It was one year ago, more or less.
Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith.
~ Rev. Margaret Shepherd
One year ago March 1, I quit my job. As far as I can recall this is only the second time in my life I have quit a job. [The other time being on the eve of my departure in 2005 when I was denied a sabbatical from my former school district.] This decision was a really big deal to me. It solidified the reality that I would be taking that proverbial leap of faith, in quite a literal fashion.
I had been deliberating the move for a while, but under the radar enough that some people were surprised. I would be walking away from a very lucrative (although overly demanding) job, leaving the home I had made for myself – the first home I had made for myself on my own – ever, relocating my cats, and returning to an America that seemed rather uninviting in the more pragmatic arenas. What would I come “home” to? And would it be “home”? These questions loomed, but for reasons almost beyond my ken, I took the chance. I knew that at the very least, I would be received, supported, taken in, by my family and friends and that somehow, something would arise. I felt ready to take the leap.
This was new.
I had to work for two more months, and they were truly intense months; they did not let me go gently into that goodnight. My boss said he had been sort of waiting for this decision, but hoped he could sway me, that was nice. The only thing I knew, aside from the fact that April 30 would be my last day at work, was that I would spend May in an ashram in Karnataka, India and that I would depart Hong Kong on June 29.
I guess I was ready at a more visceral level than I could have known.
Getting Out of India: As always, it’s what you take with you that matters.
Varkala Beach is a really beautiful place and I was glad to be there reading and sitting in the sun and eating tandoori paratha and fresh fruit and listening to music. But then two things happened. For some reason unknown to me, a load of backpackers arrived. Where had they descended from and why were they there polluting the air with patchouli and cigarette smoke and painfully inane conversation? This was supposed to be the low season; didn’t they get the memo? Please, stay on the backpacker trail so the rest of us can avoid you.
And I found out that one of my cats had gone missing back in Hong Kong.
Doubly inauspicious.
I contemplated my options as I sat in Little Tibet eating vegetable pakora. I had been thinking of going home early anyhow because I was realizing I might have grossly underestimated the logistical and emotional hurdles that were going to need to be surmounted over the remaining weeks of June. Also, it turns out that I had given myself a strangely useless amount of time post-ashram in India. The thing is, while twelve days may be a good amount of time for a little foray into many a foreign land, This Is India. And that was not enough time to do anything. Why? Here is why: India is amazing and overwhelming and cheap and fantastic and wild and vibrant. And in order to make it all those things it is incredibly inefficient. Finessing plans is totally impossible. If you have lots of time and flexibility you can go for weeks – months even – ambling around the Subcontinent. However, if you have any sort of schedule: Good.Luck. Trying to adhere to even a simple schedule ends up being fairly costly, and truth be told, the schedule is not gonna stick anyhow. This Is India. Just that morning I had been reading an article in the local paper about how India is Number One for Asia’s “most inefficient bureaucrac[y], with red tape a constant blight to citizens and deterrent for foreign investment.” (Indonesia and the Philippines came second and third. The most efficient? Hong Kong and Singapore. SNG won the top spot, but that makes sense, as police states do tend to be very efficient.)
Considering these realities and wishing that my plate of vegetable pakora was bottomless I started picking up on the conversations around me.
“Dude! You went there? Why? I heard that is like the rip-off capital of India because all the tourists go there!”
“I know mate. It was mental. And all these tourists who couldn’t even work out how to get on a train, I couldn’t believe it.”
“Hey, gotta fag? I’m out?”
“So, did you ever see those birds again, the ones you met up with in Agra?”
[Mental note: Agra = THE tourist destination of India.]
“Ha. Yeah man. Ran into them in — (couldn’t hear where). It was crazy.”
[Mental note: Crazy? You all go to the same places, how can that be crazy? And on that note, why am I here?] Amidst stubbornly lingering cigarette smoke, a personal aggravation I always look forward to leaving behind, I decided to move my meditation on “What To Do” elsewhere. I was wondering where Norman could have ended up on Lamma. I mean it is an island, not too far to wander. And he had run away before (he took a three-day punishment holiday following the toga party and had twice been gone for a couple of days for reasons unknown.) By the time I was alerted to this absence he had been gone four or five days already. Not a good sign. I mean, he could survive, cats are wily. But this was very unusual behavior for a cat who is well-known for adherence to routine. I felt sad, but in a strange emotional turn for me, I seemed to understand there was nothing I could do about it and so it was what it was. I briefly wondered if I had somehow matured or become less of a crazy cat-lady while in the ashram. Unlikely, but you never know, I guess.
Two Western girls sauntered by in their hippie dresses and a cloud of smoke laughing riotously over something. One of them was wearing Crocs. I was definitely going to have to GTFO of here. I sent an email to my most amazing travel agent from my iPhone and within the hour had secured a new ticket home and began to adjust to my new itinerary. It felt right. Then I thought about that damn cat and I started to cry.
Keralaaaaaahhhhhh…
The sand here is very soft.
