Travel

Pilgrimage has long been a part of global Buddhist practice
  • Tricycle Community 2 comments

    Rustbelt Dharma Paid Member

    View photos that relate to this article here. More »
  • Tricycle Community 3 comments

    Where the Buddha Woke Up Paid Member

    Most are propelled by their devotion. I was propelled by a vague sense of duty and very little effort—I arrived by plane. The effort came only once I stopped busying myself with the outside world. More »
  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    Pilgrim of Love Paid Member

    There are lots of good reasons to go on a meditation retreat in India, but stalking your ex, I discover, isn't one of them.It all begins on Clapham Common, on a bench scratched bare by graffiti. "I'm going traveling," Becca tells me. "To India. On my own." Manfully, maturely, I take it on the chin and book a flight to Delhi.    I catch up with her at the Taj Mahal. Dusk descends, minarets purple, egrets blaze against the sky. Reconciliation beckons.    "What the hell are you doing here?" gasps Becca.   "I thought ... I thought..." I murmur, suddenly unable to think. "Look," she says, ''I'm leaving for Jaipur tomorrow—just leave me alone." Short, unequivocal. I pack my bags and catch the next train to Jaipur. More »
  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    The Psychedelic Journey to the Zafu Paid Member

    I was nineteen when I first dropped acid. A sophomore at UC Santa Cruz, I was living with my best friend, Kat, in a ramshackle beach cottage. We gave each other a long gaze, wished each other luck, and each swallowed a tiny piece of paper, blotted with a dot of LSD. Then we lay down in the tiny living room on the plush, blood-red carpet and waited for the acid to hit our systems. No one had advised us to vacuurn. As the LSD came on, Kat and I, immobilized, were captive to an onslaught of animated lint and cat fur. We closed our eyes in an effort to escape the writhing, multicolored environment, and the universe cracked open. I became complete peace, pure luminosity—no self, no form, no time. Free from identification with my body, I realized that death only exists in the imagination of humans. More »
  • Tricycle Community 5 comments

    To the Source Paid Member

    When my mother took LSD in 1975, under the amicable supervision of Stanislav Grof and Joan Halifax, she had no idea I was growing inside her. Throughout the trip, she commented on the movement in her belly, how it pulsed and distended. That was me. I was smaller than a grape seed, yet I was clearly huge. My mother and I achieved a psychic union that was more vast, more seamless than even our circumstance. Perhaps I remember expanding; beyond my cells, their race of microscopic bloom; beyond the amniotic womb—yet corded to the flesh creating me. My early introduction to psychedelics, two weeks after conception, is not remarkable. My parents, a Spanish teacher and a sculptor/businessman, were involved in Esalen during the early seventies and lived for a period in a San Francisco ashram. More »