Scenes from the Indian railway

Ever friendly and welcoming: Indian Railways

As I prepared to pack my belongings again, I felt the now familiar rise of excitement as I contemplated the train journey ahead, my fifth since arriving eight weeks ago. I had to ask myself; 

Was I an Indian railway junkie?

The entire experience fascinates, from start to finish, including pre-travel preparations. Will buying a ticket be a drama or simple and straightforward? 

Happily on this occasion, the latter. Bus from ashram to town, a short walk to the railway station and no queueing at the ticket counter. The female clerk organised my connections and upgraded me to aircondtionned carriages. Very smooth.

The day of travel, I arrived at the station in plenty of time. I received a helping hand  from Sagar, a local in his late thirties.  In a chivalrous act he conveyed my Samsonite hard shell up a set of stairs, across a bridge and down to the next platform, heavy suitcase balanced on his left shoulder causing him to perspire and puff. 

Rickshaw drivers outside Mangalore Central

Sagar was super polite, enquiring into my schedule to ensure I was on the correct platform and stopping short of asking personal questions: the perfect balance!  Sagar was attempting a last minute trip to Mumbai and hoping that his waitlisted ticket would be upgraded for travel.

The first leg of the journey was an hour’s ride to Mangalore Central, a significant commercial centre and transport hub. 


Mid-morning, the air conditionned carriage was virtually empty and so I extended my legs onto the seat opposite, enjoying the space and privacy. I bought vada and chutney from the chai wallah, the vada were stale and chewy so I threw them out of the door and looked forward to lunch instead.

At Mangalore, I had a couple of hours to wait before my connection. I decided against a trip into town: it was midday ie very hot, the road to town was busy and I didn't want to exhaust myself. Besides, I could amuse myself very easily without leaving the station. I would hang out, enjoy the buzz, observe the people, the trains and poke around.

First ritual - depositing luggage. Most stations have baggage facilities, often signed cloakroom. Here, the attendant sat at a large wooden desk and recorded my items in a ledger, pinning hand written chits to each. I rather pointlessly tried to persuade him to accept my guitar, 

No madam, here we are not taking musical instruments and electricals. Not possible. Ah well.

Veg rice meal

It was time for lunch. The restaurants were segregated as pure veg and non-veg. I made my way into the bustling pure veg canteen. One selects from the menu and pre-pays. 

I found myself sharing a table with a young married couple with an affluent air; she in a fancy sari with good gold jewellery, he with a well pressed shirt, grey slacks and polished black lace-ups.

People don’t linger over lunch. You sit, are served, eat and leave. My companions worked their way through their meals in under ten minutes, pouring a selection of individual sauces onto mound of rice, working it into balls with fingers and swallowing rapidly, repeat until the tray is empty. Or do as I do, bring a spoon. Delicious food, freshly prepared, light and plentiful. One of the best railway meals I have had; and costing just thirty five rupees.

After lunch I walked the length of the platform a few times, partly to exercise, partly to revel in the detail of the activity taking place around me. Families feasting on picnics from stainless steel tiffins, coolies moving unfeasible volumes of cargo and luggage, businessmen surveying newspapers and making phonecalls. The rush and roar of trains arriving and departing.

Does she have a ticket?

I sat for a while in the ladies waiting room, always a safe refuge. Too excited to snooze, I struck up a conversation with Priya, a pretty young student of economics who was travelling with eleven of her extended family (aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews) to Murudeshwar where the infants would receive a special blessing at the temple and be given rice to eat for the first time.

Soon enough it was time for me to reclaim my luggage and take my seat on the Matsyagandha Express. Just before boarding, I noticed Sagar from Kanhangad waving vigorously at me. His broad smile told me that his ticket had been upgraded. I waved and nodded back, acknowledging his good fortune. He stepped into sleeper class, I was in 3AC.

The afternoon sun blazed into the carriage and I gazed out across acres of coconut groves, fertile pastureland and the glorious shimmering backwaters of Kerala. I relaxed as the train carried me into the neighbouring state of Karnataka and shortly after dusk fell I had reached my latest destination: the temple town of Gokarna, somewhere I had longed to visit for years.

Healthy snacks and drinks

In a splendid coup de grace a local bus was waiting in the station forecourt and would take me into town for twenty five rupees thwarting the rickshaw drivers who were demanding an exhorbitant one hundred and fifty rupees. Somehow my luggage was squeezed in and I found myself on the back seat, chatting to a local. 

