Bindi Girl * Erin Reese

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (8 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:47:00 +0000

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Calcutta-Kolkata *** Chapters Include: "Broken Open," "In the Arms of the Mother," "Go West, Young Woman!"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (7 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:45:00 +0000

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Andamanese Adventure (vol. II) - Neil Island, Long Island, Port Blair, Good Ship Nicobar crossing *** Chapters Include:: "Octopus's Garden," "Garden of Eden," "Terms of Endurement," "The Tides They Are a-Turnin'"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (6 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:44:00 +0000

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Andamanese Adventure vol. I - M.V. AckBarf, Havelock Island, Happy Home, Beach 7, Holi, Elephant Beach *** Chapters Include: "The Good, the Bad, and the Downright Ugly," "Holi, Honey Home in Havelock"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (5 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:42:00 +0000

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Hampi to Chennai to Tiruvannamalai Chapters Include: "Through the Looking Glass," "Rocky Mountain High," "Midnight Special," "Kudos for Kollywood," "Send in the Clowns," "The Pause That Refreshes," "Om Namah Shivaya," "Full Circle Celebration"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (4 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:40:00 +0000

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Konkan Coast Chapters include: "Down the Rabbit Hole," "The Queen of Wands," "Mystical Music of the Starry Spheres," "Beach Witch," "Local Cola"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (3 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:38:00 +0000

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Dhamma Giri (Vipassana in Igatpuri) to Konkan Coast, Karnataka (first time) to Varkala, and back to Konkan Coast again *** Chapters include: "Minding Mara's Daughters" and "Shadows and Light"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (2 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:34:00 +0000

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Rishikesh to Delhi again *** Chapters include: "At the Foot of the Goddess," Maa Durga and the Tiger," "Sapna Meets the Sadhu," "Sab Kuch Milega" & "The Kama Sutra"

Scenes from The Adventures of Bindi Girl (1 of 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 04:27:00 +0000

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Delhi to Pushkar Camel Fair, Rajasthan to Delhi again. Chapters include: "Jai Maa Kali," "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves," "DDT: Doin' Delhi Time," and "Happenin' at the Hare Krishna."

Bindi Girl now in paperback!

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 01:54:00 +0000

"There are three trips you take to India: the one you think you're going to have – that you plan for, the one you actually have, and the one you live through once you go back home."

~ The Adventures of Bindi Girl

We are thrilled to announce the long-awaited release of Erin Reese's high-energy travel memoir, The Adventures of Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India. Now in paperback on Amazon.

Support your local travel writer - order your paperback copy of Bindi Girl today and join the unforgettable journey!

http://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Bindi-Girl-Diving-Heart/dp/0615547664

Paperback: 260 pages
Publisher: Travel and Soul Media (January 10, 2012)

The Adventures of Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India

Product Description

Erin Reese is a one-of-a-kind travel writer—a spiritual seeker and solo backpacker who dropped out of a successful career in corporate America, hit the road, and never looked back.

A SPIRITUAL TRAVELER'S SASSY TALE

Packed with plenty of spicy curry, cows, and comedy, Bindi Girl takes us on one heck of a wild ride across India. From Dharamsala and the Dalai Lama to ashrams, yoga schools, and meditation melodramas, Bindi educates and entertains as she goes. We discover the Hindu deities, the tourist trap mafia, and the beach havens of the hippie trail. From "Guru Disney" to the holy hell of Varanasi, Bindi's got us clamoring for more masala chai all the way.

When Bindi meets an attractive young stranger who is more than her mental and physical match, her fiery spirit is put to the test. He whisks her off to the furthest reaches of India—the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal. There, in an isolated jungle, they attempt to live out a Robinson Crusoe fantasy. Will it be the Garden of Eden or end up a natural disaster? Among the wild beauty and danger of the islands and the kooky madness of "typical India," Reese takes us deep into the heart of a country and her very self.

Bindi Girl is a gift to the traveler, the spiritual seeker, and the armchair tourist—anyone yearning for honest inspiration and a real kick to get out and truly live!

"India – a land where the last thing one needs to bother with is looking good. In India – at least in the circles I moved in – it's natural to look beautiful by the smile in your heart and the way you move through the world."

~ The Adventures of Bindi Girl

back cover

Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India THE BOOK IS NOW ON SALE @ AMAZON!

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 02:10:00 +0000

Bindi Girl
Diving Deep Into the Heart of India

a travel adventure

by Erin Reese

AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON!

BUY THE e-BOOK TODAY
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004SBP6X8

Download the e-book for only $9.99!

Front 'cover' - click to enlarge. Click a second time to ZOOM!

Don't have a Kindle? No problem!

Read Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India
conveniently on your home computer (Mac, PC),
or your iPhone, Android, Blackberry, or iPad
with a free Kindle application!

Click here to get the FREE Kindle reader!

Back 'cover' - click to enlarge. Click a second time to ZOOM!

Enjoy this trailer and clip straight out of the new book, 'Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India.' In this clip, our heroine contemplates a bold leap of faith: whether to head off to the remote Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal... what will await her? Find out and buy the e-book today!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004SBP6X8

Erin Reese is a one-of-a-kind travel writer -- a spiritual seeker and solo backpacker who dropped out of a successful career in corporate America, hit the road, and never looked back. Her memoir, 'Bindi Girl: Diving Deep Into the Heart of India' is a high-energy adventure travel tale, packed with plenty of spicy curry, cows, and comedy to make for one heck of a wild ride!

BUY THE e-BOOK now!
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004SBP6X8

AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON!

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL TRAVEL WRITER!

Bindi's Evolved! (New Site)

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 01:32:00 +0000

Namaste,

In case you're new to the Bindi Girl site or mailing list - here you'll find a few articles, snippets, and final posts archived from the epic Bindi Blog. And, if you've been with me a while, you already know: Bindi's evolved!

Please redirect your lovely Self to the new Erin Reese, "Travel and Soul " MagSite, where you can find all the news, views, and clips from the great cosmic trip: yoga, astrology, travel, and beyond.

www.erinreese.com

On the main page, you'll find a "Subscribe" box where you can sign up to get articles, posts, and more. C'mon along and enjoy the journey!

With love,

Good Night, Bindi

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 14:40:00 +0000

Om Gam Ganapate Namo Namaha

In praise of Ganesha, God of writers and travelers and wisdom -

Bindi Girl, the literary character of this blog, first appeared on the scene in August 2000 (“The Origin of Bindi”).

That makes beloved Bindi nine years old. Nine is a master number. It’s a number of harvest and fulfillment. And, it is the number of endings…

For the past year, Bindi Girl has been giving me the nudge that it’s time for her to fly.

I know she’s right – and I’ve been searching for an ending for the tale. It hasn’t come – there is no end. Perhaps this is because strong literary characters take a life of their own – they call the shots. Like Dorothy, Alice, Huckleberry, such personalities never really depart. They remain in our hearts as forever youthful, immortal.

Now, I’m hardly saying that this writer shares the echelon of Baum, Carroll, and Twain. Still, to me, Bindi Girl captures the same timeless nature as the aforementioned characters. Clearly, she’s been the focal point, the epicenter, of this writer’s monumental Indian Dream. Bindi Girl has immersed herself in the magic, muck, and mire of Maa India to the utmost. She’s lived through titillating triumphs and far-out failures of plot-twisting travel. She’s shared the glory and endured the whole story. I award her an honorary Golden Globe for feats of magical realism.

A few readers have accompanied Bindi Girl since the beginning of her dispatches, popping into New Delhi in the middle of the night of Diwali, November 2002. Some fans may have found her along the way in some Internet café, picked up a few intrepid traveler tips and tricks, and stuck around beyond the first click.

For those of you who haven’t a stitch of an itch of Bindi’s backstory, that is, quite simply, just fine. Because Bindi is a girl out of time. There’s no one there to begin with, and, therefore, there’s no one to end the rhyme!

With over a hundred short stories and seven years of blog-o-rama, Bindi Dear is very clear that it’s high time to skip this cyber-joint, to step through new mirrors and explore fresh frontiers.

