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Spiritual Tools: I |
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The Beautiful People
"We have to change this whole earth into a tremendous festival, and it
is possible because man brings all that is needed to transform this
earth into a paradise." ~ OshoI’m pretty funny about hippies. In some ways, I deeply embody their free-wheelin’ ideals and nonconformist principles (this is completely by accident). In other ways, the mouthy, sarcastic rock star in me flies in the face of all they believe--not to mention that their hippiecrite rhetoric and magical thinking usually drive me fucking nuts. I’m not a conspiracy theorist—just deeply suspicious. I’m not a foodie—just grateful for every meal. I’m not Asian—I just don’t like body hair. I’m not aimless—just open.
My nickname on the Goat Farm was “Cartman” because I was constantly offending someone with my equal opportunity racist joke or for laughing at a “Burner” (regular Burning Man attendee—never shuts the fuck up about it) for talking about shifting the entire consciousness of the planet by dancing his or her way to a higher vibration or for constantly asking the question, “So assuming this is all true--what am I supposed to do about it?” to every conspiracy theory presented. In the movie of my life on the farm (have no fear—I’m writing it), my character archetype was definitely: Fish-Out-Of-Water. Big City girl goes to the country. Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know…we’ve all seen that one before.
Well, now close your eyes and try to imagine that Cartman persona on an Ashram…I know, I kind of want to see the South Park, too.
Oh wait, you’re probably going to have to wiki the term “ashram” first. I will spare you the extra step. It’s a spiritual hermitage, usually in a remote, pristine place reminiscent of Eden, where dirty hippies (apparently “seekers” is the politically correct term) like myself go to do yoga, meditate and get in touch with our inner Zen by trading four hours of work (gardening, laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc…) around the grounds for room and food.
How I end up on an Ashram fours days after I arrive in Australia is of course, a funny story, but it's a bit of a tangent.
I’ve never been to an Ashram, nor did I ever really plan on going to one--despite being a yogi and all that other shite. I really had no idea what to expect. Nothing could have prepared me--except for my recent experience on the farm. Thank God for roughing it on that Goat Farm. Without that transition, I would never survive the ‘Shram.
Usually there is some type of “Master” or “Guru” or whatever he prefers not to be referred to as; he runs the place, guides the exercises, the work and the spiritual progress of us humble young grasshoppers. I am staying at an Osho-inspired ashram. This means nothing to most of you, something to some of you and quite a bit to my L.A. yoga instructor who is probably choking on his Maté as he reads this right now. Google “Osho” and you will find the story of sex, followers, controversy and conspiracy. The extent of our exposure to this is minimal. We just listen to some of his discourse once or twice a week. I am not familiar with every single one of his ideas, but for the most part, I don’t mind Osho. He manages to be irreverent yet spiritual at the same time. I can appreciate that.
As for the other residents, some have been here for over a year and have no intention of leaving any time soon. They are the “core group” and the heart of the 'Shram. Then there is the revolving door of travelers, wanderers, seekers, hippies, lost souls and couch surfers. Some come for what they think will be three days and stay six months. Others leave and return upon realizing that “out there” causes too much anxiety after spending enough time in Eden (this may be exactly what happens to yours truly).
Some arrive and after two days and one weird meditation where the leader says without a hint of irony or comedy at all, “And then after the 15 minutes of jibberish…” are hitching the first ride back into town. Between yoga, theater and improv, I’ve been exposed to enough weird exercises in my life to be completely immune to anything the Ashram throws my way. Although it is quite hilarious to watch the more inhibited English newbies struggle to get in touch with their inner animal spirits or really let themselves go and just scream.
Life on the ‘Ram is blissfully, elegantly, effortlessly simple. Over the past four years, I’ve taken measure upon measure to simplify my way of life and thought I did a pretty good job considering that I live in LaLa Land. But the truth is—it’s impossible to live an uncomplicated life in modern civilization. All of our conveniences have robbed us of the ability to ever sustain an existence in alignment with the natural order of things.
Everything about the ‘Ram lifestyle--although an adjustment without modern comforts--feels instinctively right to me. Nothing gets wasted. The grass we mow becomes mulch for the garden. The weeds I pull out of the garden get tossed at the base of the banana trees. After six months the poo composts into MANure for the fruit trees. Water is treasured. Showers are short and dishes are done the way you would on a boat, sparing every drop.
Believe it or not (because I can’t), I actually find myself grateful to be using a compostable toilet again instead of flushing away hundreds of gallons of precious water. Once again, I am getting in touch with my love of farming—a love I never knew I even had and continue to cultivate.
The schedule is quite easy to adapt to because it works with your body’s optimal biorhythms. We have optional meditation at 5:45am, but after that the schedule is the same every day.
7:00am: Breakfast. Porridge or oats. Toast. Bananas. We have boatloads of banana trees and mango trees here, so there is always some kind of fruit.
8:00am: Work begins. This changes daily depending on the weather and what work is the most pressing. After a week of sweltering heat and baking sun, we are now dealing with persistent, monsoon-like rain. This ashram sits on 100 acres of some of the most gorgeous Bush in Australia. Needless to say, there is constant cleaning, weeding, mowing, raking…the upkeep of paradise is truly endless.