Welcome to Gokarna! First time coming? How long you stay? One month? Two month? Three month?


I ....don't know 

Was my honest response. I had seriously deviated from my intended itinerary for this trip (two months Rishikesh, two months Auroville). Planning and imagining anything seemed pointless, I would play it day by day and just see how I felt. Gokarna town with it's brahmin culture and five beaches has a reputation as a traveller's nirvana and I was open to anything it had to offer... 

Blessings

Jennifer

Notes from Anandashram

Om sri ram jai ram jai jai ram, sri ram jai ram jai jai ram

Approaching the shrine of Papaji

This morning I was roused from sleep by a devotional male chorus, chanting the mantra that is the core spiritual practice here at Anandashram. 

The ashram's beloved founder, Swami Ramdas, (affectionately referred to as Papaji - dear father) is reputed to have achieved enlightenment through this method and accordingly devotees uphold the practice.

The ram nam is sung continuously from dawn 'til dusk alternately by male and female bhaktas. The practice is rotated daily between the three mahasamadhi shrines of Papaji, Mataji and Swami Satchidanda.* Such a beautiful way to meet the day; I lie in bed, eyes still closed and smiling inside. 

I might equally be stirred awake by the lowing of the ashram cows - also lovely. With names such as Bhavani (consort of Shiva), Bhagavati ( enlightened teacher), Vidya (knowledge), Mala (garland) these ladies are well cared for. 

I visited the goshala (cowshed) during my first days here, observing tidy bales of straw, rubber boots organised neatly in pairs and a mother tending to her newborn calf.

Goshala

I am housed in a concrete block, six rooms in a row sharing two bathrooms. Rooms are clean, light and basic: narrow wooden beds, a desk, a chair.

As the only foreigner I get to bear close witness to the daily habits and rituals of the Indians. In the absence of western comforts and conveniences it can be helpful to watch and learn how to get things done.

For example, there is no laundry service, very much a personal challenge! The common practice is to soak one's clothing in a bucket filled to the brim with water and to leave this overnight in the hallway.  Items are rinsed through the following morning and hung on the indoor clothes line in the common area. Larger items such as saris and bed linen are spread flat on the gravel outside in the strong, bright sunlight. 

Naturally enough the toilets are Indian squat style and the bathing facilities are equally straightforward: cold tap, bucket and jug. This suits me well although I am careful to time my sessions, scurrying along the corridor wrapped in a sheet (no bathrobe!) to avoid encountering and embarrassing any of the men.  In the warm humidity of Kerala morning and evening baths feel necessary; it gets quite dusty on the roads and paths.

Peeping into the bhajan hall

It surprises me that the accommodation is mixed as so many of the ashram activities are segregated by sex. Separate queues and seating in the canteen, and also in the main bhajan hall. 

I am thrilled to find myself belonging to a community of women. Eating together, singing together and sitting out together in the warm evenings after dusk. 

It doesn’t matter that I don't understand their conversations. It is enough to be with them. Absorbing with delight the details of their dress, their handwritten prayer books, the way they conduct themselves. 

We sit close together, cross legged on the floor, elbows and knees touching, I don’t mind the lack of personal space: spending intimate time with Indian women is a rare blessing.  

I have learned some gentle feminine etiquettes, such as dressing my hair with fresh jasmine flowers.  It looks delightful and acts as a natural air freshener, gently perfuming one’s environment with every turn of the head.  I have also acquired the habit of carrying a cotton handkerchief, folded and tucked into my churidar(wide cotton trousers). 

These are mainly ladies of a certain age, in their fifties, sixties and seventies. At this stage of life freedom from raising children and/or work permits them to undertake yatra (spiritual pilgrimage) and visit ashrams. 

There is plenty of smiling and nodding as we acknowledge each other. Any conversation is dependent on their level of English. As, alas, I have no Hindi. Typically the questions come Which country?  or Coming from? Followed closely by Your good name? Married? First visit to India?

Prema and Nirmala introduce themselves

Most of ladies I spoke with had been visiting Anandashram regularly, many for decades as disciples of the original guru.  

In the tranquility of mataji’s peace garden, sisters Prema and Nirmala ignored the signs requesting silence and told me of their annual eight day visit from Coimbatore. 

