Galactic Stillness

The Jew of Kathmandu

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 06:36:00 +0000

"And at the end of the day, I'll take you to see the Jew", he announced at 8am in the morning as we drank our chai on the dusty street. I just smiled and nodded like I knew what he was talking about. I had no clue, and I was nervous. "The Jew?!?", I thought. "Does Kathmandu have an honorary Jew? I just don't get it".

Sudeep--along with his wife Sunita--was my host when I first lived in Kathmandu. He was a small Nepalese man with legs built like pencils. He always had the brightest half moon smile and loved wearing turtlenecks and polyester pants that were so stiff and unmoved by the wind. It was the second day of my life in Kathmandu. He wanted to show me the sites--including the Jew--and he was so proud.

He took me everywhere, and I found the city of Kathmandu to be quite exotic with its strikingly contrasting Buddhist and Hindu architectures and robed monks and shamans everywhere. Chattering monkeys jumped around the rooftops. Traffic signs were more like suggestions instead of rules. People burned candles and incense and sang Sanskrit prayers at the temples in the morning. Strangers warmly and whole-heartedly greeted me all day as we walked the streets.

The city's distinctive smells ranged from intoxicating to ghastly. I enjoyed the whiffs of incense, flowers and fresh curry that permeated the city until they mingled with and dispersed into blasts of unmitigated exhaust fumes and the stench of open sewers.

It was a fabulous tour, but the Jew of Kathmandu gnawed at my consciousness all day. What on Earth did he mean?!? Finally, Sudeep brought the Jew to light.

"And finally" he said with a twinkle in his eyes, "the best for the last. Now I take you to the Jew!" I was scared and confused. I knew there was some language barrier that I just couldn't climb over. The taxi stopped. I hesitantly stepped out, squinted my gaze, and finally realized what the hell he was talking about. The Jew! It was there in front of me. Amazing! But it wasn't a Jew. It was a Zoo! AHAHAHAHA!!!! Sudeep's final act was to take me to the zoo!!! This is what our day was leading up to. What a relief to know that all he wanted to do was show me tigers, monkeys and deer inside cages. This is how I learned that the Nepalese can't pronounce the letter Z. It usually comes out as a J. Oh that Joo. What a moment that was. Cultural confusion is so entertaining sometimes.

My Family's Bloody Irish Hand.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 09:36:00 +0000

First Grade on Saint Patricks Day. All the kids were drawing pictures of shamrocks, pots of gold, and leprechauns--everyone except me.

We all got to present our drawings in front of class. I stood up to show my work of art. It was a Crayola masterpiece. There was a landscape of green Irish hills, a pristine beach, and a bloody severed hand lying in the sand. There were two cartoon clouds. One said "We made it!". The other said, "Go Ireland!!!". That was one of the proudest moments of my childhood. Now hold on. Hear me out. I wasn't sick and twisted. I was just sharing my family's history.

I stood up and told my classmates the story of my ancestor O'Neil, one of the first kings of Ireland. O'Neil had to compete in a boat race to win the kingship. The deal was that whoever touched the shore first would be crowned king. The boats were so neck and neck that he wasn't sure if he would make it. I guess O'Neil was creative, determined and partially bat shit crazy so he reached for his sword, cut off his hand and threw it to the shore. He was probably called stubby for quite some time, but guess what?!? He touched the shore first and became king! Who's gonna mess with him or argue with that? Jeesh. And with my own crazy determination, it's no wonder I'm related to this guy.

The kids in my first grade class all thought that was an awesome story. Lots of ooo's and ahhh's came from my very attentive 6 year-old audience, but my teacher was not impressed at all.

Later that day my mom got a phone call from her. She called her in to "talk" about my picture. My mother went in and my teacher said, "Your daughter drew this in class today," with a disturbed tone and a frown. My mother looked at it and said, "Oh! I'm so proud!!!". We were probably looked at like we were the Adams Family, but my mother had every right to be proud. Mom told me the story of O'Neil many times. She was never sure how much I absorbed it, but that picture proved that I embraced our family story with every cell, even though I was only six years old. I think it's still one of her proudest moments as a mother. :-)

Here's the family crest with the bloody red hand. Happy Saint Patricks Day.

DC Stories-The Journey Continues.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 00:22:00 +0000

I don't have much to say right now, so I'm digging in my archives. I had to repost this one. An oldie, but goodie from 2007:

My kiss from Michael Franti at the Iraq Veterans Against the War benefit at Bus Boys & Poets in Washington
DC

Ok-another update from one very beaten up and worn down activist. Let me tell you about my journey to a peace march in DC, and you'll understand the exhaustion.

Several weeks ago I went to Washington D.C. I didn't know that I had to go until 2 days before my flight. A major peace march was scheduled for the 4th year of the war and I wanted to document it with my trusty camera (see slide show here). Also, the CODEPINK peace activists were at it again in the streets and halls of Congress, having challenges matching their bold protest actions with their internet-media skills. I was called in at the last minute to go there and train them on internet outreach basics: dealing with digital photos and film, spreading press releases in the right places on the net etc.

During my flight there, I connected in Pittsburgh but lost my flight to DC because of a violent snow storm. The peace march was the next day so I decided to hitchhike; whether it's rain, snow, sleet or hail, not much will stop me from arriving on time to my destination.

I immediately hitched a ride with a man who I deemed ok. He asked me what I do and I said, with a slight intuition that he was a Republican, "I'm a peace activist". He said with a smirk, "Well doesn't that make us the odd couple!" I asked him what he did and it turned out that he was a gun shop owner and sells military supplies to the government. You're all cringing right now. I know, but it was actually a great ride.

a pic I took during the peace march. notice how the sign in the background looks kind of like a natural thought bubble--as if Cheyney is trying to tell Bush what's going on.

We talked about our own beliefs and I pointed out that, even though he is a Republican and I am not, what he wants isn't different from what I want: a warm place to sleep, food, and some good lovin'. He also said that he wants more localized government and this, in his mind, was a Republican belief. I bursted his bubble gently, letting him know that I too, among many people, dream of a localized government that comes from the grassroots or tribal nature and that I think community action is where it's at and where I've seen the most social progress made.

He was only supposed to drive me to Harrisburg, but I guess our conversation left a warm and fuzzy impression on him because he drove me two extra hours to Baltimore so I could catch a direct train to DC. As I left him for the Baltimore-DC train, I passed a bunch of soldiers on the sidewalk, all coming back from the Middle East. This journey to the peace march couldn't have been more dream-like and symbolic. At this point, I felt like I was the star of my own movie (hmmm...)because it was so surreal.

