Indian Awakenings
Rishikesh, India
I was barefoot and my feet were frozen, and the first time I met him was in front of a swimming pool.
It was wrapped in a soft and quiet saffron dress. His eyes were closed, and the thought took him to places I did not know. The wine ran out on the bamboo straw wall behind him.
All around me the women were crying. Swami's eyes were wide open and he was as happy as his smile. I feel warm, but I do not understand the tears.
I was in Rishikesh, a spiritual meeting place on the slopes of the Indian Himalayas, where the Asram landscape and the Ganges River flow. Hindus say that they traveled to this holy place many centuries ago, reflecting the saints and sages for thousands of years. But since the Beatles' arrival here in 1968, the West has turned it into spiritual Disneyland. Searching for enlightenment They go to the streets full of shops, witches, and more yoga classes than you can do.
I understand this hunger to find my way. I have been searching for many years and I am struggling with life beyond my means.
The Beatles and Paul McCartney, along with John Lennon on the left, were in Rishikesh Ashram in 1968. There they practiced meditation and wrote most of the white album.
Contact Photo Paul Saltzman / Pres
When I was 20, I went to Israel to pick up a root that I had never studied before. She was struggling with a childhood illness, my parents divorced as a child, a second divorce in her teens. I have lived in eight states and have moved more than two dozen times. I have come a long way in finding the right job, to cope with my father's sudden death, and to find the perfect person.
But I felt completely overwhelmed in Rishikesh. I finally calmed down, I was happy, with the most comfortable place. At 44 years of age, I think I admire the peace of mind, the profession, the home, the life and, most of all, the obstacles.
I now have a more personal mission to write about what this place means and to those who come here. I go out of my comfort zone, do yoga, I try to meditate. I met teachers, listened to past lives, tried some ancient therapies.
However, my main focus was on studying the people around me, the people who were looking for answers.
Of course, a few days before I left for India, I received a signal that this trip was profoundly meaningful.
My older brother searched for documents that I could not breathe. In the early 1960's, Father wrote a seven-page letter suggesting travel to India. I look forward to learning and walking with one of Gandhi's students, giving back to the landless behind the social revolution. He is pictured writing a book and bringing these lessons to America.
The content of this letter is new to me, but I am not surprised by the characters behind it. At the age of 22, he wrote my proposal and became a admirer of my father. He dreamed of great, infinite compassion, and later had a legal career dedicated to social justice.
I was 38 when I lost him. Most of my childhood was out of the league, and the courts only visited us every weekend. But as an adult, I asked for it myself. He understood me as someone else and was an anchor for me for many years. A.D. I lost my mind in December 2007, and after I was finally robbed, I felt alienated.
"I want to go to India in January 1964," he wrote in the letter.
He never got it. Fifty years later, a month later, I am here, in front of Swami, trying to understand the feelings around me.
Then a weeping woman asked me a question that caught my attention.
What is the meaning of my life?
It was amazing, I thought, but I know your pain. I already regret not having a baby.
Swami waved to a friend of my age, a student named Sadviji. She has no children.
"Being able to reproduce does not mean we have to do that," replied Sadoviji. "Everyone on earth has something very special.
"They came to earth with many people.
"That big belly," he said, clasping his hands.
"What else did you bring?" He asked for his heart, which he knew how to cook, how to cook, and how to care for his mind.
I was experiencing sudden swelling of my eyes. I am a journalist. Why?
He says: "You can give your life more than just having one or two babies in your mind, your heart, and your womb." "Life is more than a heartbeat. Look at how many heartbeats there are but there is no life ... Many people have empty lives. So even if you have not yet had a baby in your womb, you can take life." Too many people. "
I closed all the words.
I thought I had accepted the loss of my dream, but I felt something echoing in a new way. Tears are not always sad; He said he was right. His words comforted me, helped me to accept myself more.
Today, 8,000 miles [8,000 km] from home, I realize that this trip may be as much about me as it is about the people I meet on the road.
I see them in cafes, restaurants and on winding streets. When I asked how many people in their thirties were staying, he shrugged his shoulders. Some smile at their friends, pretending to love something they do not understand.
Basically, I am like them 20 years ago, my spiritual destiny is different. I was an ignorant Jew in Jerusalem. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I were on a collision course. Until then, no rabbi has spoken to me, either verbally or physically. No one in Israel has ever been a benefactor, a member of a synagogue, or a member of the Jewish Federation. I'm telling you. And I used something completely for me.
None of my parents were happy where I was. My mother was terrified, and I think my father was confused, a left-wing leader in Detroit who was more concerned with the Palestinian cause than the Jewish state.
Some need adventure, others need spiritual support. Join us on the banks of the Ganges River, join the beetles' ashram and taste everything Rishikesh has to offer.
Video by Jessica Ravitz and Edith McNami
In Israel, where I studied and worked for about a year and a half, I learned about the beauty of faith, but I also saw the horrors it can bring. I have seen love and hate, emotion and madness, peace and destruction. My time as a journalist changed my interest in religion and spirituality. And finally, take me to a journalism course that offers this space.
For me, Rishikesh is a new and exciting playground. It is a place where people can talk enthusiastically about teachers, dance with their feet, dance with joy, and sing in Sanskrit. And, surprisingly, it was a place where many Israelites traveled, most of them leaving the army.
Rishikesh researchers are no different from the eye-catchers I sometimes find in Israel. I once wore a pair of pink glasses and swallowed the words and spirits that fed me.
But the people I want here are not just search engines; There are also people who seem to have found what they are looking for. Those in the resurrection. They became my unexpected guide to spiritual experiences that I had never seen before.
His 8-year-old father, who lives on the outskirts of New Delhi, took him home for lunch.
“Coconut touched me and suddenly something happened. It took me an hour and a half to go to another world. ” "i go"
After lunch, when the teacher got up to leave, he asked the young man to take his jacket and go with him. Disappointed, she began to cry.
"I don't know where I'm going, but the call is there."
He told his mother that he hoped to be a swimmer that day.
Six months later, the swimmer returned. Again he begged her to come with him. During this time, Swami said that if the boy wanted to be with her, she had to keep quiet all year long and eat rice and lentils once a day.
He set the preconditions that a child does not meet, but by 8's 30 the child is ready. He ate according to the instructions and did not speak for a year.
When Swami returned for the third time in a year, he said he could only meet the boy after another test. He had to go to the forest and meditate for eight years.
“I was alone with the divine insurance company,” he said.
Finally, at the age of 17, he moved to Parmaz, Nixon Ashram, in Rishikesh.
With 100,000 inhabitants, it is considered the capital of the yoga world. Swamy Yogananda, 105, tried to teach attitudes, but I never did.
He learned from the Holy Spirit, began to learn yoga, and continued to meditate.
