McLeod Ganj είναι μια ζωντανή μικρή πόλη βρίσκεται ψηλά στη βόρεια Ινδία, στους πρόποδες των Ιμαλαΐων. Παρά την ευρεία πεποίθηση ότι η πατρίδα του η Αυτού Αγιότης ο 14ος Δαλάι Λάμα είναι Νταραμσάλα, είναι στην πραγματικότητα αυτή την υπέροχη μικρή πόλη που είναι το σπίτι του στην εξορία. Από την Πολιτιστική Επανάσταση στο Θιβέτ χιλιάδες Θιβετιανοί έχουν λάβει το επικίνδυνο ταξίδι πάνω από τα Ιμαλάια για το ασφαλές καταφύγιο που προσφέρει αυτή η πόλη. Ο πολιτισμός του Θιβέτ είναι τόσο ισχυρή εδώ ότι έχει πλέον «Μικρή Λάσα» το παρατσούκλι.

Πέταξα σε Gaggalairport η οποία βρίσκεται σε μικρή απόσταση με το ταξί από McLeod Ganj όπου είστε αμέσως χαιρετίστηκε από τις κορυφές και ακμές του μαγευτική περιοχή των Ιμαλαΐων. Αμέσως λαχτάρα γεννήθηκε για να πάρει πιο ψηλά για να δείτε την πλήρη ομορφιά του αυτό που προσφερόταν από αυτό το απίστευτο τοπίο. Λίγες ημέρες στο ταξίδι έμαθα από ένα ταξίδι που θα μπορούσε να γίνει σε μια μέρα που σας δίνει ένα υπέροχο επάνω στενή και προσωπική άποψη από τις χιονισμένες κορυφές είχα δει στο βάθος.

Οπλισμένοι με σνακ νερό, και πολλά στρώματα του ιματισμού ξεκινάμε μία εβδομάδα αργότερα να ανέβουν σε αυτό το μέρος το οποίο είναι γνωστό στους ντόπιους ως «Triund». Αμέσως μας συγκρότημα των δύο έγινε μια μπάντα από επτά και πέντε τοπικά σκυλιά αποφάσισε να συνοδεύουν όλους μας το δρόμο προς την κορυφή. Κάτι μας είπε ότι αυτό ήταν ο τρόπος τους να εξασφαλίσουν ένα καθημερινό γεύμα ή δύο από πολλούς ανυποψίαστους τουρίστες οι οποίοι ήταν εύκολα χτυπημένος από το πόσο χαριτωμένο ήταν. Και προσφιλής τους τρόπους μας είχε τραβήξει ακριβώς εκεί με το καλύτερο τους! Δύο ώρες στην ανάβαση σταματήσαμε κάποια τοπικούς ανθρώπους για να τους ζητήσει ήταν πολύ πιο μακριά. Η λάμψη στα μάτια τους, μαζί με χλευάζει του γέλιου επιβεβαίωσε ήμασταν πουθενά κοντά στο σημείο όπου θα θέλαμε να είμαστε και έπρεπε να σκληρύνει επάνω, εάν θέλαμε να φτάσουμε στο στόχο που είχαμε ακούσει τόσα πολλά.

Η ημέρα πήρε θερμότερος και θερμότερος, η ανάβαση έγινε πιο απότομη και πιο επικίνδυνη, όπως βρεθήκαμε ύφανση γύρω από και μέχρι την άκρη του βουνού με τίποτα άλλο παρά μια φαινομενικά άπειρη πτώση του δικαιώματός μας για να βεβαιωθείτε ότι διατηρήσαμε την εστίασή μας. Σε ένα σημείο θα μετατραπεί σε μια γωνία και θα μπορούσε να δει την πορεία διάλυσης και εκκαθάρισης δρόμο του προς τα πάνω και πέρα ​​από αυτήν, τα οποία κατά την χρονική στιγμή που τα πόδια μας πονούν ότι λίγο περισσότερο. Τα τρία τέταρτα δρόμο μέχρι την κορυφή, αν και εμείς δεν το ξέρουμε εκείνη την εποχή, συναντήσαμε ένα μικρό σπίτι με ένα κατάστημα που πωλούν τρόφιμα, ποτά και όμορφη πρώτων κρύσταλλα κομμένα κατευθείαν από το βουνό. Ήταν εκεί πήραμε κουβέντα με άλλους ορειβάτες που είχαν Νεπάλ και το έκανε αυτό αναρριχηθεί τακτικά. Οι συμβουλές τους ήταν «σιγά σιγά». Οπλισμένοι με περισσότερο νερό, επιπλέον μπισκότα για τα σκυλιά και φανταστική κρύσταλλα για τους φίλους και την οικογένεια μας ξεκίνησε για άλλη μια φορά.

