July 2020
I miss the rain. Especially the Indian rains! The monsoon season of India is one of my favorite seasons! Last summer, I walked many miles on the planes of India with no umbrella while soaking wet in my cotton clothes. The rain there is not like Los Angeles winter rains that aim at simply dirtying the cars and stopping. The Indian rains are like showers that pour amazing blessed water!
I had so many amazing memories and mystical experiences in the rains of India. I would sit quietly for many hours in Meher Baba’s tomb (also called Samadhi which according to Apple dictionary, is a Sanskrit word meaning a state of intense concentration achieved through meditation. In Hindu yoga this is regarded as the final stage, at which union with the divine is reached (before or at death)).
To me samadhi was a place where I pre-soaked and on the way back to the dormitory (Meher Pilgrim Retreat (MPR) I would be washed by the rains.
Some days, my tears would not stop, and some days I had a permanent smile that blessed my face. Some days or nights, on the way back to the MPR which was a mile away from the Samadhi, I would skip like a child, and sometimes the rain would drench me to the point, where I had to maneuver my way into my room; so no one would see me with my wet clothes that stuck to my body inappropriately.
I miss the Indian rains. They washed away my tears, my fears, and everything else I carried there with me.
AMBKJ
