ive made it back to the motherland. which to say, the love. that
fountain which springs eternal to guide me and fill me with that which
i take for hope, wisdom, charity, and the pure all-encompassing love.
the love which i feel walking out of the arrivals hall to see a world
pre-dawn dust, workers sleeping comfortably on cement, taxi drivers
who apologize for offering their services once they know your mom is
already on her way.
it's the complicated melodies in the cheesy music, the emphatic tabla
in "pretty woman" cover, the morning shave.
the morning shave by a man so confident in his amplitude that he could
prod me using his stomach like an arm. he was that good. joking i'd
have to pay 15 times the price because my beard was so unkempt (and
really it was nothing) and threatening to cut my hair. all good
natured and the standard indian twice-over with the straight-edge,
face massage and slurry of strange powders (i'll be whiter any day
now!) i can only refuse because i've practiced so painfully with tea
and parle-g (the refusal that is: the reversal of perspective).
but i'm here and safe and headed to a wedding tonight. it's just the
first day i think, where the womens' hands will be covered with mehndi
and god-willing, they will allow me some as well (i do have long hair,
remember). ever since the summit in may (oraworldmandala.org) i have
wanted a tattoo of the word Ahimsa (in sanskrit) on my right palm. and
due to various factors in the mental and material worlds, i think i
will start by doing a henna (mehndi) version of it, learning how to
draw it every week or so, another meditation. and if the paint sticks,
well, i can wear it.
so there's that. i leave the barbershop and can squeeze the barber on
the shoulders as if he were greg. this intimacy between males barely
strangers is something i treasure and have miss. we can discuss
touching the females another day.
back to mangolandia.