Riding the Waves: Lessons from Ganesha and the Heart

Riding the Waves: Lessons from Ganesha and the Heart

January 5th, 2025

Yesterday was one of those deeply emotional days that leaves you raw and reflective. It’s not easy to admit, but I’ve realized part of my anxiety and vulnerability may stem from not giving my body the nourishment it needs. If I’m being honest, I’ve essentially been starving myself this past week. Last night, however, I got the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time. I don’t even remember falling asleep—my head hit the pillow, and I didn’t wake up once during the night. For someone who usually gets up five or more times due to interstitial cystitis, this was nothing short of miraculous.

Still, my heart was heavy. Feelings of not being “enough”—not pretty enough, not skinny enough, not good enough—came bubbling to the surface last night and lingered into the morning. I hadn’t set an alarm, feeling content to skip practice, but God had other plans. I woke up at 4:45 am without any alarm, got ready, and stepped into the dark, cold morning for the walk to satsang and yoga. On the way, I bumped into Anjanea, and we walked in silence together—a rare and peaceful occurrence, free from the need to fill the empty space with words.

When we arrived, the building was dark. Ragunath made the executive decision to hold satsang outside. Sitting under the vast sky, watching the blackness transition to pink and then to blue as the mantras filled the air, was beautiful. The stories shared were deeply thought-provoking, but I felt dissociated and out of it, struggling to keep my eyes open. Still, I was there—I showed up—and sometimes, that’s all that matters.

The Whisper of Ganesha and the Gift of Gratitude

After class, I walked with a few of the girls to the Ayurvedic clinic to make an appointment. On the way, Laurel complimented my necklace. Only then did I realize it was my green Ganesha pendant. I told her the story of how, during my last trip to India, I lost my Ganesha ring after completing a panchakarma treatment. Chaos seemed to follow, and I couldn’t help but wonder what Ganesha was trying to teach me. Wasn’t he supposed to remove obstacles, not create them?

Interestingly, a few months later, I found this necklace buried in a box of crystals I hadn’t unpacked since moving to Florida. It felt significant—like a reminder of something bigger than myself. Ganesha’s green stone, alongside a moldavite pendant and an emerald from Mexico, all felt tied to the heart chakra, to healing and transformation. Strange connections unfolded during that time, including my first intimate night with someone I deeply cared for. Today, on my way to the clinic, I couldn’t help but reflect on those connections and wonder if Ganesha was guiding me once again.

At the Ayurvedic clinic, I made my appointment and headed to breakfast. I sat with Tyler and Catherine, sipping lemongrass tea and nibbling on watermelon. Catherine is such a vibrant, pure soul. Last night during kirtan, when I broke into tears, she came over, placed her hand on my shoulder, and handed me tissues. It was perfect—exactly what I needed in that moment. Tyler shared his story about a motorcycle accident that left him unsure if he’d ever regain full use of his body. It made me reflect on my own relationship with my body. Despite the pain, it still moves, breathes, and functions—something to be grateful for, even in its imperfections. Could I learn to savor the sweetness of what is, instead of constantly longing for what could be? Maybe that’s Ganesha’s lesson, too—not just removing obstacles but shifting perspectives.

A Voice of Truth, A Struggle with Perception

On the way back from the clinic, I ran into Trish from my drumming class. She’s a vegetarian chef and commented on how unhealthy the food here was, which didn’t exactly help my mood. But then she said something that stopped me in my tracks: “You’re tiny, you need to be eating more, or things will get worse.” Part of me felt reassured, but another part—the familiar, critical voice in my mind—whispered, She thinks I’m tiny? In my mind, I’m fat. Not just fat, but huge. It made me pause. Maybe there really is a mental disconnect. Maybe the way I see myself isn’t the truth.

When I went to lunch, I arrived late. Most of the group had already paired off in conversations, so I sat alone. I felt like a bit of a loser sitting by myself at the cafeteria table, but honestly, I was so physically and emotionally drained that I was relieved not to have to make small talk. Between the early mornings, drumming, yoga, and borderline starving myself, I think my body and mind are crying out for a reset.

After lunch, I told Lala I’d be skipping the afternoon session and headed back to my room to rest. Except, instead of resting, I found myself drawn to my harmonium. I spent some time teaching myself a Krishna Das variation of “My Foolish Heart/Radhe Bhagavan.” I was impressed with how I figured it out by ear without needing notes. My new harmonium is much smaller than my old one, though, and I could feel it in my wrist as I pumped. Still, the music felt healing, a way to ground myself amid the chaos of my thoughts.

Healing Through Kirtan and Divine Alignments

I hadn’t planned on going to kirtan that evening, but friends from my building called for me outside my door, and when you’re being called, you must answer, right? I decided to go and sit in the back of the temple. Ragunath went around asking how everyone was feeling. While the crowd echoed with words like “grateful,” “happy,” and “blissful,” the word defeated came out of my mouth. Mikey, the young man sitting next to me, said “challenged,” which made me feel less alone.

As the kirtan went on, that feeling of defeat started to lift. I felt love stir in my heart and forgot what had upset me to begin with. Maybe it’s all maya, an illusion—the pain, the hurt feelings, the stories we tell ourselves that no longer serve us.

Ragunath introduced a special guest: a monk and his family joining us for satsang. Halfway through the kirtan, a young woman I didn’t recognize came to sit next to me. She introduced herself afterward as Amrita Dasi, the monk’s daughter and an artist whose stained glass work is displayed in one of the buildings. We struck up a conversation, and she shared that she lives in a spiritual community in Northern Florida called Lakshmana, near Gainesville. It felt divine to have that conversation just then.

She also told me her artwork is displayed in the yoga studio on the top floor of Gokhul Cottage—the building where I’m staying, which I’d been calling my “prison cell” due to its gross smell and noisiness. I had no idea anything beautiful was happening upstairs. It felt like a moment of divine alignment that I couldn’t have orchestrated if I tried.

A rough day riding lots of waves, but at least I’m riding the wave. I’m still swimming, still going, still holding onto hope.

Onto better and brighter days, but still holding onto the sweetness and the lessons from the cloudy ones.

With love and gratitude,

Eve aka Kali Grayce

Om Gam Ganapataye Namahanapataye Namaha.