In the previous blog post, I briefly spoke about the challenges of yoga, both inwards and outwards. There has to be a firm resolution of never giving up in your mind while practicing the discipline, so when those moments of fatigue and self-doubt arise, through your inner determination, you will be able to persevere. It is often we know such wisdom, but when the hour of desperation appears, we succumb to those inner voices of uncertainty and of disbelief, causing us to either give up entirely on what it is we are pursuing, or spend much time in deliberation on whether or not we can do what we set out to accomplish.
A week before I was set to complete my 200-hour yoga certification, after my first class where I taught for 30 minutes (part of our four-day teaching exam), I became discouraged since I felt my performance was inadequate, and because I compared myself to a young lady who taught after me, (who, by the way, had been teaching yoga for years), causing me to retreat to my room in tears, where I gave into my hopelessness, packed my bags, and left the yoga school. In this breath, as I am descending the stairs of the building, there was a war going on in my mind as part of me wanted to be patient with the process, but the other side, which felt more compelling, told me to give up and never to look back.
As my heartbeat began to race due to the weight of my travel bags and my unbearable soul, tears began to stream down my cheeks. I couldn't help but feel like a failure. I thought about how giving up now would be the equivalence of ending my journey, and returning to my residence due to the road being too challenging. As I looked up to the sky with its pinkish color from the sun setting, I desperately wished someone from the school, or anyone for that matter, would come to my rescue and implant words of strength in me. Instead, I found myself wandering, leaving behind regret and a trail of tears.
I decided before I would leave Rishikesh, the least I could do is text the director and tell him I was departing since we cultivated a good friendship. So, I walked into a local bakery, connected to wifi, had my favorite ginger-lemon tea to help calm me down, and then texted Aaron explaining why I decided to give up and wished him my best. He called me within a matter of seconds, and the first words he said to me stung: "I didn't expect this from you, Demetrius."
In those moments when I feel bereft of strength, courage, or determination, when I am reminded someone else believes in me, there happens suddenly to be a rush of inspiration, as if their words were precisely what I needed to overcome whatever ills I may have been facing. Aaron couldn't talk for long since he was in a meeting, but when he repeated those words, "I didn't expect this from you, Demetrius" I decided I would finish what I started.
I remember a friend once told me "poor preparation leads to poor performance," and knowing I didn't properly prepare for my class, but only a half of hour before, I spent the night writing out my lesson plan for the next day and did some editing in the morning. When the time came for me to get back in front of my classmates, I was much better prepared, and from their feedback, I did a much better job than the night before. The next night and day I repeated the same procedure, preparing my notes before bed and looking over them in the morning, I was then able to take my final with confidence, where I taught yoga for an hour and a half to my fellow peers and teachers.
After I finished my exam, everyone gave me their feedback on how I could progress as a teacher, but overall they were very impressed by how I was able to improve from my first lesson three days prior. As I was listening to their words, my eyes began to swell, and I told them just a few days ago I was ready to give up entirely; how I packed my bags and left since I was completely discouraged by my first performance. In this very moment, I couldn't help but be grateful I decided to be patient with the process since if I hadn't, then I may have continued with my journey, but with regret I didn't finish what I started.
A day or two later, some of the students departed, but for those of us who stayed, Aaron drove us about seven hours to the Himalayan Mountains, where we stayed for two nights. I have to be honest: this was the first time during my pilgrimage, where I spent time thinking about leaving everything and everyone behind and starting a new life there in the mountains. Between the peace I felt in my heart, the fresh air providing oxygen to my body, and the simplicity in which the mountain people lived, I deeply considered a new beginning.
As the sun began to subside, I found myself over-looking the mountains meditating on peace and patience. It was then I thought being peaceful and patient does not require you to be in a particular place or around certain people, (although I will acknowledge being in a noxious atmosphere may make it more challenging but not impossible), instead you can choose a life cultivating each through gratitude. In this breath, I gently opened my eyes and felt the fresh air permeating all corners of my body just as tranquility simultaneously pervaded my mind, granting me the serenity of life.