I read somewhere that if you begin any piece of writing with a simple declarative statement it really has an effect. “The sand here is very soft.” Does that statement get my point across? My verbosity wants to add that it is an inky, velvety, gun-metal grey (one of my favorite colors) with an insane glitter factor (this *is* India after all…) And it is so soft. It is not all black though. In fact it looks decidedly like halva. Do you know what halva is? Well, it looks just like this:
I arrived at this soft-sand beach on the last day of May. I chose to come somewhere easy to kick back after the month in the ashram. I picked my hotel based on the review of the bathroom and Western food; it met my needs in both areas. [Though to be fair, by relying on the Lonely Planet and heading to The Beach Hotel, I missed the chance to stay at the Sunrise resort right next door for one-tenth of the cost. C'est la vie (the bathrooms were worth the 90%.)] I was having mixed feelings about embarking on travel after my stay at Prashanti. It was weird and unfamiliar to want to cut my trip short. I even emailed my travel agent to see if my ticket could be changed [yes, with no penalty...] I was not sure why I was feeling this way. Part of me said it was because I had already been gone so long, another part said it was to do with not being ready to deal with “India” after being quieted away for so long, and yet another part was pulling at me saying, “Do you have any idea how much shit you have to take care of when you get back to Hong Kong?”
I was unsure. I knew I would be flying to Trivandrum and from there, I just did not know how I was going to feel. I left Prashanti early to travel to Bangalore with Mayouri – who was just beside herself with excitement to see her family again after a month. She could not believe how long I have been away from my home. Her excitement was infectious. As we drove along the more distance we covered the more interested I felt myself becoming in getting “back out there.” It was weird. I felt myself mentally transitioning from, “Yeah, I get why some people do not want to visit India, it just seems… hard,” to, “Wow, look at that!” As we cruised along amidst cows, auto rickshaws, ox-carts, stray dogs and stray children things started to look more interesting and far less daunting. We passed a shop with this sign: “Plastic World – For the Perfect Shopping Experience!” Wow. And right outside, its own impressive heap of plastic rubbish next to the rusted car, grazing cow and lazing dog.
Getting closer to the city center of Bangalore I started to really get interested. I have always loved checking out cities. I was reminded of how I loved Athens when everyone was like, Athens is such a dump. And the same with my love for Beijing and Saigon and the places everyone else heads out from. Clearly not everyone shares this fascination, but urban geography and particularly the cultural influence on said geography is infinitely interesting to me. If I have time – I mean, it is up to me at this point, so if I make time, I would like to check Bangalore out with a little more time. I guess we will see. We got to the airport in time for Mayouri’s flight and while she waited she photographed me repeatedly as I embarked on my first cappuccino after a month. Once she was on her way the reality that I had several hours to kill in the airport hit me. Now, the Bangalore International Airport is pretty good, but it is no HKIA. [I am spoiled.] There was not going to be a wide variety of restaurants or free wifi (for more than 15 minutes) so I got out the novel I had brought with me under the mistaken idea that there would be time to read at the ashram.
And so began my day long affair with Balram, Aravind Adigawas’ Man Booker Prize winning White Tiger. It was the perfect way to pass the day and I highly recommend the read. I am also glad that I read it after the ashram because I had a lot better context geographically and culturally. [Not only do I know who Hanuman is now, I have mastered his asana.] I sat in the airport, had some veggie samosas, wrote a bit in my journal, listened to some music and read my book. Not bad.
When it was time to head towards my gate I made my way to security. Security here is divided by gender. I laughed a little. There was hardly anyone in line and four ladies working the x-ray and one in a curtained booth, ostensibly to scan our persons. I walked up and put my bag on the [not moving] belt for the x-ray. I noticed that the chair where the scanner sits was empty. The scanner was searching the bags that she had just taken off the x-ray belt on the other side while two security ladies watched her and one sat in the scanner’s co-pilot seat doing nothing. There were now eight people in line, though ‘line’ is not a really accurate description of the arrangement of people. Miss Scanner removed two cricket balls from the offending bag and began to search another one. The lady near the curtains looked bored and if she had been interested at all, she would have come across as helpless. Now there were a dozen of us. A couple of brightly clad matrons shoved my backpack aside and placed their purses on the belt. I watched, really pleased to not be in a hurry and thus not bothered by this clearly ridiculous system. Not bothered. Not bothered. Miss Scanner began on a third bag. Since I had been standing there not one item had been scanned. Not bothered. Not bothered. I kept thinking about what Christelle and Nunhun said over and over – This Is India. T.I.I. [The Blood Diamond reference intentional, of course.] Finally Curtains Didi called me over. I suppose her boredom had a limit. I walked through the x-ray and then into the curtained vestibule. She did a thorough scanning with a strange looking wand and I was glad that it was gender specific. When I came out my bag was not visible. Anywhere. Hm. T.I.I. T.I.I. “Uh, where is my backpack?”
“It’s coming.”
“Oh.” Five minutes passed as I stood with a degree of triumph to be on the “other” side tempered only by the small detail of my M.I.A. backpack. There were now easily fifty people in line on the machine scanning side. “Uh, where is my bag? Is it in the machine? I don’t see it.”
“It’s coming.”
“Oh.”
And it did eventually come. It only took about a half an hour. Shame for those people who might actually have a flight to catch. Or do the planes operate on Indian Stretchable Time as well? I did not know.
I passed the afternoon in BIA reading and people watching. And bird watching. The place is filled with sparrows. I am not sure how they get in, but they seem to enjoy being there. Maybe they feel a special connection to a place where everyone flies. Or, perhaps it is just good eating.
