Sunday, March 7, 2010

EARLY MORNING BEACH ACTIVITIES



“Wonder, and its expression in poetry and the arts, are among the most important things which seem to distinguish men from other animals, and intelligent and sensitive people from morons”.
(Allan Watts, The Book)

India is an endless game of restraint and surrender. Restraint is necessary in a myriad of everyday situations, from bargaining with tough sellers, dealing with bureaucrats, deciding whether or not to enter the holy waters of Mother Ganga, or simply taking a sip of water in a restaurant, engaging or not in conversation with yet another over-curious Indian tourist, throwing garbage in the middle of beautiful nature and taking a crap on a side-walk in the middle of the city. Everyday, in one way or another, we must choose to be in opposition. For our sake, for our health and that of our peace of mind, but also out of love for India herself. Unfortunately restraint turns easily into opposition and opposition soon builds blocks and before long we have constructed a fortress around ourselves, around our bodies and our minds. We become impermeable and soon India no longer touches us: it remains outside. There are plenty of travelers like this in India, and one bumps into them often enough, especially on the “gringo-trail”. To fully enjoy India you have to also be enjoyed by it. And for this to happen, restraint is necessary only inasmuch as it prepares you for surrender. Surrender is the key. Surrender gives meaning to restraint. It is surrender that opens your heart to the heart of India: it tells you when to pay that extra rupee in exchange for a smile in the tough seller’s face, it opens people’s houses, and the stories pour out, it helps you to smell across the shit, to where the mangoes are in full bloom, it whispers in your ear, telling you to stop brushing the flies from your face, to simply watch the mouse as it runs across the living-room. It is beautiful to surrender to a plate of mutton brain masala in the market, to the devotion in a Sufi shrine, to be swept away by a Hindu bhajan, and then simply go on with your business. There is freedom and liberation in this balancing act of restraint and surrender, when it becomes instinctive; for it is not so much a matter of thought as of action. A very practical example: of all of the very long Gokarna beach, the bit I like best is the southernmost tip, where it turns into a rocky peninsula on which stands the Rama temple. I like rocks, I like variety, I like the shade on the beach in the morning. Unfortunately this little bit of beach is also preferred by the fishermen who moor their boats about three-hundred meters away as their latrine. That means that every morning when I arrive, there are six or seven piles of shit, around the back, near the rocks, waiting for me. The options are many: there is outrage, there is sadness, there is the possibility to simply walk away to find another spot (no shade, though), or of attempting to convince the fishermen to crap somewhere else or to at least make holes in the sand (maybe a sign on the rocks saying “NO SQUATTING”, but in what language??), and then there is direct action, and so every morning when I get there, I cover the piles of shit with sand, which I push with my feet until I form nice little mounds which keep the rotting and the stench beneath the surface. It doesn’t take me more than five minutes and it’s party time for the small crabs and other sandy creatures, and anything that is left the sea will take away; for it is indeed a wonderfully organic place for a latrine, since every night the sea rises all the way to the rocks, cleaning everything with its breath. The nice thing is that the beach stays clean for the rest of the day, and I just think of it as sweeping my little temple before the morning prayers.



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