We were each given a big, empty binder and a blank sheet of paper. “The Path of Love has seven keys,” Turiya said. “Each key is a doorway to help you go into a deeper space and you will come to understand and embody each of them during the next week. Take out your pens and write this out.” She read each key, repeating each one several times. I closed my eyes and let them sink in.
As she read each key of the process out loud, I felt her words begin to move something inside of my chest. One was centered around honesty, and exposing our emotions. Another spoke about how to face our judgments and beliefs. When she read the seventh key out loud, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I will ask for divine help.” Turiya repeated it again. “I will ask for divine help.” I’d only ever turned to God (or Spirit, or whatever you prefer to call it) for help during moments of despair. I was reminded of my experience during the ayahuasca ceremony years earlier, throwing myself at the floor, praying for relief. Standing in the garden with Pepper when he’d just gone blind, asking Andrea to save him. Clutching my phone to my chest on a beach in Thailand, willing the universe to keep my mother alive. The thought hit me: I have no relationship with God other than in moments of darkness. I only pray when I’m forced to my knees, close to giving up. What was I hoping to find here? I still wasn’t sure, but knowing that asking for divine help was a part of the process made me feel closer to finding out.
A second sheet of paper was handed out. This one had the rules for the retreat. Rafia explained that the rules were meant to create a strong and deep structure that would support us and our inner search.
Rafia read the rules one at a time. “When not in the group room, you are asked to be in silence,” Rafia said. I was expecting this, and understood why. The silence is an important part of the process because it allows us to integrate in between sessions. I’d experienced some of my most life-changing realizations in other retreats as a result of silence. The silence was very, very important, he said.
“No intoxication” was the next rule. It meant we were not to consume any alcohol or nonprescribed drugs during the process. A few people giggled.
“No sexual contact.” Rafia didn’t explain this rule further. He moved on.
After having listed all the rules for the process, he read the final one. “I agree to follow all the instructions given by the facilitators until the end of the process.” Rafia left it at that.
We all signed on the bottom line of the sheet and the assistants collected the papers.
When the session began, we were divided into four groups of nine or ten. Each group will become a kind of family, Rafia said. “You will connect with these people on a level you’ve never known before. Meet their eyes.” I looked around at my group. There were people of all ages, from all walks of life. Everyone looked nervous.
We were asked to make eye contact with one person in our group and hold that connection. That person would be our partner. A young man I took to be nineteen or twenty met my gaze. He was tall and lean with blue eyes. As I looked at him more closely, he appeared even younger than I’d initially thought. He would be my partner.
We got a moment to familiarize ourselves with each other. My partner’s name was Naveen—a sannyasin, or follower of Osho (an Indian mystic also known as Bhagwan Shree Rajnesh). Path of Love and the retreats I’d done prior are rooted in the teachings of Osho, but he is very rarely mentioned. The groups are centered around unconditional love, with no single person to bow to; no one on a pedestal. Naveen was actually my age, about to turn twenty-eight, and had done six or seven groups over the last year. He was a graphic designer and he’d had the same girlfriend for many years. His gaze was piercing and he was intensely dedicated to his spiritual path. I used to put myself in that category. Now I saw myself more as an “easygoing” seeker, if there was such a thing.
When it was my turn to talk, I felt my eyes well up. “My name is Rachel,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I live in Aruba. I’m Swedish. I’m married since two years back. I have a good life.” As I spoke the last sentence, I choked on my own tears. I felt a sadness so deep it took all of my determination not to break down and sob. I reached for a Kleenex. My life was good. I was in a super-solid place finally. Dennis and I loved each other. We never fought. We were on the same team. My work fulfilled me. We had money, a beautiful house, and we traveled. Yes, I’d had some crap come up in the past years. But I was over most of it—even with my mom; we had a good relationship again. So why did I have a sinking feeling in my heart? Why did I feel the need to cry? Naveen looked at me with kindness in his eyes.
