“Have you been to India, Chris?” my astrologer asked me last September when I consulted her about going on this pilgrimage.
“No,” I responded plainly.
“Ok.” Her voice settled as if she was about to lay it on me. ”Going to India will crack all your grids open. This happens to anyone who goes to India.”
Gulp.
Ok, so I heard the words come out of her mouth, but for some reason they didn’t quite land. I mean, I assumed after so much travel these past few years (on both the astral and physical planes,) my grids would have been pretty well cracked open by now. I figured I was well-prepared for any kinds of circumstances I might face in India. And even if I was cracked open, how different could it be from other growth periods I’ve experienced in my life?
Well, my friends, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Not only was my circuit board completely shattered shortly after arriving in India, but it took a good six weeks to be replaced, leaving me in complete darkness and emotional paralysis for days at a time. Whoa, having your grids cracked open is scary stuff! Thankfully, the worst of that period has passed and I feel like I’ve not only been put back together, but I’ve been upgraded to a new operating system that has me functioning with greater ease, joy and efficiency than ever before. And so the story goes…
After our time with the Buddhists in
Bodh Gaya (including these sweet little orphans turned monks we stayed with at the Nepalese monastary,) Rai Das, Vishni and I boarded a train for a forty-hour ride south to the State of
Tamil Nadu, located in the southernmost part of the Indian Peninsula. It was my first ever overnight train experience (which actually spanned the course of two nights,) and my patience, tolerance and fortitude were all pushed to their limits. Coming off the wild ride at the Kumbh Mela, the physical sickness, and an overall hectic first few weeks in the north of the country I can’t say that I was exactly looking forward to the long trip south. At the same time I felt like I had already cast my fate to the wind by agreeing to travel with Rai Das and Vishni, and was now in it for the long haul.
Fortunately, we were able to reserve the last two beds available in the sleeper class car of the train, so we had a corner to call home when we boarded late that night. The small, cramped space also doubled as our parlor during the day and cloak room for our luggage. It was far from luxurious, but at least we could get horizontal when we needed to. Rai Das and Vishni shared the top bunk (don’t ask me how,) and I was on the bottom. Just as I was drifting off to sleep I spotted a rat run across the floor.
“There’s a rat in here,” I told Rai Das, expecting some kind of reaction.
“The night crew,” he said without blinking an eye.
I mean, you see this kind of thing in NYC subway stations all the time, but what amazed me was how soundly people without reserved beds were able to sleep, atop pieces of cardboard on the floor, knowing vermin were about. I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for a simple, elevated bed in all my life. I put some ear plugs in, an eye mask on, crawled into my sleep sack, used my jacket as a pillow, and despite the gusts of wind blowing in through the windows, the frequent noise of passing trains, blaring horns, periodic stops at stations throughout the night, and a chorus of snoring Indians, was somehow able to get a few hours rest before daybreak.
The next morning I woke to the echoing voices of vendors passing through our train car. ”Chai, dip Chai,” they would call out every few minutes.
Removing my eye mask I saw that the morning sun was already pouring in through the train windows. I had no idea what time it was (per usual, seeing I haven’t had a cellphone or watch with me these past five months,) but judging from the activity in the train I assumed it was around seven.
I wiped the sleep from my eyes, turned and noticed all of my Indian neighbors staring in my direction, just as surprised to see me as I was them.
“Good morning,” I nodded to the three families we shared our compartment with (I’m still amazed at how many people Indians are able to squeeze into a small amount of space.)
I stopped the next Chai vendor who passed, sat up on my bed, sipped some tea, and took in the scene around me. I immediately felt a strange sense of kinship with the other passengers on the train that morning. It was as though we had all gone through some kind of small battle together, and had emerged on the other side unscathed, with a newly formed allegiance to one another. I looked out the window and took in the moving landscapes, which my Vishni described as happy palms, emerald green rice fields, small villages with straw huts and muddy green rivers. I watched, feeling as though I was still half dreaming, as people began their morning routines, cracking my first smile of the day. Incredible India.
Days on the train were hard and exhausting. Space was cramped and limited, leaving us with little more to do than read, meditate, journal, nap, small talk, sip tea, eat snacks, look out the window, and walk from one end of the train to the other (it actually sounds like a lot of activities now that I’ve written them down, but at the time it felt like a moving prison.) We quickly became friends with the Indian children we shared our compartment with, and after getting over their initial shyness they came over to our side of the train to sit with us and look out the window. Although this meant we had even less space for ourselves, I welcomed their company.
