welcoming new life - literally and metaphorically

as voters on the other side of this planet are lining up, i rest on this side in confident anticipation of positive results. i heard from the kind clerk at the little town hall where i vote in wisconsin that my absentee ballot - sent oct 24 by "two-day express delivery" from india and still not there to be counted as of nov 1 - had managed to land on her desk today, monday. she also mentioned that they had received double the number of absentee ballots that they had last presidential election. and the initial reports suggest that americans are ready to try living up to the vision of themselves that barack obama offered them: as compassionate, tolerant, dignified and responsible members of the world community.

but wonderful new beginnings have already taken place today: it was with great, great joy that i learned that this world community has another member, who i am sure will contribute greatly to its beauty: ayla jade sylvia, the child of my dear friend (and fellow tibet site seminarian) leigh sangster.

i received word that leigh was in labor early this morning, but later in the day somehow found myself suddenly moved to express in words some aspirations for the child. when the message of ayla's safe delivery came through, i learned that this spontaneous aspirational prayer for her was composed just 15 minutes after ayla began her life outside the womb. (makes me wonder just what sort of karma baby ayla and i have together!)


in the hopes that you who read this will add your voice to mine in making this aspiration for ayla, i include it here:

dear baby, even before you develop the words to name this experience, may you always recognize that you are surrounded by love. may you always carry in your heart the knowledge that this precious life you have now is only possible within a matrix of kindness and caring linking many, many others to you.

as you acquire language, may only the words for happiness, delight, love and joy be comprehensible to you, and may the words for suffering and unhappiness make no sense to you at first, because they do not match any of what you have known yourself.

just as you caused joy for many people in many directions today just by entering this world we all share with you, may you continue to be a source of joy and peace to all those around you, awakening love spontaneously in all who see or hear you. may you live always within the embrace of that love.

may your actions always reflect the goodness that is your deepest nature. may your life be long, and full of meaning and wonder. may it inspire others.

may you be happy, dear baby.

himalayan monsoon

since my last post so very many months ago, i've relocated to dharamsala - or the kangra valley in the shadow of the mountains just below dharamsala, to be precise. here i've found a home in a small international nuns' community called thosamling. we are nuns from malaysia, venezuela, australia, korea, holland, mexico and elsewhere, and just down the road lives the only tibetan geshe i have met who has actually read the entire root vinaya, the text my thesis is on. i am in a very good place right now, in many ways.

thosamling faces the snow-capped peaks in which dharamsala itself is nestled, and on its other sides by terraced fields of grain. both during and after a good rain - which means most days now that the monsoon is nearing - the rice terraces fill to capacity and water cascades from one level to the next as the mountains above shed their abundance on us. it is like living within a huge natural fountain, and the slopes that tower above and fields that spread out below are as voluptuously green as can be. it is truly lovely and for the first time i appreciate classical sanskrit poetry's recurring trope of the monsoon season as a site of beauty, joy and reflection.

a joyful day for la sangha latina

with great joy i would like to report that my dear friend flora, who came with me to india hoping to bring together the conditions to ordain, last week was able to receive her monastic vows from his holiness the dalai lama. flora now bears the name tenzin nangpal, and is a novice nun (getsulma or sramanerika) in the monastic order founded by buddha 2,500 years ago.

i have watched flora grow from the day she began attending the summer courses in buddhist philosophy in madison, wisconsin, where i was living, and have visited her dharma center in xalapa, mexico several times as well. the step from lay practitioner of buddhism to ordained member of the sangha is a huge one, and flora had been preparing herself internally and externally for several years. for the time being, she will remain in india to begin receiving her foundational training and to commence the work of inner retooling that is involved in this transition and in this way of life. (for an account - in spanish - of her experience as she prepared, read her blog)

in the photo here, flora - that is to say venerable tenzin nangpel - is pictured with the other non-tibetans ordained with her, and sits just at the right hand of his holiness the dalai lama.

flora now joins a tiny number of other latin americans who have taken ordination vows in the tibetan buddhist tradition. a cause for general rejoicing. indeed, it is a joyful day when someone is able to make this commitment - joyful for her, joyful for her community in mexico and joyful for others who might also be inspired to fully dedicate their live to their spiritual development in service to others. it is also extremely joyful to me to be able to welcome flora as a sister in the vows.

