Liberation

This sacred landscape is now a part of my consciousness.  The boats that glide by like ghosts have become part of my primal rhythm.
The click click click of the monks wooden sandles joins the barking of the neighbourhood dogs.  Braying and praying perfectly fused.  Bells ring and young boys sing their favourite pop songs.  The relentless honking of horns is like a giant insect whose stinger reaches into the  deepest cortex of my brain.  The gentle namaste spoken by a passerby is carried in my pocket like a friend.  Hello.  Happy Holi.  From which country?  I am from Canada...oh Canada....from the English part or the French part? I don't know why but this makes me smile.
My little room on the Ganges opens onto the river.  To watch the sun rise here is breathtaking.  To witness early morning devotion seems a privilege.  Petals and flames and metal vessels catch the morning's light.
Heads are shaved, bodies are washed, and the dead are burned.  Smoke and sandlewood fill the air.  A beautiful public display of the one reality that all human beings will one day face. Liberation.
In the evening, the beautiful evening, boats glide by like ghosts on their way to Dasaswamedh Ghat.  Candles are placed on the water creating an absolutely magical sight.  Evening Puja is about to start.
From a pink tower above the masses we have a birds eye view of this magical spectacle.