It always surprises me when and where the big insights hit us. This one happened in the middle of the day, on a sweltering hot sleeper train heading to south India. It was about three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. To help pass the time I had put my ear plugs in, closed my eyes, and attempted to meditate. Breathing in, I know that I’m breathing in. Breathing out, I know that I’m breathing out. Ignore the loud train horns, don’t pay attention to the fuel smells, forget how bloody hot and uncomfortable it is. Simply focus on your practice and drown out everything else.
I did this and was somehow able to drift off far enough to find a quiet place of inner peace in which to relax into. And once there something really interesting happened. I began to see a bluish colored ball of light in my inner field of vision. My body started to melt away, along with all superfluous thoughts and feelings and it was if I could see this blue sphere of light radiating inside of me with the quiet intensity of an angel. It felt like it was breathing with me. The source of my breath. The source of all breath. With each inhale the ball would expand, with each exhale it would contract. In that moment I began to realize that what I was looking at was my soul. And that this light had been with me my entire life. All I had to do was get really quiet, focus my attention, and I could see it any time I wanted. Even in the most difficult, challenging, noisy environments it was always there. In my mind I started speaking to the light, asking it questions. How come you’ve never shown yourself to me before? Have you been here the entire time? How could I have been so foolish as to ignore you? I’m sorry I’ve neglected you my friend.
I imagined that I was polishing the ball of light with love. Putting flowers and nice smelling oils all over it. Hugging it, praising it, adoring it as one might a new born child. I began thinking about the fact that every person on that train, every person in India, every person on Earth, also had a unique ball of light inside of them as well. And that our physical bodies were simply instruments for these eternal souls which would continue on even after we’ve breathed our last. All at once I saw how each of our inner lights were connected, and how they’d all eventually merge into one great light source when we left our physical bodies. If this was true, I concluded, then there really was no space for separation between people. It meant we truly were all One.
Whoa, where in the world did that come from?!
I opened my eyes and suddenly felt as though I was seeing everything anew. I scanned the compartment and noticed people in various states of exhaustion and disarray from the mid-day heat, but despite the physical conditions was still easily able to imagine the lights inside of them as well. A sense of love and compassion for every stranger on the train welled up inside of me, for I felt like I was being given confirmation of something that I had long suspected, namely that we truly are all plugged into the same great light source. Some of you may know that I wrote a play a few years ago entitled, “The Light Inside,” where I touched on some of these ideas, but this was the first time I had directly experienced the light inside for myself. Even more miraculous to me was the fact that this insight was being given to me only a few hours before we were scheduled to arrive at our destination of
Tiruvannamalai, where the late great Indian Guru,
Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi spent his life engaged in
self-enquiry as the means to awaken to the “I-I” and the
Self. In other words, the light inside.
Of course, there’s always a flip-side to every golden coin. And I’ve learned that as quickly and unexpectedly as moments of enlightenment can arrive, they can just as easily disappear if we’re not fully mindful. And after another long, grueling night on the sleeper train, my light inside might as well have been a candle on a distant shore. For, as hours wore on I was finding it increasingly difficult to detach myself from the physical discomforts I was experiencing. My body was sore and restless and my mind kept wanting to skip tracks in order to get to the the “good” song.
After nearly two full days on the train we finally pulled into Chennai. I was exhausted and desperately in need of a walk outside, but knew that we had to catch the bus if we wanted to make it to Tiruvannamalai before midnight. Chennai was also one of those places that you don’t want to hang around too long. The air quality is awful, it’s way overcrowded, and is notorious for the size of its rats.
After hitting some traffic and being re-routed due to road construction, our bus arrived in Tiruvannamalai around ten that night. We were told that
Sri Ramana’s Ashram was full and not accepting any guests for stays of less than thirty days. So, as had become our routine, Vishni and I found a spot on the side of the road to wait with our bags while Rai Das set out to find us some lodging.
“I wonder where Baba will put us tonight,” I joked with Vishni, unable to imagine what we’d be able to find at that late hour.
Adding to our challenge was the fact that it was
Purnima (full moon) weekend and a hundred thousand people were expected in Tiruvannamalai for
Pradakshina of the sacred
Arunachala hill (one of the holiest places in the world for Hindus.) It’s said that circumambulating Arunachala one time is equivalent to visiting all of the pilgrim centers of India.
Rai Das returned half an hour later with a worrisome expression on his face.
“It’s all full,” he told us regretfully. “Pilgrims are here from all over India. Everything’s booked.”
My mind immediately started contemplating worst case scenarios. I was still battling the lingering illness from the Kumbh Mela, and after two nights of minimal sleep on the hot train I wasn’t excited about the idea of sleeping on the dirt ground in front of a roadside temple.
“There’s one last place that someone told me about,” Rai Das said as if grasping for straws. “I’ll go have a look and see if they have anything.”
