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.
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