Rishikesh for one week was first on purpose. Initially it was planned as an exorcism of sorts; I had felt the insensitive West harden my heart over the past year. Soul slightly shrivelled. Rishikesh is medicine for the spirit.
Yoga and kismet connections with fellow seekers. Yoga and self realisation. Yoga and holding ourselves accountable. People and what responsibilities we have to each other, people and what responsibilities we have to ourselves. Wisdom lives in the air and it will find you if that is your intention.
Wonderful and unexplainable people and occurrences coated in obvious divinity surrounded my experience. The divine drives all, and in Rishikesh we all believe. The energy will work with you.
I left extremely grateful and honestly dumbfounded. Everything that happened was right and meaningful. The path is unfolding in the most beautiful way.
Nothing was certain other than an ultimate demise in a sedentary routine lifestyle, so I left to chase the unknown. This is my second time in India. I’m alone, but I shouldn’t be afraid- the engulfing dread upon arrival was confusing. I’d been obsessively planning this trip for months. Hearing the sanskrit chants in my head, smelling the rose temple incense and dreaming of freedom. But freedom, however delicious once attained comes at a cost.
I sweat him out like heroin that night. Sleeping, awake, lucid, half there the memories came in waves of habits and small actions we shared together. This little life we had built, a life we knew wasn’t permanent yet somehow we invested in to no return. In a far-away Faridabad hotel room I tossed and turned and cried and ate minibar pringles and watched Fast and Furious because it was the only english thing on. I felt it all, everything I’d known was coming for months now. “Accept pain” they say, sages gurus sadhus and your eastern-leaning friend, they all say. accept the pain, it’s impermanent, it will pass as all transient illusions of this world are apt to do.
I sweat on the ride to Delhi from Faridabad. Sweat on the bus to the mountains. Arrived to Rishikesh as monsoon rains poured down and somehow still sweat, still carried the pain of his loss; of a life left behind like excess baggage that I could barely lift.
Shortly after sunrise, jet lag still active I stumbled into the mild light of monsoon-clouded himalayas. Gangaji roared with the previous evening’s rainfall, deafening the airwaves. Everything was still. Everything was perfect, as it was meant to be it seemed in that moment. The mountains took me in and he was gone, my old life was gone. I watched the water sweep it away, just like that. A new life was free to grow.