’s thoughts, experiences, and mental manipulations were during due to the mental processes).

Conversely, if Corbetta and his team of researchers wanted to examine not just where and when the occipital lobes reacted to different pictures, but the exact nature of the participant’s thoughts while viewing the shapes and their properties, neuroimaging’s ability might be more limited. For example, if you imaged someone’s brain and found that the extrastriate cortex and the amygdala were particularly active, would that tell you anything about what the person was thinking, without participant feedback? Or would this simply tell you where and when a thought occurred in the brain? You might conclude based on previous research that the person must’ve been thinking about something visually and emotionally salient, but you would never know that the person was actually thinking about an image of their grandmother’s herb garden in the south of France. The missing element in neuroimaging studies, it seems, is not measuring the process of thought, but the quality of the thought itself.

Perhaps this linguistic breach, cognition being both a process and an entity, is where much of the neuroimaging debate is rooted. Given the scientifically substantiated ability of neuroimaging to accurately discern location and time of certain processes in the brain (visual attention in terms of the study discussed), it appears that neuroimaging is a sufficient means of measuring the verb component of the definition: the process of knowing. The noun component, however, the arising product of the processes, is perhaps where neuroimaging falls short, relating back to the epiphenomenal critique discussed earlier. This divide, although an arbitrary linguistic difference, might provide some clarity in the controversy surrounding neuroimaging and its ability (or lack of ability, respectively) to measure ‘cognition.’

From Thoughts to Numbers: Data and its Implications

Unlike the previous section concerning the debate about the measurability of cognition, the issue of data interpretation assumes at least parts of human cognition can be measured, and is much more tethered to a practical, not philosophical, critique. When looking at this debate, it is vital to examine how data is used, as well as whether or not cognitions, once ethereal thought patterns, can be squeezed into numbers, packaged by equations and eventually extracted for meaning. This question focuses less on if cognition should be measured by neuroimaging as previously investigated, and focuses more on how cognition is currently “measured” and gives a cursory analysis of possible issues with the methods employed.

Reverse Inferences: Issues of Deductive Fallacies

The process of deduction, an ancient, philosophical vantage point that jostled the scientific community during the Enlightenment Era and the age of empiricism, is defined as: drawing a conclusion by reasoning based on as set of logically sound statements (Negri, 2001). A generic example of this is shown by the following syllogism:

1. All men are mortal

2. Socrates is a man

3. (Therefore,) Socrates is mortal

The third statement (Socrates is mortal) is what is known as the inference, or as specific conclusion based on the preceding information. The inference is only considered true if all of the preceding statements hold true as well. In neuroimaging, however, there are two branches of inferences that can be made 1. A direct inference and 2. A reverse inference. A direct inference is defined as “if cognitive process X is engaged, then brain area Z is active,” whereas a reverse inference is slightly more complicated, and what Russel Poldrack calls an “endemic of reasoning” throughout neuroscience literature (Poldrack, 2006).

Reverse inference is essentially the process of reasoning backwards. Instead of directly correlating cognitive process X, let’s say language, with the brain area Z, Broca’s Area, it hypothesizes that language is occurring solely based on observing activation in the inferior frontal gyrus. Reverse inference “reasons backwards from the presence of brain activation to the engagement of a particular cognitive function” (Poldrack, 2006). The logic of studies based on reverse inference can be schematically displayed in Figure 1:

[Hypothesis 1] When task T is presented,

brain area A is active

[Hypothesis 2] When cognitive process X is

engaged, brain area A is active

____________________________________

[Inference] Brain activity in area A,

demonstrates the engagement of the

cognitive process X by the task T

Figure 1 (Gomez, 2002).

An example of this is in an fMRI study with rats, where an investigation compared neural activation in pupsuckling (A) with cocaine administration (B). They found that there is more activity in the ventral stratium for task A than for task B. As a product, the authors conclude that pup suckling (A) is more rewarding (X) than cocaine administration (B) (Feris,2005). Element X, the notion of one task being more “rewarding” is the matter of concern here, since it is based on previous research citing activation of the central stratium is categorically related to reward, and therefore, must be in this case too based on post hoc data. In response to this tactic Poldrack concludes: “It is crucial to note that this kind of ‘reverse inference’ is not deductively valid, but rather reflects the logical fallacy of affirming the consequent” (Poldrack, 2006).

This set up is what many critics assert is erroneous in neuroimaging studies, and at the heart of why neuroimaging conclusions are often contested. Originally this form of inference was used to explain occurrences where preexisting data was not present, where a direct inference was, and to some extent still is, always preferred. But now, as Poldrack asserts, “In many cases the use of reverse inference is informal; the presence of unexpected activation in a particular region is explained by reference to other studies that found activation in the same region” (Poldrack, 2006). One can see how the trickling down of misinformation can take place, especially if the previous claims were also postulations made on reverse inferences.

Logistical Issues: Signal Detection, Spatial Localization, Normalization

Another major concern with neuroimaging and the data it produces concerning cognition is not the principals of interpretation, as is the case with reverse inferencing, but the difficulties of acquiring it in the first place. If there is not accurate measurement of what is actually going on chemically or electrically in the brain, it can have massive repercussions. Specific neurons, or a network of neurons, code for very specific information, rendering even a discrepancy of few millimeters salient. With this said, it would be unfair to ignore the technological strides neuroimaging has undergone in the last decade, often minimizing some of problems discussed with techniques such as smoothing, parametric mapping and more carefully constructed scientific frameworks. Nevertheless, a debate about neuroimaging, and whether it can measure cognition, would be incomplete without examining some the pivotal issues in its practice.

Signal detection is probably one of the most basic problems posed when measuring cognitive processes in the brain. Since there are several protective layers (hair, skin, skull, Dura Mater, Arachnoid, cerebrospinal fluid and Pia Mater), between the outside world and the brain, combined with the myopic electrical impulses of nerves, it is difficult to always make an accurate analysis of what is taking place. This is why EEG, although good at measuring temporal information, is often limited in its ability to localize, since it has to tune into the distorted electrical changes from an external source. Because of this, researchers must average data across many trials, rooting through the noise, and applying second hand equations to try and get a clear picture of where exactly neural firing originated. This problem can be eliminated by doing single cell recording, often seen in animal studies, but is rare in humans due to its obvious complications. And is further by the fact only lateral surfaces of the brain can be recorded, temporal lobe activation often being obstructed by air flow through the sinuses, and being unable to measure important subcortical structures like the amgydala.

Although PET and fMRI are not as limited as EEG, since they are able to avoid the external problem, by measuring the metabolic processes internally through blood flow and capillary expansion, there is still an issue of signal detection due to “neural noise.” During experimentation, there are many neural events taking place, not always connected with the experiment. For example, in Corbetta’s study mentioned earlier, a participant might be actively engaged in the discrimination task, but also thinking about how they are hungry, cold, tired, what they did the night before, their first grade teacher, their favorite color- the list is limitless. This is attempted to be avoided by tactful experimental design as can be seen in Peterson et. al’s experiment of subtraction of word processing in the brain (). Similar to EEG, many trials can be averaged and contrasted against trials that vary only in the issue of interest, in order to get a highly educated guess about what makes that task unique. But still, the problem remains: it is hard, and usually peppered with the inability to crisply separate cognitive tasks, to circumnavigate the irrelevant neural activity.

The most common analysis of haemodynamic data is a “mass, univariate” approach, as exemplified by the popular Statistical Parametric Mapping (SPM) software package (Friston et al., 1995), which averages activity into “voxels.” These units of measurement are essential regions of statistically relevant activation as a product of subtraction from preexisting neural activity (). So, unlike common misconception, when presented with a brain image colored in with an array of colors, what you are actually viewing is not brain activity, rather, a series of statistically relevant t-tests averaged across many trials. Although these voxels are a more accurate way of looking at activity in the brain and possibly correlating it to cognitions, several problems still remain:

“Even for functions that are in fact localized to specific neural circuits, these circuits may (a) be diffusely organized or widely distributed; (b) anatomically overlap, or even share common neuronal elements with circuits mediating different functions: or (c) perform different functions depending on the patterns of input activation associated with different cognitive states or contexts. These possibilities would clearly complicate efforts to elucidate the cerebral localization of functions.” (Sarter, 1996)

This issue is further compounded by problems posed by what is known as normalization (Raichle, 1994). In order to compare an image that has been averaged over a series of trials and pumped through a statistical analysis with another image, it must be standardized in some fashion (e.g., unitized) to equate for overall differences in the measured activation across images. Historically, this has been done by stretching the measured brain image over a standard brain image used by all researchers. Although this standardization can dramatically reduce the signal-noise properties of data, it can introduce apparent differences between images that are artifactual. As mentioned, the process of “smoothing” the image attempts to avoid this issue, minimizing the rarefied active locations and maximizing the regions where neighboring activation occurs. Although this might make up for differing neural representation from person to person, what it effectively does it make the findings more generalized in a world where specificity is paramount.

