In college I studied western esotericism: Kabbalah, Sufism, Grail Tradition, Hermetic Texts, Alchemy, etc. I ran with several crowds: hippies, frat kids, surfers, stoners, musicians, soccer players, food and beverage industry friends, and the new age crowd. I usually lived with one or more of those cats. We read Be Here Now a hundred times and picked out lines of poetry by Rumi. All or almost all of those kids practiced Hatha. Sometimes I’d join them. We’d have pot luck dinners and practice Reiki on each other or meditate or whatever. I dug that group of folks, but definitely spent a majority of my time partying and working with the other crowds. Despite the obvious benefits of these practices and the uplifting vibes from this group, I still felt a disconnect. I dug the positive vibration, the reiki, chi-gong, tai chi, and hatha, but nothing called on me.
End of my junior year of college, a kid who worked at the local organic food store started teaching a yoga class. This guy dressed in all white and wore a turban. As eccentric and hippy as any of us dressed, this guy took the cake. Did I mention this is Charleston, SC. Not the place where young, bearded, white, Sikhs usually walk the streets, a much more common site in Los Angeles. Anyway I took a yoga class in a small studio he rented. It blew my mind. I knew I’d found my calling. Dedication to my practice did not start immediately. In fact it took me several more years of screwing around. I can say for a fact that from that first class, not two days of my life went by without thinking about dedicating my life to Kundalini Yoga. Even when in the midst of a four day bender of sex, drugs, and alcohol, I’d feel the yoga calling through my haze.
A year into a life-changing journey where I backpacked by myself across South America, Kundalini Yoga put its foot down. I was depressed out of my mind, crazy from months of solitude, rarely speaking my own language, and experimenting far out journeys with medicinal plants. So many beautiful souls from so many different cultures, languages, nations, worlds, and star systems…..I inwardly pleaded the Universe for a life line back.
In a tiny mountain village in the Andes Mountains, the Cordillera Real outside of La Paz, Bolivia, I wandered into town from my camp. In town I ran into a girl whom I’d met partying several months earlier. Coincidentally she’d come to town for a retreat from the city. She invited me to join her for dinner and talked about an American kid, yoga teacher, staying in a hotel down the road. We met him outside and I knew him immediately. White kid with huge, bright, blue eyes, and a massive long beard. I knew he taught Kundalini Yoga instantly. I greeted him Sat Nam. We bonded. That night I sat up late, watching the stars and moon light up the glaciers on the nearby mountains. I cried several times and thanked God for blessing me with so much love. For giving me this beautiful chance.
That was the last time I had a drink. Not that everyone who does yoga, or has a practice should do the same. That was just part of my path. I moved back to the US and flew to LA to meet up with my new best friend Sat Daya. He introduced me to his two teachers, Harijiwan Khalsa and Tej Khalsa. I joined a day of White Tantric Yoga while in LA, signed up for teacher’s training with my teachers, and started a rigid daily saddhana. After that winter and Summer Solstice, yoga classes several days a week and workshop after workshop.
I’ve backed off a lot at this point. It’s tough to work 12 hour days and maintain a 3 hour saddhana every morning before sunrise. I do what I can. And I’ve learned to appreciate all forms of yoga, not just Kundalini Yoga as taught by Yogi Bhajan. I love all forms of yoga. I love meditation. I am a testament to the benefits of them both. Yoga and meditation work.
Peace Love Light Life,
Nirbhao
Aka: The Dude
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