"Pilgrimage is a journey of risk and renewal. For a journey without challenge has no meaning; one without purpose has no soul."
Pilgrims
A journey to India always evokes strong emotions. India inspires the poet in you, it brings out emotions you thought you didn’t have, it brings out your playful child, it forces you confront the feelings you would rather not look at, it makes you smile, it reminds you to be grateful, it nudges you to be more open, more generous, more your Self. India is a great teacher. Here are some thoughts of many of our participants from different tours.
Hello to All
If I may I would like to share some thoughts on my journey home from India, they may resonate with others and the writing process may be therapeutic for me.
The journey home for me began last Monday morning with our 4:30 am wake up call for the drive to Amritsar, it was 54 1/2 hrs later when I walked in the door of my home after taking the last ferry home and being picked up by my friend who had had far too much to drink, yes it was an exciting journey.
But that was only the beginning, I feel as though I have stepped from one reality into another (the way they show it in films when one steps through an invisible screen) and after spending some time there I stepped back and bang it hits me.
It will be a week tonight since I have returned home and most of this week has been spent on the couch sleeping, there is the faint remnant of something wandering my intestines but more than that there seems to have been some kind of depression which I do not fully understand. I have returned from the second most populous country on the planet to a place where the density is less than 1 person per 5 acres and I drive into Sechelt to get groceries (10km) and no one is honking his horn to pass or coming at me head on a swerving at the last minute.
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I think of the little boy who would not take my 10 rs after I took his picture, I think of the girl in Dharamsala who I photographed on the last day, missing her left hand, a bandage over the stump, sitting on the side of the road begging, I gave her 10 rs and put my hand to the side of her face and caressed her, 10 rs it was peanuts I should have given a 1000, and I wonder about her future?
I sit in my little cabin in the woods with dog and cats, happy to see me, I am warm, I am fed, I have little to ask for, except companionship, people here don't look in each others eyes like they do in India, it was like looking into their souls and connecting, how many time did I connect, countless.
I am having lunch today with a good friend, I have a need to talk, to understand all of what I experienced. This guy who spends 95% of his time alone and who spent 3 weeks in a group of wonderful people all with differing points of view, I am sure we each had our moments, and I know I learned a lot from everyone.
What did I learn? I was in a society that seemed to lack ego, ego-less. I became aware of my own ego, when I wanted to be right, when I was judgmental etc. there it was right there in front of me saying aren't I special, look at me. So it was ground to work on, to create a new awareness, one more step on the journey.
Best wishes to all, I look forward to your thoughts
-Rick Negus
March 2007
(Rick has published a book after this travels to India. Visit his website:
http://www.negus.ca/Images.html )
Rinka the Flower Girl
It was a birth…that night…lit by the moon…
I had been called here to the banks of the Ganges to be born…some 30 years ago…to a place I had only dreamed of….
Pulsating…energy…excitement….every cell alive…anticipation…joy….alive…and waiting to see…to breathe…on my own…out of the darkness and into the light…..down the narrow canal…that felt like I would never arrive….pushing forward…faster…faster…faster….like the beating of the drums all around me….the thrusting of the hips came faster…quicker…the sound reverberating off the walls that were wrapped around me…pushing, pushing, pushing further and further with only faith and trust to guide me….Rapture…
Smells…people…lights…prayer…joy…sadness…eyes wide open…loud….alive…holy…I had finally arrived…
Overwhelmed…I wept…crying as I was released…from the safety of the womb…into the energy that was electric and alive…and all I could do was cry…as I breathed for the first time…took in all that was there…before my eyes…the color…the air of excitement…the River….
Get on the boat…get on the boat….Confused…I was swept onto the boat…that would take me to a place of perspective…birth and death and rebirth…side by side…naturally…no pretense…raw….
“You must have a flower” she said….”You must”…..as she followed me on to the boat…seemingly, carefully, choosing just the right flower for me…
I got on the boat…and I wept…inconsolably wept…
As I wept…the little girl with the soulful eyes patted the seat next to her on the boat…lit by the full moon…against a backdrop of color, sound, birth, death, spirits rising….as if to say “Come here…rest…sit a spell”….and so I moved to her side…feeling comforted just in her presence….
“Why you crying?” said the little girl with the big basket of flowers.
“I am crying because I have dreamt of being here…right here for 30 years” I replied….
The flower girl looked as if she didn’t understand….
I went on….”A dream….I’ve had this dream…for 30 years…and now I’m here…and I can’t believe it…it’s like a really, really big wish. Have you ever had a dream?” I asked.
“I dream of being a flower girl…here…selling you flowers”
said she with beauty and depth and certainty…
as if she had sat there…
waiting for me…
knowing that I would come…
for 30 years….
-Nancy McGuire
February 2008
Message From India
On 20 February 2007 I set out on a tour of sacred sites and temples in Northern India, with a group of almost 50 (mainly American) westerners, without any expectation or notion of what the journey might hold in store. My anticipation was that the highlight of the trip would culminate in teachings by the Dalai Lama at the end of the 3 weeks.