welcoming a new year

hopefully these greetings are better later than never. a few weeks ago we celebrated the tibetan new year here in sarnath. after morning prayers at the tibetan temple, i welcomed the new year in the company of three tibetan nuns from south india and with ven jampa tsedroen. we visited the holy sites that are so close at hand here, connecting through acts of imagination with the buddha who gave his first teachings in this small and still sleepy village and the monastic community that occupied the sprawling structures that lie now in ruins.

quivering at the sound

haven't found the time to post in a while: apart from the slowness of the internet connection since some transoceanic cables snapped a while back, i have been working hard to complete a paper for an upcoming conference in princeton (yes i fly all the way back just to give a 20-minute paper!) while celebrating the tibetan new year and also trying to take advantage of the time i have left here in sarnath to move through more of the narratives.

the face of the bride

"at last i have my daughter-in-law," said mrs. agrawal, the mistress of the house where i am renting a room in sarnath. for four years they had been searching for a suitable match for their son and only child. time and again the astrological charts of the son and the prospective brides did not match. time and again they went back to the portfolios that families prepare when putting their daughters on the marriage market, portfolios that feature a sort of CV listing the would-be bride's character traits (open your thesaurus: the more synonyms for docile, gentle, and obedient, the better), a description of her skin-tone (extremely fair, very fair, quite fair, etc.), her educational qualifications (a definitive plus in many circles these days, when two-income families are no longer unthinkable) and detailed accounts of her relatives' names, marriage alliances, professions, and subcaste. oh, and a photo of the bride in a traditional sari.

but finally, a 25-year old local girl turned out to have been born under precisely the right stars for this family's beloved son. the son was educated in india's best private schools and, with the assurance of access and privilege that comes with that, went on to a management position in microfinance or something like that, off in hyderabad. his parents, from whom we rent rooms, have done all they could to assure that he had all the best in life indeed, and he has done very well for himself.

one afternoon, the son had gone to see the prospective bride in person after the charts were found to match, approved the girl and proceeded straight from the meeting to the airport to fly off to his job. he will not come back to varanasi until the wedding itself, planned for april.

meanwhile, for mrs. agrawal, a truly gentle and mild-mannered woman who had no daughters and has spent her years as an adult caring for the two men in her life, husband and son, the joyful anticipation of welcoming a daughter-in-law into her close circle was clearly genuine and deeply felt.

the next major event in the cycle of formalities leading to the actual wedding was the presentation of the bride to the groom's extended family. for with all the curiosity an extended and inwardly focused family can generate, the relatives gathered for 'high tea' on our lawn. after a day of bustle - the casual sort of bustle they do best here - in which a sign-painter was still calmly retouching the sign to their house as guests were pulling up in their cars, mr. and mrs. agrawal seemed stiff and nervous to be hosting this big event. after hearing of the inauspicious astrological charts of all the other prospects, i and the other nun staying here, jampa tsedroen la, were also invited to come see the bride.

her portfolio was quite accurate in many regards: she is very fair, and does indeed work in the operations department of a life insurance company, a fact in which she expressed considerable pride. as for the string of adjectives describing her compliant character, time will tell - a whole lifetime of married life in this new and fine family.

for more on arranged weddings, see this from the first year in india

photos are of mrs. agrawal with jampa tsedroen-la, the bride, an assortment of guests and the buffet table - sumptuous indeed though curiously lacking the 'tea' which i had expected to have for my 'high tea'...

the cowherd's story

thanks to mindrol-la for her enthusiastic request for the sequel to the frog's story. in it, we hear what happened to the cowherd after he heard the entire teachings by the buddha. (for frog's story, read here.)

as background, you need to know that that buddha has just given an exquisite teaching that uses the image of a log moving down a river as a metaphor for the course we take through life after life, often getting stuck along the way, but sometimes flowing strongly towards the ocean of liberation. here is the text that follows that teaching in the vinayavastu; translated from the sanskrit:

At that very time, Nanda the Cowherd was standing near the Lord. Leaning on his cane, he was grazing his cows. A frog was pinned by the cane, his skin pierced, his joints dislocated. He generated the thought, ‘If I should move my body or emit a sound, this would be the cause for Nanda the Cowherd to be distracted from the story.’ Having decided that, he made his mind inspired with faith in the presence of the Lord and died. He was reborn among the devas of the Four World Guardian Kings.

