So I've been here for about a week and I feel as though I've already had a life time's worth of experiences.
It would probably take me all day to tell write about what this week has been, so I'll give you the abbreviated version which I suspect will be a bit lengthy anyhow.
Mornings
I'm currently staying at a guest house in the center of Ubud and let me tell you--Bali, if nothing else in my life, has made me a morning person.
Let me paint you a picture.
At around 4:30AM, I am serenaded by a symphony of roosters and I can see the earliest glimmer of dawn creeping through the cracks of my old wooden door. At around 5:00AM the roosters are soon joined by the chatter of exotic birds and the smell of burning wood as families prepare their wood-fire ovens for breakfast. At this point, I usually climb out of bed--sweaty and dazed, slip on my flip flops, and a sarong and head out to the front balcony (yes I have two). The front balcony overlooks the Ning family's (the amazing family who I am staying with) house and courtyard. Their house is part temple with unbelievably ornate wood carvings and doors, part house and part guest house. Next to the chair on the balcony the Ning mother has already set out warm nutty tea for me. I sip the tea and write in my journal as I watch the sun rise and with it the heat of the day. The Ning daughter comes up the steps with a tray full of incense and offerings to the volcano gods and conducts a ceremony on the shrine next to my room. The smell of burning incense wafts into my room and onto the balcony. She and I bow to each other and wish each other a good morning "Breakfast?" she asks sweetly. I nod my head and thank her. Shortly after, the Ning father, a jolly man who is full of smiles and jokes brings freshly made crepes with banana, cinnamon and coconut, and fresh fruit off the tree--bananas, pineapple and papaya all arranged in a pyramid. I thank him with a big smile to show how grateful I am for the way he treats me like a queen. I consume my breakfast and savor the taste of Bali--sweet, spicy and full of surprises. Then, I begin to plan or not plan my day.
This is my morning in paradise. :)
Village Visits
As you might've been able to tell from the photos I've taken, my second day here was spent motorbiking up a volcano--something that in my wildest of dreams, I never would've imagined doing. However, that's travel for you. Somehow, you trust, you're open for opportunity to sweep you off your feet and take you somewhere magical and challenge you in ways you'd never expect. :)
So my friends Dillion, Jen and I took off on motorbikes (me on the back of Jen's). He had a GPS, so we were able to go off the main road and through the jungle and villages that we never would've found otherwise-- which let me tell you, was by far the most incredible thing I have ever done in my life. We stopped for lunch in a small village with a huge market. We bought fried bananas and chicken, egg noodle soup. As we were having lunch, a Balinese fellow next to us struck up a conversation. His name was Puta and he lived in the village but worked in a hotel in Ubud. He was so incredible. I don't even know how to possibly describe the depth of this human, but we talked length about travel, life and living it. This has been common amongst most every Balinese native I've met. They are quick to smile, quick to introduce themselves and quick to help when it's needed. I think this is quite the accomplishment especially considering how over-run with tourists and ex-pats Bali is becoming. Sometimes, I even feel small sense of guilt for being here and intruding on a culture. Still, I try to be as respectful as possible. I'm sure not every tourist is as mindful. Yet, despite how frustrated I'm sure the Balinese must get at times, they certainly don't show it. When I talked to Puta about tourists and foreigners coming to his land--he smiled knowingly and said "We are one! One people of this world! We should share it."
Wow.
Also, Puta had a niece. She was about 3 years old and the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen in my life. Immediately she gave me a winning smile and waved to me. She didn't speak a word of English so she and I communicated using our arms and faces--making faces at each other and being complete goofballs. It doesn't matter where you go, the children of this world are absolutely amazing, amazing beings. I will cherish that hour I had with Puta and his niece forever.
Flat Tires= Opera and Poop Coffee
Title get your attention? I was hoping it would because this next story is like something out of a movie...
So Jen and I were riding a REAL motorbike. Like one with SUPER duper treads--one that is meant to drive up a volcano.
Dillon's moto? Not so much.
He was driving ahead of us when all of a sudden we all heard a big POP!
Well, shit.
