Bohemians, Monks, and Sanyasis

Rishikesh, India (Cont’d)

Special Forces—That’s what monks are. In every culture, renunciants give up everything for enlightenment. They laser their focus on that one noble goal.

“Nature licks the feet of those whose heart beats for a single purpose,” said Guru Dev, Maharishi’s teacher.

I met a young sanyasi (Indian monk) on the banks of the Ganges River during a re-visit to Rishikesh in 1981. He taught me a hatha yoga technique called Nauli: creating a vacuum in the abdomen and then massaging and toning the internal organs by a circular rolling/churning of the large intestines.

That young recluse reminded me of my 1960s bohemian days. Even then, I had seen the gold in a minimalist outer life: reduce your needs to only what’s essential—a few clothes and a place to sleep.

Why was a bare-bones lifestyle so enlightened? Because we didn't have to work for the man. Not lazy, no; wise. Look at everyone out there—nailed to the floor with diapers and mortgages, pushing paper in the rat-race to pay for it. Not for us. We wanted to write and paint and sing and dance and travel the universe. We wanted to find Oz.

But that bohemian lifestyle threw out all the traditional does and don’ts with an untested notion: satisfy any desire and you’ll break from conditioning. The wisdom of elders is not inherent in nature; it’s just an accident of habit over time.

Yes, I became cemented
in conditioning
called traditions.

But maybe I threw out
a lot
of worthy traditions
with the conditioning bathwater.

That young sanyasi was the real bohemian—he gave up relative life to find the absolute.  He told me that, traditionally, in India, at age 25, they would decide: householder or recluse. And he was the one in a thousand who chose recluse.

In those earlier times, he said, they would undergo a formal ceremony—a mock burial. The young monk would lie a simple wooden coffin during the ceremony. When it ended, they would bow down “Namaste” to family and friends, touch their parents’ feet, take a staff and bowl, and walk away to wherever forever.

By tradition, a sanyasi never stayed in one location for more than three days, so they never became tied to any place or any person. No attachments. Remain a simple atom; never become a part of some neurotic molecule. Only your own karma to work out. And keep moving. Don't grow roots. Stay on the river. Don’t get stuck on the banks. Seek only the ocean.

The flow of God’s beautiful river
goes straight to the mighty ocean.

Desires are the fools
and clowns on the banks,
shouting and waving,
lying and tempting:
“Let’s search for gold…
let’s play indoor sports…”

Oh, river, my boon,
how easy to lose you.

~ John