For some of us – especially in the heart of her trusty scribe, Erin Reese – she will live on, on the other side of this looking glass. It’s impossible to predict where she might turn up, but if she behaves anything like “typical Bindi,” there’s a good bet it’s bound to be sparkling, inspiring…and stuck smack-dab in the center of your forehead.

“Now your third eye is even more open!”

A few words from Erin to her self, her beloved Bindi muse…

Oh, Bindi Girl, thank you SO much for inspiring me for so many years! Thank you for helping me to share these tantalizing tales of the India-scape with my readers! Thank you for being so fun, playful, GUTSY, and authentic. You were the Very Best Travel Companion EVER on this magical journey.

You will always be a part of my heart, and I promise to heed your pokes and prompts in the future. I know this isn’t ‘The End’ forever – it’s just the turning of the page, in preparation for another stage - coming soon, to a cosmic theater near you.

Dear Bindi Girl, you were, are, and always shall be, a most magnificent muse.

And now, it’s time to say goodnight.

"Shubha Ratri!"

With all my love,

Erin Reese

New Delhi, India

June 30, 2010

THE END

HARI OM

Close your eyes and I'll close mine
Good night Sleep tight
Now the sun turns out his light
Good night Sleep tight
Dream sweet dreams for me
Dream sweet dreams for you.

Good night Good night Everybody
Everybody everywhere
Good night.

(Lennon-McCartney)

The Beatles

The White Album

Hitting Bottom, Taking Off

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 11:29:00 +0000

January 2001

Standing in the shower the week before my thirtieth birthday, I hit bottom.

I was thoroughly burned out, and could not keep up with the fast-paced, got-to-have-it-all California lifestyle I’d been pretending to live. Sure, I had accomplished more than I’d ever imagined: a successful career as a corporate recruiter, earning six figures, training for a marathon, a vibrant and superbly busy social life, all bills paid off, and a beautiful flat with a view of the San Francisco cityscape and a rooftop garden terrace, and, and…

...and, I was too exhausted to move. I simply could not go on working myself to the bone in a career that was killing me, in an urban landscape and nation that emphasize ambition, $UCCE$ and praising the name of the Almighty – the Almighty American Dollar, that is.

Every day, I’d don smoothly-tailored suits and three-inch high heels, hop on the underground, and coolly work a network of three phone lines, a constantly-ringing mobile, and an incessant deluge of email as the top-performing headhunter in a commission-only position – a job I was indisputably talented at, but with no time nor energy left to breathe, rest, think, BE.

In true workaholic fashion, I’d taken up long-distance running - training for the London Marathon as a way to “relax” - but that wasn’t the answer, obviously. In contrast, I needed everything to STOP, so I could get off this speeding train in hot pursuit of the American Dream before it turned into an American Death.

As the saying goes: Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.

Standing in the shower the week before my thirtieth birthday, I could barely see straight I was so tired. I prayed silently as I lathered shampoo through my hair: “God, please help me. I can’t go on this way.”

Suddenly, my feet came out from underneath me, as I slipped on the soapy pink porcelain bathtub bottom. Instinctively, I flung my hands out, grasping for anything to catch my fall, but nothing was there to latch onto. In a markedly bad imitation of a cartoon character (whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop...WHOOPS, thud), arms and legs flailing, I crashed through the shower curtain and tumbled out of the tub, naked and wet. I witnessed my body falling in slow motion, tailbone first, slamming on the hard tiled floor.

“Oh…shit,” I whispered aloud as imaginary stars and chirping birds whirled round me, sprawled out. My head had just missed whacking the toilet. Slowly, I moved fingers and toes to make sure I hadn’t been fully paralyzed in the fall. Apparently, I was still intact.

“Meow?” It was my calico kitty cat, Maya, poking her little white nose through the crack of the bathroom door, curious and investigating the racket.

“It’s okay, Maya. I’m okay, thank God,” I reassured both of us as I grabbed the side of the tub and dragged myself up off the floor. Peering in the mirror, I could detect no external damage to my spine, yet I knew that I’d taken the fall extremely hard, and I was very lucky to be standing at all. I proceeded to finish my shower, suit up and show up for work (had a big meeting that day, after all!) when I probably should have gone straight to the doctor.

But no – workaholic that I was, I went off to work – wearing three-inch heels, of course.

Next morning, I awoke stiff as a board, with the pain in my back, hips, and legs coming on stronger and stronger throughout the day. The following morning, I couldn’t move. I had to crawl to the loo. I’d never been in such physical pain in my life. The orthopedic physician I visited was less than helpful, prescribing mouthfuls of pain pills which I refused to take: intuitively I knew, the last thing I needed was to mask this pain.

For three weeks, I cried my eyes out in agony, until finally I paid a small fortune to a Chinese acupuncturist – visiting her three times a week, where I’d sob quietly on the table with needles sticking in my ears, my heart, my knee, my third eye, my fingertips – in order to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again. I learned to walk from scratch, and could barely make it across a busy intersection before the light change. Hobbling on my cane, I had sudden new compassion for the disabled and elderly. I learned to observe the pain until it dissolved (which would come in handy months later when I learned the art of Vipassana meditation). And, I could give a shit about making money in a career that was clearly killing me. It was hard enough to get groceries up four flights of stairs to my flat.

Yes, God had answered my prayers. Everything in my life had come to a complete STOP.

It took six months to get the courage up to officially quit my job. It took another year to fully recover mentally and physically, to regain my strength and stamina. During that year off, I focused on rediscovering my creativity through music, art, and writing, and used the time to plunge ever deeper into my inner self. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew it wasn’t anywhere I’d been looking before. Lucky for me, all that hard work had paid off: I had managed to maintain a fat savings account and the discipline to keep a year’s worth of living expenses in the bank.

When the world as we knew it plunged to pieces on September 11, 2001, and travel was declared ‘unsafe’ due to terrorism, I took a different tack entirely: I was ready to die, to head into the unknown all alone to see what might lie on the other side. I could think of no better way to fulfill my personal Fool’s quest than to walk away from someone else’s version of ‘success.’ Staring my fear squarely in the face, I sold most everything I owned, packed one bag, took Maya (the cat) to my mothers, and gathered every single ounce of courage I could, for I would need it. I had nothing to lose and therefore everything to gain; I was thereby ready to dive off the cliff. Where might I land?

Since childhood, She had called to me – the most exotic and mysterious, the most intimidating and intriguing, the most extreme of destinations I could ever imagine.

Her name was, is, and shall forever be:

India.

In November 2002, I take off for a six-month, solo journey to wander the Indian subcontinent, with no idea what I might find on the other side of the world…

The Anti-Yogini

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 14:19:00 +0000

I’ve got just ten…10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1…count ‘em TEN days left in India!!!

I’m not even going to think about that right now… The Next Country. Let’s just say the predominant mindset in The Next Country is about 180-degrees from Mother India. Talk about a Turn of Events. You’ll be updated soon enough, don’t worry.

So, what’s happening over here in the hottest damned month of the year, where I’m suffering through 110-degrees of mad cows and mango madness? I’m plunging into the Ganges as much as possible to cool my brain, and I have just spontaneously landed a week-long yoga teaching gig at a nearby hotel as an impromptu culmination to my Indian odyssey. Fitting, somehow…

I recently spent a lovely fortnight at a genuine ashram in Haridwar – good, conscious people; no hype. The day of my departure, I had a conversation with the female head of the ashram, Mataji, who knew I had a certification as a Yoga Instructor, as well as plenty of experience amongst a multitude of temples and tantrikas, gurus and charlatans, saints and sages of India.

Mataji knew I knew my Gita, my asana, my pranayama.

And she knew I knew Nothing.

In other words, she knew I’d ‘Done My Time.’ She knew I had earned every bit of grit ground into my pores, and I’d learned every ounce of nonsense that goes along with the “spiritual search.”

I think Mataji sensed I’d thrown out the bathwater but kept the baby – the search was over, I was done with the whole traveling spiritual circus, and could barely keep myself from laughing at the absurdity of it all.

