Today was a good day. I almost made it through a full bag of pistachios without encountering any “unripe” nuts. There was one: the last one out of the bag. It would have been the first time in my life I’d been able to eat an entire bag without extra effort, had it not been for that one nut. I’d consumed the rest hastily; it was a smooth process. I’d say at this point I’ve successfully mastered opening the shell with just the thumb of one hand.

I looked at the continuous shell of the last pistachio, then pinched it as if it were possible that it would crack from such a small force (even though I’ve been working on my thumb). I usually would have kept trying because it was time for me to open the pistachio, but this time, I instead dropped it into the small pocket of my backpack. There was a right time for that pistachio to be broken free. I could wait.

I’m definitely evolving. Today, the pistachio was my guru. Tomorrow, something else will be.

Over a bonfire with strange vibes last night, an Indian man and I spoke about spirituality. He liked visiting the crematorium at the ghats along the Ganges in Varanasi every two years; the event was one of his “gurus.” At 3AM, he watches 10-15 bodies burn simultaneously under piles of fiery leaves, hearing bones crack as the fire decomposes the former shells of departed souls and feels relief. Life is impermanent and it can end at any moment, says the guru. The intense visual representation gives him the ability to let go of life’s troubles more easily; to appreciate what is in front of him. Everyday life is the spiritual teacher with the most profound lessons.

This morning, life gave me another gift; an opportunity. My most recent travel companion and I were due to part ways this evening. As we hucked our packs onto our backs to leave the hostel, a rush of emotion came. I felt sad to leave him. I knew I would be ok without him, but I had appreciated what we had and would miss it. Then, I became afraid of being on my own again.

I stared at his wide blue eyes and let the tears roll. I felt fine, but it was important to allow the tears to come. I had been waiting for the lump in my throat I had felt on every occasion of parting ways with mates to move from its stuck position. This was the first time in many years that I could show someone what they meant to me. Oh thank you. He hugged me close.

I had to go to the phone store. As I loaded myself in the elevator, I assured him that I was fine; that I just had to cry. It was important to me to re-myelinate the pathway for “crying when leaving people”. He congratulated me. It meant that I cared about something. I agreed.

I walked down the street still crying. Second milestone of the day: public crying. My Camiño friend used to tell me that she loved public crying. Back then, I couldn’t even cry when I was actually sad. Additionally, my ability to feel sad was pretty limited. I thought of her as I walked down the street.

I debated between calling her, or someone. I wanted to be comforted and also to celebrate, so I didn’t call anyone. I don’t want to feed my “needs”. The moment felt like it was meant just for me to enjoy. It was important to be present with the feelings.

I felt brighter after that. The rest of the day continued to be a gift. I was treated to chai by locals, treated to lunch by my friend (who had lost his own bet that we wouldn’t see more than 12 white tourists in Bundi) and attracted a crowd to the small restaurant stall we chose to have lunch with our guitar sing-a-long.

I didn’t realize how special the moments were, until I watched the video a local had taken of our “show” while tucked in my bus sleeper human cubby. I felt such warmth and such appreciation for my friend and his guitar. He looked bright too. I could see that he really did bring a light to everywhere he went.

How strange to see a video of myself from earlier in the day, and feel more love for the moment while watching the video than I did in the actual moment itself. It seems like a lot of people are living this way these days.

I remember I was mostly looking forward to the food in the moment, which was taking 1.5 hours to cook. I have to cut myself some slack though. Waiting long periods for food is not something typically tolerated well by a Bencivengo clan member.

The food truly was cooked with love however, so none of us felt any impatience. I realized how I still wasn’t present, and still wasn’t fully grasping the beauty I was finding myself in every day. Life was trying to teach me again.

I don’t know if it was the crying, the short meditation I did this morning or all of the singing, but something put me in alignment. This morning, I had wanted to call my Camiño friend. We haven’t had a call in almost 4 months, but today it felt like we should talk. As I boarded the bus at the end of the day to head to Rishikesh, I wrote her telling her about my public cry. We chatted via text. Then she asked to talk on the phone for the first time in 4 months.

Our conversation went on to contain more synchronicities. Actually, it felt bigger than synchronicities. We were directly synching up in terms of our thoughts and intuition. Something is growing; something we can’t yet see.