Some of the Wonders of Ghee

When you have four lectures in one day and they are all about ghee, one begins to wonder what's going on. It's true. Dr. Dawidi, Taru Lata, Dr. Acharya and then at the end of the day Dr. Vyas. Something is up about this clarified butter product that is making me begin to think it might have a magic carpet of it's own...

Thought I'd pass on some of the tips about this magical ingredient... Besides putting a few drops in each nostril to lubricate your nasal passages AND to help your memory (I forgot that part, because I've missed a few nights of ghee in my nostrils), it seems that ghee can be kept for one year when you are using it for food, but if you're using it for medicine (as in adding other herbs to it), well then there are magic numbers that are important that will refer to it's quality and age. Ghee that is one year old has good value, but if it's age is 5, 10, 50, 100 or 111 years, it really has great medicinal properties. Yes, that's right! Ghee that is 111 years old has better properties than young ghee. (remember the rice and grain story?) AND, it seems that, according to Dr. Acharya, our Rasa Shastra professor, it is the ONLY substance that is allowed passage to the upper channels in your head. He told us there are guards (pointing to the side of his neck) that protect what enters your brain and ghee gets carte blanche. A "PROCEED IMMEDIATELY TO GO" card...

You also have to make sure it's cow ghee and made in a very pure way. It seems that there are some unscrupulous scoundrels making "fake" ghee! tsk, tsk....I am also beginning to understand why the cow is considered such a sacred animal. I haven't even told you the many stories of how cow dung is used. Another time; although you must watch the documentary "One Cow, One Man, One Planet"...Don't miss it.

Perhaps, along with your donations to worthwhile charities, you might just save your ghee and donate it to Ayurvedic Universities...just a thought...;-).

My Other Love

Okay,

I have to admit to the other love that I have. His name is Dr. Dawidi. He's rather short and is always on time. He comes in with his long sleeved shirt always pressed and his rather large belly slightly sticking out over his black pants. He hair is thinning and he has a round face that is always ready to smile. He knows very well how to laugh at himself and you can tell he is very practiced at it. His eyes dance with joy.

He teaches the first class of every morning and it's all about the Principles of Ayurveda. It (and he) get right down to it. How the universe was formed; what the elements of the world and universe are and how it "all" works in the body too. How the cause of all imbalance is the Agni principle (fire) and comes from an imbalance of too much hardship on your digestive system and how that comes from improper digestion. He's done his homework and is steeped in the ancient knowledge of the Vedas. He knows things worth knowing; like if you put two drops of oil (or ghee) in your nostrils every night then you will keep the mucous of your nose lubricated and this simple act is the first line of defense for germs that you breathe in (the second guards are your tonsils). This, he tells us, will keep you from having upper respiratory infections and he tells us that he's been doing this for 40 years. I believe him...And he knows other gems like: if you like time, time likes you... He teaches us things like how to examine yourself and the ten points to observe before you make any decision (which later he relates to being a Doctor of Ayurveda); and not to be afraid to see yourself clearly; to have an "observer". ;-). I really like him..

But, the thing I like best about him is that he lets me ask the hundreds of questions that I have stored up in me (one of the reasons I came here) and even the ones that are hard. He gets a twinkle in his eye and ends each part of his answers with "isn't it?" I love it. He lets me challenge ideas about the creation of the universe with a smile and runs me around in beautiful circles, but never negates the question or tries to lose me and when he finishes he very politely asks me if that is any clearer...I laugh, he smiles and we begin again...I do know where I'm going with this and it's to the very heart of "it"...; it's a lovely, exquisite dance and he has my undying respect.

We are particularly enjoying a theoretical discussion of the Aakash; space (unobstructed space). How it works in the universe and how it works in your body. I ask him if sight is the agni principle (no, I have not challenged this concept, yet) and you bring it into the Aakash, then how does that work if you can see things in another part of the world? He blanches, begins and ends his part of the answer with "isn't it?", like he thinks I will agree, which I hardly ever do, but he is a saint and he enjoys the dance, so we respectfully and joyfully play it out. He does talk about being able to see through walls, so we are making progress...

He continues his lecture on the agni (or fire principle) and launches into how you can burn someone with the fire in your eyes and I ask him to talk about fire in your speech, which he answers flawlessly, not missing a point or a beat. He even adds that the fire rises from your umbilical, which delights me no end. It's 'all' about controlling the fire! I add some points about the tensions surrounding some words and his eyes light up. You can see why I like him.

