I've never considered myself a so-called religious person. In times on need I tend to look heavenwards and pray to someone called god, but I would never define myself as religious. But the time I spent in Ireland went by I found myself yearning for religion, for that piece of mind and calm that comes with entering a place or worship, that comes from sitting with others in prayer or meditation. From gazing upon the face of any idol, placed there to represent a form of something higher, whatever the religion. I took to sleeping with two malas, one crystal and one rosewood beneath my pillow, two heavy to wear for work, at night I would wrap the beads around my hands, tangling my fingers in the comforting loops of smooth wood and stone, the pendents of both resting in my palm, and then upon waking feel that god had guarded me close during the night. I made a small effort to get in contact with a Sanga center in Ireland, but found they didn't exist and hunkered down to simply wait till my return home. Then so then a few weeks later I found myself in Paris, for what was supposed to be a one day visit, after many hours of travel and insecurity, I felt at a loss with the world, and at that moment was finally able to get in contact and then meet with the woman who had agreed to host me in the country. Their lives dedicated to the organization they ran a center in Paris where they were kindly letting me spend the night. After all that had happened, the good and bad, the happiness and fright, the feeling of walking in to that small room was like no other. At one end was a table covered in books and malas, and at the other end of the room a photo of Swamiji, a representation of the religion, culture, and way of life, that I had subconsciously grown to love and rely on. Falling to my knees, forward touching the floor I bowed to the image, bowing to the existence and force that I know and feel cares for like a mother to child, that power that I know is there, whatever name one wants to give it. The name does not matter as long as the connection is alive across people and culture, hope and adversity. That night I slept deep, waking refreshed and ready for a day of exploration in the new city, and then at night my hosts took me through the city and up a steep hill to the citadel of Paris. There we lit candles and chanted honoring Swamiji, Shiva, and the power of existence, above the lights of Paris, the feeling was one of my heart swelling, so I suppose after all that I must admit I am religious, in what denomination I am not certain, but that doesn't matter, what does is knowing that I have found my way back to Nithyananda, a state of eternal bliss, of connection with the existence, and a state which I am blessed to be living in.