The issues posed by spatial localization, signal detection and normalization are highly relevant to the cognition debate. Although they do not directly prove that cognition can be communicated through neuroimaging, they prove that even if neuroimaging could encapsulate the complexity of human cognitions, there is still a long way to go before exact, undeniable interpretations of data can be made. Maybe with the evolution of technology, these issues will become obsolete, allowing researchers to more directly and accurately tap into cognitive processes of the brain and their location. But for the time being, even if one was to deny the philosophical issues posed in the previous section, assuming neuroimaging is a viable means of communicating cognitions, there are still reasons to believe they are not always able to capture the full picture simply due to logistical issues.

Conclusion

The seemingly innate, possibly species-centric, desire to understand human nature is at the heart of almost every discipline. It can be traced throughout the impressive cocktail of human achievement, ranging from anthropomorphic Greek mythology, to Marxist economic theory, to Freudian psychoanalysis, to Darwinian evolution- the desire to understanding self is a common denominator. It is as if by cracking the code for ‘what it means to be human,’ clarity of our place in the cosmos can be better understood. Consequently, utilizing the complex cognitive systems produced by eons of evolution, humans have finally been able to be freed from the limitations of mere inner musings about self, and develop external machines to assist in the process. These technological extensions of self investigation propose a radical new way of examining humanity- one where its potential rivals its limitations, sparking a debate of utmost importance to human meaning.

Although there is tremendous evidence, coupled with clever, scientific footwork, that suggests neuroimaging is an effective means of communicating information about cognition, as seen, there are reasons to tread cautiously when estimating its power. Problems posed by function/structure discrepancies, potential epiphenomenal byproducts, differentiation between the process and quality of thought, reverse inferencing, and errors in general data interpretation, are only a few of the major reasons why. Obviously there is more to the debate, with much still to be discovered, so to make a clear cut conclusion would not only be assumptions, but inaccurate. However, one thing is evident: neuroimaging has profound potential for measuring cognition, but approached tactfully.

Works Cited

Beaumont, J. Graham. (1983) Introduction to Neuropsychology. New York: The Guilford Press.

Caston, V. (1997) "Epiphenomenalisms, Ancient and Modern," The Philosophical Review 106:

309-363.

Corbetta, M. et al. (1990) Attentional Modulation of Neural Processing of Shape, Color, and

Velocity in Humans. Science 248, 1556–1559.

Ferris C. F. et al. (2005) Pup Suckling is More Rewarding than Cocaine: Evidence from

Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging and Three-Dimensional Computational

Analysis, J. Neurosci. 25, pp. 149–15.

Friston, K., Ashburner, J., Frith, C., Poline, J.-B., Heather, J., and Frackowiak, R. (1996). Spatial

Registration and Normalization of Images. Human Brain Mapping, 2:165-189.

Huxley, T. H. (1874) "On the Hypothesis that Animals are Automata, and its History", The

Fortnightly Review, n.s. 16: 555-580.

Hofstadter, Douglas R. (1999), Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, Basic Books.

James, W. (1879) "Are We Automata?" Mind 4: 1-22.

Lister, Richard G. and Herbert J. (1991) Weingartner. Perspectives on Cognitive Neuroscience.

New York: Oxford University Press.

Negri, S. and von Plato, J. (2001). Structural Proof Theory, Cambridge.

"neuroimaging, n.¹" The Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd ed. 1989. OED Online. Oxford

University Press. 4 Nov. 2009 .

Poldrack, R.A. (2006) Can cognitive processes be inferred from neuroimaging data? Trends

Cogn. Sci. 10.

Raichle, M. E. (1998). Behind the Scenes of Function Brain Imaging: A Historical and

Physiological Perspective. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 95: 765-772

Sarter, M., Berntson, G. G., & Cacioppo, J. T. (1996). Brain Imaging and Cognitive

Neuroscience: Toward Strong Inference in Attributing Function to Structure. American

Psychologist, 51:13-21.

Skinner, B. F. (1938). The Behavior of Organisms. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts.

Simpson, D. (2005) Phrenology and the Neurosciences: Contributions of F. J. Gall and J. G.

Spurzheim ANZ. Journal of Surgery. Oxford. Vol.75.6; p.475

Uttal, W. (2000) The New Phrenology The Limits of Localizing Cognitive Processes in the

Brain. New York: MIT Press.

Wittgenstein, L. (1974). Philosophical Grammar., R. Rhees (ed.), A. Kenny (trans.), Oxford:

Blackwell.

2009-11-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

2009-11-13T11:13:00.000-08:00

Hello ! Hello! Hello!
First and foremost: I want to express how grateful I am for the comments, advice, and messages I received as a product of my last blog. Having people in your life who are willing to dispense their knowledge of the world is truly one of the biggest blessings someone can ask for. Thank you guys. It means a lot (not to mention has a considerable impact on wandering, impressionable ball of naivety like me).

Second. The whole plan to write smaller, more frequent entries has proven to be an epic fail. Time just slips through my finger tips here. It is a serious problem actually. I realized the other day I only have 3 more weeks in Brighton. My gut hurts just thinking about it. Looking at things in a terminal way, i.e. ending soon, makes me really realize how happy I am here. On an authentic level. This kind of total contentment, with friends, school, lifestyle is something rare, and it scares me to lose it. It is basically unbearable to imagine living without some of the friends I’ve made here, which is unique, because a lot of the time I find my numbness to leaving to be a practical, yet cold, norm. Of course I am usually sad to say goodbye, but it something that I’ve (to throw psychological jargon at you) become desensitized to. So these tickling nerve endings with the thought of leaving, makes the lack of time seem even less. BUT! *Buddha chime* all is ephemeral. All is changing. So I can accept my happiness here with grace and just be glad for what was. I think there is light on the horizon still to be discovered. :)

So…as far as a quick update: Halloween came and passed without much to be said. People here dress up in costumes 7 days a week to go out dancing, so having pirates, and nurses, and zombies walking about felt pretty normal. It was nice though to carve some pumpkins, decorate the halls and devirginize many of my friends to the beauties of hot apple cider with a homemade concoction I conjured up.

Guy Hawkes, however, was an entirely different story….and probably the scariest experience of my life. Actually, no, I am going to make the bold assertion and say it WAS the most frightening experience of my life. This award was previously given to an elephant festival (which on surface value might sound tame, but trust me, it was INSANE. Fireworks, crazy drunk groping men, gold dressed elephants, and millions, literally, of people) in India when I was 16. This surpassed it. I cannot, and will not try to encapsulate it is words, so I will post some pictures/videos of the trip. But essentially, we stepped off the train in Lewes, a village near Brighton, and into an anti-Pope, cross burning, WWII war zone. Parades of howling, cannon ball toting men dressed in old fashioned clothes, trampling crowds, fireworks being thrown into the trampling crowds (we actually were standing next to someone who got blinded by one, and his friend had his entire shirt burned off. Luckily my friend Inaki only lost his hearing for a little bit and the rest of us were fine), and bonfires with flames 3 stories high. I kid not.

Besides that, I feel like I should mention something to make my Mom’s blood pressure go down. Last week we went to London to see Chicago the musical with all of my girl friends for a fancy night in the big city. It was great. We took the train for 3 pounds in the morning and walked around the Museum of Natural History before the show. It’s funny, because I’ve never realized how totally nerdy I am where it comes to learning new things. Haha. I definitely deserved the amount of ridicule my friends gave me, standing awestruck inside a massive model of a human womb screaming “THIS IS SO COOL!”, or forcing everyone to sit in a conference on carnivorous plants so we could pet them at the end. It was fun though. The musical was marvelous of course, and we ended up walking around SoHo, a very alternative, artsy region in London afterward to find one of the trendiest pubs to have a cocktail. It was interesting inserting myself into some kind of make believe, ritzy Londener life for a bit to see what it was like. People live in totally different dimensions, it blows my mind. :) Afterward we ended up jamming on a street corner in a Stomp session. Beautiful.

Life is good.
I am just chugging away at school work, trying to tie up assignments in time. I have an 8,000 word essay to write (24-ish pages) before the end of the term, so it is going to be hectic. But we are currently planning a road trip to Scotland next week, where we’ll drive through the entirety of England and up to Edinburgh with Silvana, my friend from Brazil and my friend from Spain. It is going to be a nice last hurrah before the end of the term.
Anyways. Love to you all and as always, thanks for reading.

2009-10-28T15:18:00.000-07:00

PREFACE: it was my intent to write a blog about the balance between nature and city-night-life-culture here in Brighton, but this (although perhaps slightly too closely related to the previous post) is what my stubborn finger insisted on typing. I figure maybe if I listen to them (or in this case, slave obediently to their needs) I can move on to the things I wanted to write about in the first place. END OF PREFACE.

Kelly-Cognition #2
I am currently hunched over a bowl of spicy channa dal, mingling in and out of theories about channel conductance, African Pentecostalism, and Johns Hopkins graduate program prerequisites (all of which are tabs on FireFox at the moment, besides the dal of course, which is currently in my mouth), and I find myself suddenly moved to write a bit about it all of these noise-making things in my mind. Darn. I will get on to more tangible, reality-based narrations again someday. I promise!

Sitting here, stepping back at the chaotic fusion of culture, interests, music, and things that constantly cake my life (usually silently, but sometimes blatantly- as is the current case), I a little bit worried. Although it is good to have a lot of diversity in one's existence,sometimes it complicates things.

