India: Opening Ceremony
I have been in India for 5 days and have experienced things I have only dreamed about, seen in movies, or read in books. I have also caught a cold… something I did not expect, but will take over catching Delhi Belly any day. My first few days were filled with adventures, breaking through fear and moving through challenges, but now the spiritual awakening was set to begin. I knew coming here that I had much to work on, but it wasn’t until our opening ceremony that I realized just how much healing I craved. I had already shattered long-held fears and the yoga hadn’t even started, so to say that I was filled with excited/nervous anticipation is the understatement of the century.
Yogi Chetan Mahesh founder of AYM and my Guru Ji (esteemed teacher), along with a ceremonial guide, lead us through a ritual that not only welcomed each of us as physical individuals, but also invited us into India on an energetic level. But first, I had to dress the part:
White is a very sacred color here . . . you don’t see many people wearing it in town, largely because in India it has a much more somber representation that it does in the West. In the US it is almost a status symbol of everything desirable. Here, it is largely worn by widows and for ceremonial purposes. It is the color of peace and purity and symbolizes a disconnection from the pleasures and luxuries of normal participation in society and life. Wearing white for our ritual was a physical representation of the spiritual journey we were all about to embark upon, and a sign that we are disconnecting from earthly desires to turn inward towards our truest self.
Because I had not brought anything suitable yesterday I ventured back into town to make my purchase, a process that was relatively pain-free thanks to the previous days of shopping, bartering and price examining. I walked around the village searching for the “perfect” garb for me (a very western-idea that even our clothes could/should be perfect) and eventually found a small boutique with an entire section of white. The funeral section. The owner, a small older man- probably mid-fifties or early sixties- with a thick bead which he had painted orange making him look like an Indian Leprechaun had thick gold rings on 4 out of his 10 fingers. He looked at me confused when I presented my intent and instructed me that green and yellow would be much better colors for a pretty girl like me. I appreciated his advice but insisted that white was what I needed and that I would return for a more vibrant purchase another day. He smiled and agreed to our pact of future shopping, taking his best white garments off of the wall for me to inspect. He was so proud of the hand stitching his mother had done and quoted me 600 rupees for the top, 400 for the pants. Having spent the past few days watching the local Indian women negotiate with storeowners (one of my favorite pastimes here, these ladies know how to haggle!) I realized that he was a very good salesman and was trying to overcharge me; something that can happen easily if you are not paying attention or are too quick to say how beautiful something is. Nice try! I told him that it was too much and that I would leave to go to his competitor next door, who was already watching me like a hawk waiting for me to step out unhappy so he could sell me what his neighbor could not.
I took 2 steps toward the exit and the orange-bearded salesman exclaimed “wait wait miss… 600 for both, but no lower. It is hand stitched.” I took out my currency calculator and typed in the numbers: $9 total….SOLD! He packaged up my items and asked me if I had been to India before. When I told him it was my first time he started to roar with laughter. I was so confused I literally took a step back thinking I had done something unintentionally amusing. I asked him what was so funny and told me in broken English that he assumed I had been to India many times, “most of the west does not argue with price…only those in India”. I began to feel my cheeks grow red and lift to the sides of my temples with joy and began to laugh with him. I was mistaken for an experienced Indian traveler. This made my day and I assured him that I would be back soon to haggle some more. He waved to me as I left, his neighbor storeowner gazing at me disapprovingly, and I made my way back to the Ashram.
Back in room 309 I put on my clothes and felt as if I had begun the process of submerging myself fully into Indian culture. I was still overjoyed from yesterday’s experience of the shop owner assuming I had been in India for longer than I actually had been. The clothes were fabulous: light, airy, and so comfortable they felt better than pajamas. I had assumed that they would itch because my delicate skin was so used to the fabrics of Teeki pants and Lululemon bras, but I was astonished when I realized they actually felt more comfortable than the restricting clothes commonly sold in the US. I could move so freely and take a full deep breath! The final item needed, my favorite accessory to put on here… a Bindi; a little jewel you wear in-between and just above your eyebrows (something that started in ancient times, but has largely lost its significance and is now commonly worn as a stylish feature). There are no mirrors in the ashram except for a small one in the bathroom above the sink that had obviously seen many reflections in its time, so I opted for the ultimate iPhone selfie to make sure that everything was fitting nicely and that I looked the part. I must say, I LOVED how I looked and how the clothes made me feel. It was as if I was meant to wear these my whole life!
I walked up the steps to the roof where our 500Hour group celebration was set to take place. When I arrived the entire upper floor seemed to be transformed. Gone were the plastic chairs and strands of laundry hanging to dry, and in their place was a sea of gold, orange, yellow and red marigolds. It looked magical. In the center of the covered roof deck was a large metal box filled with the ashes of previous ceremonies, surrounded by mats where an older woman was seated breaking sticks and branches into smaller pieces. She was beautiful in the way only someone who has lived a full life can be beautiful. Her wrinkled skin showed evidence of thousands of smiles and a few frowns in her time. Her hands were delicate but strong as she broke each branch one at a time, in no obvious rush to get anything done, radiating calm and peace with every motion. Her yellow/green shirt hugged her body as the blue and silver shall tenderly fell over her shoulders and around her waist. I watched her for a while, mesmerized by each loud ‘crack’ of a twig.
All of a sudden the rest of my classmates began to appear from the stairwell one at a time. There are 10 of us total, all from different backgrounds, races, religions and countries, here for the same purpose. That is the amazing thing about yoga… it translates quite literally to union, and it’s unifying effect could clearly been seen in the varied faces of our group.
