by Dharmamegha Sarasvati

The end result is the product of the amount of work and ability to persevere against all outer manifestation.

-Swami Rudrananda

You’re in Asia. You know this because everyone around you is speaking Asian. Packed in like a bloated sardine, one among 7 million, on this tiny island called Hong Kong; in the crowded downtown Central district; in a five-story walk-up; a shoe-box apartment you pay absurd money for – where you think you’re (sort of) roughing it, as you try to imagine a full three generations of family crammed into the pre-converted 600 square-foot three bedroom you now call a junior one bedroom; try to and can’t; you’re in your furniture-less sadhana room-cum-kitchen-cum-living room-cum-dining room; you’re standing in open gate posture; and the tears just will not stop coming.

Here you’re more painfully alone than ever before. You know it. Feel it. Far away from the comforts of Kula and the familiarity of home, your only companion the nuthouse of your mind. And you’re pathetically surprised at its frightening darkness, every passing sordid thought leaves you wanting to peel off your skin and claw at your insides. Things never this unreasonably black and white before; never so devastatingly intense, each tiny choice in the day feeling so karmically loaded, every distracted moment weighing on your conscience as though the clock of time were sounding off the inner walls of your skull.

Somehow intuitively you know that conjuring the familiar onslaught of distractions and excuses can no longer fly. In the silence there is no more gray area. It really is “big panty” time. There can be no more playing at this, no more pretending. Either you’re for real or you’re just a clown. Whatever, you’re coming out of the closet. Is it yogi time? Or is it time to expose a two-faced fool who’s been chasing a romantic ideal, oblivious to his own poor fit? And what were these last 16 months with your Tantrik Guru? Just passing time? A cool thing to do? Because no one’s watching- and finally you know it- it’s time you either acted on your samaya in a big way, killing all the idle questions once and for all, or packed it in and called it quits for real. To continue on with this life of fear and confusion, half-heartedly reaching for the light while dragging along this increasingly intolerable karmic load – it’s just no longer feasible.

Paradoxically you know you’re not only not alone, you’re in the best of all possible company. Some moments it’s so certain you can practically smell them here in this damp room, feel their breath against your skin. You sense the brotherhood, the yogis before you who faced their own empty caves and shoe-box apartments, their own self-imposed exiles – all working. Not gauging and re-gauging: How far have I really come? What stage am I exhibiting right now? Is my mechanism really sound? How much more really do I have to go? Just heads down, working . . . Other moments you couldn’t feel your way out of a paper bag, but you believe these beings into being there with you anyway. Because you need to believe. Because he said they’re there and because you believe in him, if not yet in the path; if not yet in yourself.

At one point Rudi, you read, had the realization he was there with his teacher in order to “take what was available, not because of [his] worthiness but because of [his] effort.” Either you’re humbly doing the work, or you’re not and you’re just kidding yourself. A sad, though forgivable fact on its own, if in the process of pissing away this mega opportunity you weren’t also wasting his precious time and finite energy. Refusing to go down as that guy, you wipe the snot from your face, put your head down and you go to work. You go for your life. And as you go you pray feverishly for protection: from all the distractions this filthy, stinking city so readily offers, from all the obstacles, all the inessential influences. You pray, that is, for protection from yourself. And in between prayers you practice- sometimes on the cushion, more often not. You rise well before dawn, make your offerings, do your prostrations and you’re out the door. Unwillingly at first, you open the Mandala on the way to the office: three Oms on the stairs; Orientation Sutra down the alley and past the slaughterhouse; long Guru Stotram across the footbridge and through the mall; Ganapati, then Sarasvati into the elevator and upstairs onto the trading floor. You double-breathe the train, the market, all the restaurants, the desk (especially the desk) and practically every conversation, every person who finds a way into your routine. On a good day, hours go by at a clip and you can get lost in the mantra. On an exceptional day Durga visits you in the can (IFC 2, 31st floor, last stall on the left, Ma.) You pray and you practice and you try to integrate this life. And for all the times you stumble you stay stalwart, sure of the very real possibility of liberation in this life. Because it has looked you straight in the eye so many times. You just hope you’ve got the stuff it takes to see this thing through.

And then – wham! You’re standing in the shower when suddenly you’re filled with the great swell of energy and all is absolutely brilliant. You’re a deer in the headlights, but a deer who knows no fear. All considerations slough away and you’re heartachingly alive as if for the very first time. Anything seems possible; everything likely. And that’s when the tears come. Tears of elation. Of emancipation. And you’re filling to overflowing with him, with his very essence: your essence. And it matters not where in the world either one of you is at this moment, whether 14 hours away by plane or three valleys walking. The thought doesn’t even register. Because he’s standing right there with you, laughing, crying, high-fiving. He’s been there all along. It’s as plain as day to you in these moments, revelatory, though never will you speak of them. There’s simply no need.

In the aftermath you’re struck with gratitude, with love, incredulous that a man who could do anything, who has done everything, would dedicate his life to enable these moments to occur. That this man will continue to dedicate his life until you’ve stabilized the experience. Pure selflessness. And that’s when the tears begin in earnest. And you remember.

Jaya Mahasiddhaya! Jaya Gurudeva! Jaya Dharmanidhiye!