Passion
I had the most beautiful day of my life, I think, on Sunday. I went for a long motorcycle ride into the center of India and saw the most breathtaking view I have ever seen in my life. A vast lake in the hills, surrounded by jungle. Small Islands jut straight up out of the water like sharkteeth, and boulders the size of houses lean over, trying to roll in exept that the vines and roots covering them hold them back. perhaps they are just admiring their reflection. . .families of black faced monkeys preen each other and stare at me curiously as I climb a crumbly old stair to a commanding vantage point. The lake stretches out so peacefully, I breathe deep, the air is clean. It's the first time I can remember breathing clean air since I came here. . . The sun is flooding, and sparkling and making the puffy white clouds too bright to look at. I stroll along a dam built along one side of the lake. Far below fishermen are spreading out nets, and a woman is doing her wash. She has apparently been at it a while because a dozen gorgeously colored saris are spread on the grass behind her to dry. . . there are very few people out here. I can't remember the last time I wasn't surrounded by people, city, city everywhere and all of it full of filthy air and streets and noise and florescent lights, and millions of people. Here there are perhaps only fifty human beings within a square mile radius. In India, that's amazing. . . I love water. I love the way it booms in your chest when thousands of gallons of it flow with breathaking force against walls, and spray hits your face and reminds you of water falls and surfing on windy days. . . I love the way it moves, and reflects light, and is always changing. This lake was the closest thing I had seen to an ocean in so long. . .
Then we went to a village, quaint, nestled in a green valley amidst the same picturesque hills, with a happy creek trickling through the center, of course. The sunlight was turning golden, as it does very early in India, and I couldn't help but think that the distincly defined rays behing cultivated feilds reminded me of the country crock margerine label. We visited some friends/relatives there (Northern Umri, (not to be confused with southern umri)). One family was very poor, and they had a baby daughter. She was so incredibly small and thin that I thought she must be a premature newborn, but then I noticed she was holding up her own head. . . she was actually four months old. Her bones poked through her skin, I could count every vertebrea through her dress when I held her. She made eye contact with me, she was very aware, she even gripped my finger pretty well. There was something in her eyes that I had never seen in a baby's eyes before. Suffering. She was only four months old, yet she already knew what suffering was. How could this baby be alive? She was so thin. It broke my heart. We prayed for her, and I cried. Then we prayed for a few other people, and I could feel the actual pressure of spiritual warfare there so strongly, the house we were in was full of believers, but the darkness around felt thick. If you don't believe in a spiritual dimensions, just go to India, you will. . .
It was a long drive home and my butt was sore, and the air seemed filthier than ever. . . How can one day be so full of both incredible beauty and indescribable pain?
Then we went to a village, quaint, nestled in a green valley amidst the same picturesque hills, with a happy creek trickling through the center, of course. The sunlight was turning golden, as it does very early in India, and I couldn't help but think that the distincly defined rays behing cultivated feilds reminded me of the country crock margerine label. We visited some friends/relatives there (Northern Umri, (not to be confused with southern umri)). One family was very poor, and they had a baby daughter. She was so incredibly small and thin that I thought she must be a premature newborn, but then I noticed she was holding up her own head. . . she was actually four months old. Her bones poked through her skin, I could count every vertebrea through her dress when I held her. She made eye contact with me, she was very aware, she even gripped my finger pretty well. There was something in her eyes that I had never seen in a baby's eyes before. Suffering. She was only four months old, yet she already knew what suffering was. How could this baby be alive? She was so thin. It broke my heart. We prayed for her, and I cried. Then we prayed for a few other people, and I could feel the actual pressure of spiritual warfare there so strongly, the house we were in was full of believers, but the darkness around felt thick. If you don't believe in a spiritual dimensions, just go to India, you will. . .
It was a long drive home and my butt was sore, and the air seemed filthier than ever. . . How can one day be so full of both incredible beauty and indescribable pain?