a Scented Muse











{Wednesday, 2 February, 11}   A meeting of souls

As I held the woman’s hand, she cried. In very broken English and a lot of body language, this middle-aged woman explained to me that her husband had been killed for political reasons in Iran. Her sobs grew more intense as she pointed to her daughter, son-in-law and young grand-daughter,  as she painfully explained that they were moving to Canada.  She would not be traveling with them.  She could not.  How was she going to survive the loneliness of traveling back to Iran without them. They had just spent 4 weeks together in India as a final bonding before they would go their separate ways.  I continued to hold the woman’s hand while she cried. Silence overcame the airport lounge as the morning Call to Prayer broke out from the overhead speakers.  She continued to grasp my hand – as if it were somehow a lifeline, a means of fending off the loneliness that she felt loomed in front of her.  I prayed for peace to come to her heart and that soon she would be re-united with her family in Canada.  For the moment, it was only she and I in Bangalore airport, waiting for our connections, both going into the unknown.  The spell broke as her family returned, gathering up their belongings.  They looked at me with suspicion.  Who was this uncovered American woman holding their mother’s hand? They scolded their mother.  She said in broken English “She my friend”.  They walked off leaving her to trail behind them. I felt a strange loss, as if we did not get to properly say goodbye to each other and it was at that moment, she came running back to me, hugged me, said she loved me and to be safe in my travels.  Little did I know that this would continue to be the “theme” of my travels throughout India.  A theme of praying, heart connections, sadness and laughter

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{Saturday, 22 January, 11}   A mist between worlds

As I stood on the tarmac in Bangalore, India, still shaken from the security issue, the morning sun was breaking over the horizon.  Watching the colours dance along the horizon line, I was reminded of the bigger picture. All had turned out well and was just as it was suppose to be.  Perhaps if I had not been delayed, I would not be standing here to witness the beauty before me.  It was as if the country was welcoming me, wrapping me with the colours that I would see consistently throughout the countryside.   There seemed to be a haze that created a mystical veil between where I stood and the mountains in the distance.   I was reminded of the “Mists of Avalon”.   If I walked through the veil, would I too, find a magical world on the other side?  My fantasy was rudely interrupted by the announcement to board the prop aircraft.  We were going to fly 3 hours, over mountains in this?  Could I eat a person to survive if we crashed in the mountains? I hoped I didn’t have to find out.



et cetera