A Reflection: No Mirror Required (2)

(The whole reflection, here)
Five years ago today, I was hospitalized for anorexia. Today, I am in India, studying yoga and Ayurvedic healing with the dream of one day using a holistic approach to help others suffering with eating disorders.

Eating Disorders (EDs) are, at the core, a severe disconnection from one's spirit and from the web of connection that forms this universe. It is a split between mind and body that manifests itself in some of the most extreme forms of self destruction from starvation to purgation, seesaw patterns of the two and everything in between. A person active in ED is not in his/her body, and is absorbed into a deranged mind, lacking a sense of aliveness. The protocol for ED treatment in the US is mostly from the perspective of weight gain with some counseling sprinkled on top. Even with nutrition as its basis, ED treatment is still amazingly mechanistic in it's philosophy, placing the highest value on calorie consumption and ratio of macronutrients; with no concern for the severely reduced digestive fire (agni, in Ayurveda, or capacity for digestion), a person's nature (prakriti, or dosha, or you could even say their preferences), or an individual's particular proclivities for disease (in a body that is under as much stress as an ED patient's body, these weaknesses and imbalances may become even more extreme, causing more stress and making it that much more difficult to enter into recovery).

Whatever counseling is present, either in the form of group or individual therapy, there is often no recognition given to the relationship between mind, body, and spirit. I understand that the word "spirit," is touchy in the States, what with freedom of religion and all, but I can't help but be frustrated when a therapist's number one priority is to help a patient heal, and they give no mention or concern for the patient's spiritual health (and I mean "spiritual," in the least dogmatic sense possible- really.)

Recognition of one's embeddedness in community; in the universe, has incredible healing capacity. When we remember and truly feel our connections to family and to nature, we are intrinsically more in sync with the patterns and rhythms around us, with the flow of energy within us, and with the sense that, "I am alive, and I deserve to be alive."

I started practicing yoga-asana shortly after my 2-month stay in the hospital, and the movement of my body, and the freedom of my breath, also enabled me to heal my spirit; little by little, these practices have continued to give me the lessons and the opportunity to grow, to heal and to live. I have re-entered my body, I cleanse my mind, and allow my spirit to flourish. Every day, I recover. Every day, I am amazed at how far I have come. Every day, I am so excited (and sure, sometimes afraid) about how far I have to go.

Here's an emerging incredible and honest online support structure and community for healing and recovery from disordered eating. Strengthen this community for support, be nourished.

peace, love, and strength to those who are suffering, have suffered, or know someone with ED.

What's Your Dosha, Baby?

Yoga is considered to be the science of self-realization. Ayurveda is the ancient science, translated from Sanskrit as "life-knowledge," the science of life, or self-healing. Yoga is the tradition of ancient yogis for purifying the  body and preparing the mind for meditation. Ayurveda is said to have been the knowledge of the gods and was passed down orally until the time came on Earth when negativity dominated, crimes abounded and health was nearly nowhere to be found. Many rishis, or sages, prayed to and/or approached (depending on the account you hear or read) Lord Indra for help in relieving the suffering on Earth. This was when the knowledge was recorded in text form. The two sciences of self-healing and self-realization are dependent upon each other. How can you  heal something you don't know, and how can you truly realize yourself or your potential without the knowledge to heal yourself?

I've reached the half-way point in my month-long intensive course of Ayurvedic Nutrition and Cooking, which means I get to cook lunch with the Ayurvedic doctor/my teacher. The other day, we made paranthae- usually a breakfast or lunch dish, prepared with a flour dough rolled into patties into which you place spoonfulls of a variety of fillings (anywhere from potato to chillies, to vegetables, depending on.. a number of things that I'll talk about in a minute). You then roll the patties about a quarter inch thick and place it o the hot taba (or whatever pan you've got) either with a lot of oil, little oil, or no oil, and lightly fry or cook each side until it becomes delicious.

