It is easy to criticize India. It is dirty for one, so you never feel really clean here. It is best described as a slightly unpleasant, straight-off-the-campground feeling, like there is always a thin layer of grime even after a shower. And it is really hot, which compounds the grime factor. At midday, it is almost unbearably uncomfortable to walk around. The heat and dirt cause make-up to be an impracticality, and you are better off dressing for comfort rather than style.
And there are the cultural differences. You can’t get around the heat by walking around in a tank top and shorts here, for example, because that is not an acceptable way to dress outside of yoga class. Even then, you better be sufficiently covered up as you travel to and fro, or reap the potential judgments of townsfolk.
And the locals can be exceedingly open with their judgments, asking questions and offering advice that would be considered rude by most Western standards. Like when the lady that gave me a pedicure rubbed my stubbly leg and told me to be careful with shaving because it would make my hair grow back darker and thicker. She then pointed to the thick, dark fuzz covering my lower legs and toes as evidence of that fact, and suggested I start waxing instead. Her co-worker chimed in and agreed. I thanked them for the advice, of course, and started to second guess whether scientifically that was even possible. Let’s just say it is much different than America, where we prefer to judge others in silence.
On top of that, it is difficult to get things done here. The modern conveniences we take for granted back home just don’t exist. Something that would take you five minutes in America can take all day here. You could ask me, “what did you do yesterday?” And my response may be, “I made a photocopy.” And you would nod in understanding, impressed that I was able to do that and eat lunch in one day.
Still, I absolutely love it here. The flip side of the above complaints is that it is nice to shelve the worry about outward appearances for a while. Also, open judgment can be a good thing; what you see is what you get and the honesty is refreshing.
But most of all, what I love is that it is so easy to connect with divinity here, because it is a culture of belief; the opposite of our culture of disbelief in the West. When 99% of a population believes in divinity, it seems to raise the vibration of the place, and it becomes easier to perceive it on a day-to-day basis.
India is divinity covered in dirt, I like to say. The people put so much love in everything they do; simple acts become acts of worship. From the man on the street lovingly ironing clothes with an iron he fills with hot coals, to the street vendors hand-pressing sugar cane, to the food, (my God, the food!); love goes into labor and therefore also into the fruits of that labor.
At the same time, things are changing here. It is becoming more Westernized. Americans that have been coming here for years complain prices are going up, and some of the old customs are being lost to modern convenience. I hope that doesn’t translate into a loss of the connection to the divine. I hope India doesn’t change too much.
Change is inevitable, I suppose. Technology and scientific understanding will likely spread to all the corners of the globe. Unfortunately, it seems there is a perceived conflict between science and spirituality. It should not be a competition; a one-or-the-other. We have to learn to live in a way that integrates both.
And now I am headed back to America, hoping that the divine connection I feel so freely here comes back with me. It can be harder back home, because I sometimes feel more alone in my journey there.
Back home I may get a negative reaction even talking about “the divine” or using the loaded term, “God.” We have gotten so smart and rational that what we have really lost is the connection to the direct experience of life. And that direct experience of life is our ticket to the divine.
But what does that even mean? Part of the reason that science and spirituality clash is because our old, literal way of describing “God” just doesn’t pass muster. It does not make sense to think of a bearded man in the sky that is watching over us like Santa Claus, deciding if we have been naughty or nice.
But what about the idea of “God” as the whole Universe, encompassing this Earth, this galaxy, all of existence? Maybe we are each integral parts of this whole; much like the cells on our body are integral parts of the whole that is us. Maybe we are cells in God’s body. Another analogy, to take “God” out of it, is that we are like waves on the ocean; distinct yet inseparable from the larger whole.
Yoga and Buddhism teach us this; that we are all parts of the One; inseparable from it. They teach that our ego drives us to believe we are separate, to judge each other and conclude, “I am not that.” As a result, we live our lives at war with other cultures, at war within our own culture, and we take little consideration for the havoc we are reeking on this Earth and each other. On a smaller scale, separation is the reason we experience discontent with our jobs, worry over money, discord in our relationships, conflict with our children and ex-spouses, and so on.
