Durga

La Plaza in Santa Fe

Sittin' overlooking the plaza, sippin' a double americano and watching the crowd, people proverbialy pacing to and froe, Hanukkah celebration on the main stage, and other productions playing out on the broader: Kids [term used to denote young people or old of a certain disposition, and not specifically minors as such] swingin' herb and hash, and some kickin' the hack in a circle; couples walking arm in arm across the brick sidewalk wearing the Southwest style, beads and blankets and frills and more shinies than is most places the norm; yuppies bordering on hippie (or hippie-cum-yuppies); grandparents; Che and Mesuna with grandkids; mamas and papas toting tired little ones; old mystics with long gray hair and young ones with mohawks and twenty piercings or a set of knotty dreadlocks, all enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon on the plaza.

Earlier when I was waitin' for a couple grams of chocolate hash to show, three fellas were playin' Hanukkah songs by a bench, one squeezing an accordian, another on cello and one on hand drums. At least one was Hispanic and scarcely appeared of Hebrew descent, and another looked to be more an Italian than a Jew, perhaps indicative of the ecumenical magic of northeastern New Mexico, likewise exemplified in the plethora of religious communities hereabout, from whirling, spinning Suffis with a temple in Espanola, a mosque and madrasa in Abique, Amaji and Neem Karoli Baba and who knows how many other ashrams, buddhist stupas and monasteries of many faiths, communes of various dispositions and belief systems, and an interfaith foundation in the mountains above Taos called Lama. And of course there's kivas [ki, "anthill," -va "dwelling," Sanskrit] and teepees erected for ceremony and prayers at least a bit more native to this land [if bearing indices of sharings and connected lineages over time and space], sacred dances the earth here's felt in certain beats and rhythm for many, many moons, and songs resonate with the very mountains 'round.

Santa Fe's one of those towns don't fit a grid patterned spread, but circles and seems to spiral round the plaza, spreading into the foothills and o'er a greater span out onto the plains. Reminds me of the opening spoken word to a Midival Punditz tune: "If you’ve ever existed in grids or swerves you know that London swings, New York is a grid. Chicago swings. Bombay is a grid. Delhi swings..." And indeed the movement of more than people and cars in such towns and cities that ain't just squares and rectangles is a different thing than curvy circling wavy streets designating to whatever degree the flow and traffic patterns. To reduce these differences in types of towns or cities to taxonomized, essentialized and well-defined classification might be done, though's likely to miss the mark or present personal presumptions and perspective more than plain truth. Could be stastics compared to come to some conclusions, though could as easy represent other factors influences, such as curvy roads tend to be around hills and mountains and other geographic features, and grids on flat lands. Personally, I've not even figured out any direct correlations, though sense these nonetheless.

Anyhow, belows some photos of the scene, the set, stage and show . . .

namaste, and see

Reveries at the Aztec Cafe

So I'm sitting at the Aztec Cafe in Santa Fe, a coffeehouse was rather seminal in my transition from one paradigm to another, from Oklahoma preacher/University of Chicago grad student to wandering hippie-yogi-sadhu-freak. Upon my first venture hitchhiking, an endeavor I fashioned as a "pilgrimage" on the road, a leap of faith in no God in particular, an attempt to find out if trust in Divine providence and humanity was merited, I found my way to the Santa Fe International Hostel and the Aztec Cafe, and discovered a world I had not realized still existed. This was a door opened to the traveling hippie circuit, a world of post-modern gypsies and punks, Deadheads (just post-Grateful), dread-heads and mystics seekers of modern day America, something I had little clue had survived past the sixties and seventies.

After a mostly vegetarian Thanksgiving at the hostel, I spent my last five bucks at the Aztec, and encountered a collection of creative and exhuberant artists, traveling hippies and other colorful sorts, lively bohemian revolutionaries with hopes of transforming self and society. When I had set out from Oklahoma with my thumb extended in the middle of the night, less than two days previous, I had little clue that there were yet those with the impetus to explore outside of the norms of conventional propriety and societial norms. There were Rainbow hippie chicks braiding hemp, others plying pipes and beadwork, mohawks and dreadlocks and a mostly healthy community of self expressive individuals seeking some meaning beyond the thin veneer of American commercialism and capitalist desire, suburban malaise and conformist ways.

The license to freedom, and the encouragement of comrades to radical living, expanded consciousness, exploration of the realms of mind and spirit off limits by the standards of the world I had known. Here were people who had the strength to question the system, the desire for an experience of life unconstrained by conventional religion and social and economic expectations so heavily laid upon members of proper and conformist society. Though certainly there was some degree of dysfunction, something endemic to a society so seperated from nature and the ancient truths known to our ancestors, each and all, these were men and women of more than a couple of generations, young people and old, who were to some rather ecclectic degree united on continuing the sorts of change sought by the hippies and the beats, and revolutionaries of many ages and eras, and people endeavoring a creative and bold response to dysfunctions both societal and personal and familial.

