Sivananda

I left Hinterland feeling $450 lighter but considerably healthy and centered, with increased strength and lung capacity, increased focus, an improved mental condition and back on the better path. Long story short, yoga is good for me. But in excess it just feels like I’m stretching for no reason? Like you have to do other things too, you can’t just stretch all day. And I don’t particularly envy the people who are really good at yoga and doing all the weird contortionist poses. They seem like addicts. Like they can’t go a day without doing yoga? That’s weird. Yoga, to me, is a complimentary practice, it’s a side salad, not the entree. lt doesn’t need to happen every day. Maybe once or twice a week, bust out a nice yoga. It’s like a drunk cigarette, if you indulge in it all the time before long you won’t feel the effect and will need to start chain smoking. And that’s what chronic yogis are, chain smokers. They’re stuck in one of the first steps to self actualization and they think it’s the whole thing. Being strong and flexible will make you a great circus performer, but it’s not going to purify your mind and soul. Yoga asanas are one of many means to an end. The same end of every religion worth its salt, spiritual transcendence. The main purpose of yoga asanas and pranayamas and every other aspect of the yogic lifestyle is to prepare the body and mind to sit in a meditative posture for longer and longer amounts of time and ultimately to meditate. And the aim of meditation is to reach enlightenment. It’s not to take photos of yourself doing tree pose in front of beautiful beaches and mountains. I do find it curious that the buddhists manage to sit around all day without practicing yoga to strengthen their bodies, perhaps they also have a form of physical exercise that I don’t know about. Buddhists, sound off in the comments if you be exercising. With all this in mind I hopped on my bike and turned my compass southward to Sivananda near Trivandrum, the very bottom of India. Cycling wasn’t easy, even with the remaining distance looking so deceptively small on the map. Every kilometer had to be mined out of an unforgiving thick heat. Kerala was burning up. It was hotter than hell as I made my way down. Frankly unbearable cycling. And the butt sores and rashes were horrid. I needed to shower and do laundry every day, which wasn’t really possible. Luckily it was only a 3 days journey, and I rode mostly in the evenings, finding places to rest in the shade throughout the burning hours of midday.

After conquering many stubborn kilometers and hills, I arrived at Sivananda late, around 9PM. Someone opened the door for me and allowed me to bring my bike in without a hassle, so at least the welcome was warm and uncomplicated. A man from Kazakhstan checked me in with a heavy Russian accent, and showed me to the mens dorm where I’d spend my first night. He’d been here at the Ashram for almost a year. It was my misfortune that the old Indian man sleeping in the cot next to mine was a heavy snorer and was also enjoying all of the one ceiling fan between us. Needless to say, sleep didn’t find me that night, but it wasn’t with a bad attitude that I arose at 5:30AM to start the first day of Ashram life. I was excited for this next chapter and to learn all about the much acclaimed Sivanada style of Hatha yoga. Sivananda has a full daily schedule from sun up to sun down and attendance is required for most of it. I instantly fell in love with the energy at this place. It was an interesting contrast to Hinterland, the expensive resort meets the cheap ashram, and quite fitting to my personality that I’d prefer the latter. It felt more communal, like college, busy and full of movement, smiles, and shared visions. The food wasn’t quite as good at it had been at Hinterland and we only ate twice a day with a much needed fruit break in between, but all things considered they did a wonderful job. I loved the yoga instruction the most. The Kazakh guy who checked me in was leading the intro class and he had a soothing voice and taught at a compassionate and earnest rhythm that helped me really understand the asanas and how to best do them. Being able to teach is a gift lost on most who attempt it. Sivanada yoga is a repetition of the same asanas every day, so you really learn to master the full technique and you can always challenge yourself by pushing deeper into the asanas, but that’s not the point of course, you’re doing it for yourself and at your own comfort. I was capable with all asanas except for the blasted headstand which I fear I will never add to my repertoire. I made fast friends with a lot of folks at the ashram, most had friendly and warm-hearted personalities. I met an American who had been living in Taiwan the past decade and was taking a course on Ayurvedic healing. I met a Spanish guy who wanted to start a massage business in the Pyrenees. I met a British guy who produced for National Geographic. After the first day in the dorm I resolved to pitch my tent outside and stayed there for the remainder of my time. This proved to a smart choice. Though the malignant heat persisted, and the early hours of night were hot and sticky, a cool breeze would reliably come to my relief by 10 or 11PM and combined with the exhaustive efforts I made that day sleep was never an issue. Most importantly, I was alone with my thoughts and free from distraction. There I could read in solitude and reflect on the days that passed with meaning. One of the best things about Sivananda was the chanting. Every morning