It would be like the individual cells on your body believing that they are each separate entities, that they know better than the big you what is best for them. They would become a cancer, and we are becoming a like cancer to our planet.
Imagine what changes would come if we started living from the perspective of the good of the Whole, rather than what is good for me and mine.
It is not being falsely positive or dimwitted to live this way. That is, one can be an intelligent, rational thinker, and believe that we are all interconnected parts of the One; and in this way be “spiritual” or believe in “God.” However, to withstand the inevitable ups and downs of life, this “belief” must be based on direct experience, or it is just another belief that we can war over.
To wit: Buddha may have described his direct experience of divinity this way, Mohammad may have described it that way, Jesus yet another way, and Confucious still a different way, and so on. Yet, they were really each describing the same exact thing; it is just that their different cultures and life experiences colored their perception of it. And then those that they tried to explain it to promptly began to fight about whose religion was right because those that they explained it to were not coming from a place of direct experience, but a place of blind belief.
But religion is not necessary; it may even be contraindicated. We simply need to experience the direct connection for ourselves; to live life in the knowing that everything is part of the One; that we are not separate beings. Yoga and other methods focused on direct experience can help us feel and develop a respect and reverence for this connection. Further, the great saints and sages teach us that simply being open to the possibility of such an experience, leaving some space for it rather than completely blocking it out with unwavering disbelief, is enough to get us started on the path.
And once you have perceived life as a beautifully-woven tapestry, all parts indivisible from the Whole, no one can take that experience away from you. The key to the survival of the human race may just depend on a reorientation around this principle. Otherwise, it is easy to envision humankind going out with a bang, at the hands of one form of cataclysmic disaster or another.
Amma told a story of a man whose family was starving in her village growing up. He set off to try to fish for some food, and after hours of trying left the water disappointed. On the way back, he happened upon a turtle nest with enough eggs to feed his family of eight. He took some eggs, just barely enough, yet left a hearty portion behind. He had the thought, “If all of this turtle’s babies are gone, she will be devastated, just like I would be devastated if all of my children died. I will leave some behind.”
This man, though desperate and starving, respected the Whole enough to not take more than he needed, to leave something behind. His thought process may have been naive or overly simplified, but what he was really doing was respecting the entire ecosystem. He was not living simply for himself, even while in great need.
India is like that. People respect the whole; they live less as individuals, more as communities. That is why I love it here. Even though it may be easy to point out the negative parts of India, there is an undeniable humanity here; a love of one another and of life. Imagine what it would be like if there was more of that back home? Imagine if more rational, educated people in the West also lived from the perspective that separateness is an illusion; that we are all reflections of the One; reflections of the Divine. We could live amazing lives, integrating Western technology and intellect with Eastern spirituality. We may even be capable of solving all of the problems of the world.
Let’s bring it on. I’m excited to come back, and to help bring some of that vibe to America with me.
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Today is moonday. In the Ashtanga Yoga world, this means we take a day off from our early morning asana practice. There are many reasons for this; one of the most important being a respect and reverence for the influence that the moon has over our lives on Earth. It isn’t difficult to believe that a large astral entity that controls the tides would have some influence over our bodies, which are mostly made up of water. And just ask anyone that has ever worked in an emergency room or taught at a school whether or not the full moon affects our bodies and behavior!
So with the full moon brings a day off from practice today. We are getting ready to leave India this week and transition back into American life. What better way to celebrate than with some American-ish adventures!
First, Hope and Christina and I decided to go to Saint Philomena’s Catholic Church for 7:00 English mass this morning. Of course, Sai drove us in his rickshaw, which Hope affectionately refers to as “The Jesus Rickshaw,” due to the picture of Jesus and the phrase “Praise the Lord” printed on the front. Christina had read my January 23 blog entry, but had never seen the front of the rickshaw for herself. As Sai dropped us off (he stayed to attend mass himself), I pointed out to her the name, “Daniel” written across the front, right underneath Jesus. She chuckled in appreciative delight.
