At the Ganga

Now that I’m feeling sort of human again, after these usual days of drifting in and out of consciousness, I just look at the river rushing by, and I know I’m not where I should be. But I’m fine with it.

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I never thought I must come to India for any reason. I just wanted to give it a try. Do something impulsive and stupid and challenging. And it is completely eluding me, and I don’t even want to understand, any of it, none of it. The complete loss of dignity. And all the depths of what seems like utter hopelessness and void, sometimes. Just stay with the fleeting moments. I’m fine with it.

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I might be superficial, unable to find the hidden meanings behind the facade, so easily distracted by what I see and hear, stubborn, stupid or whatever. I might be unable to grasp anything spiritual and transcendental and divine behind the loudest, biggest, filthiest chaos. I admit to being flawed and beyond redemption. I don’t really care. We are just not meant for each other. But I had always known.

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Just enjoy the moments, anything that attracts my fancy. Watch the water rush by, and think. I have a lot of thinking to do. Soon I’m going home to Thailand. And then, who knows.

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I still need to find my peace. The Ganga might have something to tell me. Or not. Maybe it’s an illusion, and there are no shortcuts, I need to figure it out all for myself.

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I still wish though that I could take a dip without risking cholera, dysentery, or god knows what.

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The bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were  bird.

Somehow I have the feeling Mr Tagore wouldn’t be happy with the India he would see today. Not sure why I think so. Just because it is too difficult for me to overlook all the things that obscure what must still be there, hidden somewhere?

I must launch out my boat.
The languid hours pass by on the shore—Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave.
And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon!
Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the other shore?

By the way, this picture also shows the Gangga. A holy spring, the river’s spiritual equivalent for the Hindu faithful in Bali. I’ve actually done my compulsory dip and cleansing, long ago.

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Maybe there are actually a few shortcuts in life. Not many. But maybe I can consider this a successful one? 🙂

Two hours later….

And then I go down to the river, and watch evening prayers, people playing around in the water, and talk to some guys, and have a nice dinner (still only naan and yoghurt), and I feel guilty about what I wrote before. But it is what it is.

 

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