As It Is

I am sitting in my room and just over there is the garden bathing in the silver light of almost full-moon. A month after the monsoon started this country starts to look like a 'real land'. I mean the burned fields and pure hot rocks give place to life: the green color of life everywhere. Harsh sprawling green colors in various tones, calm the soul and says: We live again!

For days there is an impression growing in me; one serious difference between 'our' attitude and 'theirs' here. A fundamentally different approach to life. Certainly, this is generalization, and as such, it is oversimplification. Still...

Here they are opened up. Extremely social. We are more, much-much more individualist. We try to separate ourselves. In every level of our existence. Look at the cars, for example. Fancy design, luxurious interior which place of our body in full comfort. Perfect noise insulation. Soft music from the high quality sound system, and the car senses and judge by itself more and more situations (from the rain sensor to BLIPS) just to give us the illusion of separated perfect existence, the heaven. Everything goes as we would like to, and at last we believe for a moment that there is something eternal in this world. That this world is after all not a dark and cold vacuum, but a soft, warm home covered by beige leather on the seats and expensive wood on the dashboard. Or have a look to the shopping malls. Everything is carefully kept dust-free. They look pretty, harsh, and ever-new. Natural decay excluded... Brilliant lights, soft music, tons of goods to buy and finally you believe that you are happy. What do you really buy? Some stuff you need or satisfaction? To fill up something. Something that cannot be filled by this way...

Here the life and its tools are more rough. There is not enough resources to build up the illusion of everlasting goods. You feel the elements everywhere around: in cars, in homes. You are bound to encounter with masses of people everywhere again: at homes, while travelling, while working. The smells attacking you everywhere, too; smells of people, the heavy steam of trash water, and your own sweat. There is no illusion created. This is rough as life itself.

A sharp mirror. This roughness pushes you to face with reality. You are not separated, not alienated from the world, but deeply engaged with it. It is around and within you. In Europe you are bound to soften the environment otherwise you die. It led us to the creation of the illusion of security. What we are so stucked to. Here you can stay alive without altering the environment too much. For the price that within the natural tolerance of human body one has to deal with and accept much wider extremes. The roughness of life. No fancy car, no goretex cloth, no well insulated walls. You feel the cold of the winds, the wet of the rain, the burn of the sun, the ups-and-downs of existence. Hundreds of millions live like that.

But we humans do need some secureness, don't we? Where do they find it? Maybe inside? Inside... Beyond the complaining layer of personality in the layer of dreams and believes. And some special souls even deeper, beyond needs, beyond believes can face with what is there. The tranquil space of existence. Where everything is just as it is...

Bears at my home-village!

They found bears near my home, Trizs! :)

More details here/Barnamedve az Aggteleki Nemzeti Parkban.
(in Hungarian-sorry)

Brahmagiri

I am just walking towards a Shiva Temple by a lake. It would be nice-if it would not be so amazingly dirty... The bank of lake is full of trash, very distracting... People just come and through all kinds of trash over. This is one big minus: it seems to me that they do not even care at all about the close vicinity: if it is out of flat does not matter if there is fecal, rats, spoiled food, whatever. If it is under the window and you smell it all day, no problem-one can get used to it. :)

Suddenly I see an old couple just by the Temple. There is a huge park (not that dirty...) and roots of a big, old tree. Probably they were hired to dig it out. I sit down and watch them for about an hour, now. They are thin but determined. It is a melting hot day and they are full sweat. They are tired; it seems this tiredness has its roots in depth of decades... The man is angry with the wood, like he wanted to rip his all past out with it. They take a moment of brake-this is my chance: I jump and ask him for a photo. He tiredly agrees. His life-long fatigue burns into the film...

I thank him and give some bakshish, which I usually don't... As I turn back suddenly a Sadhu stands just in front of me by a holy tree. He has penetrating, deep eyes... Just out of instinct without thinking I show him the camera and 'asking' his permission for a photo. He nods. I watch into the viewfinder and I am almost blown away: his eyes are mesmerizing!

