Pings And Pongs

Title Ð'- Of Pings and Roses

I had moved to Charlottesville for about a year when I started asthanga yoga classes at my local gym. As an enthusiastic amateur, I was surfing the web about asthanga yoga when I found that there was a yoga ashram not far from where I lived. This retreat, called, "Yogaville" was founded in 1986 by a Sri Swami Satchidananda who was a popular spiritual guru in the nineteen seventies to nineteen nineties and started his fame here in the United States as the opening speaker at the original famed Woodstock music and arts festival. The facility is part of the larger network of Integral health food stores, Integral Yoga institutes, among other entities within the group.

I hastily decided to visit the ashram for a weekend, deciding only whether I would be an unconformist if I asked for a private room. The drive south took me past Scottsville into Buckingham county. And after a few turns and unfamiliar landscapes, I arrived at the ashram and I saw a sign to the infamous shrine, Light of Truth Universal Shrine (LOTUS) and a number of private houses away from the main retreat buildings.

I asked around to get registered as a guest and settled into my bunk bed. As I walked around the buildings to get my bearing and checked out the current events, I discovered that there was a yoga teacher conference that weekend as well. After I had mentally scheduled out my itinerary of yoga and meditation classes, I went to the main building for lunch. Although my yearnings of authentic Indian lentil curry and "rotis'" were not answered, I was delighted with the abundance of other vegetarian food. After the sumptuous meal, I walked to the hill top of the vast property to see a Lord Siva shrine which overlooked the ashram and offered a panoramic view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. As I was planning to walk down the hill, I saw that a man dressed as a Hindu priest was walking up to conduct a prayer. I had read earlier in the leaflet that the Hindu priest was an attorney and out of curiosity, I decided to sit in for the hour long "puja" or prayer. After my relatively easier than usual yoga class that evening, I had dinner and attend a singing session before I settled down to a book and a comfortable bed. As my consciousness evaporated, I remembered noting that I was not beseeching for either nicotine or alcohol in a usual weekend night.

I was dreaming about a Tchaikovsky piece when I realized that I was actually hearing a violin playing and as it was fading down the corridor, I looked at my watch and it was showing 5:30 in the morning. I jumped out of bed to quickly wash up to go for the meditation class at six. It was still dark when I went outside. I also learnt later that the violin-playing wake-up call was a daily routine.

There were only six people and an instructor when I entered the dimmed room at the next building. I noticed a candle burning on a small table setup like a miniature altar. I took a pillow from the corner to make it easier for me sit in a semi lotus posture. I also noticed that this meditation class was not a teaching one but an accompanying class. Ax such, I was determined to try to do this meditation on my own. I recalled some of the mantras that I learnt