North Carolina Juice

Ari Marsh exploring new territory, Masonboro Island, North Carolina

Green Flash

The last speck of sun
bright red and dancing
slips below the shimmering liquid horizon
fades into orange, then yellow,
and erupts into a brief, fleeting,
glowing green flash
before vanishing
behind the silky silvery curtain of ocean

--Encinitas, California. 2002

(Sea Soaked Heart -Thoughts from the Pacific Coast- by Ari J. Marsh).

Om Namo Shivay

Greetings to all from Varanasi,
If it could be said that I was looking for something in India, a certain experience, or perhaps another particular piece of the grand, universal, spiritual puzzle, (besides my experiences with the Buddhist monks in Dharamsala and the whole Tibetan Buddhist thing), I seem to have actually found what I was looking for in this ancient, holy city by the Ganga (Ganges) known as Varanasi. The "mindblowing-ness" of my previous messages is gone, and I have a strange peace about me as I roam the banks of the Ganga with a certain comfort and a distant feeling of familiarity. In short, Varanasi is one of the most amazing places I have ever seen.Believed to be the chosen residence of Lord Shiva, Varanasi is one of India's (and the world's) oldest and holiest cities. Just making it here is a great blessing for Hindus, but to die here, be cremated, and have your ashes tossed in the Ganga, assures one of "moksha" - or liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth. Hindus come here to live, but more specifically, to die. Dying people wait-out their last days in hospices near the city's main ghat. The whole city (1.6 million) is streched out along the Ganga, with various ghats (steps), every block or so, leading down into the river. Each neighborhood has its own ghats, which appear like giant temple steps leading down to the water. The locals use the river for daily bathing, washing clothes, dishes, going to the bathroom, etc. All sewers lead to the Ganga, boats fish from the Ganga, and children play in it, jumping and diving off the high steps into the deeper parts of the river. The Ganga, a greenish-brown, glides along very slowly through Varanasi. Although there are so many potential mindblowing (there's that word again) forces operating simultaneously in Varanasi, there is an extremely deep spirituality here, a holiness, a peace, almost an ominous peace at times, that permeates everything along the banks of the Ganga. The feeling here, the ancientness of the city, the sacredness of it, is a little like the feeling I've experienced in the heart of Old Jerusalem in Israel, but without the religious tensions. The old city and the buildings along the Ganga have an architectural majesty like that of Rome; while the relaxed feeling of the slow-moving, placid river, the gliding boats migrating up and back carrying visitors to various ghats, brings an elegance like that of Venice, Italy. Add to this an intense, elusive, spicy flavor that only India can offer, and you have a hint - only a hint - of what is Varanasi. There is a very sacred holiness here, all along the Ganga. People are praying everywhere... Devotional music, singing, and bhajans can be heard everywhere... all over town. Cremations take place in two distinct areas, at two particular ghats. One can see bonfire-like funeral pyres burning... dark smoke rising... local workers chopping and preparing wood... and dead bodies wrapped in shawls constantly being whisked to the banks of the river by family members. The bodies are "cleaned"in the Ganga, and then burned over piles of wood for 3 hours. Ashes are then dumped into the river. Holy persons, sadhus, pregnant
women, children, and certain others are not cremated, but rather their bodies are sunk in the Ganga, or simply tossed into it to float away...When ashes are dumped into the river, they come in huge amounts, due to all the wood that is burned with each body. The river by the banks of the cremation ghats is often black from ash, and local pilferers bathe in the black waters, and dig in the blackash-mud by the banks, looking for gold - jewelry, earrings, teeth, etc., from those recently cremated.While down river, the next ghat, people bathe unconcerned with what was just dumped in upstream... and further down river, people visit the banks for their toilet... and yet further down river, children swim and play... Nobody is concerned.Varanasi, as you'd guess, has its own unique smell. It's partly the smell of the river, as it's constantly evaporating from the 104 degree weather; its essence fills the humid air. But there's more, in spite of what one would think would be the smell with all the cremations going on, there is actually a sweet fragrance beside the Ganga. I believe it's the result of the wood used during the cremations, as well as the heaps of incense that are burned throughout the city. Everything and everybody seems to smell the same. Put another way, the smell is a musky wetness, a sticky, sweet, smoky, honey-wood herb smell... the smell of the Ganga. It's not a foul smell at all, just a different smell, like nothing I've ever experienced... an intriguing smell, like the oddest variety of rare temple incense. Amazingly, there are not really too many bugs here either, besides flies. I am living in a place called Hotel Temple on the Ganges run by a very sincere, devoted, and friendly group of Hindu men. I pay less than $5 per night for a simple room, and they cook me awesome vegie meals for about $1.50. The rooftop and balconies provide amazing views of the Ganga and the meanderings of locals on the south end of town. The day begins about 6:00 a.m. around here (even for me), and by 11:00 a.m. you feel like you've already lived a full day. I roam the banks, moseying about the various ghats, shirtless, with my Shiva-beads around my neck,soaking it all up... taking it all in... I've even managed to get some of the sadhus to trip on ME. Imagine that! This is the final leg of my journey. (Bali almost seems like a lifetime ago...)From here I will return to Delhi and then depart for the Statesvia Hong Kong. Blessings (again)!!! Ari