Then he calls me inside the deep garden of the Temple. We sit down by a huge tree giving deep refreshing shadow. I am a bit disturbed by the previous scene and do not look at him immediately. But I feel his gaze my side. I turn there and my suspicion was right: he has been watching me. His look is intense, deep, compassionate, caring. I calm down and the world opens; I feel the wind blowing the leaves of the tree, the rays of the Sun as fingers pointing the ground, and the beating flow of life.

He is Brahmagiri, a holy person since his age of 8yrs. Now he is just as old as myself. He studied English when he was a young child. He says that he will go to visit some Temple and he invites me. I ask him:
-Do you often go to distant temples?
He is silent for a while.
-No;
He looks around pointing the Temple, the tree, and his own body and says:
-Temple, Temple, Temple. Why travel?
...

-You know, I have come to India to learn yoga.
He keeps, staring at me, with not a single word.
-Would you teach me yoga? Asanas, you know...
-Yes, yes I do. Come with me tonight.
-Do you keep some class? -I am wondering.
-No. I have to go to Mumbai. I travel. Travel yoga.
He loughs full heartily. He stands up and mimics how one travels on bus, grasping the handles and fighting to keep balance on the moving bus.
-Keeping balance; yoga. You see? Everything is yoga! Bus yoga.
And smiles again.

Meditation Retreat

I attended the 10 days Vipassana meditation retreat in Igatpuri, India, and these were probably the most difficult and, yet, fruitful days of my life. The morning bell woke us up at 4am and we were meditating until 9pm, with one longer (2h) and two shorter brakes. There was a total restriction of anything unrelated to practical meditation (such as talking, reading, writing, etc.). There were even 5 Buddhist monks studying with us and, to be honest, after the first day’s ten hours sitting meditation I was seriously thinking whether I was up to this, but eventually –thank God- I decided to stay at the end.

There were more than three days preparing for the main meditation; during this period we concentrated to the sensations caused by the breathing in and around the nose area, step by step each day decreasing the focus of the concentration until it became to a small spot. During this time my mind stilled down considerably and became very sensitive. In the afternoon of the fourth day the main meditation started, where we supposed to extend our awareness from that tiny spot to the whole body maintaining the clarity of bodily sensations. In the second hour in meditation something started; until that I felt vibrating sensations separately, but then these separated sensations united and my whole body became mere vibration, fluctuation. Its solidity totally dissolved into this flow; and the pain caused by the long sitting too become mere vibration and ceased to be pain anymore.

Here we started to study the body/matter-mind interaction; how certain sensations draws the attention of the mind which reacts by aversion or attachment, then how the mind hangs on this particular sensation multiplying its strength and resulting irresistible aversion (e.g. pain), or craving – then observing how whole these processes are endlessly flowing ahead. I believe now, that what I see sometimes, that white, foggy, vibrating light is actually this vibration. I saw it this time as well, and the sensation and the sight were vibrating exactly for the same rhythm.

We were told not to react to any sensation, just observe it with as much clarity as possible; not to wish to have the sensation of dissolution/vibration, not to feel aversion if only gross sensation what we observe, because otherwise we just repeat our old patterns, instead of eradicating them.

On the last three days I was meditating in cell and I think this isolated environment helped; until I was continuously sweeping my consciousness over the body to sense the flow. But then I tried to open my concentration and instead of focusing to certain part just observe the vibration all over. And then I ‘sank’ further; I left behind the thoughts (which were still arising sometimes, but ‘above’ me); then that usually unconscious level where the mind reacts to those subtle sensations; then as I opened to the vibrations my I ceased to be a solid entity, too, and even the ever changing vibration become somehow distant and at the bottom of everything, as well as in between the two extremes of a vibration (whether in the body or mind, same) there was something like a totally tranquil ocean, with unmoving presence. What I had experienced before, but in a sense from ‘above’, watching it from a distance now became the only thing. It permeated everywhere, still I could not say that it was something, and maybe the tranquility the only attribute I really could attach to it. On all the last three days it happened and took for several tens of minutes. I felt in a sense blessed, though did not feel crying anymore.

(PS. photos are illustrations from web. I had decided not to take camera with me, as I had intended to go to an inward journey...)

Eyes that tell a story...

