surreal and physical experiences of shakti—all spine-twisting, blood-boiling wildness. I try to
give in to it with as little resistance as possible. Other times I experience a sweet, quiet con-
tentment, and that is fine, too. The sentences still form in my mind, and thoughts still do their
little show-off dance, but I know my thought patterns so well now that they don’t bother me
anymore. My thoughts have become like old neighbors, kind of bothersome but ultimately
rather endearing—Mr. and Mrs. Yakkity-Yak and their three dumb children, Blah, Blah and
Blah. But they don’t agitate my home. There’s room for all of us in this neighborhood.
As for whatever other changes may have occurred within me during these last few
months, perhaps I can’t even feel them yet. My friends who have been studying Yoga for a
long time say you don’t really see the impact that an Ashram has had on you until you leave
the place and return to your normal life. “Only then,” said the former nun from South Africa,
“will you start to notice how your interior closets have all been rearranged.” Of course at the
moment, I’m not entirely sure what my normal life is. I mean, I’m maybe about to go move in
with an elderly medicine man in Indonesia—is that my normal life? It may be, who knows? In
any case, though, my friends say that the changes appear only later. You may find that
lifelong obsessions are gone, or that nasty, indissoluble patterns have finally shifted. Petty ir-
ritations that once maddened you are no longer problems, whereas abysmal old miseries you
once endured out of habit will no longer be tolerated now for even five minutes. Poisonous re-
lationships get aired out or disposed of, and brighter, more beneficial people start arriving into
your world.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. Not out of anxiety, but out of thrilled anticipation. I got dressed
and went out for a walk through the gardens. The moon was lusciously ripe and full, and it
hovered right above me, spilling a pewtery light all around. The air was perfumed with jasmine
and also the intoxicating scent from this heady, flowery bush they have around here which
only blossoms in the night. The day had been humid and hot, and now it was only slightly less
humid and hot. The warm air shifted around me and I realized: “I’m in India!”
I’m in my sandals and I’m in India!
I took off at a run, galloping away from the path and down into the meadow, just tearing
across that moonlit bath of grass. My body felt so alive and healthy from all these months of
Yoga and vegetarian food and early bedtimes. My sandals on the soft dewy grass made this
sound: shippa-shippa-shippa-shippa, and that was the only sound in the whole valley. I was
so exultant I ran straight to the clump of eucalyptus trees in the middle of the park (where they
say an ancient temple used to stand, honoring the god Ganesh—the remover of obstacles)
and I threw my arms around one of those trees, which was still warm from the day’s heat, and