Wednesday 1 February 2012 Crossing Over

After a few more temple visits, we find the Be Happy Cafe. It's a Westerner's shangrala after weeks of mostly Indian and some Chinese cuisine.

Krista and Niranjan are a lovely couple, and brilliant business minds. Years ago when they met at a meditation center here where there are so many, they decided that Bodgaya needed a coffee shop, here where there were none. A respite for Westerners.

Krista, from Canada, and Niranjan, a local man, live a life dedicated to healthy, clean food in a spotless, homey environment. Krista loves to bake, so that's how they started. As customers discovered this gem, they wanted more. So pizza got added to the menu. In this tiny six-table eatery, open three meals a day, seven days a week, there's brick oven pizza, real Italian style spaghetti, and brown bread and sweets prepared on site. Best of all... vegetables and fruits we can actually eat, because this smart pair invested in a triple-action water filtration system (UV, osmosis and particle). Almost everything is imported from abroad via Delhi, the only menu ingredients available locally are fruits and vegetables, flour and basil. There are a few wait-staff, but Krista and Niranjan prepare all the food themselves to ensure it's safe for visitors' guts. PLUS, there's real coffee! Two expresso machines barely pause for breath.

Back at the hotel for a mid-day rest and pit stop, I finally cross over. It's such a drag to keep asking the front desk for TP when each roll has no more than about two layers to it. I take the plunge, or rather, the hose..... and cross over. Now I understand why my Egyptian roommate of a few years ago kept after me to install this plumbing in my own house. It's cleaner, fresher, easier and infinitely more environmentally friendly! Even my trip-roommate finally makes the shift.

The Karmapa calls. Yesterday I thought I would skip this opportunity to be in the presence of such a high-level spiritual being. He's second in importance in the Buddhist's world to only the Dali Llama himself. Changing my mind is easy here, it's all about going with the flow. I decide, after all, to take a bicycle-rickshaw over to the far Thai temple to catch a glimpse of his Holiness. We plan to arrive early to enjoy the stillness of the place, and sit in solitude as the crowd slowly grows. Our little corner of this huge temple is graced with mothers and their babies who roll around on the rows of meditation mats and crawl over to us to say hello. Their tremendous brown eyes, pudgy cheeks and winning smiles and coos are well worth breaking concentration for. Gazing into their eyes, it's easy to see to the expanse of the stars. After hours of chanting and drumming, the whole crowd rises to their feet and begins to Q-up. Well, as best as Asian culture does a Q.

Surely this is not what the Buddha had in mind.

There's pushing, shoving and shouting in a myriad of far-eastern languages, elbows raming and feet sweeping to try to knock people down.

We sort of hover on the outer edge of the fray, but as we round the last corner of the 'line,' at least a thousand souls stacked about 10 people thick and wrapped 3/4 around the circumference of the temple interior, an attendant gestures and directs us to move in. We have no choice but to allow ourselves to be sucked into the mayhem, women along the wall and men on the right. Once again, that male advantage. There are at least ten females for every male. The men stand and move forward easily, with no stress. And the men's line is privileged, allowed to pass on into security faster.

A few of our female number are lucky enough to end up farther front in the line, and don't experience what for some of us women ends up being an hour and a half of pure hell. Huge double doors open periodically to allow about a dozen seekers to spill out onto the veranda for security check. Each time, the back of the crowd of a thousand or more roars, pushes, and the whole snake undulates forward in a vicious surge. Greed in the guise of fervent reverence.

But mostly the doors remain closed and we are not moving at all, just fighting to keep from being squeezed. Another of our group and I, being at the back of our little pack, bear the brundt of it and fight the entire time to remain solid, to not be crushed forward. Root. Sink awareness. Discover solidness. Bring center of balance to the tan tien. Reach deep into the earth thru the feet.

Behind me must be a proctologist, 'cause the entire time, my butt is fondled, prodded and stroked whilst someone else thrust up against my back from the other side keeps trying to kick my knee to take me down. Over my right shoulder, a flematic old woman clutches and grasps at my shaw, and my left ribs are bruised from incessant elbowing from that side.

As we finally near the doors, another massive surge threatens to trap people behind the 3/4 opened door and crush us to the wall. Where are the attendants? They score zero on crowd control.

Suddenly, a woman shoves hard and squeezes between me and the sweaty body in front of me. Then she begins to shout at me and the attendant, her arm extended back thru the non-gap. She's dragging a child! Who begins to scream. He's now crushed between me, the person to my left, and a third behind me, his little shoulder wrenched by the woman's intent! There's nothing I can do because it's taking all my strength to keep from being plowed ahead from behind, straight into the suddenly vigilant and alarmed attendants. Still the attendant, who has done nothing to quell the panic nor discourage the violence, gives me a dirty look! Because I'm one of the few Western faces?

A moment later, we miraculously pop into the fresh air. A quick frisk and we're hustled up a flight of stairs and thru a narrow door. Being tall has its advantages (clothing not being one of them-all the yoga pants are half way up my shin). As the portal draws near, I can see over the heads of those in front of me, see the Karmapa's face resplendent with light, and imbibe the energy of compassion. A 1/2 second bow before him as he hands me a red thread, and it's all over.

It takes a full hour of cleansing breath-work in the now nearly-vacant temple just to feel clear and grounded enough to face a rickshaw ride back to the hotel. One very long hot shower and three neti pot flushes don't seem at all indulgant. My cloths are sealed into zip lock plastic bags until I can get them dry cleaned, ie properly sterilized, back home. Now I want comfort food.

Back to Be Happy for a Greek Salad -yippee! - and a sweet. Then up the hill for another draught of the Mahabodhi temple ground, seeking completion of a much needed purification.

Another unforeseen happy happenstance, we chance to be here for the International Peace Festival. Tens of thousands of saffron-draped faithful bearing butter-lamps circumambulate the grounds, weaving, flowing like a school of fish. Every shrub, tree, hillside, rail and structure is studded with strings of lights the same gorgeous shades of golden, root red and orange, plus green. The moon-sliver shimmers, the flood-lite-lit temple obelisk glows, the chanting's sublime. After three circuits, healed, I know I can sleep sweet dreams.