24-Jan-2012
I arrived in Ayodhya at 3:30 am after sleeping only 3 hours on the chilly train ride from Varanasi. Initially I was afraid of arriving at a train station when it was still dark out, but when I got there I saw many Indian people (men and women) camped out right on the floor, either waiting for a delayed train or for the sun to rise. I found a spot on a bench and tried to snooze, but couldn't sleep. No wonder those beggars look so tired--anyone would after spending even one night on concrete.
As I was waiting for the ticket station to open at 8:00, I joined some ladies doing puja around a tree. Literally, yes, they were worshiping the tree like people worship a Buddhist stupa or Hindu statue--walking round and round it in a clockwise direction, grabbing handfulls of dry rice and touching them to the trunk before offering the rice to the tree again. Many fruits, incense, and even bangles had been offered and were sitting at the base of the tree. Unfortunately the small amount of rice I was carrying in a bag became prey for a local monkey as he fiendishly snatched it out of my hands. Gotta remember those monkeys--they are devilish little bastards around these parts.
I booked a train ticket for three days in advance to Chitrakut by way of Varanasi. Then I headed into the town to look for accommodation.
Hotels were not so easy to find! The rickshaw driver took me to the only four hotels in Ayodhya, and they were all full. Hmmmm...Darn. I had to do some thinking. No place to stay, a train ticket booked for three days later, and not super excited about the rinky dink town of Ayodhya. I went back to one hotel, had them store my bag for the day, and headed back to the train station to change my ticket.
My plans morphed into taking a train the following night to Jhansi, which was a short 15 km bus ride from the small town of Orchha, which I'd heard other travelers swooning about. It sounded amazing: only 8,000 people, next to a river, easy access to walking in the countryside, old palace rooms to explore, cheap rooms and food, laid back atmosphere. As far as I was concerned, I could spend 2 weeks there until I made my way to Delhi via Agra (for the Taj Mahal) to catch my plane for Kerala, South India, on February 14. With my new train ticket in hand, I headed out to explore Ayodhya's temples. I had resigned myself to spending the night at the train station if no other accommodation could be found.
Walking around Ayodhya, it became clear to me that this town had seen far fewer tourists than the placed I'd visited so far. Regardless of age or gender, everyone stared at me. I'd never been stared at so much in my life. It made me uncomfortable, but I knew that it was simply fascination and curiosity. A few people were courageous enough to approach me with basic English and ask, "Hello! Where you come from? What your name?" The difference between here and Varanasi was that these people weren't trying to extort money from me, they were just fascinated by the presence of a white person in their town. I only saw one other white person that whole day, a middle-aged man. We smiled knowingly as we walked past each other on the noisy street amongst bleeping car horns.
I paid a visit to Hanumangarhi, the busiest temple in town. Hanuman is the flying monkey god who served King Rama (also a Hindu god). I have to say I did not feel particularly comfortable in this temple. I sat at the edge and meditated a bit while throngs of pilgrims, men and women, stared at me as they walked clockwise around the temple's inner sanctum. I wondered at their intense fascination with me during a time when they were supposedly worshiping Hanuman. Each person carried a small box of sweets which they offered to the god, then received back again as prasad. In total, I received four sugar/butter balls as gifts from friendly, curious Hanuman worshipers.
This all sounds lovely but does nothing to describe the discomfort I felt. Try as I might, I could not harmonize my energy with the collective. This was very different from being with the Buddhist pilgrims, who I'd felt right at home with. There was a more agitated, nervous, even angry energy about the people here. No one seemed to be very calm. This has been my experience so far at popular Hindu temples--they seem to be an expression of the chaos of India itself.
As I sat there and watched the throngs of Hindu pilgrims crowding close to the Hanuman statue to offer sweets and marigolds, I tried to consciously allow myself to be different. To notice the contrast between how I was and how my environment was. It started to creep me out a little, how everybody was doing the exact same thing when worshiping their god. How ALL the women wore saris. I let myself feel uncomfortable for a bit, then found my way out of the temple.
It's interesting how in most of the India I've seen so far, I never see Indian women walking about after dark. It is only men, and a few tourists. Indian men have so much freedom compared to Indian women. It seems that women can't do anything by themselves except be inside the house. It startles me to see this pattern all around me, and to see how starkly different my values are from this society. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live in a place where arranged marriage is the norm, where a young girl being seen alone with a man at the market without her family tarnishes her reputation and her chances at a good marriage, where women have a skimpy chance of finding work that pays enough to feed and clothe them, and where parents must fork over a hefty dowry as payment to the family of their daughter's future husband. Sex before marriage is still a "sin" in most sections of society, so basically everyone is a virgin until marriage. No wonder the men are so crazy here. I've heard that they watch western porn, which is mostly white women, and then when they see white female tourists that's what goes through their heads. I am so glad that I don't live here.