Officially, he began to lead the Ashram movement in the early 1970s. At the age of 34, Swami Chidan and Saraswatiji, or Swamjiji for short, were elected president.
Today, at the age of 61, he travels the world with the message that we should take care not only of humanity but also of the mother world. Celebrities, students, politicians, and other spiritual leaders receive their wisdom.
"Once you have filled your heart with meditation, use this energy to serve humanity," he said.
At sunset on the banks of the Ganges River, a woman lights a fuse and descends to the river in prayer in a leafy boat.
The father bowed in reverence and poured water on his son's hair. The boy bowed down and sprinkled water on his father's face.
From the water, a wide marble staircase leads to the Parmart Niketa Ashram. Hundreds of visitors, both Westerners and Indians, flock to the daily sunset or Ganga aarti. It is a celebration of the glory of God that can be manifested in any form by the Hindus.
Sitting at the top of the stairs, crossing legs, was Swamiji. He wears saffron as usual. Her long black hair sprayed with white was touched by the wind at night. He closed his eyes on the song, accompanied by musicians and voices. They waved oil lamps in the crowd and offered blessings. Afterwards, the banners promote a valuable environmental work.
Bollywood stars and Indian politicians were in this Ganga aarti like Prince Charles and Camilla. Uma Turman has been here before. Oprah planned to come from somewhere in the Himalayas to join them, but Swamji died when she found out she was out of town.
Volume 11 is the force behind the "Encyclopedia of Hinduism" for 25 years. And since taking over Ashram in 1986, he has campaigned to clean up the Ganges River, provide clean water and respect the land.
Some have complained that it is becoming too western to add garbage cans around Ashram.
When he updated the guest rooms, the protest intensified. There was nothing fancy, no minibus, microwave or TV, only bedroom, electricity, heating, hot water and some basic Western style bathroom amenities. I do not want to restrict Ashram to only those who want to sleep on the floor.
There are more than 1,000 rooms in Parmarst Nikita, the largest's resort in Rishikesh. Many housewives, saints and office workers, as well as children were rescued from the streets. They all stay here and eat for free. However, hundreds of rooms are reserved for visitors, to study the ashram or to attend the annual Rishikesh Yoga Festival, which is considered to be the capital of world yoga.
One night I visited Swamijin Ashram to learn more about the message. Every time I see him, he greets me with a smile and his signature "Welcome home." He invited me to sit next to him at the vault aarti ceremony and he confirmed that he had a large camphor oil lamp in his hand. It is an honor to represent the special attention given to the rich and famous, which makes me a little uncomfortable.
Finally, I was alone one night. We sat a few feet away from each other and sat on the grass in the grass. I especially want to know more about him and the other guys in Rishikesh. What do these search engines want? What do you want? I was thinking about them, but I still needed to know what my profession was and what I had.
"We are just a tool, my dear," he said, as if reading the thought. "When you find yourself, you will return. Live for the cause."
Search engines are trying to find their land and land, especially in the face of adversity, he said.
He says that when it comes to our identity, we can respond to problems calmly. He says that when we are anchored, we can achieve our goal, which is to be more, not more.
The way we understand ourselves is by meditating on what we call the "best medicine."
"You are the mantra. You are meditation. Meditation is not about being, but about being." "Leave yourself, forsake God ... If you want to turn your corner, create a divine corner for yourself."
I shook my head as if I knew myself and smiled.
Once I enrolled in some meditation classes, I bought a beautiful, expensive meditation pillow, thinking it would be useful. It was a tragedy. My body hurts. Legs and legs are asleep. The rest of the room was quiet and I thought, I'm happy; I closed my eyes and looked around the room. Can't wait for the series to end and sell a cute pillow quickly on Craigslist.
But now I sit in front of this pool and create my divine corner and I want to turn it into a mantra. I hope I have more than I have and live my life to the fullest.
Parmart Nikita's Asram Asram ceremonies are held daily at the St. Ganges River or Gangs. Sadavi Bhagawati Saraswati, right-wing woman, was my guide during my stay.
It's getting late, so thank you for your time. However, before bowing down in thanksgiving, I asked, "Do you like sweets?" He interrupted me.
"I like sweets," I replied, looking around to see where they were going. If candy can bring personal clarity, I am gold.
A few seconds later, a man walked through the door with a handmade candy box.
"Come on," I said, opening my mouth. "How could that be?"
Swamiji laughed. He opened his eyes and raised his right knee, revealing the keys hidden beneath them. I like to be swimmer, I thought with the silver candy.
"It's a great honor to meet you," I said, leaning forward. He placed his hand on his heart, smiled, and bowed.
I was served dinner with a computer in an empty dining room. I did not invite anyone else to join me. I ate alone and had to resist my silence.
Shop windows, brochures, and guides provide a self-awareness and improvement card wherever you appear in Rishikesh. But it is difficult to know who to trust with whom the West has opened its eyes, where so many savages or street saints are said to be liars. He became an outcast and took me to counselors to share.
Enter Pratte, a boy who distributes 15-minute horoscope readings with an appointment. I took off my shoes and went into the small office, sitting on a faded old pillow and watching him work. You are currently on the phone with someone in Germany.
"You can be this girl's friend ... but it's just a friendship," he told the man on the phone. "Your wife is good for you." The new woman who sees this man, Pratech warns, is "a karmic force of the past life" and is not intended to be.
Prate Mishrapuri, 43, said he told his family VII. He has been reading for centuries. However, he was the first person in the family to work for a Westerner. He says he has read at least 18,500 readings so far. He did the same for Nicole Kidman and Sylvester Stalin.
He asked me the date, time and place of my birth, and he went into my computer and started praying.
"Wow, what kind of stubborn woman are you?"
"If you decide to do something, do it. Very brave."
I choose, I thought, moaning.
Pratt talks about my creativity and says I have to write. He told me that I once was a French revolutionary and that I was writing articles criticizing kings. That energy will be with me. "You want to change things."
Next I opened my mouth and sat down.
It describes the person who for a long time kept me in my arms and kept me for years. He brings the man I was in 2006, my ex-boyfriend. She was my ex-wife, Pratt told me. I have not always been good to him, but he will always be good to me. When I was with him, I shook my head, knowing that I did not want to be myself.
"Leaving is a big mistake," Pratt initially said. I resisted and then he stopped. He saw something else. Pointing to her penis, she said, "My ex and I have already decided." He says our sex life is ruined. I was angry. I do not want to get married without sex and I returned the ring.
Mahatma Gandhi, who used peaceful protests to lead the Indian Liberation Movement, pushed the Vinoba Bhav community. One day my father hopes to walk and study with the Bhave, who encourages giving to the landless.