Every year we are coming, it is most important to visit ashram, stay at least one week. This very calm place, life so busy, no?

Jyoti, a plump and chatty retired school teacher from Hyderabad likes to sit next to me during the evening meal. She scours the dining hall looking for me and settles happily by my side, usually bringing extras that she has mysteriously acquired, carried in a stainless steel tiffin. Chapattis, bananas and sweet treats such as ladoo and pak .

Mealtimes are announced by the clanging of a large bell outside the canteen. Guests and residents dutifully form lines: men to the left, women to the right and file in. As we are in South India, rice is the basis of every meal prepared in the endless creative variations: idlis, dosa, upma for breakfast and huge avalanches of plain rice served with vegetable sauces at lunch and dinner, supplemented by milk and curd from the dairy. 

Communal canteen

The schedule at Anandashram is full with chanting and singing of all kinds. There is no obligation to attend but I pretty much love it all! I have joined in the chanting of ram nam, slowly pacing the shrine rooms of the departed gurus and clapping a steady rhythm. 

Yesterday morning I sat in on Om namaha shivayah, a favourite chant of mine, sung unaccompanied by a petite lady in her seventies, her solo voice was raw, wavering and deeply soulful. Definitely the most powerful and memorable rendition I have heard so far.

Possibly my personal highlight has been listening to the Hanuman chalisa, sung by the women, accompanied by harmonium. I am keen to learn this epic poem for myself and twice I took a copy of the words along but found the singing so blissful and enjoyable that I chose to simply relax and absorb the vibrations.

I’ve drawn a few tentative conclusions about my time here:

Simplicity in practice. Bhajan and mantra sound very good sung solo, unaccompanied – or minimally accompanied: musicality comes second.

Letting go of learning I didn’t have a chant sheet or song book and the bhajans were complex, I had to forget about trying to learn them. This focused me in the present moment and enabled me to receive, receive, receive.

Singing with women This is quite personal to me, I feel so safe and nourished in an all female setting. I am keen to explore this further.

Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram (Ram Dhun) Anandashram by divine yoga

Blessings and pranams

Jennifer 

*Further information on the spiritual lineage at Anandashram

www.anandashram.org/divinemasters

An audience with Swami Muktananda, Anandashram

Rangoli outside mauna mandir

Madam, after breakfast tomorrow you go to Swamiji  

Instructed the receptionist, handing me a key to my room and a copy of the daily schedule. I had just arrived at Anandashram, a short rickshaw ride from Kanhangad railway station in Kerala and the conclusion of five days and four nights of travel.  

Thus, the following morning I approached Swamiji’s private quarters, wearing my cleanest, most modest outfit, hair tied back and feeling a little nervous.  

Swami Muktananda, the current spiritual head of Anandashram in Kerala, south India, is a modern man; fluent in English and a qualified allopathic doctor. I was gestured into his office, joining two other newcomers, a middle aged housewife from Kalicut and a Dutch guy from Utrecht.

We sat on the floor facing Swamiji at his desk.  He smiled warmly and started to speak, a fluent, unrehearsed welcome speech, explaining the spiritual position of the ashram and offering guidance to us. It was a relaxed affair, much like being in the presence of a friendly headmaster.

At times Swamiji would pause to answer the telephone Hari Om? And to personally greet a number of day visitors bringing donations, children to be blessed, health complaints and spiritual queries before him. An elderly male ashram resident sat beside him on a plain wooden chair, slowly turning the pages of the Times of India, murmuring and nodding without looking up.

Looking down towards reception

The problem is we have contracted into ourselves. We have some fixed notions that we should be able to get over. 

We are attached to our rights and wrongs, our likes and dislikes, our priorities, our differences, our cravings, our infatuations, our fixed opinions. 

Spirituality steps in there to keep us expanding. Spirituality means love. 

The spiritual discipline in this ashram is chanting of God’s name. If we keep chanting with total faith and devotion, a process of purification takes place. Things will get opened up. Interconnectedness, interdependence, absence of otherness. 

 It does not matter which name you chant. What is important is the name stands for Love.

As we keep chanting God’s name, the hold of me and mine will get loosened, lessened. 

And when sufficiently we have progressed, first he will give us some glimpses. Then he has promised that the stage will come when we get stabilized.

