Whither February?

I last blogged Jan 31st? Ooops.
Been a little busy with the whole teaching thing. With the teaching-plus-maintaining-yogic-lifestyle bit.
Funny thing about the ashram. Much as I hated to leave, wanted to stay forever, and am considering a lengthier stint as staff...the experience there made me appreciate India, and Kodaikanal, more.
A lot more. So much more, I just might put in another year here. It's been Princeton>Paris>Halifax>Kodai these last four years....and I'm tired. Time to try a "2nd year" someplace; this place ain't so bad.

So what's been going on in not-so-bad Kodai since January?
I'm now living in a gorgeous apartment, much closer to main campus, town center, and friends. It's got dark hardwood floors, 15 foot ceilings and a tin roof that bakes the place during the day (at night we've got to huddle under many many covers). I have a lovely roommate from Germany. A gigantic bedroom, one-third partitioned off by rich jeweltone sari curtains. Voila, a separate space for yoga asanas and meditation (daily, so far!) Windows everywhere, and sunlight streaming in from dawn onwards. A kitchen! A gas stove, big fridge, plenty of cupboard space for groceries and nifty new cookware. A real shower, with adequate hot water supply, and pressure! And pretty gardens out the windows and all over this compound.

All these things were missing from the old digs at Bruton dorm. Living space makes such a difference to quality of life.


So I've been cooking a lot. Meals are provided in the school cafeteria for volunteers...but the often overspiced and greasy school food has a mildly negative effect on my digestive system. Tolerable, certainly (I ate it all 1st semester). But so much better to cook! A pleasure, and better for the body. Veg chili, stir fries, gingery mung dal and rice, toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches, moroccan-style chickpea tomato stew, plain old wholesome vegetable soup with a loaf of freshest wholegrain bread from Pastry Corner, slathered in butter, or with a slice of local cheese. Vanilla custard with fruit salad...oatmeal and spiced chai for breakfast...rice pudding...
Tonight I used the pressure cooker for the first time. After reading every word of the instruction manual, and sending a brief prayer out to the universe that I not blow myself--and dinner--up. Pshaw, it was so easy! Just a little hissing noise...no worries at all. White bean, cabbage, and potato stew for tomorrow; we're having people over to eat and then project Slumdog Millionaire onto the living room wall.

Pictured: Last week was spirit week at the elementary. For superhero day, a student (Y) dressed up as ME! (Best day ever ;) I didnt have a camera...but I did get a picture of my costume the foolowing day, hat day. Y always wears a toque (ahem, "Beanie" for non-Canucks) so it was the perfect chance to get her back! This is me giving some Y attitude before heading out on hat day. Also...produce on the kitchen counter;

So that's life right now in Kodai. Pleasure in mundane little things.
I'll be posting next about school: adventures-in-papier mache.

One Long Day

This is the third of several posts about my experience of the yoga teacher training course at a Sivananda ashram near Madurai. If you haven't yet, please scroll down and read the previous two posts...or for the whole story as it unfolded, you might go back to late November.

What's it like to spend a day at the ashram? It's a long day. What's it like to spend 28 days there? Perhaps just the same; already in memory the entire time hovers as one very long, blissful day.

Metaphysical anomaly?
Potential explanations?

(1) The whole thing was a dream, and as a dream melts in the moments after waking, the 28 days are now fading fast. Just one long, odd day left.

(2) Swamiji once pointed out in vedanta lecture how expressions like "passing time," "spending time," and "wasting time" are comforting but misleading. In fact, time wastes us. Spends us. Passes us. At the ashram we practiced mindfulness: total awareness of the present moment, present action, present breath. There's no time in the present. Total presence, total mindfulness, was a bit of a lofty goal of course (i.e., having achieved complete presence, absolute purity of mind, I am now writing to you from samadhi...I am writing to you? We are writing to us...I am writing to I...I am writing...I am....I...I...I...). Right. So there's no time in the present. Therefore, if we were more mindful, occasionally fully present, during those 28 days....then there was NO TIME for part of those 28 days....which means that the 28 days could seem at once shorter (subtract the no-time presents) and longer (endless. Timeless. No time in the present, the present without time).