I had encountered Deadheads in Oklahoma, as I would sometimes go to clubs in Norman where these ecstatic dancing freaky folk would cut loose to the vibes of cover bands, but especially in that part of the country, such people were a tiny minority in a sea of Bible-belt bullshit. Similarly in Laramie, closest to hometown I have known in this lifetime, there were a number of hippie--or as I called them at the time, "granolas," but had only come to the acquintance of these, again mostly through attending shows of cover bands at local bars. At the Aztec in those days, I found a concentration and concentrated version of the post-modern gypsie-hippie-freak world.

As I rolled into town last night, catching a ride from Antonito with an older hispanic man on his way to make deliveries towards Mexico (and I am assuming to return with other cargo), my first stop was to the Aztec. As I rounded the corner past the Cowgirl and started down Aztec Street, I was dismayed to see no light in the windows, and that as I approached the door, the sign noted this officially designated "Cutting Edge Art Space" is no longer open at night, indicated that at least to some degree, the scene has been subdued. Indeed, as with the first generation of hippies, things like family and economic necessity take hold, and seems only the die-hard maintain the full-blown ways and vibrance they knew in those wilder days. Nonetheless, these people continue to push society towards the transformation they sought whilst on the road, when young and youthfully excited at the newness of experiencing, the movement towards environmental sustainability, spiritual freedom and making life the artistic and exhuberant and wholistic experience it was meant to be has moved more mainstream than ever, and this movement was indeed given impetus from venues like the Aztec Cafe, coffeehouses having indeed always served as hotbeds of radical thinking, revolutionary spirit and transformational intention. And the young of today offer all the more promise.

Well, despite the limited hours of the Aztec Cafe on Aztec Street in Santa Fe, as I arrived this morning for my morning cup of black brew and a bagel (they were apparently out of the delightful almond croissants long my favorite), I saw many familiar faces, people I first met in those early days of my travels, and indeed they seem still of the same mind, if a bit older and some steeped in family life and even careers. And indeed, there is still plenty of impetus displayed towards seeing the changes and self-expressive, artistic spiritualistic exhuberant transformational means and modes I found so encouraging back in those days, the fall of 1996, and the beginnings of my personal pilgrimage to finding myself, and Self, Atman, the transformational seed of the Divine already extant in each and all, sometimes just needing a little attention and care to bear fruit, encouragement to grow and to manifest through each individually the beauty and power intrinsic to being and Being.

Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American Indians (repost)

I promised some evidences of early colonization of America by ancient Indians/
"Hindus" (i.e., people of the Indian subcontinent, south Asia). By these evidences I intend to refute the theory generally held by academia and popular culture that Native Americans all came from north Asia across the Bearing Strait land bridge (as well as the Mormon myth that Native Americans were Hebrew--not to say no Hebrews or other Europeans, Asians, Africans or others ever ventured here before Columbus, just that most early colonists of the "Americas," or as this land was named by it's earlier colonists from India, "Patala," were either Hindu or north Asian).

Indeed, India had established ties with America long before Columbus, Leif Erickson, or even early Chinese explorers set foot on American shores.

One of the above ancient temples is in the Americas, and one is in India. Can you tell which is which?

Apache's call themselves "Inde," i.e., of the Indus Valley, Hindu, "Indian."

Apache people worship Yusn, lord of wealth, one of Siva's names is Jatin, and Siva is known as Lord of Wealth.

Pima god "Siuuhu," or "Sewa." Hindu god Siva.

Viriseva and Vairubai, names of male and female deities worshipped by natives of Northen Mexico. Seem likely to translate to "Lord Siva" ("vira"--"great," "eminent man"; "seva" phonetically close to "Siva")and "Bairavi" (one of Parvati's names, i.e., Siva's consort).

Nah-big, O'Odham (Arizona native tribe) word for water-siphon.
Nag-beg, Kashmiri term for water siphons named after water-serpent deity.

Vah-Mat, O'Odham word for snake.
Veh-Mar, Sanskrit, "poinonous snake."

Baboquivari mountains in southern Arizona, traditional name given by O'Odham people, and a source of much gold.
Baba-Kubera, Sanskrit, "father"-"god of riches and treasure."

Recall that the conquistador Coronado was seeking "Quivira," fabled city of gold. Obviously very much like the name of Hindu deity, "Kubera," again, a god of riches and treasure.

