I arrive at Sr. Mary Louise's ashram, which is across the road from Shantivanam. She welcomes me with fresh-squeezed orange juice and introduces me to the hut where I will live for two weeks. It overlooks the Kavery, one of India's sacred rivers that lies past scattered palm, banana and coconut trees that surround the ashram. When Frs. Monchanin and Abhishiktananda first arrived over fifty years ago, the river had reached the edge of the ashram. As the years passed and as a result of climate changes, the river has receded and now lies several hundred meters away. There are a couple of egrets resting in the shallow waters. At dusk, when the temperature cools, villagers will gather at the bank of the river.

Beneath the hut's covered porch, cooling breezes sweep my face when I sit in the late evening with only fireflies igniting the darkness. I spend hours of contemplation in this hut, in desert solitude, alone with a few books and a writing pad, stripped from my scheduled life of internet, lunch and office meetings. Like the year before, the emptiness of time envelops me. Yet this serenity is subject to an onslaught of suffocating heat and rampant mosquitoes, not to mention the constant caution towards what I eat and drink to stave off the dreaded traveler's curse, which in Mexico is called “Montezuma's revenge.” Daily I pump my own water, wash my own clothes, and bath at five a.m. from a bucket of cool water. This brief period when I live without amenities is purifying. I'm suddenly intensely aware of how the have-nots hunger for what the haves take for granted. Yet, who is really missing out?

Bird calls wake me before dawn, an hour before Morning Prayer. I lie for a few minutes before rising from the protection of my mosquito net to enjoy that space of full emptiness. Fr. Bede also appreciated that pause before daybreak, meditating before Eucharist. And because of the day's extreme heat, early mornings and evenings were invaluable. Having lived in the even temperate of coastal California most of my life, this short detour from Santa Cruz made me wonder about the founders of this ashram, who also came from an industrialized lifestyle. Fr. Bede was from Britain and both Abhisiktananda and Monchanin were from France, all who had made the radical decision to move to the more primal life in India. The fruits of their journey, their answer to God's call have resulted in the founding of this sacred place where thousands of pilgrims journey in search of Truth.

From Australia, Europe, Canada and America, the pilgrims return year after year. They arrive individually, in small groups, or by the busload. Each has either met Fr. Bede personally, or read his works. Some tell me they don't know what it is they experience in the ashram, but whatever it is, it sustains them. Are they describing the inner stillness absent in their own world, where they're constantly bombarded with marketing messages, political propaganda, and technological wizardry? Even with the lack of physical comfort, daily exposure to extreme heat, and relentless mosquitoes, do they prefer to endure all this because finding the stillness overcomes earthly suffering?

I think about the temple, which had been torn down two months earlier. The morning after my arrival, I stood on the barren site where the temple had stood. In that temple I had attended Mass with sangha friends, and prayed and meditated in solitude. In that temple Fr. Bede had celebrated the Eucharist. In that temple, I had enjoyed looking out past the walls at the banyan tree, meditating on the twist and turns of the trunk's form as dawn evolved to daylight. Today it still stands majestic, providing shade for the founders' graves, but I wonder if the loss of the temple will deter future visits by those who had once been faithful to the ashram. Though there are plans to build another temple, the original had also served as symbol and memory of Fr. Bede.

On many occasions pilgrims have expressed to me their longing to find fulfillment, which is met in some capacity through the ashram, which offers a life of simplicity and stability through the daily practice of prayers and meditation. In addition, the ashram's social justice causes have found support amongst those who have expressed a desire to participate in God's work through charity. Regardless, I find that everyone's journey seeks the cave of the heart, where peace and joy reside. I believe that despite the changes in the ashram, Shantivanam will continue to flourish.

Fr. Paul reminded me, “Loss lies in the path of our spiritual journey. We must seek the beyond, especially past the worldly things to which we cling. We must seek the beyond to find God.” The experience of loss, in other words, participates in our journey to find the Divine. Perhaps I might boldly venture to speculate that even Fr. Bede would probably say, “Do not cling to me, instead look beyond me, for God.”