... A seekers path...

The following day felt like a mess even before I got out of bed. The night had brought heavy rain and to most inhabitants it was an act of blessing from God, making sure the wells filled up and the fields ripened and gave a good harvest. That the streets turned into mud and flods of water did not concern them at all, honking and yelling from overloaded cars and mopeds as they tried to drive through. My head aced. I had to get up and attend at the morningpuja and there were still the meeting with the man from yesterday to reflect upon. Would he be there at noon today if it still rained? The thought lingered in the back of my head as I made it to the bathroom and sat down on my heals, feet on each side of the hole that made the toilet. I had got used to the conditions by now, but it took several turns with diarea before I did so. There is a point, wich you have to reach, if you are to stay here. The point from beyond you do not care about or question the poor being everywere and at you sleeve at all hours, that the water is probably even more dirty than you, that you do not have a bowlremovement that looks anything like you are used to and will not have until you leave and that women are nicely treated but never regarded as an authority. Once you get to that point youre no longer tucked by the sleeve, you use the right hand and have lurned how to swear in Hindi.

I stopped by the Pilgrims bookshop, for no perticular reason but just because I had the oportunity to drown into the oceans of unread stories and magic adventures stored from floor to sieling in the labyrith alike shop. The first time I almost got lost, entering the next room and the next without paying atention to where I first started and how to get back out on the street again. The back of the shop turnes into a peaceful oas with a restaurant, numbers of comfortable chairs and separate and sometimes hidden corners and tables. It had turned dark before I got out that time. Now I knew the place a little bit better and headed straight to the section with books about esoterica and religion apart from Budhism, that filled a room of its own. I wanted to read about the history of earth, history of man and the collective consiousness that keaps on spreading and reaching new generations of people all the time. Because most people tend to see the problems of the outer world as separate from the inside they also keap on blaming the world. The Dalai Lama say that all conflicts starts within and that there is no other way of making a change but to start with our own inner conflicts. What I was searching for was some kind of mirror to reflect my own. Thinking about how to know what to change and how to accually work the field was a mantal task I had carried around for many years and it seamed like the more I got to see, the more I saw that there was so much more to see. However sane, the quest cept me going, searching for yet another question to define what I did not know.
Eager to keep the time and to meet the Teacher, I left without buying anything but stopped at New Orleans to pick up some Chai. After all the Teacher had asked me to do so, eaven though the weather was nothing like the day before. Having to wait until all the men have had to order, I finaly got my termos filled up, stepped back out and into the anklehigh muddy water and began to vade my way through the streets. Exhited and curious about the encounter I kept on thinking about what I had to lurn today, the possible choices of subject and what I wanted to aks him. Finally I rounded the corner and entered the crossing street where we were about to meet, but the sight was empty. Perhaps I was early? Having a seat were he sat the day before I decided to wait.
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