Resting On the Banks of the River of Death

KTM May 2024

We climb the dusty hill, made craggy with rivulets

From the season of heavy rain, leaving their unique signature

Litter scattered by months of heavy human hearts

The back path into the temple, the local trail

Ever changing scents, pungent, acrid, sweet, earthy

We arrive to a throng of vibrant human activity

On this side they prepare for Arti, the divine puja

Fire-bending in veneration to the sacred

A sea of dark, sweaty skin jostling for a better view

Across the river, bodies are being dressed for the final transition

Plumes of junpier are burned to mask the less palatable which awaits

As they set the corpse alight, a wave of disparate emotions

Fans out amongst the reverent crowd

A single vision with a thousand conflicting reflections

Mine a flux of sadness, beauty, fascination, aversion,

Tinges of magic, sorrow, emptiness and elation

Monkeys frolic on the rooftops of the temple

Oblivious to the pantomime below

Cows roam the narrow pathways

With a confidence born of centuries of respect

Arti begins, seething crowds lean in, to sing and chant

But I'm transfixed, on the ephemeral flames

in flux

Envisioning a soul transforming into light

Or perhaps rebirth in the cries of a new born

Perhaps into a vast silent darkness

or better yet, back into the pool of oneness which is pure love

As sure as I sit here, it will be me one day

Engulfed in the flames of transition

I let go of answers, of certainty

Seeking refuge in the freedom of not knowing

The final mystery