Bali…glimpsing through!

The rain poured relentlessly, the clock striking 3 am, and I lay wide awake in a bed that was still unfamiliar. A whirl of emotions surged through me as I tried to anchor myself in the present. Where was I? The words to describe my feelings eluded me.

Jet lag had its firm grip on me, even though it had been more than a week since I landed in Ubud, Bali. Each night, precisely at 12:30 am, nature's call would rouse me from my restless sleep. The meditation center, with its cozy yet simple comfort rooms, lacked the convenience of a private restroom. Instead, a minute-long trek in the dark and wet night was necessary—a trek that felt like an eternity.

Since my arrival, Ubud had been enveloped in a continuous downpour. The locals explained it wasn't typical for this season; they spoke of a recent cremation ceremony. The rain, they believed, was a gift from the mythical Dragon god, cleansing the land of its impurities and the air of its smoke. Part of me wondered if I had brought the rain from New York, where it had poured incessantly the day I left JFK.

My schedule had become a mess, leaving me groggy and disoriented. The rain at Samyama whispered of karma and impermanence, intertwined with asanas, sutras, shastras, and the shiv-am mantra. In every direction, rice fields stretched out, an old man worked diligently under the rain, ducks marched quacking to their morning feast, banana trees swayed, and coconuts were harvested with long sickles, later turned into fresh coconut milk. The breeze played a gentle symphony with tins tied to ropes, echoing "ting-ting-ting" a comforting backdrop.

Here I was, in Bali once more, seeking to unravel the profound mysteries of yoga and meditation. The mysticism of yoga wrapped around me like a dense fog, disorienting yet inviting. From the bustling streets of New York to the sacred paths of Rishikesh, my journey now brought me to Bali, where I hoped the veil would finally lift, revealing the long-sought secrets of Lapis Lazuli.