By Margaret Bourke-White / Life Getty Images
Prate knows that I am trying to be a child myself.
It was a year before my father died; She told me that I could not imagine being a mother. When I annulled my marriage, he was my lawyer and we explored how I could become a father myself. We also agreed on who should be the male donor. The lender Yes and a few minutes later - we both knew and loved it - I went to my dad to break the news. Her big smile always got bigger. We hugged and cried. But in the end, our plan failed.
He never told me about other options; Perhaps he hoped that his death would be short-lived. Another sorcerer I met in Rishikesh criticized me for thinking this. Pratek says she may have a daughter in the future.
"You have your father's heart," he suddenly added. Tears welled up in my eyes. My father is always my brother's spirit, my sister's soul, and I was his heart.
Pratek gave me a secret punch in my stomach. My father told me he had committed suicide.
My father has a neurological condition that is difficult to diagnose, such as Lu Gherig's disease. He is progressive, corrupt and gradually steals his active life. One day, Dr. Kevorkian wanted to be on the speed dial, and he gave me some very clear comments.
But he was not ready when he died at the age of 67. He is still moving and to some extent doing his own thing.
He and my stepmother, San Miguel de Allende, went to a vacation home in Mexico. ለሁለት ሰአታት ያህል ከቆየ በኋላ ወደ አልጋው ተመለሰ, ምንም ህይወት አልነበረውም, ሰውነቱ ቀድሞውኑ ቀዝቀዝ. ምንም ክኒኖች, ምንም አስፈሪ, አሰቃቂ ግኝቶች. የአስከሬን ምርመራ አላደረግንም ፣ ለአባቴ ወደ አሜሪካ መመለሱ የበለጠ አስፈላጊ ነበር ፣ ግን ያን ምሽት የሆነው ነገር ወዲያውኑ ተፈጥሮአዊ ነው ብሎ በማመን ፍርድ ቤት ቀረበ ።
ፕራቴ የሚናገረውን እንደማልወደው ነገረኝ እና እሱን ለማመን ፈቃደኛ አልሆንኩም። አባቴ ሰላምታ ይሰጥሃል። የግጥም ነገር የሚጽፍ አሳቢና ጸሐፊ ነበር።
ፕራቴክ ሽቅብ ወጣ እና ቀጠለ።
"አሁን የወንድ ጓደኛ ካገኘህ በግንኙነት ውስጥ ለመሆን ጥሩ ጊዜ ነው" አለችኝ.
"ማንም ካገኘሁ?" ወደ ህንድ ከመምጣቴ ሁለት ሳምንት ባልሞላ ጊዜ ውስጥ ያገኘሁትን ታላቅ ሰው እያሰብኩ ነገርኩት። በዚህ ጉቦዎ ላይ, ማመን እፈልጋለሁ.
"አዎ," Prateek መለሰ. በጣም ጥሩ.
ወደ ሕንድ ባደረገው የመጀመሪያ በረራ የካሊፎርኒያ ተመራቂ ተማሪ ትልቅ ስህተት ሰርቷል ብሎ አስቦ ነበር።
ለምን በአውሮፕላኑ ውስጥ እንደገባ አላወቀም ነበር። እድሜው 25 ሲሆን ፒኤችዲውን እያጠናቀቀ ነው። በስነ-ልቦና ውስጥ ህንድ ውስጥ ፍላጎት የለኝም. ተጓዥ አይደለም; በጣም መንፈሳዊ ወይም ሃይማኖታዊ አይደለም.
በጓደኞቹ “ቬጀቴሪያን” የሚል ቅጽል ስም የተሰጠው ራሱን የሰጠ ቬጀቴሪያን ፣ ይሄዳል ምክንያቱም እሱ ርካሽ ስለሆነ እና የሕንድ ምግብ ስለሚወድ ነው። ትርጉም አልነበረውም።
ከጓደኞቹ ጋር የሶስት ወር ጉዞው ምክንያት እንዲሆን ወሰነ; ምን እንደሆነ አላወቀም ነበር።
"ልቤን ክፍት እንደማደርገው እምላለሁ" አለ. አልችልም ብዬ ካወቅኩኝ እመለሳለሁ አለ።
ላሞቹ ሥጋና አልኮል የማትቀርብ የሂንዱ ቅዱስ ከተማ በሪሺኬሽ ጎዳናዎች ላይ ይንከራተታሉ። የተቀደሰው እንስሳ ትራፊክን ያቆማል እና ሁልጊዜም ቅድሚያ የሚሰጠው ነው.
እሱና ጓደኞቹ የጉዞ ዕቅድ ሳይኖራቸው ወደ ኒው ዴሊ ሄዱ። የሎኔሊ ፕላኔት መመሪያን ከፈተ እና ስለ ሪሺኬሽ አንድ ገጽ አገኘ። ከተማዎች ዮጋ, ትላልቅ ወንዞች, ተራሮች ይሰጣሉ. ለመጀመር ጥሩ ቦታ ይመስላል።
ካሊፎርኒያዋ ሴት ሆቴሏ እንደደረሰች በጋንግስ ወንዝ ላይ እግሮቿን ለማደስ ወሰነች።
ቀጥሎ የሆነው ነገር ከማንም በላይ አስገረመው።
“ወንዙ ዳር ሆኜ ማልቀስ ጀመርኩ” አለ። "የሐዘን እንባ አልነበረም። እውነተኛ እንባዎች ነበሩ ... ወደ ቤት መጣሁ። ከ25 ዓመቷ ኮማ ውስጥ የወጣሁ ያህል በጣም ፈጣን እና የተሟላ ነበር።"