In my moment of calmness, Aaron shouts, "D — it is time for the ceremony, C'mon!" We arrived in the village just in time for the celebration of their God, or at least the symbol in which they believe is of God. I grab my sandals, took a glance back at the mountains, and then proceeded to the area where the drummers began beating, following the pathway to the music. A few moments later, when my peers and I arrived on the scene, there were children, adults, and then the older folks all dancing around this young man who was carrying a staff, shaped like a cross, drenched in bright color fabrics and rupees hanging off the top.
Before I could analyze all that was transpiring before my eyes, a child grabbed my hand to come dance. I threw my sandals to the side and joined what felt like the circle of life as everyone seemed to forget about the chilly temperature or the rain clouding our vision; instead, the laughter of the old were in perfect sync with the smiles of the young, the women and men all looked into each other's eyes passionately, and the children showed their innocent spirit by just being them.
The young man carrying the symbol of God, which I was later told was called Nishen, asked if I wanted a chance. Without hesitation, knowing I would never get this opportunity again, I said yes and proceeded to take my turn. As he passed the sacred staff, I felt as if I was Moses leading the people since I had such great responsibility in my hands. Although Nishen was heavy, I wouldn't dare drop it, so I summoned more strength and danced to the best of my ability with the symbol of God in my hands. Believe it or not, as I was doing my rounds, the sun slightly poked its head from the clouds, and its rays gently pressed against my smile, reminding me God is indeed here with us at this moment and all is indeed well.
Most of the seven-hour ride back to Rishikesh, I was thinking how proud I was of myself for being patient and never giving up on yoga, including all the times during the course where I was ready to leave. The other half of the time, I was thinking about my next steps and where I would go. I decided I would go to Bikaner, Rajasthan, about 15 hours away, towards the desert, after meeting this older man named Mr. Henric from Denmark at an ATM who said I should visit the city.
After my 15-hour train ride, I landed in Bikaner, Rajasthan. When I departed from the station, the first thought that came to mind was, "this is the real India." In Rishikesh, it is possible to see more tourist than Indians, in Bikaner, I didn't see any — only myself. As per usual, the Rickshaws or the Totos, (the Indian vehicle) possibly outnumbered the people, camels were walking upright with their head looking ahead, all the buildings, no more than 3-4 stories high, were all clustered together, and the rest of the multitude of people, either on motorcycles or walking, were going about their day.
I eventually arrived at the bed and breakfast Mr. Henric recommended, and there he was, an older fellow in his mid-60s, with a beard which showed he either had wisdom or lived a long life (I later found out, as he said when I called him a wise man, he had just lived long enough indeed making him just an older man who had seen it all). Next to him was Sandy, a native-born desert man whose conversation is filled with much humor but who always snaps you back to reality when he says, "Life is one time, so enjoy it!" Then there was Mohammad, another native who helps maintain the house, and who, as Sandy once said to me: "you say ten things to him, he understands two." Actually, I have come to realize he indeed understands at least four if you say it slow enough.
After greeting my new friends, I turned and looked at my surroundings: my ears absorbed the melody of the multitude of birds in the trees, which provided shade from the scorching sun; the air smelled of a freshly cooked meal, and my eyes could relax from its usual work of scanning everything and everyone since the hostel was far away not to be overwhelmed by people or animals. I found myself a seat as Mohammad gave me a cup of chai (the famous tea of India). I kicked back and gently said, "I like it here."
