Video Footage of the Goddess is Still Prohibited

Jan 14.
I am reposting something from last year, at this time of 2012, written in Mysore, where I find myself again, one year later, same but different.  It still applies, and helps me to see what has transpired.  It is a jumping off point for further posts, and I hope you still find it interesting.

Video Footage of the Goddess is Prohibited

Hiked up Chamundi Hill, 1000 steps to the goddess temple, holding up the saree.Chamundi is another name for Durga, which is another name for Parvati, Shiva’s partner. Durga is the destroyer of demons and rides a tiger, carrying many swords in her many arms. Going to the temple without Robert Moses, especially bringing a few others who haven’t been to temple before, felt like a rite of passage. I knew on this Yatra I had passed into a new relationship with temple-going, and Hindu worship, and yesterday I could feel it.

There is a certain brightness in the eyes that comes after darshan (making eye contact with the image of the goddess at temple). It reminds me of how my eyes feel after I’ve had caffeine or sugar. The energy and excitement of the local people crowding around to catch a glimpse, to make their prayers and offerings, is becoming contagious for me now, after all theses years. It used to be that I was so concerned with feeling out of place that I was too distracted to think of something like God. Over this decade of travel here, and especially twice with Namarupa Yatra, I am finding something meaningful in the act of darshan, something that transforms. I use a mantra as I wait in the line, inside the metal gates that route us along and towards the inner sanctum, just like the gates that wind us along at amusement parks, waiting for our chance to hop on a popular roller coaster. The mantra keeps me focused if I am pushed or crushed, stared at.

The Indian people must be wondering what boons I get from being among their Gods and Goddesses. I assume they must feel quite proud to see westerners who travel so far to touch their Gods. I remember this, reminding myself I am a welcome child of the universe, even here among so much that is foreign. The mantra cuts through the same broken record that has played for ten years as I go to temples. Cuts right through to the heart of it: this is about my Self, God (something more powerful than me), and all the other humans seeking the same thing in this smelly, damp line up.

It’s a metaphor for life, surely. All of us in it together, forgetting we are in it together.It’s impossible in India to forget we are in it together! The consciousness here is collective, personal space must include a general orbit of other people’s heat, smells, sounds, and intentions. When we come together at temple, the intention is same: to catch sight of the Gods and receive their blessing. Our bodies are crushed together and hurried along. One must reach through a matrix of other arms to touch the sacred flame for Aarti. One must crane the neck and lean in over the railing, arching for even a momentary connection with the eyes of that stone or brass statue. There is no quiet, penetrating gaze. It’s a momentary blast, a shot to the heart and –oh! Someone is pushing me along from behind, the priest is waving me along. Put a few rupees on the platter, remember the mantra, move along and only feel what has just transpired.

It is, like so many things here, about the surrender.

Mumbai, Jan 10. Purifyer of Human Dung

On the 10^th floor of the hotel listening to incessant beeping of horns and gazing into a grey mess of buildings.  For the wealthiest city of India, it’s got a lot of dirt, the usual folks sleeping on the medians and sidewalks at night, and puddles of unknown origin everywhere.  I am reminded that humans make a mess.  We have fluids and solids to expel, points to prove.  Money is a fluid solid like any other and can mask a mess well, but Mumbai reminds: the truth of humanity swirls in the puddles and dustpans of our lives. 

Interestingly enough, Ragunath Swami spoke later this day about the sewage project going on at the ISKCON “Eco-farm” project outside of Mumbai.  (ISKCON:  International Society for Krishna Consciousness).  The PHD who came to do his thesis project on natural wastewater treatment created a deep reservoir, which filters the dirty water through layers of earth until it is clean, and the pool itself becomes a lush water garden of flowering plants.  This is like, said Ragunath Swami, the way sadhana purifies our hearts, taking our waste and dirt and making flowers.  “It gives me hope,” he said, touching fingertips to his heart.  The PHD now stands for Purifyer of Human Dung.  That gives me hope, as one living in Boston, center of academia. 

I do keep coming here for these reminders.  Waste can become a garden, impurities change to beauty, and the sadhana I learn from this culture, the arts of yoga and devotion, well, it works. 