ያደገው በሎስ አንጀለስ ነበር፣ በተሃድሶ የአይሁድ ቤት ውስጥ ብቸኛው ልጅ። እሱ ጥሩ ሕይወት ነበረው, ነገር ግን ሎስ አንጀለስ "ነፍሱን እየጠባ" እንደሆነ እንደሚሰማው ተናግሯል. የሁለተኛ ደረጃ ትምህርቱን እንዳጠናቀቀ ከተማዋን ለቆ እንደሚወጣ ቃል ገባ።
በስታንፎርድ ዩኒቨርሲቲ ተማሪ በነበረበት ጊዜ የአካባቢን መንፈስ አሳድጓል። ከግሪንፒስ ጋር ሰርቷል እና የትምህርት ቤቱን የመጀመሪያ የምድር ቀን አከባበር አዘጋጀ።
ከእግዚአብሔር ጋር ያለው ግንኙነት በተፈጥሮ ውስጥ ብቻ ነው። በቀይ ጫካው ውስጥ ይራመዳል, በፓይን መርፌ ላይ ይተኛል እና ቀና ብሎ ይመለከታል. ሜዲቴሽን ብዬ አልጠራውም ፣ ግን ወደ ኋላ መለስ ብዬ ስመለከት ፣ ያ ነበር።
አሁን በጋንግስ ውስጥ እያለቀሰች ነው። በወንዙ ውስጥ የእግዚአብሔርን ራእይ አየ ከውኃውም ርቆ ሳለ ራእዩ በእርሱ ዘንድ ቀረ። ጓደኞቹ ያበደ መስሏቸው ነበር። በሪሺኬሽ ውስጥ እየተዘዋወረ፣ "ብዙውን ቀን በየቀኑ በጋንግስ ወንዝ ዳርቻ ላይ ተቀምጬ አሳልፋለሁ።"
የእሱ ሆቴል ከፓርማርት ኒኬታን አሽራም አሽራም ብዙም የራቀ ስላልነበረ አንድ ቀን ወደ ወንዙ ሲሄድ በአሽራም የአትክልት ስፍራ ውስጥ ተዘዋወረ።
"እዚህ መቆየት አለብህ የሚል ድምፅ ሰማሁ። እሱ ችላ አላላትም፣ ከዚያ በኋላ ግን እንደገና ሰማት።
ለራሱ እንደማለ አስታውስ. ልቡን መክፈት ካልቻለ ይተወዋል። ቀና ብሎ ሲመለከት "ኦፊስ" የሚል የእንግሊዝኛ ምልክት አየ። አስገባ እና አላማህን አሳውቅ።
"እዚህ መኖር እፈልጋለሁ" ሲል በውስጡ ያሉትን ሰዎች ነገራቸው።
በአሽራም ውስጥ ያለው ነገር በህንድኛ እየተማረ እንደሆነ ወደ ሌላ ቦታ እንዲመለከት ነገሩት።
ግን ተስፋ አልቆረጠም። በማግስቱ ወደ ቢሮ ሄደ። በዚህ ጊዜ ከከተማ ውጭ የነበሩትን ፕሬዝዳንቱን ማነጋገር እንዳለበት ተነገረው።
ከቀን ወደ ቀን ተመለሰ። ሁሌም እንዳልተመለሰ በነገሩት ቁጥር። በመጨረሻም ፕሬዚዳንቱ እዚያ አለመኖራቸውን ወሰነ፡ በቢሮው ውስጥ ያሉት ሰዎች በትህትና ውጡ ብለው ሊነግሩት አልቻሉም። ከጓደኞቹ ጋር ወደ ተራራው ለመሄድ አቅዶ ጉዞውን ለአንድ ቀን አራዘመ።
በመጨረሻው ቀን በአሽራም የአትክልት ስፍራዎች ውስጥ ሲዘዋወር፣ አንድ ቄስ ፕሬዝዳንቱን ለማሳወቅ ሮጠ።
"እነሆ! እነሆ እርሱ ነው" አለ ካህኑ "ኑና ተገናኘው."
የቤት ዕቃ ወደሌለው ነገር ግን አምልኮ ወደሞላበት ክፍል ተወሰዱ። በሌላኛው የክፍሉ ጫፍ ስዋሚ ቺዳን እና ሳራስዋቲጂ በትንሽ ትራስ ተቀምጠዋል።
በአሽራምዋ ውስጥ መቆየት እንደሚፈልግ ነገራት እሷም "ይህ ቤትህ ነው" አለችው። ስዋሚጂ ለሁሉም ሰው እየተናገረ መሆኑን ሳያውቅ እንደ ትንቢታዊ መግለጫ ወሰደው።
ከስዋሚ አጠገብ ቆሞ ከዚህ በፊት ተሰምቶት የማያውቀው ነገር ተሰማው። የአይሁድ እምነት እግዚአብሔር የማይጣስ መሆኑን አስተማረው። ክርስትና እግዚአብሔር በኢየሱስ እንደተፈጠረ እንደሚያስተምር ያውቃል።ሁለቱም አስቤ አላውቅም ወይም ያልጠየቅኳቸው ትምህርቶች ናቸው።
"በድንገት እኔ እዚህ ነኝ ... መለኮት በሚሰማው ሰው ፊት" አለ። "ይህ ፍጡር የእግዚአብሔር መገለጫ ይመስላል."
በክፍሉ ውስጥ ያጋጠመው ነገር በምኩራብ ውስጥ ከሚያውቀው የበለጠ እውነት መስሎታል። ቦርዱ የጸዳ ይመስላል, ይህም በእውቀት የተሞላ ባዶ መያዣ ነው.
ወደ ተራራው እንደሚሄድ ግን እንደሚመለስ ይነግራታል። ይሁን እንጂ እግሮቹ በድንገት በረዶ ሲሆኑ የውጪውን የአትክልት ቦታ አላለፈም. እግሬን ማንሳት አልችልም። እጁን በመጨባበጥ መደናገጥ ጀመረ።
በመጀመሪያ ሃሳቡ ያልተለመደ በሽታ እንደያዘ ወይም ለክትባት አስከፊ ምላሽ ነበረው. ከዚያም እግሩ ተኝቶ እንደሆነ አሰበ; ወለሉ ላይ መቀመጥን አልለመደውም። ግን አልተደሰቱም.
በመጨረሻ አንድ እግሩን ማንሳት ቻለ፣ ግን ስዋሚው ወደተቀመጠበት ክፍል ብቻ ገባ። ስለዚህ ማድረግ የሚችለውን ብቸኛውን ነገር አደረገ፡ ቀረብ ብለው ወደ ውስጥ ተመለሱ።
"አሁን መቆየት እንዳለብኝ አሰብኩ" ሲል አስታውሷል. "እንኳን ደህና መጣህ አለ" ማለት ነው ... ከዚያን ጊዜ ጀምሮ ከዚህ ህይወት አልተውኩም።"
የብኩርናውን ስም አልገለጸም; ከአሁን በኋላ ማንነትህ አይደለም። ሳድቪ ብሃጋዋቲ ሳራስዋቲ ዳ። በአጭሩ ኦ ሳዳቪጂ።
ሳድቪጂ ለመጀመሪያ ጊዜ ሻይ ሲጠጣ ያገኘሁት በቢሮው ውስጥ በጌታ ክሪሽና ትልቅ ምንጣፍ ስር ነው። እሱ የስዋሚ ጓደኛ ነበር፣ ስለ ሆዱ ያለው ጥበብ የተማሪዬን ትኩረት ሳበ።
እሱ ልክ እንደ መምህሩ, ሻፍሮን ለብሷል. ሦስተኛው የመንፈሳዊ አይኗን ክፍት ለማድረግ ግንባሯ ላይ ቀይ ነጥብ ለብሳ በየምሽቱ ቀላል የአትክልት ሾርባ ለእራት ትበላለች። የምወደውን ጂንስ ለብሼ ያበጠ፣ ውድ የፓታጎኒያ ጃኬት ለብሼ ነበር፣ እና በትክክል ስቴክ እና ቀይ ብርጭቆ ለማግኘት መሄድ እችል ነበር።
ኢንዱ ሻርማ የታመመ ታዳጊ በፓርማርዝ ኒኬታን ዮጋ ያስተምራል። በአሽራም ውስጥ ለ 12 ዓመታት ቆይቷል እናም ፈውስ ከዮጋ ጋር ነው.