A few minutes later we entered the church. It is breathtaking both inside and out. It is designed in the Gothic-style of architecture, and looks more like something out of the 13th century than the year it was actually completed, 1941.
Inside, the ceilings are over 50 feet high and exquisitely molded columns are prominently featured. Statues of Jesus, Mary, St. Philomena, and other saints line the walls and float on the cross above the altar.
It is unlike any church I have ever visited in America, in that the statutes are treated with great devotion. Mary and St. Philomena are covered in beautiful saris (Indian wrap dresses) which are changed daily. We watched with great pleasure as a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus was changed from yesterday’s yellow sari to a blue one in our presence.
The mass itself was short - score! My years of forced treks to Sunday mass and weekly catechism classes during my childhood and adolescence certainly fostered an appreciation within me of the short-but-sweet mass.
The priest spoke with the aid of a microphone, which amplified off the high ceilings and created a sound that was reminiscent of “The Great and Powerful Oz.” At one point during mass an altar boy shot out from behind the curtain next to the altar and I almost snorted out loud with the thought, “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!”
The first reading was from the book of Daniel, which made me smile. Devout Indian female parishioners sang all of the hymns without the accompaniment of music. They sang with heart and devotion. Mass concluded with a beautiful a capela version of Amazing Grace.
India is a country of devotional-style spirituality. Catholic mass in America, unfortunately, sometimes feels less than devotional; it can, at times, be dry and cold. Not at St. Philomena’s. The whole place vibrates with a divine energy that can be felt immediately when stepping onto the grounds. The parishioners and parish workers’ love of St. Philomena translates concretely into a tangible reverence that is felt everywhere in the Church.
After mass, we were treated like movie stars. Literally. We were approached by at least twenty young Indian men and women, probably ranging in age from 18-25, who wanted to take pictures with us. This has happened to me a couple times before in Mysore, though usually when I am with E, and never to this degree. It really felt like we were famous. I suppose they don’t see too many people that look like us. I like to think it could be a sign of things to come. I'll keep you posted.
So let me ask you this: what better way to bookend our moonday trip to Catholic mass than to visit McDonald’s for lunch? I can’t think of any.
For a while I’ve been wanting to try out the new McDonald's in Mysore - ahem, for research purposes, of course. It is much nicer than most McDonald’s I’ve seen in America. They serve no beef, due to the Indian belief that cows are sacred.
We had veggie burgers that were made with actual vegetables. For real - you can actually see the veggies when you bite into the patty. The french fries tasted much like the french fries back home, though perhaps a little less crispy. They also serve coke floats and Indian-style dishes. I am also happy to report that they have Oreo McFlurries and soft serve ice cream cones.
The place was clean and fancy - worthy of date night. E had a blast, and got two toys with his happy meal. The sign advertising Happy Meals amusingly reads, “Burger + drink + toy = lots of fun happiness for your child." His meal was a “Veg Pizza McPuff” - something I’m almost certain is not found at McDonald’s in our country. It tasted like a samosa - an Indian stuffed bread pastry - and was actually pretty good.
So moonday was chock full of home-inspired adventures with atypical Indian delights. There are many more adventures I would like to have before leaving this place, though time is running short.
Check out my new and improved website: www.theyogalawyer.com
E and I took a holiday to the rainforests of Coorg, three hours North of Mysore. It is wonderful there, where the loud, primordial hum of nature vibrates in your whole being. I needed a break from the City; to get realigned and centered in me. It is quite synchronicitous how the whole trip came together.
It started when E and I had lunch on Tuesday with Mallory, a fellow Ashtangi that we met at the Amma satsung. She had just spent a weekend in Coorg at a beautiful retreat on an organic farm. The idea of going there started to percolate in my mind.
The next day, Wednesday, marked the start of ladies’ holiday, the gloriously fanciful name given to the time in a female Ashtangi’s monthly cycle where she takes three days off from the normal 6-day a week practice to rest. So three days off from practice in a row, maybe a trip to Coorg?
