Eat, Pray, Love, Nap

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Elizabeth Gilbert's best selling memoir, Eat, Pray, Love. It's about a divorced woman who spends a year of soul-searching in Italy, India and Bali. I've not seen the movie with Julia Roberts but I doubt whether it's as good as the book. After finishing the book, I was beset with a compelling desire to visit an ashram in India as Gilbert did, don a sari, cast all my worldly worries aside and immerse myself in solitary meditation for months on end...in an effort to discover the real meaning of my own mind, body and spirit. Iconic photos of the Beatles flashed in my head...John, Paul, George and Ringo...clad in Nehru jackets with auras of hashish smoke drifting above them, gleaning the secrets of life along with tips for playing the sitar at the feet of some long-bearded, wizened, old codger who resembled Ghandi. It all sounded so...quixotically mesmerizing and exotically self-absorbing. 

Then I started to visualize what it would actually be like...hunkering down in an Indian ashram...which is a tranquil, secluded place for spiritual enlightenment. Reality quickly set in: Sitting crossed-legged for hours on a hard stone surface. I haven't sat cross-legged since 1989. 120 heat and a steamy 320 degree humidity. Sort of like being roasted alive. Creepy, crawly things wiggling and flying over and about me. Sweat dripping into every miniscule pore of my body. Similar to bathing in the Ganges River. Reciting a mantra over and over and over and over. I can't even remember my cell phone number. Not to mention, that the privilege of sitting on your butt and doing absolutely nothing in an ashram costs thousands of dollars. Oh and I'd need to hire my own personal guru to help me master the exquisite art of meditation. Mo' money. Mo' money.

Don't get me wrong. I know people who do this sort of thing and I'm not mocking them. Really I'm not. I admire their tenacity, their inner calmness and their proclivity for transcendental self-exploration. In many ways I wish I could follow this kind of spiritual quest. But I simply do not have the patience. My gosh, I don't even knit.

So after careful consideration, a couple glasses of wine, some fast calculating and a distaste for all things hot, humid and crawling...I decided that an ashram in India is not for me after all. But I have uncovered a personal self-truth. The way for me to pursue my own sense of peace, harmony and tranquility is with a good, old-fashioned...afternoon nap. Pure blissful luxury and it's free. No guru required. Sphere: Related Content