Holy Cow

Yesterday I was practicing on the Ganges River. Usually the experience is perfect except for the flies. These little creatures seem to travel in two modes. Either they tip-toe over my body like they were sneaking up in a tasty pile of cow dung that they fear might grow legs and run away, or they fly at me like the Japanese suicide pilots of WWI going in for a final glorious kill. Sometimes I can tune it out, other times, well, not so much.
Yesterday I learned something very cool, however. I lit a stick of sandalwood incense as an offering to the river. For whatever reason, the flies dispersed and let me alone to practice. It occurred to me later that day that the animals here are as much a part of daily life as are the people. The flies were a part of my practice and while I was glad to have a break from them, they were, on some level missed. Even the annoying flies here seem to have lessons to teach.
It was hard to ignore the fact that the flies are drawn to cow dung, rotting and decaying garbage and me; while they are repelled by the sweet smell of sandalwood. In my life back in San Francisco I find myself a lot like a fly’s life here. I am so easily seduced by activities, foods and relationships that are on symbolized by cow dung. While the sweetness of clean, mindful living can seem like such a chore. Why I would choose pizza over brown rice and vegetables or b-rated Hollywood movies over some quiet time with a spiritually uplifting book? It is a mystery to me because I know what serves me, and I know the effect of unconscious living. Why then to I fly toward the dung and away from the sandalwood so often? Maybe, as I grow and open spiritually I will become more and more like the sandalwood and the flies will leave me alone. Or maybe, I will become more and more like the other mystics at the river and I will no longer notice them.

The Cows here are also amazing. Growing up on a farm, cows are not new to me. Unlike most Americans, I grew up surround by cows, not just eating them. But the cows here are wholly different than anything I encountered on the farm. They live in and among the people and they rule everything. I don’t just mean religious life either. Every part of life in India moves around the cows like the river Ganges flowing around a rock.
The Rickshaw (a cross between a taxi and a golf cart) drivers will not stop or even slow down for the elderly and children, and Christopher and I are convinced that they get money from the government if they take out annoying tourists. They think nothing of laying on the horn and screaming things in Hindi, which I can only assume, are spelled with four letters. To a Westerner, this can seem a bit crazy— ok, more than a bit. While small children, the elderly and Christopher and I have no business walking on the side of the road, they will come to a dead stop to let a cow sleeping in the middle of the road and they will nearly swerve into a steep ravine to avoid hitting a cow. I guess no one told them that a third option is to slow down.
In any event, I can now see why cows are sacred in India. They are slow and intentional and they always look like they get the cosmic joke that is fully illusive to most humans. Kindness, gentleness and serenity come effortless to them. Each one has personality and wisdom that far exceed most people I know. (Readers of this Blog are the exception to that of course). I have been a vegetarian for many years now, but if I were not, I can assure you I would be after spending time with the Cows on the streets of India.