Ashram Archives - Maggie InkMaggie Ink

Pinkeye from Vishnu

March 21, 2012

I hesitate to even tell people that I went to an ashram in India on my trip around the world, because it brings up the inevitable comparison.

“OMG, you’re like ‘Eat, Pray, Love!'”

I mean, there are worse things to be likened to than an Oprah-endorsed, best-selling phenomenon. But I wish we could acknowledge and honor the stories of women without comparing them all the time. My journey was not Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey, and the road she traveled wasn’t mine. We just happen to be two women with backpacks.

Still, it happened that I ended up at an ashram in India.

It was located in the southern part of India, where vines and palms tangle around swampy backwaters. There was supposedly a zoo nearby, even though there wasn’t a town or a city in the vicinity. But every sunrise we could hear the lions roar.

I wish I could say my original intention was spiritual enlightenment. But I was coming off nine months of constant travel, followed by a blurry string of beach parties in Goa. More than enlightenment, I needed a purpose. I needed a schedule. I needed to lay on a mat and stretch my limbs to the sky and breathe. So I went.

It took three rickety buses through the countryside, one long walk and a wheezing rickshaw up a ribbon-like road, but I finally got there.

I fully committed myself to the ashram. I didn’t bring any forbidden goods, like alcohol, onto the property. I didn’t sneak out for a smoke. I didn’t skip any lessons. I didn’t half-ass it.

Instead, I greeted the blackness of morning with chants of “Jai Ganesh” until the sun rose.

I joined 200 people in a chorus of “Om” until the resonance became so deep and strong that it vibrated the chambers of my heart.

I sat crosslegged on the floor, scooped rice and runny lentils with my hand, ate in silence.

I slept naked under a mosquito net.

And then I waited.

I waited for that moment — enlightenment, clarity, bliss. Whatever it is that people are supposed to feel at an ashram, I wanted to feel it too.

I did my part, after all. I was present. I was open. I was expectant. And when it comes to spirituality, isn’t that the bulk of the battle? Just showing up?

This was also a particularly vulnerable time, since I had lost my mother just two months prior. So I did a lot of meditating and marinating while I let grief unzip me. If there was ever someone ripe for a divine moment, it was me — literally down on my knees in a temple, pleading for something, anything.

When those prayers went unanswered, I turned my efforts outward. I climbed mountains. I sang to the sun as she tossed scarves of color into the sky. I turned my face up to the heavens and said, “Come on. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Nothing happened.

I thought it would come in a bolt of lightning or something equally dramatic. I figured it would be like the conversion of Saul to Paul in the New Testament, a familiar story to every classically-trained Christian. Basically, Saul was traveling the streets of Damascus when he saw a bright flash of light and the resurrected figure of Jesus. The event caused Saul to go temporarily blind, at which point he changed his name to Paul and became (arguably) the greatest disciple of all. It was amazing. The dude went blind!

Meanwhile, I begged for something to happen. And Vishnu only gave me pinkeye.

After I left the ashram, I traveled to Kanyakumari, the town at the very bottom tip of India. In a country full of spiritual places, Kanyakumari is among the most special and sacred. This is the confluence of three major bodies of water — the Arabian Sea, the Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean.

It is where millions of travelers, missionaries and pilgrims have entered the continent. It is where Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were released back into the world. And according to Hindu legend, this is where an avatar of Parvati was set to marry Siva. When he failed to show up for his wedding, the rice that was supposed to feed the guests washed ashore, turning into the rocks that form the beach today.

I hiked up my leggings and waded into the water. It was as warm as tears. Around me, pilgrims tossed pink flowers into the waves, where they drifted out into forever.

Maybe enlightenment never really comes in a force of nature. Maybe it is just the gentle intersection of waves. It ebbs and flows, taking things away, returning again, washing over all of us.

—–

This post is part of the Scintilla Project, a fortnight of storytelling.

Living at the ashram

April 5, 2011

I was incredibly nervous before I arrived at Sivananda ashram near Trivandrum, India.

Seriously. The ashram costs just $11 per day, which includes room, board and a full day of yoga, meditation and chanting activities, so I wasn’t expecting much.

I imagined myself sleeping on a bamboo mat in a cockroach-infested shanty, eating gruel and pooping in a hole.

So it was such a pleasant surprise to walk down the cobblestone path and see Lakshmi, the women’s dorm where I would be staying for a week.

There are something like 36 beds per floor, and each one is arranged cubicle-style. Everyone at the ashram also receives sheets, a pillow and a mosquito net.

This was my house.

Some girls were very untidy.

And some were remarkably neat.

Finally, a few others turned the space into something entirely unique — like this mini artist studio.

Becoming a yogi

April 3, 2011

Checking into an ashram in India was one of the scariest leaps of faith I’ve ever made, but it turned out to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. My only regret is that I didn’t have time to stay longer.

Sivananda is located about 30 kilometers outside of Trivandrum, in the southern part of India. Before I went, some people told me it was a prison — no drinking! no smoking! no drugs! no sex! no fun! — but I also heard enough good things to make me want to go anyway.

