THE ASHRAM

We visited a popular ashram in the middle of Pondicherry, (what used to be a French colonial town, 4 hours south of Chennai). Remove the shoes, walk in silence, a mural of flower petals laid over the graves of the two founding gurus there, and you line up to kneel and pray. And I must tell you I am searching these days. My liberal education and Western values have taught me cynicism and skepticism in the face of religion since I was a teenager. That said, I have felt in the glory of the peaceful mountain-shadow or the sweat and aftershock of the loversbed the greater connection- the Spiritual. I am not aspiritual. Just disillusioned.
I knelt to pray in silence with the others. To pray. I haven’t really tried to pray in years. It felt clumsy, like I was reading Shakespeare for the first time, but it also felt somewhat freeing as I tried to humble myself. I gave thanks for the many things I have to give thanks for, and I reflected quietly with everyone else. It was peaceful. And then each person slowly stands when they have finished, and files silently and single file out of the courtyard and into the adjacent building.

Which is a gift shop.

My short-lived spiritual journey-of-the-day finds its fizzled end in a gift shop where the ashram patrons remain silent, but the buzzes and beeps and clicks of the cash machine are louder than ever. My head is screaming- How Can I Not Be Cynical?? I feel betrayed and annoyed. And granted, many of the books in the shop are cheaper than cheap, and any institution needs to support itself. It’s not like they’re turning over Starbuck-sized profits in here. But it certainly doesn’t leave one feeling spiritually fulfilled, that much I can tell you.

Religion is still in the zoo for me. Not that I was expecting a couple weeks in India to change this.
There are Hindu temples here crammed between the fabric shops and grocery stands in the dirty crowded streets. There are afternoon prayers. Flocks of parades and celebrations and fireworks bursting over a city until past midnight two Sundays in a row. A beautiful thing?
Or is it sheep-herding? Tradition. And a fear of change. and The Way Things Are Done. Are the temples and churches the boxes it takes courage to think outside of? Or am I out in the cold and wilderness, peering through the thick glass at the library; at the hearthfire..