I had a good full night of sleep. I felt so refreshed. Having ignored the fact that internet is available has also been nice. But why am I making such a conscious decision not to check the email and the face book. I want to share and tell everyone about everything, I want to hold on to the little details I’ve captured before they fly away into the abyss forever. But NO! no email. I was avoiding the inevitable.
The day was peaceful. I sat at a table by the hammock and caught up with my writing. It was nice to recall events from only five, four and three days ago and try to juice out every detail I can remember and see it written on the screen. I felt odd sitting there with my little computer knowing that everyone here is totally trying to give up their connections with the outside world, their material possessions. Renunciation was the thing to do. When the bell announced lunch time, I went into the dinning room with my computer in hand and sat it next to me. It was sacrilege. Like bad etiquette. One woman muted her gasp. Everyone is very soft here, even when they gasp. I am more aware that my voice it a few disciples too high in a place like this.
I noticed one of the boys that lives and works here. So striking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was just the right height and on the skinny side of things, but lean, I can see his muscular calves and big hands with sculptural veins tell me he was built to work with his body. His skin was so dark that his dark brown eyes looked more honey colored, but they aren’t, its just a trick of the eye. Contrast. His features reminded me of me. Not the way I actually look but the way I imagine myself. There is me as I see myself in my mind’s eye and the other me that I see in the reflection of a mirror but refuse to believe is me. “My hips are too wide, my thighs are too big, I thought I was more hairy, is my forehead getting bigger? My beard is not thick enough. I’ll never get those abs or that chest no matter what I do.” The boy is what I wanted myself to be. I was totally taken by this male creation. His eyes sparkled sexily but he never made eye contact long enough for me to say something back with my eyes. The sun was beating over my head but I had forgotten the heat for a moment. I was burning with desire.
Later in the evening, just before dusk, Gwyn, the French journalist that led me here, wanted to go for a walk by the Ganga. A Swedish woman staying here joined us. It was a nice walk. Here is that German guy talking to one of the men that live in the woods. In the space between the ashram and the river is a strip of forest, wilderness. This is where Mataji and her Guru lived for ten years. Here are men living in the open, in a stage of their lives when they totally renounced all earthy things. They wander the woods, or sit by the river. I’ve seen a couple here and there, living together. We walked further away up stream. There was a nice spot where the river takes a turn and the current picks up. “are you going to swim in za river?” asked Gwyn. “yea but I’m a little nervous.” I can’t stop thinking about the waste and bodies that have been dumped here. In my mind I’m also thinking that if there was a good spot for me it is this one, at least the current is fast and things that live in still water wouldn’t survive here, right? Anyway, I thought of it as a challenge, a thing to check off my list, so I can say that I swam in both the Ganges and the Nile. “maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready,” we walked back past people bathing, holy men idling, families picnicking. The sun was setting, the colors were vivid, the sky was clear. I breath really well here. It just hit me then that I haven’t had any problems breathing, like I do in New York. Maybe it really is not being around cigarette smoke. My spirits were high. We walked back into the gate of the hideaway as the bell was announcing dinner time.
I joined the evening prayer again, trying to do a better job with following the text. After the ceremony, which takes about half an hour, Mataji gives each person in their hand a sweet or a fruit. Spirituality aside, it was nice to have a routine, where you sing with others. Each person surely has their story but who cares how we got here, we were all singing in a language most of us didn’t know, there are bells and incense and at the end we get a sweet in our hands from our mother (she is our mother for the time we are here). I felt like I was in rehab or something, like I ended up here to re-center, that is what I felt was happening. When it was all over some of the girls sat by a tree next to the shrine. Madakini turned around and said "so Mohamed, how does it feel to be here, with all this Hindu stuff?" I wasn't really sure what she was asking but I sensed a hit of surprise with her tone. She had already asked me earlier "what kind of name is Mohamed, is that a saint?" and I thought to myself does she really not know? anyway I'm getting off track, so she asked how it was being there. I responded "it's OK!." Her mouth was slightly open, others leaned forward with their eyes fixed on me as if they anticipated me to elaborate. "um, I mean I am not a religious person but I am interested in religion, its the way most people in the world live." It was a really awkward to have to explain myself at all. I mean, why is it any more peculiar for me to be there than any of the other people? none of them grew up in Hindu households. The Canadians, the Americans, the German, all of them are passing through, visitors, tourists. I felt uncomfortable to being under the microscope even for that moment but I tried to conceal my discomfort. I told them that I am simply interested in learning about all religions, I thought they might like that answer. Truth is I wasn't there for one reason or another, I ended up there by chance and I liked it so I stayed, no mission, no agenda, no reason.
One of the girls started crying. I walked away and went to my room, my cell.
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