Lately, my head and heart have been a lot of places but here. I have been thinking a lot about Mexico, Rajasthan, and Indonesia.
This week I have been to two performances that have changed my life (and I do not say that lightly). My little world rocked, tumbled, and fell and a lot changed what I thought I knew about humans and human nature.
On Monday, I went to see the Manganiyar Seductionand let’s just say I found myself wanting to live and stay in Memorial Hall forever, listening and watching, wanting to dance. It was entirely magical and most of all it reminded me of how magical the place they call home really is. . . Rajasthan is out of this world and I’m ready to go back one of these days (soon). It was the India I imagined as kid (camels, turbans, bright colors) and I felt like I was living in a hot, fairyland in the desert.
This week, despite all of the life-altering performances, has been challenging to say the least. Thankfully all I needed was Wednesday. And some Amirah, some sun, and some fancy water.
Amirah in Oz asked me to think of the best places I lived in//visited in NZ and it brought back a flood of good memories. That, and a good conversation on bleachers about how NZ is the greatest place on earth, has had me thinking a good deal about NZ again.
I went through old photos and found these.
Gorgeous, crazy, stupid colorful NZ. I love that place and the life I lived there. Funny to think how different I feel now. I’m stable. Content being here and most of all passionate about things beyond just places alone. It is so easy in a place like NZ to feel constantly and unbelievably excited//inspired by your surroundings, but I’m finding that is possible in most any place. Yes, even here. Even in Carrboro.
It is fun to revisit this place through pictures and words and even more to realize that beauty exists like this. A type of beauty that is uncomfortable//distracting. A place that glows with so much color its frightening.
[Photos: The impossible beauty of the Milford sounds, NZ//Grace Farson]
Some days it is strange to think my world looked like this a few weeks ago.
I haven’t stopped for more than a few seconds since I got home, but yesterday at dinner, I finally sat down and looked through a couple of India photos. These stood out to me.
These were taken on a a typical grey, monsoon day down by the burning ghat (Manikarnika ghat) in Varanasi. I stayed at a place near the ghat and went nearly everyday. Even when I was trying to avoid the ghat, I was always drawn back there.
Varanasi in the rain was a strange this time around. Dirtier, weirder and even more magical and alluring than ever.
I’m so glad I went back. I’m glad that I got stuck there and had time to rest and recover fully before doing India this way. . .
I know that all I can write about these days is the rain, but it is amazing how much it influences life here.
This morning I woke up early to the sound of the rain and rolled over and easily slept through my alarm. Once I woke up to stay awake, I sat at the table and thought//read//wrote and downed some tea. I wrote a lot this morning about how I could stay. I could stay here and live like this for a very long time.
I’m enjoying the story I’m living here. I find that I more than enjoy this pace of life. It suits me well and I know I will never really leave this place behind. I feel certain that I’ll be back again one of these days.
My time here is coming close to an end and I find that I’ve spent a good deal of time lately trying to savor everything as if it was my first time.
[Photo: New territory. Across the bridge, Letang//Grace Farson]