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Published: March 19th 2007
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The blazing beams of the sun shine across vast space and a crystal blue sky, bathing me in heat and light while wave after wave of cooled air molecules roll in from the Mediterranean, smash across my side, and tangle with my blowing hair. I'm standing on an Athens rooftop in the early morning, breathing and meditating after some long Hatha Yoga practice while the sweat dries on the Kenyan cloth Leso I've been using as a mat.
I think about God's perspective: the simultaneous viewpoint of every particle, molecule, and complex structure in the universe. I think about the emptiness of vacuum contrasted with the burning mania of the stars. I dwell on the complexity and diversity in the make-up of planets. I fall in love again with the rocks and waters of the Earth--while molten crust and cosmic radiations cradle and rock them. I feel the life around me, the teeming, active, free-willed, interdependent protagonists and antagonists of our planet's intricate chemical cycles. I see myself there and feel my ambitions and hear my thoughts: so small, but so
significant.
I concentrate on the narrative embodied in my Hatha Yoga practice: the life-cycle metaphor re-enacted through posture,
motion, and directed thought. I think about birth and infancy, about adolescence and the struggles of manhood. I anticipate the poise and control of maturity. I glimpse the wisdom of the elderly saint on his death-bed. I relinquish my being to that around me. My body scatters to dust and sinks to soil. As my hands wither, so their mortal work is forgotten. My thoughts, beliefs, and dreams drift away into nothing.
I'm in Europe now, in Greece, in the land of my ancestors. These people are well-dressed and materialistic. They seem uptight to me, and unfriendly. Their ancient city is full of beauty, but the glories of life seem so subdued in contrast to Africa, India, or Southeast Asia. Tourists from around the world snap pictures and overpay for chintsy trinkets in their search for culture or meaning.
Last night a beautiful stray cat followed me through a half mile of twisting meter-wide alleyways. We were searching for an open church amidst stacked bohemian flats and abandoned, graffiti-covered shacks. We never found one. And then a lady came around the corner walking her bulldog and the cat fled. I am still waiting to be moved by this
place.
The last week has been hectic and marvelous and painful. Chelly and I went through our final days of struggle amongst the wayward institutions of Kenya: finishing paperwork, visiting government houses and embassies. My parents arrived from the U.S. Their long journey through London, Athens, and Cairo had filled them with adventure-stories but in no way prepared them for the simplicity and slowness of Kenya. Our families met and mingled and managed to genuinely connect and become enamoured with each other. We saw beautiful wildlife and held large celebrations. There were several brushes with death on the road to Nairobi (two events of that day are now numbered amongst my father's, "most bizarre and dangerous"), but slid into the airport just in time. And then Chelly and I had to part.
I was sick, I was crying. Chelly was a wreck. My parents were angry. We were all somehow hurt and confused by the simple fact of being
us and being in this situation. But Mom and Dad and I made it into Greece alright, and I called Chelly on the phone as soon as I could. We are all surviving; we are all feeling strong and
happy and united as a loving family.
The last week was worth a dozen blogs and hundreds of pictures--and I'll get them all up eventually. The next week will be a quest for roots amidst the peninsulae and islands of Greece while my parents and I learn to feel like better companions. Chelly and I will be forced to be lonely--physically, spiritually, and emotionally lonely--after five months of near-perfect togetherness. Soon enough, I will have to return to America, just as Chelly is now returned to a previous life in Kenya. We pray that our places won't change us too much, and that we will be together soon.
I think about the story of virgin birth and the nativity of Jesus. I dwell on his unknown adolescence and the hunger of his manhood. I remember the pure teachings that he gave and the role-model he tried to be for us. I ponder the thoughts he must have had as he said his farewells and underwent his trials. I worry over the legend of his death and resurrection. I take solace from the thought, not of a literal rebirth--nor of the cyclic dying-and-rising of the gods that preceded him--but
of Love's regeneration and salvation for all of the Earth's eternal living being.
Chelly would like me to be baptised and confirmed in the Catholic church so that we can have a Catholic wedding and later raise our children together in a strong tradition. I wasn't sure before, but now I know I can do this. I know also that I will always work to embody the harmonious peacefulness of a Buddhist, the knowledgeable growth of a Vedic Hindu, the spiritual discipline of a Muslim, and the natural independence of a Rastafarian.
Today is a new day, and I awoke to it on a new continent. I've been returned now to my role as a journeyer, and it's a role I hope never to abandon.
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Aaron Brown
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excellent writing. If you're up for a perhaps interesting read, check out my myspace blog, I put up something from Osho on marriage recently.