Placed beside the fire pit were a plethora of items: a small container of rice, a pile of red powder, incense, 2 metal cups: one filled with water another filled with ghee, a powdery mix of spices, almonds, and unshelled rice, and of course more marigolds broken up into smaller pieces. I was fascinated by all of the details and could only make uneducated guesses about what they could possibly be used for. As I was attempting to make my suppositions Guru Ji sat down and instructed us all to do the same so we could begin. As soon as we were all settled he gently introduced himself and his ceremonial partner who was brought in special for these moments. What I love about my Guru Ji is that he doesn’t claim to be anything more than what he is. “I am not an expert in cleansing rituals, and this is why we bring in someone who is.” he informed us all. I was so excited I felt like a kid on Christmas morning staring at her present, and I must have looked it too. I could feel my cheeks rising higher and higher into the biggest smile my face could assemble.
Here is what was said (as best as I can remember) ‘We are all composed of all elements: earth, air, fire, water. As time goes on we can become out of balance with each element and how they work together which can cause disease and even depression. We need all elements working with one another to remain in a state of peace. If we find ourselves out of balance we can help bring ourselves back into harmony through ceremonies such as this, which puts each of the elements back inside of us through the smoke of the fire. We do this outside because nature is one of the greatest healers we have. We all come from nature, but life has taken most of us away from the source. To heal we must come back home and then we will find spiritual growth.’ Hearing Mahesh talk was like watching someone pour buckets of jewels out in front of me. I was hanging on to each glittering word completely encompassed in the moment.
The trees surrounding us were in a gentle dance with the breeze, the sky had opened up to a pristine blue, and our neighbor (a happy beige cow) was singing his song by the rushing stream. It didn’t feel real. “I must be dreaming,” I thought. Even my head felt dizzy in the most wonderful way, almost like the feeling of falling in love… but maybe that part was actually because of the sandalwood incense heavily perfuming the air.
Chanting began, but not like the chanting I heard at yoga conferences in California, this was a deep chant that sounded like the most amazing music being played live in front of us. Envision, if you will, that you had John Lennon playing an acoustic version of Imagine just for you and you might begin to understand how amazing this moment felt.
Even though there were no instruments the voices of the guide, Mahesh Ji and Mama Ji (the old woman) filled the valley with their song. I was spellbound. Mahesh Ji began to light the mango wood that Mama Ji had broken and stacked so elegantly in the fire pit with a match, a bit of the ghee and a small cotton ball as our guide began to walk around the fire with the cup of water. He first approached Guru Ji and poured some water into his hand, which Mahesh dumped out, only to have his palm filled with water once again by the guide. This time he drank it. (OH SHIT… WHAT TYPE OF WATER WERE WE BEING GIVEN?!?!!) Its sad to know that this was the first thought that flashed through my mind as I came to realize that I was going to be expected to do the same as my mentor, but I promised to be honest about this experience and it must be noted that I was still (and still am) holding onto a safe amount of Delhi Belly fear. One by one the guide came around, put water into someone’s palm, waited for them to dump it out, and then repeated the process. Crap… its my turn. I held out my hand and he poured the clear water into my palm which I quickly discarded onto the floor (easy part done) I returned my hand out to where it was and he filled it again I brought it up to my lips and took one VERY. BRAVE. SIP. It was cool and delightful as it trickled down my throat. If I were going to get sick, this would be worth it.
After the water ceremony a handful of marigold pieces were distributed to each of us. We were instructed to set our intention for the next six weeks while holding the flowers in our palms. “Knowing your intention will help keep you focused and strong. When you are fatigued you can call upon this focus to bring you energy. Now repeat in your head what you are looking for” Guru Ji informed us. I held the soft petals in my hand and repeated my intention three times: to heal. To heal TO HEAL. The guide collected our flowers and began to pass around the spice mixture. The fire was HOT by this point and even though it was 80 degrees out, it was not at all uncomfortable. This made me take a deep sigh because back home heat was a spark for rough panic attacks. No longer would heat be my trigger; now I could think back to this day every time my body felt a rush of hot air on my skin and know I am safe.
We all took the spices, holding it strategically between the thumb, middle and ring fingers. The chanting began again . . . which I later learned was actually mantras being repeated to remove disease or negativity. I also learned that when you ask something from God (in this case Gods) using the Swaha mantra you have to sacrifice something, this is where the spices and ghee come into play. The mantra repeated itself and every time Guru Ji and our Spiritual Guide said “Swaha” we were to toss our spices into the fire requesting blessings and empowerment from our higher power. After the second round I found my rhythm tossing the spices into the golden flames at precisely the right time. I think being the wife of a musician has helped me to hear patterns more clearly because by the fourth cycle I was actually able to chant along for part of it, albeit not very well.
Suddenly the chanting stopped and a different mantra began, this time only our guide was audible. He took the red powder and combined it with water to make a paste. As he moved around he took a moment and paused at each one of us, taking a bit of the paste onto his finger and pressing it onto our foreheads creating a beautiful red dot. Finally, he took the rice cup, dipped his finger inside and placed a few grains onto the still moist dot on my forehead. Guru Ji was following behind him placing a garland of marigolds around each student welcoming us home. When he got to me I gently bowed my head in thanks. As I lifted my gaze our eyes met and I knew that the next six weeks were going to be filled with opportunities to learn, grow and heal. I was home. I was ready. It had begun.