The ashram is situated on the edge of a jungle near an elephant sanctuary and a home for lions. Sometimes when it’s incredibly quiet, like during morning meditation, I could hear the animals waking up and making noise.

: This is where my life changed forever.

I lived in a dorm with about 70 other women, just one of many simple dorms on the ashram campus. The buildings were clean, but sparse. Shoes are removed before entering any building.

: Flip-flops galore! This is how you know a yoga class is going on.

We were given two meals a day — breakfast at 10 a.m. and dinner at 6 p.m. We filed into the dining hall individually while chanting, then squatted on bamboo mats on the floor. Our dinner plates were gigantic aluminum trays divided into sections, school cafeteria style. The food is all sattvic, which means no meat, fish, garlic, onion or spice. Still, it was all surprisingly delicious. Typical meals include chapatti bread, dal (lentil soup), and salad made from shredded beets and carrots. Volunteers walk around with food buckets and serve up as much as you want.

Everybody eats in silence, which is supposed to help with digestion. That was probably the biggest thing for me to get used to, since I love to talk while I eat — something I never realized until I was forced to have quiet time.

There are no utensils, so everyone eats with their right hands. The left hand is reserved for bathroom stuff, since there is also no toilet paper.

Each day begins with a wake-up bell at 5:30 a.m., followed by chanting and meditation in the temple. The rest of the day adheres to a strict schedule of tea time, yoga classes, more chanting, a lecture and more yoga, chanting and meditation. Lights are off each night by 10:30 p.m.

: The rooftop space where we had intermediate yoga classes.

: Om shanti.

: No, they didn’t drink the Kool-Aid. There’s a yoga class going on in there.

Each person at the ashram also has mandatory karma yoga, which is volunteer work done on site. Some folks emptied the garbage bins, some scrubbed floors. I was assigned to work in the internet cafe for an hour each day. (Hey, yogis are pretty modern!)

: Becoming a yogi is very hard work.

I don’t have enough words to describe how moving and meaningful it was to stay at the ashram. I enjoyed the discipline of it, and it was strangely liberating to have all choice removed from my day. I was told when to wake up, where to go, what to do and when to sleep. After months of travel, where I’ve had endless decisions to make, it was a relief to turn that off for a while.

: What he said.

Above all, it was peaceful and quiet. For the first time, I felt like I was actively working on becoming a better human being — and ultimately, that’s the whole point.

: Moral of the story: Do more yoga.

A walk to sunshine

March 30, 2011

The wake-up bells rang at 5 a.m., but my eyes were already peeled open. It was my last morning at Sivananda ashram, and I wanted to soak up every last second of the experience.

My bag was already packed. I braided my hair, brushed my teeth and pulled on my Nikes.

Instead of our usual morning satsang — meditation and chanting in the temple — the entire ashram set off on a silent meditative walk through the forest and up a nearby mountain.

The air outside was cool and slithery with mist. It was dark enough for me to use a torch, but peaceful enough that I didn’t want to. Instead, I wanted to pause the moment, doing nothing to disturb the inky, blue-black surroundings.

The suggested method for a meditative walk is supposed to go like this: Take three steps, breathe, three steps, breathe, three steps … all while clearing your mind and focusing on your third eye. But I personalized my walk, sopping up every deep and gentle breath, while running a devotional chant on a loop in my head: Jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha, jaya ganesha pahimam, sri ganesha sri ganesha sri ganesha rakshaman.

We walked through gentle hills, then finally headed up, up, up the mountain. We arrived at a temple perched precariously on the brim of a craggy, volcanic-looking black rock.

We took off our shoes. And we sat. And we breathed.

This is what we saw.

Morning unfurled purple and pink lashes, batting them with a soft, bright-eyed glow. Finally the sun burst forth, like the host of the world’s greatest surprise party.

I think it’s no coincidence that swamis and sages, priests and philosophers typically tackle a mountain in their quest for the divine.

It was a moving finale to my ashram experience.

There are times when you search for god. And then there are the times when god finds you.

Grief at the ashram

March 28, 2011

I had big expectations for Sivananda ashram. Probably too big.

I figured this was my opportunity to recover after my mother’s death. A time for meditation and prayer, yoga and chanting. I would push through my grief one downward dog, one “om shanti” at a time, emerging on other side complete, happy and stitched back together.

Six days at an ashram isn’t enough time for that. I know this now.

Part of the problem is that I’m not sure if I’m doing this properly. I don’t know if my emotions are healthy, or if I’m in such denial that I can barely feel anything at all.

Because what I have now is what I call The Big Empty. It’s a dull, gaping expanse — a hole with a jagged maw that has settled in and made a home in my chest.

The strange thing about it is that I am not actively grieving. The tears don’t threaten to overflow the way they did in those first few weeks. There is no raw, gnawing feeling of sorrow. Sometimes I forget that she’s even gone.

But other times, The Big Empty pulses like a dark heartbeat. That’s when I look around at this massive world and realize my mom is not in it. There are all these breathtaking, sensual, smelly, frustrating, wild, wonderful things I experience every day, and my mother will never see them, never hear about them, never get a taste for them. And that’s not fair.

Every day I prayed at the ashram, and I waited for the answers to come.

Every day I realized I didn’t know what questions to ask.

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