Example #1 (and the only example at that):
I am starting to think a lot about my future goals, as insinuated in previous blogs (and as is evident by the respective tabs currently open), and what kind of real life decision I have to make in the coming days. I wrote last time about what kind of person I am morphing into, and in comparison, the current question (what kind of things will that person do?) is much more difficult to answer. I don't know what it is about being here in England that is making my desperately soul search (something I, probably ignorantly, assumed wouldn't be a product of a westernized-American-esque country), but it is definitely a process under way. Maybe it is something about Sussex, the international academic expectations, that are contributing to these cognitions. I am not sure.

Regardless of the cause, I think the problems is I have FAR too many obscure passions, none of which I want to commitment to(typical girl, no?). The incapacity to stay in places for long periods of time, puddle jumping from the sciences to language, and flustered bloggage are all exemplary of this problem. But the thing is, I don't want to force myself into restriction. If I am suddenly impassioned by particle theory (which I have had several recent episodes of) why not pursue it?

It's just the idea that in 1 year I will be applying to a graduate program, and by then I need to have at least SOME of an idea about what I want to study in a more permanent context. Yeah, it is pretty clear to me right now Cognitive Neuroscience is always going to play a major role, but there are SO many routes that my academic tush can trod down. Here is a list, that took me a seriously disgusting amount of time to narrow down, of the things I could foresee myself studying in relation to cognitive science:

1.Evolution
2.Linguistics
3. Meditation and prayer (i.e. attentional acuity)
4. Rewiring

Not having an idea how to thread something substantial through all of these niches is the current predicament. Actually, it is more of a an impossibility, than a predicament.

I have no resolution. I am swimming confusedly right now without much success. It is getting to a point where I am going up to my professors after class to ask them about their opinions about what kind of work the world needs in this realm of study, as well as keeping a notepad full of facts I find exceptionally moving, in hopes I will find a trend. Sounds scientific? desperate? That's because it is. Hah. But hopefully with at least a dollop of eventual success.

What else is a lass to do?

I know Ghana will only complicate things, probably igniting some kind of inner passion about aboriginal political structures or something equally obscure and unemployable.But, there is not much else I can rationalize to do than to follow my heart (albeit a little bit erratic at times).

Little nudges from wiser men than myself are always welcome. :)

p.s. watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGK84Poeynk

2009-10-23T03:56:00.000-07:00

Kelly-Cognition #1:
This is the first time I’ve lived alone. I have a room to myself, a single bed, and some pots and pans to cook as my heart (although sometimes monetarily restricted) desires. There is something big about it though. I find it really very self exposing. A little bit of voyeurism upon the bits of myself that are often hidden between the layers of others coexisting around me. When you strip those layers away, plop yourself down in a single room and are asked to nourish yourself appropriately for the first time, there is a lot to learn about who you are…and also about who you will become.
Some things I’ve discovered:

1.It was not just an inkling. Currently I have 7 oranges lined up in a row on my window sill, two pomegranates, 1 ½ limes, a massive ginger root, ½ a clove of garlic, a clump of dried mint from last week’s farmer’s market and an apple in a wooden fruit bowl on my desk. Not to mention the rosemary and lavender I have gathered from the woods over the past two months and the procession of dried leaves I’ve been pressing in catalogs as autumn descends. I am OFFICIALLY obsessed with living with fresh things.

2.Neatness. All my life I’ve always been notorious of, as I am sure my mom will readily assure you, leaving random tidbits nilly willy. But no. For some reason when alone, I feel the need to have things clean. I blame my Positive Psychology teacher for corrupting my view of living spaces and how they affect the mental.

3.I am a rabbit, as has been asserted by several people sharing my kitchen. Arugula, lentils, avocados comprise like 60% of my diet. The rest is basically honey oatmeal and chili dark chocolate, with possibly tea speckled in between. It is really funny to observe yourself second hand and see what kind of things you’ll eat when no one cares anymore. I have a feeling down the road, I will be the psycho lady with a massive garden in her backyard teaching the different plant species to my grandchildren while a pot of beet root is boiling on the stove. Bhahaha. At least I can laugh at myself.

4.I am also going to be one of those old ladies who saves all of the cards and letters and random things she gets as gifts for decades. I have all of my birthday cards, a champagne cork, maps of the mountains we went to in Switzerland, a picture of my friends here pretending to be Charlie Angels, a beaded necklace said to bring safe travels, some balloons stolen for me from a seaside café, and a painting my Dad gave me from his South Pacific wanderings. A full fledged pack rat.

5.Fresh air, sunshine, and loving people make or break my happiness on a daily basis. The fusion of the three make me able to deal with just about anything life throws at me.

I feel like I am starting to get to a point of maturation (if such a thing even exists) where it is becoming clear who I want to be and who I do not. What kind of life I want to live, and the kind I would prefer to avoid. I think that one of the important parts of being my age, floating about without much tethering to a job, family, or significant other, is solidifying self. It is like sharpening your sword, as my Dad would say. You need to know who you are before you can achieve much else.

Right now, I pretty sure I am partaking in such a sharpening process, with living alone for the first time being a good example. And I think that all of the travels yet to come/significant uprooting,it is even more important. Sometimes I feel a little blown about in the winds of change, that it is easy to lose footing, feel displaced, be pummeled by existential crises and the likes, so working on strengthening a sense of self provides a solidarity no matter the external.

I am grateful for this challenge.

2009-10-19T12:34:00.000-07:00

In light of the fact I don’t get to travel again for a few more weeks, which seems like decades after all this vagabond-hood, I would take the opportunity in the next few blog entries to write a little bit about daily musings.

Although probably not as exotic for the average reader, I feel like this will be good for me to have for self-satisfying reflection purposes. One of the most important parts of generating knowledge from an experience is the cognitions that form the backbone along the way. Although I love detailing grand road maps of people and places and the glories of transiency, sometimes I feel like it teeters on the edge of being a little too factual, and a little less ‘human’. Basically, I am looking for some more personalized insights. The question of: “who am I?” is morphing so quickly these days (at a terrifying rate actually), so putting it down alongside the daily encounters that support it might be beneficial. So hopefully the next few weeks I will be able to first, find time to jot down some my thoughts, and second, allow some semi-coherent ideas to bubble up from the daily jumble of homework and endless European chaos.

So: the point is, sorry if these next few entries are not portals to faraway places as you might expect, rather, portals to slightly less exotic, but equally unpredictable, Kelly-cognitions. I promise the other entries will resurface in due time. (Approximately 6 weeks from now, when I’ll have the pleasure of reuniting with a long lost friend on his way back home from Mongolia in the wonderful land of croissants and massive, skeletal, phallic symbols…i.e. France. And shortly thereafter be en route to the U.S. for Christmas, stopping in Durango and Arizona, and then on my way to the West Africa until summer).

Annnnnd. Now that I have said all of that, I am going to completely contradict myself by writing about my recent trip to London. SURPRISE! Haha. I adore irony. Last week a group of me and 7 other lovely girls (ranging from Germans, to French, to Canadian, to basically every corner of the world)decided to take a weekend jaunt to London, the lovely English nucleus one hour north. Being my second time in London, I was shocked to find myself even more in love with it than before. It is amazing that 3 pounds, a train station and a leisurely cup of tea can take you from beach-like Brighton to one of the major cultural centers of the world.

Being typical girls, we decided to go to the Portobello Market, which for those of you who don't know, is basically shopping utopia. Hundreds (literally) of open air vendors speckled with musicians, artists, jugglers, tourists, and cuisine from every obscure country known to man. It was almost too much sensory overload for me, especially with all of the prime people watching Saturday afternoon streets entailed. Saris, antique clocks, fresh falafel, accordions and peddlers whizzed by in a giant orgy of color and noise. I felt a little bit like I was back in an Indian shopping district with all of the simultaneous action undulating around me. Almost comforting in a sense. :)

The rest of the day we walked around Hyde Park, cracking open chestnuts and visiting random churches, making our way to the infamous "Harrods." I will spare you of my venomous rant concerning this place, not even deserving of even an unbiased introduction. If you don't know about Harrods and you have a soul, consider yourself lucky. Live in bliss without having this horrid place taint your perspective of humanity (sorry, the rant just trickled in, I couldn't control it. Really). Harrods disgusted me, if that is not already evident. I just found it exemplary in every way of the parts of mankind I like to passively overlook: greed, consumerism, image, and an uncontrollable capitalistic blind-sheep mentality.

Okay...I could go on, but I will spare you. My deep disgust will not change anything, only creates ripples of unnecessary negativity. The point is: if you are in London, no it is NOT cool to go and buy a Harrods bag, even if it is from the gift store, just to say you did. 1. it supports something that is fundamentally flawed and 2. you simply look foolish. Spending gobs of money on useless items is not something worthy of pride.

Right. Sorry.