I sent an email to the rainforest retreat Mallory told us about, and they had availability. Also, their prices were very reasonable - 2000 rupies ($40) a night to stay in a cabin with Western-style toilets, hot water, and three delicious, organic meals and guided treks included.
Next I called Sai, our amazing rickshaw driver, to see if he could help us arrange a car on one day’s notice:
“No problem, madame.”
So Thursday morning we headed off on the three-hour car ride to Coorg. I brought my laptop, internet card, and phone, thinking I would get some work done while relaxing there.
The way there was a bit treacherous - typical mountain-style driving where you have to catch your breath when you look over the edge. And very bumpy in parts too due to some unpaved roads. In the last 30 minutes of the trip, the driver got lost, and E got carsick - all over himself, me, and the car. We pulled over and I changed our clothes. E felt immediately fine after purging, of course, but my shirt was soaked through to my bra -- so that when I put my clean shirt on, it was now wet due to the vomitorious bra underneath. Nice.
I had the thought, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea - we are lost, E is possibly sick, we reek - should we have stayed in Mysore?”
When we arrived it was clear that Coorg was where we were meant to be. The retreat was beautiful. It felt like something out of Costa Rica - not the India I am used to. Much of the food was grown on premises, and it was all cooked with delicious spices and almost-tangible, tastable love.
The place we stayed is owned by two Indian PhDs. The husband is a former plant molecular biologist, and his wife a botanist. They gave up their careers after tiring of that lifestyle, and started the farm and eco-retreat. Their knowledge of science and plant-life makes the place unique.
It was illuminating to chat with the other guests. There were about 10 of us total, and it felt like the others were handpicked by the Universe to be there with us. We were the only Americans, except for one of the interns working on at the retreat. The other guests were Austrian, German, Dutch and British, among others. It seemed like everyone there with us was a writer or journalist or aspiring writer, like me. They were all world travelers, speaking many languages. Fascinating people. It also seemed like everyone was living their yoga on some level; following their heart.
And that is what I asked Amma for: to help me write with courage from my heart, and align with my true Self. I would not have been able to post my January 23 "lost blog" prior to my Amma hug. That is a fact, because I had already written it, but did not have the courage to share.
After posting, I received some negative feedback, mainly from the mean voice in my head; but also, not surprisingly and not incomprehensibly, from my mother, who was receiving an earful herself about the perceived perils of my recent adventures. All I can say is that I am not your average yogi, and my path ain't your momma's spirituality. I have several shameless vices, including good food, wine, and, well, you know, an affinity for ausadhis (the sanskrit term for magical, enlightening herbs).
I think it is important for each of us to live from spirit in a way that is real for us. As Krishna said to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita (as translated by Swami Vivekananda), “As different streams having their sources in different places all mingle their waters in the sea, so, Oh Lord, the different paths which men take through different tendencies various though they appear, crooked or straight, all lead to Thee."
I believe my path is to live my life and to write about it. All of it. Even the stuff your grandparents might be aghast about. Still, I'm not sure I will ever completely transcend the desire to have everyone like me.
(I really want people to like me!)
For many years that meant living in a way that would be the least offensive. Not stepping on any toes to avoid the judgment that almost necessarily comes with putting yourself out there. Nonetheless, I have realized that my biggest critic has always been the voice in my head. I don't think there is any judgment of me that anyone can make that I haven't already judged upon myself. But I'm not living that way anymore.
Anyway, back to Coorg. And my bra. I tried to wash it when we arrived but I could not remove the odor with the mild ayurvedic soap offered to guests of the retreat. There was no way to buy laundry soap during our brief, two-day stay. One of the German guests inquired about laundry facilities, and she was kindly pointed to the “washing rock” down by the river. I’ve got no problems with washing rocks, per se, but soap is still necessary when dealing with vomit. So I went bra-less for two days, and found yet another use for scarves as a fashionable cover-up for my bra-less-ness.
