I had a wonderful weekend. On Saturday morning I visited Pashupatinath, one of the most sacred places in Nepal, the site of the world’s largest temple dedicated to Shiva, and a place which is absolutely at the heart of the founding myths of Nepal and the Kathmandu valley.

This is the place where devout Nepalis come to die and be cremated. It is also where couples who desire children come to pray, and where young children come to be ceremonial inducted into their faith. It is haphazard, frantic and deeply moving place. Birth, death, and rebirth (through cremation) jostle along next to each other. The whole complex is teeming with Sadhus, deadlocked, stoned, and ash garbed devotees of Shiva. It is also teeming with tourists. I was one of them.

This is no bad thing. Pashupatinath is a great place to gain some understanding of the fundamental truths which underscore most Nepalese lives. It is a beautiful (if at times shocking) scene. It is also word heritage site in both the legalistic (UNESCO etc) and actual senses of the term. Admittedly there are those tourists who make you cringe. The kind who wander up to a funeral pyre and start taking snap shots of the bereaved. But I don’t think that they represent the majority.

I was very fortunate that morning to have been overheard discussing the entrance ticket price in Nepali by a Nepali visitor. He was intrigued- who was this foreigner falteringly speaking his language? He came and introduced himself and then began to show me around. We saw ancient pagodas which had, over time, developed crusts of red powder (applied liberally in the act of worship) in front of which peddlars, the devout, tourists and children mingled. We heard the mournful notes of conch shells, summoning Lord Shiva to collect the souls of the dying. Saw the smoke of pyres surrounded by silently grieving families.

Hinduism and Buddhism (and particularly in the Kathmandu Valley they exist symbiotically) emphasise the cyclical nature of existance. Here more than anywhere else I saw it face to face.   It was a fascinating, moving (and tiring) but unforgettable morning.

After a couple of hours it was time to move on. That afternoon a number of us were heading from Kathmandu to the hill town of Nargakot, in preparation for a walk the next day.

The road to Nargakot is rather like the road to hell. And I don’t mean that it is paved with good intentions. In fact if it were paved at all it would be a significant bonus as currently (thanks to an aid project financed by the Japanese Government) it is a twisting, rutted, slow moving selection of roadworks. I arrived in Nargakot feeling unpleasantly like I’d been in a blender for the last hour or so. My delight at arrival was therefore already fairly high. It was only increased by the view:

The next day we began our walk. Heading up to the top of the ridge we had a spectacular view of the middle hills climbing up till they reached the Himalaya. The valley shelved steeply away below us, giant steps of terraces bright yellow with mustard. The walk took us down from here to the valley floor, meandering through Newari and Tamang (two of Nepal’s multitude of ethnic groups) villages. It was a reminder that in Nepal the ‘beaten track’ is very thin. Nargakot has a tendency to be touristy by in these places we felt like we’d left that behind.

We stopped at a tea shop for a snack where Rs. 100 (about 80p) bought us seven cups of tea, and 3 packets of biscuits. This felt like Nepal as it really is-not dressed up in its flashy touristy tinsel, but genuine, hard, friendly and beautiful.

It was with this idyll in mind that I sat down this morning to breakfast. I picked up the Kathmandu Post and saw this:

Feast for fast foodies

KATHMANDU, NOV 22 – Come Wednesday, and Kathmanduites will be able to savour crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) and delicious pizzas of Pizza Hut. Yes, the world’s two best known fast food chains have finally arrived in Kathmandu.

For those who like heavy helpings and a take-out, there are options available. Regular Bucket has eight crispy chicken pieces, priced at Rs. 639 and the Large Bucket at Rs. 899. The most expensive item in the menu: Large Bucket of Hot Wings (40 pieces), priced at Rs. 899

These entrants should be a welcome change for Kathmanduites for whom momos have been the all-time favourite. Stationed at the Annapurna Complex, Durbar Marg, KFC’s outlet occupies the ground floor and Pizza Hut the first floor.

Opened on Sunday by Randy Berry, Charge d’Affaires at the US Embassy in Nepal and Ravi Jaipuria, chairman of R.J Corp, the chains will provide a new taste to the Nepali consumer.

The KFC tagline reads, ‘Its finger lickin good’. And the menus at KFC in Durbarmarg will surely have just this effect. Those who’ve already tasted it abroad are delighted. One of them is Prasiddha Bahadur Pandey, president of Hotel Association of Nepal: “I feel happy to see KFC & Pizza Hut in Nepal since I’ve been quite fond of them.”

