August 30th 1962, Delhi, India
I had no idea what a shock my first breaths on Indian ground would be. Past the kerosene of Delhi airport, past the airport controls that even aspiring hippies can't avoid, past the collision with castes and noise. Beyond the few vibrant and chaotic miles leading to the fragrant markets of Paharganj, colourful and sepia-toned all at once. Through the bittersweet beauty of colonial architecture, and into the echoes of the Jama Masjid's red sandstone minarets. Here, it is said that Westerners who come to India learn patience if they have none, and lose it if they have. This is also true. But the 'Destiny's Children' are an unusual species, hovering somewhat above all of this.
Here in Delhi, we met up again with an 'old friend', Allen, who hadn't travelled with us for the European part of the trip, just like Tim, now back in Harvard. I still love his irrational, intuitive approach to life, which reminds me of how much I've always tried to control everything. By the way, Bob Dylan took an interest in Howl, his poetry collection, and I just can't believe it. We'll be on the road together again for a while, along with Peter, his boyfriend, and then they'll leave us to head south to the caves of Ellora.
The news is bleaker for Kitty, who has spent most of the last few days in New Delhi's medical services. She has deliberately chosen to carry on with us, but she hides her concern behind a perpetually radiant face. Her generosity has only increased tenfold, and not just towards Klaus and the 'Children': she has invested here in an orphanage that will be called after her. I don't know what's growing inside her, but her expression sometimes reminds me of my mother's, when she looks into the distance but can't see the horizon. I'm afraid the crab might take her away, but I'm sure she won't tell us.
You can't imagine how kind Klaus is to her, behind his diva-like demeanor. I don't know what he's sensing, but he's supporting her in his own way, for the months she has left. I don't think she's ever been fooled by him, and neither has he. They both know what their relationship was all about. He needed money and a place in this world. She had no heir, she knew she was ill, she wanted to live one last time. She's going to leave him a hell of a lot of money, and - having no administrative existence in this era - he's not going to declare it. But after all, is that really what we should remember ?
I regret that Lloyd chose to return between the walls of his father's electronics store in Dallas. That he didn't experience the sound of rolling rickshaws, the confusing spices of street food, the clamor of Old Delhi, where the centuries-old stones speak as much of the past as the people. I kind of miss him. As you can imagine, the more sane people have already left the 'Children of Destiny'. Little by little, only the most lost, the most devoted, or the unclassifiable, like Kitty and me, remain. Life choices are a kaleidoscope, and even if mine are also changing, for the moment I'm fully focused on these months, which are already transforming me for the simple fact of existing here.
September 20th 1962, Rishikesh, India
I remember that when I first arrived, Klaus's complete nullity when it came to yoga drew some pitying smiles from me. I quickly changed my mind when I looked into his reasons for getting into it, and today I have nothing but respect for him. I realized that this was his personal journey to well-being and self-control, previously out of his reach. A kind of path beyond his own limits. The Niyamas personal discipline, the Asanas postures and breathing, made up of control and release, and the peace of mind sought through meditation, have already greatly enhanced his ability to deal with ghosts, which he is increasingly able to keep at bay. His sense of balance is still close to zero, and that's unlikely to ever change, but his perseverance is striking: there's not a day he doesn't practice for one hour at least. I'm not sure he ticks all the boxes of the Yamas ethical principles though. No, as a matter of fact, he's trashing them all: better not to talk about it.
I don't know if the other 'Children' fully understood that his personal quest is what took us up the steep trails of the Himalayan foothills, and all the way to Rishikesh. In collective buses, with us occupying almost every seat, to this river town amidst the temples and the sadhus' hymns. We didn't bring Priscilla across the ocean and the Eurasian continent, but every mile we travel by bus, with engines that my power sometimes supports without saying so, reminds us that this is how we started, two years ago.