And, perhaps not surprising to anyone else but me, it turns out that there is no internet or cell phone service in the rainforest. I had to scratch the idea of getting some work done while relaxing, and I’m pretty sure I’m better off. Though I will say that I got an earful from Bitchy Brain Voice about all the catching up I have to do now after two days off the grid.
And to come back to Mysore really felt like coming home. I did not realize how deep in my heart this City is nestled. I miss America and I’m looking forward to coming home in less than two weeks. Yet, I think Mysore will always be one of my homes too. I felt such relief when the car brought us back to our house here, the same sensation I feel when coming home to my house in America after a trip away.
Leaving here is sure to be bittersweet.
Check out my new and improved website: www.theyogalawyer.com
January 23, 2013 - lost blog entry
Yesterday I had an appointment with Mukunda, an energy healer here. He does massage and “regression” therapy. During the intake he asked me what physically was bothering me (my left hip, left glute, neck) and emotionally (feel angry a lot, can’t rationalize it away). He says the left side is the feminine side, it all has to do with mommy dearest and rejection of the mother, though he is careful to avoid placing blame. He says it has more to do with clearing past emotional trauma that occurred in childhood based upon our limited perception of the world at that time. He wonders if I have difficulty with digestion.
“Dairy” I tell him. He says, “yes” makes perfect sense, rejection of the mother, mother’s milk, dairy etc. “Did we do a rebirthing last year?” he asks me.
I don’t think so. I think I would remember. We did go back before I was born but no rebirth.
“We will do that. It is very powerful” he says.
Ok. I’m down. I’m not going to disagree with him. Whatever he did last year worked amazingly well. He starts with a guided meditation to put you into deep relaxation. Then he talks directly to the problem body part, telling it can talk to him through your voice. He asks questions like, “when did this problem first start” “what color is it?” and you just have to go with it. It feels like you are just making shit up. I get real specific with the colors. I tell him colors like pea green, murky brown, and pearlescent blue, and I wonder if other people just stick with the basics - like red, yellow, and blue.
Anyway, we go back into the womb when my glute problem says it started and go through months 4-9 in utero, each month assessing the problem body parts and problem colors and the emotions associated with them. I am teary during the whole thing and he sweetly wipes my tears. He has a calm, soothing voice and an easy to understand accent.
Afterward I feel amazing. Part of me doubts what just happened but I can’t deny the good feeling.
I also would really like to get some weed.
Before you judge, I could write endlessly about the merits of the misunderstood herb's purpose. How the oils in the buds are more potent medicinally than almost any other herb on earth; how there are countless, peer-reviewed scientific journal articles proving that the medicine treats cancer. That is right, treats cancer, not simply palliates the side effects of chemotherapy. I could also explain how the herb is just another thing our society has screwed up -- like GMOs, food additives, bovine growth hormone, chemicals in our cosmetic products -- where we have allowed profit-driven mega companies to fool us. I really could go on and on.
For me, it has spiritual value. It has a similar effect on my consciousness as yoga practice, and I enjoy the feeling I get when I use it.
Anyway, I tried through a friend of a friend to get some, and the exchange went something like this via texts:
Friend 1: Do you know where I can get some greens?
Friend 2: Try Devaraja market or the street vendor on Kalidasa.
Friend 1 (thinking, ”does he think I’m asking about vegetables?”): smokable greens?
Friend 2: [silence]
That was yesterday and Friend 1 still hadn’t heard back as of today. So this afternoon I decide I’m just going to get weed. When he was alive, my younger brother, Daniel, never had a problem getting weed whenever we traveled. You just go to a city center where they are trying to sell you stuff and the right people approach you.
I get a sitter for E and I decide I will go to Devaraja market, the place where the local swindlers try to sell foreigners faux silver bangles, incense, oils, mala beads and all sorts of other things for more than they are worth. Or, I will ask a rickshaw driver. But it has to be the right rickshaw driver – the perfect mix of not too old, not to shady, but not-too-not shady.