If you are still wondering about the damage to your pocket, Jayapuria, who runs the chain in Nepal and India, has this to say: “It’s affordable for middle class Nepalis.”

The price range starts from Rs. 69 for Veggie Snacker and Rs. 79 for Chicken Snacker. “Hot Wings” costs Rs. 119 to Rs. 219, depending on the quantity one opts for. Boneless Crispy Chicken costs Rs. 149. Vegetarians need not panic. There is burger and Veggie Feast Meal, at Rs. 209.

Now I am a food snob. I admit it. I will restrain myself though from attacking this story based on the actually appalling quality of the food on offer at KFC. Instead I thought I’d make mention of the crass and glaring culture clash at work here. I thought I might mention that given that 82.5% of the population of this country live on less than $2 a day (Rs. 144) and that I very much doubt they would want to spend it on some “hot wings”. I also thought I should shout from the rooftops about how unbelievable it is that the US Charge-d’Affaires actually believes that it falls within his remit to stand and cut the ribbon of this ghastly….horrible….crass…ah that’s it….carbuncle on the face of a much loved friend (thankyou Prince Charles).

I know. It’s not for me to preach about what people should want to eat. It isn’t for me to say that I wish Nepalis stuck with Momos (beautiful steamed dumplings). It is not for me to hold a country back and wish away the development. But I almost wish it was. I almost wish that my morning at Pashupatinath and my tea and biscuits for 80p marked the limit of cultural exchange in Nepal. I know I’m being arrogant and maybe even a little selfish, but I really cannot believe that the best piece of US culture to export to Nepal is finger licking good.

You’re really found of India, Rajasthan and argentic, don’t you? The Guru exhibition makes you travel with a portraits gallery (guru, Sâdhu, prince and princess) from the first part of the twentieth century. Opening on 20 November @ Brutal’s: 13 rue de la Forge Royale, 75011 Paris - from 18h30

Related posts: 

Paris: “Koyasan”, the photo exhibition of Yoshimitsu Nagasaka 

Photoquai, Paris: Second Biennial Exhibition of World Images

Young Gallery, Brussels: Exhibition of Nick Brandt, “A Shadow Falls”  

“We should worship lord Shiva so that we are freed from our worldly attachments just like a fruit falls from a tree after ripening. 
Once we are successful in doing this we are liberated from this vicious cycles of life and death.”
(The Yajurveda यजुर्वेद, 1400 BCE)

Last morning as I was taking a few pictures along the Ganges in Varanasi (Benaras) and I saw this man stepping down at Jatar ghat.
He came nearby where I was standing and I made several of his portaits.
He seemed to have attained that state of freedom away from wordly attachments…

Se qualcuno mi chiedesse quanto mi arrabbio, risponderei mai. Mi piace pensarmi come un sadhu indiano, lontano dalle cose del mondo e indifferente alle avversitá. Mi vedo troneggiare sulle piccolezze quotidiane e guardarle sprezzante, quasi con benevolenza. La sveglia che non funziona e la conseguente corsa alla prima riunione; la boria dei capi e la stupiditá dei colleghi. Le mie imprecazioni. Tutto piccolo, impermanente. Mi vedo sudare budditá da tutti i pori. E ovviamente é la mia vanitá che sudo. Vento di vento.

Fuori dalla finestra  vedo palazzi a perdita d’occhio e strade e macchine dai fari accesi. Forse se abitassi al 30esimo piano, o al 40esimo piano, sarebbe piú facile distaccarsi dalle cose della terra. Chi abita in un grattacielo al 50esimo piano ha vita facile. Per questo gli attici costano sempre. Non si possono prendere sul serio cose piccole come formiche.

Om Sathguru Shri Seshadri Swamigal Thiruvadikkae

“The only way to realize God is service of Humanity”

Hazrat Tajuddin Baba’s (Nagpur), glorious mission assumes a dimension, which is far superior to the narrow concept of personal salvation devoid of any wider humanistic significance. He demonstrated that the saints are the only true witness to the truths of Religion; that the dogma, bigotry or ritual forms of religion cannot tie them down. Though a Muslim by birth, the great saint never treated Hindus as aliens; he never criticized or condemned their faith, never discriminated against them in showering his grace and the gifts. Instances speak better than words.

