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This edition is given away free of cost or copyright or expectations. I guess that's how we make a better world? Anyway if you like this kind of project and would like to support further ones, feel free to make a donation, however big or small, at

www.thehermitcrab.org/donate

“Suffering is not the way to nirvana... happiness is the way to nirvana!”

- Ajahn Chan

This book is nothing.

Nothing compared to the love I have received, through this journey in people's boundless hearts, through my family in their unending care, and through the gift of dharma, the most wondrous of all.

But what it is, is my attempt at sharing with you if only a fraction of that love. May this story gladden you as it has gladdened me.

Table of Contents

- Foreword -

- Part I -

This is Scary

Days 0 - 11

- Part II -

Mindfulness of Breathing

Days 12 - 28

- Part III -

The Pillars of Mindfulness

Days 29 - 75

- Part IV -

Reunion

Days 76 - 87

- About the Author -

- Special Thanks -

Foreword

Forewords are boring, so let's get to the point.

The three sutras covered in this journey have been chosen for their practicality and are often considered the foundational Buddhist discourses on meditation practice.

So this book, as well as my walk itself, starts by covering the Metta Sutta - or Discourse on Loving Kindness - a short and sweet manual on setting the motivation for our practice. Creating a peaceful space and pure intention in our heart, like an inner sanctuary of goodwill. Opening our hearts to the world and learning to express the same depth of love towards all beings as a mother would towards her only child. It sounds far away, but even the smallest steps on this path come with miraculous joy. To sum up the intention in a few lines: May all beings be happy. In the name of my happiness and the happiness of all beings, may I learn the precious practice of meditation, of awareness.

Which leads us to the second teaching, called Anāpāna Sutta - or discourse on mindfulness of breathing. How to calm the mind. Finding the ocean of peace within... It's always been there, all we have to do is stop stirring the water.

With the pristine clarity that comes from a calm mind, we can then - both in our own meditation practice and in the progression of this book - move on to the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta, or discourse on the pillars of mindfulness. After having covered goodwill, or ethics, and secondly concentration, we move on to the final aspect of the path: wisdom.

Wisdom doesn't mean reading books, but rather experiencing the truth by our own direct experience: the true cause of ultimate happiness. Why would we choose to feed our self-attachment, our discontent, our anger, our suffering? No one wants those things! And yet we do it, on a daily basis. How weird are we? Or rather our unconscious patterns? But when we learn to consciously see inside, we find no reason to cling on to harmful states of mind anymore, and by choice we can let go all forms of ego, suffering and negativity.

Realizing the true cause of happiness leads us there, and allows us to experience for ourselves the state of infinite peace and unconditional well-being that we all want, from the plankton in the sea to the Queen of England.

Part I

This is Scary

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Day 0

December 13th 2023

How could it not be scary? Making my bags, not for some vacation on a beach somewhere but for three months without a penny... I was scared to the bone! And yet what was I scared of? And who was this "I" being scared? To face this question was exactly why the journey had to be made in the first place.

What I like to call Day 0 is actually a process that can take any number of days depending on the nature of the journey. This process of preparation is almost as important as the trip itself, as this is what defines the purpose, the way, and the means of everything that will follow. The rest of the experience is built upon this one foundation stone.

I had been a wandering monk before, and preparation had taken around three days, which included sewing all my clothing by hand, and preparing paper maps to trace my intended path. But this time the process took three weeks, as this journey had an extra dimension to it: instead of just walking somewhere holy with a begging bowl and embracing the world to naively see what would happen to me, I would be diving into the Buddha's teachings as deeply and uninterruptedly as I could - and then naively seeing what would happen to me.

Evaluating the teachings by my own experience... Dropping the whole world of mind and matter - what they call samsara - and keeping only the practice, the presence, the meditation, the spiritual path, what they call dharma.

I would be taking the dharma with me in the form of presence, but also of sutras that I was compiling and printing myself in the most compact form factor possible - hence the three weeks. Sutra means thread, and although needle and thread was as essential a part of my setup as it had been 2'500 ago with the Buddha's first followers, this isn't exactly the thread we were talking about. Well it kind of was actually! Hang in there.

A sutra, in Sanskrit, or sutta in Pali - the closely related language in which the Buddha's teachings were written down 21 centuries ago - is also a sermon, a speech, a portion of wisdom, a glimpse of the beyond, delivered by one of the beyond's messengers like the Buddha in order to help us reach equally elevated states of love, awareness, and union with the world. We are all part of a thread, which warmly joins us, and these teachings serve to drop the false sense of self - the ego - that would have us believe we are somehow unthreaded, separate from each other.

The monks of old used to hold a long thread together, in a circle, and chant a sutra in unison. The thread would then be gifted to a novice monk, saying "Here is the sutra we chanted. May it help you on your path and in times of need."

So which portion of wisdom would I be bringing with me? I chose carefully, to have a complete yet unburdening set of teachings, and it came down to the three texts we mentioned earlier, which we will be exploring throughout our journey together. Let's have another look.

The Metta Sutta, fully named Karaniya Metta Sutta, or Buddha's discourse on loving-kindness; the Anāpāna Sutta, fully named Anāpāna Sati Sutta, or the instructions on mindfulness of breathing; and thirdly the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, a more detailed text describing the step-by-step path to bringing this mind, once focused and calm, to the deepest understand of our inner reality.

It's important though not to get obsessed with any kind of result in the future. Being on the path of peace and loving it, that's what matters. If the path isn't good at the beginning, the middle, and the end they say, it's not the path.

But this here path was good even before the beginning! As I was saying goodbye to my spiritual family at Tushita Meditation Center a week before my departure I bumped into two young Indians, Pramod and Anurag, who liked the idea of my coming trip so much that I found myself receiving my first donation already. Although I was allowed to receive donations in my almsbowl along the way, I found it important that the first step of my journey be taken without a single rupee, so I decided this money would instead go into printing the sutras I would be carrying with me.

The turning of the wheel of dharma had begun...

Day 1

December 14th 2023

In clock time, my first day started at midnight, as I wasn't finished with my planning yet! In fact the child I was stayed up until 4:30 am, absorbed by my maps and the details of my coming journey. This was the last time I would have access to the internet and I dotted my entire journey onto paper maps, village by village.

I also got dreamily wiki-absorbed in the countless facts, figures, stories, and myths about the holy sites I was going to visit, of which I took note in my small booklet. This kind of knowledge is so precious, and us online-sapiens don't even realize we're sitting on such a goldmine of information because we've taken it for granted to have the internet in our pockets 24/7. It's a gem, that when acknowledged and used wisely, can bring us to a higher purpose, way beyond our usual habits of mindless entertainment.

So I woke up after a mere three hours of sleep, short but replenishing: I was on a holy mission and that alone was a source of unending energy, as if coming from the beyond.

After my routinely meditation and Taichi I folded my things and entered wandering-monkhood with a short personal ceremony. I struck my bowl, and sang in Pali what we call taking refuge, in simple words, "I place my trust in the Buddha within me, I place my trust in the dharma, that is, the path leading to Buddhahood, and I place my trust in the Sangha, that is, all beings thanks to whom I can tread this path."

I ended in English: "I am grateful beyond words towards the world, for allowing me to live such a precious experience. By this pledge I am hereby a wandering monk and will remain so for the next three months. May I make best use of every minute to practice, develop, and grow in awareness, equanimity, selflessness, and love." I raised my future-almsbowl to my forehead as this was the one piece officially defining my life as a monk: having no money, living off alms, and embracing it.

Practicing the teachings was important too, and in order to dive as deeply as I could into their practical aspect, I had decided to spend each day focusing on one small portion of the sutras, living it for 24 hours as fully as I could, and then moving on until I'd have covered them all in this way. However, for the first day, my initiation into monkhood was enough unto itself: I would keep the day simple, focusing on my breath, and start with the formal sutras tomorrow. Entering alone into monkhood - that is, without a master in flesh and bones making a formal initiation - may seem peculiar to you. Great! Let's chant a small prayer together that monks commonly use to start the day.

Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambudhassa

"I pay homage to him, the worthy one, the one free from defilements, the perfectly self-enlightened one"

First of all, we should note that tassa doesn't mean "him", but "him or her". There is no gender in that word. And Buddha's name was not Buddha, it was Siddhartha Gautama. We call him Buddha out of respect, or otherwise laziness! In reality Buddha is a state we can all reach, and it means enlightened one. As you can notice, the name Siddhartha is not in that prayer: this is not pledging allegiance to Siddhartha Almighty, this is paying homage to all the Buddhas! How open minded!

Second, Sammā sambudhassa means self-enlightened. Siddhartha the Buddha was one amongst those who reached enlightenment utterly alone, under a tree. Likewise, he started his spiritual journey utterly alone, in the forest, after fleeing his palace in the middle of the night and exchanging his princely clothing with a villager's.

Whereas his path started and ended alone, he certainly had important spiritual teachers, or Gurus, along the way. His first notable one was Alara Kalama, who taught him deep meditative absorption, and Siddhartha made extraordinary progress, yet still he felt his defilements had not been uprooted at their deepest level.

He then went on to deepen his meditation with a second master named Uddaka Ramaputta. Master Uddaka was very impressed by Siddhartha's progress, and while these new states of meditation brought indescribable bliss, they still did not permanently solve the problems of life, birth and death.

So he finally ventured out on his own, realizing he would have to walk the rest of the path himself. For six years he fearlessly tried all kinds of extreme practices, including nearly starving himself to death. And once again, that didn't work. But when he finally gave up tormenting himself in the name of liberation, he reached it - liberation. Full enlightenment. That's how Siddhartha became Buddha!

This short narrative goes to show that both having a teacher and being alone were crucial parts of his path, and in that respect he has once again shown us a middle way - it helps to have a Guru who guides us, absolutely no doubt. But no matter how accomplished, nobody can pick us up in their celestial cart and drop us off in a heavenly realm: the path itself must be treaded by one's own two feet. That, once again, without a doubt.

I too would have valuable teachers along the way - and I too was stepping into monkhood here and now, utterly alone.

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Alone and yet surrounded by angels, as the first day involved attending the closing ceremony of the school where I was studying Buddhism, named the Tibetan Library of Works and Archives. They would take a yearly three-month break in winters, of which every day I would make best use: I decided to attend the closing ceremony equipped as a monk already, and then simply keep walking southwards towards the Indian planes.

What a pleasant way to start a moneyless journey! Entire tables of delightful foods, heaps of warm wishes, and connecting with dear ones for the last time. "So when are you starting your much awaited journey to Bodhgaya?" I would be asked. "It's already started: look at me, homeless!" I'd answer, pointing to my two cloth shoulder bags with a homeless grin.

Little did I know that my childish grin would only last as long as the sun in the day, and that my coming night would be downright freezing! But the departure was careless and fun, rejoicing in the unique feeling of being without a rupee. Roadside beggars would come up to me and I would greet them with cheers, showing them my empty almsbowl and saying "I have less than you do, haha!" Somehow it made them happy: they were expecting money but instead received joy!

Later in the market, a phone rang in someone else's pocket. "This can't be my phone," I caught myself thinking, "I don't have a phone!" An intriguingly pleasant sensation then pervaded my body. Yes, my journey was not just moneyless but phoneless too... and who would have thought it would bring about so much joy?

I also noticed how calm my mind had become while crossing the marketplace. Instead of the usual concern of "do I need anything?" I could walk on without a care. "I don't have anything!" In downtown Dharamshala I stopped by the paper shop where I had printed the sutra booklets I was carrying with me, to thank them and say goodbye. The brothers Pranam and Ragu offered me two bags of food and a sachet of mati, Indian salty snacks that they noticed I had been fond of at my previous visit. They also said they could get me anything else I needed, but honestly, I had both nothing and everything in the world.

Except for warm blankets, I came to realize that night! I found a heavenly river setting to sleep on rocks and contemplate nature... freezing nature in the December Himalayas. After struggling a bit with sitting meditation, I huddled into a ball and covered myself with every piece of fabric I owned. It wasn't enough, and I spent one of those nights like we all have at some point in our lives, watching the clock and counting the hours I would have to endure until sunrise...

Day 2

December 15th 2023

The sun faithfully came back in all its splendor, and in terms of existence my night had been a definite success: I was alive! I had even got a bit of sleep, tossing between half-wakefulness and the most psychedelic dreams ever. I was also excited about starting my formal studies, which today consisted of the first verse, amongst ten, of the Metta Sutta:

“This is what should be done by those skilled in goodness. May they be honest, able, and upright, humble and gentle in speech.”

- Metta Sutta, 1

I meditated on today's precious words as the sun dried my dew-covered bedding. Every action of my day would be dedicated to those few lines, embodying them, living them to the best of my ability.

It had astonishing effects on my state of mind and much of my day was spent walking in utter bliss. But this body too needed some form of nurturing, and by mid-afternoon I started wondering if anyone would ever give me anything to eat, or if I would have to admit my failure after a couple days. I sat on a bench, contemplating my needs... but also comforted by the knowledge that the world works in waves, nothing is permanent, neither food nor hunger...

And the seed of metta I had planted with my sutra came to fruition at the perfect time: I encountered the highest embodiment of ability, honesty, uprightness, humbleness, and gentleness in speech I could even think of - in the form of a Baba who was expecting my visit in Old Kangra, a village along my road. Baba is an honorific Hindi term literally meaning father, but usually depicting more of a father figure, a wise learned gentle man with a beard who sees all beings as his own children.

I had met him already years ago in Dharamshala, and yesterday he had stopped his car as he noticed me along the road, and invited me to stay at his temple when I would reach the place. His kindness was such that he had sent several people along the way to try and meet me, making sure I would find my way to his place. His brother Vishal ended up finding me, and escorted up to his doorstep. Shivananda Baba - that was his name, meaning Shiva's joy - turned out to be more prominent than I could imagine, and his very picture figured at the entrance of the village, to greet everyone with a joyful smile. Yet his standing was completely eclipsed by the humbleness in his character and his excellence in serving...

I was greeted like a king, a guest of honor, and by his entire family too, whereas I had been a homeless beggar without a rupee the rest of the day! Not just food, chai, warmth, and love from the entire family, but I was told to choose amongst all the clothing and sleeping gear they had at their place to make sure my coming nights outside would be warm. To think that merely an hour ago I had been worrying "At this rate of 0 rupees per day, it's going to take years to manifest even a blanket!"

And that's the story of how my two sentences of sutra came to life, not in me but in the Baba who saved me! And I even came to find my first rupee on the ground as Shivananda's right hand Rishi was humbly showing me around town. I exclaimed playfully as I found it "No way, my first rupee!", and he laughed.

Day 3

December 16th 2023

My night had been as peaceful as I could imagine it, and I woke up at 6 am, body and mind aligned, feeling on top of the world. Literally the case from Shivananda Baba's room where I had slept, with an imposing view in all directions from the topmost floor of his family's house and temple. I sat my hour of meditation and contemplated today's joy of a sutra:

“Contented and easily satisfied, with few duties, earning in simple ways, senses stilled, prudent, unaggressive, and not in search of supporters”

- Metta Sutta, 2

Being "in search of supporters" may sound like politics, but no, it's our everyday lives: combing our hair, shaving our beards, choosing this shirt to match with those pants, these socks, those shoes, and whatever we do with a worried mind in front of the mirror: that's looking for supporters. And that's only the beginning of what we do to try and make others like us. To be their slave. They did't even ask to be our master, and here we are tying ourselves up in chains, completely for free! Trying to look good, to gain praise, to be smart, to be given respect... making ourselves a whole ball of chains, a bundle of knots, instead of just being ourselves.

I am not personally free from ego, in fact, my ego is relentless and keeps crawling at me from all kinds of directions! In the process of writing this book I catch it all the time, as it says "Look at me, I'm an author, I'm a big walker, I'm this or that, and I'm more important than anyone else, of course, because only I'm me!" That's the ego's mantra. And it makes no sense. There's other authors out there, man! But the good news is, this irrational ego-mind is like a little kid trying to steal cookies - you notice it, and it stops! "Haha, I caught you!", that's my mantra.

But this re-habituation takes practice, and the coming three months would be dedicated to just that: an exercise in dropping that ego-centered mind. I owned no mirror, and would only notice my face by circumstance when someone would hold up their phone to take a selfie! I had only one set of clothing to wear during the day, which had started out white and was slowly turning to gray... and I knew with certainty that the more fans I would have the more problems too, as the best way to meditate was to walk in peace and silence like a simple monk. I even made the prayer I wouldn't get too famous or overwhelmed by journalists, like it had happened in the past during this kind of trip.

After my sunrise Taichi on the roof, in peace and without supporters, I was invited for chai - Indian milk tea - and food, alongside absorbing conversation with Babaji about his own master. If you're wondering, the suffix ji is an affective and honorific tradition used all over India that you'll get used to very fast.

Shivananda Baba was a devotee of Sai Baba, a famously afro-haired saint from South India whose religion was service before anything. I could see that! Shivananda could have given me all kinds of teachings and sermons during my time here, but no, he was so humble that his teaching was the humbleness itself.

We talked at length about solutions against the cold for my coming nights, and he stated he would do whatever it took to provide a solution. I answered that I had thought about it thoroughly, and the ideal solution would be finding something thick and woolen downtown, which I would then sew into a piece that I could both wear during the day and sleep in at night. But I had no money of course... well, one rupee to be precise... He didn't care and answered without a second's hesitation "Ok, let's bring you to the market and do it!"

His right-hand-man Rishi came with me and told me to choose anything I wanted. I ended up finding something as thick and woolen as my warmest wishes, and it was gifted to me regardless of the price. I held it to me chest in awe... my prayer was answered, along with the indescribable relief of the thought that "from now on, I shall be warm!"

I couldn't thank them enough. And to spoil me even more I received donations from Babaji and his family... which amounted to about as much as the sum total of everything I had received last time I wandered as a monk for an entire two months. I could now buy food for the entire trip ahead if I needed. I could also have the battery on my watch replaced, which had stopped keeping up with time. And I could buy bandage for my right foot, which had stopped keeping up with the road and started bleeding from the friction of my sandal's minimal strap. I asked Babaji "Leken main apka kya madad kar sakta hun?" But what can I do to help you? "Kuch naheen!" Nothing at all! he answered with a big smile.

His whole family accompanied me on my way out and walked the next few kilometers, making for a very cheery start with joyous conversation. Babaji's answer to whether he would one day want to see Switzerland was funny. Whereas most Indians would show the keenest interest in any kind of invitation I could provide, his own answer was "What is there in Switzerland that I can't find here?" They saw me off with the kind of goodbye I would get from my grandparent's home, and I was off on my own, but not alone, and radiating love.

The rest of the day happened well and once again I set camp at a riverside, diving into my blankets like a Sherpa tent. I could confirm: it was definitely warm! And I was definitely hearing howls from left and right unlike anything I had heard since... the desert in Kazakhstan five years ago. I think they were wolves.

Day 4

December 17th 2023

As cozy as I felt huddling under my rolled-up plastic tarp, I started hearing tip taps in the middle of the night, which meant it was starting to rain. I was so underequipped for this... but my only real livelihood was my karma, and it turned out to work: my prayers were answered and the rain didn't last long enough to seep through the blankets. I still didn't get much sleep though, and also realized that half-sleepless nights were an amazing opportunity to practice meditation, whatever position we happened to be in.

My blankets still did an honorable job: by morning the rain had frozen into ice, meaning the temperatures had dropped below zero, and yet I was holding up!

“May they not perform petty actions which the wise would later reprove. May they meditate thus: may all beings be well and safe, may all beings be happy.”

- Metta Sutta, 3

I did some sewing in the morning to turn the wool into something I could wear during the day and also increase it's warmth. As a result I hit the road quite late, but at least my things had had time to dry in the sun.

My day was full of invitations and gifts, coming from people so modest we could hardly imagine their lives if we come from the West... Although not performing actions that the wise would later reprove wasn't the most exciting line, trying to maintain an impeccable conduct led to precious realizations about my inner behavior and brought about subtle change at a deep level. When a dog barks at me, how long does my mental peace actually last, at which point does irritation start to arise, and why?

As evening drew in, the cold came fast... I didn't want to spend another night like yesterday's just now, and made the internal prayer "In order to be of benefit to anyone I need to be healthy myself. In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a warm place to sleep tonight."

The world conjured a Hanuman Temple in the town of Dehra Gopipur owned by a lovable priest named Satya Vrat - literally meaning vow of truthfulness. His family hosted me with as much friendship and warmth as I could handle. Satya was like a Grandpa to me, humble, wise, and caring... his son Gopi like a brother, sharing unending interest in the dharma... and his granddaughter Surbhi like the sweetest little sister. She had never met a foreigner before, yet showed so much ease and enthusiasm speaking to me - that too in perfect English - that it strangely felt like we had known each other from a past life.

I can imagine foreigners being scarce here: what kind of Hilton-tourist or Lonely-Planet-backpacker would ever end up in the family-owned Hanuman Temple of Dehra Gopipur? And that's what made the beauty of my walking trip: I felt like a pioneer, a Mayflower pilgrim, and the king of hobos too, sleeping in the bush and wearing half-finished blankets sewn by hand!

So I progressed on my sewing job at the pace of a pleasant conversation with Gopi and Surbhi. Seeing the nature of my trip, they questioned me about detachment... I answered with the example of chocolate - something that I enjoyed so much and could consume without restraint in the past, yet here in my life it wasn't present at all, and guess what? I didn't even think about it! Next thing I knew though, Surbhi zipped to her Granddad's shop downstairs and came back with... none other than a neatly wrapped chocolate pastry!

Day 5

December 18th 2023

I had been granted the main temple room as a sleeping area, cozy, blanketed, clean, colorful, and vibrant with the vibes of Hanuman the protector. It was a blessing to sleep in such a highly worshipped space, and it also meant waking up at 4:25 to the sound of Grandfather Satya chanting and ringing bells, paying homage to the various deities in the temple. I didn't mind at all and I sat up to do my meditation, observing my breath to the sound of Sanskrit prayers.

A cup of hot milk materialized in front of me at 5 am - which I could enjoy without really even breaking my meditation - and for the rest of my morning there I felt like young Buddha in his princely palace. A copious and varied homemade breakfast was served to me by mother Madhu Sharma, as well as a bag of gifts for the road that kept growing and growing: the longer I would talk with Gopi the more offerings would be put in the bag, from food to medical supplies to warm garments. I was also handed 500 rupees, exactly the amount I had anonymously put in the donation box this morning... And young Surbhi made a gift that made me laugh: dressed up for school, she laid a cloth bag in front of me and waved me goodbye. I opened it to find the same chocolate pastries as yesterday, but this time a whole bag of them!

“Wishing well to whatever living beings there may be, moving or stationary, excluding none, long or great, mid-sized or short, subtle or coarse”

- Metta Sutta, 4

So today was a pleasant chain of sending love to everyone and being invited for chai upon chai. And near the end of the day, I was marked by an encounter that well portrayed the teachings: as it was getting dark a roadside dog started growling at me. "Don't look at me, buddy, look at the road!" I replied sternly. "It's getting dark, and a speeding car can really hurt. I see dead dogs every day."

Even though the tone of my voice had nothing to do with "Hello little doggy, nice doggy, I'm your friend, please don't bite me or anything..." the intention was one of pure goodwill and that's exactly the message that came across. Growling-doggy instantly dropped his grumpy face and walked alongside me instead, wagging his tail and minding the road.

Indians would usually consider me a Babaji - or a spiritual Guru - as soon as they saw me from afar, which I found friendly and touching... but it also meant I was looked up to for all kinds of questions about mundane or spiritual problems in people's lives and often deemed to have some kinds of spiritual powers or clairvoyance.

Today I was invited in a small courtyard by a sweet man whose mother offered me chai and then sat beside me. "Can you tell the future of my son?" she asked boldly. I wondered how I would get out of that one. "Well, something I do know and something I don't know... What I know is that his future is dependent on his present karma, which happens to be very good as he just spontaneously invited me for chai from the streets, as good as yours because you just made the chai!" She looked satisfied with my response.

A few hours later I was invited for chai once again, but this time by villagers in a yard. I needed to relieve myself, so I took leave from them and went in the neighboring woods. Upon my return, it made for conversation about an important topic that people usually shyly avoid... Let's treat it now: how to wash one's behind when living on the road, owning nothing, and yet maintain our valuable hygiene in order not to get sick?

From many years of trial and error living on the road, I had come to conclude that the most effective method was the simplest: to wash yourself, use the smoothest stones or sticks you can find, and cover your business up later as best as you can. This was better than leaves or toilet paper, because your hand could avoid all risks of contamination by maintaining a safe distance... it didn't require water or soap either, and it didn't leave any kind of trash behind. They were happy about my answer - people are usually too shy to ask and yet it's a question without which we can easily end up with serious medical difficulties.

I kept walking until four hours after dark, under the moon, as I was short on daily distance and had been told about a Gurudwara - in other words a Sikh temple - a few villages further. I had fallen in love long ago with both that religion and their unconditional hospitality, so I was eager to spend a night there!

Guru Nanak, the father of Sikhism, was a saint amongst saints and a global pilgrim too. He had covered 22'000 km on foot, including the entire Indian subcontinent, Buddhist Tibet, the Muslim Middle-East, and the Mecca - all that carrying almost nothing but faith. I saw him as an idol of all pilgrims and his journey's intent closely reflected mine - to discover dharma, or spirituality, in the world. He wasn't affiliated to any existing religious movements, but instead ventured out to learn from them all in the most open minded way possible, promoting peace and universal spirituality. His famous phrase Ek Onkar means "everything is one vibration".

But the best part of the whole story is that his compassion thrives on today in the form of thousands of Gurudwaras spread all across India, temples tailor-made to host anyone in need without asking for a penny. They teach that serving people is serving God, and their hard work doesn't come with the slightest expectation: all the temple's needs are met by an anonymous donation box in the center, a key element that equally gives the people a chance to practice kindness and do their part in keeping such a wondrous system alive. A western businessman would say "that'll never work!" and that's exactly why it works: it's run by believers and not businessmen! Like an alternative system to our modern economy, where the new currency is love!

If it all sounds too good to be true, this story is a chance to find out. I reached the Gurudwara at 10 pm and it was a huge complex with possibly a hundred rooms. A caretaker on the ground floor greeted me with a beaming face. He offered chai, which I refused as I was already nodding off and dreaming of only one thing after such a long day... a horizontal position!

That too I was provided without the slightest hassle: I was led to a private room with it's own bathroom and even space to unfold my tarp, still wet from my previous nights' experiences of sleeping with rain, frost, and dew.

Day 6

December 19th 2023

“Whether seen or unseen, dwelling far or near, born or to-be-born, may all beings be happy”

- Metta Sutta, 5

The day started in a very Sikh way, doing my meditation, putting on my turban, and going for a simple breakfast in the community kitchen known as langar. Actually, I didn't have turban material so I used my sitting cloth instead - named assan, which kind of defined a homeless man's home - and hoped I wasn't breaking too many unwritten rules about what should be on the ground or on my head! But covering one's head is considered essential in Sikhism and one of the marks of respect expected when lodging in their temples, along with removing one's shoes and washing one's hands and feet.

Food at the langar was followed by prasad, offerings of sweet semolina in the temple center. A grandfatherly Sikh man with a big beard was sitting at the central shrine, handing gifts to all who would come for blessings. The boy in front of me received a toy Boeing. I received a sheet of gleaming white turban material and a big red apple. Hey... Santa Clause? Aren't those your colors? And isn't Christmas in less than a week?

Indian villages are scarce in Christians, so that was as close to Christmas as I was gonna get this year! And it was perfect. I was stoked to receive Santa's blessings just before he went on tour in the west!

I walked out of there all blissed out, and went on to cross beautiful forested mountain landscapes. As a family of Sikh people with majestic turbans stopped their car to take selfies with me, I realized that something very reasonable I could ask in return was "Can I send the photo you just took to my mom through your phone?" It made them very happy to help out, it deeply touched my mom to receive news in some form or another - if anything, that I was alive! - and it reminded me of today's sutra, "seen or unseen, dwelling far or near, may all beings be happy".

Later in the day I had a sweet encounter with an old man holding a small, dark, raggedy chai shop who saw me and instantly asked "Babaji, chai?"

I accepted, and his chai came with sweets and a samosa made by his hands. After a brief introduction, he started making a list of the pains in his life. Various illnesses, a problem in his hip that would probably need treatment, a chai shop with a lousy income that hardly allowed him to live... and if there was anything I could do in terms of blessings, it was most welcome!

His was a situation difficult to solve and I gave him a range of possible solutions, including a few yoga postures and invoking a deity. I chose Tara, the female Buddha of compassion, highly revered in Buddhist traditions and known to keep reincarnating in women's bodies on purpose - to bring balance to the male-dominated world, and to summon all her motherly love in bringing beings out of suffering.

Wow, I'm sure you want to stop me and ask, is this even scientific? Gods and goddesses, witchcraft and wizardry? And you'd be perfectly right. The Dalai Lama himself has boldly stated, that if anything said by religion is in contradiction to science, it must be revised and corrected. No matter how ancient or sacred a teaching or belief is, it has to be in line with logic! If it appears wrong and we still accept it, then that becomes blind faith, the enemy of dharma.

I can't speak for the Greeks, but as far as India is concerned, a god is nothing more than a being that has been human at some point, even at many points in their existence, and has progressed on the path of dharma until reaching sublime levels of meditation and mastery of the mind. That's why there's so many gods: anyone can become a god, just sit and meditate for a very long time and get rid of all your defilements!

Siddhartha the Buddha went even a step further in saying that godliness itself could be surpassed by the state of Buddhahood: beyond any of the godly or hellish realms, beyond anything we can imagine, really.

And there are many Buddhas. Millions. We cannot count them. Siddhartha Gautama was just one of them. But one who happened to be so highly learned and successful at teaching meditation to people of all backgrounds, that within his lifetime, entire populations of India were practicing the technique. It worked so well that he is still known today, 2'500 years later, and considered one of the most influential people in earth's history, just after Jesus Christ. And they both said Do not kill. How cool is that?

Back to our humble chai man and our hopefully scientific approach: the power of the mind is huge. It is said mind can move mountains. Why not, if mind has created these mountains in the first place! Mind is everything. Even with a microscope, whatever raw scientific data we gather ends up at the gateway of our mind - it's the final destination. We've never managed to point a microscope at the mind, and we have no way to prove that without the mind, these mountains would be there at all. Quantum physics has bridged a large gap by revealing the importance of the mind in this world that we were considering so solid...

So if we believe in the power of the mind, we can imagine that putting it at the service of someone's well-being may well have an effect. Whether Tara will personally help us with the power of her own mind or whether her help is in the form of inspiration - guiding us towards the practices of wisdom and compassion in the name of the benefit of all beings - it comes down to the same thing: the happiness of all beings. When we invoke a deity, we aspire to embody the qualities of that being in our own lives.

So my final advice to the chai shop man was "Meditate, love others, and all you problems will be solved in every plane. Even during and after death, which will come at some point whether the chai shop works or not!" He was very happy about our encounter and so was I.

But I still secretly hoped my next night's sleep would come before my next death, which wasn't sure at all now that darkness had descended and the road was not inviting or safe in the least anymore. Big trucks at high speeds stirred up dust into my face as I clumsily avoided roadside potholes and wondered how and where I would find a solution for the night.

"In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a sound space to sleep tonight" I muttered with folded hands. Was it from Tara or someone else, who knows, but a messenger was definitely sent to the roadside: a drunk man talking obnoxiously and asking me to come for a meal. I accepted, as I almost always do, even though this hardly looked like a solution for my night... But within minutes of sitting at an outdoor table a much more reassuring man appeared and told me "What are you doing out in the cold? Come in. Have a meal indoors, and spend the night here, I give you a room!" The feeling of relief was too great to describe.

And so it was that Prashant Puri, the owner of the roadside restaurant and guesthouse just behind me, invited me to anything I wanted and gave me a space in one of his rooms upstairs.

Day 7

December 20th 2023

“May none deceive or despise any being in any place. May none wish for each other's suffering, out of anger or ill will.”

- Metta Sutta, 6

I started my day with Taichi in the rising sun and even a warm shower. I was then served the fanciest Indian breakfast of oven-cooked naan flatbread, chai, yogurt, and dhal.

Today's sutra sounded easy, basically "don't be angry at anyone", but anger, or more specifically aversion, an important term in Buddhism which means any form of mental repulsion towards anyone or anything, can take such subtle forms that I was surprised at the workings of my own mind. After an hour or two of walking, I laid down my bags to do my one-minute yoga routine, a meditative moment I've come to deeply love and an absolute necessity for the body to stay in shape during this kind of intensive walk.

But before I could start, a man stopped his motorbike to talk to me, which was sweet, and I was polite, smiling, answering his questions... but part of me inevitably expressed that, well... I was actually just waiting for him to leave so I could carry on with my practice: I didn't actually want to be having this conversation. As a result, our interaction was so bland that he left quite fast, and I couldn't help but notice the residual uneasiness inside me... "Aversion, I see you!" That's exactly what the mantra wanted, to catch aversion in its subtlest forms, and here it was.

An angry face and abusive words are the most obvious forms of aversion, but an entire world of subtle tensions and dislikes lies within, and they can be caught at every moment... the magic is, all you have to do is know. As soon as you see them, they lose their power and disappear, leaving space for... simple inner peace.

To congratulate my efforts in catching my aversion I was then invited for chai in front of a tiny sock factory - the size of a large room - and the workers decided to offer me two pairs, fresh from the sock-machine! I gladly accepted one, and tried to give the other pair back, saying that for weight reasons, I could only accept what I really needed. He answered "It's only 40 grams a pair, you can take both!" If only out of reverence for this guy who knows the weight of his own socks, I accepted both.

Today came the first journalist's interview on this journey. It took around forty-five minutes and he asked about the purpose of my trip, of my life... after which I was handed 4'500 rupees, the equivalent of half-a-month's wage on an average Indian job. That was a pretty good pay for a wandering bum! I just hoped I wouldn't get famous as a result...

In the evening I reached Una, the first major city in my journey. I had to buy fabric to finish my never-ending wool poncho sewing project, which I was already wearing in its unfinished state, making me look even more like a hobo. After choosing the fabric and the size, I asked for the price. I was answered "Anything you like!" I tried to give them a 1000 rupee donation to reward them for their kindness, and instead they said "Please, keep your money. It's on us. All we need is your blessings!"

I don't often come across cities on my road and today was equally my chance to find replacement shoes, but this town had nothing else than cheap sandals made for Indians who walk to the market and back... I still chose to test my luck, as it was getting pressing to replace the ones I currently wore, so minimal that my right foot was bleeding under the thinness of the straps. It had been a deliberate test in minimalism, and it hadn't passed. But it worked in not working, which was the whole point of the experiment!

This time for shoes, I finally managed to pay for something, and I walked out of there feeling both relieved and unsure how long these things would last! Quite a bit after dark I reached the Sikh temple Baba Bedi Gurudwara where I expected I would be granted a night's stay. I couldn't help but end up in these Sikh places! Once again I internally asked, in prayer, "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a place to sleep tonight."

However, the night-duty guys were very cold in nature and hardly looked at me when I asked if I could stay. The answer that finally came out was a flat "No, it's not allowed." Bummed out, I left the place thinking "One: what kind of Sikh temple is this?" and "Two: it's way after dark and I don't have a clue what to do..."

On my way out, I talked to the guard at the main gate, asking if he had an idea as to where I could spend the night. He was full of love, he made a phone call to the original guys, and after receiving orders from above they changed their attitudes and let me spend the night. I was surprised that Gurudwara night-shifts would behave like this, but this spiritual tradition had already won such a staggering amount of respect from my end that I could never be mad at them! I also saw how I always received what I asked for in prayer, but never quite how I expected it...

Days 8 - 9

December 21st - 22nd 2023

“Just as a mother would protect, with her life, her only child, so too should one develop a boundless heart towards all beings.”

- Metta Sutta, 7

To begin with, the love of a mother towards her only child is unfathomable by a simple guy like me. Now you take that and multiply it by billions, and you get an idea of a Buddha's love towards all beings. It sounds astronomical, and it is. We're not expected to get there by tomorrow though; rather it gives a hint of what can actually be achieved. In my case it was downright troubling to see how far I was from such a state, and yet... merely thinking about it changed my life.

My day started by meeting Sikh Babas that I had missed yesterday from arriving too late at night. They showed me around the historical temple and this time I was treated like a guest of honor. I sat down in the sun in order to progress on my sewing project, enjoying the peace of my surrounding smooth-stone courtyard... while a senior Baba who had developed a great liking towards me was expounding the ancient Sikh teachings in Punjabi, as if I understood every word. Which I didn't at all, of course, but it's similarity with Hindi helped me get some gist of it and he looked satisfied by my nodding!

He proceeded to serve me a meal with such humbleness and care that it filled my heart... I thought of the sutra, and I hadn't done the slightest thing today to love anyone like a mother, and here he was, on our first encounter, giving me as much care as the luckiest son could ever receive...

As I took the road, I was invited for freshly-pressed fruit juice, which I appreciated so much that I exclaimed in joy "I don't have any fruit with me and it makes such a difference starting the day like this!" He then shoved two handfuls of fruit in my bag, making me realize I should be careful with my speech. I do love fruits, but it's much more important for my bag to be light, because an overweight bag leads to problems that compromise the trip much more than a deficiency in fruit...

I decided to accept the gifts though, with gratitude as I usually do. The gift itself was trivial, actually, but it was the generosity that I couldn't possibly refuse. After all, during these three months, that was my job: giving people a chance to be generous and loving them for it.

So I accepted the fruits but later on seized any chance I could get to spread the love around. When people would ask "Do you need help? Money, food, transport, anything?" I would reply "Thank you, but I have everything in the world! In fact, have an orange on me!" It made me lighter, so without even knowing they were doing me a favor!

Later in the day I received another gift, this time more problematic: a pen, and a paper notebook which was bigger than any I would ever own, as the minimal nature of my trip led me to strictly use bite-sized journals and equally microscopic handwriting. The one I was handed didn't even fit in my bag and there was no way I could keep it... but it was given with so much joy that I had to accept.

So I went about my afternoon looking for a destitute family with children who could benefit from a new notebook... At some point, I crossed a barefoot mother and a very young boy. I handed him the book and the pen, saying the pages were blank and yet full of potential, for learning English or Hindi or drawing or anything he wanted. His face lit up with the sweetest smile I had ever seen.

Next came an invitation for chai in the office of friendly building contractors. After I sat down, a she-mosquito came out of nowhere and settled onto my arm. Down from the mountains I had now reached the plains, and this was the first mosquito on my trip... not very good news, obviously... but... what would I do if she was my only child? Most definitely neither harm her nor even wave her away... So I sat there watching her drink. It wasn't hard, and actually kind of sweet! But that doesn't mean I'm a saint and let's keep in mind there was only one of them...

I made best use of the office's facilities to wash my prior sandals and make them giveable, as the ones I had bought yesterday seemed to be doing the job.

So I hung them on my bag to let them dry and kept walking. But it turns out one of the two fell off without me noticing, obviously making my hopeful gift useless to anyone... so I left my bags with newly made friends by the roadside and started running the other way to see if I could find it. I did, a mere five minutes later, so I picked it up and jogged my way back. Halfway, an old and peculiar man stopped me, exclaiming "Babaji! Let me touch your feet!"

I stopped, and he came to the earth in front of me, bringing both of his hands to my feet. I had no idea what I had done to deserve this, but definitely I knew how to respond! "Is this your shoe size?" I asked him, presenting him the sandals. He didn't care in the least about petty details like shoe size and took the gift, disappearing in utter joy. I'm guessing, at the time of writing, that they're sitting on his altar alongside incense and oil lamps.

As night started falling, I realized I was still wearing the turban previously gifted by Santa, that I had tied around my head this morning at the Sikh temple. I also realized it had been given to me for a very good reason! White is the most visible color in the dark, and the turban proudly sat at the highest point of my body... This was as good as anything in terms of not getting killed by traffic! Talking about the dark, this was a very special night in the year, the winter solstice, that is, the longest night of them all, which I chose to celebrate by doing my favorite thing in the world... walking! I would forget about finding a place to sleep, walk until dawn and see if I would become Buddha or a living-dead.

My night-walk started with a memorable event: the first inter-state border crossing, the end of Himachal Pradesh and the start of Punjab. As usual I tried not to attract too much attention, hoping to avoid questions like "Where do you sleep at night?", in which case I'd have to either lie or say "on the ground or somewhere..." I was almost done casually walking through when a voice came from an officer behind. "Hello!"

"Oh no..." I thought as I turned around, politely greeting him with a smile. But to my surprise, instead of questions he served me chai, biscuits, salty snacks, and even money! After which he proceeded with the kind of spiritual discourse you'd otherwise hear from a Guru's mouth... He went from Krishna's meditation techniques in the Bhagavad Gita to its comparison with Buddha's Vipassana, Patanjali's eight limbs of yoga, how to put them all into practice in our daily routines, where my chakras were and what they meant, the illusory nature of matter, the impermanence of the human body, our pressing need to practice detachment towards it before it's too late, the origin of war and peace outside and inside us, the correct lotus posture named Padmasana, the fact he had seen me in the newspaper this morning and admired what I was doing, and finally the wish for me to reap all the good karma in the world.

His name was Yogesh, which could be translated as divine yogi. I was dumbfounded. I hugged him goodbye and asked "Will we meet again?" "Yes, we will, on a higher plane, because we're both doing pretty good on the spiritual path!"

This guy was unbelievable. A Babaji, a Guru, manifesting as a police officer.

At 10 pm I crossed a dhaba, or roadside restaurant, and as places were closing I could tell this would be my last chance to eat anything until morning. I walked in, eager for an opportunity to finally pay for a meal. The food was amazing and I remembered I was now in the state of Punjab, world-famous for its cuisine. When I was finished and asked how much I owed them, they replied "Nothing at all!"

What? Neither had they seen me in the news nor did they even get to know me... what did I do to deserve a meal?

My nightwalk happened well and I enjoyed the silence, until 1 or 2 am when weariness started dragging me down. I decided to chant the next day's sutra, as it was past midnight and technically tomorrow already. I also hoped summoning my focus would save me from toppling over from lack of sleep...

“Spreading love all over the world, cultivating a boundless mind. Above, below, and all around, without obstruction, hatred, or enmity.”

- Metta Sutta, 8

It helped a bit, but at 2:30 I was still a zombie. And to think there was yet another... four hours to go before seeing a trace of light! I chose to turn it all into an observing meditation, or analysis, known as Vipassana. In the name of analysis, let's make a checklist.

Physical pain? Yes. My shoulders, from the bags whose weight seemed to be magically increasing at every step.

Discomfort? Yes. I had diarrhea mixed with blood, a near-guarantee of stomach parasites. Having to wipe my behind with roadside rocks every ten minutes didn't enchant me so much anymore. I had a sore throat too and winced at the cold wind, especially when the mist from an oncoming truck would slap me in the face. Yes, to my dismay, trucks loved this time of the night to get their driving done, possibly because they were crazy. Like me.

Mental pain? Yes. Impatience. The mind that says "God, another 4 hours? Why in the world did I even get into this?"

Perfect. Here we had them, laid out on the table of our minds: all the ingredients for Vipassana. Now what would we do with them? Cut them up, of course!

Investigate them, take them apart, observe every layer, every detail, see what's inside, learn with a balanced mind, and find out why exactly this or that was bothering me. And the magic of Vipassana happened: as soon as you shed light on a negativity, be it coarse like physical pain or subtle like mental irritation, it... starts vanishing. It dissolves. Its very survival relies on unconscious nonsense and it cannot stand the light of our awareness.

So in one smooth move the former hindrances to our happiness become the very objects of our meditation - the catalysts for growth, the very causes of happiness!

In a teeny nutshell, that's the technique that allowed Buddha, 2'500 years ago, meditating in the forest, to break free from the entire field of suffering, into a state beyond all forms of pain he called nirvana.

It took him him a while though. In my case it was 4 am by now and I wasn't enlightened yet, but the whole thing had actually become enjoyable. A deep psychedelic meditative trip into another world, enhanced by weird visual symptoms linked to my lack of sleep. Amongst other delusions, I saw a cablecar in the sky as well as a big roadside dog that didn't exist.

At 6:30 came the first rays of dawn engulfing me in ecstasy, at which I chose to drop all the thoughts I ever had of not doing this again. I enjoyed a slightly psychedelic high for most of the morning, and in mid-afternoon I headed to the nearest Gurudwara, Patal Puri, where once again I was greeted like an ambassador.

Here I was in Punjab, land of the Sikhs... I smiled at the thought that their temples were going to be my refuge for many nights to come.

Day 10

December 23rd 2023

I woke up sickly with the same parasite stomach pain, and on top of that a slight headache, sore throat, and runny nose, but I still resolved to tackle my day as usual.

After being served food from the community kitchen, I headed to the central shrine to pay homage and donate money. But as I entered I was taken aback by the splendor of the scene before me... red carpeted floors and majestic white-marble walls encircled an ensemble of neatly-turbaned musicians who sat cross-legged on a podium, playing harmoniums and tabla drums alongside words from the Guru Granth Sahib - the holy book of Sikhism. The whole scene was so beautiful I made my donation with a tear in my eye.

I had also been gifted an intricately designed brass cup in front of the temple, but as beautiful as it looked there was no way I could add the extra weight to my setup. So I gave it to a beggar on my way out of town, and it made his face shine. Two missions accomplished!

“Whether standing, walking, sitting, or lying down, keep this awareness with you, keep a mind free from drowsiness. It is said to be living in the heavenly plains, here and now.”

- Metta Sutta, 9

Doing my best to maintain this subtle moment-to-moment awareness made me discover subtle patterns in my mind: even though these three months were a radical exercise in detachment, the habit of trying to get something was still subtly present in much of what I did. Subconsciously, the way I said Namaste to the fruit juice vendor was different than to the roadside mechanic, because I knew I could receive something from the former if I had a shining face! But as the teachings go, don't be ashamed of a negative pattern: instead, rejoice in the fact that you caught it! That way you flip it on its head and start on a good track. So I was glad to notice the way my mind asked for things and I knew it was the most important step in being free from its old habits.

Later in the morning, three farmers with a baby girl appeared on a small three-wheeled pickup and stopped to greet me. They touched my feet and said they had seen me from the other side of the highway and came all the way around to meet me. "You are the most beautiful Baba we have ever seen! We think you are God!"

"God is inside you all!" I answered, dodging the compliment. Not only is beauty in the eye of the beholder, but so is wisdom, and all the other qualities too. I believe that every word of praise - or of insult - is merely a sign of how beautiful - or how muddy - the speaker really is inside. This attitude helps in dealing with both scenarios and keeps things from getting personal.

They went on to tell me how poor they were, and asked if I could give them "a number" to make them more fortunate. I answered that such a number wouldn't change anything compared to their actual practice. For me, practice meant meditating in the morning, first thing as I woke up... meditating at night, last thing before going to sleep... and doing my best to practice compassion and awareness throughout the day.

I added that such a practice could generate so much good karma that whatever we subsequently asked for would come to realization, provided it was for the benefit of all beings and not merely for one's ego.

They kept on asking for a number though, and even handed me a stick to write something in the sand... So I wrote अहिंसा - pronounced ahimsa and translating to non-violence - explaining that it should be the root of their practice. Non-violence meant not harming others through ill-willed actions, but just as importantly, not harming oneself through the three poisons of anger, craving, and ego.

Then they asked if they could pay me and I refused. They looked so poor, financially... and yet they left the scene with shining faces, full of hope about improving their situation.

I spent the coming night at Gurudwara Pata Sahib in the town of Rupnagar, this time lying on the floor in a large room alongside a number of other people... but I was given warm blankets and the whole thing felt pretty cozy. With Sikh temples, you never really know what you're gonna get, but it always works out somehow!

Day 11

December 24th 2023

I was feeling a bit better, and my stomach parasites, though still lingering, had somewhat lessened in strength. My day started beautifully with a sunlit breakfast at the community kitchen, after which I made a donation at the main temple hall, once again with marble floors, enchanting musicians, and offerings of halva - a warm buttery semolina sweet. Today was Christmas eve and also the final verse of the Metta Sutta.

“Without falling into views, endowed with morality and wisdom, and free from craving for sense pleasures, one will be free from taking birth in a womb.”

- Metta Sutta, 10

The story about the womb confuses us westerners. First of all, what's wrong with a womb? Second, how could we take birth anywhere else anyway?

Whereas in the West, reincarnation is merely a theory, in India it's an established belief. Any belief based on blind faith however is always erroneous. The Buddha himself has famously stated:

“Just as a goldsmith would test his gold by burning, cutting, and rubbing it, so too must you examine my words. Only then should they be accepted, not merely out of respect for me.”

So it's up to each and every one of us to make up our minds about reincarnation. For me, the facts we already have at hand make it quite clear. Yes, the body dissolves at death. So what? The body has been dissolving ever since birth! Every single day of life, the body is dissolving, renewing itself, dissolving, renewing itself... Not a fraction of it remains at the same place. It logically ensues that the mind isn't stuck to the body's matter, in which case it would be scattered all over the universe by now...

So just as the continuum of the mind has been persisting all throughout life, so too must it certainly persist throughout death. From the confines of the galaxy to the intricacies of the subatomic world, has even modern science ever witnessed something vanishing into nothing? The answer is, no. Everything transforms.

But because we can't see the mind through a microscope, western object-based science has a very hard time figuring it out... and that's where the eastern approach comes to help. Subject-based: our direct inner experience rather than external observations. Eastern science says that the form our minds will take after death depends on two main factors: our accumulated karma and our degree of awareness at the moment of death. If our karma is good, we will keep on traveling to prosperous planes, whether human or godly or semi-godly or something else non-material that we can't really imagine with our current paradigms. And if we are aware at the moment of death and afterwards, we can actually get our foot in the door of wherever we want to go next.

So back to our story about the womb: there's nothing wrong with it - well, this human life does entail some form of suffering as we all know - but more importantly there's nothing wrong with being free either! If through practice, you've reached real freedom, you can go back to a womb, sure. You can even choose: any womb, any species, any realm. But you can also choose to be born in less materialized dimensions, lighter realms with less suffering, or realms even beyond birth and death. We don't know about them yet because all we know is how to observe matter. So what the Buddha is saying with the last line of this sutra, is that with the kind of power you develop through metta and awareness, the choice becomes yours.

￼

My day unfolded pleasantly, while the verse "free from craving" kept coming back in my mind with the same object as yesterday... those relentless juice vendors! They were everywhere! And even though this was the other side of the world, they were all selling the exact thing that makes our Christmas back in the west: tangerines!

We tend to think that craving, or at least desire, is a necessary condition for enjoyment to happen... but whereas yesterday I was observing my behavior in subtly wanting things, today by some miracle I could see what happened when I subtly didn't want things. I would walk by the juice vendors, not trying to make it look like I didn't want anything, not trying to make it look like I needed something, just being my good ol' smiling self without a care in the world, and greeting with a big namaste or Sat Shri Akal - the Sikh greeting.

And I can testify that, far from being a burden, it felt so good! The burden of craving was in fact relieved: I was happy as-is. I can also testify that as a result - who would have thought - people were actually much more giving.

It helps to note that the sutra uses the nuance of craving and not desire. Desire, or otherwise wishing something, can be wholesome: may you be happy! That's wholesome. But if it becomes "You'd better be happy..." then... something's gone wrong.

On top of the tangerines, Sikh people were handing out free food and chai all along the road to celebrate one of their saints, with so much avidity that they would stop traffic to serve them through open windows!

In the afternoon an affectionate Sikh roadside mechanic, Ravindar Singh, invited me for chai and let me use his phone to call my Dad and wish him a Merry Christmas. It filled us all with joy and brought my benefactor the ineffably positive karma of reconnecting someone with his family.

No time later, night started falling and I uttered my traditional prayer, but once again with a slightly different twist to see what would happen. Today let's make it multiple-choice! "In the name of the happiness of all beings, tonight, may I... a) have an early night to recover from the long day and my ongoing sickness, or... b) celebrate Christmas, in which case I don't mind because hey, it's Christmas!"

So as part of my spiritual quest of dissolving the frontiers between religions, I decided to try my luck at a church tonight. With the help of locals I made my way to the Christ Church of Kharar, and my face lit up when I say it was full of decorations and luminous ornaments. I met the man in charge, but I'm not sure if I should say priest or bishop or abbot or pastor because the conversation didn't get very far. "I'm a pilgrim on a walking journey and I seek lodging in houses of God." I said. "I've slept in Mosques, Gurudwaras, and Hindu temples... will a Christ Church host me? I have my own blankets and everything with me by the way, I'm very simple and just need a space, that's all."

He didn't hesitated. "We want to be good hosts for you, so we have to deny your request. Because if you were to stay here you wouldn't have the facilities you need to be comfortable..." The whole thing was contradictory, a play on words to make it look like my request was denied for my own good. He then went on to speak about the boundless kindness of Jesus, which at this point wasn't very convincing... Jesus had such a vast heart that the day he was tortured to death, he didn't express a trace of negativity towards his prosecutors. Only love... People like you and me can't even imagine such a saint... and I'm pretty sure there would have been space for my couple blankets and unrolled bed in his boundless heart.

But there was no point in arguing: I'd rather sleep in the street than argue. In fact, there was a point in not arguing! Today's lines of "not falling into views" meant exactly that. When scholars tried to argue with Buddha, he would calmly answer that his point of view was the one that did not argue.

"Views" or opinions are usually born from the ego: my point of view, my tradition, my wants and needs... that's why we get so agitated over them. The ego wants to win, that's just what it does. In my case, my wants and needs did include a space to spend the night, but more importantly inner peace. So I left calmly, knowing I wouldn't be celebrating Christmas this time, which left my prayer down to option b)... an early night?

It worked: after five minutes of walking I reached the nearest Gurudwara, and they lodged me without an instant's hesitation.

Part II

Mindfulness of Breathing

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Day 12

December 25th 2023

A significant part of the journey was defined by what sutras I was going through each day. They shaped the entire experience, like a spiritual compass, a guide. Granted, I had paper maps with me too, which showed me where to go in the physical realm... but the physical realm hardly had any importance compared to the inner journey. Buddhist thinking would posit that ultimately, the world around us depends on our mind.

So today's inner journey involved crossing a portal into a new dimension: the breath. The breath has been with us since the day we were born, but most people have never been aware of it for even a minute. Buddhist and Hindu practices however, usually place it at the root of every other meditation technique: if you learn how to use a chisel, you can build a castle.

The breath would be our chisel and the castle, our kingdom of heaven within. Buddha called it Anāpāna Sati - mindfulness of breathing. One could wonder why would we choose to focus on the breath and not a candle or a cheesecake? It's true, we can focus single-pointedly on anything we want and it will bring us to the present, a huge step forward compared to the usual rambling of the mind.

But of all the objects, the breath was discovered to be the most universal and effective. Unless you're an AI - in which case I apologize - if you're reading this, it means you are breathing. And the breath will be with you 24/7 until you die, which means you can always practice - and you can save money on candles. But more importantly, it happens to be one of the rare bodily function that operates both consciously and subconsciously. When you choose to, you can feel the breath, or even control it, unlike the other internal functions. But when you forget about it, it goes back to self-driving, led by the subconscious mind.

So here's the trippy part: if we learn to observe our uncontrived, natural, subconscious breath, but we do so with the light of the conscious mind... we are taking our first baby steps into the mesmerizing plains of the subconscious world.

And not just mesmerizing but potent: this is the deeper reality in which we can learn to know ourselves. What makes happiness? What makes pain? Why am I creating pain all the time even though I want happiness?

The answer is, I'm creating pain all the time through countless subconscious patterns, that guess what, aren't even subconscious anymore because here I am in the headquarters of my mind, observing my breath, and here is my chance to change everything.

From there, all the rest else follows. We can call it the first and the last tool: the Buddha was said to have been observing his breath even on the night of his enlightenment.