A few days later, as I was listening to the sound of the birds sing in their treehouse, I wrote this short observation in which I titled: The Hour of Praise:
Every day around four past noon, the birds in unison, chirp, sing, and praise as the sun subsides, and the moon begins to shine. I suspect it's their Hour of Praise for their Creator who listens attentively to His creations as they let their soothing voice ascend to His ears. For in this breath, I cherished with deep appreciation their song so much, I recorded their melody on my phone. However, I can't help but wonder whether the bees, sharing their space in the treehouse, also enjoy their neighbors worship or despise the Hour of Praise? Perhaps the bees are themselves too occupied gathering the last bit of nectar from its sources to become either glad or displeased by their neighbors actions? For surely, I can't forget the chipmunk, who also shares his home here in the row of trees. Does he too recline after a day's work of searching to the music of his neighbor? Or does he also escape from the orchestra? The small birds are much numbered, for I have only seen two other birds who interchangeably protect their eggs in its nest, share in the treehouse. All my speculation shall be contemplated another hour, for the birds Hour of Praise will soon end.
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The first week I stayed at the Bed and Breakfast, there weren't many other guests besides Mr. Henric and myself, so I was fortunate with the opportunity to delve into conversations with him, which was seasoned with wisdom, leaving me a wiser soul. One of the conversations covered how much do we need to be happy — specifically, how much money does one need to be content? One person, he said, replied approximately $10 million they needed before they could stop overwhelming their mind with the pursuit of money. However, once they received the $10 million, they needed a bigger house, a more advanced car, and fancier clothes, bringing them to the verge of going broke, so now they needed another $10 million to keep their new standard of living.
He continued: "Now that they have this extra $10 million, they went and bought another home and another car for their second home, and they also added a jet so they could travel between their two homes as fast as possible. So, to keep this kind of lifestyle, they decided they desired an extra $10 million since they cannot possibly imagine going back to a shared apartment, traveling by public transportation." The point he wanted me to take away, and what I want YOU to take away is to be grateful for what you currently have. There is nothing wrong with aspiring for more, for a better car or home, or whatever it is you may want; however, do not make it your religion where you worship the desire for more, whether it is money, power, or any other pleasure since you will spend your life in the pursuit of things that are ultimately evasive. Be grateful for what you have and be patient as you pursue more!
Another conversation covered why marriages don't last. I was intrigued by what Mr. Henric was saying since I am preparing myself to be a husband. The main reason why these relationships don't work is that people don't want to be patient enough to make their relationship last, but rather, they would prefer to ditch it and look elsewhere. In his words, people would rather "buy and throw instead of work and fix." He spoke about how here in India, the mentality is to fix everything, whether it is a lighter or an umbrella, both of which we throw away instantly since it cost us nothing to buy another, but in this culture, they aim to fix anything, be it an umbrella, lighter, or a marriage.
This mentality of "buy and throw" continues in our daily relationships where we don't want to work on fixing anything, we don't have the time to solve problems, we just go and get a new wife, husband, and relationship. The complication here is the issue usually isn't the other person — it is us! So, no matter how many relationships or marriages we're in, we'll continue pointing the finger at another when the problem resides within, and until one looks inwardly and is patient enough to address it, those challenges will follow no matter who your significant other may be.
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| Mr. Henric and I |
This is precisely why I am here in India, working on myself from the inside-out so I no longer point the finger at anyone else when the problem is within me, thus enabling me the ability to help others unearth whatever challenge lies within them so all of our true healing may begin.
By the second week, there were travelers coming and going more frequently, so I was able to connect to other folks on their journey and to learn their wisdom. There are two people who I met who really impacted me. The first is a former politician from Spain, whose name I forget but I'll call him John. He came with two friends who were also from Barcelona. The first conversation we talked about his time as a politician, a moment in his life he spoke about the hair he lost due to frustration of the job and how everything he did or said was practically under a magnifying glass.
As we continued our conversation, John and his two friends and I were on our way to the market, but before we arrived, there was an occurrence I think is worthy of noting here. Traveling to the market was about a mile from our Bed and Breakfast, and usually would cost approximately 100 rupees (or about $1.40). If you're lucky, you can negotiate to pay 80 rupees, but I, after asking several drivers the price, agreed 100 rupees is justifiable for the distance. John and his friends didn't think so; they were obdurate about paying 80 rupees and wouldn't pay anything more or less. (By the way, John spoke English where he could converse in it but his friends spoke little of the language.) So, as the two friends who didn't speak English well were trying to negotiate a price to the market with the driver who himself didn't speak English well, I decided it would make sense for me to help.