And off he went. Vishni, who seemed unphased by the situation, continued singing her bajans and waving incense sticks around her ankles to keep away the mosquitoes.
“What now, what now,” I asked myself looking up and down the desolate street.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Vishni, deciding to go have a look around for myself and see what I might be able to find.
I walked down a dimly lit street and spotted a hotel with the word “Ramana” in the name on the corner of the sleepy block. It certainly didn’t look promising, but it can’t hurt to try, I thought to myself. There was no office to inquire in or bell to ring, so I started up the stairs towards where the rooms were when a one-eyed Indian man with a limp approached me out of the shadows.
“Yes,” I said trying hard not to focus on the empty eye socket. “I’m uh…do you have a room available? There are three of us.”
“Yes, yes,” he said jumping at the opportunity. “Come, come.”
I followed him up the dark stairway towards a side of the building that looked like it was reserved for piles of trash waiting to be burned. It’s gotta be better than sleeping outside and being eaten by mosquitoes, I kept telling myself. But that thought was short-lived because when he opened the door to the room a wave of rancid heat smacked me in the face. I held my breath and poked my head in perfunctorily so not to offend the caretaker. The ground in front of the roadside temple was starting to look a whole lot more lux after seeing the alternatives. I politely thanked the one-eyed man for his time, pivoted and
quickly exited.
I returned to Vishni who remained in the same spot, watching our bags and battling the swarms of mosquitoes.
“They have found their dinner,” she said to me in her thick Russian accent, somehow able to find humor in the situation.
I stared up into the starry sky and called in the big guns. ”C’mon Baba,” I said to myself, “Help us out here. It’s been a rough few days. All I ask for is clean place with a shower and a good night’s sleep?”
And as if my request was made on speed-dial, a few moments later, I looked down the desolate street and saw Rai Das approaching with a newly found buoyancy in his step.
“Here he comes,” I told Vishni. “I think he found something.”
“How do you know?”
“By the way he’s walking.”
“I have good news and bad news,” Rai Das said. Never one to delay satisfaction I asked him for the good news first. ”Grab the bags and follow me. I’ll tell you on the way.”
The good news was that we had a place to sleep for the night. The bad news was that it was only for one night. After first being told that the
Siva Sannidhi House was full by the night watchman, the front desk clerk caught up with Rai Das, saying that someone hadn’t showed up, and we could have the room if we wanted. It turned out to be an incredible bit of fortune as the place boasted the nicest accommodations for pilgrims we’d found to date. The room was extremely clean, had three comfortable beds, a nice bathroom, screens in the windows to keep out the mosquitoes, an overhead fan, and well-filtered drinking water. Compared to most of the places I’d slept over the past few weeks it felt like a royal palace. Maybe this was a good sign of things to come for us in Tiruvannamalai, I thought to myself. Thank you, thank you, thank you was my mantra as I drifted off to sleep that night.
Our good fortune continued the next morning when the manager of Siva Sannidhi approached us during breakfast and told us he had one room available in a building across the street, and that if we were willing to move our things over he could give it to us for the week. We checked it out, and although the room wasn’t quite as comfortable as the one we’d slept in the night before, it would more than suffice. Again, it was their last available room and by the good grace of…you fill in the blank…it was ours!
Although quite the challenge to get to Tiruvannamalai, it turned out to be an extremely auspicious place for us to land. Each morning at sunrise pujas were performed at Sri Ramana’s Ashram by a group of young monks in training and two Pujaris who washed, sang and made offerings to the Shiva
Lingam, Ramana Maharshi, and the various deities in the temples. The ashram also included multiple shrines to deceased members of their community (including Ramana and his mother,) a library and book stall, and a great meditation room where one was encouraged to engage in self-enquiry. There were pictures and devotees of Ramana Maharshi everywhere and his humble presence could be felt throughout the complex.
Although the spiritual energy in Tiruvannamalai was quite high, a deep sadness and confusion had slowly set in and I wasn’t exactly sure what it was about or how to resolve it at the time. Upon reflection, I believe that there were a few factors contributing to the sense of malaise I was feeling. The first was a bit of homesickness. I’d never been out of the U.S. for such an extended period of time and found myself really missing my family and friends back home (especially the children.) I also hadn’t been in a country where English was the first language since leaving Ireland last November and was craving some familiarity. I had originally expected to be making this trip with Leif, but now that he was back in U.S. and I was on the road with two people I didn’t know, I really wished I had a buddy with me. Adding to the feelings of isolation was the fact that I had left my guitar with my host in Delhi, so didn’t even have her good company (this ended up being a really good decision as traveling with it would have been grueling.) Three months in India was starting to feel like a very long and insurmountable period of time and I was questioning whether or not I could do it.
