adventures of a fearless (mostly) globe trotting seeker...
wondering, wandering, barefoot, nomadess

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

a day and night in india...

the still of morning

woke up 5am yesterday at the ashram, it was still black out. i like to wake up before the sun, before the day, before everyone else starts stirring. it is like a pregant pause, a secret world for me alone. i dressed quickly and walked into the cool darkness of the earth, the only thing stirring is the powdery dust between my toes. in the dark i have to feel each step, reading the ground like braille with my bare feet. i was excited to sit outside my teachers door. i could hear him awake, but he had not come out yet so i sat and felt our exchange of energy. it is up to me if i want to feel alone. it is a good example here, as i sit outside the door, waiting. an example for everything in my life. i cannot have everything when i want it or how i want it. sometimes i must cultivate the art of waiting, which becomes a sublime partner in itself.
who is with me as i wait alone?
my thoughts are with me.
my heartbeat is with me.
the smell of the morning, carrying the burnt ashes from the fires they use to burn trash, that is also with me.
my body is with me. i listen to my body. she is a little achey. it will be alright.
i send my energy into my teachers room and connect to it, then it is like a wave moving between us. every moment of life is full.

the roosters begin to sound the day. now their is more world awake than me. the cook brings me chai from the little kitchen. they still cook with fire from wood, squatting in front to stir the food. i think it tastes better this way.

i walked up to the rooftop to watch the mists still covering the hills in violets, lavenders and grays. the hills seem to fade off into another world. It seems a land time has forgotten. I expect a dinosaur any moment. The shapes of the hills are like the curves of a woman's body, who has gracefully draped her form here. one looks like a profile of a face with parted lips, another looks like a hip and another pointed like a breast. The hills here are lush and green and the earth is an orange-red color.

only the sound of the crows. I can see the path snaking through the jungle from where i sit up high on the roof. there are a few lonely figures with baskets of coconuts on their heads walking the dusty red road from the local village. beginning the work of the day. earning a living to care for their families. a friend told me once, god moves like a snake, in an unpredictable zig zag movement.

the soul's body

the mother is so present here. she has so many faces. the one that changes in my dreams, stirring up all the undigested bits of my psyche. dreams are so vivid and yet the sleep is so heavy here. i feel her in a heat that feels like physical burning, but which i have come to love as a physical experience of her presence. this morning is her breath. i dream her dreams. my body is her body and my eyes are her eyes.
my sufi teacher in turkey used to ask me,
"who sees through your eyes?'.
the Soul sees through your eyes."
yes, we are the soul and the soul's body made flesh. india is the heart of this body, pumping with blood and life. a land of contrasts. this world, this life is made of contrasts, isn't it?


later, i went to the city, such a change. bustling with dirt, people, a naked boy stands in the street touching himself. his black eyes stare out at the world unapologetically. it feels good to him, he has yet to become aware of shame. of course, i guess it wouldn't do to walk around with my pants down all day!

the forgetfulness of sleep

when i finally fell asleep last night, i truly fell. i was given the key to a devotees apartment in the city, and i let myself and my into the empty place. i went to the bathroom. i believe bathrooms in prisons are nicer. i thought, "dear jesus, i am so tired, is a nice bathroom too much to ask for?" too tired to wash my face, my dusty feet or brush my teeth, i fell asleep in the strange bed drooling. matresses were there, but no sheets. i was too tired to think of the cleanliness of the bed. i took my dress and laid it on the bed for some smell of myself rather than all the strangers who had slept and sweat here before. sleep came heavy and brought forgetfulness. my companion sang over my body, gently stroking my face and hair. i am grateful for love and human kindnesses. it did not matter where i was or the bed. i folded gently into myself, into my mind and dreams.
a contemplative question in the yogi path is:
"who is dreaming when i sleep?"

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