Islam is like all the other revealed religions in that it is based on love and peace and not on hatred. Religion is only a means and God is the only end. God, while on earth will protect such a man of complete faith; and when the hour of death, chosen by God arrives, the true devotee would attain immortality in heaven. No mortal can kill him. The Hindus worship me as their God. I allow them to do so. But I myself am a devotee of God.

Thus Tajuddin Baba did not merely acquiesce to the persistent practice of orthodox people. On the other hand, he demonstrated his transcendence over narrow factionalism by actively helping men of other religions also in their troubles and spiritual progress.

Among his disciples was the great Parsi saint Meher Baba also, whom countless people hailed as a perfect Spiritual Master.

There was the Hindu Sadhu Upasni Maharaj, the famous saint of Sakori. The spiritual attitude of Hazrat Baba Tajuddin is evident from the fact that He and Shri Sai Baba of Shirdi, acted in tacit union in the shaping of several spiritual giants and the two saints, mentioned above, Upasni Baba and Meher Baba are the products of their united efforts.

Distinction between ‘I’ and ‘He’ :

Once at Sakardara Tajuddin Baba was strolling on the bank of a tank about 2 p.m. he was followed by a group of devotees.

One of them was one Chand Khan. The Baba stopped at the place and asked Chand Khana: “When such a great saint is going, why don’t you recite any praise?” Chand khan obeyed and sang a song, which was a verse in praise, on hearing its last line Baba suddenly said: “Keep quiet, you are hitting me with big stones”. Chand Khan was surprised at this mysterious remark. The remark obviously implied that Baba Tajuddin could not stand the distinction between ‘I’ and ‘He’ in the sense of difference. He implied that the difference between the ‘I’ and ‘He’ (Almighty) must be annihilated in the Lord.

He corrected ‘them’ for confining Divinity to his physical frame, for the Lord is immanent in ‘all’ including the devotees. This was the teaching of all great saints that men should try to tear down the ‘veil’ that hides His face.

Once a devotee had a grievance: “Master, my mind is caught up in duality.” Baba replied, “It is because the six wicked ones have taken shelter in your heart. Loneliness is needed to be free of them.”

On another occasion, Baba clarified that “solitude does not lie in the forests but even while being in the world, the mind should be alone, aloof of all worldly enticements.” To another devotee who made a similar complaint, the Baba said: “Free the captive pigeons” which implied that his desires, like the captive pigeons, awreak havoc in his heart, and that driving them out is the only way to leave the heart quiet and clear, as expressed in these lines:

A perfect Master can transfer mystical experience to others.

Merely putting on the garb of a Sadhu or Fakir, merely uttering the daily Puja and Namaz cannot lead one to God realization.

He alone is a man, indeed, who has conquered all human desires and anger. In the path of divinity these two are man’s foremost enemies. Anger and lust for woman make a man blind. There is no other way out for man but to conquer these deadly enemies if one wants to tread on the path of divinity and attain God.

The Lord asks me for explanation regarding their sins and not them, for they are mine.

One morning Huzoor Tajuddin was sitting at the main gate at Sakardara. He wrote a long overall at that time. One Karim Baba went to him at about 5a.m. and prostrated before him.

Tajuddin asked him, “How do I look now?” Karim said, “You shine bright in the glory of God.” Then Tajuddin Sarkar stripped himself completely naked and repeated the same question. Karim answered, “You shine in the majesty of God”.

Tajuddin then kept the hand leaves of his garments in Karim’s hand and said, “Hold fast you need fear nothing either here or hereafter.”

]]> http://designldg.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/achieving-moksha/ Tue, 29 Sep 2009 08:34:52 +0000 designldg http://designldg.wordpress.com/2009/09/29/achieving-moksha/

This picture is not a stolen image, there is a story behind this.
I know this sadhu since a few years, we never had a real conversation but when we meet we say hello to each other.
He always allows me to take a few pictures of him and he never asks me anything, like most of the people who live on the ghats he knows who I am and what I am doing in Varanasi (Benaras).
This was shot in May near Nepali ghat along the Ganges. 
It was still very hot, we were all expecting the monsoon which didn’t come this summer and this man was avoiding the sun at the entrance of a hidden passage which leads to the city.
I knew he didn’t see me coming, I enjoyed taking a few natural shots of what he was doing and when he realized I was there he burst laughing, he enjoyed that picture when he saw it on the screen of my camera.