The second thing I was dealing with was a continuation of the culture shock that I experienced when I first arrived in India. The sheer number of people, complete over-stimulation with sounds, smells, a zillion things happening at once, ancient and high energies mixed with modern consumer culture, were all adding up to put me in a state of emotional inertia.
The third thing affecting me was the physical destitution and suffering I witnessed nearly everywhere we went. I felt stifled by it and didn’t know how to respond to the dozens of requests for money I was receiving on a daily basis. I was on a tight budget myself and simply couldn’t give to every single person who asked, although I felt like I wanted to. So, my solution became to open my heart and say a little prayer each time someone asked me. I also tried to find at least one person a day to give a more generous donation to (rather than giving a little bit to more people.) Seeing the reaction on that person’s face always managed to lift my spirits a bit.
Another thing that was going on was that my ego was making a desperate attempt to keep itself from being permanently downgraded to second-class status. The insights on the train (and on the pilgrimage in general,) had me questioning everything that I thought I knew about my “Self” and how I wanted to live in the world. I felt like I was coming to a deeper and more intimate understanding of who I was, and unfortunately for my ego’s sake, this meant giving up control of the ship. I noticed that each time I went into my meditation or prayer practice my mind/body would start to get very active and try to take over. Rather than see this for what it was (i.e. just thoughts) and let them pass away, I began to get very hard on myself, and frustrated with the overall progress I was making.
A humorous anecdote – some nights I would be woken up multiple times by mosquitoes biting me. Unable to ignore the physical discomfort, or quiet my mind enough to go back to sleep, I would get myself so worked up that I would begin to curse my friends back in the U.S. who told me how great India was and how much I’d love it here. I would lie there tossing and turning and contemplate titles for blog posts, including “I Hate India.” Ha! These negative thoughts always passed by morning.
I was also dealing with some pretty intense planetary transits during February. In addition to Pluto and Uranus squaring my natal Moon, the asteroid Chiron (the wounded healer) was conjunct my Jupiter and squaring my Neptune. I remember my astrologer warning me that I would be really fragile during this period and that I should go slow, as they would be trying to break through my super-conscious mind and crack me out of denial about something. As challenging as it was to deal with I was also aware that this stuff was being brought up in order to be healed. Rather than fight what was happening inside of me, I tried to find as much space as possible to be in silence and allow myself to simply feel what was coming to the surface. Fortunately, I was in the perfect place for that kind of work.
Each morning I would walk across town to a small ashram, sit in silence with a group of mostly westerners, and wait to receive the darshan of a small, humble Indian Saint by the name of
Sri Siva Sakthi Ammaiyar. At exactly ten am, Amma (as she’s also called by her devotees,) would enter in silence, take a seat in the front of the room, and close her eyes peacefully. A moment later she would open them and begin to slowly scan the room, carefully making eye contact with each individual there (usually around 75 people.) She would then stand up very slowly, consciously walk from one side of the room to the other, and smile lovingly at each person she passed. After fifteen minutes she would exit as quietly as she had entered. Her presence had a deeply calming effect on me. All it took was a small smile and glance from her to make me feel like everything was ok again, and that I truly was being watched over by the Mother. She was the best medicine I’d found since the Ganga.
Thankfully, I had also been brought to one of the most sacred places in all of India to do this work. Arunachala hill, which shines brightly and appears in brick red color, is thought to be one of the oldest places in the world, originating much earlier than the Himalayas. It is said by geologists that the hill was formed during the period when the earth, then a ball of fire, was cooling down and solidifying as stone and that it was part of the Lemuria which submerged in the Indian Ocean. Sri Ramana Mahashi spent his life meditating on this sacred hill, teaching (mostly through silence,) and engaging in his particular brand of self-enquiry. It was to the ancient energy of Arunachala that I turned each day to help me through the dark period that I was experiencing.
There was a foot path behind the ashram that led up the hill to some of the same places that Sri Ramana lived over one hundred years ago. One of these places was
Virupaksha Cave, whose shape resembles the syllable “Om.” It’s said that when the wind enters the cave, the sound “Om” becomes audible (though I didn’t hear this myself.) Sri Ramana spent sixteen years living in this cave, performing
tapas(austerities,) and communing with the
atma. Around the year 1916 some of Sri Ramana’s devotees thought he needed a more proper residence and so a little further up the hill, next to a perennial spring with clear, sweet water, they cleaned and leveled the ground and built a house surrounded by coconut and mango trees.
