All is well in India

I sit this morning in the upper balcony of Papaji Satsang. On top of three story building it is surrounded by trees and covered with a Palapa roof and awnings. A small breeze blows through. The music in the air is of the Satsang singing chants, the honking of the horns, the banter of the lovely staff who are readying this place for our mid-day meal. I love the sound of their voices and their sweet faces have grown on me. Outside of this sanctuary we are surrounded by other parts of India - the grime, garbage, ribby dogs and cows that wander and feast upon the garbage, dirty children begging in the street, beautiful women wearing traditional dress in every color imaginable, men on motor cycles, smoke floating in the air. [caption id="attachment_794" align="alignright" width="300"] The lovely faces of India[/caption] To take it all in is impossible. I don’t even try as it is futile. I have heard people from the group scoff at those who say they feel at home here. I don’t feel “at home” as in this is my home but I feel surprisingly non-resistant and non-reactive to what I see, hear and smell. The funny thing is, that news or interactions from home rile me more.