But enough rambling, let's get to the first lines of instructions in the Anāpāna Sutta, the Buddha's discourse on mindfulness of breathing.

“Here, bhikkhus, having gone to the wilderness, the foot of a tree, or to an empty hut, a monk sits down with legs crossed and spine straight, establishing mindfulness in the area above his mouth. Mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 1

The Buddha addresses his assembly of monks as bhikkhus, but that doesn't exactly mean "monk": it literally means anyone who is practicing. That's us. You and I are bhikkhus. The Buddha is talking straight to us, here and now sitting with this book, and these are his words: mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out.

There's no point in you reading all this, or me writing it, unless we both apply it. So let's do the practice. As soon as you reach the little wheel of dharma at the end of this paragraph, please put down the book or whatever device, sit upright, relax your body, and spend the next minute attentively observing the touch of your breath: your natural, uncontrolled, uncontrived breath, at the area just above your mouth, around or beneath your nostrils.

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How do you feel? Has your mind wandered to the past, the future? If so, that's fine. No worries! That's what it does. But those few moments where the mind was really settled... sitting there... in pure awareness... those moments have the power to change our entire existence.

And most of all be happy! Rejoice in the tremendous merit of you having set aside this moment for practice. Every second of awareness creates fields of merit more valuable than heaps of gold. No amount of gold can buy awareness, and awareness, not gold, is the key to happiness. It truly has the power to save the world. I too rejoice in the goodness you have just created! Whenever you see the little wheel of dharma in the future, I suggest you to put down the text once again and meditate on it for a few minutes. The benefits are huge.

And if you happen not to be in an empty hut or at the root of a tree, that's ok. All those are suggestions, not requirements. Today, my "empty hut" was a Punjabi highway full of honking trucks. After all, the practice is universal: if we required external peace in order to reach inner peace, it would make our peace extremely... conditional. The whole point of meditation is to reach a form of all-embracing peace that doesn't depend on the constant ups and downs of samsara - the material world - which are bound to come.

So here I was treading my Punjabi highway, but also rolling up my sleeves to cross Chandigrah, what would be the second biggest city of my whole pilgrimage. But I didn't care about the city - my only job today was to observe my breath as continuously as I possibly could.

And it worked: the effects were astonishing and its benefits clearer than ever, as I applied it to all the environments I would come across during my lengthy day. In times of calm, it would enhance the calm, bringing about such inner stillness that it's hard to describe... In times of external stimulation - which on top of the bustling traffic included McDonalds', Burger Kings, KFC's, Starbucks', movie theaters, fashion stores, luxury cafes, bars, supermalls, and huge grocery stores - neither the glitter nor the chaos managed to hinder my meditation. The mind had no inclination to be looking all over the place as it was perfectly satisfied with its object already - the breath.

At some point I was invited for chai by a Bihari street-side stall owner. According to the poverty line index, Bihar was the poorest of all Indian states... but also a state of immense spiritual wealth, where Buddha himself spent a great deal of his life and even reached enlightenment - in Bodhgaya.

Both of these facets were reflected in the humble man who invited me. Obviously poor by the condition of his meager chai stall, yet that poverty failed to tarnish his inner wealth: joy, kindness, and generosity. He would pour me chai upon chai alongside sweet breads and cookies. He also let me use his aging phone to call my mom for Christmas day.

As I gathered my things to leave, full of gratitude, I discreetly readied a fifty-rupee note in my bag and asked him "You've done so much for me... what can I do for you? Can I give you money?" to which he replied "No, in fact I want to give you money!" and he handed me a fifty-rupee note!

An hour before it got dark as I was walking out of Chandigrah, I met a Sikh man on a bike with an impressive turban and sleek aviator sunglasses who instantly fell in love with what I was doing. His name was Jaspal Singh and after merely a few words of conversation he invited me to spend the night at his place... but his home was quite a bit further down the road, seemingly around 10 km. Obviously I wouldn't sit on his bike, and without a phone on me it wasn't easy to arrange a way to meet later on... But he insisted he would find a solution. I didn't know where his home was or how he would do it, but I accepted: there is no act more beautiful than generosity, and when something was offered to me in this monk's lifestyle, I did everything I possibly could to honor the intention. Receiving is giving, when it is done with love.

It turned out to take four hours and a whole 16 km, most of which were in the dark, where he escorted me with impossible patience from this gas station to that restaurant to that gas station... He was sitting on his bike and would wait for me to arrive before giving me instructions as to where to turn next.

Fortunately, our path didn't stray from the direction I was supposed to be following anyway, so I didn't mind. It just made for a very long day, and hours of walking alongside a highway in pitch dark, empowered by the beautiful thought that "This guy is relentless, and I've seen this inexhaustible energy in Sikhs before, born from bhakti - unshakeable faith. I trust him and know I'll have a place to sleep tonight."

I finally reached his home at 10 pm, even though I knew Sikhs tend to go to bed significantly before that and wake up very early. When I thanked him for his patience, he answered "serving is my religion".

I also met his brother Avatar, with whom he had a touchingly close, loving, harmonious relationship. The word avatar which we all know actually comes from Sanskrit in the first place, where it means "the physical incarnation of a godly being". We're all avatars in a way!

He and his brother made sure I had dinner and could wash before going to bed, and I fell asleep flat on this journal at 1 am.

Day 13

December 26th 2023

Jaspal Singh saw me off with a full belly, clean clothes, and a 500 rupee note in my pocket. I had tried to make various small gifts, of which he accepted none, saying "All I want from you is brotherhood!"

Today's sutra was a refinement, a deepening, of yesterday's, and the second amongst the sixteen steps of Anāpāna - mindfulness of breathing.

“When breathing in a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a deep breath.’ When breathing out a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a deep breath.’ When breathing in a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a shallow breath.’ When breathing out a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a shallow breath.’”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 2

Buddha doesn't repeat himself for no reason and there's a very precise meaning behind every sentence he says. Yesterday, we were briefly introduced to the breath... Today, we would be getting to know each other better, coming closer, becoming aware of its length and depth, and how these are all being affected by factors from our external world and internal mind-state. It's very important to remember though, that we're not breathing shallow or deep breaths on purpose: our role, as usual, is just to observe.

As we are now venturing into the most practical part of the Buddha's teachings, I invite you, from here on, to sit for a minute and do the practice, as I will, when a sutra reading appears in the book. I'll put little wheels of dharma to remind us. Let's do it now with the sutra above.

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The practice added a whole new dimension to my day, almost like a sixth sense, and I could feel the step-by-step-ness of going deeper and deeper into the layers of the mind. The Buddha did in fact consider the mind to be the sixth sense, on top of the five physical sense doors, and I could feel it today.

In the morning, I got a Baba-question possibly harder than any others... A man stopped his rickshaw and asked me with sunken eyes "Babaji, my wife cheated on me two days ago. What should I do?" His face was stripped of the slightest trace of joy or well-being. His vehicle was full of fruits and he handed me an apple, which I accepted even though I would have rather avoided the extra weight, knowing it was good karma for him and already part of his therapy. I felt so much love towards him but had a hard time answering his request, and it became clear to me how compassion alone was not always enough: it needed to be supplemented by wisdom. That's why we didn't just stay on the Metta Sutta for the whole story, and we're now focusing on the breath to deepen the practice.

The event reminded me of a dear teacher named Pau Castellsagué who guided me a long way on the path of Buddhism. "So, you want to give an apple..." he would say, "That's great! So full of love! But... where's the apple? I don't see the apple! How can you give an apple if you don't have one in the first place?"

Compassion was the intention to give... but wisdom was the apple. In this encounter, despite the apple in my own hands, my wisdom was lacking, and I didn't have anything groundbreaking to say... "Most of all, don't wish her harm in return for the fact she has harmed you. That would makes things worse and worse. Before anything, you don't deserve to suffer! So do your best to let go of anger and aversion, for your own good. Second, you can make this situation an object of meditation: finding inner peace when faced with external factors that are beyond our control... and after the mind has somewhat stilled, you can talk to her, not to make a point but to understand the situation... once again, an exercise in patience and wisdom. Finally, if things really don't work out, it's better to split paths than to live in misery."

He was touched by my efforts but still pretty far from happiness. Who knows, I might have planted a seed...

As evening started to settle and I had no idea how or where I would spend the night, I made the prayer "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a safe and... somewhat clean place to sleep tonight."

Within no more than five minutes a neatly dressed man invited me from the other side of the street. "Can I offer you chai?" he politely asked. "Well, to be honest, what's more important than chai for me right now is finding a place to sleep before it gets dark..." "So... can I offer you chai, and then a place to sleep?"

Rakesh lived 5 km in the opposite direction, but being a real-estate agent he knew properties on the road and quickly figured something out where I wouldn't have to backtrack. After chai and a bit of walking together, I was led to a simple room with a bed in his friend Aruna's property. A copious home-made dinner was offered, and everything looked perfect... until 10 pm, when plastic fumes from a nearby trash-fire started seeping into the room. Since the beginning of the trip, I had known that crossing the Indian plains would include all kinds of pollution that I didn't even have to think about in my beloved Himalayas... but I knew it was part of the deal, a tax to pay for carrying out my homeless adventure.

As a result of a poorly managed (here, non-existent) trash management system, people's everyday garbage was usually piled up into heaps without any further plans whatsoever, until someone felt like burning it, creating fumes so black and toxic that in comparison, even cigarettes were mountain air.

And that's what defined my night... there was no way "out" either: going outside was even worse as the fire was fuming straight in front of the building. My only other option would have been to leave the place entirely and forget all about sleep for tonight. But I was too tired to make such a move.

In anguish, I started craving the one thing I had taken the most for granted in my whole life: air. Not being able to breathe felt like dying. I lied down, praying it would get better and wondering if I would still be conscious in the morning to write about it.

Day 14

December 27th 2023

I somehow did get a bit of sleep, but the smoke lasted until morning and I woke up nauseous. I hardly did any meditation, as the only thing on my mind was to get out of there. As soon as I left the place and could breathe air again, I felt like a new person waking up from a distant nightmare...

But there was even more exciting news to my morning that the presence of air: my arrival into the much awaited state of Haryana. I remembered meditation teacher S.N. Goenka talk about historical Haryana with much acclaim, saying it had been known as "The Land of Sīla".

Sīla was the first of the three steps on the path to enlightenment as described by Buddha. It has sometimes been translated as morality, but that word has too much baggage tied to it, and the term ethics, or right conduct, I feel better convey the meaning.

To go into more details, the Buddha gave a set of five rules, or precepts, that anyone could follow to lead a happy existence.

1)Refrain from taking life. In a broader sense, do your best not to harm anyone.

2)Refrain from taking what isn't being given. In a broader sense, being modest and not abusing resources.

3)Refrain from sexual misconduct. To be clearer, that means acting out of love and respect rather than personal desire.

4)Refrain from lying. In positive terms, that means incarnating truthfulness, both in action and in speech.

5)Refrain from anything that causes heedlessness. Some would say "never take a drop of alcohol". Some more lenient teachers have said "Don't consume anything to the point of heedlessness". And it's not just about drugs. Even TV!

The bottom line is really up to you. This is not math, and cannot be treated as an equation. "Don't stretch your sīla" S.N. Goenka was known to have said. The most important part of sīla is understanding the root, and reason behind this set of rules: kindness! Metta! Compassion!

We don't kill, because we're kind! We don't steal, because it would harm. We don't lie, because we respect our listener. But one day, the Tibetan yogi Milarepa was being chased by a horde of furious villagers with weapons, and in haste took refuge in a monk's home. When the monk was later questioned by the villagers, he answered "No, I haven't seen anyone..." This, to save Milarepa's life. So to give a more true-to-life translation of sīla, we could simply say "be a good person" or "act with compassion".

To briefly complete the explanation of the three-step path to enlightenment offered by the Buddha, this first step sīla is followed by samādhi, translated as tranquility or evenness of the mind... and culminating finally in paññā, pronounced "panya", and meaning insight, wisdom, a penetrative experiential understanding of the universe, and this constituted the final step to nirvana.

Conveniently, the beloved three little sutras that we're studying in this book correspond to the three steps in order: the previously covered Metta Sutta for sīla, developing love and compassion; the current Anāpāna Sutta for samādhi, developing a clear mind; and the upcoming Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta for paññā, developing wisdom.

So here I was, in Haryana, land of sīla! Not just sīla, but also a land where Buddha personally walked and gave one of his most famous sermons: The Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, which I was carrying with me in my bag. I felt the land breathing with his energy. Not just the land but the people too, as I was invited, on my very first day here, no less than eleven times for chai, food, and all kinds of sweet offerings.

The language too had changed back into Hindi from the previously predominant Punjabi, which made my life easier because I could say goodbye to deciphering cryptic road signs, and once again understand random conversations between locals.

Today's sutra was also pleasing and greatly relevant to my current lifestyle:

“He trains thus: breathing in, I will experience the whole body. Breathing out, I will experience the whole body.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 3

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If all my years of walking could be summed up in a few lines, that would be it. Being with the body, and guided by the breath. This kind of practice would often make my body dissolve as I walked, I would be gliding on thin air and life would become effortless. For certain, meditation doesn't have to be confined to sitting in a room but can effectively encompass every situation in life.

In late morning I was invited for chai by a middle-aged man named Shishpal who had lost two brothers, both of them parents themselves, and now had to raise nine children with the sole income from his chai shop.

But his question to me was not about money: endowed with wisdom, he already saw one step ahead. "How to get rid of my worries?" he asked. What he was looking to achieve was the foremost result of meditation practice, so I explained Anāpāna to him in detail. He then asked to be given a mantra, so on a small piece of paper I wrote the first instruction of the Anāpāna Sutta that we saw together two days back. So satova assasati satova passasati. Mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out. He was happy and served me another chai!

Later in the day I was asked "I've been trying to have a child for five years and it won't happen", and from another man "my shop doesn't run, what can I do?" To the vast array of worldly concerns I would always prescribe the practice of meditation, presented in one way or another. Call me boring, but that's what makes the magic of such a practice - it solves everything. Even if for some reason it failed to solve their immediate worldly concern, it would solve the bigger problem anyway of suffering and death altogether.

Today I finally understood what people meant when they would ask me for a lucky number. They were looking for a number that they could input into a popular gambling app to make easy money! Now that I understood what they were after I could answer more clearly. "Delete the app altogether: it's bad karma. The worse is if you happen to win, because your material gain would be coming as a result of someone else's loss and dismay. Creating others' suffering inevitably brings about our own suffering. Instead, take joy in your job, make a living honestly, don't worry about gain, and focus on benefiting all beings. Only then will real gain come, and that too a thousand-fold." They didn't always like my answer, but I had to snap them out of it.

I reached yet another Gurudwara at night in the town of Narayangarh, where I was served like a prince and listened to like a sage by the elders, all very pleased by my pilgrimage.

Day 15

December 28th 2023

My night had been short, going to bed at 11 because of this manuscript and waking up slightly after 4 because the elders had insisted I join a 5 am ceremony that would involve walking and chanting through town. I knew I had to do my own meditation first, of course, to align my mind, and my Taichi to align my body. "Let alone ten minutes," I thought to myself "if I really focus, can have great benefit"

But within the second minute there was already knocking at my door. I broke my meditation to come and open up and they all scrambled in, turning on the lights, talking loudly and making chai. Irritation clouded my mind... I was underslept, feeling sick, and my morning practice - more important to me even than sleep - was now being stripped away as everything was starting at 4:30 and not 5 like I had been told.

Of course I didn't have a minute to open my books and chant the daily sutra either... but fortunately I knew the next lines already so I chanted them in my head for the remaining instants of attempted-meditation, in the midst of lively conversation and big pots being moved around me...

“He trains thus: Breathing in, I will calm the bodily formations. Breathing out, I will calm the bodily formations”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 4

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And it worked. Almost miraculously. On a surface level I was upset, but deeper down there was nothing at all - an ocean of stillness.

The ceremony was a marching band of Sikh call-and-response chanting with amplifiers in the deserted city streets. A bit like a walking alarm clock telling the whole city "What are you doing in bed? It's 5 am already!"

The whole group was then invited into a devotee's home who had prepared a space to make a ceremony. I was very honorably greeted by the small crowd and introduced as a student in Buddhism, which was fine with me and portrayed once again their remarkable religious openness. I was then gifted a compass for my road and handed the microphone to say something.

I stuttered a bit in Hindi and wasn't very convincing with my raspy voice and sleep-deprived eyes... But everyone seemed happy!

My stomach parasite symptoms were worsening too, after yesterday's overdose in food and drinks and today's fatigue, and I had been thinking of fasting all day but food was offered so sweetly at the end of the ceremony that I didn't find it in me to refuse.

But I felt even more sick and started the day walking at snail's pace, shivering in the foggy sun-baren morning and hoping things would somehow improve. After a bit of time I lied down in a field and spent an hour staring at the sky, after which I felt slightly better, and the sun even started poking out. I still chose to fast the entire day, which greatly simplified invitations for chai or food, and somehow found the energy to walk more than one hour after dark.

At 7:30 pm I reached the brightly lit Shri Guru Ravidas Temple, which seemed to have elements of a Sikh Gurudwara, a Hindu temple, and even a Buddhist monastery. The place looked unique and I walked through the huge portal in awe, deeply hoping it would work out for my night.

And it turned out that even my previous days' experiences of being greeted like a guest of honor by complete strangers paled in comparison to the welcome I received here. The head Baba, Sant Nirmal Das, greeted me with garlands of flowers and a glistening white shawl... after which I overheard him telling his assistants "make the room ready for a saint". I was given the best room in the temple, with not just clean but unquestionably brand new blankets, under the compassionate gaze of countless saints and sages whose portraits surrounded me on the walls.

It was very clear to me, however, that this had nothing to do with any qualities I may or may not have - they were all his! My treatment was merely a reflection of the goodness he had inside, expressing itself in the form of hospitality, respect, and praise.

With perfect timing came the evening satsang, a gathering in which people shared stories, teachings, and personal experiences linked to Shri Guru Ravidas and the spiritual path in general, followed by chanting in his praise, that everyone sang in perfect unison. It gave me chills. I had heard this before, but... where? It seemed, as if it had been unearthed from the depths of my mind, as if from a past life...

The teachings themselves also sounded familiar and I took great joy in learning facts and figures about this captivating character from 600 years ago: Shri Guru Ravidas was from Varanasi, a city greatly dear both to Shiva and Buddha, and yet he was neither portrayed as Hindu nor Buddhist, but rather a spiritual teacher promoting the root of all religion, dharma, and universal truth rather than idol worship. His life was so influential that even the Sikhs included his teachings in the Guru Granth Sahib - their Bible so to say - and he was also considered a saint in Sufism, a mystical branch of Islam.

His approach dissolved the borders between all religions and that's what gave this temple it's ungraspable nature. Amongst the various sages also stood depictions of B.R. Ambedkar, one of the most notable figures in the revival of Buddhism in India, making me feel even more at home.

Day 16

December 29th 2023

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing joy. I will breathe out observing joy.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 5

The Pali term commonly translated into joy is piti. But please don't pronounce it as "pity" or you'll ruin my sermon! Phonetically, it's pee-tee. Like ti-pi backwards, if that helps. Anyway, piti doesn't mean some artificially created mental joy of thinking "I must be happy! I am happy!", nor externally derived pleasure like "I must get pizza! Then I will be happy!"

The truth is, piti is not so far from pizza. But if you think "When I get my pizza, then I will be happy", it never becomes "now I am happy". It just becomes "when I get desert, then I will be happy", and then "when I get home, then I will be happy", and so on. Even while eating the pizza, you'll hardly notice what's in it, once again lost in daydreams about something else. In that case, happiness always stays in the future: that is opposite to meditation.

On the other hand, If you think "I am eating pizza. I am happy!", it always stays "I am happy", for pizza or some other reason. That happiness always stays in the present: that is meditation.

And that is piti, enjoying. One can only enjoy when one is in the present. Nobody has ever enjoyed a future pizza! Likewise, the warm sunshine, the cool shade, the day, the night, the sky, the air, the light, the sounds, the smells, the birds, the people, the relaxed state of meditation... there is always a reason to enjoy, to be happy, and that enjoyment is not against the practice. In fact it's one of the very steps of the practice as mentioned by Buddha in Anāpāna's sixteen stages: it brings about the enthusiasm to progress even further on the stages of liberation. And ultimately, that happiness becomes independent from any external event and comes from meditation itself, which we will cover in tomorrow's sutra reading.

So piti it was! I had slept warmly and soundly, looked after by Ravidas' depiction on the wall and his peaceful gaze. My health was better, and I felt a close connection with head Baba Nirmal Das as we sat together like brothers having chai in the sun, followed by a homemade breakfast in his room. I anonymously donated 200 rupees in the main temple, after which Babaji handed me, upon my departure, exactly 200 rupees. Déjà vu?

I took the road in awe: it was hard to believe how much I loved him after such a short time together. I was still slightly sick but this time the sun was on my side, and it made my life so simple to answer people's questions of "What can I give you or do for you? Chai? Food? Transport? Money?" "Nothing at all! Sorry, I'm sick!" They must be wondering what kind of homeless man I was not to want anything given to me!

Actually, all I really wanted was to walk, as that was my meditation and the purpose of my trip. That was piti for me, and I utterly loved it.

At some point in the afternoon though, I was offered chikoos, Indian fruits that taste as sweet as they sound, and this time I accepted as I hadn't had fruits in two days. I greatly enjoyed them.

In terms of today's Baba-questions, on two instances I was asked "I'm so poor, please tell me what to do!" to which I would answer "Do your work, out of compassion, and all the riches will come, including karma after your grave where no form of money can follow".

But on one instance it was a bit harder to answer... Nearly in tears, the man uttered "My wife has been gone for three days. She answers the phone but refuses to come back. I don't know what she's doing. She doesn't want to be with me." I told him to send her goodwill and send himself love, and even though it wasn't easy, to find his own independent happiness, cherish his daughter, and when he actually reaches that state of love she will come back. His daughter was standing there, anguished by her father's distress, so I put a garland around her neck, the one which had been gifted to me by Nirmal Das Baba.

In late afternoon, I noticed I was crossing an increasing number of mosques and I had a teeny thought at the back of my mind: "To honor the nature of my trip, it would be cool to be hosted by Muslims at some point..."

Within thirty minutes a radiant Muslim man invited me to his shop and gave me a bear hug out of nowhere. He had me sit and served me chai, after which a number of people turned up, all acquaintances with a friendly Muslim officer I had met a few hours back on the road, who seemed to have informed the village of my arrival. His name was Rajiv Hussein, itself containing elements of both Hindu and Muslim origins, and everyone joined me to have chai as I marveled at the homogeneous mixture of religions surrounding me, all friends without the slightest concern towards this belief system or that faith.

Rajiv was also a school director and brought me to his establishment, greeting me with more garlands of flowers than I could comfortably wear around my neck, offering dinner, and even... a room! I couldn't believe the power of the mind... so even my non-prayers came true! The tiny thought a few hours earlier of hoping to be hosted by Muslims had now materialized, and that too in the most generous way, including a huge room to sleep in, hot water, and a much appreciated inter-faith dialogue with the school teachers between Muslim and Hindu practices, beliefs, and lifestyles.

Day 17

December 30th 2023

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing happiness. I will breathe out observing happiness.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 6

The Pali word for happiness is sukh, phonetically pronounced sookh, which sometimes English transliterations also write it as sukha. It is the step beyond piti: a deep, more stable sense of well-being that doesn't depend on the material world, that comes from inside, born from meditation, inner peace, goodwill.

In his search for truth the Buddha went through periods of extreme ascetic practices we call self-mortification: trying his best to deprive himself of any form of comfort, pleasure, or well-being including food, sleep, and at times even air. Anything that felt good had to be abandoned. Even pleasant feelings born from meditative states had to be discarded... If they're pleasant, there must be something wrong with them!

So he kept suffering until his body became a wreck: hardly more than tattered skin hanging over loose bones. He was more frightening than a skeleton and practically dead already... But at some point he realized that despite his unspeakable efforts he hadn't found even a moment of peace. He saw how body and mind were connected and torturing one would not liberate the other, so he resolved to change his approach. From now on, he would stop following extreme practices laid out by previous ascetics and he would be his own teacher. After having experienced the princely life of extreme indulgence in the palace followed by extreme austerity in the jungle, he would now take the middle way. He would start eating again. And he would start enjoying his meditation too! There's nothing wrong with feelings of joy, of happiness, of bliss born from present moment awareness! It's ok to be happy! And this breakthrough led him to the happiness beyond suffering, to downright enlightenment.

And so it was in regard to sukh that Master Ajahn Chan was quoted at the beginning of this book: "Suffering is not the way to nirvana... Happiness is the way to nirvana!"

￼

My day started with sukh in the air, in a room so spacious that I could comfortably do my morning Taichi while the Muslim call to prayer pleasantly echoed in the background as the children made their way to school... I was then led to the main office and invited to give a speech to the teachers and staff. I was asked to speak on heaven and hell: I said that while our present actions certainly do affect what will happen to us after death, we experience their result in our very lives already. Facets of heaven and hell, elated bliss or acute distress, can be felt here and now as we've all come to know during our time on earth.

And whether we experience one or the other depends on the karma we create in our daily lives, which in my audience's case happened to be greatly positive as their very occupation involved providing students with the greatest thing anyone could offer - teaching. In the Indian dharma, they say that offering money or goods to anyone is obviously a virtuous act to greatly rejoice in, yet the gift of teaching is a whole order of magnitude higher: it stays with them their entire lives.

I was seen off with many smiles and accompanied by Biramjit, a journalist who had decided to undertake the first part of my daily walk with me. He and his grandons Mukand accompanied me for a few kilometers until we reached their house, where his wife had prepared a traditional breakfast of cornflour chapati flatbread, yoghurt, spinach, and lassi - an Indian yoghurted drink.

During breakfast his thirteen-year-old grandson expressed the wish to keep walking with me, which I chuckled at and found really sweet... but it wasn't just small talk and he ended up walking 10 km with his grandad and I, inviting me to various treats along the way. They guided me all the way to the border crossing with the next Indian state on my journey, Uttar Pradesh, where they said goodbye and took photos. The border was a scenic combination of a bridge above the venerated Yamuna River and an imposing red sandstone gate saying, in Hindi, "Welcome to Uttar Pradesh".

A new Indian state was like a new country, with its own set of laws, customs, mindsets, dialects and religious backgrounds. Haryana had become very dear to me and part of me would miss it, but Uttar Pradesh had its own magic. Some Haryani locals had jokingly called it "Ulta Pradesh", or the upside-down state, but to me it was in fact very upside-up, full of sweet people, affectionate and generous despite their living standards which were about as poor as you and I can possibly imagine. I crossed entire villages of straw-and-mud homes, patched up with plastic tarps and rusty corrugated steel panels loosely held together by steel wire or string... and yet I was offered everything they could provide me with, including chai and samosa and money, the rupee bills so worn, torn, and tattered you could hardly make out what was written on them. I would be made to sit in a plastic chair and served chai, during which so many villagers would crowd around me to stare at this strange phenomena that I could see nothing else in my field of vision. By the children's cartoonishly wide eyes it was obvious they had never seen a foreigner before.

Many of them wore Muslim caps and it was clear that it was the predominant religion, yet I was treated with just as much kindness as in Hindu settings, which by external appearance I seemed to belong to with my dreadlocks and lota almsbowl. In India a lota refers to a small jug originally designed to carry and drink water, but its use as an almsbowl or ritual object also made it a popular artifact in Hindu culture.

In my daily life as a wandering monk it was the one object I used the most: I would always keep it clean, and insisted on drinking from it instead of the all-too-common disposable cups which are creating an ecological disaster in modern-day India... I would use it to shower bucket-style when all I had was an outdoor hand-pump, which was basically everyday... and it would be hanging on the outside of my bag all the time as I walked, showing people that I relied on alms, clarifying the nature of my nomadic monk's life. People knew they could donate if they wanted to, and that's what made the beauty of it: I never had to ask for food, water, or money a single time in the entire trip. It all came straight from their hearts, amassing good karma on both the giving and the receiving ends.

As evening drew in and I still had no clue where I would spend the night, a young tuk-tuk driver noticed me fumbling with my map in the dark. "Are you ok, brother?" he asked me. I answered I was on the lookout for a place to sleep and he said he would help. He happened to know everyone around and talked to a nearby gas station, explaining my situation... and in no time I was provided with a rope bed in a garage where the workers would hang around fixing motorbikes, having a smoke of tobacco or marijuana, having a drink of chai or whiskey, socializing, resting.

The floor was dabbed with engine oil too and traffic noise was unending, but none of that stopped me from considering the place like a temple: as dirty as it seemed, this was in fact my haven of peace, my spiritual abode, manifested by the endless compassion of the world around me and allowing me to have a safe and sheltered place for the night. I recognized this feeling once again: sukh - happiness. Deep inner happiness that comes from love and gratitude rather than sensual pleasure or material conditions around.

I was also offered chai and dinner, which I saw not as physical sustenance but pure embodiments of love.

Day 18

December 31st 2023

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing mental activity. I will breathe out observing mental activity.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 7

The same way as happiness was like a step back from the more active experience of joy, now we're taking another step back into yet a more tranquil state - not discarding the happiness, the sukh, but simply observing it, amongst all other possible mental activity, and being cool with that.

My night had been crowded with mosquitoes, who had chosen my grungy sleeping quarters as the ideal location for an all-night party, expecting drinks on me. But I had a trick worth testing in my bag - a miniature head-sized mosquito net that actually did the job at keeping them away from my face, and thanks to the blankets on the rest of my body I was left alone! As a result I slept well, and woke to the soothing drone of a generator that I heard even behind the earplugs I had spent the night with. Without removing them I proceeded to my meditation and chanting, hearing my own voice inside my head.

For breakfast I was served a large raw red carrot, a concept I found unusual but greatly exciting, and I started my walk with a pleasant flow of energy. I enjoyed every step until I started feeling tiny droplets falling from the increasingly cloudy sky... And I caught my mind worrying "man if the rain worsens I'm in for a tough day..."

It was a very unsettled and disturbed state of mind, and for what reason? These droplets weren't a source of suffering in themselves, and the heavy rain I was dreading existed nowhere else than in the hypothetical realm of my imagination. Suddenly, out of nowhere sprang a tremendous source of joy, both at the satisfaction of having caught my mind in an irrational habit pattern, and at the understanding that this was exactly what the sutra wanted me to do today: observe mental activity.

Today was December 31st, a day most people consider as New Year's eve but in my case marked the commemoration of my little brother's death exactly two years ago. In the early afternoon, which in European time would have been late morning and just about the time where the incident had happened, a large sign appeared to my left saying "Saint Joseph's School". Joseph was his name and Saint might well have become his status after departing from this world. They say that when beings start assuming less materialized forms, they can influence the world in newfound ways. This looked like a wink from the beyond saying "Hey man I'm around!" and it made me very happy.

The only piece of technology I had brought with me was a small action cam. The world having graciously given me the opportunity of living a three-month offline experience, the wish sprang up in me to give back in any way possible - to family, to friends, to you, to anyone who could benefit from coming into contact with these teachings and this story... So whatever was recorded on that small camera as well as in the journal you are reading now, was my attempt at giving back to the world at least a bite-sized portion of what it had granted me.

So I took a photo with the hope of sending it to my family on this special day - not only would they know that I was alive, but they would also see that Joseph was with us in more ways than one.

Internet cafe's, however, slipped into oblivion ever since smartphones started taken over the world, and I wondered how I would possibly find that kind of service amidst this rural Indian village setting...

I kept walking and in late afternoon came across a small office with two young men working on their computers. I explained my situation, and the owner Shubham instantly withdrew a laptop for me to use, saying I could spend as long as I wanted to. In the meantime he brought over chai and Indian delicacies from his family-owned sweets shop, after which he invited me to spend the night, dinner and breakfast included. That was a lot for my request to use two minutes of internet!

I saw the whole thing as an outcome of my little brother's hello and I fell asleep blanketed in gratitude, followed by intriguing dreams about helping an orphan beaver find his lost dad.

Day 19

January 1st 2024

My night was pleasant but I was still sick, dominated by stomach parasites but including all kinds of bodily symptoms linked to the low immunity. A quote from author Joseph Goldstein resonated in my head: "Perfect health is just as good as perfect disease." Everything becomes perfect when we bring awareness, acceptance, meditation to it.

I could see how my symptoms were also a perfect chance to reduce food intake, invitations, speech, and mind stuff altogether. The day's sutra reflected it beautifully:

“He trains thus: I will breathe in calming mental activity. I will breathe out calming mental activity.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 8

Calming down mental activity fits with the Anāpāna Sutta's progression of bringing the mind into subtler and subtler states, and I felt it too in my state of perfect sickness.

My host Shubham appeared at 7 am to see me off, as I had told him yesterday that I would be starting the day early. I had been up since 5 am though, finished with my meditation, Taichi, and folding up. He wished me a happy new year, which had completely slipped my mind, to which I answered in a voice so raspy it sounded like it was my hundredth. He served me chai, which to my stomach's pleasant surprise had almost no sugar, and it somewhat helped my sore throat too.

I started my walk in a haven of peace, the stillness of my mind smoothly roaming the world of closed shops and deserted streets around me. As time went by, passers-by would appear and I would greet them with a bow, in silence, happy to have no voice. Whenever I would be invited, I would answer the questions minimally, never initiating conversation, and always prioritizing calm, silent, awareness. Silent yet aglow with meaning, with intention, with beauty, with joy.

Despite my verbal minimalism I still had my share of Baba questions to answer, which I saw as my faithful duty towards the people and the best way I could help anyone in my wandering lifestyle. First of all, I was asked what to do about a chronic headache. Of course I answered meditation, as that was the first thing it would solve, on top of being a universal solution to everything else.

Everything else included a young man with a two-year case of depression, on medication too, and a burning will to get out of it... so I prescribed him ten minutes of meditation daily as he woke up, saying that doing more was great too but depended on his time management and mental disposition. His meditation was to be be followed by the following prayer: "Whatever virtue I have gained through this meditation, may I dedicate it to the happiness of all beings. Likewise, may I dedicate whatever I do in my day to the happiness of all beings, including myself."

The practice of dedicating merit is common in the East and is known as a way to multiply the joy of meditation. Not just meditation, but any other virtuous act: I have done something good, rejoice! I have given something to someone, rejoice! I have said something kind, rejoice! This mindset directly counteracts the thought patterns of "I'm not good enough" and can be a daily spring of joy that cuts depression at its roots.

I also told him that the same practice done before sleep would ensure a sound and peaceful night's rest. I then pulled out a red thread and chanted the lines of instructions for mindfulness of breathing from the Anāpāna Sutta. He was to follow these instructions every morning and the thread would be his reminder. I tied it around his wrist, and he was overjoyed. Hopefully it would last.

In order to pay as much respect as I could to people of differing faiths and greet them according to their own culture, I would always be on the lookout for signs that would hint at their religion when I met individuals or groups. A Muslim cap was a giveaway sign... or women with covered heads... or noticing that Hindus could also cover their heads but their shawls were usually brightly colored and full of Indian designs... if I overheard them speaking Urdu to each other instead of Hindi, I would greet them with Assalam Alaykum instead of Namaste or Jay Shri Ram... and if they wore large beautifully fashioned turbans I would greet them with Sat Sri Akal, the Sikh greeting. It made people very happy!

As for Indian Buddhists the most common greeting was Namo Buddhaya, but it was hard to spot them as they didn't appear any different except for having a really laid back attitude like they wouldn't act up for anything in the world. In fact that's what the Buddha had suggested: don't be an external Buddhist. Like another layer of identification, after the "I'm an author, I'm a martial-artist, I'm Swiss, I'm a yogi, I'm this and I'm that" would come the "I'm a Buddhist, I wear a rosary, I chant prayers, I move slowly, I can do the lotus, and I'm calmer than you are."

Not that anything is wrong with these things: the whole state of mind is wrong. We are running in the opposite direction, creating more ego instead of diminishing it. What we really want to aim for is inner change: our progress can only be measured by what has changed inside us and not by what it looks like externally.

Can I relate a short story? If you're fed up with all my stories, please forgive me and know this will be the last one before we get back to the... story.

So, 900 years ago perched in the snowy Tibetan Himalayas lived a highly realized Geshe - a title given to monks after having completed decades of extensive practice and study. His name was Geshe Ben, and although it pleased me to share the same name, the similarity was unfortunately purely coincidental.

Being a monk, he relied on alms, or donations, which came from various benefactors who would come and visit him once in a while in his cave. One day he was expecting a visit from such people, and as a result he put special effort in making his alter clean, neat, and shining. But when he observed his mind - which is exactly what we're supposed to be doing with the sutras - he realized his efforts were born from a will to specifically please those who gave him offerings.

He was shocked. "Monk, who do you think you are?" he cried out to himself, picking up a handful of dirt and throwing it on the altar.

And so the event came to be known as the best offering in all of Tibet - a handful of dirt in the Buddha's face! See, what matters is not external appearance, but inner motivation.

￼

Night drew in after a very long day contemplating roaring trucks on a busy highway, while I internally made the prayer "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a calm place to sleep tonight."

Within ten minutes of walking in the dark and dodging traffic with my headlamp, I crossed a couple men by a roadside bonfire who lifted my mood. "Come and make yourself warm! And have chai! And you know what? Spend the night!"

Ompal was the owner of a hotel facing the road and he made every gesture with care and respect. As if he knew about my throat condition - which hadn't improved - and my vow to be minimal in speech, he had dinner served to me in the back-end staff area instead of with the guests, so I could have my meal in peace and silence rather than having to answer the usual "where are you from"s and "where did you learn Hindi?"

As soon as I was done with dinner and chai he led me to a spacious private room with attached bathroom. I was grateful beyond words, but also grasping my stomach in pain: this had been the only real meal in my day - as I just had to eat something else than crackers, chai, and fruit at some point - but even that didn't go down smoothly, and the whole thing left me thinking I should finally find a pharmacy to do something about it.

Day 20

January 2nd 2024

This time the mosquito situation was so severe that my once-miraculous setup didn't stop me from getting dozens of bites all over my body. I was still warm throughout the night, though, and had slept enough to retrieve half of my voice. In survival terms, that night was a definite success!

I was then kindly offered chai by the staff but it was so loaded with sugar that I started the day feeling sick already. I vowed to find a pharmacy, not an easy task amidst the tiny Indian villages I was crossing on foot, and when I finally did, they said they couldn't help me without a prescription so I made my way to the nearest hospital.

"Namaste, how are you?" they greeted me.
"I'm good, well, actually, not good. I have a condition in my stomach called - "
"You know what? I saw you in Bhagwanpur yesterday! Did you come on foot?"
"Yes, I came on foot. So, as I was saying, I think I have - "
"Where did you learn Hindi?"
"...parasites"
"And where are you from?"
"Switzerland"
"Where are you going?"
"Bodhgaya, I hope. But it's a 1'800 km journey and if I don't solve my parasite problem, I'm going nowhere. Please tell me what you can do?"

He finally answered my question but only to avoid it once again. "You should go to Haridwar Central Hospital. They will help you better than we can."
"That's 25 km away, a whole day's walk. Please actually do something... can I at least make an internet-call to my mother through your phone? She's from the medical field and I assume she can help better than you."
"Sorry, can't do that. Government policy."

For the first time in the whole trip, I met an old not-so-welcome friend... the one we call anger. "Here I am, utterly sick, sitting in the middle of a hospital, and nobody's willing to do the slightest thing for me except tell me to go somewhere else!"

I walked out with a turmoiled mind. The cause behind my anger was clear: being denied help even though I badly needed it. And yet, that was a mere cause and not a reason: anger has no reason. It makes no sense. It's irrational and completely useless. It harms everyone.

I felt the damage as I took the road again. "May all beings be happy" made no sense anymore. My journey, even my life, had no purpose. Whats the point in pretending to help people if I'm actually harming others and harming myself, adding tension to the world instead of alleviating it?

But somehow the whole thing could be solved and... wait... today's sutra! I forgot!

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing the mind. I will breathe out observing the mind.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 9

Thanks. Couldn't today's lines have been any more entertaining? But sure, let's give it a go... all I had to do was observe the angry mind instead of acting upon it.

￼

And at that very instant the anger became an opportunity for practice instead of a hindrance, making the whole situation flip. When you stop stirring the murky water, it's just a matter of time before the particles naturally settle to the bottom, and you see the underwater landscape like never before. That's why today's sutra reading marked an on-going progressive pattern, after yesterday's "calming the mind". Once calm, this same mind was now apt to being observed with newfound clarity.

And in no time I was out of it and back to my loving self. It's also a fun mind-hack to literally look at a clock and think "anger is here... hello, anger... let me see how long you last! 10 minutes? 1 hour? 10 hours?"

With this objective approach and newfound awareness, anger loses its hold on us and disappears surprisingly fast. Whereas without mindfulness, as we all know, it can last ten days or even ten years... Ten years of mental unease because of one moment of conflict. It sounds ridiculous, and it is ridiculous. Yet I'm willing to guess we've all seen it.

So love, love, love it was! I was back on track with newly found faith in these miraculous techniques.

￼

In India, when people would see me do my yoga they would always cry out "Baba Ramdev!" Naturally I had started investigating, and found out he was India's most famous Yogi-Baba and founder of the international brand of health foods Patanjali. I didn't personally know enough about him to make a sensible judgement though, but I knew his main headquarters, ashram and ayurvedic university were practically on my road, and I was glad to add an extra two hours of walk to see the place and find out more. Ashram is a common term in India denoting a community center or place that lodges people for spiritual reasons.

So I reached the place near evening and they granted me stay free of cost, not because I was special but because they were! Their whole system was based on universal love: everyone was given free access to spotlessly clean washrooms, 24-hour hot water, three meals a day in the community kitchen, beautiful gardens with perfect cleanliness and the kind of waste management you'd expect from Switzerland. It was a huge complex of many buildings, almost like a small city, which included an ayurvedic hospital and the biggest yoga room I had ever seen. It had a capacity of more than 1000 students, live musicians chanting the ancient Indian vedas, and live screenings on huge displays. Yoga classes were held every morning at 6 am, sometimes guided by Baba Ramdev himself, and were free for everyone.

This was all based on the teachings of Maharishi Patanjali, an Indian sage from 2'200 years ago considered to be the father of yoga. He had been dear to me for many years and I carried a mini hand-bound version of his Yoga Sutra wherever I went. His teachings were astonishingly close to the Buddha's, came in the same period of history, and were a beautiful example of how easy it was to blur the boundaries between religions or spiritual movements. They both presented a near-identical exposition of the five precepts, their paths were both divided into eight steps, named the "Eightfold noble path" in Buddhism and the "Eight limbs of yoga" in Hinduism... Both defined the goal of "samādhi" as the eighth step, both portrayed the same four qualities we call the Brahmaviharas: loving-kindness, compassion, equanimity, and sympathetic joy... And they both held purification of the mind through meditation as the ultimate practice leading to enlightenment.

So here I was in Patanjali-land and it lived up to every bit of expectation I could have from a place fostered by the teachings of this timeless Indian sage. Needless to say I was very happy to be here.

Day 21

January 3rd 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in satisfying the mind. I will breathe out satisfying the mind.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 10

You might be wondering in what respect is "satisfying the mind" different from the previous sukh, or "experiencing happiness". You would be right, and the difference is subtle: whereas sukh, or happiness, comes about as a result of calming the body, this "satisfying", known as abhippamodayam, is a result of calming not the body but the mind, as seen together in the previous steps of the sutra. This implies something even deeper, more serene, and more lasting than the happiness born from bodily well-being: this happiness is born from the subtle realm of mental well-being. Just writing about it makes me subtly happy.

And it suited my day perfectly: for the first time since the beginning of my journey, I chose to take a day off, in the name of healing, as the conditions here were simply impeccable and included hot water to drink, a helpful part of any healing process and a rarity in my homeless life.

After the 6 am yoga and chanting session in the giant hall which was nothing short of majestic, I finally completed my never-ending sewing project. Sewing by hand is just as slow as walking on foot, and likewise a perfect opportunity for meditation. The first Buddhist monks ritually sewed all their robes by hand, and needle-and-thread were even one of the few items prescribed by the Buddha for them to always carry along. Most people think of the Buddha as this guy sitting on a throne all day like a statue, meditating and preaching the dharma... But that was far from his routine: he was also a die-hard survivor.

You and I would go to the forest with a Decathlon tent and camping stove, spend a couple nights, take selfies, then boast that "I'm so good at survival" and display our bravery on social media.

But Buddha spent entire years sleeping in the depths of the Indian jungle with no equipment at all, amongst tigers, elephants, wolves, snakes, mosquitoes... He knew how to identify edible plants in the wild, how to defend himself against animals, communicate with them and imitate their cries, how to make his own clothing, and was also an advanced martial artist.

All that not to boast but to prove that Buddhism is not about becoming a vegetable. Living your life, being strong mentally and physically, independent, able-bodied, enthusiastic, helping yourself and helping others... The material world cannot be discarded at the snap of our fingers: it is here and part of our lives, to be dealt with skillfully.

So here I was combining matter with meditation as I sewed all day in Baba Ramdev's ashram while observing my breath.

It didn't align with my karma to meet Baba Ramdev personally during my short time there... but I met him in more ways than one. Most importantly, I received his blessings: he healed me. This entire ashram was a product of his skills, successfully starting and managing such a huge infrastructure, and out of compassion giving it all for free. Thanks to his kindness I healed: my throat was better as well as my headache and runny nose. Stomach parasites still lingered, but I knew that was a long story that couldn't be solved in a day, neither here nor in any hospital.

And I did receive Baba Ramdev's teaching in a dream while sleeping at his ashram, a mode of instruction that I had heard was common amongst yogis living in caves, to receive guidance from their teachers. In my case he gave me several lessons on yoga and meditation and brought me on a long mystical journey to visit sacred mountains. I had a great time.

Day 22

January 4th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in concentrating the mind. I will breathe out concentrating the mind.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 11

My day started at 5 am, giving me time to do my practice, skip breakfast and still take the road in the dark. It was 6:40, pitch black in this winter month, and my start was magical... Complete solitude joined with ethereal foggy stillness made the ideal environment to embody today's sutra and float into the dimension of concentration.

But what did the Buddha mean by concentration? Instead of babbling on, I'd love to quote the great scholar, meditator, and Theravada monk Bhikkhu Analayo, whose publications, notably Mindfulness of Breathing and Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta have been fundamental in my understanding of the Buddha's teachings. Let's hear him out:

"The term concentration does not refer to a narrow focus that excludes everything else: rather, an effortless unification of the mind that rests within itself, composed and at ease. As if the whole of subjective experience is held in a loving embrace, completely unified. At this juncture, then, the whole-body awareness practiced in the beginning becomes a whole-body-and-whole-mind experience."

￼

The ease of walking meditation combined with the pull of the nearing Ganges River gave me unending energy. I reached the river around noon, named Ganga in Hindi and personified as our mother. I was overjoyed at how clean it was! I paid homage by taking three ritual dips and swam my heart away. How gladdening to reunite with this old friend!

But another old friend crossed paths with me: his name was Gautam Khattar and he had interviewed me years ago upon my previous walk to Haridwar. He had helped me too with my first book and we had very affectionate ties. This time, he was with a friend and videographer Dikshant who invited me to a pleasant interview on the rooftop of his friend's hotel. We talked about dharma alongside chai and sandwiches.

Before the sun would set I had a personal mission: my most important duty in Haridwar was to meet my former Guru and beloved friend Ananda Giri, who I had nicknamed Smile Baba long ago from his unending enthusiasm. Two years ago I had spent a month living with him in bamboo structures in the jungle and he was a real inspiration who had marked my life. So my evening prayer today had nothing to do with may I find a place to sleep, but just the one heartfelt wish... may I once again hold Ananda Giri in my arms!

So I made my way to the location of the camp as I had known it, with a flower in my hand, a bag full of fruit and nut offerings, and a beating heart. On my way there, a few dharma-brothers recognized me from two years ago. "Ben Giri!!! they called out, which was just about the most honorable form of my name you could conjure in Hindi. I hugged them warmly and they told me to sit. I told them about my excitement to see Ananda Giri after such a long time... But their faces were less bright than mine. "He's not here anymore..." They told me. "He's gone".

"Where did he go? And when?" I asked impatiently. "Four or five months ago... To Bhagwan." Bhagwan was an Indian term for God.

I still didn't dare to believe anything but tears flooded my eyes. I hastily grabbed my bags and ran the few minutes left to the entrance of the camp, or what was left of it... All the bamboo structures and roofs were gone. I came upon one Baba though, huddled under a tiny shelter. I paid homage and asked him to confirm what I had heard, still in tears. He confirmed, and said there was a shrine in his name, up at the place where he used to sit.

I rushed there and came face to face with his portrait surrounded by offerings. "Ananda Giriii!" I sobbed as I put my forehead to the ground at his feet, or where they had been. How could such a lively community, aglow with love and dharma, hosting gatherings of yogis, serving meals, giving teachings, reverently sheltering shrines and statues of saints, all turn to dust in the space of a few years?

And I sat there, meditating on impermanence. Grief is great. It feels like a form of energy, of which every particle can be churned into wisdom, into peace, into clarity... and into gratitude too, because whatever we're grieving about was a miracle to begin with, still is, and always will be.

￼

I gave my singing bowl as an offering to Ananda Giri's shrine - it was quite possibly the object I was the most attached to of all, which had also been serving as a receptacle for food which I carried with me wherever I went. One less object, a lighter body, a lighter spirit, one less attachment and one step nearer to freedom.

As for the fruits and nuts, I offered them to Ananda Giri's physical continuation: the new Baba holding the camp - or the fraction left of it - was a Guru-brother of Ananda Giri, meaning they had shared the same Guru. His name was Param Ananda, "Param" meaning eternal and "Ananda" meaning bliss, as if he was an eternal continuation of the bliss we knew in the late Ananda Giri. Ananda was also the name of the Buddha's own cousin, best friend, disciple, and devoted servant, who had spent much of his life at his side and witnessed the death of his own master...

We sat by a fire talking about Ananda Giri with reverence, after which I was led to the next-door temple named Bilkeshwar Mahadev, for food. I obviously didn't care about food at this point, but I went with the flow of where life was bringing me. What else was I going to do?

During dinner I was told I could spend the night, and I was overcome with gratitude. Their support was emotional, before anything else: I felt at home, taken care of by my dear family members... They were all close friends to Ananda Giri as well and shared more stories as the evening went on.

This temple's Baba was named Sudhir Puri and was a young man nearly naked and entirely covered in white ashes: you couldn't even tell his original skin color. This minimalistic attire was practiced by countless generations of Babas and represented his tapasya - or spiritual discipline - in which he couldn't choose to wearing anything else even in these cold foggy winter months. He greatly impressed me and his simple sincerity touched my soul. In fact I knew him. I knew that I knew him. His face, the way he talked, the way he sat still... I could see myself in him. He felt like my brother, in fact my little brother, as it turned out that despite his wisdom he was only thirty - two years younger than me. But the ashes covering his skin, all the way to his eyelids and lips, made him timeless: you couldn't tell if he was thirty or sixty, neither by appearance nor behavior. He had a penetrative presence that no words could describe. In his gaze I was at home.

He didn't use much words - we both knew the shortcomings of words. We sat together around an imposing dhuni, the name given to the central fire of a Baba ashram. The dhuni was sacred, the dhuni was God, life, warmth, light, and was respected like the highest Guru. Like a living being, its heart would never stop and it would be skillfully kept alit all day and all night by the head Baba - in this case my host Sudhir Puri. It was also our object of meditation as we sat in peace, sharing presence...

We would still exchange a few words here and there. He had a deep respect for the efforts I had put into learning Hindi as well as for my journey on foot... He seemed to know about my previous walking trip from Europe to India... and we both shared a heartfelt brotherly love. Would you believe that we had just met? I don't. We had never really met. We were one.

Day 23

January 5th 2024

My day started at 2:30 am with the sound of Sudhir Puri getting out of bed. Yes, I had both the honor of spending the night in his room, and of seeing for myself the truth of his incredible schedule. He had told me yesterday how not only he woke up at 2:30 every day - no exceptions - but also had a rule of never lying down during the day.

Well, to be exact I heard it without seeing it, because I had nowhere near a mind strong enough to start my own day at that time and didn't even dare to pop my head out of the blankets when I heard him off.

What job would he be off to so early, one might wonder? To practice dharma, of course. That's what Baba's do! His job was literally to sit in meditation, from impossibly-early morning to late evening. He would sit cross-legged, serene-faced and straight-backed, and not somewhere alone in his corner either: he would dwell outside by his dhuni or in the central room, like a statue, the temple's main figure, elegant, motionless and imposing, and yet coming to life when visitors would arrive. He would talk to them, answer their questions and doubts, hand them offerings, and send them blessings. But most of the time, the blessing was the beauty of his presence, reminding everyone just how easy and wordless peace could be...

I sat there with him for hours, in a silence full of togetherness and understanding. A few sparse exchange of words taught me more about his past: he hadn't seen his parents in twelve years, meaning he was eighteen when he had started living in this radical way... I was also eighteen when I turned to dharma and started living in a radically different way, yet the amount of let-go, detachment, and patience on his end were just otherworldly. And he explained to me that the ashes covering his body from head to toe were a reminder of where it would end up anyway: the funeral pyre. "Look I'm already halfway there!" he would joke, placing his forearm beside the ash pit of the same color.

I liked that. Why cry when you can laugh?

And he added that we must burn our egos before that moment would come, because mere physical pain at the time of death was nothing compared to the ego's anguish: "I don't wanna die!" Who's this I? The ego. Burn it already!

Which comfortably linked to yesterday's Ananda Giri: I chose to honor his passing away by setting aside the Anāpāna Sutta for one day. Instead, the theme would be a sutra reading originally planned for a later date as it belonged to the upcoming Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta.

“Like a corpse thrown aside in a charnel ground – one, two, or three days dead, bloated, livid, and oozing matter... being devoured by crows, hawks, vultures, dogs, jackals, or various kinds of worms... a skeleton with flesh and blood... a fleshless skeleton smeared with blood... a skeleton without flesh and blood, held together with sinews... disconnected bones scattered in all directions... bones bleached white, the color of shells... bones heaped up, more than a year old... bones rotten and crumbling to dust – compare your body with it thus: ‘this body too is of the same nature, it will be like that, it is not exempt from that fate.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 7

Enchanting right? And yet so accurate that no doubt, the Buddha had shown great interest in meditating on decaying bodies in open graveyards.

I had no open graveyard with me at the moment, but the best way to apply this contemplation was to adapt it to my personal situation, which was the death not of a faceless corpse but of my dear spiritual mentor.

And yet today, I felt very different from yesterday. Something had been digested. As I went to his shrine to say goodbye, because this time I wasn't crying, I heard him laugh! And I laughed with him: may I perpetuate the Smile Baba legacy and keep his torch alit by my own brightness and love!

Aniccā vata Sankhārā! said the Buddha as he pierced the matrix, sitting under the tree in Bodhgaya. Impermanent are all composite things! And with joy he said this. Try and get me now! I have cracked the code of existence itself! I am freeeeeee!

And yes, this too shall happen to my body, and that's not morbid: only a reason more to live every minute of this precious human life, not let a moment go to waste in distraction, dullness and negativity, be aware with my whole being to practice love, dharma, truth. The contemplations on death are meant to be nothing more than catalysts for meditation, awareness, and liberation from the clutches of the ego.

Saying goodbye to Sudhir Puri was wondrous. He said nothing. I offered him a small hand-woven woolen cloth, the piece that was left from my famous never-ending sewing project, quite personal as it was the same color and fabric that I was wearing myself. He accepted with a smile. I offered him 200 rupees. He refused with a wave. He handed me two tangerines, which greatly touched me as I was specifically lacking fruits and in need of vitamins. I touched his knees in respect and said he was my little brother. He answered wordlessly, with a deep gaze of love.