...I walk to the farther end of the slums, deep among the 'tents', or whatever... So few we really need... Food, pure water, some place to sleep and friends/community. I had everything over there in Europe: fancy car, nice house, job; still I felt some kind of emptiness. And what these people have? Practically nothing but the very basics. I imagine how most of us in Europe would react to such conditions... With intense envy, hatred, depression, hopelessness. And These people smile-not with the American 'keep-smiling', but from the bottom of their heart. Of course we were conditioned in vastly different ways-still...

They let me in their home, offer a chai and when I try to argue (thinking of my stomach and the millions of bacteria which might be in that water...) they say that they are the very poorest, so I should respect they invitation. And I do. We barely can talk but there is some deep contact nevertheless. Two world have met here, now...

Could I live here? With my European background probably not, unless I am forced to. But it is human, too. I had prejudices but now I feel we are equal; we all share the very same ups-and-downs of human existence. These prejudices... Just alienate us to fet our egos. Among different conditions, though... They are smiling, the children are happily playing in the dust, still, in many eyes I can see something when they forget about themselves; some wondering, some toughness, some resignation, some mixture of unconscious blame and envy. Blame not me, but destiny. Envy not my goods, but asking fate without words: why, why me?

Then the answer comes: karma. And they smile at me again full-heartedly. All right, it is karma-it had been written before they were born here and I was born there. That's it? So, should we continue to fight for a second car, for a bigger house, for a Hugo Boss shirt over there, and should they continue fighting for tomorrow food over here? Is that all right..?

Slums, slums, slums...

Wherever I go there are slums everywhere... Shocking? Thought awakening? Maybe both. I just pass by one, now. It is by a fairly big swamp. Although it is the dry season now, the swamp is still filled with water, and... with mosquitoes. The bank of it, however, is covered by stone-hard soil and dust. There where they are living. The floor is pure dust, the cover is whatever they have found: paper, plastic, for the luckier tin.

I was wondering around this camp for quite a while in the past weeks, but somehow I never had the a courage to enter... How would they greet me? Like a stupid foreigner who comes here to enjoy their poverty? But suddenly I see a man who draws my attention-and he looks back and smiles. The first contact has been made, and is positive! I already know how much it means in photojournalism; if there is some mutual interest arise before even taking the camera for shooting, then there is every chance for a good shot; Then already some unexplainable has happened: a link was built up between two human souls. Two souls are connected, who are often separated by wast distances from one and other all in space, hopes, fears, chances, talents, and so on.

I catch the moment and enter the slums. I take the camera and show it to the man asking him with my eyes whether I can take his picture. He nodes as a sign of acceptance. Soon I see old people playing cards, some 20m from me. They are not happy and start to shout. Damn...

One of them calls me with his hand. I go there and in a few moments many things run through my mind: this camera worth that much as about one year salary of these people; I am getting farther from the road deep into the slums... On the other hand without risk there is no success; there was no point coming to India if I fear to take my chances-so, I approach.

A younger guy speaks some English.
-What want?
-I'd just like to take some pictures -and I show the camera and smile
-Newspaper?
Should I say yes? Maybe they'd like to be there...
-No. I am an amateur photographer from Europe (I bet they don't know Hungary). I shoot interesting people. Whom I am interested in...
They start to talk in Marathi amoung them, then the young guy say:

-All right; You photo young people, not us. and people over there.

-Thank you! (big smile)

I'd start to leave when one of the card players calls me back: he would like to be photographed, but not the others.

-That OK, I say and I use shallow dof to blur the other players. Play honest-a voice tells in me...

Silly Little Bird...

We are sitting every evening with my close friend, Vinod, in the garden of the Institute during twilight; drinking our evening chai, and discussing about everything: from the sunset to the meaning of the life...

Once while sitting there, he says
There was a forest which was about to be destroyed by a huge fire surrounding it. Only the birds could escape. There was a little bird about to fly away, when it saw the other animals dying on the ground. It felt deep sorrow about them and turned back, flew to a lake, and carried water in its feather, then dropped it to the fire. It restlessly went to the lake,then to the fire, then to the lake again, when God appeared and asked it: you silly little bird, why don't you escape? You cannot even delay the fire. The little bird became angry and replied: You are God; You could do anything; But You will not save them. So, go away and let me do my job! Then it started to keep carry the water in its small feathers and spread it over the forest-fire...