"Some tribes, such as the Huicholes in Central Mexico, even remember from what Indian seaport they left for America - Aramra in Gujarat. The Huicholes revere a part of the beach at the old Mexican seaport of San Blas, Nayarit, as Aramara, "Place of Origin of the Huicholes." Millenniums ago, Gujarat was called Jukhar. Juj-Kha is an O'Odham name for "Mexicans." The Navajos call them Nakaii (Nagas). The Apaches claim to be Inde (Indus People.) They worship Shiva as Yusn. In Sanskrit, Yishan = "Shiva." Apache = "Enemy" in O'Odham. In Sanskrit, Apachnan = "Destroyer." Another name of the Zunis ("Zoonyees") is Ashiwi (Azhuva?, "Way of the Serpent," in Sanskrit). Two of their principal deities are Shivani and Shiwanikoya. Zoonya (Zuni?) and Zeenya ware epithets of ancient Kashmir. According to Indian historian K. P. Chon, the Naga Azhuvas, perhaps the forefathers of the Zunis, were India's oldest ruling dynasty. He said that they ruled for more than a thousand years." (copied from Webpage, "Journey to Baboquivari, Gene Matlock explores the paths of ancient migrations," in the article, "The O'Odham, Native Americans with Ancestors from India?" link at end of post)

Deity's names are useful for finding still extant connections linguistically and culturally, as people generally are more careful to maintain the names of gods than other words. Also, words for the sun and moon often maintain their structure better than other common words.

Cherokee "Lucky Hunter" god, sometimes called first man: Kanati.
Sanskrit for hunter, kSAnta, etymologically quite close to Kanati.

Cherokee goddess of corn, Selu.
Sanskrit "selu" means many, a term oft associated with corn/grain/abundance.

Creek god called on for strength, Hayuya.
Sanskrit for "exhibiting strength," ojAya.

Creek Supreme God was Master of Breath.
Breath, pranayam, is the source of life-energy and is central in Yoga.

Choctaw deity, "Hashtahli," "sun completing it's cycle."
Sanskrit, "asta" setting sun, "li" end.

Cheyenne for "sun," Éše'he.
Again, Sanskrit "asti," setting sun and the direction to India from the Cheyenne lands.

Cheyenne for moon, "Taa'é-eše'he."
Sanskrit for particular full moon, "taiSa."

Aztecs.
Sanskrit, "Astika," faithful, one who believes in existence of God/another world.

"Kiva," round half-underground Hopi ceremonial houses.
Sanskrit "ki"--anthill, "va"--dwelling

Maya people.
Maya, hindu Goddess of illusion.

And of course the Swastika (not the tilted version of the Nazi's, mind you) is found from ancient Indus Valley seals to ancient Native American sights.


Most of the above examples were found by a simple comparison of Native American words with words meaning the same in Sanskrit I found in a Sanskrit lexicon, and from similar research done by others. I imagine I could go on for pages and pages with this stuff if I chose, and mind you, these etymological similarities are as strong as any touted by any PhD linguist. Indeed, there is ample evidence that people from ancient India--and very sophisticated peoples, at that--were the forebearers and ancestors of many Native American Tribes. Yet again, the official version of history and archeology is found quite wanting, if not outright in denial of obvious truths of human history.




http://www.vandemataram.com/html/diduknow/diduno-mexico.htm

http://www.viewzone.com/baboquivari.html


http://books.google.com/books?id=Eh1WHqo0JN8C&pg=PA530&lpg=PA530&dq=ancient+hindu+america&source=bl&ots=QyqtiTi6k-&sig=j3_M1nezgLoWXKDRDxBCS-wd3YA&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=7&ct=result

http://www.viewzone.com/kokopeli.html

http://vedicempire.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=25&Itemid=26

http://www.jansamachar.net/display.php3?id=&num=49&lang=English

http://books.google.com/books?id=Obgdz8auwkMC&pg=PA52&lpg=PA52&dq=hindu+artifacts+in+america&source=web&ots=c44PyVw213&sig=SQpAOScDUw54XrWWibcIyGmtgL8&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=4&ct=result#PPA53,M1

She's Still My Lover, Even When She Ain't Thus as Another !!

Cycles of seeing Her manifest, through the veils knowing She is at play with me, and simultaneously working with me (as of course are many other conscious souls) to transform this reality to what we know it might be. Healthy, pure, intense and blissful, ananda, shanti, lila done right, celebrations and varied flows to make life and contingent forms of experiencing simultaneously teaching and play, partying and yoga done in good form and not as divorced realms of life lived, bhakti in ecstatic dance and even drunkenness, yet with a pure flow guiding the game just the same.



And of course, romance, for even as I've scarcely had any lovers o'er recent years (compared to the previous plenty), She is present just the same--er, almost, for caressing her breast as a mountain surveyed with careful attention and admired just ain't the same as Her astride me or arms and legs otherwise entangled in passion's throes, her breasts pressed 'gainst my chest and such. My linga raised in solitary devotions and tantric meditations is not the same nor equal to a yogini's yoni fitted 'round. Nonetheless, She constantly makes Herself known in the midst of whatever milieu. Jaya Ambika Mahamaya !!! Jaya Parvati !!!!! Jaya Ambika Tridevi !!!