And I was off. It was so easy! Leaving any other place took an hour, between selfies and formalities and exchanging contacts and Q&A's and requests to stay for one more chai or one more snack... But Sudhir Puri's love was one-way-traffic, just giving, and wishing well, with wisdom, with compassion.

I left Haridwar with the daily mantra of "this too shall happen to you", and crossed several scenic bridges over the Ganges to make it across all the streams of this colossal river. The external environment perfectly suited my contemplative state, with wide nearly-deserted roads dividing the jungle canopy, and almost no human interactions.

In late afternoon, I asked if I could lodge in a Sikh temple built alongside the same road, where Guru Nanak himself was known to have spent time. They accepted instantly with almost no words, just pure love and service. The place was small and no rooms were available, so I was given a mattress and a space in the langar room, or community kitchen where food was served, spacious, calm, and spotlessly clean. I was delighted, and very courteously left alone, aside from offerings of chai and dinner.

Day 24

January 6th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in releasing the mind. I will breathe out releasing the mind.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 12

Releasing, vimochayam... but releasing the mind from what? One way to see it is releasing from all obstacles, all hindrances, that could obstruct it from meditation, from awareness, from peace. That might seem a long way off, relating to extremely high levels of meditation, but it's very possible on a temporary basis, and momentary liberation from fetters through repeated practice leads to sustainable progress on our path.

Another way to understand releasing, is that whatever effort we have put into the previous steps of training the mind, including concentration, we now let go of completely. Effortlessness. Like Shavasana - the corpse position - at the end of a physical yoga session, here we are reaping the benefits of our previous efforts and enjoying the state of completely dropping them. As illustrated at the beginning of this chapter in the drawing "Stages to Shamatha" with elephants walking up a pathway, the fire, which represents effort, becomes smaller and smaller until it disappears completely.

It was also a perfect wrapping up of my previous day's contemplation on Ananda Giri, reminding me not to dwell eternally on the past, and releasing it in order to come back to the beautiful journey I was on, both internally and externally.

I woke up warm and sound in the Sikh temple, slightly sick from the parasites but bearing up. I did my Taichi at 6:30 on the roof, in thick fog and total darkness. A bit past 7 I was on the road, after paying homage at the central shrine and greeting everyone goodbye.

After that barren day observing death, I realized my breath was still my best friend and once again had moments of deep walking meditation. I practiced releasing the mind from any thoughts and energies that weren't beneficial, including residual sadness over Ananda Giri. I was happy!

I crossed the border from Utterakhand into Uttar Pradesh once again - it's not that I was going back and forth, but simply these states had sinuous borders that had me come in and out along my road. As soon as I crossed over, everyone was Muslim. It bemused me seeing how quickly the culture changed, and yet I was once again asked for blessings by locals. I know a number of teachings and prayers in Sanskrit and Pali... but how do I give a blessing to a Muslim? In Arabic? Or in Urdu?

But it was the perfect challenge of expressing the universality between spiritual traditions, and apparently I didn't do too bad: I instructed them to do their prayer five times a day as intended by their Guru, and on top of that, practice presence and meditation - very similar to the state of prayer to begin with - whenever they could in their everyday lives. I also told them that by practicing compassion, which was the root of all religions, their lives would improve manifold. My input was very appreciated and they answered by joining their hands in the Indian way!

For the first time I came upon a proper hospital, and seized the chance to ask if I could get help for my parasites. This time they were professional, knowledgable, and full of love. Their explanations to my symptoms were so accurate that I placed my full trust in them to provide me with whatever they deemed necessary. They put me on a course of antibiotics, which obviously I'd rather avoid but my case was so persistent that at that point I was ready to follow anyone's advice, especially facing such experienced doctors.

At nightfall I made the prayer "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a place to sleep that is safe and... far away from burning plastic!" Fifteen minutes later, as I reached the city of Najibabad a group of young men invited me by the roadside. They asked me what I was up to, and I answered with my usual discourse: "I'm on a foot pilgrimage and I sleep in houses of God... Any idea where I could spend the night in this town?" The answer came without a second's hesitation. "Yeah, in the temple lodging right across the road!"

They walked with me to find the Pandit - a word for a learned priest in charge of a Hindu temple. His name was Vijay Pal Singh, he was a role model in kindness and humility, and he gave me a room with it's own lock and key. There was nothing in the room other than a bare cement floor but I loved it: I could proudly deploy my whole sleeping kit, unfolding all my pieces of fabric to be placed beneath or on top of me... and it worked just right. I was served dinner, chai, and sweets as well, but most of all, I had space and silence in my own room, enjoying the luxury of deep undisturbed meditation...

Day 25

January 7th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing impermanence. I will breathe out observing impermanence.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 13

Remember sīla, samādhi, and paññā? Sīla was ethics or compassion, as seen in the Metta Sutta... Samādhi was tranquility, and we've been covering it extensively with the first twelve steps of Anāpāna... but it must be joined with wisdom in order to take us to final liberation, and this here thirteenth step was officially our first glimpse into insight, or wisdom: the wisdom of anicha, impermanence. It's a way to transition from the end of the Anāpāna Sutta, mainly focused on samādhi, to the start of the upcoming Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, focused on wisdom.

Rather than thinking of impermanence as the typical "Oh God, I'm going to die", it would be more accurate and inline with Buddhist thought to think of it as "Oh, great, I cannot die!"

If I am impermanent, how can I die? I didn't say "I will be impermanent in fifty years", I said "I am impermanent now!" I am dying and being reborn every instant! There has never been a single millisecond where by body or mind has stayed the same. If I am a flux, a flow, and not an object, than what can "death" do to me? The flux doesn't change at death. It just keeps being... a flux!

Therefore, thinking "I'm going to die" makes no sense. Even the rotting-body contemplation that we just studied didn't say "I too am of the same nature, I am not exempt from that fate." Instead it said "This body is of the same nature". This body is neither I nor mine.

Now that we're cool with impermanence, we can rejoice in its contemplation and the beauty of the Anāpāna Sutta, which skillfully combines it with meditation on the breath.

If you are told "observe impermanence" and left alone in a cave, you might end up wondering "What in the world do I actually observe?" But the breath solves the issue, giving us something clear, a faithful guide, a spiritual mentor, and a spokesperson for impermanence: the breath comes in, the breath comes out... it never stays at the same place... every moment feeding the flux of oxygen in our veins, which in turn allows the whole body to exist. It always reminds us... look, I'm a flux, I'm a flow... look, you're a flux, you're a flow...

￼

I woke up at 5:30 and had time to do my meditation and Taichi before dear Pandit Ji appeared with chai and a warm smile. We talked about dharma, and his favorite sentence from the Hindu texts was Atithi Devo Bhava - guest is God.

I took the road with today's sutra in mind. Contemplating impermanence was far from scary, in fact it made the best parts of my day: every experience, every face, every word, every bite, every sip, was so valuable and unique... I knew it would never come again in the same way.

And as true as it is that food will turn to energy, days to memories, and bodies to ashes, one thing, I noticed, would always remain: a faithful friend, a trusted companion, a safe refuge, the one we call kindness. Kindness is transmitted like a flame from candle to candle, and though the candles wear out the flame itself goes on multiplying: the light of wisdom and goodwill that is perpetuated by each of us as we reflect these values in our day to day lives.

Bliss and wisdom and love and insight were not the only experiences in my day however, and for quite a long stretch I longed for a much more mundane necessity: food. No food had come my way for a long time, no villages were in sight, and instead of a healthy meal, which I longed for with my feeble stomach condition, I ended up eating sweets and a sachet of cheap processed crackers, both of which had been given to me earlier and lay at the bottom of my bag.

It was my least healthy meal since the beginning of the trip and left me feeling sick. Impermanence, however, was faithfully here to help. It didn't only make pleasant events even more unique and magical: negative events were also alleviated by the definite knowledge that this too would come to pass. You will have a next meal, and it will be healthy, it's just a matter of time.

Fair enough, my next meal was a wonderful plate of kichari, an Indian spiced boiled rice dish considered the best thing for weak digestion, homemade with love by the wife of a Sikh temple priest in the town of Nagina who hosted me without a second's hesitation. His name was Tara Singh and he instantly took me in as part of the family. He was remarkably open-minded and didn't consider Sikhism to be more important than any other tradition - instead he took great interest in my Buddhist studies and their instructions on meditation.

He also heard I could play the harmonium so he invited me to the main hall, where he had one... I knew plenty of devotional songs and mantras in the Hindu and Buddhist traditions, but not much in Sikhism... He told me "Doesn't matter, sing Hare Krishna!" And so I did, and so we did, as he joined in with his majestically resounding voice alongside unbelievable finger work on his tabla drums.

Hare Krishna is a mantra dedicated to Lord Krishna, the protagonist of the most famous of all Indian scriptures, the Bhagavad Gita. The idea behind chanting Hare Krishna is obviously not to mindlessly accumulate spiritual coins in the Krishna Bank above the clouds, but, like with any mantra, to sing it with meaning: "May I embody Krishna's teachings in my life."

After our lively evening I was given a bed in a huge white hall with a sparkling smooth floor and Guru Nanak high on the wall watching down with wisdom.

Day 26

January 8th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing detachment. I will breathe out observing detachment.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 14

The term translated here as detachment is said viraga in Pali. Raga means craving, so viraga means "non-craving". But that's hardly even a word in English... Some argue that detachment isn't a great word either and we should say dispassion instead... But my favorite approach is to stop fussing about English and focus on the Buddha's own word. It affects me much more to contemplate on the word "viraga, viraga..." than to spend all day intellectualizing on this or that translation in English.

After a deep night's sleep I woke up in a magnificent white tiled hall and wondered if I was still in my dream. Had I really gone to bed here?

In any case I decided it was a training room designed by the elves of Rivendell to sharpen my mind and perfect my body. I had the funnest Kung-Fu session in a long time and felt I could have spent the entire day, treading the path to martial Elfhood.... but.. the entire day was also expecting me to take this pilgrimage seriously and walk another 25 km. So I did.

By observing viraga too, and in the most conducive environment... a supermarket! Yes, they're rare, but they still exist here in India. It was the first time I stepped inside one since the beginning of the trip, and this time I needed to, as the doctor had advised me to include specific things in my diet.

I walked in, surrounded by fancy logos and labeled foods designed by professionals specifically to generate desire. Desire-designers! But I had come prepared. Instead of observing all the usual objects of craving, I observed the craving itself. Or in this case, the absence of craving, viraga. It worked! I placidly bought the one thing I needed and walked out of there with the chillest mind in the world. Thank you Buddha!

An interesting conversation ensued with a Muslim man. "You look like a serious Babaji. Do you have any special powers?" Once again, I was prepared because I'd heard that before!

"Yes, I can see the ego. I can drop aversion. I can practice viraga. In short, I can be happy." He seemed unaffected by my cheekiness.
"In that case... can you use your powers to give me a number? You know, for that lottery app?"
"If I did that, I would be a fake Baba, causing other beings to suffer by taking their money."
"So how do I improve my life and make money for my family?"
"Do namaz, your prayer, five times a day, and at the end of every session when your mind is still, you can verbalize the wish to receive whatever you want - including material things like money. But it must end by 'In the name of the happiness of all beings.' When the mind is calm and the intention is pure, we tap into an endless source of energy... and we get what we want."

He was surprised to hear me talk about namaz, the Arabic word for prayer. "But... what are you even? Like... Muslim, Hindu, Christian?"
"When Mahatma Gandhi was asked the same question, he answered 'I am a Muslim, and a Hindu, and a Christian, and a Jew, and so are all of you.' So likewise that's my answer"

He was very touched. I think I had made a difference in his life, however small... a step towards peace.

￼

I walked until dark, experimenting a new approach to my night: uncompromising viraga. What would happen to me if I just kept on walking without the slightest desire or prayer for anything?

So I kept walking past dark, not even hoping for an invitation and making sure my mind would never stray into wanting anything. It sounds like what the Buddha said, right?

But after a few hours, another truth came to me: Buddha's approach was the middle way. A typical pitfall would be thinking that Buddhism is renouncing the world, giving up everything. This sinister approach has for a fact deterred countless people from Buddhism in the past. But we obviously don't give up love, do we? And compassion? And happiness? Buddha's very aim was happiness, true lasting happiness for oneself and everyone! So how can we renounce happiness?

So of course, we are only meant to renounce whatever harms us, that is, the three poisons of attachment, anger, and ego. That's what renunciation meant since the beginning!

So in this case the middle path lies in a more subtle version of wanting, called an aspiration: I aspire for happiness, peace, and without attachment to the result, will put together what it takes to reach those states, both for myself and for others.

And that included sleeping tonight instead of dropping dead with no solution at 2 am!

The thought alone was enough, and the place I needed materialized in front of me: it was unlike anything I had ever slept in during this trip, a "government resthouse", secular, not attached to any religion or belief system, and yet lodging random nomads, like me, free of any cost or conditions. What a beauty that India can host this kind of infrastructure! I'd never seen anything like it in the West, and yet we call ourselves "wealthy"... Wealthy of what? Of paper bills that we safeguard under lock and key?

This was real wealth, I thought to myself. I was served dinner too and met the mayor of Seyovar, who had heard about my arrival and come to personally welcome me into his humble town.

Day 27

January 9th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing cessation. I will breathe out observing cessation.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 15

Cessation, or nirodha in Pali, is another ambiguous word, right? Cessation of what? And it isn't specified here by the Buddha, leaving the instruction open-ended. The Thai Forest Monk Ajahn Buddhadasa calls it the cessation of attachment. For me, Patanjali's Yoga sutras greatly helped in giving an idea of what kind of cessation took place on the yogic path.

We are all yogis. If you are reading this book, you're a yogi. Yogi means "practitioner of the mind". Patanjali, as well as Buddha, both expounded the yogic path only a few hundred years apart in history, and the similarities are astounding as seen earlier in this book.

Patanjali's most famous verse was "Yoga chitta vrtti nirodha". Yoga is the path, the practice... chitta is the mind, nirodha is the cessation that we are talking about now... and vrtti, is what must be ceased. Some call it fluctuations. To speak less like scientists, we might call it agitation or ups-and-downs.

So that makes it "Yoga is the end of the mind's agitation." The mind going up and down all the time, craving this, hating that, being elated, being depressed... Instead, what we are looking to achieve is just... peace.

So that's Patanjali in a nutshell! Don't quote me on this, but I personally like to translate vrtti light-heartedly as nonsense. If I think of it as "the end of the mind's nonsense", I catch it all the time in my day and it makes a huge difference! The nonsense effectively ceases before it has time to proliferate in my mind and actions.

After a comfortable night at the government resthouse, I was invited for breakfast by a neighbor across the road. I took a seat and noticed a man crossing the street in front of me, dragging his legs behind him as he pulled himself forward with his arms alone. His legs were obviously dysfunctional and it hurt my heart to see someone for whom the most ordinary tasks seemed to take all the efforts in the world.

He heaved himself up to sit beside me, casually pulled out a newspaper, and started reading. I handed him 10 rupees, explaining that it must be hard to do any kind of job with his condition... But he wasn't looking for my money. He was even bemused as to why would he deserve the money over anyone else, as if he himself hadn't noticed his leg condition! His face was radiant, his attitude laid back, and he seemed to be perfectly happy alongside his constraints! A living example, I thought, of how happiness comes from mind and not matter.

I thanked my host Muhammed for breakfast and took the road through the countryside, bemused at how the religion would be changing at every village. They would tell it to me themselves: "Here, we're all Muslims!" and "In this village we're Hindus!"

I had two conversations about dharma with Muslims that came to strikingly different conclusions.

"What's your religion?" I would be asked.
"My religion has no name... it is the path beyond names. I'm looking for the root of all spiritual traditions."
"Yeah yeah ok but like, Christian? I'm sure you're Christian!"
"No."
"Jew! You must be a Jew!"
"No." I would answer, and it went on in loops.

Next encounter: "Are you Christian?"
"No. In the West, most people are born on a blank page, spiritually speaking. But I have many Gurus. Gautam the Buddha, Patanjali, Guru Nanak... I have great respect for Prophet Muhammad too."
"That is good, but unless you choose one path, you're not gonna get there!"

I smiled and didn't bother explaining any further. Maybe he was right. But Buddha himself had several teachers and some report him saying "my religion is dharma". To others, he was considered atheistic, areligious, a heretic! He was often despised by conservatives and even had been the target of several murder attempts. As for the great master Atisha, a key figure in bringing Buddhism from India to Tibet, he was said to have had more than one hundred teachers, and that's how he became the great Atisha.

So while I understood my dear bearded man's point of view, it still seemed to me there was no one-set-path for everyone - each of us had our unique mental disposition and spiritual needs.

A peanut vendor later asked me, like others have in the past, "Is this your real hair?"
"Yes" I answered.
"No, it's not, it's fake!" he stated back.
So I instead I asked him "Are you real?"
"Yes"
"No you're not, you're fake!"

I don't know if my "explanation" was skillful in any way, but it was all done in a light mood and I still bought his peanuts. I couldn't help but notice, however, a residual feeling of unease that lingered on after our encounter. And that unease had a name: the ego.

Perfect! The ego is the mind's most acute form of nonsense, as it really makes no sense at all and benefits no one. So here I was, with a valuable chance to practice nirodha: the end of the mind's nonsense.

It takes but a single, objective look at the ego, to see how irrational it really is. Why in the world would it bother me that someone thinks I'm wearing a wig because I have no hair underneath, and that I would be lying about it? So what? How will that person's imagination cause me pain in any way? If I myself know that this mess of brown dreadlocks and curls are real, what will it change getting anyone's approval?

This allegory is a playful example to point at something much more serious that we do all the time: we get upset when anyone says we're wrong. Just a few words against us and we get so agitated! What's the meaning of this pain?

The answer is, the only damage done is to our ego, so if we notice that, the ego as well as all corresponding pain instantly disappear. And noticing means being with the breath, which is why "He trains thus: I will breathe in observing cessation. I will breathe out observing cessation."

￼

As night drew in I was invited by Sharat, a devotee of Shiva who owned a small roadside snack shop, to spend the night along with his family at his home. They were all loving people, giving me the best homemade food and warmest welcome.

Day 28

January 10th 2024

“He trains thus: I will breathe in observing surrender. I will breathe out observing surrender.”

- Anāpāna Sutta, 16

The term patinissaga has been translated in many ways, but they all point to a feeling of giving up, of lying back, of the ultimate letting go. "Letting go into nirvana".

Patanjali gave us precious advice on the ins and outs of nirodha, and as for patinissaga Buddha's teachings go hand-in-hand with a friend and mentor in my life, the master of letting-go, Lao Zi. History has it he lived just before Buddha, dying in the 5th century BC in south-western China or Tibet. Buddha himself was born shortly after in neighboring Nepal, and they both seemed to be teaching exactly the same path. Lao Zi was affectionately referred to as the father of Tao, a Chinese word which means the same thing as the sanskrit dharma - the path. The path of peace, the law of nature.

Of course Lao Zi didn't create the Tao, it has always been there. Lao Zi too, has always been there. He has always been everywhere. He has transcended all notions. And Lao Zi was not a mere teacher to me: I am Lao Zi. You too, are Lao Zi. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Introductions aside, here are his two cents on letting go:

“On the path of knowledge, every day something is added. On the path of Tao, every day, something is dropped. Letting go and letting go, until you reach Wu-Wei.”

- Tao Te Ching, 48

Wu-wei can be translated into Buddhist terms as shunyata, or emptiness. The empty state. Non-ego. No "I". You are the world. You are everything. Who has ever told you you were somehow separate from the world? This isn't even Buddhist, this is science: there isn't a single atom of "you" that isn't in the process of coming or leaving, and after meditating on that, the experiential realization of this truth is said to lead straight to nirvana.

So this letting-go leads to nirvana both in Lao Zi's and Buddha's words. Nirvana being the end of suffering, our final step is to surrender every last trace of the three poisons that lead to suffering: raga, dosha and moha, that is attachment, aversion, and this delusional sense of ego. In short, we are surrendering suffering.

It's no coincidence that we happen to be at the sixteenth and final step of the Anāpāna progression, as this sutta describes a practice that by itself can lead to the final goal. The Buddha too was said to have been observing his breath during his ultimate meditation, that night he reached enlightenment.

One could wonder then, why bother with any other sutras or practices, like the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta we're about to cover at length? Simply because the Buddha was skillful. He never wrote his words on stone or established one path that everyone had to follow: he answered uniquely to each person asking, providing many doorways to the final goal. Just one doorway is enough, so feel free to choose whatever suits you and throw the rest away! In fact, please discard whatever you feel like in this book, and never accept anything merely out of faith.

Everyone is different. Everyone has their unique mental disposition, their past and present karma, and everyone is free to keep exploring until they find the practice, teacher, or path that "just clicks".

Interesting that my day involved crossing Muslim populations, as the word Islam means the same thing as the last step in Buddha's instructions - surrender. We are all really talking about the same thing.

My day started in absolute ease, with my host Sharat and his friend Sonu guiding me for almost an hour, cheerfully saying that "this way we're part of your pilgrimage too!"

They led me through tiny dirt trails that crossed peaceful fields which I would never have found on my own. Finally they hugged me goodbye and gave me detailed instructions as to how to proceed on my road. Granted, I had my paper maps with me, but neither could they compare with the clarity of people's explanations, nor would they feature this kind of countryside path at all.

The day unfolded nicely but the road was long before reaching the next city of Muradabad, where I had heard I could find a large Sikh temple. Quite a while before reaching the city, I started experiencing a most disturbing condition on my right foot... the dreaded enemy of all crazy walkers like me... plantar fasciitis. The overwalker's disease. Your body telling you "You walk too much. If you don't take a break, I'll take it for you." The effects can be crippling, sometimes leading to a complete inability to walk for days or even weeks. Of course, it was acutely painful too, but I didn't mind the pain as much as the thought that it could put an end to the whole trip.

So I entered Muradabad limping, past dark, and in for one of the most hectic experiences of my life. Stumbling between puddles of mud and sewage water, heaps of rubble, unfenced roadwork, having to look down to avoid falling into holes, straight to avoid traffic, and upwards to avoid unsheathed electrical wires, all that without the slightest functional public lighting - of course, the wires meant to bring light were loosely hanging in my face! The traffic was so dense that even on foot I would end up stuck, forced to turn back and climb over things or under things to try to find a way around.

All that was added to the internal challenge of my foot pain and the stress of reaching anywhere before it got too late... and I felt like both body and mind were straying from the path, wondering if I would make it at all or just fail halfway. So here I had it: the gloomiest scenario. And the best possible testing ground for the most radical instruction... surrendering. Would it work here?

If I surrendered my dearest dream, which was to reach Bodhgaya on foot, than I wouldn't care about any of this, right? My surrender was not complete though, or else I might have reached nirvana on the spot, but the mere contemplation helped a lot, realizing I could give up for now, stop by the roadside, sit in the dirt, and... relax. Trust that the world would align things just how they were meant to be according to my karma. And that anyway the dearest thing I had, dharma, was with me unconditionally, a safe haven of refuge, an inner temple.

My faith was rewarded, the traffic storm passed, and my foot succeeded in bringing me to the Sikh temple. The folks there gave me the plushest room ever with a huge cozy bed, glistening sheets, and a spacious private bathroom. I closed the door and dropped dead.

Now I could surrender!

Part III

The Pillars of Mindfulness

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Day 29

January 11th 2024

Despite last night in total luxury my foot was just as painful and I was clueless whether I would manage to walk today's modest 22 km at all. But as I started my walk, I realized I could transform yesterday's hardships into today's teachings. I could start anew and make this a precious opportunity to practice the day's sutra with infinite awareness... the closer I would practice it, the more I would increase my chances of success. And the sutra was directly linked to my foot. What sutra?

Well today was a brand new chapter, with the much acclaimed Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta making an entrance! Like most sutras, it starts with "Thus have I heard", which is Buddha's servant Ananda's way to humbly state that everything that would follow was simply the recalling of what he had heard the Buddha say. Ananda had a tape-recorder like memory, almost supernatural, so after the Buddha's death he was asked by all his co-monks to create a huge compilation of everything he had heard in those twenty-five year by the Buddha's side. This in turn became the Tipiṭaka, or collection of the Buddha's words which we can still access today, and which includes the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta.

The "Thus have I heard" is often followed by a few paragraphs of setting the plot, so that the reader can understand in which place and context Buddha gave the teachings. Here it is:

“Thus have I heard: at one time the Enlightened One was staying among the Kurus at Kammãsadhamma, a market town of the Kuru people. There he addressed the monks thus: ‘Bhikkhus,’ and they replied ‘Venerable sir.’ The Enlightened One said this:

‘Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana, namely, the four pillars of mindfulness.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 1

The word dukkha has been left untranslated here because most people call it "suffering" but that's an exaggeration born from the fact that English has no real equivalent word. Suffering sounds like agony, and that's not what we mean by dukkha. It's more subtle than that and includes all forms of worry and discontent. It has sometimes been translated as "stress" or "unease".

Next come the four pillars of mindfulness, or Satipaṭṭhānas. The word "pillar" is a loose translation, and has also been called "foundations" or "establishments" of mindfulness. In other words, the four bases on which to establish our mindfulness, our awareness. The first one was my instruction for the day:

“What four? Here, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing body within body, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 1.1

You already know the term "bhikkhus", which means a meditator, a practitioner: you and me. As for the funny-sounding "body within body", there's a very clear reason behind the repetition: the point is to observe our body from the inside, not the outside. It sounds obvious, but we always make the mistake in meditation: we observe our foot by thinking about our foot. Don't think, be! Be your foot! Feel your foot from the inside, not some visual imagination in your head. That subtle change of perspective makes the world of a difference to our meditation: being instead of thinking.

And good news, I had no choice today: I was in my foot all the time, painful at every step! And I applied the sutra with all my might... body within body... diligent, clearly knowing, mindful... taking every step with slowness and attention, accurate yet relaxed, with uninterrupted mindfulness... and the pain would start dissolving.

After thirty minutes of such concentration, to my bewildered disbelief the pain had disappeared entirely, leaving me to wonder how such a simple practice could have such tangible effects. I even started to believe in magic.

And then, full of excitement at the fact my foot was working again, I would forget all about awareness and start walking at a more lively pace, and... nooo! The pain would come back slapping me like a school-teacher from the 50's!

Lesson learnt, thank you teacher, as mean as you are, I shall not stray from awareness. As a result, my day was full of dharma, I would often sit by the road to plunge into the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta's commentary, and I felt like a walking classroom. Who needs walls and a roof? I loved it and vowed I would make it to Bodhgaya, if only out of respect for the countless benefactors who invested in me!

As a by-product of my lightened mood, roadside conversations would crack me up:

"Babaji, come warm your hands by our delightful fire made of burning PVC pipes and engine oil!"
"Umm, that's sweet of you, but, uh..."
"Chai?"
"Sure, I guess I can have chai, if... you can make it sugar-free?"
"Oh, uh, sorry, we don't actually have chai, it was just a way of speaking..."
"Oh ok, problem solved then! I'll keep on walking, thanks!"

I successfully completed my 22 km to the town of Bilari, where I was told I could find a Sikh temple... It was the smallest Gurudwara I had ever seen, just the size of a family home, and the priest was very friendly but said he wasn't allowed to lodge me due to lack of facilities... So I ended up at a government resthouse: remember the funny state-owned secular places that lodge you for no reason? Anyway they lodged me once again for no reason, the owners were lovely, and the place was set in a grassy park overlooked by a statue of Mahatma Gandhi.

Day 30

January 12th 2024

My dear host Rahin Bir Singh couldn't believe I would start my day without breakfast, on top of having skipped dinner last night... "You don't have money for these things?" he asked, implying that he would help me if I was in need. "Well, I have donations, but I won't use them unless I really need them, and no one offered me dinner or breakfast, so I'll go with that!"

I took the road empty and happy. Accepting whatever was or wasn't given was actually one of the greatest joys of the trip. Along with the sutras, of course.

“He abides observing sensation within sensation, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 1.2

First of all, it's worth noting that while English has no word in between "he" and "she", the original Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta is entirely gender-neutral. Nobody is saying you should be a man or a monk, of course.

Now, more importantly: "sensation", or vedana, is the second Satipaṭṭhāna, or pillar of mindfulness. It's a crucial part of Buddhist teachings and must be understood properly. Vedana is ultra-simple: it just means the raw data that comes from our sense doors: sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touch. Literally, sense-ations. It has also been named "feeling", meaning "that which we feel".

Observing sensation as I walked made my body dissolve in a highly pleasant way that felt almost dangerous, as I dwelled in states of such serenity that I could see the risk of getting attached. Getting attached to meditative states, however, is still considered better than attachment to worldly things. Buddha called this "other-worldly pleasant feelings", and if we can undergo them without attachment they in fact form the stepping stones to higher stages of realization.

Not that I was anywhere near there, but I definitely enjoyed it! Observing vedana, I even enjoyed the raw garlic that I had systematically been eating as medicine to start the day, an age-old cure against stomach parasites and more reliable than western antibiotics.

A few hours later I was invited for chai and food by a roadside dhaba owner who ran the eatery with his wife. He was quiet and respectful, perfectly understanding that I had my food in meditation. After letting me finish he expounded a list of hardships in his family, explained that he had been through a great deal of loss including his own daughter.

I related his story to that of my little brother, saying that as difficult as it was to lose a younger one, it was through that experience alone that we could now understand the pain of others. That such an experience was a junction, a crossroads, between going downhill into an abyss of sorrow or uphill to the peaks of wisdom. That the choice was ours, so... wasn't it clear what road we were gonna take?

He saw me off with a radiant face as I slipped in the mud and fell hard on a concrete slab. When unexpected things hit you is the best time to catch the subconscious mind at play, before consciousness has time to kick in... And in my case, still observing vedana, I was pretty cool about it! With vedana, good feels better, and bad feels alright too!

It was peanut season here - yes, there is such a thing as peanut season, though in the west we'd think they grow on supermarket shelves. As a result, fresh peanuts quickly became half of my daily intake. India holds a tradition about Babaji's - spiritual father-figures - which I find endearing: though they live off donations, they must also always have something to give. It even has a name in Sanskrit: prasad, meaning offerings dedicated to the buddhas, or our Gurus, or our deities... after which they are considered blessed, and gifted out to the people. Prasad is usually an edible but can be anything at all, and no matter what its material worth might have been, it gains a whole new dimension by being such a virtuous object of offering.

The Dalai Lama often states that "If you want to make offerings to me, the best way is to be generous to others." Likewise with other Buddhas, it is said "To please the Buddhas, please sentient beings."

So prasad was both a symbolic offering to the Buddhas and a real one to sentient beings. I loved the idea and made it a duty, even with my minimal walking setup, to have a tin box in my bag dedicated to prasad - I must always have something to give with love, whatever it is. Even peanuts!

So I would fill my prasad box whenever I crossed a peanut vendor, which happened to be at least once a day. And today's story stood out:

"Namaskar!" I beamed. "How much for 100 grams of peanuts?"
"12 rupees..."
"Ok, can I have 100 grams then, in this small box?"
"Uhh... hmmm... not possible..."
"Ok... what do you do for a living?"
He was confused. "I, uh... I roast and I sell peanuts."
"So what's wrong with selling me 12 rupees of peanuts?" I spoke very calmly, seeing if I could get to the bottom of him.

He remained hesitant and confused, until his friends acted up. "Come on, man, give the Baba 12 rupees of peanuts!" So he did, staring down, and I paid, saying goodbye in a normal way. Weird event, right? And yet not isolated in my trip as a wandering hermit: sometimes Babas are seen as saints, and sometimes as crooks or moochers or nuisances. But I didn't mind either way: not only would taking anyone's words personally be against the heart of my own practice, but everything I owned to begin with, even those 12 rupees, was a direct result of the infinite goodwill, generosity, care, respect, compassion, brotherhood, spirituality, and saintliness of the people I met on my road. This love was immeasurably stronger than the scattered incidents of contempt or disrespect.

As the end of the day neared, I sighed in relief at the fact my right foot had cooperated the whole time without the slightest pain or hindrance. This proved the premise that walking with sustained mindfulness, at a slightly slower pace, imbued with calm and relaxation, could by itself cure even a coarse medical condition. This is one example, but I'd go all the way to say mindfulness is a remedy for absolutely everything, even the gravest misfortunes.

Observing vedana also had remarkable effects in hectic situations where we would imagine meditation to be almost impossible. Making my way into today's city of Chandausi, as usual, involved dodging traffic and growling dogs and endless honking and crowded streets, but seeing all this from the perspective of "just observe" made for a much more grounded and peaceful experience.

Also as usual, my go-to refuge when entering a city would be a Sikh temple, and Chandausi had a large and lively one. I arrived just in time for the priest's daughter's birthday, openly celebrated with endless samosas, chais, and Sikh prasad - sweets made of semolina and butter. I was greeted with praise and had lengthy conversations about my path with the Gurudwara's members. We talked about Guru Nanak, religious plurality, meditation, God, the path of devotion, the meaning of chanting... it lasted for hours!

One line that marked me was the priest's statement that "The Sikh religion goes so far in terms of open-mindedness that it instructs us never to proclaim ours is better than any others."

Day 31

January 13th 2024

“He abides observing mind within mind, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 1.3

I left the Gurudwara with yet more sweet offerings, chai, and smiles. The city of Chandauli was surprisingly clean and had followed the ancient Indian tradition of using disposable clay cups for tea and leaves as plates - all biodegradable, coming straight from nature and going back to nature.

Observing mind within mind wasn't always easy alongside this poorly-planned road however, with speeding buses and not an inch for pedestrians... but moments of calm would come, when the world would stop, not a soul in sight... and at one point came a ten-second window - yes, just ten seconds - where my mind was absolutely... nothing. Pure stillness. Space-like peace. So short and yet so long... a glimpse into the beyond and a glowing incentive for practice, seeing what this mind could actually become...

So we were previously observing the body, then sensation, and now it was the mind, which makes it the third Satipaṭṭhāna, or pillar of mindfulness. But what does it mean to observe the mind apart from the body? The mind inhabits the body, right? Isn't that what we were taught in school? I'm not sure anymore. Strangely enough, the folks at school seemed to have no idea about the mind...

The answer slowly took form as I walked all day in silence. It seemed to be the other way around: the mind was neither part of the body nor apart from the body: the mind included the body, and yet... also included everything else. It had become so much clearer just by walking about it.

I spent the night in a temple dedicated to Shani Dev, the god of karma, with a very sweet Babaji named Etvar Giri who looked upon everyone with fatherly kindness, spoke every word in a measured and humble way, and would offer food, chai, and prasad to all the guests who came to see him.

But instead of tending a dhuni with the holy fire's rules of respect and cleanliness, the central fire was being fueled by anything lying around... sometimes wood, sometimes plastic. The fumes made me very uncomfortable and when he said he would make a space for me in his room, he carried the fire indoors - self-contained in a metal brazier - and I couldn't bear the toxic air for more than five seconds. I was clueless as to how he survived himself, and I insisted on sleeping outside. I don't mind cold. Air is more important.

Day 32

January 14th 2024

“He abides observing phenomena within phenomena, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 1.4

The term translated here as phenomena is called dhammas in the original Pali, and constitutes the fourth Satipaṭṭhāna, or pillar of mindfulness. It has also been translated as mental content or mental experiences, because ultimately, according to Buddhist thought all phenomena are born from the mind. For a better understanding of the term dhammas and the four or Satipaṭṭhānas to begin with, we can see it in this light: first we observed the body, and secondly we observed feelings, that is, what is experienced by the body. Thirdly we observed the mind, and likewise fourthly we are observing phenomena, that is, what is experienced by the mind.

I woke up feeling surprisingly energetic despite my cold foggy night outside, but my biggest obstacle was a social one: Babaji just wouldn't let me go. Out of kindness, of course! But it didn't work in my favor at all. I had to argue my way into letting him accept the fact that I had to start my day on foot with 25 km ahead of me.

"Please stay another night! If not a night than at least a day! If not a day than at least until lunch! We'll feed you, we'll give you everything!" But if I waited until lunch, that would mean starting the day no sooner than 1 pm, and completing my distance would be downright impossible. Of course, the slightest rudeness towards my dear host would be unthinkable also, so I compromised and dedicated my time and attention to him until late morning, where I firmly stated that "Babaji please forgive me, but it's really time for me to leave."

It worked, but I started the day late and mentally exhausted already. To comfort myself I dreamily brought to mind the wordlessly magic goodbye ten days ago with my brother Sudhir Puri, who simply sent me love through his gaze...

And I was quickly enchanted by the magic awaiting me on my road as well: you couldn't see anything. I had never walked in such a thick blanket of fog, and it made the outer world so ethereal that I was face to face with my mind already. Cars were out of sight and out of sound, as even noise was dulled by the fog... Roadside venders and village locals were invisible too, making me immune to the slightest chance of invitation or socializing...

The Tibetans describe a place called the bardo, which is the space between death in one body and rebirth in the next. It is said to last anywhere from roughly seven days to seven weeks, in an environment described with great detail in The Tibetan Book of the Dead. And it looked exactly like what I was going through that morning's walk: if the bardo actually feels like this... I wouldn't mind at all! Awareness makes everything magical.

And being plunged into the depth of this foggy bardo allowed me to sit back in my mind and look for them... these dhammas. "What feelings are to the body, dhammas are to the mind." It sounds pretty trippy... the whole world is dhammas, mental content, mental phenomena, all manifesting in dependance to our own mind.

So to sum it up, I spent much of my day in a contented state of simply observing... everything. Outside, inside, sounds, sights, feelings, emotions, and mental states.

One of the dhammas was a motorcycle crammed with three grown men that stopped by my side. "You wanna ride?" I laughed but I knew they weren't joking. I've seen as many as five people on a motorbike, and a baby... on the handlebars.

I somehow reached the next town of Bilsi on time, but evening was drawing in without a trace of Sikh temples... After advice from the locals, I ended up at a temple dedicated to Shiva, the divine male energy, and Shakti, it's feminine counterpart. I was made to sit, and instantly received the holy-idol treatment, with a growing crowd of Shiva-Shakti devotees bowing at my feet, taking selfies, and placing offerings before me.

I ended up with three bags of fruits, countless Indian sweets, a packet of dates, a brand new towel, a glistening white shawl and a large glass of warm milk. One could wonder what kind of saintly act I must have done to deserve so much veneration, but the truth is, I didn't do anything. They did it all! The holiness was all them, not me!

Touching someone's feet sounds strange to most westerners, but when understood properly, its purpose is to humble the devotees, not puff up the idols! Our own ego is our worst enemy, we could even say our only enemy, and putting one's head to another one's feet is definitely a way to reduce it. My only challenge, on the other end, was not to take anything personally, but instead see it as an opportunity for them to practice generosity and humbleness, accumulating vast amounts of good karma on their end and purifying their negativities.

That's also why prostrations are commonplace in many Buddhist traditions. Not to puff up some proud Buddha-god in the sky, as if he needed it! No, to decrease one's own ego, of course. I too had made it a habit to touch my head to the ground every morning, thanking the world for having aligned all the conditions to make me live through yet another night.

So yes I received tons of fruits, but they received more merit than all my offerings put together. That's how beautiful generosity is: everyone receives, whichever end they happen to be on.

Their kindness wasn't finished though, and they spent the next twenty minutes discussing where would be the best place to lodge me, as it seemed they all wanted to be given the chance to host me in their homes. Finally I was brought to the home of one of the devotees, and the visits and offerings continued there...

It was welcome too, because what was I going to do with so many fruits? Take my small share, of course, but for the rest, bless them and give them back as prasad. So when the visits went on, I would individually give the fruits or sweets I had received in bulk earlier on.

I came to know later on, that Rani and Sanjeev, the couple hosting me, were actually the temple owners. They offered to have me sleep on a soft bed but I'm always more comfortable on the floor, and to my joy they let me settle on their carpet without insisting. Not only is my sleep's quality and awareness improved manifold when lying on a harder surface, but also, the most important thing I did at night was not sleep but sitting meditation. A firm surface is a prerequisite for a right posture: firm yet loose, present yet relaxed. Late-night meditation doesn't deprive us from sleep hours in any way either, as the effects on the brain are just as replenishing as the deepest sleep, and the following night's rest is also greatly enhanced.

Day 33

January 15th 2024

I woke up warm, healthy, and feeling heavenly. The family once again expressed their deepest thanks and devotion, offering exactly what suited me for breakfast and not an ounce more, allowing me to start early and lightly. Their hospitality was impeccable and I departed high on gratitude.

The world was wonderfully foggy once again and we couldn't see a thing. Perfectly suited for sutra practice, and today's snippet was about my life: walking.

“Again, bhikkhus, when walking, he knows ‘I am walking’; when standing, he knows ‘I am standing’; when sitting, he knows ‘I am sitting’; when lying down, he knows ‘I am lying down’; or he knows accordingly however his body is disposed.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 3

You might have noticed we just skipped the 2nd step, going from the first set of instructions straight to the third. Why? Because actually we've been practicing it for sixteen days! The second step covers mindfulness of breathing like in the first part of the Anāpāna Sutta practice. So we didn't skip that step at all, in fact we dove into it much more deeply than had we stuck to the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta alone. If you're interested in just seeing the raw sutras without all my rambling, you can always see them at the end of this book.

So back to our walking: Buddha himself walked long distances, back and forth across northern India, and as funny as it may sound he also refused rides! A man of his stature attracted devotees from all scopes of life: princes, kings and queens would invite him onto their horse-carts hoping to make his life easier. "Thank you, but I'll stick to walking!"

He loved walking and made it a meditation. And when he wasn't traveling between distant provinces, he would complement his sitting meditation with hours, or days on end, of slowly walking back and forth along a river or in a forest, with mindfulness at every step. One of his monks was even known to have reached full enlightenment by walking in meditation for sixteen years.

So today my job was to know I was walking. Sounds easy, right? And yet, when we actually turn our attention inwards to observe the mind, we notice that 95% of the time, it has no idea what we're doing. The body is on autopilot while the mind takes a vacation to a distant country, soars to the future, to the past, meets people who have died, reenacts scenes that will never come back, prepares conversations that will never happen... the mind runs around to just about every place and time imaginable, except for the here and now! So my job today was so simple that nobody does it: just walk.

The fog was my friend once again, but despite that, people in the street corners would recognize me, know where I'm from, know where I'm going, and give me instructions as to how to get there! I came to know I had been in the morning news once again, meaning that the journalists who were in the crowd yesterday at the temple were very quick to do their jobs!

A bit later in the morning a villager stopped to greet me. He said he had recognized me and would organize "a warm welcome" in the upcoming village. I told him I was fine and really didn't need anything: my only task was to walk and know that I was walking. He still went on to make a few phonecalls as he walked by my side, and I still thanked him for his compassionate intentions.

When we neared the village's entrance ten minutes later, a crowd of around fifty was waiting at the gate. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief: not only were they waiting for me, but they had also found time to start a fire, bring a chair from one of their homes, a jug of warm milk, a plate of sweets, garlands of flowers, their children their grandchildren their wives their babies, and so much enthusiasm it was almost scary. They greeted me with "Jay Shri Ram" cried at the top of their lungs in a never-ending call-and-response unison, and as much as I loved Rama and every saint from the yogic tradition, I'd rather meditate like him for fourteen years in the jungle than scream his name for ten minutes. So I let them do their thing and quietly accepted the chair I was made to sit on.

The crowd eventually quieted down and started a blessing-and-selfie session that lasted a good fifteen minutes, touching my feet, asking for ashirbat - an Indian form of blessing involving placing my hand on their head - and taking endless photos and videos.

I was served hot milk and home-made Indian sweets after which I was finally free to stand. I shouldered my bags and started making goodbyes, but to my frightened surprise the crowd not only started walking with me but grew to at least 100 people, including a marching-band of drummers and a now deafening roar of Jay Shri Ram's.

The street was completely blocked, traffic was stuck, and the whole thing looked like the beginning of a riot, with me in the middle walking as best as I could amongst clumsy walking-selfies and fans haphazardly trying touch me feet. It was like reenacting the Monty Python comedy Life of Brian, where this random bloke ends up having hoards of fanatic followers and no idea why!

Whatever videos were shot of me must have looked funny with this giant crowd going berserk and that one weirdo in the middle covered in flowers and solemnly staring at the ground... What saved me is that amongst the havoc I had a refuge: my one instruction. All I know is, I am walking. Let the whole world around me collapse or burst into flames. All I know is, I am walking.

Thanks to the sutra the whole thing felt alright, but after another twenty minutes a growing concern filled my mind... what if this thing never stops? What if this is how it's going to be from now on, for the next 1100 km until I reach Bodhgaya? The thought alone was a nightmare. But at some point, I tried to comfort myself: they must grow tired or hungry or their phones will run out of memory from all the filming... there must be an end, right? Unless... unless they take shifts? Nooooooooo!

I turned to prayer. "In the name of the happiness of all beings and my mental sanity, may this only be a temporary incident..."

Another ten minutes passed, and the crowd stopped in their tracks as surprisingly as they had started. The drums stopped beating, the Jay Shri Ram's died down, and after only a dozen more selfies and money offerings I was free to go. This time, alone.

I joined my hands above me, turning in all directions, shouting out that I loved them all, and the crowd opened up in front of me. I took the road with the world's biggest sigh of relief... it had never felt this good to be alone! And yet, I had also witnessed the most enthusiastic greeting in my life, and of course my gratitude couldn't be expressed.

￼

I went back to meditating on my steps, intrigued at the realization that as repetitive as the activity may seem, I have never actually taken the same step twice, in my entire life. Every step was unique, and awareness could be raised to every millimeter of the act. Refining and refining, moving forward at every step: not in space - what does space matter - but in awareness.

The Buddha himself instructs us to dive deeper and deeper in to the subtleties of what it means to be aware, with a few sentences that directly follow the sutra reading we saw today:

“Thus he abides observing body within body internally, or he abides observing body within body externally, or he abides observing body within body both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in the body, he abides observing the nature of passing away in the body, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in the body.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is body.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing body within body.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, refrain 1

Commonly called the refrain, this set of instructions comes back in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta no less than twenty-one times. It's not that the Buddha ran out of of ideas: every word in every sutra has been meticulously thought out and plays its own unique role in guiding us to a successful practice.

If repetition bores us out, how can we even do the first meditation on our breath? "It's so boring! The same breath already came in three seconds ago. I'm done with this. Now what?" we would hear the monkey say.

The monkey mind hates repetition. It always wants something new. Dharma embraces repetition. It's always looking to deepen what we think we already know. Layer after layer, diving deeper and deeper, with every breath, more aware... with every step, more aligned... with every sutra reading, more enlightened. Repetition plays the role of reminding us again and again of what we constantly forget.

So if this refrain is so important, what exactly is in it? Bear with me for a few paragraphs while we decipher it...

The peculiar wording of he observes body within body, as seen earlier, was designed to keep us from the pitfall of thinking about our body instead of being in our body. We must observe each part of our body from the inside, and not just imagine it like a visualization in front of our eyes. That would just be yet another form of daydreaming.

The next part, he observes internally... externally... internally and externally, can be explained as observing phenomena born inside - from the mind that is, and phenomena born outside - from direct contact with the physical world, and finally blurring the distinction and observing both of them at the same time, as ultimately they are one whole, which we could simply call experience.

Likewise in the next instruction, he abides observing the nature of arising... of passing away... of arising and passing away, we would start by observing how every phenomena, internal or external, has both a beginning and an end. Then we would blur the distinction between beginning and end and observe it as one pervading principal: impermanence.

Now his mindfulness is established: "This is body." What may sound like an obvious fact, that this is our body, actually points to an obviously difficult task: to disidentify from it. It's not my body or my foot pain or my disease or my growing old. It's just "this body". Nothing in it is mine. It's merely another phenomena for us to observe.

Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. The seemingly odd word "mere" here actually points to the same thing as the timeless instruction of just observe. Don't react to sensations with your habitual pattern of attachment if it's nice and anger if it's not nice. Merely observe. Nothing more. It's that simple.

And by merely observing without reacting, we reach the state of abiding independently, not clinging to anything in the world.

However much importance the Buddha has placed in this refrain, we won't rewrite it at every new day in this book simply for the sake of keeping it somewhat pocketable. I have included it four times though, once at the beginning of each of the four pillars of mindfulness, or Satipaṭṭhānas. And you'll notice that despite being repetitive, it still undergoes a minor change to adapt to the Satipaṭṭhāna that we're currently working on. He abides observing body within body later becomes sensation within sensation, then mind within mind, and finally phenomena within phenomena. If you remember, body, sensation, mind, and phenomena are the fours pillars of mindfulness.

￼Ornament 9 Ornament 9

Night drew in and I was far from any kind of town, walking in the middle of a nowhere that was getting increasingly nowhere... With damp season at its peak, sleeping out without a roof would mean waking up in drenched blankets... So I worded the thought "From now on, applications are open!", a personal way to mark the end of my mandatory walking distance and the beginning of accepting any invitation I get.

Within ten minutes of that thought, a group of men from village Fatehpur came up to me and suggested "You look like you need a place to stay. Sleep at our Babaji's temple!" It was perfect and meant I had covered 22 km in my day, the exact amount I had set for myself on my new hurt foot.

I met the head Baba Hari Das and he confirmed my thesis that no two Babas were the same. This one was a comedian and would make everyone crack up, with jokes in Hindi that I didn't always understand. He was also humble and wise though, and gave me plenty of space to meditate and write my journal. The temple was basic and down-to-earth but pleasantly clean and inviting. The only source of water was a hand-pulled pump outside, a gizmo I had come to love on my trip, and it often defined the very existence of Indians in these rural areas: where there is water, there is life. We have, at the time of writing this book, no such thing as running water in India. If it looks running, either it's a river or it's a tap connected to a large plastic tank on the roof, that's topped up via a pump every once in a while.

But the government would place these pumps publicly at almost every street corner, which turned into gathering points where everyone came to fill up or wash. For me as a nomad, it was my source of life. So that's how I washed at Hari Das Baba's ashram, and the best part was... even in cold weather, the water that came out was unexpectedly warm! Something about geology that I don't fully grasp, but anyway it was straight from the ground and it was warm for free!

Even warmer was the fire they had kindled from clean mango-tree wood - not a trace of burning plastic this time - and they insisted that I sit on the only chair available, whereas even the head Baba was crouching on the ground...

Day 34

January 16th 2024

Morning was extremely relaxed and Hari Das Baba would just let me do my practice in silence while he did his: cleaning the ashram. Shaucha is the sanskrit word for cleanliness and makes one of yoga's ten spiritual guidelines. Hindus, especially Babas and temple keepers, make it an essential part of their morning routine to clean their bodies including its five senses, and the space around them.

I was lucky enough not to have a home to clean, but my job was just as essential: cleaning the 6th sense, which according to buddhism, is the mind. Any grime found scattered around the mind in the form of worries, aversion, and self-centered thoughts would be washed away through meditation. Of course I didn't miss my morning wash either, hand-cranked by the funnest pump ever and it's magically gushing flow of clear, warm water.

After my routine he asked me "Will you have something to eat?"
"No, thank you!"
"Chai?"
"Yes, with joy!"

It was more important for me to be off early than on a full stomach, but I couldn't say no to a blessing of Baba's chai. I assumed he was making some for everyone and I didn't want to make his life complicated by demanding it without sugar... but after he handed it to me, he exclaimed "Oh my, I forgot the sugar! There's no sugar at all in this chai!"

My morning walk was set in fairyland, everyone smiling and peacefully going about their lives. Even the dogs and cows and monkeys seemed blissed out... I was crossing rural villages so old-fashioned that they would have looked almost the same at the time of Buddha, with the exception of crudely tied electrical wires above the mud houses, and a car engine humming here or there alongside foot-paced oxcarts. And Buddha himself might well have walked these very roads two-and-a-half thousand years ago: I was getting gaspingly near Sankissa, a site where he had set foot himself and one of the eight formal Buddhist pilgrimage grounds in the world. It was to be the first one in this trip, but also the first one in my life. One could wonder: how come I had never been to these key places despite all my years of Buddhist practices? And the answer was very clear: they were way too important for me to arrive barging in by transport. In my case it was either get there on foot, or don't go at all.

So of course, walking from Europe to Dharamshala in the first place, and now from Dharamshala onwards across India, altogether took a fair chunk of my life... but the result was, well... the result was my life. I was living the dream... even my dreams wouldn't have dared to hope for this much. Here I was, in the middle of all this, and I still couldn't believe it was happening!

“Again bhikkhus, while going forward or backward he does so clearly knowing; whether looking ahead or looking away he does so clearly knowing; while bending or stretching he does so clearly knowing; whether wearing his robes or carrying his bowl he does so clearly knowing; whether he is eating, drinking, chewing or savoring, he does so clearly knowing; while defecating or urinating he does so clearly knowing; whether he is walking, standing, sitting, sleeping or waking, speaking or silent, he does so clearly knowing.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 4

It seemed that once again my external setting was perfect for practicing the sutra, with nearly no conversations and a continuous awareness of what I was doing... or did the sutra itself create the conditions? Anyway, it worked.

In the village of Kakora I was invited for chai and snacks by an elderly man with one leg missing, moving around with the help of crutches. Many years ago he had been struck by an infection so painful that they chose to cut off his entire leg... and yet he was the one both running the chai shop and serving me! His handicap didn't prevent him from being independent and happy.

To my joyful surprise today was the day I would cross the Ganges for the second time, around 200 km further downstream. I was happy to see it, but also saddened by the fact that the color had changed from turquoise to brown-green, and you'd sporadically see trash floating around whereas further up in Haridwar it had been spotless. I still sang and cheered as I crossed it, taking a full thirty minutes from one end to the other of the bridge.

Evening settled in and I had completed my 22 km. I had heard that there was a Baba ashram on the other bank of the Ganges, so I made my way there and received one of the warmest welcomes in the whole journey. I was made to sit on a floor-mat facing a perfectly clean dhuni, where this time the fire was fed by a huge neat burning log that could have been heavier than I was, and this time made of pipal wood, the strain of tree considered sacred under which Buddha reached enlightenment.

The ashram was held by loving Babaji Purai Nath, and a Mataji - meaning mother just like Babaji means father - sitting by his side. Shri Santosh Nath was her name, meaning "contentment". They served me chai and straight away said I was welcome to stay for the night, or two or three or five nights. Purai Nath was an educated Baba, his English was perfect and he knew about the Buddhist site Sankissa where I was headed. I showed him my sutra book and he immediately recognized the language as Pali, reading it fluently. It was marking to hear these words from someone else's mouth after having practiced them myself alone for so long.

When chai was finished time came for the evening arti: a gathering where we all picked up some form of clanging or beating instrument and made noise for a good 20 minutes, after which Babaji and Mataji started chanting their own sutras with flawless harmonics. The whole thing lasted forty minutes and was greatly uplifting. We went back to the dhuni for a dinner lovingly made by the ashram's cook Choni Birjesh and helper Ganthu Baba.

They would start dinner with a prayer, and eat in silence. A portion of the food was always offered to the sacred dhuni by laying it on the edge - this time a whole paratha flatbread. As we kept on eating, I started wondering what would actually happen to that piece of food, but at that moment Mataji picked it up and tossed it to a dog who had come from outside, peeping into the room. The dog was very happy and so was I to see the compassion ever-present in these spiritual traditions.

They ended their meal with a prayer as well, but this time individually so that everyone could finish at their own pace. We were off to bed early which greatly endeared me, and Babaji's own sleep schedule was from 9 pm to 4 am, exactly the pattern we would follow during Vipassana retreats.

Day 35

January 17th 2024

I was left to do my own practice while the temple family did theirs, after which I was asked what I would have for breakfast. I answered "something light and simple", and they respected every word of my request. Over breakfast I told Babaji I had been looking for tiger-balm for a week, but couldn't find it anywhere because of the ongoing cold war between India and China and the near-boycott of Chinese products.