ሱዳህ ላማ ሰጃክ ዲያ ቤርሱምፓህ ሰሊባት ዳን ዲያ ቲዳክ ሜኑንግጉ ሲንታ፣ ኬሉአርጋ፣ አናክ-አናክ። አኩ ሀምፒር ቲዳክ ብሳ መናሀን ሰኑምኩ፣ መሚኪርካን ፕሪአ ሉር ቢያሳ ያንግ ባሩ ሳጃ ኩተሙይ።
ዲያ ቴላህ መንጋቢስካን ለቢህ ዳሪ 17 ታሁን ማሳ ደዋሳንያ ቲንጋል የሰብአ አሽራም በሪሺኬሽ፣ መንደዲካሲካን ሂዱፕ ዳን ፔከርጃአንያ ኡንቱክ ከሰደርሀናን ዳላም ፔላያን ስዋሚጂ። Saya memiliki pekerjaan eta hipotek Atlantatik eta saya khawatir tentang ምናቡንግ ኡንቱክ ማሳ ስታዩን።
ዳላም ባያክ ሃል፣ ሳድቪጂ ዳን ሳዪ ቤራሳል ዳሪ ዱኒያ ያንግ ቤርቤዳ። ታፒ በሲኒ ካሚ ሚኒክማቲ ኬአክራባን ያንግ ቴራሳ ሰፐርቲ ፔርሳባታን ላም። መስኪ በርቤዳ፣ ካሚ ሳንጋት መሪፕ።
ዲያ አዳላህ ሴኦራንግ ዋኒታ ያሁዲ ቤሩሲያ ፐርቴንጋሃን 40-ያንግ መንጋቢስካን በርታሁን-ታሁን ከሳን ፍራንሲስኮ የባህር ወሽመጥ አካባቢ እና ሌሎችም። ካሚ በርቱካር "አይ" ሜኔርታዋካን ኬኻዋቲራን ኢቡ ካሚ— "ኢቡኩ ማሲህ በርፒኪር ኢኒ አዳላህ ፋዝ፣ ዳላም ሳቱ ሃል" ካታንያ ፓዳኩ - ዳን በርባጊ ቼሪታ ተንታንግ ዲሪ ካሚ ያንግ ለቢህ ሙዳ።
ካሚ ቴርታዋ ተርባሃክ-ባሃክ፣ ዴንጋን ፔኑህ ካሲህ ሳያንግ፣ በርቢካራ ተንታንግ ኬሱንግጉሃን ራቢ የአካባቢ ዳሪ ቻባድ፣ ሰቡአ ገራካን ፔንጃንካውአን ያሁዲ፡ ዴሳካንኛ ባሃዋ ሜኖራህ ሃኑካህኛ ቲዳክ ኩኩፕ ሃላል፣ ዲያ ማንያራ ዲያህኪዳ ካራካን ዲያህ። ሰጃክ ሃሪ ዲያ መንገታሁኒያ፣ ካታንያ፣ ዲያ ጠላህ መንጃዲ "ፕሮየክ ኩሱስ" -ኛ።
በሁለት ሳምንታት ውስጥ እኔ እና እሷ ሀሳብ ተለዋወጥን፣ ተቃቅፈን እና መልእክት ልከናል፡-
የ105 ዓመቱን ዮጊ ማወቅ አለብህ!
በጣም ያሳዝናል ያመለጡህ፣ ስለ "ኦርጋስሚክ ሜዲቴሽን" ክፍል መረጃ በማስተላለፍ ይጽፋል።
ከኮከብ ቆጣሪው ጋር ስላደረጉት ጉብኝት ለመስማት መጠበቅ አልችልም።
እና፣ ለጋራ ቅርሶቻችን ነቀፋ፣ አንተን ሳልመገብ ወደ ቤትህ ዛሬ መላክ እንደማልችል ታውቃለህ።
ማለቂያ የሌላቸውን ጥያቄዎቼንም ትወዳደራለች። እሷ የእኔ የመዳሰሻ ድንጋይ ፣ የሌሊት ወፍ መሪ ሆነች። እና እሷ እንደ መስታወት አይነት ትወጣለች, ምን ሊሆን እንደሚችል የሚያሳይ ነጸብራቅ.
በሃያዎቹ ውስጥ እያለ፣ ወደ ሩቅ አገር ተጓዘ እና በጣም ስለተነካ ወደ ቤቱ ለመቀየር ወሰነ። በተመሳሳይ ዕድሜዬ የርቀት ጉዞዬን አድርጌያለሁ እና ተመሳሳይ ዝላይ የማድረግ ሀሳብን ታግዬ ነበር።
ጊዜው 1996 ነበር እና ከእስራኤል ወደ ዩናይትድ ስቴትስ የምመለስ በረራ ጥቂት ሰዓታት ብቻ ቀርቼ ነበር። በእኩለ ሌሊት በኢየሩሳሌም መሀል ከተማ ጎዳናዎች ላይ ሄድኩ እና የክፍያ ስልክ አነሳሁ። ለእናቴ መልቀቅ እንደምችል እርግጠኛ እንዳልሆንኩ ነገርኳት። ከቁምነገር ልታደርገኝ ባለመቻሏ ሳቀች፡ "ኧረ ከዚህ ውጣ እኔ አስቀድሜ ጡት አጥቤሻለሁ!"
በኋላ፣ በቴል አቪቭ አየር ማረፊያ መመዝገቢያ መሥሪያ ቤት ወረፋ፣ ዘወር ብዬ አሰብኩ። ከመሳፈሬ በፊት በመታጠቢያ ገንዳ ውስጥ ተንበርክኬ ተፋሁ። ለአብዛኛው የደርሶ መልስ በረራ እና ስለ እስራኤል ባሰብኩ ቁጥር ለሚቀጥለው አመት ብዙ ጊዜ አለቀስኩ።
የሳዳቪጂን እምነት ብጋራ፣ ልቡ ሙሉ በሙሉ ክፍት ሆኖ፣ ሕይወቴን በእስራኤል ብሠራ ምን እሆን ነበር? የበለጠ ሃይማኖተኛ ያደርገኝ ነበር? አግብቼ ልጆች መውለድ እችል ነበር? እኔ እንዳደረኩት ከአባቴ ጋር እቀላቀል ነበር? ዛሬ ማን እሆን ነበር?