I warily fell to my seat on the train and a very zen-like California surfer elder sat next to me. His name was Jeff (and no, his last name was not Lebowski). He offered me a macaroon and we began to talk. We exchanged little tidbits of info and realized that we were very connected; he was friends with the co-founders of CODEPINK, the peace organization where I currently work.

Midge Potts, CODEPINK activist in front of Congress during my trip. photo provided by yours truely

Jeff was trying to get to LA that night so he could go on a surfing holiday, but the east coast snow stopped him on his sunshine daydream journey and sent him back to his home in cold and snowy DC. We were both redirected by weather that day, and had the fate of sharing the rocking ride of the train together.

We arrived at Union Station in DC and Jeff stayed with me so I didn't have to wait for my ride by myself. He asked me to tell him stories of my travels, so I told him tales of Asia, shamans, and my Indiana Jones-like adventures. He told me about his travels through the Middle East, his recent journey to Kumba Mela (a gathering of thousands of saddhus)and how he was looking to start a media organization for Iranian youth.

My colleague finally arrived to see me and my new zen'd out surfer elder friend at the station, and suggested that we go to see an amazing spoken word/hip hop/funk musician named Michael Franti. My 24 hours of travel and lack of sleep was not enough to stop me from seeing one of my favorite performers in this world so I decided to go along.

CODEPINK ladies singing peace in the streets

On my way there, I told everyone in the car that I was going to kiss Michael Franti. No one believed me, which is understandable because it's easy for people to forget how much I turn my daydreams into reality.

We got to the club just as an auction for the Iraq Veterans Against the War started. Signed CD's and t-shirts by Michael was all there was to buy, but I had an idea...
I approached the auctioneer and asked him if he would auction off a kiss from Michael. He asked and Michael agreed. I then entered the auction and won the highest bid at 130 dollars. The money went directly to the Iraq Veterans organization and Micheal Franti's lips went straight to mine as I stood on the stage of the club with the crowd loudly cheering. I could almost call it prostitution, but it was for a good cause and, even though it was just a kiss, it was tax-deductible (I can't wait to report this one to the IRS next year). This made my 24 hours of air travel, hitchhiking, and train riding all worth it. Yes, this all happened in one day, on my way to a peace march, starting with snow and ending with a kiss.

You can check out more of my pictures here-
Reverend Billy and the Stop Shopping Choir Exorcise the War Demons Of Congress-Slide Show

Reverend Billy, activist/evangelist, exorcises the war demons out of Nancy Pelosi's Office.

You can also check some of my pics atMarch 17th, 4 Years of War-Slide Show Some of these photos will go into a Harvard Press publication about women's activism around the world. First book publisher for me!!!

This is a clip from when we raided the Congressional cafeteria and sang the Dont Buy Bush's War Gospel as it is. Peace-a-lujah!

Bye Bye Burka

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sat, 02 Mar 2013 00:46:00 +0000

I'm loving life. It's been some time since I've lived in the chaos of Asia, and the longer I'm in the states, the more I appreciate what I have here. Let's talk about fashion.

I LOVE dressing up. I love fashionable short skirts, cute jeans, high heels, you name it. I even wear makeup. I know. Those who have known me for a while are laughing right now. Yes, I've finally girl'd out. I get to be pretty and I even wear sparkles.

You might not think that it's a big deal. Lots of western women girl out all the time, but it's a big deal to me.

During my 20s, I had to dress to hide. In Nepal, I lived with village tribes. The villagers were very welcoming, but they still treated me like a zoo animal. I got stared down all the time, and it became exhausting. How many white 21 year olds live alone in a Nepalese village while speaking fluent Nepali? I can understand their confusion, but I used fashion to minimize the constant rubber necking and googly eyes from onlookers. Pretty much, I got a tan, acted like a villager (which wasn't hard because it was a very organic and primal environment) and wore village clothing. See example below:

Yours truly, in a Himalayan mountain hamlet.

My efforts to be a chameleon paid off though. One time, in the village, a group of Israeli tourists looked straight at me. One of them said, "Does anyone speak English here?!?! They're all locals!!! We won't find what we need." I didn't say a word and they looked right past me. Never approached me. I would have spoken to them in English, but they were loud and rude, so I just watched and laughed inside. They thought I was a local!!! HAHAHA!

Then there was Afghanistan...

I had to dress like a local as much as possible, because I didn't want to get kidnapped while walking the city streets. I wasn't perfect at looking like an Afghan woman, but I will proudly say that an Afghan soldier once asked me if I was from Pakistan. Again, I think it was because of my tan, my energy, and my somewhat regional clothing.

Humor made the culture diving easier. My friend Jeremy and I used to make jokes about the fashion all the time when we were in Kabul. He would say, "I just saw your wrists. Put those things away, you whore!" It was hilarious for us.

On the streets of Kabul. Nothing sexier than trying to dress like a sack of potatoes. Hot.

Can you imagine? Dressing to hide for so many years? What a weird concept. It didn't really phase me. It was just a small price to pay to explore a wondrous world, full of miracles and craziness. I have no regrets, but now! Let me tell you, I've broken out of my burka mentality to rock fitted dresses and hot fashion whenever possible. Oh the things one can appreciate. I'm sure the women who came before me in my own country understand what I'm talking about. Remember women, we had a fashion revolution here not too long ago.

Ah, that's better. I could have been stoned to death for this in Kabul.

And this fashion statement would have been a straight up death wish. This was in LA, not Kabul :-)

The Turkish Vagina Debacle

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 06:20:00 +0000

Why it's not good to say "Um..." in Turkey. ;-)

3friends.mp3 Listen on Posterous

Burgers & Mysticism

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 06:13:00 +0000

I was at a diner yesterday morning, and it hit me. Manifesting what you want--whether it's a relationship, job or anything in life--is like ordering a hamburger. Yes, I'm using greasy diner food to illustrate mystic wisdom. :-) Be clear with the waitress if you don't like onions on your burger, and make sure she knows that you want the special sauce. If you forget the finer details, you won't get what you want. It's that simple, and please don't complain when the burger comes with onions and no sauce. That's the way you ordered it, and remember this the next time you order a burger so you can get it right.