"Paranthae is Ayurveda food?" he asked, surprised, and maybe a bit pleased with himself that he cooks Ayurveda-approved food for his children's breakfast without even knowing it. I smiled and responded that according to the Dr., the importance is not so much on the food itself as the preparation of the food, and the specific herbs and spices used (according to... a number of things that I'll talk about in a minute!) So much for the idea of "you are what you eat," apparently, you are HOW you eat.

Ayurvedic philosophy holds that everything in this world is made up of varying combinations of the "5 Big Elements," ether, air, fire, water, and earth. The actual ratio of your make-up is termed your "prakriti," literally your "nature." Each of the elements has its own characteristics and responsibilities in the form they take in our bodies and minds. For example, earth element is characteristically hard, dry, immobile and strong. the earth energy in the body is therefore responsible for the strength and firmness of the body and can be found in bone and connective tissue. In the mind, earth energy gives a person mental strength, courage and groundedness.

Based on the relationships between the 5 Big Elements, there are three basic elemental combinations that form what are called the "dosha," of a person: Vata, Pitta, Kapha. The dosha is generally how we refer to one's prakriti. There are hundreds of tests on the internet and in various books of more or less reliability in determining your dosha (and it's interesting to have a good friend do the test for you, and see the differences!) It should also be noted that we rarely find someone who is ruled solely by one dosha; we generally find ourselves to be a combination of two doshas with one being more dominant. For example, I have a Pittak-Kaphaj prakriti with Pitta being predominant. The principles of Ayurveda state that a person is treated with specific consideration to the individual's nature, using herbs as needed, and relying on food as medicine. Food is said to be capable of changing the body's inner atmosphere and collecting cosmic energies inside the body. Ayurveda also states that the psychology of a person is considered just as important as the physiology and pathology of an individual or disease process.

When preparing food or medicine, one must take the person's doshic dominance into primary consideration; but that is by no means the only factor. Ayurvedic nutrition places great emphasis on the season, the way in which something is eaten, temperature, as well as the internal effect; proper preparation relies heavily on the idea of balance. When cooking lunch with the Dr., I am always asking questions about the qualities of a food (heavy, light, hot, cold, oily, dry, smooth, sweet, sour, etc. etc.) in relation to my prakriti: "But, Dr.-ji, yogurt is a heavy food and I have low digestive fire- is that alright for me to eat? - But, Dr.-ji, ginger and garlic increase Pitta, and I want to decrease my Pitta, should I eat that?" Her responses always point back to the idea of balance: "yes, yogurt is heavy, but the vegetables are light and dry and will balance in combination. - yes, ginger and garlic increase Pitta, but they also decrease Vata, and the lentils are Vata in nature, and they will balance in combination."

Oh, yeah. The whole story.

Whenever I ask a question during the Ayurveda class about whether something is "good," or "bad," I am given a long explanation describing the conditions and circumstances in which the thing is good, and in which the thing is bad. When I asked what a good remedy for a headache might be, Dr.-ji responded with a spitfire of questions about the origin of the headache. Her responses to my questions like the ones above, reinforce the notion that these qualities and elements coexist, are ever-changing, and are always interacting. Nothing exists in isolation and nothing is so pure as western science might wish it was.
Especially us.

The Cow Dung Conversation

Sitting in an apartment in Mussoorie with a bunch of ferengi (a Hindi word that refers to the white tourists, with a similar connotation to the Spanish word gringo) doctors, lawyers and Fulbright scholars ("American ambassadors") who are discussing the impossibility of using cow dung as an antiseptic. I am the youngest person in the room, and the only one arguing with them.

