A Letter from Edward Podvoll While On Retreat in India

Dear Friends,

Sometimes I think being in India is just being caught in a dream; I can’t remember the work that went into getting here, all I remember is how suddenly the idea came up, no more compelling than the idea for an interesting new chapter for my book—and now here I am, like poor Alice, at the mercy of unimaginable creatures in a land I never would have invented.

There has been a break in the rains (as happens for several days after every full and new moon) which means we can dry clothes again and go to the beach. By far my favorite thing to do in India is to meditate on the beach as the sun rises. It is a little easier for the Hindus who close their eyes when they meditate: they don’t see the shit all over the beach, the children staring at them, people all around squatting by the water’s edge. Most people here seem to live in the dirt; they raise children in the dirt, cook, eat, relax, all on dirt floors in their open doorways, sometimes just inches from the traffic. Animals of course, are everywhere. And what frightened animals they are; their existence is tenuous and they seem to know; docile goats, cows, water buffalo, and proto-primitive dogs cowering everywhere. They remind me of the dogs in Zumiland, New Mexico, who seem to know that they are periodically slaughtered in the streets by gangs in cars every few months. The insects are more brazen. Arachnophobics beware: to the insects here you are not only a feast, a vehicle and a home, you are also a source of entertainment. One night, a small lizard-like creature I called a “gecko”), about 2–3” long, who crawl the walls all night, dropped from a high ceiling onto the cement floor in front of my mattress with a big splat. When I looked at him there was a white ooze, like ricotta cheese, coming out of his brain and beginning to leak all over the place. Just at the height of my alarm he sucked it back in and slithered away. 

My health continues to be problematic. The teachers here insist that I am still “cleansing,” having “karmic illnesses”—sort of reaping the deserved fruits of all the evil I’ve done to my body. Generally speaking, illness in a yogic culture is an embarrassment, an obstruction to one’s spiritual path, and the manifestation of sinfulness, like the sudden appearance of syphilis. So illness isn’t treated too kindly. Needless to say when I endured four days in a row of migraine headaches (sometimes twice a day), I tried to keep it to myself. They stopped just the other day, as mysteriously as they began. But my collection of migraine esoterica continues. Here is the latest in my neurological freakshow: lying in bed before going to sleep with occasional talking. Then I couldn’t remember someone’s name who I wanted to mention. It wasn’t really that I couldn’t recall the name, but the name I had in mind just didn’t work; it was too insipid, too plain, without energy, bloodless, a name without meaning. No one could have a name like that. Then lo and behold, everyone has just such a lifeless name. What a startling phenomena—where had I seen anything like that before, and in minutes it was upon me, the intergalactic display of flashing lights, blindness, numbers, incomprehensible fear and the rest of the banal symptoms. The strange drainage of meaning didn’t happen again. But I am better now, and as usual, none the wiser.

The teacher here, Dri Gitananda, who we all call Swamiji, continues to be the bane of our existence. The place wouldn’t be half bad without him. But he is an incorrigible windbag and a great bore, as well as being at times truly venomous. I know that part of my illness here is just being under the influence of his “morphogenic field.” In any case, I am getting out—we are definitely leaving here about Christmas time.

If I write saying we are staying longer, you can assume something terrible has happened to my mind.

It’s not that our mad-genius yoga guru isn’t also a lot of fun sometimes. Because he is perpetually plugged into some kind of manic-cosmic alternating current he has tremendous energy and spunk. Recently, we went on a day trip with him to Mt. Arunachala, the home of a great temple and a pilgrimage site for the retreat center of the great Ramana Maharishi. Swamaji rented a bus for about 20 of us, including a couple of Tamil “bhajan” singers, a lot of fruit, stopping along the way to pick lotus flowers, see temples under construction, have enormous Brahmin meals along the road … a nonstop merry prankster bus load of western yoga pilgrims being dragged about by this Santa Clause looking character who never stops talking and giving instructions. In any case, he managed to take all of us into the innermost sanctum sanctorum of the great temples of Tiruvannamalai—an unforgettable underworld of darkness, stone statuary, chanting and rituals thousands of years old. As for Ramana himself the gentle boy-man who never left retreat here—from what I have been studying of him since our visit there, it is true what the Tibetan teachers have said about him: he was a great Buddhist Saint.

It is impossible to say what I am learning here and I won’t even try to think of it until I see what is left inside of me after I leave. Still not much idea about where to go next—so many variables; so much depends on feedback from the book (still, not a word), the season of the year, and where our teachers are, or if anyone needs us somewhere. But northern India (and Nepal) are still our next destinations. 

Candace, as usual, has many women friends. I have some closeness to the ballet dancer I mentioned last time, although there is really very little time to have friendships here. But Aruna (the dancer turned yoga teacher) and I ride our bikes at every opportunity and share several mischievous tendencies—like escaping to buy food, particularly sweets.

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Well, we’re done—after deliberating night after night about staying or leaving, finally this AM (Nov. 13th) we announced to Swamiji our plans to leave. He was most gracious (most unexpectedly) and gave us his blessings to leave—and as soon as possible! We are on our way into town now to get airplane tickets to New Delhi. We leave tomorrow! We will stay in Delhi for a few days and then probably go to Nepal. But really we have no idea what to do next until the rendezvous with the Tibetans in Delhi. Thus as of now we have no address and no forwarding address (I knew it would come to this).

It is good to be on the road again—and wonderful to be out of the gravitational sphere of a pompous guru. Even so, the yoga has been very good for us: we are healthier, stronger, wiser, and ready to travel.

Love to you all,

Ed

Address:

Dr. & Mrs. Podvoll

c/o Karmapa International Buddhist Institute

B-19/20 Mehranli Institutional Area 110016