I was flying on Kingfisher Airlines. Kingfisher is the number-one selling lager in India. For all intents and purposes, I was flying Air Budweiser. Albeit with a way nicer logo, though I do appreciate a hefty Clydesdale. The plane was tiny, and I was seated next to a really gigantic man. Nice enough, but Damn. The plane left on time with little pomp and circumstance and the flight was as uneventful as I like.
Once in Trivandrum my luggage beat me to the belt and there was a car waiting to take me the 20 km or so to Kovalammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
It had obviously been pouring rain earlier in the day s the roads were sort of… missing. On clarification my driver said that the road condition had nothing to do with the rain, though it had been pouring and would continue to do so: “The Monsoon is here.”
Hmmm.
I got to the hotel, checked in and took one of the most rewarding and lengthiest showers I can remember. And handed over a bag of laundry I hoped to never catch wind of again. I slept pretty well, though still rising at a rather ungodly hour, or maybe it is THE godly hour. Either way, it is early as f*ck. I woke up to perfectly sunny skies and fresh coffee and toasted baguette. T.I.I.? Okay, then. I wondered if the rain would come. I sort of wished I had another book to read as Balram had only lasted a day. I looked to the left and saw a book exchange. I picked up A Confederacy of Dunces, which I have never read though often considered. As the forward was written by a person favorite, Walker Percy [I have said it before and I will say it again: READ The Moviegoer] this time I went for it. I have to say, thus far… Ignatius J. Reilly makes me wanna punch him in the big fat gut. He also reminds me of a former, super annoying co-worker who can only be described as a delusional, narcissistic, social retard. Let’s hope Ignatius works it out. [That was not very yogic, was it?] Suddenly, I noticed I had a headache and so I arranged for an Ayurvedic massage thinking maybe my doshas were out of balance. The massage was alright, super greasy and the full Monty, so beware and understand why they say you must have a masseuse of the same gender. I was still feeling rough though. Like… the flu? No! I arranged to have one of the guys at my hotel take me to a pharmacy [no fem hygiene products any woman I know would use, btw...] and I managed to find some paracetamol. With diclophenac. WTF is that? Uh, yeah it is an opiate. I thought that sounded familiar: Thank you, Ex #5. A category H prescription drug to be sold only by prescription purchased OTC for less than the bottle of water needed to swallow the tablets cost. T.I.I. Anyhow. I took the tablets and then a nap. I woke up an hour or so later wondering if I had malaria as pay back for mocking people who take all those anti-malarial drugs, or meningitis because I make fun of people addicted to that hand sanitizing gel. I did the only thing I could think of and took another shower.
Magic.
I was better. [Not taking any more of those pills though man. They have some VERY interesting side effects that are not convenient in the developing world.] I even took a yoga class. And met the first pervy yoga teacher of my life. Could he have tried any harder to cop a feel? The answer to that question is NO. He even asked me out afterwards. What? The guy who took me to the pharmacy came by later to see if I was feeling better. He told me it was his birthday and he wanted to take me out. He would pay he very urgently insisted. It was sweet. I could be the kid’s mother and I have no idea if it really is his birthday, but I simultaneously played the sick and temperance cards. I just wanted to chill.
Delicious food, good night’s sleep, and not one drop of rain. A lovely three days. Thank you Kovalam.
The sand is very soft there.
T.I.I.
“I lived in an ashram for a month” – The conclusion of *this* yoga journey
The month of May went by very quickly. I am not sure how it happened to do that as I recall feeling, at various points, that the length of the days was such that I thought they might never end. [Waking up at 4:30 a.m. for thirty straight days can do something to a person though. I am not sure if it's a good thing, but it's something.] This ashram where I lived for the month of May was very traditional, which is amusing for a person like me, not so traditional it turns out. And it was not always easy to be there; there was a lot of communing (I am always surprised at the cultural differences in spatial and privacy needs), the basic necessities were beyond basic (I never did really get my laundry clean), the food was good (but I think I will take a break from curry for a while), the bed was… well, prison-like frankly. But all of that aside, looking back on it, I cannot believe how quickly the month passed. You know how sometimes at the completion of something you think, “Man that went fast!” But when you think back to when you began it seems like it was a lifetime ago? Well, this was different… it flew by and at then end it seemed like I had only just arrived. I don’t know if that is all that meaningful, but it gave me pause. In the same amount of time I was at Prashanti I had been in San Diego, Black Rock City, Sandpoint and Santa Fe last summer. That offers some interesting perspective.
I did not come to SVYASA with an agenda or expectations. Not because I am so evolved, I just had no idea what I was getting into. I knew that it was a course that would provide me with a certificate to “teach” yoga.. but I felt (and still do) fairly certain that I was not aiming for that, I really enjoy the role of the yoga student. I wanted to do yoga. And in hindsight, I was able to make that happen, though it was not the focus of the program. I probably did two-three hours of yoga a day for 30 days. That’ll keep you bendy. The majority of time was spent educating us on the holistic nature of yoga – its breadth and depth, and the spiritual underpinnings. I suppose it is my fate that I end up in the equivalent of a Jesus Camp for yoga what with my attitude towards religion in general. And I never really came around to loving the Maitri milan and bhajan sessions, but I definitely see the point now.
