meditating in the midst of wild things

Since Sunday morning, 11 of the 15 children (I misreported that statistic in a previous blog)...left for school. Since then, life here at the orphan home has offered somewhat of a consistent routine, but the nature of working with children means that nothing is really ever consistent or routine. But for the sake of taking you through the big picture of our days here...well, then here's a painting:

Britta and I have woken up every morning behind the children..we hear there waking voices and sometimes gentle meditations, then summon ourselves out of bed as well. Occasionally we join the children in yoga, but mostly we help get things ready for morning black tea (kalaichia) and daal bhat. The water is boiled on a gas stove fueled by bull dung (fascinating) and the rice and vegetables are cooked in our outdoor firepit. Since both meals take a couple hours to prepare, in the mean time we help with the children's English and math homework, and make sure Secil (the youngest school-goer) is dressed and ready to go. After the rice is hurried down our systems, we grab two hands and walk the kids to school (around 40 minutes roundtrip). 5 boys (Secil, Ishor, Mannish, Buddee, and Ramesh) and 6 girls (Samhaia, Radicka, Sima, Suneya, Sarswati, and Siryana...yes, so many S names) are school age...Ishor and Samhaia are Kumari and Primo's (orphan home mother and father) biological children (the reason for my statistic being off earlier). There are 4 rooms to the building: a large room with four beds for 13 children (the 5 smallest sleep on one), Kumari's family room with the TV that only shows WWF wrestling and Nepali sitcom/soap operas, our small volunteer room, and the kitchen.

Through neighbors' backyards, past many curious eyes, and across rice fields for short cuts (if we are running late), and then we say goodbye with high fives and smiles. On our way home we always pass the same bull that just stares and chews his cud...he always reminds me of a laughing Falcor (the Luck Dragon) from 'Neverending Story.' Our four stay-at-home toddlers (Tulie, 18 months, Rosemah and Rosemee, the 3 year old girl twins, and 3 year old Ashish) usually spot us from afar, and yell out a welcoming, "Mith, Mith" ('Miss' with a lisp).

During the late morning, early afternoon, we read stories to the kiddos including Dr. Seuss favorites and 'Where the Wild Things Are' (we actually had a wild ruckus with Max this very morning...they loved it!), play with countless balls, blow bubbles, practice our numbers and ABCs, and there is always that time of the day when the 4 of them invite us into their fort and whisper the secrets of the universe into our ears (of course all in Nepali which they're still convinced we know). Every other day or so we walk to the town to try and check e-mail and write these stories, but most days, like today, we arrive only to find out that electricity won't be on for another 2 hours (because electricity, or bijuli, is only on an average of 6 hours a day...and it's never consistent (: )...so we wait, walk around, buy peanuts from the smiling Peanut Man that stain our hands a rusty red, eat biscuits (cookie/crackers), and wait. We walk back to another ecstatic greeting from our 4 kids, take a break to read a novel, make afternoon kalaichia, and help Mother Kumari feed the bull (baisii) and look at the pregnant goat (backra...the kids love that this sounds like my name).

Around 4pm the school kids come back, and we immediately start up dinner daal bhat. Britta and I have been entrusted with preparing the cauliflower (cauli), potatoes (allu), and spinach (i forget the word). We will play games with the older kids, they will help us with our Nepali, and then it will get dark. Some nights we won't have electricity which makes Britta and me champs for bringing our headlamps--what an aid in washing dishes by the well. We sometimes join them for a Nepali soap opera if the electricity is strong, but mostly just enjoy nightly meditation and dancing...that's right...they love when we get up and do the hippiest dance we can think of. We say goodnight, read our novels, and layer up. It has been a chilly 35-40* at night which wouldn't usually be a problem, but, uh, we have no heat. Last night Britta and I took pictures of how ridiculous we looked. She had 5 layers on top, and I was completely outfitted, minus ski pants, for a day on the slopes. So we sleep soundly looking like older, taller, female versions of Randy from 'A Christmas Story.'

It has been an adjustment the past week getting used to a slower, more simple way of life. It is the nature of Americans to need an agenda, fulfill a task, and feel insecure in the midst of silence. I must admit that I have felt similar jitters of 'wasting time' and feeling 'insufficient.' But the patient way of living that Kumari, the children, and our village neighbors are teaching me is slowly settling me into a pace that is more appreciative of time spent reading a book or writing or hearing Ashish say his ABCs or watching Tulie laugh hysterically when I call her Tulie Bulie or learning how to smash tomatoes and chiles into salsa. God is good to give me such rest and time to be aware. I am beyond thankful.

Britta is hoping to make a post of our favorite, and only, baby, Tulie. My next post I hope to cover the two contrasting twins: Rosemee & Rosemaa.

I will say adieu with a quote from Annie Dillard's 'Holy the Firm' that Jon Krakauer uses in his book, 'Into the Wild'...it's the best thing I've read in a long...long time:

We sleep to time's hurdy-gurdy; we wake, if we ever wake, to the silence of God. And then, when we wake to the deep shores of time uncreated, then when the dazzling dark breaks over the far slopes of time, then it's time to toss things, like our reason, and our will; then it's time to break our necks for home.

There are no events but thoughts and the heart's hard turning, the heart's slow learning where to love and whom. The rest is merely gossip, and tales for other times.

Until next time,
Rebecca 'Maya' McNeil.