Moments later, another driver drives to the scene and begins asking where we want to travel to, and after hearing our destination, he said he would only take 100 rupees, just as the other driver too agreed to receive for driving four people. What John and his friends didn't understand was the driver would typically pick up other passengers who wanted to go in the same direction, but since there are four of us, we would fill his toto, making it impossible for him to pick up anyone else, therefore depriving him of any extra cash. So, 100 rupees for four passengers made complete sense — at least to me.
After trying to negotiate a price for almost 10 minutes, everyone settled on 80 rupees. When we got to the destination, I had a 200 rupee bill on me, and I told John to give me 100 rupees, and I'll give him (John) the 200 bill and will give the driver the 100 rupees (my idea was to provide the driver with an extra 20 rupees as a tip). "No, no, we're giving him 80 rupees, and that is final," he says. "Take the 200 rupees and just give me the 100," I replied. After hearing how John was not giving the man anything more, and my frustration growing now with John and also because there are so many vehicles beeping their horn behind us, I just gave the driver my 200 rupee note.
"Why would you give him 200 rupees? We only needed to pay 80!" He said. "What is wrong with giving a little extra? There is nothing wrong with giving a tip, brother," I responded. "No, no, we don't have to give extra, I am a working man and cannot afford to be giving extra money to anyone." What John didn't understand but what I tried to clarify was not only didn't he pay anything (or his friends), but I decided to give the driver 200 rupees — not his. He continued to respond in the same manner, saying he doesn't have to give extra to anyone, and while I understood his position, what I wanted him to comprehend was it is my money, and I choose what to do with it — not him.
We continued going back and forth for the next few minutes, and I felt my aggravation strengthening because not only was he not understanding where I was coming from, but he nor his male friend was looking around as they were walking; so I am debating with him and also pulling him and his friend numerous times from getting hit by a toto or a motorcycle since they are both looking at the ground and not around at the moving vehicles. Couple all of this with the horns of hundreds of cars ringing in my ears, it only took for this one toto behind me to be relentlessly pressing his horn, for me to turn around, put my hand out as if I was Iron Man shooting from my palm and screamed with the most profound conviction, aspettate! (this means wait in Italian.) The driver looked as if he saw a ghost, and he stopped and waited patiently until we crossed the street.
When we finally made it to the restaurant, I ordered my usual and went and sat at our table by myself as they were trying to figure out what they wanted. I had to relax my entire being since I felt simply exhausted. In due time they came over, and we ate mostly in silence, allowing the energy from outside to subside. Eventually, John and I began talking again about whatever, and we forgot about all that transpired before, enjoying the company of one another. It was then I said to myself, it doesn't matter if one agrees or disagrees with me, what is most important is at the end of the day we can share a meal in the spirit of brotherhood.
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| John, his friend, and I |
Paula, also from Spain, was another traveler who I connected to and learned a great deal from and who became like a sister. But before I get into the few moments where we bonded, I must speak on the Indian wedding I attended. The wedding was Sandy's cousin, and it took place on two nights. The first evening we danced behind this truck for about two miles, which carried these speakers that played music the entire neighborhood could hear, and then we attended an all-you-can eat dinner, consisting of a plethora of different foods and sweets (this was the night for the bride's family).
Two nights later, the groom's side of the family hosted a bigger dinner with twice the amount of people from the bride's night and we ate until our bellies gave way, took pictures with the groom, and then departed. The second night was chill; it was the first night that felt as if I was at an Indian concert! First, following this truck carrying these speakers, which blasted so much music, everyone came out from their homes around 9 p.m. to pay their respects and to see who from their neighborhood was getting married; furthermore, the music was so loud the next morning my ears were still slightly ringing.