There is some ambivalence from one of the Fulbright scholar ladies, who credits the long time tradition of using cow dung as a medicinal as some proof, however weak, that it works, at least for Hindus. The others are more embedded in their western mindset and are more critical of the practice, claiming that any medicinal benefit would be offset by the negative effects. When asked, the British doctor in the room said yes, she would indeed try to prevent someone from using the dung as a medicinal, and when asked if it was possible for there to be any antiseptic qualities to it, she corroborated their already-held doubtful belief. I piped in by saying that even using the word "antiseptic" is approaching the issue from a framework that doesn't fit- using the western medicine terminology to evaluate traditional medicine is basically invalidating the practices from the outset because you are essentially holding the traditional medicine to the standards of western medicine, thereby placing western medicine on a higher plane. I said, if you really want to evaluate the traditional medicine, you have to do so within its own context. Furthermore, I said, we have been raised within the framework of western medicine and therefore hold certain beliefs about infection and cleanliness that are most likely not shared in this culture. Those beliefs affect whether or not we respond with confidence or fear to a particular medication or remedy, and thereby affect its effectiveness. If one grows up hearing and learning and knowing that cows are sacred, then one's physiological response to the sight of a cow, or its dung is going to be inherently different than mine, or the British doctor's.
Later, when talking with a Punjabi man about the conversation, he responded somewhat excitedly, and asked if these fullbright "kids" knew anything about the preparation of the dung before use; clearly the whole story needs to be taken into account. Before the dung is used on the body, it is first burned for fire or fuel for cooking, and the ashes are then made into a paste with ghee and applied externally, but not on open wounds. I smiled. Okay, so the burning would cleanse the dung of whatever negative or harmful qualities that are present in dung; yes the full story is important.


Here, in Bhagsu, I went walking with another yoga student and Bhima to a waterful a couple of hours away. When we arrived, we sat down on a rock to look at the scenery. The rock was nearly covered with cow dung, and the other student and I sat down on the small portion of the rock that was somewhat clean, while Bhima sat on the dried dung. The other student urged Bhima not to sit there because it is dirty. He, knowing that she is not a vegetarian, said, "if you don't like it's shit, how can you like it's meat?" He continued, "this is good for food too- you put it in the soil, and it makes good vegetables."


Good point.


It's an interesting issue of invisibility that extends from food and animals to medicine and waste as well. There is not infrastructure to collect and handle waste. The garbage produced is thrown into rivers, ditches, the side of the road, etc. and burned, usually. To some extent, we have the same problem in the US. Sure, we recycle, but the trash we accumulate, which is MUCH more than here in Bhagsu, we also throw in the Earth- we just throw some dirt on top of it, and make it invisible. We do the same with our food- hiding the animal carcasses and slaughters behind steel walls, accessible only to those with government permits. In fact, one man, Joel Salatin, a biodynamic farmer in Connecticut, has been slaughtering his chickens in the open air every Saturday and invites his costumers to come to see the slaughter before they purchase their chickens. The government continually tries to shut down his operations, and I believe he's been jailed at least once. He recounts his stories in a number of books, including "Everything I Want to Do is Illegal," and he was highlighted in Michael Pollen's "Omnivore's Dilema." This is just one poignant example of the invisibility of the whole system, or whole story in the US. This seems, at least, more honest, however unappealing to the senses.


In medicine, we also have a tendency to prefer to view the superficial aspects of disease, as opposed to the whole story- covering up symptoms with pain-relievers and harsh medicines that operate on the molecular level, and thus have effects on higher levels that are almost always unintended, and negative "side-effects," (I have a hard time with this term- just because it was not what the drug intended to do, it is still an effect, and may even be more prominent than the original disease the drug was meant to alleviate. It is, simply, an effect.) Holistic systems of healing have a tendency to bring out the disease; make it more prominent, in order to treat it from it's root cause. The tendency in the States to keep our diseases or sufferings secret (i.e. the taboos of speaking about cancer, sexual diseases, eating disorders, depression or mania etc.) is also a reflection of this invisibility issue. Community based healing, like community acupuncture, public yoga classes, energy healing circles, and plant medicine (bringing us back into our context in the natural world) are essentially opposed to the idea of keeping our suffering a secret (see http://whalesandberries.blogspot.com/2011/05/remedy.html for my thoughts on community based acupuncture). 


So, I am here with open eyes, open mind, open heart, and a closed nose.


Moo.