There we were on the side of a volcano without much evidence of humanity around us and with a flat tire. We should've freaked out but for some reason, I felt a huge sense of calm as if somebody (volcano gods, perhaps) were looking out for us. Suddenly, I remembered that we had just passed the Kopi Luwak plantation so I suggested that we go back there and see if they might be able to help us.
So Kopi Luwak, for those of you who don't know and who have not seen the movie "The Bucket List", is the most expensive coffee on the planet. The process of production is very....unique. The plantation keeps tons of Luwaks (small lemur looking animals) in captivity--feeds them coffee beans (poor over-caffeinated animals) then collects their excrement, and uses that concoction to make coffee. Yes, essentially, this is poop coffee and it goes for hundreds of dollars (in the US at least).
Thankfully, the ever generous Balinese were there to help us. As it would happen one of the men who worked on the plantation had a friend just down the road who fixed motorbikes. Amazing, right?
So as Dillon went to go get his bike fixed, Jen and I stayed on the plantation. Obviously, this meant that Jen and I had to stay and try this Kopi Lowak. The volcano gods demanded it.
So there we were, sitting in a beautiful tree house, overlooking the lushest green valley I'd ever seen and sipping (the surprisingly delicious) Kopi Luwak.
Then there was the monkey.
This character would not leave us alone. He came right up to me, started tugging on my shirt and biting my bag which was cute at first then as he became a bit more insistent, less cute. Obviously, I had to stop sweet talking him and show him that I was alpha. So, I narrowly escaped attack by monkey by baring my teeth and making deep loud noises and pounding on the the wood floor with my fist. He bared is teeth at me as if to say "you're a JERK!" Then scurried off. What a character...
So THEN came the whopper.
Jen, caught on that I am an opera singer. As soon as Dillon had returned with his newly fixed motorbike he insisted that I give a concert. I suppose it was the least I could do to thank the volcano gods.
So there I was, singing my lungs out to the monkey, the luwaks and the volcano/any unsuspecting valley person. Good thing there aren't avalanches in Bali (of snow at least).
In all seriousness, it was a completely beautiful experience. I hadn't sung like that in YEARS. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. The boys were sweet and gave me a huge hug afterwards.
That was, by far the most awesome thing I've ever done in my life.
Well, my internet time is running out. More to come later. :)
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Bali--An Island of Juxtaposition
So, I'm not even sure where to start...
I'm in Bali and it's a whole other world here. My entire perception of space and time has been completely warped. It's as if the life I lived before doesn't even exist any more. This place is more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
I'm in an internet cafe right now typing this, so my uploading of pictures and general writing prowess probably isn't exactly up to par. There may be a delay on the photos but they'll be up soon...
After a grueling 24 hour flight/layover process from Seattle to LA, to Tokyo, to Singapore, I finally landed it Bali rather vacant and bewildered. This did not help when as soon as I walked out of the airport and along with a wave of humidity and blazing heat, there were taxi-drivers vying for my attention. Despite having researched how much they tend to jip unsuspecting tourists and having memorized the correct amount I should pay, I STILL was able to be swindled into paying twice as much. Oh well, so it goes.
As the taxi driver started on the road, I couldn't believe my eyes. I was HERE. Bali in all its 3rd world paradise glory. Piles of refuge lay strewn about the street and drifted quietly through muggy creeks. Ragged, snarl-tooth dogs wandered the streets looking for a free meal or to terrorize some tourists, barefooted children walked alongside their parents who towed heavy loads of wood or other materials...
Then there was the driving. Despite what you may think, in my opinion, the driving here almost seems safer than that in the states. Drivers are paradoxically polite, intelligent and aggressive. At first glance, the roads here seem chaotic and dangerous. Motorcyclists and cars weave around each other using their horns as a sort of shockingly polite language. The point is, everybody has a speed that they want to go. If the person in front of them is not going their desired speed, then drifting into the opposite lane to pass that individual(s) is entirely acceptable.
Basic rule is: Just don't get killed.
Police serve merely as decorations and to tax white people who are riding motorcycles...
