Big Time @ Ujjain

Oh Soft Master, Oh Silent One. One with the lovely doe-eyes, the one with the beautiful sarcastic smile. The one who has his hand showing boons and blessings to the ones less fortunate. Oh the calm morbid one, the one who has owned us through time and death indeed, 

How many may have left their lives, where have they gone to? I wonder, surmise that I too shall be joining the army at pearly gates way too soon. I wonder how it will look from a stranger’s eyes?

Now, where has Big Time disappeared to, the rolling force of apathy and destruction – changing dust to dust and raising more for another’s demise. The great god Kala – looking fervourous towards all, in deep drunken bliss, waiting to be pulled out of his hangover and then of course it is game over for all of us.

At the center of India – lies the beautiful Maha Kala temple situated in the small and powerful town of Ujjain. Some other time – there would have been fear and fervor like the kinds I love, with mystery and occult intermixed and how!

Wait, we have to wait for it. There is no other question about it. Look at the beauty and wonder which Maha Kala evokes. The master destroyer, who sits on skulls and bones. Eating and smoking flesh of his servants. Abhorring all that is wrong, there is some form of innocent childlike love which occupies the hearts of those sitting with him. To be eaten / devoured into his mouth and never to occupy the ego of false self again. This is how liberation tastes and smells like, I wonder such!

It was high time I stepped into the temple, old and grave, with images of the lord mustering out all forms of ignorance wherever it may arise from (as if it can from anywhere else than one’s mind)

I donned the cap of solitude and extroversion and went inside the temple quietly chanting the maha mantra – the name of this black blood drunk existential force. Which may set me free, which may not let me be – me. This is exactly what I wanted. I have had enough of wandering lusting around for liberation to come and seek me. 

I wish for quick death, even painful one. Doesn’t matter as long as that at the end of it – there is a tryst with this supernatural entity. This dark force – couple of dark energy. Male and conscious – with its foot stomping me out – so that I can never exist again. This I wonder most of all, and how I wonder.

The temple is defintely old, yet even during ritualistic hindu calendar times, it would not be so crowded. This mad hatter cannot offer anything to his devotees, those who exist because he hasn’t absorbed them, kind of funny I feel – that he hasn’t merged his devotees, maybe they need to learn how to die before they really do.

There was lot of liquor and blood to be had here in the past. This was of course the master of war we are praying and paying obeisance to. Not some jester or make belief. This is the gory truth of nature. That comes must pass, that passes must burn, that burns must fade, never to be seen or replicated any which way.

I feel good, if I must say. There was fright and decay. Now all left to unto its own play. I bother not what happens to this fragment of body and mind. The heart too if I was to speak philosophically, its all OK.

Ok to die and fade away, alone morose or whichever dismal exiting way. I have thrown wind to the precautions, and waiting for the silent aghori master to come tap my shoulder and show me one last time the way. Then no more – no more indeed of this world’s endless shadow play. This much is certain whatever comes my way.

I pray and meditate how much I can inside this commercial tomb of past relics, where perhaps the linga exudes the power of commerce now more that any real form of power. Oh of the Lore! Where warriors came and made this external symbol a sign of their inner failures. Died on the spot and gave up their material coils for the one true Natha!
The temple reeks of the power of days gone by. When people prayed to their deaths as a savior from this taskless ramshackled life which they didnt call a life (quite contrary to nowadays - where people boast of the kind and quality of life they have, yet I feel they have none). What admiration to people who would throw away everything to look at an abstract yet real and bounding concept of death. Death which ends everything. Removes memory and removes relations. This is what they prayed to, emulated and finally gave everything to. Before the real physical death happened. Some even created their own final ending. So they could have and give up control during the time of their reckoning. Their salvation. 
(Its not about the temple - its not about the place even though there is energy there. There has to be real founded feeling. Real existential requirements which make you go there, to be a part of the hum drum and the sharp and true loneliness of the crematorium) 

The Shiva Linga - adorned with a face; hair made to look like a mustache -> impressive and adorable. With mock and reverent devotees all around touching kissing praying to the symbol of phallic stone consciousness. The motor drive which will fly us into outer space; from where we originated. Where we must make our final journey to stay. I prayed too, diving deep into the ocean of inner chaos and the peace which ensues from therein. Stayed not for long as the filthy police wannabes were busy chasing away the love which may come looking at something so simple after lifetimes. But that is useless to impress upon them anywhich ways. 
I sat silent, exuberant and in peace and then it was TIME; I mean BIG TIME to leave. I know it would come to this, and soon enough it would come to the burning of one's own pyre. When would it be time for such deeds? 

How would I too, without adequate love and care. I too would wither – perhaps the master shall come. Offer me his Damaru (drums) and Daaru (wine). Perhaps we could dance together in the hopelessness of it all, one last time before he could dine on my corpse and make it a feast and fest hopefully!

Lets pray to that for sure.

Om NamaCivaya