Manifesting is also like a diner, because you know the food will come. Do you get stressed out, and wonder if the food will come? No! You know the drill and expect it to arrive. You have a knowingness. This is what it's like when you successfully manifest your desire. You just know that what you want will arrive, and then it does. Please remember that attachments, stress and ego usually get in the way. So if you get cranky with your waitress, she might drag out the delivery time of said burger, or secretly place who knows what inside of it. Kindness and patience are key.

So ask for that career change, relationship or dream vacation as if you're ordering a burger. Don't stress, and know that it's coming.

That is all. Over and out.

So You Want A Sign?

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sun, 20 Jan 2013 23:36:00 +0000

Happy New Year and happy new paradigm! Do you feel the shifts in consciousness? I sure do. It's breathtaking how easy it is to manifest and create these days.

So I'm back! Sorry, last year I got really quiet in the blog world, but with good reason. I'm getting deeper and deeper into my journey as a film producer. I expect things to get busier this year, so I don't think I'll blog as much as I did in previous years. I will do my best to keep posting updates on all the miracles, which are definitely hard to keep track of these days. :-)

I'm in Los Angeles, feeling like a mere guppy, swimming in and around Hollywood. It's strange. Most days I get to swim with the dolphins: amazing producers and directors with pure hearts, brains and golden intentions. And then there are the other days, the ones that thankfully don't happen too much. Oh yeah, I run into the sharks: egomaniacs, extreme narcissists and people who will do most anything to turn a buck. Those are the days when I want to run away screaming. Those are the days when I miss living in Afghanistan--in a war zone--because the people there were so humble and real.

Several weeks ago, I woke up in one of those funks. I thought, "I'm really here? Why am I doing this? Can't I just run off and work for the UN again?", but then I reminded myself that life in those war-torn places became familiar. It sounds crazy, but war zones became my comfort zones, and somehow, by the grace of the goddess, I conquered all the challenges I met there. Going back would be the easy way out. I can't do that right now.

My ego was trying to fool me. It said, "Who are you to think that you can be a film producer?!?. That's not your path." My heart said, "Girl, quiet down. Meditate and pray." So I did. I sat in full lotus and lit some luscious spiced incense that brought a piece of Asia back to my nose. I said, "Universe, please show me a sign, a big fat sign that this path is right for me. Thank you."

The day continued. My dear friend Bjorn took me out for lunch with his friend Vic. Vic likes to raise tons of money to build schools and orphanages in Tibet and Nepal. This type of philanthropy is also a passion of mine. For many years, I sent Nepalese village kids to school on my own dime.

Vic and I had much to discuss. We're both versed in Buddhist practices and history. We love Kathmandu, and getting lost on treks in the majestic Himalayan heights. Two hours whirled by like two minutes. It was unspoken, but Vic and I knew we were from the same tribe.

During our conversations of adventures, philanthropy and peace, a voice kept popping up from within. It said, "Ask about Lama Wangdu. Ask about Lama Wangdu!!" louder and louder. By the end of our conversations, I finally listened to the message and said to Vic, "Do you know Lama Wangdu? He's my Buddhist teacher in Nepal." His face broke into a thousand-watt smile and said, "Of course! I studied in his monastery in Boudhanath (in Kathmandu)!!!" Then Vic reached inside his shirt and pulled out a necklace that held a small silver Tibetan medicine locket. Lama Wandgu gave it to Vic, but he didn't have to tell me--Lama Wangdu gave me the same necklace years before.

"So you want a sign" says the Universe. "Here's your sign, kid." My meditation request was answered that day. And yes, you bet I'm on my path. I know it, but the reminders are nice sometimes.

Pictured Below: He's the man. My Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Lama Wandgu.

Walt Disney, The Mystic.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 17:45:00 +0000

Say what you want about corporate Disney or Walt Disney, the man. I really don't care. When I read this quote, I know everything I need to know about him. An inspiring man who believed in magic and vision.

Pay Attention When You Fall

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 19:38:00 +0000

I just had a flashback from a simple moment, yet it is one of the most significant experiences of my life. I was biking on a snow covered sidewalk in Bend, Oregon at night. Snowflakes were falling with grace. The road was slick. I fell with my bike, and when I stood up and looked behind to where I fell, there was a break in the snow where a quote was written with spray paint on the pavement. It said, "Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens."-Jimmy Hendrix. Even though I was sore, I was happy to fall that night. The wise words were worth the tumble. I fell in the perfect spot so I could receive a beautiful message.

Inner Crow

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Mon, 08 Oct 2012 00:18:00 +0000

Finally, for the first time in life I have learned how to hold 'crow pose' for long periods of time. What's interesting is that I'm not the strongest person physically, but I realized in mid pose that it's about having inner strength, and letting go of the fear to fall on your face. This yoga pose made me realize how much I've let go of that fear to fall in just about every facet of my life. I'm sure I'll fall again, but now I know it's not going to stop me.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sat, 29 Sep 2012 08:48:00 +0000

A recent insight...

A director recently said to me, "As a Producer, you are suppose to agree with everything I say." I laughed to myself. I replied, "That's not true." What I have learned about filmmaking so far is that having a team of "Yes Men" is not going to make you a good director or leader in general. Having people who are fearless to disagree with you is more honest, and I believe that a little creative tension is healthy. That's where some amazing creations are born.

Wings Take Root

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 02:40:00 +0000

I am living in the lap of luxury--absolute abundance--and I've traveled far and wide just to learn this. In my early 20's, I left my country to search the earth for something better. Funny how the search brought me back here, to the golden west coast of America. It's ironic. This place is all I want now.

I've walked through hell and the world's greatest nightmares. I didn't know the extent of suffering that existed until I saw children crying with bloody head wounds and bloated bellies on the streets of Delhi. I've seen whole families starving in the jungles of Cambodia, and fear in the eyes of many who are stuck in never ending war zones. I'm not saying where I live is perfect, but I'm grateful for what I have. Damn right, more than ever.

In my younger days, I thought I would flit and flutter from one exotic place to the next for the rest of my life. Now, I just want to be. I know where the roots are growing, and that my true flight will come from stillness. Oh, and no doubt, there will be more butter-flights around the block. I've always wanted to see the pyramids of Egypt, the penguins in Antarctica, and experience what Carnival in Rio is all about. But it's not going to be in the same capacity as before. No more two-year stints in Central Asian war zones or Himalayan hamlets. See, I've got a place, and it comes with a beautiful community that loves and supports me in a way I've never experienced until now.

Thank God. All my needs are met. Hallelujah. I'm a lucky butterfly.