I should've felt panicked as my taxi driver swerved and weaved and honked yet, I felt oddly at ease. After all, he was a MUCH better driver that I or most people I know in the states will ever be. So are most people on the road. You HAVE to be. Your survival depends on it. However, he could tell I was a bit on edge so he took off his seat belt to show me his confidence in driving. How strangely arrogant and kind! Lots of juxtapositions going on here
After about 40 minutes of driving by shop after shop after shop...literally, the array of run-down roadside sellers did not ever end, I finally arrived at Uhbud. I asked my driver to drop me off at an information center so I could get my bearings and figure out hot to get to my couch surfing house. The taxi driver didn't seem to have a clue where to go...Thankfully when I got to the little rickety information booth, the Balinese men were SUPER nice. One of them actually was able to take me in his car to my destination. Only asking 10,000 rupia (1 dollar) for the drive. When he dropped me off, he gave me the biggest smile and said "thanks for giving me a job!" This has been very common in my time here. People are lovely, full of smiles and always ready to help or assist. While most street vendors are there to do their job and convince you to buy their goods, they are all incredibly generous and wonderful, wonderful people. More on that soon...
When I finally arrived at my destination, I made my way up some ancient stone stairway, through a passageway between temples and to the little nook where the Kaleidoscope house resides. I came into a beautiful open courtyard with a gurgling fountain, stepping stones and stone stairs various shoes strewn upon them leading to the open-air house. I took my shoes off and entered the bright, beautiful, colorful, house. Every wall had been painted with some mural or quote about life and love.
This was paradise.
I finally met Petra and Pat--the owners. Petra is a beautiful Finn/Estonian with colorful tattoos all down her arms and back who left home when she was 15, traveled to Indonesia with just a backpack and never looked back. She and her dread-locked native Balinese husband/artist Pat, have created this haven for travelers to stay and connect with one another for 6-12 dollars a night. It's a beautiful thing.
I barely had time to get settled when someone from the courtyard yelled up to me to ask if I wanted to join them for a traditional Balinese lunch. So I ran down to the courtyard to join them and quickly made friends with an excellent fellow named Dillion who is, from of all places, Boulder Colorado.
The house is a few miles away from Uhbud central so everybody in the house, with the exception of a few, rent motorbikes. So there I was, hopping on the back of Dillon's motorbike and racing down the streets Uhbud.
We had a fabulous lunch--portions equal to those in the US. Price? $1.50. Completely amazing...
Dillion and another new friend Rebecca and I spent the rest of the day, perusing the marketplace and eating gelato.
As you can imagine, that night, I crashed around 6:00pm. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of the jungle and wild dogs barking, so I wrote a bit. A few hours later, the dogs stopped and the roosters started--and I mean a full on symphony orchestra of roosters. I'm pretty sure every family on Bali has at least one rooster and once one starts (at around 4:30 in the morning) all of them go at it....new things to get used to.
I'll have to catch you up on my second day in Bali and post pictures since I'm running out of time with my internet but, let me tell you--I have a lot to say about my second/third days here. A few highlights -- taking a motorbike trip to and around an (active) volcano, flat tires on a hillside, opera singing to monkeys, and comical massages. Stay tuned, folks. The best is yet to come!
I'm in Bali and it's a whole other world here. My entire perception of space and time has been completely warped. It's as if the life I lived before doesn't even exist any more. This place is more beautiful than you could ever imagine.
I'm in an internet cafe right now typing this, so my uploading of pictures and general writing prowess probably isn't exactly up to par. There may be a delay on the photos but they'll be up soon...
After a grueling 24 hour flight/layover process from Seattle to LA, to Tokyo, to Singapore, I finally landed it Bali rather vacant and bewildered. This did not help when as soon as I walked out of the airport and along with a wave of humidity and blazing heat, there were taxi-drivers vying for my attention. Despite having researched how much they tend to jip unsuspecting tourists and having memorized the correct amount I should pay, I STILL was able to be swindled into paying twice as much. Oh well, so it goes.
As the taxi driver started on the road, I couldn't believe my eyes. I was HERE. Bali in all its 3rd world paradise glory. Piles of refuge lay strewn about the street and drifted quietly through muggy creeks. Ragged, snarl-tooth dogs wandered the streets looking for a free meal or to terrorize some tourists, barefooted children walked alongside their parents who towed heavy loads of wood or other materials...