"I have some!" he answered with joy, and withdrew a small glass jar of "Flying Tiger Cub Balm", which was made in India but seemed to be the same thing by appearance, smell, and consistency. I was overjoyed, applied it to my foot, and prayed that I too would be flying like a tiger cub soon. When I tried to hand it back, Babaji told me to keep the whole thing for my road.

My gratitude was beyond expression and I had prepared a 100 rupee note as an offering, but he acted first and gave me 500...

I took the road again, sutra at hand and purpose in heart.

“Again bhikkhus, he reviews this same body that is covered with skin and full of impurities of all kinds from the soles of the feet upwards and from the hair of the head downwards, considering thus: ‘in this body there are head-hairs, body-hairs, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, sinews, bones, bone-marrow, kidneys, heart, liver, diaphragm, spleen, lungs, bowel, mesentery, contents of the stomach, faeces, bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat, tears, grease, spittle, snot, oil of the joints, and urine.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 5

This section, specifically the notion of "impurity", tends to set some people off. Including me! But it makes all the difference to understand why these words were used. Ultimately, nothing is pure or impure, those are just conventions. But our attachment to the purity of human bodies tends to be so strong that Buddha is trying to nudge us the other way to bring us back to the middle.

This becomes all-the-more apparent in relationships, or relationships-to-be... we see the body of that someone-else as so desirable. So perfect, so pure, we need to own it. And that's not all, we want to freeze it in time too.

That has nothing to do with love and even makes its very opposite. Desire would say "I want you" whereas love would say "I want you to be happy". Desire says "I want something from you" whereas love says "I have something for you".

If we look into it, we see they are effectively opposites. How did it come to be that we tend to consider them as the same thing?

So what Buddha meant is that if you understand this "impurity" - that every body is prone to old age, to disease, to decaying and malfunctioning in all kinds of ways - then instead of desire, we develop tremendous compassion. She's so beautiful... but is she happy? How will she feel when she sees that external beauty fade away in ten or twenty or thirty years? We are all in this together... I must love people and help them, not try to own them!

I must love myself too, aiming for real happiness rather than trying to own my own body, which is itself prone to the tides of time, which is itself un-ownable.

It's also worth noting that if you don't feel connected to this contemplation, don't do it! No problem. There's so many of them, just do another one! And in so doing, your practice will come from the heart, not the mind or blind faith. Buddha never told anyone to do the full set of everything he ever taught. He gave so many doorways, just to adapt to so many mindsets.

For my mindset and situation, it suited not to fixate on the notion of impurity but rather anatomy - which makes the bulk of today's sutra practice to begin with. I withdrew the only full-sized book I had chosen to take with me on the road: Satipaṭṭhāna - The Direct Path to Realization by Bhikkhu Analayo. It was a commentary on the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta and a hefty one too, which looked completely out of proportion with the hair-splitting minimalism of all my other items, but it was as meaningful for me as a bible and represented an essential part of this trip: my spiritual map.

The commentary explained how several nuns had reached enlightenment just by penetratingly observing their anatomy, from the outer level of the skin to the innermost level of the bones. After reading that, I could practice with ease and felt like a walking skeleton for the rest of the day, which I was! It felt really cool and went a long way in bringing awareness to the deeper layers of my body.

I was served chai by a nine-year-old boy named Naman, whose mother had passed away and who was already learning to run the chai shop under the guidance of his dad. I couldn't believe his courage and didn't dare to ask about school or friends... At the dad's request, I gave them blessings and a few words on dharma.

The next Baba question on the road was about cancer, and what could be done about it. I replied that on a physical plane, a ten or twelve day fast was a known and proven remedy for all kinds of cancers, successfully undertaken by my mother herself. But also, that ultimately the spiritual realm took precedence, and that cancer or no cancer, cure or no cure, the body would come to pass, and today's cancer served as a reminder. We must focus on our practice, our love, our karma, which we carry with us beyond death.

When evening drew in, I happened to be in the middle of nowhere with no clue what to do. As usual, I made a prayer for a restful night, and out of this very nowhere appeared a man saying "Maharaj, we will provide you with everything you need: food, chai, sleep, wash."

"Great idea!" I answered. I followed him to his village, made of primitive dirt roads and shabby mudbrick-straw-tarpaulin houses. His own home was beside the village temple. But before walking in, he told me enthusiastically "You're a Baba! You can do the evening puja! It will be great for the village!" Puja is a loose Indian term describing any kind of ritual or religious activity, usually done by a priest of some kind, and usually involving chanting. "Here, take these matches and this oil lamp. We'll leave you to it!" he added with a gleam.

I had no idea what to do and wondered when did I ever sign up for this?, but the best I could do was to be creative and hope it would pass. I did a attempted one-person reenactment of the Babaji and Mataji's chanting performance I had witnessed last night, where they would sway around an oil lamp in front of the temple's various deities. I sang a song for Shiva, walking around the temple with the lamp, and fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention.

When the ritual was done, I was asked by my host "Would you rather sleep in the inner temple room or in my home?" The inner temple room was pitch black. "Which one of them has electricity?" I inquired. "None of them have electricity."

"So... I'll happily go to your home" and his home it was. He led me into the most rudimentary place I had ever seen. We had dinner squatting in the dust around a small fire, no ceiling, no floor. Actually, only I was given the VIP treatment of a "chair": a small wooden block the size of a brick just about high enough to not be sitting in the dust.

We could hardly see the food, and the only source of lighting except for the fire's meager flames was a battery-powered light that they recharged every once in a while at a neighbor's home. Only one permanent housing structure stood in their small gravel-earthed property: a small brick room in which they had a gas stove on the floor, an altar, and a single bed for the mother and her four children. As for the "bathroom", it was a 5-minute walk from the house, a barren field where I was told to "just go where you like."

I slept outside beneath a tattered straw roof, lying on a rope bed that threatened to dismantle at every move I made. They were farmers, working entirely by hand, and I saw just how poor they were... and yet happier than many a rich Swiss family spoilt by comfort. Delighted to host me, they would tend to my every need despite their minimal background: they were generous and respectful, giving me exceptional food and milk freshly taken from their buffaloes. I couldn't believe how generous they were despite the fact that from a material perspective, they had near to nothing.

Day 36

January 18th 2024

“Again, bhikkhus, he reviews this same body, however it is placed or disposed, as consisting of elements thus: ‘in this body there are the earth element, the water element, the fire element, and the air element’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 6

Granted, these teachings are from an India thousands of years back, but rather than considering this section to be an alternative theory to our modern understanding of physics, we can see it as an experiential way of feeling the body's energies. The four elements mentioned here refer, more precisely, to the body's qualities of solidity, liquidity, temperature, and motion, more tangible than were we to try to dissect it into atoms with our minds.

My day started at 2 am with a vile manifestation of the body's liquid element. I had to rush to the "bathroom" - the faraway field - stricken with acute diarrhea quite obviously due to eating food in these unclean conditions. Because I had to rush out, I had nothing else to clean up with than dirty sticks I found on the ground, and I made my way back praying my stomach would hold together...

However unpleasant though, my mind was quite content with simply observing what was going on, and as a result, whatever I did became a reason for boundless joy. As the Dalai Lama has put it, happiness doesn't come from finding what we want, but finding appreciation for what we already have.

The family was so loving that I felt great there and marveled once again at their generosity when asked if I would have breakfast, along with milk from their cows. I refused everything however, as I didn't trust my stomach to handle it, and we said goodbye with unending affection. They handed me money as well, which sounds ridiculous given their material situation - if anything, I should be paying them - but I accepted, knowing how much they would benefit from their act both karmically and emotionally.

I took the road and had my first "meal": raw garlic mixed with just enough peanuts to prevent it burning through my mouth. But I made do with simply observing the sensation, and... to my surprise it tasted great!

Much to my joy, invitations throughout the day were scarce and I didn't have to think about trying to digest food. I reached the town of Aliganj past dark, and I had heard that I could find Buddhist communities there because we were nearing the pilgrimage site of Sankissa.

My search brought me to a lovable Indian Buddhist family, all Vipassana meditators and devotees of S.N. Goenka. There was real harmony in the family, not just towards me but between parents, children, grandchildren, aunts and uncles... a living example of the effects of practicing meditation on a daily basis. They served me warm carrot halva - a sweet dish made from the juiciest Indian red carrots and cashew nuts - and I was shown to bed early. What a healthy, calm, and compassionate environment, I thought to myself as I lied down after a deep and insightful meditation.

Day 37

January 19th 2024

“And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing sensation within sensation?

Here, when feeling a pleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel a pleasant sensation’;
when feeling an unpleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel an unpleasant sensation’;
when feeling a neutral sensation,
he knows ‘I feel a neutral sensation’.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 8

You might have noticed we just skipped from 6 to 8 in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. The reason is to avoid repetition as number 7 was the death contemplation that we had done earlier with Ananda Giri. Once again, feel free to see the sutras in their raw form at the end of this book.

None of these steps are mathematical equations, by the way, and the order is not carved in stone: rather, they are to be applied skillfully according to whatever life throws at us at whatever time. Although reading them methodically is a starting point, their true power reveals itself in everyday situations.

Today's instruction was to observe sensation, or vedana: such a crucial part of the sutra that the entire practice of Vipassana as taught by S.N. Goenka can be summed up to these few paragraphs alone. What are they, in simple terms? Observe, and don't react: instead of reacting, just know.

There's a subtle chain of events between external stimuli and internal suffering: first, the event happens... a dog barks at us. A millisecond later, it comes in contact with one of our sense doors: the ear. Another fraction of a second, and our mind reacts: you silly dog, go away!

Our habitual behavior in our search for happiness is to try to change the first and most tangible link of that chain: the physical situation around us. But that doesn't work very well, as we all know: the physical world is just too huge to control. The planet's richest man cannot control even a percent of all that's going on. But the Buddha found out, after thorough analysis of that chain of events, that the only link we can entirely control is the last one: our mental reaction. If we don't react with aversion towards unpleasant sensations and attachment towards pleasant ones, our happiness becomes totally independent of this unpredictable and ultimately untamable material world.

That's great, you might say, but how? Even if we understand these ideas, how do we rewire our brains, our minds? The answer to that was Buddha's next realization, which is the core of today's sutra and the root instruction of all Vipassana practice: just observe. Just know. That's all there is to do.

As usual when you reach the little wheel of dharma, I invite you to put down the book or whatever device, set your back straight, and spend just a few breaths observing your respiration to calm the mind - the technique called Anāpāna. This is universal and sets the ground for all other techniques.

And now to observe vedana, you will bring your focus to the highest point at the top of your head, and just sit there for a few seconds, observing whatever you feel at that place and time. Any sensation at all, or even lack of sensation - whatever you feel there, be content with simply observing. That is your job, and don't worry about the whole thing being pleasant or unpleasant or hazily senseless. Just observe and be happy. After a few instants, move downwards slowly until you've covered the entire body, to the tips of the toes. And don't sleep on it - the whole thing should be swift and focused and might just take a few minutes. Go ahead and do it now before returning to the book.

￼

I had a restful sleep under the alert and peaceful gaze of a large brass Buddha statue looking over the space, after which I did my hour of meditation at the same time as my host Prem Singh, with whom we were sharing the room. I thought well about the day's sutra as I went outside to do my Taichi, and by observing things analytically I realized that most of my current sensations were unpleasant, between chilblained fingers - a swelling due to persistent cold - and the injured foot still affected by plantar fasciitis... but... the magical thing was... none of that mattered to my practice! The practice is fulfilled whatever sensations come our way, positive or negative! Our job is... just observe.

Most of the family chose to accompany me over the first portion of my walk, and we crossed entire Buddhist villages where the common greeting was Namo Buddhaya instead of Jay Shri Ram. But unlike the Buddhist family which had hosted me and were followers of Goenka - what we could call the Buddhist revival of India - these guys were the ancients. Villages that had been Buddhist, and stayed buddhist, basically, forever. These were the ancients, the originals: ever since Buddha had taught here 2500 years ago, the teachings remained and the culture remained. These people were from the Shakya clan like Buddha himself, hence his commonly attributed name of Buddha Shakyamuni, "Shakya" being his clan and "muni" his title.

Word got around as I crossed these towns, and more and more people came to join the procession until there were around fifty of us. But it had nothing to do with shouting Jay Shri Ram like before or even Namo Buddhaya... it was conducted in pure silence and awareness. They asked me to give blessings to the village's Buddha shrine, which I did, after which I received flowers and money.

The procession - which this time was literally taking shifts from village to village - lasted around two hours until I was left alone. I was bathing in gratitude at the beauty of their intentions but also delighted at being on my own again, just Ben and his sensations in Buddha-land.

I reached Sankissa in mid-afternoon, mesmerized by the thought of walking in Buddha's exact footsteps for the first time in my life. I was greeted by monks who recognized me from earlier today and gave me directions to Ashoka's Stambha, or Pillar of Dharma, erected by King Ashoka 2'200 years ago to commemorate this key Buddhist pilgrimage site. It is said Buddha gave teachings here to his mother Maya, who had passed away shortly after his own birth but could later be contacted in the heavenly realm of Tushita, which Buddha could access through his meditative powers.

I removed my shoes outside the premises as this earth had to be experience with my bare feet. This pillar of dharma took the form of a sculpted elephant under a stone roof. I approached the ancient wonder with infinite slowness and lay my forehead to the ground in reverence. Thank you Lord Buddha for treading this world. For bringing beings out of the darkness, into light. For expounding the path out of suffering which puts an end to ego, attachment, and aversion. Thank you for giving a way, a direction, a purpose to my life. Thank you.

I slowly circumambulated the monument with moist eyes and folded hands before leaving the site in awareness and awe. But even after I made my way out, I saw that every stone, every tuft of dry grass, every heap of dust, shone with the beauty of the universe itself. All it took was to see through the eyes of awareness.

I slowly made my way to the Youth Buddhist Society, a school, monastery, and association held by the Bauddha brothers Alokdeep, Suresh and Kailash, who I had come to know in a course at Tushita Meditation Center in Dharamshala, and who had been asking me to visit their center in Sankissa ever since.

This was my only known contact in the entire trip, and I met many familiar faces, mostly young monks that I had made friends with long ago in Dharamshala. They had been ordained at the age of ten or earlier, and were now living the life of teenage monks, which might sound austere but was in reality full of joy - I would never see them without a big smile and a cheery demeanor, light-heartedly laughing about everything.

Suresh and Alokdeep, the two brothers present at the time, were angels to me and provided me with a private room bigger than the entire six-person village home where I had been lodged two days ago. I had my own bathroom with hot water, and as if reading my mind, Suresh offered since the start "We have all the facilities to clean your clothing. Give them to me now and it will be dry by the time you head off."

"My dream come true!" I exclaimed, which made him laugh but was by no means an understatement! It would be my first chance to clean my woolen clothing and blanket since the beginning of the trip, and it had been through so much that you couldn't even tell the original color anymore.

I was served a fire-cooked potato dinner, merrily huddling with my best friends around a handmade clay stove which kept us all warm, bodies, minds, and hearts.

Day 38

January 20th 2024

“When feeling a worldly pleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel a worldly pleasant sensation’;
when feeling an unworldly pleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel an unworldly pleasant sensation’;

When feeling a worldly unpleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel a worldly unpleasant sensation’;
when feeling an unworldly unpleasant sensation,
he knows ‘I feel an unworldly unpleasant sensation’;

when feeling a worldly neutral sensation,
he knows ‘I feel a worldly neutral sensation’;
when feeling an unworldly neutral sensation,
he knows ‘I feel an unworldly neutral sensation’.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 9

What the Buddha meant by "worldly" or "unworldly" is very simple: worldly sensations are the ones born from physical events, like being bitten by a dog, and unworldly sensations are born from the mind, like being angry at the dog after it bit. Common belief has it that the majority of our suffering is worldly, coming from the outside, whereas upon introspection we come to find out that the near-totality of it is self-made, mind-based, unworldly. Rather good news, considering that's the only part we actually have the power to change!

As we are now treating this new pillar of mindfulness, vedana, we also get a new refrain, tailored for sensations. Study is practice they would say, so let's see if we can read it while practicing it.

“Thus he abides observing sensation within sensation internally, or he abides observing sensation within sensation externally, or he abides observing sensation within sensation both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in sensation, he abides observing the nature of passing away in sensation, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in sensation.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is sensation.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing sensation within sensation.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, refrain 2

Today was introspective, a self-retreat day at the Youth Buddhist Society, the most peaceful place I'd ever witnessed in India. No traffic, no parties, no late-nighters, only monks and dharma servers - those in charge of running and taking care of the spiritual community, all of which would go about their tasks with utmost calm and respect.

Meditation and cleaning my belongings made the greater part of my day, alongside reading passages from the Dhamma Pada that had been handed to me - an engaging collection of words from the Buddha, presented in analogy to events from his life. I could have spent weeks like this but had another 900 km ahead of me and only one-and-a-half months to do it all... here, even a day's break from walking was an utmost luxury.

A luxury mixed with the challenge of trying to dry my clothes in winter-cold foggy conditions and no form of heating, to which the only feasible solution was to wear them wet all day, relying on my dwindling body heat alone and observing worldly sensations - the unpleasant type.

But my worldly unpleasantness was sprinkled with the magic of Buddha's stories in the Dhamma Pada that I flipped through like a child.

I also came across a young Indian man named Siddhartha who lived in the same center and who was so inspired by my journey that he considered joining me starting from tomorrow. I was touched by his enthusiasm and we talked in great detail about the ins and outs of such a journey. Such minimalism takes careful preparation though, and we came to the conclusion that it would have been rushed for him to join me from one day to the next... but that he would undertake a similarly homeless journey soon.

Day 39

January 21st 2024

My day started at 4:30 with meditation, struggling with the cold but determined to make best use of every minute I had left in this precious sanctuary of dharma.

Coming out of my bundle of blankets and starting the day in damp clothing took some effort: my clothes still weren't fully dry yet and anything "warm" I was putting on was for the sake of finishing the drying process. I shivered my way from door to door, saying goodbye to my equally shivering friends, all of us a bit dimmed by the gloomy weather but warmed up by the love and gratitude of our time together.

We dragged ourselves out into the thick cold fog and to the main gate, where Siddhartha, my friend from yesterday, had already started his routine of clearing the space of any trash he could find. He saw it as his noble mission, his practice of dharma, to do everything within his power to clean the world.

I related to him the story of Suddhipanthaka, a disciple from the Buddha who had a burning interest in dharma but due to his mental limitations couldn't remember a single line of instructions. So Buddha gave him even less: a two-word mantra to follow. Rajo harana.

Rajo means impurities, and harana can mean cleaning away, but also letting go, or giving up. This mantra was given by Buddha along with instructions to sweep the monastery all day, every day. As Suddhipanthaka cleaned, he began to realize that not only was he clearing the space, but also his mind from impurities...

I don't know how long it took, but by this practice alone he eventually reached full enlightenment. My friend Siddhartha was delighted to hear that story, and I waved him goodbye as he went about cleaning the premises with newfound determination. Personally I hoped he would not just reach enlightenment but also get famous with his trash campaign and change the face of India!

I took the road with residual shivering but I knew that the coldest times were behind as the dawn sky began to slowly brighten. Leaving the Youth Buddhist Society and joining the main road involved once again paying homage to Ashoka's pillar, which I was obviously delighted about. As I approached the pillar with awareness, two young men boldly asked me "Babaji, kuch batao!" Babaji, say something!

This was not an uncommon way to address Baba's in India, a kind of request for them to teach, to chant or speak a word of dharma... Given my surrounding, I was high on Buddha's vibes and felt no inclination to break my silence with words, so facing them I brought my hands together in namaste and closed my eyes.

I thought about Buddha's flower sermon. He was once asked to give a teaching to a large assembly, and while everyone stood there impatiently, eager to hear his every word, he simply held up a flower. He didn't say anything. The minutes went by... he still didn't utter a word. In the end, for the entire duration of the sermon he didn't open his mouth. Most of the crowd had no idea what was going on.

But the nature of his sermon was so profound that it alone gave rise to one of the most prominent schools of Buddhism: Zen. We all have an idea what Zen is, right? But if you had to describe it, how would you? You wouldn't. If it could be described, it wouldn't be Zen.

So the two boys stared at me as I wordlessly remained in namaste for a minute or so. When I opened my eyes, they tried their luck a second time. "Babaji, we mean... say something!"

So I answered once again in the same way, meditating with closed eyes. This time they didn't say anything and simply left with confused faces. That's ok. Zen cannot be understood. Even I don't understand.

I then went on to pay homage to Ashoka's pillar and visualized standing here 2'500 years ago, hearing the Buddha speak. I thought of the sutra that would set the tone for my day:

“And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing mind within mind?

Here, bhikkhus, he knows a mind with craving to be with craving, he knows a mind free from craving to be free from craving;
he knows a mind with aversion to be with aversion, he knows a mind free from aversion to be free from aversion;
he knows a deluded mind to be deluded, he knows a mind free from delusion to be free from delusion;
he knows a collected mind to be collected, he knows a scattered mind to be scattered;
he knows an expanded mind to be expanded, he knows a narrow mind to be narrow;
he knows a surpassable mind to be surpassable, he knows an unsurpassable mind to be unsurpassable;
he knows a concentrated mind to be concentrated, he knows a distracted mind to be distracted;
he knows a freed mind to be freed, he knows a bound mind to be bound.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 10

I spent much of my day crossing large fields on small paths and it had a heavenly feeling. The calm, the peace, the absence of traffic, not a selfie in sight... I went through today's sutra reading in my mind like a checklist of haves and don't haves. Not that you need to have anything, in fact, it's all about dropping the mind that always wants things in one way or another, and keeping the one that just knows.

Once again, with the start of this new Satipaṭṭhāna, the mind, we have a new refrain directed towards the mind. Let's read it with mindfulness.

“Thus he abides observing mind within mind internally, or he abides observing mind within mind externally, or he abides observing mind within mind both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in mind, he abides observing the nature of passing away in mind, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in mind.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is mind.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing mind within mind.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, refrain 3

I spent many hours in the countryside without any sign of food other than wild-growing hemp, which I feasted on like a happy cow... and when I started wondering at what time would be my next meal, I was offered two plates of Indian deep-fried vegetables, which they let me eat in my element - silence. Even afterwards they didn't initiate questions... in the background, however, I could hear my own voice coming from someone's tinny phone speakers over an interview conducted in Haridwar a few years ago. So they knew who I was! And even then, leaving me in utmost peace without a single request for a teaching or a mantra. I couldn't believe their respect!

I reached the town of Sirauki after a perfectly portioned 22 km day and asked if there was a temple where I could stay. I was immediately lead to a Shiva temple and given a bed under columns which were said to be 500 years old. I was served a traditional dinner homemade by one of the temple's devotees, for the whole length of which he sat there patiently observing and making sure every one of my needs would be tended to... when I was done, he brought a bowl of warm water so I wouldn't even have to stand up in order to wash my hands. The hospitality was inconceivable and I was blushing in awe, but deep down I understood. This kind of respect is the result of a culture where spiritual devotion and the karma of doing good are such deeply engrained values that they outweigh all wants and needs for personal benefit. It's hard to believe such altruism with a western mind, but that's dharma, and that's why I'm in India.

Day 40

January 22nd 2024

I had slept less than six hours but well enough, in a space beside the temple cow as she chewed on her fodder and once in a while rang her bell like a priest doing some ritual. She made a great roommate and I would be missing her.

I was seen off with many blessings and gifts, and took the road with the sutra deep in my heart. A big step in the story: this was the start of the fourth and final pillar of mindfulness. Observing mental phenomena.

“And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena? Here he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five hindrances. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five hindrances?

Whenever sense desire is present in him, he knows ‘sense desire is present in me’;
whenever sense desire is absent from him, he knows ‘sense desire is absent from me’;
he knows how unarisen sense desire can arise, how arisen sense desire can be removed, and how removed sense desire will no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 11

As if orchestrated to illustrated the sutra, on my way out of town I noticed an apple vendor preparing his stall. I was tempted, but I had only just started walking and didn't want to get stuck in conversation, selfies, and invites as that's usually what would happen if I stopped in a village center for more than five seconds.

But shortly after, I regretted it. The village was gone and it looked like I had many hours ahead of me in barren countryside. I hadn't had a single fruit in more than 36 hours... why didn't I stop for a minute to buy apples?

As trivial as it seems, I spent a good ten minutes in a deeply disturbed state of mind dominated by regret. But that's also all it took to come to my senses. "Hey, wait a second... this is perfect! This is exactly what the sutra wants me to observe... sense desire!"

Just as soon as this funny thought crossed my mind, the desire was almost entirely replaced by wisdom. This all confirmed the genius of Buddha's subtle wording: he's not saying "Thou shalt remove thy desire!" but instead "just know when desire is present in you, and just know how it is removed".

Thanks to my lack of apples I now knew how desire was removed: by observing it! This approach seems to solve every bodily and mental problem if we give it time. And secondly, how can "removed sense desire no longer arise?" Simply by being impermanent. The sense desire was created by contact with one object at one time, and first of all we observed it until it disappeared... Now that this one desire has played itself out, it's gone for good. Our only job here is to stop generating new ones, and we are effectively getting lighter and lighter, eradicating our stock of suffering.

I was happy, but a sneaky thought still lingered somewhere... by the power of my mind which is now balanced, is it possible for me to manifest an apple - just one apple, that's all - into my life?

Fifteen minutes later, a scooter stopped by the road and a young man stepped off. He was enthusiastic and straight to the point. "You're not alone, I'm Buddhist too you know, and there's more of us out there! Here, have an apple!"

He handed me exactly one apple.

￼

With our venturing into the next and final Satipaṭṭhāna, which is phenomena, we will see the refrain one last time, adapted to mark the change:

“Thus he abides observing phenomena within phenomena internally, or he abides observing phenomena within phenomena externally, or he abides observing phenomena within phenomena both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in phenomena, he abides observing the nature of passing away in phenomena, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in phenomena.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is phenomena.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing phenomena within phenomena.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, refrain 4

Today was a big day for all of India, with the official opening of a temple in Ayodhya dedicated to the Indian saint Rama at his own birthplace. For now I was pretty far from the city of Ayodhya but the whole country was in frenzy at the event, and for me that meant having to cross the city of Farrukhabad by pushing my way through the kind of crowd I had only every seen at chaotic rock concerts. It was incredibly demanding and huge speakers were booming distorted, overdriven Hindi songs at 150% of their capacity while crowds went ecstatic and filled every inch of the city streets.

Crossing the whole thing was so inefficient that it took me several hours and I made my way out completely exhausted and feeling nauseous. Thoughts of wanting to forget the world and lie down straight in my grave were interspersed with moments of meditative awareness that would bring about an inexplainable source of energy within.

At many points I must have appeared rude to passers-by as they asked for selfies and "where are you from?" It looped repetitively at least a hundred times in my day and my social energy was depleted... but I would still do my best at smiling and trying to appear peaceful amidst the storm.

By evening I was so exhausted that upon seeing a random sleeper-bus on the street, I started fantasizing... wow these people are lying down... sleeping... what a luxury... I'd give anything in the world to exchange places... and I still don't have a clue if I'll find a solution for my own night... let's pray...

The prayer was shortly answered: as I crossed the beautiful candle-lit Ganges on my way out of Farrukhabad I came upon a temple complex named Narayan Ashram. It was spacious, brightly lit, spotlessly clean and simply gorgeous. I met the head priest Ananda Mishar Pandit and he was delighted to see me, calling me "the first foreign saint to set foot in our temple". Sonu, the attendant, was an angel as well and would do everything to keep me happy, fed, and comfortable. I was introduced to the manager Deepak who said my stay there would be on them.

And what a room I was given... I'd been amazed more than once by the kind of places provided to me for free, but this one was beating the charts. This was a room so spacious it housed four double-beds, the floors were glistening marble, the bathroom was flawless and included hot water... and the whole thing was for me.

My karma must be pretty good, I thought to myself, but also made a point to deal with this luxury in a dharmic way: don't take it for granted. See it as something so unique and special and potent and extraordinary that every minute spent in such conditions should be put to best use. I should fill up on mental and physical health in order to tackle the next obviously less comfortable part of my trip... and most of all, practice presence and meditation which was not only the best way to help the world but also the reason I was lead to such luxury in the first place.

Day 41

January 23rd 2024

“Whenever aversion is present in him, he knows ‘aversion is present in me’;
whenever aversion is absent from him, he knows ‘aversion is absent from me’;
he knows how unarisen aversion can arise, how arisen aversion can be removed, and how removed aversion will no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 12

My alarm was set for 5:30 and the day ahead was meant to be long... but for some reason still unknown to me, I woke up at 7.

"Oh God!" was my first reaction. "Oh wait!" was my second. "Oh, great!" was my third. I knew today's sutra in advance, I knew it was all about aversion... and here I was starting the first minute of my day with aversion! Perfect! I observed it as instructed, and it didn't last long. It even turned into something positive, a resolution to do my whole morning routine promptly without a second of distraction. It felt great.

I was then warmly greeted by the ashram staff and served a glass of warm milk straight from the neighboring buffaloes. This was milk-county and you could feel it in every invitation. Yesterday at the temple already, sarvesh the care-taker would say "I'm going to make chai. Give me a minute to milk the cow!"

But the cows and buffaloes were also loved and considered sacred. They lived peaceful village lives under the open sky, given freshly cut fodder every day and sometimes even clothing for the cold nights. Harming or eating them was unthinkable and considered the greatest sin in the Hindu tradition.

After leaving the ahram I ended up on the wrong road, as the smaller path I was meant to take didn't even appear on my map, and I ended up losing almost an hour of backtracking and asking for directions... So much for my "early start"!

Obviously this was once again aversion staring at me in the face, in the form of frustration towards myself for not being more careful. And once again a chance to practice, by observing it, analyzing it, dissecting it, and discovering the precious truth it held within: I saw how present aversion was due to a previous arising of desire, which made an interesting continuum with yesterday's sutra reading. When desire is unfulfilled, it turns straight into aversion, like two sides of the same coin, endlessly following each other.

Here my desire, or attachment, was the wish to get enough distance done in my day, and ultimately reach Bodhgaya on foot, of course. I came to see that even on such a noble mission, desire and attachment undoubtedly played their part... and even the desire for dharma would have to be dropped at some point on my path if I wanted to shatter all forms of bondage left.

I was invited for tea and samosa a few hours later in yet another peaceful cow village. The villagers gathered around me as I sat on a wooden platform provided to me, eating the offerings in silence. This time, the small crowd that formed around me was so receptive that they understood my state of mind, peacefully standing there in awareness, watching me have my food without a single photo or disturbance. When I was done, they didn't move or break their silence and I saw the precious chance to give something back, so I gave a few words on dharma.

I ended the day in a tiny countryside village called Pitnapur, where I was once again given a wooden platform - a sort of minimalist solid-wood bed locally called takat - next to the central village shrine. They told me it would be my place to sleep and I was delighted by the simplicity of my situation. Here I was in bed already! So easy!

It was yet another cow village and I was given a whole liter of milk in a large jug, which was a blessing but of course I couldn't drink it all. So I poured the rest into a spare bottle to avoid "returning" anything and to honor the generosity of my hosts. I was also gifted two pairs of brand new socks and a rich homemade dinner. I went to bed early, a blessing for me as tomorrow was meant to be a very long day.

Day 42

January 24th 2024

“Whenever lethargy and dullness are present in him, he knows ‘lethargy and dullness are present in me’;
whenever lethargy and dullness are absent from him, he knows ‘lethargy and dullness are absent from me’;
he knows how unarisen lethargy and dullness can arise, how arisen lethargy and dullness can be removed, and how removed lethargy and dullness will no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 12

This time I woke up at 5, as intended. And in these short winter days that meant starting the day in pitch darkness, with the usual thick mist covering the landscape. With my bed outside I was cold in any other position than huddled in a ball, and even sitting upright in meditation became a difficult task. My deepest wish was to get back under by blankets and forget the world... So once again my day started with the exact emotion, or hindrance, that I was meant to observe, and I recognized this precious opportunity. The Pali double-term thina middha means lethargy, dullness, drowsiness, sleepiness, or laxity, like a thick blanket of fog covering the mind, which makes you stuck like in a swamp and hardly capable of doing anything at all. Observing it, let alone overcoming it, is never an easy task, hence its place in the Buddha's list of the five award-winning hindrances.

After some time struggling in meditation though, I broke through the veil thanks to the inner reminder, mentioned again and again by the Dalai Lama, of the preciousness of this human life and how every minute should be seen as an invaluable opportunity for practice, never letting an instant go to waste.

And to come back to our daily sutra, the instructions are not just about identifying the hindrances but also recognizing their absence, and to my pleasant surprise every other hindrance happened to be absent! Rejoice!

It was magical seeing the village come to life around me, with locals coming to the hand-cranked pump to brush their teeth, bathe, and bring home buckets of water... By 7 I had also done my meditation, sutra chanting, commentary reading, Taichi, folded my things, and received two chais from wonderful farmers who had started their day as early as me, but much more selflessly.

My walk started in paradise, treading deserted pathways through the enchanting misty-morning Indian countryside. The rest of the day unfolded beautifully as well and involved all kinds of invitations, including a school teacher named Haresh who stopped his car when he saw me, giving me his number and saying he would arrange a place for me to stay in the coming city of Hardoi. I happily accepted and we agreed to meet later on in whichever way karmic alignment would have it.

Without a phone, everything depends on karma, and upon reaching the given city I bumped into a man named Shri Om Pandit.

"Where are you headed?" he asked me. "Well, I'm here to meet a friend who offered to host me tonight, his name is Haresh..."
"Haresh the school teacher, he's my friend too! Let's call him and let him know you're here!"

Within a few minutes I was at his doorstep, greeted by his whole family and treated to all kinds of foods and drinks alongside lively conversation about my trip and the dharma.

Haresh went on to tell me about the plan tonight: I wasn't going to stay in his home but instead be given the best conditions he could possibly find. I was taken aback and told them how comfortable I felt simply sleeping on the floor, but they said it would make them happy, so I accepted their offer with joy.

I ended up in a setting more luxurious than anything I had experienced even in Europe. Upon welcoming me into the room, the neatly dressed waiters asked if I would have chai or food, to which I answered chai, as I had already fed on all kinds of delicacies from Haresh's family...

Upon serving the chai the waiters Kuldeep and Shubham touched my feet, took photos with me, and stayed for a bit making conversation, intrigued by my lifestyle... this kind of hotel environment was a novelty to me, but I remembered movies from childhood where fancy hotel waiters would be given fat tips, and just here I had so much money on me from donation, on top of the fact the room was provided for free... I wasn't too sure if that's why they were sticking around, but in any case, let's practice generosity and tip them!

So I withdrew some bills, but to my surprise, at the mere sight of them they immediately headed for the door! "No, no, we won't take anything from you! Have a wonderful night!" and they were off.

I was left on my own, staring at the array of conveniences around me, from air-con to fan heater to kettle with free coffee to bottled water to king-sized bed to luxury bathroom, towels shampoo toothbrush toothpaste soap included, and all that too in glistening cleanliness. A bit overwhelmed by the generosity, I chose to simple-mindedly enjoy it as my hosts had intended. I took the most thorough shower of my entire trip, before dropping dead on a bed so engulfing that I didn't know if I would ever find my way out.

Day 43

January 25th 2024

“Whenever agitation and worry are present in him, he knows ‘agitation and worry are present in me’;
whenever agitation and worry are absent from him, he knows ‘agitation and worry are absent from me’;
he knows how unarisen agitation and worry can arise, how arisen agitation and worry can be removed, and how removed agitation and worry will no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 13

Remember that drawing with a bunch of elephants and monkeys climbing up a mountain path? It's finally time to formally meet them.

￼

This is a snippet of the illustration called Stages to Shamatha that features at the beginning of Chapter 2 in this book and that you can find in countless Tibetan temples. It represents, as you might have guessed, a sort of roadmap to enlightenment. Representing the mind as monkeys running after elephants makes the whole thing look fun, and hey maybe it is!

We're bringing this up now because it turns out half of the illustration is concerned with the dual hindrances we're covering today and yesterday in the sutra readings: agitation vs dullness. Both extremes of the mind to which we need to find a middle path in order to discover its highest potential.

The dark part of the elephant represents dullness, laxity, drowsiness, whereas the darkness in the monkey represents agitation, worry, restlessness. All we need to do is identify them, and keep doing our best to abide in awareness of our breath.

The inner effort required to remain aware and identify these hindrances is represented by the fire left and right of the path, but as time goes on the fire dies down and our animal pals become white instead of black. That means less and less effort is needed, and the middle path between dullness and agitation brings us to a place beyond all the hindrances, a subtle mind-state named shamatha, or calm-abiding, known to be so blissful that many people actually mistake it for enlightenment. But to really seal the deal, we are then told to go beyond that, using this new super-mind of ours to pierce through the entire web of material existence and experience the ultimate nature of reality. That's enlightenment.

So I thought about showing you these elephants now as it personally helps me a great deal to have visual depictions of these mind states - just as much as it helps to have a paper map - and next time we are overwhelmed by dullness or agitation we can deal with our elephants and monkeys in a more enthusiastic way.

￼

I woke up the same way I had fallen asleep: in total luxury. I did my meditation and Taichi in the room and chanted the day's sutra reading in Pali. At this point, the monkey of agitation was entirely absent, as I was living the dream in both body and mind.

I was led downstairs by Haresh and his friend Shri Om Pandit to a westernized buffet breakfast. They wouldn't be having breakfast themselves but had come with me to patiently watch me have mine and make sure all my needs were met. When I was done, I saw Haresh off to the school where he was teaching and our parting was emotional, both of us so grateful to one another...

Before leaving the city though, I had accepted an invitation to see a yogi devoted to Patanjali who, I was told, lived a few blocks away. I accepted out of service, but I was led in another direction than my own road and I ended up losing a good deal of time going there and back as I observed the growing agitation within me of starting my day disturbingly late. As much as I hoped that, like the other times, simply observing it would do the trick, this one seemed to be more resilient and persisted despite my best efforts in mindfulness.

So I tried different tactics and finally broke free from the spell by reflecting on the fact that whatever causes and conditions had created the hotel room, the people's generosity, and everything I had in the world, were the same causes and conditions that made things not always happen the way I had hoped or imagined. It was all part of one inseparable package, governed by karma, and strangely enough, this reflection alone entirely healed my mental agitation.

The day ahead went by well enough, but for some unknown reason I experienced a deep lack of energy, of motivation, which I had a hard time figuring out. For the first time, the road ahead felt long... God what a long road...

What was this? A mid-trip crisis? The low feeling stayed with me all day until I identified its true nature: doubt!

Doubt was the last of the five hindrances, which we will cover tomorrow. But in this case, merely identifying it was enough to topple it over and once again enthusiasm sprang up from within. "This lack of motivation is not me straying from the path: this too, is part of the path!"

I struggled a bit trying ot find a place to sleep as I made my way between small unmapped villages in the waning daylight. Darkness came before any solution, plan, or idea, and the nearest temple turned out to be locked shut and deserted...

So I kept walking in the dark until, by the grace of the world, I was given a wooden platform under the veranda of a peaceful village home, including a nearby hand-pump. It was barebones and I couldn't shower but I was very happy, and even given an extra blanket to make sure I would be warm.

My host Prakash also served me chai - which I had asked to be without sugar - and instead they put a pinch of salt! I was overjoyed! This was the first time since Pakistan that I was served salt tea and I had dearly missed it. And alongside the tea leaves and Indian spices, it also included sacred basil leaves. When I expressed my delight, the hosts told me "Actually we didn't tell you anything because we thought the idea alone would scare you. But in fact that's how we have it ourselves: salty!"

Day 44

January 26th 2024

“Whenever doubt is present in him, he knows ‘doubt is present in me’;
whenever doubt is absent from him, he knows ‘doubt is absent from me’;
he knows how unarisen doubt can arise, how arisen doubt can be removed, and how removed doubt will no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 14

Morning was peaceful and everyone was doing their thing: me with my Taichi and them with their buffaloes. They served me one last chai ad I was off, in a peaceful misty village setting, poles apart from yesterday's city start. This time, practicing the sutra meant observing the lack of doubt. As if I had had my cure yesterday, my mind was now free from obstructions and its purpose was clear.

The Buddha's definition of doubt has nothing to do with religious faith, faith in his words or anyone else's. Here, being free of doubt meant being steady on one's path, practicing what we believed in, acting confidently in accordance to what we felt was right, having faith not in an anyone else but simply in oneself.

The rest of my day was equally spent in peace. I was invited to all kinds of things and once again local salty tea... I also got my share of Baba questions, including a young man named Sahin Mohamed who was excited about my interest in Buddhism and shared with me his own knowledge. "Buddha was born from King Suddhodana and Queen Maya. She passed away seven days after his birth..." But he also admitted knowing more facts about his life than actual practice.

He expounded the various concerns in his own life, the first of which was "How to get rid of anxiety and sorrow?" My prescription was simply the practice of meditation, calming the mind, observing the breath, observing the body... Not only would all these troubling feelings disappear almost instantly during the practice itself, even our return to "reality" would start on a blank new page, a fresh new mind better equipped at facing these emotions should they come again.

His second question was about relationships. "Babaji, I fell in love, and... what to do? And what about separation? It's so painful..." I answered that fortunately, whether together, apart, coupling up, or breaking up, one practice solves it all... metta! Loving-kindness! The mind that says "May you be happy, whether it involves me or not... may you be happy no matter what."

That is real love, unconditional, and needs nothing in return. That is the only mind that will truly make someone else happy, and conveniently also the only way for us to really be at peace. Metta was not a commandment but a gradual practice, it couldn't be forced but could be nurtured through specific meditations, like the one described earlier in this book.

He was overjoyed, and so was I at being able to share the teachings in a more relevant way than answering requests like "Can you make me win the lottery?"

In late afternoon I was crossing a village and my shoulders hurt from the weight of my bags, as they often do after one or two hours' uninterrupted walk. I observed my mind and its interesting craving of "someone please invite me for anything so that I have a good excuse to sit for five minutes!" After crossing the whole village though, to the disappointment of my craving mind nothing happened, until an old man invited me not only for chai, but also to spend the night at his home one kilometer further. I accepted with joy! His name was Bhireng Singh, he rode a bicycle, and he was a proud sugar-cane farmer in a sugar-cane farming village. I was served sugar-cane juice around a fire made from sugarcane stems. But what excited me the most about the place was the presence of a bathroom. I wouldn't have to be walking in other people's feces in the dark! Woohoo!

They also had a semi-enclosed shower-place, which endeared me and I could wash off half of my weight in grime.

Day 45

January 27th 2024

“Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five aggregates. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five aggregates?

Here he knows, ‘such is matter, such its arising, such its passing away; such is perception, such its arising, such its passing away; such is cognition, such its arising, such its passing away; such is recognition, such its arising, such its passing away; such is consciousness, such its arising, such its passing away.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15

The whole five-aggregates-theory may look like rocket science at the start, but when we observe it within our lives it makes sense very fast. These five can be seen like links of a chain reaction, which usually happens too fast for our minds to notice... but through hair-splitting attention the Buddha broke it down into clear phases which he is now sharing with us.

The first layer is the coarsest one: the material world. To make this theory easier to digest, let's imagine a piece of chocolate. When it comes into physical contact with one of our sense doors, in this case the tongue, we call that perception, or cognition: the direct neural network that sends a message from the sense organ to the brain. In this case that message we call taste.

In a fraction of a second, the mind interprets this taste: that's re-cognition. "This is sweet, I recognize it, it's Swiss!"

Another fraction of a second later begins the reaction. In this case, attachment. "This is bliss, this is so good, I wish it never ends, I want to experience it forever." If we closely observe our mind, that's what it's actually thinking.

This fourth link is crucial as it makes the difference between the path of suffering and that of enlightenment. If we unconsciously stopped there, we would be stuck in an endless loop of craving and aversion, and that's why everyone is suffering: if the feeling is good, we want more of it; if it's nasty, we want it out of our lives. But in any case we're not satisfied!

That's why the Buddha said that a full understanding of the five aggregates would be enough to lead us all the way to enlightenment. Wait, and what's the fifth one then? In a way, the answer to the whole equation: consciousness. Not some esoteric concept of soul or spirit but just very down-to-earth "conscious-ness": that which is conscious of something. That which is conscious of our reaction to the chocolate! "Aha, I see now... after putting the chocolate in my mouth, I reacted with craving and attachment!"

When things are less pleasant than chocolate, like a harsh word, a similar pattern takes place: a word from someone else reaches our ear, which we cognize... "You dimwit!" he says. Then we recognize it. Dimwit sounds like a harsh word... And next thing, we react. I'll show him who's a dimwit!!

Once again, we can break the chain of suffering simply by observing it, by being conscious of it. Then, the reaction of anger is cut at its root, and we find a form of happiness free from the clutches of unpredictable external events.

￼

I woke up at 5, sat up straight and started my meditation. The village folks, however, were already sweeping the floors, feeding the buffaloes, and cleaning the stables. As soon as I was done with my routine I was served chai and shortbread, and another chai from the neighbor, and another chai from the other neighbor, and I was seen off with blessings, money donations, and snacks for the road.

I delighted at the blissful feeling of another heavily misty morning with slow-motion traffic and a mind like a seagull gliding through the clouds. Conditions for practice were ideal. I tried observing all the five aggregates at the same time, which proved just about as easy as listening to five people talk at once. At my level, I realized, I had to take them one by one... so I would spend twenty minutes on each one, and I can say that for the first time ever I grasped the aggregates not just in theory, but in experience.

The first one, matter, known in Pali as rupa: those were the oily snacks which had been given to me this morning, now struggling through my digestive system. I had had one too many!

The second one, sensation, or cognition, known as vedana: here, a sluggish, heavy feeling in my stomach and body. The third one, recognition, or sannya: "this feeling is definitely caused by those oily snacks". The fourth one, reaction, or sankhara: "I ate so many of those things... why did I??"

Finally the fifth one - consciousness, or vinnyana: "hey that's pretty cool, I was aware of this whole chain of events... I'll remember it and write it in this journal for illustration purposes!"

As I approached the imposing city of Sitapur, the mist faded away, making way for sweet sunshine and infernal traffic. The observation process was much less pleasant, but that didn't change anything to my practice. Rupa: the city environment. Vedana: endless noise. Sannya: "there's speeding trucks!". Sankhara: "these guys are crazy!". Vinnyana: "Just observe. Everything is impermanent."

I spent over an hour walking around the chaos in search of an internet cafe or any kind of place that would let me use a computer for the duration of checking my emergency email address. I had promised friends and family I would check it once or twice a month in case anything needed to be communicated to me, but finding a spare computer was such a feat in this smartphone-driven world that the search alone could take hours. I still reached one before exhaustion, through which I could send goodwill and reassurance to my family, giving me a boost in metta, joy, and even more meaning to my day.

Thanks to this trip's near-abstinence from technology, I saw how a digital interface was like a portal into another world where nothing else seemed to exist, and how such a powerful tool was to be used with utmost care, modesty, mindfulness, and wisdom...

After my dip in the digital-verse I proceeded to cross the city and encountered a very young boy, maybe ten, who greeted me with the most enthusiastic face ever.

"Hello and welcome!! Shake my hand!" He exclaimed, extending his hand. "Welcome to Sitapur! I'm glad to meet you!"
"Me too!" I cheered, shaking his hand.
"Do you have a phone?" he eagerly asked.
"Nope!"
"Why, are you poor?"
"No, I'm rich!"
"Wow! Do you have a Lamborghini?"
"Nope! Because I'm rich inside!"
"Really?"
"Yes, and you're rich inside too!" I said, putting my hand to his chest. The exchange ended there, and by his big smile I think he understood.

I kept treading my way through Sitapur and to the Sikh temple I had been told about: I hadn't seen one in a long time and was delighted when I came to know I could probably spend the night here. It was a spacious multi-story haven made of white marble, and I was greeted by a bearded turbaned man named Raj Singh, who was so efficient at arranging my stay that I hardly had time to sit down before they handed me chai and showed me to my room.

Day 46

January 28th 2024

“Here he knows, ‘such is matter, such its arising, such its passing away.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15.1

You might be wondering, why are we seeing the aggregate of matter for a second time? The answer is, while yesterday's overview served as a roadmap of where we were going with all this, the significance of this topic in the Buddha's teachings warrants a deeper contemplation, and I decided the five following days would be spent merely observing them one by one.

Today was rupa. Matter. So simple. Nothing esoteric, supernatural, divine, or transcendental: today's mission was just to see form as form, matter as matter. That simple.

My day started early enough that I could make my way out of the Sikh temple without meeting anyone, start my day free from socializing, and stroll my way blissfully through the empty city streets.

No one, nothing, except for matter, the world of form, rupa, that I simply observed, arising and passing away... water on my hands when I washed them with a roadside hand pump... arising and passing away. The road under my feet, rolling by... one or two solitary cows roaming around the deserted landscape... closed shops with steel shutters rolled down... tufts of grass here and there, heaps of dust, pieces of trash, road signs, temples, roundabouts, one or two early-bird chai shops, and the sound of my own two feet lightly treading the world.

My job was just to observe, thoughtlessly... but a thought snuck in. It was an intriguing and enjoyable thought. So intriguing and enjoyable that I'd like to share it with you.

"This is day forty-six out of ninety. I've just passed the halfway mark. How am I doing? How do I feel? Am I progressing? Does any of this make sense?" I asked myself.

Myself replied. "The truth is, I'm happy! Deeply, indescribably happy... and for no reason at all. I have nothing special, nothing non-special either... I live a life where just about every convenience - the ones we believe create our well-being - was missing. No source of income, no way to wash my clothes, no promise for a shower or bed or roof or anything at all for the night, almost no technology, no friend, no choice in foods or meal times, no sex, no vehicle to get me anywhere, no electricity, no privacy, no bathroom, no medical insurance, no entertainment, no internet, and even no peanut butter. And yet... I'm so happy!!! What's wrong with me?"

After more walking meditation, I met a roadside dog scratching behind it's ear so badly that the thing had become a bleeding open wound. He obviously had some serious infection and was greatly suffering. I almost cried, standing there helplessly, completely at loss as to what I could possibly do to help. The only thing I could think of was send love, so I sang a prayer for his happiness and slowly walked on, aware that what I just witnessed was not a billionth of the suffering of beings going on this instant in the world. I must do something to help, I vowed, I must practice with relentless resolve, commit to the dharma, embody meditation, embracing and perfecting the only real way out of suffering for beings in this world.

￼

"Babaji, why are you in India?"
"For dharma." This is one instance though, where English has made things clearer than even the ancient Indian languages. In English we have a separate word for dharma and for religion, whereas in Hindi and Sanskrit they are the same word. Good thing or bad thing? I don't know, but here it created confusion.
"Ok, dharma, but... which dharma?" he asked me.
"Universal dharma."
"No, you must pick one dharma! Christian, Hindu..."
"Exactly! I'm picking the one dharma! Universal means one!"
"But which one?"
"The one universal dharma that includes everything."
"If you don't know what you're doing in India, you're wasting your time" he replied with a confused face, and left.

One of the reasons Buddha put so much emphasis on observing the aggregates was that it lead to an eradication of the ego. Observe rupa, form as form... not me, my form, my self, mine... just form. So I put extra attention in catching any form of ego in my replies, and to my great joy there was none. No anger or any other emotions were involved. I was just calmly and flatly stating my truth, answering with honesty. Funnily enough, the very next conversation took an opposite turn.

"Why are you in India?"
"For dharma."
"Who is your chosen saint?"
"I have many and don't believe that one alone would detain the truth in an exclusive way. What about you?" There were two people facing me.
"I'm a Muslim" said one.
"I'm a Hindi" said the other.
"Muhammad was a prophet of truth, and so was Shiva!" I answered. They were both delighted and so was I, to witness interfaith harmony.

I made my way to yet another Sikh temple in the village of Biswan. I was greeted by caretakers Amreek and Gurpreet Singh as if I was a paying customer in a hotel. "Please sit down. What will you have? Dhal, chapati, water, chai, snacks? Your room will be ready soon."

I was shown to my room, which appeared to have been lodging someone else and quite probably evacuated just for me... and while I was delighting at the cleanliness and comfort, they were apologizing that I didn't have my private bathroom! Their selflessness was beyond my comprehension.

Day 47

January 29th 2024

“Such are sensations, such their arising, such their passing away.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15.2

The word that started my day... well, I can't hide it from you... was "sh*t!"

I saw my watch display 6:30 even though I had set the alarm for 5 in order to tackle the coming day without having to rush. 32 kilometers was not a small task, especially in winter season where days were so short. Walking past dark was neither a pleasant thing nor a good idea on these roads.

However, observing vedana, or sensation, isn't limited to external stimuli. That would be so boring... No, vedana includes everything we feel, inside or outside. So my agitated state as I saw my clock this morning was perfectly part of vedana - observing the effect of all kinds of emotions upon oneself, which is also the best way to overcome them.

So I observed the sensations born from my initial morning exclamation, and within ten minutes the agitation was gone. Within thirty, I was back to loving all of life and thanking everything for existing.

During the day I observed vedana in terms of all the sense doors, being in the now and embracing it. I had a great time with the practice and it perfectly fit with my walking life.

As expected, my day was long and I completed my 32 km after dark. But at least I had a plan for the night: apparently, I could find a large ashram on the banks of the Ghaghara River, where I could be hosted for the night.

After stumbling a bit in the dark, I found the place with great relief, noticeable from a distance by Hindu chanting coming out of a speaker. A few dim but colorful lights in the distance adorned a multi-story building shaped like a temple... but the lights were so faint that I wondered how anyone could be living there, and the whole thing had a ghastly feeling to it...

As I approached the main gate, I noticed a pair of sandals left at the entrance, suggesting someone might be there and would have removed their shoes. But as I prudently made my way in, I couldn't find a soul. The chanting was being played by an unmanned speaker on the third floor, and the place was extremely spacious but unfinished, without any exterior walls or doors, but several levels of cemented platforms joined together with stairs and walkways, which I treaded at length calling out "Jay Shri Ram...? Sita Ram...?"

The situation was eery for sure, and I spent thirty minutes walking around and calling out, observing my breath and the sensations in my body... which started with discomfort and unease, slowly shifting to silent introspective awareness...

Where was I? What was I to do? How to find an explanation to this place? How could there be presence without people? Was it inhabited by spirits?

Finally, I came face to face with Sita and Rama, whose names I had been calling out in the first place. They were sitting side by side with a subtle inner-smile, the same you would see on Mona Lisa or certain depictions of the Buddha... They were both holding up their right hand, palm facing forward, a symbol of non-violence. They were so welcoming...

I joined my hands, bowed to the ground, and asked if they would host me here for the night. "Of course", they answered with their gaze.

Day 48

January 30th 2024

My night had been just warm enough but my sleep mystical, waking up to the same wordless beauty I had experienced when I went to bed. Bed had been minimal but fulfilling: my spiritual hosts had left a few straw and plastic mats rolled up in the corner of the semi-open space, which I had arranged on the floor and combined with my own sheets to make something sleepworthy.

Of course there had been no dinner and there would be no breakfast - save for the handful of peanuts and leftover Indian sweets lying in my bag. I ended up finishing every crumb but I didn't mind at all. If one can survive without food for several weeks, could I really complain about missing one or two meals?

My departure too was wordless, silently paying homage to my hosts, the temple, and the world. It was a real blessing for my peace of mind, and it was followed by a three kilometer bridge over the river in total fog without a single human encounter. I contemplated today's sutra.

“Such is recognition, such its arising, such its passing away.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15.3

As my body walked the foggy bridge perched in the sky my mind went down the rabbit hole to make sense of sannya: recognition. As seen earlier, sannya re-cognizes the sensation which previously had merely been cognized, perceived. The clearest way to describe sannya in modern words is to compare it to AI.

