Volume 23

A Touching Experience

Is it possible to experience ideal? Can’t the perfection-seeking cynic conceive improvements to even the most rewarding experiences? Or, is everything perfect exactly the way it is and all we have to do is accept it? I like the latter theory, but it seems to neglect the mental sabotage of expectations. As a seasoned (jaded?) traveler of India, I have learned to set my expectations to such ridiculously meager levels that I can only shrug and smile when they prove unreachable. However, this wisdom is occasionally forgotten and I get to learn it all over again.

Such was the case in Sarnath, where inflated expectations doomed my stay to a less than ideal one. I knew from previous years, the less-structured format provided a fantastic chance to get to know (and actually speak with) the other meditators with whom I had in silence. Finding the magic of past visits would have been challenging enough amid the waves of social overload that crashed into my calm shore of introspection. I upped the ante and let myself imagine that I might even find a prospective life partner among the many wonderful like-minded people. I might as well have hoped for enlightenment (or culinary sanitation).

Partner fantasizing aside, I surprisingly found extended monastic living had actually decreased my romantic urges and attractions. They were not gone, but less frequent as if demoted down the scale of perceived importance. With that demotion came a subtle (and unrealistic) association of guilt to these naturally occurring feelings (cause or effect?). It felt somehow disrespectful to be harbor romantic intentions towards any of the women in the meditation sangha. Thankfully, I have since come to terms with this misguided aspect of guilt (and become close friends with many of these women). However, at the time, it required at least one effective coping mechanism. I found female companionship among women under 30 (accepting the grim reality of age: that they were improbable candidates for romance). This enabled me to enjoy numerous un-compromised friendships, significantly reduce the number of women that confused me and keep at least a cursory focus on my meditation practice.

Not surprisingly, the adventure of relating to women continues to account for a disproportionate amount of my growth process (and will be explored further in the next installment). The introduction (or more honestly continuation) of this topic here is not some cheap ploy to keep the interest of the readers (sex sells). Rather, I wanted to provide some insight to my socially-perplexed state of mind when Simon (a friend from the sangha) suggested I join his three week shiatsu/yoga/meditation retreat in Phool Chatti ...

	Phool Chatti (the little white spec in the middle)

Were I to attempt to design an ideal place for spiritual retreat, I would start with a quiet, isolated location not too far from civilization (maybe an hour’s walk upriver from Rishikesh or a 10 minute ride if the jeep-taxi gods smiled favorably on the journey). The topography would be interesting and spectacular (why not put it at the base of the Himalayas?). Of course there would be water to consistently demonstrate impermanence (an oxymoron if ever I wrote one), serenade, inspire and cool the inhabitants (the sacred Ganges River would do nicely). The setting would possess natural wonders (an amazing lack of mosquitoes) and intrigue (like a wild elephant that was rumored to have crushed an elderly devotee while he prayed by the river in what was not only the end, but almost certainly the karmic pinnacle of his existence). The facilities themselves would be unique (think Spanish villa meets Hindu temple with significant creative input from the resident swami unhindered by architectural training). There would be at least some environmentally friendly practices (using ash instead of detergent to clean our dishes). Finally, the place would boast some hopelessly optimistic name (Phool Chatti means place of flowers) and then back it up (with a magnificent rambling garden).

Though Phool Chatti greatly exceeded my expectations for an Indian ashram, it was not ideal. The food, though served (and personally received) with great enthusiasm, did on at least one occasion make a half dozen of us violently ill. The scorpion population was disconcerting (though not deadly as Phil can attest too) and the afternoon chai (milk tea) was woefully bad. There must be more to ideal than exceeding expectations.

	lunch wasn't a particularly fancy affair

What Phool Chatti lacked in chai, it more than made up for in chi. That I could feel this life energy more readily in a place than in a person suggests how little I knew about shiatsu when the program began. In fact, I had never even received a shiatsu treatment (but when had ignorance ever stopped me before?). To their credit, our capable teachers did not ask us to believe anything, but rather to just suspend disbelief long enough to see for ourselves. Twelve heads nodded in agreement. Eventually, this jury reached the unanimous verdict in favor of chi (after a very brief trial and deliberation).

While rich in tradition and healing potential, the actual concept of shiatsu (or at least my limited understanding of it) is fairly simple. The practitioner identifies certain meridians (energy lines) in the body that are currently either lacking chi (kyo) or have an excess of energy (jitsu) and then applies focused pressure along the meridians to either attract energy or move blocked energy.

As we learned to work each of the 12 main meridians, the corresponding characteristics became clearly recognizable to the group as a whole. After working the water meridians, the recipients would often melt into the floor. When we began to work the wood meridians (associated with self expression), we all seemed to take a step back from peaceful cohesion and make sure that our own voices were heard and needs were being met. It was at this point (about half way thru the program) that I (with the strong support of my roommate Grant) pointed out the obvious disparity of accommodations and requested that someone with an upper floor room (with a veranda and stunning river view) swap rooms to our damp ground-floor dungeon (with an unobstructed view of the toilet). As a result, we did happily end up moving to the penthouse level (thanks to a generous concession by Heike and Sven). But, the more pertinent observation was that I (a generally conflict avoiding individual) was willing to risk disturbing the highly valued group harmony. Energy was moving and it felt great. That I could readily feel it and affect it was among the most powerful realizations I have yet experienced.

	This WAS the better room (much better)

Things calmed down a bit when we started working the Earth meridians (associated with being stable, grounded, compassionate and nurturing). I also found another compelling correlation between shiatsu theory and personal experience. Before I left the US, a part of one toenail had died and curiously fallen off from only one side of my big toe. This spot marks the end of the spleen meridian, which governs transformation (who me?) and transportation (no comment needed). When this meridian is out of balance, we feel under nourished, unsatisfied and unfulfilled by life (remember my re-integration chronicle?). My toenail has since fully re-grown.

Similarly, all minor disruptions to the group harmony were quickly mended and forgotten (most of it was just personal sh-- we were processing). Our bonding intensified to the point were we occasionally ended sessions with a communal cuddle puddle (one of which lasted well over an hour). Even considering the vast latitude we had been granted in the normally restrictive areas of touch, this was unquestionably not proper ashram behavior. With all the petting, rubbing, moaning, loving and laughing, it would be hard to imagine a group of fully clothed people looking more like an orgy. Yet, the power of the puddles came not from sexuality but rather from simple, honest appreciation of each other.

such a nice group...	especially when the energy was flowing

By the end of the program, we had all touched each other almost everywhere, but most remarkably in our hearts. Somewhere along the way, a previously-restricted part of me was unlocked, releasing an amazing contented joy. Life was wonderful just the way it was and I knew it as it was happening. Because it was completely unexpected and unimaginable, it was ideal.