We're staying here at Maharishi Mahesh's yogic retreat, an ashram housing the International Meditation Academy, where the Beatles will also be staying in the future. A transformative experience for Jill and Keechie as well, who fail to realize that it's all up to them and not some so-called guru. I shudder to see Klaus becoming their only light. They interpret everything according to his words, even the most silly ones: the other day, he quoted Katy Perry to them and they really came close to dancing through the fire, roaring. I also heard them vowing to get 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' tattooed on their palms - like their alleged prophet - when we eventually return to Delhi. More and more, Klaus seems exasperated by what he has created himself, but what can be done? The resilience of the human soul is tremendous, even when it has lost the way.
On Friday, I saved a cow. I think they're sacred enough to mention it here, and I'm a little proud of it. As often here, it was wandering freely near the Lakshman Mandir temple. A truck, a colossal load of bananas, one step too far into the vehicle's blind spot, and that poor animal almost went back into the cycle of reincarnations. I was able to trigger a sphere of energy just in time, similar to the one that had already protected Jill back at the Manor. The cow didn't notice a thing, and kept walking, ignoring me completely, to finally leave a dung in the middle of the scents of chai and tandoori spices.
Here, time stretches out - for once - in the humble, beneficial contemplation of evenings and mornings. Nevertheless, I dreamt of Five again: a nightmare even more disturbing than the previous ones. A chase, a dimly lit warehouse, red shoes. And this girl, who seemed to jump through space like him and me. But I've got used to waking up disturbed, so I don't feel as bad as I did at first. Klaus doesn't even open his eyes either. One day, maybe I'll take up this travel journal again, and I'll understand it all, but I've still got lines to write in it. Soon we'll be heading south-east, towards Varanasi.
A step I've been dreading ever since I found out Klaus had scheduled it.
Because ~he~ did.
October 1st 1962, Varanasi, India
Mark Twain said that Varanasi - which he then called Benaras - was older than History, older than tradition, older even than legend, and looked twice as old as all them put together. I personally believe that words cannot express what it feels like to set foot in this spiritual hub of India, dedicated to Shiva. In one of the world's oldest cities, where the cycle of life and death is at its most vibrant.
Here, nestled in the meandering Ganges, the flights of steps known as ghats lead down to the sacred waters that silently witness the transitory flow of earthly existences. It's a place of perpetual pilgrimage, where thousands of people come all year round to indulge in ritual bathing, but not only. It is said that ending one's days here and being left to the waters of the Ganges enables to achieve Moksha, halting the exhausting cycle of reincarnation to attain Nirvana.
Along the ghats, especially Manikarnika, cremations never cease, not even at night. A smell you get used to, after a while. If there's one city in the world where the whispers of the dead never stop, it's here. No, let's put it more straightforwardly: in Varanasi, the living literally have to make their way amidst the souls of the dead, and everyone knows it deep down, even if they can't physically see them.
I feared this, more than anything. For all those nights, over so many years, spent fighting whatever it was that haunted Klaus, in the squats or wherever. I dreaded the density of ghosts here, his ability to close the door on them since there are so many, his capacity to handle this literal spectral tidal wave. That, and my own reaction to these flows of energy that I am also able to contemplate now. I feared he'd be overwhelmed, I feared I'd be too, by this powerful interconnection between the earthly and the beyond.
However, nothing of the kind happens.
I understood what he came here for, what he wanted to contemplate even more than the northern lights last year. This continuous and peaceful ballet of enlightened souls, at peace with themselves and the laws of the universe. Those leaving the cycle of rebirths here look at him curiously, but don't dwell on him. They just pass by, allowing themselves to be carried away. They expect nothing from him.
Perhaps we're the only ones who can see this beauty within death in such a raw, vivid way. Everywhere on the lapping waters, wisps of bluish energy rise as the ashes and golden-yellow petals of sacred marigolds drift by. Ben sees them too, of course, the azure flakes of souls that dissipate while - he - remains. They fly away, sad and beautiful like butterflies. I don't know what's holding him back. Maybe Klaus, an unfinished task like old Wayne Wilson's, or even himself. Perhaps he'll fear the Crossing less, now that he's witnessed this. And as for me, I'll bring back some marigold seeds: I'll plant them along with Wayne's.