Then there was the driving. Despite what you may think, in my opinion, the driving here almost seems safer than that in the states. Drivers are paradoxically polite, intelligent and aggressive. At first glance, the roads here seem chaotic and dangerous. Motorcyclists and cars weave around each other using their horns as a sort of shockingly polite language. The point is, everybody has a speed that they want to go. If the person in front of them is not going their desired speed, then drifting into the opposite lane to pass that individual(s) is entirely acceptable.
Basic rule is: Just don't get killed.
Police serve merely as decorations and to tax white people who are riding motorcycles...
I should've felt panicked as my taxi driver swerved and weaved and honked yet, I felt oddly at ease. After all, he was a MUCH better driver that I or most people I know in the states will ever be. So are most people on the road. You HAVE to be. Your survival depends on it. However, he could tell I was a bit on edge so he took off his seat belt to show me his confidence in driving. How strangely arrogant and kind! Lots of juxtapositions going on here
After about 40 minutes of driving by shop after shop after shop...literally, the array of run-down roadside sellers did not ever end, I finally arrived at Uhbud. I asked my driver to drop me off at an information center so I could get my bearings and figure out hot to get to my couch surfing house. The taxi driver didn't seem to have a clue where to go...Thankfully when I got to the little rickety information booth, the Balinese men were SUPER nice. One of them actually was able to take me in his car to my destination. Only asking 10,000 rupia (1 dollar) for the drive. When he dropped me off, he gave me the biggest smile and said "thanks for giving me a job!" This has been very common in my time here. People are lovely, full of smiles and always ready to help or assist. While most street vendors are there to do their job and convince you to buy their goods, they are all incredibly generous and wonderful, wonderful people. More on that soon...
When I finally arrived at my destination, I made my way up some ancient stone stairway, through a passageway between temples and to the little nook where the Kaleidoscope house resides. I came into a beautiful open courtyard with a gurgling fountain, stepping stones and stone stairs various shoes strewn upon them leading to the open-air house. I took my shoes off and entered the bright, beautiful, colorful, house. Every wall had been painted with some mural or quote about life and love.
This was paradise.
I finally met Petra and Pat--the owners. Petra is a beautiful Finn/Estonian with colorful tattoos all down her arms and back who left home when she was 15, traveled to Indonesia with just a backpack and never looked back. She and her dread-locked native Balinese husband/artist Pat, have created this haven for travelers to stay and connect with one another for 6-12 dollars a night. It's a beautiful thing.
I barely had time to get settled when someone from the courtyard yelled up to me to ask if I wanted to join them for a traditional Balinese lunch. So I ran down to the courtyard to join them and quickly made friends with an excellent fellow named Dillion who is, from of all places, Boulder Colorado.
The house is a few miles away from Uhbud central so everybody in the house, with the exception of a few, rent motorbikes. So there I was, hopping on the back of Dillon's motorbike and racing down the streets Uhbud.
We had a fabulous lunch--portions equal to those in the US. Price? $1.50. Completely amazing...
Dillion and another new friend Rebecca and I spent the rest of the day, perusing the marketplace and eating gelato.
As you can imagine, that night, I crashed around 6:00pm. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of the jungle and wild dogs barking, so I wrote a bit. A few hours later, the dogs stopped and the roosters started--and I mean a full on symphony orchestra of roosters. I'm pretty sure every family on Bali has at least one rooster and once one starts (at around 4:30 in the morning) all of them go at it....new things to get used to.
I'll have to catch you up on my second day in Bali and post pictures since I'm running out of time with my internet but, let me tell you--I have a lot to say about my second/third days here. A few highlights -- taking a motorbike trip to and around an (active) volcano, flat tires on a hillside, opera singing to monkeys, and comical massages. Stay tuned, folks. The best is yet to come!
Monday, August 19, 2013
Letting Go of Everything but Bearded Gnomes
So I'm sitting here, it's Sunday night--two nights away from being on a
plane headed over the Pacific Ocean and despite my current fog of
sleepiness I felt the need to quickly encapsulate what's been going on
in my life, since I fear I will have little time to do so over the next
day or so.
