These mountains, these piles of stones, gift me vivid dreams. Day and Night. The Day dreams creep into the heart and move their way up to the mind to be engaged with. Listen carefully to their sounds, of care and play, as they guide our next steps.
We love it here. Dharamshala feels like home. Now here I go again, I see my crystal vision. Not sure who its okay to tell. Think something negative of me, I guess I don’t care. Rather not that they see themselves make that face at it. You know the face. The -I don’t know and I don’t care to know, let alone begin to question or investigate- face. So I keep my visions to myself… well almost.
Crystal vision. Its easier to access here, with all the piles of stones. So many stones climbing upwards that its now called the Himalayan mountains. Tiger eye is good for protection, but that lapis luzali is gifting us visions beyond anticipation.
And then the thunder comes, and thunder only happens when its raining. It creeps over the mountains, those piles of rocks that gift their visions, and it rains, and it cleans. Hard. The thunder and wind here is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. We wake up nervous that the entire building is to be blown away. Nothing else could become more clean after this heavy rain. When the rain comes here, you know it. When it washes you clean you’ll know it. You’ll know, and I know that you’ll know.
Then the Memories.
Brazil is green at its core. It flourishes with this warmth and beauty that I find to be unmatched thus far in my travels. The Brazilians are also green, existing in their hearts and speaking to you with their entire bodies. If they are not hugging you physically, they are doing it in their words and presence. Bon Gia. Encompassing care for your well being.
Brazilians are not nice in the way that the United States sees “nice”. No filter, no boundary, no form of exchange necessary. In this way, they see you in your entirety, and they want you in your entirety. The youth and the funk music expresses the sexuality and grounding of the next generation. No filters, no need to play edited music. They want it all.
There is no need to wear a normal “bathing suit” when you could show off your body, of all shapes and sizes, while soaking in the summer sun. Warmth on the skin, of all different shades. Brazilians smell good, in their presence and when they walk by. The air seems to me the freshest on this earth, being pumped from the Amazon directly to the lungs of Brazilian people, bringing calmness and joy to their faces.
They want you to be there, they want to embrace you, they want to make it hard for you to leave, they want to message you asking you to come back, they want to work diligently until the next time that you do, they want to share their passion with you and the world. They play your favorite song for you: Dreams.
The parties. Oh man, the parties. I mean when I tell you that we partied until 5AM almost every night, I am not lying, it wasn’t a dream. It was the best partying of my life, sober every night. Everyone dances. These people, these smiling faces, now gift me vivid memories.
Stillness of a memory, what you had, what you have, and what you lost. The piles of stones and the peoples of Brazil gift such joy. Such beyond joy.