We returned to our chairs and Rafia and Turiya explained a bit about what the week would entail. We would not see a schedule and would never know in advance what each day had in store. This was to keep us present, to keep our mind from leading us astray.
When the session ended, I returned to my apartment, wrote in my journal, and rolled out my yoga mat. I don’t know why I’m here, I thought. I just know it’s crucial that I am. I sat down on my mat, closed my eyes, and breathed. Suddenly I was jolted backward. I had fallen over. What just happened? I wondered. I had fallen asleep sitting up. I didn’t even know I was tired. The sky was still bright outside, but I crawled under the covers and fell back asleep.
The next thing I heard was a knock at the door. “Rise and shine!” a voice said. For a moment I didn’t know where I was. I reached for my phone for the first time, then remembered I didn’t have my phone. I was in Cologne, staying at the Osho center. Today was the first day of Path of Love. “I’m awake,” I said to the door. “Good luck today,” the voice said. Man. What was I in for? I went into the kitchen. The clock on the wall said 5:35—I had to get going. I changed into yoga pants, a sports bra, and a tank top and brewed myself a cup of tea. It was almost time for the first Dynamic.
The Dynamic Meditation is the “staple” meditation in Osho gatherings and it’s designed to get the crazy out—to allow for a release of built-up emotions to make space for what’s here, now. It’s extremely transformative and also exhausting. The meditation is divided into five stages, each accompanied by very loud music. The first stage is chaotic breathing and it lasts for ten minutes. Focusing only on the exhale, you forcefully breathe out through the nose with the mouth closed while using your entire body to get energy going. The second stage is catharsis—the release. Whatever is inside, you let out. If you are feeling joyful you dance, sing, smile, or laugh. If you feel anger, you scream, punch pillows, curse, or yell. If you feel sad, you cry. It lasts for ten minutes and it’s intense. It can be completely overwhelming for first-timers. The third stage is the “Hoo” stage and lasts for ten minutes—you jump up and down, landing on the soles of your feet with your arms stretched up in the air, saying the Sufi chant “Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” The fourth stage is the silent stage and begins when you hear “Stop!” At that point, you hold your arms in the air and freeze. When the silent stage is over the celebration begins and you dance. This is the fifth and final stage.
The entire meditation lasts for an hour. The idea is to create a safe space to release all of the emotions we accumulate. Osho, the Indian mystic, believed that the Western mind was too ingrained, too full of worries and problems and tension—we live in the mind. So for us to sit down in silence and expect to be able to meditate is unrealistic. We must first make space for silence to arrive; get into the body and release.
I was nervous about the Dynamic Meditations, even though I’d done them many times before. I always worried I’d get an asthma attack or wouldn’t make it through (which is strange, because physically I’m strong). Something about the Dynamic always triggered within me a fear of not keeping up. I drank my tea and headed downstairs.
When I entered the meditation room, I was handed a blindfold—in Dynamic Meditations everyone wears a blindfold. People were blowing their noses in preparation for the first stage. We were not allowed to bring anything with us, but I snuck my asthma inhaler in my bra. I grabbed
a bolster and found a spot in the corner. Even though I rarely used it, knowing my medication was near helped to calm my mind. Everyone in the group was there. When the process was explained, the ones who had never done it looked on with wide eyes. Everyone took their places and a gong sounded, signaling the start of the first stage of meditation. I breathed in through my nose and exhaled forcefully. Snot was coming out of my nose. I wiped my nose on my shirt but didn’t stop. The point was for the act to be intense and chaotic enough to oxygenate your entire body, to build up energy. The sound of everyone else breathing kept me going. I couldn’t see, but I could sense my surroundings.
After what felt like an eternity, the gong sounded again. The music shifted. Catharsis. Immediately to my left a man let out a primal scream. It was so loud it shocked me. Then everyone was screaming and punching their bolsters. It sounded like we were in a zoo. It was terrifying. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” a woman screamed from across the room. The man to my left launched into a complete rage. I knew this was coming—this was what the second stage of a Dynamic was. But it had been years since I’d done it and I felt very small and afraid.
