week 9.

February 23, 2025 - Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Returned from an icy hike near Ala Archa, sunk into the hot soapy tub in my flat just off Baitik Baatyr Street.

Sunburned face, sore feet, dehydrated mind.

Rested 10 minutes, staring out at the shower head, breath moving within, soap suds floating past. I dunk first my knees, then my chest, giving each a chance to soak in the nourishing warmth. It's taken me a dozen years to forget that water heals.

Water purifies. It sanctifies.

Water washes us away.

I remember now. 

I remember Kat Williams recently telling Theo Von that he believes that water is alive, that water is conscious.

I don’t know about that, but I’m sure that water brings me to life. Water brings me to consciousness.

I open the drain, and stand up to shower. As I rinse the soap from my body, as I run my hands over my limbs, washing them in clean warm water, I understand why god chose to have a body.

As I clean my body, I clean the body of god. As I sanctify my body, I sanctify the body of god. For my body is the body of god.

In fact, the body of god is all around me.

I slowly step out onto the soft bathmat. It too is the body of god.

I lift my towel from its hook. They too are the body of god.

I understand why the Rebbes of the old world insisted on washing the floors themselves and cleaning the toilets. To get down on bended knee and tenderly caress the body of god.

Tzimtzum.

Do I exaggerate? Surely, I exaggerate. I step too far.

Am I wrong? Impossible.

April 27, 2025

I’ve been going to the gym consistently 3x per week for over two months now. I work out with a trainer. Hamza. He’s half Russian, half Kyrgyz, and completely insane.

This is the most attention I've given to physical fitness in my entire life.

The progress so far?

My body is certainly far from sculpted. Do I look ripped? No. Do I feel healthy? Yes. Except that I’m constituently sore and worn out. Hamza let’s me recover just enough to be able to torture me once again.

But the biggest shift has been in my mental health. When you're expected in the gym at 8am three times per week, this not only affects your mornings but also your nights.

The other three mornings I have classes to teach. So I am left with a consistent schedule where I go to sleep at 10:30 and wake up at 6:30.

I really hate having to schedule and setting an alarm, but I have to admit that it's great discipline and works wonders for my mental health.

When I lived in Varanasi, I’d wake up at 6 to meet my guru at the Ganges river bank for two hours of daily yoga, meditation and sutras.

Two hours with my trainer in the gym is not all that different, even if it's an entirely different route.

Also, I've learned that whey protein gives me gas, stomach pains and intense bloat. So now I just eat more chicken, nuts, eggs… and a creatine supplement.

———

It feels strange to be 'an insider’ in such a masculine space. I feel a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but I try to let go of my distaste for ‘macho' culture and experience the gym for what it is. (In Bishkek, I'd estimate that 90 - 95% of gym goers are men.)

———

One afternoon as I was getting changed in my bedroom, Kanykei watched me out of the corner of her eye. Then she said, “You look like someone who goes to the gym.”

I felt like a million bucks.

As nice as it is, it's still a huge investment. 6 hours per week (3×2 hours) where I truly work my ass off. Six hours might not sound like a ton, but it definitely chews into my free time.

I have barely read or written in three months and definitely don't go out late at night. To be fair, though, I've been an early bird way before I started going to the gym.

———

My progress has been much slower and much quicker than expected.

———

Why do I go to the gym? I guess I'm curious what this version of myself (the hot, fit, attractive version) would be like. It's like an alternate reality in which I'm physically attractive rather than a nerdy skinny guy.

I'm still nerdy and skinny, but I'm getting there. I hope.

I have no illusions that this gym thing just isn't really my cup of tea. I'd rather read a book or stroll around town or sit in the café checking out girls.

All in due time.

But I’ll enjoy my two hours in the morning with Hamza. Lifting weights and letting go.

———

In Kyrgyzstan I’m learning to be a man.

“You're not a boy anymore and you should already be separated from your mother. You got enough love from her for as much as it was predestined. Now you have to start living like a man.”

-- The last text she sent me