Anyway, back to Ayodhya...After visiting the Hanuman Temple and having some lunch, I made my way back to Ram Janam Bhumi, the temple marking Lord Ram's birthplace. On the way, I met some lovely Hindu people who spoke very good English. One of them was getting his Ph D in Sanskrit - studying Vedic Literature like Rig, Sama, and Atharva Vedas, and knew of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Another was there with her two cousins, and worked as a professor teaching MBA students about Human Relations. Her hands were covered in henna from her recent engagement. When she heard that I had no place to stay, she said she'd take me to Faizabad at the end of the day, a town only 20 minutes away, where there were many good hotels. Her name was Sunanda.
I went with Sunanda and her two cousins to the Ram Janam Bhumi temple. The level of security there was astounding. It says in the Lonely Planet that until the '90's, a mosque stood stood in that place, but then a group of Hindu extremists bombed it and build the Ram temple that stands there today. They claimed that the mosque had been build over an earlier Hindu temple. As it stands now, the high court of India decided that the land belongs 75% to the Hindus and 25% to the Muslims, based on archaeological and historical data. Apparently there is or will be a mosque built nearby. Still, the Hindus are in constant fear of a Muslim terrorist attack at that site, and employ thousands of army and security forces, armed with guns, to guard the place. In addition to checking all my belongings at a locker by the gate, I was patted down in a private enclosure no less than four times at locations spread out along the long line to the temple.
The whole experience was strange, intense, and a little eerie. The pathways are all enclosed in cages, bars, and sometimes barbed wire. In addition to heightening security, this also prevents the vicious mokeys from stealing prasad out of people's hands. At festival time, the line of people waiting to enter the temple can stretch up to 45 kilometers long, and everyone is barefoot. For this reason, the pathways reminded me of lines at an amusment park ride - snaking around in long, winding patterns. At every turn, male and female security guards in uniform glanced at me imposingly. The air held a feeling of fear mixed with anger and anxiety. Or maybe that was just my own reaction to all the bars and security guards.
The other people waiting in line allowed me, Sunanda, and her cousins to cut in line. Sunanda said this was because I was from America, and they were being respectful to me because I'd come such a long way. When we finally reached the temple site, we were only allowed to glance at it from 20 feet away, again behind bars. I said a prayer of peace, offering sweets as prasad and receiving some in return. Then I made my way with Sunanda back through the maze of caged pathways to the main road.
The whole experience showed me an outer reflection of what an inner reality of fear and stagnation looks like. The temple's inner sanctum had an energy of sacredness and light - I felt that my prayer there was well-received. But at the same time, that light-filled place was encircled in miles of cages and armed gunmen. This seems to present a startling image of the situation of light and spirituality in our age, and of the religious ideas which so many large groups of people vehemently cling to. The light is innocent, clean, pure, and longs to free itself from the shackles imposed upon it by mankind's unnatural violence.
It had been a long day, and I was tired. I was overjoyed to finally arrive at a spacious and clean hotel room in Faizabad (after forgetting my bag in Ayodhya and going back to get it). I slept hard for 12 hours and laid in bed all morning.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Backtracking: Last Night in Varanasi
This sketch is from my last night in Varanasi, which was quite beautiful:
Jan 22, 2012
Tonight, sitting on the steps of Rana Mahal Ghat, I found a man playing Didgeridoo to the Ganga. Such mesmerizing tones--vibrations of Heaven. A crowd has gathered and now there are three Didge players all making rhythms and harmonizing together. The boats putter about on Mother Ganga, amidst star bangles of candles set to float with flowers atop bowls made of leaves. The sound of a bamboo flute drifts by from someone's cellphone. All the while, light streams down and explodes out from the musicians in multicolored, humming waves...A crowd is gathered, both human and ethereal. Waves dance before our eyes as spacial grids expand and contract with the music. Someone is staring at me, as usual.
Today I got henna on my other hand from a woman who was scarred by fire. (Her husband). She had honest eyes and a beautiful smile atop a neck covered in wavy rivulets of scars from the flames. The henna on my hand reminds me of fire. She signed her name on my wrist: "Savitri." I purchased a set of glitter eye shadows and stencils from her - I can tell that this made her day. Savitri seemed like one of those women who is just barely hovering above being a beggar. It felt good to support her by way of trade and business, rather than begging. She gave me a pack of bindis as a bonus, saying "Bless you," as she anointed my forehead with a red one.
