As deep as a soul could go, India called. The low moan of a sadhu in chant, the lyric of sitar with its music, spirit lights are carried like drifting incense. An awakening stirs of another life, a time when reverence for the devine permeated existence. The quiet gait of women carrying baskets, the simple tasks of preparing dinner or devotional bathing in the Ganges. For six weeks I surrendered to this India. My paintings each gifted me a glimpse of grace.

Community is fundamental for our survival. While traveling throughout northern India I witnessed the caring and sharing of labour. Women working

Taking Turns At The Well

the fields, getting water or labouring on roads. Self reliance took on a meaning that self included community. Mirroring each other, awareness of other as self is a foundational survival mechanism that is part of their culture. It embraces the whole. This charming scene of women waiting to fill their water urns in turn I witnessed in remote villages through- out Rajasthan.

In the centre of our being I believe we yearn for deep contentment, a balance of love with service, gratitude with surrender. A knowing that all is well. Perhaps there is a simple path to this place.