Seven years ago I sat in this beautiful garden, above a place called Pipalkoti, in the state of Uttarakhand, in the Himalayan mountains. This time here was a kind of a self-imposed isolation retreat, one of my own making, caused by a deep desire from within me. Many memories remain here of this time, and recently, entering month two of this new slower, more contemplative way of life we are sharing, more memories return.
Pipalkoti, Uttrakhand, India
I arrived in Pipalkoti from Rishikeshi, as I neared the end of a five-month journey in India. At the time, I didn’t really understand what I was seeking during my travels. Now I am beginning to understand a little bit more, peeling back the onion of my life’s experience with the benefit of time and discernment, a clarification of what matters in life and what is not worthwhile. Looking at this garden, I can still remember looking closely to observe the many flowers, and watching the clouds arrive and pass by, the mountain and sky ever present.
Earlier in my trip I learned of the name Swami Vivekananda, the great messenger of Hinduism who came to the west in the late 19th-century. My first encounter was nearly 2000 miles south of here, at the southern point of the Indian subcontinent, a place called Kanyakumari. On my arrival in Pipalkoti, my hosts, long-time friends of my aunt, showed me a small cottage separate from their home, which opened to this garden. Near the bed sat a small book, seemingly waiting for me. The book contained meditations and pranayama exercises from Swami Vivekananda.
I was not familiar with pranayama, but soon realized the benefits I could enjoy from practice; the most practical being a stronger respiratory system, a strengthened defense against my life-long battle with asthma and allergic reactions. I read about the possibility to detoxify the body, boost the immune system and support clarity of thought.
One morning I woke and sat outside in the cool, spring, mountain air. I sat in this garden and took a few conscious breaths, following the prescribed exercises. What I felt was not Knowledge-Existence-or-Bliss, but incredibly lightheadedness, and nearly fell out of my seat!
Now, seven years past, I look at this garden and see a reflection of my inner world; a symbol of my spiritual life, the flowers being the many gifts God has blessed me with: family and community, the chance for meaningful work, the freedom to choose what to make of my life, and most precious of all the knowledge of what is worthwhile in this life.
My time in India brought to light many things within me. Some sat in the dark, needing care and attention to come forth, pains and traumas that come with growing up and becoming who one is. Other parts of me I found like pearls of wisdom my soul has always known, gifts from my ancestors, ready to shine if I was willing to depart from conditioned ideas and constructed realities. In the time since I sat in this garden, I have learned that this kind of spiritual expression requires effort. Effort is required for darkness to transform and effort is required for the light to find expression in the world, effort is required from me, and grace must be received from beyond.
“Your effort is only until you sow the seed on the fertile soil and manure and water it; then nature takes possession of it, and you need not do anything afterwards. Spontaneity works wonders, and there is the harvest for you. In the beginning there is a need for effort—sowing the seed, putting the manure and watering it; afterwards, effort ceases. The Spirit, when it takes possession of you, does not call upon you to do anything.”
The experiences that brought me to this garden are the memories of the peace of spirit — the peace found in discernment, truth, love, inter being, oneness, and joy.