Varanasi, the Oldest City

From the mountains to the plains where the Ganga G meanders through timeless switchbacks precipitated by the gravity and flow of waters swollen from the monsoons and melting ice packs in the Himalayas, we descend. Hoping to catch sight, on this clearer day, of the jagged peaks that touch the feet of Vishnu, we board the plane for Varanasi on this New Year’s Eve Day. I reflect on how, so many times on this very day, I would be leading the 4 AM Peace Ceremony at the Unity Church in San Luis Obispo, California. Singing songs about the unification of peoples and the tending of the inner garden to create an open-hearted footprint of love wherever we go, these ceremonies reminded us for a period of time that we could be different in this world. Well, here I am on the eve of 2012, actually in the arms of the world in a way I had never even anticipated. Through the annoyance of serious security and a slow moving process in the airports, I intend to keep my inner place of peace. Pushing the river, even for Americans, is a fruitless process.

The plane takes off and I am ready with camera for the parade of the peaks. It soon becomes obvious, however, that we are not paralleling them back to Delhi, but, rather, heading in the opposite direction toward the oldest city in the world, Varanasi....damn, it is hard to corral my disappointment. But, being the peacemaker today, I breathe into the moment and remember, “Peace will fill the world when we finally understand, that only from within can it be spread throughout the land, every single person living peace in what we do, only then will our dream come true...”. For now, I retain my gentle flow...and the spires fade into the distance.

Now, Varanasi is a fabled city, oozing with history and mystery and intrigue. To say it is an old city does not honor its lineage. Surely, in 13,000 years things have been rebuilt. But, I will say that there are some that look the part and, if these walls could speak, there would be a storytelling that would transcend generations without any repetition. We landed at the newly built silver hued airport and went through a meticulous security and customs process again. After so many of these, there is no longer any trepidation, just acceptance that it will take time. The Mystic India rep walked us to the waiting bus for the 45 minute ride into the waiting one-of-a-kind experience that was looming in the diminishing light.

A fine hotel afforded us the safety and separation from the 2.5 million people who were sure to be out on this day of ringing in the new. After a quick refresh, we were introduced to our guide, Dr. Shailesh Tripathi, a smokey voiced Brahman priest who was well educated in anthropology and history and the mystic arts. He proved to be entertaining, knowledgeable, colorful, and connected...he knew everyone on the streets and got things done by a quick call. We were in good hands. He had stories and knew how to use them...and he had a laugh that was just like The Count in Sesame Street, only deeper and washed with a hundred thousand cigarettes...Tom Waits-like, if you know what I mean.

We hopped in two cars and headed down the street, increasingly awash with the flood of revelers. Now i have never seen the locusts when they swarm...but there was something about this ever-flowing sea of humanity that was mind-numbing, incessant overwhelming, just too much... The descending darkness added to the mystery and the growing level of adventure. Down the streets we move, the deep throated voice of Shailesh greeting the locals, a hushed conversation off to the side...an arrangement and then a one minute dissertation on the building to the left...through the increasingly animated streets we passed building after building and beggar after beggar and vendor after vendor and tourist after tourist and sadhu after sadhu....moving at a pace set by the oscillating congestion of the animated mass...toward the river...

Varanasi is a city that serves a purpose beyond trade and history. It is where people come to die. Knowing their days are numbered they come here to surrender to the holiest dance....cremation and the eventual reunion with the Ganga...and to this end the city channels its energies...the obvious and the elephant in the room...it drips with the frequencies of pathways done, stories laid down, memories traded for blissful knowings,  last dances for an infinite stream of souls who took one more ride on the wheel...hopefully their last.

The streets are a Virgo’s paradise...visceral, earthy, physical, in the bones...life lived in the mud, life you can eat and hear and penetrate...all of the body processes on display...it is the panorama of humanity, peering out from dark side streets, looking down for one last glance of the flesh from the houses that hold the one in Hospice care..eager for the journey but still clinging to the slipping fingers of life...smoke fills the air...it is the campfires set up in the streets, it is the warming flames of a shopkeeper’s food, it is the remnants of lives in the body dense, giving up the ghost and riding through the streets and mingling with the senses of family and stranger...one last time before the dimensional shift

Tonight, we do not seek death, but rather, life...a Buddhist ceremony at the aati that is widely more extravagant than what we saw in Rishikesh. Dr. Shailesh ushers us to awaiting balcony overlooking the entire festivies. Throngs on the steps...seven platforms with altars facing the river...seven chakra colored light canopies stretch down the intersection point of land and river...an increasing number of boats on the Ganges facing the ceremony, each holding the maximum number of devotees and revelers...a combo of voice, harmonium, and tabla work the vibration of the crowd. Seven young men, priest apprentices take the platforms in final preparation. In the river you can see the bathers already washing away the past and cleansing themselves for whatever life may bring...trusting in a practice that gives, at best, mixed results (if seen through the “civilized” eye)...a practice that is an outward exclamation of devotion and belief.