The Artist Formerly Known As Liz

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 06:02:00 +0000

Hi, my name is Erin. It always has been, but I've used my middle name Liz (short for Elizabeth) since I was a teenager. Now, Erin is busting out.

A little history...

Back on the first day of high school, I learned that I was not the only Erin in my class. My overly rebellious, egotistical, independent teenage self couldn't handle another Erin. I went to Liz, and I was the only Liz in my class. That felt better, but there was more to it. It was my childhood dream to be an actress. By the time I got to be a freshman in high school, I planned the rest of my life, including my university (NYU), career, where I'd live for the rest of my life (New York, of course) and my stage name, Liz Kelly. Kelly is my grandparents' last name, and I thought it had a nice royal ring to it.

Funny how plans unravel. Other than the high school drama club and summer theater, I never became an actress with a stage name. NYU rejected me. I never lived in New York as an adult, and you couldn't pay me to live there; I'm completely in love with the west coast and it's where I'm staying. I became a crazy, world traveling storyteller and made it my profession.

Several years past, mom and I went to a Spiritualist psychic reading. It was a circle of women with one psychic who went around and gave everyone a 10 minute message. The psychic easily figured me out. She said that I'm creative, a traveler, psychically gifted, and that I "wear time like a necklace" because I knowingly see and interact with it in a nonlinear way. She then said, "You're not using the name that you're meant to use. You have another name." Mom cracked into a half-moon smile.

She said the name I'm meant to use has something to do with being a peacemaker and the work that I came to do in this world. Well, it makes sense. Erin means Ireland in the Gaelic mother tongue of my ancestors, and it also means 'peace' and 'light'. I am here to spread the light, no doubt. It's been my number one intention for years, and I do it in as many ways as I possibly can. It's one of the reasons why I want to make films, because I want to spread stories that shine light in darkness of the world.

Mom said that Elizabeth means "woman that holds the temple within" which is also pretty cool, but it's time to finally embrace my name of peace and light. Of course, I'll respond to Liz with my old friends, and I won't have a problem with it.

By the way, my mom is thrilled. She and everyone in my family has called me Erin throughout the years, so it's not completely foreign. She always wanted me to stick with Erin, and I think it drove her crazy that I went by Liz.

What prompted all of this? I'm entering a new phase in life, one of great potential. Just in case my work becomes well known, I want to make sure that I'm happy with the name that goes public. That's it. That's why I'm Erin on Facebook and Twitter. Nice to meet you. Over and out.

Revisiting Poetry

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Thu, 17 May 2012 02:55:00 +0000

My first poem in a VERY LONG TIME:

You yearn to pick the rose that grows
behind the bulletproof glass.
I watch with the melancholic laugh,
as a garden flourishes behind you.

Kaleidoscope blankets of flora wait at your back,
but will you notice before summer has come to pass,
when the hand of time throws infinite petals to
wilt in browning grass?

My dear, that glass you will not crack...
Just turn around to see, everything of your dreams
is here right now. Forget the future and the past.

I Love My Mom.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sun, 13 May 2012 09:18:00 +0000

My mom is a cool woman, with a wacky sense of humor and a heart of gold. She's spiritual and creative. As she says, "The coconut doesn't fall far from the tree", and it's true. I have her to thank for many of my qualities and sensibilities.

Last week, the approach of Mother's Day got me thinking about my favorite moments with my mom. I thought for a while about those times that made me love her so much. The list could go on, but these made the top of the list:

1. She taught me about the truth of Christopher Columbus and that he caused a genocide. In second grade, when asked on a test, "Who was Christopher Columbus?", I wrote, "A genocidal maniac." I got in trouble. The teacher marked my answer wrong and she called my mom into school. Mom stood up for me and told the teacher that she agreed with my answer. By the way, this wasn't the only time she had to do this :-)

2. She introduced me to Monty Python at an early age. I was about 11 when she bought me The Holy Grail and Life of Brian. It absolutely changed my world. These films expanded my mind and inspired me to explore humor in a way I never imagined before. Eventually, when I was 13, I wrote my own sketch comedy styled film. It was heavily influenced by Python, with satirical jabs aimed at politics and the Catholic church.

3. She gave me a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show when I was 11, which also exploded my mind into a new paradigm. I loved that movie and watched it so much (Tim Curry, what a genius!) that I broke the video cassette. Then I brought it to my friends houses. I thought it was the coolest thing, but the parents of my friends didn't agree. Again, I got in trouble by adults who didn't get me, and my mom stood up for me. Of course, I gave up on showing it to my friends for a while.

4. She didn't kill me when I told her that I lived in Afghanistan for two years--this was long after the fact. She just calmly said, "Good thing I didn't know. If I had known, I would have flown to Kabul just to drag you home". Yeah, she's great at loving me for who I am, even with all the crazy things I do. Maybe she doesn't understand everything that I do, but she loves me, no matter what.

5. She was completely understanding when I got kicked out of Sunday school class for telling the teacher that women have the freedom of choice when it comes to their reproductive health. She never made me go back after that. Thank God!

6. She's a great storyteller. There's never a lack of conversation when she's around. We always have interesting stories to share, and I know I got the gift of gab from her.

7. She makes the best eggplant parmesian. Hands down. I miss it all the time.

8. She has helped to preserve and educate me about our family's Irish heritage. She's preserved and found so much information about our family's lineage. I don't think everyone knows as much about their family tree--the woman even went to Ireland to research our deeper roots.

9. She's classy and cultured. She always took me to museums and gave me tons of books to read. She taught me how to appreciate the beautiful and more aesthetic things in life. She's a great interior decorator and showed me how to turn everything, even my bedroom, into art.

This is just a sliver of why my mom is so wonderful. I hope she realizes how much I love her and how grateful I am for what she has given me over the years.

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 05:14:00 +0000

Inner Butterfly

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 02:04:00 +0000

This year is phenomenal, and I know I'm transitioning into something more, something I've never experienced before. It's what I've been working for on all levels: spiritually, professionally, and geographically.

My psychic/spiritual growth is intense. I feel more than ever, and I have to say, it's a blessing, but it hurts. I don't know why I have this gift, but I do. Often times, I feel more than I want to feel from other people--especially the ones I care about the most. I guess it gives me more compassion, but it's hard on my heart and body. It often makes me want to just hide in a cave. I've come to the point where if a dear friend is in physical pain, I can physically feel it as well. If someone is having a bad day, I can feel that too-even if he or she is half way around the globe. Luckily, I know enough to understand when it's not my own stuff, but what to do with it? I wish I could find my Yoda to help me soon (Yoda, if you're reading this now, give a shout out!).

