I'm in Bodh Gaya now, where I've spent the last few hours under the famous Bodhi Tree (under which the Buddha sat when he attained enlightenment). What a remarkable place this is, in both expected and unexpected ways (like India as a whole)!

I spent my last day in Sarnath meditating (alternating sitting and walking) among the ruined monasteries and stupas in Deer Park--the only Westerner meditating there that day, though through the day I did have the company of one or two other meditators, especially a steadfast young Tibetan monk. Whenever shade was available, I sat with my back against a wall of the shrine marking the site of the Buddha's hut--it felt like such a welcoming and supporting spot, and is a little out of the way of most visitor traffic, besides.

Because many picnickers, tourists, and souvenir vendors wander through Deer Park all day, I took to covering myself with my duppatta. This is a long, wide, sheer white scarf that makes up part of the salwar kameez, a typical outfit for an Indian woman that conforms to local standards of modesty (much more modest than in the West). I've been wearing salwar kameezes throughout my time in India, and appreciating this loose, cool, becoming attire (easily washed and dried in a guesthouse bathroom, too!). My duppatta is large enough that I can wrap it over my head and around myself, which both keeps off the sun and insects and also discourages interruptions. I did hear many suppressed giggles, approaching footsteps, and camera clicks when picnickers encountered me, but that's OK--I know I was an unusual sight.

Many groups of Asian pilgrims came and went through that day, generally travelling in large tour buses with their guiding teachers. Generally, they chant the teachings, with their teacher leading, rather than meditate. I loved listening! At one point, as I rested on a bench under a tree overlooking Deer Park, a Korean teacher sat down next to me. It emerged that he wanted one of his students to take a photo of the both of us together. I had the impression that he was interested and approving of my solo retreat practice.

That evening, I visited the Mulagandhikti Vihara, a temple adjacent to Deer Park where the Buddha's first teaching is recited each morning and evening. A monk waved his arm to invite me inside, so I found a sitting space among many other women pilgrims, whom I towered over. It eventually emerged that they are from Sri Lanka. With lots of smiles, shared laughs, and explanatory gestures, they made me feel welcome among them--thereby helping me to expand my personal understanding of "sangha." After the chanting, we were invited to go to the front in a long snaking line to receive a blessing, protection cord, and small bottle of holy water which had been blessed during our chanting service. So now I have a second protection cord, this one saffron, which goes nicely with the brown one C tied around my wrist just a few weeks ago in Seattle.

The next day, I uneventfully took an autorickshaw back to the Varanasi train station and boarded the train to Gaya. The train ran late enough that I began to be a bit concerned about getting to Bodh Gaya, 13 km from Gaya, before nightfall. The state of Bihar, where Gaya and Bodh Gaya are located, had long been India's most violent state, though in recent years it's been much more peaceful.

The train pulled into Gaya before 5 pm, however, leaving a comfortable time margin for getting to Bodh Gaya before dark. I emerged from the train car a bit frazzled--the compartment had been full of all sorts of extra luggage (why was someone toting 3 giant jugs of plain water?), people coming and going and moving big suitcases around, and one charming but cranky baby. Before I'd taken more than 10 steps along the platform, I was suddenly surrounded by a big scrum of ragged children, who live at the station and beg for their livelihood. So many small hands suddenly reached for me and tugged at my clothes and backpack that I nearly fell. Someone helped disperse them, though, and I emerged from the welter of children--but only to be surrounded yet again by a horde of hyper autorickshaw drivers, all desperately competing to be the one to drive me to Bodh Gaya (they all knew where this Westerner must be going). I pushed my way through the most aggressive, and jumped into the autorickshaw of a somewhat more mellow driver, even as his competitors tried to jump in front of me and grab my backpack. My Lonely Planet guidebook characterizes Gaya as a "raucus town," and it isn't kidding! My ride to Bodh Gaya was bone-rattling, but otherwise uneventful.