And so I am here again, to immerse in the land where yoga  predominates.  Mumbai:  the construction of high-rise apartments appears to be of the essence, three are there on this cityscape alone.  Towels, tunics, and dhotis hang drying from every railing up and down the side of the tall buildings, making the city of Mumbai look like a long, stained drying rack.  Something like a metal curtain rod flies through the air, hits the side of the building with a crack, and continues down to the street.  Closer to the ground, the haze and muddle of brown rooftops remind me of a vision I had from the window of the Shanghai airport.  In and out of the streets walk modern and good looking folk, weaving through the old and poor, who spit betel nut on the tar.  We walk through with yoga tights and mats on our way to the ashram for practice, where the walls are made of smooth, cool, cow dung.

Ragunath Swami, an Italian American by birth, has the interesting karma of stewarding a large Krishna ashram on prime real estate here at the Chowpatty Beach area, and this is where the Yatris stay.  We practiced primary series this morning in a room beneath the main hall where the deities are.  The morning darshan was rollicking above as the students took rest.  The sounds of stomping feet, dancing, drums, and singing were there from 7:30AM.  The adjoining restaurant, Govinda’s, is famous for its authentic brick oven pizzas, installed in Italian American fashion by the swami. 

Yatris reflected at lunch yesterday how the Indian traditions seem to have returned to paramount status after traveling to the west and back again.  An American swami in Mumbai, who knew?  Men in nice shirts and slacks tour about the grounds, with one hand inside the characteristic Krishna sack containing the mala beads.  Everyone is chanting the name of Krishna.  I wonder if the men in slacks do this, and carry the bag only when they are here, like how New Englanders go for a week-end to the Kripalu center for a workshop with Krishna Das and bust out our white flowing clothing.  There are the Brahmacharis in faded orange dhotis and kirtas, devotees who live here and serve the Lord, work in the ashram and renounce the comforts of civilian life for the comforts of spiritual life.  I see outside each room, a top, a dhoti, and a towel, all orange, and I wonder how much else they own.  In this moment, I feel thankful for my stuff.  Truly, after so many of shirking it, I like my stuff.  Wealth and spirituality both make you rich.  That we know.  Finding that middle road where I feel rich- whatever that happens to look like, well that’s the journey these days.  

Chidambaram, home of Shiva Nataraj

The priestly caste, called Dikshitar, of which there are 400 males, are charged with keeping the traditional patterns of worship going in this ancient and well-known temple.  It is a rare find having both Shiva and Vishnu honored in one place, and for being the only temple in India where Shiva is seen in his dancing form of Nataraj.  Interesting that most of the Murtis we see in the states are of Shiva dancing, and here there is only one temple to this form. 

How do I describe watching a dozen men carry a brass torch the size of this room to lead a procession of the gods into the temple?  What’s it feel like to be gently squeezed on all sides by the crowd of thousands, feet lifted off the ground as drums and horns sound around the brass statue, old as time, that has walked this corridor filled with crowds, twice a year in just this fashion for how many millennia?  The jewels encrusting the statue, rubies, emeralds, sapphires the size of my palm, are ancient in themselves, I am sure.  What is that statue worth? 

I can say this: my hair stood on end as the drums came closer.  Craning over the crowd, the smells of jasmine, coconut oil, burning incense and camphor, my hand on some small lady’s shoulder so I don't fall forward and another behind me with her hand on me to steady us all, like a row of fence posts.  It doesn’t really matter what one believes about the coming idol in this moment, its clear we are in the middle of something important to a lot of people.  The vibe is medieval, and it really feels like another time, and certainly another place.  These images and sensory experiences now etched in my subconscious link me to a collective consciousness of the millions over the years who have seen this same moment enacted in this same temple.

One has the opportunity here to change completely.  Change the way of seeing and of sensing the world, and therefore catch a fresh sense of Who I Am, or at least am not.  If this is happening here, and the Red Sox are playing in Boston at the same time, who is to say what is ever real for anyone in any given moment?  Just to see that this festival is going on as it has all this time, and my hair is standing on end and my eyes feel super-charged and bright in the moment just before the Nataraj towers before me, above the crowd.  Just this is enough to remind me: don’t think you know, don’t you think you ever know a beginning and an end to this existence;  don’t believe you have a handle on it or feet firmly planted. 

This is the home of dancing Shiva, where the grace of that slender foot can come down on you in any moment, creating a wheel of change which has no good or bad, no wrong or right.  The foot of Shiva’s grace, the impermanence of our lives, is not to be forgotten.  Meditation reminds us, death reminds us, worship reminds us.  If it takes a mountain of rice flour, entire fields of picked flowers, a live torch the size of a mini-van, and thousands of people craning to catch a glimpse of a million-dollar statue to keep us forgetting the nature of our existence here, well that’s a smaller price than death.  Or at least a very good trade.  