But events seemed to indicate that something was afoot a week before the trip began. I knew that I would need some reading matter during the flights and had almost completed my current book. What should I take with me? I had a dozen or so books on my ‘waiting to be read’ pile. That evening a friend from our regular weekly gathering asked if I had a copy of Carl Jung’s ‘Memories, Dreams, Reflections’ and could she borrow it? I jokingly asked if she returned borrowed books, which prompted her son, standing by her side, to give me a doubtful look. I would not be seeing her again until after the trip so responded that I would think about it.
Two days later on 15 February I received an email from Belgian friend Roseline, the complete text of which read ‘Have you ever seen Jung speaking?’ It became clear the following morning that I was being prompted to read Jung’s autobiography again (which I had initially read some 18 years previously) when I came across reference in my current book to the term, which Jung had coined - ‘anima mundi’. As a bookmark I used a postcard that had been sent to me by another friend, Marcia, on 9 February, which depicted two monks looking out over snow-capped mountains.
The first experience I had of any significance during the trip was in the temple dedicated to the birthplace of Krishna at Mathura. To my eyes, so much of the ritual and devotion in this temple and surrounding area seemed incongruous. It was there, during a short meditation, that I received the first lines of a poem.
You call me by so many names – I cry.
You call me by so many names – I die.
I wonder why? I wonder why?
I received the remainder of the poem in the early hours, two nights later.
After a long journey on 9 March we arrived at our hotel in Dharamsala where we were due to see and hear the Dalai Lama two days later. I was assigned room 313. My attention was drawn to what may seem to be such a totally inconsequential occurrence, (however, subsequent events seemed to prove otherwise) but I felt the number of my room was so significant that I had to take a photograph of the key fob. During the trip I had occasionally noticed the last sentence on the ‘bookmark’ card from Marcia that I was using. It read ‘First you had to recognise yourself as such and then that you are the 1 within the 3, the Divine Child or the Father/Mother – Your will, not my will be done.’ Here the ‘1 within the 3’ was expressed on my key fob as ‘313’.
The following day included a visit to the Karmapa Monastery. Here we witnessed teachings given by the Punchen (?) Lama. However, the whole ceremony was conducted in a language that was totally incomprehensible to most, if not all, of our group. The sentiments that I had experienced in the temple dedicated to the birthplace of Krishna returned. What was all this performance of low mumbled chanting, shoe removal, bowing, ritual scarf donning and devotion all about? I felt total repulsion at what I was witnessing.
Immediately upon leaving that temple our guide asked for our passports. I wanted to know why she needed them and discovered that they were necessary in order to obtain access to the Dalai Lama’s teaching the following morning. I then asked if this would be similar to the performance that which I had just witnessed. Upon receiving a positive response I had no doubt whatsoever that I did not wish to participate in such an event, which I had previously anticipated would have been the highlight of our trip.
The last evening - 13 March 2007 (or in US style 3/13/2007). Most of the group left for the airport at 21.00 to catch their return flights. A few of us remained and I continued my reading of ‘Memories, Dreams, Reflections’ awaiting pick-up at midnight for my flight at 03.30 the following morning. It seemed rather appropriate that I was now reading Chapter IX entitled ‘Travels’ and had just commenced Section IV on ‘India’. I reached the end of that section, which concluded on page ‘313’ with the following words. ‘What are you doing in India? Rather seek for yourself and your fellows the healing vessel, the servator mundi, which you urgently need. For your state is perilous; you are all in imminent danger of destroying all that centuries have built up.’
The poem, which I had entitled ‘Many Names’ concluded as follows:
Temples, mosques and synagogues – created in my name,
churches, centres, cathedrals, they are all the same.
Human minds, creating signs, are keeping us apart.
Wherein truth, reality, I live within your heart.
For there you’ll find the truth divine, where I am yours and you are mine
and never will the ‘race’ be won until together we are One.
You call me by so many names – I cry.
You call me by so many names – I die.
Blessings to you all.
-Nick
15 March 2007
Following a visit to and meditation in Ajanta caves Aurangabad, India
REFLECTIONS OF A JOURNEY
Their work was their journey; their work was their task.
Focussed achievement, until one day at last
their goal and reflection of work in this life
are left in this temple as memories of strife.
As symbols to others who follow their path;
reminders and teachers so one day at last
we’ll join together as bright as the sun
and shine light in darkness as part of the One.
-Nick
6 March 2007
"Dear Ones,
I feel as if I've got one leg on earth orbiting normally and one leg hoisted in outer space orbiting a totally different path and I'm trying to balance my body and my psyche as I swim, float and "be".