Imagine a simple camera, not a smartphone or anything. It's job is vedana, or perception: all it does is record the scenery. It doesn't know or recognized if it's a cow or a temple or a sunset. However, if we want the device to be capable of sannya, you need a micro-processor and an AI behind it, that analyzes the scenery and recognizes: this is a cow. That's a temple. That's a sunset.

The Buddha had none of this external technology but came to these conclusions through scrutinizing meditation. We could well call him a neuroscientist, his final goal being a complete and uncompromising understanding of the mind, and in turn what ultimately makes happiness and freedom from suffering.

All that to illustrate that although cognition and recognition, vedana and sannya, may seem so closely related in our minds that the gap is almost imperceptible, in terms of technology it took more than 200 years of evolution to go from one to the next.

Now that the difference was more tangible, my job became clearer as I walked across that foggy bridge... don't just understand what sannya means, but feel it... feel the chain of events going on every instant in your mind...

Sannya though, isn't limited to seeing things but also includes inputs from all the other senses. In my case, the predominant one was... after a number of skipped meals... hunger. After the forty-minute bridge and another hour-or-so of walking I came across a Dhaba - or roadside eatery - and my stomach rejoiced. I made my way in to ask if they had any food, but I was a bit shocked by what I saw: the man in charge yelled at me to get out, accompanied by weird erratic body language.

I stood there without complying, so he went running out himself as if I was a threat in some way. I think I picked up a smirk on his face and his attitude seemed to be partly joking, or mocking, but in any case downright rude and lacking respect. So I walked after him until we ended up face to face, and I rebuked him, saying I didn't find it funny and he had no excuse to behave in this way to strangers coming in to his restaurant.

I was so serious that his face changed, and I walked off, still with enough respect to greet him away with folded hands. I wasn't interested in his food anymore, or anything from him really. At least not until I would have solved in my mind what had just happened. He wouldn't be in business for long if he acted this way with all his guests, so I assumed it was something along the lines of casticism, where I would have been classed as untouchable based on my appearance.

But more importantly, what was going on inside me? Was I letting my own ego get involved? The answer was... yes. As much as I strived to remain aware of vedana and sannya during my previous reply, I can't deny there was an element of reaction on my end, made clear by the fact I was feeling uneasy afterwards. But I wasn't doing bad either, and quickly came back to my untroubled awareness and calm mind, which I dissected according to the aggregates.

Vedana at this point case was the unpleasant sensation born from external conflict and internal reaction. And recognizing objectively "this sensation is unease, this is inner conflict" rather than "man why did I react again, and now I'm stuck with this pain!" did a great job at quickly removing it.

It also helped to remember that no one was free from disrepute, not even the Buddha himself. He had been abused and insulted time and again by villagers and dogmatists, who criticized his disregard for established conventions like the caste system.

Buddha was against casticism. He touched untouchables. He said everyone had it in them to reach the highest state, as well as the lowest, and it didn't matter which family you were born to. That a selfish priest was less saintly than a selfless peasant.

As a result, the selfish priests hated him: their own livelihood of doing rituals for money was threatened by the Buddha's direct path to liberation.

I don't know if the following piece is too relevant, but it's a story that I love. One day Buddha was crossing a village full of abusive people who saw him as a threat to their dogma. He was insulted from every direction, but he didn't react in the slightest way, simply standing there as if he was deaf. When someone insults you and you don't react, however, their energy dies out very fast. It's like trying to fight with thin air. So too did their abuses die down, until silence reigned. Then Buddha patiently addressed them.

"I have a question for you: let's imagine you were lovely to me, and instead of bringing me insults, you had brought me bags of sweets."
"Hm..."
"Being a monk, I can't accept food after 12 noon. So... what would you have done with the sweets in that case?"
"Well, we would have distributed them back to our families and neighbors. Why?"
"I am so sorry dear villagers... because you have not brought sweets: you have brought only verbal abuses. Being a monk, I cannot accept the gift of your anger. You will have to bring it home with you and share it with your family and neighbors. I am so sorry."

￼

Other than that incident, my day was simply amazing and as usual, one mishap was followed by a hundred smiles, greetings, invitations, chais, sweets, words of praise, and sacred cows.

I reached a large, luminous, clean and inviting Gurudwara named Guru Singh Sabha in the town of Bahraich after a 33 km day that felt like much less then that. I was greeted with honor and praise, the temple's priests themselves served me food and carried my bags for me. Sweets, chai, cookies, salty snacks, and a brand new white shawl were included in their hospitality, as well as a hot shower and a large private room.

Day 49

January 31st 2024

I had a warm night but woke up with a sick stomach which involved burping an acute smell of rotten eggs... You might be wondering by now, when in this journey exactly do I not have a sick stomach? While I have to admit bad hygiene was possibly the biggest obstacles for me and led to being sick half of the time, the good news is, the situation was soon going to flip and the second half of the journey would be completely different. I didn't know that yet of course - this is me adding a comment from the future to cheer you up.

The Sikh temple family treated me with all the love in the world, smilingly serving me and grateful for my visit. I set off quite late as a result of my poor stomach and sluggish energy... Dodging traffic, potholes, invitations, selfies and interviews, I struggled my way out of town without the slightest opportunity for walking meditation. Or so I thought, until I realized that these so-called obstacles were once again the exact object of the day's meditation.

“Such is reaction, such its arising, such its passing away.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15.4

What we're calling "reaction", or Sankhara in the Pali language, refers to reactive activity on both the physical and mental levels. "These drivers are crazy, I wish they watched where they were going instead of honking and expecting me to jump out of the way! After all this time on the road, I can hardly believe I'm not dead yet..."

There I had it. Sankhara, I see you! What used to be the object of my aversion has become the object of my meditation. And even though this was merely a thought that never came to express itself in the visible realm, that's exactly what we mean by reaction: as minor as it may seem, within this very thought lied the answer to the whole origin of suffering as well as its total eradication. As soon as we see it, it starts dying away, as sankhara just cannot stand the light of our consciousness. When sankhara is dead, the chain-link between external events and internal suffering is broken. That is the end of suffering. That is nirvana.

Reminiscent? Yes. As many links as there are in the chain between external events and internal suffering, so many gateways are there to nirvana. Break any of the links and the chain is severed. Sankhara is one of them and a very effective one to work on.

I took my practice to heart and ended up in the town of Gilauli 25 kilometers later despite my faulty stomach. I had been told I could find a Valmiki temple - named after an ancient Indian poet - that would host me, and I followed the directions until I met the head Baba. His name was Gangadas and he was warm and quiet, generous and loving. I was given a bed in the temple area where villager would come incessantly, simply to be with me in silence, make offerings, ask questions, or take selfies. I said I wouldn't be having dinner as my stomach too needed a break from receiving food, but they still served me dinner assuming I was just trying to be polite.

It was a humongous dinner too, and even though their intentions were full of love and their food of the best quality, it was more than anything I could handle. My stomach got so sick that I spent most of my night trying to find a position in which its contents wouldn't come out from one end or the other.

And even though I was in the temple premises, this was open-air and so near to the road that with every speeding truck my whole bed would shake. Needless to say, I had a weird night.

Day 50

February 1st 2024

After half an hour on the toilet with acute diarrhea and thanking the world for having a toilet, I felt fairly empty and my spirits lifted. I vowed to accept nothing this morning no matter how much anyone insisted. It just wasn't worth it.

I also made the prayer that I be better by afternoon, where I would be reaching one of the most significant places in my entire trip: Jeta's Grove in Shravasti, known as Jetavana in the local language. This was the closest thing to what we could call the Buddha's house, as he spent more time there than at any other one place in his life. And not only were the walls of his home still standing, but so was much of the meditation complex built for him to teach, known to have housed thousands of monks.

The story behind Jeta's Grove is kind of funny. Anathapindika was rich man in love with the Buddha's teachings, and when he came across this spacious and beautiful garden, he thought this would be the perfect place to establish a huge meditation center for him to teach. But upon investigation he came to know it was owned by Prince Jeta himself, established for his personal enjoyment, and wouldn't be sold away for any reason in the world. So to shoo Anathapindika away, Prince Jeta told him "You wanna buy this land? Sure. I'll sell it to you for the amount of golden coins it takes to cover its entire surface."

Anathapindika didn't falter, and after orders to his servants, carts full of golden coins started making their way into the park. When Prince Jeta saw how obstinate the man was, he was bewildered. "How can he be taking me seriously? And who is this Buddha anyway? I've never seen such devotion in my life..."

Struck with admiration, Prince Jeta eagerly dedicated the whole garden to Anathapindika and Buddha's followers, and even became one himself. As a result, the largest Buddhist monastic complex was established and Buddha spent 18 years teaching there.

As much as his teachings emphasized embracing the world as it is and objectively observing sensation, I still hoped I wouldn't reach there folded in two and clutching my stomach in pain. Today's sutra was once again about observing, but this time dealing with the subtlest and most penetrative of the five aggregates.

“Such is consciousness, such its arising, such its passing away.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 15.5

Even my coarse physical discomfort was alleviated by practice on consciousness, adding a transcendental perspective on worldly things. Instead of complaining that "this body is sick", I realized that this physical form was not that big a deal compared to its spiritual counterpart. Was the spiritual counterpart, the consciousness, also sick? Maybe, but it had nothing to do with food, and much more to do with sankhara - which we studied yesterday - that inner part of me which reacts to the sickness.

For much of the day I felt like a floating consciousness rather than a body and it made for psychedelic contemplations that transcended my stomach's weakness. I would either be fasting or eating minute quantities with meditative slowness, and it worked. I reached Shravasti with a healthy body and a mind in absolute awe. An array of Buddhist temples from all kinds of countries and traditions towered to my left and right as I neared Jeta's Grove with my heart thumping.

I reached Jetavana's perimeter after dark and instead was given hospitality in an ancient Burmese Vihara. "Vihara" is a common term in the Buddhist world that literally means abode or dwelling, but in this tradition it portrays something along the lines of a temple or meditation center where everyone is welcome.

This one here was so close to Jetavana that you could see the park from the roof... I was overwhelmed. It felt like being hosted by the Buddha himself, as his own disciples would have slept in these exact places 2'500 years ago. The vibration was so powerful it was almost frightening. I vowed to make best use of every minute here by putting all my focus on awareness and living the Buddha's teachings with every breath.

Day 51

February 2nd 2024

We've now covered the five aggregates and we're staying in the world of observation, of clearly seeing, of Vipassana - but we are now moving into the realm of the six senses, which we will cover one-by-one. The Buddha started out by having us observe the most biologically developed one of the six and probably the prevalent one in our lives: vision.

“Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the six internal and external sense spheres. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the six internal and external sense spheres?

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the eye, he knows visible objects, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.1

I suggest following this sutra's instructions with a short open-eyed meditation. You can keep them slightly open or fully open, it's up to you. As usual, you can let the breath be your guide to stay in present-moment awareness.

￼

I had a wonderfully speechless night with a happy dinnerless stomach, as my treatment here was very different from my previous hosts'. As if they knew that what I needed, more than food or socializing, was meditation, they left me in perfect seclusion until I would go down the temple stairs myself to see them. As a result I spent longer here than any other morning with my chanting, meditation, and sutra reading.

The vihara was run by Sima, an Indian mother, her Burmese husband Pravin, and their son Kushal, all three of them bright and goodwilled. I greeted them goodbye and said I would be coming back - I had left my things upstairs in order to enter Jeta's Grove minimally, and for once be freed from the burden of carrying my entire home on shoulder-straps.

The portal to Jetavana was formal, lined with informational slabs of stone describing the premises, and smiling officers. I walked in to what was possibly the most pleasant place in my life. All my senses were gratified: smooth red sandstone-and-brick pathways millennia old, glistening in the warm morning sun, lined with the tropical trees of palm and pipal, picture-perfect bushes and lawns, a chipmunk running here, a langur sitting there - those graceful white-colored leaf-eating monkeys that can stand to man's size but wouldn't harm a fly...

My eyes were dazzled by the beauty of it all and I remembered that it was the exact topic of today's sutra too. "He knows the eye, he knows visible objects..."

Somehow, after objectively bringing my awareness to seeing itself, the pleasantness didn't fade away but grew even stronger, more vibrant, more colorful, more glistening, more spectacular. As we bring awareness to the senses, every detail is sharpened and even the dullest things we would normally never notice come to life. Our whole existence is heightened, and despite the whole thing being so pleasant, it didn't feel like a bad thing. "Happiness is the way to nirvana!" would say my teacher-to-be. This was happiness at its peak, and undergone without attachment, this same energy could be used to proceed yet further on the path.

I walked the same pathways that Buddha would have taken daily to give teachings and visit his monks in their meditation cells, whose walls were still standing, arranged similarly to the ones you would find in Goenka's Vipassana Centers nowadays. It was clear, Buddha's blessings had survived the ages and made the place blossom with magic even today.

And then, the moment I had been dreaming of for years... entering his own house, where he had meditated, bathed, slept, ate, and lived his life... The roof was obviously gone after 2'500 years of exposure to the elements, but the walls were still standing at waist-height and the building's foundations had been kept in pristine conditions by thousands of disciples over the years.

I spent an hour sitting in front, watching the pilgrims come and go as they would chant, offer flowers, make prayers... I did my own chanting too and came to realize that the Anāpāna Sati Sutta that you and I studied earlier was itself originally given in Shravasti. I sat in a state of such delight that an unusual thought came to my mind: now is the best moment of my life.

But why should it be unusual in the first place? If we saw things as they really were, this thought would not be an exception but a constant. Think of it yourself: this moment is the best moment of my life. Of course it is. How could the dullness of the past, which doesn't even exist anywhere else than in our minds, compete with the aliveness of the present? And how could the speculation of an imaginary future come close to the richness of what's actually going on now? That's all it takes to realize, that yes, without a doubt, now is the best moment of my life.

I finally gathered the awareness to stand up and make my way, with meticulous care, up the steps, through his residential quarter, and to the tiny walled space in the center which might have been his own meditation cell. I didn't dare touch it with any other part than my forehead, which I lay against the ground. As if magically endowed, the floor itself smelt like flowers!

Buddha put his hand on my head in the usual affectionate way that Indian saints give blessings... And I raised my gaze. He was sitting on a simple wooden bed, the kind they call takat, that I too had been given time and again on this trip... and he simply sat there, sending me love.

I humbly moved back, and he uttered words which weren't exactly words... but a sort of mind message. In the process of writing this journal though, I'm limited to the use of words so the best approximation I can make of his message is "heed the teachings".

Accounts have it that the Buddha was understood by everyone regardless of their linguistic background or even their physical distance to him. I experienced it myself today as his message was not so much composed of words as it was of pure thought, pure feeling. And yet is was crystal clear.

Overwhelmed by gratitude, I made my way around Jetavana with the resolution of "to honor this moment, this life, and everything that has ever been given to me, may I dedicate myself to awareness and love". As I neared the main gate, the guards politely asked me to have a seat. I noticed how people on the other side of the gate were lined up and paying some kind of entrance fee... understandably so, I thought, as a place so pristinely maintained for thousands of years obviously incurred its share of running costs.

For some reason I had been let in for free... But no, that's not why I was called by the guards at all - instead I was given chai, greatly praised for my walking pilgrimage, and talked to at length about the Buddha's life in Jetavana. Finally, I was seen off with money donations and hearty wishes to come again. I said I would, with my mom someday.

Jetavana would leave memories with me for a lifetime or more, no doubt about it... but that wasn't the end of my excursion through Shravasti either, and I still had one special, very special, destination: the Stupa of Angulimala.

So special to me that I owed my very name to this man and his story. His original name was Ahimsaka, meaning "one who pursues Ahimsa, or non-violence". I was handed down the name myself by a dear Krishna Das Baba, who had told me the story you're about to hear now and which I was very fond of.

So... what about this Ahimsaka and his story? He was a very faithful devotee to a Hindu Guru in ancient India and would selflessly undertake anything his teacher would instruct him to. But some jealous disciples devised a scheme against him, and he was instructed to murder one thousand people as a "holy mission". He was to bring back proof to his master in the form of a mala, or garland, that would contain one pinky finger from each one of the victims he killed.

Thus he was named Angulimala - or "garland of fingers", and armed with blind faith he went out to fulfill his task, slaying a total 999 people. He became one of the worst serial killers in history, and he was looking for the very last finger to his garland when his path crossed with Buddha's. It was no coincidence.

Everyone was terrified and the streets were deserted, but Buddha didn't care: he had no fear of death. Sword in hand, Angulimala ran towards his target, but by some strange force, he couldn't catch up with calmly-walking-Buddha. "Stop!" he shouted from behind. Finally Buddha turned around. "I have stopped a long time ago. It is you who hasn't stopped: turning the wheel of suffering, of harming, of hate, of delusion... binding yourself in misery."

Angulimala couldn't believe how calm the man was even when threatened with his life... and his words were piercingly true as well. He broke down. "You're right. I don't find a second of peace in my life. But it's too late. I can't stop now - everyone would kill me."
"I won't let that happen. I'll protect you. I'll give you a second chance."

Can you believe it? Someone comes to kill you and you answer with "I'll protect you"? Almost impossible to conceive for us everyday worldlings, but that's what made him Buddha, and that's why we're here reading about it.

Angulimala was so overwhelmed that he became Buddha's disciple on the spot. His hair was cut and he was given robes, but Buddha had to keep his own vow of protecting him from the masses of people who would kill him straight away, merely out of revenge. So he had a meditation room built of red brick, a sort of cavern with an iron gate - in which he instructed Angulimala to sit all day and meditate. He was not to go out at all, and no one could go in to harm him: only food would be brought in through the spaces in the otherwise locked gate.

Before he knew it, Angulimala was witnessing what some consider to be the first Vipassana retreat, led by Buddha himself, and purified his total sum of negative karma, leading him to full enlightened.

The cavern, or meditation cell, can still be found today and has now become a stupa - a sacred edifice representing the mind of a Buddha. Angulimala had indeed become a Buddha after coming out of a situation that anyone else would have deemed hopeless. And his story became so iconic that countless rehabilitation centers and prisons themselves have used his example as proof that no one must be discarded as evil... And the story was so meaningful to me that Ahimsaka had become my Indian name, used in all situations to non-English speakers.

After half an hour's walk I reached the stupa and sat down, flooded with gratitude at the thought that Buddha's meditation technique given in this very cave so many years ago had survived the ages and made its way to us. I closed my eyes and focused on the same technique - Vipassana. Once again, let's make best use of our precious time with these teachings by applying them. I invite you to set your back straight, breath, close your eyes, and scan your body from head to toe, just aware, calm and aware, of any sensations that you encounter along the way.

￼

After Angulimala's stupa, my day's mission was complete and I walked back to the Burmese Vihara where I was greeted by Pravin with a warm heart, chai, and intriguing conversation about his homeland Burma.

Day 52

February 3rd 2024

“Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the ear, he knows sounds, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.2

As if the gods had been listening to my day's sutra, I woke up to the pleasant sound of Buddhist chanting in the distance. Wait... I know that... Goenka Ji! It was the nearby Vipassana center and their own sutra chanting echoed from the speakers into the plains. I thought of my instructions for the day: "he knows the ear, he knows sound..."

What exactly do we mean by that? By "knowing", I understand that we should simply apply awareness to the process and make out the chain of events from the outside to the inner reactions. In this case, the sound coming from the speakers was filling me with pleasant sensations. Why? Breakfast! Yes, I remember... that sutra would be playing during breakfast at Goenka's retreats! That's the kind of internal links made in me at Vipassana centers!

But upon further analysis I understood it wasn't really thoughts of breakfast that filled me with delight. I've had thousands of breakfasts before... so what? The answer was, what makes a breakfast extraordinary is not the food but the awareness with which it is taken. Vipassana food is simple and ordinary, but the fact that it's taken in noble silence and a calm thoughtless mind imbued with minute presence, makes it downright extraordinary.

Unlike many people think, the Buddha's teachings on awareness are in no way against enjoyment. Awareness is enjoyment, enjoyment is awareness. Every experience becomes aglow with the very wonder of life when it is taken with a mind of awareness.

I bowed goodbye, with mantras and gratitude, to the room that had lodged me during my precious stay at Shravasti, and I vowed to be the best person I possibly could in order to thank the world. I came downstairs and the father Pravin saw me off with a chai and friendly wishes to meet again in the future. I paid homage one last time to Jetavana, just across the street, before leaving Shravasti slowly, in enjoyment and awareness.

At the first village I crossed I was invited to a local home. The owner was delighted to see me, I wasn't sure why though. After having me sit he explained he had been thinking all night of offering food to a holy man... this was a special day according to Hindu customs - the celebration of his newborn son's 11th day - and he was making food for the entire village to mark the event.

After serving me food he asked if I could bless his son. The baby's eyes were still closed and he looked like he had been born yesterday... I blessed a red string with the Metta Sutta and presented it to the mom, telling her to keep it near wherever the baby would usually sleep. I handed her a printout as well, of which I had prepared a few copies at the start of this trip. I explained the meaning, saying it had the power not only to give the son a wonderful childhood but also make the whole family live in harmony and love.

￼

Vipassana retreats don't typically make use of objects like the mala - a 108-beaded rosary - but spending my days alongside a road bustling with trucks and rickshaws and donkeys and vendors obviously made for a more distracting environment. So I thought about using the mala Shivananda Baba had gifted me, and to count my breaths one bead at a time - natural breath, or course, as in Anāpāna - and do my very best to make it to from the first to the last bead without letting my mind wander away even once.

It lasted just a few minutes but the effect on my concentration was miraculous, and I crossed a noisy Indian village in such meditative composure that no amount of chaos could affect me. Until now this kind of peace I had only ever attained through sitting meditation, and walking Anāpāna now took a new degree of importance in my life.

I asked for directions from a roadside vendor, and along with his instructions I received a bag full of pakoras, just about the most oily deep-fried thing you can imagine. I knew it wasn't the best for my stomach, which was still recovering, but I accepted it with a mind of "you're a beggar, so please just accept whatever is being given to you." However, it left me feeling so uneasy that I strictly forbade any more food intake in my day and started categorically refusing anything offered.

Nightfall came as I reached a crossroads in the middle of a small village, where I found out I had been walking in the wrong direction for almost an hour and was nowhere near where I had laid my hopes for the night. However, upon noticing my dismay the villagers exclaimed without hesitation "Just sleep here! We'll figure something out."

It was very sweet of them, but in such a meager setting - U.P. being the fourth poorest state in all of India - the best they could conjure was a wooden platform at the back of a deep-fried snack shop... exactly what had made me sick today. As agreed upon earlier with myself, I refused all forms of food.

Washing my body, however, was an important part of my physical and mental health, and here the only way to wash was a hand-pump behind the stall, surrounded by slippery mud, and the only way to go to the bathroom was... none. I assumed they had to go themselves at some point, but it might have been so dirty or complicated or far away that they were reluctant to tell me anything else than "if you need to go, just hold it in til tomorrow!"

Yet another reason not to take food! And I thought I had seen it all in terms of sleeping conditions, but this night might well have beaten my all-time record. First off, because of the absence of toilets anywhere in the village people seemed to be defecating at random like the cows, and I had stepped in something which I was pretty sure... was human.

So after putting my things down, I made my way to the water pump in order to clean it off as best as I could and sleep without this kind of stench... But things only got worse as I slipped in the mud and ended up stepping into a deep swamp of muck, sinking down to my knees, soiling my clothing, and losing one of my shoes. I came to realize this murky swamp was the results of months of stagnant sewage water, which by some ingenious design had nowhere else to go.

It took fifteen minutes to find my shoe under the muck, and another fifteen to try and wash off my clothing once again, only this time traumatized by the thought I might slip in. I went to bed smelling like sewers and surrounded by mosquitoes, which seemed to have found their paradise between the swampy breeding ground and my succulent flesh.

As I put my hand into my bag in the dark I came across something soft, warm, and squirming around. It was a mouse, and it jumped out of my bag fleeing as we both startled in panic... but later the mice eased out, dividing their time between exploring the depths of my bed sheets on foot and base jumping down onto my soft body from the bamboo roof above.

For the first time in my trip, I caught myself rejoicing that the whole thing would come to an end at some point. My hosts were loving though, and it helped to remind myself that the conditions I had for one night were the ones they were having their entire lives.

Day 53

February 4th 2024

I woke up to the stench of sewer water, both from my soiled clothing and the swampy pool of muck meters away from my bed. I opened my book and couldn't believe the day's sutra:

“Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the nose, he knows smells, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.3

As touched as I was by my dear little book to be talking to me about smells, I secretly hoped this was it in terms of smelly experiences for my day! I left the family quite early, refusing breakfast and relieved that I had made it until morning without needing to go to the bathroom.

This was the first rainy day since the beginning of the trip and it brought up all kinds of smells from the surrounding nature into the air. This time though they were of the pleasant type, which, coupled with last nights experience, made the perfect test site to figure out the inner mechanism of pleasure and disgust in the lab of my mind.

What makes a smell pleasant or unpleasant is based on past experiences that have created karmic links in our minds, or neural links in our brains if we were to speak more westernally. Buddha would say it's entirely conditioned, and not even 1% of a smell's unpleasantness comes from its own nature. It's all from the mind's past experiences which have led it to categorized this as "I like this smell, it reminds me of pleasant things" and that as "this stinks because it's related to things I don't like."

Observing smells also went hand-in-hand with Anāpāna - meditation on breath - as both of them involved observing the same sense organ. Convenient for me as I walked along, using both techniques for their respective purposes.

The day happened smoothly and I reached the town of Gonda by evening. My prayer this time was "May I be given a place to sleep with no muck to fall in and if possible, some way to shower..."

My prayer was answered and I ended up in the town's Sikh temple named Dukh Nirvan Sahib. Dukkha and nirvana are words you already know: suffering and its eradication. However, it was welcoming to see the same terminology within a Sikh context as it emphasized once again the common root between all spiritual traditions.

As usual, Sikh temples are spotlessly clean, and here I was given a private room and whatever I would ask for to eat or drink. "Just chai" I asked. I had made it a healthy habit not to be having meals late, and to my joy they didn't insist on serving me anything else, making the whole experience smooth and easygoing.

Day 54

February 5th 2024

“Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the tongue, he knows taste, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.4

I slept wonderfully and had chai with the temple family before being off. My first thought was that today's sutra about taste wasn't going to bring any groundbreaking revelations, but I realized I was wrong as soon as I took the time to actually apply it. The Buddha has often been called a physician of the soul, but in this case he was healing my body too: having my food slowly and with infinite awareness had miraculous effects on my previously sickly stomach. For the first time since the beginning of my parasites, I could go through the entire day without the slightest stomach pain. I would eat about half as much as usual and twice slower, but interestingly it would bring more energy to my body. And little did I know that this simple sutra-reading about the tongue would officially mark the end of my stomach problems for the rest of the journey.

An added benefit was that the simplest food became a real bliss to eat, as every flavor took on a whole new dimension. On the other hand, when I would walk long stretches with no signs of food my way, observing the lack of taste had equally beneficial results as I didn't find myself craving for anything. Altogether, it seemed like a balanced attitude conducive to lasting happiness, both in regard to food and general well-being.

I reached the town of Wazirganj in the evening and was told I could find a Gandhi ashram nearby, which had me very excited as Gandhi was, in a way, my very first Guru, who had mesmerized me ever since I had seen his filmed biography around the age of seven. His approach towards both non-violence and truth served as a model for the world, and he might be the most famous peace-walker in history. He was in fact the first inspiration for my own long-distance walks.

However, I reached the ashram a bit past dark and the beautifully painted front portal was locked shut. I spent a good fifteen minutes calling out and knocking at the door, after which a man came from behind instead, telling me in a lively voice "I saw you this morning in the neighboring town of Gonda! So you've come all the way! Come to our own ashram, it's just next door!"

I always accept spontaneous invitations over ones that I had personally planned for, so I followed him to the Paramhans Ashram, really only thirty seconds away. It was a spacious and well kept place with trimmed bushes, flowers, green grass, a sheltered space with a dhuni - the sacred central fire - and a Baba - the wise bearded guy who gives meaning to the whole thing.

His name was Swami So Ham Ananda Baba. He was a meditative and friendly man with quite a length of hair and beard around a calm radiant face. He was a direct disciple of Swami Adgadanand, a renowned Indian Guru who had established around two hundred ashrams like this one across the world.

I was so well treated here that I wouldn't mind knowing more of them! For the first time in a week I had hot water and was given the coziest place by the fire. I was invited for dinner, for which they accepted my refusal, instead providing me with fire-roasted puffed rice, peanuts and chai. Nibbling on small quantities rather than being given a large plate was perfect for me, for my stomach, and for the day's sutra on the taste sense door.

Intriguingly, although my original Gandhi plan hadn't work out, I came in contact with his philosophy in a profound way: I was made to listen to a beautiful recorded commentary of the Bhagavad Gita by So Ham Baba's own master.

The Gita had been Gandhi's favorite book, and yet the whole story takes place in the middle of a battlefield. Strange, right? But upon hearing a commentary like the one I was introduced to that night, everything changes. It explained with unmistaken clarity that there was no external battlefield, no weapons, no soldiers: the struggle was to take place nowhere else than in your own mind, and the enemy was none other than your own ego. Anyone believing in an external enemy is completely deluded.

The audio commentary went on to explain the three roots of suffering which were exactly the same as in Buddhist teachings: greed, anger, and delusion, meaning the delusion of believing in a separate self. Hoping not to oversimplify, I'd go all the way to say that delusion can be translated as ego. When the last fragment of ego has been dropped, there is no more suffering. As the Chinese sage Lao Zi has elegantly put it,

Every misfortune is born from the self. Without the self, what misfortune can I have?

Day 55

February 6th 2024

“Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the body, he knows tangibles, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.5

I had been given the honor to sleep opposite the dhuni in the same space as So Ham Baba, and as the night trickled along I would secretly peer every once in a while at him and how he slept. I was dumbfounded... he never lay down once. From 11 pm to 4 am he was just sitting there, cross-legged, back upright and head tilted forward. At 4 he casually stood up and went for a long walk in the dark. While he was gone I followed my own routine, and upon his return two hours later I asked him about his sleeping habits. He said he had been sleeping upright, as practiced by his own master, for ten years now, and that he simply never lay down. We've all heard that kind of story before, and we never believed it did we? But in my case - and this was a first in my life - I had the confirmation in front of my eyes.

He treated me to chai and food, as well as a whole bag of cashews for the road - a luxury for me that I couldn't usually afford in this lifestyle. He also offered me a copy of the Yatharth Gita, the hardcover book containing the Bhagavad Gita and commentary I had been made to hear yesterday on tape. As fascinated as I was by the teachings and as much as I appreciated his gesture, I could only symbolically accept his gift as it was a hefty book and there was no way I could consider adding its weight to my setup. He was very respectful though and understood my approach.

I took the road overwhelmed with gratitude, yet my body was showing all kinds of unusual signs of aches and pains, strange hips, strange knees... and after less than an hour of walking, my bags were already uncomfortably cutting into my shoulders. My mind was distracted as well and it took a whole couple hours to get myself together and chant the day's sutra in Pali. He knows the body, he knows tangibles...

Intriguingly, that's all it took for me to realize that my physical and mental symptoms were merely two sides of the same coin: training the mind through the sutra's practice almost immediately dissolved the bodily pains which until then had seemed to be solidified and born from the external world. Here was another instance of the Buddha as a doctor, a physician, and how intriguing it was that it was not my body in need of a break but my incessantly wandering mind!

The day went by smoothly and I reached the sacred city of Ayodhya, birthplace of Lord Rama, after crossing a bridge over the Ghaghara river to the orange hue of the sun setting in the horizon. However, the hype around the nationwide event that took place two weeks ago to celebrate the opening of Rama's temple, if you remember, hadn't yet died down. The streets were hectic, flooded with devotees from all over India brandishing banners and screaming, once again "Jay Shri Ram!" at the top of their lungs.

The atmosphere didn't enchant me and I avoided the crowd, walking meditatively with my eyes to the ground. My aim was clear. I would go to the doorstep of this newly erected and highly famed temple that's been on national TV for the past two weeks, and do the same thing as I do at every other temple: ask if they would house me.

After twenty minutes of security scans and locker deposits engulfed amidst an unending crowd, I was let inside the temple. It had huge gold-plated doors and white sandstone surfaces intricately carved to every detail of the thousands of human and mythical figures adorning every wall and ceiling. It was quite spectacular to see, but it seems they spent all their money on gold and forgot about dharma: as huge as the place was, it didn't have the slightest infrastructure to lodge or feed anyone, things that you'd find in even the most ordinary temples out there.

I was not allowed to sleep anywhere on the floor either and the guards led me to a neighboring temple instead, but it also refused to host me. After more struggles I ended up in a huge tented hall with hundreds of people sleeping side-by-side on the floor and hardly any space to walk in between... What troubled me more though was the utter lack of any place or solution to go to the bathroom: the best I could do was not to eat anything until next morning when I would leave the place. Two bags of fruit had been gifted to me earlier but I didn't dare touch them out of fear of having to go to the bathroom at some point.

Furthermore, in such a crowded setting word got around quite fast about my western face and eccentric travel portfolio. Aware that the whole thing could turn into an uncontrollable paparazzi hell where I would spend all night between selfies and interviews at the detriment of my sleep, I remained silent and avoided answering any questions at all. It made for interesting conversations behind my back where people would play fill-in-the-blanks with whatever they had heard about me.

"Where is this guy from you said?"
"Switzer... Uhh, New Zealand."
"He came from New Zealand on foot?"
"Exactly."
"But... isn't New Zealand, like, an island?"
"Uhh, first he took a boat, then he came on foot."

I didn't bother correcting anyone and was just as happy being a New Zealander from a boat as long as someone would let me sleep tonight.... Ignoring everyone I put earplugs on and lay on the floor, but the makeshift wooden boarding was so flimsy that when anyone would step beside my head to make their way over or around me it would creak and shake and jolt me to wake. Lively conversation, Jay Shri Rams, loud party music on huge speakers, and heated arguments that almost broke out into fights did little to fulfill my dream of getting the slightest sleep, and even my silicone earplugs couldn't ward off the chaos surrounding me.

On top of the list of physical disturbances came the mental one of constantly worrying about my belongings. People were sleeping so close to me that their blankets overlapped mine, and only hours ago someone dressed like a Hindu monk had slipped their hand into my bag while pretending to take a selfie with me at the Rama temple itself. Hardly a reassuring environment... and yet somehow I managed to get a couple hours of sleep out of my night.

Day 56

February 7th 2024

I woke up at 6 am with my worst fear come true... Noooo, bathroom! Where to go, what to do?

I obviously couldn't leave my stuff unattended, so I folded everything in a rush before hurriedly making my way out of the giant mess of a hall and ignoring the one thousand instances of "Babaji where are you from?" I finally found a paying bathroom where I could relieve myself, but my eased state of mind hardly lasted a few minutes before the next mishap awaited me...

A large and ruthless macaque had identified that one of the bags hanging from my side contained fruit, and it sneakily came up from behind me to try to tear it apart with its hands and nails. I tried to scare it away by shouting and menacingly picked up a stone, but it hardly backed away, jumping behind a nearby fence and looking at me with threatening eyes.

Monkeys of this size commonly attack people for their food and this one was exceptionally massive and shameless... I knew that as soon as I turned my back it would come at me again, so I tried to shoo it further by approaching the fence and throwing the stone that I had picked up as a warning. Neither did the stone hit anyone nor did it need to: with the noise, monkey got the message and ran off. However, something hit me in the process: the top of the fence had iron spikes on it and one of them had pierced a hole in my upper arm. The hole was quite deep, bleeding, painful, and my arm's motor function was affected.

Worse still was the fear of an infection which could quickly render a small wound into a problematic mess. And, as usual, the whole event beautifully led me to today's sutra.

“Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the mind, he knows phenomena, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 16.6

Remember how sensations are to the body what phenomena are to the mind? This here was a chance to observe a very important mental phenomena, one of the three roots of all suffering: anger.

I'd like to pretend I'm a Buddha and that all my actions were born from intelligence, composure, and wisdom... but in this case it was far from the truth. While there was definitely a portion of self-defense in my behavior, upon inspection I noticed that wasn't all of it: there was also an element of anger, as I shamefully observed.

As a fact, many people believe anger to be a form of self-defense, but Buddha explains that it's exactly the opposite: anger is self-destruction. It destroys the very self that it's pretending to defend. There is no suffering like an angry mind. We can't sleep, we can't eat, we can't smile, we can't enjoy, we can't do anything at all other than boil in our misery and inflict it on others. Anger is more contagious than covid and more harmful than cancer. It has never helped or defended anyone and it never will: it only destroys.

Self-defense, on the other hand, is a necessity perfectly in line with dharma. I know some meditation centers where monkeys are such a nuisance, or even a danger, to the students, that a dedicated monkey patrol team walks around with slingshots during meal times. Not to injure them of course, but to ward them off. Of course, the Buddha himself was so deeply established in non-violence that he needed no slingshot, and no monkey would dare do anything else than prostrate to his grandness. The great Indian sage Maharishi Patanjali has also stated as the very first "commandment" of the yogic path:

“One who truly embodies non-violence sees an end to all animosity around”

- Patanjali's Yoga Sutra, 2.35

However, as of now we are mere worldlings on the path: I personally haven't reached a level where monkeys and wild elephants will prostrate to me, and at times, for all of us physical action is needed!

So what's the difference between self-defense and anger? The mind behind the action. Anger is the intention to harm. Defense, based on wisdom, is the intention to prevent harm. The act may even appear the same from an external level, but the motivation behind it is opposite, and so will be the outcome. The outcome of wise actions will be a happy and beneficial life, whereas the outcome of angry actions will be a life full of harm and suffering.

Anger generates nothing else than negative karma and the hole in my arm was an instant result! And that too was merely the beginning of a harmful chain of events in my mind, from anger at the monkey for attacking innocent me, to fear about the infection, to stress about finding a pharmacy or hospital as soon as I could for an anti-tetanus shot.

I hurried down the streets asking around and ended up at the spacious, clean, and calm Shri Ram hospital. There was no line to wait in and I was immediately provided three doctors to help me, from disinfecting the wound to bandaging it to injecting the shot to answering my queries about possible infection. Once it was done, they didn't accept a single rupee from me... I left the place with an uplifted heart and newly found confidence. Shri Ram hospital was the real Rama Temple for me, the real expression of his blessings on my visit to Ayodhya. Not that place yesterday with golden gates that wouldn't offer the slightest help.

And finally, I was in the disposition to practice the way out of anger. There would be no point in Buddha expounding all those drawbacks of anger without giving a solution to it, right? But there is a way out of anger even after we have acted, and it doesn't involve beating ourselves up.

We are never doomed, and Buddha prescribed a universal way out, both to purify the karma linked to that anger and to free ourselves from the suffering state of mind that inevitably follows. He called it the four opponent powers.

Regret is the process of objectively acknowledging "I got angry. It's a fact. I did something harmful. I recognize that."

Reliance is the mind that places its trust in whoever is a source of inspiration, a teacher, or a guide on this path to peace: for many it would be the Buddha, or simply his teachings, or anyone involved in sharing the teachings of happiness and peace with us. "I rely on these to help me out." We would say in our minds. "I take refuge in the wisdom of others who have expounded this path. I am not alone, neither in my suffering nor in my wish to improve myself."

Remedy is the fun part. Basically, you balance out the scale of your actions by doing the exact opposite of whatever harm you have created. You've insulted someone? Ok then, now say something nice! It doesn't even matter if the person is the same, you can be kind to someone else! And don't take my word for it, try it out: as soon as you help someone, anyone, the chains of suffering due to your previous anger start dissolving and happiness peeks its head again.

Resolve is the final step in paying out your karmic debt: "whatever wrong I have done, I resolve not to repeat it, or at least to do my very best." If it seems like an unrealistic commitment, you can also add a timeframe: "At the very least, I won't repeat this again for the next week, or two days, or 24 hours..." Already good!

So I did it, and it worked. I felt good again. I felt rejuvenated, cleansed, purified. I sat down in bliss on a bench in the sun. It was finally time to enjoy the bag of fruits I had been thinking about since last night. But... what do I see approaching me as I'm about to peel a banana... a macaque!

There was no way I would go on repeating the same pattern. And this time it was a child, much smaller and behaving very differently. It just sat there a few strides away from me and looked around shyly, pretending to be thinking about something else... so to honor it's prudence and to practice the third step, remedy, I broke my banana in two and gave half to the little one. It hurriedly put the fruit in its mouth, chewing fast and anxiously turning its head left and right.

Actually, the monkey wasn't worried about me in the least, but rather about getting attacked by a bigger monkey for its food. Here was another teaching on dharma unfolding before my eyes: we are the very first victims of selfish behavior, and it applies to all beings. Macaques in cities like these make a living off stealing, from humans or even from each other, and as a result they can't enjoy a single second of peace with whatever they did manage to get their hands on. Same goes with humans who live in this way...

The rest of my day unfolded beautifully, even with my slightly handicapped arm. I kept applying the sutra on observing mental phenomena: while anger was one of them, as I had experienced this morning with the monkey business, it also included all the information coming in through the five physical sense doors. From a Buddhist perspective, "mental phenomena" actually includes all that we perceive and all that we experience. All these things are produced, or rather dependently arising, with the mind. That's why this constitutes the 6th and final sense-sphere observation, like a summing up, or an interweaving, of all the other senses. I spent the rest of my day walking with this practice, this new seamless observation, and I greatly enjoyed it.

Just after sunset, when I was a few kilometers from my intended destination for the night, a girl named Komal sitting in front of her roadside family home asked if she could quickly interview me. Halfway through, she realized I was on a pilgrimage to Buddha's place of enlightenment and she delighted "Our family is Buddhist too! We are ardent devotees! Stay overnight, we will do everything to make you comfortable."

I gladly accepted the offer. Upon further discussion, I came to know the uncle had passed away a mere 30 days ago and the family was asking me for advice as to how to help him now that his spirit had left the body. It was a topic I had been fascinated about for years, and my little brother's passing away two years ago had brought my interest to a deeper level still. Along with my family I had followed a retreat with a Tibetan Lama on the bardo, as expounded by sage Padmasambhava in the famous Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Padmasambhava was one of the most prominent figures in bringing buddhism to Tibet: he was born in the Indian subcontinent and walked up to the Tibetan Himalayas one thousand years ago. There, he founded the first Buddhist monastery and shared the valuable teachings, which included practices on dying and after-dying.

If you remember, what we call the bardo, according to Buddhist science, is the space between one death and the next rebirth, whose length is variable but is said to typically last 49 days. As the uncle had passed away only a month ago, something could surely be done to help him through his perilous and otherworldly journey through the formless realm.

The best way to prepare for our own death is by practicing meditation and presence during our own life... making the commitment to do our very best at keeping this relaxed, open-minded, meditative state of let-go at the time of death as well.

Lama Zopa would say that the suffering we undergo at the time of death is only proportional to our attachment to this life. This includes everything we have to leave behind... If this attachment is not present, they say, death is not only free of suffering but even pleasant: a psychedelic trip into a fascinating universe with all kinds of sensations of which some can even be related to an orgasm.

If instead of grasping, we let go, and we summon all of our energies into maintaining a meditative, focused state instead of dwindling away into dreamy unconsciousness, then not only will the experience be pleasant but we can choose where we want to be reborn. Human? Why not, in a peaceful land and a harmonious family conducive to practicing the dharma... Or if you're tired of the suffering of sickness, old age, and death as humans or animals, then why not choose a Buddha-realm, that is, a less materialized dimension where coarse suffering is absent and the teachings on dharma are being expounded to us by the Buddhas themselves?

If you're suspecting whether or not these fairy-land theories are even scientific, then you're perfectly right. Nobody ever asked you to blindly believe in the Buddha's word, nor in Padmasambhava's, nor Einstein's for that matter. They are all scientists who have found models to describe the truth according to their experience.

So what was Padmasambhava's experience and how could he possibly know all that? By remembering his past lives, of course. If it is true that we have been born again and again, than we have died countless times as well, and the memories of these deaths can be recollected. What memories? You might ask... If I had past lives, than how come I can't remember them?

Agreed. You can't remember them. But can you remember your own birth? If the answer is "no", than that doesn't mean it never happened, does it? Furthermore, if your mind isn't clear enough to recollect anything that happened before you were even the age of two, how would you remember what happened before you were zero?

So nobody is proving these people right, but as of today, even with our AI's and brain chips and particle accelerators and quantum physicists, science neither has any way to prove them wrong nor does it have the slightest clue what happens after death.

So what would be the best approach to evaluate their theories? By our own experience of course. And even if we haven't developed the mental power to see into our pre-birth memories ourselves, we are not hopeless. We still have another basis on which to believe, or disbelieve, the sages: What else have they said? Can any of it be proven by my own experience? Do I generally consider them trustworthy masters or conceited frauds?

For example, they have taught the way to end suffering, and the threefold cause of this suffering to be ego, craving, and aversion. They have taught on compassion and wisdom being the solution to lasting peace, and meditation the means to develop them. They have taught on all the things we have covered in this book, and as you have seen, for me they all turned out to be true. Not only true, but so liberating and strikingly accurate that it has changed my life. So personally, yes, I have every reason to believe that whatever else they say, still unproven by my own experience, is very likely valid. Whether you feel the same way is entirely up to you and your own life.

So they say intention plays a huge role in defining our next rebirth, but only so far as we maintain a calm and attentive state of mind. Otherwise we will simply be tossed around by the waves of our current karmas, which might be positive, or quite disastrous depending on what types of lives we have been living. This drives home the fact that far from being a negative or destructive event, death is actually the most precious opportunity of our lives. Let's use it wisely, and make best use of whatever time we have left to practice meditation, awareness, and compassion.

We now have an outline of what direction to take after death hits us, but how will that help somebody who's already dead? Answering that question involves going yet a bit further in these Buddhist post-death sciences and discovering what happens to this "I" when it has to leave the body. When the body is decaying, our consciousness will slowly start to realize that its body has died, that it has no more material form, and that it has no way of coming back into this old carcass. This realization can be a curse, if we dwell in attachment to the past, but a blessing if we abide in the now: we are weightless. We can go from Paris to New York in the instant that it takes to think about it! We are no longer bound by this clumsy body following us everywhere.

But the foremost places where consciousness likes to linger just after death is with its old relatives, in its old home, close to whatever it used to know, whatever it finds comforting. So Padmasambhava states that calling out the name of whoever is deceased and focusing our mind on connecting with them will be enough to draw their attention from wherever they were wandering. And unless we have attained a sufficient level of mental clarity through meditation, we cannot hear them, but they can hear us, both our voices and our minds, from their subtle non-materialized existence. So after bringing their consciousness into our space, we can comfort them, encourage them, guide them: we can talk about how to safely make it through the bardo by remaining calm and aware, not to worry and to make best use of this precious turning point to reach a positive destination.

￼

So that's exactly what I explained to the family in order to help the uncle, and I practiced it with them too: I called out his name, and in my flawed Hindi did my best to lead him to the fact that his whole family was there with him, for him, supporting him with love and good wishes, praying for his successful journey and future well-being. I don't have a sufficient level of awareness to confirm that he got the message, but I do have unwavering faith in the power of the mind and deeply believed what we had just done together had a significant impact both on the uncle who passed away and on his mourning family.

Day 57

February 8th 2024

“Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the seven factors of enlightenment. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the seven factors of enlightenment?

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, awareness, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, awareness, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.1

By factor of enlightenment, Buddha is referring to qualities that lead straight to nirvana, as opposed to the previously mentioned hindrances which, unless identified properly, can lead away from it. These factors of enlightenment, pronounced bojjhanga in Pali, often serve as direct antidotes to the hindrances, and the instructions here are almost the same: just notice. Notice their presence, and notice their absence. The only difference comes in what we do with them after noticing them: with the hindrances, we focused on their passing away, and with the factors of enlightenment we focus on their development.

The first and most important factor of enlightenment is sati, meaning awareness or mindfulness. Its importance is so crucial that it has won a spot in the very title of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. It is not only the basis of all the other factors of enlightenment but also the root of the entire path laid out by Buddha. Sati.

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I woke up with the delightful realization that my prayer had been met: my night's sleep was radically different from yesterday's, and as usual there was no form of bathroom anywhere in the home, but this time there were plenty of fields around to do it in open-air. I could shower as well with the use of their hand-pump.

My presence in the morning was greatly appreciated, and after completing my own routine I was asked if I could teach them yoga. So I guided a mini-lesson similar to what I do for myself, and it was followed by half of the family as well as filmed.

I was then served breakfast and seen off with heaps of love from everyone. Komal's sister, Muskan, even told me that she had skipped school today to spend more time with me. I'm not sure if that made me feel good or bad, but I hoped my yoga lesson was worth it!

To honor the sutra and dedicate my day to awareness, I chose to be as present and meditative as I could, refraining from small talk even when friendly hosts would invite me. I would only talk when questions were asked to me, and that too practicing minimalism in speech. I decided this would be my sole job today, no matter how much it would "cost" me in terms of appraisal from my guests. Whatever I didn't share in words I could share in presence, which has a far greater value.

My first invitation was for chai alongside an elaborate meal, and even with my silent demeanor I was gifted 300 rupees at the end. My next encounter was later in the day as I noticed a dosa vendor - a south Indian delicacy - and was delighted to find something healthy after the countless deep-fried stuff that often made the bulk of what I was given in these villages. So I asked for a dosa, specifying that despite my ascetic appearance I wasn't asking for charity and would pay for it. But even though I had my meal in meditative silence rather than socializing, he decided to offer the meal for free.

Next came a pharmacist refusing money after I asked for a small pot of vaseline for my cracked feet. Instead of letting me pay, he saw me off with two extra packets of biscuits for the road! Next I stopped by a yogurt vendor, who once again refused my money.

Experiment concluded: being a boring monk who plainly eats his food in silence didn't seem to offend anyone. If anything, it brought about even more respect. It also suited me well because conversation was the one activity I found the most demanding - more than walking all day! - and also the one during which I had the most difficulty in maintaining awareness. That's why noble silence is imposed in just about every meditation retreat out there... but words are also a necessary part of our lives, right? So how to find the balance? For me, it seemed to have found itself today with the experiment I undertook. I was delighted.

When evening drew in, a devotee of Shiva named Shivnath came up to me. "Where are you going? It's almost dark! Why don't you sleep at my place?" His house was standing just there and I happily accepted. It was a simple dwelling with earthen floors and bare brick walls, but well laid out, spacious and clean, giving it a pleasantly empty Zen side to it, and they lit a small fire in the middle to make it even more cozy.

After I settled down and did my yoga they laid out small bowls of raw lentils, rice, flour, and potatoes by my side without comment. It was around 7 pm and I assumed they expected me to perform some kind of puja, or ritual, like throwing rice in the fire by reciting mantras and summoning the Hindu gods. I was getting nervous and hoped I would live up to whatever they had in mind, but when I asked about the raw food they laughed. "It's not for any kind of puja, we just thought you might be one of those jungle Babas who cook their own food, so we provided the ingredients just in case!"

It made me laugh, but I thought the puja would have been fun anyway so I took the bowl of flour, dipped in my right hand's ring finger, and made tillaks - forehead marks - on everyone's third eye while singing a homage to Shiva, as he was the family's chosen deity. They were very touched!

Day 58

February 9th 2024

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, investigation, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, investigation, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.2

For the sake of conciseness I have taken the liberty to call it investigation, but a more word-to-word translation of the Pali word dhammavicaya would be "investigation of phenomena".

I'm sure you're still wondering though, what do we mean by that? Well first of all, it helps to remember how much emphasis the Buddha has put on personal investigation as opposed to blind faith, seen in his quote about a goldsmith meticulously testing his gold. "Do not merely accept my teachings out of reverence for me". This investigation in turn serves as a direct antidote to the aforementioned hindrance doubt, because the only way to truly eradicate doubt is to find our own truth based on our own experience, conclusions, logical thinking... our investigation.

Second, if we want a more practical day-to-day aspect of this dhammavicaya, it has also been described as "the mind that investigates and determines whether an action is wholesome or unwholesome, helpful or harmful".

The terms "good" and "bad" seem like judgements and never have their place when talking about people, but in terms of actions they can make sense. If you look at it, ever since we were children we've been calling things good or bad according to whether we felt they were helpful or harmful.

So in our day to day lives that would consist in reminding ourselves of the "goodness" or "badness" of whatever action we set out to do. A nice summing up would be to repeat the mantra throughout our day: is what I'm doing helpful or harmful?

Such a mindset made my morning joyful and confident, as I had made a point to solely act in ways which I felt were right, not according to some holy scripture but according to my own judgement and understanding.

I was ready to start my walk at 8 am but my host Shiv Nath, who had invited me in the first place, hadn't come home from his night duty and I felt bad about leaving without saying goodbye. That's where investigation, dhammavicaya, kicked in: if it intuitively feels bad, I have good reason to look for a better option, and in this case what felt right was to practice patience and wait for his return in order to repay his kindness.

I spent the extra time deepening my sutra reading and writing a mantra on a small square piece of cloth that I had leftover from my previous sewing project, and dedicating it to him with thanks and praise. He came home two hours later and beamed with delight, both at my patience in having waited for him and at the mantra I offered.

I left with high spirits but annoyingly itchy limbs, which were riddled with what looked like bedbug bites. It didn't prevent me from having a truly amazing day, especially at a a point where, applying investigation to my life, I realized my only real profession, the only job that mattered, was to be aware. And not just in these three months of monkhood, but in my entire life! We're all trying to "make a living", right? But if even the loftiest income results in certain death, how on earth have you succeeded in "making a living"?

No, the only way to really make a living is to be aware, because that gives you life at this very moment, and a quality of life far superior to anything that money can buy. But on top of that it provides the tools to make it past death without suffering or loss. At this realization, my day became so simple, all I had to do was... exactly what I was doing. Everything is perfect as it is.

I spent half-an-hour looking for the Gurudwara that I had been told about in the city of Akbarpur, but when I reached the front door, I realized there was just about nothing else to it: a front door, leading into a random building, and that too, locked shut with nobody around.

But in the meantime it looked like the entire city had noticed me looking around, and the police themselves came to ask me if they could help out. They did, by making a phonecall to a nearby Hindu temple called Ram Janki Mandir, dedicated to Krishna and Rama, and confirming I could stay there.

After showing me the way to the temple, the policeman in charge asked me "Would you be having dinner?"
"No... well, at most, two fruits" I answered.
"Which fruits?"
"Bananas, or apples..."

He left the premises and came back five minutes later with eight apples and ten bananas. Likewise, my positive answer to the temple family later asking me "will you drink milk?" resulted in more than a whole liter. The place was clean and spacious too and I was truly hosted like a VIP.

Day 59

February 10th 2024

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.3

Once again, what we're calling enthusiasm here has been translated in a number of ways due to the depth of the original Pali word viriya. Ancient Pali being part of the Indo-European language family just like modern English, there are more similarities than we'd expect. English language has the word virile which denotes energy, and that in a rather masculine way. The Pali word viriya is of the same root but refers to a more subtle and balanced kind of energy: the kind you'd see in a Zen meditator rather than a western body-builder. Some have also translated viriya as determination or joyous effort.

Enthusiasm works for me, implying an eager form of energy that comes from within rather than something unpleasant or forced. But feel free to pick yours, as by now you have quite a decent idea of what we mean.

￼

My night had been a mosquito parade, but I was still happy about the place and grateful beyond words at my hosts' kindness. I was invited to the 8 am puja, which involved twenty minutes of chanting for the temple deities, which I greatly appreciated, and fifteen minutes of mind-racking noise by relentlessly ringing a panoply of bells, which I appreciated less. After that, I was invited for breakfast at Avdesh Kumar's house, the temple manager. I asked him about his title... "Swami? Pandit? Baba?" But he replied "sevak".

Sevak means server, a term commonly used in Indian traditions, denoting someone who is voluntarily at the service of others. The head of the temple referring to himself with such a humble designation left me in awe.

