Bicycles Bicycles Bicycles

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The water is more fierce than usual, the waves pulling me under intensely. I feel small in the wake of her sovereignty. Our bodies, our planet, mostly water…we owe her nothing less than perfect reverence.

On the beach I commit to a new level of Iove for India, enjoying homemade masala chai sold from the back of a bicycle. The kind man offers me a fried treat with his bare (left)* hand but I decline politely. The chai is delicious and sufficient.

We meet with our shaman sister again later to discuss our movement to Thailand. We are all hearing the call. I am having an internal human struggle about the craziness of it all, certainly shaking my faith. It has been a dream for me to travel to India, to go live in an ashram, to study in the home of the countless yogi masters, to dip in the Ganges, to sing to the Taj Mahal, and now, based on my dreams, visions, and channeled messages, I am leaving India after only a week and a half. Ok. Spirits. I hear you. I will listen.

The bike Jackie rented earlier doesn’t suit her taste so she gifts it to me in the afternoon and I pedal through the unpaved streets, the pink clunker chugging away like a sick stallion. It makes me smile and reminds me of my previous cycle in Brazil. Oddly shaped seat and semi-attached basket included. It makes my yoni feel odd and I wonder how the male owner fares on such steed. On my excursion I run into a large communist demonstration with ardent men wearing dhotis and waving the old Russian communist flag. I completely fall off the bike as I try to turn around a narrow street. A spectator laughs as do I. No knee scrapes endured. No band-aids needed.

Divine dinner with the two matronly goddesses from Canada and Chicago and Mel. We feast under the moonlight, enjoying food from a restaurant on the cliff, another where the menu includes everything from Indian, Thai, Chinese, Manchurian, Pizza, Pasta, Israeli, and Russian dishes. Breakfast is also served all day. There is a small NYC diner quality to it all.

Jackie and I honor our divine feminine altar in our palace before entering the universe of dreams. Love.

*For those of you new to Indian etiquette, so to speak, the right hand is used for eating (no utensils are used) and the left for hygiene (no tp in India…one can perhaps view India as ahead of the game in response to environmental conservation). It is customary to shake only the right when greeting another; the left hand is often placed under the table when eating.

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