Road trip recap

Yesterday, we loaded up a van (thanks for organizing that guys!) and went on a road trip. The first stop was 30 Km South of Mysore at a small town named Somnathpur (see picture on left from travelblog.org). I had no idea where we were going, and neither did one of my friends, who ended up taking a road trip to temples she had already visited a month ago. On our way, she mentioned how road trips are very different here in India because you never get on an open road. Its true. In the states, you drive through town and then suddenly its only open road in front of you and you think, "Wow, here we go!" In India, you are driving slowly down roads, through ride fields, through back allies in obscure towns. I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could find there way to the same places we were going because there were so many unmarked ally ways that seemed to make up a substantial number of roads we travelled. The roads aren't always paved, are often muddy, and include many passersby and obstructions with a heart beat or many heart beats if you get caught in a heard of goats. I noticed on the windshield that there was a sticker that declared that this vehicle was adjusted to not go faster than 60. Really, it could not go faster than 60. Not that there was much of an opportunity with the cows and the muddy holes.

Somnathpur is the name of the very small town that people travel to in order to see the Keshava Temple. When we saw a sign that marked the entrance, my temple-veteran companion said, "we took a rickshaw here and back." The rest of us stared at her in horror. When she added that there were three of them crammed in the back, she had to scrape us off the floor from the impact of her words. Immediately after we got out of the bus, our bodies stretching into mangled standing positions from sitting for so long, we were surrounded by children asking for money and selling souvenirs. I didn't buy anything and felt terrible about it.

Entrance to the temples was 2 rupees for Indians, and the equivalent of $2 US dollars for everyone else. In their conversion, this equalled 100 rupees. (I read that the rupee has fallen again to 40:1 US, when I got here it was 38:1). Inside the gates was a large manicured lawn and a very large stone wall that looked like the outside of a fortress. I could see people going inside, so I followed. Shoes off at the steps. Give ticket to man holding out hand. Walk inside.

Temples are like volcanoes. They can be active, dormant, or extinct. An extinct temple is a temple you see that is completely abandoned. You have to look closely, however, because even if a building has gone to pieces, if there is still someone performing pujas, the temple is still active. An active temple is one in full use. People are coming and going, incense burning, music, etc. Dormant. That's a tricky one. I'll have to think about it. The temples we saw yesterday were extinct because for whatever reason, no one performs pujas there. People visit purely to see the architecture as it is in very good condition. Maybe a dormant temple is one that looks like it could still be used, but isn't at the moment.

A friend commented that the place did feel a bit empty and didn't hold the same sense of the spiritual for her that other active temples had. For me, monuments whether natural or man made almost always have a sense of the spiritual, if not because of the immense size of the undertaking, then for the intention behind it. Although, when we were sitting on a ledge surrounding the main temple, basking in its beauty, someone commented that the smell that everyone was complaining of was indeed urine coming from the puja rooms lining the ledge.

The next stop (not counting snack and pee stops) were the waterfalls. Yeah, I have no idea what they are called. We stood on a ledge, dodging monkeys, taking photos, eating strange side-of-the-road snacks, laughing at the signs, and staring at the waterfalls. They were beautiful but so far away. It seemed odd to have driven so far only to visit something that we couldn't actually interact with, only look at. If I couldn't touch it, was it even really there? Some journeys are like that.

I'm browsing the Rough Guide to South India, and in the Highlights section for Karnataka, it says that Mysore is the "sandalwood city". Guidebooks always talk about the sandalwood. I remember that once at an ashram in New York, I met someone who wouldn't stop about the sandalwood incense and that it was the best there and its all she uses and you can only get it there... I imagined Mysore overflowing with sandalwood. I imagined from day to night I'd be covered with the stuff and that after returning from New York, I'd carry the scent with me for at least 2 months, at least. I've seen some sandalwood, yes. I've seen some.

I had a new spot in led practice today with Saraswati, in the back by the women's dressing room. I realize this doesn't matter at all to the average reader, but to a veteran or current "Mysorian" you know what a big deal it is to try a new spot in the room. You see, every spot has its own energy. By the doors, there are people walking in and out which is quite distracting. OR maybe you're by a window and get a draft. Maybe you're where the carpets overlap and that is not fun. I try to avoid places with too much movement around them like breezes, or people, or doorways because I find they have too much "vata" which can be really distracting.

Since Sharath's last day, despite the few prophecies that he may return, he hasn't made any appearances in class. Nor has Guruji.

Looking over edges

Earlier this week I was standing on a balcony with two other people waiting for a table at a certain recommended punjabi restaurant when we turned to hear a real racket coming up the road. We all three leaned over the railing to get a better look. My companions scrambled for their cameras, hoping to capture a piece of the action. As the sound grew closer, we could see that it was a parade with many men in front pounding on instruments. We saw that some men toward the middle were carrying a large altar. My friends were very excited, craning to get a good picture of what they thought was Ganesh (the elephant-god who removes obstacles). (The photo on the left is from a Ganesh Festival in Mumbai that I found on google). Men from the crowd were pointing up at us and shouting something, I couldn't make out what. But something did seem strange, and I realized my feeling was right when I saw that it was not Ganesha at all that they were carrying, it was a dead man.

"Its a fucking dead man!" I said.

"what?"

"huh?"

"Its a fucking dead man!" I said again. Their cameras lowered. One of them really began to freak out.

"I've never seen a dead body before!" He shouted as I tried to shrug off his chin that was now resting on my shoulder as he tried to hide from the grey, sinking figure and the condemnation of an angry crowd.

"Its okay," the other girl said. I think she just kept repeating this.

As we watched, the old man sat under a canopy of flowers. He was covered from head to toe with garlands with only his sunken face peaking out from beneath.

Today we had the day off (its Saturday). We decided (slowly and unreliably until the last second) to pile into a van and drive to some waterfalls somewhere. From behind the window, at this safe distance, I feel like I'm watching life go by like a viewer in a cinema.

I thought about how there are so many things I can't tell you about what its like to be here. Its not just that I don't have the words to describe it; its that there aren't enough words. Sometimes you have to paint a picture, even if it means not everyone will understand the work. So much of being here is more than seeing and trying new things or interacting with new people. So much of it is an indescribable journey through what it means to be alive and in this world. My teacher used to say that in our yoga practice it is good to get right to the edge, right to your edge, and to keep pushing until you get there. This place is like that. Always confronting you with edges.

There are moments that freeze in time, moments when for just a second, you can see your body and realize that there is so much more. A man squatted on a small dirt hill in the middle of a bright green rice field overlooking more rice fields. He just sat there watching the sun and wind dance and flicker over the tips of green green blades of grass. Things can be so simple, so obvious, but we fail to see them.

In the Yoga Sutras translation by Satchidananda, he tells a simple story that I hope I get mostly right. I think that there is this guy who is trying to achieve enlightenment but he's having a hard time. So the God that is helping him suggests that he chant "Mara Mara" because he is standing in front of a tree (mara means tree). So he does. And before he knows it, "mara" transfoms in to "rama".