Arrival
Landing in Texas, the first stop before the Bhagavad Gītā retreat is to see my recently-married nephew and his wife. It’s a rare and heart-full meeting — a day in the Japanese gardens near Dallas, warm sunlight, quiet laughter. Few in my family of origin can meet my spiritual life in any real way, but these two can. We say our good-byes warmed by that mutual recognition and authentic connection.
Entering the retreat
At the retreat center, joy intertwines with self-consciousness. I’ve just flown across the ocean to be here. Is it right to sit another retreat with this teacher when others try but cannot get in? Fellow satsanghis reassure me, saying, “If you weren’t meant to be here, you wouldn’t be here.” I relax and exhale.
Still, I take a seat toward the back, letting others have the coveted front-row seats. “Physical proximity doesn’t matter so much”, this teacher often says, and it feels right to hang back.
The retreat begin. The first surprise is the teacher’s instruction, “No questions.” Of course we all have many questions, and opportunities to ask them are few. Sadly, it’s clear they will not be answered here.
Yet over the next days, I find that some questions — including a few very long-standing ones — are unexpectedly answered in the talks or in conversations with satsanghis. One day entering the meditation-cum-lecture hall, I overhear someone ask, “Did you have your questions answered?” It appears I’m not alone in this experience.
Struggling with the idea of battle
Before the retreat I had read through the Gītā but only at a superficial level. Now its deeper messages are beginning to reveal themselves — that life itself is the battlefield, that Arjuna and Krishna live within, and that the battle is worth fighting.
I find this motivating and encouraging. Yet the language of fighting sits uneasily with me.
Then one day, India fires missiles on Pakistan. I know nothing of this until it subtly makes its way into the teaching, explained later in whispers in the dining hall. Immediately the Dhammapada verse comes to mind:
Hatreds never cease by hatred in this world, but by non-hatred are calmed. This is ancient, eternal Dhamma. — Dhammapada, verse 5
An internal struggle ensues, fully trusting the words of the Buddha that have long guided me, while trying to integrate the battle language of the Gītā and this new conflict in the world. During a break, I find the Dhammapada on my phone and quietly recite the verse again and again. The sounds of Pāli and the truth of the teaching settle my mind. Peace with the Gītā comes when I transform fight into struggle. I know internal struggle well, honor it, and understand the wisdom that can arise from it.
Wisdom and deepening
As the days passed, the wisdom of “no questions” becomes clear. When the mind stops teeming with questions, it can listen differently, from a quieter place. No longer preparing questions, the mind receives; it can relax and absorb.
Some take notes; I do not. Some form study groups; I sit in the sun, letting the teachings soak in and settle.
Gradually I move from the back of the room to the middle of the hall. Then at the start of one session, a quiet but firm inner instruction arises, Draw close.
I do.
Some time into the session, something shifts. Eyes closed, attention steady and firm yet relaxed, the teacher’s words seem to move through the field of awareness, not toward it. Understanding flows without effort — a knowing of being rather than cognition, resonance rather than thought.
The palms grow warm and tingly, and vibrant energy suffuses the body. Attention is both delicate and unmovable. It is a rare and beautiful state, which I now call Quiet Flow. It returns in another session a few hours later. Effortless absorption, unobstructed flow.
Seed of disquiet
It turns out to be the last day of teaching, as the retreat unexpectedly ends a day early. The teacher asks whether he should offer another long retreat. The entire room answers yes. Someone suggests the text Soundarya Lahāri. A year earlier he had taught from it, and as someone who carries the imprint of sexual trauma, I had found the erotic imagery deeply unsettling.
“Some people might misunderstand it,” he says, glancing briefly towards me.
“Not a misunderstanding,” the thought arises — clear, sharp, and unmistakably answering him. “It’s a woman’s lived experience — different from yours.”
I don’t yet fully understand all that has unfolded over these days, but clearly something deep and true in the core has been touched. This retreat has been a gateway to a clearer, embodied understanding of devotion. Feeling strongly connected to the teacher, the practice, and satsanghis, heart tender and open, I begin the journey back to the UK. Yet I also carry an awareness that aspects of my lived experience don’t square with this tradition. The seed of disquiet that has laid buried since last year’s Soundarya Lahāri retreat is still there. But it rests in rich soil, and I trust that in time, it will reveal what it needs to reveal.
14 May 2025 — Bridge of Earn, Scotland
Stops since the last entry: Edinburgh → Fort Worth, TX → Graham, TX → Edinburgh → Bridge of Earn