Sugar, Sugar, Sugar, & a Grain of Salt

India is famous for its tea (chai), I'm sure you know, the most common being "masala chai," "mixed tea." Usually the mix is some combination of black tea, cardamon, and ginger with milk and sugar. Lots of sugar. (if you're rich, your masala might also include anise, and cinnamon- mmmmh) Tea starts the day, and ends every meal, tea breaks are as common as cigarette breaks, and if you want black tea or tea without sugar, you have to say so. Saying "only a little bit of sugar, please," does not work- it's all or nothing.

Festival time means "meethayee," sweets. Diwali was this week: a sort of combination of Christmas (gift-giving), Chanukah (festival of lights), Fourth of July (fireworks), and the New Year (..new year). Everyone gives everyone sweets. A few weeks ago was another festival in Mussoorie where the town builds a huge statue of a demon and then burns it down (see video)- again, sweets were everywhere. Neighbors, friends, and families all buy little boxes full of various sweets of varying shapes, sizes and colors (really, from brown to pink). The funny thing is, there's not a whole lot of variety in flavor- at least not that I can tell. Texture, yes, flavor, eh, not so much. They all pretty much just taste like... sugar. Somehow though, whenever someone presents me with a box of sweets to choose from, I always feel like maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to distinguish. I am getting better- the milky ones, from the coconutty ones, to the buttery ones. But still, overwhelmingly the predominant flavor is the fear of cavities.

So. My daily "routine" begins, of course, with a cup of chai that makes me glad for my toothbrush. Here's the rough breakdown these days:

6:30 wake up

6:40 get out of bed

6:43 gather all of the toilet paper I anticipate needing for the day, and stuff it in my bag. Change clothes, lock the door to my room.

6:50 bathroom, brush teeth, wash face.

7-8am Meditation wrapped in my shawl/blanket in the yoga hall with Shivamji. Chai (1).

8-10am Yoga Asana class with Shivamji on the roof of the yoga hall. Sun salutations with the sun on your skin= priceless.

10ish Chai (2).

10:15ish Breakfast in the sun, view of mountains, listen to puja (prayer) from inside the yoga hall.

10:30-12 Class, and chai (3). 3-4x/week is Mantra class with Sunilji (of the priest class; he does the pujas daily) 2x/week is Ayurveda class.

12-2pm Yoga Asana class with Raviji.

2:10 chai (4).

2:15/2:30-3ish lunch.

**For the last two weeks, I have had free time from 3 until puja and dinner, which is when I would read, write, or go for walks with the other student here and Bhima- or Sunil- or Ravi-ji, however, beginning on the first of November, I will have the time from 3-5pm as an intensive Ayurvedic Cooking and Nutrition course 5x/week.

6/7ish Puja with Sunilji in the yoga hall- sometimes I go to listen to the prayers, as Sunilji has a beautiful voice, but sometimes I read in my room instead.

6:30/7:30 help cook dinner. I can now make a pretty decent batch of chapati and I could probably whip up some dahl if I needed to :)

7:30/8ish eat dinner, watch Bollywood movies.

8:30ish chai (5).

9ish quick bucket shower, and go back to my room: reading, writing, sleeping.

Pretty sweet, no?

Well, yes. But as my own yoga practice has taught me, balance is key. So naturally, some things are... a bit bitter.

First off, I'd like to admit that I entered into this experience with some preconceived notions and expectations. Both from my upbringing and from my spiritual studies and my personal practice, I've gathered for myself a personal code of conduct, and perhaps it is unfair to hold others to that same value system. After all, a whole lot of my experience here is about attempting to view things from within their own context (i.e. language, place, story). However, I do believe that fundamentally, we are all human, made of the same stuff, and we have an incredible capacity to connect across wide barriers (language, place, story). At some point, the relativistic fallacy makes it more, rather than less difficult to connect to others- there is a certain level of behavior that is reasonable to expect from people, no?

Now, let me backtrack for a moment. The yogic lineage has traditionally been passed down from master (guru) to student. With the western notion of "every man for himself" and the "rags to riches" story imbedded in our mindset, it has since taken a different form in the western world. We (or, rather, I) operate on the basic principle that (for the most part) every person, regardless of age, place, sex, gender, race, religion, can practice yoga, can become a better person, can "enlighten" themselves (or should be able to). This butts heads directly with the historic yogic tradition, but it is a difference I can make peace with. What I have a hard time with, is ego.