Then Nanda the Cowherd set his cane down to one side and went towards the Lord. Having approached, he prostrated with his head at the feet of the Lord, and stood off to one side. Standing off to the side, Nanda the Cowherd said this to the Lord, "Sir, I will not get caught on this bank, I will not get caught on the far bank, I will not get caught in the middle, I will not come out onto dry land, I will not be grabbed by humans, I will not be grabbed by non-humans, I will not be grabbed by a whirlpool. I will not become putrid inside. Sir, may I attain renunciation, full ordination and monkhood in the well-spoken Dharmavinaya. May I practice celibate discipleship in the presence of the Lord.”

“If so, Nanda, you have given the cows to their owners?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why not?”

“Sir, since they are cows who have young calves, they know their dwelling places. They will each return to their respective homes. Sir, may I attain renunciation, full ordination and monkhood in the well-spoken Dharmavinaya. May I practice celibate discipleship in the presence of the Lord.”

“Nanda, although they are cows who have young calves at a tender age, know their dwelling places and will each return to their respective homes, nevertheless this is the duty of a cowherd, who has accepted the owner’s food and clothing.”

At that, Nanda the Cowherd prostrated with his head at the feet of the Lord, and left the presence of the Blessed One. Then he began to run, crying loudly, ‘Danger! Danger!’ Along the path, 500 cowherds related to him saw him. They said, “What danger is to be feared?”

“The danger of birth. The danger of aging. The danger of sickness. The danger of death.”

They too began to run behind him. When they were seen by other cowherds, horse drivers, porters carrying grass, porters carrying kindling, people living from the street and people gone astray living from the street, these too began to run. Servants saw them shouting in this way and questioned them, “What is this, Sirs?”

They said, “There is danger!”

“Danger of what?”

“Danger of birth. Danger of aging. Danger of sickness. Danger of death!”

After hearing this, they too turned back. At a certain point, they reached the vicinity of a district capital. Then the group of people living around the district capital saw the huge group of people and became alarmed, [and ran about] this way and that. Some fled. Some hid their goods. Some armed themselves and stood their ground. Others, the courageous people, advanced and questioned them.

“What is this, Sirs?”

They said, “There is danger!”

“Danger of what?”

“Danger of birth. Danger of aging. Danger of sickness. Danger of death.”

At that, the group of people living around the district capital were relieved.

At that time, on that occasion, Venerable Śāriputra had joined and was seated in that very assembly. Venerable Śāriputra noticed that Nanda the Cowherd had been gone for a long time, and said this to the Lord, “Sir, why did the Lord encourage Nanda to Cowherd, who was desirous of renouncing in the well-spoken Dharmavinaya, to go home?”

“Śāriputra, there is no chance that Nanda the Cowherd will remain within his home as a householder again. Having experienced deposited treasure, will he enjoy the objects of desire? There is no possibility of that. Nanda the Cowherd will now surrender the cows to their owners and come back. After seeing that for the sake of which children of good families shave their hair and beard, put on saffron clothes and go forth with only the correct devotion from their homes into a homeless state - the supreme culmination of celibate discipleship - and having realized for himself the Dharma, actualized it and attained it, he will proclaim, ‘For me, birth has ended. My celibate discipleship is completed. My duty is done. After this existence I will know no other.’”

Meanwhile, after surrendering the cows to their owners, Nanda the Cowherd came to where the Lord with a retinue of 500. Having approached he said this to the Lord, “Sir, may I attain renunciation, full ordination and monkhood in the well-spoken Dharmavinaya. May I practice celibate discipleship in the presence of the Lord.”

And Nanda the Cowherd attained renunciation, full ordination and monkhood in the well-spoken Dharmavinaya, together with the retinue of 500. Having thus renounced, he became venerable... "

and thus ends the story of Nanda the Cowherd, a disciple of the Buddha whose renunciation the frog helped make possible...

the frog who showers flowers on lord buddha

one feature of the text i am reading here - and of much of sanskrit literature in general - is a delight in embedding stories within stories, such that finally stories are set within multiple frames. i share one example that caught my imagination, evoking as it does an image one still sees, and that after reading this story has lost much of its ordinariness for me: a cowherd leaning on his long stick contemplatively as his charges graze nearby. (sadly i have no photo of any as yet, so offer instead an image of some fields, to evoke the pastoral/agrarian setting this story assumes.)

in this tale, while buddha is telling a story to a gathering of monks, a humble cowherd brings his animals to a grazing spot within earshot and stands listening to the story. the narrator of the vinaya later tells us not only the story of the cowherd but that of a frog who was pinned under the stick that the cowherd was leaning on.

along with transforming how i look at cowherds with sticks, it has the effect of evoking the many series of ripples sent out into the world by the teaching of the buddha. translated from sanskrit, the story goes something like this:

At that very time, Nanda the cowherd was standing near the Lord [Buddha]. Leaning on his cane, he was grazing his cows. A frog was pinned by the cane, his skin pierced, his joints dislocated. He generated the thought, ‘If I should move my body or emit a sound, this would be the cause for Nanda the Cowherd to be distracted from the story.’ Having decided that, he made his mind inspired with faith in the presence of the Lord and died. He was reborn among the devas of the Four World Guardian Kings.

