In this lifetime as well as others, I’ve been incarnated into cultures where the sound of music and the pulse of rhythm serve as the prana or life force that flows through my sacred, spiritual self.
Like the dance of Shiva the destroyer, while my soul DNA clearly recalled the profound indelible mark that chanting the Hindu mantras left behind, my daily grind threatened to erase them – or so I alluded myself into believing.
Since my return from India in early 2009, this was my first time being fully immersed in an environment where two hours of daily meditation and chanting was a welcome core requirement.
I am still awash with gratitude that I was able to share this ashram experience with my beloved kindred spirit. In hindsight, I’m not yet entirely convinced that I would recommend such a trip for just any old couple’s first holiday together. In such a pure setting with virtually no distractions, I was constantly confronted by myself and my stuff. At times when the baggage was too much for me to unload, he was there without judgment to assist.
With the chanting tapping into all of my chakras, especially my heart and throat, being on an emotional roller coaster was in a nutshell, situation normal.
Each passing day, I observed myself, my partner as well as those around us shed layers of cloudy grey auras that were quickly replaced by the various magnificent colors of the rainbow. This is the transcendental effects of invoking our truth through our voice. There is something deeply authentic in chanting that has absolutely nothing to do with one’s singing abilities or lack thereof.