Every morning during meditation, about 40 minutes into the supposed hour allotted for silence, Yogiji begins a schpiel about higher forms of meditation that his guru has shown him in high trance states that cannot be taught. He continues about how wonderful his guru is, often repeating stories he told me a few days ago, and recounting his own experiences in trance meditation. He always reminds us how much hard work is required for these experiences, how important it is to have a master, and how these meditation techniques cannot be taught. And how important it is to have a master. Also, it is very important to have a master, and these things cannot be taught.

Okay. Yes, I understand that my meditation practice is weak, and I will most likely not reach those states for some time, if at all, and I understand that to have a good teacher is important- that is why I am in a teacher training program, but I also recognize an undertone of ego- a desire for me to call him "guruji" and of...showing off (really?) how wonderful his meditation is. Here is where I have trouble: I am here to learn to be a better teacher; I am interested in healing, and in pedagogy, and it doesn't seem like these 20-30 minute rants are serving those purposes. In fact, if I hold him to the standard I hold myself to, as a teacher - that I can "know" everything in the world, but if I cannot IMPART that information, then it is useless- to tell me that you cannot teach me certain meditation states only tells me that you are not a very good teacher. Now, I recognize that there are different ways of knowing, and for that matter, different ways of teaching (as in his guru coming to him in dreams etc.), and I understand and appreciate that these meditation experiences must be accessed on a different plane. You tell me one time, two times: no problem. Every morning? Problem.

Now, just to bang the nail on the head, let me tell you a story.

Two days ago, Yogiji's friend, Swami Gagnanda came to visit. He brought a few students from Indonesia with him, and he was teaching the afternoon class. Among the students from Indonesia, was a child of 6. The first thing he says is that to practice yoga, you must have two mats, not one, overlapped perpendicular to each other so as to create a cross. In response to the mildly bemused looks on our faces he says, "its okay, most people don't know this." As I said before, I am of the belief that everyone should have access to the benefits of yoga, so to lay down any "prerequisites," so to speak, for the practice, slightly ticks me off, but I exhale.

The second asana he teaches is a movement of the trunk, from a seated position, in 360 degrees- moving the spine in all directions. From my asana teacher perspective, we were not warmed up enough for this movement. From my asana student perspective, he did not teach the movement. Rather, he demonstrated, fairly quickly, and then said, "do it." As we made our first attempts, he commented, "move as if you have no spine." I felt my jaw tighten as my mind screamed, "I DO have a spine!" Then, exasperated and unsatisfied with our spine-full movements, he beckoned the child forward, held his ankles and put him into full lotus posture. My stomach dropped. Then he held the boys head, and bent him forward, to the side, twisted him, rounded his spine back, and came around the same way on the other side. First of all, I am pitying the child, who does not speak English, or Hindi, and is this Swami's puppet for the moment. I am appalled at the "teaching" style of demonstration in the absence of explanation (would an art teacher show a student the Mona Lisa, and say, "do it."?), and furthermore, demonstration on a child- if you cannot do the asana yourself, with the precision or slowness required properly demonstrate or explain it, then you shouldn't be teaching it. Lastly, I am actually enraged that this pedagogy expects my body, a 20 year old female body, or the body of the 42 year old man behind me to be able to mimic the body of a 6 year old boy. And for the first time in my life, I walk out of a yoga class.

Yogiji's behavior is a lesson for me, that we are indeed, all human- complete with bodies, egos, faults, and emotions. Swami's behavior is a lesson in... how not to teach, I suppose. And even though the yoga tradition began in India, the main focus is much more on meditation, rather than asana. Culture in the States is highly preoccupied with bodies, and so it makes sense that the western focus of yoga is on asana. It is for this reason that David Frawley has said in his book, "Yoga & Ayurveda," that some of the best asana teachers and the greatest development of asana is in the West.

So after walking out of Swami's class, ranting to myself for 4 or 5 minutes in my room, and doing my own asana practice, I sit in meditation, and decide that I need to take everything with a grain of salt.

