Finding time in my day for God

I wear a mala of rudraksha beads. When I put them on, I pray that my mind will be quiet, my lips guarded, and my heart open - so that I will find God everywhere in my day.

But on all too many days, that and grace before meals (in Sanskrit. I like that.) pretty much comprise my formal practice. Not enough time for reading, or puja, or sitting quietly in meditation and prayer.

Even blogging here can be a form of practice for me... my posts from 2007 include both my travels to India and my thoughts and feelings about Hinduism. If I start posting regularly on the latter, that would be a good first step.

The spiritual part of me is not being nourished. I need to work on that. In the 1980s, I found myself (to my great surprise) sitting in the presence of God, after a long, long time of estrangement from that Presence. That was the most important thing that had ever happened to me, and I decided that I really needed to pay attention to that - so I resigned from my high tech job and went off to Divinity School to study and pray for a couple of years. That was the right thing to have done, and I have never regretted it. Now... I do not need to make a dramatic change like dropping everything... but being in that Presence is still the most important thing in my life, and I need to pay more attention to that.

SYDA Yoga - the (mostly) good parts

In 1988, my friend Prajna introduced me to SYDA Yoga (aka Siddha Yoga), the tradition founded by Baba Muktananda based on teachings from his guru, Nityananda. By the late 1980s, Baba had taken samadhi, and SYDA Yoga was led by Gurumayi Chidvilasananda. As I began attending programs at the Boston Ashram, I was strongly attracted to the practice. Much of the focus was on chanting, which I love... also meditation, and what might be considered academic study, and only a tangential interest in hatha yoga. I began to learn the chants... the Guru Gita, the Shiva Arati, Jyota se Jyota, and all of the call-response chants. I was in the ashram most Sunday mornings for the Guru Gita -- and when I traveled, I took a chanting book and a tape with me. Chanting the Gita by the ocean was a special joy for me.

I also attended many programs in South Fallsburg, the US home of SYDA Yoga. At that time, SYDA Yoga was huge and growing, due to Baba's strong foundation of the community, and Gurumayi's charisma. The ashram in Fallsburg consisted of the original ashram plus several adjacent hotels. I would stay in one of the hotels - sometimes alone, sometimes with my friend Jennifer or my friend Prajna. I would rise around 4 to take a shuttle bus to the main ashram for Arati and the Guru Gita, then breakfast. The ashram encouraged all devotees to perform seva -- selfless service - from 9-noon and 1-5 -- I was not willing to work quite that much, so would schedule some seva but also some down time for relaxation and meditation. When Gurumayi was there (rather than traveling or staying at the ashram in Ganeshpuri, north of Mumbai), literally thousands of devotees would be at the ashram on a summer weekend. In the evenings, there would be a chant, a dharma talk, then hours of darshan, when devotees waited in line for the opportunity to bow at Gurumayi's feet.

I attended meditation intensives, a wonderful course on Kashmir Shaivism, and many weekend programs. Attire for women was Indian formal - the evening programs were filled with women in gorgeous gold-trimmed saris. Attire for the temple was either a sari or at least salwaar kameez.

The practices felt like coming home. The single-point focus on the guru... not so much. In the temple, the primary murti was not Shiva, but Nityananda. When the folks chanted the Guru Gita, many of them had small photographs of Gurumayi in their chanting books. The best way I can explain this -- I saw the Guru as the stained glass, not as the light. Baba's writings made sense to me. Gurumayi's writings and her dharma talks made *much* sense to me. But I felt that they were teachers, showing the way to God... and it seemed that for many, the gurus were themselves the object of devotion.

This did not really impact my practice.... it was just a point of interest for me, and "You pray your way, I will pray my way."

Every practice ends with Sadgurunath Maharaj ki Jai -- loosely -- Life/Victory/Praise to the True Guru -- when I chant that, I see Mahadev in His ring of fire... but I think that is not the perception of the majority of SYDA Yoga practitioners.

Hanumanji

What a perfectly lovely way to spend an hour... chanting the Hanuman Chalisa with friends at my friend Prajna's house. Blissful.