Περίπου μια ώρα και ένα μισό αργότερα, ήταν τόσο υψηλά ώστε νιφάδες χιονιού που απαλά γύρω είχαν αντικαταστήσει τα φουσκάλες ήλιο και σκεφτήκαμε ότι πρέπει να είμαστε κοντά! Ένας άλλος γρήγορος έλεγχος σε κάποια ντόπιοι περνούν από την αντίθετη κατεύθυνση επιβεβαίωσε είχαμε μαντέψει σωστά. Στριμώχνονται δρόμο μας μέχρι το τελευταίο πέρασμα περιέλιξης βγήκαμε σε μια άποψη που μπορεί να περιγραφεί μόνο ως δύσπιστος! Χιονισμένες κορυφές υψώθηκε πάνω από εμάς στην κοντινή απόσταση επιφέρει πραγματική humilityat την πραγματική δύναμη και την ομορφιά του αγαπητού Γαία Μητέρα μας. Ήταν μια από εκείνες τις στιγμές στη ζωή όπου είστε απόλυτα παρόντες στο έλεος εμείς οι άνθρωποι βρίσκονται σε όταν πρόκειται για την εδώ επιείκεια προς εμάς και όλοι το κακό που κάνουμε σε αυτήν. Η πανίσχυρη δύναμη που προέρχεται από αυτά τα βουνά ήταν τόσο έντονη που θα μπορούσε κανείς να αισθανθεί μόνο σεβασμό. Mess με τα βουνά και θα υπάρχει μόνο ένας νικητής ...

Όσο για τα σκυλιά και που μας ακολούθησαν σε όλη τη διαδρομή πίσω προς τα κάτω και στο τέλος του ταξιδιού μας έτρεξε πίσω στις αντίστοιχες κατοικίες τους!

Σχετικά με το Συντάκτης:
Lisa Tully είναι ένα έντονο φιλοξενεί ταξιδιώτη, διαλογιστή και την περιοδεία τη δημιουργία ευκαιριών για τους ανθρώπους να εξερευνήσουν και να εξερευνήσουν άλλες χώρες μέσω της πνευματικής περιηγήσεις. Είναι φιλοξενεί ένα Ινδία Διαλογισμός Tour , τον Οκτώβριο του 2011 που περιλαμβάνει τη διδασκαλία συνεδρίες με Αυτού Αγιότητα τον Δαλάι Λάμα.

Με Margaret Deefholts

Στο εβραιο-χριστιανικού κόσμου, το ιερό και το βέβηλο είναι απόλυτα αντίθετοι - το ένα ιερό, το άλλο άσεμνο? Στον Ινδουισμό οι δύο έννοιες συγχωνευθούν σε ένα άλλο-αδιαίρετη και αιώνια όπως το σύμπαν. Πουθενά δεν είναι αυτό τόσο εμφανές όσο στην ερωτική γλυπτά του Khajuraho ναό στη βόρεια Ινδία, όπου πνευματικότητας και αισθησιασμού, διάθεση για παιχνίδι και βαθύτητα ανταποκρίνονται σε μια χαρούμενη γιορτή της ζωής, την ενέργεια και το πάθος.

Είναι μια ένδοξη ηλιόλουστη, αλλά ήπια πρωί Ιανουαρίου και οι ναοί silhouetted κατά ένα βαθύ μπλε ουρανό. Οι τουρίστες σύμπλεγμα γύρω από τους οδηγούς τους? Μερικοί απ 'αυτούς το βλέμμα σαστισμένοι στο ρητή σεξουαλική θέσεις που απεικονίζονται στους άλλους τοίχους, χαχανίζω και ανταλλαγή πονηρή νεύματα. Δική οδηγός μου, Jagdip, είναι μια φιλότιμη νεαρός και έχει κουβεντιάζω του κάτω από το ελαφρύ κτύπημα.

"Αρχικά περίπου 85 ναοί χτίστηκαν εδώ μεταξύ του 9ου και 14ου αιώνα, αλλά σήμερα μόνο 25 επιβιώσει." Αυτός χειρονομίες σε περιποιημένο γκαζόν του site και συνορεύει με παρτέρια γεμάτα με πορτοκαλί και κόκκινο marigolds cannas. "Είμαστε στα Δυτικά ομάδα και θα επισκεφθούμε το υπόλοιπο στην ομάδα της Ανατολικής λίγο αργότερα."

Γυρίζει πίσω στην πρόσοψη του ναού μπροστά μας. It is adorned with divine and semi-divine figures-celestial dancers, heavenly beauties, musicians, cherubs and above all, several amorous couples. In one frieze, a voluptuous woman, her hip out-thrust, looks flirtatiously up at her partner; he looks adoringly down at her while cupping one of her full, rounded breasts in his palm. Another tableaux portrays a ménage à trois, and along the base of another temple an elaborately carved band runs around the parameter depicting couplings in every conceivable position.