I dropped down to the floor and held up the bolster to defend myself. I was sobbing. I felt so exposed, so unsafe. Madness was going on all around me: people crying, screaming, cursing, stomping their feet, letting out animal noises.
The gong sounded again. It felt like I’d only been there a minute. It was time for the Hoo stage. I was tired and wanted to blow my nose but there was no break in between. I stood and put my arms in the air. Everyone shouted in unison. “Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” I was so exhausted I couldn’t keep my arms up straight, so I bent my elbows and kept my hands barely floating above my head. My legs felt like lead. I could barely jump. Finally, someone yelled, “Stop!” I froze in place, my arms still up. My heart was pounding and sweat dripped down my face, arms, and legs. I felt like I was in a trance. I lost my sense of space and time. Soon, gentle music filled the room. I swayed from side to side. The music was soft and uplifting and I began to dance.
When the meditation was over and the music stopped, it felt like days had passed. I felt invigorated, energized. It was like the meditation had swept something out of the way and inside I felt empty, but in a good way. I showered, ate breakfast, and still had time for the morning’s writing assignment before the next session. There were only two questions.
What really works in your life?
What is missing in your life and what do you feel you need to face in yourself for that to change?
The first question was easy: My relationship with my husband. My dedication to work. Building community, getting things done. Manifesting abundance. My ability to put emotion and pain into words. I left it at that. The second was harder. What was missing in my life that needed to change? “Calm,” I wrote. It was a hard pill to swallow and an even harder reality to admit. I am Yoga Girl and calm is missing from my life? I can create moments of serenity and quiet for others, but don’t know how to do it for myself. And sex. Our sex life hadn’t been the best lately. I’d blamed it on us working together, the stress, the travel, but there was probably more to it, and it was probably me.
When I was finished writing, I walked to the Waiting Room for the second gathering. I chose a chair in the back of the room and sat down. The room filled up quickly. When all the chairs were taken, the assistants closed the door. I looked around. Some people were biting their nails; some were sitting with long spines, eyes closed, seemingly in meditation. Sitting there, I was overcome with exhaustion. Like the previous night on my yoga mat, I kept nodding off. Suppressing a yawn, I wondered, Why is this called the Waiting Room and what are we waiting for? I was sure the people around me were asking themselves the same thing.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and six people walked in and to the front of the room: a bald man in his fifties; a younger guy with long, curly black hair; a tall, thin woman with hair down to her waist; a lady in her sixties wearing a long, flowy skirt; and a middle-aged man with glasses and a white shirt. In the middle stood a short, beautiful woman who looked to be in her midthirties. She was barefoot and had toe rings and an anklet with tiny little bells that jingled when she moved. “Welcome, everyone,” she said, her accent Portuguese. “We are your facilitators. My name is Shubhaa. I am the lead facilitator of group number one.” My group. Out of all of them, I was really glad I had Shubhaa. I liked her already.
After the introductions we were guided, one group at a time, into the main hall. The chairs were set up in the same horseshoe formation as the day before, but behind them was a table with ten or so people facing forward. It was super weird. We took our seats. “Welcome to your family,” Shubhaa said. “Look around. All of us together will go through some truly transformational things this week. I am here to guide you. In this small group you’ll get the chance to stand in front of your group many times and dive into your past, your emotions, your wounds, and have the opportunity to express everything that’s moving inside of you now . . . and you’ll get to challenge your concepts and beliefs.”
I was still so tired I could barely follow her words—I could barely keep my eyes open. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold my head up much longer. It was as if the moment this process began I started deflating. I just wanted to sleep.
Shubhaa continued. “The topic of this first exercise is this: How are you feeling right now—and what do you truly long for in your life?” The group was silent. I was terrified. Don’t pick me, I prayed silently.
