Kurt Koontz's Blog, page 5
November 12, 2018
The Path
Greetings from the banks of Mother Ganga in Rishikesh India.
For the past four years, I have spent all of November in this beautiful city at the base of Himalayas and near the headwaters of the Ganges River. As part of a true journey, I have very few plans and just let each day unfold. Most days begin at Surinder’s yoga studio for the 8:45 drop-in class and then the unfolding begins.
One day while waiting for the class, I met a lovely soul from Israel. I had the signed copy of my book for Surinder and decided to share it with her. Dorit has been taking class from Surinder for 17 years. She was one of his first students. Of course we met.
I have a friend in Boise that comes here often. I reached out to him on FB to see if he was in town. He is not, but recommended that I meet his friend Apple. I sent her a WhatsApp message and we made plans to meet in Surinder’s class and then have breakfast. During the meal, I shared a copy of my book with her. She turned to a page and knew one of the people in the book. His name is Vishvas and he is currently traveling to China. I have a signed book for him, but he will not be back in Rishikesh until after my departure. Apple is from China and already had plans to return in two weeks. She will hand deliver the book to Vishvas in China. What are the chances?
Last Friday, I was laying on the beach by Ganga and reading a book on my Kindle. Luinda from Brazil walked up and asked if she could join me. Moments into our conversation, one of the flower children came up and tried to sell us a flower bowl to be floated down the river. We had a nice time with this young man and she shared some cookies with him. After he left, I found the Flower Children chapter on my kindle and asked her to read the story. Of course she had taken a teacher training from Surinder last May.
Last Saturday, I woke up and decided to take a taxi to Haridwar. It is only about six miles, but the ride was over an hour. My heart did not feel like an all day adventure, so I shifted gears and did a three hour walk around Rishikesh. When I came back to my hotel, I was having lunch with my friend Nic Ol. There are only about five tables on this outdoor patio. In walks Gurmukh. She is probably one of the top five most influential living yogis and a personal friend of Nic Ol. One of my favorite documentaries is On Yoga: The Architecture of Peace. Of course she is in the movie. She was very kind and grounded. Her eyes lit up when I told her I studied with Surinder. My book is now in her hands. On Sunday, I shared this story with my friend Narayan at his Yogis Brown Bread Man Shop. He told me that Gurmukh created the name for that store fifteen years ago.
If synchronous events are not unfolding on a daily basis, I use that as king-sized message from the universe that I am on the wrong path. That sure does not seem to be the case with this journey in Rishikesh.
November 5, 2018
The Artist
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I walked half a mile downstream to visit The Beatles Ashram one day, also during my first visit to India. The 14-acre compound sat on a hill overlooking Mother Ganga.
By 2015, the grounds had been taken over by jungle growth. Dead vines and spider webs covered most of the rock and concrete structures that stood in various states of decay. The only remnant of the former roof in the yoga hall was a lone overhead beam. Local artists had covered many of the surfaces with Beatles-themed murals and song lyrics.
I had spent about an hour wandering around the compound and was preparing to leave when an Indian man approached me with an offer of a tour in exchange for rupees. I paid twice his asking price, which was less than the cost of a latte in a U.S. coffeeshop.
With limited English, he did a nice job of explaining the different buildings and their importance. He guided me through the yoga hall, the meditation domes, the private residences, and the home of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
One of the residential buildings had a flat roof topped with a two-story, cone-shaped dome. The interior of the dome was decorated with a colorful abstract representation of Shiva. My guide pointed to the three letters at the bottom of the painting and then pointed to himself. His name was Raj.
I estimated that my new artist friend was in his mid- to late-20s. His face was partially hidden by a goatee beard and mustache. He had a dark green OM symbol tattooed on his neck. He smelled strongly of cannabis, which explained his glossy, dilated eyes. His art was impressive, but he seemed a lost soul.
After the tour we enjoyed some chai at a small stall by the Ganges. He asked for my contact information and then offered transportation services, jungle and temple tours, and rafting trips. He even suggested an excursion to Haridwar.
Later that evening, I received a series of erratic text messages with requests for large sums of money. After repeated calls, I finally answered my phone, only to hear a slurred mess of words. I did not see or hear from Raj again on that trip.
On the first day of my second trip to Rishikesh, I was walking near Parmarth and came across Raj. I approached him from behind as he sat in front of a crude wooden easel. He was adding the final brush strokes to the cheeks of a new tiger painting. I tapped his shoulder and he slowly turned to greet me. It took him a moment, but he widened his smile when he recognized me. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were enormous.
He tried to sell me a painting. I explained that I was there for a month and would not leave India without buying at least one. He then asked me to pay his rent for a month. I did not.
Over the next few weeks, I enjoyed seeing his new works of art. As I got to know him better during our brief visits, I became quite sure that he smoked weed all day to cover some inner wounds. While I still had my own demons, every time I encountered Raj, I was filled with gratitude to be able face them with clear eyes.
Toward the end of the trip, as promised, I purchased a 3-by-2-foot painting from Raj. In this wondrous, Picassoesque painting, traditional vibrant hues are juxtaposed with bold, bending shapes—humans and animals alike seek both purpose and repose. Raj’s painting still hangs in my bedroom, a reminder of the power of art to connect us all in our struggles.
October 30, 2018
Currents of Life
India is well know as a teacher of patience. After 38 hours of travel I arrived at the Parmarth Niketan Ashram around 10:00 AM and used some adrenaline fumes to visit a few local friends and deliver books. I ran out of gas by noon and took a four hour power nap. After waking up, I stepped into the shower with dreams of scrubbing two days of travel from my skin. I turned the shower knob and quickly found that hot water was not meant to be for this event. This did not bode well for my 35 day reservation. I made the best of a chilly reception and went to the ghat to enjoy a Hindu fire ceremony by the river. I went to bed early and slept like a newborn.
Flush with rest, I ventured to Swasti Yoga to take class with Surinder Singh. He is one of the greatest teachers in the world and I dedicated my book to him. I was on cloud nine with anticipation of his class and to gift him his book. In the lobby, I met Nina from Russia and we were both bummed to learn that Surinder was in Delhi. We made the best of the disappointment and ventured to Ganga Beach Cafe for some breakfast. It was great to make a new friend.
On the way back to the ashram, I ran into my friend Nic Ol. I knew that she had opened a chic restaurant and was also running a new hotel. She greeted me with open arms and and an amazing latte from her chill restaurant named 11:11. After catching up, she was excited to show me the hotel. She poured her heart into this place over the past six months. The minute I walked into room 306, I knew I was soon to be moving. We made a handshake deal on the spot and I moved the next morning. The hot water is divine.
My new digs have a stunning view on the Mother Ganga. Based on water volume, the Ganges is among the largest rivers in the world. She begins the day as a cold gray color that morphs into teal with the first hint of sun. The afternoon rays turn the water into a deep shade of turquoise. Red sunsets cast an orange glow to put the waters to bed. The surface presents as a mesmerizing piece of art, with massive swirls and currents pushing and tugging the waters in divergent paths. The headwaters of the river are tucked nearby in the magnificent Himalayan Mountains that surround the city. Each drop of water travels a relentless 1,569 miles before entering the Bay of Bengal. Her power is immense.
The river serves as a great reminder to never go against the currents of life.