Now, I have seen devotees, religious individuals who believe wholeheartedly in their version of life’s earthly dance...who intercept anyone willing to listen to why their version of The Path is the most desirable...I have seen some level of commitment to the spiritual life...I am a hodge podge collection of the best of what I have heard and felt and resonated with...a new age guy who really does intend to practice what he preaches and move through moments with a heart that loves and eyes that witness magnificence...but in my best moments I have not touched the level of undying dedication to the beliefs and practices of what I have witnessed here. The religious/spiritual are not practices, they are the life of the people here...as familiar and routine and breaking bread and breathing...intricately woven into the culture and lives of those who incarnated here. And because of this immersion, they participate fully and without hesitation in the process...there is no checkin one another out, there is no self judgment, this is simply what they must do...and I am humbled by what I see...easily reflecting on my sputtering practices that so easily give way to something with greater promise...people here do not look for the easy way out...they walk through the mud of life and do what they must do to survive and reach an inner and outer place that rewards such devotion...and my Virgo self loves this...

The ceremony and pageantry swirls on as the monks perform their rituals for the people via movement, mudra, incense, fire, chant, rhythm and music. Seven monks in a choreography that is both well rehearsed and spontaneous feeding the spirits, hearts and minds of the pilgrims for over an hour. From the balcony we watch, swaying rhythmically to the ceremony we feel but do not completely understand. In a flash it is over. We descend onto the ghat and begin to walk among the revelers who are most definitely in the spirit. Just down the walk we come upon a holy man in a cage like altar, selling prayers and string blessings. We each purchase one from him and as we are leaving a man from the local news comes up for an interview with the Americans...Sonia obliges, and as I wander back, he asks for another...oh why not...bright light, makeshift mic and a videocam from at least 20 U.S. years ago and I am asked about our presence here...what I thought of the experience...and other such late night news stuff...fun...famous in the streets of Varanasi

The walk back to the waiting cars is intensified by the hundreds who had been at the aarti. Half carried by the throng, we wind our way through narrow passageways to the main street, hounded constantly by three vendors, one a 9 year old boy who is so smooth. They learn early here the fine art of selling. They look and listen for openings...answer just one question and they scoot in for more...it takes about 3 minutes of no before they even start to loose interest. The dance is part of the territory, The whole thing reminds me of the county fair back home...Saturday night just after the rodeo finished and the throngs were released to the walkways and the beer garden...festivities of a new year...hinting of an early morning transformation that each step brought us closer to...

In bed by nine for the 5:30 AM rising, I am awoken at midnight to the sound of explosions. Startled, I stumble to the window to see the sky lit up by bursts of light and sound...we are in an area that has seen conflict over the years, and with the visible presence of soldiers I easily move first in that direction...but then the realization that it was new year’s eve sinks in...so I watch the familiar festivities...for over an hour it continues...2.5 million bottle rockets, sparklers, m80s, snakes, twirlers...that’s how I remember it...back to bed, I leave the shades open to let the bursts of light lull me back to sleep...2012...yes it is finally here...thoughts return to Mt Shasta, California in 1987 when I heard the call for the ushering in of the great 25 year cycle that started with the Harmonic Convergence...we are there...explosions...the great doorway is about to open wide...the distant thud and whoof of celebration fades into my growing delta state...the great cleansing is upon us...