I'm working on some very significant films, feature-length and short. Some are serious. Some are hilarious. Their locations, like myself, span the globe. No surprise there. They address spirituality, yoga, human rights issues, war and intercultural understanding. I've been waiting for these projects for quite some time, and I'm grateful that they're all unfolding in this very moment.

I've been highly nomadic for the past year. My work and spirit has pulled me all around the world, between India, LA, New Mexico, Colorado and many stops in between. Everywhere I go, I meet reflections of myself. I stumble upon miracles, shamans, artists, and change makers every step of the way. Tis a blessed and adventurous journey.

Now here's the baffling part that I'm trying to wrap my head around...

I've been sharing my observations of the world, the places and the inspiring people I've met for years on this blog. I've had this very journalistic approach to my writing, but now it's time for something completely different. Even though I'm flying high above the moon with excitement for my work, I can't share it :-( I have to hold my tongue, because of the sensitive nature of my projects. I can't even mention locations. This is a first for me. That's ok though. It's pushing me in new directions, and I've come to the conclusion that I need to write more about my inner world. I have a hard time sharing myself, but it's what I have to do. So, expect something more "inner" from me and less of the outer. I won't post as many pictures or worldly observations for the rest of the year (and if I do, the places and people shall remain nameless) but I'll do my best to keep it funky and real. I guess this butterfly is going back into a cocoon phase. That's all for now. Butterfly love to all.

The Henderson House

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 01:13:00 +0000

Last summer I went to New Mexico to make a documentary short for the YWCA about the Henderson House, a home that was created to get homeless women veterans off the street and back into solid and secure lives.

I didn't know what to expect with my interviews, but speaking with these women changed my life. All the women veterans I spoke with have PTSD because of sexual abuse in the military. It's one thing to read about these stories, but to hear their stories in person was something else. I am so disgusted by how these women were treated by men in the military and how they weren't taken care of after serving for our country. Society and the government left them homeless. Most of it was painful for me to digest, but the light in the darkness was the Henderson House, which is really the first home of its kind in the country where these women can bounce back with all the love and support they need. There have been homeless shelters for women veterans in the states, but the women had to share the space with male veterans. Imagine how hard it is to trust a male veteran after experiencing sexual abuse in the military for years on end. And what's unique about the Henderson House is that it isn't just a shelter--it's a proper home.Watch the video below or see the longer version here.

Thoughts on Kony 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 01:32:00 +0000

Disclaimer-

I don't have a lot of answers. This is a long rant so I'll sum it up here at the top.

1. I congratulate Invisible Children just as much as I question them. I hope they succeed in healing the wounds of child soldiers & trafficking in Uganda and beyond.

2. Let the majority of voices of the Kony Campaign come from the Ugandans.

3. Kony is not in Uganda--Invisible Children should have made this clear in the video.

4. I don't believe sending US troops is necessarily the best answer.

5. Look before you donate.

6. In the end, my opinions don't matter too much. The big question is, "What do the Ugandans want?"

My professional background makes me very interested in Kony 2012. I spent ten years working in international development, in war torn places like Cambodia, East Timor and a solid two-year stint in Kabul, Afghanistan.

Am I impressed with Kony 2012? Yes! Do I have issues with Kony 2012? Yes! And I'm grateful that it has evolved the way it has, because the world is discussing what it means to be sustainable in international development. In this Internet world where everything is so visible and where it's easy to donate with the click of a button, it's important to question as much as it is to praise this campaign. We have some lessons to learn, especially as we collectively address and move deeper into the healing of our global community.

What do I love about Kony 2012?

A group of guys with good intentions designed an intelligent and slick video campaign that reached countless people 'round the world and mobilized millions of youth in a heartbeat. People are now more conscious about child soldiers and trafficking in Africa. Maybe Kony will be caught and brought to justice. This is another fabulous example of how social media can be much more powerful than mainstream media.

What I question...

Failure to integrate local voices.

"In all its manifestations, overseas aid ultimately impacts on other people’s lives, and we therefore have a moral imperative to do more than merely “our best”. The prime directive should be to “do no harm” and to listen to the people we are trying to serve. The Kony 2012 video is a beautifully made and highly effective campaign tool. Hopefully the next campaign video will improve it, by basing it on what Ugandans, not outsiders, are asking for." From the Irish Times

"Invisible Children asked viewers to seek the engagement of American policymakers and celebrities, but – and this is a major red flag – it didn’t introduce them to the many Northern Ugandans already doing fantastic work both in their local communities and in the diaspora." From the Independent

I don't agree with the narration style of the video because most of it does not come from the Ugandan people. This may seem harmless to most, but it's a reflection of the biggest problem in international development; foreign aid organizations make many decisions on what they think is best for people. This can be disastrous. I admit that it would be great to capture Kony, but I think there's more than one way to do it. If Kony 2012 makes another video targeted towards westerners, I hope they let Ugandans narrate the story. I suggest that Kony 2012 goes more with the style of I Am Because We Are produced by Madonna. It's about children in Malawi who were orphaned by AIDS. Before watching it, I wondered if Madonna would tell the story herself, but most of the voices in the film were Malawian.

Of course, I believe in international aid, when one of the most important universal laws is obeyed: ask! Ask if the majority of Ugandans want our help. If so, great. Ask how they want our help. Imagine if the tables were turned. Imagine if a nonprofit in Uganda decided to address a social issue here in the states without asking us how to help. I think Americans would be pretty annoyed.

This topic reminds me of something I witnessed in Afghanistan...

A large and well known US funded organization spent a million dollars to deliver iPods with public health messages to Afghan tribes in the middle of nowhere Afghanistan. The iPods were delivered, but the locals who received them didn't have electricity. How would they recharge their iPods to listen to the important messages? A million dollars went down the drain. The problem was that this organization didn't do its homework--it didn't consult with local people.

Make the location clear.

"Awareness is great, but if you ask your kids, 'what do you think this video means?' and they say, 'we need to go to Northern Uganda,' which is the reaction I've seen thousands of times in the last 24 hours, that's factually incorrect," Wilkerson said. "Northern Uganda has been peaceful for six years. Kony and the remainder of the LRA weredriven out by the Ugandan military." Public Radio International

The video implies that Kony is in Uganda. He is not. Ugandans know this (even the Prime Minister has pointed this out). I watched one of the founders of Invisible Children in a TV interview say that he agrees that Kony is not in Uganda. So why wasn't it made clear in the video? Why did the Kony campaign convince the US to send US troops to Uganda? I have yet to see an answer that satisfies my question.