Hanuman is the hero of the Ramayana, the Indian epic which tells the story of Rama and Sita. The matchbook cover version of that story: Rama loses his throne and is banished; his wife Sita is kidnapped to Lanka by the demon-king Ravana; Rama, his brother Lakshman, and an army head for Lanka to rescue her. Hanuman plays a pivotal role in the story - he flies ahead to Lanka with Rama's ring to tell Sita that help is on the way. With his tale ablaze, he sets Lanka on fire. When herbs are needed for healing, he flies to the mountain to the the herbs... and brings back the entire mountain. Many of the images of Hanuman show him flying, carrying the mountain back to Rama. After Rama rescues Sita, they all return to Ayodhya. (Fair warning -- the story does not have a happy ending... )

Hanuman is the perfect servant of God... living only to serve Ram.

Some of my favorite Hanuman things...

The Hanuman Chalisa, available on many chant CDs. (Particularly recommend Flow of Grace by Krishna Das)

"Where did you get that ring?" Delightful contemporary song about Hanuman - on Flow of Grace, and also on other Krishna Das CDs.

Hanuman's Tales -- fascinating book of His stories.

I have a lovely batik of Hanuman, which I think I found in Benares.

Hanuman is just... sweetness. Hanging out with him, reading about him, chanting about him -- bliss.

Factoid about India

India is approximately one-third the size of the United States.

300 million people live in the US.

India has 1.2B people -- four times as many people in 1/3 the area.

Hmmmm. No wonder it seems crowded there....

Returning to India -- 2001

I live in Massachusetts, but I spent about a year working three or four days each week as a project manager on a large customer engagement in Charlotte, NC. I decided to focus the air travel on Delta -- and at the end of that gig, I had quite an impressive collection of SkyMiles. So for our next trip to India, we used SkyMiles to purchase two business class seats. Delta flies to Mumbai from Kennedy, via Paris... so we started in Boston with a short hop from Logan to Kennedy. Arrived at the airport way, way early, as is our custom. If memory serves, we were scheduled for about a two hour wait between flights once we arrived at Kennedy. Our Boston flight was late... and later... and later. There was barely controlled pandemonium at the gate, since it seemed that just about every traveler was taking that flight only to make some complicated international connection out of Kennedy.... and now all of those connections were in jeopardy. We waited in the line to talk to the agent.... but it was pretty clear that our flight from Boston to NY was not going to arrive in time for us to make our connection to Paris. So, being calm and reasonable sorts of travelers, we returned to our comfy plastic chairs to see when/if we would make it to NY, and just figured that we would figure it out from there.. probably spending the night near Kennedy, and going into NYC for a while the next day until it was time to go to Paris. Then a voice above the melee called my name - and there was an agent, beckoning us urgently to the desk. She asked if we would be willing to fly Air France to Paris instead of Delta to NY to Paris, connecting in Paris with our originally scheduled flight. Sure! You bet! Absolutely! The Air France flight was in a different wing of the airport, and was leaving immediately. Our agent zipped us up to the main ticketing desk, where another (very, very confused) agent could not understand why we were switching, where we were switching... and the minutes were ticking by. Finally our first agent managed to get it straightened out... and then zoomed us through security (again), and we literally ran up to the gate for the Air France flight which was at that point being held for us. We entered the plane and the door slammed shut behind us.

We figured that our business class seats were a memory... but were happily surprised to be seated in business class on the Air France flight. Now we knew that our luggage was on the flight to NY, and that we were now luggage-less.... but we were prepared for a luggage emergency, and had toiletries and some clothing in our carry-ons. No problem at all.

Six or so hours later, we're at Charles de Gaulle, several hours ahead of our original flight from NY. I checked with ticketing, explaining the whole story... that we were NOT on the flight we were supposed to be on from NY, but would need to join that same flight when it left Paris for Mumbai. No problem, they said. I checked several times, with different people. Each told me No Problem. When our flight to Mumbai was called, we joined the pushing crowd ready to board the plane. Got all the way up to the desk... and then (imagine my surprise... ) were told that we were not on the manifest from NY. Went through the story two or three more times... and then mirabile dictu, we boarded the plane and again, our business class seats were available.