12:30pm: Lunch. Vegetarian. Always delicious. All local grains, beans and vegetables most of them right out of the garden.
2:00 – 6:00: Free time. On some days the ashram offers different activities we can choose to participate in if we like, for instance yoga, sauna or a Kundalini meditation. Nothing in the afternoon is mandatory however. This is when I have been trading one of the other Ashies yoga for guitar lessons, something I have always wanted to learn and the reason I can’t feel the fingertips on my left hand.
6:00: Dinner. Leftovers from lunch. Usually I don’t eat that much because you don’t want a full stomach for the evening meditation.
7:30: Evening Mediation. Always different. Walking meditations, sunset meditations, bonfires, Osho discourse, dancing, music or just good ol’ fashioned sitting and breathing.
9:00: Everyone retreats to bed. I’m usually asleep by 10:30, which for me—is unprecedented.
Now most of you out there in the Real World would consider sweating your ass off deep in the Bush, trying to avoid Jumping Ants while you weed (their sting is a “reminder to stay aware” and also ten times more powerful than any bee sting I’ve ever had) and tripping over pythons prowling while you cook dinner--all for an adorable cottage in heaven and some of the freshest food you’ve ever tasted--a scam. But we understand the work is an integral part of our spiritual training and ultimately, good for us. (For the record: it is).
Bear in mind, the mathematical equations of time = money don’t apply here. Sure I could be making at least $50/hour “out there” but I would never be able to realize my full potential as Master of the Rake. I would never understand how therapeutic, fully absorbing and deeply satisfying yanking those pesky weeds from the garden could feel. I would never appreciate the effort it takes to cook a grilled cheese, eggs or a cup of tea over an open fire. The breathless shock of a daily cold shower would forever elude me.
The Bush takes some adjusting. The weather changes on a dime, but when it’s hot, it’s muggy, sticky, sexy heat. We are in the rain forest, so there are no lack of critters. Geccos, lizards and salamanders slither out of your way all day. Bats and mice squeak in the rafters all night. Porcupines run for cover in the Labyrinth. The spiders are fucking ginormous and all look deadly, despite most of them being completely harmless. There are snakes all over the place, although their appearance is rare--everything from pythons to deadly brown snakes. I mentioned the jumping ants—the intense sting of their bite kind of turns me on now, I like the fire in my blood. I get leeched once a day, especially with all this heavy rain. The cockroaches must be at least 2,000 years old they’re so big and full of personality. There is a very large and colorful toad that likes to inhabit one of the bathrooms at night. A peacock wanders around the property, shedding his plume. The kookaburras laugh hysterically and maniacally throughout the day. The Cat Bird sounds exactly like a crying baby left somewhere deep in the forest. And lets not forget the wallabies--small kangaroos and quite a curious bunch.
When it’s not monsooning, the sunsets are spectacular, some of the best I’ve ever seen anywhere. But even more awe-inspiring than the sights of the Bush are the sounds. When it rains, it fucking pours. So hard you think it will come through your tin roof. The toads love the rain and croak excitedly as the earth gets one solid drenching after another. Like clockwork, no matter what the weather, the minute the sun dips below the horizon the cicadas start their hypnotic hum. Right on their heels comes a symphony of toads, frogs and other insects and birds, their perfectly timed sunset serenade defying all musical description. I now live for this sound, the purring engine of the jungle itself.
But don’t get me wrong. It’s not all bananas and koalas here. We Ashies are all still just a bunch of flawed humans trying to co-exist, love and learn together. So, clearly there is plenty of drama. It’s almost like being on a reality show sometimes. The Real World – Ashram Australia.
Not to mention that spiritual work is the hardest kind of work to do—hence why in our Western culture we primarily ignore it and do whatever we can to avoid facing those inner demons. We pop a pill. We drink our pain away. We bury ourselves in work or television, work, porn, Facebook or a million other distractions so easily accessible at the tips of our fingers, in the palm of our hand. We go on weekend retreats and expect the effects of those two days to counteract years upon years of social conditioning.
Ashrams are designed specifically to remove all of these distractions. Their primary purpose is to put you in touch with your heart, your soul, your inner truth, your conditioning, your shame, your belief systems you don’t even know you have. In order to do this, you are removed from everything you think you know. Your family, your country, your name and your very identity become irrelevant the minute you cross the threshold. To really ingrain this principle you are usually given a new name.
A lot of places like this get a reputation of being kind of cultish. I can understand the concern. But in most cases it's not a cult. It's just a collection of people fed up with the priorities "out there". People decide this path is the most important to them; they go off the grid, check out and disappear into a hermitage of meditation and ecstatic dance all the time in Ashrams all over the world.
The question is: How deep down the Ash Hole do you want to go?
Pretty deep it appears because you must now call me …. “Prem Sarita.”
Article Series
This article is part 1 of a 3 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
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Spiritual Tools: I
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Spiritual Tools: II
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Spiritual Tools: III
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