20 Feb My Meditation Experience: A Life Changing Cliche

Taking the Leap

In February 2018, I finally got up the courage to travel to India alone. I sat in the Seattle airport wondering what I had done – what impetuous decision I had made this time. As an experienced traveler, I rarely felt scared about going places. However, as I leafed through the dictionary sized India Lonely Planet, the sheer volume of my destination was daunting. I was on my way and I didn’t have a concrete plan, other than “get to the ashram”. I stuffed the guidebook back into my pack and fiddled around on my phone instead.

My memory of the multi-flight trip is foggy. It was very long. Veryyyy long – and Chinese security is no joke. Those are the standout details – until…. landing in Delhi. As the seatbelt lights pinged and passengers started to inhabit their bodies again, my sense of excitement grew. I shuffled towards the door, keen for fresh air after two days of vacuum-sealed, recycled oxygen. Three steps out of the hatch, the scent of incense hit me like a brick wall. I made my way up the ramp smiling to myself. India smells like a headshop. Of course. This is perfect already.

Sleep-deprived and bracing myself for the bustle of a third-world airport, I wafted towards the exit with the fragrance and the crowds, looking for a sign with my name on it. I was greeted by a portly, grinning Indian man. He hurriedly took my bag and ushered me through the taxi driver’s mayhem, towards a parking garage. I noted my naive trust in getting into a stranger’s four-door jalopy, his dashboard overflowing with deities. Then, I decided that there was very little I could do about anything at this point.

From Delhi to Rishikesh

We sped along a narrow highway for hours, radio music softly playing while malas and dancing gods clinked along with us, nothing short of a Bollywood cliche. My late night/early morning arrival meant it was dark. Potholes, cows, and oncoming traffic appeared like ghosts out of nowhere, resulting in breathtaking swerves, honking, and potentially fatal games of chicken. Despite exhaustion, my eyes remained fixated on the road – the experience was thrilling in the most horrifying of ways. I was in India.

We stopped at a roadside shack known for its chai and snacks so my taxi driver could refuel himself. Again, questioning my personal safety, I remained in the car while the sun slowly started to creep into the sky. Daylight. Nearing Rishikesh, my driver pointed out the Ganges, notable statues and shrines, the largest ashram in Rishikesh… my eyelids drifted towards sleep, wondering when we would arrive. Finally, after twists and turns up the Himalayan foothills and then more twists and turns down streets and alleyways, we came to a dead-end and a colorfully painted sign labeled Anand Prakash Ashram.

Learning to Meditate

I sat out the first day of activities in favor of rest. For the few days following my arrival, jet lag meant that I briefly became a morning person. I arose easily for the 5am meditation bell. The ashram was full of yoga-teacher-trainees which meant that several others and I were put up in nearby accommodation. Each morning, along with my roommate, I made a silent pilgrimage through the chilly torrent of valley winds, from my apartment to the meditation hall. I tried not to be disappointed about the cold weather. Coming from Northwest winter, I was desperate for heat and sun – which would arrive later in the day. It turns out that February in the Himalayas means high-speed early morning winds, socks, and blankets. Apparently, the winds revitalize the energy of the valley, so complaining about it felt decidedly unenlightened.

This was my first experience in an ashram. My former South African yoga teacher, Christine, and her husband, Howard, were guest teaching. I always wanted to go on their India trip offered by the yoga studio so I thought this was a good opportunity to meet up. I also needed some point of reference to make myself feel safe. “Knowing people” made my trip seem less precarious. I also felt low on energy, broken-hearted, and lost in my own life. My normally adventurous spirit craved some extra support.

I am a dedicated human. Though the jet lag wore off and rising at 5am became a challenge, I kept showing up. I didn’t know what else to do. After practicing yoga on and off for twenty years, the asana practice was an easy and welcome refuge to me. Meditation, on the other hand, was some kind of obscure torture. I had meditated before, ever-so-briefly, in yoga class. This experience did not prepare me for sitting in a mediation hall with twenty other people, coughing, sneezing, breathing – winds howling – my mind relentlessly ambushing me with an onslaught of thoughts and memories for one whole hour, every day, for three weeks. I was restless, irritable, and deflated almost every single morning after meditation. Clearly, I was doing it wrong.

I mentioned my frustrations to Howard (also a yoga and tai-chi practitioner). He commended me for sticking with the practice, imparting that despite my lack of quietude, ‘sitting’ was still a valuable practice. Despite the mental chatter, meditating still gives our brains a chance to process our thoughts, experiences, and emotions. He gently encouraged me not to give up. Howard did not go into great detail explaining meditation or the multitude of benefits it offers. Our conversation was probably no longer than ten minutes. It was his Presence that was evidence enough for me to carry on. If I could possess even a modicum of the equanimity he and Christine embodied, it was worth continuing to try.

Back in the Real World

When I left the ashram three weeks later, I had not learned to still my mind. I felt much lighter, much freer, and had an unshakeable sense of strength and wellbeing – but meditation was not my friend. So, I stopped doing it. I visited another ashram briefly. The facilities were massive, and they were more focused on preparing for the international yoga festival than offering meaningful classes for the current visitors. I was off the hook.

I curtailed my stay there and took a bus to Delhi (which broke down) and from there, a taxi to the Taj Mahal. In this time, I came down with a very bad chest cold from all of the pollution and movement. I didn’t feel so blessed anymore. My clarity was gone. I was tired, sick, and I wished I had a travel companion. I also noticed a sort of emptiness within, a detachment from myself.

By the time I reached Udaipur, I realized that part of my lowness was likely because I’d moved from weeks of routine spiritual and physical practice, into chaos. My body and my mind yearned for more practice. I had a travel yoga mat with me but busting out a full asana routine in the middle of the pristine hostel seemed inappropriate. Instead, I went to the roof which overlooked the beautiful Lake –––– . There I sat in a chair and closed my eyes. I rested like this until a fellow traveler clamored onto the roof to take in the sunset.

This was the first time my mind was quiet. It was also the beginning of what has now been a four-year-long meditation practice. Some days are noisy. Some days are quiet. Occasionally I slack. Once in a while, the cat sits in my lap. However, I always know where, and what, to come back to. Which, gives me a little bit of the equanimity and love that I went to India seeking – only to now I know that it’s right here, now.