And who are you to do that?!

Living on the foothills of the Himalayas is very much like living on the magestic staircase of rooftops and terraces emerging from the jungle as altitude drops. So why not explore one step further, I thought and climbed down from my terrace to the rooftop of the Sri Harihar Peeth Ashram. There I was on the empty rooftop meditating, my loyal friend Inna filming me from our terrace. 6 AM. An early adventure for the sake of the view in the shot. It was a nice morning with clear skies. I have closed my eyes and imagined thunder. Its grand roar filled the entire universe.

I very much like the shabby chic architecture of Sri Harihar. The building behind it which is the T... temple...yes, let 's please call it the T temple, because you will not remember its incredibly long and difficult name anyway. I can neither remember nor pronounce it after a year spent looking straight into the poor temple's facade and also needing to give its name as a pick up location to taxi drivers countless times. It's just not the name that sticks. T temple is cool, right?

So the T temple they say was built in 1950s, somewhat two decades in advance for John Lennon to come and contemplate it while writing the White Album. Strictly speaking, this temple has rather hideous architecture. ( I wonder if John would agree to this...) But you can make your own mind about it: just take a moment to observe the difference in the silhouettes of their domes in the sketch. Sri Harihar Ashram is the one in the foreground with its domes on the right with the three flags weaving on the top.

A chilled and free-spirited musician of the band "Tantric Monkeys" originally from Ireland that I have met on the rooftop that morning remarkably called the T Temple "The spiritual Disneyland" with a tangible lack of respect. My architectural education confirms his concern but as an artist I have fewer canons and limits and therefore I must make a confession: I love the T temple so much just the hideous way it is.

Because it is so into your face, exaggerated and made up is always just one moment away from revealing the underlying code of the universe. This is what I guess the newspaper Hindi scripts stand for in the sketch. Matrix scripts and ages of fictional stories of the so-called reality.

It also has the words "Mission Trust" written on it in the English language which opens up the whole other dimension of mutually exclusive meanings. Trust in divine stories of temples all over the world and in good intentions of those who build them? Or trust in the reality of consciousness that you know the instant you close your eyes and look within? I am curious which one they've meant.
A small sketchbook of mine. I tell you stories from the big one, but this one is sometimes its soul kitchen.
Whatever the implications of "Mission Trust" could be, today I wanted to tell you of Indian thunders. Because really, they are the reason to come and see this land. So before they hopefully open the borders and you can choose to come and see India and its surreal storms for yourself, I'd love to share one storm with you in writing.

I was sitting quietly in meditation on my terrace in the sacred Indian night under the deepest indigo skies full of stars. I was also aware of the people on the rooftop of the Sri Harihar Ashram below. They were playing drums, faster and faster. Excitement was gradually building up. Some of them I knew were dancing. They were shouting out in exaltation greeting the swiftly approaching...the one and the only...Indian Night Thunder.

Indians say that when thunder comes it means that Gods are celebrating. And indeed a storm in India is like no other. It has no intention to threaten. It does not make one feel cold even when cojuring the wall of rain.

It comes to merely remind one of one's inner power.

In an instant the thunder cuts off the electricity in the entire town on both banks of the Ganges. It calls on winds to mix up the shades of skies and paints whirlpools on the river. The river responds in its low bubbling roar and joins the symphony of storm. Thunder goes on painting the skies with an astounding bright shade of purple with a tiny drop of pink. Lightnings strike so frequent, so intense. Each time the skies light up with that purple for less than a second, which is perfectly enough for one to perceive the entire universe in all its eternity and let the heart be overflown with primal rapture and wonder and infinite joy of being.

You can see the whole creation in this special light, it is like the magic vision. It is the thunder whispering to you in its loving growl: "Look at what we're creating! Now let us celebrate!...".

The Indians apparently know this - the purple'n'pink thunder is running through their veins - and so off they rush to the suspension bridge over the Ganges, spreading their hands towards the whirling purple skies, their clothes soaked in heavy warm rain to the point of becoming liquid. They laugh and they sing vibrant Hindi songs and they shout out in Joy, celebrating the creation together with all of the 33 million Hindu Gods.