Another uneventful flight, and we landed in Mumbai. Now we *knew* that we had no luggage. We also knew that we had a flight to Jaipur the following morning which would need to be rescheduled, since our luggage would not arrive until the following night. As we deplaned, a Delta guy was looking for us. He was full of apologies for our missing luggage... I mean, this man was just abjectly apologetic about the situation. This was intriguing and amusing, since we had no idea that anyone would even *care* about our luggage problem! He walked us over to Air India, and explained that we needed to move our flight out one day... the Air India agent gave us (I kid you not) a *note* to bring back with us. (Ha, we said, as if THAT has any chance of working!!!!) Our friendly Delta guy booked us a reservation at a lovely hotel near the airport, and saw us to a cab. The surprising part of Delta's extraordinary customer service - these tickets had cost us nothing, we were flying all on miles.

We spent the next day sleeping a bit, and also hired a car to drive us around Mumbai just so that we could see where we were. At midnight I returned to the airport (no one seems to know why all flights in and out of India are between midnight at 3AM), and with only a minor scuffle with security (who did not want to let me in to get my luggage, since I did not have a ticket for that day... sigh.... but we straightened that out), was able to find our luggage and return to the hotel.

Quite an adventure. The next day... back to the airport, with our luggage and with our note from the night we arrived.... and to our great relief, the agent took the note, and with no difficulty, turned our note into two tickets.... and we were off to Jaipur.

Benares - 1998

I had been thinking about another trip to India in 1998 or 1999. When my partner and I decided to have a commitment ceremony in 1998, we planned that trip to India together. (At the time, I was unaware that this was her first vacation of more than one week, and also her first time out of the country.... nothing like a couple of weeks in *India* for your maiden voyage... )

I had loved Benares, and decided to take April to Delhi, Benares, and Agra - pretty much the same route as my first trip in 1996. We gatewayed into Delhi, then flew to Benares the following day. Took a cab to our hotel. At the hotel, waiting for us... my driver from the first trip, Prakash. We had corresponded only a few times over the intervening years, but were very happy and excited to meet again.

That hotel was not a happy experience -- the room smelled terribly of mold/mildew, and it was obvious that we would not be able to stay there. So the next morning we sallied forth in Prakash's autorickshaw, in search of a hotel down near the Ganges. Looked at a couple of places which would not have worked for us. Then tried a hotel way downriver at Assi Ghat - the Hotel Temple on Ganges at Assi Ghat. Pretty close to perfect. We booked a room -- view of the Ganges, Indian style bathroom (*that* was a challenge), very clean. Prakash let it be known that he was not at all happy with this decision, and I was never able to get him to articulate *why* he objected to that particular hotel. Most mornings I got up very early, and from our little balcony, watched the sun rising over the Ganga. (This is a very blissful thing to be doing, if you're me.) The hotel had a very basic little restaurant... just a couple of tables for guests of the the hotel. But we could get breakfast there, which was good.

The great cricket infestation... one day we woke up, and there were crickets pretty much everywhere .... an unbelievable number of crickets. This lasted about three days, and then they vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

Diwali came... and we went shopping. The shopwallas were VERY excited to have us in the shops on Diwali, since we were thought to bring good luck. Each would offer us a sweet - sweets which had in most cases been sitting out on a plate, open to dust and flies and whatever. And we would smile and accept the sweet. Our mantra became "Don't think about it... just eat it." Over that week, the mantra was generalized to "Don't think about it... just do it."

I particularly appreciated my connection with Prakash on Diwali -- it was lovely to take gifts out to his family on the holiday. I had brought a watch for him, and backpacks filled with school materials for his kids, and cosmetics for his wife. Prakash's sister-in-law had just had a baby boy -- they handed me that baby and asked me to name him. (! ! !, I thought.) I named him Amrit - "nectar" -- which made them all beam. I have a picture of me holding this tiny infant, standing in front of Prakash's doorway. I know now that Indian kids have many names, and this was mostly a gesture they family was making to honor me... but I still got a kick out of the experience.

