Raga is a sanctuary amidst swathes of dry, arid expanse. It is incredible, almost magical, to see what a small parcel of land, taken care of, loved, can do for our ecology. The primary dwellers of Raga are the trees, plants, birds and animals.Our ecology is kind and strong, caring and wanton in equal measure.
In early winter mornings at Raga, I find a solace that is rare, nearly impossible to feel in the city. A city has its own tragedies, it is a doorkeeper. A keeper of the good and filth within its bounds. Holding me close to its dark bosom, sometimes smothering me.
Advocating for the city Gaston Bachelard writes, "In our houses set close one up against the other, we are less afraid. A hurricane in Paris has not the same personal offensiveness towards the dreamer that it has towards the hermit’s house."
The elements save their ferocity for the monks in the priory or perhaps Ragis at Raga Svara. Perhaps I am at a hermitage, buried in me, one I cannot find; one I cannot leave.
I hope these pictures, that I gathered today, can say things my words cannot.