Deep Silence

Deep Silence is what I replied when Julia asked me what I wanted to get out of my stay at Rasayana Cove, an Ayurvedic retreat about an hour inland from Sarasota, Florida.

"The quieter you become, the more you can hear."

I agree with this, espouse it, even practice it.

And yet it was clear, (after a week including Ayurvedic oil and massage treatments), that the deep silence I sought, I also resisted. But I certainly got a taste of and for it.

Four years ago I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer; this would be shocking to almost anyone, but it was particularly for me, because I had considered myself healthy and had been seriously health-conscious for the last two decades.

I had surgery, underwent chemotherapy, (perhaps the most difficult challenge of my life to this point), and somehow I managed to turn the experience into a positive force in my life.My thirty-year yoga practice has deepened, I meditate daily, my relationships have deepened, and I am more inspired than ever. I believe my health crisis was a blessing.

A year after my cancer treatments ended, I did a Panchakarma at "The Raj," in Fairfield, Iowa. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and came home like a newborn baby. Panchakarma is a powerful Ayurvedic therapy which provides a unique opportunity for the body to repair and rejuvenate. The term comes from two Sanskrit words: panch, meaning "five," and karma meaning "action." There are five primary actions or procedures used to purify the body. I had been consulting with an Ayurvedic doctor where I live, and gradually changing some of my habits as I became more aware of the wisdom of Ayurveda. I started to learn more about who I am, what I need, how to reduce and deal with stress, and to increase the balance in my life. One of the biggest lessons was to really pay attention to my inclination to overdo. Until I had cancer, I hardly ever had a sense of being tired, or that I had physical limits; my modus operandi was to just run all day, non-stop. Now I really try to pace myself and not to over-schedule, (which I read and agree with). Taking on too much by over-scheduling is a form of violence against oneself encouraged by our culture. With continual vigilance, discipline, and practice, I really try to listen to my body, not ignore it. It wasn't until I had cancer that I was forced to slow down enough, to be quiet enough, to hear and feel what was really going on in my body and my mind. Doing panchakarma facilitated this ability to slow down, quiet down, go inside, to listen, and to appreciate moments of silence.

My mother died a year ago at the age of eighty-seven. I didn't have the easiest relationship with her much of my life, but I loved her, and her death was a big deal for me. I knew I had to accept it, and I also knew doing a panchakarma would be a part of my healing process. I feel that emotions, even if acknowledged and dealt with, reside in the body and accumulate over time. Walking, doing yoga and other forms of bodywork help me process emotions and stress on a daily basis. My experience of panchakarma is that it moves toxins out of the body in a very powerful and nourishing way, and so it is something I look forward to every few years; and especially when I have been through a particularly stressful period of time.

The Raj is a very quiet, respectful and meditative place. About twelve guests can be there at once. The grounds are beautifully and simply laid out, according to vastu principles. Rasayana Cove, however, is designed for one person at a time. My cabin in this cove had windows all around so I could always see the trees, the light, and the sky; but I also had complete privacy. I was brought even closer to nature by using the composting toilet, and at first I kept automatically throwing the toilet paper in. My battery operated toothbrush became funny and out of context. I heated water for tea on a propane stove. The "deliberate simplicity" automatically simplified my life there. I could see cows walking slowly in the fields in the distance. At first I wanted to walk about a lot, checking out the area by foot, as I usually do. Sometimes I felt like a trapped panther. On my first day at Rasayana Cove, after a soothing and simple Ayurvedic lunch with the owners, Julia and Dinesh Mader, Julia did a treatment on me called abhyanga. This is a basic Ayurvedic massage, with oil blended especially for my dosha (constitution) to start moving toxins out.

For each of the next few days, I received a treatment called pizhichil, an hour or so during which Julia and Dinesh massaged me in tandem, doing the exact same movements simultaneously, and pouring copious amounts of my special oil on me as they worked. Sometimes I sat up, then I lay down. Every other day I had a treatment called basti which gets rid of toxins in the colon, restores its healthy functioning and thereby nurtures and rebuilds other tissues and organs of the body. As I moved into the treatments more, I slowed down and walked less. I became content just walking to the creek which fascinated me with its dark water and cypress trees which so reminded me of the Louisiana Bayou. I sat on my deck, soaked in the sun, felt the wind, watched and listened to the birds, and observed my mind trying to grab onto whatever it could; music, books, dreams ... the deep silence I crave, but which I also resist; and I savored my meals, especially breakfast and dinner, which I took alone and in total silence.

One day Julia, Dinesh, and I agreed to be silent, and it was a fun challenge, no big deal. I had brought reading material and there were many beautiful books there I could peruse. I especially enjoyed reading "The Call of Solitude; Alonetime in a world of Attachment." I listened to my favorite CD's. But by the end of the week, it all started to look and sound like noise. Because we were so far off the beaten path, my cell phone didn't work, and I couldn't call anyone, which turned out to be a blessing. I wrote my thoughts down. I became friends with a tiny frog who jumped out of the bookshelf; was that my guru? I dreamed a lot, both awake and asleep, and I watched the ferns dance. Having permission to do nothing was almost overwhelming. The treatments, which were done in a most respectful and graceful way, were warming and soothing; I felt like a baby. The oil penetrated deeply; I could feel the ghee and honey in my bones.

Re-entering the world at the airport with televisions shouting and people rushing around was an amusing contrast which I also savored. Reuniting with my husband and dogs was sweet. Maintaining awareness of my inner quiet in the face of responsibilities and schedules was challenging and sometimes confusing. A few weeks after I returned home, a surprising clarity appeared, and I remembered that same delightful ojas-filled experience after my week at the Raj.

I had left a message in the magic tree, gnarled and split from having been struck by lightning, at Rasayana Cove; "May I be free from danger, may I be happy, may I be healthy, may I live with ease," and then let it drift down the creek.

I am glad I trusted my instincts. Strengthening the sense of who I am, apart from my history, and my personality, I gained perspective about my life, my purpose. After a big rain the Resurrection ferns become rejuvenated ... just like me.

I am grateful to Julia and Dinesh for sharing their knowledge, home, and heart so generously and lovingly.

By Ann Segal

- 5 - Edition 14, August 2003