Just Be by Meredith Rom

Author:Meredith Rom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2017-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

Om Namo Bhagavate Sri Ramanaya

I awoke early the next morning in a new guesthouse in Tiruvannamalai. I felt unsettled waking up in the dark, unsure of exactly where I was. I felt like I was in a dream. When I looked at my watch, I saw it was five o’clock.

I rolled out of the bed onto the floor, remembering my epic journey from Kerala to this guesthouse. My muscles were stiff, and my limbs were heavy. I rolled out my yoga mat and rested my head on the earth in child’s pose.

I let my body settle. I relaxed my jaw. I relaxed my eyes. I relaxed the back of my neck. Then I gently pressed up into my downward dog. I felt the glory of my inhale breathe my body back to life. I let my head hang heavy, and my heart softened as I let out a sigh.

After forty-five minutes of yoga and twenty minutes of Amma’s meditation, I rolled up my mat. It felt like I had been pushed through a portal in the last twenty-four hours. I had woken up to a fresh day. I turned twenty-three years old today.

I finished my practice a little after six and went in search of chai.

Stepping outside onto the dirt road, I noticed the air was cooler here. This mountainous desert town had a very different feel than the tropics of Kerala. Here I was, once again, in an unfamiliar place. I had to get my bearings and learn where all the best restaurants were, where to get a morning chai, where to pray and meditate. I knew the Sri Ramana Ashram must be nearby, but had no idea where. The small map in my guidebook was inadequate, so I decided to follow my intuition and start walking.

Men were selling coconuts by the side of the road, but, for the most part, the streets were quiet this early in the morning. Soon enough, I found a small chai shop, ordered my tea and biscuits, and settled in.

My thoughts wandered. Why was it so important for me to come to this place? It felt like some kind of calling, that there was something here for me to learn. But where to start? I didn’t know.

As I sipped my chai, I looked up and saw a man, adorned in simple white linen clothes, walk into the shop. His hair was long, dark, and curled, tied back away from his face. His eyes were slightly slanted, deep, and mysterious. His skin was sun-kissed, tanned from being outside. His forehead was freshly graced with red dust from the early puja ceremony at a temple.

I sat, sipping my chai, observing my desire to talk to this man, but I was also content in my aloneness. I stared off, watching the sadhus across the street, as he bought his chai.

Within a minute I heard someone behind me ask, “Do you know the story of the boy on your bag?”

I looked over. It was him. The brown-eyed, dark-haired man.

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