and evening we chanted for about an hour. There was a book full of different songs to choose from but my favorite was the first song we sang everyday, a great melody that sounded so powerful with everyone singing together, and several people drumming along in unison. I think singing has always been my preferred way of getting into meditation and entering the spiritual plane. The meditation itself was for the most part uneventful for me. It was poorly guided compared to the Tibetan analytical style and we were encouraged to just concentrate on something which was too vague an instruction for me. Besides, there was just too much on my mind at the time to get into those deep states that I so easily slid into in Dharamshala. I was thinking about my next steps after Sivananda. Eventually I settled on New Zealand and applied for the working visa. I was also continuing to work for the Australians, so I never had the opportunity for full immersion that I enjoyed in Dharamshala, plus this wasn’t a silent retreat either. But still, it’s important to learn to meditate and practice yoga with intention even when life is chaotic. Especially when it is. Spirituality needs to be a constant practice and that’s so hard for me. Still, one thing it’s permanently changed is my relationship with my mind. I now have a much more clear understanding of my emotions and dare to take the surgeons knife to them to discover the ridiculous root of them, that they may flutter away and leave me in my equanimity. This isn’t a bulletproof solution, but it does keep me from drowning in a negative thought whether that be sadness or anger. Before this revelation I was truly defenseless in the face of such emotions and surrendered to them fully.

I went to the Ashram hospital to consult with the doctor and started the Panchakarma treatment my second day at Sivananda. The doctors were so lovely to speak with and really listened to me about my symptoms. I could feel their earnestness and understanding was genuine relative to the allopathic doctors of the west who have always listened to me talk with a big smirk on their faces, excited to start gaslighting me and prescribe me an anti-inflammatory or anti-biotic as soon as I finish speaking. The first week was a breeze. The idea was that I needed to loosen up all the toxins in my body and push them towards my stomach. This took the form of a daily morning massage. It wasn’t a relaxing massage by any means. They slapped some kind of powder into my skin roughly all over my body. It was really uncomfortable as they didn’t use any cushion so my bones were pressing and skin rubbing on the wooden massage table as orange powder was rubbed all over me. And I would go to morning yoga right after this. It was pretty exhausting, then go back and have breakfast and take a shower. My time slot for treatments was 6:30am so I started the day exceedingly early. This was because there was a massive group of old Belgian people that I had to share space with. Belgians, I tell you. Breakfast was usually pretty good, and included all you can eat fruit. My relationship with fruit has totally changed. I used to force myself to eat it, which says a lot about the quality of fruit in the united states. Now I can’t get enough fruit. I used to think papaya was gross, now it might be my favorite. How things change. I could also get coconuts or pomegranate juice, and any other fruit, if I needed a midday snack to tide me over. The first week went by dreamily. Daily yoga and treatments, meeting friendly folks from all over, some in the Panchakarma some learning Ayurveda and some just doing yoga. I was getting a little anxious, however, feeling that my treatment was sort of a rip off. I wanted to get to the part where I’d suffer. This is what excited me about the panchakarm. Luckily, the yoga and other ashram courses were keeping me occupied. Finally, after a week, the day of the purge came. This would theoretically remove all the toxins that my masseuse had been working into my gut. I skipped breakfast and was instructed to drink an entire cup of castor oil, which was so thick and horrible just thinking about it makes me want to puke. Still, I downed the thing because the pretty doctor lady was watching me and I couldn’t throw up on her or let her think me not a man. Then I was instructed to find a bathroom and just chill. Since I was sleeping in my tent I went back to the dorms and claimed an empty bed. I watched some movies for a couple hours before I felt the unmistakable urge to poop. It’s funny because most of the people doing panchakarma have trouble with constipation, while I’m quite the opposite. So when they describe the purge they think it’s this crazy new sensation, but for me it was like a normal bowel movement, a bit more on the liquid side. I had to drink a glass of water every 10 minutes for the following hour which helped me clear out the rest of it. The only upsetting part was that all I was allowed to eat that day was rice soup. Ugh. Still, I felt nice and light afterwards. The next day the fun began. I had my very first enema. A small oil enema. My masseuse performed it. Not the best man for the task it must be said. He doesn’t have the greatest bedside manner, and for this groundbreaking event in my life he didn’t really ease into it as I would have liked. It was just okay get on the bed turn to your side and take down your pants so your ass is hanging out. Fine. I did it. And then I’m looking at the wall and waiting for it. And then I feel it. First his finger lubricating my asshole, followed