The Call to Adventure
The siren song of India beckoned. I had always been enchanted by the seers, sages and Rishi of ancient India, those who could see beyond the veil of our ordinary reality and who invited us to look too. But I had been far too busy with the serious business of ordinary life for the past ten years to investigate deeply. Now I was drawn to go.
Several days before leaving San Francisco, I was invited to an evening event with a visiting Indian swami. What better way to kick off my voyage, I thought, than by seeing this saintly Indian fellow just a few blocks from my home! As I entered the lecture hall that evening something very strange happened – as if walking through a tear in the universe, I was completely altered. Every intuitive signal went on alert screaming, “pay close attention!” I delighted in the Swami’s presence and was fascinated by his teaching. Then, by some mysterious coincidence, his assistant announced the Swami’s upcoming birthday celebration in India – in the exact town I would be visiting then, and during the few days still unscheduled on my itinerary. Half way around the globe I would intersect with this wise man again. Hmmm, mother India working her magic already?
I landed in Mumbai at 2am, soaking up the sultry thick darkness of the night air. Even at this hour, curious black eyes peered out from the shanty huts lining the roadway and auto-rickshaws buzzed noisily into the night. After exploring Mumbai, I ventured north along the sacred River Ganges to mystical Khajuraho, meditating in the great tantric temples there, then on to the intense and otherworldly Varanasi where, according to legend, souls are automatically liberated from the cycle of reincarnation upon death. A continuous stream of funeral processions snaked through the narrow streets toward massive funeral pyres at river’s edge. Only a short time in India and one confronts the full spectrum, the ecstatic and the jagged, uncensored life and death.
Eventually I headed south to Tamil Nadu, to the Sri Ramana Maharshi ashram, Pondicherry, and dozens of small villages in between. Village life was a swirling mix of colorful markets and enchantingly vibrant temple life, together with heart-breaking beggars, filthy living conditions, and a maddening cacophony of trucks, scooters, rickshaws and oxcarts. Drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of India has disoriented and intoxicated many a traveler and I was no different. The magic of the place was mind-blowing, and the wretched squalor equally as shocking. There was no place to get one’s footing, as if the paradox of India was designed to deconstruct you.
By the time I arrived at the Swami’s birthday celebration five weeks later, I was blown open and raw…and full to the brim with India, as if I had already gorged on a far too large meal. I wasn’t sure I could swallow another bite, but here I was.
The week-long birthday celebration was a chaotic medley of morning meditations, traditional puja at nearby temples, chanting, fire ceremonies, and special rituals by the sea. Thousands of local Indians crowded the temple grounds for these auspicious ceremonies. In the afternoons and evenings, the Swami would give lectures to smaller groups, including dozens of westerners who had come to take part.
During the middle of the week I was summoned for a walk with the Swami. This was more than a bit surprising given we had never met. He had no knowledge of me or my background, nor did he know my name. From what I could tell, among his many thousands of students, there was rarely opportunity for direct dialogue, so I was intrigued and a bit undone. What could this potent Indian master possibly want to talk about?
While strolling silently along the beach together, he finally spoke, “You’re a successful business woman.”
Curious opener. By most measures I supposed that was true. But how did he know…?
Then he added soberly, “but you’ve got the model entirely wrong.”
I’d just quit a job that had left me exhausted and numb. I’d also just ended a relationship that wasn’t any better. At age 33, I was twenty pounds overweight, had dark circles under my eyes, and friends said I looked fifty. I was a mess…and I clearly did have the model wrong. But what did he mean by…?
“You are expending far too much energy to create far too little. You’re wasting your vital life force, exerting your willpower unnecessarily, and you’re not getting much back.”
I thought silently, “OK, really, how does he know this about me?” He was absolutely right, of course. I had been working hard, satisfying myself with “important” roles and worldly accomplishment, but was left empty and depleted.
“You will learn to create many, many things with perfect ease…but you won’t do it through willpower and struggle. You will need to let go of the way you are doing things now.”
It was a simple but stunning declaration -- one which, if I had truly grasped it in the moment, would have been both terrifying and electrifying. However, at this point, I was barely keeping up.
“Perfect rest is when you are creating consciously. When you are neither efforting, nor idle (then you are bored!).” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “The yogis know how to use their awareness to create the entire universe within their own consciousness. Remember, conscious creation is restful.”
I had no idea what he meant, but was coherent enough to seize the opening. “Will you teach me?” I responded.
With an incredulous look that indicated I must be the most remedial student of all time, the Sage replied, “Isn’t that why you came here?”
As his question hung in the air, I somehow understood that my intention had created a subtle communication, one the Sage had picked up without words. Of course that was why I had come to India. It was the calling of a deeper adventure, the first step toward dissolving my old patterns and awakening to a higher possibility, the first tiny commitment to a more conscious life.
