Dancing with the Divine

God has yet again intervened on my behalf, astounding me with the brilliance of my own life. I do not believe in randomness or coincidence, for I know this is part of a divine plan. Unbeknownst to Sebastian and I that when we booked this hotel we would be staying during a visit from a famous Indian guru. Shree Vishwatmak Janglidas Maharaj, commonly referred to as Babaji, is a living yogi saint, visiting Yoga Magic for a morning of silent meditation and satsang. He runs an ashram in Maharashtra and gives care to poverty stricken people and orphaned children. I have never heard of this man before but I am curious to participate in such a rare opportunity. We are instructed to dress in all white and bring open hearts and minds.

The morning begins by yoga practice by the poolside in preparation for the spiritual journey. Communal breakfast is served with an assortment of fruits, buffalo milk yogurt, and fresh coffee. Visitors arrive at the hotel, appearing pure and devout in loose colorless garments. We assemble in the yoga hut, each person setting up a small plot of earth with blankets, pillows and other props. We sit silently, in earnest anticipation for the adored guru. Although Babji has millions of Indian devotees, he has only a small number of Western followers, many of which are attending this service. While Hindu devotional music fills the room, Babaji enters, an exceedingly petite man, with long scraggly hair and wide innocent eyes, draped in a white cotton cloth. His body looks like that of an emaciated adolescent but has eyes of a wise old man. No one is certain of his age but it is rumored that he is over one hundred. Immediately upon entry, the energy of the room uplifts, pulsates at a higher frequency. He does not speak, only sits in lotus position, eyes closed. For almost an hour, the group mediates in stillness. I am reminded of the craziness of the mind, with its distractions and thoughts, never wanting to give up control. Babaji’s approach is to not try and still the mind or passively watch thoughts float by, but to actively contemplate the Atman, the Soul or higher consciousness, with love, kindness and respect. He believes that this Atman is the sole existence in the universe, residing in all people regardless of religion, and can never be destroyed, for its very essence is immortality.

The meditation ceases when the music begins playing again and Babaji exits the yoga studio and slowly, carefully walks into the thatched hut located next to the swimming pool. Small intimate groups take turns sitting in his presence, receiving a glossed card of his philosophy and a ladu, a sweet North Indian delicacy. During my turn, something remarkable occurs in my body. I am suddenly swaying in circles gravitating to my left side. This is completely involuntary; I have no control. I am cognizant that it is happening inside of me, fearful of what it is, fearful that it might end. I have never moved in such a manner before but soon realize that it is God’s presence, divine energy stirring in my bones, blood and heart. Completely connected, I do not resist, rather observe and allow my body to be taken over. I am touched by grace.

Walking out, I am in a trance like state. I avoid the crowd of people and find a plot of grass. I begin walking in circles, aimless and formless, out of my body. I am searching for something. I am losing my mind. I have no thoughts, just circling and circling. I feel crazy. Sweat is pouring down my back, down my legs. God is radiating through me. Parched grass is chafing my feet. Squinted eyes focused on the ground, then the sky. I am lost and found in the same moment. Suddenly, something grabs my awareness. A pinkish red object laying on the grass. Instinctively I reach for it, turn it over. It is a heart, outlined in red with two smaller hearts embedded within, a small dot at the core. It is a sign, an omen from God. This I am sure. The treasure grounds me, excites me, and pushes me deeper into faith.

I return to the group so deeply touched that it is hard for me to speak. I sit alone during the gathering of musicians who play beautiful music for Babji. There was a hanging drum, a guitar, a bark flute and an instrument resembling a combination of a sitar and violin, as well as an array of tuning bowls forming a deep barreling Om sound. Whereas everyone is still and silent, I find myself swaying again, this time voluntary. I am dancing with God. I allow the music into my being, feeling the divine presence combine with my own soul until we create the most intense movement I have ever felt. For the entire hour I do not open my eyes, afraid that I may lose the connection, lose the spirit within and come back to this earth. Mine certainly is a dancing path and this is my very first dance with God.