አንድ ኮከብ ቆጣሪ የመሀረብ ሣጥን ሰጠኝ። ከእሷ ጋር ለ10 ደቂቃ ብቻ ተቀምጬ እንባዬ ፈሰሰ። ከፊት ለፊቷ ባለው ግራፊክ ውስጥ ህይወቴን አንብብ። Soy producto de un reloj, una geografía y unos años. Posiciones de las estrellas, los planetas, la luna y el sol.
Casi de inmediato, habla de mis padres, quienes se separaron cuando yo tenía 2 años. Dice que mi padre y yo compartimos "amor puro". Su alma, dice ella, ha viajado conmigo a lo largo de la vida. Ella ve el amor que tengo por mi madre pero describe nuestro vínculo kármico como más complicado.
En las cuevas alrededor de Rishikesh, los sadhus u hombres santos adoran. Durante 10 años, Guru Sharan Das, de 30 años, ha vivido y meditado al lado de la cueva de su maestro espiritual.
Desde el momento en que estuve en su vientre, según me han dicho, he estado absorbiendo su dolor.
Mi mamá sabía cuando estaba embarazada de mí que su matrimonio no duraría. Una vez me dijo que se quedó embarazada deliberadamente porque no quería que mi hermano mayor fuera hijo único si nunca se volvía a casar. Fui concebido por una pareja que se desmoronaba, por un amor que se perdía.
No sorprende, me dice el astrólogo de 61 años, que me haya cuestionado si era digno o capaz de amar. Agregue a esto el hecho de que vi crecer a mi padre tan raramente; Aprendí pronto que no podía tener al hombre que quería.
"Lo que sea que les haya pasado es asunto de ellos", dice ella. "Desafortunadamente, se convirtió en tu negocio".
Vine a esta vida como una "esponja psíquica pura", dice ella. Lo que significa que viví su divorcio y me convertí en "daños colaterales". Y cuando mi madre tuvo un segundo matrimonio fallido, también absorbí ese dolor. Y permití que este rol se extendiera más; se convirtió en lo que yo era en mis propias relaciones.
"Has sido un receptáculo para las proyecciones de la oscuridad interior de otras personas. Ellos toman tu luz y te dan su oscuridad. Inconscientemente, has vivido así durante 44 años", dice. "You are wide open for all those hits, just sufficiently enough to convince yourself that there's no love for you in this life. You have to send this away. It's all a big misunderstanding."
Over the next six hours, Sri Ma Amodini Saraswati, who holds a Ph.D. in social work from the University of California, Berkeley, continues to read and teach me. She lays out my tarot cards, serves me tea and sweet sacred offerings, takes me through a guided meditation. She sits me down at an altar in her home, in front of a photograph of her spiritual master, and asks me to talk to him. She tells me I've got abilities that need to be revealed.
She says I was born to communicate, heal and teach.
"It was part of your mission to experience this pain," Amodini says. "Now you have to release it. It's time to send it all away and connect with your power."
And, she tells me, there's only one way I can let go of the past and own my present and future. It lies in the river Ganga. I pick up my notebook and pen, ready to record and follow her prescription.
Along the riverbank, beggars with missing and crippled limbs or clouded eyes call out for donations. Pilgrims brush by, clinging to their children's hands, carrying plastic bags full of offerings. Guards scream for us to remove our shoes as we walk near temples.
My head spins as I weave around human obstacles, chasing after Kalam Singh Chauhan, co-owner of the guesthouse where I'm staying. Today, he's leading me through Haridwar, a holy city for Hindus not far from Rishikesh. It's a festival day and especially chaotic.
Thousands fill Har ki Pauri, the famous ghat or steps that lead down to the Ganga. People have come to bathe in the sacred river and wash away their sins. Others are here to release the ashes of loved ones. The Ganga is considered a river goddess who gives life, rejuvenates and liberates. She was brought to Earth, it is believed, to purify souls and release them to heaven.
As Kalam strips to his underwear to go into the water, I watch a family of women step off the ghat and submerge themselves, their bright saris hanging wet and heavy. Three children approach and ask if they can pose with me for a picture. A little girl squeals as her mother coaxes her into the river.
Kalam returns, towels himself off and asks if I want to go in next. I know I won't leave India without going into the Ganga, but I'm just not ready.
What I'm watching is more than I can handle. This isn't my place; it's loud, overwhelming, intensely meaningful to those who are here. I'm afraid, amid this crowd of pilgrims, I won't feel a thing.
Devotees of Sri Prem Baba, a Brazilian guru who spends four to five months a year in Rishikesh, gather to be in his presence. Their music moved me more than his words.
Instead, we head upriver, smoke plumes in the far distance luring me forward.
Stacks of wood tower above us and line the path to the beach. Bodies carried on wooden stretchers arrive wrapped in shrouds, draped with garlands and flanked by families. Men, young and old, carry pieces of wood and build pyres. A Brahmin priest spots me using my cellphone camera and yells at me to stop: "Delete! Delete!"
I'm just getting my mind around the steady flow of funerals taking place when I spot a woman being comforted by her children. She's about my age and has come to say goodbye to her father.
Before his body is ritually washed in the Ganga, she walks down to the beach to see him one last time. The shroud has been opened to show his face. She falls to her knees and bends over, stroking his ashen features.
I think of my own father and how he looked when I last saw him. His face was pale, his signature rosy cheeks no more.
I, too, fell to my knees — but I couldn't touch him. He was in a coffin, beneath a sheet of plexiglass. I didn't think to ask why. He once said he wanted to be cremated; my stepmom wouldn't have it and joked with him, saying he wouldn't have a choice.
On the beach, four men carry the man's body to the water to be purified. One or more are his sons, Kalam tells me. A priest chants holy mantras. The oldest son smears ghee on his father's face. Tumeric and other spices used in Hindu rituals are sprinkled on his body. So is cow dung. Wood is then stacked around and on top of him. The oldest son circles the pyre, reciting prayers, and sets it ablaze with long burning stalks of bamboo.
The smoke rises as more families arrive with their deceased loved ones. They come to release their souls and offer them peace so they won't suffer in the next life.
Bodies are burning or being prepared on pyres all along this stretch of beach. Ashes of the dead float in the air. Kalam turns away from the billows of gray to rub his red eyes, but I stand mesmerized.
There is no horrifying smell, no haunting image being seared in my memory. What I see is beautiful: an act of love unlike any I've ever known.
Later, still smelling of the fires, I sit with Sadhviji at the ashram. She tells me how sometimes, during the Ganga aarti ceremony, she'll see a burning pyre on the other side of the river.