Standing in front of the Kandriaya Mahadeva temple I goggle at a pose so contorted that it prompts me to remark, “How could they possibly be enjoying this?” The pose in question shows a male standing on his head while straddled by a female, the pair of them in coitus, the female supported by two heavenly maidens.

Jagdip clears his throat. “Yes…well this is a Yoga pose, and is possibly Tantric in origin.

Tantric rituals are often linked to dark occult practices, but it is also a philosophy that centres on sexual energy as being part of the cosmic circle of re-birth arising from death and destruction. The arousal of sensual passion also brings with it a karmic awakening, and a god such as Shiva, the Destroyer and the malevolent goddess Kali, are yoked to pure energy (“shakti”) a force that fuels the universe and all things within it. Temples throughout the country display Shiva-Lingams-an erect “lingam” (phallus) cradled in the “yoni” (vagina), symbolizing the mystical power of creativity.

Sexuality and spirituality went hand in hand even before the temples in Khajuraho took shape. Back in the 6th century AD a scholar, Vatsyayana, who was (get this!) an ascetic and a yogi, authored the “Kama Sutra” a detailed and explicit treatise on the art of love-making. This instruction manual not only lists sixty-four sexual positions (many of them requiring the agility of a gymnast and the flexibility of a contortionist), but also gravely discusses a wide range of philosophical concepts such as Dharma, (virtuous living), Artha, (material prosperity) Kama (aesthetic and erotic pleasure) and Moksha (liberation from the cycle of rebirth).

Indian erotic paintings mirror the sculptures that adorn Khajuraho. Like the amorous couples on the temple facades, paintings depict curvaceous women and well endowed men gazing tenderly into each others' eyes while engaged in sexual couplings. Some paintings are whimsical-a couple makes ardent love in a howdah perched on an elephant, another couple is likewise engaged while riding a camel!

About the same time as the Kama Sutra was written, professional temple dancers known as Devadasis were to be found in temples throughout India. Young virgins, dedicated to the temple deity, were trained as erotic dancers; their role was also to pleasure patrons in the temple precincts using techniques described in the Kama Sutra. Temple prostitution was prohibited in 1988, but Jagdip wobbles his head ruefully as he admits, “here and there this practice still exists.”

Today's India in fact, seethes with repressed sexuality. Society prohibits sexual dalliances and arranged marriages are the norm, so many couples have never set eyes on one another until the day of their wedding. They come as virgins to the nuptial bed. Carnal desires hide in the shadows. But for the inhibited or shy there is a whole world of sexual voyeurism – Bollywood movies! In darkened theatres, audiences salivate over seductive, scantily clad heroines as they sing, dance and flirt.

But the world of movies in India go a step further. They spin dramatic stories of human passion and divine adoration. They speak to universal emotions; they transcend time. So too do the erotic temples of Khajuraho.

If You Go:

Getting There: Khajuraho is accessible by air from Delhi
Where to Stay: http://www.khajuraho.org.uk/hotels/index.html
General Information: http://www.khajuraho.org.uk/index.html

Margaret Deefholts is a travel writer as well as the editor of the Travel Writers' Tales article syndicate and website.

by Janet Amalia Weinberg

People think differently in India, or so it seemed as I stood on the banks of the Ganges, surrounded by sixty million Hindu pilgrims who had come to the river to bathe. I thought the water was polluted and could make me sick-I'd seen garbage, excrement, and three dead bodies in it. They thought it was holy and could cleanse them of sin.

Such pilgrimages, called Kumbha Melas , occur periodically at various sacred bathing sites in India, but this was a Maha Kumbha Mela , a particularly auspicious event that happens once every hundred and forty four years. According to legend, the universal forces for good are so concentrated at this time that simply attending the Mela can purify many lifetimes. I was at a change point in life and had come, not to dip in the Ganges, but to immerse myself in this positive consensus reality.

It was the largest gathering of people anywhere on the planet and a temporary city of perhaps a million army tents had been erected for the month-long happening. I was camped just outside the Mela grounds in an enclave of 400 other Westerners from the States.

One day, a group of us from my camp got a ride to hear the Dalai Llama speak. A crowd of tens of thousands was expected so we left early. As our car entered the Mela , we were swept into a sensory tsunami. People were everywhere–riding rickshaws and Land Rovers, camels and donkeys, walking, standing, cooking, praying, waiting, sleeping. Groups from distant villages sat along the dusty roads. Vendors sold cabbages, peanuts, onions, potatoes, and eggplants. Women, drying freshly washed saris in the wind, unfurled eighteen-foot banners of color. Sadhus -holy men with flowing beards and penetrating eyes–hiked to and from the Ganges. Cows roamed. Competing public address systems blasted chants and prayers. Smoke from a million dung cooking fires clogged the air and the smell of incense, sandalwood and curry sweetened it.