I was seen off with almost 1000 rupees from him and his family, and one of the other temple servers said he would show me the way out of town. Obviously I could find my own way out of town, but I accepted the offer of what I thought would be a ten minute walk shared side by side.

But it turns out nearly two hours later he was still walking by my side with no indication whatsoever of where he was actually intending to go with me. In the meantime all kinds of thoughts and emotions had gone through my mind, including my deepest respect at his devotion towards me... and my growing despair at the thought that this might go on for a long time. There's no way I want to socialize all day, I complained to myself... I spend all morning and evening socializing already, and if I have to talk all day what time would there be for meditation, for the purpose of me walking in the first place?

At that point I realized just how important it was, whether in sitting or walking meditation, to be utterly on one's own and to know how to ditch the social mind. Vipassana courses are undertaken in strict silence for a good reason. Of course, the day comes when the silent retreat comes to an end and we go back to the social world, just as the hour comes every day for me when my walk comes to and end and I meet my coming night's hosts. But the walk itself was my retreat.

I thought about telling him, but I also reflected on today's sutra on viriya. Though it can be translated as effort, it can also mean the exact opposite of the way we usually conceive it... Goenka beautifully puts it in his Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta courses: "we think it means the effort to do something, but it's in fact the effort not to do anything!"

￼

I don't know if it was a good idea putting that dharma wheel at such a place, but anyway I hope you enjoyed the meditation. So, to understand what Goenka means by "the effort not to do anything" is to understand Buddha's teachings. Not to react with anger when something unwanted happens, and not to react with craving when something wanted doesn't happen.

Ok, so be it! Neither am I perfect nor free from negativity, but I will make the effort not to react, not to do anything, just keep walking and see what happens. Interestingly, after fifteen minutes of that realization, he stopped unexpectedly and said "ok, bye, I'm off!"

My prayer for tonight was "May I be granted hospitality and may my host be happy". After a bit of asking around I ended up at the Hanuman temple of a village called Milapur. The temple didn't have the slightest facility to sleep, wash, or go to the bathroom. It was located straight in front of the village marketplace and main junction, bustling with honking trucks, loudspeaker-powered vegetable vendors, and the unending activity of people, dogs, cows, and monkeys. But what mattered most was that the Baba along with the whole village were friendly and inviting: my prayer had been answered as they seemed to be happy. And for some reason, my "do nothing" state of mind made all the chaos around me quite bearable.

Day 60

February 11th 2024

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, joy, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, joy, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, joy, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, joy, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, joy, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, joy, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.4

We've seen the term piti (pronounced pee-tee) before, right? It was one of the steps in the Anāpāna Sutta, and now it's being presented, with a bit more depth, as a factor of enlightenment. Piti means joy. The quality of enjoying something, enjoying anything, enjoying nothing. Joy. Once again, we are not instructed to artificially fabricate it, but just to observe: to notice its presence or its absence.

￼

My night had happened well and I can even say I caught up on sleep, the only quirk being that a pack of street dogs, both big and small, had spent the night competing for the best spot on the soft and warm human mattress which was me. They would climb up and down my body, scratch their fleas, and do their best to cuddle with me as I struggled to push them away. As much as I appreciated their interest in me, I was personally still itching from the bedbugs three days ago, and the idea of a brand new flea situation didn't thrill me too much.

I must be getting good at this, I thought, because despite sleeping like the lowest of the homeless, I woke up feeling great, at 4:30 as intended, and remembered the day's sutra on joy, which by itself made me happy. I did my hour of meditation, sutra chanting, and Taichi in perfect peace and aloneness, save for one puppy who had been part of the sleep-on-Ben movement and was now playing go-fetch by himself with a stolen flipflop.

I left without a word of conversation to anyone, a rare event on this journey, and was absolutely thrilled to start my walk in such a state of peace and joy. This was, I knew, exactly the kind of joy Buddha meant when he talked about piti - enjoyment of what is. It was 6:26 am, with an hour left until sunrise, and I recalled how the best moments of my life were often born from going out and starting my day at this kind of time... Both biology and countless religions recognize it as the most favorable time for the mind in the 24-hour cycle.

I spent an hour walking in bliss before stopping at the beauty of a cryptic red sun peaking out from behind the tropical palms and illuminating the sky with stunning colors. I was in awe. Then, I was invited for chai. Which meant, of course, conversation and the end of my silent meditation.

After experiencing such a pleasant state born from seclusion, an imminent danger always lurks ahead: if seclusion leads to so much peace, than certainly whoever puts an end to my seclusion is the destroyer of my peace... right?

This dilemma is often illustrated with the parable of a hermit in a cave who spent so many years developing concentration that he attained somewhat divine powers, but when someone comes in to break his meditation he explodes in a fit of anger and incinerates him with his third eye. And while my third eye was not yet strong enough to incinerate anyone, this pitfall was just as relevant for me as for any of us on the path: how to deal with factors that break our meditation?

Buddha had an answer for everything, though. In this case, the solution was quite simply to turn those very obstacles into the path itself. What we used to call problems we now call stepping stones. Kabir Saxena, a close friend and esteemed dharma teacher, has aptly explained that "if someone harms you without reason, you should consider him higher than the Dalai Lama himself: he is your dearest teacher. He is the one handing you the precious opportunity to grow in the field of patience."

Not that an invitation for chai and conversation was an obstacle on my path to enlightenment, but I did pay utmost attention to keeping my words minimal and my presence continuous. I kept dwelling in my pleasant bubble of piti until noon, but the sun started getting hot, my body weary, and my mind dispirited by the fact I had only done 15 km out of today's 35...

I thought of today's sutra reading: what's the point in generating piti if it only works when external conditions are perfect? I must be doing something wrong... of course I am! We're not supposed to be generating joy in the first place, only to be observing it's presence, it's absence, and how it comes to arise. By now, the answer was clear: it arises through presence, through meditation. Obviously.

So I simply started observing my breath, and to my exalted satisfaction, it worked! Was it that easy? Had I laid my hands on a magic spell that could create joy on demand?

By late afternoon I entered the bustling town of Shahganj and set aside the time to find fabric for a langot - a loincloth that would hopefully allow me to wash in public from now on. Like most of us, I usually remove my clothes before I shower, but at this rate of sleeping in public places night after night without the slightest hope for privacy, I didn't know when I could expect my next wash to be.

So I found the fabric I needed in a small tailor's shop, but at that point night was already falling and I still had to cross the rest of this hectic town and make it another 10 km until the next one. And even then I had no guarantee as to how and when and where I would get my next sleep... I was exhausted and disheartened and surrounded by chaos.

"I would rather lie down straight away in my tomb than try to push through the rest of this day" I caught myself thinking. But even my tomb wasn't ready!

Wait... the sutra! What's the sutra again? "When joy is present in him, he knows joy is present in me. When joy is absent from him, he knows joy is absent from me."

And it worked. In barely an instant everything became its exact opposite and suddenly I was amazed by the wondrous activity of the city in all directions... Then I found a friendly roadside stall keeper and bought a bottle of almond milk with my donation money... Then I stood there to enjoy my creamy sweet drink over a gorgeous sunset... Then I enthusiastically walked through the dark while singing gibberish instead of mantras... And finally I was invited for tea and cookies by a man who personally knew the temple manager where I had been hoping to spend the night in the first place. Next thing I knew, I had a place to sleep.

And sleep is an understatement too, because my treatment included chai, an Indian desert homemade by Ananda the temple manager, and a visit from his children, who were the sweetest little things I had seen in my life. They marveled at the sight of the handwritten journal that has now made it all the way into your hands.

The day resulted in a successful 35 km, one of the longest in my trip and possibly the happiest.

Day 61

February 12th 2024

I slept like a princess under the mosquito net that I had stuffed into my bag at the beginning of this journey. Folded up, it made the noticeable size and weight of, say, a large orange... but I knew it could, and would, make the world of a difference when it came to sleeping in mosquito-land.

So on the ground at the temple I had a better sleep than even at the fancy hotel two weeks ago. Deep, replenishing, quiet, undisturbed... and today's sutra reading was specifically about passaddhi, tranquility.

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, tranquility, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.5

My hosts insisted on inviting me for breakfast, which I accepted out of courtesy, but it also meant starting the day with socializing, questions, and selfies, as well as hitting the road quite late. When I left their house at 8:30, I was plunged into a bustling city environment of jammed traffic, car horns, and crowded human activity. I brought to mind the sutra, and this time it didn't work. I had no tranquility, neither outside nor inside. So I gave up looking for tranquility and went back to observing the breath, as usual.

And that's when I experienced the very thing I had given up. If we crave for any state of mind, the only thing we end up with is more craving. Ironically, following the Buddha's exact words of "know tranquility or know it's absence" leads to being tranquil, whereas trying to be tranquil leads to even more stress.

Another set of incidents, however, led to a deeper understanding. Firstly as I was walking, a man stopped his motorcycle beside me. Bad timing, I happened to have a mouth full of raw garlic, as I do once a day preventively ever since I overcame the dreadful parasite problem. It takes about twenty minutes to mindfully chew on, but goes a long way in preventing the kind of disease that had me plagued for half of the trip. And so the conversation started.

"Babaji, sit on my bike!"
"Sorry, no, I'm walking..." (mouthful of garlic)
"Come on, I bring you to my place!"
"Sorry, no, I'm walking..." (mouthful of garlic)
"My children are sick..." he answered with a long face, obviously disappointed, and he was off.

I didn't know what to do. Should I have given a dharma talk on sickness, suffering, and freedom from suffering? With a mouth full of garlic... In any case, I felt like I hadn't fulfilled my job of helping people. No traffic this time, no car horns, and no hectic crowds, yet I had less tranquility here than at any other point in my day.

A bit later a journalist asked me if he could interview me. I knew that every word I said could have an impact on a large number of people, and on top of that my mouth wasn't full of raw garlic. So I did my best to give a bright and beaming dharma speech, talking about compassion and the path to peace. It happened wonderfully, I gave him my mom's contact and asked him if he could send her the interview so she would know that I was alive and doing well. The whole episode was very wholesome and I was left in a natural state of deep tranquility without even the need for meditation.

These two events in a row illustrated just how necessary of a component compassion was to the spiritual path: doing something good affected my inner peace in a greater way than anything from the external environment could, calm or chaotic. The Gurus aren't preaching compassion just because it sounds nice: they know that it's a necessity even in the search for our own well being. "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion", the Dalai Lama has said. Likewise, that's why the cave-dwelling hermit from earlier on incinerated his guest: his meditation was solely on concentration and he forgot all about compassion.

As evening drew in and I reached the city of Jaunpur, I was told I could find a Sikh temple, but instructions were vague and most people knew nothing about it. As I was asking left and right for directions, I met a schoolteacher named Manoj Kumar who had noticed me earlier in the afternoon near the school where he was teaching. Fascinated by my journey, he now took it upon himself to do anything in his power to get me to a place to sleep. He started by inviting me to spend the night at his home, but I refused, as it would mean being driven there, and I was obviously limited to whatever I could do on foot.

So he spent more than half-an-hour walking alongside me to make sure I would reach the Sikh temple and be accepted there. And his help turned out crucial, because reaching the place was not the last of our challenges: the next hurdle was an administrative one. The temple staff would make phonecall after phonecall to this and that authority, trying to convince them to allow me to stay, despite being a foreign stranger appearing out of nowhere.

This was unusual for a Sikh temple but I knew it was beyond the grasp of the immediate temple staff and involved convincing higher authorities. Finally, my friend Manoj Kumar took the phone and convincingly assured them that he would take legal responsibility for my stay. The whole thing ended up working out, and I was given a private room near the bathroom facilities, which were top-notch and clean.

Day 62

February 13th 2024

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, concentration, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, concentration, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.6

The Pali word for concentration is one that many of us have heard before. Samādhi is not only a factor of enlightenment, but also the second step in the famous trio Sīla - Samādhi - Paññā, which makes the backbone of any Vipassana course, and it also creates yet another link with Patanjali's Yoga Sutra, where this same term describes the eighth limb of yogic and meditative practice. The English translation of concentration seems straightforward, but it's still important to note that we're talking about a loose state of relaxed attentiveness and never a forced state of mental strain.

￼

I love Sikhs because they never insist when I say no: this morning it was easier than ever to leave with neither breakfast nor chai nor socializing, and then pleasantly roam the quiet dawn-lit city streets.

In the name of concentration I spent as much time as I could single-pointedly observing the touch of my breath around my nostrils. As a result the whole day had a psychedelic tinge to it, and the fact it was rainy actually helped: people would dwell within their homes while I would dwell within mine, walking undistractedly and loving the gloomy weather.

Single-pointed focus also made all the external discomforts disappear, with only my breath left in my whole spectrum of experience. Intriguingly, the only real distractions left were the very things we usually call pleasant: sweets shops and chocolate showcases and this temptation and that delicacy... Plus, these things became increasingly present as I was crossing the semi-urban environment surrounding one of the most important cities of my trip...

Varanasi. Seeing the name alone on street signs gave me goosebumps. For Hindus, the holiest city of all, considered to be founded by Shiva himself... But also, one of the four most important pilgrimage sites for Buddhists: what we call the first turning of the wheel of dharma took place here. This marked the beginning of all Buddhist teachings: the legendary event where Buddha exposed to his first disciples the truths he had discovered that night he reached enlightenment. They say the transmission was so powerful that the entire universe trembled from it's magnitude.

Something else gave me goosebump today, as I walked along the highway... Three ascetics from the Jain religion were traveling on foot, not entirely unlike me, but with one striking difference... they had nothing. Entirely naked, no loincloth, no bracelets, no necklaces, no bags, no paint, no ashes, no accessories, nothing at all in fact, except for a small broom made for sweeping insects out of the way to make sure that under no circumstance would they be harming another living being.

They were walking straight on the highway at a lively pace as our paths crossed. I felt so small that I barely dared to look at them, as I bowed down with my body and my soul. They answered, neither by gesture nor by word, but by half-a-second's gaze in my direction, and off they were into the distance, leaving me speechless. By what kind of celestial force they managed their existence, I didn't know. I just knew they were from a world I couldn't even imagine. Compared to them I was a pretend-beggar, a noob amongst noobs, a clown of a monk, a total show.

Surpassed by the encounter, I didn't know what else to do than go back to the comfort of my usual mindset, of mantras and walking and thinking about food and a place to stay tonight. Maybe I'm only half-a-noob, I thought to myself, as I realized that my own conditions were pretty daring in the first place: night had fallen, I was still walking alongside the highway, the weather was rainy, no village or lodging or temple in sight, and not the slightest clue what I would do to find a place to sleep. Oh well. Keep on walking. What else to do?

After another hour I noticed a small neighborhood near the highway and decided to venture my way off the cement and through the mud. A few shops stood in the center and I stopped to ask for directions, but obviously I was secretly hoping for some guidance as to where I could sleep, or an invitation, or any kind of human presence really. The locals were helpful in telling me where I was on the map and they smilingly waved me off.

With a gloomy mood and still no idea for my night, I turned around and noticed a public dustbin surrounded by trash and mud. I made my way there slowly, to discard my own trash that I always carry with me... and half-heartedly I also picked up some bits and pieces lying around in the mud because I just couldn't leave them there. "Yes, India is covered in trash but every little bit counts, and if anything, this is a symbolic deed."

The locals behind me noticed it and called me back, having me sit, serving me chai... and within minutes I had an invitation for the night, by the humble man named Sarvajit who owned the chai shop.

I was relieved, but I realized last-minute that to my great terror, my prasad box was empty! I had nothing to give, no sweets, no fruit, no peanuts, nothing! I couldn't imagine entering a home like that! A Babaji must always have prasad!

So I waited until Sarvajit turned around to close his chai shop and I sneakily made my way to the neighboring sweets shop. I tried to speedily buy a handful of homemade sweets in a low voice, but before I could pay, Sarvajit was already standing behind me. "There's no way you're paying for that!" he exclaimed, before handing the money himself. So I epically failed, but at least it gave us all a laugh!

He went on to bring me to his home where he lived with his wife, mother, and two sons. The family was small and quiet and I relished the beauty of having a few meaningful exchanges rather than an unending stream of namaste's and blessings to entire groups.

I was served dinner by Sarvajit's wife and given a very decent takat - solid wood bed - with included mosquito net, under which I enjoyed a deep and peaceful countryside night.

Day 63

February 14th 2024

“Here, when the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is present in me’;
when the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is absent from me’;
he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, equanimity, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is developed and perfected.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 17.7

My night's sleep had been wonderful, watching armies of mosquitoes like a show, as they tried to find a way in to my unbreachable bamboo-framed mosquito-net fortress. As usual, I told my hosts I wouldn't be having breakfast so that I could leave early and light, so they chose to serve me as much as they could of whatever I did accept. They poured me cup after cup of the highest quality chai - called shudh dudh or "pure milk", meaning it had no water content at all but only fresh milk from their cows and tea and spices. Alongside that they couldn't help but offer me bread, which I couldn't help but accept, and I still managed to leave early, full of love, milk, and gratitude.

Today was another highway day, good for me and my practice as I had the whole emergency lane to myself and didn't have to worry about dodging traffic for my life. In the name of equanimity I took the vow "May I gather all my willpower and dedication to avoid expressing the slightest trace of negativity in my entire day."

The Pali word upekkhā, almost unanimously translated as "equanimity", refers not to a vegetable-like lethargy or cold indifference, but simply to a state that is unperturbed by the usual sway of craving and aversion, of desires and dislikes. Of running after some things and running away from others, which the Buddha stated to be the two-sided root behind every form of suffering. The idea is instead to simply be content with what there is.

So my personalized vow made a big difference in my day, but at times I still noticed traces of aversion towards people and traces of craving towards sweets. Ok, so unconditional peace takes a bit more than a short vow in the morning, but Buddha never asked us to become perfect in one day: our job was simply to come back to awareness after having strayed from it, and that too, ever-smilingly!

As evening drew in I was a mere 10 km away from Sarnath, the place in the outskirts of Varanasi where Buddha had given his first teaching, but I felt much more inclined to reach it tomorrow morning rather than exhausted in total darkness with no clue where to sleep. So I asked around and was told I could sleep at a village temple dedicated to Hanuman. It was one of the simplest temples I had seen, composed of a central shrine on a tiled floor with a roof protruding around it. No Baba here - no space for one anyway - and no other presence than the humble Hanuman statue in the middle, to whom I bowed and asked if I could spend the night. He accepted, and I happily deployed my bed in the space beside him. The simplicity of my night's stay was heavenly and free from any form of socializing, except for one visit from two neighboring villagers. I worried they would tell me something about the temple rules or my right to sleep here...

"We noticed you from afar" they said, "setting your bed at the temple... so we decided to bring you milk! If there's anything else we can do, don't hesitate, we live just next door!" I accepted the milk and hardly had to say anything. I felt so welcome.

Delighted by my situation, I made myself at ease with my cup of milk and withdrew my small and cherished sutra book. Equanimity... I had lived up to it pretty well today... and it was the last of the seven factors of enlightenment. What was gonna be tomorrow's episode then?

I turned the page and had goosebumps. The next chapter was on the four noble truths. Tomorrow marked my arrival into Sarnath, the exact place where the discourse on the four noble truths had been given. How could such an alignment even be possible? It gave me chills. Suddenly my consciousness withdrew from my body, and I saw the whole journey from afar with the mesmerizing feeling that it was being orchestrated by someone else...

Day 64

February 15th 2024

“Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the four noble truths. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the four noble truths?

Here he knows as it really is, ‘this is dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the origin of dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the end of dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the way leading to the end of dukkha.’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 18

Rather obscure, right? Why are we using this foreign word dukkha in the first place, and what does it all mean to "know as it really is"?

We've briefly seen dukkha before in the introduction of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta: whereas most western scholars would translate it as "suffering", Bhikku Analayo, for example, chose not to translate it at all. And so do I, because it can thwart our whole understanding of the Buddha's teachings.

Dukkha actually includes every form of negative experience, from the subtlest traces of worry or discontent, to the coarsest conditions of physical pain and disease. But, as we can find out by observing our own lives, the vast majority of our suffering is not excruciating physical pain: it is subtle mind-created stress and discontent born from wanting what we don't have - people or situations - and not wanting what we do have - people or situations.

And I'm sure you've heard people quote Buddha that "everything is suffering". If everything is suffering, these Buddhists must be really depressed. And if "everything is suffering", we haven't even read past the second noble truth: the third and fourth ones explicitly say that there is something that is not suffering, that there is a state, reachable by you and me, that is free from suffering altogether.

And even the first noble truth doesn't impose a negative version of reality: all it's saying is "When you encounter dukkha, don't deny it or sugarcoat it. Acknowledge it, see it as it is: this is dukkha."

Back pain? This is dukkha. An angry boss? This is dukkha. A dwindling relationship? This is dukkha.

It is actually very freeing! This back pain is not me! It's just dukkha, that's all! That's what it does. This angry boss is not mine. It's just dukkha! It's just what their ego does. This problematic relationship is not my fault or their fault. It's just dukkha, being dukkha!

So not only does this approach happily initiate a disidentification with all of my problems, but it also allows us to objectively understand suffering or discontent, like a scientist would calmly observe the result of an experiment: neither taking it personally nor trying to distort it. Only then will he reach true understanding... and only by understanding dukkha objectively, impersonally, "as it really is", can we tread the path to freedom.

So we exposed the four noble truths in today's sutra reading, but there was no way I would be covering such a vast subject in only one day, so the truths would be covered one by one. Today would be the first: when experiencing dukkha, know "this is dukkha".

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Comically, most of my morning was actually dukkha. No big suffering, no, but a constant stream of slight discomfort, from my sticky body in need of washing, to the highway's unending traffic noise, to the heavy bags cutting into my shoulders, to my clothing so oily from my skin and so dirty from the road that what used to be white was now dark gray or black.

Ok, I should be happy. This is dukkha. That's what the Buddha asked me to do. Just know: this is dukkha. Somehow though, I wasn't happy. I was still suffering.

But what is dukkha? Why was I suffering? What was the root of this dis-ease? And without even realizing it, my mind naturally slipped into the second noble truth. Attachment is the cause of dukkha! Every dukkha I was experiencing could be traced straight back to attachment! Attachment towards clean clothes when all I had to wear was oily rags, towards a quiet environment when all I had was traffic noise, towards lightness in my body when all I had was heavy bags to haul around. Attachment is the cause of suffering.

I laughed at the fact I had accidentally slipped into what was supposed to be tomorrow's contemplation, the origin of suffering, and delighted in the feeling of ease and fulfillment born from having come to this understanding naturally. I had read it in books of course, but now it was real, my experience, my truth.

And the understanding itself was enough to flip dukkha on its head. Suddenly my day blossomed, I marveled at the first roadsigns indicating the way to Sarnath, and before I knew it I was sitting in front of the stupa - or sacred edifice - erected at the spot where Buddha had given the four noble truths.

The imposing 43-meter stupa was surrounded by carefully conserved remains of meditation cells and temples, built thousands of years ago to lodge the very first community of monks practicing under Buddha's guidance. Today, it attracted Buddhist pilgrims from all over the world, some prostrating, some walking in meditation, and some sitting with closed eyes in statue-like stillness. The energy was breathtaking. I sat down facing the stupa and opened my sutra book to the four noble truths. If I had been sitting at that same place 2'500 years ago, I would have heard these words directly from Buddha Siddhartha Gautama's mouth. Maybe I was there, who knows, because I was definitely somewhere 2'500 years ago. I might have been a cricket in the grass at the foot of Buddha's first five disciples, witnessing the intriguing scene.

Let's recount what happened since the beginning: remember the time before enlightenment where Buddha was inflicting so much harm to himself that his body was hardly more than a skeleton, deprived of food and water and sleep and just about any form of well-being? It turns out he wasn't alone, and five disciples, admiring his diligence, were practicing with him.

But when he realized he was getting nowhere, and had only succeeded in increasing his suffering, the truth of the middle way unveiled before his eyes... A village girl named Sujata came to see him, and for the first time he accepted a glass of milk - or was it a bowl of rice?

Historical accounts differ, but if we want to take the middle way too let's say it was a bowl of Indian milk-rice called kheer. Anyway, whatever it was that she gave him, he finally agreed to have it, and when his disciples noticed from behind they immediately reacted. "He has betrayed us" they thought. "He has accepted food from a village girl and given up the path."

So they abandoned him and chose to carry on starving themselves. Left on his own and armed with his new truth, it took him just another week to reach full enlightenment, sitting under the Bodhi tree.

Now that he had found what they were all looking for, he had to go tell his buddies! Never mind that they abandoned him... But by that time they had travelled to Sarnath, which, as we will find out on my own journey, is an entire week's walk away from Bodhgaya where he reached enlightenment. Still, Buddha knew the way thanks to his spiritual insight and made the journey there. On account of past karmas related to deers they met at this grassy green place in Sarnath called Deer Park.

As his five friends saw him appear in the distance, they murmured in low voices “Siddhartha abandoned the path halfway. He ate rice, drank milk, and visited the village children. He really let us down. I say we shouldn’t even greet him.”

But as he drew nearer, the five friends froze. They could hardly believe what they saw. This wasn't the same Siddhartha they had left behind... He was surrounded by an aura of light, his gaze divine, his feet hardly touching the ground. He seemed to be from another world...

They immediately dropped their grumbling and stood up to greet him with praise. And after they sat in a circle around him, he expounded the truth of the middle way.

"Bhikkhus, these two extremes should not be followed by one who has gone forth into homelessness. What two? The pursuit of sensual happiness in sensual pleasures, which is low, vulgar, the way of worldlings, ignoble, unbeneficial; and the pursuit of self-mortification, which is painful, ignoble, unbeneficial. Without veering towards either of these extremes, the Buddha has awakened to the middle way, which gives rise to vision, which gives rise to knowledge, which leads to peace, to direct knowledge, to enlightenment, to nirvana."

And he went on to expound the four noble truths, the backbone of the Buddhist path:

"Now this, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of suffering: birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering; in brief, the five aggregates subject to clinging are suffering.

Now this, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of the origin of suffering: it is this craving which leads to renewed existence, accompanied by delight and lust, seeking delight here and there; that is, craving for sensual pleasures, craving for existence, craving for extermination.

Now this, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of the end of suffering: it is the remainderless fading away and cessation of that same craving, the giving up and relinquishing of it, freedom from it, nonreliance on it.

Now this, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of the way leading to the end of suffering: it is this Noble Eightfold Path; that is, right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration."

They delighted in the Blessed One’s words, and that day, the five bhikkhus Kondañña, Bhaddiya, Vappa, Mahanama, and Assaji went down in history as the first Buddhist sangha, the initial community of practitioners.

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I meditated for a long time facing the huge stupa, sometimes with my eyes closed, diving into the noble truths, re-enacting what had happened here two and a half millennia ago... and sometimes with open eyes, witnessing the show of tireless Mahayana buddhists doing circumambulations at snails pace, with full-body prostrations in between every step, until their tattered clothes had taken the same color as the ground.

For the sake of understanding, it might be time to clarify a few terms of Buddhist jargon. Mahayana and Theravada are the two major schools of Buddha's teachings. In most cases, distinguishing them is futile, and otherwise must be done with utmost care as not to create identity-views or separatism, which would go straight against the very words of the Buddha. "Creating a division in the spiritual community" has in fact been stated by him as one of the five "heinous crimes", or gravest offenses. So we will look at them briefly and objectively simply to have a clearer overview of the Buddhist scene in the Asian continent.

Theravada is the oldest branch, literally meaning "School of the Elders". They stick as closely as they can to the original words of the Buddha as recorded in the first council of monks who gathered after his death. Their job was to compile, in Pali, the sermons he had delivered during his life. In terms of practice, Theravadins emphasize Anāpāna - observing the breath - and Vipassana - observing sensations and phenomena, usually done in sober silence without mantras or visualization. The Theravada tradition travelled from India mostly to Sri-Lanka, Thailand, Burma, Laos, and Cambodia.

Mahayana developed a bit later and additionally treats teachings that Buddha would have given less publicly than the Theravada sermons. Namely the Bodhisattva vows: instead of the commonplace "may I reach enlightenment for the benefit of all beings", we are given the astonishing vow of "may I not reach enlightenment, but may I stay in samsara no matter what it entails for me, until every single being in the universe has been fully liberated".

Such a beautiful vow, and yet such a serious one to undertake that it can't be the go-to solution for everyone, hence the "given less publicly". Mahayana practices are also rooted in Anāpāna and Vipassana, but their meditations include visualizations, rituals, and prostration-walks as I was admiringly observing today around the stupa. Mahayana travelled mostly from India upwards, to Tibet, China, Japan, Korea and Vietnam.

There is no right or wrong path and the only reason different branches exist is that different minds exist! Some people will benefit from one approach, some people from the other. In my case I was drawn to both, studying and practicing elements of each, and I felt like that was perfect for me. And after all, it's absolutely essential to remind ourselves that no matter how we call them, these are all teachings of the Buddha!

So you can imagine my delight in witnessing a place like Sarnath where monks of all robe-colors, skin colors, countries, languages and traditions reunite to do their respective practices as one big dharma-loving family.

For me, reaching Sarnath also involved the exotic concept of meeting westerners: until now, I had seen a total of three of them in two months of walking! They were technically closer to my DNA but it bemused me to notice: I had become so Indianized I hardly knew how to greet them!

The place was not at all corrupted by tourism, however. Indian vendors, asian monks and western tourists all co-existed in perfect harmony and mutual respect, drawn together by their common interest in the Buddha's teaching, itself rooted in peace and compassion.

There was no shortage of temples and stupas and gardens open to all, depicting the Buddha's life and teachings in the form of statues, carvings, paintings, and texts. You could spend days there just reading...

As evening drew in I asked if I could be lodged in a Chinese temple, and they gave me a private room, that too without the slightest hassle or hesitation or even asking for my name! I had hot water too and managed to wash my clothes, which were starting to look more like floor mops than anything else.

Whatever weariness my legs had gathered from the walk, my mind from the highway and my body from sleeping in homeless conditions, was entirely reset. This haven of respect and generosity left me both spiritually and physically renewed.

Day 65

February 16th 2024

Waking up in the serene temple atmosphere and doing my meditation facing the inner courtyard with its saints and sages was magical. Both to pay my respect and make a donation, I entered the central temple which housed an impressive array of Chinese and Indian figures, from the central Shakyamuni Buddha to the Taoist sage Lao Zi to "laughing Buddha" Budai to the legendary Chinese pilgrim Xuan Zang.

I sat in meditation and reverence facing the panoply of Chinese and Indian saints, and realized I missed the days I was learning Shaolin, Taichi, and the Tao in China. It was a country whose spiritual heritage was as unfathomably deep as India's, and I prayed in my heart that the cold war between the two would come to an end.... The situation felt like two beloved friends of mine having a mutual fight and it tore my heart. "May peace prevail upon the earth" was my final prayer facing the deities.

I then met the abbot Chang Az Lama, an Indian monk who was named after a Mongolian saint and whose features intriguingly looked north-asian. He had me sit on a chair higher than his, which was hard for me to accept, as the height of someone's seat held great significance in eastern spiritual culture. But I accepted it as being an expression of his remarkable humbleness, ironically one of the highest qualities advocated in Buddhism.

He told me about the history of the temple, which was founded long ago by Chinese monk Li Chung Sheng but hadn't housed a single Chinese citizen ever since the situation with India had deteriorated. He talked about the path, how everyone is looking for answers outside and yet the real answers to our questions come from within... and that too in the form of silence, by observing our inner nature of which the outer world is a reflection. Sitting in silence and observing outer nature also had its benefits, he added, and could lead us to the highest truth as well.

The affectionate abbot's speech seemed to have its roots in both Buddhism and Tao, which endeared me and seemed to connect all the dots in my consciousness. After greeting him goodbye, I attempted to make a donation to the temple management to thank them for the room but they refused with a smile. I left the place in awe.

The day's walk was not as short as I had thought, and reaching the center of Varanasi still involved pushing my way through masses of humans mixed with traffic, barred roads, construction sites, and detours. I finally reached the ghats, name given to the stone-staired river banks alongside the Ganges. Each ghat had its name, its atmosphere, its Baba's, its vibes... and in Varanasi alone there were more than eighty, spanning alongside this holy river. That's where yogis would sit and meditate their days away, where pilgrims would come to take their holy dip in the river, where the temples stood and the ceremonies took place... that's made the heart of this legendary city.

But most importantly for me, Varanasi was famous for one more tradition, taboo and unsettling to sensitive minds, to the point where this practice has been entirely banned in the west: the burning of bodies in open grounds, open air, freely accessible to anyone who would gather the courage to sit there and stare. I was very excited: for the first time in my life I could put into practice, genuinely and not conceptually, Buddha's meditation on the funeral grounds, as we saw earlier in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta.

So after greeting the Ganges by taking a dip, I made my way to Manikarnika Ghat - the one known for its funeral pyres. As I reached the ghats I saw a dozen pyres burning wildly, but the pile of wood nearest to me was still unablaze, and a body was being newly laid down on it. The body was covered with a white cloth but it was fresh, soft and pliant. I put down my bags and stood as close as I could without getting in the pyre-boy's way.

If you'd rather avoid a detailed description of what happens next, than feel free to leave it for later, and casually skip the next few pages down to the tilde ￼Ornament 9 Ornament 9 sign.

The flames started licking the contours of the body as the Buddha's words echoed in my mind as. "Like a corpse thrown aside in a charnel ground, compare your body with it thus: ‘this body too is of the same nature, it will be like that, it is not exempt from that fate."

The white cloth was quick to burn away, revealing the naked body in all its details. He looked asleep: neither his face nor his body looked damaged or toiled by age.

The feet were the closest part to where I was standing and I observed them, over the course of half-an-hour, going from brand new to oozing drops of oil to inflating with warts to getting charred by the heat to finally turning into what looked more like coal, hardly differentiable from the surrounding wood. The thicker parts of the body took longer to consume, and the same process happened to his face, his chest... when the body was entirely black, the knee couldn't support the rest of the leg anymore and broken open, revealing a bright white shin bone and knee cap... and then the skull started revealing itself with a smooth and glamorous shine.

It had been more than an hour and I realized, with the fire low enough and the heat dissipated, that I could sit even nearer, right on the ledge holding the body. I stared at the pelvis, which by now had been bleached white by the flames... Each part was breaking off one after the other as I sat there, mesmerized. The smells in the funeral grounds were just as vivid as sights, and the odor swayed between that of old food, of steamed meat, of roasted meat, and of burnt bacon.

After more than two hours of contemplation, the whole body had broken apart, the flesh and sinews burnt away and the bones crumbled down into the ash, with only the upper spine and chest still clearly visible. Interestingly enough, that area which we call the heart chakra is considered to be the last place where the subtle consciousness resides after the clinical death of a body. And also the area that finally ended up ritually removed from the fire and offered to the Ganges.

His name was Ganga Sagar, he had been 65 years old, and he was no more.

￼

I was still sitting in meditation and by the end of it I could testify that the whole process was much more repulsive to think about than to actually witness. In fact my joy was boundless!

This was my dream come true... For years I had had images, visions, of living this exact moment in this exact way.

My homework was done, and my chosen body completely disintegrated, but I was enjoying myself too much to think about leaving already, and besides I had plenty of company with the dozen other bodies burning around me.

“He knows as it really is, ‘this is the origin of dukkha’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 18.2

Attachment! Why was I feeling so free? Because attachment is the origin of dukkha, and as the bodies burnt away in front of me my attachment burnt away inside. As I saw external bodies disappearing into thin air, I felt my own body dissolve.

The King of the Underworld! I thought to myself as I burst out laughing. Laughing from being free. Not laughing at anyone, of course. All these blessed souls, I was seeing them off into the bardo like you would see your parents off on a long journey.

"May you be happy! May you be safe! May you tread confidently through the fascinating voyage ahead!" I wished to all my evaporating friends.

I stayed on the same spot for a long time, enjoying myself, observing the Indian visitors come and go, one or two western faces who would dare to approach... and of course the famed Agori Babas, dressed entirely in black, sitting next to the burning bodies like I was... and yet for them, the contemplation on death was not a one-night-thing but a daily routine for their entire lives. Their home was the funeral ground, they lived with the dead. That was their practice. And they were exceptionally happy and easy-going.

After several hours of sitting, this body of mine, still alive after all, was getting sleepy. "It's probably past midnight... maybe I should start walking around and see what happens?"

I walked up and down the ghats and had the intriguing realization I had no idea where I really was. It felt like a dream, as if I was in the bardo already... I ended up meeting an ash-covered Baba who invited me to "sleep at his place", which turned out to be on the floor, under the sky, at the ghat right next to the funeral pyre. He casually spread out a thin cloth and lay there, right by the Ganges. I joined him, but I felt like the Swissest posh Baba with my mountain wool bedding compared to his barebones ash-covered nothing!

One thing he did own was a watch, whereas I realized I had just lost mine, probably as a result of crossing the chaotic city center of Varanasi today. A stream of thoughts played through my mind. It was 3:30 am... how would I even manage to wake up early tomorrow? Without a watch or alarm, could I hope to wake up at 5a m on a daily basis and do my distance?

Like all foreigners in India, I was bound by visa rules too and my trip had a limited number of days left... without waking up early, there was no guarantee I would even make it to Bodhgaya on time...

But very fast all these thoughts disappeared into thin air like the corpses had today. The very same practice that would bring us freedom and contentment at the time of death would bring us freedom and contentment at the time of life. Dropping the need to control everything and instead putting our faith in karma, in dharma, and trusting that everything will happen exactly as it should. Just dwell in awareness, let go, and enjoy the ride.

Day 66

February 17th 2024

As foreseen I still woke up at dawn, a mere two and a half hours later, feeling neither sluggish nor sleepy. Something about the energy in Varanasi was indescribable... I did my meditation, Taichi, and Kung-Fu facing the Ganges before taking one of the most pleasant swims in my life.

I came back to sit with my ash-covered Baba friend and this time we were joined by a third fellow, a truth seeker from Rajasthan, the other side of India, who had come to Varanasi to find a new direction, a new meaning to his life. We spent early morning as a cheerful trio having tea upon tea and talking about dharma. At some point, I asked if he had heard of Vipassana retreats. He hadn't. I told him that one of the best centers in India was in Jaipur, his very hometown. Without a second's hesitation he pulled out his phone. "I have 8% battery left. Is that enough to apply for a course? It's now or never!"

We sped through the application process and before his phone died he was successfully enrolled for the next ten-day meditation retreat there. His spontaneity and dedication baffled me! But I knew that's what Varanasi was about.

After hugging them goodbye, I set off to my last mission in this holy city: the most prominent Shiva temple in history, the Mecca of all yogis, Babas and Sadhus in the world... Kashi Vishvanath. A trip to Varanasi was impossible without paying homage to this holy shrine, and in awe I made my way up the stone steps that led to the walled temple premises.

But the number of devotees was huge, and before I knew it I was standing in the longest line I had ever witnessed. We all stood there patiently, advancing at snails pace, watching the clock every once in a while, as thirty minutes turned to one hour, to two hours... Some people would give up halfway and turn back. My patience was also withering as I overheard others speculating in gloomy voices "I've heard they make us wait four hours... maybe we're only halfway there..."

Over time my forbearance turned into uneasiness and eventually frustration. "How did I even get myself in here and am I ever even going to make it out? And I still need to cross the rest of Varanasi before I call it a day... this feels hopeless. I don't know what to do."

At the peak of its complaining, the mundane mind fell from its throne and I woke up. "What in the world have I been doing and why wasn't I meditating the whole time? If Shiva spent 8000 years meditating in a cave - which some accounts boldly state - then why can't I spend half a day standing in a line?"

From that point on my entire being flipped around. My posture changed, my mind changed, I started standing straight, in utmost stillness, my feet grounded like Qi-Gong, my eyes only slightly open - just enough to notice if the human line was moving forward or stopping - and the rest of my attention turned inwards, towards my breath, towards my body. And I gave myself the implausible vow of "Whatever time I have before reaching the end of the line is the time I have left to reach enlightenment. Don't waste a second."

Every minute became as precious as all the gold in the world. I dove into a state where all my negativity was gone, making way to a pervading heartfelt joy of cherishing the present moment.

”He knows as it really is, ‘this is the end of dukkha‘”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 18.3

It might seem too simple to be true, but that's exactly why we miss it: if dukkha was created by attachment, the end of attachment is the end of dukkha. Lao Zi has reminded us that "The path of truth is broad and simple. But people like the side paths." We are always look for complicated theories to keep our brain entertained, as if we didn't want to awaken. But the truth is so simple... I was attached to so many things standing in that line. As soon as I let go, as soon as I seized the precious present instead of the futile past and future, I was free.

Floating in the ocean of inner awareness, space and matter had ceased to exist... time also had ceased to exist... and to my dismay it was instantly the end of the line. On the clock it had been another two hours, and no I hadn't reached enlightenment... But I had had the time of my life in that line!

By then I had almost forgotten about the temple ahead. Shiva's blessings had already come, as I was waiting in line... and as I realized there was nothing to wait for.

Still, the temple itself was the cherry on top of my consciousness cake, and felt almost as nice as the four-hour line. I sat on the marble floor singing for Shiva, in tears as I watched devotees coming and going and humbly paying homage and forgetting all about their differences and their worries and their pains.

I slowly made my way around the temple, adorned with marble sculptures of Shiva surrounded by his family, his devotees, his disciples... and I couldn't help but notice how similar it all looked to the Buddha depictions I had seen in Sarnath two days ago. Maybe some die-hard Buddhists and die-hard Hindus would rather emphasize their differences instead, but for me what made the beauty of this path is that we all seemed to be treading it together, no matter if we followed this teacher or that teacher.

I left the temple in joy, said goodbye to the Ganges with one last swim, and made my way up the ghats, ghat after ghat, walking for kilometers and crossing the whole length of the city without ever having to leave the riverside, until I made it to the foot of Malviya Bridge which would allow me to cross over to the other bank.

But before I could tackle the crossing, I was invited to sit at a small Baba temple held by a yogi named Mahesh Baba. He was so loving, warm, bright, selfless, and energetic that he seemed to incarnate the ideal human being, as depicted in stories of praise you would usually only find in religious books.

He had me sit down as he prepared a cauldron of kichari - creamy Indian spiced vegetable rice - so big that it could well feed a hundred people. When I asked him what was this all about, he answered without elaborating "That's what we do! We feed people!"

And he proceeded to freely give out the dhal to entire families, groups, Babas, lone travelers, whoever happened to be passing by. I was included of course, and not only was I given second, third, and fourth servings, I was also poured chai in a charming antique-looking steel cup... and then given the cup!

"You can't give me this Babaji, it's your chai cup!" I exclaimed. "Not anymore!" he answered with a bearded smile. I accepted his gift as a ritual offering and still cherish it today - a reminder of what kind of person it's possible to be.

￼

I crossed the bridge as night was falling, and stopped in the middle to greet goodbye to Varanasi from my high and scenic viewpoint. The funeral pyres were so bright that I could see the flickering fires from where I stood several kilometers away... Thank you for all the wisdom. Thank you for all the Babas. Thank you for all the dead people.

Finding a place to stay on the other bank turned out to be a whole 'nother adventure, however, guided by an old but surprisingly capable man named Shri Deva Pandey who decided to be my grandfather for a night. The temple I had been hoping to stay at was closed, so he brought me to an ashram twenty minutes' walk away. But on the way we were nearly attacked by dogs, so the old man went into the woods to break off branches and handed one to me. "Never walk in the dark without a stick!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

It made me laugh too, how this man more than twice my age was actually my bodyguard, and that too smiling and laughing at all of life's obstacles. The next obstacle was an ashram that appeared friendly and served us food... and by some kind of unbelievable alignment I met Anil, an Indian family-friend who had stayed at our guesthouse in Switzerland many years back. But despite Anil and Grandpa's best efforts the ashram decided that they wouldn't host me for the night, making things even more late and more complicated... so with my ever-smiling grandpa we carried on in the dark to find a third place, like venturing our way through a video game.

Sticks in hand, weary of traffic, ready for dogs, this time a new obstacle came our way: a drunken man shouting Shiva's name. "Har Har Mahadev!!!" When I silently greeted him with a nod instead of shouting back, he got so offended that he attacked us. Being a peace-warrior I never return blows, but Grandpa fought back like a veteran, while I did my best to keep them apart. Finally the drunken man left us alone and fortunately nobody was hurt.

The next five minutes were silent, my mind ensnared in disgust as to how a young man could be dumb enough to randomly attack a passing grandpa, and that too in the name of Shiva... Oh lord... But Grandpa broke the silence with his biggest laugh yet. "Hahahahaha! Laughing is good!" And that's all he had to say.

It was so unexpected that I also broke into laugh and our evening was a joy. Finally the third place worked out: a "government resthouse", as you surely remember by now, and here we were hosted unconditionally. I had nothing to give the lovely grandpa for all his help, so I offered him a handful of peanuts.

"Peanuts? I don't even have teeth!" he exclaimed as he removed his dentures to reveal an entirely toothless mouth, which once again burst out laughing. If I ever live to get old, this man is exactly how I want to do it.

Day 67

February 18th 2024

“He knows as it really is, ‘this is the way leading to the end of dukkha’”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 18.4

Buddha the great logician goes on: we have recognized that dukkha is created by attachment, and therefore putting an end to attachment means freedom from dukkha. In other words, final happiness, ultimate freedom, liberation, nirvana.

It's simple logic, right? But if you and me both understood, how come we're not fully enlightened yet? The reason is, because it takes more than just understanding: it takes walking the path. Understanding is great, it gives a direction. The third noble truth was our direction. Now, the fourth is our path, how exactly to make our ways there.

Buddha called it the noble eightfold path and it's described in great detail in the Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, which is almost the same as the "compact" Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta we've been studying so far, but includes a more expanded version of the four noble truths. We'll turn to it for the next eight days to get a more complete explanation of this fourth noble truth.

So today's sutra would be the first limb of this eightfold path, right understanding, sometimes also known as right view. Let's hear it out.

“And what, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of the way leading to the end of dukkha? It is this, the noble eightfold path, namely: right understanding, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right awareness and right concentration.

And what, bhikkhus, is right understanding? It is this, bhikkhus: the knowledge of dukkha, the knowledge of the origin of dukkha, the knowledge of the end of dukkha, the knowledge of the way leading to the end of dukkha. This, bhikkhus, is called right understanding.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.1

I had slept quite well, but also late from last night's extravagant adventures and I didn't feel recovered from my previous nearly-sleepless night in Varanasi. I said goodbye to Grandpa, who had slept with me in the government resthouse, and told him he would feature in my upcoming book, which made him laugh once again.

The following day's walk was dusty and hot, dodging piles of rocks and puddles of mud alongside half-finished roads, and doing my best to hold my breath whenever a truck would race by with clouds of dust.

In mid-afternoon I was invited to a small roadside supermarket for fruit juice and debate. Ten seconds of pleasure from the juice was followed by fifteen minutes of tedious arguing. He would ask me a question, and halfway through my answer he would go about telling me why I was wrong. I lived as a wandering monk? I was wrong. I didn't have a wife or children? I was wrong.

"However you choose to live on a worldly level, it doesn't matter", I would explained, "as long as it is done with compassion. Start a family, with compassion. Have children, with compassion. Stay celibate, with compassion. Be a hermit, with compassion." But once again, I was living a wrong life and thinking a wrong way.

So I finally answered "There's something about my spiritual life more important than having or not having children."
"What's that?"
"Is that I have another 15 km to walk before the city of Chandauli, otherwise I'll have nowhere to sleep. Thanks for the juice and goodbye!" For the first time, he agreed, and saw me off with a wave.

If it was that easy to leave the battlefield, why hadn't I done it since the start? But later was better than never, and instead I chose to rejoice at what I felt was an example of right view from my end. The Pali term is Sammā diṭṭhi, "Sammā" meaning right and "diṭṭhi" meaning view or vision, but the biggest misconception would be to interpret that as "being right" in our arguments and fervently making someone else wrong. That would just be another expression of the ego...

During the Buddha's time all kinds of non-Buddhist scholars and priests had tried to spark debates with him, mostly in an attempt to defame him, and it never worked: he wouldn't even walk into it. "My point of view is the one that does not argue" he would stoically answer.

Geshe Dorji Damdul, an esteemed Tibetan monk who I have practiced with, has described in an amusing way how to deal with conflictual people: "When you go to the doctor for a mundane disease, he diagnoses you and identifies it. Then, you thank him and pay him for it, of course. So if you would thank a doctor for identifying even a mundane disease, think of how grateful you should be when someone identifies in you the root of all suffering, the source of all your problems, the ego! Therefore, next time your neighbor insults you and you boil up inside, instead of insulting him back you should pay him for it! And that too with gratitude at having shed light on your biggest disease."

So if right understanding or right view isn't about smashing others in argument, what is it about?

The sutra reading above talks about right understanding meaning to see things according to the understanding of the four noble truths, but that's not all there is to it. According to the Sammā Diṭṭhi Sutta, or "Sermon on Right Understanding", it also means seeing things with a mind free from delusion: free from the filtered lens of attachment, anger, and ultimately ego. So to put it more encompassingly, it means seeing things with wisdom. That's nice, you might say, but how do we get there?

Through the practice of Vipassana, which itself literally means "clear seeing". These two terms are almost synonymous, and whereas sammā diṭṭhi can be defined as the goal, Vipassana can be defined as the means to get there.

One could wonder why something that looks like the final goal is stated as the very first step of the noble eightfold path, and the reason is possibly because it's the most important one. As mentioned before, we aren't going through a chronological list of steps to be developed independently, but rather a set of qualities to be worked on in cohesion, each one supporting the others.

So to come back to the conflictual conversation with the juice vendor, if I had applied sammā diṭṭhi since the beginning - the view that cuts through the ego - I would have realized that the only part of me that needed to give answers to his "you're wrong"s was my ego. Without the ego, I could have simply told him since the beginning "Ok, I'm wrong. Have a nice day!"

￼

In the evening, as I was invited for a glass of warm milk, someone recognized me as Ben Baba, the name by which journalists had made a buzz out of my previous journey a few years ago. I was very touched to see how touched he was: he knew all the facts about me and could even recite some of the interviews... and yet, as a result, the following fifteen minutes included thirty selfies and a growing crowd and never-ending questions, while I struggled to squeeze in a sip of milk here and there, never really present nor enjoying it.

This reminded me of my daily life back then, where I couldn't even cross the street to buy fruits without being stopped for selfies and videos and endless questions and contact requests. And it also reminded me of one of the greatest blessings in my current journey: not being famous! Here I was just nine days away from Bodhgaya, most of my quest was already behind me, and I was still enjoying the peace and bliss of being unheard of. Except for a crowd here and there, of course, that would besiege me with Jay Shri Ram's... but that was about it.

How intriguing that in this world, mostly everyone wants to be famous except for those who actually are. If fame was happiness, why would suicide and overdose be so common amongst superstars, grammy musicians, blockbuster actors? For them, peace is hard to find. They are followed and spied on wherever they go. The slightest wrong move, and journalists make a scandal. Their wives and friends "love" them for their money... and their enemies sue them for their money.

It's a fact, fame doesn't bring happiness to anyone. And this false perception is also what the Buddha called wrong view or wrong understanding, the opposite of sammā diṭṭhi that we've been practicing today.

After reaching the town of Chandauli, I was invited for chai by a man named Rajiv. "I'm sorry" I said, "I'm on my way to the Ram Jamki Shiv Mat Temple and hoping to spend the night there... if I stop now for chai, I might reach too late, and it would be locked..."
"That's great, because I'm the temple's trustee and you're hereby accepted! It's just around the corner, and we have dinner for you too!"

I refused dinner so I was given milk and bananas and lotus seeds, simple foods which made me happy as I could eat as little as I wanted, with awareness. I was then led to the most comfortable room in the whole premises, and by looking around I realized this was the temple Baba's own room: without telling me, Shanka Baba, who was in charge of the temple, had moved out of his room in order to give me the best place he could possibly offer. That's how far selflessness goes in the land of dharma...

Day 68

February 19th 2024

“And what, bhikkhus, is right thought? Thoughts free from attachment, thoughts free from aversion and thoughts free from violence. This, bhikkhus, is called right thought.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.2

For those of us Pali-nerds, right thought is called sammā saṅkappa. Today's sutra was simpler to grasp than yesterday's, and even kind of exciting. "I can't wait to practice" I thought to myself as I sat in my morning meditation.

"You can't wait?" chuckled the world. "Ok then, take this!" Halfway through my meditation, the door opened and lively conversation started around me. My eyes were still shut but no way to close my ears, so I realized they had all come to know about "Ben Baba" as I overheard my own past interviews playing on their phones. Then I heard photos being clicked around me as I struggled to stay adamant in meditation. It was a perfect chance to practice right thought, because in terms of action, I wasn't going to budge from my posture anyway! Thoughts were the only "right" thing I could do, and also the exact place where I should catch any form of negativity.

If you catch the negative thought before it turns into action, you are cutting it at its root and preventing it from spreading or worsening. How do you "catch it", one might wonder? Well, it's as simple as seeing it, that's all we have to do! The moment we see it, we and it are already two different things. Instead of being caught up in the thought, we are stable, calm, rooted, aware.

And when that happens, we should never be frustrated that we have strayed away from it: instead, we should rejoice that we're back in awareness. Then the deal is sealed, the problem solved: the negative thought cannot stand the light of our awareness and it immediately dissolves. As a result, I had a great meditation even with the kids taking photos.

And when I opened my eyes, only one person was left, a young boy named Chandra Khant, who had been standing there in silence, no phone, no photos, simply abiding in presence himself, observing my meditation... When he saw my eyes open, he said he had been waiting for me to finish, and had to be off to his school exam.

"Great" I said. "Now that you know what meditation is, try it while you're waiting on your chair for the exam to start. Just sit there and observe your breath". He expressed his appreciation and left smilingly, adding that this was the first time he had ever met a foreigner. How fascinating, I thought, that amongst them all the child understood the best!

I was then filmed during my Taichi routine as well, which I didn't mind as I knew it was for the benefit of all beings. I was then served fruits, chai, and halva for breakfast, before finally being seen off with three booming and majestic blows from Shanka Baba's ceremonial conch.

Throughout the day I spent my time observing negative thoughts as soon as they would arise. From thoughts about the traffic in front of me to relationships years behind, I would treat them all with the same calm awareness and the same inner phrase, which we could call my mantra for the day: "Yay, I caught it!"

This yayness was what gave me the fuel of joy and enthusiasm to persevere on the path no matter how many thoughts came my way. Every time a thought hit me and my mind would drift, I'd come out not disheartened but re-heartened, reset, and happy to be back on track.

In mid-afternoon I crossed a bridge that marked my entrance into the final state of Bihar... This was huge for me. These were my first steps ever taken in this Indian state, a land that has been defined as "where the Buddha walked". The very word bihar, sometimes written vihar, was used by the Buddha as a verb at the beginning of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, viharati meaning to dwell or to abide in meditative presence. Likewise, the Hindi word for Buddhist temple is "Baudh Vihar", implying that the whole state of Bihar was my temple!

Linguistics aside, Bihar held a very special place in my heart and as I crossed the border I made the firm decision to double up on awareness, to take every step and every breath as an opportunity not to be missed.

Maybe it was my state of mind, but everything in Bihar felt calmer, slower, and softer than the hectic chaos I was used to walking through. Shortly after the border crossing two brothers Satya Dev and Anish Baba stopped their bike to ask me about my journey. As soon as they learnt that, as usual, I had no idea where I would sleep tonight, they suggested "come to our place, it's just 6 km further!"

That meant around one more hour of walking, which suited my schedule perfectly. To make sure I'd successfully reach their home they spent the whole time going back and forth to check on me and give directions. They had to make their way around the fact I wouldn't sit on a bike!