She knows that people across the way — who surely see the light of the ashram's oil lamps and hear the songs of celebration — are mourning. There was a time when this contrast struck her as horribly sad, if not unintentionally insensitive. Now, though, she sees it differently.
"There are no thick lines between where life ends and death begins," she says. "Smokes intermingle from aarti and funerals, breaking down the distinction. One can't tease them apart."
It is only by grace that she sits and sings. Someday, she knows, she will be on top of a pyre.
Days later at an aarti ceremony, my eyes catch hers through the crowd. She motions with her head to look across the water. In the distance, on the other side, I see fire and smoke rising from a single pyre.
I turn back toward her, and we both smile. She closes her eyes and continues to sing.
As a child growing up in Brazil, the boy was different from his friends. He concerned himself with the mysteries of life.
"I'd ask my mother, 'Who made the world?' She'd say it was God. And then I'd ask, 'Who made God?' "
"Don't think about it," his mother said, "or you'll go mad."
It was then that he understood the meaning of his life.
At 14, he began practicing yoga. He was listening to his first bhajan, a devotional song in Sanskrit, when he heard a voice. It told him that at age 33, he'd go to Rishikesh — a place that meant nothing to him.
Years later, in the midst of an "existential crisis," he was meditating in his Sao Paolo apartment when he saw an image of an old man with a long white beard. The man told him that at 33, he'd travel to Rishikesh.
The Ganga, Hindus believe, is a living river goddess brought to Earth to purify souls and release them to heaven. I know I'll go in, but I have to be ready.
At 33, he was a trained psychologist about to be married. He convinced his bride-to-be to honeymoon in India.
The newlyweds traveled across the country, meeting various spiritual teachers, but he felt nothing. "My anguish would only grow," he says.
It was during a car ride near Haridwar that it happened.
"A light took over me. A silence came. My mind calmed down, and then I felt joy for no reason. … I sang a song in the form of prayer that came spontaneously through me."
He made his way to Rishikesh, where he heard people talking about a guru named Sri Sachcha Baba Maharajji. He knocked on the gates of the guru's ashram, and an old man with a long white beard — the man from his vision — appeared.
"I looked at him, and then I just fell to my knees," he remembers. "He said to me, 'What is lacking, what is missing in your process, is a live guru.' " From that moment, everything in his life would change. "I began to remember who I was."
Today, he is Sri Prem Baba. At 48, his home is still in Sao Paolo, but he spends four or five months in Rishikesh each year at the Sachcha Dham Ashram, where he met his own guru 15 years ago.
Sit in cafes frequented by Westerners here, and odds are you'll hear his name.
A stream of devotees walk through the ashram's courtyard and leave their shoes outside the main hall. They've come from Brazil and all corners of the Western world: Australia, the United States and the United Kingdom; Austria, Belgium and Israel.
I never followed the Grateful Dead, but the daily in-gathering for Sri Prem Baba is what I would have imagined seeing. Musicians seated among the crowd of hundreds strum guitars, beat drums and lead the group in devotional song. They sing themselves to a frenzy, anticipating his arrival. Women in long, flowing skirts sway and spin in front of windows, rays of light streaming in from across the Ganga.
Near the front of the room, I spot Renata Rocha, 32, whose kindness drew me in the first night I met her at the guesthouse where I'm staying. She's from Sao Paulo and lives a mere 20 minutes from Prem Baba, but this is her sixth annual trip to see him in Rishikesh.
She knows this place inside-out. Need an astrologer? She's got one. Looking for the best Ayurvedic doctor? His number's in her phone. Best place to start yoga? That's a no-brainer: Yogi Vini, the gorgeous one who leaves women swooning. Want to understand why Prem Baba moves people? Come see for yourself.
Picking a guru, I hear, is very personal. Serendipity often leads a searcher to the right master. You'll feel it when you've found the one, people say. It'll be obvious.
That's certainly how it worked for Renata. Raised a strict Catholic, she'd been searching since she was 13. She did social projects with nuns, became a youth leader and studied at the Vatican. She learned to serve others but had spiritual questions that went unanswered. She dabbled in Buddhism and Kabbalah. She was nursing a broken heart when she headed to India with a friend at age 26.
Their first stop: Rishikesh. While grabbing dinner in a restaurant after they arrived, she found herself talking to an American guy. He took her hands, looked into her eyes and said, "I've been seeking a spiritual path for 20 years and finally found my guru. Tomorrow's my initiation. Will you come?"
Their eyes were locked, and they both began crying. How could she say no?
The next day she walked into Prem Baba's meditation hall and found herself surrounded by mantras and music. "This is heaven," she remembers thinking.
She watched Prem Baba sitting silently, assumed he was Indian and was startled when he opened his mouth and spoke her native tongue.
About 200 boys call Parmarth Niketan home. Besides academics, they are schooled in yoga, meditation, chanting, scriptures and service to humanity.
By chance, her path was changed. He would teach her to integrate her spiritual, professional and personal lives. He reminded her, through his workshops and his teachings, that God resides in her, that she has a purpose.
And so, each day she is here in Rishikesh, she takes her seat on a pillow and soaks in all that he brings her. Now a life coach, Renata tells me the word "guru" means "one who takes you from darkness to light."
"Everyone is searching. Who am I? What am I doing?" ella dice. "He doesn't tell you what to do. He helps you see who you are. It's all about self-knowledge. Once you understand who you are, you understand the universe."
As Prem Baba enters the hall, Renata and hundreds of others rise to face him. They press their hands together in front of their lips and hearts. They beam. They bow. Some wipe away tears. I scan the sea of people, examining their faces. From what I can tell, there's not an Indian in the room.
He steps up onto a riser and takes his seat in a large chair, looking out at those who welcome him with music of adoration.
When he speaks, they drink in his words, which are translated into English from Portuguese. To me they seem like spiritual sound bites, simple nuggets of wisdom.
You only find yourself when you acknowledge you're lost.
A little girl weaves through the seated crowd, a section of her blonde hair dyed purple.
Life is like a great game, and everything that happens in this game is an opportunity for growth.
A toddler drops his truck and climbs into his mother's lap to breastfeed.
God is one. Truth is one. Love is one.
A woman, meditation beads strung around her neck, stoops over her journal, drawing a web of hearts.
I see the awe of his followers but fight the urge to yawn. Maybe I'm not listening hard enough?
The goal is to rescue the ones who are ready to be awakened.
Maybe I don't understand what he's saying?
Some get warm under the sun, but others cannot absorb the sun's light.
All I know is that the music moves me more than the words.
People line up to be close to Prem Baba. They shower him with petals, put garlands around his neck and pass him bouquets. They offer him boxes of sweets, bow down at his feet and take his hands and hugs as if they are treasures.
