Ananda Laurelwood: Exploring Spirituality in Community

“I seek purification by the grace of God.”  I never thought I would say such words again.  And yet there I was, on my knees in front of a throng of devotees singing inwardly in a room full of flowers and light, portraits of the lineage of masters hung above us.  A finger emerged from inside a deep blue sleeve, pressed against my heart, and I felt my head begin to swim and heart expand, while my mind muttered in useless protest.  “By the grace of the masters, you are free”, I heard a voice release me, and I walked up to the metal bowl perched on a ledge between two bouquets of daffodils and dropped in a scrap of paper on which I had written, “abandoning myself for sensual pleasures.”  I returned to my seat to meditate on what it would be like to live free, listening to that gentle song tumbling through my mind. “Wave of the sea dissolve in the sea.  I am a bubble, make me the sea.”  A gentle warm vibration spread from my heart, as large and broad as the ocean.  I saw in those tiny bubbles of air the way I posture and joke for men’s attention, the way I take seconds of dinner and thirds of dessert, the way I rebel to reinforce my territory.  And I saw the absurdity of these bids for gratification while surrounded by such vast love, a love that, having no opposite, will always be infinitely greater than the pleasure of a cookie or a kiss or an accolade.  The room vibrated in unison with prayer as all of the obstacles we were prepared to shed went up in a single flame.

Unlike other seekers, I did not come to Ananda Laurelwood for spiritual healing.  I came to this worldwide brotherhood colony envisioned by Paramhamsa Yogananda and founded by his disciple Swami Kriyananda in the rolling farmland outside of Portland to spend six weeks saving money for my trip abroad through work trade, living in intentional community, and learning about permaculture.  After an introductory First Timers Weekend retreat rich with the Ananda brand of meditation, energization exercises, devotional kirtan singing, and yoga postures, I joined four other new interns settling into a constantly shifting flow of morning, afternoon, and evening service shifts, punctuated by communal vegetarian meals and spiritual practices.  I have risen as early as 5:30am for exercises and a 90-minute meditation followed by daily breakfast in silence and 45 minutes of community announcements, readings, intention-setting, and intern reflection.  My first week’s service included cleaning the kitchen, washing dishes, preparing the salad bar, making cookies, watering plant starts, hauling reclaimed lumber, scything grass away from willow starts, spreading lime, and digging potato trenches.  In pockets of time off I have joined other interns on a hike in Tillamook national forest, a visit to McMinneville for fresh coffee and healing stones, and a night of crass movies where we laughed ourselves silly well past the silent curfew.  And in what little time remains for solitude, I wander the gorgeous meadows and rolling hills of Laurelwood’s 225 acres, read a few pages, type a few lines, test out a new travel app, send an email about a booking abroad, run a load of laundry, and sneak a bite of meat from my stash in the resident fridge.

But despite my secular motivations for coming here, I have unexpectedly recovered and dusted off yet another lost thread of my beloved past: the energetic benefits of sharing spiritual practices.  Where I used to rely on sleep and food for energy, here I feel like an air plant high in the rain forest canopy receiving nourishment and inspiration from a gentle, expansive vibration I do not fully understand. Despite a constantly shifting flow of new personalities and the demands of keeping the education and retreat center running smoothly, I feel deeply patient, cheerful, and gracious.  Every gathering and service shift begins with a prayer to focus our collective intention and ends in gratitude as we send the unison vibration of “om” into the treats we have made, the insights we have shared, or the green babies we have planted, into each other, and across the world.  Unfinished tasks are dropped mid-day for meditation and others are eager to swap shifts for those who are ill or wanting to attend a particular practice.   Even my rebellious boundary-testing is met with gentle, humorous reminders about dress code and quiet hours.  At every moment it is clear that the peace and harmony of everyone here is the highest priority.  Being regularly reminded that I am both incredibly valuable to the group, and fully free to negotiate when and how I participate, I feel radiant with the safety of belonging and the self-direction of autonomy.

In addition to the impact of the vibration of this place, ideas that come up in the morning gatherings often create a thread of insight that deepens with the day’s meditations and service shifts.  One day, I realized that what we call “negative thoughts” are really just thoughts that feed our sense of separation from each other and from our deepest selves, leaving us vulnerable to feelings of jealousy, fear, anger, and anxiety.  Another day, some wisdom about willpower simply being willingness led to a break-through in my relationship with food and romantic fantasies.  I began asking myself if I was willing, just for that moment, to make a different choice about where to put my attention.  With that gentle request, I have found myself willing to accept it took me three tries to get the carrots grated correctly because no one else was upset about it, willing to forgive myself for gossiping unkindly and withdrawing into silence because no one treated me any differently, willing to delay taking another cookie just for one moment so that I do not feel helpless, willing to continue exploring ways to adjust my sleep patterns to accommodate my roommate’s flow, willing to admit that someone else’s idea or the natural unfolding of our work together may be better than my own plan, and willing to stay still in meditation for just a moment longer.  And then one moment more.

I have also asked myself how much I must share the beliefs of a group in order to belong.  I feel a familiar pull to merge my sentiment and values with those around me, watching how I move from the elation of bonding to a sense of disorientation, disillusionment, and then rebellion. My initially boundless capacity to hold space for the tears and musings of my fellow interns led to an impulse to seek solitude in silent meals and secret nooks.  I went through a period of changing out of my work pants in a public corner and reaching directly into snack containers. I began eliminating and translating parts of the prayers and songs we speak in unison so they better reflect my intimate nature-based spirituality. And I do not see myself accepting a guru in human form or pursuing initiation into any group again.  Thankfully, Laurelwood is not a homogenous group of like-minded devotees expecting obedience and uniform worship.  It is a gathering that includes a preacher’s son, Wiccan, hippie, retired executive, deaf pilot, Lakota adoptee, stock broker, doctor, raw food cook, survivor of intergenerational alcoholism, international traveler, tantra enthusiast, and organic farmer.  Yogananda’s teachings of open-heartedness are authentically embraced here where it is said that rules kill the spirit, it is understood that environment must be nurtured for it is stronger than will, and we ask how we can best support “what’s trying to happen here” when facing personal conflict, restoring the land, and doing long-term planning.

The demons that are left in me are alive and well.  I am more aware than ever of the way I constrict my body and heart with my appetite for food, attention, and revelry.  But these compulsions hold less sway over me here.  I am undoubtedly sacrificing for this community, but I am finally receiving even more than I give.  I do not need a plan for how to manage my weight.  I do not need to analyze or orchestrate my behavior towards men.  There is no need to create a strict agreement with my roommate around personal sharing and bedtimes.  And I don’t need anyone to agree with my beliefs or listen to my story in order for me to feel supported or validated.  Each moment I am willing to give patience, forgiveness, and compassion, I open myself as a channel to that fathomless sea of divine love that soothes my fatigue, my insecurity, my fear of being empty.  I do not know what magic is here, whether Yogananda is watching over the unfolding of his own dream or if the love and freedom in this place is simply magnified by our collective intention.  What I do know is that I did not expect to be finding such easy joy in the dissolution of my own agenda.

Nancy

“Lord most high our heavenly father, all our lives we dedicate to thee –

All our labor, all our joys and woes, all our pleasure, all our melody.

Make us each a channel for thy peace.  When in darkness, guide us from above.

Where there’s sorrow, let us sow thy joy.  Where there’s hatred, let us share thy love.”

• Swami Kriyananda (prayer song in morning circle)