On to something a little less vindictive.....
I HAD MY FIRST GHANAIAN EXPERIENCE! *little skip of glee* On one of our random wanderings, I found a small street stand where two Ghanaian men where busily stirring massive pots of beautifully colored food. It was awesome. Although I was not necessarily hungry, I decided to approach the stand and start talking to them. I told them I was interested in the food they were cooking, because I was going to be in Ghana studying come January, and was wondering if they would tell me something about the dishes. Their response, and totally hilarious sense of humor, made me beyond excited for the journeys to come. At the end, I found myself walking away with a massive sampler of all of the food, including peanut chicken, rice, beef and vegetables, cauliflower and melon seeds and fried plantains, while waving and totally butchering Twi phrases. Success. I just signed up for classes for Ghana, one of them being Introduction to Seamanship and another Introduction to Traditional African Dance. :)

This week was Diwali, and I am happy to say that for the first time in 3 years I've been in a place where not only people know what it is, but also where it was widely celebrated. On campus there is a significant Indian population, so of course, I dragged all of my friends to the festivities. It was hilarious, because it was as typically Indian as you can get. The food was an hour later, the sound system was horrible, there was massive amounts of dancing, tons of awkwardly placed plastic chairs, and salwaars out the wazoo. It was funny to see the faces of my Brazilian and Basque friends at their first try of Indian cuisine, and my French and Canadian friends faces in response to the total disorganization of the affair. There is so much cultural twisting going on in my life right now, I am eternally confused, but constantly happy.

Okay...I will stop procrastinating doing my overly chemistry oriented homework (ugh. soooo painful) and end this entry. I hope to be doing shorter and more frequent updates in order to fill my humanization goal mentioned above.

Love to all.

2009-10-08T09:25:00.001-07:00

Alas, I am putting away my severe procrastination, to finally sit down and write a bit. I am currently sitting in a shell shape religious center in the heart of campus. It is nice, because the University has study sections in it, so one can bask in incense and stained glass while flirting with the game of knowledge acquisition. The quietness is also welcome, considering the constant bustle of hundreds of new people and faces on campus, dorm life, dances and all that is cliché in terms of college life. Sometimes it is nice to hide away in a nook and soak in a healthy dose of good energy.

So… the bulk of this blog will be centered around my recent trip to Switzerland, considering it is by far the most salient of events. I find it difficult, however, because I feel like the more moved I am by a situation, the less willing I am (or capable) to put it down in words. Maybe that is why blogs are starting to become more difficult to write- the mere fact I feel like words can’t encompass the magnitude or importance. For that purpose, I will put a bunch of pictures (since, as the age old saying goes, pictures are worth 1,000 words). Besides that, I will try my best to at least do some of Switzerland justice.

But first, I need to clarify three things:

1.Some stereotypes are blatantly inaccurate, but occasionally some stereotypes are rooted in total, untainted truth. This is one of those cases. Yes, it is no lie: the Swiss LOVE chocolate!!!!! Dear lord, I consumed more of this sticky sweet brown substance birthed from heavenly Swiss cows than is rationally conceivable.

2.The movie Heidi is totally legit.

3.NEVER insult Swiss cheese or bread…and NEVER EVER assert a). bagels or b). muffins rival baked bread. Trust me…..

Now that I have that cleared up…I can begin:
I was fortunate enough to have met Silvana in the Sussex in September program, being my neighbor and an equally rambunctious blonde lass. Luckily, I was invited to tag along with her for the week long break we had between the SIS program and real classes. She lives in Zurich (which, mind you, is NOT the capital of Switzerland despite common misconception). We flew into Zurich, after an incredible flight over much of France (where I saw Paris from above and the Eiffel Tower) and went directly to a VIP party in one of the most popular clubs in Switzerland. Silvana knows the security of the club personally, so we all we had to do was walk breezily by the massive cue, wave a hand, and be let in with no cover charge. I’m not going to lie, I felt pretty cool. It was an electronic dance party, and definitely a first of a kind for me. I can’t really say it is my favorite type of dancing situation, but it was indubitably an experience well received. After about 4 hours of only slightly varied beats, smoke machines, and lights, it was almost a meditative experience. I could not help but correlate the experience of over stimulation and constant rhythm in the brain, and how one could easily slip into a Shaman like trance. Kelly’s next PhD dissertation: Shamanic Ritualization of Zurich Clubs. Haha.

The next day Silvana and I took some bikes out on the town, and rode around the historic and ethnic region of the city. It was incredible. Sizzling foods from all earthly corners, music, specialty shops, and people bustling in and out. There was also an environmental fair going on downtown, which was focused on biking as an alternative to other transportation. Sound familiar? Haha. There are sooooo many bikes all around Switzerland (as well as Brighton!), it is really inspiring. Being overly excited for the upcoming Ghana experience, I wanted to try and find some African (specifically West African) food. Unfortunately we did not run into any weaving in and out of the streets, but we did find an Indian store where I bought Tamilian toothpaste, a chickoo (which is a fruit I have not had the pleasure of eating for 4 years) and soan papadi (basically the best Indian sweet ever). I was delighted beyond belief. We also illegally rode our bikes through the coble stone district of the city, where I climbed the massive church tower (186 stairs straight up) the Grossmunster. Silvana and I sneaked down into the basement region where tradition has it that the saints of the city of Zurich, Felix and Regula, walked up from the lake carrying their heads from battle and took eternal rest. It was pretty eerie.

That night I wanted to return the delicious dinner of (get ready): irish meat, fennel, Italian rissoto, bread, mushrooms, salad, wine, chocolate, ice cream, pears and peaches (they are half Italian=EAT A LOT!) her parents cooked me the night before. I cooked a Mexican dinner of fajitas, guacamole, tacos, salsa and beans (proving to be quite the accomplishment considering the great lack of anything Mexican in the food stores). Food is such an intimate part of one’s culture, so it was really nice to take part in the cross cultural exchange.
And here is where it really begins for me…
The next day we woke up at 8:00 (which is incredibly early there) to test darling Silvana’s driving skills and set sail towards the Swiss Alps, first stopping in Bern to see Einstein’s house and have a sunny Swiss lunch. Silvana’s mom is originally from a little ski town called Murren, hanging haphazardly on the very edge of a massive cliff, jutting over a valley between the tallest mountains in Europe. It is accessed by cable car, and from above truly appears to defy gravity, not slipping off the grassy slope when the rain falls too heavy. Luckily for me, her grandma owned a quaint hotel there, and I was not only blessed with free accommodation (my own room with a view few are able to see in their lives and a symphony of cow bells grazing below), but also 5 star food from their home style restaurant. I am so grateful to them. It was an experience of traditional Swiss life, including evening cups of hot wine, thick cheese slices, and fresh bread.

The next few days we spent (or should I say I spent subjecting Silvana to) hiking around steep trails and peering over cliffs. The Alps…are by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, probably will see, or can be seen, in my opinion. They are simply just so magnificent they seemed unearthly to me, as if someone took the most dramatic of peaks protruding from the Rockies, shoveled 10 times the snow on to them, stuffed them with steroids and a full Thanksgiving dinner, and sprinkled a bit of magic on for good measure. They were massive. They were humbling. They were challenging. I was brought close to tears so many times, and spoke primarily in superlatives while there. :) Little cottages, milk farms, decorated cows, cheese makers, green pastures, electrifyingly white snow caps, blue flowers, and total purity. The Alps have a mystic I cannot express. I really am considering take a year of my life to stay there, either for meditative progression or (hopefully) writing an overly academic book in my professorial years. Haha. One can dream….

Our last day in Murren, after absurd amounts of climbing cliff faces and ridges the previous days, we ended it in the most extravagant of ways: Shilthorn. If the Alps were not already unworldly enough, I found myself suspended on a slick black edge, overlooking an ocean of clouds whipping and undulating below my feet. I felt like I was in an airplane, since that was the only time I had ever felt the feeling of being above cloudline. It was dizzying (possibly due to the altitude, but more probably due to my flabbergasted-ness). At the top they also had a rotating restaurant (which did not help the dizziness), where we met Silvana’s grandma for a breakfast of champagne, cheese, bread, fruit, muesli, and hot chocolate (of course). It was truly the crowning jewel (as well as the location for a James Bond movie in the 70’s) of the whole experience and one that I will hold on to dearly.

Like I’ve said in previous posts, I find myself continually and increasingly taken aback with how kind this universe can be. Frequently I find myself heavy with gratitude, not knowing how to return the kindness that I have encountered both by people and circumstance. I know there must be a way, since this world works in cyclic patterns, but I just don’t know how yet. I am not going to pretend that everything is all peachy peachy all the time. I still have many a problems, concerns, fears, heartbreak, and all that silly negative stuff….but sometimes it is so easy to see the positive. And it seems the more you pick apart the posatives you have been presented, the more they seem to multiply. Maybe there is really a brain-physics-reality relation that can be altered by intentionality (you know, all that consciousness and electron stuff they talk about). Who knows? What I do know is, it is inspiring and reminds me to remain humble. Moral of the story: do the next loving thing and life will respond. Or at least that is where I’m at.

:)

2009-10-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

2009-09-26T03:12:00.000-07:00

P.S.

