Free The Adventures of Bindi Girl: (2012) by Erin Reese

aura-like field—surrounding my body, with no particular rhyme or reason as to when it appears. The light stream only lasts for a short instant; I can’t control it nor define it, yet, whenever I see it, I feel it’s a validation of sorts that I’m definitely in the right place, at the right time, heading in the right direction for my soul’s evolution. Even if I’m feeling low, or scared, or uncertain, when I see this “etheric halo,” I get the message that all is well and it’s all unfolding perfectly. About halfway into my first yoga class with Anil, while I was holding trikonasana (triangle pose), I saw this light emanating off my body and got the message: my soul was happy in this class. I was in the right place at the right time with the right teacher.
    During my yoga studies, Anil explained to me that when he first started practicing Iyengar-style yoga at the age of eighteen, he was not a strong man and far from super healthy. He could barely touch his toes! After about four years of intensive training with his guru, Anil opened his doors to western students. He told me that when he first had the impetus to teach foreigners in Rishikesh, he could not speak English. He could understand the language, but when it came to speaking, something was blocked. As he tells it, God unblocked his throat chakra so that he was ultimately able to speak adequately and clearly enough to pass on the valuable teachings of yoga.
    Something about the simplicity and definitive compassion in Anil’s teaching voice imprinted his instructions into my brain and into my cellular memory. Long after I’d left Rishikesh and headed down to the south of India, I could hear his voice telling me to “Inhale, exhale!” and “Keep prana inside!” and “ Rise up the chest!” and always, “Keep back STRAIGHT!” as I muddled my way, solo, through the routine on the beach. Even before I’d heard that Anil had been deathly ill, I had been sending him metta , loving-kindness and vibrations of light and gratitude in my daily meditations.
    According to the email I received about Anil’s death, no one was particularly clear on the actual “cause.” At the young age of 24, my light-bodied yoga teacher was gone. What a strange sensation—a definite reminder of impermanence, to have your personal “example of health” leave the planet so suddenly!
    Needless to say, returning to Rishikesh toward the end of my India journey has given me a chance to say goodbye to Anil in my own way. I attended another teacher’s yoga classes—getting a little inspiration again. And I made sure to pass by Anil’s former studio to pay my respects. “Thank you, my teacher,” I whispered, as I hung a garland of marigolds on the door in gratitude for the lessons of a lifetime that he shared with me so selflessly. A bittersweet farewell, a direct experience of impermanence mixed with everlasting legacies.
    Off to Delhi to catch a red-eye to Thailand. But this is far from the end. Thank God I have a ten-year visa—courtesy of the U.S. consulate and the envy of every non-American Indophile in the Western world.

Future Shock
    6 th of April, Bangkok
    Landing in Bangkok, I was shocked. Friends who have traveled this route before told me that after India, Thailand would seem like the West, or “the future.” Still, I wasn’t prepared for the extreme contrast to my grungy, raw, beloved India. I’ve had to give myself a tough talking-to in order to not compare. After all, I did plan my journey this way, to have a one-month “holiday,” living the Thai island life after five months backpacking through India. Even if my rational mind doesn’t think I need recuperation or integration time, my subconscious, heart, and soul have timetables of their own.
    First impression of Bangkok: unbelievably clean and well-organized. My system and psyche were taken aback by air conditioning, cell phones, toll plazas, shopping malls, skyscrapers and Skytrains. I didn’t sense a