I’d come out the other side with nothing more than that glorious and comical booby prize of paradox: that we ultimately reach the point that it’s all totally and completely unnecessary.

That’s the Whole Point.

Hallelujah. Amen.

Oh, and

Hari Om.

Yes, I think Mataji sensed all this as I tapped my foot, anxious to leave and be on my way; she was pretty intuitive herself, if you ask me. Suddenly, she started downloading quickly, as my rickshaw was sputtering nearby to haul me away from the ashram gates:

“You need to teach. Just teach. Anyone who shows a real interest.”

“I don’t know, Mataji,” I replied. “It really doesn’t matter – the whole thing. There are enough yoga teachers out there. I’ve got a lot of other things to do, anyway.”

Mataji didn’t seem to hear me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise if I tried. She wanted to say her piece before the rickshaw chugged off to freedom – with me in it. She just continued to download:

“People need it. It doesn’t matter if you do, or don’t share yoga with them. So, you might as well do it. You know how it is, people are just sitting around, watching TV, doing nothing but sitting and being miserable and not moving. Why not show them some asanas? Or the bored and unhappy ones, sitting around talking about the most ridiculous nonsense, making more problems for themselves with silly talk. Why not say, hey, let’s try some yoga. It doesn’t matter, so why not do it? You can show them something useful. It’s a lot better than the alternative of time-passing. And don’t think you don’t have what it takes or that you don’t have enough courage to be a yoga teacher.”

God. Goddess. How could I disagree with THOSE comments? I couldn’t. She was right. I, for one, hate television and would much rather rally up those sedentary people and have them move through a few stretches and breathings. And, I for one would much rather get people in touch with their bones and bodies than listen to idle gossip about the most boring, unproductive topics.

She had me, darn it. Mataji got me at goodbye.

I would be interested in teaching, with that new perspective. Teaching yoga to make MY world a better place? Wow. I had never thought of it that way.

See how completely selfish we are, us human animals? We are no different. Try and try as we might, we will never discover true altruism. There’s always something in it for us. Even when we give, we are bound to receive, whether good feelings, a happy ambiance or a quieter, more peaceful environment.

Personally, I want to hear more birds and less noise pollution. I prefer less SMS, wireless, iWhatever-infused and Blackberry-flavored electromagnetic frequencies frying my brain. So it’s in my ironic own best interest to bust out the yoga from time to time and show people that the mat’s where it’s at… so long as they’re interested, that is.

I am the Anti-Yogini. Hear me Om.

In honor of my non-yogic declaration of teaching independence, and to celebrate the First Day of Summer, I shall now post a fresh re-release of my last solstice music video, “A Sun Salutation a Day.”

Turn up the sound, and enjoy!

(and when you’re done – take a break from the computer and go outside for five minutes, take a walk, listen to the birds, smell some flowers… or do a sun salutation for the fun of it…)

oooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMmmmmmm

With love,

Erin

Shake It Daddy: Do You Know the Way to Bombay?

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Fri, 28 May 2010 10:03:00 +0000

Turn UP the speakers or headphones, armchair travel fools...

and download the latest from the Bindi Girl!

with love from your fledgling movie maker,

melting down and gettin' down in the Hot Season!

do you know the way to bombay?

Love to you all!

Happy Full Moon in Sagittarius!

and - oh boy - enjoy the big SHIFT as Uranus moves into Aries TODAY.

Whoop - here it is! After 7 1/2 years in Pisces...

That's some critical change coming 'round the bend, my friends!

so...Shake it, Daddy!

Some Like It Hot

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Tue, 18 May 2010 16:57:00 +0000

I’m cooking, frying, sizzling right now on the southeast coast of India, with a view to the Bay of Bengal…

It’s so hot that the other day I woke up, walked into the living room and checked the inside air temperature before switching on the A/C… it was a hundred and eight inside the flat. Unbelievable.

I laughed. Just call me Sweaty Betty.

Mumbai in the Hot Season

On that note… let me tell you a little story about LAST May in Bombay, when I endured a month in the hot-season cooker.

I was hell-bent and determined to sweat it out in the sweltering city, to partake in the final series of satsang talks given by my advaita philosophy teacher before he was certain to make a permanent physical departure at the age of 92. These were Ramesh’s last days… Nothing could pry me away.

I was on fire – Kundalini fire from the moment I landed. I went to my teacher’s jayanti (birthday) celebration the morning of May 25, and from that night on, I was cooking…

My computer got zapped with a weird virus the day I arrived – total hard drive meltdown. Clearly, I wasn't supposed to work.

Mumbai boasts the most expensive accommodation prices in India – I couldn’t afford a monthly room with air-con. I would lie in my non-AC cracker box with the fan whirling the hot, 99%-humidity stuffy air over my sweaty body, and cry. The Kundalini energy rising up through the spinal column nadi channels, triggered partially by the heat and partially by the intensity of the spiritual transmission I was receiving, was actually painful, disturbing at best. I was completely, physically and electrically maxed out. Zaps and zings, shorts and starts were electrifying my heart center. I thought I might be electrocuting myself.

Not to mention, I thought I’d go mad with sexual energy (the best way to describe the fiery current buzzing up the chakras). One night I was so hot, I stood outside a fellow disciple’s hotel room door – a good-looking German down the hall - raised hand poised and ready to knock. As I stood there in my nightgown, I had to talk myself down. “Back to bed with you, young lady,” I told myself. "Late night booty calls are hardly your style." Off I marched back to my own room and into a cold shower.

Dragging my overly-hot ass through daily life, I was determined to stay in Bombay one full 28-day lunar cycle. I knew that opportunities – timing, resources, aged Teacher actually talking still – like this don’t come calling all the time. So, I endured four showers a day to try to cool off. I’d lie awake at 4 a.m., waiting for dawn, clutching my pen and dripping sweat on the pages of my journal. When the first rays of light sprung over the Victorian clock tower outside my window, I’d don shorts and walking sandals and head to the cricket maidan for a lightning-fast sun salutation session or brisk speed-walk around the track. Always tricky: finish your workout before the voyeurs find you. I knew I was pushing it – my knees were showing. I only had a minute window of opportunity, immediately after sunrise, before I was discovered as the early-morning white girl attraction.

The month of June was even more unbearable, as the monsoon rains were three weeks late, and the pressure buildup resembled a hot water balloon in a vise, compressed to the breaking point.

For me, however, the inner heat was more than a pre-monsoon blasting barometer or a throbbing thermometer. It was primarily the energetic, etheric, emotional transformation I was undergoing through daily satsangs and the proximity with my spiritual teacher. I would sit in satsang and feel a sort of electric buzzzzzzz running through my being. It was like sitting in some sort of MRI tunnel, or full-body Reiki chamber. I figured it was what the traditional spiritual teachings are referring to when they discuss transmission from a Master. I realized that my Teacher was probably exuding something beyond-the-beyond – all the prana, all the wisdom – for the students to absorb during these final days as his tiny, frail physical form was evaporating before our eyes. These last days, Ramesh was operating almost exclusively from a pranic body.

One morning, I couldn’t stop crying – sobbing, rather. I donned oversized Jackie O. sunglasses, clambered into a cab, and dragged myself uptown to my teacher’s house. My beloved guru was perched in his favorite chair in his private room with his beautiful wife, Sharada, by his side. I removed the dark glasses, and greeted the two radiant beings in namaskar fashion, bowing my head, kneeling, and touching my head to His feet in traditional Indian guru-disciple manner.

“Guruji,” I pleaded, kneeling before him, “This is all much too intense!”

“I know the understanding has gone very, very deep for you,” Ramesh replied in the sweet way he spoke, toothless and using the last bit of his vital essence to speak only the most necessary words. His physique was tiny and frail; his gray-blue-brown eyes, however, were blazing like infernos of pure light.

Damn straight, I thought. The understanding has gone so deep, it’s literally rewiring my entire internal-electrical structure! I hoped my Teacher might turn the volume down a bit, or somehow put me out of my psycho-spiritual misery.

