In my journals review, I’ve been surprised how few entries actually existed. We didn’t have much privacy or personal time, for one thing, which may be the reason that so much of what I did record was during trips out from the center.
I did find that some notebook pages had been ripped away, not by me, indicating snooping. Now I’m wondering if entire journals had been deep-sixed by interlopers.
Still, somewhere, I had enough to draft my novel Yoga Bootcamp and its predecessor, Ashram.
Frankly, I never found the Poconos as magical, beautiful, or spiritually high-vibed as Swami did.
Much of the perspective that has turned up since, in personal encounters, Facebook exchanges, or long phone calls, has made me feel right in limiting the scope of the novel to a single day. As one fellow disciple told me, I was there at the golden moment before many complications arose.
I do feel vindicated in my observation that Swami’s declaring herself a swami and then ordaining us was a mistake. I didn’t know how sharp her break from her beloved guru was.
In posting these, I also sense a rightness in my decision to change most of the names away from our Sanskrit yogi names.
I have had some rich conversations with people who have resided in other monastic communities, including an Episcopal convent.
Quite simply, the experience changed my life’s course.
Jnana's Red Barn 