Meet Knut
So this little fellow is Knut (pronounced Knewt)
Knut has very begrudgingly (because I imagine gnomes to be grumpy little buggers), agreed to come with me on my trip around the world. He is a bit of a homebody, so this trip will be quite a stretch for him but I think he's willing to step outside of his comfort zone a bit. ;)
In any case, you are sure to see him pop up in a few pictures. Like this one--
Can you spot him?
Two weeks ago, Knut, Kaija--my long time friend who recently came fresh off the plane from two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Cambodia and I decided to dress up as tourists and explore Seattle.
So we did a few things--
This was perhaps, the quickest and most efficient/visually distracting way to say that Kaija and I had an absolutely fabulous time when she visited. We even came home after a long day of Seattle explorations to consume a fabulous double-fisting of beer and tea.
Really, what more could you need?
What I really want to say is, despite my current packing induced exhaustion--and I do apologize if this post is a bit chaotic--I feel blessed to have reconnected with an old friend and very lucky to have a fabulous travel companion--even if he is a short bearded man with a large bulbous nose.
Letting Go
Tibetan Buddhists have this tradition of creating this unbelievably intricate and gorgeous sand paintings called mandalas. A few years ago, I had the honor of witnessing the creation of such a mandala during college. A group of monks took over a whole wing of our library and began meticulously creating a visual masterpiece which I will never forget. It looked a bit like this--
(thank you google images).
To these monks, destruction of the mandala is just as integral as the creation of it. After it has been completed and is absolutely stunning, the monks who created it, go back and sweep the sand together, demolishing the once pristine order and complexity of the painting.
When I first witnessed this in college, I had a massive emotional response. What a painful truth (at least to us Westerners) that everything that we love, hate, make, and do is ephemeral. EVERYTHING. I've realized stability is but an illusion and once that was accepted, a freedom, love and reverence for the universe began to grow in me.
That's a long introduction to describe what these past few weeks have been--letting go, and acceptance.
First it was my car. It's a rather long story and I wont bore you with the details but basically I was not able to to sell it and was forced to give it away for parts in exchange for a fraction of what I would have sold it for.
Then in an unexpected turn of events, I found out that I needed to completely move out of my apartment this weekend--resulting in the donating of 90% of my clothes and all of my furniture.
I have said my good-byes to some of the dearest people in my life in these past few days.
Of course, I expected all of this to be painful and difficult. Surprisingly, I have experienced the absolute opposite.
I'm not sure that I've ever felt this calm, centered and inside the eye of the hurricane in my entire life.
I couldn't possibly think of a better way to start out my trip.
My lesson--breath and release in the knowing that everything in this flow of life, creation and its opposite, is all perfect.
Until next time, tally-ho!
Meet Knut
So this little fellow is Knut (pronounced Knewt)
Knut has very begrudgingly (because I imagine gnomes to be grumpy little buggers), agreed to come with me on my trip around the world. He is a bit of a homebody, so this trip will be quite a stretch for him but I think he's willing to step outside of his comfort zone a bit. ;)
In any case, you are sure to see him pop up in a few pictures. Like this one--
Can you spot him?
Two weeks ago, Knut, Kaija--my long time friend who recently came fresh off the plane from two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Cambodia and I decided to dress up as tourists and explore Seattle.
So we did a few things--
This was perhaps, the quickest and most efficient/visually distracting way to say that Kaija and I had an absolutely fabulous time when she visited. We even came home after a long day of Seattle explorations to consume a fabulous double-fisting of beer and tea.
Really, what more could you need?
What I really want to say is, despite my current packing induced exhaustion--and I do apologize if this post is a bit chaotic--I feel blessed to have reconnected with an old friend and very lucky to have a fabulous travel companion--even if he is a short bearded man with a large bulbous nose.
Letting Go
Tibetan Buddhists have this tradition of creating this unbelievably intricate and gorgeous sand paintings called mandalas. A few years ago, I had the honor of witnessing the creation of such a mandala during college. A group of monks took over a whole wing of our library and began meticulously creating a visual masterpiece which I will never forget. It looked a bit like this--
To these monks, destruction of the mandala is just as integral as the creation of it. After it has been completed and is absolutely stunning, the monks who created it, go back and sweep the sand together, demolishing the once pristine order and complexity of the painting.