“I’m going crazy!” I told him. “I know that none of this matters, and I really do not care AT ALL about anything anymore – that it’s all maya,” I blubbered, chest heaving, still sobbing. “I just want it all to finish, go all the way. I feel like I'm going mad!”

I needed some sort of release valve for all the energy, like it should pierce and spout out of the top of my head like a big sparkly fountain or something.

“You know we can’t want anything!” Ramesh said lovingly, with a twinkle in his eyes and a slight smile. He’d dinged me on the flaw in my understanding. I knew that to be totally true, that there wasn’t a damn thing that I could do, so I just closed my eyes and meditated, seated on the floor before His Lotus Feet.

After just a few seconds, I felt a wave of cooling energy slowly come over me, and a pulling down into the earth of all the excess crown chakra energy that had built up. It helped; by Grace, the volume turned down a bit, so that I could endure the activity of shakti without frying myself to madness.

Later that day, a friend fed me homemade soup, chapati, and ice water in her air-conditioned apartment, and threw me in the bathtub, where I sat and cried for an hour with cold water constantly pouring over my head. After a sesame oil massage, nap, and Shiatsu session, the color had returned to my cheeks.

Things improved tremendously, though it was still up and down the barometer levels. One day the pressure was so intense, it literally cut glass:

I’d met a hot (in the handsome sense) Romanian Gemini at satsang. We were fast becoming friends, and I was boiling inside, on more levels than one. One morning after the talks, we met for chai at the neighborhood café.

Stefan was open-minded and we could talk about anything, really. I was explaining the burning I’d been experiencing, coupled with the intense fiery sensations pulsing through my body. Perhaps to lighten up the conversation, Stefan replied with a slightly mocking comment, with the teeniest hint of jest. I felt a bit hurt – maybe because he didn’t get the hint that, clearly, I needed an outlet.

At that moment, the smirking Stefan picked up his freshly-filled water glass that stood between us. I watched, as upon being lifted, the glass cleanly sliced itself in half, the entire base falling to the tabletop. Cold water gushed out all over the table, splashing everywhere and soaking the two of us in the process. His jaw dropped.

“I told you. It’s intense.”

Ultimately, I had to catch a train to south India, seaside, and solo, where the rains had already arrived, in order to cool off and quench my raging fire...

Cliff-Diving

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 09:56:00 +0000

Most days in India, I feel I’ve hit the jackpot. I feel blessed, simply overjoyed with the grace that has entered my life to create this crazy collection of circumstances over a lifetime, to bring me to the point I am at right now:

“I live in India.”

The relief I felt when I fully understood the power of those words - it was immense. Nothing ever turns out ‘as planned’ in my life. I really had no idea I’d move to India when I came here in 2002. Drunk with love, yes. Totally shell-shocked upon return to the U.S., yes. Live here? I had no idea.

The difference between what happened to me and what happens to the average visitor to India is probably a result of a combination of the following factors:

Sufficient length of time
If you're interested in 'cliff-diving' to see how a land and a culture suit you, I suggest surrendering yourself for six months - minimum four.

Go solo
There's a certain magic, a liberation, that requires vulnerability.

Focus on one country.
Though I did stop by Thailand en route back to the west, it was a decompression – or recompression – for three weeks. I even cut my stay short a week. After India, Thailand was anti-climactic.

All debts cleared for takeoff
Clean up personal relationships, “debts” of all kinds. Make amends, closures. Tighten up the finances. Tie up all sorts of loose ends. This must be addressed before leaving. It may not be possible to do all, but do it to the best of your ability. The less you have to return to or take responsibility for ‘back home,’ the better.

[I’d focused for almost five years on cleaning up my financial life and shoring up the savings. I’d kept my life simple, foregoing a lot of temptations in order to have a year’s worth of living expenses in the bank.]

Feel the fear – and do it anyway
One week before departure, I sat in a San Fran-disco lounge with a friend. I couldn’t dance because the fear about my impending journey to India was so strong... so strong, I cried off all my glitter! This friend (who had been to India before) said to me, “LOOK, YOU ARE GOING. You can do it. It will be hard and scary. I mean, just exiting a train is like getting pushed out into the world and being born. But you are going.” Courage, my friends. Courage. I had already sold 90% of my possessions. I was SO SCARED. But more than fear, I was committed to living a life of no regrets. Cliff-diving takes guts.

Heed "The Call"
Is it a ‘check it off the list’ thing to go, or is it something you cannot ignore? There is a big difference between Travel and Tourism. I’m sure you are smart enough to know it already, intuitively...

Tourism:
serves it up on a platter.
Entertains you and caters to you.

Travel:
lets the nation change you.
It melts down your belief system.

YOU must adjust to India, not the other way around.

Winding down, wrapping up...the final hours and the last days of the Bindi Blog.

If you haven't already , do let me know if you wish to subscribe to the new, secure e-zine which will continue to focus on yoga, travel, and cosmic consciousness... coming soon!

ARRIVAL

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 11:04:00 +0000

Oh, that night. That crazy, crazy night.

That middle of the night in November 2002, when I arrived in Delhi on the holiday of Diwali…

Night of Lakshmi! Night of the great light! Crackers blasting, blowing eardrums, taxi twisting and turning through the inky black night, the smoke-filled air, chai wallas and street people huddling on the side of the dingy road as the driver hurls through time and space.

Crash-landing in the capital city of India, on another planet entirely – there’s no place like Om! Whizzing past the “March to Independence” Gandhi Memorial toward the Main Bazaar, explosions of light and kaleidoscope as fireworks shoot through the air…

This – this is my personal welcome party!

“HAPPY DIWALI!!!”
yells India.

“HAPPY DIWALI!!!”

yells the cab driver, turning his head to speak directly to me, continuing pedal to the metal, one hand steering the wheel as we barely avoid sideswiping a bumbling bullock cart and we tear into the narrow streets of the bazaar.

“HAPPY DIWALI!!!” yells the hotel night manager, shoving a box of sweets in my face as I lug my backpack up to the front desk. My first prasad (food blessed by the gods), that fateful night – milk sweets made from chana (chickpea) gram flour and loads of ghee (clarified butter).

Flashes of travel guide warnings pass before my eyes: to accept the stranger’s sweet offering, or decline gracefully. Like Alice contemplating her next move on the chess board, I weigh the risks: delight, diarrhea, or drugging. Hmmm, let me think – but not too much! That millisecond of standing there in the lobby of the cheap hotel at 3 a.m., wondering whether to go ahead and let life “EAT ME” alive… I opt to throw caution to the wind and shove the sugary cube down the hatch…

Simultaneously scared sh*tless and ferociously fearless – that’s the theme.

Mother India called, and I came.

Diving in head-over-heels, I hit the jackpot, and gained the Golden Ticket. I won a peek behind the curtains. The All-Powerful Wizard-Teacher seated in the throne of the Heart summoned, and I heeded the call, tossing aside tinted glasses to gain a glimpse of an alternate Reality...

Tat Tvam Asi - That Thou Art

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 07:51:00 +0000

There is no question of failure, neither in the short run nor in the long.
It is like traveling a long and arduous road in an unknown country.
Of all the innumerable steps, there is only the last which brings you to your destination.
Yet you will consider all previous steps as failures. Each brought you nearer to your goal, even when you had to turn back to bypass an obstacle. In reality, each step brings you to your goal, because to be always on the move – learning, discovering, unfolding – is your eternal destiny.
Living is life’s only purpose. The Self does not identify itself with success or failure – the very idea of becoming this or that is unthinkable. The Self understands that success and failure are relative and related, that they are the very warp and weft of life.

Learn from both and go beyond. If you have not learnt, repeat.

I Am That, p. 107
Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Tat Tvam Asi: "That Thou Art", (Tat = "Divinity", Tvam = "You", Asi = "are")

Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (April 18, 1897 - September 8, 1981) is an Advaita (non-dualism) sage from Bombay. He was my Teacher’s direct Guru, so that makes him my ‘grand-guru.’ I’m so happy I’m a part of his lineage, because he was an embodiment of fierce Grace. Plus, his story is unconventional – on the surface, nothing special, and that's what makes it so special.