This is a bit of what my life has been like for the past month as far as academics.It is interesting, because there is a lot more freedom it seems in the British system than in the American. There are also no text books for assigned reading for the most part, only recommended books. A very self discovery based way of learning. Also...all of the assignments are anonymous so there is no professorial bias. I find this fascinating. (NOTE: THE SKILLFUL WORKING IN OF BRAIN THEORY ON MY BEHALF)

An Archaeological Examination:
Encephalization and the Change of Material Culture

Even upon the most novice examination of the archaeological record, stripped of a scientific eye, one thing is universally evident: change. Artifacts, although stagnate entities in it of themselves, are historically in a constant state of flux, ranging from the basic tool construction of early humans, to the complex technology of present day. One of the major questions in archaeology is why this change occurs, both on a local level, such as why a specific site was abandoned, and a global level, such as why suddenly metalwork became a rampant phenomenon. The purpose of this essay is to focus on the global question of why material culture changes over time, in an effort to explain the profound evolution of artifacts seen throughout human history.

To pin point an exact reason why material culture endures change, would be not only irrational, but a theory with great neglect to evidence. Since archaeology is a multifaceted field, there are a plethora of approaches that deal with the concept of material change, each with a different answer to the question. Ranging from climatic shifts, mass migration, inter-tribe dialogue, oceanic changes, forging strategies, and adoption of new religious beliefs, there are many variables involved- each with their own merit. However, from a biological perspective, one alteration seems to have a particularly clear correlation: neurology.
Excavated skeletal remains indicate that the skull of the closest human relative, Australopithecus, originated at about 435 to 650 cc, which expanded through a process called encephalization to the 1350-1400 cc of present day humans (Sternberg 2002). That means, in only a blink of an evolutionary eye, there was a 35% increase of neuronal matter, most of which was concentrated in the frontal lobes of the brain (Haviland 1979). Although it is difficult to ever know exactly to what extent such neural changes had, archeological evidence suggests its influence was vast. Ranging from new behavior, food consumption, religion, language, technology, and most importantly, their underlying material culture, there seems to be an incredibly interwoven relationship between brain size and cognitive complexity. As even Charles Darwin asserted in 1871: "No one, I presume, doubts that the large proportion which the size of man's brain bears to his body, compared to the same proportion in the gorilla or orangutan, is closely connected with his mental powers” (Lovejoy 1981). As Darwin insinuates, this increase in mental power may be one of the major forces in the evolution of material goods unearthed by archeology, as well as the culture that supported them.
This correlation between brain size and material culture can be further bolstered by looking at a particular medium, in this case stone (since organic material usually is not preserved as well in the archaeological record), and how it was used throughout a period of human development. Lithics, typically associated with the Paleolithic, are exemplary of early brain growth and the resultant complexity of tool making. Stone tools are first attested around 2.6 Ma, when Homo habilis in Eastern Africa used so-called pebble tools, choppers made out of round pebbles that had been split by simple strikes (Mortillet 1988). The revolution of stone tools is what many people consider to be the distinguishing breach between man and animal. The word “habilis,” the name given by Raymond Dart, means “handy man,” and is a commentary on their capacity to manufacture stone tools (Leakey 1981).

If one is to examine the brain size between Homo habilis and its closest predecessor, Australopithecus africanus, there is a 330 cc brain increase (Sternberg 2002). Although tool use cannot be entirely attributed to this brain development, there is significant reason to believe the changing neurology enabled them to not only think more long term, but also possess increased dexterity, planning and executive decision making, as is exhibited in their use of stone. The early emergence of lithics demonstrated by Homo habilis is indicative of how neural complexity greatly influenced the material culture of early hominids.

Similarly, when contrasted, the brain size of Homo habilis and Homo erectus skyrocketed from a mere 650 cc to a grand 1225 cc (Sternberg 2002). Coincidently alongside this brain size shift, even more sophisticated lithics emerged, such as Acheulean stone technology. The infamous Acheulean handaxe was created during this time, which was essentially stone chipped on both sides to form a biface of two cutting edges (Mortillet 1988). This technology proved to be so effective, it lingered throughout much of the Paleolithic era and was one of the major reasons for successful human survival in harsher climates. Along with more complex tool construction, complex social structures, ritual, and art also gave way, all of which drastically altered the material culture of the time.

However, when extending this trend beyond Homo erectus and its near relatives, there is a major critique: why, when the human brain has remained about the same size for since the emergence of modern man, material culture seems to still be exponentially evolving? This critique is most certainly not unjustified. It is quite clear that the average human brain leveled off at about 1400 cc, and has not changed a significant amount since (Sternberg 2002).

Upon closer examination, however, it might be possible that the underlying reason for this actually supports the idea of neural influence over material culture, rather than detracts from it. Often times in the discussion of evolution, a purely Darwinian dialogue of “survival of the fittest” and mere biological mutations prove to be unsatisfactory. Many theorists have asserted that biological evolution is simply the first step of evolution in a chain reaction. Following the evolution of the physical body, came emotional, social and economic evolution- all of which are not evident on the corporal level (Suddendorf 2000). So basically, what this theory asserts is that the trend of evolution seems to extend from an inner, biological one, to a more external, abstract one, which is why although there have not been physical changes in the brain, material culture continues to develop. It seems as though the brain has evolved to a point where rather than producing more networks to grapple with increasingly complex information (as was seen in the Stone Age) the brain has now evolved to utilize preexisting networks more effectively.

Either way, the study of prehistoric lithics is only one slice of the evolutionary relationship between materialism and an ever increasing neural complexity. The concept that more neural networks created an increased intricacy of thought, resulting in having more command over the material world, certainly is not void of flaws. But at the very least, as demonstrated by the close correlations of lithics and encephalization of the Paleolithic era, change in material culture and neurology appear to be inexorably linked.

2009-09-26T02:12:00.001-07:00

Hello Loved ones!
Again I find myself in the midst of total neglect of blogging. I am so sorry for that. It is difficult to balance all that occurs, with increasing procrastination due to already a considerable amount of homework and the realization I am already faaaaar behind in updating. So, once again, this will be only a pithy brushing over of events (also since I have to be on a plane to Switzerland in a few hours, time is of the essence). :)

Since I last wrote, my archaeology class has swept me up and spat me out all over different sites throughout England. Ranging from a fire at an ancient Iron Age round house farm, to a pear garden of a Roman Palace caked with ancient mosaics, to a Medieval Castle’s dungeon with poisonous spores lining the walls, to the location of the Battle of Hastings and the remains of the holy hermitage of Battle Abbey built by William the Conqueror. It has been a whirlwind of history, up close and personal digging of culture, and me being totally flabbergasted at basically every given moment.
This tends to be the trend here in England: we go somewhere and Kelly becomes flabbergasted. Even walking around Brighton, a city of tiny nooks and crannies and a never ending supply of quirky people, I find myself obnoxiously fulfilled by the going ons. It also happens very frequently when I get tired of the nonstop lifestyle of working hard and going out, and venture alone into the quietude of the South Downs, located approximately 45 seconds away from my dorm room. I love the nature here. The hills are tranquil, the forests pacifying, and the views humbling. I’ve figured out a point where not only a bright purple flower bush grows on top of a hill, but where I can also see the entire University of Sussex campus, the hubbub of the town of Brighton and sweet, silver line of the ocean beyond. It is perfection, in my opinion.

Also, since I last blogged my day of birth (i.e. birthday) has come and past. I thought that it would be somewhat anti-climatic to turn 21 for three reasons 1. in a country I am already legal to drink in, 2. the mere fact alcohol consumption is not very relevant or important to me, and 3. I generally have a massive distaste anything birthday related (if anyone should be celebrated it should be the mother). Despite these facts, however, this birthday has proved to be one the best. I woke up to hot tea, organic honey, a spoon, and a hand drawn card that said “Congratulations to your mother for having a great child” as a product of my birthday ranting in front of my door and several letters from friends and family in my mailbox from home. My friends also made me a bunch of chocolate cupcakes that spelled out “Happy 21st Birthday Kelly!” bought me a big pink flower plant and a bottle of champagne. In order to celebrate we had a pre-birthday party of the cupcakes and champagne before going out. My one rule, however, which might be surprising to some since it was my 21st birthday, was no getting drunk allowed. I don’t like the stereotype you have to get wasted on your 21st, personally I wanted to remember it. Consequently we all went out to the only Mexican restaurant in Brighton, were served some seriously delicious enchiladas, and went out to a cute little pub with Indian décor. Besides being a perfectly chill getting together of friends (with a side of a philosophical discussion of Malawian educational systems) this birthday was also the most multi-cultural one I could even conceive of. We represented all major continents except Australia and sang Happy Birthday in a total of 7 languages. There were people from The United States, Canada, England, Brazil, Switzerland, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, and Malawi, most of which had never had Mexican food (which was served by an Iranian man from California). It was classic.

Today I leave for 9 days in Switzerland to visit my friend Silvana’s home in Zurich and then explore the Swiss Alps a bit. I am very excited not only to be travelling with someone else for once (what a novel idea!) but to also see mountains (sigh). It is fortunate too, because Silvana’s grandma owns a series of hotels in the mountains, meaning free accommodation. When we come back school will officially commence. I am beyond excited, in the most geeky way possible. I am taking: The Biopsychology of Learning and Memory, Brain and Behavior, and the Biology and Evolution of Language Lateralization. *nerd snort*
I am so thankful for everything in my life—sometimes I am overwhelmed by how much goodness is out there in the universe. And other times I fear that it will all just dry up someday. But for the time being, I rest in the tenderness of it all with a big bundle of gratitude.
Love you all and see you after the Swiss.