Then we get to see Him in the form of Love in everybody, the air we breathe, the earth we stand on, the water we drink, the space in which we move about, the sun. 

One of three mahasamadhi shrines

Plants and trees, birds and animals, even objects. All!   

The dress you are wearing, the specs he is wearing, the chair, the building, the fan, the light, the switch.  

When we are buying a new shoe we should do it with gratitude, anything and everything is an object of Love, and an object of God and is serving us. 

We can become aware of this. Let us try to practice that. Everything is serving me. Love, love, love, love.

How do I pay back?  I can bring in a quality of care and concern for others into my life. Love becomes love only when it is applied. Every thought, word and deed should bear the stamp of the Divine.

To love all is the true bhakti of God, to serve all is the true worship of God. It’s a tall order. Let us keep it as an idea and strive towards it, as much as possible.

Whenever we fail, whenever we forget, whenever we are off the track, this nama pulls us up.

We should express our gratitude for having been made aware of a higher form of living inside.

Great teachers of Anandashra are honoured

The succinct simplicity of Swamiji’s words impressed me. I was struck by how relevant they are to me at this time and how appropriate a message for humanity. 

In particular,  I have deepened, expanded my perspective on gratitude. Yes! I can be grateful for this chair I am sitting upon and the craftsmen who made it. 

I thought how useful it would be to invoke this deep gratitude in moments of doubt, stress, insecurity. One can simply open one’s eyes and appreciate every material item in one’s purview, no matter how familiar or banal.  Divine essence pervades all forms was my personal, private revelation.

And I like also Swamiji’s explanation of the contracted and expanded self. I reflected upon the irony of  expanding consumer capitalist society that fosters contraction of the self and a small, selfish world view. Where individual priorities and preferences become so important that we struggle and fight to maintain them.

And the truly expanded self requires less and less, is more able to be open to others: to share, collaborate, create and love/

Such ideas have been kept alive in India. Honoured, discussed and nurtured in ashrams and temples,  the light of truth and practice has remained lit across centuries and millennia. Gurus such as Swamiji contain and transmit this knowledge, through prayer, teachings, writings and individual assistance.

The Mother's peace garden

Meanwhile, in the west, we are rediscovering this wisdom and building our New Age.

The higher truths are filtering into western consciousness en masse via our own gurus, such as Eckhart Tolle and Louise Hay, who are able to present the material in a way we can relate to culturally.

One no longer has to travel to India to find enlightenment, but there is something very special about being here and witnessing the continuum of  teachings.

Once again I find myself in deep awe and respect, humbled by the magnificent spiritual civilization that is India.   

I am grateful to be received here again and again with such goodness and generosity and to find the guidance that I need.

Jennifer

www.anandashram.org

Taking the express train to Kerala

Final moments in Delhi, waiting to board

I stood in the doorway of the moving express, window open as the train shuddered, slowed and squealed to a halt. Catering trolleys had already moved into place on the platform, I was hopeful and hungry, craning my neck to see what was available.

It was a nutritional nightmare. Garishly packaged crisps, biscuits and soft drinks festooned the trolleys along with the latest Indian hybrid street snack, bread pakora (white sliced, buttered, battered and fried).   

It was an overnight journey from Delhi to Rishikesh, there was no pantry car and I was empty handed.  I arrived ravenous and grumpy, putting it down to experience.

So I wised up for my current trip, a thirty three hour jaunt from Delhi to Kerala onboard the Rajdhani Express, two full days and one night. Meals, snacks and drinking water included. I had researched and planned my intinerary to perfection.

The shortest, fastest route was a flight to Trivandrum, but that didn’t feel right; as though I was cheating myself out of some magic. I was growing to love the Indian Railway experience and in particular the excitement and romance of the sleeper.

Two thalis a day, plus snacks

Two thirty in the afternoon, day one. I had left my compartment as my travelling companions had, post-lunch, tucked themselves into bed, drawn the curtains, extinguished the lights and were taking an extended nap, snoring in unison.

I located an empty berth, and sat watching the Indian countryside gliding past my eyes. Greenery, electricity pylons, an auto-rickshaw pootling along a dusty road, glimpses of corrugated roofed dwellings, nothing remarkable.

Then a beautiful flat glassy ribbon of water appeared, moving in parallel for a few minutes before widening out and becoming a lake.