Nisargadatta lived in a dodgy part of town, close to the red-light district. (In fact, unbeknownst to me until later, the very first night I landed in Mumbai, I actually stayed in a cheap hotel that not-coincidentally lay just around the corner from his family house!) He was a simple shopkeeper. He actually was a corner bidi walla – he sold hand-rolled cigarettes and other variety items in a local corner kiosk. He smoked. He ate meat. He had a family. And… he was wide awake.

Nisargadatta (nisarga = natural) was largely illiterate. He wasn't a scholar of the scriptures. He did love bhajans, however, and continued to sing and revel in the music of the Divine until his end. He 'woke up' pretty much on the spot after a friend brought him to a Bombay guru. The guru told Nisargadatta that all he needed to do is unwaveringly remember that his true nature was the Entire Universe – Brahman. Nisargadatta, with his simple nature and uncomplicated mind, clung to that truth with all his might and all his being. As a result, without any sadhana besides total faith and trust, he merged into complete Oneness and absolute realization.

Over the years, Nisargadatta continued his householder duties and maintained his cigarette shop, but in a totally non-attached manner. He still conducted the same actions as before – he never gave up bidis or meat, stating that, “yes, the body has retained some habits.” But now, the true knowledge of jñana was the constant flow. All sense of personal doer-ship had been uprooted. Nisargadatta was fully immersed in Consciousness. The ego had been reduced to a speck – just enough to keep the personality on the planet…

And, his personality is one of his claims to fame in the spiritual hall of sages: Nisargadatta is known for his angry outbursts and unpredictable spouts. If anger was necessary to drive home a point to a disciple, he wouldn’t mince words. The thing is, he was fully unattached: as soon as the point was made, full release of the anger also happened, just as quickly as it came. He might laugh at a disciple's joke in the very next instant. This is because ‘no one was there’ – there was absolutely no involvement or identification. He was a true 'gunatita,' flowing like water between tamas, rajas, and sattva qualities. This dispels the illusion that a sage has to exhibit a particular behavior to be a sage: a true sage is beyond qualification. Nisargadatta was as natural as an ocean that ranges from placid to torrential, depending on the energies afoot.

I Am That: Conversations with Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj is mind-blowing. I first came across this book in Rishikesh in 2002, my first visit to India. At the time, it went right over my head. I couldn’t understand it at all. It took several trips down the non-dual rabbit hole and a bit more spiritual maturing before I’d be able to absorb the teachings therein. After I met my Teacher, Ramesh, I got 'it' - 'it' meaning an intellectual understanding of nonduality - and then, Nisargadatta’s words flowed like sheer poetry.

It’s known as a ‘modern spiritual classic.’ I used to read one of the short chapters each morning, sitting on my balcony in south India, birds chirping as the Sun rose. Sometimes, tears would stream down my face as my heart opened with awareness. It’s impossible to put the absolute truth of consciousness into words. This is why poets and fantasy writers and artists are so important: we can understand indirectly.

It’s like the Buddha said when it comes to teachings, “the finger pointing at the Moon is not the Moon,” but it at least shows us the way. Ultimately, we have to experience it directly, for ourselves, and in the Heart.

Usually, if the experience brings you to tears of joy or – in some cases – bittersweet pain, you’ve hit the right spot.

Go there.

All That You Can't Leave Behind

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 13:28:00 +0000

The only baggage you can bring

Is all that you can't leave behind

~ U2

One thing about being a traveling yogi-gypsy without a permanent abode is that it is impossible to hold on to books for the simple reason I can’t possibly carry more than one or two. As it is, I’m bearing the weight of my entire belongings every time I move from one location to the next. It seems the laptop and accessories are meant to be in my possession at this time (I use it for writing and preparing astrology readings), and that is a significant weight. Everything else I need in my life, from any and all critical paperwork to notebooks to yoga mat, has to be borne on my own back.

I can hear you saying: Why doesn’t that girl just get a house? Why doesn’t she leave boxes with friends? Hasn’t that woman heard of a storage unit?

I hear you. I, myself, fantasize about having a personal sherpa, at the very least – or a porter, like days of olde, like a traveling lady of colonial age with a few trunks and a hefty walla to carry them. I don’t pack light, and it is not fun lugging my heavy bag on buses and trains. Destiny’s hand has dealt me a solo spiritual journey for the time being – so I keep paring down, paring down, paring down. The funny thing is, material items constantly come my way: other travelers pass an item on to me; I’m given a gift of remembrance; I find a small stone that wants to stay with me; I somehow end up with five skin crèmes (yes, I’m a vagabond, but I’m a woman, too).

And so, and so… I keep letting go, letting go, letting go.

In my own personal journey, it’s partly about the principle of aparigraha, meaning ‘non-covetousness,’ 'non-hoarding,' or ‘non-possession.’ Aparigraha is one of the five Yamas, the social disciplines that form the first rung of the raja yoga path as put forth by sage Patanjali in the Yoga Sutras.

Actually, Aparigraha came naturally to me, long before I knew who Patanjali was. It’s been a process, both consciously and unconsciously, of relinquishing possessions over the past ten years. As I mention all the time, constantly letting go and decluttering, keeping things as simple as possible, helps me to keep my mind clear and to see what’s really important. It also gives me tremendous freedom to be guided from one moment to the next.

Books are the hardest thing to release. I constantly have to recycle and sell them – even when they touch me so deeply as to blow my mind, or blow my heart open, as the case may be. The hardest surrendering of texts has been when I’ve had to recycle those written by my Teacher, Ramesh Balsekar. I’ve read probably 20 books by him, and they are all precious. A few of them have chilled me to the very core.

When I moved from my seasonal house near the beach this winter, I had to recycle all of my texts in order to keep only that which I could carry. Since Ramesh is no longer here in the body, I could hardly believe I had the ability to give away the books he’d written. I couldn’t justify carrying them with me; I couldn’t physically do it anyway. And, since I never know where I’m going next, where would I send them if I were to post them? I had to assure myself that his books, so long as they’re in print, could be purchased again. In addition, since I was handing them over to a worthy bookseller in the village, I knew that another person would benefit greatly by having access to these gems. I told myself that I’d absorbed the words into my own Heart and that the most important points were a part of my being. I miss those books like I miss my dearest friends.

I made another huge step in aparigraha this year when I burned a whole year’s worth of journals – they’d been partially in my possession, and partly left in storage in a guest house in south India. Up to now, journals have been my main material attachment. I have four massive crates of journals in a friend’s cellar in California (I’ve been keeping journals for 27 years of my life! That’s a lot of writing!). Those crates comprise almost all I have left over in the west. I’ve been wondering for the past three years when and if I’d be ready to say goodbye to those. “But there’s such good writing in there!” “It’s all good fodder for my books later!” “What about leaving a legacy?” “I’ll want to read about my adventures again someday!” "I'll have time to read them aloud when I'm an old lady in a rocking chair!"

Good points, indeed. But it seems my particular flavor of spiritual journey in this life is a bit extreme: I get to see what it’s like to be completely unattached to the past. I’m not going halfway up the mountain – I’m climbing Everest, it seems, and alone at that – for the time being.

And so, I created a pyre outside my temporary little abode near the beach, and said goodbye to those ten massive memoirs. Before burning them, I skimmed them and, I admit, I was awed my own experiences. But I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that more experiences, more words and more wonder are around every single corner of my life, every single day. I couldn’t take them with me. I trusted that the wisdom was a part of my very being, and that I’d be able to recall, write, and speak about the most important incidences of the past when necessary.

I did tear out a few important notes and short-story drafts before succumbing the notebooks to the flames – and, since I’m still paring down and needing to let even these pieces of paper go, I’ll share a few of those missives with you over the next few days…

Renunciation Isn’t for Everyone…

The Truth is, even though my own present path is about traveling as light as possible, I feel that those who maintain worldly lives, careers, families, and marriages with peace and harmony are the real spiritual masters…

After typing the above entry, I spent a marvelous day (O blessed, cooling cloud cover of great relief!) hiking on the holy mountain of Arunachala, meditating in Virupaksha Cave where Sri Ramana Maharshi lived for 17 years.