The spiritual gathering ends with a collective lunch prepared by the incredible staff at Yoga Magic. We gather on the floors around the dining area, buzzing bodies talking excitedly about Babaji’s visit. We are served curried lentils, yellow rice, green beans and cabbage on paper plates made of banana leaves. It is deliciously nutritious, fitting with the nature of the day. I am physically, emotionally, spiritually fulfilled.

For several hours, quiet and introspective, I digest the events of today. Although I respect Babaji, I do not feel any real connection to him as a man, but rather to his energy. I am flowing with gratitude for such a profound experience, a necessary progression in my soul’s evolution. Before arriving to Goa, I sensed that somehow I would lose my mind here. Foolishly, I thought it would happen at some psychedelic rave party on a beach, not on some dreadfully hot morning in the presence of a frail guru, walking chaotically in circles. It is no matter though, for now I feel the most in tune, aware and committed to God and my life path than ever before.

Yoga MAGIC

I have landed in paradise. I pinch myself because this trip continues to amaze me. Everyday unfolds seamlessly, perfect moment after perfect moment. We arrive in Goa, Indian’s smallest state on the western coast bordering the Arabian Sea. Only an hour from Bangalore and I feel as though I am in another world, from the fertile hills of the Ghats to the palm fringed tropical sands. The Portuguese colonized Goa for almost 500 years until it became a part of India in 1961. As we ride in the cab to our hotel, down a labyrinth of narrow curved roads, it is evident how the Mediterranean influence intertwines with a beach community of small huts, shops and barefoot locals. Everyone is relaxed and sun kissed. I immediately notice the large majority of Caucasian inhabitants, a result of hippies discovering Goa years ago. Many a person is dressed as if it is Woodstock, in loose flowing clothes with dreadlocks and tattoos. I am curious to explore this strangely interesting place….

After meandering through unnamed roads fringed with banana and coconut trees, we reach our hotel, Yoga Magic, an oasis of peace surrounded by a water creek and paddy fields of diverse birdlife. Walking up the cool stone steps, we enter into the small but charming lobby of dark carved wood and smelling of incense. Juliette, one of the owners, gives a tour of this majestic lodge. It is a tiny place, with several tents and a handful of shacks and teepees, spread out around flourishing grounds and meadows. There is a canopy of roses covering the pathways. A swirling-shaped pool of crystal blue is surrounded by floating gardens, rocks with gushing waterfalls and thatched roof huts to escape the sun’s heat. Several tables, floor cushions and a bar serve as the dining area where gourmet vegetarian Indian food is served, prepared using spices, herbs and vegetables from the organic garden. The energy here is alive, pure, pulsating of natural life.



The lodges are modeled after Rajasthani hunting tents, with two adjoining rooms built from mud, stone, bamboo and coconut wood, each specified by a particular color corresponding to one of the chakras of the human body. The furniture is simple, set against colorful saris and hand printed cotton draped from the elevated roof. The bed, large and comfortable with fluffy pillows and silk cushions, is crafted from locally made iron. There is a spacious dressing room of mud cobble walls, arched windows, and a sculpted sofa bed. It is open, airy and free, with a veranda molded from baked mud and cow dung. Two reclining chairs face a sweeping field to watch the sunset or gaze at the stars. There is no door or locks, fans or air-conditioning. The eco-chic tent features solar halogen lighting throughout, so there is no need for power outlets. The roofless bathroom consists of a natural composting toilet, which uses mango woodchips and effective micro-organisms to return everything back to nature. There are clay urns filled with well water for bathing and hot solar showers a short walk away from each tent. Everything is shaped from locally sustainable materials such as clay and palm leaves, including the yoga temple, where daily classes are held. Fresh flowers float in pots next to statues of Buddha, bells gently chime in the breeze while oil lamp aromas permeate the warm air.






Although the beauty and serenity of this place astounds me, I feel nervous and uncomfortable. I am in the middle of nowhere, an open field out in Goa, living in the simplest manner I have ever experienced. I am out of my comfort zones, questioning how I am going to survive without my safety nets. Until now, the transition has been smooth and to a degree, painless. But everything has changed; I am being forced to let go. For the next five days, I must surrender. I craved nature. I wanted the simple life. As usual, life responds to my desire and gives me exactly what I seek.