My transition into Rishikesh was not the most pleasant of experiences. By the time I arrived I was completely drained physically, emotionally, and mentally. Why had I left my nearly perfect life as an Arambol beach bum? Why was I in the much more crowded and noisier north? And why had I signed up for more hours of yoga teacher training when I'm not even a yoga teacher? All the magic that had unfolded over the past two months seemed to be fading with each passing moment that I was in Rishikesh, and it was literally draining every bit of energy I had left.
But because this is the year of magic, magic is bound to happen...right?
It could have been the woman who sat with me at breakfast my first morning and told me to watch for all the synchronicity, but it was the Indian man down by the river beach who looked more like a tourist from California than a wise Rishi who started it.
I must have looked a mess by the time I found the will to leave my room and go for a walk. Hey, he said as he walked by me. Hey, I said back. He stopped and turned around. Don't forget to just sit in silence at the end of everyday, he told me. In fact, he was so insistent on telling me this he took my hands into his and repeated himself. Don't burn yourself out on all the stimuli of being here--the secret is in the silence. I wasn't sure why he was telling me this--he had no idea who I was or why I was there, but I was grateful that some sort of message was coming through--and of course, from a most unlikely messenger.
I had no expectations when I got to India, and the most magical things happened. But the minute I started expecting magic around every corner, it just dissipated. Because you can't chase magic--I should know this. The magic that existed in Kerala and in Arambol simply wasn't going to exist here, and I had to accept that. I can't chase it; I can't let it go. Stalemate. Where do you draw the line between letting go and letting magic happen, and being proactive in creating magic in your life?
And then I met Howie and his wife from San Jose who not only know one of my best friends and her husband, but also one of my yoga teachers from Divinitree in Santa Cruz. And they have a really good friend teaching English in Chiang Mai they're going to connect me with. And sitting behind me in class there's a group of Russian girls and their translator who is translating the entire class as it's happening. Because that's normal, right? And then I met Hang, a Vietnamese girl who was born and raised in New York, but ended up moving to Vietnam several years ago through some very serendipitous events that a psychic monk once predicted. And the all the folks I keep meeting who've just come from or are headed to Dharamsala and are giving me great advice for my travel there. These are just a few of the small circumstances or encounters that keep adding up. But to what?
You know, it's just all the processing you're doing, a lady from my class told me, you'll come out the other side eventually. I kind of knew this already, but it was another nice reminder.
Each day I talk to someone new who reveals something to me that let's me know the magic isn't gone. One of the themes of this year is impermanence after all. The magic shifts and changes. I just need to learn to recognize it in each new environment.
You all are 500 years ahead of the times because of this work you are doing, Gurmukh told us on our last day. We're science fiction characters, someone from the class shouted. We're Jedi's in training, someone else shouted.
As soon as the training was over, as soon as I was able to start getting into my own natural rhythm again, my haziness subsided and my head felt clearer. Yesterday I went white water rafting on the Ganges with a group from my class which seemed to wipe out any residual ickiness I felt, and this morning Elizabeth Gilbert made a facebook post about Murakami--how they both share the same slow and steady system of writing. I did a double take. Gilbert writing about Murakami?! It can't get much more magical than that when I've been grasping for magic since I've gotten here.
Apparently, I'm just a science fiction character (and/or Jedi) moving through a magical world where sometimes I have to reboot for the magic to get through.
Do you have a tendency to chase magic or let it unfold? How do you find the balance between letting magic happen and cultivating it in your life?
But because this is the year of magic, magic is bound to happen...right?
It could have been the woman who sat with me at breakfast my first morning and told me to watch for all the synchronicity, but it was the Indian man down by the river beach who looked more like a tourist from California than a wise Rishi who started it.
I must have looked a mess by the time I found the will to leave my room and go for a walk. Hey, he said as he walked by me. Hey, I said back. He stopped and turned around. Don't forget to just sit in silence at the end of everyday, he told me. In fact, he was so insistent on telling me this he took my hands into his and repeated himself. Don't burn yourself out on all the stimuli of being here--the secret is in the silence. I wasn't sure why he was telling me this--he had no idea who I was or why I was there, but I was grateful that some sort of message was coming through--and of course, from a most unlikely messenger.
I had no expectations when I got to India, and the most magical things happened. But the minute I started expecting magic around every corner, it just dissipated. Because you can't chase magic--I should know this. The magic that existed in Kerala and in Arambol simply wasn't going to exist here, and I had to accept that. I can't chase it; I can't let it go. Stalemate. Where do you draw the line between letting go and letting magic happen, and being proactive in creating magic in your life?
When you have a question about life just sit in the middle of the question, and one day soon you'll be living the answer, Gurmukh told us. Be okay not knowing and not having answers, and that is the only way you'll get the answers. Or you'll just be caught in the washing machine. Be silent. Whatever you do, don't get attached to the outcome. Let it go, let it go, let it go. Her calming voice and presence a complete contradiction to the intensity of my week with her and simply trying to exist here in this little town on the Ganges.
Each day I talk to someone new who reveals something to me that let's me know the magic isn't gone. One of the themes of this year is impermanence after all. The magic shifts and changes. I just need to learn to recognize it in each new environment.
You all are 500 years ahead of the times because of this work you are doing, Gurmukh told us on our last day. We're science fiction characters, someone from the class shouted. We're Jedi's in training, someone else shouted.
As soon as the training was over, as soon as I was able to start getting into my own natural rhythm again, my haziness subsided and my head felt clearer. Yesterday I went white water rafting on the Ganges with a group from my class which seemed to wipe out any residual ickiness I felt, and this morning Elizabeth Gilbert made a facebook post about Murakami--how they both share the same slow and steady system of writing. I did a double take. Gilbert writing about Murakami?! It can't get much more magical than that when I've been grasping for magic since I've gotten here.
Apparently, I'm just a science fiction character (and/or Jedi) moving through a magical world where sometimes I have to reboot for the magic to get through.
Do you have a tendency to chase magic or let it unfold? How do you find the balance between letting magic happen and cultivating it in your life?