Becoming a sadhu is a difficult lifestyle. 
Sadhus are considered to be legally dead to the country of India, they have to die onto themselves and may be required to attend their own funeral before following a guru for many years until they have enough experience to strike out on their own.
This life of renunciation is described as the fourth stage of life in the classical Sanskrit literature of the Hindu tradition.

When I was walking along Goverdhan, there I saw both of them sitting along there.

People in India do respect the Sadhus/Saints, but now days, many are not really Sadhu by nature and they wear the mask of sadhu to make fool of people and have an eye on their money, particularly in Urban areas.

Sadhus normally lives in their own, they dont bother others and lives peaceful life.  Real sadhus have vast knowledge (Gyaan). And on time to time provide solutions to general public whenever approached.

TRACK LISTING:
1. Klack (Impetto remix) – Who’s Who
2. House Beatz (Original Mix) – The Raytech
3. Swahili Song (Original Mix) – Marshall and Baldo
4. Unknown
5. Disco Trumpet – DJ Megha
6. Trumpet Girl (Juan Magan Remix) – Coolshop
7. Dance Fantasy (12″ Mix)-Jimmy D Robinson feat. FC Nond
8. Lola’s Theme ( Victor Calderone Vocal Mix) – Shapeshifters
9. Sophie (Michael Cassette Remix) – Club 84
10. Where are you now(D.O.N.S and DBN Remix)-DJ DLG&Erick Morillo
11. Marjawa – DJ NYK
12. Judai (Kilogram Mix)
13. Lethal Industry (DJ Red vs. Josh Dupont Mix) – Tiesto
14. Pure Love (Mary Angel Radio Edit) – Arash
15. Maan Tu Talbat ( Remix) – Hamza
16. Can’t Get Enough (Henrik B Mix) – Soulsearcher
17. Addicted (Club Mix) – Serge Devant
18. Burning Inside (Tikaro & J Louis And Ferran)-Wally Lopez
19. Beithu (Muzzaik Remix)-Sultan And Tommyboy Feat Zara
20. Um Belo Dia De Sol (Victor Da Silva Mix) – Steve Paradise Feat Vera Medin

http://www.mediafire.com/download.php?mojymiuzeyw

Here begins my travels. Like India (I imagine), New York is steeped in layers of history. The city is a clash of cultures, a proverbial pot pie of traditions. It is entirely overwhelming, though this being my third visit in the last 2 years, I feel well equipped for the challenges of dodging Manhattan Yuppie fast-walkers, pungent street-dwellers, and the ever belligerent cab driver. All the while, if New York is a pot pie, than I anticipate Delhi will be a feast of socio-cultural delicacies…

In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of Sadhus and Siva!

Aradhana Dham

Mulnayak: Nearly 177 cms. high, white – colored idol of Bhagawan Mahavir Swami in the Padmasana posture.

On the thirteenth day of the bright half of the month of Magh. in the year 2049 of the Vikram era, the great festivity of installation of this splendid idol was celebrated under the auspices of Acharyas and 125 Sadhu – Sadhvis. On the bank of the Sinhan river in the midst of the pleasing sound of the rippling waves of water of the dam, near the gardens of various fruits, on the shore of the western sea, the beautiful, splendid and delightful temple stands. Its main gate is 35 ft. high. It reminds one of Rampol.

Works of art and Sculpture: The temple is 98 ft. high. Inside the temple. there are two big brass bells weighing more than 60 kilograms. In the temple there are idols of Bhagawan Adinath, Bhagawan Shantinath and Bhagawan Purshadaniya Parshnath. Near the main gate of the temple, there are small temples of Manibhadravir and Saraswatidevi. For meditation, this is a very beautiful place.

Guidelines: This sacred place of Halar is at distance of 40 kilometers from Jamnagar. Airport 35 kms in Jamnagar highway road. Bus services and private vehicles are available. There are an upashraya, an aimbilshala, and an asylum for old and weak animals. There are also good boarding and lodging provisions.