The ashram came to be known as
Skandasramam and is now accessible to visitors who wished to enter to meditate. Some say this spot is the heart of Arunachala (and apparently the monkeys agree because they were everywhere up there.) While I really appreciated the grandeur and history of the large ashram complex below, including all of the temples, shrines, and meditation halls, I spent the bulk of my time in these smaller places on the hill, in silence and away from the crowds. Each day I was in Tiruvannamalai I would quietly perform my
japa while hiking up the hill, and then enter either the small ashram or the cave for meditation and self-enquiry. And it was during those quiet times, away from the noise and distractions of the city below, in the simple solitude of the ancient stone walls, that I was able to go deeply inside my self and re-connect with that radiant blue light that I met on the train.
I had heard references made to Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi over the years, and saw his picture on various occasions, but never really knew much about him before arriving in Tiruvannamalai. The first thing I was surprised to learn was that the core of his teachings centered on contemplation of the question, “Who am I?” From a young age this pure, realized being was considered an embodiment of detachment. He taught primarily through silence and meditation, not following any specific laws or doctrines, and never having received initiation from a Guru (similar to Thich Nhat Hanh. And Haidakhan Babaji.) He was an original thinker who gave his approval to a variety of paths and practices and was considered by many to be one of the most highly evolved spiritual beings to have ever walked the earth. Though worshiped by thousands, he never allowed anyone to treat him as special, or receive private gifts. He treated all with equal respect, including insects and animals. After hearing all of this I naturally felt quite drawn to him.
I certainly didn’t come to India with any intention of becoming a
sanyassin or participating in the kinds of austerities that Sri Ramana did, but the more time I spent on Arunachala the more I felt myself transcending my physical body and engaging with my higher spiritual self. Yes, things were agitated all around me, but little by little I was getting better at shifting into neutral and not responding from a place of agitation. I mean, I would have done nearly anything (on a spiritual level that is,) to get myself out of the funk I was in, but it seemed like all I really needed to do was to find a quiet place to enter into deep silence and listen to what was there. I learned in the caves of Arunachala that the point wasn’t to get myself out of the funk, but to go into those places where the funk originated, and allow myself to simply feel. That insight proved to be the critical turning point on the pilgrimage, and perhaps in my overall spiritual development to date. I credit the energy of Arunachala and the spirit of Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi for assisting me through that dark period of the soul and back towards the light inside. Thank you Bhagavan.
While I could now see a light at the end of the tunnel, I knew I wasn’t in totally in the clear yet. The deconstruction was still going on and I felt like I could really benefit from some time with the Divine Mother. Luckily for us, she was awaiting our arrival in a seaside ashram in Kerala. My gut told me to stay out of the cities, but if I wanted to continue traveling with Rai Das and Visni that wasn’t going to happen for another week or so. They were planning to tour some of the more important temples in Tamil Nadu, then head down to Kanyakumari at the southern most tip of the country, before heading back up the southwest coast to
Amritapuri, Amma’s ashram. I debated going off on my own, but decided rather than interrupt what seemed like a pretty good group dynamic we had going at the time, I’d just stick with the flow and use it as an opportunity to deepen my practice.
So, after our time in Tiruvannamalai it was back on the bus. Our first stop was a town called
Chidambaram, a major pilgrimage site for
Shaivites and
Vaishnavites because of the
Shiva Nataraj Temple located there. The temple is known as the foremost of all temples to Saivites and is said to have influenced worship, architecture, sculpture and performance art for over two millennium. It’s referred to in all devotional literature as kailasam, the Lord Shiva’s abode that manifests on earth. It’s an incredibly impressive complex spreading over forty acres in the heart of the city, with various ceremonies and rituals going on day and night.
The next day we traveled to a town called
Thanjavur to visit the
Brihadeeswara Temple on our way to
Madurai and the
Meenakshi Amman Temple. Again, they were both hulking complexes crawling with Hindu pilgrims in the center of otherwise industrial cities. By this point I was completely over visiting large temples and worshiping stones. I knew there was a living saint awaiting our arrival in Kerala and was desperately craving her company and the more natural surroundings of Amritapuri.
There was one last stop to make however before reaching the prize.
Kanyakumari, surrounded by ocean waters on nearly all sides, lies at the southernmost tip of mainland India and is especially popular for its spectacular and unique sunrise and sunset. Unfortunately, the town has become overrun by tourist activities and the natural beauty of the place is overshadowed by an overflow of commercial vendors and consumer activities. Despite this fact, we were still able to join with a large crowd of Indian pilgrims to take in the rare occurrence of a sunset and sunrise on the same body of water, the
Laccadive Sea.