This evening I got the boat ride I've been wanting. I waited until I met some other people to go with. It was magical. Somehow, gliding atop Ganga's surface put me in touch with her spirit in a way that I'd not tasted in the four days since I've been here. I went with a couple from Argentina and their baby girl. They captured a moment on camera that I wish I'd been able to also, but I was not quick enough. Hopefully my words will wrap around that moment in such a way as to give you a glimpse of its beauty:
Two Indian women, one young, one old, stand on the far sandy bank of the Ganga. Each one lights a candle, placing it in a leaf bowl full of marigolds and roses. They kneel down beside Ganga's flow and send their prayers off with the candles, hands outstretched and giving. Their saris drape over their heads, shoulders, hips, and waists, like folds of water in the river. They smile at each other with genuine delight as the candles drift away.
Jan 22, 2012
Tonight, sitting on the steps of Rana Mahal Ghat, I found a man playing Didgeridoo to the Ganga. Such mesmerizing tones--vibrations of Heaven. A crowd has gathered and now there are three Didge players all making rhythms and harmonizing together. The boats putter about on Mother Ganga, amidst star bangles of candles set to float with flowers atop bowls made of leaves. The sound of a bamboo flute drifts by from someone's cellphone. All the while, light streams down and explodes out from the musicians in multicolored, humming waves...A crowd is gathered, both human and ethereal. Waves dance before our eyes as spacial grids expand and contract with the music. Someone is staring at me, as usual.
Today I got henna on my other hand from a woman who was scarred by fire. (Her husband). She had honest eyes and a beautiful smile atop a neck covered in wavy rivulets of scars from the flames. The henna on my hand reminds me of fire. She signed her name on my wrist: "Savitri." I purchased a set of glitter eye shadows and stencils from her - I can tell that this made her day. Savitri seemed like one of those women who is just barely hovering above being a beggar. It felt good to support her by way of trade and business, rather than begging. She gave me a pack of bindis as a bonus, saying "Bless you," as she anointed my forehead with a red one.
This evening I got the boat ride I've been wanting. I waited until I met some other people to go with. It was magical. Somehow, gliding atop Ganga's surface put me in touch with her spirit in a way that I'd not tasted in the four days since I've been here. I went with a couple from Argentina and their baby girl. They captured a moment on camera that I wish I'd been able to also, but I was not quick enough. Hopefully my words will wrap around that moment in such a way as to give you a glimpse of its beauty:
Two Indian women, one young, one old, stand on the far sandy bank of the Ganga. Each one lights a candle, placing it in a leaf bowl full of marigolds and roses. They kneel down beside Ganga's flow and send their prayers off with the candles, hands outstretched and giving. Their saris drape over their heads, shoulders, hips, and waists, like folds of water in the river. They smile at each other with genuine delight as the candles drift away.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Experiencing Opposites
Varanasi. Craziest place in India so far. I have experienced both pain and enchantment, fear and joy. Survived my first real attack of traveller's diharrea and accompanying homesickness/loneliness. Saw Brahmin priests perform Puja to the river Ganga. Basked in the light as I strolled along the river, got henna on my hands, and an ayurvedic massage. Tonight I head to Ayodhya, the birthplace of Lord Rama. Here is a sketch that I wrote a few days ago:
Last night a bleating animal cried SO mournfully from the streets below my window that it sounded like someone was slowly torturing it to death. At first, the sound bothered me, but when i allowed the darkly humorous aspect of my situation to settle in, I couldn't stop cracking up. Laying inside my mosquito net in my small, $2 room, with my bowels splishing and splooshing inside my gut like a plunger in a pipe, I noticed how insanely opposite everything is here. If I am feeling the least bit weak or gullible, the world seems to leer at me from the moment I step outside. There is no organization, no rhyme or reason to anything here. I am happy to be leaving Varanasi soon. It is one hell of a place - I both enjoy it and wrinkle my nose at it!
Every morning a host of smallish, dust-colored birds come quacking at my window. yes, they really do quack, as they peck their reflections in the glass.
The best way to describe Varanasi is ludicrous. Peoples' dead bodies burning 24/7, ashes thrown into the river. 200 meters away, men in skimpy loincloths bathing in the same water, soaping up their hair and slapping their clothes onto flat rocks. onshore, miles of clothes strung out on lines to dry, flapping in the wind. Cow shit on the ground - sometimesin big, pie-sized dollops, othertimes smoothed over the concrete like crust. Free bathrooms everywhere for the men - I often see them peeing in public, and smell the results as I walk by the favorite bathroom spots.
No Hindu women from the dead person's familyare allowed at the cremations, because the tradition is that crying is not allowed here. To me, Varanasi sometimes seems like a city of men - touting me for boat rides ("boat, Madam? only hundred rupees. Helicopter?"), others playing the crazy sadhu role, wearing orange robes and asking for money. Nearly everyone wants to take your money here. Even the Brahmin priest, who kindly showed me around the oldest Hindu temple, gave me an incredulous look and complained loudly when I only donated 10 rupees. Then there are the men involved in funeral ceremonies. They get their heads shaved with a straight knife and watch sullenly as their loved ones are engulfed in flames.