"Not a Girl... Not Yet a Woman"

You could mine salt in my armpit hair, and I've only been here for three weeks. Feminism looks different here.

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Two Critical Questions

"A Natural Language"

I spent about an hour and a half in a sort of language exchange lesson with Bhimaji today. Bhima is a phenomenal cook and a wonderfully sweet and sincere human being. We got a white board, and got to it. He had all kinds of questions about future and past tense, and in trying to explain, using English words he knew and Hindi words I know, I was more able to recognize how difficult my mother tongue is. I had all kinds of questions about passive and active moods in Hindi. You can say "to heal," in both a passive and an active sense. One would refer to a doctor "curing" a patient (the verb karna), the other would refer to a person simply "getting better," (the verb hauna). Active is intervention. Passive, he explained is like... natural.
-----
In the book entitled, "Practical Spirituality," a Q+A session with Marshal Rosenberg, founder of Nonviolent Communication, NVC, he says, "I think it's a natural language. Do that which contributes to life."

NVC is a process of learning to communicate with each other and to deal with difficult situations by focusing on two critical questions:
1) What is alive in us?
2) What can we do to make life more wonderful?

According to Rosenberg, question number one relies on three levels of literacy:
1) Observations (what is or is not making life more wonderful for you right now- no evaluation or judgement)
2) Feelings (what is really alive in you right now?)
3) Needs (the cause of your feelings, and the basis for a request for something to make life more wonderful)

The process by which Rosenberg explains how to develop these literacies sounds a lot like Ayurveda:
"Ayurveda places much emphasis on understanding the ego and its inherent biases, so that our judgements remain balanced and our actions are for the greater good, which is ultimately our own good as well. Dissolving the ego (evaluation) cures all psychological diseases and many physical diseases as well." (my parenthetical) -From Yoga and Ayurveda, by David Frawley.
-----

"Shabash, larki!" he said. I felt my breath skip, and I consciously exhaled. I am not a girl. A few asanas later, he says, again, "well done, girl." This time, I say, with a smile on my face, but sternness in my voice, "Larki nehi hun, mei mehila hun." He laughs, and asks, knowingly, if I am married. My answer does not surprise him, and he says again, "then you are larki (girl)." Exhale again. I am remembering Marshal Rosenberg's writing about NVC, and I ask Raviji, "so what if I were never to get married?" He answers then, that I would become a bardi larki, a "big girl." I think of all of my experiences, and all of the stories I've been told and which I live out daily that deal with coming-of-age, womanhood, and maturity. I have "become" a woman at least three times. My conversation with Raviji continued in this playful but clearly meaningful way. He conceded to referring to me as a young woman, or a lady, but in English only. There is no Hindi equivalent, he told me; if I were to call a lady my age or older who is not married by the Hindi word for woman, she would be angry with me. In the story told in Hindi, a girl becomes a woman through the process of marriage only. (more feminist musings coming in another post)

This interaction occurred only a few hours after a rather heated exchange between another yoga student and Yogiji, during which I quietly and continuously adjusted my own breathing, and relaxed my facial muscles as I felt the tension physically. I reflected on their terse exchange relating to NVC and considering the fact that they were arguing (for lack of a better word) in English, which is a second or third language for the both of them. There were two cultures, two language roots, and two perspectives clashing, though they are all implicated in each other. I wondered how much could be attributed to the language inequality for the both of them (having had both of their minds shaped in two different cultures and two different languages, but communicating in another), and how much of their dispute was value-based (moral stance).(Not to mention that their disagreement was about time and privacy- both of which are social constructs that vary widely across culture and are framed differently in each language.) More than that, however, I was curious how each of them could use knowledge of NVC and understanding of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis (that language shapes thoughts), in addition to a meditative approach of simply listening, dropping ego-attachment to stories, results etc., and a calm mind to make their perspectives better understood and actually come to a solution, which they weren't truly able to do.

