Staring into Divinity
I know I said I wasn't going to post for a few days, but given today's events, I didn't want to pile on the information as it deserves a post all of its own. Since I was a teenager, mornings have never been my ally, and this morning was no exception. Although I was enthusiastic to attend the yoga festival, a restless night and a malaria pill later, morning came much to soon.
Made my way out of my warm room into the chilly mountain wind on the roadside of Highway 56. Usually, autorikshaws were climbing over each other to pick me up as I was an easy target for a special "tourist tariff", which generally amounts to the ballpark of an additional twenty cents. But at this hour, just before sunrise, the rikshaws were fast asleep wherever rikshaws sleep and I was already a bit behind schedule.
After about ten minutes, I crawled into an overcrowded rikshaw with farmers and students on their way to school. There was little space, but I didn't mind as the body contact was serving to keep us all warm. An hour later, having dropped the farmers and kids off, I was the last samurai of the ride dropped off once again at Laksham Jhula, the pedestrian, bovine and motorcycle path over the Ganges.
Feeling rushed because I was late for my very first class, I tried to put it all in perspective, taking in the scenic mountains in the morning light and the peacefulness before the town awoke. Just as I made my way into the gates of the ashram, I heard a woman's voice over a speaker saying, "o.k., let's do our first position." Phew, my timing worked out even with my half hour tardiness. Without getting a mat, I sauntered into the tent and assumed a seated position in the first open space I came across.
The class was Kundalini yoga, taught by a master from Los Angeles. The stage was fifty to seventy-five feet away from me, but I could see her white garb and head dress. She looked and sounded young. Immediately, I began flailing my arms at her instruction thinking this was going to be an easy yoga, but four minutes of flailing and I was flailed out. What a burn.
Class proceeded for another hour and a half with the teacher offering thoughtful meditation along the way. At the conclusion, I felt great, a bit tired, but energized. It was 10:30, time for brunch which was once again Indian food. By now, Indian food has become too much of a good thing, but it's the only thing so I ate a light breakfast.
There were two lectures mid-day and then I attended my first Tai Chi class. Again, a master of Tai Chi spent an hour and a half with a class of mostly beginners. He worked with us on mental discipline, breath and fluid movement. It reminded me of the many asian seniors I saw doing Tai Chi in Golden Gate Park. Now, I have a sense, albeit very limited, of their art.
The final class of the day was Vinyasa yoga with which I had some familiarity. While I had some familiarity, the master teacher and most of the students had a lot of familiarity so the class moved swiftly through poses leaving me in the yoga dust and feeling like a sore pretzel. It was a good workout and we were rewarded afterward with crackers and tea.
Feeling pleasantly relaxed and tired, I decided to return to my room in Haridwar to pack my things, skipping the evening aarti, dinner and the nightly talk. I wanted to be well rested for the following days at the festival. Confident in my decision to leave early, I ducked into an internet cafe to see if I could buy a train ticket to Delhi for my return. The site was not working so I walked out of the cafe, past several cows and people, when I looked down some ghat steps and saw a group in a circle just before the water.
Less than a minute later, I was down at the water's edge throwing off my shoes and rolling up my pant legs. The crowd was growing there were only moments to trust my backpack on its own and get into the river. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, who was visiting an ashram across the river had come to dip in the ganges. Shirt, shoes and backpack on shore, I moved in closer to him.
He indicated no photos and the women had to stand apart from the men. This was because of the bathing aspect, not because he had anything against women. Within 2 minutes he and I were sitting on a rock, knees deep in the Ganga. Are you kidding me?
Then he started in song, "Om Nama Shivaya", and soon a chorus of men, myself included, joined and we sang to the Himalayas, Shiva, God, Allah, call it what you will, while sitting in the Ganga. There were only two people on the rock, Sri Sri and I. The rest of the crowd surrounded, parting in one spot so the women could see from a distance. They were screaming "Sri Sri, over here" and then they joined in song. It seemed as if the chorus had been practicing for years as every voice joined the rhythm and tone on cue.
If you asked me five minutes before I came to the banks if I would bathe in the Ganges, I would have said, "no". As I mentioned previously, the river is heavily polluted and used for cremations, or as a dumping ground for corpses of people not qualified for cremation. But now, with the sun setting behind the trees just off the riverbank, in unison, all of the men were follwing Sri Sri's cue, holding their nose, and simultaneously dipping in the Ganges seven times. It was real and surreal at the same time.
When our time in the river was complete, the men moved out of the water, up the ghat steps encapsulating Sri Sri in a circle. Assistants waited for him at the top so that he could change out of his wet robe. He made his way to a nearby ferry after light a flower bowl. And I stood on the riverbank, wet, a bit cold and sky high.
Who is Sri Sri? I can't tell you much because I don't know much, but I am learning. He is small, fragile in appearance, of Indian decent with long dark hair. He is a humble servant thought of as an enlightened one, having meditated for several years in the Himalayas. Behind him is the Art of Living Foundation with branches for service to others around the world. He is a 2006 Nobel Peace prize nominee (maybe a winner by now, I'm not sure).