Several days before leaving San Francisco, I was invited to an evening event with a visiting Indian swami. What better way to kick off my voyage, I thought, than by seeing this saintly Indian fellow just a few blocks from my home! As I entered the lecture hall that evening something very strange happened – as if walking through a tear in the universe, I was completely altered. Every intuitive signal went on alert screaming, “pay close attention!” I delighted in the Swami’s presence and was fascinated by his teaching. Then, by some mysterious coincidence, his assistant announced the Swami’s upcoming birthday celebration in India – in the exact town I would be visiting then, and during the few days still unscheduled on my itinerary. Half way around the globe I would intersect with this wise man again. Hmmm, mother India working her magic already?
I landed in Mumbai at 2am, soaking up the sultry thick darkness of the night air. Even at this hour, curious black eyes peered out from the shanty huts lining the roadway and auto-rickshaws buzzed noisily into the night. After exploring Mumbai, I ventured north along the sacred River Ganges to mystical Khajuraho, meditating in the great tantric temples there, then on to the intense and otherworldly Varanasi where, according to legend, souls are automatically liberated from the cycle of reincarnation upon death. A continuous stream of funeral processions snaked through the narrow streets toward massive funeral pyres at river’s edge. Only a short time in India and one confronts the full spectrum, the ecstatic and the jagged, uncensored life and death.
Eventually I headed south to Tamil Nadu, to the Sri Ramana Maharshi ashram, Pondicherry, and dozens of small villages in between. Village life was a swirling mix of colorful markets and enchantingly vibrant temple life, together with heart-breaking beggars, filthy living conditions, and a maddening cacophony of trucks, scooters, rickshaws and oxcarts. Drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of India has disoriented and intoxicated many a traveler and I was no different. The magic of the place was mind-blowing, and the wretched squalor equally as shocking. There was no place to get one’s footing, as if the paradox of India was designed to deconstruct you.
By the time I arrived at the Swami’s birthday celebration five weeks later, I was blown open and raw…and full to the brim with India, as if I had already gorged on a far too large meal. I wasn’t sure I could swallow another bite, but here I was.
The week-long birthday celebration was a chaotic medley of morning meditations, traditional puja at nearby temples, chanting, fire ceremonies, and special rituals by the sea. Thousands of local Indians crowded the temple grounds for these auspicious ceremonies. In the afternoons and evenings, the Swami would give lectures to smaller groups, including dozens of westerners who had come to take part.
During the middle of the week I was summoned for a walk with the Swami. This was more than a bit surprising given we had never met. He had no knowledge of me or my background, nor did he know my name. From what I could tell, among his many thousands of students, there was rarely opportunity for direct dialogue, so I was intrigued and a bit undone. What could this potent Indian master possibly want to talk about?
While strolling silently along the beach together, he finally spoke, “You’re a successful business woman.”
Curious opener. By most measures I supposed that was true. But how did he know…?
Then he added soberly, “but you’ve got the model entirely wrong.”
I’d just quit a job that had left me exhausted and numb. I’d also just ended a relationship that wasn’t any better. At age 33, I was twenty pounds overweight, had dark circles under my eyes, and friends said I looked fifty. I was a mess…and I clearly did have the model wrong. But what did he mean by…?
“You are expending far too much energy to create far too little. You’re wasting your vital life force, exerting your willpower unnecessarily, and you’re not getting much back.”
I thought silently, “OK, really, how does he know this about me?” He was absolutely right, of course. I had been working hard, satisfying myself with “important” roles and worldly accomplishment, but was left empty and depleted.
“You will learn to create many, many things with perfect ease…but you won’t do it through willpower and struggle. You will need to let go of the way you are doing things now.”
It was a simple but stunning declaration -- one which, if I had truly grasped it in the moment, would have been both terrifying and electrifying. However, at this point, I was barely keeping up.
“Perfect rest is when you are creating consciously. When you are neither efforting, nor idle (then you are bored!).” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “The yogis know how to use their awareness to create the entire universe within their own consciousness. Remember, conscious creation is restful.”
I had no idea what he meant, but was coherent enough to seize the opening. “Will you teach me?” I responded.
With an incredulous look that indicated I must be the most remedial student of all time, the Sage replied, “Isn’t that why you came here?”
As his question hung in the air, I somehow understood that my intention had created a subtle communication, one the Sage had picked up without words. Of course that was why I had come to India. It was the calling of a deeper adventure, the first step toward dissolving my old patterns and awakening to a higher possibility, the first tiny commitment to a more conscious life.
posted by Stacey Lawson at
4:47 PM
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