As the carriage swayed, jiggled and bounced along, I closed my eyes and focussed my attention on the sounds of the train, it became a meditation. The rushing of air as we entered a tunnel becoming a roar as we emerged. The rattling of wheels on rails, metal moving over metal was regular, rythmic and comforting.

Finding personal space became a priority, I was sharing a berth with three designated companions and the guy from the adjacent compartment liked to hang out with us too. I always choose the upper berth (seats are strictly reserved in advance). It's a safe retreat and you can sit on the lower bunks during the day if you are feeling sociable.

Upper berth,  2AC class

In the upper berth opposite was Christian, a pleasant natured and attractive Italian, who true to his roots was dressed in smart denim, tan suede loafers and a white shirt that mysteriously remained pristine throughout.

Chrisian was headed to Gokarna, a temple town in Karnataka with four heavenly beaches, for the fifteenth successive year.



In his youth he travelled sleeper class, cramped yet economical. You arrive with black face, dirt everywhere, destroyed!  These days he appreciates clean linen and air conditioning.

Sunil and Prabha occupied the lower berths, now resident in Chicago, they were on a five month tour of their Motherland and were excited about seeing Kerala for the first time. They were a charming couple in late middle age and very interested in my life story, sadhana and connection to India. They spent most of the ride in a kind of sleep stasis, waking for meals, chatting for an hour or two before resuming their slumbers.

The train made several stops, an opportunity to exercise by walking the length of the platform, always with an eye on the station clock. As the hours passed and the journey progressed, I grew increasingly tired and lacking in energy. Which probably had a lot to do with the carb laden starchy meals we were served.  Sometimes I would pop out for a five rupee chai, slump onto a bench and enjoy the colourful cavalcade of passengers, coolies, vendors and mendiants congregating and swarming around me.

Madgaon station, Goa

By the time we reached Goa, lunchtime day two, I was semi-comatose through swinging blood sugar levels and lack of sleep. I stumbled out of the carriage mechanically into the brilliant midday sunshine and something unexpected and completely wonderful occurred.

In an instant, my inner being recognised the warmth, humidity, jungle greenery, bright bougainvillea and intangible mystical essence of Goa.


It felt like a home coming and I was reminded how much I loved the lush verdant south of India, benevolent and welcoming, like a mother.

A few hours later I alighted at Kannur in Kerala.  I was somewhere new, unplanned and ready for the unexpected, nerves and excitement mingling. I checked into a simple looking hotel just off the main road. As I rummaged through my day pack for my passport, the red tambourine that I bought in Delhi tumbled out and clattered to the floor.

The receptionist smiled broadly, Madam, you are musician? He enquired.

Bhakti yoga, bhajans I responded and showed him the tiny pair of hand cymbals I also carry around.

Radhe! Radhe! Radhe! He exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. Madam is going to ashram in Kanhangad?

Yes!

Very nice place, very nice place, Madam will like!

Conversations such as these no matter how brief, go a long way when I am tired, nervous and stepping into the unknown. Small blessings that carry me forward, feeling strengthened, encouraged and very grateful.

Blessings on all our journeys!

Jennifer

Plan your virtual travel around India  www.indiarailinfo.com

Tickets need to be booked as far ahead as possible. Ideally request the foreign quota which is only available in person at railway stations at the discretion of the manager. You will need photo id ie passport.

Otherwise, use a travel agent. Indian trains are often sold out well in advance, however last minute travel is possible, there is an emergency tatkal quota bookable two days ahead for an additional fee.

Staying present, facing difficult feelings

Sharing, vision, community - Auroville

The plan was not going to plan. It was time to leave Dharamkot/Dharmashala and I was all set to travel to Auroville. I felt excited and uplifted as I contemplated the change.

Researching trains and buses and so on and reminiscing about my first stay back in 2005. I knew that it was monsoon season in Tamil Nadu and to begin with this didn't bother me.

My intention in revisiting Auroville was to take in as much community living as I could and explore in ways that weren't possible the first time, when I was fully absorbed with daily ashtanga vinyasa yoga sessions.

I envisaged myself cycling on the red dirt roads, visiting magically named communities such as Spirulina Farm, Buddha Garden, Creativite, Sadhana Forest. I was keen to volunteer at the Pour Tous food co-operative, to swim in la Piscine, to sing bhajans in the warm evenings under broad leaved banana trees. I was in love with my vision!