So, as we're following this truck, everyone is dancing, from the children to the older folks. Given I am a dancer and everyone saw my moves, I was being pulled to dance with the men, women, and even a grandmother was pulling me to bust a move with her. They wouldn't allow me to stop dancing, nor did I want to, so we danced, danced, and danced, allowing the moment to be filled with joy.
In this breath, I forgot I was from America since everyone treated me as a brother, as a son, as a friend. When I finished eating, folks were inviting me to come to eat off their plate, or to share a glass of water with them, or to just be in their company. It was a firm reminder although we all may share different religions, or a different country, or a different ethnicity, we are all one, we are all part of the human race.
Now, back to Paula, who has the heart of a child and whose smile persuades you to smile too regardless if you are in the mood to or not. There was this gentleman at the wedding who asked me if Paula was my wife and I said no, "she's a friend," he responded by telling me to tell her some time tomorrow she is beautiful (I suppose he was shy and didn't want her to know who he was so I obliged and waited). The next morning while in conversation with her, I told her what he said, and while she said she's thankful she isn't concerned with her external beauty but the internal beauty residing in the abyss of her soul.
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| Paula and I <3 |
I was in awe of her response since we do live in a world where we seem to cherish the outwards appearance more than what resides in a person's heart. We glorify, to the best of our abilities, our Instagram and Facebook pictures, obsessed with trying to perfect the way people perceive us while oftentimes neglecting what is within when it is the beauty hidden inside, which truly matters. It was a moment I was able to understand her soul, and I was left in admiration, as I, too, began to recognize my inner beauty over my external looks.
Two days before I departed from Bikaner, Rajasthan, I decided since I was in a Muslim state, I should go to a mosque to experience the way they worshiped Allah. When I arrived at the mosque, I followed the young man who went in before me and followed what he did. He first took his shoes off, washed his hands followed by his feet, dried both, then before he went into the sanctuary, he gently tapped the walls and then placed his hands over his head. I did the same and then proceeded to find a seat with my legs crossed as if to meditate.
The majority of the brothers of Islam were dressed in white, with a few in dark colors, but everyone wore on their head what is called a Taqiyah, or a rounded skullcap because the Islamic prophet Muhammad too covered his head. It only took a matter of minutes before the entire sanctuary was filled with its adherents, all tightly seated next to each other, where everyone's knees slightly touched. Then the Imam, or what would be the equivalence of the Christian preacher, began singing praise in Arabic as all the brothers followed suit.
Before long, the Imam began preaching in Arabic, and everyone sat in full attendance to what the spiritual teacher was saying. Although I couldn't understand, towards the end of his sermon he began preaching with so much passion, he sent chills up my spine as his index finger pointed upwards, his voice echoing throughout the space, and his sweat running down his forehead.
By the way the energy felt in the sanctuary, I genuinely believe the Imam was possibly speaking on a recent bill named the Citizenship Amendment Bill (CAB), which has been spearheaded by the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), giving sanctuary to people fleeing religious persecution, including Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain, Parsi, and Christian — except Muslims.
Now, I know nothing about the politics here, and I do feel inadequate even to share my opinion; however, it does not take a genius to comprehend this Bill is aiming to further marginalize the Muslim population here in India. For if this was not the case, why not offer sanctuary to the Ahmadis in Pakistan or the Rohingyas in Myanmar, two groups who are being persecuted this very moment? (Let's not even get to China's crackdown on its Uighur Muslim population.) The point is this Bill is targeting India's Muslim adherents, and I could feel the desperation coming from the Imam's heart as he preached.
When I was at NYU, in my Human Rights class where we learned about the Nazis rise to power and the subsequent incremental purging of their chosen targets, there was this quote from a German pastor which continues to resonate deeply and will forever be the reason why I speak up for all groups who are being discriminated against:
"First, they came for the socialist, and I did not speak out - because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me." - Martin Niemoller (1892 - 1984)
My friends, if we do not collectively speak out against any injustice happening to any group, be it those for Islam, persons of color, the LGBTQ, or anyone else facing discrimination, it is only a matter of time before the world finds a reason to justify its hatred of you and me.
