Ghiza -i -Rhu

Tuesday, November 2^nd

This morning after meditation, I encountered Manus alone and I quietly asked him to explain the events of yesterday. He informed me that the artist Suresh, whom I had interviewed last week, attempted to commit suicide. I was shocked at the news, and Manus quickly assured me that he was ok. He had been discovered in his room near by, with his wrists cut, and  had been admitted to a local hospital. His family had been notified and family members living in the area were with him.. Suresh, was a frequent visitor at the ashram, and had been working on a project here. He is a very talented artist and I had been very impressed by the quality of his work. We had spoken at length about vedic paintings which utilized color in relation to the five elements and the use of sacred prayers, that were chanted into each piece.

His had been a story of relative success. He knew very early in his life that he wanted to be an artist, and had earned a degree in fine arts. He spent much of his professional career moving around and had finally gain a permanent job working for a university. However, this is where things had began to fall apart. According to what I understood from Suresh, the university had commissioned him to paint a large mural of the Gods. Once it was completed, Suresh discovered to his horror, that the wall was to be the location for the public urinals.

The mural had taken a great deal of time to complete and was inculcated with many sacred prayers. It was sacred art and was to have have been some thing spectacular. But instead, this defilement of the Gods, was to be his undoing. He left the university more than three years ago, and has been plagued with bad luck ever since.  He has not maintained a stable job, and can barely earn enough money to sustain himself, let alone send money to his wife and children. A wife he has not spoken to in more than three years, and children he has not seen. His is a tale of woe. He is clearly tormented by the bad karma he believes he inherited from this incident. His lack of knowledge as to how the university would employ the mural, could not absolve him of his guilt.  Innocence, is stained with culpability; he cannot escape his fate.  Suresh is a very gentle man full of nervous energy, and I pray that he may recover from the terrible mental anguish that he is suffering.  Even having found a temporary refuge here at the ashram, ultimately, could not save him from the torment of his own demons.

Today I am meeting Maya, who has invited me to attend a free breath workshop. I arrive at the location of the workshop and join the assembled group who are seated on the floor. Chai is served, and after a brief introduction, we climb up to the roof carrying blankets and mats. It is cool this morning and we move to a spot where the sun sheds its warmth. The two facilitators begin to guide us in a series of breathing exercises. The movements are strenuous and demand a lot of stamina. Each sequence takes a minute with a minutes rest in between. I find myself sweating despite the early morning breeze.   Each time stand in stillness, I allow myself to be gently carried by the wind. Soft and gentle, it tugs at my clothes, and at once I am a kite, flying high in the sky.  I am drunk, and I completely surrender to this feeling. Each day India gives me another reason to be intoxicated by her.   

The exercises become more intense and at the completion of the sequence, we are instructed to lie down on the blankets. The wind continues to gently pull on my clothes and now fingers of air, attempt to brush open my eyelids. The wind dances across me body, to the haunting melody of the music that is now playing. It is a slow and beautiful lament that speaks to the eternal longing of my soul.  This wanting transcends the boundaries of the known; the music now the connecting thread to the immutable voice of God.   To the Sufi's' it is Ghiza-i -ruh, food for the soul.  The music pours itself into the center of my being,  and I know a boundless and infinite joy.  My revere is broken by the sobbing cries of the young woman lying next to me. Like a pebble dropped into a still pond, her tears move out in waves of expanding circles, until they wrack her body with convulsions. Those of us who are still lying down, sit up to silently take hold of the fringes of this cloth.  Our invisible arms,  reach out to embrace her. Encapsulated in this moment of space and time, there is wind, and there is music, and there is freedom, and there is beauty. Spent of all emotion, she reaches out to her boyfriend and places her head in his lap. Quietly, the rest of us tip toe back downstairs, leaving the couple together on the roof. 

The facilitators explain that the breath work can be very cathartic, and let me know I may experience some release of emotions. The next session is scheduled for 4pm this afternoon. The facilitators, Yog and Hari, have spent the past six months in intensive meditation in the forest. Often sleeping for as little as 1 to 2 hours a night. From this experience they have developed ht techniques that they are sharing with us, and they hope to travel around the country sharing the process with others. The two are very humble and unassuming, but I suspect that they are quite advanced souls.

4:00pm arrives and I return to the apartment where the workshop is being conducted. We are a small group of six people and and the two facilitators. Hari



I realized that she was the first American I had spoken with in more than three weeks, and immediately conversation had become a battle ground, as it so often is at home.   Our bloated  ego's vied for dominance in this minefield of words.  Words I discovered contain their own potential for violence and can be directed in such as way as to tear a hole in the etheric body of the other person.  There was in this exchange a note of aggression that has been absent from all of my other encounters. I was disturbed by the fact that I had  lost my equilibrium, and I made a mental note to myself to be more mindful in the future.  I had lnothing to prove.