The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ― Rumi
If ever in the past I had pondered (which I did not) what I would be doing on Valentine’s Day 2016, it would not have been this:
– Participate in morning yoga on the Ganges River.
– Ride on a rickshaw through Murshidabad, India, watching buildings from the British colonial era along the way, and passing numerous Saras Wati altars, complete with Indian music blasting at each site.
– Visit the Katra Mosque, the oldest mosque still utilized for prayer in India. Then have an impromptu photo shoot with a group of beautifully clad Indian teenagers visiting the mosque. (After we photographed them, they asked if they could have a picture taken with them.)
– Walk through the small Indian village of Baranagar and being spontaneously invited into the home of a proud farmer, happy to introduce us to his family.
– Marvel at the beautiful detail of several Shiva temples, considered to be among the best examples of Bengal terra cotta art.
– Swing a bat in a cricket match, on a field shared with goats and cows. Thanks to much practice at bat with my dad while growing up, I actually hit the ball (not impressively, but a hit nonetheless.)
– Dance with young Indian children during their Saras Wati festival at dusk.
– Start to cry when our waiter, Rahul, brought glasses of rosé to our table at the end of the Valentine’s dinner. 😕 Good grief. It’s still there, just below the surface. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by love.