Into the Himalayas

I bought tea for these guys in Badrinath. Interestingly it was a bit difficult to buy tea for just a few because there were many wandering and 'homeless' pilgrims around town. If I announced that I was buying tea, then I would have been on the hook to buy tea for a hundred people. I had to motion with a little gesture of the head that they should follow me into a little tea shop. "Chai! Chai! Chai!", is the chant heared on the street from morning to night. It was cold in this high mountain place so the hot tea was a good support for body and mind.

Badrinath has an old temple right on the edge of the river that flows through town. You have to cross an old bridge and take off your shoes and buy some prasad to leave as a blessing. Then past the guards and into the central hall to see the temple statues. I beleive this temple was intially built by a mega-master of spiritual power who went by the name of Adi Shankara. It was only a few weeks earlier that I noticed a picture of a monk meditating on a leopard skin and was somehow attracted to it. It turns out it was Shankara and it truly amazed me how it seemed he called out to me through the ages.

It would be truly impossible to express the depth of who he is and what his teaching represents. So I will leave you with the invitation to look into it for yourself. The depth of the Vedic tradition is like the vastness of time and space itself, of which Shankara's work is but a small piece.

There and back again...

Rajastan, India- Maybe it was the sound of the snake charmers or the way the people effortlessly move through the crowded streets without touching or crashing into eachother. Or maybe it was the feel of the deep and icy water of the Ganges river flowing out of the Himalayas, the icy cold water enfolding me during the daily ritual of Puja. Either way it was true: I had fallen in love with Mother India.

As the memories of my trip-around-the-world continue to blend with the present moment I would dearly love to share this with you, my reader. The snake charmers for instance, greeted me, asking for money of course, on a quiet corner of a busy little town in Rajastan. Notice how the man in the middle gently holds the serpent between his toes, and how ornate and traditional the dress and the instrument. We were there to visit a famous Hanuman temple. Very few foreigners ever get to visit such an obscure but significant place. I will try and recall the many sights and sounds from within the extremely ornate, cacaphonus, and crowded temple, with a labryinth of narrow and ornate corridors, and I will try to recall how hard it was to not get lost in the shuffle, the grime, and getting pushed and pointed at, but I will never forget the imprint on the soul. As the memories come I will gently cast them out to you, my reader, like a fishing lure with dazzling colors of Quetzal feathers and a glitter of gold.