Monsoon at the beach

We are in Kerala, a province of lush, green beauty. We are here during monsoon, which means that it is greener than ever, crawling with life in the form of long bright red creepies with tiny cartoon faces, a bug that scooches like an inchworm, momentum from the butt, and of course the mosquitos are here in full force.

When we were in the Ashram we had morning asana practice in a large hall, arches to the outside all around us. From a headstand I looked backward and focused on the coconuts dangling tantalizing and precarious behind me, the backdrop bright blue. Nearby, jack fruits jutted from trunks and branches, spiky and smelling ripe. Mangoes dropped heavily from trees and we picked them up to slice, grateful for a snack anytime--benevolent bombs of flavor in an otherwise simple diet. Once, as class started, so did the rains. The weighty drops pelted in horizontally, drenching our mats and backs as we tried to focus on the pranayama breathing exercises. The teacher had to yell her instructions, and I strained still to hear her, glad I knew the gist of what she was saying and didn't just have to rely on my piddly ears to follow along. There was such power there, just falling around us and on us, pushing us further and waking us up. My mind felt clear and focused after the rains fell. The calm after a storm.

We left the Ashram after two weeks to come to Varkala, a seaside town built on cliffs above the ocean. Last night after dinner, our new Ashram friends and Will and I went down to the beach in the dark. We started chanting 'Jaya Ganesha', a salutation to myriad teachers, saints, and Gods that we sang twice daily in the Ashram. At the end of the chant, the rains came. "Anandoham, anandoham, anandam brahm, anandam..." ("I am bliss, I am bliss, bliss absolute, bliss I am.")

Will and I, hand in hand, took off sprinting down the beach. I am not a runner, as anyone who knows me knows, but with the rain and wind on my back, I ran fast and felt strong. We were laughing and flying along the sand, gliding really, and came back closer to the sea, splashing through the shallow but powerful currents. Drenched and spent, we all squelched our way back to the hotel and gave thanks for the rare commodity of the hot shower.

As I type this I am resoaked in monsoon rain once more, this time it was showered upon me after breakfast. The heat I feared before coming down the hill is present on a daily basis here, but so is the mighty reset button, which sets into motion the rains.