a different country

"If you white men had never come here, this country would still be like it was. It would be all pure here. You call it wild, but it wasn’t really wild, it was free. Animals aren’t wild, they’re just free. And that’s the way we were. You called us wild, you called us savages. But we were just free. If we were savages, Columbus would never have gotten off the island alive.

Our religion is all about thanking the Creator. That’s what we do when we pray. We don’t ask Him for things. We thank Him [Her]. We thank Him for the world and every animal and plant in it. We thank Him for everything that exists. We don’t take it for granted that a tree is just there. We thank the Creator for that tree. If we don’t thank Him, maybe the Creator will take that tree away...

We are made from Mother Earth and we go back to Mother Earth. We can’t “own” Mother Earth. We’re just visiting here. We are the Creator’s guests."

Leon Shenandoah, — former “Tadodaho” of the Grand Council of the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy

Tears of Mother Nature

The journey is everything. Transiting sixty people from Delhi to Allahabad at the height of the Maha Khumba Mela is a logistical feat. The group was coming from all points - Europe, the US, Asia. Many had never even been to India - chaos capital of the free world.

The second most populated country with over a billion people - densely packed, corrupt, and poorly managed. Our destination was a newly built ashram at the foothills of the Himalayas - a temporary tent city to accommodate all 300 staff and pilgrims.

We each were allotted one medium piece of luggage, that we had to be able to carry on our own, for the thirty day stay. When we got to the train station, the place was carpeted in human bodies - sitting, lying, squatting - all waiting for our train.

All sixty of us were herded by our assigned guide to the platform - standing in neat rows by the tracks the train was coming in. He warned us all repeatedly that we only had ten minutes for the whole group to board. Get in as fast and as safely as we could all manage.

mela site - Allahabad, India

As the train came belching into the station with its deafening screech, it was already full beyond capacity. Through its dull and dirty windows folks were packed to the rafters - gazing out at us with their huge unblinking eyes.

As soon as the train doors slid open we were swept up and dragged in the mad rush of bodies pushing and shoving to board within the given ten minutes. We dove for the closest door that gaped open, praying our cabin wasn't too far off once we were aboard.

The train ride was ten hours after all - we had plenty of time to sort ourselves out. The priority was moving ourselves and our bags on board - the rest should be easier. The train corridors were packed too - jammed with sweaty, smelly bodies as we huffed and puffed along.

Moving sixty jet lagged aliens in ten desperate minutes should count as an extreme occupation.

Allahabad Kumbh Mela, 2019

India is not for the faint of heart. No matter what one's life is. This is the bastion of Asian spirituality. Yoga. Karma. Rebirth. The seat of Gautama Buddha's frst public lecture and satsang.

Under a boddhi tree that still thrives today, they've built a stupa and a temple. With pilgrims coming in droves - all year round, from all over the country and the world. Regularly, on any given day.

The Mela happens every three years. The Kumbha Mela is held every 12 years. And the Maha Kumbha Mela every 12 by 12 years - that's once every 144 years.

I was not missing this one as it's unlikely I'll be around for the next - much less be in shape enough to travel or survive it.

Ganges River, sunrise - Allahabad Mela, Uttar Pradesh, India

Being in India takes a courageous heart. This country makes it abundantly clear why our spirit chose to be born in a physical body.

A day in India slams all the senses. Overloads it to hyper drive. Maxing out on smells, sights, sounds. Tactile. Textured. Tortured.

From holy cows lazily roaming through mind numbing traffic. To everything unrecognizable - caked in grunge and dust. It's the land of pashminas because without these lifesaving scarves we are naked and exposed to who knows what is blowing in the wind.

You really would rather not know.

making cow dung patties for fuel

Women in their intricate saris, with their Krishna cowherd golden eyes, look up as I pass. Eyes rimmed in khol and ruined with submission.

They squat patiently shaping cow dung patties with bare hands - piling them to dry in the sun for use in their cooking fires. The glass and gold of their dowries twinkling and tinkling on their arms and piercings. Dainty and elegant in their kingdom of filth.

I give abject thanks and humbly acknowledge the grace that spared me from this place and kiss the ground I call home.

saris hanging out to dry - Allahabad Mela, Uttar Pradesh, India