Update from Rishikesh

Hello friends,
I've been in Rishikesh for 3 days now...
The 20+ hour journey here was intense...
mad local bus ride down from Dharamsala...
three people per seat...
armpits in my face...
listening to the whistle blower...
people coughing on the back of my head...
Even wilder and worse was the train ride...
13 hours packed with people
sweating, sleeping, snoring, spitting, smoking...
trying to rest amidst the smells of dirty feet
and urine...
Felt more like a moving prison cell
than a train...
Rishikesh does have some cool charm...
There are ceremonies in the mornings and evenings by the banks
of the Ganges,
devotees float candle offerings down the river to the singing of
bhajans...
I've done some yoga,
studied and jammed some sitar and tablas with an accomplished
teacher...
But with Indian tourists and monsoon heat and rain
it's just NOT the time to be here...
So I'm leavin' by night train to Varanasi -
said to be one of the MOST wild, insane, and holy places in
India.
Oh, man, here comes another train ride... 18 hours...
One thing about my e-mails, folks,
I tell it like I experience it...
the serene, the nasty,
the spiritual, the filthy...
It's all India.
By the way, e-mail is extremely slow here...
Thanks so much for the messages everyone
but I can't really respond right now.
Hope you all are well.
Sending blessings,
Ari

Through the Streets of Rishikesh

Hello to all from Rishikesh, India!
Monsoon rains
pour from dark, misty skies,
washing litter, urine, phlegm, and cow dung
through dirty streets trodden with Ganges-soaked Indian
pilgrims,
primarily males between the ages of 15-40.
They come on spiritual holiday
to wash themselves aclean in India's sacred Ganga River...
its brown waters rush along unconcerned...
Watch your step!
Piles of soaked cow dung
steam
in the 90+ degree heat and outrageous humidity.
One cannot help but breathe in the stench...
Sadhus wander
dreadlocked, bearded, and nearly naked,
wrapped in dirty orange shawls...
one wore a human skull around his neck as a necklace...
Beggars approach with open hands, mauled hands, missing hands...
Cripples limp... babies cry...
Packs of visiting Indian youth march through the streets
shouting "BUM BUM"
as they make their way to the river... brown, wide, sweeping
river...
Stores welcome western visitors:
YOGA, MEDITATION, MASSAGE...
Amazing book stores beckon
with racks filled with spiritual books
on every imaginable type of yoga
by every imaginable yogi:
Ramakrishna, Yogananda, Swami Rama, Vivekananda, Babaji...
A British traveler said:
"India is a rollercoaster,
about all you can do is hang on and try to enjoy the ride."
One American had the time of her life studying yoga for 5 weeks
in Varanasi...
One Brit was mugged there...
One Israeli was knocked off her scooter and had her backpack
stolen...
Some had marvelous experiences with local people...
Others ended up on I.V.'s in Delhi due to terrible food
poisoning...
You can't control India,
you can't fight it,
eventually you just succumb to it...
or - if you're capable - relax into it...
and almost become it.
One doesn not travel through India,
rather Indian travels through you.
Its very essence surrounds and enfolds you...
You breathe India,
you wear India,
you sweat India,
you cough India,
you defecate India,
and if you're really unlucky -
you even vomit India.
(So far I haven't been that unlucky yet.)
This is India...
in all of its wretched glory...
This is India...
in all of its lovely insanity.
All in all,
it's one of the most mindblowing
and ENCHANTING
lands I have ever visited....
Hope you all are well!
Ari (in Rishikesh, India)

