A large group of brown skinned women wearing the most vibrant colored sarees came out of the temple. The midday sun made the thin fabric translucent. I sat on a bench across the street, in the shade, wearing my light blue sun hat and sleeveless short cotton dress. The shopkeeper told me it was okay to wear it …
Between the sounds of drilling, honking, motors, beeping, distant chanting, and images of beautiful brown skinned women with large gaps in their large white teeth, dressed in the most vivid translucent red and yellow sarees, blasts of stale urine in the 103 degree breeze, swirling with dust, nag champa and cow dung, the body sensations …
Air, as polluted as it was there, was still essential for human life. Two to three minutes without oxygen, in the average person, will render them unconscious. Five to ten minutes will result in brain damage. I watched a man drown today, from a cafe on the cliff side of the Ganges River. I was …
I had been in India for seven days surrounded by thousands of people. Although I’d had many interactions, I had not really talked with anyone who spoke English. In a café I saw a flyer for a Tantra workshop taped to a wall. There was a free introductory session on Friday evening. It was the …
The gumpa, which was what the meditation hall was called, was nestled in the sixty-foot tall pine trees inhabited by monkeys. The combination of trees and altitude must have buffered the sounds of the nearby cities, creating a much-needed oasis for my taxed nervous system. Two days prior I had spent twelve hours on a night bus …
As I kneeled on my meditation bench, I pictured my father sitting across from me on the metal cushioned porch chair, in the screened porch in my parent’s backyard. This was the new screened-in- porch, the one that they hired someone to build. It wasn’t the one that my dad built when we were young. …
Our Butoh workshop teacher displayed bones, feathers, a dead bat, and rotten teeth, before she gave us instructions to imagine that insects were eating our insides. I writhed on the floor with about forty other westerners who altogether generated a pungent cocktail of odors in the wet heat of emotional catharsis. Sweat acted like an …
He was a giant of perfect proportions, like Michelangelo’s David. Draped in deep red cloth, martial arts style, over olive skin he was a painting. Sculpted supple arms and angular face with thick dark eyelashes around his slightly droopy eyes, the kind of droop that you knew came with a slow deep sensual voice. I was mesmerized. I had …
I made it to Bagshu before the retreat, but got so lost trying to get to Darmkot that I hadn’t tried it again. I saw the waterfall, and then the swimming pool, which was filled with the sacred water from the waterfall and men and boys in their underwear. No women. I walked past a lot of shops and …
Weaving through taxis, rickshaws, tourists, policemen and motorcycles of Mcloud Ganj square I made it to the dirt and concrete rubble short cut to Darhmkot. I passed the few remaining shops and cafes before the steep incline. An Indian boy, wearing black jeans, a dress shirt and dress shoes was hovering on the side of the road. He …