SHENAYOGA

Riwo Sangcho by Machig Rinpoche. Magical. Rice grains, milk, honey were poured one scoop at a time into flames. Leaves, branches and barks of trees fueled the fire. By the river we sat in silence. We had woken up before 5am, took a bus running through dusty roads and sleeping towns, walked in darkness around a donkey and strays, arriving. By the river we sat. A tiny bamboo bowl of flame and petals laid before each of us. In the dark, the Rinpoche chanted and the smoke rose. I imagined these clouds of offerings nourishing all that there is around us, above us and beyond us. In the spaciousness of pre-dawn silence and dew, I felt soft and alive. Pale orange pink brushed the sky. The sun was rising. The ritual was almost complete. Scooping flower petals out of a bag, we tossed them in the air saying Om ah hum! — a confetti of colourful tiny petals falling against gray pink skies and onto water. Tiny bamboo bowls of petals and flame were held in cupped hands, raised gently towards the sky. We floated them onto the river, sending loving kindness intentions to nourish the Universe. Some of us took off our warm clothes and slid into the river. I floated belly up, stuck my feet into the muddy soft riverbed that was warm, sticky and smooth like pudding. We swam in the river while the sun rose. Drenched in his orange light, mist rolling over mirror-like river, soaked in bliss.