Beyond its connection to death, Varanasi is also pulsating with life. A labyrinth of alleys and markets with the color of saffron, the sound of sitar and the smell of incense. Banaras Hindu University abounds with a student life that brings us back to a very practical earthly reality, in the evenings, outside the doors of the ashram we're staying in. It's also a city of art, literature and learning, where Allen introduced us to his philosopher friend Gary Snyder. We realize that we're on the threshold of a revolution for the hippie movement. Tim. Allen, Gary: they're all now turning their gaze to the communitarian possibilities San Francisco has to offer. A few months, a few years, and this city will become the beating heart of 'Flower Power', as Allen himself calls it.
We've still got three months to go, between Pushkar, Dharamshala and Goa, but we need to think about where we're going next. Because Kitty has to return for medical care to the US, because a journey also has meaning when it comes to an end, and because Klaus has not lost sight of accompanying the birth of the hippie movement with all his inner strength. The devotion of everyone here makes him sick and tired, to the point where he doesn't even hold back the signs of exasperation that come to him when the 'Children' worship him a little too closely. It's annoying, that's for sure: now there are more than twenty of them wanting to get their palms tattooed. Klaus won't give up just yet; he'll take them all the way to San Francisco. But I'm willing to bet that the fate of the 'Children' will be sealed in a matter of six months. Maybe a little more, because Klaus is lazy.
I told him on the steps of one of the ghats that I would stay in Dallas and not go to California. After this trip, after all the security and strength he gave me, I feel fit to face the reality of American life, on streets I should never have walked. I know my situation, I remember what year it is, I know what obstacles I'm about to face. I'm not afraid of that anymore, just as he doesn't need me to fend off the slightest specter by singing. This is the first time we will deliberately part in eleven years, will you believe it, at least for any other reason than the hazards of a time jump. But I want to be in Dallas, and nowhere else, when 1963 comes. Because that's the year Five told me about. Because my dreams warn me that what I see could happen. I remember my first nightmare, in Wilson's little house. The nuclear rain. I never told Klaus about that first dream. But it helped seal my decision.
I almost forgot something important: today is our birthday. An October 1st that I could have missed, as the Ganges flows in a timeless way, promised to eternity. What's a date here? I was surprised, as Klaus frequently forgets birthdays - even ours - and usually doesn't even know what day it is.
Yet it was indeed October 1st that he too chose to accomplish the Ganga Snaan, the ritual bath by total immersion, where life and death are only two names for the same fact. Tonight at the golden hour. A symbol of purification of soul and body in the cyclical journey of beings. A form of deliberate resurrection - for once - which makes me smile silently. He never gets sick from anything, but I do: I personnaly won't be stepping into this water. But if there's anyone who's convinced that Klaus has - more than anyone else - a place in all this... then it's most certainly me.
He sucks at learning mantras, so he won't remember any. That's all right. Ben will just prompt them for him.
Notes :
It's a chapter that's probably more important than it seems, just as - in my opinion - the series' flashback scene in Varanasi. Clearly, the path that leads Klaus to better control the ghosts is not sufficiently addressed, and I'm convinced that this Indian chapter is a kind of highpoint. Varanasi was probably not chosen at random.
We've come to the end of the three chapters covering the Destiny's Children's journey. Perhaps you'll take a different look at the flashback at the start of episode 3 now? I think this trip helped Klaus and Rin to grow up, just as the hippie movement. Now a certain return to reality is about to take place - it has, in fact, already begun.
I'm sad for Kitty, whatever I thought of her at first. As you may have noticed, she doesn't appear in the Destiny's Children scene in San Francisco, and the draped sheets at the Manor probably say it all.
Now it's time to go 'home'.
Any comment will make my day!