I arrived at sunset and was greeted in to a modern home with every convenience I could think of. They gave me soaps for my body and clothing, telling me to carry out any cleaning I wanted, so that I would have a fresh start on the road tomorrow.

I accepted dinner but they respected my request to keep it light and gave me simple homemade Bihari food made from sattu - gram flour. I was then given a bed in a room with perfect cleanliness and plenty of mental space to write my journal, meditate, and study.

Day 69

February 20th 2024

I woke up later than I would have liked because the watch I had bought in a small market yesterday for 250 rupees - roughly 3 US dollars - was malfunctioning. I still made it on time for a Taichi lesson with Adresh, a man I had met yesterday who lived in the same building, and who had asked me if I could share my knowledge in calming the mind and body.

After the lesson, refusing breakfast was easy and I was seen off with a simple chai, two cookies, 500 rupees and heaps of love. As I took the road I reflected on today's lines: the third limb of the noble eightfold path.

“And what, bhikkhus, is right speech? Abstaining from lying, abstaining from slander and backbiting, abstaining from harsh words and abstaining from idle speech. This, bhikkhus, is called right speech.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.3

Right speech is named "sammā vācā" in Pali, an easy one to remember because the word vācā, pronounced "vacha", bears a common root with the English words "voice" or "vocal". The rules behind right speech can be summed up as "only speak in ways that help, never in ways that harm".

It sounds so obvious and so easy to apply, and yet when we actually observe our tongues... our transgressions in a single day are often more numerous than we can count. And when we really observe our minds, we notice the reason behind it is... ego, ego, and ego.

So someone asks us "How are you?" and we mechanically answer "I'm great!" Why? Because it's the easiest way to change the topic. Definitely it's true, sometimes. But the other times, would we have the courage to answer "I have problems with my girlfriend, I cried last night, my digestion is off, my job is meaningless and I'm scared of death"?

If so, then we're applying sammā vācā. However, it doesn't mean gossiping all our problems away either. The Buddha skillfully worded it as "don't saying untrue or harmful things" rather than "say true or helpful things". Why? Because that makes noble silence a perfect example of right speech! And it wonderfully suited my walking life as I always walked in silence anyway and ate in silence too unless I was asked a question by my host. In fact almost all I did was in silence, and the peace of mind was invaluable.

I sat at a roadside food stall in late morning thinking to have my first meal. But the owner seemed to be ignoring me entirely, and after asking if I could have a plate of food I sat there for ten minutes while he idled around. It was a food stall serving bati, plain fire-cooked bread buns served alongside roasted whole tomatoes, which aptly portrayed the simplicity of Bihari food. It would have taken him ten seconds to put two on a plate and hand it to me, but as he sat around ignoring my request I started making up my mind to forget about food and just keep going. Most people in my situation would have raised their voice and scolded the man, but I thought about right speech... I'd rather go hungry than have to argue for my food.

So I said in a neutral voice "It doesn't look like you're going to serve me at all, so I'll be headed off, I have a long day ahead." But the man opposite me witnessed the scene and raised his voice instead. "Sir, Baba just ordered food from you, so please serve the man! By the way, I'm paying for it."

And that's how abstaining from argument brings about not just peace of mind but also external results! Sammā vācā says that if there is a point to make, we can be honest and make it, but in a calm and composed way free from the slightest trace of aversion.

A bit later in the day I crossed a bustling market and thought it would be the chance to finally buy a working watch, as I really missed getting up at 4 am in pitch darkness like those crazy Buddhists... I found a watch shop, bought something that seemed to work, and gave them my old one for parts.

The remainder of the day was pleasant albeit increasingly hot, and in the afternoon I stopped at a roadside restaurant to sit in the shade. I realized that the end of my journey was nearing and I had so much money from donations that I could afford to make purchases with more freedom than even a local man with a job. So I asked for a chai with biscuits, a bit unusual in my lifestyle where I would usually only buy the strict necessities and otherwise accept whatever was given. But it was a perfect chance to bridge the gap between ascetic monkhood and worldly laity, and even though I was paying for it I acted no differently than when I was being offered everything. I was not a customer but a spiritual friend, and I realized that without this man's hard work and kindness and efforts in running the shop, no drink or food would ever reach my mouth even with all the money in the world. So I decided that both my attitude and gratitude would be no different than when I received charity.

The owner told me that he couldn't have chai himself because of kidney stones, which I know can turn out to be acutely painful. So I related Buddha's allegory of the two darts. Every painful event hits us in two ways: the physical suffering and the emotional distress. While the physical aspect of the pain - the first dart - is harder to avoid, the emotional pain that we add on top of it - the second dart - is within our control. Not only that, but it's the most painful amongst the two.

To remove the second dart, we accept a situation with presence. Instead of internally complaining that "This is so horrible, what did I do to deserve this, how long will it last, why am I suffering all this pain while everyone else looks perfectly fine?" we can train our minds to think "This is pain. It's not good or bad, it's the nature of life. Every sentient being in the universe feels pain. It's just a sensation and I will observe it as one. Just as it had a beginning, so shall it have an end: let me see how long it lasts." And so little by little, by this approach we become entirely free from our emotional pain, and with time even the first dart of physical pain starts to disappear...

The shop owner was pleased by my explanation, but even more so, it seemed, by the fact someone actually cared. When I asked him how much I owed him, he answered "anything you want". The exchange was so beautiful that it made me realize, even though my trip was ending soon, that there was no need to ever go back to old ways. I could keep the attitude of a wandering monk forever... In fact, that was the whole point of the trip!

After a few more hours of walking, evening drew in and I was charmed by a riverside bamboo forest not far from the roadside. I missed the peace and meditation of sleeping in nature, so I sneaked off the road, crossed the river on stones, and waited until dark to set camp in order to be left alone.

I hung my mosquito net on an overhead stalk, protruding from a clump of bamboo a good ten meters tall which perched above me, offering plenty of privacy and shelter from the wind. The setting was nothing short of paradise... After my camp was set, I bathed in the river under a nearly full moon and followed by having a romantic moonlit dinner of peanuts and peanuts with my significant other - the bamboo tree.

Day 70

February 21st 2024

I woke up to the sound of my alarm at 4 am. My what? My alarm? I have an alarm! After four days of searching! And it works too!

I got more than what I had bargained for, however: as if the gods were playing a prank, not a minute later was I hit by an instant storm, with violent gusts of wind that blew open my mosquito net and started making my sheets fly away. As I struggled with all four limbs to keep everything together, rain started pouring down too and I had to fold it all as fast as I could.

What an alarm! There was no snooze button and I had never woken up this fast in my life. But to my disbelief, at 4:10 am everything instantly stopped and it went back to a perfectly clear starry sky and windless silence. I didn't understand a thing but I was happy about the boost start. And I went about my meditation and sutra reading with increased alertness. We're now covering the fourth limb of the eightfold path. Ready?

“And what, bhikkhus, is right action? Abstaining from killing, abstaining from taking what has not been given and abstaining from sexual misconduct. This, bhikkhus, is called right action.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.4

Sammā kammanta, or right action, is not a huge deal to understand. We have already covered sīla, or ethical conduct, at the beginning of this book, subdivided into the five precepts. Right action covers three amongst the five, with the exception of refraining from lying - because it's already included in right speech - and refraining from intoxicants, because... it's not as direct an infringement on other people's well-being? Possibly. It's just a guess.

Just like we saw with sīla, it's not as much about following each rule like a robot as it is about understanding the underlying principle: perform deeds that help; don't perform deeds that harm.

So here I was pondering sīla under my significant-other-bamboo... Life as a wandering monk most definitely did make things easier. Stealing had no place in my life, and even the subtler definition of not stealing from mother earth through excessive greed was quite wholeheartedly followed, sleeping on the floor in the jungle...

Sexual misconduct? Pretty easy in my case where sexual activity itself was reduced to nil! By some good fortune, even sexual thoughts were almost entirely absent, as my mind had known since the beginning of the trip that there would be no place for that in this lifestyle. In an ordinary life though, there's obviously nothing wrong with sexual activity as long as utmost care is given to respecting the other person's wishes and acting out of love and goodwill for them instead of just personal desire.

Refraining from killing, or in a broader sense from harm towards any living being, is a tougher one: it's a fact, we kill on a daily basis whether we want to or not. It's hardly our choice though, and in Buddhist term they would call it the defects of samsara - this world is said to be fundamentally imperfect, if only because it's impossible to stay alive without killing. Our immune system itself is killing bacteria - those too considered sentient beings - every minute.

What we can do though, and this makes a perfect state of mind possible even in an imperfect world, is to see the negative intention as a sin rather than the act itself. As my dear teacher Thubten Wangdu has phrased it, "action doesn't create karma, intention does".

If we kill a bug out of frustration because it went in our food, then our frustration is the culprit and we have breached sammā kammanta. If we kill a yak in order to sustain our bodies because we live on the Himalayan plateau and we happen to have no other option for food, then obviously it's more understandable... and most importantly it wasn't born from hating the animal in any way.

Ultimately though, we are told to love the animal, which means doing our best to avoid killing any being under any circumstances. A common prayer we make is "May I become a Buddha for the benefit of all sentient beings". Buddhahood implies being free from the bondages of this material body altogether, which includes the need to kill in order to survive...

After pondering on sammā kammanta, I went about my morning by bathing in the river, still in paradise, this time with a warm sunrise instead of a cooling moon... and I folded my camp to take the road.

Rather than merely abstaining from the three "wrongs" mentioned above in right action, I expanded it to include every aspect of every movement I made throughout my day. It suited perfectly with the act of walking: every step, every hand movement, every facial movement, was to be done in a way that promotes harmony and well-being, in a way that benefits and doesn't harm.

That meant focusing on the most important physical element of Taichi as well: alignment. Every step was to be taken in cohesion with the whole body, in a relaxed way, a connected way, a mindful way. Likewise, every nervous tic or useless movement was to be noticed and let go of.

I guess all of us have them: as our mind starts wandering into worried thought, our body goes about physically harming itself without realizing it: some bite their lips, some frantically scratch their head, some pull at their hair or beard, some toy with a blemish on their face, some meddle with their nails or skin... likewise, some degrade whatever happens to be lying around, like pulling out grass, or scratching at a table, or destroying a poor pencil... it can be quite hilarious too, like a software-bug in the human system, and often we can tell what kind of thoughts somebody is having just by looking at them! Today I noticed I had them too, and every time I would catch one, my mind would equally come back to the relaxed peacefulness of enjoying the present moment.

Today's Baba question by a passer-by was about the material side of life: "Yes, spiritual life is cool, but how to make money, how to feed the family, how to afford daily life?" they would ask.

I answered that every evening, I would make a prayer of "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I be granted with a place to sleep tonight"... and that by way of karma - or by the power of the mind I don't know - I always ended up with what I asked for. If it was true that I was walking on the path of dharma, than my karma would be good. If my karma was good, then I would have every reason to receive whatever I actually needed.

Lobsang Zultrim, a Swiss monk and dear friend based in Dharamshala, has spent the last thirty years undertaking project after project, this monastery here, that house there, that living quarter... but by definition, monks don't receive salaries, they live off alms, off donation. So where does the money for both his life and all those projects come from? Well, as he aptly puts it: "Take care of dharma, and dharma will take care of you."

If take care of dharma meant clanging bells in the morning and painting monasteries red, then it wouldn't be accessible to that many of us... But what it means is universal: living a wholesome life in line with dharma. Basically, being a good person. It's within everyone's reach, in every situation!

So I told the humble man to live his life in line with dharma and make his own prayer: "In order to benefit all beings, may I receive enough to care for my needs and those of my family."

The untold mind-hack behind this Buddhist psychology trick is: if the prayer is honest, it doesn't even change if money is received or not. Real happiness comes from the first part of the prayer that wishes to benefit all beings rather than the second part that wishes to receive money.

Later in the day I was invited for lunch by a roadside restaurant owner named Abhiman who had recognized me from a "Ben Baba" interview. His mother had died in an accident because she was walking on the left side of the road, exactly as Indians are taught: in the same direction as the motorized traffic. In so doing a dozing truck driver had hit her from behind... My commitment to always walking on the other side, where I could see the traffic coming, grew even stronger, as well as my resolve never to follow anyone's faulty advice and instead do my best to open their eyes, which could well include saving their lives in the future.

By word of mouth I had come to know I could find a Buddhist temple 2 km after the city of Shivsagar. I knew it would make a long day, more than 35 km, but I was so endeared by the idea that I didn't mind the extra distance. It also meant I would reach it past dark though, so if for any reason it didn't work out I had no plan B...

When I reached the main gate I was fascinated. It was majestic and featured a large sign saying Wat Thai Sasaram, in English, Thai and Hindi scripts. My interaction with the doorman, however, was less beautiful. When I asked if I could come in, he blandly answered that "There's no one there"
"So... you're all alone then?"
"Yes..."
"So what's this huge place all about? No one can come in?"
"Yes, but only Bhutanese..."

I wondered why everything was written in Thai if this place only allowed Bhutanese. At least it meant that the doorman knew nothing about the place he was guarding, so maybe I still had a chance. "Please let me talk to the manager" I insisted. "I'm pretty sure it's not you..."

After some more arguing he agreed to fetch somebody else. It's rare for me to insist like this and I'd usually walk away rather than argue, but my options were seriously limited, standing by the side of a dusty highway in the middle of nowhere, significantly after dark...

This time came out an Indian monk, who was much less hard-headed but told me it wasn't his decision to make, that the head monk wasn't available and as a result I couldn't be let in. I was in as much dismay at having to sleep in the dust, as I was at the thought that you would have to read about such a negative experience coming from a fellow Buddhist temple! But I had exhausted my list of arguments so I said "Ok, in that case I'll sleep on the floor right here. It's my best second option..."

Surprisingly, the doorman started sweeping a space for me. So that's how it's going to be, I thought to myself, putting down my bags and remembering the story of Tibetan novices being refused entry into the monastery until they had spent no less than three days waiting at the door. It was their entrance exam to prove that they could also endure whatever followed.

It didn't take three days for me however: I barely had time to put down my bags before a third face appeared. It was the head monk, Thai this time, with a huge smile, and a level of English definitely adequate enough to greet me with these three words: "Room Number 4!"

No chit chat! I thought to myself laughing. Sammā vācā, or right speech, had been covered yesterday, but this man was a living example today! Without further ado I was led to Room Number 4, after crossing an imposing dining hall that could have hosted hundreds of people, a beautiful true-to-size stone Buddha statue, an impressively equipped kitchen full of smiling Thai staff, a free coffee/hot-chocolate/ginger-water station, and all of that so tidy that not a speck of dust appeared out of place... The pleasantly reminiscent tune of Tibetan Buddhist chanting played in the background, making the environment even more surreally perfect.

After putting down my bags in the room, I was told, with the same minimalism, "Have dinner!" then "Have ginger water!" then "Have coffee!" I had initially been thinking of refusing dinner as usual, but the idea of a Thai meal in this amazing temple environment was too alluring to refuse. As I sat down for food I was still in utter disbelief at the turn of events. I had gone straight from despair to paradise. Take care of dharma, and dharma takes care of you.

In awe, I could hardly move as the food was served. Four plates were laid in front of me, from a fancy omelette to traditional Thai soup to the highest quality rice to a plate of fresh fruit.

The Indian monk who had initially greeted me approached and sat by my side. To my shock, tears started streaming down his eyes. He seemed to be greatly regretting the fact I had been put up with so much before I was allowed in.

"What a wonder..." he pondered, "that you have chosen to come all the way to India and learn the Buddha's way... what a marvel... what a miracle... you were born in a Christian world, right? What possibly gave you the idea? I'm sorry about the doorman by the way... he's just an Indian wageworker and doesn't speak a single language in common with the manager... as for me, I'm new here... I'm so sorry..."

I was so moved by his sincerity it took me time to find my words. "Well, I took my first steps on the Buddhist path at the age of eighteen, after experiencing vivid dreams about Shaolin Monks meditating on rocks by the river. I'm pretty sure it was from a past life... so as soon as I was free from high school I went to China. Intriguingly, I ended up actually meditating with Shaolin Monks on riverside rocks just like the ones in my dream..."

Though Kung-Fu might sound unrelated to the Buddhist path, investigating their historical background reveals they actually have common roots. Shaolin literally means "Small Forest" and is the most famous style of Kung-Fu today. But aside from being visually appealing, all over Chinese and Hollywood movies, it was the name given to a temple 1'500 years ago in Henan, Northern China.

The temple's abbot and central figure was Bodhidharma, an Indian-born Buddhist monk who had travelled thousands of kilometers to transmit the essence of the Buddha's teachings. There, he taught the monks physical practices to make their bodies healthy and fit for meditation: as yogis know, the body cannot be neglected in our quest for perfecting the mind... But he also contributed something much more important than any physical practice...

After reaching Henan he sat down in meditation, staring at a wall, and didn't move until he reached full enlightenment. No Buddha. No bells. No rituals. No mantras. No pictures. No concepts. No mind. No attainment. No self. No understanding. No Bodhidharma. No wall.

￼

And that is how the practice of Zen, dauntingly minimalist and yet striking like lightening, took birth in China and spread all the way to Japan, Korea, Taiwan, and Vietnam, where it still thrives today.

After listening to me talk about my Shaolin days, the fellow monk sitting with me at the dining table introduced himself. His name was Gyan Bodhi and he was from the Indian Theravada tradition, but currently served here for the Thai groups and studied under the head monk Ajahn Vichitpong Pavapong, the one who had greeted me earlier. He then showed me around the temple and made sure I had everything I needed, before telling me good night, his face aglow with respect and affection.

This all strengthened my personal theory, undergoing constant research, that a day starting at 4 am can only end well.

Day 71

February 22nd 2024

I slept perfectly warm and dry to the soothing sound of a storm rumbling outside. It's nice to be indoors once in a while! I was given all the time and space I needed to do my meditation, sutra chanting, and Taichi, after which I met head monk Vichitpong. His smile was as big as always, and his minimalism unwavering. "Have breakfast!" he greeted me.

I still didn't know however, if the place was entirely run on donation or if there were room fees to which I had been made an exception... So I asked him "Can I make a donation to you?"
"The donation box is over there... but don't feel compelled!"

Only then did I realize that his minimalism in speech had nothing to do with a shortage in English vocabulary. What kind of beginner would possibly use a word like "compelled"? Do you know how to say "compelled" in any foreign language? It became clear that on top of his outstanding compassion he was greatly educated and a master at right speech.

The fact that all this was based on anonymous donations made my respect grow even more, and I donated more than I had anywhere else on this journey. This was also a perfect chance for me to practice right livelihood, the fifth limb of the eightfold path and the subject of today's sutra reading.

“And what, bhikkhus, is right livelihood? Here, bhikkhus, a noble disciple having given up wrong ways of livelihood earns his livelihood by right means. This, bhikkhus, is called right livelihood.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.5

This looks a bit bare-bones, but more elaborate explanations of sammā ājīva, or right livelihood, can be found in Buddha's other sutras: earning one's material and financial income in an ethical way, a way that helps others, a way that doesn't harm them.

Healthcare is a such a noble field, for example, and yet if the doctor's only aim is to sell more medication and make more money out of his patients, he's absolutely breaching right livelihood. Likewise, business management may look like a rather selfish profession aimed at amassing money, but a businessman who sees his job as a necessary step in delivering goods from the producer to the customer, who truly cares for their well-being and works for their benefit, is in perfect alignment with right livelihood.

So sammā ājīva is not about what we do but what intention we have behind it. And what about me and my life as a wandering monk? If I was going around begging for people to put money in my bowl and counting my coins like a salary, than I wouldn't be more than a greedy beggar in monk's clothing. India is thriving with them, unfortunately, and it's a common thing for beggars to realize they could make more money by wearing robes and pretending to be religious. As a result they defamed the name of religion itself...

A monk is not supposed to expect anything in his begging bowl, and neither did I. Whatever people gave me, I accepted. Whatever people didn't give me, I accepted. With this attitude, not only was I refraining from being a parasite who makes a living by annoying people, I was also giving them a chance to practice generosity, the greatest cause of happiness!

According to the Buddhist teachings, when someone gives me money out of their goodwill, they receive immeasurably more than I do. What I receive is a few paper notes that can buy food for my temporary body. What they receive is the indescribable happiness of doing a good thing, the virtuous karma which will stay with them until their next lives, and most of all the diminishing of their ego, the source of all suffering in the world.

What I really received, though, was also more valuable than money: the humbleness of accepting whatever the world gave me. The diminishing of ego which came with that humbleness. And the boundless freedom of not expecting anything...

Without a doubt, as long I was receiving like a monk and not a beggar, then this whole practice was of tremendous benefit to both giver and receiver, which is why the Buddha had monks live like this in the first place. This makes it perfect sammā ājīva, right livelihood.

As long as I didn't expect anything in my bowl, of course... and the mind is always so sneaky and tricky. But I was doing my best, and at least I never asked anything from anyone, except for an overnight roof once in a while, as I often didn't have much choice when night would fall.

Sammā ājīva also includes spending one's money in an ethical way, which is why standing in front of the donation box led to a very meaningful contemplation inside me. I was getting astonishingly near Bodhgaya, and the chance of a medical emergency that would require money was getting slimmer and slimmer... So I could afford to donate generously with peace of mind. It felt right. It felt great.

Afterwards I was served breakfast, which I accepted because the place was still too good to be true, and on my way out was greeted by smiles from every direction and a goodie box of surprises.

Upon later opening it, I saw it contained an adorable assortment of little pastries and cupcakes and savory pancakes. Talking about right livelihood, Buddha also suggested that one quarter of whatever we earn should be donated - be it to the poor or to monks or to a place that houses or helps them. Another quarter would go for our personal needs... and the remaining half for savings in case we or somebody else would need them. It was just a box of pastries and not a thousand dollars, but meaningful nonetheless, and for fun I accordingly divided it, giving one quarter to children I met by the roadside and keeping one half for later. If I remember well.

In terms of kilometers, today was much shorter than yesterday, a welcome break from the intensity of my previous days' walk... and a chance to find a computer place in the city of Sasaram in order to send an "I'm alive!" to my folks. While at it, I also printed ten more copies of the Metta Sutta which we studied in the beginning, as I had been handing them around and people were always delighted. The computer place didn't let my pay for any of their services, by the way.

Sasaram was the final major city of my journey and also my last chance to sleep at a Sikh temple, so I decided I would go there no matter what. It would be my 22nd night, on this trip alone, hosted by the Sikh community. Their help in my life cannot be measured... And once again I was greeted lovingly, by a bright 24-year young man named Pankaj Singh, the youngest Sikh temple manager I had ever met, and yet he shone with such wisdom, knowledge, and enthusiasm for the teachings that his age seemed completely irrelevant.

Pankaj showed my around the ancient temple. It was founded in 1'666 and intimidatingly named Shri Gurudwara Chacha Faggumal Saheb Ji. I was told the father of Guru Gobind Singh Ji - one of the most central figures in the Sikh religion - had meditated here. The place was both historically significant but also homely and warm, family-run by Pankaj's father, mother, grandma, brother, and sisters, who were all an absolutely lovable, friendly, and laughing lot.

I was asked piercing questions about meditation and my answers were appreciated. Our discussion reflected once again just how universal this practice was, regardless of what anyone called their religion. I was asked very sincere questions about relationships as well... "What to do when there's conflict? Should we stay together by force, or call it a break-up?"

I answered with a simile we commonly use to describe meditation. "As long as you keep stirring the water you will never see through it. All you have to do is stop. Don't call it a break-up, just spend time by yourself until the mud has settled to the bottom. Then, the answer will come with piercing clarity. That's why we go on retreat." Alongside our brotherly discussions I was served chai upon chai and food made with love. They felt like my own family and I had a remarkable time.

To sleep, I was laid out a carpet on the marble floor of the ancient temple, surrounded by countless Sikh saints including my favorites Guru Nanak and Shri Guru Ravidas, all looking upon me with compassionate eyes.

Day 72

February 23rd 2024

“And what, bhikkhus, is right effort? Here, bhikkhus, a monk generates the will to prevent the arising of unarisen wrong unwholesome mental states; he makes strong effort, stirs up his energy, applies his mind to it and strives.

To eradicate those wrong unwholesome mental states that have arisen in him, he generates the will, makes strong effort, stirs up his energy, applies his mind to it and strives.

To develop wholesome mental states that have not yet arisen in him, he generates will, makes strong effort, stirs up his energy, applies his mind to it and strives.

To maintain wholesome mental states that have arisen in him, not to let them fade away, to multiply them and bring them to full maturity and to full development, he generates will, makes strong effort, stirs up his energy, applies his mind to it and strives.

This, bhikkhus, is called right effort.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.6

Right effort, or "sammā vāyāma" in Pali, overlaps what we previously studied in the seven factors of enlightenment: viriya, which translated in English, if you remember, as joyous effort or enthusiasm.

So they are related but not the same. I like to see vāyāma as the superhero version of viriya, because not only does the Buddha's definition of vāyāma include viriya to begin with, but it also mentions "putting our whole mind to it" and "striving", whereas the practice of viriya in the factors of enlightenment simply instructed us to be aware of its presence or its absence. That might explain why sammā vāyāma comes after viriya in the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, as it points to a more intensive practice.

After waking up in the temple's main hall and doing my practice in total peace, I was invited to a silent cup of chai over biscuits, and seen off early with no socializing apart from goodbye. I loved it. And one of my first encounters in the streets made for a perfect chance to practice sammā vāyāma.

"Namaskar!" I addressed a local shop owner. "Could you tell me the direction to the next city Aurangabad?"
"Yeah, it's this way!" he pointed.
I checked my compass. "It can't possibly be that way, that's the opposite direction... Are you sure?"
"Yeah I'm sure. Cross the road, go straight for a few minutes, then turn left... there's a bus station."
"Uh, no, I'm sorry, I'm going on foot."
"Yeah, you go straight, turn left, and take a bus."
"By 'on foot' I mean first my left foot, than my right, then left again, and so on, until I reach Aurangabad. On foot. Walking." But he stopped answering and stood there staring at me. Finally I had to get directions from someone else, and it was indeed the opposite way.

What do you think? Should I have behaved differently? Maybe. But more important than what I should have done is what I'm doing right now with my mind. The sutra tells us to meticulously observe the state of our mind... my old habit pattern would have surely grumbled something along the lines of "Thank God everybody's not like this guy, I wouldn't have made it past the very first village..."

But the sutra makes it clear that this would be an unwholesome thought, absolutely useless and benefitting nobody. And merely being aware of that was enough to practically prevent anything from sprouting up.

The moments during my walk where I would go deeper into the practice and actually put my whole mind to perfect mental conduct were nothing short of magical: the weight of my bags would disappear and my body would seem to dissolve... Then a passer-by would appear. "Babaji, where are you from? Can I take a selfie?"

And I would realize with a half-hearted laugh that suddenly all the magic would be gone and the coarse material world would come back weighing on me with all its bluntness... With certainty the most demanding part of my trip was not the 1'800 km but the 1'800 selfies and chit-chats, which could go on all day and often during much of the night... But awareness is an incomplete practice without the inclusion of compassion, and I saw how meditation had to be joined with selfies in order to progress wholesomely on the path. It was all part of dharma.

In late afternoon I reached a bridge longer than 3 km which would take almost an hour to cross. I knew it would be wonderful - a much anticipated chance for meditation, as there would be no shops, houses, or chances for the traffic to stop. But just before my holiday, I was stopped for an interview that took a bit of an unwelcome direction. The man asked me a few casual questions before changing the topic to defame the Muslim religion.

"What Muslims truly want is to kill anyone who is non-Muslim" he started, as if I had asked.
"If that were true, I'd be dead a long time ago. I've slept in countless mosques and Muslims' homes. They never said I deserved to die. They only said I deserved chai and food and lodging and the very best they could possibly offer me."
"Their populations are slowly increasing. Their master plan is to take over and make everyone Muslim or dead."
"Such people are there, who want to kill others. In the name of all religions. But they're sick in their minds. Their violence is not due to religion, it's due to their minds. If you want to blame something, blame the ego. We all have one, and it's our duty to lessen it, to make peace."
"Ok, anyway, I advise you to take a different road, because the one your headed for is unsafe. You'll be looted."
"Thank you for the advice. I'll be fine."

I didn't ask, of course, but I was pretty sure he had Muslims in mind when he gave me that "advice". Ironically, the very first encounter on the other side of the bridge was with a Muslim restaurant owner. "Come, sit down, have chai! Have anything on the menu!" Were his first words. I sat down and he didn't try to kill me.

"I'm a vegetarian though..." I said, pointing to the fact there was chicken in just about every dish.
"Aha... so I will order something for you from the Hindu restaurant next door! In fact, you need a place to sleep? He's my friend, you sleep there, there's plenty of space!" I was like in a movie, enacting an encounter orchestrated by the producers to prove at which point the interviewer was wrong.

I did in fact need a place to sleep and his timing was perfect, so I was given both dinner a solid-wood takat in the corner of the large spacious and quiet restaurant next-door.

Day 73

February 24th 2024

“And what, bhikkhus, is right mindfulness? Here, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing body within body, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

He abides observing sensation within sensation, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

He abides observing mind within mind, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

He abides observing phenomena within phenomena, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

This, bhikkhus, is called right mindfulness.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.7

Reminiscent, I'm sure. Not only have we already seen sati, or mindfulness, as the first of the seven factors of enlightenment, but today's entire sutra happens to be a repetition of the introduction to the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta that we saw 44 days ago. Why are we talking about this again?

Because this time it's sammā sati, or right mindfulness. To understand what makes it right, we can think of the difference between the sati of a chess player - piercing unwavering mathematical mindfulness - and the sati of a Buddha - mindfulness beyond this world. Mindfulness joint with wisdom.

As far as I know, nobody has become a Buddha by playing chess. So while sati is a necessary part of the path to enlightenment, it's not enough unto itself. It must be joined with wisdom. With diligence, clear knowing, and freedom from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

However focused and diligent a chess player's mind may be, it's probably imbued with craving - he definitely wants to win. Otherwise why would he play? And if he's starting to lose the game, he may be overcome by aversion towards his opponent. So he's not free from craving or aversion... and what about clearly knowing? Clearly knowing, or sampajānno, has been expanded as "by clearly knowing the impermanence of all phenomena".

So this all may seem like a lot to think about at the same time... But don't worry! Remember that each step is happier, lighter, wiser, more compassionate, and more enlightened than the one before. Ever so slightly, but it's true! Each step brings you further than you ever have been on the path. Every sutra reading, every meditation, every step is a reason to rejoice!

Even more so, in my case, that my morning was a walk in the park... a tropical park of palm trees and clear-water streams and peace-loving goats and cows and sheep and ducks on picturesque village roads without the slightest traffic. Yesterday's right effort was beneficial without a doubt, but I don't know if I could have maintained that level of focus on a daily basis, and today's sati seemed to have been placed there specifically to bring a balance: a more relaxed attitude, my job was to observe, just observe...

At some point I noticed a small goat that had tied its legs up accidentally in the rope that was usually meant to keep her in range. I crouched down and started helping it out of its painful bondage, but its owner came with an angry face, probably worried that this weird Baba from another planet would be running away with her goat. So I explained the problem, and let her finish untying the goat herself. Then I added that this goat was a sentient being that feared pain, and at that I gave it a greeting by joining my hands the Indian way. To my surprise the villager's face went from anger to joy!

Later in the day I saw a young girl slip with her bicycle on her way from school and crash hard onto the ground. I approached her, picked the bike up, and asked if she needed water to clean any wounds. "Oh, I don't need anything... But you must be hungry. Have this!" She handed me the only thing she was carrying, a small bag containing potato pakora, before heading onwards. And that's how oddly the world gave me my first meal!

As the sun was nearing the horizon I reached my day's destination of Obra, and the prayer I made this time was "Today was short and easy so please please please may I have a super early night and super early start tomorrow to make up for it in terms of distance?"

I asked passers-by for the nearest temple and headed there without thinking. It was a small Shiva temple with a bit of space to lay my sheets on a tile floor. It was deserted and perfectly quiet... or so I thought, until locals showed up to worship Shiva but decided I should be worshipped too, bringing me sweets and chais and water and questions about dharma.

"Are you following Hindu practices or Buddha's way?"
"That's an easy one to answer because in my eyes they both teach the same way: meditation as the path out of suffering."
"Wonderful! Also, I'd like to know, do you happen to know this guy, he's also a western Baba, he's from Switzerland... his name is... Banjo... Benju Baba I think..."
"Do you mean Ben Baba?"
"Yes that's it!"
Whether I know him or not is a good question, but to keep it simple I answered mundanely. "Yes, well... it's me."

He was delighted, of course, but I was starting to worry about my hopefully early night... Word got around until a crowd had formed around me, filling the small innocent Shiva temple. It all looked like the recipe for a nightmare instead of a night's sleep... But, fortunately, if they saw me as this great Guru than they might also heed my words, so I told them they were all very sweet but at some point I needed to be left in silence, let alone for my own practice and sleep.

To my pleasant surprise the crowd ended up dissolving. I was then left in peace save for a few stray visitors bringing offerings here and there, and asking questions like "Babaji, my life is full of problems, please do something..." to which I would answer things like "It is you who must do something: meditation."

Day 74

February 25th 2024

“And what, bhikkhus, is right concentration? Here, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu detached from craving and detached from unwholesome mental states, enters into the first meditative absorption, born from detachment, accompanied by initial and sustained attention, filled with joy and bliss, and he dwells therein.

With the subsiding of initial and sustained attention, gaining inner tranquility and oneness of mind, he enters into the second meditative absorption, born from concentration, free from initial and sustained attention, filled with joy and bliss, and he dwells therein.

After the fading away of joy he dwells in equanimity, clearly knowing, and he experiences in his body the bliss of which the noble ones say: “That bliss is experienced by one with equanimity and mindfulness.” Thus he enters the third meditative absorption and dwells therein.

After the eradication of pleasure and pain and with joy and grief having previously passed away, he enters into a state beyond pleasure and pain, the fourth meditative absorption, that is totally purified by equanimity and awareness, and he dwells therein.

This, bhikkhus, is called right concentration.”

- Maha Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, 19.8

Isn't today's read endearing? A dip into the blissful states that one can reach through meditation, and how to identify where one is on the path. What has here been called meditative absorption, or jhāna in Pali, refers to stages of meditation that we reach as we apply samādhi - concentration.

This is the eighth and final limb of the noble eightfold path, and the gap is large, obviously, between reading about these states and actually experiencing them... but that's no reason to be discouraged. The gap between tracing our plan on a paper map and actually climbing the mountain is equally large, and yet one leads straight to the next.

To fully honor the closure of the eightfold path and the invaluable practice of samādhi I decided to take a vow of silence for the day: not one word would come out of my mouth until tomorrow morning. Noble silence has too many benefits to list... When we stop talking to everyone all the time, we finally start to hear ourselves. The effects on the mind are miraculous and can give a taste of the stages just described in the sutra.

I woke up at 3:50 am and did my meditation, sutra reading, and Taichi without losing time in order to avoid any early morning chai-fruit-selfie visits at the temple. It worked, and I left the temple without having to greet a single soul except for Shiva's, to whom I bowed reverently, thanking him for the night.

I took to the streets in pitch darkness, praying that the way out of town would be clear enough, as asking for directions would be quite a challenge with my vow of silence. But the world listened to my request and manifested a road sign indicating just where to turn right for the city of Rafiganj. I was so grateful that I almost hugged the sign!

I thought no one would invite me for anything today, with my snobbish socially crippled attitude of non-interaction with anyone, but as soon as the dawn broke I was already invited to sit by a fellow Babaji with long dreadlocks, dressed in orange robes. To make things clear without having to speak a word, I had written मौन on my arm, pronounce "maun" and meaning vow of silence. I showed him my arm, and unlike some, he perfectly understood... it was a wonderful feeling of brotherhood, Baba understands Baba!

Recognizing my face as western, he had no way to know whether I understood Hindi or not so he spoke in signs, making him even more adorable. His first gesture was one of milking a cow. I nodded with joy and sat down. He proceeded to bring a bottle of milk, which the silence allowed me to enjoy all the more. I reflected on the fact that when I would be invited, everything I usually "gave back" in terms of talking and entertainment, I would now have to give in the form of presence. It was even better.

By word of mouth and early-rising neighbors, five people ended up sitting around us and everyone slowly came to a silence... It was so peaceful. And after twenty minutes or so of sitting in harmony and presence, my departure was just as easy as my arrival. Instead of giving excuses that I had a long road ahead or having to argue against "please sit for one more glass", I could just stand up, give a namaste-goodbye to everyone and head off. My actions were my language, no need for explanations, and life became so simple.

From lack of first-hand information, people who I met on the road would start creating stories about my life. They would talk to each other and by word of mouth guesses would become facts. Before I knew it, I was a Nepali Baba who had held his vow of silence since childhood and had been walking for three years. Sure, I could be that for them. If that was the price to pay for all the talking to be done by someone else, I didn't mind at all!

The silence made the practice of samādhi much more effective and as I crossed villages I felt like I was observing the world from above, within the peaceful palace of my mind... The day was lengthy too though and didn't come without its share of challenges. In early afternoon I was invited for chai but the chai never came, and they loopholed my vow of silence by bringing out pen and paper. They were completely beside the point, as if my silence was due to a physical disability...

They started writing a list of questions while I sat there face-palming, and then they expected me to answer everything in written form, like homework. Reluctantly I started answering, but I would have been better off pretending to be illiterate. Finally, they asked to see my passport and visa.

Still by written form, I asked if they were the police. They answered that "No, we're just curious!" So I refused to withdraw my documents, and they insisted once more. I concluded that they were either lying policemen or fraudsters. There was no way I would endorse any of those, so I stood up and left, bidding them goodbye with joint hands.

It turns out I was right about their honesty. Thirty minutes later a minibus showed up with half-a-dozen soldiers wearing uniforms and Kalashnikovs. Two officers came out with a sheet of paper they had prepared that looked just like the one my pretend-friends had conjured earlier. I wasn't sure why all the weapons were necessary, but if that meant they suspected an occult Baba with special powers than I guess it was flattering!

They had no idea how to interact with a wordless man like me however, and their imposing look was quickly betrayed by such awkwardness that the whole thing became a comical scene. At least this time they weren't pretending to be civilians, so I showed them my documents. To answer their question of where I was headed without breaking my vow, I also withdrew my map and showed them my route.

Their final question this time was if they could do anything to help me, which was almost sweet. Obviously, the only thing I needed from them was to be left alone, a thought which I didn't express verbally or physically, so I just joined my hands in namaste, hoping for goodbye.

"Why on earth is it on my day of silence that I have problems with the police?" I wondered, deeply hoping that this goodbye would be the end of the episode. Arguing my way out of a sticky situation would be near impossible without the use of words: the vow made me at the mercy of whatever the world would throw at me. Yet another benefit, by the way, of noble silence: acceptance. Surrender. Letting go.

I also reflected on the fact that the night where Buddha reached enlightenment in Bodhgaya - which was only a two-days' walk by now - he was attacked by an army of ferocious demons with weapons. They drew their bows and started firing arrows, but he remained adamantly unperturbed, knowing that they were only the demons of his own mind. More specifically, they were his aversion, the inner demon which outweighs all the external enemies in the world. By that knowledge alone, their arrows turned to flowers and they vanished like an illusion.

If the Buddha could deal with an army of demons shooting arrows, I could certainly deal with a minibus of confused soldiers slinging futile questions. They were also creations of my own mind and whatever difficulties they could cause were only proportional to whatever aversion I felt towards them.

I must have passed the test though, because likewise they vanished. And that was the end of my challenges too: my dream came true of finding an isolated, quiet, and peaceful place to sleep under the night sky. I sat at the foot of a palm tree, towards which I expressed my thanks, and unfolded my bedding. This secluded paradise meant I could keep my vow until morning without the slightest issue, and reap all the benefits from my quietened mind by meditating under the full moon, which adorned the dreamy landscape like in a fairy tale...

Day 75

February 26th 2024

“Bhikkhus, if anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for seven years, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

Let alone seven years, bhikkhus, if anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for six years, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

Let alone six years... five years… four years… three years… two years… one year… seven months… six months… five months… four months… three months… two months… one month… half a month…

Let alone half a month bhikkhus. If anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for seven days, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

So it was with reference to this that it was said: Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana, namely, the four pillars of mindfulness.

That is what the Blessed One said. The monks were satisfied and delighted in the Blessed One’s words.”

- Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta, conclusion

My day started at 4 am meditating, and reading the sutra's commentary under the full moon. Today's reading was on nirvana. What has been translated here as final knowledge, in Pali called aññā, refers to the wisdom that leads directly to nirvana. And even though the Buddha stating so many different time frames in a row, from seven years to seven days, may seem odd to a first-reader, what it points to is that how fast we will progress on the path depends on our previous karmas, how spiritually inclined our current life has been, how compassionate our previous lives were... We may have been on the path for many lives, like was the case with Buddha, in which case just seven days of practicing whole-heartedly would be enough to trigger enlightenment, nirvana, ultimate liberation from all forms of suffering.

But more importantly, this all points to the fact that one thing is absolutely for certain: it may be sooner or it may be later, but it's just a matter of time before we ourselves reach that state. This concluding section of the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta is the Buddha's own seal of assurance: anyone walking this path is bound to reach ultimate happiness.

My meditation under the full moon seemed to have a touch of nirvana to itself... such inner calm, such outer calm, such stillness... not a thing seemed to exist except for the palm trees above, the open field ahead, and the moon illuminating the world with its soft glow. After more than 24 hours of silence, my mind was also a joy to be in.

However, I would be raising my vow of silence soon: from the next town onwards, I would be on tiny village paths completely off any map and I wouldn't make it past the first crossing of trails if I couldn't ask for directions. As great as was my joy of being in silence, was my reluctance to having to talk again... I was, in fact, developing aversion towards socializing, and it was alarming to say the least! "Am I even progressing on the path at all?" I started worrying...

But then I remembered the sutra. Seven years... seven months... seven days... but however long the path, progress is guaranteed. Yes, the immediate fluctuations can appear as progress followed by regress... But never are we to be discouraged, because the big picture is one of steady progress alone. With that in mind, every "regress" is actually part of the progress. Our only role is to be aware of it, with equanimity and understanding, not frustration. Wisdom is all it takes to turn every bad into good.

And the same applied to me and my aversion towards speech: as soon as I recognized it, I realized that I was indeed progressing in wisdom. To successfully tread the path, however, wisdom must always be coupled with compassion just as a bird needs two wings to fly... so without interrupting my walk I chose to spend the next fifteen minutes with metta and the four people. It is a short guided meditation on loving-kindness that I invite you to do with me now. I invite you to sit upright, relax your shoulders, loosen your grasp on the book or device but in a way where you can keep reading, keep your eyes only slightly open and ease your mind to follow the coming instructions.

￼

First of all, let's bring to mind the last time we did anything selfless, anything to help anyone. It can be as simple as holding a door open or saying a nice word. When was the last time for you? Think about it now.

Next, let's reflect on the fact that the only way to truly help anyone in the world is to find peace within ourselves. If we are tormented by the fires of anger and craving, how can we possibly hope to give coolness and peace to anyone else?

So in the name of the happiness of all beings, which includes us, we will begin by sending metta to ourselves with a set of short phrases, or intentions, that we will repeat within our minds. Let's give one or two breaths of space between each phrase to allow it to digest.

May I be happy.

May I be peaceful.

May I be free.

Free from worry.

Free from anger.

Free from hate.

Free from ego.

May I shine with love... love towards myself and towards all those around me.

￼

Now, let's move to the second person, which we call the friend. Bring to mind someone in your life who you already feel close to, who you already love, or who you already appreciate. Choose such a person now before starting the next paragraph.

...

To thank that person, or being, for everything they have brought to our lives, we will wish them the same simple intentions.

May you be happy.

May you be peaceful.

May you be free.

Free from worry.

Free from anger.

Free from hate.

Free from ego.

May you shine with love... love towards yourself and towards all those around you.

￼

The third one we call the neutral person. Bring to mind someone in your life towards whom you don't have strong feelings one way or another. You may hardly know them, or just see them once in a while... Choose someone now.

...

Keeping in mind the fact that this person too simply wants to be happy and doesn't want to suffer, we will wish them the same simple intentions.

May you be happy.

May you be peaceful.

May you be free.

Free from worry.

Free from anger.

Free from hate.

Free from ego.

May you shine with love... love towards yourself and towards all those around you.

￼

The fourth and final person we call the enemy. If you happen not to have any sworn enemies, that's great news, but most probably you have a grudge towards someone out there. This fourth person can be anyone towards whom we feel the slightest trace of negativity, anyone conflictual, anyone we don't like or don't understand. Take a minute to choose someone now, before you start the next paragraph. If you actually can't find anyone, that's such a remarkable reason to rejoice that you can conveniently replace the fourth part of this meditation by... rejoicing.

...

Now, whoever it is, let's bring to mind the fact that this person is also simply doing their best to be happy and to avoid suffering, like the three others. They may make mistakes... but we all make mistakes.

It equally helps to bear in mind that even if we are looking for our happiness alone, we will never truly find it until we have dissolved our knots, our grudge, our aversion, towards anyone else out there... even if we were never to meet them again. With this in mind let's go through the same simple intentions towards this person, or being, we have a conflict with.

May you be happy.

May you be peaceful.

May you be free.

Free from worry.

Free from anger.

Free from hate.

Free from ego.

May you shine with love... love towards yourself and towards all those around you.

I forgive you for any harm you may have caused me or others. If I don't find it in me to actually forgive, at least I have planted a seed, and that alone is an immensely virtuous act.

￼

We can conclude the meditation by returning to ourselves and radiating love within our own bodies. May every cell be well. May ever layer of my being be peaceful...

Slowly, we can let this intention radiate outwards, to the people or beings in our direct vicinity... May they be well, may they be peaceful...

Now we can let it radiate even further, to everyone in our region, country, planet, universe. May all beings be happy. May all beings be peaceful. May all beings be free.

￼

In my continued stated of inner silence the meditation had a deep effect on me and my first real human encounter was far from unpleasant. In fact our conversation was loving, succinct, wise and meaningful. I was very happy of where things were going.

The coming city, Guraru, however, had a bigger challenge in store for me: when I reached the bustling city center someone asked to interview me on camera, and before I knew it a crowd of maybe thirty had formed around me. I answered whatever questions were thrown at me but I honestly couldn't wait to be out of there... It was only 9 am and I was still in rehab from my day of silence... This was way too much.

As soon as he turned his camera off the crowd started insisting to invite me to whatever they could. Chai? Food? Cold drinks? The situation was so hectic that I refused everything with the sole wish to find silence again, then I broke out of the crowd and disappeared. It worked and nobody followed me to take selfies, leaving me to wonder if I hadn't appeared a bit rude... but my sanity needed it, and in no time I came back to the soothing peace of oblivion.

Not only was my wish to find silence fulfilled, but I was granted more seclusion than anything I had dared to hope for: the entire remainder of the day was spent on tiny earthen roads through straw-roof mud-hut villages from another age, with nothing stirring apart from palm trees gently swaying in the wind, occasional free-roaming cows minding their business, local rice-field farmers doing their work and stunningly large reptilian creatures coming in and out of their burrows.

I meditatively trod what would be some of the last trails in my pilgrimage, chanting the final words of the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta with a tear in my eye. Ekāyano ayaṃ, bhikkhave, maggo sattānaṃ visuddhiyā...

"Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana..."

Walking on those barrens roads felt like being in another dimension, and I contemplated the entire Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta that I had been living day and night for the past months. The circumstances were unbelievable... I was reaching Bodhgaya tomorrow morning - this was my last full day of walk - and it just happened to coincide with the end of the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta.

There was no way I could have even tried to plan this... with a thousand factors beyond my control, how could I possibly have estimated the number of days that an 1'800 km walk would take? And yet there I was, observing such an astonishing alignment that it felt once again like it had to be made by some higher force.

I was very keen on sleeping in nature as that would mean meditating instead of talking, and I was so close to the point where Buddha had reached enlightenment under a tree, open sky, that it would mean everything in the world to spend the night myself under a tree, open sky.

So as darkness descended I found a spot in the fields, did my best to avoid snakes, hung my mosquito net to a small palm tree, and laid my plastic tarp on a patch of crumbly dry earthen ground with pointy crop stubs sticking out. It wasn't halfway as cozy as yesterday's grassy paradise but I was enchanted by the idea of spending my last night in utter silence...

Part IV

Reunion

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￼

Day 76

February 27th 2024

This marks the end of the Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta. The end of the struggle. The end of my daily worry of "Where am I going to sleep tonight?" The end of arguing to refuse breakfast and dinner in order to hopefully complete my daily distance. The end of going to the bathroom in the middle of nowhere and falling into puddles of muck in the dark. The end of sleeping in barren fields with all-night party music from the neighboring village...

Because yes, it turns out my last night in nature was actually not at all peaceful as I had dreamed it to be, despite my best efforts in going far from civilization: as soon as I lay down my head to sleep, the loudest, most mind-numbing party music started roaring out of a neighboring village's speakers... and believe it or not, they didn't take a break, get tired or run out of power until 5 am when they finally stopped the music, but by that time my morning meditation was finished anyway. So much for my last epic night!

But expectations are the opposite of meditation, they say. They also say meditation is not about creating the perfect external conditions for peace, but creating the perfect inner peace no matter what external conditions the world throws at you! If meditation was just about "feel good when all is good", then it would be utterly pointless. We already had that before!

It also helped to remember that my last night was not entirely unlike Buddha's last night in the palace: he chose a full-moon party night with dancing girls and loud music and endless alcohol to run away, while everyone else was too drunk and distracted to notice. So it soothed me somewhat to know that this kind of party was not a modern-day phenomena and had already been bothering meditators since 2'500 years.

Somehow I was still in a good mood at 5 am, not just because the party had finally stopped but because I knew the day ahead would be life-changing anyway. The culmination of three months of walking in the minimal conditions to reach the most sacred Buddhist site in the world just had to be memorable... But in a way this was also the culmination of a 4-year-and-3-month foot journey which had started in my mother's hometown in Czech Republic, made it to Dharamshala in North-West India, sat there until covid and visa conditions would align for the next part, and now had proceeded through Northern India to Bihar. For many years and millions of steps had I been dreaming about this day...

Our entire sutra being complete, I would dedicate this day to sitting back in my mind and enjoying the benefits of the totality of the teachings, like a new spiritual toolbox designed to handle whatever would come my way. "To honor, value, and make best use of the precious teachings acquired during these months in the school of dharma which has given me everything," I prayed, "may I embody them with my whole being, for today and forever."

My walk was anchored in the present, full of marvel, and before I knew it I had reached the western gate of Bodhgaya. Walking the last few kilometers to the city center was a beholding inner journey, recollecting all the hardships and joys involved in getting here... So much had happened it was beyond the grasp of my mind.

Ekāyano ayaṃ, bhikkhave, maggo sattānaṃ visuddhiyā. Sokaparidevānaṃ samatikkamāya, dukkhadomanassānaṃ atthaṅgamāya, ñāyassa adhigamāya, nibbānassa sacchikiriyāya, yadidaṃ cattāro satipaṭṭhānā.

"Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings. For the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana, namely, the four pillars of mindfulness."

The road was adorned with temples from all kinds of Buddhist countries, traditions and architectural styles... and yet I walked straight, full of emotion but meditative and undistracted, until I reached the Mahabodhi temple, the landmark erected to commemorate the exact place where the Buddha had reached enlightenment.

I had only ever seen it in pictures... but pictures couldn't convey the aura of energy surrounding it, born from thousands of years of of devoted spiritual practice from highly realized masters of all traditions, who would come from faraway lands to pay homage and meditate here... the Mecca of Buddhism. You could feel it from outside the temple grounds already... a magnetic force seemed to radiate into the streets and alleyways around, pervading my body with the hair-raising feeling that I was approaching something really big.

As I drew nearer, I noticed the spire poke out from the distance... a golden spire reaching up into the sky where it seemed to be making a connection with the beyond. And slowly, the whole edifice became clearer, with its intricately sculpted sandstone and perfect geometry...

I finally came face to face with the tower and dropped to the ground, prostrating as low as I could, my entire being bowing down to the grandness of where I was. This was it. I had arrived.

I had hardly done anything though. The world had done it for me. The world had laid out all this spirituality on a silver platter and all the conditions to practice it. This was... unbelievable. The value of what I was being gifted was beyond comprehension. There was no way I could bow low enough to honor this. So I just lay there face down on the marble floor, dumbfounded.

Buddhist chanting echoed in the distance and seemed to be coming from the heavens... the ground was warm, the sky sunlit... the air so peaceful, the people so calm... this was the pinnacle of pleasantness, of well-being, of comfort, of bliss. After some time of enjoying my horizontal state, I slowly stood up and started making my way around the edifice in walking meditation until I reached the Bodhi Tree, growing alongside its west face.

More than 2'500 years had passed since the Buddha's enlightenment, but by meticulous human care a descendant of the same tree was still standing today. The first mishap had occurred in the 3rd century BC during the reign of the incredibly devoted emperor Ashoka. He was so passionate about the Buddha's teachings and keen on preserving this sacred tree that his wife was overcome with jealousy: he was giving more attention to the dharma than to herself.

It's true, when we really tread the path of dharma, we come to realize that nothing can outweigh its importance. In a way, it's the only thing that really matters. What else are we going to do with our lives when we finally grasp that every action aimed at a material or physical result will just end up in ashes and dust? That doesn't mean we can't do anything on the physical plane, as was the case with my walk to Bodhgaya. But the underlying motivation behind everything we do should be the inner result and not the material outcome.

We can build a house or grow food, great! But our house-building or food-growing or money-making lives will obviously come to a meaningless and depressive ending unless we have a deeper underlying motive behind everything we do.

If you're reading this book after a lasting interest in dharma, chances are you've been through this too: if a wife or husband or partner doesn't understand the dharma themselves, they might feel like it's threatening the love or gratification or attachment they're used to receiving. If their significant other becomes happy and independent, free from craving and discontent in regard to the world, then who will be there to crave them? Of course, if a wife or husband wants to be craved, that's a self-centered attitude and not a sign of love to begin with. True love would say "I am happy for you because you found happiness within yourself!"

So Ashoka's wife wasn't exactly practicing true love when she broke into a crisis and decided to cut down the sacred Bodhi Tree. According to historical records, her plan worked and the tree died, but Ashoka managed to save a cutting and it was carried to Sri Lanka, the first country where Buddhism spread after India. In Sri Lanka, the cutting was carefully regrown into a new tree, after which another cutting was brought back and planted in the exact same place. So by a series of both unfortunate and fortunate events, the tree standing today was a direct descendant of the original tree under which Buddha reached enlightenment. And we could feel it...

I joined the monks of various colors and traditions that sat under its shade on the cool marble floor. The feeling of release was overwhelming. All that could be done had been done. The final journey was inside, beyond space and time, beyond this human form's coming and going... the practice of awareness and love... wisdom and compassion...

Tears streamed down my face in awe at the world and gratitude at the story it had given me. Here I was, facing Buddha's own illumination. We have covered so many meditation practices over these past months... which one would be appropriate for me now?

None of them. No practice could possible honor this moment. Nothing. Empty space. So I sat there with no practice, no technique, just being... being the universe, being a wave, a wave of consciousness, pervading everything.

￼

After a length of time unknown to me I opened what appeared to be my eyes, back from somewhat of a cosmic plunge.

I love you Siddhartha! You who sat here two and a half millennia ago with the rock-solid resolve of "That's it: I am going to sit here in meditation, and I won't change my posture until I reach enlightened. Let my bones scatter away." With that kind of boldness and determination he entered into his final sitting... It was a full moon night and seemingly calm, but as he deepened his meditation the sky started churning, and all hell broke loose, with violent gusts and a chaotic storm. That's when the army demons appeared out of nowhere and started firing arrows at him. He sat there unwavering, knowing they were merely the demons of his own mind. "By subduing your mind, you subdue the world" it is now carved on rock at the Mahabodhi temple itself. Likewise, the great Tibetan master Lama Zopa, who recently passed away, was known to have said "no anger, no enemies." So all that it took was for Siddhartha to recognize that, and they vanished, their arrows turning into flowers.

