http://www.thenomadicfamily.com So, slowly, slowly; we're unraveling a life together, you and I. I talk a lot, and you've become one hell of a great listener. I appreciate that. Anna (the younger one) in Peru spoke of her father's favorite poem. Something about how every man has his first kiss and his first snowfall, and it stuck to me, really snugly. And like you, I have mine. I have my stories that make me who I am, that create the fibers that define where I've been, that push me passed the pain to create who I want to be. But, according to Buddhism, that 'me' is but only an allusion. Sakkaya-ditthi, personality belief, and it's what we hold onto, to help us define ourselves, label us, categorize and witness our own journey. But, Buddhism teaches that this false sense of self creates boundaries to spirituality and barriers to the true oneness with the world. It's 'me' 'my story' 'my pain' 'my life' and 'you'; likewise, I can stay flapping around lost in the winds of my own self, the way I was, who I was, who I am, who I will be- all false identities I use to mask my true, true non-self, anatta. Of course, remember there's Gabi the traveler who is spiritual, and Gabi and spiritual who is traveling. I get confused. And, here too, ever so slowly, I'm learning how to differentiate them and know which articles to put here on thenomadicfamily and which ones at gabiklaf. So, if you'd like to learn more about spirituality, finding that peace and inner light, anatta (non-self) and ways to find her- go there to gabiklaf. And our tale continues.... So, I have a story. And this blog allows me to share that with you, unraveling meticulously, one glorious string at a time, all the fibers that make me me. So, this is part of my story, my life-long fascination has always been deaf people. I fall in love with them, like I fall in love with people who work in book stores (Sheryl), librarians, Momma and Poppa old-fashion stores (especially with art and writing supplies), and firemen (but that's a whole different like of love, we don't have to get into right now). My entire life, I see someone signing and I'm stuck standing there, a bit too closely, with my jaw dropped and fairy dust parading before my eyes. A deaf person signing is the mute piped piper swaying his hands to the beat of the tune only her hears. He and me. So, it all starts like this. Kobi's sitting in the lobby of our hostel here in Siem Reap, Cambodia. He hands me a note (that I still carry in my notebook and look at every few days). It reads: "I saw your site, loved it. My friends and I admire you guys for what you all are doing. Keep up with the blog and continue to travel the world! " The note comes from Tandy Lewis, Shayna Unger, and Danielle Berrigan. Hand to heart, I look up. Kobi says, "They're right over there," and I was lost in their music from that moment forth. Forget their kind ways, their shining faces and good looks, their interest in their fellow man, their ability to come right out and say kind things to encourage others; THEY ARE DEAF! That's it, deaf, deaf, deaf, and backpacking. OMG did my kids see mommy go into this strange metamorphosis. Years before we had kids and during a summer when (I can't recall exactly why) but I don't think I was working on the ice cream trucks; I enrolled in American Sign Language 101. It was an intensive 4-hour a day summer course. Walk in, day one, teacher is deaf. Here we go. So, sitting in the lobby in the middle of Cambodia, signing. I touched things that were precious and lost to me. A language I once knew, rather well. A language we had taught our three babies so that they could effectively communicate their needs before their mouth muscles knew how to voice words. We did baby sign in our home for years. And, remarkably fast, it came back. I was standing there talking to these amazing ladies, but not really, really there. I was somewhere else that I'd known long ago, but still can't define. I was ...