Trust: Halar Tirth Aradhanadham, Vadaliyasinhan-316305, Taluka-Jamkhambhaliya, Dist.-Jamnagar, Gujarat State, India

www.aradhanadham.org

|| Om Sri Vishvaya Namaha Om ||

suprasadah prasannatmaa vishvadrug vishvabhug vibhuhu |

satkartaa satkrutah sadhurjahnurnarayanO naraha || 26 ||

Pronunciation guide:

supra-saadah-prasannaatmaa-vishva-drug-vishva-bhug-vibhu-hu |

sath-kartaa-sath-krutah-sadhur-jahnur-naaraayanO-naraha ||

Name: Sadhuhu

Pronunciation:

saa-dhu-hu

saa, dhu (d as th in the), hu (who)

Meaning:

One who has mastered everything that can be learnt

Notes:

Namavali:

Om Sadhave Namaha Om

This piece was kinda inspired by a film I just saw w/my Mama.  The movie I speak of is New York (Hindi), and stars Katrina Kaif and John Abraham.  If you live in the Bay Area you can watch it at Naz 8 Cinemas in Fremont.  http://www.naz8.com

This film is about a guy who is detained and coersed into becoming an informant after 9/11 because he had a friend in college who the FBI accused of being a terrorist.  At the end of the movie they shared some statistics, stating that over a thousand people were taken into custody and basically tortured, right here in the U.S.  And only about 200(?) people were found guilty.

The movie really hit home, because although I was born here and I’m proud of where I’m from, “Mera dil hai Hindustani.”  Meaning, my heart is Indian.  Well, my heart is actually International, Intergalactical… All of that.  I don’t know, maybe I was Indian in a past life.  But I love India and I love my Indian people.  And it hurts me to see people who have nothing to do with all that madness be wrongly accused and harrassed.  Some people even lost their lives over this.

There are so many Muslim people who would never even hurt a fly.  I hope we can kill this ignorance that has been fed to us.  I also think we need to be schooled on different world religions.  People need to be taught about the many different religions that exist in India alone.  It is really ridiculous that men wearing turbans were preyed upon, being that they were probably Sikh, and Sikhism is to Islam what Buddhism is to Christianity…

Anyway, the guys who suffered this abuse ended up with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, severe Depression and all kinds of other problems.  And all I can say is we’ve got work to do.  I hope that everyone, the victims and the culprits, can grow and leave their past behind them.  And we’ve got to try to live without inflicting pain on others.  Life is so much better if you treat people (and animals) right!  Plus, you’re accumulating more good Karma.  Think about it…

So this piece is for those who have dedicated their lives to ending the suffering of all beings and finding out what it all is really about.  I found this picture of a Sadhu, or Holy Man, in a book and I just started drawing.  The music is my fuel, and it pushes me to create.  I don’t think I need to tell you what I’m listening to because you should already know.

Check it:

“If you see the future

Ask it if I’m there

Ask Him if I’m there

Ask it to tell you

If I ever made a stand

Ask if you may care to mention

Did I learn from everything?

And even if it takes a sea of eternity to know

I’ll wait a century

A buried mess of bones…

KABOOOM! *Lightning Strikes*

I tried to weave those lyrics into the pencil strokes.  Now I’m trying to figure out what to put in the white space and how to send a message that is understood by all viewers.  Gimme a minute or 2,000…

Yes, I once again bit some great Lama’s style with a cloud I saw on a Padmapani thangka.  It may look like another pretty, girly piece of work but that’s not what I want this one to be about.  So stay tuned…

…hmmmm.  now i just have to fill in the white spaces…

The BBC ran an article on the solar eclipse that happened yesterday here. Seems everybody was out gazing at it.

Here’s the link.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8161578.stm

Here in Vrindavan it was different. Such an event is considered inauspicious and auspicious at the same time. Certainly it is not recommended to stare at it.

The bad bit is that people here believe that it is so powerful  it can contaminate food and so no one cooks  during the time of the eclipse and for a period before and afterwards. Temples close for the duration as it  is thought the food offerings normally made would be  polluted. Restaurants close and if you eat at this time it is thought you will become ill.

The good side is that it is meant to be a very good time to practice religious ritual or perform devotional acts as their potency or benefit is magnified.  The whole town of Vrindavan took to the parikrama path, with husbands wives, children, sadhus, and just about everybody and their granny seemed to pass by the gate of my ashram, (which is on the parikrama path) all day long.

Rooftop view at 6am morning of eclipse

COULD YOU SURVIVE WITHOUT MONEY?

MEET THE GUY WHO DOES

In Utah, a modern-day caveman has lived for the better part of a decade on zero dollars a day. People used to think he was crazy.

