Garden of Bliss by Debra Moffitt

Author:Debra Moffitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: garden of bliss, garden, bliss, inspiration, personal growth, feminine divine, the divine, woman, women, journey, self-discovery, self discovery, feminine, spiritual memoir, memoir, spiritual
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2013-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

[contents]

Keep your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ground.

—theodore roosevelt

Chapter 13

Taking Root for Growth:

Staying Grounded on the Journey

In ancient times, yogis and yoginis (spiritual seekers) retreated from the world to live alone with their spiritual practices. The Indian ashram offered an easy place to be at peace with few cares, and I so wanted to follow their example and stay there for a long time. But modern yoginis don’t have that luxury. We’re called to be in the world, remain centered, and stay grounded. But after India’s deep spirituality, the return to the French Riviera provided an amplified jolt.

No two worlds contrast more than India and France. In India, women cover themselves with yards of elegant silk fabric that make up their saris, while up and down the coast from Nice to St. Tropez, bare-breasted women sunbathed on beaches and expensive, white ship decks. The sun beat down by day and techno music beat out from the port bars and clubs by night. After long Indian days of silence, I wanted to hide in the cool, sheltered space of my French Riviera apartment. From where I stood with the eyes of India, Antibes’ streets looked filthy from lack of rain, too much greed, and excessive desires for material things. Of course, little had changed here; the transformation instead took place in me.

When I dared to venture outdoors on the port one late afternoon for a walk in that less-peopled interlude between the afternoon’s packed beaches and the sortie of night creatures, I ran into trouble. I’d felt fragile, broken open, and raw since the return, and I avoided seeing friends. I slipped outdoors during the quiet times when I’d be least likely to encounter anyone. With the scent of Indian jasmine still filling my nostrils and visions of India’s giant butterflies still in my sights, I walked past the expensive yachts in a daze. The journey had taken me further and further inward, away from all that had seemed so real and important before, into a realm where the inner world started to seem more real and alive than the outer one. I floated above the earth and didn’t really want to come fully back into my body.

But to anyone looking from the outside in, I appeared the same. I’d not spoken much of the trip to friends. When Adrian, a hot-headed American, drove up beside me in a brand-new convertible Mercedes sports car, unaware of my recent travels and transformation, I knew it signaled trouble. He appeared so proud of his new acquisition, and I felt happy for him. “Hello,” I said and smiled. Still dazed and dizzy from the return to high-speed civilization, I walked on. Adrian drove beside me at a slow pace. “Hey, how’s it goin’?” he said. “Good,” I said but felt transparent, fragile, and as though I was floating a foot above the ground. After the Indian experiences I felt as if the shell around my heart had broken open even wider than at Piccadilly Circus.

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