When I first witnessed this in college, I had a massive emotional response. What a painful truth (at least to us Westerners) that everything that we love, hate, make, and do is ephemeral. EVERYTHING. I've realized stability is but an illusion and once that was accepted, a freedom, love and reverence for the universe began to grow in me.
That's a long introduction to describe what these past few weeks have been--letting go, and acceptance.
First it was my car. It's a rather long story and I wont bore you with the details but basically I was not able to to sell it and was forced to give it away for parts in exchange for a fraction of what I would have sold it for.
Then in an unexpected turn of events, I found out that I needed to completely move out of my apartment this weekend--resulting in the donating of 90% of my clothes and all of my furniture.
I have said my good-byes to some of the dearest people in my life in these past few days.
Of course, I expected all of this to be painful and difficult. Surprisingly, I have experienced the absolute opposite.
I'm not sure that I've ever felt this calm, centered and inside the eye of the hurricane in my entire life.
I couldn't possibly think of a better way to start out my trip.
My lesson--breath and release in the knowing that everything in this flow of life, creation and its opposite, is all perfect.
Until next time, tally-ho!
Sunday, July 21, 2013
“So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking
that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska
What's in a Name?
Hurricanes--Destructive and mysterious forces of nature.
Yet...
Within every hurricane there exists an eye. This is something that has always captivated me. How is it possible that within such chaos, destruction and darkness, there is something so utterly peaceful and beautiful?
7 years ago, a massive hurricane set shore in New Orleans and parts of Texas causing unprecedented and utterly devastating destruction and loss. The good people at WMO or the World Meteorological Organization decided to name this hurricane KATRINA--my name.
I have always thanked my lucky stars that I was bestowed with loving and intelligent parents who gave me a nice, comfortable name that was never the subject of much ridicule on the playground or elsewhere for that matter. However, when hurricane Katrina occurred, the word became a deadly weapon and I--the butt of many an unfortunate joke.
One aunt quipped "Aren't you glad they don't name snowstorms?" I had grown up in snowy Colorado for most of my life so on that end...I was thankful.
When I was in college, I had the privilege of being in an English class that got to read the first unofficial copy of a New Orleans native/refugee play about the social effect of the hurricane. It was a stunning piece of work and I felt honored to be one of its first readers. However, at the end of the day when I eagerly approached this beautiful author with dreadlocks and bangles and asked her to sign my copy of the play, she asked me what my name was. I remember feeling my stomach drop as I mumbled my name. She laughed nervously as if I was the manifestation of a bad omen of some sort. Quite frankly, I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty as if I had somehow caused massive death and destruction just by simply existing.
Thankfully, as the years went by the word had less power and it became a sort of tool for me to help people remember my name at large gatherings. I cannot count the number of times I've had this conversation "Oh, hi nice to meet you. My name is ______. And you are?" "Katrina....like the hurricane" OR "I'm sorry, I can't quite remember your name." "Think hurricane: New Orleans."
Somehow, whether I like it or not, Katrina the name and Katrina the hurricane have become inextricably linked.
The Endeavor
So as some of you many know. I'm going on the massive and epic trip around the world. Like, literally--I'm circumnavigating the globe. I anticipate this trip being completely life changing, beautiful, terrible, inspiring, exhausting, destructive and transformational--kinda like a hurricane.
When I am alone in an unfamiliar setting--which is usually my favorite way to challenge myself, hence the travel--my only comfort is writing. Somehow seeing my own words on paper reminds me that I am still present with myself and my world. I can observe and feel and wonder and hurt and it's alright. All part of the human experience, baby!
Midst all of the chaos that will ensue during these 6 months, this will be my place of refuge, my stronghold of verbal assurance and stability and my connection to you all as I desperately try to express my experience.
From the short life that I have lived so far, I know that within every person there is an "eye"--a place of utter peace, the dark ocean floor underneath a raging storm. Throughout this trip, I anticipate traveling through many hurricanes of my own and hopefully experiencing just as many "eyes."
