Such is the magic of Ananda. Thanks in large part to the caring staff, inner peace suddenly doesn’t seem so elusive. Take my yoga nidra session with my instructor Sakshi Sharma. Yoga nidra is an ancient guided meditation practice in which you’re led into deep relaxation mode before you’re asked, about halfway through, to set a sankalpa (intention). “The intentions you set during yoga nidra will come true,” Sakshi told me firmly, explaining that sankalpas are thought to tap into your subconscious, where the mind is more receptive. “It’s not a matter of if your sankalpa happens, it’s a matter of when—so it’s important to take it seriously.”
Another day, I had an “emotional healing” session with Blossom Furtado, Ananda’s resident holistic therapist. She explained that one of the surest paths to inner peace is through the practice of daily affirmations. I’ve always been a bit of an affirmation skeptic, but something about hearing Blossom explain how the mind-body connection works—how speaking your truths out loud can help you “talk to your cells” so they “know what to do”—made me question my prior aversion. Perhaps it was the spiritual setting, as her sunny office had all sorts of Sanskrit mantras on the walls, along with giant windows that overlooked the Ganga river valley below. Or maybe it was her soothing voice, the way she opened up about her own struggles after I told her about mine. Or maybe it was simply because she was passing along ancient medical knowledge that had stood the test of time, and I finally realized, in the words of Paul Simon, who am I to blow against the wind?
On my final evening, the hotel arranged a trip into Rishikesh, a city long considered sacred (and famously associated with The Beatles’ 1968 trip to study Transcendental Meditation at the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi Ashram). Every night at dusk, locals and travelers gather for the Ganga Aarti, a sunset ceremony to honor the river and its many blessings. I had a feeling I’d enjoy the experience, as I love a heady ritual and I’d been hearing about this one for years, but I didn’t realize just how emotional it would leave me. Priests draped in bright saffron robes and red sweaters lit fires and incense, and swung large brass oil lamps in slow circles, creating flickering rings of golden light that popped against the fading sky. Others sang Sanskrit chants, their steady voices carrying over the riverbank. My guide even insisted I hold one of the ceremonial aarti lamps myself. At the beginning of the trip, I’d hardly noticed the Ganga from the backseat of the car, too caught up in my own fertility anxieties to really see it. But there I was, two weeks and endless warm oil baths later, and I finally felt it. In Hinduism, the Ganga is regarded as a goddess: Ganga Ma. A mother to humanity. She is uncontrollable by mere mortals, and moves on her own timeline. As I watched the river glide behind the glowing flames, I realized that maybe the lesson, now, was learning how to move on my own timeline, too.