By Christopher Ketcham; Photograph by Mark Heithoff

DANIEL SUELO LIVES IN A CAVE. UNLIKE THE average American—wallowing in credit-card debt, clinging to a mortgage, terrified of the next downsizing at the office—he isn’t worried about the economic crisis. That’s because he figured out that the best way to stay solvent is to never be solvent in the first place. Nine years ago, in the autumn of 2000, Suelo decided to stop using money. He just quit it, like a bad drug habit. His dwelling, hidden high in a canyon lined with waterfalls, is an hour by foot from the desert town of Moab, Utah, where people who know him are of two minds: He’s either a latter-day prophet or an irredeemable hobo. Suelo’s blog, which he maintains free at the Moab Public Library, suggests that he’s both. “When I lived with money, I was always lacking,” he writes. “Money represents lack. Money represents things in the past (debt) and things in the future (credit), but money never represents what is present.” On a warm day in early spring, I clamber along a set of red-rock cliffs to the mouth of his cave, where I find a note signed with a smiley face: CHRIS, FEEL FREE TO USE ANYTHING, EAT ANYTHING (NOTHING HERE IS MINE). From the outside, the place looks like a hollowed teardrop, about the size of an Amtrak bathroom, with enough space for a few pots that hang from the ceiling, a stove under a stone eave, big buckets full of beans and rice, a bed of blankets in the dirt, and not much else. Suelo’s been here for three years, and it smells like it.

Night falls, the stars wink, and after an hour, Suelo tramps up the cliff, mimicking a raven’s call—his salutation—a guttural, high-pitched caw. He’s lanky and tan; yesterday he rebuilt the entrance to his cave, hauling huge rocks to make a staircase. His hands are black with dirt, and his hair, which is going gray, looks like a bird’s nest, full of dust and twigs from scrambling in the underbrush on the canyon floor. Grinning, he presents the booty from one of his weekly rituals, scavenging on the streets of Moab: a wool hat and gloves, a winter jacket, and a white nylon belt, still wrapped in plastic, along with Carhartt pants and sandals, which he’s wearing. He’s also scrounged cans of tuna and turkey Spam and a honeycomb candle. All in all, a nice haul from the waste product of America. “You made it,” he says. I hand him a bag of apples and a block of cheese I bought at the supermarket, but the gift suddenly seems meager. Suelo lights the candle and stokes a fire in the stove, which is an old blackened tin, the kind that Christmas cookies might come in. It’s hooked to a chain of soup cans segmented like a caterpillar and fitted to a hole in the rock. Soon smoke billows into the night and the cave is warm. I think of how John the Baptist survived on honey and locusts in the desert. Suelo, who keeps a copy of the Bible for bedtime reading, is satisfied with a few grasshoppers fried in his skillet.

HE WASN’T ALWAYS THIS WAY. SUELO graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in anthropology, he thought about becoming a doctor, he held jobs, he had cash and a bank account. In 1987, after several years as an assistant lab technician in Colorado hospitals, he joined the Peace Corps and was posted to an Ecuadoran village high in the Andes. He was charged with monitoring the health of tribespeople in the area, teaching first aid and nutrition, and handing out medicine where needed; his proudest achievement was delivering three babies. The tribe had been getting richer for a decade, and during the two years he was there he watched as the villagers began to adopt the economics of modernity. They sold the food from their fields—quinoa, potatoes, corn, lentils—for cash, which they used to purchase things they didn’t need, as Suelo describes it. They bought soda and white flour and refined sugar and noodles and big bags of MSG to flavor the starchy meals. They bought TVs. The more they spent, says Suelo, the more their health declined. He could measure the deterioration on his charts. “It looked,” he says, “like money was impoverishing them.”

The experience was transformative, but Suelo needed another decade to fashion his response. He moved to Moab and worked at a women’s shelter for five years. He wanted to help people, but getting paid for it seemed dishonest—how real was help that demanded recompense? The answer lay, in part, in the Christianity of his childhood. In Suelo’s nascent philosophy, following Jesus meant adopting the hard life prescribed in the Sermon on the Mount. “Giving up possessions, living beyond credit and debt,” Suelo explains on his blog, “freely giving and freely taking, forgiving all debts, owing nobody a thing, living and walking without guilt . . . grudge [or] judgment.” If grace was the goal, Suelo told himself, then it had to be grace in the classical sense, from the Latin gratia, meaning favor—and also, free. By 1999, he was living in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand—he had saved just enough money for the flight. From there, he made his way to India, where he found himself in good company among the sadhus, the revered ascetics who go penniless for their gods. Numbering as many as 5 million, the sadhus can be found wandering roads and forests across the subcontinent, seeking enlightenment in self-abnegation. “I wanted to be a sadhu,” Suelo says. “But what good would it do for me to be a sadhu in India? A true test of faith would be to return to one of the most materialistic, money-worshipping nations on earth and be a sadhu there. To be a vagabond in America, a bum, and make an art of it—the idea enchanted me.”

