Which story in which town? Did it happen yesterday or two days before?
Did we go to Coorg before Ooty? How long or how brief had we been in that or this town?
Did he say that or this? Did she just do this or that?
All I knew is that when I find myself remaining in one place for at least one week, long enough to reflect on how my life has grown, transformed and influenced, I will find a needle to sew all little patches of many stories together into one large quilt of the story.
This quilt of the story will contain a patch of one of the worst days in our guru's life, the same day I trekked into the forest with two nice silver flip flops and crawled out hours later with one silver flip flop and one blue flip flop five sizes too big.
A patch of our harrowing bus trips on the mountains to visit Coorg and Ooty to witness thoroughly local life in these little towns and to practice our negotiating skills.
A patch of us surviving eight sleepless hours on an overcrowded bus, thankful for our fortune of being on a kind of bus that have no windows. Without windows, we did not need to pinch our noses while one woman vomited out her dinner into the plastic bag right in front of us.
So many patches awaiting for me to sew up into one fine quilt one day.
As of this moment, all I can speak of is this incredible sense of feeling as if life is breathing into me, holding my hand as it presents me many situations to experience, many lessons to learn, and many stories to wonder at.
In Mumbai, life introduced me to the whole idea of India, breaking down all my old ideas and pushing me to give up some of my American habits.
In Aurangabad, life introduced me to the notion of expressing myself in an instant. A surprising incident at the Ajanta caves allowed me to further examine the infinite possibility of being authentic to yourself in spite of others and the difficulty of balancing and maintaining your authenticity along with your desire to validate others' authenticity.
All in all, it's all about navigating cultural differences and similarities.
In Palolem, life introduced me to the physical side of living authentically. Baba urged us to eat healthy, to meditate quietly, and to love and to accept love in such a free, unrestrained way.
All in all, it's all about embracing yourself wholeheartedly.
In Coorg, life introduced me to the revelation that India reminds me of all the homes I've visited around the world. In India, I am seeing the United States, Argentina, Chile, France, and more. I am beginning to discover that everywhere you go, you are home at your heart.
In Ooty, life introduced me to my longing to belong to a place rich in diverse shades of green and blue. Uplifting, limitless sky. Gentle, whispering leaves. Calm, deep water. Earthly, rooted grass. Solid, wild mountains. My definition of home is in these shades of green and blue.
All in all, it's all about the journey itself.
And now, in Varkala Beach, what experiences, lessons, and stories will life introduce me to?
And how would they influence me? To what extent?
Many have debated whether traveling is our way to "find ourselves." Some argue it is utterly pretentious of us to "find" ourselves, especially when we are living through moments that will not come to pass while we are not traveling. Others insist that traveling purifies one's soul. Yet others favor the notion that traveling introduces you to the parts within yourself you've not encountered before.
For me, I think traveling is what you make it to be. If you wish to simply travel, you will simply travel. If you hope to purify your soul through traveling, you will seek out places to bring you peace. If you hope to explore the parts within yourself, you will find yourself exploring different places and situations.
Perhaps traveling is the mirror of our dreams and our wishes.
Is traveling the most authentic mirror we could ever find?
I don't know. Perhaps this question is the exact question I am striving to answer and am answering through traveling.
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