(3) The whole thing seems like one long day because every day was nearly the same. With a few exceptions, we did the exact same thing, day after day after very long day. When there is neat structure to time and space so that everything has purpose and little is "idle" or wasted; when everything is rhythmical....it all becomes the same. In the most delicious, un-monotonous way.

And the long day went like this:

5:30 Wake-up

Softest ascent from sleep with gentle, steady tolling bells. Fumbling in the dark for the mosquito net corner.Gather towel, toothbrush etc. from cupboard and walk the entire length of the women's dorm to the showers. Past quiet focussed action in each cell as 40 other women rise, change, gather things, make beds. Toilet. Cold shower to wash off sleep, wash off tamas. Back to the cell. Hang towels neatly. Dress in uniform: white cotton drawstring trousers, yellow TTC t-shirt. Make bed, fold pyjamas. Take bag of books, meditation shawl, mala beads. Out the door...

6:00-7:30 Morning Satsang
Half hour (plus or minus) japa meditation. Seated (or trying to sit) in rows on cushions on bamboo mats. 45 minutes chanting as the sky lightens: Jaya Ganesha, various bhajans. Om Traymabakan, Arati. Then, prasad: a handful of nuts or grains, a piece of fruit, or (joy!) rice pudding.

7:30-8:00
CHAI! One or maybe two steaming little metal cups of hot soul-charging spiced milky tea, with a spoonful of jaggery.
Sipped in the quiet early morning light. Another handful of leftover prasad. And quick change into clothes for asana class.

8:00-10:00 Morning Asana Class


We learned how to teach. Some practice, some listening to lecture and watching demos...and then 2 weeks of small-group teaching; 2 chances each to teach the Sivananda basic open class to your group.






10:00-10:30 Food
Ah, the food. I miss the food. Lacto-veg, low-fat, no onions, chilis, garlic, spice, low sugar, very low salt. Super-fresh, prepared and served with care and love, beautiful colour and texture and taste. Rice--or rice pancakes (dosa), or steamed fermented rice cakes (idly), or rice noodles. Between one and three vegetable stews or dals or curries (hearty mung bean dal. Ginger-potato-coconut stew. Pineapple curry.) Some raita, or raw beet salad, or cucumber tomato salad, or a handful of fresh green mung beans, just beginning to sprout. Mix it all up on the platter, drizzle with buttermilk. Crush over the top one hot, salty fried pappad (so unyogic. But provided nonetheless because we ate them with 100% appreciation). Pack a morsel together with the right hand, and....eat.

10:45-11:45 (or throughout the day) Karma Yoga
Weekly rotations through a variety of work duties around the ashram. Mine were: (1) sweeping, scrubbing, mopping, drying the dining hall floor after the 10:00 meal. (2) carrying, unrolling, re-rolling, and returning to storage the bamboo mats we sat on for satsang and lectures. Before and after every satsang and lecture.
(3) Bellringer! Every other day, ringing the bell 10 minutes before the next thing on the schedule. This one rocked, because I had karma yoga time free. But it kind of sucked because I had to watch the clock all day, and one of the best things about ashram life was timelessness. (4) Garbage. Emptying bins around the ashram and taking them to the compost or central bins.

Karma yoga is the best mirror. For ego, I-ness, my-ness. For the way in which everything we do--the smallest acts--have far-reaching, unknowable effects (and I'm talking in this lifetime). Things I learned from karma yoga:
-It is very very difficult to do something selflessly. Not to "do" something selfless, but to do something selflessly.
-When I judge others, I judge from ego. Who am I to know, to say, to judge?
-When someone gives direction or a suggestion about how to do something a better way...listen, try it, thank them. With humility. It probably is a better way.
-Monkeys like compost.