As a Westerner, I am up to speed on asana. I get it and I love the exercise part of it. I was not sent to Prashanti to learn asana – in fact, I would go so far in a very un-yogic way, to say that I was one of the more advanced practitioners in our group. It turns out I was there to learn about the part of yoga that is being lost in translation outside of India and that quite specifically is the spiritual side of it. Practicing asana without an understanding of the history and background of it is akin to learning an offense in basketball without any notion as to the rationale behind the screen and roll or moving away from the ball. It is an incomplete knowledge. My yoga teacher is a true master, and he is and was well aware of what I needed to learn long before I realized it.
There were people there who complained incessantly about how they were not “learning anything.” Okay, not “people” but a person – and that she had come to learn “Yoga.” By this I assume she meant asana, or she thought that someone was going to teach her how to organize and plan an entire class. This same person cannot “do” even simple asana. It seems to me, that if you come to a teacher training course to learn the asana, you are more than a few steps away from being able to teach. I likened it to showing up to teach a geography class with no prerequisite knowledge, but a shiny new atlas. No need to tell you that class would suck. So, those ready to teach it turns out are the ones who do not need the asana training, but need the foundational training and methodology. If you wanted to get that at SVYASA, you could certainly get it. This is not to say that I fully advocate for all of their strategies, but I definitely see how someone with enough knowledge would be able to take what they have on offer and definitely improve their ability to be a yoga teacher.
I am very glad to have done the course, and probably even more glad to be finished with it… I will admit without any shame that sitting in a beach side hotel catching sun and sleeping in until 6 a.m. is delightful. And I have not had curry yet. However, as I look back on my month in the ashram I am surprised at what I learned about people, yoga, India and myself. The Indian people I have met have been this amazing combination of what I might have considered over-zealously friendly, but really sincere kindness and curiosity and directness that really can only make a person smile. On finding out where I was headed after the course every person who lives within a one-hour radius of my planned destinations was adamant that I call, that I come to visit them and see their home and have a meal. Those that were not going to be around gave me numbers of cousins, aunties, sisters who I must call if I needed anything – anything at all.
With regard to yoga, I have a much deeper understanding of it and a greater appreciation that I know will enhance my practice, which if you are reading this Veer, I am continuing to do on my own… =) It turns out that the yoga that I have been practicing is quite high up on the cool factor scale. The astanga primary series in the Mysore-style gets its share of props from everyone. When I tell people my teacher is from Karnataka they all say, “Oh… Mysore-style!” To this end, I am looking quite seriously at attending an ashram in Mysore next summer, perhaps one as well one as KPJAYI. This experience would be much more rigorous on the yoga side, and a little less so on the “you have to wear a kurta” side. While this is likely a better fit for me in many ways, there is no way I could have known this nor appreciated it without this experience. As with most things in life, the scope of the reasons why I ended up at this place at this time will eventually be revealed (or I’ll piecemeal some things together in a flurry of false causal connections…) and until then, I will be glad that I did this… glad that it is done… and glad for the people who I met and the experiences that I had. To that end, a quick shout out to Christelle who was only there because her other plans fell through and whose company I thoroughly enjoyed; Nundhun/London (so glad you have two names for us people who are only brown on the inside) who constantly made me laugh – I am glad your parents made you go to Prashanti for the perspective you offered me, and that sweet green shirt (ps: don’t forget, I “probably only liked it there because I haven’t traveled much…”); Anand… you are your brother’s brother to be sure, talk more! And get ready for your own yogic path.
Now, the beach is calling and I’ve got a yoga class in an hour so I have to go…
~namaste~
Durga Rocks: A field trip
We took a little field trip from the ashram in our last week and headed out to the Durga Hills overlooking the border between Karntaka and Tamil Nadu. We were told to assemble at our regular time (5 a.m.) and to be ready to go, preferably in clothes that would not shock the villagers we would be traipsing by. [I have a small suspicion that Padmishiri Didi was speaking to me when she offered that directive. Of course, I was there at 5 a.m. with the two other Westerners. Yeah, 25 days in and I still think that when Indians say a time they mean that time. We got moving around 6. [There is me living and not really learning.]
Several people had been moaning about how far the ‘trek’ was. I was curious. Bearing in mind that I was born with an aversion to hiking ["Mo-o-o-o-m... this is not a walk! This is a hike!" was the line that peppered my youth. "No, Ames, really, this is only a walk..."], the word ‘trek’ did pique my interest. If this was a trek, I am ready for Everest.
I am not ready for Everest [though this kid... wow!]
Suffice it to say that the walk was both brief and flat and ended with some really fun granite on which to climb. I could not help feeling a little like the gang when they got out in Cuckoo’s Nest or Girl, Interrupted… I don’t know if I mentioned it in a previous post, but there is no leaving the ashram once you come in until your program is finished, you check in but… kidding. Anyhow, once set free, the silliness abounded. We were led astray initially by “Sound Baba” – our resident Rainman (srsly) but we all made it to the rocks and there was much giggling and goofing and goats, a little asana, many commands from Umesh ["See me Didi, SEE.ME."] There were some local kids there too, and eventually even breakfast was trucked out to us. [Take that, Base Camp.]The childlike nature of my ashram mates was not lost on me… Immature? I am not sure I would call it that, but there is something decidely different in the way that the locals interract with each other; girls keep to one side, boys to another, there is lots of squealing on one said and horseplay on the other; you can take a guess to which is which – though you would likely be wrong. It is fascinating to behold.
