World is the child of chaos or so it seems. Maharaj was expecting tea from a strange home when two bulls started sharpening their horns in front of an old white temple when a third one came. Tea was sweet. An old woman bowed to Maharaj and soon all including the bulls started walking in different directions. Jacky the panther roared all day so much that the sound became as usual as of crow’s to ears. I tried looking for him behind the Keekar trees but instead looked into my phone in front of the mountain on a real sun shine winter day. Jheeu came and complained about not getting his gun. I told him to cut some papaya and together we put pomegranate over it. By the time we could finish it Logar came laughing and told us he had fever. Advertisements
The four rounds around fire and seven complexities. Sound of a marble like play of a mystic. Gaya left us to Kali and Logar. We moved around the Bodhi tree nine times and collected mud from the nine planets. We found a well and gave to the water some part rice, rawa and Lentils. Later while spreading mud around the bhairavi tree Maharaj found a small sculpture of Jesus. He laughed and kept it with him quietly. The leaves are falling. It is quiet again.
In the most boring of times while doing nothing sometimes close your eyes. Think of the water, a river. And if possible become it. Shiva was eyes wide open in all the directions. We went to patal to touch him in dim light and later ate spice. Darkness is the birth place of all creations. A child becomes in the dark. A cow gives birth to a child in nine months just like a woman.
Today came the night of red flowers. It ended today with praying for the solar chord. It was also mauni Monday and women had fasted in the exchange for words. There was nothing sattvic about the day even though I tried to make it. It all ended without a moral. Without a story as if either it wasn’t needed or we weren’t important. The walk was like long. It didn’t feel long but sun had almost set and both had reached to aghora rhymes. The once magic when attained, when passed over turns to mundane. Life.is only breath. Every other thing a distraction.
Overlooking oneself costs expensively. Number twelve was also number three. A walk that looked simple turned into seeing baby spiders wearing yellow vests. The fire was cold today. The Pythagoras’s college. The 3D diamond. The triangles inside the circle. Three bodies and fouth’s face.
Notice, there will be a string always webbing one breath to some far, quietly. How to say, how to understand first and then stand with a face smiling. Not sure in confidence or hiding from its.own form. Shukra and Shani both went. Like last night winds are carrying density. Leaves are still falling. The biggest red leaf in years I saw fell from a young teak tree. I scanned it. I also scanned a black gate with blood on it, of culture. In front of a park where three girls ran. One held a hand of Maharaj coming closer and closer. She seemed dull, bereft of light. Like her eyes had no pupil. Maharaj eyes had no pupil either. Four white eyes. But Maharaj smiling, ordered me to build a bridge of her dream. Her dream. Do not run. Number two. Number eleven. Lord Ganesha is the guardian of her doors. They are sixty four. Both are one. I want to carry smoke. I want birds, squirrels, trees. I want to hear. I want the …