Savithri Sadhana

So I mentioned there’s a sign on the outside of our gate that says, “Savithri Sadhana:"

I was familiar with the term Sadhana which is basically dedicated spiritual practice in pursuit of realization or spiritual goal.  I couldn’t place where I’d heard Savithri before.  Then I remembered I had heard a story about Savithri and her husband, Satyavan, in Deepak Chopra’s book, “Life After Death.” It’s an old Indian mythology-type story and there are several different versions of it.  But ultimately, in the story, Savithri is tasked with overcoming death in order to save her husband, who is doomed to be taken by death that very day.  Death comes in the form of a being named Yama.  And in the version I most like, Savithri overcomes death through love.  Essentially, she falls in love with Yama and thereby convinces Yama to give her one more second  on earth; because one more second to Yama is 100 years of human time. Thus, Satyavan is spared his impending death, and goes on to live a complete life.

And at first Savithri is sort of faking it; she doesn’t really love Yama. She pretends to love him in order to save Satyavan. But after the extra 100 years on earth, during which time she outlives her husband by many, many years, she becomes meditative and reaches enlightenment. At the end of her life, she realizes that she does love Yama (death), and comes to be eternally grateful to him.

So I’m grateful that on this trip that Savithri’s energy is on the outside of my door.  I’m hopeful that through my dedicated practice, my Sadhana,  that I, too, will become grateful and love Yama - love the impermanence of all forms, love change, and ultimately, love death.

And in so loving, become totally fearless.

I’ll let you all know how it goes.

Om Shanti, everyone.

And yes, there are cows everywhere

It has been one week since arriving in Mysore, Karnataka, India with Emerson. We've hardly taken a moment so far to catch our breath. We are staying in Mysore with my dear friend Krista, who has been here eight times before, and her son Kaiden, who is the same age as Emerson.

India is an amazing place; both divine and diabolical. At the corner before turning onto the road we live on, there is some graffiti:

It reminds me everyday that we must go into the shadow in order to find the light. We must look at those dark places in ourselves in order to become who we are.

In India, there is defnitely a dark side: everyone is looking to make a buck off foreigners and they will take advantage of you where they can. We battle everyday with the rikshaw drivers over fare. If they know you are stuck, like yesterday at the pool when we really had no other options, they will gouge you. We also have to watch our housekeeper clean or she won't do it. She is actually quite amusing, almost like a character out of a sitcom.

At the same time, this place just sparkles with divinity. You see it in the food, which exudes love (we often eat in people's homes and pay for the food - like a restaurant but not a restaurant), and you see it in the people walking down the street who fawn over Emerson and Kaiden. They adore babies here. Even the other children and ornery old men will stop and pinch their cheeks.

People don't take things personally here. They ask for what they want and they don't get offended when you say no. They expect the same from you. I think it is hard for Americans, because we aren't used to asking for what we want, and we are very uncomfortable saying no.

That is my sadhana: to explore those places of discomfort until the old boundaries loosen their grip; to continue to apply the practice of surrender to every form that arises - to every uncomfortable situation, encounter, thought.

Sadhana is a disciplined practice in pursuit of a spiritual goal. The word "sadhana" is written on the outside of the gate where we live, which reminds me everyday that everything is part of the practice, even those things that my mind tries to convince me aren't part of the practice.

And the practice comes easier here, because it is such a different place. On one of our first days in Mysore, we came across this scene in the middle of the city:

It is a cow, a dog, and a pig, sharing a pile of garbage. All are stray animals. I was so excited by what I saw that I asked Krista to borrow her camera and said to her, "it's not like everyday you see a cow, a pig, and a dog sharing a pile of garbage." She responded with a grin, "it's not that uncommon in India."

There are a lot of things that aren't that uncommon in India; and I think that helps to sharpen my sadhana, because I am well out of my comfort zone.

More thoughts to come. Om shanti everyone.

Frozen dagger of Time

Kali,
Frozen dagger of Time:
Take my words away.
They've proven useless in conveying my heart's desire,
which is beyond words,
beyond time.
Yet my words keep bubbling up,
Begging to be spoken.
Attempting without fruit to sway my Love toward the light,
before falling to the earth,
impotent.
Utterly inadequate to describe desire's depth.
You offer solace in desire's assured fulfillment;
Yet you shield from view the complete picture of your perfectly-woven tapestry,
unwilling to extol in advance the hour desire's bell will toll.
The sharp pain of longing slices my heart,
reveals my humanity,
A blessing and a curse:
your frozen dagger of Time.