Varanasi is not for the faint-hearted. It has taught me to stand by what I want no matter what, without allowing the gazillions of other people's judgements, proddings, and touts to sway my inner truth.
Last night a bleating animal cried SO mournfully from the streets below my window that it sounded like someone was slowly torturing it to death. At first, the sound bothered me, but when i allowed the darkly humorous aspect of my situation to settle in, I couldn't stop cracking up. Laying inside my mosquito net in my small, $2 room, with my bowels splishing and splooshing inside my gut like a plunger in a pipe, I noticed how insanely opposite everything is here. If I am feeling the least bit weak or gullible, the world seems to leer at me from the moment I step outside. There is no organization, no rhyme or reason to anything here. I am happy to be leaving Varanasi soon. It is one hell of a place - I both enjoy it and wrinkle my nose at it!
Every morning a host of smallish, dust-colored birds come quacking at my window. yes, they really do quack, as they peck their reflections in the glass.
The best way to describe Varanasi is ludicrous. Peoples' dead bodies burning 24/7, ashes thrown into the river. 200 meters away, men in skimpy loincloths bathing in the same water, soaping up their hair and slapping their clothes onto flat rocks. onshore, miles of clothes strung out on lines to dry, flapping in the wind. Cow shit on the ground - sometimesin big, pie-sized dollops, othertimes smoothed over the concrete like crust. Free bathrooms everywhere for the men - I often see them peeing in public, and smell the results as I walk by the favorite bathroom spots.
No Hindu women from the dead person's familyare allowed at the cremations, because the tradition is that crying is not allowed here. To me, Varanasi sometimes seems like a city of men - touting me for boat rides ("boat, Madam? only hundred rupees. Helicopter?"), others playing the crazy sadhu role, wearing orange robes and asking for money. Nearly everyone wants to take your money here. Even the Brahmin priest, who kindly showed me around the oldest Hindu temple, gave me an incredulous look and complained loudly when I only donated 10 rupees. Then there are the men involved in funeral ceremonies. They get their heads shaved with a straight knife and watch sullenly as their loved ones are engulfed in flames.
Varanasi is not for the faint-hearted. It has taught me to stand by what I want no matter what, without allowing the gazillions of other people's judgements, proddings, and touts to sway my inner truth.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sarnath, India
15-Jan-2012
Today I arrived again in Sarnath, India, the place of Buddha's first teaching. This time I am with my two friends from Thailand: Micki and her Buddhist monk teacher, Luang Pipit. We are staying at the Chinese Buddhist temple. It is a peaceful place with many trees out back, brids singing, goats & cows grazing, and chanting echoing out from a nearby temple. The accommodation here is luxurious compared to what I've been used to in Bodhgaya (where I slept on a concrete floor on a thin sleeping pad, snuggled next to Jimmy's Mom and her sister, while the two uncles shared the only bed in the tiny room). Micki and I are sharing a blue-green room with tall windows and doors that is large enough to fit five single beds, AND we have our own bathroom with HOT WATER, and a western-style sit down toilet. The room has a lovely expansive feeling due to the high ceilings, and in the afternoon the sunlight filters in to cast a warm glow. Our back window overlooks a quiet yard filled with small banyan trees. Mind you, there is still trash strewn across the yard like composting leaves (because this is India and everywhere is a trash bin), but it doesn't stink, so it is quite enjoyable to stroll about there.
The taxi driver who picked us up from the train station said that today was a Hindu festival. I can't remember the name of it, but the most wonderful tradition takes place in that all the kids go outside to fly kites! I am actually watching two boys right now - one has managed to launch his kite into the air and is skillfully maneuvering it with finesse and precision. It fills me with elation and exuberance when I see countless multicolored kites playfully flitting about in a blue sky. It seems like a great celebration of the air element. I was reminded of the song from Merry Poppins, "Let's Go Fly a Kits." On a humorous note, the two boys are now making fun of the chanting being broadcast from the loudspeakers - exaggerating the monks' tone of voice and talking over them in mock-chanting gibberish. Kids will be kids.
16-Jan-2012
Each day brings new miracles. Today I saw two Tibetan "chu" practitioners dancing, drumming, and blowing their sacred bone horns by the stupa where Lord Buddha gave his first teaching. I was really excited to see them because the way they moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm reminded me of a Native American dance. They danced in a circle around Shiva's trident. After the dance I gave them each a cream-colored khada (scarf) as a gift of thanks. One of them, the guy, looked me in the eyes and gave the khada back to me, placing it around me neck in the customary way and saying, "This is for you. May you do well in your practice. What is your practice, anyways?"
