It’s always six o’clock at Manikarnika. Squinting through the thick smoke of incinerating bodies, one can see the clock atop the decrepit Birla pilgrim shed which hasn’t moved in living memory. Shrouded in perpetual twilight, legend states here, at this most holy of Hindu sites on the banks of the Ganges, time never runs down but instead stands still. And so it does. Precariously rooted in the ashes of thousands of bodies burned over thousands of years, the site is reverently known as the “cradle of Vishnu.” Its origins, rumored to extend back to the beginning of creation, serve as a gruesome yet persistent reminder of life’s trembling fragility and temporary essence. Here within the ancient sacred city of Varanasi, multitudes of the Hindu pious have for millennium brought their dead to this auspicious place for cremation and ultimately their final journey from this world. Their presence and force is palpably felt within the all enveloping spectral haze. It is a place of great severity and immense profundity.
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Each of us is a thread within the grand tapestry of existence. Deeply interwoven within the immense fabric of Being, it’s difficult to comprehend the picture of which we are a part or understand our role within its construction. The only certainty is our interconnected nature to the greater whole. As human beings this is a fate not easily accepted.
People of every time have questioned life’s nature and ultimate purpose. We do so not by choice but necessity. To know the pattern of which we are a part is essential to determining who and what we are. Despite the enormity of the task, we continue forward convinced such answers are eventually knowable.
Through determined observation of ourselves and surroundings we try to come to terms with these ultimate questions.
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