I'm in LOVE

Yes, it's true. You have already met her; but haven't been properly introduced. Her name is Dr. Tarulata. She's one and the same; our Dravya Guna teacher. I have to admit I'm a pushover in this department, but this morning she came in, in her green sari (it's Wednesday) and told us she wanted to sing us a song. "We People" she often begins, her voice rising a little, sing this song in the mornings. She proceeds to turn her back to us and now we can see the back of her green sari and the bareness of her back as she writes the words for this song on the white board with her black marker. The words are:

Rajno din Radiyammo re

Kal Kone dithi che

She explains to us (and she's now getting more excited and you can see that her eyes are beginning to sparkle and her heart is opening wider) that the words mean "the day is here and it's wonderful and who knows what tomorrow will bring?". Then she stands at the head of the table and sings out the words to us in a clear voice, right from her heart. She looks at me, my eyes fill with tears, from her honesty of sharing what she loves, but also the meaning of the words, and then her eyes fill with tears. She turns her back (AND THERE'S MORE!) and writes the words to the second stanza on the board;

Mara Vala ne

Avya ne Vadhamani re

which mean "my beloved is here and that is good news". (I took her beloved to be "God").

She then sang the whole song to us once again as we sat spellbound as this woman whose name means tree climber, sang to us the song she said she loves most and sings every morning...

What to say? She has a part of my heart...

Phyllis

Where does this water live?

It is 9:30 pm on your Saturday night, but here morning is beginning and the sounds of rickshaw horns are beginning to fill the air. A wave of acceptance (the kind that can only come in India) is beginning to pulsate in my being. It is aided by the many circumstances that one must accept.

Yesterday I could not stop the water in my tap from pouring out onto my bathroom floor unless I held the tap down with a substantial amount of pressure. I tried phoning the office, but it was closed, so I motioned (because I don't speak Gujarati) for the local sub manager to come and look at my tap. He did and said he would be back in ten minutes. (they had already been called three days ago when it started to drip, wildly, and they had ordered a part for it). When I left for the conference on Ears, Nose and Throat, which is happening here on campus, 25 minutes later, there he was, sitting on the bench with the other men who look after the hostel, relaxing and having conversation. No worries, as the water gushed out the tap back in my room and I continued on with my day. All day the water poured out and at class in the afternoon I found one of the men from the office and told him. He smiled and said that yes, the part had been ordered and then we both just smiled that type of accepting smile that one becomes so familiar with in India. Surrender....

At one point in the evening I tried to jam the handle of the dipping cup over the wicked part that was broken; it did slow it down a bit, but still the water rushed onto my tile floor and headed for the drain. ("This water lives in Mombasa", her servant and friend, told Meryl Streep in Out of Africa.) I began to wonder where this water lived and if it was going home. When I went to sleep, I closed my bathroom door to keep the sounds of running water from entering my dreams.

And now, here it is, another day. There is no sound of running water, no dripping tap....AND no water (probably in the whole 'old' hostel). I'm sure that the water has been drained dry from the container on the roof. Again I called the young sub manager, who was again sitting on the same bench with his friends, enjoying the slowly approaching Sunday, and he looked at it, shook his head, and asked me if I wanted water, (in Gujarati). Yes, I smiled. So off he went with my bucket, getting me a bucket of water. Now the problem was not how to 'stop' the water, it is now how to 'get' water...All God's play.

He brings me back a bucket of water and we are all happy. He holds up 9 fingers and let's me know that the man (I think) who comes to fill the water containers on the roof will be here at 9. Okay, no problem. I have water.

I make tea and come out onto my little porch with my cup in my hand; my hanging pajamas that did not dry from yesterday on the clothesline (it's beginning to be winter here) and my computer and read Christine’s birthday card, smile, drink my tea and begin another day of surrendering to what is. There are no more sounds of pouring water in my bathroom now; more space to hear the sounds of birds and rickshaw horns. It's all deliberation. Scott would love it…I wish he could read these…

In the garden, beyond the grills on my porch, that go from top to bottom, are two elegant palms. I can see the first 20 feet of their trunks, some grass, the corner of lotus pond that has three or four lotuses that open their deep pink flowers at the first glow of light (eager flowers that they are; and willing) and some other trees. There are piles of bricks (not too many) thrown down by carpenters from the rooms above (out of sight, out of mind), a yellow hibiscus tree, a volunteer pink impatience and other plants I have yet to learn the names of. This morning two white datura flowers dot the green of the yard, which is about 35 feet across. The whole yard is triangular, widening to the quiet street that runs behind the hostel. The paint and plaster are peeling on the walls of porch, but I have had the young woman who comes to clean my floors (which is included in the price of the room), include in her duties, the washing of the old speckled floor tiles, so this sweet porch is my morning refuge for tea. And now that I have a data stick for connecting to the internet, I can come out here and write letters to friends and family back home, drink tea and get ready to surrender to the day and whatever new challenges present themselves.

