Everything & Everywhere

Namaste friends

In the High Holy Lands Where Magic Sometimes Happens

For the last while (long while really. Actually many years), I have dreamed a few times a month, sometimes more, that I am in, about to arrive in, or just about to leave Rishikesh in India.

Rishikesh is a small town straddling the Ganges River, and nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. For millennia it has been considered a sacred place. Its history replete with stories of divine beings, ancient sages and saints, not to mention its status as a major pilgrimage destination for at least a thousand years and the town becoming ever more popular in recent years for pilgrims and ordinary pleasure seeking tourists from around the world.

This isn’t me but it could be

I last visited Rishikesh in 2016-17 (having previously spent time there in 2006) when my partner hermit and I stayed for several months. I associate that stay with the strengthening and deepening of my spiritual practice as well as the gaining of a kind of clarity in terms of my outlook on the world particularly on the spiritual path that had been calling to me – as it does still.

Putting aside health issues that hinder our mobility, I think it’s fair to say that my attachment to Rishikesh and my longing to return have more or less faded away almost completely over recent years.

Rishikesh has always been a busy, crowded place with the associated traffic, noise, pollution, and inflated prices. Rampant commercialism has long threatened the town’s ‘spiritual ‘ or ‘sacred’ vibe. These days it is the fourth most visited place in India for overseas travellers  so it’s likely to be more busy, choked with traffic, noisy, more commercial and material focused than ever, with the associated degradation of its appeal for some.

But, even if I were also  able to put all this aside, I think the core of the letting go of my longing for Rishikesh has more to do with the turning inward that has accompanied our eventual recognition of our calling to the hermit life with its quiet, secluded, contemplative lifestyle (or the aspiration for that life).

So, why the dreams? Why so often? Well, as I’ve mentioned, Rishikesh has played a significant role in my life. And despite the dropping away of those longings and attachment, I’m not saying going there again is totally out of the realm of possibility, but it no longer has that ‘I’m home’ kind of feeling. No longer has that magnetic attraction for me.

Now, here’s the missing information about these dreams I’ve neglected to mention thus far: Not one of the dreams has been set in the ‘real’ Rishikesh; never have they been ‘geographically correct’ for wont of better description.

Sometimes the dream town is nothing more than a small clump of houses sitting on a hill or in a field with a dirt track passing by.

Other times it is a sizeable town with temples, streets, cafes and shops masquerading as an Indian town. Sometimes it’s simply a story taking place inside a shop or restaurant that, in the dream, I know is in Rishikesh though not in the terrestrial town. There have been dreams in which the town is more like a city with highrise buildings, multi-lane roadways, and all the rest.

The most recent dream had me in a bus headed for another bus connection to Rishikesh. Worried about missing the connection, I was told that the Rishikesh bus wasn’t due ‘for weeks’.

Many and varied settings all standing in for the ‘real’ Rishikesh. But I don’t think I need Carl Jung to tell me the meaning of these dreams. All of them are my internal sacred or significant ‘Rishikesh’. It’s as if the actual geographic location in India called Rishikesh is the illusion and these dreams are the reality for me. All emanating from the cave in my heart

My inner or true Self, you might say, telling me that my being concerned with my specific geographical location is missing the point. A message for me that I am always in Rishikesh, that I am always in sacred space and with saints and sages, and that the Divine is everything and everywhere.

Om Tat Sat

A Little Ode to Vincent: A Poem & more

Way back long ago in late 2014 I wrote a poem. Which as a stand alone statement is hardly cause for excitement on any level I can think of.

Except to say that in that poem I expressed much of what I felt (and still feel all these years later, perhaps more so) about Vincent Van Gogh. I called it A Little Ode to Vincent, because it was a kind of love song, a celebration of Vincent and an affirmation of my reverence for that great one.

Anyway, I was reading some old poems last night and I came across A Little Ode to Vincent. I checked to see if I’d shared it with you on this blog at some point, but to my surprise I found that I hadn’t. Which is very nice for me, because I get to share it with you now.


There it is then. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you. There isn’t a word I’d change if I were writing it now.

While looking through my blog checking for this poem, I came across two posts from 2022 which mention Vincent. Well, one is about a book I’d read on his spirituality and his quest to lead a compassionate life. Have a look at the beginning of that post and what I wrote about that book:

I still remember the book and its impact on me vividly. Please read the post Van Gogh Mystic & Saint, and if at all possible read the book. In fact I’m going to try to track it down and read it again, or at least do some Googling on the topic.

The other post I wrote at around the same time isn’t about Vincent directly, but it does open with a quote from him, and he’s referred to throughout the post. Here’e the opening section:

Again, please take the time to read it. It’s called The Pilgrims’ Way, and I think it makes a very nice sibling post for that first one I’ve linked to.

I hope you found the little Ode of mine satisfying. I have always had great reverence for Vincent, and after reading the book about his spirituality, I was even more deeply attracted to the man, the artist, and the mystic saint that was Vincent Van Gogh.

There’s nothing more genuinely artistic than to love people.

Vincent Van Gogh