However the more research I did, the more I had to acknowledge and accept that if I did travel to Auroville during November, I was likely to be rained on -  a lot. I had to be very honest with myself and admit that while a day or two of rainy weather is an enjoyable contrast, the prospect of heavy rain most days, damp clothes and bedding and waiting inside for most of the day was just not going to work for me. There could be thunderstorms, strong winds and last year a cyclone. I just didn't want to chance it.

Monsoon in Pondicherry

So I let go of the plan. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go?

Rishikesh hadn't worked out, it was turning cold in the north, it was too early to head to the beach, I wanted to do something more purposeful and engaged. I was deeply, deeply stuck.

I found myself walking around McLeod, browsing the shops and wandering aimlessly. That afternoon I hiked around the surrounding hills until my legs ached. Finally, for dinner I ordered a huge thali with extras, far more than my body needed.

I had enough self-awareness to know that I was trying to avoid or escape myself. Distracting myself with activity and sedating myself with food in an attempt to hold feelings down. It was an old coping mechanism that had served me well throughout most of my life, but it doesnt really work anymore.

Back in my room at the guesthouse, finally alone with myself there was no escape. A powerful surge of emotion erupted from within, much like a volcano. Hot repressed content, buried deep now discharging itself with dramatic force.

It's all too much. This trip, it's too hard. I can't keep going. I can't manage on my own. All these decisions - it's too tiring. I've had enough, I want to go home...

Intense suffering

I sobbed and sobbed for well over an hour. Out of tissues, I covered my teary face with a washcloth.

I was frightened by the intensity of the experience, waves and waves of strong feeling were being released. As though I had accessed some primal terror, every cell of my being was expressing fear.

I wondered whether I needed to call a doctor or get some kind of help, I felt so out of control. Distressed, lonely and anxious, I eventually surrendered to sleep.

The following morning,  I awoke with a fuzzy head and gingerly opened my eyes. I was still alive. The dawn had arrived in rosy splendour and the birds were singing in the new day.   Emotionally I felt sore and vulnerable, as though I was recovering from a surgery. I knew I would have to be super sensitive and kind to myself.

The intense, scary, fearful feelings were no longer present, in their place a kind of tender self-love. It was a great relief. I acknowledged myself for what I had undergone: an emotional catharsis. I was proud of myself and thankful that no matter how disturbing and frightening, I had stayed present with myself and allowed strong feelings to come up and be released. It was some kind of breakthrough, a victory of sorts.

Gently I took myself into McLeod for my regular breakfast in Gyaki, a Tibetan cafe. I was pleased to be greeted by Olga, lively and attractive young french-portugese who had just completed Vipassana meditation retreat. We chatted most mornings over large bowlfuls of fruit and curd and chunks of cakey tibetan bread.

I risked being real and told her about my upset and anxiety and lack of direction. Olga listened attentively with warmth and understanding. I felt validated by her compassionate presence and it was a  reminder that it is safe to express myself and receive emotional support, even though I was very vulnerable. She gave me great advice, which I followed: 

It takes time and now you have been very upset so it will take a few days to become calm and clear. Let this settle, wait with it. There is no rush to go anywhere, it will all happen in good time.

After a day or two of giving space to myself and treating myself with as much love, nurture and kindness as possible, the new direction revealed itself.  A small bhakti ashram in north Kerala. Yes!  It felt right. I spent that day in a state of conscious gratitude, Thank you Thank you Thank you my continuous prayer to the Universe.

Feeling our feelings, why should it be such a drama? Early on my spiritual journey I dedicated a year to an intensive psycho-dynamic psychotherapy.  My skilled and patient therapist helped me to explore my early childhood and upbringing and we identified early on that my parents disapproved of strong emotion and that to survive, I shut down the feeling part of myself. Feelings were bad as they led to parental withdrawal, which to an infant is a survival issue.

As an adult, reclaiming this hidden part of myself feels like a gift, I want to live as a whole person, experiencing challenging, darker feelings as well as the joyful and ecstatic. I am living on the edge of myself and stretching into more of myself. It requires courage but the rewards are beyond measure: reunion with the true self and emotional freedom.

Blessings of wholeness

Jennifer

www.auroville.org