The time had finally arrived to high tail it out of Tamil Nadu and head northwest into the Indian state of
Kerala where Amma’s ashram is located. I had heard a lot about Kerala over the years, mostly because of its progressive social, economic, and environmental programs, which had resulted in the highest literacy rates, longest life expectancy, and lowest crime and population growth rates in all of India. As our bus crossed over the state line it became obvious that we had entered a very different part of India. Life seemed to move a bit slower in Kerala. The streets were much cleaner and less populated, English was commonly spoken, people felt more open to foreigners, and the sales tactics used by vendors were far less shady.
It was also the first place we’d been that had its own state controlled bus company,
KSRTC, with well-mannered drivers and attendants that ran things in a very orderly fashion. The communist flag and illustrations of Che Guevara were proudly displayed on nearly every street corner and cooperatives were a way of life.
Amritapuri (as Amma’s ashram is called) is located in a remote fishing village on a small island cradled between the backwaters and the Arabian Sea. I had a feeling that once I arrived there things would settle down, and that being around Amma’s energy would be good for me. It turns out I was right. No sooner did we climb out of the rickshaw and start crossing the bridge towards the ashram that I felt an old comfort wash over me. For the first time since arriving in India I felt like I was returning home. (For astro geeks, Chiron had also orbited out of the more challenging aspects at this point and was now trining my Moon. For those non-astro geeks this represents good news.)
Built up on the very property where Amma was born, Amritapuri is now the headquarters of Amma’s worldwide mission and the spiritual home for her monastic disciples and hundreds of householder devotees. In only thirty year’s time Amma and her devotees have gone from meditating and worshiping in the living room of her family’s home, and providing darshan in a cowshed, to having a small city with towering buildings of flats for householders and visitors, hostels for students who study at the ashram college across the river, big dinning halls, temples, an auditorium, many offices and departments, and a hospital. And that was just on the main campus!
Given Amma’s very busy public life we weren’t sure she’d be in residence when we arrived, but as grace would have it she was in between tours and was scheduled to be there for the entire ten days that we were, culminating in an all-night
Shivararti celebration. Jai Ma! After setting my bags down and getting oriented I went to the shore of the Arabian Sea where a group of people had gathered for daily sunset meditation with Amma. It was the first time since arriving in India that I was able to take a deep, satisfying breath of fresh air without coughing (even Arunachala hill was located above a city.) I stood there motionless, listening to the hypnotic sounds of the crashing waves and letting the cool ocean breeze penetrate my every pore. I had dreamed about coming to Amritapuri ever since I received darshan from Amma in Ireland last November and was counting my blessings that I had arrived safely.
My decision to join Rai Das and Vishni on the trip to south India, rather than go straight to Babaji’s ashram in the Himalayas after the Kumbh Mela, was beginning to feel like the right decision.
I opened my eyes and saw a flurry of activity taking place in the distance.
“What’s happening?” I asked someone.
“She’s coming,” a woman told me as she rushed into the crowd.
My feet stayed planted exactly where they were. For some reason, I didn’t feel the urge to jump forward to get close to Amma. Observing from a distance, the scene was actually a bit unsettling, as hoards of people “gently” lobbied for position as she passed by. Although surrounded by devotees and two police guards, Amma seemed as casual and unpretentious as ever, walking quietly over to her meditation cushion on a simple platform overlooking the sea, and taking her seat. A moment later a dog came up to join her.
She made a little joke in Malayalam and then moved over a bit to give the dog some room to stretch out. Yes, this is a true living master, I thought to myself.
I closed my eyes and began following the guided meditation, breathing in and out gently and peacefully while visualizing the syllables “Om” and “Ma” with each alternating breath. I couldn’t get the smile off my face as the sound of the crashing waves and feeling of the warm setting sun on my back lifted my spirits higher than they’d been all month.
After the meditation Amma gave a short talk to the group. It was the first time I’ve heard her speak in this way and was impressed by her simple, yet profound messages. Although she spoke in her native tongue of Malayalam, one of her devotees took copious notes and translated into English after she was finished.
To my surprise she focused on many of the same themes that I’d been reflecting on since the beginning of the pilgrimage (and especially since my time on Arunachala,) including the idea that we’re not the physical body and the soul is eternal, that it’s important for spiritual seekers to cultivate an ability to see the Divine in all people and things, that we need to learn to control our “monkey mind,” become single-focused in our spiritual practices, and go beyond likes and dislikes, learning to accept what’s given to us by Spirit, our Guru, God, etc. I was kind of blown away by what I was hearing. Not because the concepts were so revolutionary, but rather because I felt like she was speaking directly to me.
