My shadow lengthens as I try to soak in the fragments
of sunlight that penetrate the branches of the trees. I’m perched on a small
antique metal chair slightly off-center from the middle of a circular mosaic at
the heightened point of a manicured garden surrounding the British-era ivy-clad
house that I’ve been living in for the past couple of days.
My body is shocked by the quickened transition from
southern Indian heat and humidity to northern Indian cold. While I was
experiencing the ferocity of the heat in the south, I would complain to
friends, acquaintances, and passing strangers of its effect on my fragile
frame. My logic, which seemed without flaw in hot and humid habitations,
asserted that you can put more clothing on, but you can’t take more clothing off.
In the US, the heater was always the salvation of cold. Penetrating cold was
rectified when you entered a building. That hope for shelter and refuge deadened
the blow of wind and crack of ice in my previous experiences with cold. However,
once you’ve put on all your clothing and you still feel the grip of cold
attacking the fabrics that prove to be your only solace, you soon curse logic.
The curse and I reflect on recent times past.
I’ve known of my addiction for years. The morning waft
that is bathed in intense heat, seduced by water, saturated with a marriage of richness,
depth, and bitterness, and married to tongue and bud is that known friend and
enemy. The doldrums of work saw me swigging down lesser quality fare in the
pursuit of attention and productivity. That extra swill gave way to a daily
reliance on that ground nectar. However, as I have heard the arguments about ones
lessened ability while under the effects, I decided to give up caffeine for 2
weeks when I was in Sadhana Forest. The first two days were filled with
burrowing headaches. The headaches gave way to feeling like I normally feel. I
didn’t seem to operate at a heightened level, but I continued on. I was
tempted. The intoxicating wafts, upon passing by a procurer of
temporarily-illicit substances, argued with me like an intense breakup of a
relationship. “You don’t love me,” they said. “What about all the amazing times
we’ve had together,” they said. I had
not the heart to say that our break-up was temporary. Finally the time was up.
The goose was cooked. The beans were brewed. I still know of my addiction.
I stared deeply into her eyes. I never fully realized
that only one eye can be stared into at a time. At random intervals I would switch
from one eye to the other hoping that finding balance was the way to discover
what I was supposed to be looking for. This isn’t a romantic interlude. This
isn’t a game of endurance (although it lasted for nearly 2 hours). This is my
trial at something I don’t understand or necessarily have belief in. It was
strange to try and create a connection with someone merely by looking into
their eyes. I feel that so much information can be obtained about a person by
just looking into their eyes. However, I’m not sure I obtained the spiritual
connection that I was supposed to feel in the process. There has been an
unintended focus in my travels on spirituality. Perhaps it’s India. Perhaps the
3 weeks I spent in Auroville has shifted my estimations of focus to the
spiritual. To any degree it has been a mixture of boredom, discomfort, awe,
intensity, introspection, perplexity, amazement, relief, and a healthy list of
other feelings. I’ve had a deep secret shared and then burned, I’ve listened to
someone share their deepest emotions and merely listened, I’ve tried to sit and
chant for hours on end, I’ve tried meditation, I’ve shared deep emotions with
complete strangers, I’ve learned and practiced non-violent communication, and
through it all I’ve kept an open mind. It’s been a learning experience.
After my 2 weeks in Sadhana Forest doing reforestation
work ended, I made my way to Tiruvannamalai to see the epic temple and to climb
the holy mountain above the town. From there I made my way to Bangalore (which
seemed to me to be the most American city in India) to visit my friend Kabir.
Next I made an approximately 50-hour train ride to make my way up near the
Indian Himalayas. On the way I visited another friend Neha in Lucknow. She was
a brilliant host, having her professional Cricket-playing friends show me the
basics of that game. Her and her mother then kindly showed me how to make a
couple of northern Indian dishes. From there I made my way north. In the shared
taxi I took to a small town in the foothills of the Himalayas, I met, Sunjay, a
man who decided to take pity on a traveler. He opened up his house to me. It
lies in one of the mountains that surround the green-hued lake that serves as
the pit of the peach that is the city of Nainital. It is from here that I will
continue on tomorrow further towards the Himalayas and further into the curse of cold.
