Saraswati Come to Me

It might have been Krishna’s flute, but lately I suspect it was Saraswati’s veena calling me here. After all, this ashram is dedicated to her. Goddess of wisdom, speech and the arts. Saraswati is the part of me that stays up late, engrossed in her collage; that wakes up at 5AM and reaches for her autoharp; that lies in the grass entranced by banjo, guitar and accordeon. She is the part of me that sings. She is the part of me that wants to dance.

Anusha is a classical Indian dancer. Before her evening performance, we all join her workshop. I love our joyful sincerity and willingness to learn. This is the ashram: We try and fail and try again and support eachother, over and over. And one day, we might even remember. In the evening the karma yogi’s form a circle and practice our newly found knowledge, to the sound of ta-ka-de-me. I look over this random collective from all over the globe, and am impressed. This is my community, this is my home.  

In the afternoon we celebrate the beautiful sari circus-tent Sara and Sylvia made for the kid’s area. We dance to the gipsy music of Pat and Noëmie and I join them to sing my “Kombucha for the soul” song. We savour Jae’s kombucha, dancing some more. When duty calls, we all go back to our karma yoga tasks, giddy with fermentation and light.

After we do a great job with the band, Anusha performs. Her movements send shivers down my spine. She is so controlled, expressive, beautiful. It’s like her soul shines through her every glance. It is still light out when we bring the power down dancing on bare feet to Andrej’s tunes. We fix the light by doing a light (divine light meditation). Sure enough, the power would probably have come back on anyway. But where is the beauty in that?