Sunday, June 4, 2000

This journal entry wasn't originally written for public consumption, but I thought it gave a pretty good idea what I'm up to.



Okay, so here I am at the Balyogi Premvarni Yoga Retreat; I arrived two days ago.

At this moment I am in good spirits, though a bit hungry -- waiting for lunch, the one meal provided to guests here. I've been supplementing that with some biscuits at breakfast and a fruit salad at dinner, but it's still on the lean side.

I remarked about my mood only because it's been swinging erratically lately, more down than up. I didn't really know what to expect from this two week "Yoga retreat," but I guess I had pretty high hopes in spite of telling myself otherwise. The ashram literature, though amateurishly produced, made the swami out to be a highly enlightened teacher, a guru.

After noticing the satelite dish on the roof, I started questioning my judgement in committing myself before investigating further. I'm still witholding judgement on whether I think the swami is enlightened in any way that I can learn from, but he does seem to know a lot about Yoga. The difficult part so far has been communication -- he mumbles his answers to my questions then disappears like he's in a big hurry. Later he says I'm not very smart for not asking more questions. I'm tempted to think it's some sort of test; teaching me to not react emotionally, to let go of my ego that is hurt by his inattention and sharpness. But in the back of my mind looms the satelite dish -- never have I imagined that an enlightened master of yoga would live out his golden years in front of the boob tube.

Anyway, I keep telling myself that it's an interesting learning experience at worst, and it is what I was looking for -- a nice natural environment outside of the city in which I could practice asanas and meditation. So any actual instruction, guidance, or lessons I get is above and beyond my basic requirements for happiness at the moment.

Except for food -- off to go check on lunch!



Swamiji says I should read a book or write outside from three to five in the afternoon, so I guess I'll write.

One of the first things Swamiji said when talking to me about what I should do during the retreat -- one of the very few things he said at all, actually -- was to pay attention to negative thinking. Well, I've been doing quite a lot of that lately, which is strange -- usually my thoughts have been positive since coming to India, though there have been a few spells of low mood. It's just strange to be having them in such a nice environment. Though, now that I think about it, Goa was pretty nice and I was a little down there. I remember feeling like I should be learning something, not be on vacation. Here, I just feel kind of anxious about whether I'm wasting my time, and a little stressed because I don't understand these people at all, and I feel like they don't like me. Or rather, are completely indifferent to me, which in a way is worse because it's not that I'm doing something wrong that I can change; I'm just the guy who paid a lot of money for a room, a meal, and two cups of tea per day, plus sweeping leaves and watering plants...silly American. So, these are the kinds of negative thoughts I've been having lately. I suppose I should be living in the here and now. Here I am, in a nice garden in the yoga capital of the world, writing about the bad thoughts I'm having rather than enjoying it. J. Krishnamurti says that all thoughts are old -- they are just echoes of past impressions on the brain.

I guess the indifference of the people here -- or my perception of it, anyway -- can be seen as part of the retreat. If we were all pals, it would be more of a social gathering, while as it is I am alone except for necessary interactions, which I perceive as mildly unpleasant because they seem so impersonal.

Who are these people, anyway? Swami Balyogi Premvarni, enigmatic to the extreme and always walking away from me, often as he's talking to me. Vandane, the housemistress and cook. Deva, presumably her daughter, perhaps eleven years old. Swamiji founded the ashram in 1960, so I figure he must be at least sixty-five, though he looks at most around fifty. Vandane has been living in the ashram for thirteen years, she says. Who is Deva's father, I wonder? Surely not Swamiji. And speaking of Deva, she's an odd one herself; rarely smiles, has proficiency in yoga; she was charged with showing me some pranayamas (yogic breathing excercises) -- the only things I've been taught in any formal manner. All of them get to tell me what to do, usually during my four hours of Karma Yoga each day, though often it's prefaced with "Swamiji says...." They usually speak in Hindi to each other, so I'm called to attention with a "Hello," rather than a "Hey, Ult."

Did I mention I'm the only guest? That's a critical piece of information for understanding my situation. There are a few people who come regularly during the day to help out, but other than that it's just the four of us. I think the last guest here was in March. They made it clear when I first stumbled upon the place that they take people only on an exception basis, and aren't actively looking for ashramites.