[We then hear the story of nanda the cowherd's reaction to the buddha's story: he asks to join the sangha, but buddha does not permit to ordain immediately, for some clever reasons. then we come back to the frog and his trajectory after death.]

It is in the nature of deva sons or deva daughters that when they are newly born they think about three things: from where they have passed on, where have they been born and due to what action. The deva son whose previous existence was as a frog saw that he had passed on from among the animals and been born among the devas of the Four World Guardian Kings, after making his mind inspired with faith in the presence of the Lord. It occurred to him, “It would not be proper for me to let a day pass without going to see the Lord. Therefore I should go to see the Lord without even letting one day pass.”

Then the deva son whose previous existence was as a frog approached the Lord. Wearing impeccable earrings that glittered as he moved, his body was adorned with necklace of 64 strands of pearls, the folds of his lower garment filled with celestial utpalas, kumudas, white lotuses and mandarava flowers, with intense colors. He reached the Lord in the dark of night, and illuminating the bank of the Ganges with a vast light, he showered the Lord with flowers and sat down before the Blessed One in order to listen to the Dharma.

Then, understanding the mental disposition and propensity, character and nature of the deva son whose previous existence was as a frog, the Lord gave that sort of Dharma teaching that penetrates the four nobles’ truths such that after hearing it, the deva son shattered the twenty-peaked mountain of belief in a personal self with the thunderbolt of wisdom, right as he was seated there, and actualized the fruit of stream-entry.

He said, “I have progressed, Lord, I have progressed. This one who is I go for refuge to the Lord, to the Dharma and to the Sangha. Accept me as a lay disciple from today forward for my whole life, as long as I live, as one who has gone for refuge and been inspired with faith.”

thus ends the story of the frog who was reborn as a deva.

now does anyone want to hear what happened to the cowherd?

one part brick

my friend and neighbor here in sarnath, bhikshuni jampa tsedroen, is also working on her dissertation. unlike me, she has just passed a major milestone in completing her draft. she celebrated with a quick trip to a nearby stupa.

local tradition has it that this stupa marks the spot where the buddha actually give the first discourse on the 'four noble truths' and where his first disciples became monks. it thus is revered as the place where the monastic order first took shape. (a similar honor is accorded a spot near the sri lankan mulagandhakuti temple here.) but this spot boasts a stupa that even in ruins towers high above the surrounding countryside; the photo above was taken only halfway up its side. a mughal king later had a pavilion erected on the top of the buddhist structure to commemorate a visit - in the sort of move to assert dominance over a place while drawing on its established sacrality that has been practiced by imperializing cultures everywhere.

the links connecting place and event in the life of the buddha are often tenuous. like many other such spots, it exists as one part brick, two parts imagination. happily, this spot is particularly rich in bricks.

a ride from the clinic

last week i managed to pour boiling water all over my hand. after googling 'burn boiling water first aid' and finding that anything as large as the area i had covered required 'immediate medical attention,' i was forced to overcome my instinctive resistance to visits to doctors. but a late evening trip to a local clinic just four minutes up the road proved extremely successful - it turned out to be run by a small community of indian women who are also catholic nuns, one a doctor trained in austria and three nurses. they all live onsite, and when we arrived, well after the clinic's closing hours, found them praying together in a simple chapel in back. a sister interrupted her devotions to come out and immediately said of course we will treat you. they did, and refused to accept payment for the service or medication. i came away with a very wholesome looking gunk to plaster over my burn, an admiration for the lives these women are leading and a renewed respect for the service work that christians can be found doing.

unfortunately, my visits to the clinic did not end there. though my hand is healing very nicely, a fairly debilitating stomach bug decided its turns was next. so after spending most of the week in bed i returned today. they put me on cipro, offered me a cup of tea, and sent me back home. i had taken my camera with me hoping to take a photo of their image of christ seated cross-legged with one hand in meditation posture, the other on classic buddhist gesture offering fearlessness or security. remembering on the rickshaw i failed to do so, i took random photos of the series of images that i see regularly during my daily five-minute ride to the tibetan institute. none are remarkable photos, nor were they taken with much care. in fact, they are so ordinary i look forward to viewing them later just for the nostalgia that is best fed by what is ordinary, but only in a given context.