In Bodh Gaya, I asked the driver to take me to a guesthouse recommended by Lonely Planet. He either misheard its name (I'm learning that my American accent is often difficult for people unused to it) or had a commission arrangement with another guesthouse--in any event, he took me to a different place, without my realizing it in my frazzled state. I arranged for a night there (they did not have a room for the other nights I'm here), then happily dropped my luggage in my room and headed out to find a room for my next two nights. It was then that I realized I hadn't even been to the guesthouse I'd wanted. A boy led me to that one, and I reserved a room for my remaining two nights.

All room reserving done, my young helper led me to the restaurant of my choice for dinner (he was hoping to be a tour guide for me the next day, but I gave him a tip for his help and disengaged myself as firmly yet kindly as I could). After dinner, I made my way to the Mahabodhi Temple complex. There, I've mostly remained during my waking hours, except for brief periods to transfer luggage, eat, and write this post, since my arrival day before yesterday. When I first arrived, I was frazzled and tired. Almost as soon as I entered, I felt calmed, and my tiredness soon disappeared. Others have reported essentially this experience, and now I see that it's true for me, too.

The temple, which sits on the site where the Buddha became enlightened, with the huge Bodhi Tree right next to it, is beautifully illuminated at night and towers over its surroundings. Streams of pilgrims enter and exit the compound's main gate after dropping shoes off at the big Shoe House. Among them are many Tibetan Buddhist monks and nuns in their maroon robes, Thai (?) teachers in light brown, southeast Asian pilgrims from various countries (I infer from travel bags), usually dressed in white, and many others, including just a few Westerners (this late in the season, the number of Westerners has dropped off dramatically). I joined the stream, entered the compound, and spent the rest of my evening quietly circumnavigating the temple along with many others, before catching a cycle rickshaw back to the guesthouse.

The next day, after packing and moving my luggage and getting breakfast at the same simple tent restaurant, I went back to the temple compound, this time with my meditation paraphenalia. I'd decided to bring with me an inflatable Thermorest sitting cushion to use as a zafu (following a suggestion in my Along the Path guidebook). After some experimentation, I'm also using the one thick pair of hiking socks I brought on this trip, and my Along the Path guidebook itself. These items all together constitute my makeshift zafu and zabuton. I sit on the inflated cushion with the guidebook tucked under my rear for a bit of extra forward tilt, and then I tuck one sock under each foot to keep my shins comfortable on the marble flooring. This arrangement works pretty well, though I did have a brief episode of Wanting Mind when I encountered a Western meditator toting a full-blown zafu and zabuton.

There are many places to sit inside the temple compound, and many people are meditating there so one blends right in, in contrast to Deer Park. I've taken to mainly meditating in the innermost part of the compound, immediately adjacent to the outer wall of the temple. My favored spot has become a big marble courtyard directly under the spreading branches of the Bodhi Tree, just a few feet from the Diamond Throne, believed to be the exact spot where the Buddha sat.

As in Deer Park but more so, the spiritual power of the place is very palpable to me. One outcome is that I'm finding it easy to meditate (alternating sitting with walking and brief breaks) despite innumerable distractions. I'd read that others typically find this to be true, and was glad to find it true for myself. I'd been quite tired, worn down from weeks of traveling, when I left New Delhi, but these past several days have left me quite recharged.

Yesterday, late morning (after moving between guesthouses), I first took a seat facing the Diamond Throne, in among about a dozen other meditators, mostly southeast Asian (I'm guessing a bit about nationality, of course).

Observations from Days 1 and 2 (so far):

After my first sit yesterday, I realized that a stray dog (ubiquitous in India) had snuggled itself against the back of my cushion. I reached back to stroke it gently. It stayed through another sitting, then moved off.

I've learned that it's never silent at the temple; being here is very unlike participating in a meditation retreat back home. There are quieter spaces on lawns further from the temple, but I like being under the Bodhi Tree and find that here, I'm unbothered by sound that might make me a bit crazy if encountered back home during a retreat. Partly that's due to being in another cultural setting, realizing that it's not my culture that makes the rules here. (Partly, I think, it's due to the powerfully calming nature of this place itself.)

There's constant chanting, for one thing. Beginning early in the morning, the Tibetans gather to chant very close to my favored sit space, and I find that here at least, I absolutely love this. They break for a while at midday, then resume in the early evening. The various groups of southeast Asians also gather to chant, so I often hear chanting from different directions, in different languages, at once. lt all mingles beautifully together, along with the rustling of the leaves in the Tree above us.