High from Buena Vista

Sitting sipping coffee and whiskey, mellow lounge music, fire and ice and smokin' out by the flames. Kindness came my way, green for little green exchanged, the trek above to Bhudevi's flowing soothing sweet water's heat contrasting temperatures to cold sky blowin' snow helpin' restore flow, or so my senses say. Seeing still moment by moment and in words o'erheard things tell tidbits of the amazing secret of yoga. The endeavor to read through these lila can be a delight, and can be terrible too, tenuous in some tellings, whether true or mere ruse, yet all always adding up to eternity, beautiful if fluxuating, vibrations and minds, beings who are truly Beings and Being. Absurd and archetypally sometimes rather twisted, and in this play I'm not by any means alone, and seems I play my role well enough, as world's not ended and life goes on. Rather intense at times responding as is best/zreyas to the play played out, with mind ahimsa when might, and tigmamanyu at other times, dance/nata when most beautifully manifest unless in lovemaking and romance. Cycles flash before my eyes and energies/intentions expressed and felt from others I experience, and with no certain prognostication or litmus to determine which of so many inputs to truly trust, though seems instincts exist to guide one through such lila, and I still can laugh and dance my way through the right scenes and pretty well on cue, or leastwise from the point of view of this actor participant sometimes standing back from the action on stage, and others in the midst. Wordplays and headtrips from other minds, of whatever antiquity or novelty, run through mine as if played out is some play designed for manifesting the order of things in leastwise my experiencings, if not at more substantive levels.

That one maybe Durga, this fellow Hanuman or Krshna, that woman Kali, this stately fellow Ram, and so on, yet other minds, perceived and otherwise express possibly contending pantheons (though all those stories have their connections, no doubt) or paradigms or plays' scripted materials overlapping, leading to an interesting milieu. Mix Shakespeare with the Ramayana, or Frisch with Oklahoma, staggering scripts to make some sembance of sense, in between another dialogue entirely. And might be groups, crews, yo!! travelin' in sometimes groups in the play, with whatever binding motive or vibe. And all the while I'm fed clues as to each player walks past, offers this gesture or that, and indeed even seems sometimes smells are manifest with whatever scene, blessing or taunt and seems with some entrained or programmed response oft as not far from my own intincts, yet still not overpowering mine, leastwise where really counts. And of energies flow through me, I've some allies who speak in other tongues, mostly native American Indian, from the sound, though could be wrong. Benevolent others and allies surely, both from inside and out, help me respond, though gotta wonder at the flow of what seems pressed at times a certain incursion on freedom. If for transformation of society, healing of vibration, tunig of the free yet perfectly timed nata of the Universe.

Buena Vista Sunset

Jay Z, ThinkMTV, Water for Life and Celebrities Using Fame Like They Oughta, YO !!!

Haven't watched much MTV since, well, prob'ly since the eighties when it was mostly music videos. On the occasion of stayin' in a "hotee" this night ("hotee" is road dog speak for hotel/motel, a celebratory occasion for those who usually sleep in a car or in whatever available patch of trees, downtown rooftop or abandoned building), whilst surfing the channels--nearly doubling over laughing at an infomercial for dildos, something even eighties MTV did not predict--I came to Jay Z bringing awareness to young people about the plight of so many children who have no access to clean water, and to efforts to give access to this basic human need to some of the millions without. This is exactly what those with such celebrity capital, as well as those like Bill Gates with excessive money, oughta be doin' with all that flow, ya' know!

See, there ain't nothin' wrong with having dough, nor with living reasonably comfortably, nor with being famous, so long as you use what you got to make things better for others, too. The evil in money is in not sharing it when you got it, and the evil in Hollywood fame or other noteriety is in not using your influence to bring attention to issues like lack of clean water, basic human needs unmet in a world of excessive wealth, environmental ills, etc. This oughta be common sense, and indeed many in the Hollywood community and music biz' and other positions of fame, as well as many with otsa cash do indeed do lend their time and energy, celebrity status and bank accounts to make a difference.

So cheers, kudos, and hooray to those who, like Mr. Jay Z, do what they might to help those in need and to draw attention to the issues need real attention, like clean water, nutrition, clothes and shelter and the plight of our environment. Those be the folks in show business and with billions to whom I can say namaste without reservations, no doubt !!!


http://www.mtv.com/thinkmtv/features/global/water_for_life/

http://www.un.org/works/OLD/water/jayz.html

Annapurna, Devi (top), the mountain (middle), and Mount Princeton in Colorado. See post "Kailash and Pikes Peak and Sacred Geographies Generally" for the simiarity between the appearance of Kailash and Tava (Pikes Peak) and other interesting geological and geographic similarities and signs of the truth of the ages and the times.