I replied, "I study under the Native American tradition. I am a shamanic practitioner."
"Ah, you know a lot about drums, then," he said, and smiled.
"Are you bombos (shamans)?" I asked.
"No, we are from Tibet, and we are dancing chu, which is about cutting the ego."
"Oh. Good luck, and thanks for your beautiful dance."
I would have liked to talk more with him, but he and his friend were packing up and starting to go. I captured some exquisite photos of their performance, if I do say so myself. :0)
After our visit to the stupa, Mickie, her teacher, and I went to the Archaeological Museum nearby. It was strange to see so many statues outside their temple context and in such a sterile environment. Still, the rules were different than in Western museums: under the flickering glow of fluorescent lights, many visitors bowed and touched their heads and/or prayer beads to the stone figures of Buddha, gods, and goddesses. I smiled and imagined people doing this at the Vatican or the Louvre, where many statues will set off alarm bells if you so much as touch them.
Tonight we plan to attend the daily chanting session of the monks at the Sri Lankan Buddhist temple. Even now, I can hear their sonorous voices echoing from the loudspeakers. Namaste, dear friends!
Many Blessings,
Melissa
Today I arrived again in Sarnath, India, the place of Buddha's first teaching. This time I am with my two friends from Thailand: Micki and her Buddhist monk teacher, Luang Pipit. We are staying at the Chinese Buddhist temple. It is a peaceful place with many trees out back, brids singing, goats & cows grazing, and chanting echoing out from a nearby temple. The accommodation here is luxurious compared to what I've been used to in Bodhgaya (where I slept on a concrete floor on a thin sleeping pad, snuggled next to Jimmy's Mom and her sister, while the two uncles shared the only bed in the tiny room). Micki and I are sharing a blue-green room with tall windows and doors that is large enough to fit five single beds, AND we have our own bathroom with HOT WATER, and a western-style sit down toilet. The room has a lovely expansive feeling due to the high ceilings, and in the afternoon the sunlight filters in to cast a warm glow. Our back window overlooks a quiet yard filled with small banyan trees. Mind you, there is still trash strewn across the yard like composting leaves (because this is India and everywhere is a trash bin), but it doesn't stink, so it is quite enjoyable to stroll about there.
The taxi driver who picked us up from the train station said that today was a Hindu festival. I can't remember the name of it, but the most wonderful tradition takes place in that all the kids go outside to fly kites! I am actually watching two boys right now - one has managed to launch his kite into the air and is skillfully maneuvering it with finesse and precision. It fills me with elation and exuberance when I see countless multicolored kites playfully flitting about in a blue sky. It seems like a great celebration of the air element. I was reminded of the song from Merry Poppins, "Let's Go Fly a Kits." On a humorous note, the two boys are now making fun of the chanting being broadcast from the loudspeakers - exaggerating the monks' tone of voice and talking over them in mock-chanting gibberish. Kids will be kids.
16-Jan-2012
Each day brings new miracles. Today I saw two Tibetan "chu" practitioners dancing, drumming, and blowing their sacred bone horns by the stupa where Lord Buddha gave his first teaching. I was really excited to see them because the way they moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm reminded me of a Native American dance. They danced in a circle around Shiva's trident. After the dance I gave them each a cream-colored khada (scarf) as a gift of thanks. One of them, the guy, looked me in the eyes and gave the khada back to me, placing it around me neck in the customary way and saying, "This is for you. May you do well in your practice. What is your practice, anyways?"
I replied, "I study under the Native American tradition. I am a shamanic practitioner."
"Ah, you know a lot about drums, then," he said, and smiled.
"Are you bombos (shamans)?" I asked.
"No, we are from Tibet, and we are dancing chu, which is about cutting the ego."
"Oh. Good luck, and thanks for your beautiful dance."
I would have liked to talk more with him, but he and his friend were packing up and starting to go. I captured some exquisite photos of their performance, if I do say so myself. :0)
After our visit to the stupa, Mickie, her teacher, and I went to the Archaeological Museum nearby. It was strange to see so many statues outside their temple context and in such a sterile environment. Still, the rules were different than in Western museums: under the flickering glow of fluorescent lights, many visitors bowed and touched their heads and/or prayer beads to the stone figures of Buddha, gods, and goddesses. I smiled and imagined people doing this at the Vatican or the Louvre, where many statues will set off alarm bells if you so much as touch them.
Tonight we plan to attend the daily chanting session of the monks at the Sri Lankan Buddhist temple. Even now, I can hear their sonorous voices echoing from the loudspeakers. Namaste, dear friends!
