Festival of the Soul

Nag Champa musk permeates the ether. Above bare heads of the enlightened hovers an ivory smoke, gently expanding to form a collective halo. A dark river of exotic faces dances along the village banks. Sublimely entranced, they approach the setting sun. Love flooding their hearts, they roar a euphonic anthem; propelling vibrant life into the approaching darkness. Shockwaves of energy pulse steadily to mridanga drum explosions. I hear a call for awakening, a paramount expression of desire– of love. This is no ordinary gathering, but a festival of the soul. A noble deity, jet black with moon-like eyes, leads the procession. He adorns a royal red chariot fit for the lord of the universe. I float comfortably in a technicolored ocean of the seekers, the desirous, the determined. Suddenly my mind rests; my heart takes the wheel and steers toward realization. How could such a foreign environment feel so familiar? This atmosphere has enraptured my heart, but how? From within I feel content, I feel satisfied. I recollect my previous life, the trials and tribulations, the stress and despondence. The only thing more tense and unrelenting than the modern world is the modern mind. How have I escaped such troubles? I feel alive, exhilarated, conscious, like an arctic plunge— I’ve deserted the Saharan sands. This was no mirage. This was no illusion. How long would my aimless trek have gone on if not for such extraordinary individuals? Out of all the cheaters and thieves who plague India's sacred soil, somehow I’ve come under the care of the devotees. As I stand, marveling the wonder of such fortune, suddenly, my trance is broken. A loving hand calls me to join the dancing— I happily oblige. The sun has set, but a brilliant light shines within us. A festival of the soul dissipates the darkness.