i have been in India now for over 2 weeks. So, i have some stories to share. While my blog words seem to be back in Thailand I have very much been consumed by the orange hazy muted sun, infinite chaos, ancient wisdom, whirling spirituality, burning, stinky, full, overwhelming, beautiful misery called India. Oh this love hate relationship lacking any ounce of mediocrity --this traveling to India leaves me asking the question we posed to our students to answer in essay form, "why am i here?" Oh god why am i in india? And every time just when i am breaking in to multi-fragmented pieces on the sacred cow shit stained and urine smelling floor, screaming and pulling out hairs, she forces me to surrender. This tough loving mother India beckons me towards her lessons, her teachings. And i cannot help but to listen exposed and naked.
Arrival in India. Kolkata.
Kalighat. Nirmal Hriday: Mother Theresa's Home of the Destitute and Dying.
Enter. People lying all around as near to death as living beings can be. Rows of beds, cots in hallways. Full. Sisters and volunteers serving, working together, caretaking. Death. Sickness. I have no idea what to do here, how to act, how to support. I was never taught what to do with death, we seem hide it away in the United States. Strangers dying, lying together, yet somehow alone. We enter quietly, slowly, all of us uncomfortable, unsure, compassionate yet distant. I find myself walking upstairs, away from the patients, relieved almost, gathered with our group of students reading Do's and Don'ts of volunteers.
#29 Do not give anything special to any particular patient. Love and serve them all in the same manner.
#30 Work in the presence of God. Kalighat is not a place for socialization.
Mother Theresa was here in body, in mind, in spirit. Her heart, her love created this place of care of support, for the last moments of life. I could volunteer here. You could volunteer here. Oh God, but could I? Do I have it in me? I realize, i am uncomfortable with sickness, with the dying, with this kind of unknown, with strangers this close to the end of their lives. Walls of my heart build up as i pass through this space due to an inability or ignorance of an action to take. we are only here for an unforgivably short amount of time. the students and i walk down the stairs, towards the door, headed for the Kali temple. The bulk of students may be more uncomfortable than i and i am guiding them.
Mother Theresa is here though. Her presence vividly remains. The walls speak her voice both figuratively and literally. As i hastefully walk out through the rows of human bodies human beings ready to transition, i read the wall in front of my eyes: "Let thy hands heal thy broken body." My hands instantly tingle, vibrate, pulse. Balls of flaming firey energy radiate from my palms. The words on the wall transform directly into me, forcing me to walk with outstretched hands.
And now i cannot tell you why i walked out that door. why i did not reach my hand out to any one of those beautiful souls and put their hand in to mine and sing all of my love and compassion to them. i cannot tell you why and it is with this shameful regret that i must learn. i have the power to nourish, to give, to provide some form of healing to others and to myself. We all do. Human touch is love healing power. I need not walk out on that ability. i want to embrace it and listen. love is an action.
"Let the burning light of our mother's spirit glow in Nirmal Hriday for ever."
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