12:00-1:15 Lecture I
For ten days we had chanting
lecture. We chanted.And learned...some stuff about the chants? Not sure. Not very good lectures. Very hard to stay awake. For the next 2.5 weeks, we had Bhaghavad Gita lecture. Lovely! With a little old yogi from Delhi who praised us when we chanted well, gently called us back when we drifted off, sometimes held lecture under a great old mango tree in a corner of the ashram, and clearly knew his subject.

1:15-1:45
Chai part II. Usually much needed at this point, after dozing off in lecture.
Also, headstand workshop (pre-chai), for those of us who couldn't headstand at the start of the course.

2:00-3:45 Lecture II
Swamiji's enthralling, humourous, intoxicating lectures on Vedantic philosophy. Mind-blowing (literally?) Vedanta. I won't butcher it by attempting a summary. By far the most unexpected, pleasant part of the whole TTC. Trust what is elegant.

4:00-6:15 Afternoon Asana Class
Aka, BBC (Bone-Breaking Class). Whereas the morning class was about teaching, the afternoon was for our own practice. We'd settle onto the mats just before 4 with the deepest sense of relief. Minds still reeling from lecture, from the intense day, and now--4:00 class--we'd made it. Release. The homestretch, the good stretch. Just this 2 hours of body work, all downhill to bedtime. Deep deep stretching, and incredible energy throughout the hall, and focus (or laughter, if our giant-hearted teacher was in comedic mode). Always surprised at how deep I was in a posture. Easy depth. Depth in asanas, also savasana, deepest relaxation. Space and light and nothing else.

6:15-6:45 Food
Like the morning meal, but lighter. Fewer dishes, smaller portions,
usually no pulses (only rice and vegetables). With fruit. Ripe juicy pineapple spears. Fuzzy brown-sugar-bomb chicoos, a wedge of tart creamy guava, a handful of glistening ruby pomegranate seeds. This picture is of our Christmas Feast: banana leaves instead of metal trays; twice as many dishes, and pickle, and payasam.

6:45-8:00 Free Time
"Free" meant homework: daily lecture summaries, chant-copying, outlines of beginners' yoga classes. Also chatting, washing clothes, calling home. Excellent instructional videos were aired at this time--on anatomy, nutrition, the lives of Swami Sivananda and Swami Vishnu-Devananda, on the "healing properties of water." I only went to a few (that hour of free time was precious, and lecture summaries had to be finished).

8:00-9:45 Evening Satsang
About half an hour of japa meditation. An hour of chanting and readings. Closing prayers. Prasad.

10:00 Lights out.

Prompt Purification

This is the second of several posts about my experience of the yoga teacher training course at a Sivananda ashram near Madurai. If you haven't yet, please scroll down and read the previous post...or for the whole story as it unfolded, you might go back to late November.

Enjoy the first week, they said, the first week when everything is new and interesting and wonderful. Enjoy because, they warned us, things would start to "come up." Physical symptoms: pain, skin break-outs, illness. Emotional ups and downs. The mind would start to question, to protest, everything about ashram life. They warned us, they said: let it happen. It is good. It is part of the purification process. Week 2; crisis week. Week 3; crisis peaks. Purification.

No need to wait for week 2. Physical purification started the moment I arrived, and--once they said I could stay--I ate it up, swam in it, asked for more.

The caffeine-withdrawal headache hit first. My love affair with coffee began in college with really good cappuccinos, funky cafe tables, intriguing neighbors, and book/notepad at hand. But this near-daily indulgence evolved over the last 3 years into a nasty, mindless habit of 3-4 daily cups of even (blech) questionable dishwater coffee.

No coffee at the ashram.
(We were incredibly lucky to have chai, starting towards the end of week 1. More about chai later.)

Caffeine-purification involved a nauseating, brain-splitting headache pulsating about an inch or two behind my left eye. I spent the first three days slumped over in lectures and even satsang, thumb pressed firmly in the crook between nose and browbone, trying (failing) to breathe it away. Visualizing the chemicals balancing out. And also dreaming of a stream of hot, black, almost syrupy espresso; tan foamy crema swirling on top, hissing steam frothing hot milk....why not place a little square of darkest chocolate, just-so, on the edge of the saucer? Throbbing, then knifing, then throbbing again; burning and pounding and always the left eye.
And on the 4th morning, I woke, and it was gone.
The amazing thing is I was never need-a-coffee-sleepy through this process. Pranayama kicks caffeine's ass. (More about pranayama later).

