The waves amble onto the beach at a leisurely pace, one smallish wave every ten seconds, six waves per minute – as unhurried and undemanding as the restaurants or services here, a definition in action for the word languid. In some magical configuration of sea and sand, the waves which fall to earth are reflected back out to sea, like in some extensive classroom science fair: you can actually see the crest of the wave break, touch land, then turn and head back out to meet the next incoming swell. Quite hypnotic. Maybe this happens at all beaches in the world… but here the waves are so reticent to arrive, maybe the gap is great enough to allow one to see this slight-of-hand.

Hm. The face of India changes yet again, and we poor freshmen have to shift our energies to make space for it.

The beach at Palolem, in southern Goa, is every bit as riveting as we had heard it would be. The essential coconut palms providing shade overhead, the incredibly gentle surf that is warm as a baby’s bath, the island just off shore that adds energy and interest to the view, the water and sand cradled in the arms of two rocky points, that reach out into the Arabian Sea.

Fortunately, I can make a better report of this beach myself.

Whatever was up with people yesterday (and I do include myself in that population) – the fights, the unsmiling eyes, the shabby shacks – seemed to have eased with the setting of the sun, and Manny and I found ourselves sitting up on the rocks above the beach, in a fine little restaurant, sipping Mohitos and chatting about this and that. As Manny put it, the beach was filled with people “just doing their thing”, whether that thing be sublime or shallow, a pile of Indians and foreigners gone to the sand and sun for a few days.

Manny Muros:

On our last morning with the Tibetan family Mark and I tried to express our appreciation for all their warmth and hospitality given to us. Deep emotion and tears came to Sonam’s eyes as she wanted to express thru us the gratitude she has to the “American people” who have helped them so much…. There was so much love and gratitude for the Nobel Prize received by their “God” the Dalai Lama. For the temples and settlements supported by the many donations coming from America…. The three of us were holding tears back….. I get upset at our country’s foreign policy and by the rampant capitalization we create but it was so beautiful to also see how much good has been done in helping this nation of individuals create a new life on a foreign country.

Manny says “another noisy city, where you can’t walk and breathe at the same time”… and he is right. From 8.30am to 7.00pm, Mangalore presents the same toxic blend of autorickshaws, interstate and local busses, private passenger cars and Jeep lookalikes, bicycles and trucks and pedestrians; you breathe only shallowly, and return to your sleeping place smelling of diesel and dust, which sweat and sun has pretty much baked into your clothes and layered on your skin. For someone who has recently ventured into India from the snowy north, it is challenging.

The external beauties and (as often as not) challenges are easy to write about, but the inner work is not. Still, I am rising at 5:30 for yoga, each day feeling stronger, more limber, and somehow “cleaner”; I am sitting when I can in meditation – really delighting in being close to the ground, and considering removing some upright furniture from a couple of my rooms; and I am reading and writing along this well-lit path we have taken.

Now I know how ginger grows.

When we lived on our little farm in Brazil, we had something called gangibre falsa, “false ginger”, which was apparently a relative of the real thing. The root, when I dug it up, had neither the appearance or the smell I was looking for, and somehow during our seven-plus years there, I never did run into a ginger plant. Here in the rolling fields of Bylakuppe, some miles off the Mysore road and Kushalnagar, acres of hand-fanning leaves, slightly lower than knee height and fading green to yellow, are the ginger fields. We pass by in our autorickshaw (the three-wheeled, covered motorcycle, with a bench and a smoky 2-stroke engine – the kind where you mix in the oil, and it runs forever, like a lawnmower motor) and there is a load of the harvested root by the roadside, being spray-washed and readied for market. The scent is strong and welcome, a little spice and memory of good meals.

Manny Muros:

We are on the road again after a very wonderful week in Auroville…. We will travel all night by bus and arrive at Bangalore tomorrow morning. We will then take a 2nd bus for 3 more hours to Mysore. Hope to settle there by noon tomorrow. Lets see what gifts that part of India has in store for us.

We have met so many inspiring folks in Auroville. People who believe in a dream and have put all of their energy and resources to make that dream manifest. It is amazing what they have accomplished. There is a generosity in their spirit that is contagious. I can see friendships that will blossom even more beautifully over time.

I can’t leave Auroville without making mention of its spiritual and physical heart, the Matrimandir… though at the same time I feel there is almost nothing I can say that does any justice to the vision behind it, the experience of the area around it, or the power of insight and meditation it brings one.

So. How to talk about it and not talk about it at the same time?

Most of the communities that exist in Auroville – as semi-autonomous communities, that is, with their own social structure and goals, texture and color – were founded by a few energetic people who wished to manifest the vision of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother in a particular and personal way. Some are recent, some have existed since the beginning (in 1968). Some are small (Sadhana Forest is run by a family of three from Israel – with a lot of interns running about), and others larger (Aspiration currently has upwards of 50 participating members, and a number of other long-term “guests”). They all share a common goal, and that is unity of human spirit and human endeavor in a single, intentional city.