And just came across the below stock photo of another vista of Mt Princeton, which interestingly looks alot like Trishul, a mountain in the Himalayas which represents the weapon of Siva and said Person's presence.

Mt. Princeton


Trishul

Animal Visitations, Lila and Yoga

As I was falling into a meditation on the meaning of the conjunct terms and appelation satcitananda and almost into r.e.m. sleep, I returned to some degree of wakened state to a dog barking and person beckoning, then the yowl of a big cat. The cat's cry came closer, then closer.

(For best effect, play whilst reading)


As I lay in my down sleeping bag and beneath the plastic tarp's been my shelter, I came to nearly a full return to my waking mind as the cat passed behind me and between me and the Country Lodge, and sounded not much o'er a dozen yards from my bedroll. In a state of almost awakeness I grabbed my hand axe in preparation for a potential battle, though I rather think t'was a she cat and one wanted not a battle, but a sire. I suppose musings about battling a cat for it's skin to wear caused me to consider this one might be taking me up on the idea. Perhaps that I grabbed the axe disuaded whatever chance might have been for that myth to manifest, as it should thus be bare-handed I battle a tiger or a leopard for its hide to wrap around my waist. I suppose my nylon leopard-print sarong shall suffice for now, when I ought bear proper regalia, truest to myself/Self.

Foxes and crows or ravens have been next most significant wild things to this journey and recent lila manifest into real life in my experiencings. Upon first returning to Laramie after epic journey to eastern Canada to find a scarcely known beloved (in the romantic/quixotic sense), I awoke to a fox peaking over a rubble pile just feet above my bedroll. After checking with movement to ensure this creature was curious and not ill, we shared a few moments of eye-to-eye. After rolling up my bed and starting towards the downtown, I passed by the decrepit ruins of the Empress/Fox Theater on Second Street (now demolished, alas), and decided to lend my efforts towards the renovation of said once grand venue, to no avail, alas. Also would often encounter a fox on the way to and from my squat by Spring Creek and the tracks in Laramie.

Ravens and crows have been rather significant players in my path, most notably since one mushroom trip in Washington state, whence donning a shinny and almost irridescent black shirt given me on the streets of Portland whilst I was plying sage smudges, a gaggle of ravens took roost above me, and followed from tree to tree as I started running down the road flapping my arms and calling by my best immitation of their tongue and calls. Though my most notable interaction with birds in Laramie after returning from the eastern states was with the Swainsons's hawks had a nest near my squat and left me a feather, I did gather two black feathers of crow or raven kind which a attached to a carved stick along with a hawk feather proffered by my neighbors in the tree. Considered protectors of sanAtana dharma, literally "eternal teachings," crows and thier cousins are species I attend to with a considerate eye and ear, whenever they chance to fly circles 'round or perch nearby my seat or stand or path.

Of foxes on this journey, near Fossil Creek Road south of Ft.Collins I met another of these red furry friends, encountered on both sides of the highway as we both sought to find a meal around strip malls and fast food joints. This fox walked with me for a stint and then went another way as I went to check for dumpster scores. May have been another brief encounter or two between then and the fox I met behind the quick stop at the lower end of town, here in Woodland Park. This fine specimen of Vulpini vulpes was digging in the dirt at the edge of the road when we first met and exchanged greetings, then passed by my bedroll as I lay under a tree between a neighborhood and a school playground just off the main drag, not unlike the path of my feline visitation of last night in its path round my bed. The night before the foxes visitation, I found a long and elegant wing feather from a raven by my bed.

Indeed, yoga is an endeavor not just including people and Deva-Devi, but includes creatures wild and domesticated, as in truth all are of One, or at least of not-two (Advaita). One of the recognitions expressed in many peoples' choice to endeavor a vegetarian is that the creatures we encounter might just be deceased friends and relatives coming for a visit, else visitations of the Divine. Suppose thus despite failure thus far to do much business with the petrified bones and teeth of long deceased and (mostly/likely) extinct species, and thus deprived of blessings of fiduciary returns, I've been granted a good many blessings from wild critters attending to me and my endeavors subtler and perhaps more important than immediate material gain.

Old Colorado City, Conversations and Musings

Oh twisted tales I am living through, a storyline practiced, rehearsed,played over and over in some other's mind in preparation for my meandering through this mad gauntlet, this absurd play. day by day I meet scenarios to which my mind's already privy, or been made privy by another mind--one of more than a few have found their way into my cognition by whatever avenue, and which provide interference sometimes even with my motor functions. Today I am sitting at Agia Sophia coffeehouse, a coffeehouse and bookstore however loosely affiliated with the Orthodox Church.

