A FAREWELL TO ASIA
Trip Start
Jan 15, 2011
1
40
43
Trip End
Mar 19, 2011
Where I stayed
On a plane.
What I did
En route to Vienna.
Mumbai, Mahārāshtra, India
Saturday, February 26, 2011
I thought of the friends I had made - Iloh and little Mark Jr., Toshi, Ram, Deepak, Aman, Anup, Raj, Sadiq, Danesh, Arun, Parvine, Robin, Moolchand, the guys at Bali Joe's and all of the others.
I set candles afloat on the Ganges adrift from the cremation pyres a mere stone's throw away, and watched spirits soar from the burning corpses as families mourned their loved ones, while downstream the nearby pounding of drums and the Brahmins' chants created the intoxicating vibrancy of the Ganga Arti. I splashed while pilgrims bathed in the sacredness of this powerful river as the most dazzling sunrise beset the horizon. I crashed Hindu weddings with lovely brides and handsome grooms saddled atop regally appointed white ponies and followed parades and rallies - religious, marital and political - marching down streets of the cities.
Crowds, crowds, crowds dissolving into great spaces of desert vastness. Filth. Garishness. Beauty that's pure. Beauty that's ornate. A marraige of all that's garish and tasteful flashing past me in the blink of an eye. The wonder of the Taj Mahal, bold and masculine yet delicate as an upturned teacup of the finest bone china. Mysterious forests and gardens where magical and sacred rituals reigned supreme. The most bejeweled palaces in the world next door to the most wretched slums. Cows and camels vying for rights of passage with human pedestrians in the streets. The thrill of straddling the back of a motorbike zooming into the unknown through blackouts in villages nestled high in the Himalayas. The exclusive worlds of the dhobi ghats and the dabbawallas of Mumbai. Elephant Isle, home to monkeys and wild dogs but no elephants. The world's tallest sundial. The Hindu Wheel of Life. Buddhist prayer wheels. Rubies, amethysts and erotic temples. My first taste of yak meat and pickled hemp and a renewed love of curry. Blessed by Hindu priests, sadhus and mystics, and advice from a famous medicine man deep in the jungles of Bali. Meeting my Balinese cousins for the first time. Drag shows in Seminyak. My departure from celibacy for the first time since Jim's passing. Shopping with Toshi and savoring his sweet smile whilst browsing the stalls of the Tokyo markets. Pushy old prune-faced women. Yoga with Danesh on the beaches of Goa and moonlit nights on the Arabian Sea. Kabuki theatre and Bollywood. Learning to eat with chopsticks. Visits to private homes and dining with the families. Sadiq and his pet goat. Anup who will someday see the ocean. Distributing ashes with Jim's friend Randy at the base of Mt. Fuji and with Iloh in the Indian Ocean. The synchronicity of sacred music following each scattering of ashes. The Indian contrast and codependency of holiness and corruption, both inescapable and both equally a part of the 1.2 billion souls who live there. Ditto the paradox that fervent spiritual consciousness is intertwined with a given truth: "nothing is "nice" in India."
I was embracing all I had set out to do, and more! A tear formed in my eyes. I thought of Jim in the seat next to me. Of course, it was a stranger, but I closed my eyes and we were back in the days when we traveled together. He was with me now. I could feel him. I just, perhaps selfishly, craved his physical presence next to me. I fear he wouldn't have faired well on this demanding journey, and I'm not saying that to be in any way demeaning. The operation had rendered him, perhaps not more delicate, but more limited, if only a bit. I believe the pace of travel in India especially might have proven too much for him, but certainly not for his spirit.
I learned both of us had lived in Varanasi. I know I didn't write about this when I was there. I'm still processing it. Too many unwarranted memories of that city, so foreign yet distantly familiar, too many returning images of an ancient past...
Posted, outside a tent encampment, perhaps standing guard, in the balmy darkness of night during a tribal war, sword in sheath at my waist, my comrades behind a nearby tent flap discussing strategy. Lying dead from disease in a grand room of white and gold, it's northern wall open to the elements facing a river - our palace - while my wives mourned over me, one of them Jim...oh yes, there have been MANY lives together in different capacities.
Too many tidbits of information I remembered about customs and beliefs, gods and deities, temples, tastes, colors, sights, smells, sounds, the memory of koshi slowly coming back to me (remember koshi?). Too much spirituality and synchronicity following me, finding me, exploding inside and manifesting itself into the deepest part of my being. Yes, this what I was looking for when I embarked upon this trip and I guess something delivered. It's the major reason I'm here and releasing Jim's energy to the universe. Ether, Wind, Fire, Water, Earth.
Or maybe I just imagined it? That I wanted, needed so badly to keep alive the spiritual connection with Jim's soul that I created it? I do know this much. Each and every one of us creates our own reality. And this is very, very real to me, so I know it was real. Beyond my awareness until it was too late, I had fallen in love with India. It had not only gifted the one thing, the very purpose for this wayfaring mission and what I needed to hold onto the most: an inextricable link to Jim's spirit. Stealing closer and closer toward the skies over Europe, I feel the imagary of this ancient land begin to drift away as in a dream. I must never let go!