2009-09-13T07:30:00.000-07:00

Hello long lost loved ones!

Apologies for the lack of blogging. Surprisingly, I am finding being stationary to be much more jam packed than traveling every few days. I don't know why, but most likely it is attributed to the hordes of field trips, new people, and social events associated with familiarizing yourself with a new lifestyle.

And let me say: it is a lifestyle I ADORE! England is amazing. Finding myself totally enthralled by a place and culture I was (to put it mildly) not as excited about as other more stereotypically exotic endeavors, is a welcomed surprise. I love when life throws you off your feet a bit. And that is definitely what has happened. I am absurdly pleased with the quaint Englishness that inundates daily life, and most that is associated with it.

I guess I should start off with the basics, and move on, with far less detail or poetry than I'd like, to some of the things that have taken place. I arrived in Brighton on the 4th, after taking one of the most anxiety filled train rides possible (due to the nerves of being thrown into an uncontrollable circumstance). Brighton itself is far from any place I've lived before. A beach town, speckled with unique characters, tourists, business people, and students, all sandwiched between the South Downs. The South Downs are basically a series of rolling, verdant hills that stretch across the south of England. My first impression was: wait...am I am Ireland? Because that is exactly how they appeared to my foreigner eye. The University is situated outside of Brighton, teetering elegantly along the edges of the Downs. In my opinion, it has it all: hike-able nature(a serious requirement for my general happiness), the ocean, and a cultural mecca for nightlife and art.

Currently I am part of the Sussex in September program, which is comprised of about 70 international students from all over the world (unfortunately a few more Americans than is personally palatable). I am enrolled in an Introduction to Archaeology course for this month, and then will begin a slew of brain related courses come October. It is nice to be able to 1. totally immerse myself in one subject area and 2. unveil a new passion. I LOVE OLD THINGS and the people who made them. Hahaha.

This course in particular has been fantastically helpful in allowing me to get familiar with the surrounding Sussex area,in terms of learning about its ancient people, its geology, and (most importantly) getting out and actually seeing them. A major component of the class is to visit archeological digs/ruins and learn about their history. We most recently went to Lewes Castle (where I got to dress up like a princess and sashay around the castle) and a Roman Villa. The Roman Villa was BY FAR the neatest thing that has happened yet in my educational career. It was hands on learning to an extreme! Since the Roman Villa was currently under excavation and not open to the general public, we got an up close and personal tour of how things actually work. We got to step right down into the ancient roman baths, where you could still see black soot from the fires that heated the water and walk around, poking and prodding at 3,000 year old items. It blew my mind. I think I was squealing with joy for about an hour straight. Being given an ancient red tile, where I could still see the finger prints and where someone has dragged a bone across the wet mortar to make lines, pushed me from glee to totally geeky ecstasy.

We then walked, tile in hand and smile still obnoxiously large, to a Roman road that was also under excavation and then the camp site where the archeologist live. Inside a burlap tent were all of the findings that the crew had unearthed, of which we had full freedom to peruse. The table included bins and bins of old pottery, tiles, and stones, as well as a human body and hand made coins. It was like a childish desire of being able to sneak into a museum at night and examine up close the details of the things, fulfilled.

Okay. Now on to an even more (at least in my literary geekhood) exciting trip: There is another group of international students studying in the adjacent house to where all of the Sussex in September program students are, who are taking an English language course right now. Annnnd....being a typically Kelly move, I somehow found myself being (the only one from the Sussex in September group) invited to come along to a fully paid tour around Sussex, including bohemian churches, massive mountain side fertility gods, the Cliffs of Dover, a traditional pub meal and most importantly VIRGINIA WOOLF'S HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!! I know, I know. I am totally a typically irritating fan. But Virginia Woolf is by far (along side Kahlil Gibran) my favorite author in the entire world. Sitting in her rose garden, petting a kitten, I found myself beyond ecstatic. We got to walk around her house, bedroom, and her summer writing room where she wrote many a' famous books. The energy there made me inspired.

Yesterday we went to Stonehenge and Bath. Both of which were jaw dropping. Although I enjoyed the mystic of Stonehenge, I was surprised to find out that Bath was the highlight of the day. The concept of being able to sit aside healing thermal waters worshiped for thousands of years, was magnetic.

Okay...there about nine thousand (to be exact) things I would love to write, but I am afraid it is near impossible to do so. Time is of the essence, and trying to capture it all here would take me years. But just about every minute is soaked with castles, night clubs, dancing, new people, and unique experiences. I certainly will treasure these times.

Also, I am planning on getting up some pictures on facebook from the past few weeks, so please check those out.

LOVE to all and hopefully more updates soon. If I tackles these in smaller chunks of times, it is much easier to encompass everything I want to. :)

2009-09-03T12:39:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Currently I am huddled in a dark corner of a British hostel whilst Edward Scissor Hands is playing on a tacky old television over head. It feels good to finally be in the country that I’ll be staying in for awhile (and that speaks the same language!). Although transiency is a way of life I not only thrive on, but plan on living as long as feasibly possible with respect to time, money and those I love, but it is time to plant my feet. Some solid dirt sounds utterly appealing after three months or so of not being somewhere longer than three or four days. :) So, cheers (as the British say to basically everything) to temporary residency! *hip hip horay!*

My last day in Spain proved to be a celebratory, culturally rich, amazing way to end the trip (and I use the word ‘end’ loosely). I spent most of the daylight hours perusing ancient archaeological coins, carvings, and pottery in the National Museum of Archeology in the heart of Madrid. I am continually astounded by human nature, and this particular rendezvous only acted as yet another reason why I want to study evolutionary processes in conjunction with brain science. It amazes me the capacity we demonstrated so quickly as a species. I am anxiously awaiting Ghana for that reason. Afterward, I found myself eating lunch with a few Mexican girls I met in the one-the-only-the-wonderful-the-blasphemous McDonlads, which is apparently far hipper in Spain. It was repugnant to say the least, but still an experience. I got a Cona Kit Kat (ice cream with a Kit Kat stick stuck in it) and cold Gazpacho soup. Authentically ironic, if I do say so myself.
That evening, luckily, the three other American girls I had grown to have a general distaste for the past 4 days, finally vacated and four more girls moved in. One from Vietnam (who was fluent in SIX languages), a girl from South Africa, a girl from Canada, and a girl from Holland. We all became immediately chummy and set off to tour the city, discover tapas, and attempt to perfect the “get no sleep” attitude of the Spanish population. To add to our international smorgasbord of personalities, we ended up picking up two New Zealand guys, an Australian, and a dude from Ohio (which he insisted was a different country in it of itself) who had been living in Johannesburg. It was quite the world mix, which proved to result in some seriously satisfying philosophical conversations after some fine cheese, blood sausage, and several things of sangria. We ended up sitting the Plaza Mayor, underneath illuminated ancient buildings, and discussing politics until sunrise, which was appropriately accompanied by chocolate churros and me almost mauling the Australian over a disagreement about animal abuse. But, nevertheless, we ended up exchanging email addresses to be friends down the road. Funny how that works out. :)

The next day proved to be a slightly catastrophic travel experience. It was as if the universe, which mind you had been EXTREMLY kind to me the past few weeks in terms of fluency and ease in travelling, saved all the bad luck for that one night. The metros were messed up, the buses not on time, I thought my plane left 2 hours before it actually did, my flight got delayed, there were outstanding thunderstorms over London as we flew in, I barely missed the last train to central London (30 minutes from the airport), and arrived after a taxi ride through narrow alley ways at 2:00 a.m. not sure if I’d be able to get into the hostel. Luckily, for some reason unknown to me, this particular hostel had a 24 hour desk service, and I was able to check in and assume the last bed in a room full of 12 snoring gentlemen. It was a night to remember, and quite the way to go out. But overall made me even more appreciatory of how fortunate I’d been for the rest of the trip. Really, besides almost missing my flight in Brussels, nothing went wrong. Glory Glory halleluiah!
Today I spent most of my time touring…basically everything in London possible. With a solid 6 ½ hours of bus hopping, I made it to the London Tower, the London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, China town, Sir. Charles Newton’s house, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Parliament, a boat ride on the Thames, the Globe Theater, St. Petersburg, the London Eye, as well as snuck on a tour of the National Museum, saw a famous British comedian, went to the Sherlock Holmes Museum and visited Margret Thatcher’s current residence. The point being: I AM TIRED! Gosh…so totally pooped. But at the same time, entirely enthralled by a new love. Out of all the cities I’ve been to in my life, London is really the only one that I really could envision myself living in and being totally happy. (Note to self: live in London for awhile). The other strange thing is, and I don’t have any idea why, out of all the monuments and bucket loads of famous sights I’ve been to, Big Ben was the only one that drew tears. HAHAHA. It was exceptional. I don’t know why either! I started laughing at myself so hard, while eating prepackaged meat slices (which is a story in it of itself) on a park bench with tears in my eyes. It was beautiful though.
And that is that.