After a self-led tour through the store, I settled on a seat next to an east window on the first floor, and facing a pair of women who I'd overheard discussing churchie matters. Somehow the segway presented itself into a conversation with the pair, a sweet elderly woman of ninety years who told a few tales of her youth in Jamaica. Though maintaining blue eyes and relatively pale skin, something of her appearance indicated she may have been to some degree of African descent. The other, a face not unfamiliar--a cue that generally indicates some degree of association with the reminiscent other, providing clues as to how to interpret said sorts of meetings--a middle aged woman with a pronounced nose and greying hair, hazel eyes and a toothy smile, reminiscent of two different older women I knew in Oklahoma years ago.

At the onset of this chat I gave the spiel I have found it necessary and felt obliged to proffer so often, especially to those to whatever degree deluded by the Christian paradigm: Abraham and Sarah and Haggar were predated by Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar in the narratives of ancient India, Christ analogous to the more ancient Krishna, and Islam hearkens to Siva and various names and forms of Shakti in certain pivotal tenets and terms (see posts "Hidden Origins of the West" and "One, Two, Three, What're We Fightin' For?"). Also noted several Sanskrit cognates in the English language over the course of our conversation: English "God" is derived from the Sanskrit "go," which translates directly as "cow," English "right" comes from Sanskrit "Rta" (denoting "correct" and not "right as opposite to "left"), etc.

In this exchange, as with so many these days, an underlying narrative passed through the periphery of my thoughts as sorta a voice-over, either telling hidden meanings of the exchange else weaving webs improv-style to confuscate, or perhaps a bit of both. Directional cues and oft twisted or perverse sub-narratives and odd arrayals of mind, space and time of interdimensional nature are thus presented, tieing persons from my past experiencings and mythic figures, archetypal references and historic personages presented as connected more than piecemeal, much of the time in such tight synchrony and externally veritable and verifiable expressions, seeming valid hints and clues that these prove difficult to dismiss as mere fancy, delusion or lie.

The players in these little lila sometimes bear more than striking resemblance to others I have know from the past, sometimes with startling implications, and sometimes hearkening to events from the long past past, and sometimes to figures and figurations of celebrated fame, Hollywood stars and murti presenting Divine persons, and all woven into a rather confusing narrative that seems to have been woven since at least my early years of this life. One friend of the fairly recent past, a beautiful young woman I met in Laramie just a few years ago is a clear double (if a tad bit thinner in the face) to a murti of Mahamaya I came across on the internet and had downloaded to my computer.



Many women I've chanced encounter over the years seemed reminiscent of one particular woman I became immediately enamoured with years ago upon seeing her dance, and who I have determined was and likely still is an avatar of Parvati, at least or especially in her dance and in her laughter. These sorts of visual cues indicate relationships of persons archetypal and Divine, not unlike what is posited in the Emerald Tablet's "as below . . . so above, as above . . . so below."
The Divine plays out in the mundane, and the mundane is determined by--and determines--the Divine. In the fractal universe understood as maya, the stories of Gods and Goddesses are our stories in life lived, if examined carefully and insofar as the myths are well writ and properly told.

Even in the names of places writ across the map are clues to constructions of this game we all play, whether consciously or no. Pathways woven into the arrayals of maya manifest in story and song, maps and myth, dream and drama tell of this constant yoga ("yoke"/"union"), this grand nata ("dance"), this sometimes absurd yet generally beautiful lila ("Divine play") that is played out in seeming infinite variation in and throughout eternity.

Still, in the midst of such, though I can make out certain consistent themes there are intrigues maintained, mysteries and uncertainties conveyed that sometimes make for grand adventures, and sometimes for manifold sufferings. This is where yoga is essential, and I ain't just talkin' asanas, breath-work and pranayam relagated to a "yoga studio." I mean the "alteration of sense-vibration, that pure consciousness might abide" (Patanjali's Yogasutra, vs. 2-3). I mean tuning the symphony of maya, mellowing the "vibe" (Sanskrit, "sphurti"), correcting voices out of tune and fixing instruments needing restringing, destroying dissonance where it does not belong and playing the right songs the right way. I mean destroying lies, dealing appropriately with ills of minds and Mind, battling demons would inappropriately interrupt the flow of the raga or bhajan or cause corruptions of the kiertan sung by the devoted.

