Day 4 - Fires, Ceremonies, and Shiva

Yes, I actually took that picture. I still can't believe what a pefect conclusion that sunset over Shiva was to a soul-transforming day. Starting with 6:30 am yoga (the teacher's style is growing on me), serenaded by the sounds of monkeys jumping onto a tin roof nearby (they were testing our ability to focus on our breath amidst distraction), and ending with this sunset you see above, my fourth day in Rishikesh began to slowly open small windows into my heart and soul.

Again, I received a full panchakarma treatment, the oil massage, oil drip on forehead, and steam (always followed by this amazing Arogyam and ginger tea). I didn't realize at the time that this ritual was more than just luxurious -- it was also slowly digging deep into the tissues of my body and releasing toxins, both physical and mental. But I had no idea. I thought they were just pampering me.

That evening, we participated in two sacred Hindu rituals by the banks of the Ganga in front of the huge Shiva statue you see in the picture. (He is squashing a tiger with the power of his peaceful meditation). The first ceremony, the puja, consisted of us sitting in a circle that would soon be a fire and cluelessly following the actions of the Hindus that had decided to join this motley group of foreigners who had no idea what was going on. They were patient in their body language and didn't say a word, but their eyes kept screaming, "You MORONS!" But what could we do? Just smile and look sorry for being so dumb.

First, we had red powder and rice placed in the center of our foreheads and lots of flowers with which we lined the fire pit. Then, the leader began chanting and we were all given small bowls made of leaves containing dirt (most likely cow dung) and seeds. We were instructed non-verbally make a mudra with our hands and then when the leader said a specific phrase, chuck the dirt and seeds into the fire in small handfuls. This reminded me of an experience I had at Kripalu in a YogaDance class where the teacher told us to pick up scarves, imagine they were our pains and our burdens, and then chuck them into the center of the room as if it were a large fire and we were ridding ourselves of them.

So that's what I did here. Each time I threw a handful of seeds and dirt into the fire, I conjured up an image of something I wanted to get rid of, and threw it into the fire. I threw away painful memories from my childhood, I threw away all the negative things my mother had every said to me, I threw away my past anorexia, I threw away my subsequent overeating and dieting cycle, I threw every toxic substance I had ever put into my body, every toxic person I'd known. I threw away all the dysfunctional relationships I'd been in, I threw away the feelings of inadequacy, anxiety, and lethargy that have plagued me for so long. I kept digging deeper and deeper, throwing it all away, one by one, until I was done. I started to get worried that I had nothing else to throw away when the next cycle would come around, and then, miraculously the chanting was over. The ceremony had ended.



Later, I found out that the dirt and seeds were supposed to represent the negative things in our lives that, once thrown into the fire, would never germinate and sprout again. Well, how about that?! And he chanted 108 times, the same sacred number of beads on a mala (there are 108 explanations for the significance behind that number, so I won't go into that here). The ashes were then thrown into the Ganga.

We moved onto the Aarti, which is a singing and candle-lighting ceremony, an offering to the Ganga for taking away our pain. Since the leaders of our group, Soni and David, have made some friends in Rishikesh (they came here last year), they scored us front row seats at the ceremony. We were surrounded by hundreds of boys in saffron and yellow as well as other lucky folks who happened to get up front, both Hindus and tourists. Out of the crowd, one woman, dressed in all white, stood out. The expression of pure devotion on her face and the seriousness with which she sung were striking.

All the singing was beautiful, and we chanted and clapped along. Then the candle-lighting started, and all sorts of contraptions -- large candelabras to small plates to bowls full of flowers and incense -- were lit, moved in a clockwise circle, and then either passed on or placed in the Ganga.


As I witnessed all this, I felt like the glass box that had been sheltering my heart was blown open and suddenly it was free. As the sun set over Krishna, I felt the evening closing with such grace and beauty that only God could have created it. And I don't believe in God. Didn't.