I head down to the rickshaw stand. There appears to be only one rickshaw driver when there are normally like ten. My bitchy brain voice starts doubting, “how is this going to work? How can I pick the perfect rickshaw driver when there is only one?”
Then my nice brain voice suggests we decide this one driver is the perfect rickshaw driver, that he knows exactly where to go, and it has all been orchestrated perfectly by the Universe to culminate in the best possible way at this moment. The pleasant feeling that has been lingering in my gut and root center since my visit with Mukunda yesterday resonates at the thought.
He could barely get the rickshaw to start. He looks maybe thirty and has nice eyes (he later tells me he is 38 with two teenage daughters!). He asks me where I am going and I say Devaraja market. He asks me what I am looking to buy and I just straight up tell him marijuana.
He pauses, says I don’t want to get it at Devaraja. It is mixed with incense and other stuff and isn’t good. I tell him I want good stuff, and I also want to be safe. He asks me if I want some oils and incense and I start to wonder if he understood me when I said I wanted weed. The drivers often get a kickback from the vendors if they take foreigners to their shop and they buy something - that is not what I am interested in doing.
He says he is going to take me to a good place that has incense and oils, and I tell him that I am just in the market for marijuana right now. He laughs and says ok.
We pull up to a little shop in the city with two rooms. You walk in through the front room to get into the back room. Both are maybe 10x10 and look dingy and old. Two younger men are there, early twenties. They are both very nice and welcoming. The first one has me duck my head as we go back into the back room. Bitchy Brain Voice thinks, “what is he doing? I wasn’t even close to hitting my head on the doorway. Weirdo.”
The back room is a bit dirty and dank like most shops in the city and there is a table in the middle and 4 chairs along the wall and a bunch of old looking oil bottles on the shelf. There is a picture of a beautiful American women with her hands in a strange yoga mudra position with an older Indian man – attractive in the way Deepak Chopra is attractive – maybe “welcoming” is a better word.
Sai (the rickshaw driver) and I sit down. One of the young men sits down too and he offers me Chai tea and he makes small talk. They all say a lot of yoga students come here. I tell him no thanks on the Chai. He tells me it will be two minutes.
About fifteen minutes later the Deepak guy comes in. He glows and I instantly feel safe. I actually have felt almost strangely safe in my gut the whole time, and more than once I have the thought that Daniel is with me, laughing at this strange circumstance I’m in, sitting in a dark back room in some weird shop in India trying to buy weed.
Deepak sits down and asks what I am there to get – “oils? Incense?” he asks.
I look at the rickshaw driver and back at Deepak and say rather meekly and end kind of on a higher pitch so it sounds like I am asking a question at the end of my sentence, kinda like a Canadian accent: “I really want to get some marijuana?” He laughs and says, no worries, it is coming. But let me get you some Chai and show you some oils.
I give in and have some Chai (delicious!) and let him show me what he is selling. He lets me try sandalwood, lotus, jasmine oils – they all smell and feel amazing on my skin. He says the lady in the picture is a famous American yogi that I have never heard of, though she looks like she could be famous.
He drops some names of some local yoga students that I don’t know either. He says everyone comes here to buy his oils, and explains how great the oils are, and I start to believe him. I ask him if he has anything good for acne, since my skin has been a wreck since I came here. I end up getting saffron oil and almond oil that he shows me how to mix for my face – says to apply just twice a week.
He warns me to be careful with the weed – to burn incense when I smoke it. Miraculously he sells incense too. What luck! The incense smells amazing - sandalwood and honey.
I leave there with incense, oil, and weed, spending 3000 rupies – approximately $60 U.S.
Bitchy voice thinks maybe I was swindled, but nice voice reminds her in America I would spend $100 just for the weed. Bitchy voice reminds her that the weed in America is much higher quality. This could go back and forth for hours. I decide it is best to leave it at a stalemate.
The whole experience seems strangely magical and divinely orchestrated. I get Deepak’s card and Sai’s card so now I totally have a hookup. I thank Deepak and shake his hand, and our exchange feels friendly and warm. I have made a new friend.