And yet, as I know these modes and means to be true, compassion would stay my hand when it seems some storyline might have importance to the grander scheme, else to the wellbeing of innocent others caught up in the milieu, and exercise caution and consideration to the nuances of the tale told and played out. Rather a pain in the arse, back and neck, sometimes, yet indeed seems there are times to forgo one's own plans to pay due heed to sufferings and confusions of others, and to grant others' plots woven due consideration. So onward into this story, this absurd lila, this oft as not twisted tale I go. From here, perhaps I shall venture yet again to the other side of the divide (Continental, that is), else to familiar stomping grounds to the south where there are more who are aware of the more ancient and abiding tellings and contexts and of true to life myths, where obfuscations of the truth are less prominent and the people more open to dharma not confused with false dogma. To be honest, the ignorance and intolerance of the Christian community and the psychic and other assaults of those guardians of the lies which falsely uphold said faith make me long to retreat to someplace like Taos and the Hanuman Temple, where hippies and like open-minded folk, as well as the traditions of the Pueblo Indians (rooted in India, btw: see "Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American 'Indians'") hold sway, and where the matrix of reality doesn't so much favor lies upholding a corrupted (if not corrupt from the beginning) system of belief (sorry Colorado Springs, your relatively recently adopted evangelicalism is rather a drag. Namaste, nonetheless).

Sitting soaking in the "Hippie Pots" upstream from Glenwood Springs, CO. Chanted a bit, intoning Sanskrit mantras and incantations to dispell ills and shake off and rinse off da "road funk" that seems to be stickin to me like flies on honey. Got a ride from Frisco to Gypsum with a fella fishes in Alaska and outfits here in CO, then another ride with a couple of fellas run a salvage yard hereabouts, another hitchhiker jumped in as well. A rather scattered fellow who'd been nervously pacing back and forth between the liquor store and convenience store doors, spaced only a few yards apart, and in front of my venue on a bench for the latter part of my wait posting a sign: "Glenwood Springs." Went to bed last night to rain falling on my impromptu lean-to after a kind couple payed for my meal at the Village Inn, and awoke before sunrise to a bowl and to set out in search of these pools I've not visited for a number of years. So here I sit and soak in said healing hot mineral waters, still wandering the west with a briefcase worth more than its weight in gold and only $11 cash, not from a fossil sale but from a passerby unrequested. Indeed the road magic on this misadventure of a business trip has been mixed, though as life doth usually present itself, more a rainbow with varying degrees of tint and hue and brilliance than merely black and white.

Dharma and Social Justice

In India, millions and millions of sadhu and brahmachari and other renunciates are fed and respected by householders despite so much abject poverty. Jeshua ben Joseph, aka Jesus, taught in the parable of the sheep and goats that those who help those in need, are hungry or otherwise in need, are to be blessed, and those who have ample means and do not help the least on the social strata are bound for hell, naraka loka or whatever appropriate hell realm. This concept is extant in nigh every religious system and system of ethics worldwide. Atman: love thy neighbor as thy Self.

Snow Still Lingers Heavy on The Snowy Range Peaks

Snakes, Fishes, Little Rats, and Pasupati . . .

So in the process of dredging to deepen some channels for my little fish friends in my meditation garden, my waterfeature without a house, I ended up with a rather unsightly pile of mud to one side of the primary fish pools. Having quite a few excess dinosaur bones and such just sitting around, the ones less than showcase material, I decided to make a little mosaic, Art brut styles sculpture of said pile of mud, an abstract Pasupati (Lord of Animals and Protector of Souls) overlooking the orange and white and darkly pigmented little carp. I guess I forgot about the snake often accompanies this figure . . .





Just previous, a little rat (big mouse?) showed up to say hi whilst I sipped last night's leftover coffee and smoked chillum and an organically grown tobacco with weed cigarette. Didn't have the camera handy, nor on the occasion when a whole family of these little rodents streamed out of the garden once at my approach, having found a pastry or sice of pizza I left as an offering. This adorable little beastie stared at me from beneath the AUM symbol I penned on a tiny wooden monument, twitching whiskers and blinking tiny black eyes, head cocked a bit to the right.



So now I'm playing "Wild Kingdom" or some such, transporting my friend the garter snake to the Laramie River, assuming and hoping that's far enough away to prevent another attempt at raiding the fish pool. Walked over the tracks with a snake in my pocket (hee hee) and past Depot Park to the sound of bagpipes bein' played, people riding by on bikes, and a high plains thunderstorm rollin' in from the mountains. Ah, a Laramie summer day, hooray. S'pose I shall have to let my new friend go soon, after the rain stops and maybe once I've finished my coffee. In the meantime, said serpent is sitting beside me on the couch at the coffeehouse, chillin' whilst the thunderstorm rolls over and the farmer's market gets rollin'.

Second snake, a tad smaller and thus probably the male of the pair, caught whilst lunging at a pair of goldfish, taken with me to coffee, then released.

A Crazy Divine Tale That Is Our Story, You And Me . . .

Storylines roll through mind with faces and figures and figurations intertwined, storylines told me either by sage or muse or memory of ancient knowledges or dreams I dreamt sometime in years past or last night, prescient peices of a puzzle, plot, Grand narrative seems to involve nigh each of you and many others, too, I've known or heard or read about.

