Faces, Hidden and Open, at Palayam, Market of Old Calicut, Kerala, India
Street Food, Palayam (Old Market of Calicut), Kerala, India
Cooking Paratha Bread
Scrambled Eggs on Banana Leaves
(Click to enlarge) In conjunction with HeyGo Tours @ HeyGo.com
An Early Morning Smile after a Monsoon Rain in a Village in Kerala, India
Shopkeeper, Palayam, Old Market of Calicut, Kerala, India
Happy Spirit in the Fruit Market of Palayam, Old Market of Calicut, Kerala, India
Banana Market, Palayam (Old Market of Calicut), Kerala, India
The Eyes, the Windows to the Soul, Fruit Vendor in Palayam (Old Calicut) Market, Kerala, India
Blind Man, Sultan Batheri, Kerala, India
Headache in Alleppey Town, Kerala, India
Chai Break, Alleppey Town Market, Kerala, India
Shopkeepers at Start of Workday, Alleppey Town, Kerala, India
Alleppey Town, Kerala, India
Happy Easter! Happy Passover! Happy Ramadan! Happy Spring!
Sultan Batheri, Kerala Lucky Center
Sultan Batheri, Kerala Fruit Vendor, #2
Sultan Batheri, Kerala… Fruit Vendor
Walking Tour through Palayam (Old Market of Calicut)
Through the Blur of Maya
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”
Bible verse from the King James version of the Bible, 1 Corinthians Chap 13 verse 12
And the guru who is my eyes right now is Kamlesh Patel, known as “Daaji,” and his disciple, Joshua Pollock in their book “The Heartfulness Way.”ย See below.ย I have read it twice and will reread it again.ย It is the No. 1 Bestseller in India right now and it is chock full of insights and directions to follow the path of “Heartfulness.”ย It is the path of love and the heart.ย The path of Raja Yoga.ย How could I resist?ย Daaji does not charge for his teaching.ย He has a network of trainers available on the Internet.ย ย The key to Raja Yoga is the transmission you receive from the guru, from the trainers.ย The path of Heartfulness is leading me to peace.ย And as I am in the midst of withdrawing from a major tranquilizer STILL (a long process that will continue for months), peace is MAJOR.ย I am not there yet but I see light at the end of the tunnel of Maya.ย “I see now through a glass darkly…”
A Procedure
A brown bag
so fragrant
full of presents
and the smells
of India
crammed full
with treasures
fills me
with such desire
I inhale deeply
and go “under”
falling into the ether
of the subcontinent
Machines beeping
the anesthesiologist
himself an Indian
calms me down
speaking softly
plumping my pillow
a routine exam
so much kindness
as he pumps
anesthesia
through my veins
I awaken
fresh from the arms
of Mother India
in the land
of Morpheus
as I lie before
a wide expanse
of grey sky
over the Hudson
and see God
as boats drift by
Beep… Beep…
Oh to always
see the sky
and the river
and God
and to breathe
the intoxicating
smells of
the India
of my dreams.
all that is born
A wonderful post, close to my heart, from Tiramit at Dhamma Footsteps.com…
POSTCARD #244: New Delhi:ย Early morning light, people wrapped in shawls, long scarves bound around the head and tied under the chin. Dark faces, eyes looking out and they see me for an instant in a diamond eye-lock as I struggle to look away. They look with curiosity; I think they see me as one of those lost inย maya, not in the real world for them, Iโm living in a dream. They might laugh to themselves, but not in a hurtful way โ Iโm pretty sure they see me as a naรฏve person, like a grown up child, dependent on support mechanisms I pay for with an impossible wealth, as far as theyโre concerned, removed from everyday values. Theyโre right, from where they stand. Itโs true, and Iโm in awe of them, their existence is unreachable. The actuality of their lives, I know nothing about. My ongoing practiceโฆ
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Street Life in New York City
Inspired by a post by Tiramit at Dhamma Footsteps…
Have seen the plight of the working poor in India, especially working women in films like Ankur,” and in many other Indian films. ย But it is not just India. ย It is everywhere. And it is not just the working poor.
The belongings of the first resident to set up camp near a seminary and a church
A block away from our apartment in New York City is a tiny campsite of homeless people. I think of them every morning at prayer. I wonder should I bring them food? Coffee? Meantime, in shame and shamefully, I cross the street to avoid walking into their bedroom. I feel for them especially when I am sick and think how horrible to be homeless when sick. But actually it is a daily horror. ย Only a scaffolding protects against the elements, the heat of summer and the bitter cold of winter. And know I could be there, too, if not for the grace of God. ย For these people are most likely unemployable. ย Most likely they are mentally ill, like me, only unlike me, unable to work because they are untreated and homeless. ย My husband, a retired psychiatric social worker had many homeless clients who could not work and could not get it together to get disability. ย These clients spoke of the horrors of homeless shelters and explained how living in the streets is preferable.
The residents of this little homeless camp seek refuge and food in the church across the street. As they huddle in comforters in winter and on the sidewalk in summer, I ponder their lot in life while we have our little lives, wrapped in middle class comforts.
And in the United States we have a candidate who speaks to the rascist and xenophobic of our country. ย To our shame to have even running. ย But he also speaks to the working poor who are failing despite working one, two and three jobs, to the people who would despise the people down the block because the residents are not working. ย And he promises his followers a better life. ย And they believe his fantastic lies. ย Such are among the many problems of having an underclass of the working poor.
Seeking God in New York City
Riverside Park and Trapped Nature
Political Wall
ย Home Furnishings in the Shelter of Union Theological Seminary
Customer in Local Coffee Shop Window
***
Twinkling stars, infinity sky
no longer can I see,
blinded by the might of
fierce night light in the city.
Now the universeย appears
behind closed eyelids
unbound by hour on the clock.
Energy fields in the sky of day
once transported me instantly,
now I battle noise and numbers
in the megaphone metropolis.
My private piece of sky to see,
sitting in the summer sun,
in the backyard playland,
sits now in memory
along with the macro world
of insects underfoot.
The infinity of the terrestrial lawn,
now is writ on microscopic cells
inside my convoluted brain.
Our little piece of paradise
Our little barn for sale
Home now the concrete jungle.
I will find God here, too,
amid the traffic and the trash
Overcrowded cities can
team with spirituality
as manifest in Mother India,
satsangs to the barking dogs,
insistent horns
streets full of homeless.
Here, too, a camp
one block away
reminds one of the blessings
of a dwelling and food to eat
and humbles one
amid serenades
not of crickets
but of sirens
and the cooing of pigeons
or the sweetness of a sparrow.
T’is true the Divine
is manifest in nature,
easy to see there
everywhere
but He dwells here, too,
in the rat filled streets
among the humble
somehow majestically in
the lowest of the low,
I would I could see Him in
the Sadhus of New York City.
His mighty kingdom
lies within the Self
bursting within the heart.
Have mercy on me, oh God,
and please open my heart
to the Compassion within!
MOONSIDE 
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