An Ode to Hinduism
My religion was not really my religion. It was a lifestyle, a routine, a ritual in which I was born into. The festivals, the temples, the gods, the prayers—I participated in these things like a child filling in a coloring book, trying to stay within the lines of someone else’s design. But honestly, I had quite a secular upbringing, which allowed me to openly interact with all religions. Since I was young, my mother took me to churches, mosques, and various temples, teaching me to appreciate the divine in all, whether it was Christ, Allah, Buddha, or Krishna. Overtime I got tired of visiting places of worship and pretending to pray—”God does not exist, Mom,” I began to utter with the confidence of an Enlightened scientist.
What is religion? Why does it provoke hate? Why does it instill devotion? Joseph Campbell said that religion is “misunderstood mythology,” and that the “misunderstanding consists in making the symbol for the reference. So all the historic events that are so important to us in our tradition should not be important to us in any way except as symbols of power within ourselves.”
When I encounter Kali, I feel the powerful depths of the earth trembling. When I encounter Buddha, I feel the serene tranquility of an undisturbed lake. When I encounter Christ, I feel the warm sacrifice of a tree bowing to the axe. When I encounter Krishna, I feel the playful freedom of a butterfly flitting through the air. All these figures, these mythological beings evoke an archetypal experience within me. So I think Campbell is right—religion is an expression of cosmic forces actualized in the realm of logos. Each story enables us to participate with the Mystery which can never be fully contained within one paradigm.
I rolled my eyes at religion. I thought I knew what I didn’t know about Hinduism. But getting married this year and doing the sacred rounds around the fire ignited a tiny flame within my heart. And then, I stepped into the ancient city of Kashi, the holy ground of Banares, the pilgrimage site that is Varanasi. Walking along the ghats, I felt the beating heart of Indian spirituality. From the children’s laughter in the Ganges river to the raging flames of the funeral pyres, I was encountering life and death in all its vividness. For the first time in my life, I had a visceral understanding…no scratch that, an intimate, felt experience of Hinduism.
When I first arrived in the city, I was so sure I wouldn’t go past dipping my toes in the river. Perhaps it was the ancient mist of purity in the air, or the thrilling “funk of 40,000 years” that shifted my consciousness, because on my last day I felt nothing but sheer excitement and confidence to take a full dip into Ganga Ma. And there I was, a 30-year-old third culture kid doing the Surya Namaskar in this mythical-mystical waters.
A baptism for a born-again Hindu. It’s good to be back home!
