Red Magazine - SwaSwara
March 2010
Eat, Pray, Love
Inspired by Elizabeth Guilbert's book, we sent three writers in search of exotic tastes, soul searching and a well earned romantic break.
Pray - Feeling stressed out and decidedly not herself, Anna Magee arrived at the SwaSwara retreat in Goa, hoping for enlightenment, and found herself crying in the dark
Maybe it was exhaustion or a mid-life crisis, but a few months ago I was over it. Not quite burnt out, not quite depressed, I'd come to the end of 18months working endless hours in a new job and back to back family obligations. I wanted something more. A higher power was a bit ambitious but some meaning - or at least relief from the grind. Going to SwaSwara was my leap of faith. If anything was worth taking a spiritual chance on, it was a yogic meditation retreat in India, whose name translated to "Mine own rhythm", flanked by a beach called "Om".
When I arrived at SwaSwara, it was as if someone had taken all the unfathomable beauty and gentle allure that brings backpackers and superstars back to India year after year and concentrated it into this Eco-resort atop a mountain. Far from the Buddhist meditation holidays I have known before (four to a room, BYO bedsheets, cleaning toilets), SwaSwara's self realisation was packaged in four star comfort - so civilized - and surprising, sensual details. Each night, bougainvillea and hibiscus petals were scattered on the bed, with a two page yogic contemplation, bottled water boiled in fresh spices and pure cotton yoga clothes made with locally spun fibres. In the bathroom were hand made Ayurvedic soaps.
Each day had its own litany of smells - citrusy incense in the evenings, head-clearing camphor during the meditation sessions, roasting fennel and cumin, cardamon and anise at meals. And then there was the beach. Shaped like an inverted "3", the ancient symbol for "Om", it was delightfully unpeopled.
SwaSwara is serious about helping people discover the "something more" that they're looking for. The programme began at 7am and ended at 8pm, with up to four hours' meditation and three hours yoga. My meditation sessions were mostly 45 minutes of cross legged impossible-ness, a thankless struggle with pins and needles and relentless itches, scratches, groans and strange new narcoleptic tendencies. The point of meditation, said teacher Ruchir (who looked more like a Bollywood leading man than a yogi, making concentration even harder), is to focus and be in the here and now -the yogic definition of contentment. Apparently, people will want to scratch or sleep more than usual in meditation. That's normal, he said: ours senses trying to sabotage and tempt us back into grasping for a sensual thrill or distraction - the yogic definition of suffering.
Then there was the chanting. Yes, chanting - meant to calm the nerves and connect one with one's inner deity. Each day Raghu, SwaSwara's yoga and meditation director, greeted me with his hands in prayer position and words such as "Hari Om" and "Namaskara". And that was before the three minute chant-off. Conscious of my comedy-bad voice, I half expected my primary school music teacher to wrap me on the knuckles and say "Anna, please stop!"
Raghu became my "sparky guru". "Anna, let's sit under the banyan tree and be Buddhas together" he would say, making me giggle. So, each evening at 5pm, we would sit and hope for enlightenment, but mostly chat about our lives. He had a way of making all this Omming relevant, with mini-meditations to do just before clobbering someone at work. ("Anna, meditation is for life, not just mountain-tops".)
Until about the fourth day, I found the meditation relaxing at times, frustrating at others. Told to "just breathe", my Type-A personality would instinctively make urgent to-do lists. But then something clicked. It was during a session of "Kundalini meditation". Described as "a dancing meditation done in darkness", I was dragged there, literally kicking and screaming. In the pitch black "yoga shala", I wiggled my body like a mum at a teenage disco. But it was dark and no one could see. So I carried on. Then - and here's the weirdest bit - I started to cry: salty, serious tears running down my face for no apparent reason.
The next day, under the banyan tree, I told Raghu what happened. "Excellent", he said. "People always cry during meditation. When they stop and do something completely different, old emotional wounds surface. Crying is like emotional sweating; it clears the body of toxic build up in your heart." He had a point- I did feel lighter. Later that day, someone said I glowed and looked happier.
It's now a week since I returned from SwaSwara. I want so much to be cynical and say nothing worked for me, but the truth is, I have been doing my 20 minutes' breathing and meditation each morning. I have more energy and feel like I don't have to try so hard at everything 24/7. I've found that, occasionally, if I just be, life delivers all on its own. What a relief!
TRIP NOTES
Wellbeing Escapes offers a seven night stay at SwaSwara, Karnataka, South India, from £1500 per person, based on two people sharing a Koncan Garden Villa on a full board basis, with a consultation from an Ayurvedic doctor and daily Ayurvedic treatments, daily yoga classes, airport transfers and return flights from London Heathrow to Goa via Mumbai. Price for single traveller for the same inclusion is £1,850. (wellbeingescapes.co.uk)
