“Narrative medicine is a fascinating field that recognizes the role of story and meaning in health, happiness, and wellbeing. In this weekend writing workshop led by a New York Times best-selling author known for her tender exploration of the human spirit, you have the opportunity to rewrite your own narrative and discover the vector of love that forms the invisible warp of light upon which your life story is woven.
The stories we habitually tell ourselves change our brain circuitry, our relationships, and path through the world. They can elevate life to heaven on Earth, or drop us unceremoniously into the fire.
In this workshop you will:
- Explore your life myths, both sacred and profane
- Harvest the wisdom of deep discontent
- Use the written word to transform darkness into light
- Learn the arc of transformational storytelling
- Change your brain and your life by changing your story
- Discover the relationship of story to affective neurobiology”
When I arrived in Nassau, huge rolling clouds hovered over the island. Drizzly rain sprinkled down. By the time the cab, which was decorated with tapestry covered seats and resonant with the sound of classical music wafting through and conversation with the driver named Jackson, arrived at the dock, the winds were kicking up, tossing the waves.
Uh oh. I have had a history of seasickness and dreaded the thought of heaving over the side of the boat. Fortunately that didn’t happen. What did occur was that we were wringing wet by the time we traversed the short distance; but also drenched in laughter. The first test passed with flying colors. We were welcomed by the smiling staff and other attendees who arrived before us. They hailed from all over the world, spoke various languages and were there for many different reasons.
All of us seemed to be at crossroads in our lives and in transition.
My crossroads and transition was that less than two years earlier, (2014) I experienced a ‘cardiac event’ requiring the insertion of a stent as well as major lifestyle changes. A heart attack will do that to a person; providing a wake up call. All these years later, I sometimes metaphorically doze off and require reminders.
“Hammock lounging oceanside as the roaring waves churn. Writing inspiration is everywhere in this place. Immersing myself full sensory. Love the new friends I am making here, including the woman in the hammock.”
The ashram was founded by Swami Vishnudevananda who followed the teachings of Swami Sivananada. Both men were born in India and found the path of devotion (Bhakti yoga) and service (Karma yoga) to call them. The former piloted a plane that was painted by iconic artist Peter Max over war torn places, dropping flowers and leaflets encouraging union rather than division.
He offered the mantra Om Namo Narayanaya which is meant to invoke a sense of peace to be shared throughout the world. Although I was not intimately familiar with these two men or their teachings, I felt a sense of alignment with their interfaith leanings. As I was sitting in the room in which twice a day chanting, satsang, and workshop time took place, I gazed at the photo on the wall of Sivananda and found myself spontaneously crying, as if he was seeing into my soul and calling me out.
A bonus was that I had the opportunity to meet and hug Tao Porchon Lynch who is the world’s oldest yoga teacher. At the time, she was 97 years old and had been practicing yoga since age 8, marched with Gandhi and MLK and was in the French Resistance and helped Jews escape capture during the Holocaust. She was an actress and singer. She had been on America’s Got Talent with a 26 year old dance partner. She died at 101 in 2020.
While there, I had this musing.
Water of a new life
Flowing through me and around me
Bubbling from a fountain I have seen many times before
But dared not approach
Fearing I would drown in its depths
Desiring, craving, longing for its
Thirst quenching properties
Parched heart, aching for the relief
Wondering whether it is illusory and elusive
Dissolving like early morning mist if I dared reach for it
Questioning if it was meant for another and not for me
With courage, I stretch my arms toward it
With trembling body, I extend my fingers to touch it with their tips
With drum beat pounding heart, I move closer
And immerse a cupped hand into its cool depths and raise it to my lips, sipping tentatively
I wonder if I will ever drink my fill
So sweet
So refreshing
So nourishing
I remind myself to drink slowly to savor it
I remind myself that it will not dry up and disappear once I have become accustomed to it
I remind myself that it is not a mirage when I saw it as an oasis
I remind myself that it really does have my name on it
I remind myself that it is both a gift of God-given grace, as well as a well I have built
One stone at a time and that I have filled with the water of love
I remind myself that there is plenty to share
I remind myself that it is the water of life that sustains me
And welcomes another seeking soul to join me in drinking deeply.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: author