The Whistle Blower

Hey Folks!
The last few days have been wild. India continues to stretch my
ideas of reality...
Been invited to teas with senior Buddhist monks curious about
this Western visitor... Had amazing conversations about the
world, spirituality, the affairs of nations...
Visited amazing monastery in the nearby mountains, home to the
17th Karmapa. Shared rice with the monks there and attended
their afternoon puja ceremony.
Hiked to the base of a huge waterfall outside a small mountain
village called Bhagsu-Nag. Baptized myself in the waters...
On the way back from the falls, I came upon a really old, trippy
Hindu temple frequented by a very small community of local,
rural Hindus. Three sadhus run the place and live in an
adjacent brick cave. I sat and meditated with these guys in
their brick, dirt floor, house cave for a while. The vibe was
intense! Suddenly, somebody began ringing this bell and the
sadhus joined in with gongs and drums. I grabbed a pair of
large hand cymbals and we were off on a 20 minute jam session
followed by chanting. This was no nice neat cozy temple with
shiny instruments. This was an ancient cave with incense
burning, old pots of rice cooking, piles of blankets lying
around, and ocassional scurrying mice.... Time and year
dissolve amidst this stuff...
The birthday celebration of the Dalai Lama was filled with
Tibetan and Indian music, dance, and festivities, and was
something special to witness. It began with dawn chanting and
went until about 1:00 p.m. I realized that the day I arrived
was the birthday of Guru Padma Sumbawa, one of the ancient
teachers who brought Buddhism to Tibet, thus the festival I
experienced upon arriving was in his memory. And now I depart,
later this afternoon, on the birthday of His Holiness. Trying
to dissect the meaning, but I think it's un-dissectable.
Dig this...
The hip hang-out in Dharamsala seems to be a place called Om
Restaurant and Hotel. It sports a roof-top terrace with outdoor
tables looking down thousands of feet into the Kangra Valley.
It's also one of the more reliable restaurants in the village
when it comes to clean and healthy food. It's owned by a
Tibetan Buddhist family, the restaurant is all vegetarian, and
they don't serve any alcohol. It's a cool place where Western
travelers gather and swap stories about their journeys through
India. It seems that most everyone has a Delhi story or two.
Since getting to Dharamsala is quite a feat in itself, some of
the stories are about nightmare bus rides like the one I shared
a while back. One of the most intense India travel stories I've
heard so far is about a route into Dharamsala from another
village in the north. This route involves travel through one of
the highest motorable roads in the world. Apparently, the road
is so poor and narrow that many busses have driven off the edge,
tumbling thousands of feet into the mountainous gorge below.
Some travelers reported that on this particular nightmare bus
ride, the bus company (and these are usually pretty run-down
busses) perched an Indian man on the roof of the bus with a
whistle. Every time the wheels of the bus got so close to the
edge of the road that the bus was in danger of falling into the
ravine, the man blew the whislte, notifying the driver that they
were all about to die if he didn't turn inward. (No guardrails
around here, folks.) People on the bus were all freaked out and
nearly had heart attacks every time the man blew the whistle,
which was a lot! It's no surprise that travelers usually only
do this route one way. If they make it, they choose alternate
routes, or jeep travel rather than bus, for their return.
How's this for a bit of info: The Tibetan waitresses who work in
the restaurant earn about 6 cents per hour!
So what's my plan? I'm leaving shortly by local bus for a four
hour + journey through the mountains to a town called
Pathankott. From there I'll get an overnight train to
Rishikesh. I'll keep you posted as I am able to, but I'll
definitely be off-line for a while. Wish me luck, I don't know
if my bus will have a whislte blower or not. Hopefully, I've
soaked up enough of this sweet Buddhist peace to carry me
through the next phase of my travels. It's hard to leave
here... the peace of the mountains... the serenity of the
monks... but other parts of India call.
Namaste!
Blessings!
Ari

Beyond Cloud and Wind

Mist hangs heavy over the highest peaks of the Dhauladars,
shrouding them in secrecy.
Only on occasion are we treated to rare glimpses
of their 12,000 foot craggy summits...
Wind blows cool through pine forests...
Where am I?
This is a land beyond time...
My eyes open now
as mist parts
burned away by afternoon sun...
Beyond the range lies Himalaya...
home of Gods and Goddesses...
My eyes close again
and I'm carried by the monks' chanting
beyond my crosslegged form,
beyond space
and concept...
beyond cloud and wind...
where thoughts cease
where whirling energy finds stillness
where identity finds formlessness...
I am both lost and found
in the blasting of Tibetan horns
the pounding of drums
the crashing of cymbals...
I am both lost and found
in this ancient land
in the rich spirit of the Tibetan people
in the depth of their traditions...
Greetings from Dharamsala,
Monsoon rains have arrived... heavy downpours...
The streets are mobbed with mostly Indian tourists...
The monks have been silent for two days now... I think they're
creating the balance for the upcoming huge celebration in the
temple courtyard for the birthday of His Holiness, the Dalai
Lama, on June 6. He won't be there, but the entire local
Tibetan community will...
Had a full-moon walk a couple nights back with a band of
friendly, roaming dogs who guard the temple complex...
Hope you all are well!
Enjoy your 4th of July and be safe...
Ari