Garsang day. It means smoke and fire and offering. Long trumpets and twin cymbals and the shaking of your veins when the music plays and sound waves melt into heat waves and it all rises in vaporous spirals and white ashes.
They call it purification. I’m not sure I know what that means, but I’ll take it, though I heard recently that there is no purification without suffering. Maybe it’s like being strained though a sieve; you have to be pressed through a very fine mesh to leave the grit behind.
Maybe it wasn’t suffering they said, but hardship. Because suffering, I believe, means resowing the same tendencies that run us through the wringer every time. But purification–purification means leaving bad habits behind, means choosing to look instead of to act when the old traitorous urges rise.
Sometimes life lessons and growth and religion and ritual are not old books or wrinkled brows. Or anyway, sometimes they are those things mixed with poetry, and blessed baked goods, and butter sculptures, and wishes that it all transforms into something sacred enough, rendered carefully enough, willed with enough force and love and attention that it can nourish even those whose very nature defies receiving sustenance or aid.
I don’t mean wishes where you wish some one else will take responsibility for you but wishes where you wish it so bad you will do anything to make it happen.
What it takes to make a wish happen could seem complicated , but really it’s simple. Cause and effect, action and reaction. It’s a law. You can call it physics or you can call it karma; maybe it’s energy that oxidizes matter or maybe it’s intention that changes perception. But at the end of the day, there are two things that count:
You have to know how it works and you have to do the hard work to make it work for you.