the most beautiful things about panchakarma
This week, I emerged from fourteen days of cleansing my levels of questions unanswered, memories unearthed, futures unborn but waiting, and beauty shining but for the veil of hesitation. This, my excavation, dropped me into warm oil and soothing touch, plentiful spiced stewed daal and quiet, sheer quiet, bottomless and beseeching.
The songs came, too, and the winds of stirred packages tidily stowed away for… never, packed down and placed in the back of every cell waiting only for death to dissolve. And I, a lonely near-yogi took the time to send messengers down and into the crevices for retrieval in a panchakarma whirl and paced purge and steady upheaval.
The most beautiful thing about this 2000-year-old ayurvedic practice is not the scrubbing of my organs, the ringing of my pores, the oiling of my nerves, no. It is that on the other side of the long hours wondering if anything will change. It is on the other side of effort to spin a new story. It is on the other side of the work, My life, shining newly in the spring sun. My life, there as it was. My life, here and still here, just more seeable, more reachable, more quenching to this thirty pallet.
The most beautiful thing about panchakarma is that it is all still here, exactly as I left it.