Ramana Maharishi Ashram Dec 26

Tiruvanamallai, the realization-place of sage Ramana Maharishi has changed a lot over the years since I came first in 1999.  Western travelers of a spiritual bent are all around here, and the usual businesses that pop up around them also abound.  The “India Boutique” and the row of shops adjacent are selling poofy pants, flowy skirts, and translucent cotton tops.  The “organic café” is selling fresh juices and green salads, which can be quite hard to come by (where are they growing lettuce in south india?).

Much of the hub-bub is to be found just opposite the entrance to the ashram.  Hippie types bliss out on the steps and sit along the walls of the main hall where Maharishi’s Samadhi is decorated.  Huge backpacks come in on the backs of travelers who had the foresight to book a room by writing to the ashram 6 months in advance. 

One finds oneself here among the lost, and it only follows that I look back at myself as another one of these travelers.  Who knows how long any of us have been here, what benefits we have been able to integrate from this place and all the merit that lies here?  Looking at the westerners all around, here as spiritual tourists, I find myself among so many seeking blessings from a country rich with spiritual heritage and living practice.  We Americans come from a land of consistent consumerism, here is a land of consistent aspiration.  Not to say all americans are consumers and all Indians are spiritual, but one can’t help but notice the difference between Disney World and the ashram as tourist attractions.  We all come together here to wake up to something greater, to soak in the environment began by a man who was able to release the illusion that he was separate from God, separated from the comfort and joy of truthful living.  That’s inspiring, and the energy of it carries all of us who wander here, confused, broken, or on a path.  Just the idea that this man got there inside a human form is enough to keep us all coming.  No matter what happens here, we all came because we are interested in knowing something more about the truth of things.  That is worth a lot.  We could be at Club Med desecrating beaches and abusing the staff.

Yoga for Spring: 

     

Yoga is a practical path to a peaceful way of being, a deeper understanding of Self and world, and a daily reminder of the sacred nature of existence. 

To balance the heavy, cool, dense, damp days of Boston spring weather, a yoga practice should encourage warmth and don't be afraid to make some moderate sweating.  Get some of that excess water out of the body.  Uddiyana Bandha is highly effective in cleansing a heavy stomach, as well as Agni Sara.  Energizing pranayama like Kapalabhati and Bhastrika will stoke the fire.  It's finally the time for the light qualities of Vinyasa yoga, all you vinyasa fiends out there.

Smells Like Spring Spirit

Due to the cold, damp qualities of Boston weather when it’s cold but not freezing, you might expect an increase in your earth and water elements (AKA Kapha dosha). In our part of the world, spring is no time for an over-indulgence of the two biggest Kapha aggravators: wheat and dairy. I have had a few allergy-sufferers complete a spring cleanse with me and have no allergies that year! Even a small reduction in these two food items until May/June can make a difference. Its about the awareness, remember, not the “rules.” To get you started, at the right, you will find a recipe for breakfast cereal that is perfect for cold, damp mornings, as well as a new noodle soup (say it 5 times fast) I piloted with Cara Brostrom on our recent"food and photo" day.  Recipe in the last post.

Eat good at home.
Well, I have started cranking out some new spring recipes. You should know my kitchen now is composed of a mini-fridge, and plug-in, double burner, hot plate. I am reaching new heights in minimalist cooking. Simple preparation, simple manifestation. The aware eater will notice quickly that outside food doesn't feel as good in the gut as home food. So get cookin- and keep it simple.

We Americans are really hooked on our sweet breakfasts. The Thai, however, know how to start off on the light foot:




New Noodle Soup
Boil 2 cups water and add coarsely chopped carrot, daikon radish, mustard greens, spring onion, and/or bok choy. Add 1-2 tsp fresh grated ginger, or ½-1 tsp ginger powder and a shake of pepper. Boil until al dente. Add rice noodles or Kelp noodles (Whole Foods in the asian section) for the last minute. Squeeze lime to taste, tamari or Braggs liquid aminos to taste, and a hint of agave. Eat when noodles become soft- don’t overcook them. For variety, you can add 1/3 can of light coconut milk per serving. I like to double fist it, big spoon in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Dribbling, broth flying--Yes! Don’t forget your bib.