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Around me, I see people weep. I spot a woman who, after greeting the guru, is curled into a corner, sobbing. I want to tap her on the shoulder and ask why she cries, but her eyes are closed, this space is sacred, and she's somewhere else.
Instead, I look around to see if anyone shares my questions. I spot Alexia in the back of the room, sitting on a table against the far windows. She looks out at those before her, silent and unmoved.
I first met Alexia, who didn't want her real name used, outside the gates to the old, long-abandoned ashram of the late Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Or, as it is more commonly known in these parts, "the Beatles ashram."
The Fab Four showed up here in 1968 to study Transcendental Meditation. They also wrote most of the White Album during their stay. Now their old ashram seems a sad afterthought, a dead end of town on the east bank of the Ganga. Abandoned since 1997, it's overgrown, dilapidated and under government care. Visitors are not allowed. If caught, violators are fined 5,000 rupees — about $80.
The gates were locked and trespass warnings prominent, so I arranged with an official to get in with a guide and invited Alexia to come along.
Together we ducked through trees, stepped over tangled weeds and fresh elephant dung, walking the old ashram's pathways. We crunched across glass shards and marveled at artistic graffiti. When our guide took us underground to see hidden meditation caves and warned of the possibility of snakes and leopards, we spun around and headed toward the light.
Now, days later in the sunlight of Prem Baba's meditation hall, I watch as Alexia sits quietly, her expression blank — not budging as others rise to prostrate in front of their guru. I'm dying to hear her perspective.
She's from the Bible Belt in Texas, the niece of a minister, born into a family of hunters — but she's a vegetarian who speaks Hindi, attended yoga school in Thailand and is now studying Indian philosophy in West Bengal. She's 21, less than half my age, and seems wise beyond her years. Surely she would have something to say about this scene.
"The first time I went to Prem Baba, it felt like church," she tells me over lunch. The closed eyes, the emotion, the ecstasy didn't seem so different from what she grew up experiencing in Baptist churches across the South. But the longer she's watched, the more she's wondered — not just about Prem Baba's devotees but those flocking to gurus in general.
Are their hearts really in it? The smiles on their faces, the euphoria they share as they sing and chant — sometimes it feels forced, she says. Is what they're experiencing real?
"These Western people are singing mantras, and they don't know what they mean," she says. "If I don't know the name of the mantra, if I don't know what it means, I don't want to say it."
I nod in agreement. Only later do I think about the Hebrew prayers I've recited and sung without knowing their meaning.
In my hands are three sheets of notebook paper. They hold a list of painful memories that the astrologer made me write down.
"Bring it all up," she'd told me as I scribbled in front of her and wiped my eyes. "You must validate everything you felt to the nth degree."
A vision led Sri Prem Baba to Rishikesh from Brazil 15 years ago. After meeting his guru, he became one himself. Now, he returns each year to be with his devotees.
The words that stung, the betrayals that buried me, the needs that went unmet — all of it I recorded. I am perfect as I am, Amodini told me, coaxing me along. What I need now is "an overdose of pure loving self-acceptance."
That was several days ago. Now, back at my room in the guesthouse, I hold the toxic pages up and begin to shred them. I tear apart the past, the moments that have unconsciously held me back. Then, as instructed, I stuff the scraps in a small ceramic bowl and set the hurt ablaze.
I dump the ashes in a small plastic baggie and head to the Ganga.
Ice-cold water laps at my toes on a secluded stretch of Rishikesh beach. Only by letting the vibrations and energy of this water goddess flow over and through me can I fulfill my life's mission, Amodini said. I must enter to free myself, open my chakras and welcome new light.
The prescription, this language, is the sort of talk that just weeks earlier might have made my eyes roll. But today, awash in the magic of a place so far from home, it makes perfect sense. Here I've suspended all judgment and simply choose to believe.
"We are not happy because the heart is closed," Amodini said.
"So if I go into the Ganga, my heart will open?" Yo pregunté.
"Absolutely. You have to experience it," she said. "Ganga is the mother, the feminine cosmic energy. Give the river permission to take away anything you don't need."
Girding myself, I slowly wade in. I turn the plastic bag of ashes upside down, pouring the memories into the river and sending them downstream.
My loose clothes cling to my skin as I tread further into the cold after tossing the emptied bag by my shoes on shore. I peer up at the mountains and scan the vast sky. As instructed, I send gratitude and love to my parents, my siblings. I don't really know how to pray, but I think that's what I'm doing.
Then I turn to the business of my father. There's something I must do in his name; it's a gift he needs and something, Amodini said, only I can give him.
"He's not able to be released if you are not happy," she said. "You have to surrender this battle from inside of you."
I turn to face the sun, cup my hands full of water and raise my arms toward the light as an offering. I send him love and peace and thank him for the life he helped give me. I promise him I will embrace happiness — and allow myself to love and be loved.
A stream pours through my hands and fingers, and with this, I do what I'm told I've needed to do since I lost him more than six years ago: I free my father's soul.
I breathe in the fresh air, close my eyes, curl into a ball and surrender. The Ganga envelops me as I hold my breath and slip under. The rush of cold water echoes in my ears as I exhale, and everything that is possible begins to take hold.
Everywhere I went in Rishikesh, my forehead was marked with blessings: at ceremonies along the Ganga, with priests in temples, in a holy man's cave. Sometimes I got back to my room and realized I'd walked around all day wearing a smear of red, orange or ash.
The tilak, Sadhviji told me, sits at our body's second highest energy center, or chakra — between and above our eyes. What we see with those two eyes, she said, is what causes us problems. We become greedy. We get jealous, react to other people, grow angry.
Reflected in the Ganga is the "Om" symbol
, the Sanskrit sound central to Hinduism and often heard in yoga and meditation practices. It represents the universe's essence: loving kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy and equanimity.
"But we also have a third eye," Sadhviji told me. "It's the center that when opened helps us see truth, that everything is divine."
The tilak reminds her to see from her third eye, that she's a holy person. It helps her think before she acts or speaks.
In these two weeks, Sadhviji has taught me more than she knows.
"Everyone comes into the world with their own karmic package," she said. "You're supposed to be where you are. ... The universe doesn't make mistakes."
Even if I never consciously wear a tilak to keep my third eye open, I hope to hang on to these truths and comforts.
The day before I leave, Sadhviji and I speak by phone. It's not goodbye; we'll undoubtedly be in touch and meet again.
"There's something I need to tell you," she says before I hang up. "You've been transformed."
"What do you mean?" I ask her.
"Well, the first day we met, you walked into the room and then Jessica — the real Jessica — followed. Now you are one."
My eyes well on the other end of the line. I know, I feel, that she's right. I am, in this moment, exactly as I'm supposed to be.
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