The Gravity Debt (Seva)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Little pebble, tied to my wrist with red thread from the market in Rishikesh, 1893.
You pull me down, Swami Vivekananda's words echoing in the humid air, 85 degrees Fahrenheit.
The earth's debt, you whisper, as I stir the khichdi in the clay stove, cow dung smoke curling up.
Fueled by dried patties collected at dawn, 4 AM, before the volunteers gather.
Your weight, a reminder, neurons firing in quiet service, selfless, the gravity of giving.

[Chorus]
Oh, brass ladle, smoothed by a thousand hands, dip into the dal, serve the line of shadowed faces.
Seva, the pull that bends the spine, releases the mind's tight coils, like synaptic sparks in the twilight sky.
Debt to the soil, to the river Ganges flowing nearby, carry this until the sun dips at 4 PM.
Release you then, watch you sink, the burden lifted, equanimity in the current.

[Verse 2]
Cotton dhoti, worn thin, wraps my waist as I load the wooden cart with rice sacks from the village mill.
Polythene bags didn't exist yet, just jute, heavy with grains harvested in October 1901.
You, pebble, my companion, tied since morning prayers, Advaita Ashrama's teachings in my veins.
Neuroscience of service, dopamine's quiet flood, not for reward, but for the empty hand extended.
In the ashram's mud-walled room, straw mat underfoot, I feel the osmotic pull, cells aligning.

[Bridge]
Strange fact, this thread and stone, a Himalayan custom, unnamed women in remote monasteries.
Their stories lost, like gaps in the Pali Canon, but the act persists, merit in the motion.
Vivekananda at 36, Chicago speech lingering, 'lose yourself in others,' he said.
Gravity debt paid, pebble freed, brain's default mode quiets, ataraxia in the serve.

[Verse 3]
Banana leaf bowls, slick with lentils, handed to children whose names history forgets.
Earthy scent of turmeric, cumin, mingling with sweat, 29 degrees Celsius under the tin roof.
You, my tied weight, symbolize the anchor, pulling against ego's flight, grounding in dana.
Buddhist merit, Greek stoicism fused, in this neural pathway of compassion.

[Chorus]
Oh, brass ladle, smoothed by a thousand hands, dip into the dal, serve the line of shadowed faces.
Seva, the pull that bends the spine, releases the mind's tight coils, like synaptic sparks in the twilight sky.
Debt to the soil, to the river Ganges flowing nearby, carry this until the sun dips at 4 PM.
Release you then, watch you sink, the burden lifted, equanimity in the current.

[Outro]
Pebble, released, debt dissolved, in the flow of selfless sighs.