Tiruvannamalai, October 24, 2008 to write a passage from the Ashram of Ramana Maharshi in Tiruvannamalai (Tamil Nadu), where I found an internet point with a Belgian woman near my room it is pity of my sperdutezza. I can not describe where I am. It 's like being catapulted into the heart of a world littered. A god in the mood to experiment, or perhaps drunk, took the world by the tail, pulled him up, shook him and brutally riversatone
content to the ground. The result is India.
Men, women, chickens, dogs, cows, monkeys, birds, water, mud, smoke, food and motor vehicles (all done, because maybe built in the image of chaos above) walk, crawl, zoppiccano , trudging, overlap and finally share the same space. With no apparent goal, convulsively forward to something. E ', I believe, this that most upsets the mind of a Western: the lack of a direction of a project. Here is the only project there. Or maybe not. For this is the first such fear and reaction, and 'absolute refusal. I've seen all kinds of things. Men who lead ox-drawn carts with huge horns painted in bright colors, open trucks crammed with women in saris, flooded streets from which women draw water. All of these people, the elegant man wrapped in rags, women in Sari (women are on average more dignified) mostly walk barefoot. Barefoot in the most total and absolute filth. Inside a temple or polished. It 'exactly the same.
And these dogs and these cows, lying in the middle of indifferent roads where the vehicles run, trumpet and avoids only for a few millimeters. Here is the realm of non-collision - but this is perhaps part of the above theory, are still settling? Or, they think that life is this: how can they imagine a different world, that is ordered? The same perfectly paved road, 50 meters after that turns into a hell of potholes, mud, bridges collapsed semi-como after a tsunami. I made nearly four-hour drive in these conditions. With a driver who tried to be prudent, I think. On the roads, everything. Beggars sleeping in the dung of cows and squeaky clean boys and girls in uniform. A lot, always barefoot, go to school. Dogs and men crippled or blind or prey to diseases and deformities that we Westerners can not even imagine.
The only difference between the vehicles and living things is that they have a horn. Comparably in this mess, the Indians are reserved and quiet person. The horn reflects an existential mystery in India. They are relentless, they never stop. The horns in the streets above and replace any type of rule. That is, the traffic is not based on paper, but the noise. A step guide Touring enlightens me and gives an ontological foundation for this phenomenon. The right hand holds the dance of Shiva "damaru" hourglass drum that scans the cosmic dance, "the sound vibration is the root cause of being." All it is clear now.
In every corner as India prepares you a lesson. The Ashram is a quiet and clean but the shower you have to do by filling a bucket of water. The rules are quite strict. Inside the fence (see photo at right) is required to walk barefoot, even on wet ground (I caught the tail of the monsoon), and the food is served on leaves of black locust, on the ground. You eat with your hands, accocolati, dahl and rice that is 'run' on the leaves from the men who draw from metal buckets. For dessert, a slice of apple. Today I woke up at 6 am, ate some cookies than those I had brought (thank goodness), I toured the library and then I returned to the room where I stayed until at 14.
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