Peace…

Phyllis

Dravya Guna

Dravya Guna is a nifty little topic that delves very deeply into the secret life of plants. We are lucky enough to have this topic covered by a sweet, older woman named Turulata, (it means tree climber, she announced on the first day of class, proudly) who walks her talk...She wears saris appropriate for the color of the day. On Monday she wears white, on Tuesday it's red, Wednesday, green, Thursday, yellow (she looked great in yellow), on Friday it was blue and on Saturday, the day of Saturn, it was black or dark blue. Sunday was a holiday and she said she could wear whatever she wanted (something that wasn't dirty, I suggested, if you teach all week). She laughs easily and shares her knowledge with us just as easily. She is probably in her late 60's or early 70's, wear her gray hair pulled back tightly into a knot and has no problem hiding any of her rolls. She announces to us, with an air of satisfaction in her voice, that she takes no Ayurvedic herbs or medicines, is in excellent health, NEVER eats "outside" (the polite way of saying that they don't eat in restaurants) and is content with her life. It shows.

She laughs, with great glee, when she tells us that no, the book on plants that all the students are now coveting, is NOT available in English and she has no time to translate it. When she's at home, the tasks of her home fill her time and when she's at work, the tasks of her work fill the rest. I love the way she holds it; making no excuses for having a life that requires her attention.

She shares gems of information that turn my life upside down and my belief system inside out. LIKE, the Gujarati people NEVER eat rice or any grain fresh. EVERYONE knows that they are more easily digestible after a year. So, there are special stores where you can go to buy your dried goods in bulk, because then of course you will save them for a year. OF COURSE... (and me, only here for three months and having to eat 'new' rice!)

She knows, as do they all, the value of good digestion and eating wisely. She fasts for a day, twice a month, on liquids, 11 days after the full moon and 11 days after the new moon. It reminded me of Yogananda and his valuing of fasting in order to give your digestive tract a rest. I went to the calendar, counted out the days and was going to join this regime, only to find out that I had counted wrong...she counted as the first day, the day of the full and new moon. Back to the drawing board.

I love her and her classes and look forward to the day she will take us into her lab and identify plants for us. She has also promised to take us to her home to teach us to make sonji. And for those of you who have had the courage to go into a restaurant and order your desert first (We were RIGHT, Jackie, when we ordered our key lime pie first, in Mexico!), YES, you DO start the meal with a sweet little morsel... I knew it. Her recipe for good health is, start with a sweet (Dr. Acharya's wife started the meal I was invited to, in the same way), then move on to a vegetable and chappati and then have rice (a year old of course). And, finishing your meal with a glass of buttermilk is a must...It works for her.

You might also enjoy the short list of the three main causes of illness from another teacher who was teaching us the Principles of Ayurveda:

1. Do not go against your own mind,

2. Do not overuse your sensory organs and,

3. Be appropriate for age and time (yours and the life).

Namaste, Phyllis

Ant Protocols

Last week I killed a cockroach...It was about 2 1/2 inches long and was under my kitchen sink. Ah well. That's another story...best left untold. The thing I liked best about this brutal killing is what came next. The next morning this cockroach was now turned upside down; not exactly where I had left it and was slightly twitching. On closer inspection, because I have no radio or TV (and up until now, no Net Setter data stick that connected me remotely to the internet) I found that the tiny ants in my room had taken an interest in this cockroach and seemed to be prodding it...but, alas, I had to go to school so left the drama unobserved for three hours. When I returned from class at 12:30, the cockroach was NOT THERE... Instead it was moving slowly across the kitchen floor, carried by about 5o-75 ants (no, I didn't count them). Amazing to watch this cockroach, flipped upside down now drifting effortlessly (for him) through Nirvana. All this is still not even the thing I want to write about. Eventually the cockroach and his cushion of ants came to the 1/4 inch ledge that leads to the small hallway. Up and down in front of the ledge they slowly moved this cockroach; coaxing it to please get over this ledge. At one point they had the two back legs over, but alas...he was staying in the kitchen... I ate my lunch (I have a three hour break for lunch; quite civilized, I might add) and at about 2 1/2 hours I decided I would give them a hand and boost it over the ledge. But just as I was collecting paper (I certainly was not using my hands) I saw that they had abandoned their task. Now THIS was the most interesting point to me, because now I just had to know how they made that decision! In the beginning, was there a certain amount of time alloted for the task? Was one ant put in charge of the timing? Was it a group decision and they just threw up their hands in disgust? Did they get tired? Hungry?
I threw it in the garbage; lifting it effortlessly...
Maybe it's better to have TV then to have these unanswerable questions swirling around in your mind.