what you see is in the order i passed it during the brief ride, all extraordinarily unworthy of notice here. sit on the edge of your seat, spine straight, and scroll lazily through these images if you want a sense of my ride home: - young girl playing outside gate (above)


- an outdoor barber shop; note brick floor



- a woman walking barefoot down the street (rickshaw driver's back in the extreme foreground)



- a roadside sweet shop cum pan shop cum chai shop with patient client in seating area,



- a cyclist picking his way between cow and her calf,



- a home shuttered up and in disuse,



- a man transporting the gas tanks used in any home that can afford to upgrade from cow dung or coal fires for cooking,



- a roadside furniture shop (manufacturing and sales outlet),



- vegetable stand next to barber shop (sarnath has what seems to me more than its fair share of barber shops for some reason - this is one of at least seven i pass daily),


- an elderly woman pictured near her home making patties out of cow dung to use for fuel, surrounded by goats on excruciatingly short tethers and paan shop,



- motorcycle repair shop (hero honda being the country's most popular model)



- cow hobbled by rope linking neck and leg so it cannot stray far, driver wiping down car while waiting for owner and ad for a local private school


- field of gracious trees crisscrossed by paths villagers take to reach the road - also doubles as cricket ground and garbage dump



- front yard mill - also doubles as laundry drying rack and little boy's plaything



- unmarried girls chatting on strong cot, family buffalo looking longingly at fodder bin



- dharmachakra gate to private home



- roadside grocer


- cow plays her part in the village's ad hoc recycling process



- our neighbor's servant giving directions to a motorist

so: do those of you who have been to india feel nostalgic or what? please leave a comment: they are most welcome and all-too-few on this blog!

pretty great resolution

yes, this satellite image of sarnath has pretty great resolution. that is the stupa casting its shadow in the morning sun. these days, those who like my mexican friend flora who spend their days here meditating or doing other spritual practices at the stupa no longer chase the shade around the stupa throughout the day, as they did in october when i first arrived here. now it is the sun's thin warmth they seek.


Sarnath, India map - Tagzania

a chill in uttar pradesh

this week in the north indian state of utter pradesh, temperatures have begun their slide to winter lows. as are the indian monks in this photo, with their shawls and wool hats, i am feeling the chill as daytime temperatures now hover around 70 degrees and can dip into the mid 60s at night.

far greater causes for chill, though, are the bombs set off last friday across the state. it seems earlier in the year, defense lawyers across this state had decided as a group that they would not defend people accused of terrorism-related crimes. now, some terrorist group or other planted bombs that exploded almost simultaneously at courthouses across the state, including that of nearby varanasi. the junior home minister (the ministry in charge of internal security, police etc) told the new york times, in discussing the attacks:

“Uttar Pradesh is so large, lapses can happen,” Sriprakash Jaiswal said.

at least 15 people died in varanasi alone, with many more injured. the following day the right-wing hindu political groups took vigorous advantage of the opportunity to stage a protest, calling for the resignation of the current government of india, and shutting down sections of varanasi. too bad, as the strikes prevented some from attending a dazzlingly beautiful hindu festival in which thousands of candles are set afloat on leaves on the ganges river.

so you have caught lawyers making a statement against terrorists, then right-wing and highly political hindu fundamentalist groups calling strikes against the terrorists and the government that it says is too soft on them, preventing hindu devotees from honoring their goddess ganga. and the government itself effectively calling its own territory unpoliceable - too large to prevent 'lapses.'

in the same complex that binds religious fundamentalism and politics rather tightly here in india of late, a muslim female writer has met with a decidedly mixed reception. this exceptionally outspoken woman, taslima nasreen was threatened with death by muslim clerics in her native bangladesh, after writing novels questioning women's status in her muslim culture. she had a valid indian visa, so came here to stay in the state of bengal that is adjacent to bangladesh and shares much of its culture and langauge, though the state of bengal is predominantly hindu while bangladesh is muslim. but upon arriving, she found that the communist party that runs the state was none too happy to have a prominent target of muslim ire around. (the communist party draws heavy support from the muslim population of the state, it seems.) after they succeeded in forcing taslima out of the state, the other states have been falling over themselves trying to pass her off to another state... except gujarat - a state whose government is most vocally pro-hindu fundamentalism. it seems in the delicate balancing act between the potentially volatile 'communal groups,' this courageous woman has fallen deep into the gap. some of her books, meanwhile, are banned in india.