Part of a wedding celebration was taking place in the village which we peeped on the way back, reveling in the lovely morning. We were back by 10 a.m., that’s what a good early start nets you, and everything in Prashanti looked a little brighter. The experience was refreshing and entertaining and a beautiful way to start the day. To wit the complainer had this to say: “I’m a little pissed, I mean why weren’t we doing this, like. every week?” And I had to just look at her and think, “Damn. There really is just NO pleasing some people.”
Observations from Prashanti Kutiram after 23 Days
This was bound to be an experience I had no prior schema for interpreting. That is pretty much the only thing I knew before coming here. Where is here? For now, in physical terms it is an ashram/university 35 km outside of Bangalore in Karnataka, India. In more esoteric terms it is a place between actions. In yoga, they say that the silence that exists between actions is the place we aspire to inhabit. It is not exactly non-action, nor action. It is a place of wholeness and contemplation and observation. Am I there? I am not sure, nor am I sure it is a place I honestly aspire to occupy, but I think occasionally I am catching glimpses of that space.
It is quiet here. Sometimes. The Indians who are participating in my program are far less reserved (yogi-like?) than preconceived notions would have one believe. They are a positively raucous group given the opportunity. And that opportunity arises at any birthday, or other semi-recognizable event. I understand Bollywood a lot better now. [I still do not sing and dance - and everyone can continue to be grateful - but I certainly appreciate the vivacity.]
But it is a quiet lifestyle here. There is not supposed to be any television or radio, and participants in my program are not allowed to leave the ashram until the program is over – others here in longer term programs of study are allowed off campus on Fridays. Needless to say, there is television and radio if one wants it… most people have iPods and computers [my neighbors are fans of some genre of film that is very loud. Like BSG meets, well, Bollywood.] Still, I find myself falling into that weird headspace where I ask myself what I am doing with my time and then I remember that this experiment is about not having to fill every minute with things to do and that I am trying to just accept what is going on because I do not have anything else I need to be doing at this moment and I should enjoy that.
It is rustic here. That is real. I am not sure I have mastered the laundry situation, but I keep trying if for no other reason than to minimize the, err, fragrance. I have to wash everything by hand. I shower with buckets. There is warm water occasionally, but the cold water can really get you going at 4:15 a.m. I wash my hair only when I absolutely have to because it is such a ginormous pain in the ass, and it is pulled back all the time anyhow. I am (re?)learning to eat effectively (and sort of gracefully) with my fingers. Using only one hand. While I sit in ardha padmasana or if I am feeling super-fly, padmasana. It is totally communal, not super hygienic, and truth? Kinda fun.
My back started to ache last week and so Soniya and Sunil took me to the acupressurist. This guy is one of the most interesting people I have ever met. I told him my hip flexor and piriformis muscle were ‘paining.’ He examined me and found some pressure points (ouch) onto which he affixed magnets. Then he told me I also had a low back issue (how did he know from looking at my left hand and my right foot?) He told me to press the magnets to the point of pain whenever I thought of it, or felt pain. The shit works.
I am drinking so much water I cannot believe it and have still not had coffee, though I could have it if I wanted. I assume I do not need to mention I have not had any meat (or eggs or dairy for that matter) or beer since I arrived. I have learned the art of truly ‘flushing’ the system… Those 1980s girls would have nothing on me now if I wanted to show them how to vamana.
I took my asana (teaching) exam today. It was pretty easy. I guess 15 years of teaching gives one some skills to fall back on. A lot of the people in my group were palpably nervous, and I couldn’t really work it out. (Though, if I had to teach in Hindi I might have a different attitude.) I think it goes beyond language and there is a real cultural attitude towards anything labeled “examination” in Asia that I just never really got a hold of. For better or for worse, I suppose. We have the written exams tomorrow and the next day. That should be interesting.
As I could have predicted, I am finally pretty adjusted to the schedule: right as I am getting ready to leave. Up and out by 4:30 a.m. and going sort of non-stop until 8 or 9. Not all yoga and not all things I want to be doing, but that is not the point. I am getting in plenty of yoga and appreciating the subtleties of some of the asanas that I would never have gotten with out this degree of repetition. I do advanced asana with a small group in the afternoons and I can hang out in vrschikasana now. As soon as I am able to load photos I will prove it. Real. Talk. I still like asana the best, but I have a better understanding of why… and that was my point in coming here.
In one week I will fly (NOT on Air India) to Trivandrum in Kerala and there will begin a new phase of this trip. Until then, in the ashram I remain. I think this is probably exactly what is meant by the space between actions.
~namaste~
And the journey continues, Chapter 4: Life Essence = Prana or Bodily Fluids? You make the call.
General Jack D. Ripper: Nineteen hundred and forty-six. Nineteen forty-six, Mandrake. How does that coincide with your post-war Commie conspiracy, huh? It’s incredibly obvious, isn’t it? A foreign substance is introduced into our precious bodily fluids without the knowledge of the individual. Certainly without any choice. That’s the way your hard-core Commie works.
Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake: Uh, Jack, Jack, listen, tell me, tell me, Jack. When did you first… become… well, develop this theory?
General Jack D. Ripper: Well, I, uh… I… I… first became aware of it, Mandrake, during the physical act of love.
Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake: Hmm.
General Jack D. Ripper: Yes, a uh, a profound sense of fatigue… a feeling of emptiness followed. Luckily I… I was able to interpret these feelings correctly. Loss of essence.
Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake: Hmm.
General Jack D. Ripper: I can assure you it has not recurred, Mandrake. Women uh… women sense my power and they seek the life essence. I, uh… I do not avoid women, Mandrake.
Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake: No.
General Jack D. Ripper: But I… I do deny them my essence.
I am not sure if I made this clear originally when I spoke to people about coming to this ashram, but I am actually completing a course here. Ostensibly this is to facilitate the teaching of yoga, though I remain completely unconvinced that I want to do that. It is nice to have something in my life that I don’t have the responsibility of teaching, though with the horror stories I hear of the job situation at home, I suppose there is no way I can be too prepared.
To that, or those ends, I am spending quite a bit of time learning about the theory and background of yoga. I must admit, I wish I was doing a little more yoga, but then again, in looking at it, I am managing about 4-5 hours a day, of which about two hours are pretty intense. The other more subtle elements are probably good for me and my wound-up self anyhow. We are learning about asanas but also pranayama, meditation, kriyas and a whole lot about the particular spiritual bent of this ashram (Vedanta-sutras and Swami Vivekenanda.) I am interested in this stuff because one of the things I noticed about yoga when I started doing it was that it made me feel different… better really, than any other sport or exercise I had participated in over the years. And I wanted to know why.
Well, one of the big theories is the movement and management of “prana.” Prana is defined as our Life Force. And right here I lose it. I can only visualize General Jack D. Ripper discussing his precious bodily fluids and his essence. Every time. [This does mean that I am not managing to control my mind to the degree that a more advanced yogi does, because I should be able to block that extraneous information out... but I swear to Krishna, every time one of our teachers starts talking about the flow of our prana, and the importance of it, I feel like Lt. Mandrake. At least I do not laugh out loud.]
Still, the lessons are valuable and the fact is that when we manage our minds which is most tangibly done by managing our breath, things seems calmer, better, more manageable. So that is a total win, right?
The Complainer is still rocking her issues daily, and these complaints are manifesting in very interesting ways. Like she is having all sorts of problems. I wonder if maybe she might want to look at some of the lessons we are learning about managing our minds. But I am not here to teach, so I will let her work that out on her own. I feel like I am getting something pretty worthwhile out of this and even if it is not what I expected, or at times what I want – 4:30 a.m. wake up everyday??? – I think it is worth it, and a nice intro into India in an easy and user-friendly way.
We had a crazy storm here the other night; thunder like I have never heard anywhere… not just on us but enveloping us. And a torrential downpour. We lost power for about a day and things got pretty messy. But in the end, it was just another day at the ashram. Hardly anything to get worked up about. The food is good, but I am tired of carbohydrates. [A sentence I never thought I would say - ever.] And everyone seems completely fascinated by my age. Like, everyone asks me how old I am all the time. I cannot tell if this is a compliment or an insult, or in the more yogic perspective, just a question. Either way, they all seem shocked by the truth. New high? New low? I dunno.
Another funny thing that has happened is that I have been required to do assignments in a truly Asian fashion. By this I mean, the report cover matters more than the report. For real, yo. It is totally about style. And DO NOT THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX. This has been a real experience for me… But is a strange way, rather meditative as I meticulously copy the exact text they wish to see within the carefully drawn on page borders. Perhaps that is just another part of the lesson. I remain convinced that the more empirical, individual, trail and error method is superior… but that is probably just my inner-Western Imperialist shouting out. Time to go calm down that part of my monkey brain.
Namaste.
My Yoga Journey, Chapter 3: One Week in the Ashram
I arrived at the ashram that would be my home for the month of May, at 6:00 a.m. on May 2. I was an hour late to start the day. Seriously. If we are being really specific I was a day and an hour late, but I thought that had been worked out. “Thought.” I am still deep in the learning stages of coming to understand Indian organization and systematic approaches to things. And while at times those phrases appear to be oxymorons in the extreme, I believe I just have to learn how it goes over here and then I will see the logic. One thing is for sure, this country is way heavy on the bureaucracy. Way.
Anyhow, I am here for the full experience and I am getting it, that is for sure. I have no time to blog, and no real access to computers anyhow, (I have some time this morning as we are be given a little break following our initiation into the cleansing techniques of the yoga kriyas… more on that presently.) Our days begin with yoga and pranayama at 5 a.m. At 7:15 we participate in the Maitri milan, which is something like church in the closest approximation. Or maybe I am just saying that because my attitude is similar to when I was little and went to church with my grandparents, just biding my time to get to go to IHOP. Either way, after some chanting and prayers and sermonizing, we go to breakfast.
Meals are interesting, the food is good, but really carb heavy: rice, chapatis, aloo gobi, dahl, you see what I mean. I am pretty much always full. You enter the canteen and wash your plate, then take a seat in rows on the floor where you are served (and at lunch I do the serving). I negotiated for a spoon after day one as I seem to lost the art of eating with my fingers. I have not sat in a chair save for right this minute as I type since I arrived here.
