On an impulse

 On Lady Love, in 1k. 

While my blog hasn’t seen much activity, the Notes on my phone have. And in this moment, in this space while still on the ground, on an impulse sharing something very special entered in my Notes on June 19th, at 3:21 am. Not editing it, at least not yet. 😁

The sacred spaces and workings of the innermost chambers of their minds, their collective wisdom of centuries. To be allowed into this hallowed ground- for a sacred experience was a privilege that had been afforded us. 

I was almost fearful on the way up. I sat almost because there was a trust placed in the integrity of my intentions, that would somehow permeate this centuries of consciousness and their benevolence would preserve our safety through the sheer drops that awaited almost every turn as we proceeded uphill over the stone laden sharp turns and bends, through dirt roads, at places wet with the rush of joyful waterfalls depositing their mirth, allowing it to spill onto the gravel in our path. 

The trek saved the best for the last parts of our visit, unfolding a view of all that we had been through at the ends of the visit. 

What does one place as offering at the intelligence that had created this? The ultimate union is of when mind meets mind, and in the loftiest moments of mind’s exploration I had sat mesmerized, beholden and transformed to the strains of music and magic of a man’s voice that could communicate with this power like they spoke the same divine language. Without hesitation, I offered this, my sacred, secret key to the portals that take me beyond, beyond the pleasures or the pains of human existence, into the shelters offered by the divine. This, my offering to this place poured forth and I whispered, “Namami shameeshan Nirvana Roopam.” There was nothing else to say, except a hope that the Namami that poured forth from my heart would meet acceptance on these sacred spaces. 

A memory came up of a mother driving her children in her white Nissan hatchback, up the curves and bends to the Cradle mountain in Tasmania. That same faith and wonder once again carried us on top to Machu Pichu, the old mountain which was host to the loftiest minds as they unfolded their wisdom for the benefit of those alive in those moments in time. And their progeny to come, and theirs and down to the future generations their wisdom would percolate. 

To be a speck of dust, to belong here, whether as soil or dirt, but to belong here, even as a speck of dust in this miraculous creation, to belong, to be allowed here, was being elevated, acknowledged and realized. 

The voice, mining the innermost memories and expanding their reach, the experiences etched in the innermost workings of my mind. 

Journey to Machu Pichu. 

Flying over the Andes, hugging the coast of Peru and Ecuador, where I had spent a month in 2016, two weeks of which were on my own. With my own, with a freedom that comes with being a solo player over unfamiliar territory and unexpected situations. 

The majestic Andes, standing stately and tall, aloof peaks, and yet conjoined, together, flowing over vast and seemingly endless areas the Andes from the air are a sight to behold. This range supported life over the centuries! 

The clouds piercing the snow laden motionless mountain tops, with signs of civilizations resplendent st the foothills, as rivers swirled and snaked between the man made regions of to support as d sustain  life. 

Two weeks as a solo traveler exploring with randomness and whimsy. It’s only on hindsight that I come to think of it, and have a desire to have shared  the experiences with someone else, with another kindred spirit. 

Innermost recesses of my mind, the reverence in his voice, I couldn’t conjure up the devotion, urgency and divinity that pervades his voice. 

Owe this trip to Komal Panduji! She curated a great itinerary! 

Veenu Banga

July 5th 2025

4:47 pm 

Moving!