What also intrigues me is why they call it a eye in the first place. They could have called it "big gaping hole" or "calm spot" or something, but no. Eyes are such powerful things when they are open. There is a difference between looking and SEEING and I believe that it is with our own inner eye that we SEE. John Newton certainly was talking about something a bit deeper when he wrote "I once was blind but now I see."
So now, I cordially invite you to join me as I travel to Bali, Thailand, India, Italy, France, Argentina and Brazil (as well as any other countries that might sneak in there), witness my hurricanes with me and see what I SEE.
There is a storm coming, folks and I think it's going to be a good one.
― John Green, Looking for Alaska
What's in a Name?
Hurricanes--Destructive and mysterious forces of nature.
Yet...
Within every hurricane there exists an eye. This is something that has always captivated me. How is it possible that within such chaos, destruction and darkness, there is something so utterly peaceful and beautiful?
7 years ago, a massive hurricane set shore in New Orleans and parts of Texas causing unprecedented and utterly devastating destruction and loss. The good people at WMO or the World Meteorological Organization decided to name this hurricane KATRINA--my name.
I have always thanked my lucky stars that I was bestowed with loving and intelligent parents who gave me a nice, comfortable name that was never the subject of much ridicule on the playground or elsewhere for that matter. However, when hurricane Katrina occurred, the word became a deadly weapon and I--the butt of many an unfortunate joke.
One aunt quipped "Aren't you glad they don't name snowstorms?" I had grown up in snowy Colorado for most of my life so on that end...I was thankful.
When I was in college, I had the privilege of being in an English class that got to read the first unofficial copy of a New Orleans native/refugee play about the social effect of the hurricane. It was a stunning piece of work and I felt honored to be one of its first readers. However, at the end of the day when I eagerly approached this beautiful author with dreadlocks and bangles and asked her to sign my copy of the play, she asked me what my name was. I remember feeling my stomach drop as I mumbled my name. She laughed nervously as if I was the manifestation of a bad omen of some sort. Quite frankly, I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty as if I had somehow caused massive death and destruction just by simply existing.
Thankfully, as the years went by the word had less power and it became a sort of tool for me to help people remember my name at large gatherings. I cannot count the number of times I've had this conversation "Oh, hi nice to meet you. My name is ______. And you are?" "Katrina....like the hurricane" OR "I'm sorry, I can't quite remember your name." "Think hurricane: New Orleans."
Somehow, whether I like it or not, Katrina the name and Katrina the hurricane have become inextricably linked.
The Endeavor
So as some of you many know. I'm going on the massive and epic trip around the world. Like, literally--I'm circumnavigating the globe. I anticipate this trip being completely life changing, beautiful, terrible, inspiring, exhausting, destructive and transformational--kinda like a hurricane.
When I am alone in an unfamiliar setting--which is usually my favorite way to challenge myself, hence the travel--my only comfort is writing. Somehow seeing my own words on paper reminds me that I am still present with myself and my world. I can observe and feel and wonder and hurt and it's alright. All part of the human experience, baby!
Midst all of the chaos that will ensue during these 6 months, this will be my place of refuge, my stronghold of verbal assurance and stability and my connection to you all as I desperately try to express my experience.
From the short life that I have lived so far, I know that within every person there is an "eye"--a place of utter peace, the dark ocean floor underneath a raging storm. Throughout this trip, I anticipate traveling through many hurricanes of my own and hopefully experiencing just as many "eyes."
What also intrigues me is why they call it a eye in the first place. They could have called it "big gaping hole" or "calm spot" or something, but no. Eyes are such powerful things when they are open. There is a difference between looking and SEEING and I believe that it is with our own inner eye that we SEE. John Newton certainly was talking about something a bit deeper when he wrote "I once was blind but now I see."
So now, I cordially invite you to join me as I travel to Bali, Thailand, India, Italy, France, Argentina and Brazil (as well as any other countries that might sneak in there), witness my hurricanes with me and see what I SEE.
There is a storm coming, folks and I think it's going to be a good one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)