Sitting outside the cave later, I read a chapter from the book Ramana Maharshi and the Path of Self-Knowledge by Arthur Osborne, a western devotee who first met Sri Ramana in 1945. Not coincidentally, the chapter referred to householder life versus sannyasin (renunciate) life. Bhagavan Sri Ramana discouraged devotees from giving up householder life unless the pull from within was natural, i.e. an unavoidable internal thrust. It’s not about being homeless in order to be spiritual. The point is that ‘true renunciation is in the mind and is neither achieved by physical renunciation nor impeded by the lack of it.’

Here’s an excerpt:

Devotee: I am inclined to give up my job and remain always with Sri Bhagavan.

Bhagavan: Bhagavan is always with you, in you. The Self in you is Bhagavan. It is that you should realize.

D: But I feel the urge to give up all attachments and renounce the world as a sannyasin.

B: Renunciation does not mean outward divestment of clothes and so on or abandonment of home. True renunciation is the renunciation of desires, passions and attachments [emphasis added].

D: But single-minded devotion to God may not be possible unless one leaves the world.

B: No; one who truly renounces actually merges in the world and expands his love to embrace the whole world. It would be more correct to describe the attitude of the devotee as universal love than as abandoning home to don the ochre robe.

D: At home the bonds of affection are too strong.

B: He who renounces when he is not yet ripe for it only creates new bonds.

D: Is not renunciation the supreme means of breaking attachments?

B: It may be so for one whose mind is already free from entanglements. But you have not grasped the deeper import of renunciation: great souls who have abandoned the life of the world have done so not out of aversion to family life but because of their large-hearted and all-embracing love for all mankind and all creatures.

D: The family ties will have to go some time so why shouldn’t I take the initiative and break them now so that my love can be equal to all?

B: When you really feel that equal love for all, when your heart has so expanded as to embrace the whole of creation, you will certainly not feel like giving up this or that; you will simply drop off from secular life as a ripe fruit does from the branch of a tree. You will feel that the whole world is your home.

“The one obstacle is the mind and it must be overcome whether in the home or the jungle. If you can do it in the jungle why not in the home? Therefore why change the environment? Your efforts can be made even now, whatever be the environment.”

Every journey is truly unique...

Neti Pot, Neti Pot – O, How I Love Thee Neti Pot

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 06:06:00 +0000

Today’s post is specifically offered to people who suffer from allergies (whether seasonal, environmental, chemical), bronchitis, chronic sinus infection, hay fever, colds – and applies to all health-conscious folks and all yogis, everywhere.

If you don’t know about it already, it’s time for you to meet the ancient yogic cleansing tool known as the “neti pot.” The neti pot (see image) is a small plastic or copper vessel resembling a tiny teapot. It costs about $1.00 (maybe $5 or $10 max in the U.S.) used for the kriya (yogic cleansing technique) called “Jala Neti,” or “cleaning the nasal passage.” Jala means water, and Neti means nose.

This technique is the simplest way to reduce allergies and chronic sinus conditions. It also can reduce colds, headache, bronchitis, and hypersensitivity to environmental pollutants. I personally think the Neti pot is one of those secrets that might put some drug manufacturers out of business.

For the general public, the main benefits are: (1) Cleansing – removing excess mucus from the body; (2) Desensitization to allergies, dust, weather changes, etc.; (3) Increasing sensitivity – improved sense of smell and taste, and in general (increasing awareness).

It’s so easy: all one needs to do is…

Procure a Neti pot and then make a sterile solution of salty, lukewarm water. The water should be about as saline as seawater, and it should be just a tiny bit warmer than body temperature. Fill up the pot with the solution.

Stand with legs apart, hold the Neti with your right hand, insert the tip of the pot into the right nostril, KEEP THE MOUTH OPEN (you have to breathe still, remember!).

Next, tilt the head slightly forward and sideways to the left so that the water pours into the right nostril and comes out through the left by gravity. Make sure the head is tilted enough, or the water may go down the throat. (Don’t panic – it’s just salt water!) Stand over the sink or somewhere you don’t mind the water pouring on the ground. Allow the entire pot of water to flow through the right nostril and out the left until the pot is empty.

Now, clear out the nasal passages of all remaining water by bending your head down, then closing one nostril with the fingertips, then actively exhaling through one nostril, until no more water comes out. This is important! You’ll want to get out all excess water to avoid headache. Plus, you should be witnessing the fruits of your labors – lots of mucus! So be sure to have a Kleenex or towel handy, or something to rinse your hands off with.

Repeat the above Steps 2-4 on the left side.

Other important tips:

Be sure to always use salt.
Neti is really good for general cold sufferers; HOWEVER, do not use Neti if you have a sore throat, a fever, or inner ear infection.
For allergy prevention and relief, daily use of the Neti pot is recommended until symptoms are relieved – then do alternating days for two weeks, then every third day until symptom-free.
For yogis and the general public, Neti is recommended twice a week
Time of day: it’s best to use Neti in the early morning, before breakfast.

Happy sinus cleaning!
Enjoy the fresh and clear feeling!
May this information be helpful to you or someone you love!

NOTE: The author is a yogi, not a physician. This information is for educational purposes only. Please consult your medical practitioner to discuss the use of Neti pot for your own preventative health care needs.

The Origin of Bindi

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 05:43:00 +0000

Hi. This is Bindi Girl, and I’m a literary character.

I first appeared ‘on the scene’ as it were almost ten years ago, during the scorching hot, Black Rock Desert of Nevada, at the Burning Man art project.

Here’s what happened:

The person I chose to be my scribe, the writer Erin Reese, had been playfully handing out bindis to all and sundry Burning Man festival participants over the course of several days.

Never before had she had so much darn good fun – and for free, virtually. Never before had she experienced such spontaneous joy in the surprise and wonderment of strangers.

She’d tromp across the dusty desert, wearing some glittery, garish get-up and a big grin plastered on her face, and stick a bindi smack-dab in the center of some unsuspecting reveler’s forehead.

“Now your third eye is even more open!” she’d proclaim.

“W-o-o-o-o-w!” was the general response, which gave her even more impetus to continue opening minds and hearts with her portable, personal mark of mysticism, connection and FUN – the simple, sparkly bindi.

When the week of bindifying a large bulk of Burners came to an end, one particular well-wisher crawled out of the dust to find her. He spotted her waving out the window of a her camp's RV, bidding farewell to the Black Rock Desert in the queue for the exit gate.

She’d only met him once during the festival week, and it had just been for a few minutes while she was making bindi rounds, but apparently, she’d made quite an impression on this chap.

She couldn’t remember his name, but he definitely had his own idea of hers, as he leaped out of his own Winnebago and came running after her slow-crawling RV.

She heard it before she saw him – like a far-off call of the desert wild:

“Bin-d—i-i-i-i-i-i-i G-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-r-l!!!”

Oh my God. I think that man... Yes, he means…ME! She flung open the motorhome hatch to speak to him as he ran alongside the RV.

“Hi there, Bindi Girl!” he drawled as he dangled off the motorhome door step as the vehicle continued to crawl along.

His name still escapes, but the charming young man with blue puppy-dog eyes and long blond ponytail had a N’awlins twang that was as unmistakable and thick as Mississippi mud.

“Can I get your email, Bindi Girl?

With stars and sparkles in her own eyes, she beamed back at him. This random Southern boy had sussed out her true identity!

It was the first time she had been recognized – and, appropriately named.

And that, my friends, is the origin of Bindi Girl!

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 04:56:00 +0000

Vichara: the practice of self-enquiry

Sunday, April 4

Last night, I experienced a deep meditation at one of the meditation halls in the Ramanashramam.

First, I noticed I was getting frustrated – I couldn’t concentrate (dharana) on a single subject, the “I.” I almost quit and went back to my room, because, as I’ve said before, I’m an effortless-effort kind of person. If it’s not happening naturally, I’m not into it.