by hard plastic inserting itself, gasp, into my butt. Such a weird feeling. Immediately my ass fought against it. His sage advice was “hold it”. That’s all he said to me. “hold it”. As I “held it”, he rectally fed me two installments of the oil and then we were done. I put my pants back on and looked at this man sheepishly and thanked him and left the room. So strange, receiving an enema. I kept it in for almost an hour before I felt the need to release it. I felt great afterwards. And I got to eat real food again. Blessed soul. But the next day was my shame, my waterloo. It was the day of my first big enema. And when I say big I mean 800 milliliters of milk and honey pumping straight up my anus. Yeah. The land of milk and honey indeed. I was already nervous that morning because I hadn’t had a bowel movement yet and felt a little bloated because I had a bad habit of over eating. I just couldn’t imagine myself taking the full dose, I lacked confidence and my masseuse wasn’t making me feel any more comfortable. As he lubricated my ass and inserted the tube through which the milk and honey would enter I gritted my teeth and tried my best to relax. As the stuff started gushing into me, I started feeling discomfort, and the feeling that I was about to have a bowel movement. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to explode on this man. There I was, facing the wall, telling him I couldn’t do it. But he just jammed it in harder. “hold it”, he said, the timeless sage wisdom leaving his lips effortlessly, while I writhed and tried to explain to the guy that hold it I could not and he just put it in harder and grunted at me to hold it, hold it, hold it! Suddenly, to his disgust and my profound embarassment, the stuff started coming out, I failed to hold it. He made a noise and I felt really bad. He tried to reassure me this happens all the time. I didn’t believe him. He sent me to the bathroom to relieve myself while he took care of the mess I had made. Turned out I only took in around 600ml of the stuff, which honestly still felt like a huge accomplishment to me. I asked if we could try again and he said not to worry, that it would still be effective. I think he was done with me. That whole day I felt the shame of my failure, and I went around asking others if they had experienced something similar, but alas I was all alone in my anal incontinence. Thank God I’m not gay, for I would surely fail at bottoming. I felt wounded and wasted. And I couldn’t eat that whole day, only the shitty porridge was I allowed. My compatriots did lift my spirits through the course of the day, and I felt thankful to have made good friends with the others in my cohort. Apart from the annoying Belgians who I impressed with my French, I made good friends with an American woman of Indian descent, a Dutch man of Surinamese descent, and a Spanish woman of Spanish descent. The American woman was a New Yorker at one point but was considering moving back to India with her husband. The Dutch guy was a solar engineer and the Spanish lady was some kind of life coach. There was also a German lady and an Austrian lady. We all got along famously and I was thankful for the little community we created.The next day I aced the small enema as usual and did some yoga on my own. I was in better spirits and coaching myself for the big enema the next day. It was of utmost importance that I have a bowel movement before it. I was advised to drink a lot of warm water to make this happen. Heaven’s angels came to my aid that morning and I emptied my bowels in due haste. I floated into the operation room with renewed optimism. My regular guy was out and I was happy to be in the strong firm hands of two guys that actually spoke with me and told me to breathe and relax and count to 100. And we all counted together, it was beautiful, and hilarious, counting loudly with these Indian men who I couldn’t see but they could see my butthole. So intimate. So human. I felt vulnerable but protected by them, as they facilitated the milk and honey coursing into my anal cavity. Just like before, I thought I couldn’t take it any more at a certain point, and I tried to get out and surrender, but they held me firm and we counted and just like that, the urge passed and I continued to receive the healing fluids. And then it was all over. And I had done it. I was victorious. 800ml of medicated milk and honey had successfully entered my body through the back door, and I had tamed my body into allowing it. I felt as if I had just played my best soccer game and scored the winning goal. What a glorious feeling. I was a hero. 

From this climax, my time at Sivananda quickly and smoothly concluded. One minor hiccup occurred when the person with whom I’d shared a brief romance in Kochi arrived at the ashram with her new Spanish lover in tow. I wish she had warned me or something. I wasn’t exactly fantasizing about sharing my life with her, but we’d had something sort of nice together and it seemed weird to do this. When she introduced him to me they both had large matching hickeys on their necks. Why should I care? I don’t know. I can practice all this non-attachment stuff til the cows come to roost but I’ll never fully purge those possessive jealous traits of masculinity. My panchakarma was over. I had done a month of yoga and eaten a healthy vegetarian diet. My stools were coming out at predictable times and with structural integrity. It was a good time to be alive. Now I just had to stay clean for two weeks and I could declare the panchakarma a success.