All I know is that when my eyes met his, there was a powerful glimpse of compassion and childlike innocence within. There is still much I hope to learn and so the journey continues . . .
Made my way out of my warm room into the chilly mountain wind on the roadside of Highway 56. Usually, autorikshaws were climbing over each other to pick me up as I was an easy target for a special "tourist tariff", which generally amounts to the ballpark of an additional twenty cents. But at this hour, just before sunrise, the rikshaws were fast asleep wherever rikshaws sleep and I was already a bit behind schedule.
After about ten minutes, I crawled into an overcrowded rikshaw with farmers and students on their way to school. There was little space, but I didn't mind as the body contact was serving to keep us all warm. An hour later, having dropped the farmers and kids off, I was the last samurai of the ride dropped off once again at Laksham Jhula, the pedestrian, bovine and motorcycle path over the Ganges.
Feeling rushed because I was late for my very first class, I tried to put it all in perspective, taking in the scenic mountains in the morning light and the peacefulness before the town awoke. Just as I made my way into the gates of the ashram, I heard a woman's voice over a speaker saying, "o.k., let's do our first position." Phew, my timing worked out even with my half hour tardiness. Without getting a mat, I sauntered into the tent and assumed a seated position in the first open space I came across.
The class was Kundalini yoga, taught by a master from Los Angeles. The stage was fifty to seventy-five feet away from me, but I could see her white garb and head dress. She looked and sounded young. Immediately, I began flailing my arms at her instruction thinking this was going to be an easy yoga, but four minutes of flailing and I was flailed out. What a burn.
Class proceeded for another hour and a half with the teacher offering thoughtful meditation along the way. At the conclusion, I felt great, a bit tired, but energized. It was 10:30, time for brunch which was once again Indian food. By now, Indian food has become too much of a good thing, but it's the only thing so I ate a light breakfast.
There were two lectures mid-day and then I attended my first Tai Chi class. Again, a master of Tai Chi spent an hour and a half with a class of mostly beginners. He worked with us on mental discipline, breath and fluid movement. It reminded me of the many asian seniors I saw doing Tai Chi in Golden Gate Park. Now, I have a sense, albeit very limited, of their art.
The final class of the day was Vinyasa yoga with which I had some familiarity. While I had some familiarity, the master teacher and most of the students had a lot of familiarity so the class moved swiftly through poses leaving me in the yoga dust and feeling like a sore pretzel. It was a good workout and we were rewarded afterward with crackers and tea.
Feeling pleasantly relaxed and tired, I decided to return to my room in Haridwar to pack my things, skipping the evening aarti, dinner and the nightly talk. I wanted to be well rested for the following days at the festival. Confident in my decision to leave early, I ducked into an internet cafe to see if I could buy a train ticket to Delhi for my return. The site was not working so I walked out of the cafe, past several cows and people, when I looked down some ghat steps and saw a group in a circle just before the water.
Less than a minute later, I was down at the water's edge throwing off my shoes and rolling up my pant legs. The crowd was growing there were only moments to trust my backpack on its own and get into the river. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, who was visiting an ashram across the river had come to dip in the ganges. Shirt, shoes and backpack on shore, I moved in closer to him.
He indicated no photos and the women had to stand apart from the men. This was because of the bathing aspect, not because he had anything against women. Within 2 minutes he and I were sitting on a rock, knees deep in the Ganga. Are you kidding me?
Then he started in song, "Om Nama Shivaya", and soon a chorus of men, myself included, joined and we sang to the Himalayas, Shiva, God, Allah, call it what you will, while sitting in the Ganga. There were only two people on the rock, Sri Sri and I. The rest of the crowd surrounded, parting in one spot so the women could see from a distance. They were screaming "Sri Sri, over here" and then they joined in song. It seemed as if the chorus had been practicing for years as every voice joined the rhythm and tone on cue.
If you asked me five minutes before I came to the banks if I would bathe in the Ganges, I would have said, "no". As I mentioned previously, the river is heavily polluted and used for cremations, or as a dumping ground for corpses of people not qualified for cremation. But now, with the sun setting behind the trees just off the riverbank, in unison, all of the men were follwing Sri Sri's cue, holding their nose, and simultaneously dipping in the Ganges seven times. It was real and surreal at the same time.
When our time in the river was complete, the men moved out of the water, up the ghat steps encapsulating Sri Sri in a circle. Assistants waited for him at the top so that he could change out of his wet robe. He made his way to a nearby ferry after light a flower bowl. And I stood on the riverbank, wet, a bit cold and sky high.
Who is Sri Sri? I can't tell you much because I don't know much, but I am learning. He is small, fragile in appearance, of Indian decent with long dark hair. He is a humble servant thought of as an enlightened one, having meditated for several years in the Himalayas. Behind him is the Art of Living Foundation with branches for service to others around the world. He is a 2006 Nobel Peace prize nominee (maybe a winner by now, I'm not sure).
All I know is that when my eyes met his, there was a powerful glimpse of compassion and childlike innocence within. There is still much I hope to learn and so the journey continues . . .
posted by Global415 at 8:23 AM
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