Morning and evening are the calmest times, though you do need your mosquito protection. Midday yesterday, a Sunday, was crazy (today there are fewer people present and it's been somewhat less crazy). A big sign before the Diamond Throne explains that this is a sacred site and asks for complete silence. This injunction is totally ignored. Early and late in the day, the main sounds are chanting. Midday, you might as well be in the middle of a crowded bazaar. You hear cellphone conversations (at top volume), Bollywood ringtones, children yelling, laughter, loud conversations, and so on.

The biggest reason for the midday craziness, though, is that the breeze rises at that time of day, and leaves start to fall from the Bodhi Tree. Everyone wants them, and many people, including monks and nuns, hurtle themselves onto each that falls. The most charming, today, was a group of young Tibetan monks who piled onto each falling leaf as though playing American football. A clear case of Wanting Mind, but tolerated by the adults, even the uniformed temple guard. Regarding the leaves, I also experienced strong Wanting Mind, and had to develop clear rules for myself. I allow myself to collect a leaf if it falls directly on me or directly in front of my feet, OR so close to me that there's no question that I have dibs on it--except if someone else is clearly gunning for it. In such cases, I pick it up and hand it to that person with a gentle smile (I really do--I'm quite proud of this). Despite these self-restrictions, I have collected several leaves. I turned my Lonely Planet into an on-the-road herbarium, pressing my leaves between pages about places I'm not visiting, with water bottle on top at night as a weight.

Here, personal space rules are just not the same as in the West. I'm sometimes jostled by other meditators taking their spaces or getting up to leave; sometimes I'm asked to move when groundskeepers need to clean the area. Yesterday evening, I was suddenly surrounded by an incoming sea of meditators arriving for an evening chanting session. Within minutes, I was hemmed in on all sides by teeny meditation tents made of mosquito netting, with the corner of one tent in my lap. I moved, but inadvertently into the men's area, I soon learned--this group of meditators keep sexes segregated. I moved to the other side of the temple. Back home, I might have felt irked by this, but here, it seemed charming and amusing.

As far as portable meditation equipment goes, the Asians seem to have it all over U.S. meditators. I've seen a couple of really nice models of lightweight folding meditation chairs (Wanting Mind again!) along with the teeny tents, which looked pretty attractive last night when the mosquitoes were beginning to gather (I used mosquito repellent along with my duppatta wrapped around me, and made out pretty well).

Despite all the fascinating distractions, the experience of spending time under the Bodhi Tree feels like a powerful, compressed meditation retreat. The frazzledness and fatigue I brought with me was quickly dispelled, and I find myself able to drop readily into quiet, spacious mind each time I sit. But this is only one part of the experience of being a Westerner at Bodh Gaya. Each time I leave the temple grounds, mind calmed and opened, I'm beseiged by people begging for money (which brings up all sorts of difficult thoughts and emotions), selling me things ("Madam, postcards?" "Madam, Buddha statue?" "Madam, CD?"...), wanting to be my tourist guide, or wanting to take me somewhere in a rickshaw (I've taken people up on that, but most often am taken to the wrong place and have to find my way back, perhaps because my accent makes place names sound unfamiliar). Then irritation arises.

So there's a natural cycle here: I go into the temple grounds and experience calm, spacious mind; I go out and almost instantly experience irritation, confusion, alarm, etc.; I go back into the temple grounds and within moments re-experience calm again, and so on. It feels like life as a meditator, in which "real life" is punctuated by personal practice and retreats, but vastly speeded up. Some say that even a short time spent meditating here can have the effect of a much longer retreat. If so, maybe this very time-compressed switching between meditation and life in the outer world--bringing up irritations and rubs, then providing an instant chance to release those habit patterns, bit by bit, time after time--is the reason why.

I'll be here in Bodh Gaya until late afternoon tomorrow, when I'll take an autorickshaw back to Gaya to catch a 3 am train to the town of Kalka, from which I'll take a "toy train" up to Simla, the old summer home of the Government of India during the time of the British Raj. From there, I'll head further on towards Dharamsala.