Purification in India – Part II

I have never felt as much joy at the sight of a building as I did in Agra.  And it wasn’t the Taj Mahal, as one might expect.  It was the lesser known Trident Hotel.  Everything was spacious, grand, fresh, and sparkling clean.  We squealed with delight at the copious toilet paper in the bathroom stalls and at the floor so shiny I wanted to curl up under the sink.  The lunch buffet featured platter after platter of Indian delicacies, continental favorites, every imaginable pastry, and fresh produce harvested from an on-site organic garden.  After the squalor and sickness of Varanasi, the antibiotics had finally restored my appetite and I reveled in the pure, nutritious, and decadent feast.  The conversation in the bus and around the table was light and playful, and my full belly laughed joyously.  This giddiness following my intense spiritual cleansing was reminiscent of a school field trip after a final exam.

In these moments, life is glowing with goodness.  I feel as though I can fall in love with anyone and every dream I’ve ever had is only as far away as a simple decision to reach out and pluck it.  My body vibrates with creativity and my appetite for sensuality soars.  The relaxed playfulness of the beach resort in Puri accentuated this sense of vitality and possibility, while a series of morning meditations at the shrine erected over the body of Sri Yukteswar added a deep and solid sense of dignity and fortitude.  I was becoming a battlefield between the tantalizing comforts and familiar sufferings of my ego and forces I felt were powerful enough to annihilate them.  And I also found myself strongly rooted in the power to discern and choose.

Thoughts of romance became more frequent and intense.  The face of a kindly sadhu who tended a shrine we visited reminded me of my last partner – one who, like all the other men I have been involved with over the past 15 years found their ideal match soon after our parting.  What had drawn me to them if we were not meant for each other?  Did I see in that wild beard and those twinkling eyes the reflection of my desire to find truth?  Did I feel in their blind adoration the devotion I wanted to feel for god?  I realized I could continue to fold myself around the next available and willing man or remain content and loyal to the one who will be drawn naturally to all that I am once I am firmly rooted.

My creative energy then shifted inward towards dreams and ideals.  At her ashram in Hardiwar, Anandamayi Ma had reignited my dream of creating a course on the female hero’s journey in response to my prayer that she show me what it felt like to live as she did.  Now I began to think again of the work I did in volunteer management, of the articles I had been planning to write about how the same approaches used in working with volunteers could help any organization improve their retention and innovation through developing a more inclusive and life-affirming culture.  I thought about course work in organizational development, in ecopsychology, and of ideas for a Fullbright scholarship to study intentional communities across the world.  I could develop an on-line business offering support for others in following a deeper calling to break from tradition and help birth a new paradigm.

All the energy and excitement built in me, fueled by the frustration over not having a laptop to research or write.  I felt restless, but had no outlet for relief.  I felt tired, but couldn’t sleep.  And the next day I awoke to a headache, sore throat, and inability to concentrate on anything.  The simple act of dreaming had agitated me to the point of exhaustion.  I felt constricted and discouraged.  Then I remembered Mark Manson’s article about true happiness being the willingness to dream big, take even one small step towards our ideal self, and then let go and allow what comes next.  I thought of Eckhart Tolle’s description of the ego’s need for conflict and the role of forgiveness in allowing life to flow.  If I needed to let go of my dream, forgive, and accept the present moment, I figured I might as well embrace all that a sick day entailed.  I curled up on my bed, got room service, hydrated, napped, and watched Indian music videos.

As I began to recover, I noticed that all my fantasies about building a life in the world and all that time spent feasting, giggling, and watching TV, had heightened my sensitivity to a core spiritual principle:  surrender.  I felt no fear of pursuing whatever dream I chose – no fear of the anxiety, obstacles, or failure I might encounter.  But I had also discovered that allowing myself to become consumed by creative energy was destructive.  I would need to be rooted in spiritual practices to sustain meaningful work in the world.  But if all I needed to do was become increasingly present, and I was already having direct experiences of the energy in my body, why did I need a guru as an intermediary?  After weeks of grief and physical illness, I was enjoying feeling pleasure and did not like thinking that a guru would ask me to give it up.

I began asking my fellow pilgrims about their experiences with surrender, and one conversation brought me to tears.  I was sharing how I felt my experiences at Laurelwood had actually separated me from my own intuition and sense of spiritual connection, and he asked me whether the practices had indeed separated me from my deeper self or simply from my egoic identity.  I suddenly remembered how grounded and vibrant I had felt over the summer in the midst of daily prayer, affirmations, and writing to Yogananda.  When I was struggling with my crush, praying to him brought me the strength and clarity to do the right thing, he had stepped forward to invite me on this pilgrimage, and I had been one step away from taking discipleship vows.

Then we had a community meeting about Laurelwood’s financial future and suddenly the community I was surrendering to, and all they represented, was no longer reliably there to support me.  My ego rose to protect me and soothe me with all my familiar comforts.  I stopped resisting the gravitational pull of my crush, which further isolated me from the community and its teachings, and fueled my cynicism.  It was only when I realized how much that relationship was compromising what mattered most to me and how out of touch I had needed to be in order to embrace it that I was able to walk away.  And in the aftermath I had to trust from a purely intellectual place that the call I had received to go on pilgrimage was indeed for my greatest good.

To truly surrender, to release the protection my ego offers and confront the grief over its passing, I must feel loved enough by something else.  I know that if I rely on people to treat me kindly and circumstances to inspire a sense of security, I am destined to continue in my role as victim and remain at the mercy of my inner tormentors.  But since my relationship with my intuition is so new, and my experiences of the divine area so often subtle and fleeting, I am still vulnerable to indirect sources of security.  I thought, “Perhaps I would be better off finding an ethical business where I could feel the strength of sharing my gifts.  Perhaps it would be easier in another spiritual community that was more stable and emotionally supportive.”  But then I remembered my Vedic astrologer warning me of the delusion I would encounter during my pilgrimage and cautioning against impulsive decisions.  And so I waited to see what would arise next.

Nancy