Belly of the Whale

In the dusty evening, I thought juggling would be a nice active sort of way to meditate. The stupa was too full at this time of day, so I thought of the soccer field. There should be a lot of kids around and they always enjoy a little juggling. So maybe it wouldn't be all that meditative. Either way would be fine. The latter proved more true.

I dropped my bag (which I unfortunately felt I needed a constant eye on) and started tossing the old hackies. Two are old hemp balls from Loose Lucy's (in Columbia) and one I got in Merida Vna. As I juggled I became the pied piper; they gathered so quickly. They wanted to learn and I tried to teach them. But they were like a pack of wolves: one never had a chance. I thought that maybe a hack circle would be more social. But at first it was utter chaos. Again, a pack, no kicking room, but a hierarchic fight for the ball. It was such fun to watch. They put their feet on the ball so well. I kept spreading them and they slowly calmed into the game. The crowd dwindled to an appropriate sized circle. I initiated the "if you use your hands, you get beaned" rule by demonstration instead of explanation. It was figured out well and became a point of great fun. I should say that I only beaned the kids in the feet to get the idea. By this point there were elderly and some teenagers around, sitting on the concrete steps around the field. The field is essentially sand and dust and sits adjacent to a school.

So we played. We succeeded at a couple of hacks as well. I was mightily impressed. Perhaps I should add that these children were ten, twelve, thirteen years old; I am not sure. Dirty, sandle wearing, all cheerful laughing, a few shy, but talented; one overly domineering; one who really liked the spinning, karate style kick, even if it wasn't appropriate; one, the youngest I think, had a killer inside left foot. He I insidently beaned for using his hands when he had just come into the game. He didn't know any better and looked a bit shocked when I tried to pelt him with the ball. I missed; I always seem to miss.

This must be one of my finest experiences in Nepal. This is why I love the "third world." It is this sort of cultural experience that transcends Nepal or anywhere: I spent an hour playing ball with eight kids, beautiful and bright, and we couldn't say a word to each other. We just played. We all knew how to go after the ball. (I do know a little Nepali, but it didn't apply except to say "my name is Jonah") Actually, that was the sort 'a sweet part, hearing them saying "Jonah" in their little-kid Nepali voices, "Namaste, Jonah."

At once I felt self-conscious being a six-foot white American playing ball with a bunch of twelve year-olds in front of a bunch of old timers, and I also felt completely natural and relaxed. We all had such smiles on our faces. I thought, "who's going to try and knab my bag when I am bringing joy to people. That bag is like a limp, I don't part with it easily. Anyway, I will have to go back more regularly, without my bag.

On a different train of experience, I wrote a story today; a short one about San Fermin. It was a lot of fun, not that bad I don't think. Certainly it is not great, but it is something down on paper none the less. Also I had a beautiful dream about the future last night. The dreams are so lucid, fluid, and clear, unhinged, loose, unbriddled - this is not what I expected from these months here, nothing of what I expected. I didn't have expectations, dificulty sure, I felt that; but I refused to think of the experience that was coming, I was too busy, and I thought I knew too little to begin to imagine it.

Well this is deteriorationg. All I meant to get across was a little of the beauty of the day, of the experience. It was fine. Other things will wait for other days. Namaste -