We are walking through the narrow alleyways of Patan, twisting and turning like a maze, revealing hidden backyards and goddess temples.. Intuitive steps, asking to be led..
In the north-east corner of the Newari Golden Temple / Hiraëyavarëa Mahävihära is a staircase, leading up to the monastery in the second floor.. A peace reigns here, a safety below the paintings of the goddess Tara and the soft light touching the dust particles floating down from the ornamented wooden ceilings. As I sit down to meditate, I catch the eye of the caretaker - also sitting in a lotus posture.. A sudden recognition, our heads bow gently, as to confirm that we are participating in a sacred understanding and practice.. And when I open my eyes, I am still there - in this body - in this life..
In meditation, I can be away for what seems to be eternities.. As my bodies are moving, I am still part of the lower vibrations, the outer experience of resistance.. Again, reminded of the importance to shed light on the stagnating force in all layers of my being, for to ease the stream of the divine rivers.
We move to Pashupatinath / पशुपतिनाथ मन्दिर, on of the holy abodes of Shiva / Mahesvara. The vibration changes, Shivas presence is more intense and fiery. The spirit of death is present here, reflected in the bodies burning on the altars on the riverbank, layering the temple in thick smoke.. This is the refuge of sadhus /holy men. On the surface, mastering the art of tourist entraption - but if you stare deep into their eyes you are bound to lose yourself in the depths of their sacred search.
The musicians are getting ready to perform their rbhajans (devotional songs), prayers, and a hawan, a purifying and sacred ritual that takes place around a fire, with the offerings made to Agni, the fire god. We sit next to the infirmary, and two bodies are carried out to be washed in the holy water of the Bagmati. An old woman, and what seems to be a younger child, covered in cloth.
While two beings depart from life, another woman is dancing by herself on the riverbank. She is lost in movement, and pays no attention to the crowds of people. Her two children are leaning against the brick wall, watching their young mother perform the Nataraj, an embodiment of Shiva as the cosmic ecstatic dancer.
For those fleeting moment, I am deeply in love with her - the sheer, raw, elegance in the determined, forceful alignments of her annamaya kosha to the akashic backdrop. Her whole body flowering into a full expression of the ananda of becoming one with Shiva. Then, she snaps out of it - and makes her way towards us with a face fluctuating with tears and deep sorrow, from desperation to soft smiles, collecting rupees for her needing family.
The Sun has set, night is descending upon us. We are sailing away from the full blue blood moon.. Remaining humbled and grateful for the teachings, my vessel feels more steady that ever, and the lighthouse in the distance beams with a strong ray of universal light, glimmering on the waters of my mind.
We are the children from Nangijala, Shambala and the lunar mansions of the Nakshastras, practicing an emerging governance of light from the other side of Sophie's mirror. And our weapon is sound, amplifier of loving vibrations. We are going to create a universal language, nourish our communities, speak the words of loving compassion, sing the songs of hope and celebration, tell the new stories and manifest the new archetypes. Until there is not a single word of suffering left in the shadows.