After leaving the mosque, as I was heading home, a brother of Islam approached me and offered to drive me home. I was okay with walking but decided to take him up on his offer. We ended up going back to his village, not too far from my residence, and he introduced me to his family, who embraced me as one of theirs. With respect, dignity, and acceptance, each person shook my hand and slightly bowed. After speaking with the brother about the Bill, he said seven words, which I believe all members of the Muslim community would agree to: We just want to live in peace.
The night before I was set to leave Bikaner, Rajasthan, I was undecided on either traveling to another location in Rajasthan or going to Punjab for the Golden Temple. In my indecision, I decided to flip a coin: heads go deeper into the former, tails go to the latter. When I looked on the ground, tails were facing upwards, so I decided I would go further north.
After saying goodbye to my friends, Mr. Henric, Sandy, Mohammad, and Paula, I departed for the bus, where I spent the night traveling to Punjab for the next 12 hours. When I arrived, I was amazed by all the Sikhs I saw wearing their turbans in a multitude of different colors, and how the young and the elders all greeted one another with hands in prayer and soft smiles. The atmosphere was indeed filled with a genuine spirit.
On the other hand, however, I was discouraged by the immense amount of pollution plaguing the state; how while walking, I noticed children and elderly folks coughing as they walked through the visible clouds of pollution. There was a great deal of people walking around with a mask on, and I couldn't help but think, could this be the world we're leaving to our children? A world where the air, which is a necessity for all life, is so harmful our lungs slowly deteriorate, leaving us in further peril?
I eventually made it to the Golden Temple, also known as Harmandir Sahib, or the abode of God, where Paula and others told me I could stay and be fed for free. Entering the parameter of the Temple, I saw individuals either on their knees with their head on the ground paying their respect or those who remained standing but with hands over the chest and palms touching as their eyes remained closed, murmuring words of prayers.
After checking in my bags and securing my bed in the tourist section, I went to leave my sneakers and socks at the shoe check-in since no one is allowed in the temple's direct circumference with either on their feet. As I made my way towards where lunch was being served, I was humbled by what I saw: men of all ages, but mostly those who could be my grandfather, either handing out trays, serving food and water, or receiving the people's used utensils; women and younger men washing, rinsing, and drying dishes which seemed to never end; and thousands of people in rows sitting with legs crossed and hands out waiting patiently to be served.
I found myself, as I was waiting my turn to be served food, reflecting how this system of service would not be possible without every single person thinking about the collective rather than themselves. If anyone simply thought about their needs and not of others, it would be impossible for the Golden Temple to provide meals and refuge for thousands of people daily. It was then I realized we all have come to this world to serve one another in humility and love
Once I finished my food, I made my way to the actual Golden Temple itself. As I am waiting to enter the sanctuary (which took about an hour and a half due to all the people), I began telling the young man next to me how humbled and impressed I was of the temple and of all the service I witnessed. He told me to look at the four great entries to the temple's surroundings. He then said: "each entry represents those who are Muslim, Christian, Sikh, Hindu, and every other religion, and although we all enter the temple's area through a different pathway, we all follow this one path to the Golden temple." In short, no matter what walk of life one comes from, we all end up on the same path towards the abode of God.
I have decided to spend New Years in Varanasi, the holiest place in India, where people go to die since it is there the Hindus believes the cycle of life and death ends and one reaches salvation. I have come here to give the boy in me his funeral as I step into 2020, a man on a mission.
Final Thought: First, if you made it here, you have practiced patience as you read through this entire post, so thank you. Secondly, please remember patience and service are two of the most exceptional qualities you can cultivate every single day, thus making the world a better place for all. Lastly, Happy New Year and may 2020 bring you health, wisdom, and joy!
If you can, please make a donation to my GoFund me so I may continue my nine month journey here in India:
With love and gratitude,
Demetrius T. Napolitano
To be continued ....