But, as much as I dislike forced practice, I’m also a person who enjoys a challenge. I decided to try the practice of vichara, Sri Ramana Maharshi’s recommended practice for a few minutes, instead of sitting there mulling over the fact that no practices are necessary.

Ramana Maharshi put forth two 'techniques' for Self-realization. Actually, these methods are totally unnecessary if one is merely able to give up the idea that there is an individual self with functions through the body and mind. If a person can accept that, there is no need for methods.

For all the other humans who feel they must try to ‘do’ something in order to achieve something, Ramana recommended either vichara (self-enquiry) or total surrender to the Divine – a surrender that stretches beyond a subject-object relation with the Source. Regarding the latter, David Godman writes, “For such self-surrender to be effective one must have no will or desire of one’s own and one must be completely free of the idea that there is an individual person who is capable of acting independently of God.” (from Be As You Are: The Teachings of Sri Ramana Maharshi)

Personally, I’m of the “surrender” variety. Raising the white flag to the Divine is just fine with me. I’ve realized that I’m powerless over everything, anyway. “Thy will be done.” Whether I think I’m doing something or building something or free-willing anything, the truth is that Cosmic Law is in charge “from raising a little finger to an earthquake,” as my Teacher used to say.

So, I’m surrendered. You got me, God.

But while I’m still living the rest of this life, I’m still open to trying different things. So, today I'll see what happens when I attempt to go deeper through the other route: vichara, or ‘self-enquiry,’ the practice of “Who am I?” or “Who is this ‘me’ who is asking the question? Or “Who is that is observing this thought/experience/pain/pleasure?” etc.

The point is to follow the ‘I’-thought to the Source, when one realizes that one is actually the subject. If one is the subject, one could never be the object, i.e. one is not the body. Ultimately, the “I” thought is traced to the Self, where there is no separation because the “I” is the Self. In the most distilled point of Truth, there is no such thing as Self-realization, because the Self is always realized. It’s just an illusion – maya – that we are somehow individually separate. It’s a part of the lila – cosmic play – that enables life as we know it to go on, and that we get to be the experiencers thereof, through identification with our senses and merging with the sense objects.

If this sounds a bit confusing, that’s because it is – confusing to the mind – until you try it. The practice of vichara actually is quite easy once you observe your-Self as an observer. Then, the trick is to keep tracing that observation back until the individual I is no longer there – it’s just ‘the I of I,’ the Source.

This is where jñana comes in – jñana being knowledge that brings one closer to the Self. The wisdom in jñana whether hearing the Truth (sravana), or seeing it pictorially as a model, or directly experiencing it in any way at all, is that the intellect can be used to see things in a proper perspective. This is a tool – a concept – that can be used to go beyond all concepts. Because the ultimate Truth, being beyond all refutable concepts, cannot be put into words, all talk and all books and all scriptures are like concept-thorns used to pry other concept-thorns out. Once the splinter is out of the foot (or head, as the case may be), one is meant to throw the thorn away. Then, the jñana will begin to flow automatically, deepening and nourishing the seeker, until full merging with the Self occurs, 100% of the time.

Is practice (sadhana) necessary? No, and yes. If practice is necessary, according to an individual’s body-mind composition including genes and conditioning, a person will practice, through meditation, self-enquiry, purification techniques, yoga, and the like. However, if and when the Truth is fully apprehended – and it drops into one’s Heart (meaning, it moves beyond intellectual understanding and into experience), then no practices are necessary – no more seeking, no more sadhana.

If practices continue after the Truth is embodied, then that’s just because the sage – the jñani – feels like doing them. Maybe he enjoys meditation; maybe she still digs yogasana. Maybe one person continues working at their law practice, while another simply watches cricket on the telly. It really doesn’t matter if one is seated in the Self. The point is to relax.

Knowing all this – at least enough to write about it thus far – how did my one-hour practice of vichara go last evening?

Well enough to write about it today. I found that self-enquiry and tracing the “I” to its Source helped me to rest in the Truth. By no means did the 'me' completely dissolve, yet it became so clear that ‘I’ was the subject, and ‘I’ was happy to sit in that awareness. That’s the point that Ramana advises us to cling to: cling to the ‘I’ until the ‘I’ disappears.

And so there ‘I’ clung for a while – hanging on to my little ‘I’ lifebuoy in a deep blue expanse of awareness...

You are
unconditioned and changeless,
formless and immovable,
unfathomable awareness,
imperturbable:
so hold to nothing but consciousness.

— Sage Ashtavakra
Ashtavakra Gita, Ch.1, v.17

Daily Bread

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 14:49:00 +0000

April 3, Saturday

I woke up late.

It was 5:30 a.m.

Like I said, late – for an ashram.

Skipped yoga, read a book on Ramana Maharshi’s teaching, bathed and skipped off for prayers in the meditation hall.

Earth Changes

After prayers and typing the previous day’s blog notes, I started the day by visiting the ashram of a local woman saint, Sri Siva Sakthi Ammaiyer who has been in mouni (silence) for years.

Every morning, there is a darshan with Maa for only fifteen minutes. Visitors arrive before to meditate and bask in the healing vibrations of the darshan room before she enters. I came here once before, and the same thing happened to me again today: I’d closed my eyes to meditate and enter the silence, feeling the energies in the potently-charged room (it’s like being in a Reiki-tunnel). Without opening my eyes, I became aware of an electromagnetic buzzing and heightened awareness. I wondered whether Maa had entered the room – she walks and moves completely silently. Indeed, when I opened my eyes, she’d entered the hall and was slowly moving toward her chair in the center.

Maa sits for a while in her seat, then stands and moves about the room, making eye-contact with some, while glancing in an indirect manner above others’ heads. Sometimes, she makes tiny, barely perceptible movements with her hands in a sort of mudra. As an intuitive myself, I can feel what she’s doing – she’s directing with and working with the healing energy. It is as if her work in life – her job – is to stay connected to the Source 100% of the time, in silence, prayer, and meditation; then, she can direct that pure awareness toward others in her presence. The gift of awareness is that “It” goes exactly where it needs to go to heal – no mental effort is needed.

Some of you are probably thinking, “Yeah, right. Quite an imagination you have.” Well, it’s just like going to the doctor. Some of us just go to energy healers.

Whatever works, you know.

On the way out of the darshan hall, I happened to notice a channeled message from Ma posted on the wall, from December 2009. The gist of the message (take what you like and leave the rest) was that over the past year the earth’s rotation has speeded up slightly, but with great impact, due to the karma of individuals. This is the cause of the great climate changes and natural disasters. This speeding up will continue gradually but more intensely through 2012 – more earthquakes, tsunamis, floods, volcanic activity, and the like will occur. People in coastal areas or on islands should be careful. India may be less affected than other places. The message stated that aware individuals need strengthen and stabilize their inner peace and patience in order to weather (no pun intended) the coming changes.

It’s possible that awareness of the upcoming (and recent) global calamities is what has led me to learn to live as simply as possible – or maybe, I just like it. I’ve learned I can be happy (and, in fact, happier) with very little possessions, and no expectations. I’ve learned that less distraction and less complexity in my daily life helps me to be calmer, and helps me focus on maintaining inner silence no matter what’s happening on the outside. This is also found in the simplicity of food choices. Perhaps, if the world is going to go through a massive geological shift, and it gets to a point where food is hard to get (food that is costly in terms of resources to produce), people will need to learn to subsist on a simple vegetarian diet – so perhaps unconsciously I’ve begun training the body-mind, a la Frances Moore Lappe's Diet for a Small Planet (1971).

My own digestive system works like a charm on a plant-based South Indian diet. I rarely ever have any health problems like colds or flu, indigestion or constipation. You know, it’s taken me a while to adjust to this sort of eating – the changes in spices, and the changes in “protein expectations.” It’s also taken a while to let go of the idea that there has to be constant variety in the menu, like “Sushi on Saturday, burritos on Tuesday, Italian on Friday, and Chinese on Thursday.” I’ve found that my own body actually responds better to a diet with simple, rather than extreme, fluctuations in rhythm. You wouldn’t believe the savings in food costs.