After breakfast we do karma yoga, which is task oriented, character building stuff. It is hot and while not back-breaking work in the literal sense, we are wearing fairly inconvenient attire. Yeah, we wear very cumbersome, err… modest attire. All of my contemplating over how many yoga pants and tops to bring was pretty silly. Cannot wear them here. I wear something like this. Only it is a little more rustic and I would say that we are not looking so sultry as that model. Sweaty, yes. Sultry, no. So, I am basically doing yoga in a dress. I am trying to be okay with that. Trying. Like I said, it’s only been a week.
After karma yoga we have 45 minutes to clean up and then we head to a lecture for an hour, then yoga for an hour and a half, then lunch. Then lecture and workshops for two hours, followed by an extremely cool yoga practice with the unfortunate name of SMET. It is an acronym for self management of excessive tension. It is very, very welcome after nine hours of activity. Then we have an hour, which I am now using to take a yoga class. Then a lecture from 6-7 followed by Bhajan, which is singing. You all know about me and singing? No? Well, there’s a reason for that. In the West we might call it “torture.” Anyhow, it is a lot of Sanskrit and as of yet I am unclear on most of the meanings. At 7:30 we eat again. Then at 8 we have another lecture or more recently training in kriyas. Then at 9:00 or 9:30 we are set free. To pass out and do it all again.
It is intense. I have been incorporating more and more yoga into my day to balance out all of the theory, which amounts to a lot of spiritual training. Though not totally resistant to that element of yoga, I am finding it a little overwhelming. We are now doing kriyas several times a week and these are yogic cleansing methods. Suffice it to say they are nothing so tame as showering or fasting. You can google jala neti, sutra neti and dhauti vamana if you are interested. That is my Tuesday and Thursday morning regime following the 5:00 yoga session. It is intense, did I mention that already? We have added trataka in the evenings too, this is pretty interesting and likely the most difficult thing I have done here so far.
The group is nearly all Indian – there are five or six Westerners and it has been really interesting getting to meet all the people, most of all the younger brother of my yoga teacher in Hong Kong, who like my teacher is one of the most endearing humans I’ve yet encountered. One of the Westerners complains all the time about everything and how she is never learning anything, which is interesting. She says she was a teacher, but I cannot see it. How can one teach if one cannot learn? I guess that is her trip to be on, I just sit far away from her as much as possible. I am learning tons about the history of yoga which is what I wanted to do and lots about the theory too. I am glad to be here, which is NOT to say it was not some sort of serious adjustment.
I miss fresh vegetables and coffee, though I was impressed that I did not have a headache going off it cold turkey. I also miss having a shower that does not involve buckets of cold water and a washing machine that does not entail a concrete slab for hand scrubbing. Did I mention that is how we keep clean around here? It s authentic, yo.
Now I have to go… more soon – or probably not that soon. I have no idea when I will get photos up. But keep checking.
My Yoga Journey, Chapter 2: Departure
I wanna thank you... for a real good time... xoxo
I have a funny way of doing things. Like, in preparation for a six-week sojourn to a completely unknown place, I work up until the day before I leave, don’t pack until the day I do leave and then I sort of realize the reality that has settled on me as I am on my way onto the plane.
This may not be the most efficient method.
But then, in spite of my best efforts, I remain imperfect.
I celebrated my emancipation from employment last night with an eclectic and wonderful group of friends. I made a lot of <> exclamations and generally revelled in the surprising turn of events the past year had brought to me. I woke up this morning early. And then when back to bed. I had erratic and interesting dreams of which I remember very little and woke up to look around my house with the knowledge that it would not be my house for a whole lot longer. I made some lists – always a good thing to do when feeling overwhelmed to paralysis. I thought for a moment about how I was really being kind of silly about taking this whole thing so lightly.
But then I had another thought; over thinking this trip would be silly, in fact, as I have little to no idea of what to expect I think that to over think it would likely just cause panic. My relatively irreverent attitude towards things has not been ridiculous, it has been a matter of self-preservation.
I got up and went out to get some last-minute things that I needed and do a couple of errands. I finally got a hold of my parents who are in Bend, Oregon on their way home and that was calming. I ate some really hot tom yum and then on the ferry back, ran into one of the most lovely humans I know on Lamma. Actually, I thought he had moved back to NYC, but it turns out he has moved into my village. I smiled as I thought, ‘Isn’t that always the way.’ And I said goodbye.
I still have not packed. I have contemplated packing. I am hanging out with my cats and trying to get the things together that I need to get together like money and documents and such. I will leave my house in three and a half hours. My flight will leave a few hours after that.
And then the departure becomes an arrival.