Signs

My magic carpet is now very carefully rolled up and tucked away in my large red suitcase. It’s the only way to keep it clean; and God knows when you need to have a ride, it’s good to have a clean carpet…

How DOES one make decisions? When do you stay and when do you leave? (I read a book by Robert Svoboda recently called Aghora III. There was a wonderful quote in it that went something like this:

"the human brain is like a lawyer who has been paid to defend the client who pays the most money"." It’s true…

When I first arrived in Jamnagar, at the hostel I was in shock. It may not have been a good idea to have spent the last five days before coming to Gujarat, in posh hotels because the contrast of peeling plaster and layers of filth assaulted every sense I had. Walking into room number 4 of the International Hostel, was so shocking that I could not even stand to be in the room. I spent the first hour sitting on the bed of Smee, an amazing woman from Switzerland, who is in her third year of the BAMS (getting her degree in Ayurveda). She stays in the "new" hostel down the hall. We talked of pipes that had burst in her kitchen and how she had waited for two years to have them fixed, and plants and adjusting. She had a calmness about her and her room was lived in, in the way that you decide (surrender) to being there and make it your own. She had bought a fridge and a stove. Her meditation cushion was small and purple and she had books scattered all about her in a circle; books on plants that were ancient and had the smell of the books in India; a kind of moth ball smell. Then slowly, as my nervous system began to calm down and I looked around, there was a picture of Yogananda on her alter and I knew we would be friends; it was a "sign".

Eventually I made my way back to the room and laid down on the bed, staring at the cracks and peeling plaster. The bed was comfortable! (I suppose it was another sign)

I walked the streets looking for more signs. I visited the old hotel; the Hotel President, where I had stayed two years ago with Adrianne, Amit and Dale when we visited Jamnagar so that I could to go to the University. The President Hotel didn't have wi fi. Then I went to the Aram Hotel. They had wi fi but their beds were hard and it didn't feel right. I was beginning to feel like Goldilocks. Finally I phoned hotels.com; I was out on the street with the cows, camels pulling large carts, rickshaws, dust and the darkening sky. No hotels listed with hotels.com. Okay…I guess that was the final sign. I went back to the hostel and decided it was destiny. There was Smee, I HAD paid for the three months stay in the hostel two years ago and the bed HAD been comfortable…at last! a decision!…

The next day I spent the day at a conference about the value of the “COW”. I understood about five words, but it was interesting to watch yogis and scholars come up onto the podium and speak passionately, often referring to the dignitary who sat on a yellow platform, with legs crossed. I’m sure he was a revered leader and was honored and respected by all. When I made my way up there (twice) he said that he had my phone number. How did that happen? Oh well…

It took me four more days to get it together to find out where to buy buckets and soap and rags, but finally spent a day washing everything so that I could unpack.

Now, as the older students guide me and the other 8 students from around the world, who slowly began to arrive, things are slowly falling into place. Twice a day tiffins (a series of small metal containers filled with Indian foods; chappatis, dal, rice and veggies) arrive in front of my door. A woman comes (mostly) to wash my clothes for 200 rupees a month. I leave them in a bucket around noon with soap powder and she takes them away and washes them and she reappears 20 minutes later to hang them up on the clotheslines on my back porch. Another young woman is paid by the hostel and comes to wash the floors each day (supposedly), but mostly she moves the dust around… it’s all India.

So even though this sounds like a nightmare, I have to say that it is in direct proportion to the magic that we are learning that is called Ayurveda. The information is incredible and daily, as I make my way through the accents of the different teachers who come to teach us, I feel like I am swimming in a sea of light and it makes the immense struggle: the cockroaches, the dirt and all the rest, worth every precious minute. Just to be in the presence of the Vedas is a gift.

One of the gems I will share is an experiment the students and teachers are doing with the patients. They have divided up a group of patients into two groups. One group gets their medicines, the other group gets their medicines after a mantra has been chanted for them. The results so far, are that the group that is receiving both the mantras and the medicines is having better results. I am not at all surprised.

I am in the right place.