I thought of the yogic precepts of honesty (satya), and non-harming (asteya). How can we be honest with one another in a situation when that possibly means pain for another? In my first class on Ayurveda, Dr. Amrita told me that one of the basic principles of Ayurveda is that one should never have pain. This made me a bit apprehensive. Recognizing that I come from a western background with the notion of "no-pain-no-gain" deeply imbedded in my history, but also having a sense of balance, I probed her further. She conceded that, yes, in some circumstances, a treatment may be unpleasant, uncomfortable, and even painful in order to achieve a higher state of painlessness or vitality. Most of our first discussion was grounded in the physical realm, but she did mention that another basic principle in Ayurveda is taking the psychology (mentality, emotionality etc.) of the person into account with EQUAL weight as their physical body. You get no oil from the olive without crushing it, or more appropriately for India; you get no butter without churning the milk. Sometimes you have to endure a bit of friction, a bit of pain, in order to come to a better place.

The question is: how much is necessary? I think NVC is a good foundation upon which to build conversations that push our cultural, lingual, and storied (not a typo; storied, as in we create stories and live them out as reality, but they may or may not be universal and so are prone to create what we know as culture shock) buttons. We need to keep the breath steady, the focus simple (2 critical questions, 3 basic literacies), and our energy present with one another. Another basic principle in Ayurveda is that all of nature, including ourselves, is composed of the elements; fire, earth, air, space, and water. Imbalances in our elemental composition may be expressed both physically and emotionally or mentally. In the heated exchange between Yogiji and the other student, the student's overabundant fire was being expressed verbally, which may be healthier for her than for it to manifest as indigestion, for example. However, the fire that was expressed was not done so in a nonviolent way, and perhaps put more stress on the community, or on the relationship between the two of them. The same can be said for the way Yogiji responded in the situation. So while one manifestation of elemental imbalance may be initially healthier for the individual, it may not be the best for the community or for relationships, which would ultimately end up creating more imbalance in all of the individuals in the community. I would like to put some of my eggs in the NVC basket as a possible middle ground.

Often since I've been here, I wonder what in the world are all of these yogis and gurujis are doing, just sitting around in their temples, on their cushions, in trance states, and concerned more with purusa (or spirit), as opposed to really contributing to this, our natural world or prakrti. (and to be fair, many are helping local people with family issues, and many are teaching western foreigners like me...)

B.K.S. Iyengar (yogi superstar) says in his book, Light on Life, "the demonstration of one's spiritual achievement lies in none other than how one walks among and interacts with one's fellow human beings," and while I take a bit of a small and semantic issue with the word "achievement," the statement sounds comfortingly similar to Ronsenberg's sentiment of, "I trust a spirituality that leads people to go forward and transform the world, that doesn't just sit there with this beautiful image of radiating energy. I want to see that energy reflected in the person's actions as they go out and make things happen. It's something you do, a practical spirituality."


So, just to tie it all together: spirit is both natural (hauna), and active (karna).

On the Side of a Train in Jalandhar

On the side of a wall of what I expect is a restaurant: Fish Fried Breakfast
On the side of a bus, indicating the company name: New Tantra
The name of the toll when crossing the Punjab/Himachal border: Shiva toll

Oh, India.

Updates:

