Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 37

           

           WepulluptothefrontgateoftheAshramat3:30AM,rightinfrontofthetemple.AsI’mgettingoutofthetaxi,ayoungmaninWesternclothesandawoolhatstepsoutoftheshadowsandintroduceshimself-heisArturo,atwenty-four-year-oldjournalistfromMexicoandadevoteeofmyGuru,andhe’sheretowelcomeme.Aswe’reexchangingwhisperedintroductions,IcanhearthefirstfamiliarbarsofmyfavoriteSanskrithymncomingfrominside.It’sthemorningarati,thefirstmorningprayer,sungeverydayat3:30AMastheAshramwakes.Ipointtothetemple,askingArturo,"MayI…?"andhemakesabe-my-guestgesture.SoIpaymytaxidriver,tuckmybackpackbehindatree,slipoffmyshoes,kneelandtouchmyforeheadtothetemplestepandtheneasemyselfinside,joiningthesmallgatheringofmostlyIndianwomenwhoaresingingthisbeautifulhymn.

           ThisisthehymnIcall"TheAmazingGraceofSanskrit,"filledwithdevotionallonging.ItistheonedevotionalsongIhavememorized,notsomuchfromeffortasfromlove.IbegintosingthefamiliarwordsinSanskrit,fromthesimpleintroductionaboutthesacredteachingsofYogatotherisingtonesofworship("Iadorethecauseoftheuniverse…Iadoretheonewhoseeyesarethesun,themoonandfire…youareeverythingtome,Ogodofgods…")tothelastgemlikesummationofallfaith("Thisisperfect,thatisperfect,ifyoutaketheperfectfromtheperfect,theperfectremains").

           Thewomenfinishsinging

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