THERE ISN’T ENOUGH SPACE IN SUELO’S cave for two, so I sleep in the open, at the edge of a hundred-foot cliff. No worries about animals, he says. Though mountain lions drink from the stream, and bobcats hunt rabbits under the cottonwoods, the worst he’s experienced was a skunk that sprayed him in the face. Mice scurry over his body in the cave, and kissing bugs sometimes suck the blood from under his fingernails while he sleeps. He shrugs off these indignities. “After all, it’s their cave too,” he says. I hunker down near a nest of scorpions, which crawl up the canyon walls, ignoring me.

The morning ritual is simple and slow: a cup of sharp tea brewed from the needles of piñon and juniper trees, a swim in the cold emerald water where the creek pools in the red rock. Then, two naked cavemen lounging under the Utah sun. Around noon, we forage along the banks and under the cliffs, looking for the stuff of a stir-fry dinner. We find mustard plants among the rocks, the raw leaves as satisfying as cauliflower, and down in the cool of the creek—where Suelo gets his water and takes his baths (no soap for him) —we cull watercress in heads as big as supermarket lettuce, and on the bank we spot a lode of wild onions, with bulbs that pop clean from the soil. In leaner times, Suelo’s gatherings include ants, grubs, termites, lizards, and roadkill. He recently found a deer, freshly run over, and carved it up and boiled it. “The best venison of my life,” he says.

I tell him that living without money seems difficult. What about starvation? He’s never gone without a meal (friends in Moab sometimes feed him). What about getting deadly ill? It happened once, after eating a cactus he misidentified—he vomited, fell into a delirium, thought he was dying, even wrote a note for those who would find his corpse. But he got better. That it’s hard is exactly the point, he says. “Hardship is a good thing. We need the challenge. Our bodies need it. Our immune systems need it. My hardships are simple, right at hand—they’re manageable.” When I tell him about my rent back in New York—$2,400 a month—he shakes his head. What’s left unsaid is that I’m here writing about him to make money, for a magazine that depends for its survival on the advertising revenue of conspicuous consumption. As he prepares a cooking fire, Suelo tells me that years ago he had a neighbor in the canyon, an alcoholic who lived in a cave bigger than his. The old man would pan for gold in the stream and net enough cash each month to buy the beer that kept him drunk. Suelo considers the riches of our own forage. “What if we saw gold for what it is?” he says meditatively. “Gold is pretty but virtually useless. Somebody decided it has worth, and everybody accepted this decision. The natives in the Americas thought Europeans were insane because of their lust for such a useless yellow substance.”

He sautés the watercress, mustard leaves, and wild onions, mixing in fresh almonds he picked from a friend’s orchard and ghee made from Dumpster-dived butter, and we eat out of his soot-caked pans. From the perch on the cliff, the life of the sadhu seems reasonable. But I don’t want to live in a cave. I like indoor plumbing (Suelo squats). I like electricity. Still, there’s an obvious beauty in the simplicity of subsistence. It’s an un-American notion these days. We don’t revere our ascetics, and we dismiss the idea that money could be some kind of consensual delusion. For most of us, it’s as real as the next house payment. Suelo doesn’t take public assistance or use food stamps, but he does survive in part on our reality, the discarded surfeit of the money system that he denounces—a system, as it happens, that recently looked like it was headed for the cliff. Suelo is 48, and he doesn’t exactly have a 401(k). “I’ll do what creatures have been doing for millions of years for retirement,” he says. “Why is it sad that I die in the canyon and not in the geriatric ward well-insured? I have great faith in the power of natural selection. And one day, I will be selected out.” Until then, think of him like the raven, cleaning up the carcasses the rest of us leave behind.

Article from: http://men.style.com/details/features/landing?id=content_9817

My comment: Being a sadhu is fine if that’s what you truly desire, and your country/environment supports that non-activity. However, one of the points of Buddhism is the snuffing out of desire.

Living the life prescribed by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount would certainly be a challenge, even more so in a Western country today. But, after all, Jesus had magical powers, so we are told.