-I own three salwaar kameez suits.
-I can now use present, present and past continuous, and completed past tenses in Hindi, albeit the last two with a bit of difficulty and usually my verb agrees with the subject when it should agree with the object, and vice versa, but people understand for the most part. Mostly I just ask questions. More often than not, I do not understand the answer.
-My vocabulary is extremely limited, but that is changing quickly.
-My last day in Mussoorie, after my classes, and after lunch, I shared a taxi with two other gents from the language school who were heading to Rishikesh They agreed to drop me off at the Dehradun train station where I would board an overnight train to Jalandhar. In typical Indian fashion, two taxis showed up for the job; one of which was requested, the other drove all the way from Rishikesh but had been told not to come. He was sent back.
-On my overnight train, my ask, in my best Hindi, what time the train will reach Jalandhar, so that I can set my phone alarm to wake me up 15 minutes prior. I am told three different times, each about an hour apart. I wake up every hour, and find someone awake to ask where Jalandhar is: kay aahgay ya kay peechay? ahead or behind?
-I get off the train at 5:45 am. My connecting train is at 1pm. Chai time.
-An excerpt from journal:
"Literally just spent7 hours at the train station in Jalandhar, the last two of which were spent with this Indian woman, her daughter, and her daughter's friend. At first, it was very nice, I tried practicing my Hindi, they asked me questions, and were very friendly. Then they suggested (or requested, rather) that I come with them. I said no, my train is coming, I need to say (or some approximation thereof in Hindi; I made sure to use "nahee" a bunch so as to reinforce my stance of "no"). They continued to insist, and I held my ground. Then they dropped it, fairly abruptly, and said it was time for lunch. They offered me some parantha, and I declined. Again, they insisted, and what with me not knowing the customs, I did not want to be rude, and accepted one. At this point, the mother was on the phone and I could understand enough of what she was saying to know she was telling someone about me. This freaked me out a bit, and it occurred to me that if I ate their food, I might be obligated to go with them. I stopped eating, said I was full. Seemingly suddenly, the whole scene of myself, and these women is a spectacle at the train station. There is a group of Indians surrounding me, and I can't understand anything. This makes me nervous and I begin to pick at my nails (a nervous habit I've kicked previously several times, but it reoccurs in situations like this) and I begin to bleed around my cuticle (not uncommon for me). Now, ALL of the women are distressed, wagging their fingers at me and repeating the phrase, "Achhaa nahee hay," "not good," over and over. I nod, and sit on my hands. Now, I not only want my train to arrive, I want them to leave me alone, and I am annoyed (as I am with anyone who addresses my nervous habit, particularly in a language I don't understand). Then train is late, and I am internally freaking out. I stand up, strap on my pack, and step a few feet away from the group, all of whom now know that I am an American student studying health, who is going to Pathankott and speaks very little Hindi. I remove myself until the rain comes, listening intently to the loudspeaker for my train number and any updates I can understand. I turn, and say "namaste," to the group when the train (finally) arrives. Now for those who are unfamiliar with India train protocol, every passenger's name is posted with their seat assignment on a paper outside of the car. My name is not on the list. I get on anyway, figuring that it's got to stop at Pathankott, and it's definitely better than the train station. Well, one point for me, because the first person the train that I ask about Pathankott, tells me that it does indeed stop there, and he is, in fact, getting off at that stop. No one asks for my ticket. So while I still haven't figured out how Indians know when their stop is coming up, other than just being familiar with the routes or looking out the window for a sign that may or may not be there indicating the station stop, I do know that I will not miss my stop at Pathankott: Chakki Bank."
It is at this point that I am settled on my top bunk and studying my Hindi notes, when I realize that my phone has died. I wonder how I will contact Shivam when I arrrive in Bhagsu, because he is supposed to take me to take me to my accommodations at the yoga school. I decide to deal with it later, and trust that it will be just fine. Meanwhile, I overhear the fellow on the bunk across from mine on his cell phone, speaking in English, and telling his friend about a white girl studying Hindi on the train. I laugh because he is using the pronouns he and she interchangeably. I do not take offense. I put my notes away and we begin talking, in Hindi. He asks me if I feel bold, traveling alone. Bold? Thoree thoree, a little bit, I tell him. Mostly, I just want a warm place to sleep tonight.
During my three hour and $30USD taxi trip, the very sweet driver let me borrow his phone to call Shivam. My phone turned on just long enough for me to jot down his number, Shivam answered, and agreed to meet me in town in an hour. A very steep hike up the stairs on the side of the mountain later, I am laying on the floor of the yoga hall, which is decked out with pictures of Shivam's Babaji, full of burning incense, and Sunil is playing the harmonious and chanting. The harmonioum is definitely in my top 5 favorite instruments. I am informed that dinner is ready, and I retrieve my daal (lentils), chawal (rice), and chapati (like pita, but better), and in the absence of utensils, I am in heaven, and I sleep like a baby.

A more structured and reflective post coming soon.

Om Namah Shivaya