Following Amma’s satsang everyone moved into the auditorium where she led the group in bhajans (devotional singing.) I wasn’t familiar with the songs, but they had large screens in the front of the auditorium with the words scrolling on them, allowing one to easily follow along. It was interesting that while reading the lyrics it felt like I was also being instructed in Amma’s teachings, for her messages were poetically spelled out in each song. It was great to watch her masterfully lead the group of musicians, invoking the divine with her hands and body movements, and sing as though she was the Divine Mother herself (as many of her devotees believe she is.) Her energy and presence was extremely powerful just sitting in meditation with her. Combined with song and movement it became supremely dynamic.
It turned out that I was placed in a dorm room with a really great young guy from Colorado who was also on pilgrimage. We were on the 11th floor of a high-rise tower and it was one of the few rooms with screens in the windows, which meant for the first time since arriving in India I didn’t have to contest with mosquitoes while sleeping. It’s amazing how little comforts like these can feel so huge after being on the road for so long. I slept great in that room and continued to be extremely thankful for the little blessings being bestowed upon me.
Each morning began at five am with daily
puja and fire ceremony at the original Kalari, or Krishna Temple, beside the original family home and simple, unpretentious room where Amma still stays when she’s at Amritapuri. At the same time this occurred there were two other ceremonies taking place (one for men and one for women,) reciting the Archana (108 names of Amma and 1000 names of the Divine Mother,) in the auditorium and main temple respectfully. My routine was to go to the fire ceremony and then catch the end of the Archana before heading to the ocean for my own sunrise meditation. I’d then take breakfast, do some yoga and morning chores, and head to the Kali temple for more prayers and meditation in front of the Maha Kali statue.
One day a week Amma gave satsang in this temple, followed by personally feeding (i.e. handing a plate of food to) each person that was there. On other days Amma would give darshan (i.e. hugs) starting in the mid-morning and continuing until she had seen everyone that had come that day (including all of the Westerners and Indian devotees.) Some days she would be on stage hugging people for over fourteen hours. I still have a hard time understanding how one person can have so much boundless energy. The most impressive thing about it was that she was still able to smile and offer unconditional love to each person, even after fourteen hours! It was incredible!
Due to the numbers of people there that week, we were only allowed to receive darshan one time. And the second day after we arrived I lined up for my turn. We were told we could bring an offering to give to Amma if we wanted (which she would then give out as
prasad,) so I brought her a big bowl of fruit. Receiving darshan this time was a very different experience for me. Rather than feeling nervous and slightly scared like I was in Ireland, I was much more calm and relaxed in her presence. I simply did my japa and waited patiently for my turn, trying to quiet my mind enough to listen to whatever messages wanted to come through. The closer I got to her, and saw the way she tirelessly embraced and counseled person after person, the more I felt a deep love, respect and connection with her and her life’s mission.
I approached slowly, getting down on my knees and allowing myself to be carefully guided by her assistants. When my turn came I handed her the bowl of fruit and gave her a mala, which she placed around my neck before embracing me. Once in her arms, I completely surrendered and was once again consumed by her transformational power of unconditional love.
“My darling, my darling, my darling…” she whispered repeatedly into my ear.
After a few moments she released me and gave me a handful of prasad. It was all over in a matter of seconds. And unlike the first time I received her darshan, I felt very normal afterwards. No ecstasy. No dreaminess. No loss of time and space. Just plain old love and gratitude (which is certainly enough!) I casually walked off stage and handed my prasad to the first child I saw.
“Prasad from Amma,” I told the girl who beamed with absolute delight.
I walked out of the auditorium and went to sit by the sea. You may remember that after my darshan in Ireland I went into a deep meditation and heard the words “If you exist in an ocean of love no wave can ever crash on you. For you are the ocean. You are the waves. You are love.” This time I felt like I was living that message.
The more time I spent in Amma’s presence the more she began to feel like a loving big sister to me as opposed to a Guru. Once a day we were allowed on stage to sit close to her while she gave darshan. And it was during those times that I had my most enlightening moments with Amma.
As I meditated beside her, or watched with eyes open as she offered her love to each person that approached, I felt like she would glance over at me out of the corner of her eye as if to say, “you know, you’re capable of doing this too.” Indeed, I am. Indeed, we all are.
The ashram itself was run by all volunteers (an incredible feat seeing the size of the operation,) and each person who stays at Amritapuri is required to perform some kind of seva (selfless service) a few hours a day. When I went to sign up for my service I tried to remember Amma’s message about not focusing on likes and dislikes, and learning to accept what’s given to us.
“How do you feel about cleaning rooms?” the Seva Coordinator asked as if expecting me to decline the job.
Little did he know I was prepared to say yes to whatever he offered me. ”I feel great about cleaning rooms,” I said.
So, for the next week I scrubbed toilets and washed floors of recently vacated guest rooms. It’s funny to me that toilet duty was also my karma yoga job at our Kumbh Mela camp (along with my cleaning buddy Jenny, pictured here.) Hey, maybe I’ll have a new employable skill when I return to the U.S.
