In a medical anthropology class, I once researched & wrote a paper on end-of-life rituals during the death and dying segement of our course. I had already been interested in death and dying literature thanks to massage school & discovering Buddhist death meditation practices. I was most inspired by “A Year to Live” by Stephen Levine. At the time of the presentation, I shared research on Taoist, Hindu, and Buddhist end-of-life rituals. When it was time to share on the Hindu rituals, I shared a mini-documentary as their customs seemed elaborate and rich such that I could not attempt to explain them. Little did I know, I’d end up visitng the very cremation ghat I had covered in my presentation a handful of years later. I just love this syncronicity 🙂  

After the presentation, I led my fellow classmates outside to tall pines which I had rope-tied canvases between. One read “WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO LIVE WELL?” & the second, “WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO DIE WELL?” And I must admit, I pause now as I revisit this with the recognition that my responses have changed in just a few short years time. Anyway, there we quietly contemplated, wrote our views, and gathered to discuss. Afterwards we created outdoor altars for loved ones both lost and for those suffering. I was delighted to return to the banners about a couple of weeks later and discover that others had contributed and more altars were contructed nearby. 

Since returning from India, I have thought at lengths about how to write on my experience at MA GANGA in Varanasi and have run into countless walls. This is where I’ll begin. Running into walls. I struggled to wrap my brain around the countless temples and statues dedicated to deities & gods. Even caught myself almost judging in moments as ‘prayer’ has long been an uncomfortable topic for me. I have had aversions to “blind devotion/faith”, often ‘trust’, and, yes ‘prayer’. Of course, anthropology helped me to understand why the majority of the world is religious. Still I could accept it as a long-term atheist, though it would not convert me was for sure. Staring out from the boat on the ganga, fires seemingly burn in all directions as almost a microcosm of the constancy of fires burning in India, the world, our hearts. My aversion to devotion of all sorts was confronted in the holiest of ancient cities.

I started to *really see* how immersed in the moment the entire culture of people was as they were by often paying respects, ringing bells, chanting, holding puja, and/or demonstrating reverence to *not self* but *the highest power* herself: nature, the divine, a godess, Ganesha, a sacred cow, Kali, a dried up strand of garland nailed to a beat up emptyless pictureframe, an altar with faceless clay figures strewn about dotted in orange and red pigment, mud, and hundreds of years of dust. How humbling witnessing these daily pujas became for me. The internal shift from aversion to admiration started with smacking my head upon a golden bell hanging in the doorway of  a Kali temple and “ended” standing before the flames of what is thought to be a 3,500 year old (constantly burning) fire of the Lord Shiva in Varanasi.

Here, I was instructed to pray for my family by a Hindu priest who not only charmed but also educated me & a couple friends on Hindu death rituals. As I stand among people mourning their lovers, dressed in white, heads shaved, kneeling at the feet of their deceased family members, I could hear the cries of dogs fighting, the priest laughing as he randomly took a call, and within moments, his voice soothing telling us to pray. And in that very moment, I prayed as I was told and not like I *fake prayed* as a little Catholic school kid. But, willingly, with my full heart and every wish of wellness I could conjure, and despite a wave of tears pouring down my face suddenly, I felt a great sense of ease and peace. I had let go of more than I could comprehend. Throughout the day, we would be reminded, ‘’cremation is education’’. And how that has stuck with me so much so that i have seemingly marked each departure of friends and loved ones as though it may be the last time we cross paths. And though extreme right now, it seems I am more deeply savoring moments and finding the right connections to be sacred. A word I wanted to *understand* but could only “find” in nature. 

What a gift to be able to participate in end of life rituals, to be welcomed to pujas, to pray with Hindu priests, and watch love pour into transitions, while watching bodies burn at our very feet. Though they were beings I never had the chance of meeting, in observing immense love, I somehow felt connected. I can easily say that I have never witnessed such a romance in my life as I did in Varanasi. An absolute tale of eros, tragedy, grief, and immense love against an enormous symphony of sound, clouds of smoke, gold dust flakes glimmer in the air. It seems I am forever changed and only time will tell in what ways. 

With great devotion, I will continue to carve out the time to reflect despite the societal push to be more social or ‘go do’ as *THIS* is needed now. And I’ll continue to sit with the silence to be able to hear what led me to and back from India and the messages that speak through the shadows of the journey that tell of beauty, growth, and wonder. Thank you MA for the countless lessons. Tonight my heart is with everyone and every place and every creature that I have ever loved and will ever love.