Then I WHACK my head hard on the doorway on the way out.
Sai is very nice and makes small talk about our families on the way home. He drives a lot of the yoga students around, he says. His wife has health problems, so she stays home and he works.
He says, “God is good.”
I agree and look up at his windshield – all of the rickshaw drivers have stickers of deities and sayings and names and other various designs on their windshields. There is a picture of Jesus, which I also noticed on the way there.
I say, “yes, God is good, and I like Jesus too.”
Then I notice that there are letters on the windshield next to the Jesus sticker - difficult to read at first because I am reading it inside out (meant to be viewed from the front of the rickshaw, not inside where I am).
It spells, “Daniel.” No joke. I start to tear up and laugh at the same time. It seems divinity is everywhere and in every experience.
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#marijuana #india #kalidasheart #yoga
My yoga asana practice has been rough lately. I’m experiencing discomfort in my left hamstring and glute, and in my neck. This morning I had to drag myself to the shala to practice. The little kid inside my head kept trying to convince me to skip. To keep myself on track, I directed my thoughts to Amma and mentally chanted her name - the name of the Divine Mother.
When I got there, I sat in the lobby, as we students do until Sharath calls the next student. He shouts, “one more... two more” and we fill in the spots where the previous students have just finished their practice.
Today, for the third day in a row, I got a place near the mens’ locker room.
“Awesome,” I thought, “by the mens’ locker room again.”
“I don’t want to practice today, I don’t want to practice today,” the little kid inside me repeated.
Then the thought occurred to me, “there are probably close to 100 practice spots in the shala. Maybe there is some deeper reason why I keep 'randomly' ending up in the same one.”
I remembered something I read about Guruji, the late founder of the style of yoga I practice. When asked about a particular drishti (gaze point) in one of the postures, he replied, “There is only one drishti, that is God.”
On this advice from Guruji-voice-in-my-head, I redirected my thoughts to the Divine Mother, and mentally commenced chanting, “Amma, Amma, Amma...” again.
As I scooped my hands upward into warrior posture, I gazed heavenly and saw a poster-sized picture of Guruji’s late wife, also named Amma, and herself a beautiful embodiment of the Divine Mother. The picture is on the wall, near the ceiling, directly over my spot by the men’s locker room
Then it hit me: there is a reason I keep ending up here, right underneath this beautiful picture of Amma.
Again I was teary-eyed. Its been that way ever since meeting Amma a few days ago. I let the tears come. The little kid inside that didn’t want to practice succumbed, and the practice was quite healing.
Check out my new and improved website: www.theyogalawyer.com
Amma hugged me yesterday!
In the morning, Mr. Dalmia (also known as Puh-pa!, and my landlord) was excited that E and I were going to see Amma. He foretold that her bindi (the bright red colored dot she and many Indians wear on their foreheads) may sparkle; and, if I am lucky, she will whisper something in my ear in her native tongue. He told me a story of a relative that was healed of cancer by Amma’s grace.
We arrived at Amma’s ashram in Mysore at around 9:30 am. There must have been over a thousand people there. There was a very large tent with lots of seating, and a stage up front. Around the tent there were vendors, like at an outdoor festival. You get a time card when you arrive, which is exchanged for a hug token during satsang. “Satsang” means a gathering of true company.
When Amma entered the room, the energy instantly shifted. The same feeling that one gets at a favorite artist’s rock concert or a tense and exciting sporting event. She led the four-and-a-half-hour satsang, and then the hugging commenced. The satsang consisted of Amma-led chanting, singing, and a beautiful Divine Mother imagery meditation. During the chant, she would cry out the Divine Mother’s name, which sounded like, Am-ma! Am-ma! Am-ma! (with the accent on the second syllable the same way An-mei says Puh-pa!).
At one point during the satsang, I totally saw Amma’s bindi sparkle and I second-guessed what I had seen. Her bindi is just paint, so how could it sparkle like that?