I question the use of American military force.

In the previously mentioned TV interview of one of the founders of Invisible Children, he states his belief in the involvement of the US military. I don't know if that's the best answer, and I encourage the Ugandan people to explore what the best answer is. If the majority of Ugandans want the US military's assistance, than so be it. I'm for free will of the people. If they don't want US involvement, than I have to respect that.

I understand how the military can be a positive force in dire situations. The US military did a fabulous job of providing the Afghans with secure voting stations on the day of the Presidential Election in 2005. I witnessed this first hand. The problem with the military is that some soldiers (the minority) make a bad name for everybody else and kill or hurt innocent people. In the situation of Afghanistan, the poor and sometimes deadly behavior of US soldiers has caused the majority of local people to resent all of the foreign military. It actually results in more fighting and terrorism. Many Afghans want to be left alone because they don't feel they're being helped by the foreign presence; a presence of military and international development that went to Afghanistan with good intentions.

This is a situation that has repeated itself throughout history, and it would be sad to see it in Uganda.

The Finances.

I can't judge the financial situation. It's not publicly clear, and it never will be. My good friend who is the founder of a successful international nonprofit told me that any nonprofit that has enough money can hire a good team of lawyers and accountants to make financial numbers and percentages look like anything so that the public believes that funding is being properly spent.

I am curious about who is behind the funding of the Invisible Children's past, but I don't expect that we'll ever know the whole story.

I did hear one of the Invisible Children founders say that 1/3rd of their funding reaches the people in Uganda. Anyone who is experienced in international development knows that this is not an impressive number. Nonprofits are always bragging much bigger numbers. I don't see how real development can be carried out in another country if most of the money is being spent in the USA. If people want to argue that Invisible Children needs to spend so much money on advocacy in the states, I have to disagree. With my experience in social media, I have a very tangible understanding of how little money it takes to spread awareness to the masses.

I also want to point out that the western world is good at throwing money to fix situations, but that doesn't always work. We saw the waste of donated money for the relief efforts for the tsunami of 2004 and more recently in Haiti. By the way, one of my friends who is deeply engrained in the Haiti crisis just informed me that there are still millions of publicly donated dollars that have yet to reach the ground. Pathetic. Let's hope that Invisible Children can result in a different story.

While on this note, I want to point out the amazing child development work of Hands to Hearts International, a model organization for international development. Please know that I will not recommend every nonprofit that I have worked for. HHI has one constant fulltime employee here in the states. The remaining majority of employees are local women in places like India and Uganda. I can say this organization is legit, because I know the founder Laura Peterson very well. I've also worked for HHI in the past. I once asked her, "Just imagine having a whole building for HHI's HQ!" She instantly responded with a gentle reality check, "I'd never want that--that's not the point." Laura understands the most effective development will build most of its staff of local leaders where the targeted issues are happening.

The dangers of a slick video campaign paired with a heart wrenching issue.

Kony 2012 made millions cry, including myself. I do not doubt the reality of the Ugandan boy who shared his story. The video was so well done, that many people didn't question the deeper information of the story before donating. In a world of advanced media and technology, I urge people to stop and research before donating. There have been many groups that use tear jerking issues to proselytize--this is not evident with the Kony 2012 campaign, but I won't cross it off the list of possibilities. All I'm saying is look before you leap with your pocket books.

I'm reminded of Afghanistan again. Several years ago, an Afghan woman whose nose was cut off was put on the cover of one of the USA's major magazines. I think it was TIME Magazine. When it happened, I heard many public figures from all points on the political spectrum say, "See! This is why we need to be in Afghanistan! We need to protect those women". I specifically remember Danny DeVito expressing the same. This cover helped to fuel a disastrous military campaign and didn't do much for the rights of Afghan women.

Some additional quotes/articles to ponder:

From Hands to Hearts International:

"The current challenges in the area are profound, the population used to live primarily on subsistence farming and after years in IDP camps they return to barely accessible roads, overgrown fields, no livestock, and eroded homes. There are too few: health clinics, health workers, medicines, schools, teachers, water pumps, and almost no ways to earn an income. While there is an overflow of: HIV/AIDS, and other diseases, malnutrition, food scarcity, PTSD trauma, alcoholism, and likely general depression. The people I have met here are smart, motivated and active in creating a better future for themselves and while they greatly appreciate international assistance, they would rather be able to provide for themselves and this is what they are working very hard on doing." From Laura Peterson of Hands to Hearts International

A Facebook post from a well respected intercultural communications professional:

So I watched the video and I was impressed by their ability to raise awareness and mobilize thousands of people for a good and righteous cause. Which makes it only more unfortunate that people believe they have been misled or misinformed by the organization. However, I was extremely disturbed by his presentation of this issue to his son and I'm curious what value he thought it added. Good intentions often result in Good things, but should not obscure the need for honesty, integrity and understanding the role of cultural self determination in social movements such as this.

"I would also recommend the Twitter feed of Laura Seay, who was moved to comment this morning that “[Solomme Lemma] is tweeting links to great community-based organizations working in Northern Uganda. Give there if you really want to help."

Boing-Boing African Voices Respond

From a professor of history at Swarthmore College

"If with its current resources and aid, in a simple or unobtrusive way, the Ugandan army and American advisors can catch or kill Kony, that’s great. Making this the singular, surpassing international demand by the world, making this the objective that launches a million postcards from American schoolchildren, pouring whatever resources might be available into that goal? Not only does it miss the forest for a single tree, it runs the serious risk of turning into precisely the kind of crusade that does more harm in the end than it does good. A very similar rhetorical logic was used to sell the war in Iraq: get Saddam Hussein at all costs. A similar logic drew the American military into a disastrously misconceived crusade to “get” Mohammed Farah Aidid in Somalia. Real life isn’t Roy Rogers, it’s Unforgiven. Going after the bad guy often makes more bad guys, or gives other bad guys a gold star and lets them pretend to be the sheriff." See blog here.

WJXT, Jacksonville

"But the media attention on Kony may actually hamper efforts to catch Kony, said Peter Pham of the Atlantic Council, a Washington think tank. The film comes after a regional -- and covert -- military operation that has been under way for several months. The attention could prompt Kony to go on the move again and may set back African and U.S. efforts to catch the warlord.