2nd morning--in the throes of caffeine hell--I had to run out of satsang during closing prayers and kirtan. My empty stomach emptied itself even more, neatly, into the wastebins outside the hall. I wasn't India-stomach ill. Just, maybe, needing to purge a whole bunch of stress and fatigue and negative emotion from the previous few days. Up and out, quick and easy.

By day 3, my knees, back, and hips were starting to go. We sat (i.e., on the floor, cross-legged) 5-7 ours each day; I wasn't even used to sitting at home for daily meditation. They told us to sit comfortably. To move when we needed to; pain will only distract the mind. But there are only so many different positions to sit in, to switch to. Eventually they all became painful. Sharp knives in the knees, and cramping hip flexors, and hot dull knots between the shoulder blades. How many different ways can you fold up a 12" square pillow? I looked with deep envy at some of the other students and staff, more experienced yogis and meditators; their spines long and straight and still; hips relaxed and falling fully open, knees resting on the floor. Squirm, readjust, refold the pillow. Cross legs. "Clear the cheeks" (pull excess flesh from the sitbones). Stretch out the left leg, then the right. Careful! Stretch it sideways, don't point the toes at the altar. Hug knees to chest. Kneel on heels. Kneel on pillow. Back to crossed legs. Give up; slouch the spine and rest elbows on knees. Keep one leg crossed; hug the other knee to the chest. Ooh, chin rest! Switch. Cross and re-cross the legs. Lean back on the elbows. Kneel again. 1 pillow, 2 pillows, 3 pillows...rolled up yoga mat...and the pain only grew.

I'm not sure when it subsided. Just gradually got better. Maybe aided by some serious hip stretching that began in week 2. By better pillow-folding techniques. By growing core strength, and a calmer mind. I can sit for an hour now, more or less in comfort. Lotus, however, is not looking likely. In this life, at least.

Auspiciousness

So where were we...

Friday, Nov. 28 2008. Approximately 32 hours until scheduled departure for long-planned, much-anticipated 4-week trip across North India with co-teachers and friends. Status: exhausted and confused. The Mumbai attacks were still unfolding, I had hardly slept all week, and there was still a classroom to clean, flat to pack up, report cards to finish. And now, the stress of a potentially unsafe journey. To go or not to go? To alter our itinerary? Delay for a few days to see how things progressed? Go on as planned, you only live once?

The phone rang at 7:00 a.m; PiA made the decision for me. No-go. It was a tremendous relief--no choice but to follow orders--and absolutely heartbreaking. Surreal. By 10:00 my friends had discussed, and decided to go. To follow an itinerary I knew by heart; to photograph lands, streets, people I had so looked forward to seeing, and would not. Enough of India. By 11:00 I was stalking unaffordable flights home to Toronto on Kayak . A giant, grey and gloomy NOW WHAT?

12:00, seated at my crew's usual lunch table when a funny thing happened. JL, my yoga teacher here at KIS, joined us. She never eats with us. Hearing the news, she said, "Why don't you just come down with me to Madurai for the yoga TTC (Teacher Training Course)? I'm leaving in the morning."

Instant clarity, instant relief. Yes. YTTC. I want to do that. Want it even more than to go with my friends to Rajasthan, even more than to go home. That is what I've wanted to do for a long time, badly, and not known it.
-Is there room? Will they let me register at such a late date? (Probably. Phew.)
-Is the course too intense? Am I advanced enough? Is this something to enter into without much thought? (Stuff it, don't want to know, I'll do it anyway.)
-Aha, not so fast! How much does it cost? (What?!? Too much. Far, far too much.)
- What's that? An Indian rate? Perhaps also applicable for foreigners living and working (volunteering!) in India?) A glimmer of hope....

