At the beach
Some Aurovilians are lunatics,
literally. When a full moon rises, so do they. The stock standard
full moon gathering occurs on the beach. Someone heads into Pondy
(the local town) and buys whatever the fish market has to offer,
while others ferry firewood, drums, guitars, frisbees and whatever
else they can think of to the beach. By the time the sun has set
everyone's gone for a swim in the moon-maddened sea and ferocious
hunger has set in. Onions and potatoes roast in the fire and fish
grills above on a piece of chicken wire. Water boils for tea while
everyone either waits or cooks.
Sticky, sandy and delicious
Traditionally dinner is
sticky, sandy and delicious. Hot sweet milkpowder tea tastes like
nectar and the mood becomes tangibly more relaxed as digestion sets
in. When energy returns, improvised music and sometimes theatre
performances involve anyone prepared to knock two sticks together
or even sing. When that gets boring: frisbee, handstand competitions,
see-if-you-can-catch-me and more swimming.
With the absence of any
light other than the fire, the moon beams with such power that it
feels like a small sun radiating some life-giving force. Everything
seems alive, not the least of which the ocean, which heaves and
froths with intimidating joy. Everything feels like your friend,
and you want to whoop and call and jump about, and you do. Everyone
understands because they're doing it too.
By 4am you finally nod off reluctantly. The dawn - brilliant and
reflected on the sea - compels you awake, and through bleary eyes
you marvel as you shake the sand from your salty hair.
Thank god the next one's
a month away.