Many Blessings,
Melissa
More Photos from Bodhgaya
Fast Internet! Yay. These are some photos of the last days in Bodhgaya, with my Thai friend and her monk teacher (in yellow), with the Thai lady nuns (in white), of some beggar children we met on the way to Dungeshwari Cave, and a large group of very happy orphan children at a school where I briefly taught some songs, games, and dances (the macarena, hokey pokey, and "farmer in the dell" were the favorites). Enjoy.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Dungeshwari cave
Two nights ago, a friend showed me to a Thai Buddhist nunnery where I could stay for free (by donation). It is really wonderful there. I have made a new friend, her name is Micki, an english teacher from thailand. She is here with her lama (monk) teacher. Yesterday morning, just as I was going to head out to call you on skype, she said that she, her teacher, and several of the nuns were heading out to visit the cave where buddha spent 6 years in meditation before coming to bodhgaya and acheiving enlightenment under the bodhi tree. It was a free ride for me in their hired jeep.
We took the jeep to the nearby river, and walked to the cave (by a mountain) from there. It was quite surreal. Micki's teacher wears all tan robes, and goes barefoot wherever he goes. the nuns wear all white robes. we walked for several hours approaching the cave, across a river (we waded through barefoot), and through fields and indian villages. the village children hounded us for money and biscuits. they finally left us alone after a while.
It was a very intense experience at the cave for me, when we finally reached there. it was the most beggars i have seen so far on this trip, maybe several hundred all lined up along the path to the cave. i was overcome with emotion. it was really hard to see so many women and children, old men, and crippled people (from polio) just sitting on the side of the path with their hands open in the begging posture. and they are sitting on piles of plastic from the candies and biscuits that tourists buy from the nearby sellers to give away.
i was really glad to be in the company of a good friend and several holy people. after giving our offerings at the cave, we gathered beneath the prayer flags to pray. it was so beautiful. Micki's teacher led the prayers, sung in the Thai language. I added my heartfelt intentions and knelt alongside them.
India is a place of great extremes. Of incredible beauty and holiness, and also the deepest depths of poverty. Bihar state, where Bodhgaya is located, is the poorest state in India.
today was easier and included another nice surprise. I took Micki to a deserted, 2,000-year-old buddhist/hindu temple by the river. several days ago, some local teenagers selling omelets on the street had shown it to me. i bought some flowers on the way as an offering. this time, the son of the brahmin priest who does puja there was available to show us around. this place is POWERFUL. the statues vibrate with intense presence. there is a room full of buddha statues, a room of statues for hindu deities like lakshmi, saraswati, and vishnu, etc, and a whole series of 21 separate small shiva temples with lingams inside, as well as several seats where the very holy men like shankaracharyas, rajas (kings), and gandhi used to sit, atop very old tiger skins. there was also the ruins of a building that the raja (king) used to live in nearby.
The man who showed us around invited us to attend puja tomorrow morning, so we will go and bring flowers and fruits. there is a whole fire pit, by the shiva temples, where they do puja. I am looking forward to it, to say the least!
On the 15th of January (day after tomorrow), I will catch an early morning train to Varanasi with Micki and her teacher. They know Thai people who we can stay with there, either at a temple or at the university.
We took the jeep to the nearby river, and walked to the cave (by a mountain) from there. It was quite surreal. Micki's teacher wears all tan robes, and goes barefoot wherever he goes. the nuns wear all white robes. we walked for several hours approaching the cave, across a river (we waded through barefoot), and through fields and indian villages. the village children hounded us for money and biscuits. they finally left us alone after a while.
It was a very intense experience at the cave for me, when we finally reached there. it was the most beggars i have seen so far on this trip, maybe several hundred all lined up along the path to the cave. i was overcome with emotion. it was really hard to see so many women and children, old men, and crippled people (from polio) just sitting on the side of the path with their hands open in the begging posture. and they are sitting on piles of plastic from the candies and biscuits that tourists buy from the nearby sellers to give away.
i was really glad to be in the company of a good friend and several holy people. after giving our offerings at the cave, we gathered beneath the prayer flags to pray. it was so beautiful. Micki's teacher led the prayers, sung in the Thai language. I added my heartfelt intentions and knelt alongside them.
India is a place of great extremes. Of incredible beauty and holiness, and also the deepest depths of poverty. Bihar state, where Bodhgaya is located, is the poorest state in India.
today was easier and included another nice surprise. I took Micki to a deserted, 2,000-year-old buddhist/hindu temple by the river. several days ago, some local teenagers selling omelets on the street had shown it to me. i bought some flowers on the way as an offering. this time, the son of the brahmin priest who does puja there was available to show us around. this place is POWERFUL. the statues vibrate with intense presence. there is a room full of buddha statues, a room of statues for hindu deities like lakshmi, saraswati, and vishnu, etc, and a whole series of 21 separate small shiva temples with lingams inside, as well as several seats where the very holy men like shankaracharyas, rajas (kings), and gandhi used to sit, atop very old tiger skins. there was also the ruins of a building that the raja (king) used to live in nearby.
