For the past thirty days, I’ve been waking up before sunrise to chant mantras and meditate in a nearby ashram. I do this to this to get up in the morning and as medicine to keep the blues away.
We sit in rows facing the bronze statue of a guru. The women on the left, the men to the right. The sanscrit chants are so complex that I have spent the past few weeks immersed in the text before me. But today, as I finally chant more fluidly, I look up and wonder if the guru has anything to do with me being there. Other ashramites swear by the power of his grace, but until now, I haven’t contemplated his involvement at all.
As a game –one that offered me comfort in the past– I wonder what I’d pray for if the guru could help. Make my dad healthy again, or let him go peacefully. Get rid of a depression that makes me cry about everything all the time. Remind me what it’s like to dream and feel alive.
As my list goes on, I realize that its contents will never end. Hardships will always be there. What I need, is to know how to live. How to let life pass by and not crush me. This is why –be it by the guru’s grace, or by fear of falling into darkness– I will return to chant day by day to fulfill my wish.
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