Thursday, February 19, 2009
Jan 4. Tired, sore, dirty.
Sunday morning satsang involves a roughly 1.5 mile walk into the village, over the dam and 
arriving at the lake. We settle in for lakeside meditation, with a beautiful view of the sunrise over the mountains. After a few moments of silence, I hear voices and the unmistakable squeal of children. Peering in the direction of the noise, I notice a man and three of his young children bathing in the lake. It was a cool morning; too cool for a bath, but the kids were playing, swimming, laughing nonetheless. My meditation was shot, I couldn't take my eyes off of this gorgeous scene. Or maybe it became a different sort of meditation. My heart groaned for a moment and thought of Noah and Arj.
It would soon come to my attention that there were two very young children at the ashram with their parents, and it was pure heartache to hear their voices and watch them romp about. I even wished them gone several times. But it was pure heaven when I could interact with them, touch a little foot, tickle a sweet tummy to produce a smile!
Sunday morning satsang was a fire ritual, a puja dedicated
to Ganesha. Appropriate enough for the official day of initiation. We were settling in, when one of the teaching staff approached the girl next to me, thwacked her outstretched legs and whispered menacingly into her ear. Poor girl explained to me as she meekly tucked her feet cross-legged: "Apparently, it's highly disrespectful to show one's feet in the direction of the altar." I made a mental note; as I wasn't prepared to be made an example of - at least not yet. Om Gam Ganapatiye Namaha...
The swamis and teaching staff initiated us at that evening's satsang and bestowed upon us our fine unif
orms ("yellow is the color of learning, white the color of purity!"), our textbooks and a composition book. We were to immediately retreat to the dorms, change into uniforms and return without delay. That may have been the only time during the entire 4 weeks that anyone there was excited about wearing that fine ensemble; but let me not cheapen the moment here - it was a beautiful evening, full of hope, excitement, anticipation. Maybe dread, too, but that's beside the point...
I've made some fast friends already, as you can imagine in such a pressure-cooker environment. Many are travelers without a concrete plan; it surprised me, I guess. My beautiful amiga Margaret taught in Tibet, trekked/hitchiked across Mongolia, and explored the northern reaches of India before landing here, and this was not entirely atypical. Mary, whom I had brought home with me straight from the airport, had no real plan for going home after graduation; she only knew she wanted to get to the Phillipines at some point. No hurry.
All of the "TTCers" (as we would become known, to differentiate us from pansy 2-week "vacationers") had arrived and been initiated, and tomorrow would be our first day of regular lectures and asana.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Dubai, en route. 7 hour layover, egad! This airport ranks right on up there with the Singapore airport as one of my favorites, in no small part because they have a Cinnabon with a pimped-out menu. Mini chocobon, anyone? Easily the world's most tamasic food ("impure, causing inertia, laziness, stagnation"), so naturally a common occurence in my own diet.
But mostly, airports are the best place to people-watch. The setting makes me look at people in a different way - where are they going? Why? That dude has an LSAT study guide. That chick is crying. What's their story?
The Dubai airport makes me feel cosmopolitan and stupidly sheltered at the same time. One of my favorite images is a crowd of men in full, crisp, beautifully white Arab dress making a run on the Dunkin' Donuts. I consider whipping out my camera for that, but think better of it (and now, I'm reconsidering that decision because, I mean, how awesome would that be, recorded for posterity?). Another thing that strikes me are Muslim women. Head to-toe black, with only a flash of eyes and the smallest enticing sliver of fair skin. But the details reveal everything you need to know: a regal sort of walk, the most exquisite embroidery along sleeves and hems...but you have to look carefully, you know, it's all in black..., Prada handbags, flawless pedicures on delicate toes. I feel suddenly like a small thing in an infinite universe, as curious as a child, ready to set out on a great adventure...
3 Jan 2009 - In Trivandrum, our home in India and my only stop en route to the ashram.
Deboarding the plane, I spy a petite girl carrying nothing but a yoga mat. Surely, this is not a coincidence. "Excuse me. Are you headed to Neyyar Dam?" And this would be the beginning of a friendship that was one of the handful to sustain me over the next four weeks. My brother-in-law met us at the airport to bring Mary and myself home for a decidedly non-vegetarian, non-sattvic meal (to be our last for a while), a quick nap and then off to our next month's home.
We leave on the 45-minute car ride to Sivananda Yoga Vendanta Dhanwantari Ashram that afternoon. The pictures didn't lie, it's beautiful. But heading to reception, I realize that I'm conspicuous by my....serious amount of luggage. Two full suitcases, to be exact (but seriously, one was a carry-on, okay?). Nonetheless, I'm excited, I feel embraced. I'm given my dorm assignment, bed linens, and mosquito net.
6pm is a silent dinner consisting of watery sambar (a spicy sort of vegetable soup that, before this little adventure, was one of my favorite foods to both cook and eat. Now, subtract one thing from my already very limited culinary repertoire), chapati, and a simple vegetable salad that left a good bit to be desired. This would vary little over the next month (the menu, but definitely not the noise level - that would change to a decidedly large degree).
Afterward, satsang at 8pm (meditation, kirtan and aarati), people continue to arrive throughout the night, and it's lights out at 10:30pm. I go to bed a little worn, but heart and mind wide open.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Late to the party yet again, I'm joining the millions of folks out there seeking validation through the public musings of their own warped minds. A very funny conversation with a friend several months ago occurs to me that can be distilled down to: "Why would anyone deem their own mundane lives valuable enough to the rest of us that they need to write about it?" Please note, this friend, and most of my others, are bloggers (and mostly good ones). So here I go, officially opening myself up to this phenomenon and hoping that, even if it doesn't improve anyone's life outright, it will at least be entertaining for you, dear reader, and fun for me. Validation would be nice, too...
There's certainly no better time than now. I've just returned from a 4-week stay at an ashram in India that begs to be blogged about, and I've no doubt been doing just that in my head. But right now, at the keyboard, I'm at a loss. A 28-day yoga training intensive that was easily the most disciplined and difficult thing I've done in my adult life...how do I write about such an experience without cheapening it? Without losing some part of its meaning and impact? Without succumbing to my need to make everything at least mildly funny?
So, then, I will begin posting my notes from worn journal. I hope I can convey to you the same joy, frustration, devastation, resentment, appreciation and love that I experienced during my time away. And with that, my blogging adventure begins...