I was also had the opportunity to hang out with my German friend, Julian while at Amritapuri. You may remember me mentioning him in my Plum Village post back in December. He was one of my roommates during my week with Thich Nhat Hanh. We’d kept in touch since then and made a plan to meet up at Amma’s place. It was great to see him and felt like we continued our conversations where we had left off in France.
It felt like our connection had deepened since last seeing him and at one point Rai Das commented that we looked like monastic brothers from a past life. It was really nice to have a buddy to share meals with, stories of our travels, give and receive counsel on everything from relationships to our spiritual paths to our experiences with Amma. It was the first time since being in India that I felt like I was able to talk so openly about what was going on with me with someone I now consider a close friend. (Of course, there have been those few dear friends back in the States who’ve been there for me through both the good and more challenging times too. I’m forever grateful to you for that.)
Amritapuri proved to be another turning point for me in India. I fasted and held vigil all day and night for Shivararti and felt more open, joyful, and loving as a result. My meditation and prayer practice continued to deepen and I’ve since been given some really beautiful life lessons to share (many of which I plan to include in my book, so stay tuned!) The inner work feels like layers of an onion getting peeled away. It’s as if my old skin has been shed and replaced with some new, shiny, impenetrable stuff that will carry me through these next few seasons of life. I also had my first (and second…I had to be sure the first wasn’t bullshit) Jyotish (Vedic astrology) reading while at Amritapuri, and was thrilled to find out that my next forty years are looking really, really good. To borrow Rai Das’ mantra…Yes, Yes, Yes!
After leaving Amritapuri I had to resist the impulse to hop on a plane and head straight to Babaji’s ashram in the Himalayas. As much as I can’t wait to get to Haidakhan, I have to keep reminding myself that it’s important to stick with the flow and let everything work out as it will. After Rai Das, Vishi and I left Amma’s we headed to a hill-station called Kumily, next to Thekkady and the Periyar National Park. Vishni got to ride and elephant like she’s always wanted and we found a nice spot next to the Kerala Forest to sleep for a few days. We were only ambushed by a pack of monkeys once!
If you’re following this on a map (like my little buddy Raven who’s studying about India at the Crestone Charter School this year is,) we left Kerala and headed north to Kochi in the district of Ernakulam.
We had a few hours before our overnight train to Udipi so I took the opportunity to check out
India’s First Biennale art show, featuring some really cool work by a group of international artists. We then hopped on another overnight train, which took us north to the town of
Kullur, famous for the
Mookambika temple, a Hindu pilgrim center. This time I didn’t have the luxury of a reserved bed, and had to sit knee to knee all night with what seemed like one of India’s tallest men. We both had a good laugh at the situation and made due the best we could. I kept reminding myself that it wasn’t about likes and dislikes and to accept what was given to me.
Once in Kollur we spent a few days at
Dharmappetha, a mountainside ashram run by a small group of humble and devoted monks who maintained a beautiful temple, performed daily pujas to an enormous Shiva lingam, held fire ceremonies, and quietly worshiped the sunrise and sunset each morning and night. It was a diamond in the rough. There were very few people there and it proved to be the perfect environment to go deeper into my spiritual practices.
There was also a great hike through a ayurvedic medicinal plant forest that led to the
Arishna Gundi Waterfall, located deep inside the jungle and only approachable by trekking. I did this hike on the day of the Spring Equinox, and like the Winter Solstice, I took some time to write down on a piece of paper the things I wanted to let go of from the past and burn them with some offerings. I then set some new intentions for the months ahead and safely tucked these away inside my journal.
I’ve been in the beach town of Agonda, Goa for the past few days, enjoying some tranquil time by the ocean and finally having the time to write this long overdue blog post. Rai Das and Vishni rented a little hut on the beach and I’m staying in a small lodge a few blocks away run by a very sweet Catholic woman with pictures of Mother Mary everywhere (quite the anomaly for India.) We’ll be continuing our journey north this week and plan to be in Haidakhan for the nine-day Spring
Navratri festival, which begins on April 11th. In some ways it feels like the pilgrimage is winding down, and in others it feels like it will never end. For as my former mentor Chuck Matthei used to say, “It’s pointless to argue about means and ends since there are no ends.”
On that note, I recently received news about the passing of Rabbi Menachem Froman, who I had the opportunity to meet briefly while in Israel in January. Unfortunately for us we’ve lost one of the great peacemakers of the world, but I have no doubt that his son Yossi, and the other members of the Froman family and community in Tekoa, will carry on his beautiful legacy for many generations to come. May your light continue to shine on us all Rabbi. Shalom!
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