As they say, “Progress not perfection”! I’m an effortless-effort kind of person. Things go and things change when they’re meant to, and not one moment before. Awareness is the only effort – and that’s probably 99% of any change.

Now, let’s see when coffee leaves me…

Sigh…One of the last little indulgent luxuries.

In the meantime, until it goes, I’ll enjoy… with awareness.

S-l-u-u-u-u-r-p!

Daily Bread

Speaking of simple living and simple food choices, I was so touched and happy to be in my little ashram yesterday when I witnessed the following scene:

I emerged from my room just as the Sun decided to cool it a bit – at 5 p.m. – to take chai and head to the main Ramanashram for evening meditation and chanting.

Just before exiting the gates of my little ashram, about 30 babas were lined up with their round steel tiffin (small meal) containers dangling from their hands. Their other hands typically contained their walking staff. All of their possessions dangled from their ‘baba bag’ – a single shoulder bag. All were dressed in bright ochre robes, the color of the burning Sunset.

Most were in their 50’s or 60’s with shortly-cropped gray hair and closely-trimmed beards – a few younger renunciates wore coal-black, dusty dreadlocks. The former were most certainly sannyasins who were living off alms and pursuing only spiritual goals after completing their householder duties.

It suddenly hit me that it was Saturday, of course – known as “beggars’ day” throughout India – and our little ashram was doing its part to support the spiritual seekers. Standing on the steps, the white-clad Mother of our ashram was preparing to serve these men – poor in possessions but rich in spirit. She was stirring a mammoth-sized vessel of delicious-smelling curd-rice, seasoned with fragrant curry leaves. The taciturn babas emanated a content vibration as they lined up for Ma’s generous ladle.

I walked past the scene swiftly (so as not to draw attention to myself) and my heart opened for joy. What a small thing – to offer a few cups of yogurt and grain. And what a large blessing – to fill so many bellies, supporting these men in their commitment to the Divine.

Sannyasins are, in a sense, preparing for the ultimate Samadhi known as Death. Learning to live without fear is of key importance.

When one knows it is possible to live with nothing, what is there to fear in Nothingness?

A Month of Tapas

noreply@blogger.com (Erin Reese, M.S.) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 05:08:00 +0000

Tapas – heat, austerity, penance

Tapasya – the inner discipline that generates heat and intensity throughout the subtle nervous system, the practice that awakens the upward-flowing energy of realization (from Great Swan: Meetings with Ramakrishna, by Les Hixon)

April 1, Thursday

By local bus from Bangalore, I rumbled into Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu (about four hours southwest of Chennai) where Shiva dwells as the red-earth mountain, holy Arunachala.

It’s my third visit here over the past four years. I’ve come here to deepen my connection to the Self, the Source, through meditation, contemplation, and yogasana. This is where the Great Sage of Arunachala, Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi, transmitted his great teachings from 1896 until his death in 1950. Today, the Ramanashram is thriving at the base of the mountain.

For about 20 days, I’m planning on staying in a small, private affiliate ashram devoted to Ramana nearby; then, for the last ten days of April, I have a reservation in the main ashram. Let’s see if I can last this long.

It’s hotter here than any place I’ve been during India’s infamous hot seasons – right now, it seems even hotter than Varanasi, where I could fry an egg on my balcony. It’s definitely hotter than pre-monsoon Mumbai, where at least the occasional lapping of the ocean breeze teased me with the promise of cooling down. There’s no breeze here. It’s dry as a bone. But I need to be here: it’s off-season, it’s quiet, and I can concentrate on sadhana (practice).

I enjoy India most in places and seasons where tourists are few and far between. This means being willing to go off the beaten path – and then, being willing to tread even further. This also means enduring scorching heat or deluges for days during monsoon. If one can adjust to the climate, with mental fortitude, it’s usually filled with internal rewards.

I may be crazy. Sometimes I wonder about my undertakings. But there’s something in yogic philosophy called “tapas” that makes sense to me. Tapas means austerity; it also means heat, and penance. Tapas is one of the foundational prongs of Patanjali’s yoga sutras called “niyama,” wherein the sadhaka (practitioner) embraces a personal code of discipline to strengthen her yoga path. Sitting with intention in an otherwise unbearably hot climate in order to have uninterrupted time with the Source is a perfect example of tapasya. Another example of tapas was the month’s time I spent in Mumbai last year in order to hear the last series of daily satsang talks of my Guru before he left his body: it was crazy hot, I couldn’t afford A/C, the body was miserable, the brain was cooking, but the heart was soaring in love and gratitude. Was it worth it? You better believe it.

April 2, Friday

It came to me while chanting the 108 names of Ramana Maharshi during the morning prayers that this could be a good time to make short, daily entries to the blog. Perhaps this will be inspiring to the readers, or at the very least, entertaining in an educational way.

The ashram where I am currently staying is very small, immaculately clean. I’ve come so far from the Erin before who used to hate ashram-life. Actually, I realize now I didn’t hate ashram life: I hated being herded around in cases where it was a tourist-ashram. Now, I understand when the focus is serious meditation and contemplation, and noble silence is being practiced – well, I’m like a duck in water (if only there was a pond – I’d be soaking in it).

There are several babas and swamis here, and they are in silence unless necessary to speak. The food here is heavy, rice-based, and delicious. I’ve realized I need to watch my intake as I’m slowly growing a baba-belly since the 30-days at the yoga university had the same cuisine. I'm not used to being fed three times a day. I think I’m the only person at the yoga instructor’s course that actually gained weight.

One baba here has such a wild look, I won’t even peek in his direction. He’s probably harmless, but he’s got the mad look of a crazed warrior god, with long hair and three huge jettas (dreadlocks) – one sprouting straight from the top of his head, and one growing out from each temple. He ties them up in a top-knot bun. With the smearing of vibhuti (sacred white-gray ash) on his forehead and the red tilak in the center, and his “I’ve just seen Shiva in the form of a ghost” look in his permanently-widened eyes, he looks like he could jump off a cliff any moment into maha-nirvana.

The first morning, I woke up at 3:30 a.m. without the alarm, soaked in sweat, of course. I read a bit from a Ramana book, and bathed, practiced yogasana and pranayama. I also chanted a bit – it’s so great to be in an ashram where you can chant openly in the wee hours of the dawn without disturbing. The yoga course really renewed my love of chanting, and I’ve come to understand more Sanskrit and pronunciation, especially through our daily recitations of the Bhagavad Gita. In the morning and evenings, we would chant the following Santi Mantra with great gusto, and chills would run down my spine:

Om asato maa sadgamaya
Tamaso maa jyotirgamaya
Mrtyor ma amrtangamaya
Om Santih Santih Santih

Let us move from unreality to reality, from darkness t light, and from mortality to immortality. Om peace, peace, peace.

Sarve bhavantu sukhinah
Sarve santu niramayah
Sarve bhadrani pasyantu
Maa kascit duhkhabhag bhavet
Om Santih Santih Santih

May all be happy. May all be free from disabilities. May all look to the good of others. May none be subjected to misery. Om peace, peace, peace.

After completing my personal practice, I joined the swamis and babas and the four foreign guests in the prayer room for further chanting from 6:30-8:00 a.m. When the head Swamiji began chanting the 108 names of Ramana Maharshi and adorning the small murti (idol) with hundreds of white, red, pink, and yellow blossoms, I was suddenly overcome with tears. I was feeling the love and bhakti for my Teacher, Ramesh, who was a lifelong devotee of Ramana.

It’s been just over six months since his passing. Of course, I know Ramesh is always with me, everywhere, and the Guru in my Heart is here and now; still, the human part of me does miss my Teacher. I think of the precious moments absorbed in the Truth while perched at his feet, and I know I’m extremely lucky to have met him. From what I’ve read from great bhaktas (devotees), that very ache for the Teacher is the connection to God and Self (the same), and is really the whole point – that is what it is all about. That very ache IS the Source.

So, it’s a bittersweet happy-sad feeling that wells up in my chest – that Divine Love. It’s a pleasure-pain that one can actually enjoy, this bliss of tenderness…