We bought sparklers, and that evening we went to the courtyard outside the hotel and had a great time sharing the sparklers with some of the children who lived in the courtyard.

Pilgrims flock to the gold-domed Visvanath Temple around Diwali, and I wanted to join them. Non-Hindus are not allowed in the temple. (This is true in many of the Hindu temples in India.) So April and I found the LONG line of devotees, and got into line. Within minutes, a soldier came over to me and gestured me out of line, since this line was only for Hindus. Pretty much exhausting my Hindi, I told him Nahin, mai(n) Hindu hun(g).... "No, I am Hindu." He insisted. I insisted. He looked more than a little puzzled, but finally backed off. A few minutes later, we repeated the experience. And again. And again. After the Nth time, a middle aged Indian man in front of me in the line took up my cause... and each time a soldier/guard tried to remove me from the line, he told them in fluent Hindi that I should stay there, because I really was a Hindu. I thanked him many times! April stayed with me for a long time, but she does not consider herself Hindu... so after a while, we agreed on a meeting place and she left the line. She took my shoes and hers with her... and remember the crickets? I was walking barefoot on a veritable carpet of crickets. (Don't think about it.. just keep walking.)

Finally we entered the temple grounds, winding our way through a series of alleys. I was happy to note that the soldier guards were gone by then, so I was not hassled in the line! We came into the temple, and each devotee had just a few seconds in front of the sanctum, where priests were worshipping the Shiva lingam. I stood there for my few seconds, awestruck... and then one of the priests pointed to the rudrasksha mala I was wearing around my neck (sort of a Hindu rosary... one says mantra on the 108 beads, and I have worn those beads since the 1980s), and gestured that I should hand it to him. I did... and he blessed it by wrapping it around the lingam, and then returned it to me.

I walked out of the temple with two primary feelings - I was totally blissful, and I was utterly lost. I had *no* idea how to get to my meeting place with April. My lovely defender and guardian from the long waiting line saw me standing there in bliss and befuddlement, and asked in Hindi where I was going -- I gave him the name of the place in the local market - and he (may God bless him *very* much for his ongoing kindness to me!) took me briskly through a snarl of walkways and alleys and tiny streets... and delivered me right to April at our meeting place.

That day remains one of my most precious memories of India.

Agra and Fatepuhr Sikri

From Varanasi, back to Delhi. I traveled to Agra by train - a one day trip. This turned out to have been *way* too much for one day!!! The train ride was uneventful, as are most Indian train trips. Again, my name was right where it was supposed to be on the printed list. Was met by a driver in Agra, and we went to the Taj. We have all seen the pictures - over and over and over again - but I was still a bit overwhelmed by the reality of being there. I was perfectly happy to sit at the side for a long time and just be there... watching the people. This was my first experience of Indian families wanting to take my picture, which has now happened to me a number of times. First, someone comes up looking almost beseechingly and gesturing to their camera, indicating that they want to take a picture. I am confused as to *why* they might want to do that, but I agree... and then from nowhere the entire family appears and jumps to my side so that we can all have our picture taken together. It's a very strange phenomenon. I suspect that "this is my American friend" happens with some of those pictures!

In the afternoon, we drove to Fatepuhr Sikri, an ancient and deserted city. I'm usually not so much for old archeological stuff, but actually found this fascinating.

Then back to Agra. By then it was very late in the afternoon, and I was just exhausted. The driver turned on the charm, wanting to take me to his uncle's shop or factory or whatever. I declined. He insisted. I declined. He insisted some more. If memory serves, I was only able to end that scene by being pretty harsh with him. He dropped me at one of the nicer Western-style hotels, where I sat in the lobby for an hour or two until train time - and actually fell asleep sitting up. (This was more than unusual behaviour for me - I was *really* tired.) Then back to Delhi. The train part was fine - but it would have been worth paying for two hotels for one night - ie leaving most of my stuff in Delhi and just taking an overnight bag to Agra. Just way too much for one day!

In Delhi, spent a lot of time walking around Connaught Place. I was just so happy to be in India... it did not even matter much what I actually did, which placed I actually visited. It was just lovely being there.

From Delhi back to Boston, with a heart filled with Indian memories.