JL called the ashram. She was going to work as staff during the TTC, as she's done every December since her own course in 2004. Swamiji said there was room for me. But it was too late to apply for the Indian rate. My only chance was to come to the ashram for the opening ceremony: another Swami, a Sivananda higher-up, would be there for the initiations. He had the authority to grant a scholarship on the spot. But no guarantees.

On Saturday, JL drove her shaky old jeep down the ghat--pause, flat tire--and through steaming, filthy Madurai. I was almost numb with exhaustion when we pulled through the ashram gates in the early afternoon. Lugging bags, sweaty and overdressed for the plains, we walked past a cluster of people chatting on a verandah. "Are you here for the TTC?" one young woman asked brightly. "Uh...not sure yet," I mumbled, hurrying after JL towards reception.

A team of young volunteer staff--brighteyed yogis from all over the world, dressed in yellow kurtas and tees, white trousers--buzzed in and out of recpection. JL explained my situation in more detail. Swamiji asked how long I'd been in India. Only 6 months? Uh-oh. Scholarships were usually only granted to foreigners who'd been in India (i.e., earning Rupees) for years. He said the prospect was dim, but we'd see in the morning.

The next 24 hours are a haze. I remember an intense headache, the heat, sleeping every possible moment, The vague awareness of TTC students arriving, registering, settling into the dorms, meeting each other. Feeling betrayed. Betrayed by a universe I thought had sent along an exceptional, unexpected gift. By the hope that I'd get to do this incredible course. And now prospects were dim, it wouldn't happen.

Sunday morning, wake-up bells rang at 5:30. Morning satsang was a special puja to Ganesha, remover of initial obstacles, to kick off the TTC. After much chanting, we prostrated one by one and made an offering to the Ganesha altar. (I only recall, from this first puja, an intense headache. And resolving to throw myself at Ganesha's feet, if only he might remove this teeny, tiny intital snag of not yet being enrolled in the course). Towards the end, Swamiji announced that everyone was to go to the temple, and wait outside in silence for individual initiations.

Initiations? But I hadn't had the chance yet! To ask. Everyone else was about to be initiated--to get on the bus--and it would pull away, and I wasn't on it. My heart sank; my mind panicked. Give up. It's not going to happen. Call Kody and have someone send a taxi, ASAP. This is too hard already, it hurts too much, before it's even begun, and it won't ever begin. But my physical body, at least, stood up and followed the 67 initiates to the temple.

As an anthropology undergraduate, I studied ritual, initiation rites, communitas. We read, discussed, wrote about how groups bond by going through formalized practices together; how little things like ornamentation, uniforms, order of participation, and of course waiting, uncertainty, liminality, all work to create a sense of transformation and joining together.
I understood these things analytically; had a mild appreciation of what it was like to experience them from various sports-team activities. But that morning--as a phantom observer, not part of the group but wanting to be part, and watching the group while I stood invisible on the periphery--I get the power of ritual, now. Waiting outside the temple, they called people in one by one. Miserably, I sat there, knowing I would not be called, wondering how long I'd have to sit there, to the end, and what then. The newly initiated TTC students emerged at intervals from the temple with bag, books, uniform in one hand; prasad in the other, full tilak on their foreheads. They walked away with purpose, as though they'd been given the next set of instructions. We waited. I plotted my escape, counted the hours until I could turn my back on this thing I couldn't be a part of (an hour more of this. An hour to arrange a ride. 4 hours until a car can get here from Kody...) Finally JL appeared, knelt, whispered: They won't be calling you, so no point sitting here. Go and rest.

I called a friend. She got to work on a taxi. A plan formed. Back to Kody for two days, just to sleep. Then home. Kody-Madurai-Chennai-Toronto. No matter the airfare, no more of this. I packed, got into bed. Might as well sleep for a few hours. Sleep off the piercing headache; stay out of the students' way.