The man who showed us around invited us to attend puja tomorrow morning, so we will go and bring flowers and fruits. there is a whole fire pit, by the shiva temples, where they do puja. I am looking forward to it, to say the least!
On the 15th of January (day after tomorrow), I will catch an early morning train to Varanasi with Micki and her teacher. They know Thai people who we can stay with there, either at a temple or at the university.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
New Year Pictures
The "Happy New Year 2012" picture was taken at a toll station from my bus ride into India. The photo of me and a young Nepali girl was on Christmas in Kathmandu. I was at a Hookah bar and she was very tipsy, snd decided that I should be her friend for the night. It was a great time, really good band singing some well-known cover songs in English. The photo of the big Buddha is in Sarnath, where Buddha did his first teaching. And the one of me with a Nepali woman in a black coat is Jimmy's Mom, the lady I stayed with in Nakote village in Nepal while volunteering.
The Kalachakra initiation has been amazing. The Dalai Lama sure draws a crowd. And his energetic work is for real. On initiation day, he initiated all of us, more than 200,000 people. I really feel the changes internally. Something is very different inside, like my soul has been supercharged with bright light juice. It's hard to explain in words, but somehow I have received exactly what I came to India for, and I don't know what it is, but it is something sacred, secret, and unspoken. I am only grateful for the synchronicity that seems to be guiding where I go and what I do.
Much Love and Namaste!
Melissa
Friday, January 6, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Kalachakra, Bodhgaya, India: Part 1
Jan 3, 2011
I am sitting cross-legged in a sea of maroon robes, beneath the bodhi tree where Buddha got enlightened. All day, reverberations of Tibetan chanting filled the air - deep, guttural voices echoing from the hollows of monk bellies and bouncing sound waves off the tall Stupa Temple. I am fascinated by how India is alread working me, in a much different way than Nepal. India is a surprise around every corner, a lotus flower blossoming in the mud.
Walking clockwise around the Stupa Temple, squished on every side by monks, Tibetans, and Himalayan Buddhists of every type, I was surprised to feel no guilt as I walked by a line of beggars holding out empty metal bowls through the openings in the fence. I have decided to save myself the confusing pain and internal guilt of thinking, each time I see a beggar, "Should I help them? Or not?" I have not once given any money to them. It is much simpler that way.
I can see the humor in some of the beggar's dramatic performances, and sense the dark humor about how over the top some of them are. Mostly, I want to save myself the pain and confusion of trying to solve someone else's problems. Maybe I will do some volunteering with this population or donate to an organization that benefits their cause sometime later. (Or not - there is no feeling of pressure - it's only about doing what I truly want to do, not giving lip service to my idea of what a good person should be.
Yesterday I wantered around the numerous Buddhist temples from many countries: China, Japan, Thailand, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Vietnam, Bhutan, Tibet. The Tibetan temple was my favorite. It reminded me most of the gompas that I saw in Helambu, Nepal. I parked myself there for over an hour to listen to the monks doing a puja (ritual & chanting). There is something so earth-shattering and heavenly about the hollow pounding of the two turquiose 4-foot wide drums, the lightning clashes of the cymbals, and the deep growl of the 8-foot long horns. Then the rhythm of the chanting again sometimes is punctuated by a light snapping of the fingers of clapping of the hands.
The Tibetan temple is ablaze with color inside and out. It is an artist's paradise. By the way, the Italians are not the only ones to have painted frescoes in their places of worship - the Buddhists give them a run for their money! After soaking in the atmosphere a while, I realized another benefit, besides sheer beauty, of painting the temple in such rich colors: energetic color resonance. It was as though I were sitting inside the heart of a color symphony. All the instruments blended togethewr in such a splendid way as to create an intricate harmony that I could never forget and coul barely pull my eyes away from.
Perhaps the sweetest feature of the Tibetan temple was the birds' nest inside one of the chandeliers. I kept noticing the birds arriving at that one particular place, and it took me a while to realize that it was because of the nest - their home!
I think I am beginning 2012 on a good foot (!). January 1, I was present for the Dalai Lama's introduction. The whole atmosphere reminded me of what it was like to hear Maharishi Mahesh Yogi speak. Many people listening intently, wise presence projecting light and knowledge, inspiration and insight awakening in the hearts and minds of the many tens of thousands who are listening. Kalachakra also reminds me of meditation courses I've taken in the past - deep and intense spiritual energies, compounded by the power of maybe 100,000 people's prayers, presence, and intention for world peace.
