Om Namah Shivaya
Om Namo Bhagavate Muktananadaya
From the Circle of Saints
Sri Laxmi Naranyan Tiwari
Chants of India
We stopped for gas. As I squeegeed our windows, a car pulled up beside us, packed with identifiably Jewish men: black suits, white shirts, keepahs, and varying degrees of facial hair. I imagined how the Hindu ragas emanating from our vehicle must have sounded to them, my ancestral brothers, and how I must have looked to them: Jewish enough, with wild hair from my weekend of chanting, meditation, and Siddha coffee, cleaning the windows of a car full of happy chanters.
I wondered what they would have said if I told them the truth: that one of the things I dig about siddha yoga's practices of chanting, meditation, and selfless service is the degree to which it enhances my Jewishness. There's an apt geographic coincidence: Shree Muktananda Ashram is situated in what used to be a series of grand hotels from the golden era of the Borscht Belt, for decades the domain of summering New York Jews. The sprawling campus is frequented today by yuppie seekers, chanting themselves into states of bliss, wrapped in stylish woolen shawls beneath the huge crystal chandeliers, but the place is still infused with the energy of lox-eating comedians, Saturday-night mambo contests, and shuffleboard.
The spiritual paths of Judaism and siddha yoga are also strikingly similar: a mystical journey toward God along which one's limitations are removed through age-old rituals. Realizing my connection with the Divine is compelling, but to be perfectly honest, I came for the music.