for those who missed the ny times articles, they are still available online at this link and this one.

just to make clear, it is not all fun and games - or all elephants and relics - here.

elephants make a parade

once a year, the mula-gandha kuti temple in sarnath that houses relics of the buddha allows those relics to leave the security of its inner sanctum and circle the village. as is apparently most befitting to the physical traces of an enlightened being, the relics go forth on the back of an elephant, escorted by other elephants, marching bands, pilgrims from all corners of asia, nuns and monks with horns, with cameras, with incense and with palms together, along with the occasional government official. this year for the first time ever, they were also escorted by a much delighted mexican pilgrim named flora!

the relics kept here are said to have been unearthed at ruins in andhra pradesh at nagarjuna konda and at taxila in what is now pakistan, during the time of the british colonial government. the mahabodhi society administers the mulagandhi kuti temple, and both were foundered by the famous sri lankan anagarika dharmapala who did so much for the reservation of buddhist sites in india. the mahabodhi society somehow managed to secure for itself the great privilege of providing them with a more suitable home, and has shared that privilege with the entire village regularly since then.

in what is easily the most impressive event of the year for this dusty – if sacred – little town in northern india, the relic parade took place today. locals here kept saying that it was buddha purnima, or the buddha's birthday, a day that is otherwise reckoned to take place in april, may or june based on the lunar calendar. but in fact the relic procession is regularly scheduled for karthika purnima, the full moon day in this eleventh month of the year, when the weather in november is much more manageable - it was 75 degrees today, for example.

the largest elephant has the honor of carrying both the relics and the two VIPs who escort them, and is followed by several of its smaller brethren. the relics themselves are of course tiny and remain throughout the event in a gold container shaped like a stupa. (note if you can as well the symbol of a stupa emblazoned on the shimmery cloth draped around the lead elephant.)

no doubt about, buddha's relics and elephants together really make a parade!

no more a place

poetry remains the genre of the hour for me here. less wide-ranging but just as bound to place and to translocal moment, these lines are from arun kolatkar's poem on jejuri, a pilgrimage place i never visited when i was nearby in pune last year.

among the successes of his work is the strange wonder he can create by allowing an intimate description of the place to unfold inseparably from his distanced view of it.

he writes:

that's no doorstep.
it's a pillar on its side.
yes.
that's what it is.

and elsewhere, describing a shrine to the god maruti within the jejuri temple complex:

the roof comes down on Maruti's head.
nobody seems to mind.
... least of all Maruti himself
may be he likes a temple better this way.

a mongrel bitch has found a place
for herself and her puppies
in the heart of the ruin.
may be she likes a temple better this way.
the bitch looks at you guardedly
past a doorway cluttered with broken tiles.
the pariah puppies tumble over her.
may be they like a temple better this way.
the black eared puppy has gone a little too far.
a tile clicks under its foot.
it's enough to strike terror in the heart
of a dung beetle
and send him running for cover
to the safety of the broken collection box
that never did get a chance to get out
from under the crushing weight of the roof beam.

no more a place of worship this place
is nothing less than the house of god.

photo is not jejuri, but rather of a shrine i visited in andhra pradesh with my sanskrit teacher last year.

the ram's ultimate prayer to the tether

along paths both swift and haphazard, a few lines of christopher okigbo's verse find their way, on a smoky sunday afternoon, to the room wedged between field and household compound, in northern india, where i stay:

for we are listening in cornfields
among the windplayers,
listening to the wind leaning over
its loveliest fragment…..

and from elsewhere within the painfully slim volume of poetry he left behind:

for beyond the blare of sirened afternoons,
beyond the motorcades;
the voices and days, the echoing highways; beyond the latescence
of our dissonant airs; through our curtained eyeballs, through our shuttered sleep,
onto our forgotten selves, onto our broken images; beyond the barricades
commandments and edicts, beyond the iron tables beyond the elephant's
legendary patience, beyond the inviolable bronze bust; beyond crumbling towers...
beyond the iron path careering along the same beaten track…
the Glimpse of a dream lies smouldering in a cave, together with the mortally wounded birds.
Earth, unbind me; let me be the prodigal; let this be the ram's ultimate prayer to the tether . .

okigbo's poetry can be read online, and should be.
photo from shiftingpixel.com