Thus was gone one of the three poisons, and roots of all suffering: anger, aversion. Next came a show of half-naked ladies with heavenly bodies, teasingly dancing up to his face in an attempt to seduce him... Once again, he knew they were just a projection of his mind, a manifestation of the second of the three poisons: craving. He sat there unwavering, and likewise they disappeared. After aversion, attachment too had now been removed.

The final trace of defilement left was the most tenacious of the three poisons: ignorance, the deluded mind that believes in an ego and clings to it. And so he was finally visited by Mara himself, a personification of all negativity, all defilements, who had been the coordinator behind the raging demons and the dancing ladies in the first place.

"Who do you think you are to just sit there and say you can reach enlightenment? What makes you so worthy? Where is your witness to prove you have accumulated that much virtue?"

"The earth is my witness" answered Siddhartha as he touched the ground with his right hand, in what became the most famous posture for Buddha statues and depictions today.

What that means is, one who actually walks on the path of dharma doesn't need supporters, certificates, stamps, rounds of applause, words of approval, Ph.D's, or instagram followers. Walking on the path is enough unto itself. The earth is the witness because everything we do is recorded in the continuum of our karma, whether people see it or ignore it, praise it or criticize it. Only the ego wants supporters.

Siddhartha ignored Mara's verbal confrontation and entirely dropped his ego, eradicating the last of the three poisons: delusion, separateness, clinging to this illusory sense of self. And he became fully enlightened. Siddhartha became Buddha.

￼

But I love you people too! I realized, as I sat there, that Siddhartha wasn't alone - hundreds, thousands, millions of people were involved in keeping the teachings and the sacred site alive. There were no entrance fees to this gem of a place... and yet it was kept impeccably clean by workers around the clock. Drinking water was freely available. Garlands of flowers adorned the walls. Bathrooms were flawless. The trees, the grass, the gardens, were kept in perfect shape, pleasing and esthetic... and all this as a result of Buddhist thought. Generosity. Giving without expecting. Compassion. Love.

The area directly surrounding the Bodhi tree had yet another kind of cleanliness... As soon as a seed, a twig, a leaf, or a speck of anything at all would fall on the marble floor from the holy branches above, it would barely have time to land before a sitting meditator would interrupt their practice to fumble over like a child and pick it up. It was an amusing scene to behold, and obviously the intention was not to pile them up in the Buddha Bank of Bodhi leaves, but to bring a small part of their holy experience to family and friends back home.

As for me, I was gifted a leaf directly from the tree, which after leaving its branch swayed downwards and softly landed on my left foot, facing upwards in the lotus posture. What an omen... I safeguarded it with utmost care, resolving I would gift it to my mom one day.

After one or two hours I stood up with infinite slowness and a resolve to maintain my meditative state as I started circumambulating the temple. Intriguingly, my path crossed that of a girl named Dolma, a fellow classmate at the Buddhist school where I studied in Dharamshala who had seen me at my departure. Now she saw me again: I had the same clothing but quite a different look after accumulating three months of filth from walking across India!

We did a few circumambulations together, we talked about dharma, happiness, the homeless lifestyle, how to survive... and we parted ways. The place was timeless and I had no desire to leave myself, but dusk was just around the corner, the temple grounds would be closed at night, and I would have a hard time finding anywhere else than the street to sleep in unless I started looking now.

On my way out I was invited for chai by a man so intriguing that I couldn't refuse. He appeared to be a Tibetan monk but actually came from Arunachal Pradesh, a high-altitude Indian state bordering Tibet, and his Hindi was perfect. His English was flawless too and his first greeting to me was "You look just like Jesus!"

He treated me to a large chai along with Indian sweets. "Who is your master?" he asked emphatically. To which I made an effort to be as honest as I could, without trying to please him, without trying to get away with it by saying my master is so and so...

After some reflection I answered "I have so many masters... so many teachers have guided me on the path..."
"That's not exactly what I asked. I asked who is your master?"
I looked deep inside. "If I had to give one answer, and one alone... I'd have to say... my experience. Truth that comes from the outside will always remain conceptual. It helps, of course, but true liberation comes from the truth one experiences within oneself, the one experienced and not just understood." It was in fact carved in stone at the Mahabodhi temple:

“You are your own master; who else would be your master? Only those who master themselves will cut all bondages.”

- Dhammapada

"Buddha reached enlightenment utterly alone, finding the answer within" I added.
"But he would never have gotten there if he hadn't started with a master. If you don't have a master, you'll be wasting your energy here and there! Anyway, enjoy your chai and see you around!" he beamed with a big smile.

And that's how my newly made friend Lobsang was off. He was right. Somehow, I was also right. We were both right. That's why we were friends.

After asking for directions I made it to the main gate of the place where I was eagerly hoping to spend the night: Root Institute, a monastic center hosting both monks and laypeople, giving everyone a peaceful environment conducive to learning the dharma. It was founded within the tradition of Lama Zopa just like my favorite place back home in Dharamshala: Tushita Meditation Center, whose folks I would always hold in my heart.

I wished with folded hands that I would be equally welcome here, and my prayers were met. I happened to arrive just three minutes before office closing time, and my host Latif was kind and helpful, providing me a bed in the dormitory without the slightest hassle. Others were occupying the room too but I still had more privacy and peace of mind than just about anywhere else because the atmosphere was one of true dharma. People understood that silence was more precious than words, and the atmosphere was one of such humble respect and compassion that everything felt like a meditation.

An imposing statue of Maitreya - the Buddha-to-come - watched over the courtyard with a peaceful gaze... a spacious meditation room stayed open around the clock for anyone who wished to practice... silence and mindful awareness were the instructions that adorned the walls, from the dining hall to the office to the rooms, and quotes from Lama Zopa would equally remind us of the reason why we were here...

"A single second in this human form is more precious than a pile of gems that goes all the way to the sky"

Day 77

February 28th 2024

It was finally time to slow down. No more counting kilometers. The next direction was inwards. Meditate, spend time at the temple, and apply the dharma in whatever I did.

My day started with my usual meditation and Taichi, which to my delight I could do under the dawn-lit sky on the roof of the building in which I was lodged. After coming downstairs, to my greatest surprise I came face to face with meditation teacher and dear friend Kabir Saxena. He had stayed deep in my heart ever since my first course with him in Tushita Meditation Center, and seeing him again in such an unexpected way was a real blessing.

After leaving Root Institute I showed up to an appointment with an Indian school teacher named Sudhir who I had met yesterday and who had asked me if I could give a talk on dharma for the seventy-or-so students in his school. It was an institution for orphans and children in need, and they were all lovable and welcoming. They attentively followed my short talk, which included physical yoga - great for children of that age and much better than a boring discourse - and was followed by a boring discourse.

I spent the rest of my day at the Mahabodhi Temple sitting in meditation with a group of Thai forest monks who had wordlessly decided they would take me under their wing. My only job was to sit and meditate... I was given fruits and drinks and inspiring stories of these monks' practices, back home in Thailand as well as here in India, which currently consisted in doing 108 hours of meditation at the Mahabodhi Temple. The hours could be divided as they pleased, between walking and sitting meditation, and they had the freedom of doing as many hours a day as they wanted... But they had to reach a total 108 in order to consider their retreat complete and be allowed to leave Bodhgaya. I really liked the concept and the independance it granted compared to conventional group-retreats, and although visa reasons didn't currently allow me to stay in Bodhgaya long enough to complete that many hours, I vowed I would do such a retreat in the future, hopefully in exactly one year.

In the afternoon, I came face to face with Master Ajahn Chan, head of the Thai forest monks who had invited me to join them. We somehow seemed to know each other... He said I had been his younger brother in a previous life, in which he decided to become a homeless monk in the forest. Attracted by the lifestyle my older brother had undertaken, I would have taken to the forest myself and received ordination from him.

All this sounded quite esoteric, of course. Someone with such vivid memories of their past lives was a rare occurrence, but how would I know? It was obviously possible, the Buddha had done it, and countless others had done it.

And to answer the common doubt of "come on, what are the odds of randomly meeting someone again from a past life out of the trillions of beings out there?", the thing is, it's not random. Not just my Thai forest master, but every person or event we encounter in our life is a continuation of the cause-and-effect from our current and previous lives. Nature shows us: the conditions that align for an event to happen once are likely to make it happen again.

I was born in Switzerland because I must have loved chocolate already... that much I know! But also from a yogi mother because the greater part of me was inherently attracted to the dharma and the Buddha's teachings already. Being born from a physicist dad represented the emphasis I had to put in keeping my practice rational and logically explainable through investigation, just as the Buddha had done, discarding blind faith and dogma.

Other events have inclined me towards the realization of past lives: the first time I saw a movie about Mahatma Gandhi, I just knew I knew him, even at seven years of age, which was hard to explain at the time... also, since my earliest memories I'd been stubbornly insisting to sit on a bench around the dining table rather than a chair because I didn't want to take any other position than the lotus... and the first time I heard the name Patanjali, I felt a deep attraction and could have sworn I had heard it a long time ago, likewise with the word Vipassana. The Gurus say that this kind of unexplainable attraction commonly happens when a student hears of his master's name from a past life...

So I knew for certain that I was older than my mere 32 years in this body and that I most definitely had had connections with dharma in past lives.... of which some may very well have included the Thai tradition. So what Ajahn Chan was telling me didn't seem out of the box at all.

He followed by asking me to take a deep look at his face, looking at me back in placid stillness for a minute or two. It did look somehow familiar, but I have to admit my predominant thought was "I wish I reached a level where I could see my past lives with such clarity..." He went on to hold my hand, once again in silence for a good length of time, and I later understood what was going on... he was creating karmic links, or imprints, to improve the chances of us meeting again in this life or future lives! The same way as when you stare at a word in a new language for a long time, you end up remembering it, and it later comes back to you by itself.

After our silent communion, he told me he had been meditating in front of me yesterday under the Bodhi Tree - it had caught my eye at the time already. Everyone had been coming and going, paying homage to the tree, meditating for a bit, picking up a leaf which had newly hit the ground, looking around in awe at the beauty of the scene... but this one hefty Thai monk in front of me sat for hours like a mountain, without moving as much as a fingertip. I was intrigued, and I felt a mysterious pull towards him already, but I never saw his face as I was sitting behind him... how did he know it was me?

As we kept talking I also realized he knew every detail of the Anāpāna Sutta and the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta - which you and I have just spent the whole book studying together - and he could explain in great depth any section or Pali word that I would inquire about. To conclude our conversation, he presented me with the next set of instructions for my time here, the next step now that my journey had become stepless: practice vedana, observing sensations, and follow by observing piti and sukh.

We have seen the subtle difference between the two already: piti refers to joy, the happiness related to our external conditions, whereas sukh goes one step further and refers to inner happiness, a deeper form of well being independent from the external world. Whereas there was no way to artificially generate piti or sukh, the instructions he gave me consisted in being aware of them, embodying them with my whole being... in his own words, to "chew them, taste them, savor them, and digest them", which meant that every enjoyable sensation had to be felt, acknowledged, and ultimately enjoyed!

If I wanted a coke or a salad, he added, there was nothing wrong with a coke or a salad. I could reach out and take it! But what really mattered was that when the coke or salad wasn't available, my peace of mind should not be lost. In other words, Buddhism was about renouncing addiction and attachment, not enjoyment.

In fact there's always something to enjoy, to appreciate, from the air we breath to the sweet sunlight to the birds chirping to our comfortable clothing to warm tea to relieving ourself at the bathroom to setting our head on a pillow to walking in nature, and ultimately to the joy of just being... the enjoyment of presence, of awareness, of meditation itself. Let's settle our minds for a moment and be aware of piti.

￼

Day 78

February 29th 2024

Here I was, taking a dip into the life of a sedentary Bodhgaya monk after having been wandering for so long. My walk wasn't over though: I would happily alter between sitting and walking meditation, as well as chanting the sutras we studied together.

Walking meditation was a blessing for me, a seamless way to fulfill my addiction, but this time the path was radically simplified as I would simply walk in circles around the temple on a long square pathway designed for that purpose. My eyes would remain downcast, focusing on my steps or on my breath or on my body sensations, disregarding the human activity happening all around, and keeping to my inner stillness.

The best part about walking in circles is where we end up: exactly where we started. We can officially ditch the anxious mind that constantly thinks "When am I gonna get there?"

The only destination is inwards.

I had undertook my journey without a phone to begin with, but even for the general public, phones were forbidden inside the temple grounds, which meant that any encounter in there had to be planned by karma instead, a marvelous way to wane attachment. So I would simply sit at the same place as I had formally met Ajahn Chan, on the north side of the temple, and see when my Thai forest friends would show up to share more stories or guidance in meditation. He didn't speak much English but his faithful right-hand-nun, Niche, did the very skillful and patient job of translating everything that had to be said in both ways.

Following his guidance I kept piti and sukh in mind at every meditation, which usually brought about a deep feeling of peace and satisfaction. I was so glad he made me focus on happiness! I had mentioned quite a bit earlier in this book that it seemed to benefit me more, to suit my inner disposition better, than focusing on suffering... and Ajahn Chan's chosen instructions to me gave the feeling he could feel who I was and had indeed known me for a long time.

Day 79

March 1st 2024

I became more and more accustomed to the rules, conventions, and inner-workings of monastic living in Bodhgaya, including how to go about food, how to receive it, how to give it... I had so much money as a result of non-spending and three months of donations that I knew it could go to no better purpose than sustaining the monks here in Bodhgaya. So I made a point to never come empty handed to the temple, bringing bags of food from the nearby market and distributing it to the monks and meditators.

The monks would eat either once or twice in the day, but their last meal had to end before solar noon. Afterwards they were only allowed drinks, which could include tea or coffee or fruit juice, but solid food was not to be accepted until the next day. They weren't allowed to carry food with them either, to prevent any form of hoarding or stocking up, and instead keep to the simplicity and detachment by being content with whatever they received day-by-day. That meant I had to be careful about timing when handing food, and finish my almsgiving before 11 am so they would at least have time to sit down and eat with awareness.

I received mountains of goodies on a daily basis myself, from fellow monks, meditators, passers-by... which I would always accept and equally enjoy with as much gratitude and love as had been put in the act of giving. Giving and receiving was the new norm in this lifestyle, the new paradigm, instead of the usual paying-and-taking we are so accustomed to in our conventional consumer lives. It changes everything.

The Mahabodhi temple was so encouraging and energizing that it felt like being at a fare, a sort of World Buddha Festival that was going on all-year. The largest gathering of schools, traditions, nationalities, Buddhist masters and devotees all openly available on the temple grounds with neither doors nor walls, simply happy to share their practice with anyone that would show interest. The Buddhist atmosphere was so pervading that even dogs were walking the middle way: neither barking in aggression nor excessively playful as to bother the meditators - simply walking and sitting, at peace with everything.

At least once a day I would pay homage to the tree by sitting down under its shade and diving inwards... interesting things would always happen. On one instance, I was going so deep, not inside body-awareness but in distracted daydreaming of how I would make my return trip once my days at Bodhgaya would come to an end.

As if the tree had sensed me wavering away from my practice, it dropped a small branch straight onto my head, which broke into pieces and hit the floor. "Wake up!" it said. "Come back to the present! You may not even live to see another day, so leave your return trip alone." That's what the Zen guys do, right? Get hit on the head with a stick to come back to the now! It was for our own good, of course, and wide-eyed I thanked the tree in disbelief.

Day 80

March 2nd 2024

Practitioners around the Mahabodhi Temple are often so absorbed in their meditation that it can take days of sitting beside someone before the first conversation would take place. So was the case with an American monk, ordained in the Thai tradition and given the name Sampanno. The combination of his perfect English and his vast knowledge of the Thai tradition gave him a unique position in clarifying any doubts I had. I learnt that he was from the same Thai forest tradition as my own teacher Ajahn Chan, yet under another master. He told me they had so much in common with my own homeless pilgrimage that I could practically be called a Tudong myself, the Thai word for ascetic forest practitioner.

A subsequent exchange with Ajahn Chan further elucidated their practices. They would habitually undertake retreats in the jungles of Thailand with startlingly strict rules: they could own no more than three pieces of clothing, had to keep to trees or caves as their only form of shelter, they only ever travelled through the jungle as to avoid all roads or forms of civilization, they only ate once a day, and that too from whatever they received in their one bowl... and quite shockingly, during those retreats they weren't allowed to lie down. Ever.

If they chose to sleep, they had to do so sitting up, and even leaning against a wall was forbidden. I couldn't believe my luck to be sitting amongst them whereas I had only ever read about such practices before, usually in books about the Buddha's followers 2'500 years ago. Not only was I sitting amongst them but also receiving personalized teachings on a daily basis...

He told me to take the practice as a full-time job - no shifts, 24/7 - that I was to consider myself a professional meditator... and that piti and sukh were not to be repeated verbally in my mind, but experienced throughout my whole body, from head to foot and further still, expanding outwards to include the world around. He added that he had been free from suffering himself for the past twenty years thanks to the practice of piti and sukh. Like a shining light dispels the darkness, they have the power to dispel all forms of suffering.

"Did you see the light?" he would ask me from time to time, to which I would answer "No I didn't..." "Pay attention to it. Tell me when you see the light." Was Ajahn Chan a Jedi? I could have sworn I saw his name somewhere in Star Wars...

He would conclude every exchange with a meditation session together, sitting for ten or fifteen minutes to process whatever had been said... Alongside us sat his right-hand-nun Niche, a fellow Thai monk named Kuba'o, and a westerner Lucas, who had been a long-term disciple but chose to remain a layperson, dressed in white instead of the customary orange or dark red that monks would wear.

In very little time my body had found such a stable and pervading joy that it followed me wherever I went, and obstacles like mosquito bites which used to annoy me made no difference at all.

Day 81

March 3rd 2024

Today's rainy weather made the whole world quiet, many practitioners staying in their homes to meditate... but the hard-headed ones like us still made a point to go to the temple grounds and practice. Isn't that why we were here?

One of them was an Italian-born monk who I had been encountering every day, but once again silence and meditation were so prevalent that our first verbal exchange happened only today. His path had initially started with Goenka's Vipassana retreats, and after fifteen-or-so ten-day retreats he decided to ordain with Master Ajahn Chan himself. But in the end he chose to pave his own path, jokingly calling himself hard-headed! I loved it.

There are as many paths out there as practitioners. There is no wrong way. And his presence was very luminous too, as I had observed him sweeping the temple grounds daily with a big smile. Today, after introducing himself he shared some of his alms-round offerings with me and also gave me a pouch with a small object inside. "Only open it after three nights", he instructed me. I was touched by his presence and felt that my path was not unlike his, also a loner, ultimately! You are your own master; who else would be your master? Only those who master themselves will cut all bondages.

I lay my sitting cloth at my favorite spot, sat down facing the temple, closed my eyes, and dove in. Did you see the light? I kept hearing in my head... After some time in the midst of darkness it came dazzling in my face. Not just light, but sukh in every pore of my body. I see the light! I exclaimed to my Jedi master, but he wasn't there. Or was he?

"Tomorrow, as early as possible, you will undertake a trip to Rajgiri" a voice echoed in my head. "You will both embody the teachings and let go of the teachings. You will walk 75 km, your last walk, your last effort, and you will not reach anywhere. You will put into practice what you have learnt. You will breathe bliss and joy, you will celebrate life! The sukh which is your path, the happiness which is your dharma!"

I realized today would be my last day in Bodhgaya. I had three days left before lifting my walking vow and taking transport back to Dharamshala. Yes, even amidst such a cosmic adventure I kept one foot in the material world, which included visa constraints and limited days. I would have loved to come to Dharamshala on foot but all I had for this journey was a total of three months, which would soon be exhausted. I didn't mind. It was part of the deal. How could I mind, I had been spoilt already!

So in my few days left I would make a final walk to the town of Rajgiri, more specifically Vulture Peak, Buddha's favorite mountain where he spent years meditating in caves and giving teachings. It had been on my map since the beginning, hoping conditions would allow it... I had read about it in stories... and it had dreamily endeared me for years.

But this wasn't about reaching anywhere. There was nowhere left to reach. It was about embodying the teachings. Embodying them in the world. I finally opened my eyes, and I could hardly recognize the temple: it was glimmering with colors, it was breathing life, it was vibrating with energy. I was overwhelmed... I hugged the ground like my lover. It was my lover! I love you! I love you!! I love you!!!

Day 82

March 4th 2024

I woke up at 3 am in order to do my meditation, Taichi, wash, fold my things, and reach the temple at opening time 5. I left a box of gifts to my roommate and dharma buddy Pierre, asking him if he could deposit it at the office when they would open at 9.

Not only was he happy to help out but he also saw me off with a significant donation, which I realized marked a first-time event in my trip: a donation by a westerner! Fair enough, I hadn't met that many. But what this trip had taught me was still intriguing... that the poorest ones among us are usually the first ones to donate. That goes a long way in showing that inner wealth has nothing to do with outer possessions.

I went to the temple and cried as I said goodbye to the tree as well as the throne established to mark the spot where the Buddha had sat. 2'500 years had passed since he shook the universe and yet the place was as thriving as ever, with hundreds of devotees meditating in the temple grounds as early as 5 am...

I walked on to where I used to meditate, leaving a bag of food along with a goodbye message at Ajahn Chan's chosen spot, hoping he or his monks would find it later in the day. I did one last circumambulation, and left the temple grounds with a prayer: May this happen again!

Hopefully not so much out of attachment than planting karmic seeds, generating the intention to come in contact with temples, dharma, Buddhas, and Buddha-lands in this life and the next. Mahabodhi temple itself was already to a great extent similar to what we call a Buddha-land, some kind of heaven where the teachings on peace are thriving, the people humble and kind and loving, the conditions for practice perfect, flawless cleanliness, pleasant chanting...

As I left the place I was happy beyond words, as if sukh could be obtained at will, like a new superpower... was I too developing the Force?

Fair enough, after walking no less than 50 km I had hardly seemed to have spent any energy. Night had fallen a while back and I decided I would still get some sleep at some point, so I lay my sheets in the courtyard of a Rama temple under a lone-standing tree and a sky full of stars.

Day 83

March 5th 2024

My night had been pretty near perfect, obviously short as I had another long day ahead, and yet extremely restful. To my pleasant surprise I also realized that for some of the night I had sutras in my mind instead of dreams! It reminded me of the definition of right speech as posited by Geshe Lhakdor, a renowned dharma teacher and director of the school where I was studying in Dharamshala: "Right speech means replacing your gossip with songs for the Buddhas."

Once again I was propelled by some unexplained energy, and reached Rajgiri at 2 pm instead of evening. Directions to Vulture Peak came on their own, when a humble roadside restaurant owner named Bulbul invited me for chai and gave me all the information I could possibly need. Things were happening so smoothly that I could change my plans to hike the peak in that very afternoon instead of tomorrow, so I headed straight there.

I walked up with a body vibrating in awe, and at the peak, a community of around thirty Thai monks were meditating with the setting sun. It was a scene to behold... I dropped on my knees and lay face-down on the ground. This was actually the end of my walk! Good thing I had visa constraints or this thing would have gone on forever!

I got up from my strange posture and sat in meditation, watching the monks coming and going... Not only was the place glowing with the energy of the Buddha himself, but the view was gorgeous too, overlooking hilly landscapes of thick untamed jungle canopy. I was having such a good time that I decided I would sit up here all night.

After a few hours though, what appeared to be administration came and told me the place was "closing". How can you close a peak? I'm not too sure, but I chose to stay blissed out instead of throwing an argument so I made my way down and found a space nearby in the jungle canopy from which I could see the peak.

The jungle setting was so peaceful that it seemed Buddha's compassion here had survived the years... and so comfortable that it felt surreal, as if someone had tidied up the place and swept the floor clean to make sure I would have a pleasant night. It was like a hotel room the size of the whole landscape, and I had privacy too, aside from an isolated incident where a seemingly four-legged animal ran in front of where I was sitting, nearly trampling my bedding but so swift that I didn't manage to identify it in the dark. No worries, I thought. All are my friends. None my enemies. The Buddha had spent years in jungles, including the one I was sitting in, and had made so many friends that the elephants themselves were bringing him fruit, they say.

I sat for a number of hours, thinking of the Thai Tudong's mysterious rules of not lying down at night. I hoped to do the same thing, but at some point past midnight I toppled over and ended up sleeping more... normally.

Day 84

March 6th 2024

Even though I slept horizontally, my night had been meditative and sacred, with a heightened state of presence and not many instances of deep sleep. I woke up early and did my routine before the rising sun. Then I crossed the jungle, making my way towards the nearest road...

This would be the end of my walk. As far-fetched as it sounds, I would be heading home with transport. I already had a train ticket booked a few days earlier, thanks to the generous help of the orphan school-director Sudhir... And as a result of my unexpected swiftness I had a whole day ahead of me, which I was intending to put to best use by stopping by Bodhgaya on my way home. If only to see Ajahn Chan and his monks, maybe give them a real face-to-face goodbye this time, maybe even a photo together, and pretty-please some more teachings about forest monks and how to use the Force? Anyway that was all a bit much to ask for and I didn't want to overload my karma, so I left it at "May I meet the master again."

I've found it a tremendously beneficial habit, as I finish my morning meditation, to set forth an intention that would guide me throughout the coming day. During much of this book it was taken care of by following the sutras page by page, topic by topic... But the sutra reading was over, so today I voiced in my head "As I step back into the modern world, may I keep with me everything that this slow-paced natural life has taught me, always based on dharma, never on some mere material result."

Such was the mind I carried with me as I stepped into my first form of transport. Wow, look at me, effortlessly gliding across the landscape for 40 rupees! And that's how once again I met an old friend... piti! There's always something to enjoy! Work, eat, drink, or sleep, rich or poor, there's always a reason to be happy!

I kept surfing at supernatural speeds sitting on technology I hardly understand, seeing the landscape roll by like a fast-rewind of the movie I had been living step by step at man's natural pace. I ended up in Bodhgaya at 10:30 am, which gave me just the time to buy a bunch of bananas and packets of biscuits and distribute them to monks before noon. Appeased, I then sat down myself in meditation, wondering what my karma would bring me in terms of meeting with the master or not...

And within an hour, familiar faces popped up in the distance and smiled. Jedi Master! Niche! Kuba'o! Lucas Skywalker! "Come Ahimsaka! Let's train somewhere else this time! Follow us." they said.

So the team and I crossed the temple ground and ended up on a grassy area under a tree. We sat down in a circle, and to eager ears I explained my journey to Rajgiri. That, propelled by some unknown force, I had reached Vulture Peak a whole day early, which gave me the opportunity to see them again now.

Ajahn Chan's attitude confirmed that going to Rajgiri was the right thing to do: rather than being disappointed that I had left, he was proud that I was undertaking the practice on my own initiative! Was it really my initiative though, or was my trip somehow subconsciously instructed by him?

"You are doing good!" he said. "That is the beginning of what we call iddhi in Pali, or siddhis in Sanskrit. Walking can become effortless and swift, to the point where you can cover seemingly impossible distances in very little time."

I had heard about siddhis in countless spiritual traditions. They refer to special powers developed as one reaches increasingly subtle levels of mastery of the mind. Milarepa was known to cross mountains at unbelievable speeds. Buddha could walk with all the calm in the world while Angulimala ran behind him, unable to catch up. I had the same experience in a dream with the Dalai Lama, in which he was strolling along casually but with all my efforts I just couldn't manage to catch up. Although Jesus is more famous for tales about walking on water, he was also credited with abilities to reach faraway places in bewilderingly little time.

And here Ajahn Chan was saying that I too could reach that: piti, being the food of the mind, would lead to sukh and in turn bring about such energy that iddhi would follow. "When your walk with sukh is on a roll" he added, "don't interrupt it by taking a break! Instead, keep riding the high until it naturally comes down..."

Along with sukh, one would also visualize the body being weightless, thinking "light light light", and subsequently visualize the target, thinking "near near near". In this way, he said, 60 km could be covered in 4 hours... but generally speaking, there's no need for that kind of speed, and walking slowly with awareness should always remain the main practice.

It's true, mundane people like me are usually obsessed with what can be achieved on a physical plane and mostly everyone wants to be in the Guinness Book of World Records, but when cave-dwelling Gurus reach a spiritual depth that allows them to develop such powers, they usually shrug them off. The goal is not to star in the Cirque du Soleil but to reach ultimate liberation from suffering. Ego is the biggest hindrance on the path... which is why Ajahn Chan reminded me that the highest practice was simply to walk slowly with awareness.

I went on to say I tried to meditate all night on Vulture Peak, but that at some point security led me out. He said he could feel my meditation there, and if circumstances had allowed me to meditate another hour, I would have reached a breakthrough. I confirmed I had already been in an unusual state before I was interrupted, in which neither the bare stone floor nor the cold wind after sunset had the ability to alter my well-being. Finally, I told him I had ended up in the jungle and experienced the most tranquil spot in nature, yet failed at staying upright all night.

"It's fine" he answered. "The Buddha encouraged a middle way. The whole sleeping upright thing is optional! And I'm very fond of your enthusiasm for spending nights in the wild... I kind of miss it myself. I spent twenty years roaming around Thailand as a wandering forest monk, living off alms... just like you now."

"What about mosquitoes?" I asked. "Mosquitoes can be quite a hindrance in the jungle" he confirmed, "but there is a solution, and it's metta. If you love them, they won't harm you." It made so much sense to me, and yet sometimes... it was pretty hard to develop such a heart. As if reading my mind, he added "If you can't manage though, don't worry and just be practical!" With a big smile he opened his bag, withdrew a mosquito net, and playfully draped it over his head.

I went on to tell him about my return date and my school in Dharamshala, where I was studying the Tibetan Mahayana tradition. "Good that you're not staying with us Theravadins alone... we're so strict you'd end up stressed!" He laughed. Obviously, stress is the exact thing we eliminate by walking on the path. But making fun of one's own tradition is such a sign of humbleness that my respect grew even more.

His attitude towards other traditions relieved me. I've spent way too long hearing Theravadins call Mahayanis too esoteric, and Mahayanis call Theravadins too basic... It always saddened me to see people creating division even though we're all practicing the Buddha's way! "Dividing the Sangha" was said to be one of the greatest negative actions, as it had the power to dissolve the dharma altogether. Let's stick together and be one family! Ajahn Chan understood that.

Being a happy monk, he went on talking about piti. "Don't eat distractedly but don't eat solemnly: eat with appreciation, eat with joy! Only then will food for the body become food for the mind. In this way, through piti and sukh the mind will become so bright that its light will illuminate both body and mind. At some point you will start to see the inner structure of your own body - the organs, the bones - and just as clearly, you will also see your mind's inner nature too. Suffering is not the way to nirvana... happiness is the way to nirvana!"

Unexpectedly he added "By the way, at some point you will also see your own self sitting in front of you... when that happens, don't be shocked, or it won't happen again! Anyway, come, I will teach you walking meditation because you're such a walker!"

He instructed me, along with his disciple Kuba'o and an Indian monk Buddhadhamma who had just joined us, to start by standing still, with our eyes closed, and to focus on the flat area at the top of each foot, differentiating between right and left. We were to stay in that position until we would come to "see our feet", and only then could we open our eyes and start walking at a very slow pace.

Gradually, we would start moving faster and learn how to maintain the same undistracted awareness at any speed. Also, we were told to walk naturally, normally, not forcefully or "like a robot." What a subtle middle path, I thought, between effort and effortlessness...

Our focus was to be set on the skin area at the top of the foot, roughly where our shoelaces would be if we had been wearing shoes. But as we deepened the practice it would expand to include the entire foot and upwards to include the entire body, even the internal organs.

Like a teacher concluding the class, he gave me homework "until next year" which included meditating on piti and sukh, scanning the body from head to pelvis and pelvis to head in sitting position, piercingly with the light of sukh, and then proceeding to include the outer limbs as well. I was also instructed to have an anatomical look at my internal organs through pictures and charts, before diving into meditation and exploring my way there through consciousness alone.

After my personal briefing we stood up and made our way to another grassy area directly facing the temple, where Ajahn Chan guided a group-chanting of around thirty minutes with a dozen monks. The Pali chanting was followed by guided meditation, in which he gave a few words about posture and hand position, followed by instructions on observing the breath - Anāpāna.

Next, we focused on piti and sukh, then we scanned the body with our awareness - Vipassana - after which we concluded by sending metta to the entire world. By some intriguing alignment the whole thing looked like an exact replica of the three sutras we'd been studying since the beginning of this journey. What a conclusion! I was so happy! But the actual conclusion to our session came when he announced to everyone that "This wandering monk Ahimsaka is now part of our group, but I still don't know if it's his real hair!"

On top of the laughter, the sun setting on the orange-hued temple grounds made our last gathering even more memorable, and as if the world had been listening to my every whim this morning in the jungle, Niche withdrew a camera and captured our last moments together, of which I've now made an illustration at the start of this chapter.

Saying goodbye was almost wordless and deeply moving... Ajahn Chan withdrew two simple white threads, and tied one around my right hand, saying "This is because we were brothers in a past life." Then, to my surprise, he tied another one around my left hand. "This one's because we are brothers in this life." And casting aside any formalities or religious conventions, he came up and hugged me like a bear. I left him not with any form of sadness but the deepest feeling of ease and warmth.

After leaving the Thai monks it was also time to say goodbye to the temple, and I stared at the central spire for half an hour, completely mesmerized as it glowed in my face... But the material structure of meticulously carved stones was merely a reflection of the devotees in flesh and bones who have been keeping the teachings alive and the place shining with dharma, with love, throughout these thousands of years... all these years of work, donations, devotion and selflessness, in fact, done entirely for me! I don't even know the people who built the temple in the first place and yet they did it for me, so that I could sit there today and stare at it in wordless meditation.

I vowed I would do my best, from this point onwards, to give and give and give back in life... could I ever reach even one percent of all that had been given to me out of pure compassion? Even that seemed unrealistic... the kindness was overwhelming.

￼

I must have gathered as much merit as dust when I wandered as a monk, because the return trip was nothing short of luxurious. Instead of a homeless beggar sleeping on a plastic tarp, I became a first class citizen crossing the country on a red carpet.

Every service I could imagine was being offered to me out of nowhere. School director Sudhir called his driver to bring me in a modern car from Bodhgaya to the main city of Gaya and drop me off at the train station itself... Then, instead of waiting for my train in the middle of the bustling crowds I was invited to sit on the plushest couch of a fancy hotel reception and served chai upon chai...

The train was on time - not obvious in India - boarding was hassle free, and, oh, first class too! I have nothing for or against traveling in first class... I was still a beggar accepting whatever I received, living off donations, and this was one of them!

Day 85

March 7th 2024

The alignment continued. The train dropped me at Delhi, a city I couldn't possibly cross without paying a visit to my dharma-brother Simon who had been following my adventures forever and seized every chance he could to help me on the path.

So I made my way to his workplace, the Embassy of Switzerland, and was welcomed in with smiles and cheers... Simon had just finished his work day and decided to take me around Delhi to places linked to my pilgrimage, including an offspring of the Bodhi tree, brought in from Bodhgaya, and a Sufi saint named Mohamed Ali Khan Sabri who lived a secluded life in the forests around Delhi.

Sufism is a branch of Islam and yet its principles are so similar to yogic practices you would have sworn they came from the same place. It felt no different from meeting a Hindu Baba in Varanasi, as he dedicated his time to meditation, yoga, and helping children from all backgrounds and religions by teaching them whatever subjects would help them most in their lives. His teaching to Simon and I was that education was the highest of gifts and that Sufism was the path of ahimsa - neither harming nor having the slightest trace of aversion towards any being. What a joy to see how the boundaries between religions dissolve in the hearts of those who really practice!

Finally, before my bus out of Delhi he brought me to a cafe in Delhi's Majnu Ka Tila, the Tibetan settlement, where we had a ceremonial feast that reminded me of the bountiful gatherings in the past made to conclude a long period of austerity. Good food was aplenty but of course that was not the point: the point was to unfold my maps and show him my sutras and share stories on both ends, share where dharma had taken us and how we must take it from now on to improve our minds and improve the world.

Day 86

March 8th 2024

The bus ride back was mesmerizing as I sped through time to all those places I knew. "Here I asked for directions... here I prayed at the pipal tree... here I stopped to fix my shoe with needle and thread... here I took a wrong turn, here I slept outside and bathed in the river, here I was offered tangerines, here chai, and here I ate Shivananda Baba's pistachios while walking in the bliss of... walking in the bliss."

Shivananda Baba's pistachios reminded me that I had to get off the bus soon: once more, there was no way I would cross Kangra without paying him a visit and thanking him for making my trip possible in the first place! He had offered me the wool to keep me warm the whole time, the donation to cover every mishap and medical need, the rosary I meditated with every day, and most importantly, the pistachios.

I just hoped he was home, but my karma kept spoiling me and I was greeted with such a playful smiling face of his that he looked ten years old! His whole family was there too, and today was Shivratri, one of the most important Hindu celebrations of the year, the one dedicated to Lord Shiva, from which Shivananda Baba got his very name. His family insisted to be given the "honor" to take care of my feet, which included warm water, scrubbing, trimming nails, and applying healing oil over the whole cracked mess, dry and worn after 1'800 km in the dust...

My happy feet and the whole gang went on to celebrated Shivratri with harmoniums and guitars and drums and dozens of joyful voices singing devotional songs to just about every Hindu deity I could think of. It was a sight to behold and brought tears to my eyes...

Day 87

March 9th 2024

I was seen off with love from everyone, chai, breakfast, feet-touching and more money donations. Once again they symbolically walked alongside me for a bit, before hugging me goodbye as I tackled the last stretch of my trip: today I had 26 km to do, yep the walk wasn't over! Of course I could have taken a bus, but of course I wouldn't, knowing how much I would miss my walking days once I went back to a sedentary life... so I made it a point to cherish every step of the way up to Dharamshala, my home in the foothills of the Himalayas.

It also gave me a chance to digest, alone, at foot's pace and with utmost awareness, the enormity of these three-months' teachings... In a matter of hours I went through the Metta Sutta, the Anāpāna Sutta, and the Satipaṭṭhānā Sutta section by section in my head, each part bringing to life the memories of what had happened on that day, internally and externally... So much gratitude and love sprang up within me as I reflected on everything I had been given by the world, this world that fed me and nurtured me, both physically and spiritually, to such an extent I could never pay back for it! The invaluable lessons and revelations that accompanied every step of the way, bringing me to states of freedom and truth that I had never experienced before... giving me the conditions to be free from any form of sexual discontent - hey how did that happen I don't even know - and the people, of course, the countless people which had made the trip not only possible, but absolutely magical.

Upon reaching Dharamshala, I realized my monkhood didn't have to end here either: with so many tangible benefits staring at me in the face, why would I dedicate my life to anything else? It didn't matter what color I was wearing, what I did with my hair, what "my religion" was or what set of rules I was following... I could and would keep dedicating my life to dharma, to meditation, to the practice of peace, freedom from attachment, love, compassion, awareness.

Night fell as I crossed downtown Dharamshala... My path happened to lead through the new headquarters of the Tibetan Government in Exile, Tibet outside Tibet, with its colorful timeless temple architecture, its Nechung Monastery which housed the legendary Oracle, and its Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, the school where I was studying myself, which gave me my visa, and which would be starting the semester in two days.

Upon crossing such a sacred and meaningful site I was struck with the realization that the most beautiful place in the entire journey was right here where I had started. It was here all along but my eyes where too dirty! "I have been around the world in search of truth", once said a monk whose name I have yet to know, "only to come home and find it in a dew drop from my garden."

Another hour of climbing the slope with slowness and meditation led me to the sight of a small idyllic dwelling, perched on a hill in the distance. "In the name of the happiness of all beings, may I have a sound place to sleep tonight" I uttered as I approached the premises.

My mind oscillating between old comforting memories and a vibrant sense of newness, I walked up to the front door... the padlock was still there. The code was still the same. The door opened without a creak and what I found before me was not my house but a temple: prayer flags showered blessings in the air, a tapestry of Buddha hung from the central altar, aglow with wisdom... an intricate brass statue of Tara, gifted by the Dalai Lama years ago, shined with compassion...

In the center, a large carpeted area welcomed pilgrims like me to relax, meditate, and make themselves at home... I sat down in the dark, meditating on my new powers. Piti, the power to enjoy, to appreciate, to embrace with love what the world is giving me... Sukh, the indescribable happiness that comes from beyond the world, from meditation, from love, from awareness... Sati, the simple yet life-changing practice of being with the breath, being with the now, cultivating presence... And if these powers were handed down to me by a Jedi Master after months of solitary practice on those never-ending roads, then surely I can hand them down to you after your own aeons of painstakingly reading, deciphering, and meditating on this never-ending book! It doesn't matter that you and I may not have met, because our essence is beyond space and time. Through these very lines that I write and you read, you and I are together now. Can you feel it?

￼

- Appendix 1 -

Karaniya Metta Sutta

1.This is what should be done by those skilled in goodness. May they be honest, able, and upright, humble and gentle in speech.

2.Contented and easily satisfied, with few duties, earning in simple ways, senses stilled, prudent, unaggressive, and not in search of supporters.

3.May they not perform petty actions which the wise would later reprove. May they meditate thus: may all beings be well and safe, may all beings be happy.

4.Wishing well to whatever living beings there may be, moving or stationary, excluding none, long or great, mid-sized or short, subtle or coarse.

5.Whether seen or unseen, dwelling far or near, born or to-be-born, may all beings be happy.

6.May none deceive or despise any being in any place. May none wish for each other's suffering, out of anger or ill will.

7.Just as a mother would protect, with her life, her only child, so too should one develop a boundless heart towards all beings.

8.Spreading love all over the world, cultivating a boundless mind. Above, below, and all around, without obstruction, hatred, or enmity.

9.Whether standing, walking, sitting, or lying down, keep this awareness with you, keep a mind free from drowsiness. It is said to be living in the heavenly plains, here and now.

10.Without falling into views, endowed with morality and wisdom, and free from craving for sense pleasures, one will be free from taking birth in a womb.

- Appendix 2 -

16 Steps of the Anāpāna Sutta

1.Here, bhikkhus, having gone to the wilderness, the foot of a tree, or to an empty hut, a monk sits down with legs crossed and spine straight, establishing mindfulness in the area above his mouth. Mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out.

2.When breathing in a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a deep breath.’ When breathing out a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a deep breath.’ When breathing in a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a shallow breath.’ When breathing out a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a shallow breath.’

3.He trains thus: breathing in, I will experience the whole body. Breathing out, I will experience the whole body.

4.He trains thus: Breathing in, I will calm the bodily formations. Breathing out, I will calm the bodily formations.

5.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing joy. I will breathe out observing joy.

6.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing happiness. I will breathe out observing happiness.

7.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing mental activity. I will breathe out observing mental activity.

8.He trains thus: I will breathe in calming mental activity. I will breathe out calming mental activity.

9.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing the mind. I will breathe out observing the mind.

10.He trains thus: I will breathe in satisfying the mind. I will breathe out satisfying the mind.

11.He trains thus: I will breathe in concentrating the mind. I will breathe out concentrating the mind.

12.He trains thus: I will breathe in releasing the mind. I will breathe out releasing the mind.

13.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing impermanence. I will breathe out observing impermanence.

14.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing detachment. I will breathe out observing detachment.

15.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing cessation. I will breathe out observing cessation.

16.He trains thus: I will breathe in observing surrender. I will breathe out observing surrender.

- Appendix 3 -

The Satipaṭṭhāna Sutta

Introduction

Thus have I heard: at one time the Enlightened One was staying among the Kurus at Kammãsadhamma, a market town of the Kuru people. There he addressed the monks thus: ‘Bhikkhus,’ and they replied ‘Venerable sir.’ The Enlightened One said this: ‘Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana, namely, the four pillars of mindfulness.’

Definition

What four? Here, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing body within body, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world. He abides observing sensation within sensation, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world. He abides observing mind within mind, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world. He abides observing phenomena within phenomena, diligent, clearly knowing, and mindful, free from craving and aversion in regard to the world.

Breathing

Here, bhikkhus, having gone to the wilderness, the foot of a tree, or to an empty hut, a monk sits down with legs crossed and spine straight, establishing mindfulness in the area above his mouth. Mindful he breathes in, mindful he breathes out. When breathing in a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a deep breath.’ When breathing out a deep breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a deep breath.’ When breathing in a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing in a shallow breath.’ When breathing out a shallow breath, he knows ‘I'm breathing out a shallow breath.’ He trains thus: breathing in, I will experience the whole body. Breathing out, I will experience the whole body. He trains thus: Breathing in, I will calm the bodily formations. Breathing out, I will calm the bodily formations.

Refrain 1

Thus he abides observing body within body internally, or he abides observing body within body externally, or he abides observing body within body both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in the body, he abides observing the nature of passing away in the body, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in the body.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is body.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing body within body.

Postures

Again, bhikkhus, when walking, he knows ‘I am walking’; when standing, he knows ‘I am standing’; when sitting, he knows ‘I am sitting’; when lying down, he knows ‘I am lying down’; or he knows accordingly however his body is disposed.

[Refrain 1...]

Activities

Again bhikkhus, while going forward or backward he does so clearly knowing; whether looking ahead or looking away he does so clearly knowing; while bending or stretching he does so clearly knowing; whether wearing his robes or carrying his bowl he does so clearly knowing; whether he is eating, drinking, chewing or savoring, he does so clearly knowing; while defecating or urinating he does so clearly knowing; whether he is walking, standing, sitting, sleeping or waking, speaking or silent, he does so clearly knowing.

[Refrain 1...]

Anatomical Parts

Again bhikkhus, he reviews this same body that is covered with skin and full of impurities of all kinds from the soles of the feet upwards and from the hair of the head downwards, considering thus: ‘in this body there are head-hairs, body-hairs, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, sinews, bones, bone-marrow, kidneys, heart, liver, diaphragm, spleen, lungs, bowel, mesentery, contents of the stomach, faeces, bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat, tears, grease, spittle, snot, oil of the joints, and urine.’

[Refrain 1...]

Elements

Again, bhikkhus, he reviews this same body, however it is placed or disposed, as consisting of elements thus: ‘in this body there are the earth element, the water element, the fire element, and the air element’

[Refrain 1...]

Corpse in Decay

Like a corpse thrown aside in a charnel ground – one, two, or three days dead, bloated, livid, and oozing matter... being devoured by crows, hawks, vultures, dogs, jackals, or various kinds of worms... a skeleton with flesh and blood... a fleshless skeleton smeared with blood... a skeleton without flesh and blood, held together with sinews... disconnected bones scattered in all directions... bones bleached white, the color of shells... bones heaped up, more than a year old... bones rotten and crumbling to dust – compare your body with it thus: ‘this body too is of the same nature, it will be like that, it is not exempt from that fate.’

[Refrain 1...]

Sensation

And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing sensation within sensation? Here, when feeling a pleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel a pleasant sensation’; when feeling an unpleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel an unpleasant sensation’; when feeling a neutral sensation, he knows ‘I feel a neutral sensation’.

When feeling a worldly pleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel a worldly pleasant sensation’; when feeling an unworldly pleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel an unworldly pleasant sensation’;

When feeling a worldly unpleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel a worldly unpleasant sensation’; when feeling an unworldly unpleasant sensation, he knows ‘I feel an unworldly unpleasant sensation’;

when feeling a worldly neutral sensation, he knows ‘I feel a worldly neutral sensation’; when feeling an unworldly neutral sensation, he knows ‘I feel an unworldly neutral sensation’.

Refrain 2

Thus he abides observing sensation within sensation internally, or he abides observing sensation within sensation externally, or he abides observing sensation within sensation both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in sensation, he abides observing the nature of passing away in sensation, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in sensation.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is sensation.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing sensation within sensation.

Mind

And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing mind within mind?

Here, bhikkhus, he knows a mind with craving to be with craving, he knows a mind free from craving to be free from craving; he knows a mind with aversion to be with aversion, he knows a mind free from aversion to be free from aversion; he knows a deluded mind to be deluded, he knows a mind free from delusion to be free from delusion; he knows a collected mind to be collected, he knows a scattered mind to be scattered; he knows an expanded mind to be expanded, he knows a narrow mind to be narrow; he knows a surpassable mind to be surpassable, he knows an unsurpassable mind to be unsurpassable; he knows a concentrated mind to be concentrated, he knows a distracted mind to be distracted; he knows a freed mind to be freed, he knows a bound mind to be bound.

Refrain 3

Thus he abides observing mind within mind internally, or he abides observing mind within mind externally, or he abides observing mind within mind both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in mind, he abides observing the nature of passing away in mind, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in mind.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is mind.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing mind within mind.

Hindrances

And how, bhikkhus, does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena? Here he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five hindrances. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five hindrances?

Whenever sense desire is present in him, he knows ‘sense desire is present in me’; whenever sense desire is absent from him, he knows ‘sense desire is absent from me’; he knows how unarisen sense desire can arise, how arisen sense desire can be removed, and how removed sense desire will no longer arise.

Whenever aversion is present in him, he knows ‘aversion is present in me’; whenever aversion is absent from him, he knows ‘aversion is absent from me’; he knows how unarisen aversion can arise, how arisen aversion can be removed, and how removed aversion will no longer arise.

Whenever lethargy and dullness are present in him, he knows ‘lethargy and dullness are present in me’; whenever lethargy and dullness are absent from him, he knows ‘lethargy and dullness are absent from me’; he knows how unarisen lethargy and dullness can arise, how arisen lethargy and dullness can be removed, and how removed lethargy and dullness will no longer arise.

Whenever agitation and worry are present in him, he knows ‘agitation and worry are present in me’; whenever agitation and worry are absent from him, he knows ‘agitation and worry are absent from me’; he knows how unarisen agitation and worry can arise, how arisen agitation and worry can be removed, and how removed agitation and worry will no longer arise.

Whenever doubt is present in him, he knows ‘doubt is present in me’; whenever doubt is absent from him, he knows ‘doubt is absent from me’; he knows how unarisen doubt can arise, how arisen doubt can be removed, and how removed doubt will no longer arise.

Refrain 4

Thus he abides observing phenomena within phenomena internally, or he abides observing phenomena within phenomena externally, or he abides observing phenomena within phenomena both internally and externally. He abides observing the nature of arising in phenomena, he abides observing the nature of passing away in phenomena, he abides observing the nature of arising and passing away in phenomena.

Now his mindfulness is established: ‘This is phenomena.’ Thus he develops his mindfulness to such an extent that there is mere understanding along with mere mindfulness. And he abides independent, not clinging to anything in the world. This is how, bhikkhus, a bhikkhu abides observing phenomena within phenomena.

Aggregates

Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five aggregates. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the five aggregates?

Here he knows, ‘such is matter, such its arising, such its passing away; such is perception, such its arising, such its passing away; such is cognition, such its arising, such its passing away; such is recognition, such its arising, such its passing away; such is consciousness, such its arising, such its passing away.’

[Refrain 4...]

Six Sense Spheres

Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the six internal and external sense spheres. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the six internal and external sense spheres?

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the eye, he knows visible objects, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the ear, he knows sounds, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the nose, he knows smells, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the tongue, he knows taste, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the body, he knows tangibles, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

Here bhikkhus, a bhikkhu knows the mind, he knows phenomena, and he knows the bondage that arises depending on the two. He knows how the bondage that has not yet arisen, comes to arise. He knows how the bondage that has now arisen, comes to be eradicated. He knows how the bondage that has now been eradicated, will in the future no longer arise.

[Refrain 4...]

Seven Awakening Factors

Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the seven factors of enlightenment. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the seven factors of enlightenment?

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, awareness, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, awareness, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, awareness, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, investigation, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, investigation, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, investigation, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, enthusiasm, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, joy, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, joy, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, joy, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, joy, is absent from me’;he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, joy, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, joy, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, tranquility, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, tranquility, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, concentration, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, concentration, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, concentration, is developed and perfected.

Here, when the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is present in him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is present in me’; when the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is absent from him, he knows ‘the factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is absent from me’; he knows how the unarisen factor of enlightenment, equanimity, can arise, and how the arisen factor of enlightenment, equanimity, is developed and perfected.

[Refrain 4...]

Four Noble Truths

Again, bhikkhus, he abides observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the four noble truths. And how does he abide observing phenomena within phenomena in terms of the four noble truths?

Here he knows as it really is, ‘this is dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the origin of dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the end of dukkha’; he knows as it really is, ‘this is the way leading to the end of dukkha.’

[Refrain 4...]

Conclusion

Bhikkhus, if anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for seven years, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

Let alone seven years, bhikkhus, if anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for six years, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

Let alone six years... five years… four years… three years… two years… one year… seven months… six months… five months… four months… three months… two months… one month… half a month…

Let alone half a month bhikkhus. If anyone should develop these four pillars of mindfulness in such a way for seven days, one of two fruits could be expected for him: either final knowledge here and now, or, if there is a trace of clinging left, non-returning.

So it was with reference to this that it was said: Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the extinguishing of dukkha and discontent, for walking on the path of truth, for the realization of nirvana, namely, the four pillars of mindfulness.

That is what the Blessed One said. The monks were satisfied and delighted in the Blessed One’s words.

About the Author

Ben Viatte was born in a cozy Switzerland setting and lovingly tended by a loving family. It seemed he had everything… yet something was missing. Something about the deeper questions that nothing from the outside world could hope to answer: birth, old age, love, loss of loved ones, ego, impermanence, lasting happiness, death...

At his 24th year a dream shook his being, in which these questions were dramatically brought to the surface. After lying in the dark on a stone floor, the troubling void was interrupted by a barefoot monk walking calmly, peace in every step, headed eastwards...

Ben assumed the message was clear enough, and the next morning he started packing his things to undertake a journey on foot to the Indian Himalayas. He ended up crossing eighteen countries and reaching his destination Dharamshala 4 years later, after a 14'000 kilometer walk of which he relished every moment.

It sounds like he could call it a day, but his path isn't over as we all know the real journey is inwards. His time is now divided between pilgrimages within India, writing about it, and sitting in silence in monasteries when he's had enough with all these words.

Special Thanks

To Barbara Remenyi for proofreading the whole thing and finding more typos than I could possibly have imagined, to Dia Roy for having elucidated the timeless instruction rajo harana, to mom for giving me the seed of yoga, to dad for the seed of physics, to my brother Jonas for the paracord and survival tricks, to Jedi Master Ajahn Chan, obviously, and his right hand Niche, to Simon Schäfer for gifting me the original journal in which the whole tale was written, to Thubten Wangdu for his teachings on turning obstacles into the path, to Kabir Saxena for seeing the enemy as the teacher, to Lobsang Zultrim for the guideline take care of dharma, and dharma takes care of you, to Pau Castellsagué for his allegory on giving the apple, to Yehudith Tegegne for that tiny mosquito net, to Kat Jr. for being the first proofreader, to each and every person - too numerous to name - who hosted me during the trip, who offered me chai, food, clothing, water, warmth, donations, and medicine, making the journey possible...

But most of all, to you, dear reader, for giving the book a purpose, the story a life. It's thanks to you that it exists.

May love and joy be upon you all

♥

Donations and References

As mentioned somewhere earlier, I give my books for free wherever possible. That includes the digital versions, which you can download on the books page of my website:

www.thehermitcrab.org/books

As for the paper versions, if I am physically present I also give them out, and otherwise they are sold at near-printing price through various online platforms. If you feel inclined to practice generosity and support this ongoing project as well as further publications, you can through the following link:

www.thehermitcrab.org/donate

Though the link is mentioned here, remember that ultimately, the best thing you can do for yourself, for me, and for the world, is to be a good person and be happy.

“What arises passes.
And its passing is peace.”

- Lama Zopa