I love meditating on a terrace when the entire city goes dark. The rain and the river go loud and roaring in unison while the Indian people celebrate loudly and without fail. What an infinite moment!

India is rich in such experiences. As if the big gaping holes in the man-made grid of order needed to be urgently filled with something. So dear Indians creatively covered the holes with first things at hand in their land: some sheer unexplainable miracles, to make the fabric of stitched up reality look at least whole even if hardly perceivable by the common sense due to all of its beautiful contrasts of contradiction.

And now one observes us being confined to the perimeter of a room, arguably on a way to self-identifying way more with a piece of furniture rather than a thunder. With the media crafted to make one shrink in fear and low swamp-like feelings. I have stopped watching the news. The intuition tells me they're fiction. Along with all the other stories that had been helping us to make sense of the world.

Stories have been reigning our minds for thousands of years, haven't they? Well, I love stories! This is so part of being human. In view of the recent events I even came back to my favourite one, because the reality seems to start resembling its plot line in a way. With people comparing our current world to 1984 and Brave New World my irresistible love for Lord of the Rings looks like a confident claim for hope. I must make a disclaimer here though: these are only my personal feelings, Tolkien himself unequivocally rejected any metaphors or parallels of his creation to the real world. But I am willing to approach it creatively and still trace some connections for the sake of depicting our today's sketch 2 reality (S2R) technique.

The most astonishing idea in the Lord Of The Rings story I think is this: someone small and insignificant can change the entire course of history, can literally save the world. Tolkien even invented the special race to picture that concept vividly.

This fascinating and empowering thought can be interpreted in the whole new light now. Watching us retreating to rooms, playing it safe, playing it furniture - while the world as we know it might as well be falling apart forever - I am asking myself: "Great, so what can I do?" I feel insignificant and small in the midst of these grand events. How does Tolkien's thought playing out here for me? Through what exactly?

According to my understanding of his book, the answer would be somewhat like: through personal courage, great friendships, some of those with powerful wizards, magic equipment here and there, a good deal of luck and the coordinated teamwork of all these factors. And this is the very common answer of the way of a story. Of the Heroes Journey concept.

I loved that story way, I lived that way. But now this leaves me doubtful. Because in my view it still does not explain how the intentions of one person can affect the world. So the hero's journey no longer satisfies my quest for truth. These days, through the inspiring absurdity of the world's events, I am tempted to explore a different answer. And I invite you along to explore it with me.

The world can be changed and everything can be completely turned around in very significant ways and moulded into miracles that we do not even yet dare imagine: not due to anyone's personal courage and not even thanks to great friendships with wizards.

Big change at one's own accord is possible simply because the one contemplating the thunder also is the thunder. The one in you, in me observing the world also is the creator of this world. Just hiding masterfully in everything we see. Too humble to take the credit.

This is no story. In fact, it contradicts the very foundation all stories stand upon. It hacks the code that sustains the matrix. Because it reveals the storyteller and handles them a mirror. The storyteller is now free to stop telling stories and just look at oneself and encounter reality for the first time. And then what? Well, either tell the most beautiful story ever because of now having to take the credit for it or...or something else entirely that can not be described in terms of words-stories, length-width-height, and time-space.

P.S. Notice in the final sentence how the painter does not burn the bridge behind her and farsightedly reserves a chance to describe the next level reality with line and colour, taking musicians along for a great joyful company in our Real New World.

S2R Technique: This technique is of course meditation. I have learned the Vipassana technique which I can highly recommend doing. My next quest is to learn the TM, Transcendental Meditation given that I am now in Rishikesh next to T... ah, Trayambakeshwar Temple (Thanks, Google, thanks Copy Paste! ) right next to Maharishi ashram, where John, Ringo, Paul and George learned the TM technique a few decades earlier. But there are centres in many places and one of Vipassana or TM is sure to be next to your home and should be opening soon.

Let us orchestrate thunders and mould our world(s) into miracle(s).

>To be continued >>
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