I did a bit of reflecting as I went out today. Rishikesh is pretty much shut down to the point that I wasn’t sure if I could be out walking the streets, but figured someone would stop me if it wasn’t allowed.
Adventure rarely happens by asking for permission after all.
No shops open today but it could be that I went out too late for any of the stores to still be open. I’ll try earlier tomorrow as there are only so many protein bars and sweets a person can eat. Side note: a bowl of muesli with nuts requires a lot of jaw power to finish.
Been following my “Retreat Menu” to keep busy and productive. And continuing to write as well.
WRITING REFLECTIONS
I walked the streets of an all but abandoned town, encountering only a handful of people, two cars and a few cows and dogs. All shops, hotels, and restaurants were closed indefinitely. I heard murmurs of speech behind closed doors, but it provided little comfort of the normalcy I had come to expect.
There were no food vendors cooking for the passersby, no crowds to weave through in narrow corridors, no money exchanged in commerce and certainly no social interaction to be had.
There was nothing. Nothing but wind and earth and sun and birds.
And isolation.
It wasn’t the apocalypse, but it sure as hell felt like it.
I made my way down to the Ganges River to enjoy the peace and quiet as an escape from, well, the peace and quiet of a different kind in the solitude of my hotel room.
There were a few more souls along the banks, but it was relatively deserted.
I walked, admiring the large rocks and small pebbles that made up this side of the bank going as far back as a football field before ending at the rock face and small buildings. I kept close eye on where I placed each step as my sandals weren’t built for shifting rocks and pebbles.
I watched as the river drifted steadily by, unbothered by the events of the human world. It had little care for the simple fact that it knew where it was going — a destination that has remained unchanged for thousands of years.
It was as peaceful as always and though it was only mid-afternoon, I decided I should return to my hotel before dark.
As I headed back along the same route I had come from, through winding streets and up several sets of concrete stairs, I noticed that almost everyone I had come across seemed to be relatively unaffected by the ordeal of the city-wide shutdown. Whether they were laying on the side of the road among a pile of rags and blankets or guarding the gate to a building of some significance, they offered smiles and greetings as I passed by.
I couldn’t help but be struck by this along with the rest of the experience of such a simple excursion down to the water’s edge.
Amidst the madness of the world, the river still flows. The sun still shines. The wind still blows.
And maybe by the end of all this we will realize just how fragile and, therefore, precious life truly is.