3/3/10

And then the following day I went to Lara's house, again.

Transcendental. In one word. She told me all these lovely stories about her, how she lived in caves for a year, broke her six-string to make it a 3-string, trishul and all, how she landed up in Delhi and could understand Hindi, like the phonetics were from a mirror-image of a parallel life, or probably the previous one. We jammed, my 12-string and her concept-guitar. It somehow kept meeting in places. Like a meeting in the aisles. Secretly. The secrets of the soul slowly unfolding. A closer connection. A looking in view. Seeing. When she sang, I was taken back to Medieval times, those lutes from that time. That pale-green light surrounding everything. Pastel. She told me about Xi, a name she gave herself which she felt was her, about her paintings - those wonderful ones of the mountains, of Mt. Kailash, of all those moments her heart blinked. And then she began playing the harmonium and we had a very crazy midnight suicide-time raga, dark and brooding. Then she continued playing on her concept-guitar. She sang some wonderful songs. I was lost. Wonderfully lost. There is a deep sense of devotion I feel for people like her. "Like her" wouldnt be the right thing to say, because she is the only one like herself. But yeah, them. That lot. That gifted lot of musicians and artists. And over the last few days the wonderful insight into Mohanettan's paintings have opened another window of my soul, now giving me a clearer view of what its like in there. Deep where that light shines. That eternal light, that silent light. Of truth.

I am in total awe. Her heartchakra is in total spring. Total spring, absolute earth.