My guess is that Daniel is probably cold in the winter and could use the companionship of a sadhu-ette. That little cave would certainly be smelling better soon, don’t you think?

UPDATE: OK, I found Mr. Suelo’s blog: http://www.zerocurrency.blogspot.com/

Another of his web sites: http://sites.google.com/site/livingwithoutmoney/

And, he welcomes e-mail: zerocurrency@gmail.com

But please, read his blogs before you write him. He seems to be a genuine person from whom we could learn.

This man can be best described as a “sadhu,” someone who has chosen to live on the edges of society so that they can focus on their personal spiritual development.  A sadhu renounces family, possessions, career and anything else that would distract from the goal of “moksha,” liberation from the wheel of life, liberation from having to be reborn.

That said, it appears to me that this sadhu and many others that I saw in India, was not really escaping distraction.  So many sadhus fill the spaces where tourists are found.  For three days this sadhu spent many hours in animated conversations with young white tourists, mostly Americans while sitting on the steps of the ghat that was the busiest in Varanasi.

In contrast to individuation, moksha seems to be about abandonment of self, of ego.  Individuation assumes becoming more conscious and in the end, more related to society.  But, both the sadhu and the individuant find themselves on the fringes of society.  One as an ascetic, denying self; the other also in his or her own way, holy while celebrating and embracing the union of opposites within.  In the end, both might be the same.  Yet, for me, somehow, there is a difference.  For me, the route of individuation results in giving service in a holistic sense to the collective.  It becomes a journey of making a difference in the raising of the collective consciousness.  Both are about “soul,” about saving and nourishing the soul.  I need to learn so much more.

“Lord make me to know my end, and what is the measure of my days….. certainly every man at his best state is but vapor.” Ps 39:4,5

There are defining moments in our lives that reveal the sovereignty of God to our souls, experiences which highlight the reality that our lives are not in our own hands but instead they are following a story that was written before time. This enlightenment was given to me somewhere between an 800 ft. cliff, a blaring melodic horn, a rickety, rusty bus and a speeding taxi-cab on a single lane highway that switchbacked the ascent from Dera Dun to Mussorie India.  The philosophy was that if the horn was loud enough one could approach a blind turn with as much speed that the 1985 diesel engine could provide.

Mussorie is a kind of resort town for the upperclass New Dehli families. Commodities range, from a gondola to the top of the mountain, to teenage boys who will gladly push your infant in a stroller for you while you shop, they even provide the stroller. Though the Himalayas were fogged over by dust storms the whole time, it was nice to get above the heat and see a view of India from some elevation. We even climbed high enough to see some monkeys playing in conifer trees.

The three of us seemed to be doing great together, but in hindsight I can see where little comments and frustrations were starting to surface between Jason and I. On top of this it was clear that unity of purpose had been lost somewhere along the journey, we really didn’t know why we were in Mussorie, sure we wanted to see mountains, but this was hardly the destination we had in mind for our trip to India. When we were in Israel we had talked about praying for the sick, and seeing God work miracles through our lives to the people of India; we hadn’t prayed for anyone, much less even talked to God together since the night we arrived.

Perhaps it was descending back into the heat, maybe it was an embarrassment of a shortage of funds to pay the bus fare, it could have been the intense muslim call to prayer blaring in the background, or the fear of being left alone in an unknown town in the middle of India. Whatever it was, a crowd was gathering around the two tall white guys who were fighting in the middle of the street.

Madana Mohana Mandir

Visited the Madana Mohana temple, founded by one of the famous six Goswami disciples (Sanatana Goswami) of the Chaitanya Vaishnava tradition. The original temple was built in the early fifteen hundreds, but was desecrated by the Muslim Emperor, Aurangzeb in 1670. The original murti was taken to Karauli in Rajasthan for safety and a replica, considered non-different in potency from the original deity is worshipped in Vrindavan today.

Here is another picture of the temple I found, from 1789.

Madan Mohan and the river Yamuna 1789

This sadhu, or saintly mendicant, lives at the Madana Mohana temple and very kindly let me take this photo. There are so many simple gentlemen like him around who ask for nothing and seem to subsist on crumbs and mantras. He helps care for the samadhi, or tomb, of Sanantana Goswami which is right next to the Madana Mohana temple.

Simply saintly

Location: Mahabodhi temple, Bodh Gaya, Bihar, India