The Ganga was definitely beautiful at that particular point. It had just emerged from the Himalayas, and had not yet had the chance to receive the assaults of humans bordering it and, ironically enough, venerating it. It was still transparant and playing music on stones. I on the other hand was dense with baggage. Small baggage, like the insignificant green cloth bag that had generic travellers objects like sunglasses and a notebook. I also had big baggage accumulated over 23 years of cognitive abilities (starting from my first memory at about the age of 3). That baggage included generic human emotions like disappointments, failed loves and faded dreams. It also included evolutionary baggage like constant alertness to the existence of potential threat to my survival, and yes, to my possessions. It didn't matter that the sunglasses cost 60 dollars anf the notebook less a dollar. They were just posessions, period. Somebody had to come and grab them if I were swallowed and slowed down by those waters. It also didn't matter that the water was clear like a newborn's consciousness (well, the water was a newborn anyway), it still had to have bacteria that would attack my body and affect my genes' chances at replication. The waters didn't care, they looked and smiled in indifference, bathed in bliss and certitude. The German tree-hugger didn't care either 'Tont woghy, chump! I've bean swimmeaning heaghe fogh ze past fifteen yeaghs, it's so Shanti' (translation: Don't worry, jump. I've been swimming here for the past 15 years, it's very Shanti). Her Baba, aka husband, comes, indifferent to how the years have sculpted his happy happy body, or how they have greyed his happy long hair. He also seemeed indifferent to baggage. 'Don't think, JUMP'. I jumped. It was 'Enchanting'. Is it a coincidence that the word 'Enchanting' has the sound 'Shanti' in it? 'Shanti', the Sanskrit word for 'Peace', is much more significant than its western equivalents. Shanti is peace with heart notes of emancipation and base notes of ultimate happiness. Shanti is repeated three times after Om in the ultimate prayer. Whatever it meant, that plunge in the Ganga was en-Shanti-ng. Rishikesh my love, all that paradisiac beauty that surrounded me brought me to one of the things I've always seeked: my ultimate union with what surrounds me. It was a very rare moment. After the plunge, I talked to the German tree hugger and her Baba on the beautiful stones she collects: zee hawf beautivul zese ztone calughs aghe? (translation: see how beautiful these stone colors are?). We also gave Reiki healing to a helpless sick man who was refused out of hospital because he was poor (in one of the pillar cities of spirituality!). It was also Shanti. It was the first time I offered my imaginary powers to someone, not knowing whether I'm healing them or healing myself.
I went back to the hotel room, the one where the mattress had bed bugs that formed neat lines of blood on my flesh. That chapter from 'Radical Healing' on detox was boring. In an unusual act I skipped it and moved to the next one. Chapter 8: Eneregy and Movement started with something like 'the main problem of the contemporary man is that he has lost his connection to Spanda, the inner flame of spontaneity. This is why modern man is so depressed'. That was the meaning. I'm not sure if those were the exact words. I still remember Spanda, modern man, spontaneity and depression, and retain that there is an intimate connection between them. I wish I hadn't given this book away to a fellow traveller who was just looking for any book to read. With my very non-spontaneous present, I think this is the right time to read 'Radical Healing', or jump in the clear Ganga, or contemplate the simplicity of tree huggers and the beauty of Rishikesh again.
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