Crying, calm

Saturday, June 22nd 2019

Nevada City, CA

It’s 6:30am and I am waking up for yoga and meditation. I quickly get dressed, brush my teeth, and wash my face. I arrive for class at 6:55am and they have already started. I feel irrationally angry that class started ahead of schedule. The instructor seems unsure of herself and the yoga poses are disjointed. As the class moves into shavasana I feel a strong tickling sensation in the back of my throat; I feel as though I’ll start coughing uncontrollably. I breathe in small sips of air followed by long, slow exhales. Eventually, the tickling stops as I move into meditation. 

As I leave class I feel a large build-up of postnasal drip. I cough some of it up and am immediately nauseous. I skip breakfast in favor of a large cup of coffee. Sitting outside next to the bird feeder, I begin to think that my allergies are really kicking in and that I should leave early. I devise a plan to leave after lunch, get an AirBnb near the coast, and continue meditation on my own. I run through the conversation with the front office in my head and even decide to donate the cost of my remaining lodging and food back to Ananda. I just want to get out of this place. 

Around 9:15am the group gathers in the dining room for a talk from the gardener. His name is Charles and from his introduction, I quickly deduce that he is over 75 years old. He has been with Ananda since his 20s and is incredibly charismatic. He tells stories of his spiritual journey and I hang on every word. He speaks about letting go of anger from this life and past lives. He says that people are too hung up on the “why” of their anger. He asks, if you had a hot rock in your hand, would you ask "why" it’s there or would you just drop it? He says that anger is like a hot rock. He also talks about how the world is full of fear and anger and this is just part of our evolution. 

As Charles leads us around the garden he pauses to tell stories about certain trees and statues. His stories are interspersed with mysticism and a well-articulated worldview. I am fighting back tears throughout his entire talk. Something about this morning has made me very emotional and, subsequently, completely embarrassed. I can only take solace in the fact that no one will ask me to talk about it. 

By the end of Charles’s talk, I am fully crying and can not stop. He leaves the group with a bit of advice to learn to filter, not block, situations that are hard to handle. He looks at me as he says this. 

As soon as the talk is over, I walk to a small root cellar that is dedicated for meditation. I grab a handful of kleenex and a meditation pillow. The room is dark and the air is cool. It smells like dirt. I step through each breathing exercise. I am crying hard, but am still able to control my breath enough to eventually get into meditation. I ponder the idea that I have a metaphorical hot rock in my hand and work on dropping it. I ask myself the root of my anger and listen quietly for an answer. Eventually, it comes. 

After meditation, I splash cold water on my face, cover-up in sunscreen, and leave for a hike. This time I decide to hike the entire loop around the property, which is 3 miles. I no longer have a map or watch, but start down the path, nonetheless. The forest is very quiet and I am enjoying the movement of walking and the use of my muscles. I am no longer actively crying but am still occasionally tearing up. My thoughts are slowing down. At one point I pass a Y-shaped intersection and think that may be the path back to camp, but continue onwards. Later I see a white rock glistening on the road and pick it up. As an afterthought, I silently ask the forest if it's okay to carry the rock and I feel that the forest is okay with it. As I hold the rock in my hand, I think of those who have died in my life. I wish that I had been more empathetic during those times and resolve to adopt a new perspective. 

As I continue to walk, I am starting to feel as though I may have gone too far. Eventually, I hit the end of the road and realize that I should have turned at the fork. I am strangely not upset, though have mild anxiety that I am running short on water.  The sun is incredibly hot and, after what seems like forever, I am finally approaching the main property with an empty water bottle. I immediately fill up and then head back to the bathhouse. I take a cold shower and feel completely renewed. 

Next, I go back to the dining hall and pour myself a small cup of milk and take a few handfuls of macadamia nuts. I have missed lunch by nearly 3 hours. Next, I pour a cup of coffee and go to my usual chair. I am surprised to see a dead rat laying next to it. It appears that Pasha, the resident cat, has brought me a present. I find somewhere new to sit and spend the rest of the afternoon journaling and staring at plants. I am finally feeling calm and relaxed. 

At 4:30pm I rejoin the group for evening yoga and meditation. There is a new yoga teacher, who is incredible. At the end of class, he conducts a sound bath and then a guided meditation. During the meditation, he asks the group to picture ourselves sending a gift to mother earth and then imagine what she sends back, however, in my vision she sends nothing. As I fall into meditation, I picture myself in a waiting room. I am a ball of light that is expanding and contracting. Eventually, I expand my own light enough to break through the walls of the waiting room. Behind the wall are endless rows of hospital beds, filled with suffering bodies. I start to send light to one at a time, but they are endless. I begin to expand again and light eventually encompasses all of the space. 

The dinner bell rings at 6:30pm and I am starving. I follow the group to the dining hall and eat vegetable curry with rice. This is not filling, however, so I supplement with beef jerky and more macadamia nuts.

After dinner, the group gathers in the Temple of Silence for a class on chanting. I am excited, but quickly learn that “chanting” is really just singing hymns. Susan explains that it’s okay to break our silence because the sounds are intentional. I don’t like the class but participate anyway. 

Afterward I walk to the bathhouse for a long, hot shower and then crawl into my tent for some much-needed sleep. What a day.