The Poetry of Retreat

Wake up well before dawn.Set an alarm, just in case. I don't want to miss a moment of the five a.m. sadhana.Under the veil of darkness, stroll along the starlit, lapping lake to the candlelit temple where White Tara beams down upon us all every day and night.Location: Sumaya, which means "a long awaited dream come true"; a.k.a. paradise found.Akasha shares his personal practice with us, in such a down-to-earth, accessible and friendly way. Casually imparts the wisdom of years and decades of practice. So humbly, with the authenticity of actions and the nebulous precision of words. The time flies by.Breathing, chanting, moving, holding, listening. Paying attention.Sun rises, pastels paint the sky. We invite the morning light. The lake's daily awakening. All the sounds, the water, the boat motors, voices, birdsong.And now, a series of seven-minute chants. I read from the sheet and marvel at all the people in the room who has these long strings of Sanskrit syllables memorized.Mid-morning Ashtanga practice. Powerful. Right effort. Knowing boundaries, challenging limits. Mountain men and women gaining strength, vitality. Soaking up inspiration from our teacher and his teacher's teachers.Just one week, and yet we go so deep, transforming energy on all levels. Strangers swiftly become sangha, friendships are forged over meals and spirit animal tarot cards.Healing circle, full moon, New Year's Eve evening; glowing hearts, positive energy, splendid synergy. Giving and receiving.Inner transformation, outward evolution. Deep bow of gratitude, dream come true. The closing of one chapter leads to the opening of the next.Thank you. I love you. Please forgive me. I'm sorry. Namaste.