The trip was exciting and exhausting, stimulating and satisfying, the sights, sounds, interactions were wonderful....the group was quite bonded after two days......we had meditations daily whenever possible, teachings, chanting, mantras, sharing times and a whole host of wonderful ceremonies, a hotel roof/top party with food, spirits, and music where we danced in colorful Indian dress provided/gifted to us on a roof strewn with rose petals and lit wicks soaking in oil containers where we lit same and offered blessings to ourselves and into the Universe, had two girls doing "henna" on our feet/hands, and singing classical Indian tunes for us....... we explored caves from the 6th century with wonderfully preserved
 
carvings/mosaics and pictures and other caves with all sizes, shapes and kinds of Buddhas discovered in them, we saw the Taj, with its gorgeous jeweled art decorations encrusted within its stone edifice, the Sikh's Golden Temple", for me the most beautiful setting and sight of the trip, visited a small 500 plus/minus peopled village and were welcomed into primitive huts/homes, interacted with loads of children and people along the way, so eager to connect and show warmth and friendliness to us, visited two "widow colonies" (remember Water?) and danced with them, visited a Tibetan nunnery/school and were hosted to a marvelous lunch prepared by the nuns, enjoyed the extreme warmth, gentleness and generosity of the Tibetan people in Dharmasala (their city in exile).....learned more of their plight.....attended a teaching from the Dali Lama who was in residence while we were there, watched/participated in ceremonies on the holy River Ganges (where people wash clothes, bathe, put candled flowers afloat by day and night sending and coveting blessings), saw an un mechanical crematorium operating on a 25 hour basis, walked in the narrow streets of the Ghats around the Ganges.....were warmly welcomed to a young man's coming out event (he was 10)....it was like a Bar Mitzvah..where a party was given by his parents for 600 guests in the rear grassed yard at the hotel we stayed at, with everyone all dressed up in gorgeous traditional Indian dress/attire....they introduced us to the family, they wanted us to sit and eat, people came up to chat, one man asked me about the elections. In India we saw contrasts of great wealth and unbelievable poverty side by side, went to Hindu temples, saw silk being woven by hand on looms many hundreds of years old, rode in rickshaws, functioned in traffic so tight there were millimeters separating six or more lanes functioning together in unbelievable fashion, took trips on busses whose drivers were so unbelievably skilled they went honking through places we thought surely we would hit either cows, people,carts or other moving objects.....saw monkeys freely flying, elephants sharing space with pedestrians (living animals are revered) so much went on, my head still reels. Had the wonderful experience of visiting Gandhi's memorial set in a beautiful park whose energy exuded serenity and reverence. I know I left much out and I have yet to sit still and pour over the days/notes to recapture it all although I had little time for my journal.....oh yes, had wonderful outdoor lunch parties where we danced to Indian music, ate Indian food......hotels were gorgeous, food was fabulous for me (mostly Indian) , lots of camaraderie in our group with warm, loving, spiritually minded, multi dimensional and very intelligent people.... found out there are over 10 fully functioning religions getting along side by side and hundreds of dialects throughout the country where its people live in harmony....it is noted that India is the only country where Jews did not incur anti Semitism during the Diaspora. Most of the Jews have emigrated to Israel although there still are very small pockets functioning in synagogues. I visited a Chabad house in Mumbai. To simply summarize....... India is a magical country and I had a magical journey!!!!!!! I adored and reveled in every minute of it!!!!!!!!!!.
"Ephanies" were experienced at some point along the way by many. I don't think I had one. The trip simply reinforced my constant feeling of being very blessed and grateful for all the riches and richness in my life..... .....and with continued humility, I experienced this marvelous new adventure into the heart and belly of an interesting, vastly spiritual, pulsating, vibrant country and its wonderful people.
Joan Borysenko was fabulous......quite brilliant, erudite, accessible, down to earth, unpretentious, self effacing, open, soft, real, humorous, honorable and admirable.
I hope I've given you a taste of my very full meal. With love and caring connection to all.
-Joan Wasserman
February 2008
A Crippled Beggar
His palms
dusty and calloused
His legs
defying the human form
His hands
as if feet
take him from here to there
And they reach up
seeking scraps of sustenance
The colors around him
glow
with neon brightness
joyous colors
India’s prosac, perhaps
Or…
colors which trap White Light
-Helen Adrienne
February 2008
VARANASI
Varanasi
Shrill as a war zone
Yet, every dissonant blare
a stomp of Shiva’s foot
non-challantly pulverizing…
Alternating Currents of humanity
neatly intersect chaos
disorienting
the laws of physics
Mental monsoon
come
unpolluted my certainty
come…
cleanse
Varanasi,
sweep me away
to a higher plane
where I can re-ground
and ascend
-Helen Adrienne
February 2008
THE TIBETAN NUNS
scalped
shorn of pretense
vulnerable heads
honor the path to Buddah
with their bald truth
Tibetan nuns
volunteer to abdicate
the power ascribed to hair
Buddah nature needs no adornment
Buddah nature lives
in inner joy
and
inner abundance
-Helen Adrienne
February 2008
TO JOAN, GORDIE, SHEENA, PUNAM AND THE GROUP
FROM HELEN, WITH LOVE
Through Western eyes
our India
seemed like life
in an archaeological dig.
Simple folk
ground
on chunks of concrete,
chunks of what used to be
ignored, yet preserved
left in place
to touch the sole.
Soles
tread on touchstones of foreverv
with junkyard vitality.
Soles tread on unlikely treasures;
no need,
no value
to Westernize.
Our Western eyes
forced inward
forced to see -
to remember -
our junkyard
our vitality
our treasures
our soul.
-Helen Adrienne
February 2008
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