After the Alps, my movement turned eastward and inward. I arrived in India early, before the month-long yoga intensive began, to settle at my Hindu teacher’s ashram in Madanapalle. The air, like my heart, was warm. This was the beginning of one of the most profound months of my life, learning about the field of practice, the field of sangha, and how those fields can flow in unexpected and beautiful ways.
‘Intensive’ was the right word for this training. I was up for 4 am meditation before our 6 am chanting and āsana practice. Daily sessions ran straight through until 8:15 pm every day except Sunday. Practice, study, chant, sit, reflect — the rhythm of practice was constant, yet somehow there was still time to breathe, to sit in the temple, to connect with classmates.
Over the days, it became clear that practice was a mirror. When breath steadied, mind steadied; when breath wavered, so did thought. When the mind steadied, the body steadied; when the mind wavered, the body collapsed. The entire course revealed itself as an experiment in integration — body, breath, and mind learning mutually supportive ways of being.
The Field
A strong field of learning was forming around us. The teachers knew exactly how to challenge us with the right mix and complexity of material and information, reinforcing key points and pushing us when appropriate. We went beyond what we thought we were capable of, physically and mentally. ‘How can we have learned so much in so little time?’ was a question in the air. From long plank holds to memorizing Sanskrit chants to recording short videos, again and again we were guided and pushed in ways that maximized our capacities.
But the more moving, more significant field was the one that formed among us: students, teachers, volunteers, the temple… as if we were becoming a single field of practice. As with much of the spiritual journey, words fail to capture the magic that unfolded that month, the sense of spiritual companionship and togetherness. The following words are pointers to some of the many learnings, large and small, on the mat, in the classroom, in conversation, in meditation, and in between
The Falls
One day mid-month I fell twice. The first was during āsana practice when my knee gave way, and I felt a bit of shock and a tinge of embarrassment. The second fall was on a wet floor, and that time there was no reaction in the mind at all. It was curious that two falls happened in one day, and as I contemplated it, a Dipa Ma story came to mind. A student once told her that his car radio kept getting stolen, and wondered how many more times it might happen. She replied, “How many times does it need to be stolen before you have compassion for the thief?”
My question was simpler: How many times must I fall before it doesn’t rattle the mind? The answer, apparently, was two.
Two days later, I encountered Sri M, the ashram head, by chance. He looked straight at me and said simply, “You’re standing.” It wasn’t casual conversation. It was precise knowing and a moment of spontaneous connection. When I mentioned to my teacher that someone had told him about the falls, his eyes widened. “Oh my god, no,” he said. “Nobody told him.”
Christmas
Another small example of the field moving came on Christmas Eve day. I was told in the morning that my roommate (who was raised Christian) and I would be leading Christmas carols that evening. It was news to me and the other woman. In our room that afternoon, we brainstormed a sequence of carols, even amending one to suit the setting. It was spontaneous, joyful, and done in an hour.
That evening, we sang and led our classmates in joining in. The energy was palpable — one sangha body moving and singing together. I’ve never experienced Christmas energy so strong. It was heartfelt hugs all around at the end of the evening, truly a bit of Christmas magic.
Resonance
Near month’s end, we were taught a new melody and verse of the Saṅgacchadhvam chant by the head of the ashram. Saṅgacchadhvam is a call in the Rig Veda to move together, in harmony of heart and mind. Later that day in the temple, we heard our own voices playing through the loudspeakers; the chant is now part of the temple’s daily rhythm. Even months later, when I hear that melody, something in me stirs, and something stills. The practice continues long after the sound fades.
What stays with me is how the field of sangha and practice was created, and how it moved in unexpected ways. The seen and unseen, the physical and the subtle, intertwined in spontaneous and unexpected wasy for individual and collective good.
The mountain in the Alps taught me something of steadiness; India taught me something of flow. Now they are weaving together, with a deepening sense of trust in the unfolding, and a deepening recognition that nothing stands apart.
Let your intention and hearts be alike, good and virtuous;
let your mind be good & virtuous; wherein you may dwell together beautifully.
Samānī va ākūti; samānā hradayāni vaḥ;
samānamastu vo mano yathā vaḥ susahāsati
समानी व आकूति; समाना ह्रदयानि वः;
समानमस्तु वो मनो यथा वः सुसहासति
Source: The Rig Veda. X. 191, translated by C.R. Nunamaker
31 December 2024 — Madanapalle, India
Stops since the last entry: Oberhofen am Thunersee, Switzerland → Bangalore, India → Madanapalle, India