On the bus after coffee and toast, moving through a light rain toward the Ganges through deserted pre dawn streets. It is sharp contrast to the hoopla and the human mass last night. We are back at the site of the aarti celebration last night and, already, many are lined up and in process of moving to the bathing areas to immerse the year in the river and let her purifying waters reactivate the desired possibilities in their lives...a clean slate, like the etchasketch shaking, or the drawing pad where you lift up the top piece to erase the drawing...everyone needs a new beginning but here it is a way of life. The men undress to their underwear and immerse themselves in the swirling january water. Women go in fully clothed and then change when they come out. At regular intervals along the waterfront, priests offer blessings...karmic cleanses filled with mantras and blessings and chants and mudras and intentions and questions and color...we are pulled into one man’s process...he speaks over our heads and has us repeat mantras hard to understand...something about Ganga and karma..we parrot and feel a light energy...he asks us to write names of families in the book he will bless for a month...I feel done and attempt to get up...he pulls me back with words about karma...he starts to tell what his service is worth...he makes comments about the power of karma...and what it is worth to give him such and such...the beautiful ceremony gets fuzzy...money is exchanged and the spell is broken

Shailesh gathers us and takes us to the river to a boat with a small oarsman who proves that appearances are deceiving. On back of the boat, sitting on the roof of a storage area are a sitar player and a tabla player, poised to orchestrate our foggy and rainy  sojourn. They, although smiling, did not look happy for their instruments, already moist. Still, they begin, and the music adds a cinematic ambiance to the scene unfolding before us. The murky pre dawn Ganga G is evocative, a stirring scene for all the senses. Acrid smoke of burnings of the night rides the currents in the air...one can taste the memories of those just released from the physical realm. Boats filled with people from many cultures appear out of the foggy shroud...the eye is pulled and the camera lens follows...splashes of color in the backdrop of goodbye and fare thee well. Vignettes pepper the shoreline...we, as passersby, have no way of grasping the relevance to the players before us...but we feel it...and the music and cries and laughter milk our hearts to open to rich and varied, unending flow of life in this earthly domain. Everything is personal here...it is the intersection of oneness and separation...you cannot witness this and not be moved up and over and beyond your own walls of comfort...this is into the valley of death, reaching into the belly of the beast, ripping out your own misperceptions and fears to cast them adrift upon the incessant haunting pleadings of the water...release and be free...release and be free, little one...boats of pilgrims, tourists, monks, vendors bump into one another...the mighty little men maneuver their craft with the skill of too many rides on the river...we are just feet away from a boatload of Burmese...they have the hats...and none of us can avoid eye contact and its momentary mind meld that integrates and unites us in this precious experience. Humbling is not a word that describes...it is a shared connection that brings us back to square one...we are human and share that bond more than we have ever allowed...

Dr Shailesh takes the cue and begins chanting his mantra...a whirling dervish of sound riding the frequency of purpose delivered in that bluesy un-cola man voice...we are swept into this moment...a man who has been silent joins in as they harmonize the melodies unfamiliar to the western ear...hitting all those in between the scale notes that break down resistance and topple inner patterns to leave us open and willing...a young woman has been silent this whole time riding just behind the musicians...her purple dress now colors the moment as she moves in position with a basket of smaller offering baskets....each is lit and passed around to the eight of us...we take the ritual seriously and cover the basket with our own shortcomings and mistakes and energies ready to go. It is time for the testament, the movement of will, the act that shows the etheric energies around us that we are serious in our choosing to place ourselves here at this time. We each move forth as the chant continues and intensifies...repeat after me...words as sound spoken...God knows their meaning...we are in full trust mode and surrender to the unrepeatable call of now and one by one release the flaming baskets into the Ganga G. These boats of all the shit we held precious just float away into the darkness, into the past, sinking without pomp into the energetic soup of yesterday.

With the last miniboat launched the music stops and the silence drops around us like that uh-oh feeling. We are each left with ourself, in a moment pregnant with possibility, like the still point between the inhale and the exhalation of breath, this moment gives birth to the future...each is asked to intend...it is a most fertile time to seed the down the road...the sound of the oars in the water is all we can hear.

Until it arises out of the mist...that unmistakable chant of Krishna Das singing his breakthrough favorite, Om Nama Shivaya...it increases in volume as if laid upon our senses by the very Gods themselves...but no, the sound begins to focus from a man in a boat with his child heading towards us. In the front of the seating area he has a black shrouded old CRT monitor showing a video of life along the river in Varanasi...with the Krisha Das soundtrack...how can you not buy a copy...resourceful, comical, just the kind of non-sequitor this place brings to the altar of awareness

There are over 50 ghats, or ceremony areas, along the Ganga waterfront in this section of Varanasi. Between them are two crematoriums that have been in constant action for a very long time. Now my mother was cremated 3 years ago and the result was brought to my brother and I in a bag and a box. Here it is a public process that is as old as life itself in this region. I will not dishonor it by attempting to explain it but I will pass on impressions. Basically, in this expanse by the shore, the body is brought and placed on the wood, already having been dressed and addressed with prayer. More wood is placed on top of the body and the burning begins.  It takes a sizable amount of wood to help reach the temperature need to disintegrate the body. multiple fires burn. Next to them are the raking of the ashes, a ritual done every morning to gather those of the previous burnings. Ashes are typically taken and released into the Ganges. It is such a common experience here that there is no energy about it. The religious practices allow the people to have comfort and trust in the flow. There is a well organized industry here along the water that supports this...I feel it and resonate with it as it diminishes the mystery and prevents the confusion and manipulation that surrounds the death industry in the West...it is flowing and natural here.

