from a book about the maharshi

"
why does a tiny voice tell us that there is something more to life
than the routine daily grind? why do we keep catching hints of our
infinite nature? why do we look unfailingly for the unceasing fount of
joy, for the unending expanse of peace, for the boundless ocean of
love? when all expectation drops away, when memory too is quiet, the
silence of the heart swells up. it has been calling to us, this soft
sweet melody, always, always. but we have had no time to listen. we
have been too busy with our cares which we carry heavily on our puny
shoulders. so many things that we have to acheive occupy our attention
and the call of the heart goes unheard. it keeps calling though,
unceasingly, it never stops because we haven't bothered to listen.
"

- dr. sarada

so obviously im not making any claims about the writing or my
transcription but im meditating all day in a cave up here and the guy
is right on.

shes leaving home

ah, infamous "as if" striking once again. its a sunday afternoon and
im postponing the inevitable early afternoon pee to write a little
email. my last day in kuppadi once again and perhaps not the last
time. its been just over five weeks of intense flute playing,
occassional flute gorging, and daily intimacy with lower-middle class
keralan life. i feel i have some understanding of these people; which
is to say, some compassion, some heartache, and some question over
what it is a little i can do to help...

which always seems to be the question. and there it sits shaken and
dusted on the shelf as i head tomorrow across state lines and into
tamil nadu, the famed mexico of india, full of even more dosa and
mangos than this, the chilean counterpart. ramana maharshi's
knowledgeable spirit has me invited (please bring a print out the
email, says the ashram) to stay five days and find our krishna's
eternal lodging place in the heart. jan 17-22nd. i have a train ticket
from chennai to nagpur, two places i've never been on the 25th.

i think i can play the flute. or, as my teacher says, "now, i think
you can play something. before it was just shoo, shoo, shoo. and now
you have some tone."

i've never felt this way before, i'm having the time of my life, and
i'm really enjoying it. we're not quite at accomplishment yet but
there is some pride of having stuck with this music -- easily the
hardest non-human challenge i've ever attmepted -- for long enough to
enjoy hearing myself play. if that makes any sense.

on the 27th there is a natural farming conference in maharastra which
i'll be attending, enshallah. urban gardening and permacultism and
fukuoaka style agriculture and the whole bit. i have some ideas id
like to share and people to meet. after that ill be back in gujarat
with access to email and phones on a regular basis and ill be missing
Everything and ready to settle down and do some work for a good long
month.

here i'll be leaving young perennial bean plants which were sprouted
with the full moon and will be transplated with the new one. tomatoes,
amaranth, holy basil, and young chiles. a happy little garden that
will hopefully provide meaning and maybe even sustenance for my
friends here.

working on getting a column off the ground, "Ankurbhai" cooking for
the 22nd century, blah blah, you know the drill. and hopefully write
this book on gandhi in the interstices of my travels.

love
ankur

rilke

a quote pooja sent me in the mail with some little coconut dolls, etc:

rilke says:

"haven't you gotten it yet? fling the emptiness inside into the spaces
we breathe:
perhaps thebirds will feel the expanded air with more passionate flying."

--
black panthers head back to the motherland:
http://mangolandia.blogspot.com

water

jan 6th 2007
*

I thought I was only me and they teach that you are nothing,
but Mother --
Mother says we are water, just like her.

Now, how could it be other...
Are you a slab to temptation?
A volcano, unmoved to mourn its dead?

Or are you divided and poured together
again and again
mingling with forgotten wholes in joy
meeting yourself with joined palms
all over these rugged and comely lands?

Like mother, like mother.
As the legs spread so must the hips.
Like mother, like children.
As the earth is wet so must the body be.

Love mother, love children.

You jealous prize of generals,
You will not be bucketed, for long.

You thought it too hard and they teach you too little,
but Mother --
Mother has too many poems for water,
each of them a word:

jal
aqua
ocean
drop
mai
pani
l'eau
oxum menininha
...
[continues...]

december 28, feasts and the innocents

december 28th. traditionally celebrated as the feast of the slaughtered innocents. so a little honor and respect towards everyone out there, and everyone else out there who is working, and everyone else out there who is working for the slaughtered, and a little special honor and respect and love and gratitude and appreciation, on this day, for those who are working for the slaughtered innocents.

and i mean all the babies herod killed and the babies we killed in hiroshima and all the cancers we let fly courtesy of agents orange and god surely knows what other shades of pain. and i mean all the childs fed school lunch where ketchup is The Vegetable and all the children fed hard labour from the age of walk and those dying and otherwise disenfranchised in palestine and louisiana and thereever. thereevery, even.

i was first introduced to this holyday by john giuliano and john cortina, both of whom survive and one of whom on this earth, walking and running even. they are an inexhaustible fountain of inspiration for me, each and every day, and i recommend that everyone

a) support them in any way you can

b) have a genuine transcendental mystical experience when your schedule allows.

it's all pretty worth it.

love

ankur