“Who would like to be the first person to stand up?” she asked. For a long time, no one moved. Finally, the tall guy sitting across from me stood. He towered over everyone. He was handsome, probably in his forties, athletic with blond, thinning hair and dark circles under his eyes. “Hi, everyone,” he said. “My name is Bas, and I’m feeling good. What do I long for? I don’t know. I work a high-powered job. I’m a little bit tired, maybe.” I didn’t believe him. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he said. “I met a girl. She recommended it. I run a big company. I have two hundred employees. And I work all the time. But I like my work. Everything is good.” He looked at Shubhaa, for a cue to continue. She said nothing. “That’s it, I guess?” Shubhaa smiled at him. “Thank you, Bas. Who’s next?”
The woman next to me stood up. She was short, with curly red hair and round hips. “My name is Tatiana,” she said, speaking with a heavy Finnish accent. “I’m from Helsinki. I am feeling nervous about being here. I am a single mother. My daughter is sixteen. She worries about me.” “Why does she worry about you?” Shubhaa asked. “I haven’t been very happy.” Tatiana said. “My mother passed away last year.” Her face was etched with pain. “She was my everything, my mother,” she said. “But there hasn’t been any time for grieving. I have a business and my daughter and I am very busy.” “And what do you long for, Tatiana?” Shubhaa asked. “Happiness,” Tatiana said. “Joy. I haven’t felt joyful in a long time.” Her eyes filled with tears as she sat down.
The next person was a dark-haired woman. She may have been in her late thirties or she might have been older. She was wearing heavy eye makeup and her forehead was as smooth as ice. She looked angry, even when she smiled. “My name is Bianca,” she said. “I am from France but I live in Florida with my husband and my son. Or, I guess it’s just me and my son now. We have a beautiful home there. It’s right on the ocean. I’m an interior designer.” “And how are you feeling, Bianca?” Shubhaa asked. “I don’t know,” the woman replied. “I have a few reasons to be here, I guess. My husband cheated on me. Now we are divorcing but he wants to take my business and the house and everything I own. It’s very unfair. I guess I’m a little angry.” Shubhaa asked, “What do you long for, Bianca?” Bianca was silent for a long time. “I don’t want to feel this way,” she said finally. “This is not me, the way I am feeling. I’m so angry. I want to be happy.”
I panicked every time someone finished. I didn’t want to be next. I was so tired I
could barely keep my eyes open. Naveen stood. “Hi, guys. I’m from Germany. I’m really excited to be here,” he said. Excited? I thought to myself. What a cocky guy. It’s clear everyone here is going through something, everyone is sad, tired, overworked, angry, and this guy is excited? I didn’t believe him either. “This is my sixth Osho group in a year,” he said. “It came highly recommended. I long to deepen my connection with God, with the universe. I want to deepen my meditation practice.”
A woman in her forties, beautiful with a round face, brown eyes, and dark hair down past her shoulders, looked at each of us. “My name is Devika,” she said, trying not to cry. “I’m a mother of three beautiful boys and I don’t know why I’m here. I love my husband. My boys. My life. Everything is good. I just feel like I’ve lost something. Like I’ve lost a bit of myself . . . I think I long for alone time. I want to remember what it’s like to be me again. I don’t want to be just a mother, just a wife. I want to find myself.” When Devika sat down, I knew I should have stood, to get it over with, but I put my hands to my face and realized I was crying. Using the sleeve of my sweater, I wiped away my tears. I can’t stand, I thought. I’m too tired.
Two more men stood. The first, Peter, said he was confused and searching for wisdom. “I want to be in the know,” he said. “I want clarity. I want to know why we are all here. The meaning of life. I contemplate it often.” When he sat down, the last man in the group stood up. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes and a bit of stubble across a tan face. Mala beads were dangling around his neck. “My name is Matteo. I’m from Chile. I was excited to be here but now I am very nervous. I’ve been struggling with some anger issues. Some family traumas. Things I want to resolve. I feel like there is some serious darkness inside me. Troubles from my childhood. I had a very challenging childhood and I think it still lives in me.” Matteo said he longed for peace of mind. “I just want peace.”
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