Ever Here Now: Deepam Morning.

Arunachala

When I went to bed last night, i had no intention of stepping outside the gate of my home for another 40 hours or so. The great annual celebration of Deepam at Arunachala in the South of India is nearing its conclusion. Many hundreds of thousands of pilgrims poured into the Temple town of Tiruvannamalai that day, and busloads more were continuing to arrive. This would go on throughout the night and all of the following day.

However at 2.30 am my eyes opened and I found myself completely awake and alert. It is not the first time that this has happened to me here. Arunachala Hill has extraordinary power and a strong magnetic pull. For many years I have puzzled over the effect and hold that it has over me and countless others who are drawn to this most sacred of places.

However, the mystery of this place cannot be solved by the mind. The power that resonates so clearly here is something that moves at a much deeper, subconscious level.

I knew exactly what I was going to do, despite my previous intentions. I would go round the Hill. Often this feeling arises very unexpectedly, but when it comes I feel compelled and on this morning of the Holy Deepam day i washed, dressed and made my way through the various locked gates of the compound and out into the still, night air. At the corner of our quiet little dirt road, a buzz of intense activity was astir as a small group of workers prepared rice in huge steaming cauldrons. This would be offered freely to countless pilgrims as they make their way around the pradakshina road that encircles the Hill.

When i got out onto the main road itself, despite the early hour, I found it teeming with life. Masses of barefooted people, young, old, short, fat, tall, thin. Humanity of every shape and variety moved, in silent unison, like a vast, swift river. All of them were making their round of the Hill. I merged into this living stream and
was soon finding my own walking pace amidst the crowd.

The repetitious chant of Om unobtrusively permeated the air from speakers that had been placed every hundred meters along the road. This was a recent innovation of the local government and did much to augment the atmosphere. This could only be India. Thousands moving along together. Amid the cacophony of sounds, one felt a palpable silence punctuated only by prayers, the occasional outburst of devotional song and the patting of multitudes of bare feet tapping against the cold, hard tar of the road.

While walking the circumambulation route that girdles the Hill, I felt as though I were in a dream. There is something distinctly surreal about it all.

Arunachalaeshwar Temple

Near the main temple, with its great towers soaring up into the dawning sky, flocks of white birds darted about on the breezes, their wings illuminated by the floodlights. I spot two monkeys crouched together among the sculptured Gods and Goddesses many hundreds of feet above, their arms firmly wrapped around one another as they sleep in peaceful oblivion of the churning masses below.

We hear so much about the discord and disharmony going on in the world today. We hear about intolerance and hatred between people, all of whom are human, all of whom breath the same air and dance to the same blood as it circles their veins and gives them life. But here is an untold story. Countless thousands moving along in quiet, peaceful harmony.
In the east, the sun begins to rise. Rays of light fan out across the sky. As I turn northwards I see more shafts of light spilling across the Hill, and a long grey plume of mist rising off its summit.

Later on this day the flame in a giant cauldron will be lit on the top of the Hill. At that time, a vast mass of humanity will be gazing towards the summit, their hands folded in prayer. This multitude will span the entire thirteen-kilometre circuit of the Hill. With the sun setting in the west and the full moon disk rising in the east, a fire will burst up from the summit and with it a roar from all those gathered. Their focus is supremely united.

HaroHara, HaroHara, HaroHara, sounds out, as with one voice. 'This is a Sight for the Gods to See!'

Here is the Untold Story.
Here is a Song of Hope...