Same?

“Two cappuccinos please.” The barista detected a German accent. When she was 8 years old living in a rural town in the South, a girl had moved from Germany into her school district. Listening to her classmate speak that first day instantly expanded her world and gave her a massive insight into human conditioning.

The two women returned that afternoon and the barista asked “Same?” Surprised she’d remembered their order and somehow delighted she’d used the word same, they returned to the café daily for a week. On about the third day the barista overheard them talking about her from across the room. She had a way of hearing conversations from far away and also understood the language beyond words. As she passed by their table she commented on what they’d said.

“You speak German?!”

“No, but I understood you.”

They were shocked that she’d heard them at all, for it seemed impossible from all the way across the room. That she’d understood them in a language she didn’t speak really got their attention. As they chatted, the women shared that they were in town searching for land to build an ashram for their teacher. “What’s an ashram?” asked the barista, forever curious to learn a new term and eager to explore. They filled her in on many things about spirituality, enlightenment, gurus and such. These were all new concepts to the barista. She’d always relied on her own intuition. All of life was her guru and she’d experienced everything available from within herself.

They became fast friends and months later discovered they’d both be in India at the same time. Traveling was essential for her and she’d designed a life to include it.

Feeling an airplane descend as announcements were made in the native tongue of a foreign land below provided an unmatched excitement. She noticed her cells lit up, ready for adventure. She felt at home wherever she was in the world, her home nested deeply within her. The New Delhi airport held a scent never forgotten. It transported her to places both known and unknown. Familiar scents connect across a vast array of timelines future and past, into the great Now. For her, memory was not linear. Timelines converged and expanded in a single moment, each lifetime seen to her as a glint within a vast pool of Consciousness. All experience passing through, she That which remains.

Greeted by a full moon upon arriving in India for the first time, she wondered how many moons she’d witnessed there before and after she existed. Beyond a colorful sea of flowing saris, the taxi driver held a sign with her name as arranged by her new German friend who insisted upon it. The German woman had been to India every year for many years and had figured out many things. For the past few months the barista had received email after email of how the village was sure to fill up during the busy season and a Guest House must be booked in advance. Each time, the barista politely declined, “I don’t travel that way, but thank you.” This did not stop the stream of emails insisting that a room be booked ahead of time. Though the barista respected her friend’s way of seeing the world, life to her was an unpredictable, magical exploration that she would not weigh down with any plans. The barista lived in a world where everything conspired to meet the resonance that lives within her. Energy was its own force that moved in realms unseen. She observed with wonder and curiosity, perpetually expanding as she rested in that still place within.

Children swarmed around the taxi as it rolled slowly forward and away from the airport, hands grabbing at the windows, faces teeming with despair. Their cheeks glistened in the moonlight.

Sleeping for most of the seven hour drive, she delighted in the timing of waking just at the moment they passed the Taj Mahal. She heard the driver say faintly, “nearly half way Madame.” As if an immersive film had suddenly surrounded the taxi, It became apparent she was viewing scenes from WWII and within a moment the driver said “these taxis were used as medical ambulances during WWII.” She’d had recurring dreams for years of being a nurse during war times. Dehydrated from the long flight, she asked silently from within for a shot of electrolytes and felt a sensation of nectar filling her veins: her Subtle Holographic IV, as she liked to call it.

The bumpy road shook her awake as a loving mother might gently push and pull a child’s body from side to side. Mantras echoed through the narrow streets, a trail of dust aglow with the rising sun lifted behind them. Moving his head from side to side, the driver softly assured, “Nearly there, Madame.” Instead of a few hours passing, it seemed she’d just closed her eyes. She loved how the relevance of time changed so drastically during sleep.

The German friend greeted her at the edge of the pedestrian bridge that led over a river to the village. “There are no rooms. I have been searching and everything is full. I told you that you should have booked ahead.” The barista smiled and said “It’s okay. I don’t travel that way.” Right in that moment a man came running across the bridge, “Madame! Madame! I have a room for you! A swami has been kicked out of an ashram, so the room is yours Madame.”

The room had a large balcony overlooking the river and was the only room in the village with a western toilet and a hot running shower. Others were equipped with bucket baths made of stovetop-heated water and squat toilets. She made an offering: her room would be open to anyone in the village who wanted to use the hot running shower during her stay there.

After freshening up a bit, the barista met her German friends and their guru at a café for a welcome meal. “Same?” asked the waiter as he took orders from the three familiar women. The aroma of chai wafted through as resounding mantras being chanted throughout the village awakened deep chords within her. She noticed the sunlight sparkling on the jade waters below the bridge now bustling with people and monkeys swinging on the railings. “Ganga” she heard from that place within her that provides such messages. “Ganga? What is Ganga?” she wondered silently, internally. The river came to life and appeared to her as a goddess, the sparkles of light sequins on her dress. Rocks lining the riverbed became masses of worshippers that appeared to span over centuries. The waiter shooed a monkey away from the table. “The river is named Ganga. She is personified and worshipped as a goddess.” the guru informed.