mountains – Dragonfly Yoga Barn, Studio & Retreat

It’s been hard to write publicly these past few days. The world outside of this Ayurveda retreat seems crazy. I rarely open my computer or check the news, and yet I can’t escape it. My heart aches for this planet, and I am confused that such a despicable person is in charge of my beloved home country. If I get started writing about it, I won’t stop, so today I’m going to focus on something peaceful.

First, for those of you who don’t really know where I am, let’s get our bearings: I am in Coonoor, India, 6,500 feet up in the Nilgiri Mountains, in a tiny village called Hulical. We are surrounded by tea plantations as far as the eyes can see, wild gaurs roam freely, the forests are full of porcupines, deer, boars, panthers, and black bears (which we never see), and dozens of species of birds which we are delighted to listen to and watch from our little perch on the patio. Each day is like being on a mountaintop safari, and it is easy to just sit and watch the day go by along with the animals, the clouds, the rising and setting of the sun…

We wake up, go to yoga class, eat breakfast in the cool of the morning, visit with the Dr., take walks through the villages and the winding paths of the tea, enjoy our first of two Ayurvedic treatments before noon, and eat every morsel of an amazing lunch each day. Afternoons unfold with a second treatment, maybe a nap or another walk, a cooking class, meditation… And as if any of us could be hungry again, there is dinner, followed by either an evening program or time to retire early to read, write, or chat with loved ones at home.

Some days we get to go to the market, and although it’s always a bit chaotic down there, there is something about it that brings me peace. I love to watch the people move about. Women in their saris, children holding hands with their mamas, grown men locked arm in arm as they stroll, sparrows stealing rice from big burlap bags, Abdul snipping long strands of flowers for altars, Nagaraj and his wife Vasanthi selling sundries in their tiny shop, the same tailor tucked in on the back side of the market, sewing on an old cast iron Singer that looks like something my grandmother would have used.

In this thicket of vegetable stalls, life goes on, despite the crazy world outside this mountain city. Every face offers a curious smile and a “namaste.” I visit my handful of friends who own little booths full of bindis or fruit or flowers, and I flow along with the traffic, taking pictures, smiling at shopkeepers, posing for a selfie, sticking my nose into a pile of jasmine.

And the veggies… Oh my goodness, the abundance, the variety, the colors! People here are truly plant-based eaters, and there is so much to pick from: pumpkins, colrabi, cauliflower, zucchini, eggplant, beets, carrots, onions, beans, cabbage, radishes, peppers… and it goes on and on! People shop almost daily here. Few have refrigerators, the word “leftovers” is not even a word, and folks just cook fresh food daily. Imagine that?

Check out this display. I love the squash sliced perfectly in half and surrounded by brussel sprouts, turnips, summer squashes, okra, and the prettiest little striped eggplants!

This lovely man has had his corner stall since I’ve been coming here, and I have asked him so many times to take his photo, that this year when he sees me, he smiles, says hello, and immediately poses so I can add to my decade-old collection of shots. You might wonder why I need to take someone’s portrait over and over, but every time there is something different and magical about a person’s eyes, the way they engage with you (or not), even the way they keep their shop is different. The photo on the left is from a few days ago; the one on the right is from 2020. I promise myself to write down his name the next time so that next year I can address him properly.

On my way out of the market I know I have to pass once more by the fish monger, and it is a powerful smell. I take a final sniff of petals at Abdul’s flower stall, and hold my breath as I round the bend, up the stairs, and out into the sunlight. The streets are full of people, and it’s time to head for the hills.

I leave feeling happy, my eyes full of color and smiles, my heart full of the knowledge that there are so many sweet people out there just living their lives one day at a time. I’m grateful for the faces, for the beauty of the vegetables, for the expansive green of the countryside I drive up into as I leave the bustle of the city behind me. I’m grateful for peace in my heart.

with love,

Katie

I am back in India where my room overlooks the Nilgiri Mountains of Tamil Nadu. The past few days have been a nestling back into my perch looking out over the tea. It is a comfort to return, a time of sweet solace, of deep deep physiological, emotional, and spiritual work, and the joy of rest and the expansion that comes when we stop the grind and just allow ourselves to be cared for, body, mind, and soul. It is a gift and a privilege to be here, and I am grateful. The mornings begin with a bulbul bird heralding the coming day. I hear him before my alarm goes off. And it’s worth getting up for the sunrise here.

Since all of our rooms face east, this is how we wake. But the sun sets behind us, and the rooms do not have back windows, so it is easy to miss that equally beautiful moment unless you walk up through the garden to the top of the retreat. My first afternoon here, as the sun dips low, I am pulled to the back gate to a tiny dirt path where the tea cascades down the Western slope of the mountain, where a gigantic olive tree commands the ridge, and where the flowers are so fragrant and full of birds, you would think you were dropped into paradise from out of the sky.

When I return to my room, I begin to sketch out a poem: (still in progress):

Tea Time

It is four o’clock

on the nose.

Sun pours liquid light over mountains,

splashes silver and gold on emerald hills,

and a million leaves

shimmer in response

like diamonds on the sea

a sea of tea

I need to stand in it,

this ocean of green leaves and sunlight spilling.

So, I open the gate–

the back way out–

to where it’s just me and the birds

and the breeze

in this hazy tea-time diamond light.

Lantana branches out, pours citrus petals

along the path, and

red dust rises from between my toes.

I walk slowly

take each step as a breath rises and falls

there is no need to rush now

It is easy to stand here

at tea time

on a mountain top

as the sun sinks low

and the red whiskered bulbuls sing in the lantana

and the golden-silver light stretches over it all

glimmers the metallic air

hides behind silver oaks

floats down their skinny trunks

lands under the giant olive tree

who beckons for me to come and sit in her silken shadows

But far off, clouds are coming

seeping through the folds of the mountains

Soon they will curl into the village

quiet as a cat’s tail.

A bell rings, calling people in before dark

before the bears and the leopards wake from their sunshine slumber.

Night belongs to the wild things here

At last, Sun bows his curtain call to the tea

and I slip back in the gate, past the shell pink datura flowers

hanging like skirts

step silently to my room

where ginger tea is waiting

There is no coffee here, by the way. Only fennel and ginger tea. It is simple. Intentional. I like that I don’t need willpower to keep my head out of the fridge or the pantry where boxes and bags with snacks abound. Sometimes it takes the absence of such choice to cultivate the clarity we need. It’s not lack. It’s not a deficiency. It’s just simple. It is deliberate. I think about how easy it is to eat mindlessly and how often I grab a snack when I’m not even hungry. Here, Indrani and Narayan serve us our meals with smiles, and we only need to receive the gifts of their work with open hands and heart. I raise my eyes to theirs and bow in gratitude. So much work–so much time to wash, chop, slice, stir, season, and serve us. I eat slowly. One bite. Spoon down. Breathe. Savor.

Breakfast: passionfruit, amla berry, figs

It is still early morning. The dogs bark, the crows crow, and the mountains rise out of the metallic sky. It is good to be back here in my cozy nest where my mind continues to uncoil and my body softens with each massage.

I will share more from the mountaintop in weeks to come. Thank you for coming on the journey, dear reader. It is nice to have you along.

With love,

Katie

Tag: mountains

Peace in My Heart

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Tea Time

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