Читать книгу Kashi - Daniela Jodorf - Страница 5

1 Prologue

Varanasi

The mist of the cold November fog touched her face softly and cooled the tip of her nose. The fire of the cremation grounds were eternally burning, sending their strange sweet smell with the morning air around the entire city. She heard the ringing of countless bells of the morning aartis, prayers conducted in homes, temples and on the banks of the Ganga at sunrise; crystal clear sounds, that touched her heart more than anything she perceived at this early hour. She allowed the sound to pierce into her heart, to resonate in its own subtle and secret frequency. Joy rose within her, the bliss of pure existence. She surrendered to this bliss that swept over her consciousness like a tidal wave and witnessed its rise and its fading when it opened the door to an even deeper realm of being: the silence of the universal soul. Pure consciousness and pure energy appeared as one in this vibrant nothingness, void of identity, of time and space. No object was able to manifest in this dimension of pre-existence, no I, no you and no that. And yet she knew that she was completely alive there, in this inner place that was no place. Beyond identification of any kind, she experienced a state of pure being, of pure subjectivity; a state beyond the mind and the senses, beyond perception and recognition. Divine consciousness embraced her and her heart was filled with love, the infinite love of life. Still, after so many years of living in the presence of the divine, a sense of gratefulness flushed through her and pulled her awareness back into the manifest world.

First, she saw her body sitting on the terrace, wrapped in a thick Kashmiri shawl. The body sat in a meditative posture facing the river. The water was calm and appeared like a crystal clear mirror. But it did not reflect her, an image of her own physical body she still witnessed with the inner eye. The mirror of the serene morning Ganga reflected the face of a pale man, looking at her with empty eyes. He was so close to her, that she was about to stretch out her hand to touch and console him. She felt his sorrow deeply, almost as if it was her own. His eyes spoke to her in the silent language of unexpressed emotions. He was confused; he did not know, where to go, what to do. He had lost his path, lost touch with divinity. Why, she asked herself. What had happened? But her thoughts disturbed the inner image and it vanished instantaneously leaving behind the memory of the face and the expression in its eyes.

In the heat of the afternoon, she walked through the crowded alleys of the old town. It was not far to her teacher´s house, only a few blocks. People looked at her with a recognizing smile, greeting her with a kind “Hello”. She passed the burning ghat and much to her surprise, she noticed that she always thought the same thought and felt the same emotion every single time she walked by this place. “This site is surreal”, she thought.” It seems to be neither heaven nor hell and yet both at the same time. It is so terrible and yet so peaceful.” A cold shiver swept over her skin when she felt the grief of the people saying their last goodbye to the dead bodies chanting the ritualistic mantras and watching the flames work of transforming to ashes what used to be a living, moving sentient being.

The door of her teacher´s house stood open, and she entered silently. He awaited her on the floor of his terrace with a kind smile. She sat down in the shade on her asana, a small carpet, in front of him and started to unpack her sitar. He held his instrument on his lap and began to tune it. The first sounds were disharmonious and perfectly mirrored her emotional state. Ever since the vision of this morning meditation, she felt oddly disturbed. And her teacher knew it. He stopped and looked at her seriously.

“You don´t have to worry about him. You know that. He is safe and he will be guided!”