A few weeks ago I was on the ridge of a small mountain. I was there with an Australian snowboard champion and two musicians, all of whom I love very much. The group comprised of three men and a woman. The men wore ankle-long skirts, and she wore pants. We found a big rock along the ridge and, sitting atop it, looked out at the early morning sun piercing through the jungle mists. As we sat there, we spoke of dreams, of journeys, of the past and the future. It seems that at the moment, our earth exists in Kaliyuga, or the age of Kali. Now, Kali is a demon that corrupts the mind and soul of nobility and love, and as time passes we slowly descend into vice and hatred. Apparently we've been living in Kaliyuga for quite some time, 5000 years or so, and looking along the lines of history it seems the Demon Kali has been doing his job. But, while there is a lot of suffering during Kaliyuga, it does have its benefits. Since the natural world is in so much strife, all the Gods have come down in various forms to help out. There are more Gods now on Earth than there ever has been. So much so that all the heavens are empty, as the Gods hope to help usher in the next age. With luck, you might meet one.
An interesting thought, and one to consider while I sat cross legged in a Hindu temple in a small village outside of Vellore, Tamil Nadu. I sat in that temple spellbound by a man wearing simple brown robes on a small stage. On the stage was a beautiful shrine, meticulously decorated in bright flowers and flowing robes. Behind me a trio of musicians razzed out a mind melting soundtrack that was as equally jarring as soothing. The man sat next to the shrine, pouring milk on to a small statue of the Goddess Narayani. He then poured water, then honey, then more water, on and on. Occasionally he would grab a flame, and rotate the flame clockwise around the statue. At these times, the music reached a fever pitch, and the devotees in attendance raised there hands to the sky. The earnest, intense belief shown by the people there really moved me, it stirred awake old wounds and collected resentments. I've got to admit. I don't think I've ever seen such firm belief shown so purely. It was truly beautiful.
The meticulousness of the man's movements; his slow, easy flowing actions, and the purity in his eyes, stirred emotions within me that were difficult to assess. There were a lot of them, churning inside; conflicting thoughts and feelings wrestled with each other, vying for my attention. I have to admit, I wanted to leave. I wanted to get up and go and just leave the entire place. I'd walk back to Vellore if I had to. In fact, at one point the feeling was so strong that I did just that. I left. I put my shows on, and walked, with nothing but 50 rupees in my pocket. I got pretty far, about 30 minutes outside of the village, before the ridiculousness of my actions forced me to turn back, back to my friends and the Sri Puram Golden Temple.
The Sri Puram Golden Temple has been built, along with a free school, a free hospital, a big recycling plant, an orphanage and many other things, by a man named Amma Narayani. He is, apparently, a living incarnation of the Goddess Narayani. Many people are convinced of his divinity, and come from far to watch him perform his daily prayers.
The day the four of us climbed that mountain started at 430 am. We awoke to witness the waking of the statue of Narayani. To do that we needed fruit, lots of it, along with milk, honey, and a brown water that smelled of chocolate. We needed to cut the fruit up into small pieces, and we began our day that way, with our shirts off (a requirement to enter the temple) cutting up fruit for a living statue. Then we watched, while a man endlessly chimed a bell and the monks mumbled prayers while pouring pitcher after pitcher of water milk honey.
I've left that place behind, to return to Mumbai and reunite with my friend Fish. But the place still stirs inside me, like a job left half done. And the day will come when I return to that place, to watch a God throw flowers on a cow, and feel the warmth of a holy flame. While a horn and a drum and a bell dance in my ears and through my toes.
Intestines still fine
An interesting thought, and one to consider while I sat cross legged in a Hindu temple in a small village outside of Vellore, Tamil Nadu. I sat in that temple spellbound by a man wearing simple brown robes on a small stage. On the stage was a beautiful shrine, meticulously decorated in bright flowers and flowing robes. Behind me a trio of musicians razzed out a mind melting soundtrack that was as equally jarring as soothing. The man sat next to the shrine, pouring milk on to a small statue of the Goddess Narayani. He then poured water, then honey, then more water, on and on. Occasionally he would grab a flame, and rotate the flame clockwise around the statue. At these times, the music reached a fever pitch, and the devotees in attendance raised there hands to the sky. The earnest, intense belief shown by the people there really moved me, it stirred awake old wounds and collected resentments. I've got to admit. I don't think I've ever seen such firm belief shown so purely. It was truly beautiful.
The meticulousness of the man's movements; his slow, easy flowing actions, and the purity in his eyes, stirred emotions within me that were difficult to assess. There were a lot of them, churning inside; conflicting thoughts and feelings wrestled with each other, vying for my attention. I have to admit, I wanted to leave. I wanted to get up and go and just leave the entire place. I'd walk back to Vellore if I had to. In fact, at one point the feeling was so strong that I did just that. I left. I put my shows on, and walked, with nothing but 50 rupees in my pocket. I got pretty far, about 30 minutes outside of the village, before the ridiculousness of my actions forced me to turn back, back to my friends and the Sri Puram Golden Temple.
The Sri Puram Golden Temple has been built, along with a free school, a free hospital, a big recycling plant, an orphanage and many other things, by a man named Amma Narayani. He is, apparently, a living incarnation of the Goddess Narayani. Many people are convinced of his divinity, and come from far to watch him perform his daily prayers.
The day the four of us climbed that mountain started at 430 am. We awoke to witness the waking of the statue of Narayani. To do that we needed fruit, lots of it, along with milk, honey, and a brown water that smelled of chocolate. We needed to cut the fruit up into small pieces, and we began our day that way, with our shirts off (a requirement to enter the temple) cutting up fruit for a living statue. Then we watched, while a man endlessly chimed a bell and the monks mumbled prayers while pouring pitcher after pitcher of water milk honey.
I've left that place behind, to return to Mumbai and reunite with my friend Fish. But the place still stirs inside me, like a job left half done. And the day will come when I return to that place, to watch a God throw flowers on a cow, and feel the warmth of a holy flame. While a horn and a drum and a bell dance in my ears and through my toes.
Intestines still fine
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