My Yoga Journey, Chapter 1: Preparation
The above comes from my horoscope for April 20, 2010: “Casting off Boredom.” (Insert 4/20 joke here wrt boredom…) I have often said that I once mistook boredom for contentment. I am not sure I am any longer in danger of boredom. Contentment? Well, we shall see, I am thinking anymore that has much more to do with state of mind than state of play. This horoscope was interesting to read today as I will be flying from Hong Kong to Bangalore, India in ten days. I will be there for six weeks. I will not be “doing” India in the traditional sense of going everywhere and seeing everything. I am going to an ashram. Even typing that kind of makes me laugh and think of all the years I spent making fun of teasing speaking with people (alright, yeah I was making fun) I knew in my family and beyond who were doing this kind of thing. Well, if it is not painfully obvious, that is sort of how things go in my life, so I am learning to roll with it. My guideline should not be “Be careful what you wish for” – but “Be careful what you mock…”
The program I am doing looks pretty intense and lasts for four weeks. After that I will have two weeks to bum around and check out the beaches in southern India, or do whatever I feel up to I suppose. But at this point, that is all ahead of me and to spend too much time thinking about it is totally counterproductive to the reality that I am faced with now as I finish up with my job (nine more days!!) and get everything in order so that I can go. And there is a shit ton to be done.
- House sitters
- Cat sitters
- Things to buy
- Accounts to balance
- Bills to pay and pay ahead
- Organizing things for the major shift that may occur on my return (!!!)
- Packing…
And ohmygod – what does one pack for a trip like this? The duration the focus and the follow-up lack of any sort of focus at all? There are sort of two schools of thought… bring everything or nothing when you go long. I think I am going to opt for the latter. I also have to deal with working out details of sim cards, computers, cameras, electronic paraphernalia [finally going to sync up my 'new' MacBook, my two iPods, my hard drive and my iPhone...] Then assuming I am fully occupied for the first four weeks, there is the after part to consider planning, Goa? Kerala? Agra? Oh, and I am still working FULL-time through April 30. (8 more working days if anyone is counting…)
One of the best parts of this whole thing is that my teacher in Hong Kong, who has helped me make this all work, is sending his brother to the same program (hopefully not in the same course because I nearly died when he said his brother was WAY more flexible than he is – what? How is that even possible?? ) But I am excited to meet him, and to have an ally in-country, as it were.
Basically, I am trying to get all ready to just take this all as it comes, wish I could do the same with regard to the money part too =) Here begins the great experiment of going – intentionally – into the vast unknown, and just seeing what one might see… May it not be the scenario of the bear who went over the mountain… please? Or – if it is let’s hope I can ride the tide of the unknown a little longer. I always liked the idea of big wave surfing, maybe this is my wave. I think I am gonna play this one by ear.
I’ll keep you posted.
T(minus)10.
[photo from here.]
Ching Ming Festival is B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
Today is the Ching Ming Festival in Hong Kong. With no ancestors buried in the local hills to offer my respects (or Nestea or fruit or Pringles or incense or flowers or cakes or prayer papers) to, for me this day means crazy crowds on Lamma (very good grave feng shui), the occasional hill fire, tons of trash gravesite remembrances blowing in the wind, and an additional day off right next to Easter.
I took an early ferry over to town to go to yoga this morning and saw the heaps of people waiting to board the ferry back to Lamma with a tiny sense of chagrin. I had arranged to meet a friend or lunch in Yung Shue Wan today and this did not bode well for a chill afternoon. True to form, on the 11:20 ferry back to the island I saw that they simply stopped letting people on (fortunately I was there early enough to get a ticket…) The boat was so packed that I stood the whole way back and marvelled at how many a people appear to have never actually been on a boat. Fascinating.
Then the village was upon me. And by upon me, I really actually mean UP ON me. No need to get aggravated. No need to get Type A about it. It is possible that these people have never before seen a dog. Or a restaurant. Or… you get the point. Just need to go with the flow. It is good practice to take all of this in and to realize that it makes no difference if I get there faster or not, and getting irritated is certainly pointless as those to whom I would have my irritation directed are totally oblivious rendering that a completely unsatisfying strategy. Could be time to get with the oblivion. It is slow but I think likely a very good preparation for the volumes of humanity I anticipate encountering when I arrive in India.
On May 1.
Karnataka.
Me.
Aum.
Eat, Pray, Emulate.
I went to see my yoga teacher’s master/teacher this weekend. I could not go to the practice that he held last night because of work, but I am glad I got to hear him talk and to see him. I am kind of embarrassed to admit it, but I really wanted to just see what he was like in relation to how I look at his student who is trying so hard everyday to teach me new things. I was a little nervous. But I went.
And it was totally cool.
I like the energy that people who are completely in possession of who they are can project. It is a unique thing to behold, and I know very few people who are really that way. I know plenty who think they are, but few who really are, and you can tell the difference immediately. I live in a place filled to the brim with individuals who claim to be uber-enlightened. You know, they have all the right music, incense, books – yeah, they bought the t-shirt. Funny enough, they tend to be some of the most judgmental and narrow minded people I have encountered. Like judgmental AND patronizing all at the same time. It is an UNjoy to behold. The guruji I saw on Sunday had it going on for real. He was totally different than the people I usually see professing their enlightenment. He was just really happy, and that is sort of what I hope enlightenment is really all about. And then he mentioned Osho, which is also cool because I have been digging Osho ever since I realized he could be all deep AND talk about the “F-word.”
Enlightenment is the understanding that this is all, that this is perfect, that this is it. Enlightenment is not an achievement, it is an understanding that there is nothing to achieve, nowhere to go.
Put that on your list of “Things that make you go, ‘Hmmmmmmm….’”
Amanda