Tomorrow I take a train to Brighton (EEK!) to start a new chapter to this seemingly epic novel. I have to admit, in total honesty, I am really afraid of the notion of staying in one place for 4 months straight. The freeing thing about moving is that is someone doesn’t like you, you make a bad impression, or are unhappy for whatever reason, it is all temporary. And while this is still a temporary exchange, it is a little bit heavier. I guess there just seems like there is more pressure to make a right impression and all that jazz. But if anything has been extracted from this experience, it is how to deal with people. I feel pretty confident, or at least more confident, in my ability to go out on a limb. So I am hoping that fragment of learning will help me in this potentially intimidating new situation. I guess I just have to go with the flow, something that is yet to let me down, and do my best. Go kindly. Yup. That’s about what it boils down to. :)
Well, since I am on the verge of sleep coma and need to eat my freshly chopped fruit salad and spinach, I must say adieu. But thanks for reading everyone. More to come.
Love.
Kelly

2009-09-02T04:09:00.000-07:00

So...this is a totally not blog related in any way, shape, or form...but it was a product of my travels and something that I thought I'd at least give a little bit of life by posting it here, since I don't think I'll ever slam it, considering its more old school writing style.

But yeah...this was written late night in Venice after a revelation on a water taxi and a bit of Shakespeare earlier that day.

"Thus hath the candle."

It was then,
As I sat stripped on a Venetian ship
In a place I don’t belong.
Bantering to myself about cliché book titles,
And art pieces unfavorable,
When a temporary silence struck such humming grey matter,
In a way that set cold the clamoring,
chit chat of foreign words and chewed on street signs,
Into a blanket of remembrance.

It was a tragic rejection of Shakespearic proportion
That shook a part of my core I thought to be long ago salved.
It was as if the mere rocking of the weighted ship
Set sail with tumbling tourists in paper caps
Unhinged the broken bottle set to sea caught on wet rocks

And brought it back to me.

Alone and unnerved, the bottle sat heavy on my linen dress
Calling to be uncorked after a year of marine marinated waiting
So, with no one to tell me not, I looked deeply into the crystalline glass
Set opaque by sea salt
To see
Where a quiet creature sat.
White as ash and cast in a humble recline
A little lunar moth.

And in an instant, the placidity of the thrown about boat
Became muddled with wing beats born of a heart marooned
Stringing together a symphony of perfectly papered words
That broke membranes in my inner ear
In an effort to touch the most intimate parts of that forgotten soul
To say:

"Thus hath the candle singd the moath."
As if Shylock was my woes,
And the candle was you.
Something sought like the sunshine of winter days
I realized in the most tragic of ways
I am still bound.
Like a moth to the flame.

2009-08-31T13:42:00.000-07:00

Hola from Espana!

Wow. Wow. Wow. I like Spain MUCHO! (But as is instantly apparent I'm sure, my Spanish needs some work). The food, the people, the streets, the buildings, and the general sense of vitality that this place exudes is intoxicating. Madrid is a total melting pot, but with seemingly a unifying flavor of excitement and sauciness.

The past few days have certainly been a whirlwind of meeting new people and attempting to examine the endless nooks and crannies of Madrid's streets. There really is a lot to see, ranging from ancient castles and churches, to skyscrapers and temples. The first day I got into the city I had to take 3 metros and walk a good deal before I got into my hostel, rendering most of the day burnt up my the trivialities of travel. But I, being probably too overly ambitious and not wanting to waste a second, I threw my stuff into my room and jetted off to the allegedly best sunset watching place in all of the city: the Egyptian Temple dedicated to the goddess Isis. I don't know what was more shocking the fact Madrid, a rather cosmopolitan metropolis, has an ancient temple juxtaposed with a freshly constructed Starbucks, or the sheer magic of the sunset that evening. It was BEAUTIFUL! The sun here is really a spectacle, although at times an unwanted one due to the insane amount of heat it produces.

The next day was my museum going day. I've decided after about 9 hours of aimless wandering in and out of old Flemish paintings, Spanish art is much more aesthetically appealing to me than a lot of other masterpieces known in the Western world. Everything just seems to be more juiced with color (the obvious exception being kind sir Goya himself). I went to Reina Sofia in the morning, known for housing some of Salvador Dali's most famous works and one of my favorite paintings of all time: Guernica. Ever since using this piece in the play "Us and Them" that I directed in high school, it has been a favorite of mine. It was amazing to stand next to it in awe. The other thing that gave me a serious "awe" sensation was running into a fellow Goucher student, yet again. I feel like in every obscure place I go in life Goucher people follow, may it be a hippy commune in Tennessee, biking through Virginia, or in a random museum in Spain. Weird.

After a siesta from art in the botanical gardens and a nice floral scented nap, I made my way to Museo del Prado, one of the most extensive museums in Spain. I ended up meeting a guy from Kansas who was studying Art History and Spanish for a year in Madrid, but was an English and Cognitive Science major (so obviously we had a lot to talk about). It was nice having some one to educate me about Spanish art/translate all of the written text about the paintings. I am surprised how time flies in museums, they are like portals of misrepresented time, while as you're simultaneously shipping yourself off to different time periods, time in the present seemingly dissipates at a higher rate than usual. Lovely. I also got to see another of my favorite paintings: The Garden of Earthly Delights.

Last night I had my first tapas bar experience, as well as a private performance of flamenco in a back alley way. One minute I was cooking beans and cutting avocado slices for dinner, and the next I was friends with 15 people who had met a local person who had invited us all over for the dancing and drinks. It was AMAZING! Not only did I get a show of a lifetime, but I also got to learn a few dance moves (as well as execute them poorly). Afterward I met two girls from Michigan who I adored. :) They were SO much fun. We decided to find the most authentic tapas bar we could, eventually settling with the one with a gigantic pig foot jutting out of the plates on the bar table and mounds of pearly white cheeses. We got a bottle of complimentary aged cider from the bar tender and munched on tapas for hours (people in Spain stay up until like 6 or 7 in the morning) talking about American political problems with two guys from he Canary Islands.

Today I took a train from Madrid to Toledo, one of the former capitals of the Spanish Empire, as well as the birth place of El Greco. The train ride out there was very interesting, enabling me to get out of the big city a bit and see the country. This part of Spain resembles much of what a geographic conglomeration of New Mexico, Arizona and Kansas would look like. Very arid and general goldeness about it. It is beautiful...but HOT! Toledo itself was breathtaking. Being an old Moorish city and a cultural fusion point for Jewish and Christian communities, there are countless old churches, ancient buildings and castles all stacked up on a mountain surrounded by a stone wall and moat-like river. I LOVED everything about Toledo. It was one of the first places that still felt authentic to me (although still had a fair share of tourist oriented things). But I could really imagine lace clad women with fancy fans strolling down the cobble stone streets. I sat in the plaza munching the infamous Toledo marzipan for a good chunk of time first watching an old man in a top hat feed the birds pieces of crumbled bread, and eventually taking part in the act once he saw me being intrigued by the effort. There was something tender about that moment.

Tomorrow my overall objective is to nourish my overly excited and geeky desire to go to the Santiago Ramón y Cajal museum. Santiago Ramón y Cajal basically was a pioneer in documenting the structure of neurons in the human brain, and radically reshaped the way we conceptualized our neural networks.....meaning he= kelly's hero. So yeah. I am REALLY excited for that. I think I am going to wake up for sunrise, which according to the Hungarian girl in the room next to me, is incredible from the Plaza del Sol tomorrow morning.

One more day in Spain and then off to London. I am starting to get anxiously excited to start school in a few days. I am definitely thirsty for knowledge and meeting friends I'll know more than a few hours. :)

Besos por todos.
Kelly

2009-08-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

Howdy from a Venetian window overlooking the Grand Canal. Today was my last day in this incredible country, and I am feeling a bit nostalgic (yet unspeakably excited for the Spain adventures to come).

This blog is not going to be as profound or lengthy as I'd hope, considering I am totally, incredibly, terribly, wonderfully, yet definitely, without a doubt, exhausted (how's that for an unnecessary string of adjectives!). I leave at 6:00 tomorrow morning...and I bought a tacky big blue alarm clock from the Jewish Ghetto this afternoon just to be sure not to relive the unfortunate mishap that occurred in Brussels.

Yesterday I spent most of my time wandering around aimlessly, in my ferocious attempt to step foot on every narrow passage way in Venice (knowing quite realistically it was impossible). But, with some sore feet, I did manage to make it to all 6 sectors of the island. It was totally worth it. The shimmering blue canals, white bridges, and freckled water ways reflecting pastel buildings are all eye candy you can never get sick of. I also decided to wake up at sunrise and watch the golden rays slowly make their way across the canal near my hostel while enjoying a pistachio cookie and a fresh apple from a street vendor. Luckily waking up this early allowed me to get some serious exploration out of the way and in line for San Marcos Basilica before the mobs of other sweaty tourists arrived. I think I was like the 5th person inside or something ridiculous like that, letting me not only swiftly get in and out of the cue, but take my time in peace once in the church. I have never seen so many gold paintings in my life. What an incredible place! Mankind truly is exceptional.