We head back toward our disembarking point at the scene of the second crematorium. On the way simply drink in the experience. The musicians have all but given up accompanying the rain...but I am afforded a chance to noodle with the sitar. It is a seductive instrument, but three minutes do not allow mastery...thankfully the player takes it and puts into its case...out of the rain’s touch. As the morning’s light lifts the veil we begin to make out all that is around this area of the river, all the buildings, the many people who live along the shore, the riverbank on the other side..it is a place of mysterious beauty and relevant tradition. 

And now the man who chanted along with Shailesh stands and begins to talk about raj yoga....and invites us to participate in a series of moves that will assure long life, clear high blood pressure...on and on he goes...wow...we do them and do feel rejuvenated...but we are wet and cold and any movement is a blessing. At the end he shows us his pamphlet and offers purchase...with all respect, and I do buy one...it echos of the traveling salesman of the old west...though I do not believe he was a fakir of any kind...I am bringing back the exercises and will incorporate them into workshops once I practice them enough.

As we approach the shore Dr Shailesh invites us to participate in a final ceremony. The local bathers immerse their whole bodies in the river to insure the release and cleanse. Westerners carry the germ and bacteria programming that seeds doubt and usually robs them of a holy experience. Perhaps, because so many westerners visit, a new lore has risen. If one takes the water of the Ganga in the right hand, and while the priest speaks the mantra, pours it onto the top of the head...the same release from the karmic wheel takes place...and so it is...released from karma...with no past or things to deal with...what to do?

Off the boat, back on shore, look out for that pile of....into the narrow passageway we slip..at the top of the stairs we are at the crematorium..who wants to go in?...hesitation...I do!...4 others as well. Down the steps to the fires and ash and tenders...given to a man who parrots an explanation in English of the entire process...our eyes search for evidence...just below the fire burns...see the head...see the head...the men shout out...as if they think that westerners are addicted to drama and the evening news syndrome...there it is, one of the party exclaims...again it is a humbling process that is naturally presented in an understandable flow...not offensive at all...

Up through the narrow corridor through the intensifying rain...rivulets streaming down from the canvas overhangs...dirty water...why did i wear this LL Bean white cotton shirt? and damn...what’s this?...the beautiful red mala necklace given at the arrival at the hotel is bleeding all over the inside of that very same shirt...sigh...I look like the walking dead......sigh...into a shop the Dr leads us...friend of his...cup of Chai tea...he puts in the secret blend made in his mothers kitchen...yummm...can you say warm sugar with cinnamon....still a welcome warmth...delightful...we are headed for the sacred buddhist temple of gold...but this is an area that is contested by Muslim as theirs...it has been classified a high security area...that means soldiers with guns...it means leave everything behind except for your money...you will be searched...and these guys are not kidding...so in single file we walk through the growing mass of devotees...one by one the soldiers explore our bodies...men on one side women on the other...it is invasive, yes, but understandable...I look and one of the women is having her breasts checked for contraband...I'm just sayin...

We are afforded  a brief glimpse of this golden temple...not allowed entrance...20 feet away the Muslim mosque spire competes for the skyline...it is an intense experience...completely devoted people to their form of expression...all rubbing shoulders in a confined space...we are done now...

Up and out and back to the main street we take our newly opened, karma free, rain soaked selves toward the waiting vehicle. There is a feeling about it all...it is personal...it is precious...I have just been through something that has knocked down old boundaries...made me larger in life...allowed me to be more connected to a frequency of the flow I did not know existed...I am vibrating at a new frequency and I like what I am feeling...I cough, and only now begin to feel the deep cutting pain of post nasal drip gone wild...an old pattern sounds the alarm...the new me goes, myeh...in the land between these places I enter the car to go back to hotel...breakfast and a shower and laundry...please, and by the way, I am now karma free...