Amma also gave a long speech which was translated into English via a large teleprompter. Her speech was poignant and in touch with current reality. She quoted Martin Luther King, Jr. and used metaphorical stories to convey her message.
The gist of her message is that we humans are not focusing enough on a spiritual education. We are living isolated lives, ruled by our egos, and we fail on a day-to-day basis to recognize the Divine unity at essence of all life on earth. The result is cultural and religious war, and the destruction of our planet. She advised we spend more effort and attention educating our youth about compassion and spirituality.
After the satsang, while we were waiting for our hug token number to be called, we walked around the site. There was free food for all participants, even though a hug from Amma costs nothing. We ate rice and soup and dahl with our hands. E had a blast doing that. Then we visited some of the vendors, who were selling Amma pictures and cds and mala beads.
A rudraksha mala caught my eye and E said, “mommy look at the beads!” and pointed to the same mala I was looking at.
I asked him, “do you want one?”
He said, “No, its for mommy. Its special.”
I bought it, of course, and some pictures of Amma. The day was spent keeping E entertained while we waited for our number. Not gonna lie, it was pretty tiring keeping him out of trouble for ten-plus hours. I tried to keep his attention and excitement by telling him that we were going to meet Amma. I explained that Amma is kind of like Santa Claus, and you can ask her for anything you want.
I said, "what are you going to ask Amma for?"
He replied matter of factly, "Presents." I got a little nervous that he would be disappointed when his presents did not instantly appear after meeting Amma.
I tried to mitigate the damage: "you might not get the presents you ask Amma for right away; they might come later or in a different way."
He stared at me blankly.
When it was our turn, we got in line to get a hug from Amma. While in line, I had the thought that I would be wearing my new mala when receiving Amma’s hug. Instantly, I thought of what E said: that the mala is special. A tear came to my eye.
When we got up to the stage, Amma’s followers were helping to regulate. Most of them are Westerners, interestingly. They took my bag and my glasses. It was surreal meeting her on stage, with the bright lights, and not being able to see a thing without my glasses.
E didn’t want a direct hug so Amma kissed him on the top of the head. I held him while I got my hug. Her handlers basically kind of push your head down into Amma’s bosom. She was talking to a woman to my left while I was getting my hug, and it seemed to be to my advantage because I got a super-long hug while she talked! At one point, I kind of lifted my head and Amma firmly pushed my head back into her bosom.
While down there, I whispered, “Kalidas, clear skin” into her voluptuousness. She whispered something into my right ear in another language. As we parted ways, she handed us two folded up napkins with something inside. I handed one to E.
He was ecstatic. "A present for me from Amma!"
"Yes!" I replied. I felt instant relief that my Santa Claus description of Amma held up muster to my two-year old. He opened it up and inside was a candy and some of the red bindi paint in a small baggy. He was very happy.
We walked down from the stage and I unwittingly started to cry, in a sort of half laughing/half crying sort of way, like when one is overjoyed.
E was totally energized by whatever just happened with Amma. All of a sudden, after being worn out and kind of cranky from a long day, he was going strong and running all around the grounds. We wandered over to another area of the site. It was dark out now and the area was decorated in green and blue strings of lights.
He shouted with joy, "Christmas lights, mommy!"
"Yes, Christmas lights!" I exclaimed back to him. Amma really is like Santa. I hope mommy's wishes are granted too.
It was 7:00pm by the time we got our hugs and there were many hundred people still waiting for theirs. After that, from what I could tell, the evening satsang was to start, with more hugs from Amma. I imagine Amma was hugging people until 3:00 or 4:00 AM.
That is amazing in itself; a fifty-something year old women spending 18+ hours hugging thousands of people while offering them all free food. She is the real deal - whether or not you believe in her grace, she is an amazing human being. She devotes her life to others, with a particular focus on orphaned children.
And I love her. I am downing the Amma kool-aid in large quantities. My landlords reminded me in the morning how lucky E and I are - that we were in Mysore at the right time and got to experience "darshan" (auspicious beholding of a saint) from Amma.
I could not agree more.
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