He kept looking towards the sky while floating in the water kept for cows. Big round button yellow eyes like ever watching you do the doing. His death seemed such that at one time I felt he chose it. But would a predator or anyone can choose his own death? May be. But When Maharaj arrived, he first closed his eyes. May be he needed someone to close his eyes before it could be plucked out. May be he earned this burial. To only put a stop to this cycle. May his body rests and the spirit awakens. Aum Shanti
It’s amusing to realize hitting it again and again and see the good old fizz. Even after a whopping month of march. Filled with fruits and five hours each day. I breathed for twenty days and one Saturday. And after that losing a lot of accumulated eye I am here in April. Thoughts change overnight. And so they might change again tomorrow, or the next second. So the change is the only common. So much of our time goes in finding the common for u To attach to that one thing or two. The seer, seen, and the sight.
Who is observing the observer? Are you in front of the camera or behind the camera ? Or are you the camera ? Do you realize the change Changing? We walked up to the oldest virgin man. The sevak of shiva sitting on a hill humourously. His skin was divided into small numerous lines. Once wrinkles turned into scales made on a snakes skin. But when his touch was as soft as wool. We walked seven steps together and then he sat away from the sun. He only ate once in a day, three spoons of rice may be else it gets stuck in his throat and a lot of water has to be forced into to get the morsels reach stomach. He was the most beautiful thing. It is not that Kali Yuga is bad. But the people who are satya, truthful. Who are one and connected with themselves, the one universal truth, for them it is still the old Yuga working.
Slowly I have started smelling like fire. There is nothing more to feel one with the divine than this. Ash is all over my head, my clothes, my legs are bereft of a sole. Pouring Ice water every morning on head now seems a ritual. And fire a family. Is it because of these squirrels that i have started listening to. Or that bird in the morning quietness who comes sits by my bed in the darkness of the dawn. Something will change. It is asking something and saying something i cannot hear. Hear hear. Close your eyes.
So it is Logar who starts beating the drum every night. But for sometime. May be he does it for mangla. Or may be to heat himself up. It is cold. There is wind. Neem tree under which we sleep made noise all night. The morning arrived before us even for me. It is never too hard to bathe with cold water, I have examined it several times like past two days. Next nine days and may be one more some magic is planned. When sun arrived we went in the field and started filling mud. We first put it in a copper plate and placed over it a snake near quartz and twelve other stones in the direction of the water. Maharaj went to the temple on the mountain. I and the guy whose dream is to mine a mountain started putting the clay like the nine planets roam. Even though energy is needed to pour in them vital breath but we shall see tomorrow when maharaj will wake up. Later we went around …
In the night a train came. In it was an engine sleeping under Maharaj. I went from bed to bed but to only get up after every enquiry. In the morning even before the sun rose Aravalis were seen passing. Winters seemed gone the moment I poured ground water on my head for. A mountain starts here from behind the ashram. Me and Maharaj went to the temple there and sang songs for two hours after we had food. I saw mangla while coming down and went near her to comb her stomach. During that time I learnt few new things about shukra and shiva, Shani and Vikramaditya. There is one Banayan, one neem, a library and enough blankets under the open sky. Rathore’s Kuladevi is Mata Nageahwari. Lights are out but logar is beating a drum. I love Mangla.