JL shook me awake at 11:00. Let's go, now, she said. We've got to ask him now, he's waiting.
-No, I said. I'm going home. It's not going to happen. I'm so tired, I feel so sick, this isn't right. No.
I'll forever be in JL's debt, for dragging me out of bed, and to the Swami's room, to ask.

He was an imposing man. Tall and broad and stern-faced; of unclear background. European, but with only the hint of an accent to my Canadian ear, and all the ambiguity that comes from spending a long time away. Away in India, in ashrams, in orange robes.
JL and I sat in front of his door; when he emerged, she explained: from Princeton, a volunteer teacher, can't afford full rate, vacation plans ruined by the attacks, really keen yoga student.
Then he turned to me.
-Are you American? (No. Canadian).
-Where in Canada? (Montreal, and Nova Scotia).
-You went to Princeton? (Yes.) On Financial Aid? (Yes. Whoa, who is this guy? He even called it F-Aid. Does he know Princeton?)
-What are your qualifications? (I have a BA. In Anthropology.)
-You're a teacher? (Yes. a volunteer).
He turned away, moved back inside. Paused and looked at me, considering.
-Ok. Just come work for the ashram when you can, someday.
Before I could pick my jaw back up, he was gone, door closed.
JL and I stared at each other in disbelief. Rather, my disbelief. But she was shining. "You see??!" she said, clapping me on the back. "HAVE FAITH."

Swamiji passed us walking back to the dorms. He looked at me, shook his head. His disbelief. "You are a lucky girl." Or maybe his faith. "Lucky, lucky girl. Yooooou'd better make the best of it."

Adjusting

Happy New Year~

I write from Kovalam Beach; 48 hours back in the (apparently) real world and still reeling. After 4 weeks in peaceful, disciplined, sattvic ashram setting, every little thing about life outside is abrasive. My sister and cousin have been waiting here patiently for my course to finish, and it is a joy to see them in India. We are trying to smile over all the little bumps of adjustment--but it's hard to convey exactly how much, of the littlest things, shocks me. (Just as, I imagine, so much of India shocks them but is now normal for me). Speaking before 9 a.m.? Having to choose food from a menu? Clothes strewn on the floor and un-made beds? Exposed bodies and the general, unending noise?

The background tune playing in my head: snatches of all the chants and devotional songs (kirtan), a comforting reminder of the sanctuary I've left, a literal bit of energy carried from there to here.

It's going to take awhile to make sense of the past month; of the events leading up to it and of where to carry it from here. I know at least that my experience of ashram life, and the Yoga teacher training course, were completely transformational--transformed to what, time will tell.

I am going to post themed installments over the next 2 weeks, beginning with "Auspiciousness," a reflection on the Mumbai attacks and my arrival at the ashram. Please check back in, and have a peaceful New Year.

Om Namah Sivaya.

LUNGS

Today was our day off. Saturday. "Off" meaning we rose for satsang at 5:30, did two yoga classes at 8:00 and 4:00, and will have satsang again at 8:00. (Off: no lectures....the knees and hips rejoice; that's only 3 hours of sitting today instead of 6!) 4 hours of free time in the middle of the day was absolutely overwhelming--too much choice, what to do--and I am looking forward to week two beginning tomorrow.

I chose not to go into Madurai. I don't think I'll leave the ashram until I have to. So...this post is probably it until January; the ashram internet connection is too slow. Sorry, folks, I'm very happily on retreat. The experience will be described in detail, here, next month.

In the meantime...Merry christmas, Happy New Year, Om Namah Sivaya.

Om Namah Sivaya

I'm in.
It's been one hell of a few days and I have rarely felt this emotionally, physically, mentally tired.
Not exactly the state in which one wants to begin such an intensive program...but it truly seems like the universe was sending messages along the lines of: the time is NOW.
Swami Govinanda calls me "lucky girl" and shakes his head in disbelief every time he sees me. I'll tell you why on Friday, our day off, when I'm heading into Madurai for a decent internet connection.

In the meantime...please drink a glass of red wine, several espressos, and eat a steak for me.

A la prochaine...