It is interesting that the days leading up to January 1 were annoyingly hot - everyone seemed to be a bit short tempered. On the other hand, on the first of the year, the start of the Dalai Lama's presence in Bodhgaya and the accompanying chanting & ceremonies, it rained a nice, cleansing rain. It was funny being under the festival tent, watching water droplets collect into puddles above me, and then come splashing down in rivulets and showers. No one was very dry after that teaching, but everyon'e temperhad cooled by about 100 degrees. I remember the synchronized feeling fo communal calm as we all streamed out of the tent and into the streets now disgusting with mud. No one seemed to care as the thousands of us coolly wandered back through the town.
The days are still cooler and more comfortable, with bits of rain here and there. Tomorrow is the first day of official Kalachakra teachings with His Holiness. Looking forward to tuning in! English translation will be broadcast via FM radio.
Blessings and Namaste,
Melissa
I am sitting cross-legged in a sea of maroon robes, beneath the bodhi tree where Buddha got enlightened. All day, reverberations of Tibetan chanting filled the air - deep, guttural voices echoing from the hollows of monk bellies and bouncing sound waves off the tall Stupa Temple. I am fascinated by how India is alread working me, in a much different way than Nepal. India is a surprise around every corner, a lotus flower blossoming in the mud.
Walking clockwise around the Stupa Temple, squished on every side by monks, Tibetans, and Himalayan Buddhists of every type, I was surprised to feel no guilt as I walked by a line of beggars holding out empty metal bowls through the openings in the fence. I have decided to save myself the confusing pain and internal guilt of thinking, each time I see a beggar, "Should I help them? Or not?" I have not once given any money to them. It is much simpler that way.
I can see the humor in some of the beggar's dramatic performances, and sense the dark humor about how over the top some of them are. Mostly, I want to save myself the pain and confusion of trying to solve someone else's problems. Maybe I will do some volunteering with this population or donate to an organization that benefits their cause sometime later. (Or not - there is no feeling of pressure - it's only about doing what I truly want to do, not giving lip service to my idea of what a good person should be.
Yesterday I wantered around the numerous Buddhist temples from many countries: China, Japan, Thailand, Bangladesh, Cambodia, Vietnam, Bhutan, Tibet. The Tibetan temple was my favorite. It reminded me most of the gompas that I saw in Helambu, Nepal. I parked myself there for over an hour to listen to the monks doing a puja (ritual & chanting). There is something so earth-shattering and heavenly about the hollow pounding of the two turquiose 4-foot wide drums, the lightning clashes of the cymbals, and the deep growl of the 8-foot long horns. Then the rhythm of the chanting again sometimes is punctuated by a light snapping of the fingers of clapping of the hands.
The Tibetan temple is ablaze with color inside and out. It is an artist's paradise. By the way, the Italians are not the only ones to have painted frescoes in their places of worship - the Buddhists give them a run for their money! After soaking in the atmosphere a while, I realized another benefit, besides sheer beauty, of painting the temple in such rich colors: energetic color resonance. It was as though I were sitting inside the heart of a color symphony. All the instruments blended togethewr in such a splendid way as to create an intricate harmony that I could never forget and coul barely pull my eyes away from.
Perhaps the sweetest feature of the Tibetan temple was the birds' nest inside one of the chandeliers. I kept noticing the birds arriving at that one particular place, and it took me a while to realize that it was because of the nest - their home!
I think I am beginning 2012 on a good foot (!). January 1, I was present for the Dalai Lama's introduction. The whole atmosphere reminded me of what it was like to hear Maharishi Mahesh Yogi speak. Many people listening intently, wise presence projecting light and knowledge, inspiration and insight awakening in the hearts and minds of the many tens of thousands who are listening. Kalachakra also reminds me of meditation courses I've taken in the past - deep and intense spiritual energies, compounded by the power of maybe 100,000 people's prayers, presence, and intention for world peace.
It is interesting that the days leading up to January 1 were annoyingly hot - everyone seemed to be a bit short tempered. On the other hand, on the first of the year, the start of the Dalai Lama's presence in Bodhgaya and the accompanying chanting & ceremonies, it rained a nice, cleansing rain. It was funny being under the festival tent, watching water droplets collect into puddles above me, and then come splashing down in rivulets and showers. No one was very dry after that teaching, but everyon'e temperhad cooled by about 100 degrees. I remember the synchronized feeling fo communal calm as we all streamed out of the tent and into the streets now disgusting with mud. No one seemed to care as the thousands of us coolly wandered back through the town.
The days are still cooler and more comfortable, with bits of rain here and there. Tomorrow is the first day of official Kalachakra teachings with His Holiness. Looking forward to tuning in! English translation will be broadcast via FM radio.
Blessings and Namaste,
Melissa
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