"All I can say is, it couldn't have happened at a more unhelpful moment when you look at it strategically and operationally,"said Pham, a civilian adviser to the military command that sent the U.S.troops."" News4Jax.com

From Public Radio International:

"Even under horrific circumstances, people are endlessly resourceful, and local actors understand their needs better than outsiders. It's good that Americans want to help, but ignoring the role and authority of local leaders and activists isn't just insulting and arrogant, it neglects the people who are the most likely to come up with a solution to the conflict. The LRA is a problem worth solving, but how to do so is a complicated question with no easy answers."
From Public Radio international

"Last year I went to Gulu, Uganda, where Invisible Children is based and interviewed over 50 locals. Every single person questioned Invisible Children's legitimacy and intention.

"Every single person. If anything, it seemed the people saw Invisible Children as a bigger threat than Joseph Kony at the time. Whyis it the very people you are trying to 'help' feel more offense than reliefwith your aid?" From the Acholi Times

"They spend 2/3 of their budget on advocacy and awareness raising in the United States," Wilkerson said. "A lot of that is film production, a lot of it is road shows where they take their 12 videos now on tours around the United States. They also have some traditional NGO-style education and other programs on the ground in Uganda, but it seems like they're trying to do a little bit of everything and are not necessarily great at anything except making the film and viralmarketing." From Public Radio International

Blow Bubbles: How to Have Fun in LA Traffic

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 03:52:00 +0000

Traffic in LA... It's a bitch sometimes! No, really. And I never swear on this blog, but I get to swear when it comes to talking 'bout traffic. Those of you who have braved driving here understand my agony and have plenty of profanities for it that I won't use on this blog. For those of you who have never driven here, I often find myself taking an hour to drive 10 miles. Ugh... Being tapped into one of the main pulses of western civilization comes with a price.

Today was different though. For about 20 minutes, I drove behind a man who was alone in his car. His bumper sticker read, "I love anthropology" and he was holding a bubble gun out the window! He was shooting a stream of constant bubbles, and he gave me a good laugh while creeping through traffic tonight.

Bubbles in traffic. Who knew? This guy deserves an award. Why? Because he made me laugh, and because I know he's not going to take life too seriously. He's a lesson to us all. Don't let traffic (or the man) get you down! Blow bubbles! Or do something equally silly (like fly a kite out the window, wear a clown nose at the wheel, or my favorite--which I've done in the past--fill the car with balloons, crack the window, and let the air blow them around the car. It looks really cool from the outside, and believe it or not, the balloons don't impair your driving vision). The world can get so serious and scary sometimes, but the key is to not let it get us down. This bubble guy is my hero of the day. Live it up!

Coming Out of the Mystic Closet...

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 05:54:00 +0000

I've spent the past 10 years of my life with the realization that I am of a mystic fabric. It hits me in waves, and my awareness has grown in leaps and bounds over time. I am not who I was even five years ago. My psychic sensitivity and my capacity to experience miracles is growing all the time.

It started out with strange "coincidences" and "synchronicities", which I now find hard to label as such--to label these events says that they're something out of the ordinary. The magic associated with these terms is my normal now--it's my every breath and my every moment.

There are some challenges that come with being a modern mystic in the USA--not everyone gets it. Actually, in my earlier days, I couldn't tell most of my friends about my alternative take on reality and about the psychic drum beat that I march to. I would test the waters with some of my friends and quickly be shut down like I was crazy. I was pushed to be a mystic hiding in the closet, but gradually, over time, I found more people who understood my unexplainable life because they were experiencing the same magic too.

It has taken time, but now everyone who is a part of my inner circle of friends is spiritual and psychically gifted to different extents. I only magnetize people who are spiritual and those who work on their personal growth. Anyone who doesn't fit into these categories is always somehow deflected from my field.

The best part is that people who I've known for years--the ones I've had to hide my mystic nature from--are starting to talk to me about synchronicity and magical, mystical happenings. It's thrilling, because I've had unexplainable stories that I've wanted to share with these friends for years. I've held back, because I knew they weren't ready to hear it. But now they want me to share these stories, and it's so exciting. They're somehow waking up to see the world in a new way, and I think my stories give them comfort so they don't think they're crazy for what they're starting to experience.

Finally! I feel like I can be more open about who I am. There are enough people around me who call the paranormal their normal. I can now officially say that I've come out of my mystic closet. I feel safe to publicly speak this identity in deeper ways, and I feel like I'm a part of the mystic majority. I wonder if there are others who feel this too.

Make Em' Laugh

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 04:09:00 +0000

I was recently in a conversation with someone who distributes spiritual films, and asked, "What is missing in spiritual cinema?" I asked because I want to make entertaining films that are spiritually uplifting and I need to know my market. She said, "Humor!" and went on to tell me how she has seen way too many talking-head documentaries that are trying to recreate The Secret or similar films.

It's true. People need to laugh, especially in these transitional and challenging times on the planet. Personally, I've done so much work with depressing subjects, like sexual abuse of women, war and child trafficking. I'm aware of what's happening out there, and now I need to be uplifted. I'm not going to forget the suffering and social injustice that I've seen in the world, but gosh, it's time for me to laugh and to do it on a regular basis.

In this vein, I'm now wondering how I can make spiritual films that will make you laugh so hard that you'll almost pee your yoga pants. I think this generation of filmmakers needs to take making fun of ourselves and our spiritual practices to the next level. Images of Monty Python's Life of Brian are now sparking ideas in my head...

If you have some spiritually humorous videos to share, please post the link(s) on my Facebook page. In the meantime, these are some of the sidesplitting spiritual videos that I know about. If you are reading this blog in the email subscription format, please click through to my blog, because the videos below will not embed into your email. Don't ask me why--it's a Blogger thing that's beyond my capability.

My Trip to Ganeshpuri, India

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 05:22:00 +0000

Meet Nityanda.

The shiniest jewel of my recent India adventure was my stealthy pilgrimage to Ganeshpuri, a small jungle village about 90-minutes north of Mumbai. I went to see the former home of Nityananda who is one of my greatest spiritual teachers; I've felt his presence around me for years, and his teachings just make sense to me. Nityananda built his last ashram there and took mahasamadhi (or mystically kicked the bucket) in 1961. This place has been on my to-do list for about 9 years! Check that one off!