The sixty square mile tent-city was divided into sectors. There were no street signs, but temples and religious groups had their own encampments with identifying gateways. We were in such sensory overload that we probably had passed the same gateways over and over before we noticed our driver was taking us in circles.

Ordinarily, I would have thought: “We're lost, we might miss the Dalai Llama, it's all the driver's fault….” But I didn't think what was happening was bad or wrong. In fact, I didn't think about it at all; it was just happening.

As the driver wandered, I marveled at the sights. I had only explored the Mela on foot; seeing it by car was an unexpected bonus. Along the way, we met another lost car, packed with Westerners from our camp. While the drivers conferred, we exchanged stares with a sadhu - he with his orange dhoti , glazed red eyes and Vishnu trident, we with our sun hats, dark glasses and sneakers. Eventually, with reassuring nods, the drivers resumed their quest.

When we finally reached our destination, we found a crowd, churning with rumors that the Dalai Llama would not appear. Again, I could have gotten disappointed, but my new and strange state of accepting and moving with the flow was still with me.

Suddenly, a vehicle shot out of the compound. Someone yelled, “There goes the Dalai Llama!” and our vehicles took off in hot pursuit. Now, it seemed we were lucky to have gotten lost. Otherwise, our drivers would have dropped us off earlier and we, like all those people we left behind, would have had no transportation.

The chase ended at a small tent. There were eleven of us now, five from my car and six, including a two-man camera crew, from the other. We removed our shoes and entered the tent. Menacing guards armed with Uzis scrutinized us but let us pass. Inside, the Dalai Llama was kneeling in prayer before an altar. Behind him, about fifty Indians, mostly sadhu' in traditional orange and ochre robes, sat cross-legged on mats. Our two carloads clustered at the rear of the tent.

After a few moments, His Holiness, speaking Tibetan, began addressing the gathering through a Hindi translator. People asked questions he must have heard countless times, but he gave each person his full attention and responded with genuine caring. When he finished talking with the Indians, he smiled and called to us in English, “Come on up.”

We closed in around him, astounded by our good fortune. Instead of being part of a crowd of thousands, we had been practically granted a private audience. He signed autographs, laughed, spoke of world peace, and expressed his pleasure at seeing Westerners at the Mela . His radiant delight captivated us all.

When the Dalai Llama rose to leave, a dozen Tibetans immediately formed a human fence along both sides of his path to the exit. He passed through, like a whoosh of joy, stopping to give one sadhu's beard a playful tug and pat another's cheek before he left.

My companions were waiting outside. Our car was not. The second carload, including the camera crew, was gone as well. We were all hot and tired and ready to return to our camp. There was just one hitch: we didn't know where it was.

We gathered at the side of the road to look for a taxi, a rickshaw, a pony cart – anything that could take us back. For as far as we could see, the dusty road was flanked by tents and teeming with people, but there were no vehicles. Καμία. We tried to get directions, but those we asked either didn't understand English or had never heard of our camp. Even if we had known which way to go, two members of our group were somewhat handicapped and couldn't walk very far.

Normally, I would have been alarmed and anxious. But as before, I didn't judge what was happening or think anything about it; it was just happening. I don't know if being at the Mela purified lifetimes, but it sure was purifying my habit of evaluating and interpreting every experience.

We sat on some boxes, conveniently piled by the side of the road, watched the crowd, and waited. Five minutes passed . . . ten . . . fifteen. . . . Suddenly, a black sedan appeared! Before any of us could wave to it, the car screeched to a halt in front of us.

The door flung open and out stepped the leader of the group I was staying with. The leader!! He had come to meet the Dalai Llama and found us instead. When we informed him that His Holiness had left, he got back into his car and sped away-but not before he'd whipped out a cell phone and called for a car to pick us up.

We were giddy. How amazing! How perfect! We could never have hoped for or imagined such a rescue. As we waited for the car to arrive, someone joked, “Now all we need is a parade.” As if by magic, a procession complete with music, painted elephants, camels, and row after row of marchers appeared.

That's how it was at the Mela . Ordinary thinking, full of expectations and judgments, seemed to fall away and every disrupted plan became an adventure.

Now, back in my regular life, I have plenty of opportunity to get upset when things don't go “right.” Car batteries die, keys get lost, people disappoint me, I disappoint myself-the possibilities are endless. But that also means I have plenty of opportunity to remember the Mela and to see what's happening as just what's happening.

Janet Amalia Weinberg is a former psychologist who has traveled in Asia, Africa, South America and Europe. Her short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines as well as in an anthology she edited, designed to change negative stereotypes of aging (STILL GOING STRONG; Memoirs, Poems and Stories about Great Older Women, Routledge, 2006).