This is the substance of the saying "As above, so below; as below, so above," as I suppose I receive it. We are the Divine at play, lila. As I imagine, this is each in due time becoming the fullness of their given form, personality and person, each a vessel and expression in some guise or other of Divine Self. We are the Gods at play, and the more succinct a person's understanding of their self and role, the more close to home, to transcendent potential.

Not unlike "Find your bliss," if I understand Campbell's meaning right. Find and become your Superhero self. This is karma-yoga, and bhakti-yoga too. Becoming in actions small and large, life lived, as One with that expression of the Divine, God or Goddess, Deva-Devi, your given form matches best. Be Divine and Be Blessed. Namaste

Chillin' With Da' Chillum in the Garden in the Mornin'

I Drink My Own Pee, Hee Hee !!!

Sivambu, "nectar of Siva," elixor tauted to do miracles for a body, cure cancer, prolong life greatly, according to some sutras or shastra or Kalpa section of the Damara Tantra or somethin' and to Western scientific research, too.



I have been practicing this rather odd seeming self-generated tonic off and on for a number of years, and have been daily drinking of the morning draining of the previous day's coffee with cream and water and occasionally beer or shot of whiskey in my morning cup of back brew, mixed in for good measure. Usually drink a few tablespoons at most, though can speak well of the apparent results, a certain lift to vitality and general feelings of health and well being.

According to the sutra which describes the proper process and diet for this ancient cure, a particular diet is proscribed, I ought to caution, and an analogy says to drink only the midstream, for like a serpent both the head and the tail are toxic (not sure why the tail of a serpent's considered poison, unless 'cuz of the butt). I must admit, though following the latter advise well, I'm rather poor at following the strictures of the dietary suggestions. Nonetheless, I must say just a sip of the first piss of the day does make a body feel good.
In India, a land at least commensurate in my endearments to this land in which I abide, cow pee is consumed, sometimes now in soda pop form with flavors like gooseberry and aloe (true). I think I'll stick to my own lingam juice for now, thanks.



Minerals and vitamins not utilized the first time through and normally lost in the urine stream are retrieved and recycled thus, and shed, dead bacterial and viral shells go to the stomach where the abundance of antibody receptors then multiply to attack whatever's ailin' ya' (the stomach lining has the most antibody receptors of any organ in the body). Uric acid is good for ya' too, but forgot how, and feeling disinclined to do the research, except to say it smooths skin and at least reduces acne if applied, say, in the shower or whatever.

So indeed, pissin' it away ain't all a waste, if you sip the sometimes bitter brew of the midstream of your first morning pee stream. Hee hee !!!

Slight Refuge and Fleeting Habitat

My little refuge from the hustle and bustle of the big town of Laramie (or is it a little city?). Got a visit from a rather polite policeman who informed me that the Union Pacific people called on me, and said I'd need to move my camp. So next day I moved my camp a short distance and discovered this lovely little spring (though my designation appied to this little seap of water might be incorrect, as their may be a different source for this water flowing from the ground than the deep earth). Had set a granite lingum stone and a poplar branch trishul up in the circle of trees where I was camped, so only placed a small lingum in the "Swamp" as I've come to call this little haven. Built a two-person bench out of some scrap wood I found, and a meditation seat out of three granite rocks as legs and a larger trianguar/diamond shaped rock for a seat, complete with custom woven cattail mat to make lotus (or half-) a more pleasant sit. Though I haven't seen any frogs yet, I have heard them croaking--an encouraging sign considering the toll pesticides have had on amphibians here (nearly wiped out the Wyoming Toad). Haven't seen any faeries yet either, but that doesn't mean they haven't discovered this magical little spot. Did spy a male yellow warbler sipping from the upper pool, and of course the mosquitoes just love the place--thank goodness for dhoop (incense) and citronella!! Thinking about getting some citronella grass to plant by the spring, as well. Though it seems I'll likely not be making it to the National Rainbow Gathering out in Pennsylvania this year, at the least I got a spot to meditate in the meantime, and some semblance of natural beauty to behold whilst I linger in Laramie a bit longer. May my brothers and sisters and friends at the Gathering be blessed, and the rest of ya' not fortunate enough to make it to the Gathering of the Rainbow Tribe be blessed too. Please keep in mind (or perhaps join in from where you are) that at sometime around noon EST on the Fourth of July, upwards of fourty thousand souls will be intoning the sacred syllable ॐ (pronouned "AUM," from whence are derived both "amen" and "amin") with a wish for world peace and justice. (btw, if any locals or people passing through wanna know the whereabouts of this secret meditation garden, just ask . . . is there for respectful use by all and any so far as I'm concerned)