Rishikesh Travel Log

Rishikesh, India Travel Log- 2006

Muktananda’s whole body shakes when he laughs. He is quite tall and perhaps even a bit rotund, the proverbial gentle giant. There are frequent pregnant pauses as he speaks. He looks up and seems to be waiting to receive information from the ether. I make a mental note to be sure to pause regularly in the Yoga classes I teach at home.
My husband and I have traveled to Rishikesh, India, the international capitol of Yoga, for the time honored tradition of retreat and pilgrimage. Rishikesh is one of India’s holy cities and a yatra (pilgrimage) destination for many Hindus. The sacred Ganga River flows through the city. One wakes every morning to the sound of chanting and the smell of incense as the devout perform pujas (worship rituals) on the banks of the river. The same rituals are performed every evening at sunset and the river sparkles with candles from aartis (fire ceremonies) that are sent down the river in small boats made of leaves. The whole city is strictly vegetarian, so as I make my way down the beach, families of pigs, goats, cows, monkeys and dogs roam freely. It is the week before Christmas. The city is very cold in the mornings and evenings, but warms up with sunny afternoons. Muktananda, a swami in the Sivananda lineage, gives satsangs every morning. Satya is the Sanskrit word for truth, so a satsang is a meeting to talk about truth. In my experience, the Indians do not posses the customer service siddhi, or not at least our western idea of customer service. Mysteriously, some mornings the satsang is at 8 am, some mornings at 8:30 am and it may be cancelled completely without warning or apology. As I make my way up to the second story balcony that overlooks the river, I am not convinced that there will actually be a satsang until I see the shoes scattered outside the door. Inside, a gathering of 40 or so mostly western students of Yoga have assembled to ask questions and to listen. Over and over, a bird pecks at its reflection in the mirrored glass panels of the French doors. I am reminded of samskaras- the long standing self defeating beliefs and habits that most of us struggle with. We unconsciously find ourselves in the same situations over and over again and habitually perform the same actions that result in the same unsatisfactory results. The shala is cold; I watch fascinated as steam rises off of Swamiji’s head as he speaks. This morning a Chinese woman struggles with the concept of love. She has not experienced it and does not understand it. She asks where does one find love? A long explanation ensues with many references to the water and ocean metaphor that Swamiji uses often in explaining our relationship with the Source. The Chinese woman is still clearly confused- perhaps there is a language barrier. In the end, Swamiji says that the mature, red apple simply cannot explain sweetness to the young, green apple. The young, green apple has no concept of sweetness. There is a ripening that happens as we practice and sweetness is revealed as the ripening unfolds. That ripening has its own pace and rhythm.
There is no talk of triangles and down dogs. It is assumed that one will practice asana, but the passion with which westerners study asana does not exist here. After 9 years of Yoga practice and study, this feels right. How much more can down dog be studied? And to what end? The asanas are simply the doorway to the higher practices and one needs to cross the threshold at some point. American Yoga has warmly embraced asana, but is still on handshaking terms with meditation, pranayama, ritual and chanting. I look forward to the monumental shift in American consciousness that will happen as more students ripen and cross the threshold.


As Dr. Deepak Chopra says, Christianity started with 12. Buddhism started with one.