But you need some back-story before I share the sweetness from that day. I will share my own experience of Nityananda, rather than make a poor attempt at retelling people's accounts of his mysterious nature.

In April of 2006, I was en route to Cambodia for a job. I went to interview survivors of the Khmer Rouge and to write about sex trafficking and different community development projects in the tribal countryside. I went only four months after a two-year living stint in Kabul. I was operating on emotional fumes, and the physical/post traumatic burnout that comes with living in a war zone; it's because of this that I doubted my decision to go. Could I really handle another adventure?

I boarded the plane in Portland, Oregon to fly to LA for the night. The plan was to fly to Bangkok two days later. My nerves tied my stomach into a knot as the plane ascended into misty cloud fluff. I was worried, and I did something I had never done before--I talked to Nityananda in my head. I said, "Nityananda, if you can hear me--and I think you can--please show me a sign that Cambodia is part of my path. Please bring me to someone who loves you as much as I love you. That'll be my sign!"

Kali on the dashboard!

Two hours later, my friend Katrina greeted me at LAX. As we drove on, I noticed a postcard of Kali on her dashboard. I asked, "Is this yours?" She said, "No, it belongs to my friend Greg. We're going to meet him right now, before we go back to my place." We rolled on to meet Greg. The weather was overcast, but warm. The smell of Pacific salt was thick in the air as we pulled up to his place that overlooked the Santa Monica coastline. Katrina and I approached his door. My pulse quickened, and I didn't know why. Something inside let me know that meeting Greg wouldn't be an average experience.

Greg opened the door, and I felt an undeniable and explosive connection to him the instant our eyes met. He was something like a brother from another mother, or a long lost love from an almost forgotten time. Yet this was the first time I saw him. How strange... As he welcomed us inside, I saw pictures of Nityananda and Kali all over the place. All over, in almost every room! And that was it--the immediate response to my silent in-flight request. Here was the one I asked Nityananda for on the plane that day--the one who loves him as much as I do.

Our deep conversations carried us into the evening, and so Katrina and I chose to stay. I rested alone in the night glow of Greg's meditation room, just below a picture of Nityananda that watched over me as I surrendered to my dreams. The appearance of Greg--the sign I requested--confirmed that Cambodia would treat me right, and it did. A story for another time...

The market at Ganeshpuri

Cut back to Ganeshpuri last month...

The driver turned a corner in poofs of sparkling dust. An 80-something year old woman stood no more than five feet tall in the middle of the dirt road and hailed our car. The wrinkles in her face spelled out an ancient calm and strong presence. We opened the passenger door, and, like a ninja, she effortlessly catapulted herself into the car. Surprising for someone who looked so tiny and frail.

I felt the energy of the car shift to a higher frequency as she situated herself. It was something that could be felt, like a subtle warm breeze on the skin. The silent sparkles of joy in her eyes touched my heart. She spoke in Hindi, which I don't speak, but something intuitive told me what she said. After she finished, I asked the driver to confirm that she told a story of how Nityananda used to materialize money out of nowhere to pay the day workers who built his ashram. He said yes, and, "How did you know???" "Lucky guess" I said with a minimal grin.

She also mentioned how her husband ran the first cafeteria at Nityananda's ashram and how she talked to him when he was still alive. She said that she has visited the ashram everyday for nearly 60 years.

We arrived to the ashram five minutes later. I watch our new cosmic grandma hop down from the car and scurry to the temple where she made floral offerings, probably just like she has everyday for 60 years. Meeting her was much more satisfying than seeing the ashram. She was a living, breathing record of my teacher and of a time long gone. She was my precious moment in India. I will love the memory of her for years to come.

My Radio Interview With Dr. Meg Blackburn Losey

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 20:48:00 +0000

Click here if you'd like to listen to my interview from last night on Dr. Meg Blackburn Losey's radio show Cosmic Particles. Meg is wonderful and I'm grateful that I had the chance to connect with such a spiritually aware woman. You can visit her site if you're interested in following her weekly show on things of all spiritual topics.

Back From India

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Grover) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 04:04:00 +0000

(So long, and thanks for all the fish! "Fish?!?" you say! This could be fish from anywhere in the world, but I must use it to represent my trip to India. I stayed in an ocean town and ate a lot of fish while I was there. I smelled a lot of fish, often times when I didn't want to. People kept talking to me about fish. I even met some fishy people. It was a theme that I'm still deciphering)

I'm fresh off the plane from India. Yep, I was out of the country for most of November. I wasn't a good pilgrim--I traded in my Thanksgiving Turkey for curried chicken and basmati rice. I haven't been home for too long, and most of you are like, "Whaaa???? You didn't tell me you were going to India!" Well, that's usual for this butterfly spirit. I'm always going on a surprise adventure at the last minute. I had no idea that I was going to India until one week before, back in early November of this year. My friend and filmmaking partner Peter Bussian asked me to represent the film we're working on--Scarlet Poppy--at something called the Indian Film Bazaar in Goa, India.

A friend recently said to me, "Your life sounds so exciting, but I couldn't stand being you..."

And I totally understand why, when I have stories like this. Sometimes it's challenging to be me! I learned of my trip to India only one week before leaving, so I had to drive from LA at 1am to reach San Francisco the next morning to get my Indian visa. Trust me, if I could have done it any other way, I would have. I just didn't have the luxury of going at any other time. No complaints-I'm all for whatever it takes to embark on a new adventure, I just find it funny. I've had many moments like this--from asking the Afghan Embassy for a tourist visa at the last minute to hitchhiking with Cambodians who didn't speak my language, to commuting in a tractor towing sheep in the Himalayas. And regardless of the chosen vehicle and the lack of sleep, I ALWAYS get to my destination on time :-)

It was exhilarating, another butterfly adventure where I got to network with likeminded creatives, dreamers, movers and shakers. I met filmmakers from all around the planet: Indians (of course), Australians, Europeans and even Los Angelenos. My Indian and global network expanded in incalculable ways, and I'm ever so grateful.

I didn't have much time for tourism, but that's ok. I prefer travel for work. It gives me purpose and it satisfies my soul. I did visit Ganeshpuri--it was the shining jewel of my time in India--but I will share that experience in my next blog entry.

Now I'm resting, regrouping, and manifesting the next adventures for 2012. I don't know what's coming, but I predict even more curry, Indians, films, last minute travels, and hopefully not too much smelly fish in my near future. Stay tuned folks.