I had heard of this temple on the hillside in Pyramid Valley. And so, early one morning, I announced in the dormitory, that I wanted to go.Would anyone come? And Roma, a fraglie, fifty eight year old, crowned with a mop of curly hair, said yes. So we set off. There was no path on the hill, steep inclines, interspersed with rocky patches. It was intimidating for me, given my arthritic knees. But Roma held out her hand for me to hold and asked me to trust my feet to get me there. Which they did.
There was no temple. Just a pergola and underneath it, a life size statue of Shiva. No priests, no paraphernalia of worship. Just him in the wilderness, sitting in silent contemplation. It was a little startling and then we felt a sense of freedom. We went up to him and touched him. "My hero!" said Roma. I touched his snakes, his rudraksh beads. We stroked his back, shoulders. Rain water had accumulated in his lap. Ants crawled over him. He smiled. We hugged him.
We sat down next to him, held him and meditated. And I felt as though the hill had claimed me. I was one with the earth, with him.
We got up. I went around the pergola, collected some wild flowers and placed them at his feet. And then we came back to the world.
There was no temple. Just a pergola and underneath it, a life size statue of Shiva. No priests, no paraphernalia of worship. Just him in the wilderness, sitting in silent contemplation. It was a little startling and then we felt a sense of freedom. We went up to him and touched him. "My hero!" said Roma. I touched his snakes, his rudraksh beads. We stroked his back, shoulders. Rain water had accumulated in his lap. Ants crawled over him. He smiled. We hugged him.
We sat down next to him, held him and meditated. And I felt as though the hill had claimed me. I was one with the earth, with him.
We got up. I went around the pergola, collected some wild flowers and placed them at his feet. And then we came back to the world.
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