Afterward I bought a 4 Euro ticket to go to the top of the old clock tower near the church, which just so happens has the best view of both he ocean and the city. It was breath taking. I sat up there talking to strangers in the window for a good hour and a half. I couldn't stop imagining Shakespearean clad gents and ladies strolling the square and ships with big sails coming in from sea. Marco Polo and The Merchant in Venice have been playing imaginary scenes in my mind as well. :)

The rest of the day consisted of aimless wandering (which is the might seem mundane, yet in Venice, it is truly a treat), gelato munching on piers, dangling my feet in the water while sipping peach wine, strolling the Mercado Rilato, and being sketched by a random Spaniard on a bridge. hahaha. I could get used to this life!

Today was my "get yourself educated" day, resulting in some serious museum goings and comings. I woke up early again, made friends with the fruit vendors, who ended up giving me free apples and a glass bead necklace, and getting on the nearest boat to the Island Murano off the coast. Murano is famous for its glass blowing, a market that dominates much of shops in Venice, so I went to the Glass Museum there. I really never knew how complicated and exquisite the art of glass blwing could be. It was SO interesting to see how glass was 1. blown, 2. evolved over time periods, and 3. the cultural and societal ties. It was nice, because on the boat over I met a girl from Uruguay and we ended up becoming friends and wandering the museum together giggling geekishly in and out of the different rooms and then wandering the island. We stumbled upon a glass blowing demonstration and snuck into a few factories to get the real hands on view of the process. I really enjoyed having a friend/someone to talk to more than a few momentary exchanges of words. (One of my major qualms with Venice is how lonely it can be when you're not madly in love. Really...it is hard to be in the most romantic places in the entire world by yourself, witnessing the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen, by yourself, and being surrounded by happy couples, by yourself. Did I mention I was by myself?. Haha. So the point is: it was nice to have a friend. Although it still doesn't remedy the love problem. :)

The rest of today I spent getting lost in the Gallerie dell'Accademia, being totally floored by the insanity of some of the paintings. I love art. Like really. HUMANS ARE AN IMPRESSIVE SPECIES! Maybe I look at things too evolutionary, but the things we have produced are profound.

Anyways, just got back from roaming the streets one last time, photographing flowers, and standing on the Bridge of Rialto during the sunset and now...I am off to sleep before yet another long day of travel.

See you in Espana!

2009-08-27T12:15:00.001-07:00

I found a camera chord thingymagigger at a random store in the Jewish Ghetto so here are some pictures of Venice to make up for not having them in the last blog (note:incredible and frequent sunburn pics):

2009-08-26T11:58:00.001-07:00

This song is highly relevant right now.
(Shout out to Paul for showing me it):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfGLzDQ7e-k&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.lyrics-celebrities.anekatips.com%2Fsong-lyrics%2Fthe-road-lyrics-frank-turner&feature=player_embedded#t=242

2009-08-26T10:58:00.000-07:00

It’s decided. I am moving to Italy (and Brussels, and Dublin and probably every other European city I go to).
Venice is incredible! Mindblowingly incredible. I cannot think of a better adjective to describe such a phenomenon (I’ve decided it can’t just be considered a “city”). Wildly romantic, aesthetically perfect and simmering with the best smells, food and drink I’ve ever experienced. What kind of God descended upon this place back in the day and said “this shall be the most beautiful place ever known to man in every regard?” Whoever it was, proved to be extremely successful, and then some. Narrow bustling streets, overly excited Italian discussions, and crystal blue canal routes jammed with black gondolas.
*sigh*
But let me backtrack for a moment to my last day in Belgium (can you tell I’m excited about Italy! Hahah). After getting quite the exposure to Brussels, traversing just about every inch of the cobble stone alleys with some friends, I decided it would be a good idea to get out of the city and experience some authentic, un-tourist tainted Belgium. So I took a train out to the country side. Doing things by my usual play it by ear mentality, I walked over to the train station, found a name on the map I liked and got the first departing train. About half way through I figured out that no one was routinely checking tickets, and that it should be, hypothetically, a breeze to get off the train and back on at my own leisure. So that’s what I did. Every town that either looked interesting or I could see some kind of big statue, I jumped off and walked around for a bit. It was a really hit of miss methodology, but enabled me to at least sample some of the northern areas. Eventually I ended up in Antwerpen, which is this totally random shopping district out of New York City, except all of the Gucci stores and what not are constructed in to ancient, castle-esque buildings. It was just about the most bizarre fusion of old and new architecture I’ve witnessed. I heard that there was a world famous chocolatier who was attempting to build a church (on a slightly smaller scale of course) solely out of his homemade goods. All I can say is: my nose has never been so totally tantalized. (luckily I had a handful of Belgium chocolates in my purse form the day before). Yum, and quite impressive.
When I got back ended up talking to this guy who was on his way to Cario and had been living in Barcelona from Missouri, and a girl who had just been travelling the Middle East and been in France for 2 months. To put a long story short: it was a trio made in heaven. According to them, I had been in Brussels for 3 days and not yet experienced proper Lebanese food, and considering the fact he was fluent in Arabic I found myself being whizzed to a back alley Arabic speaking nook in the wall ordering the best falafels in town. It was cool, because all of the people in the restaurant were so interested in the fact this random white dude was speaking perfect Arabic, we were flocked by interested, talkative, inquisitive Lebanese. What was supposed to be a hour dinner, ended up being about 2 ½, with an intensive introduction to Arabic lesson for me. Eventually we had to end the diner short, since there were some other people waiting back at the hostel for us to go out, but I’d say it takes the cake for the best dining experience thus far this trip.
Later that night there was an epic thunder/rain storm, so the only natural thing to do was to run around like wild animals dancing in the rain in front of ancient churches. I think “raining in Brussels” would be an awesome acoustic guitar song. Again, my happiness levels exceeded an unprecedented degree. It was hard to say farewell to such invigorating folk, but at the same time that is the nice thing about travelling like this: it is like a constant sample of people. It is actually very freeing, since you know you can just be yourself with no restraint or repercussions in the long run, because the likelihood of waking up the next morning and never seeing them again is very probable. Biggest lesson learned so far= the power of confidence. It is a totally valuable skill to know, and one that I am hopefully getting better at as a product.

Okay…so Venice! I don’t think I’ll ever be quite sure if the fact I am in Venice is a magical experience, or it is the fact that being here was actually a gift from some dude in the sky. Seriously. As a product of my inability to understand time differences/setting my wristwatch to the appropriate one, I ended up waking up 1 hour and 8 minutes after when I had planned on taking a taxi to the airport (at 3:00 in the morning mind you!). It was bad. Especially since at that hour (being 4:08 a.m.) all public transportation is closed and the only way to get to the bus I needed to be at was to take a taxi. I stuffed all of my things into my backpack and ran out into the streets praying to god the taxi, by some miracle was still there, albeit pissed I was sure. Unfortunately it was not. So I was left with no phone, no way of contacting the owner of the hostel, and no number to the nearest taxi service…all of which were increasingly not good due to the sheer sketchy factor of Brussels after dark. So... there was nothing else to do, but to sit on the steps, convincing myself it would be okay that I was going to miss my plane, and see what the universe would present. But then, three Italian drunks staying at the hostel came into my life….and I can honestly say I’ve never in my life been so over joyed to be in the presence of drunk men. They were totally decent, let me use their phone, called a taxi for me and waited until it came to keep me safe while giving my iced muffins. You never know what to expect in life.
Unfortunately my only choice was to take a taxi directly to the airport, which was 45 minutes away, since I only had about 55 until the plane began to board. In the end, I made it with about 10 minutes to spare, as a product of me somehow explaining to the drive that speeding was okay despite a thick language boundary. The only major issue of the process was that the ride alone cost 112 Euros…yeeeah. Major bummer.
BUT! I AM HERE IN VENICE! Sipping peach juice after feasting on about a pound of fruit from a huge market nearby. When I got here I checked in to the hostel and bought a 3 day water taxi ticket. Since I was (and still am) totally sleep deprived, I decided to order a wheel of licorice, some handmade meringues and a pizza margarita and set off for the farther destination the water taxi would take me. That way I could be a passive viewer, while still getting a sense of the city. (trust me the roads that mimic Italy’s primary pasta dish are not easy on a tired mind).
The taxi ended up taking me through the major water canal and on to Lido, a small Island right off of the Venetian coast. It was quite the ride. For the remainder of the day, I sat popping meringues, sleeping on a white rock with my toes in the water, and breathing in the rawness of the ocean air. Seagulls, crystal blue water, white sand, and (as is typically European) half clad gents and ladies. It was the best remedy for a stressed, sleepless mind.
Anyways…now I am back in my hostel (which is on the 5th floor of an alley that a 300 pound person would, without a doubt, have a difficult time in regards to width.
Life is good.
And I am one VERY thankful lady.

p.s. sorry there are no pictures, I lost my camera chord. So as soon as I can figure out how to get a new one or have someone (AHEM *cough cough*MOM) send me one. Sorry!