INDIA... plus sa change..

I manifested my first spiritual visualization.

Leaving Frankfurt I longed for a Business Class seat to recline in for the ten hour journey to Chennai
But alas... 2000 dollars required... and so, I gave it up.
Got ready for the neck strain and crunch of economy class
in the season of Diwali (a huge Indian festival this next weekend).
And presto.. I stepped up to the counter, the flight was oversold and the only seat left was
a perfect window  in Business and it was all mine.
Ah, ve luff Lufthansa...
Watching GLEE above the clouds I kept an eye on the map as we flew over
Norway, Turkey, Dubai, Karachi, Pakistan,
just above and to the right of Tel Aviv.
"Santa has nothing on me", I thought, "except he brings gifts and
I come  empty handed."

We eased down into India ( is that a SUBWAY shop to the left of the runway?)
and once again stepped from the white dart hurled at the sky
into another poorly air conditioned hall filled with dreary post midnight laborers
children weeping for sleep, porters looking for a fare,
the caul of fatigue coating sari and blue jeans alike.

No sleep for me last night, waiting for the sun over Chennai,
contemplating the requests for extra tips from the drivers.
"Dollar? Euro madam?  It is nothing for you. I take anything. "
Through the window of the clammy cab
The same dust as Lima, grime as Marrakesch, sweat as Guayaquil,
mothers as Ensenada, teeshirts as Beijing...
food carts as Java, gleaming high rise residences behind battered gates as Jamaica.
Pollution as the window looking out from our window in Outer Mongolia...
Soldiers with guns at the ready.
The same tumble of mobile telephone shops, parts akimbo on the street,
bicycles, lovers, ROOMS AVAILABLE in the same dark alleys,
the putt putt of buzzy transport driven by barefoot laborers
catching up to fill the same roles in the lives of their families
their countries, their time.  Even the same politicians in each country
with wide smiles on colorful billboards next to government agricultural paintings
on crumbling walls... but here, the ultimate chutzpah for a potential leader..
he wears sunglasses... a big smile and no eyes.
 So much of the world flattened  by the enormous power of us..
our pervasive western culture. The pop stars, the externalization of dreams, the loss of secrets
in our very deep desire to feel connected.

How odd.... again.. the same theme.. placing dreams outside ourselves
we create again the same patterns of "the other"
leaving ourselves behind....

Perhaps it is only the outside that strives to be the same..
perhaps the internal engine remains specific to itself.

hmm.

The trill of English spoken here, the clip and rhythm is almost a foreign language.
I have gotten more blank stares in Chennai where English is spoken than I did in Germany..

I have noticed how many men wear western clothing and how many women are still in sari and sandal.

The breakfast buffet offered a Mexican section of salsa and faux guacamole, a German section of brot kraut und kartoffeln, a French pastry section, Italian cappuccino section and then.... several Indian dishes.

So, at 6 AM I filled my plate with Sag Paneer and poori, Bhagi and Saffron rice..
and this American stomach, soothed by German antacid, in an English colonial hotel
has been rock and rolling all day.