Rishikesh, ’26 — A Practice of Svādhyāya

Rishikesh, ’26 — A Practice of Svādhyāya

This journey to Rishikesh turned out to be less a pilgrimage outward and more a practice of svādhyāya, self-study.

Before leaving for India, there were already quiet signals suggesting that this might not be the right time. Subtle hesitations, small disruptions, a sense that perhaps the path was not fully aligned. Yet I insisted on going. Part of me believed that facing obstacles and moving through resistance would be good practice. I told myself it was discipline.

But what I called discipline may also have been ego.

By the time I arrived, I was already exhausted. Instead of arriving open and curious, I arrived depleted. I did not notice at first that something more delicate was slipping away—my confidence, my lightness, the freedom to simply embrace the journey.

The retreat itself was beautiful and demanding, both physically and mentally. I joined every practice and tried to participate wholeheartedly. Yet my body had its own story. I became sick: a sore throat, a painful cold sore, the simple acts of eating and speaking turning into discomfort. Still, I pushed myself harder.

There was no one to rely on but myself, so I kept insisting that I could endure it.

From the outside, the retreat was excellent—truly rewarding. But internally there was a different landscape. During meditation, during practice, even in conversations with fellow yogis, I felt a subtle but constant conflict within. My mind was not quiet. My heart was not soft. I realized I was trying very hard to have the experience I thought I should be having, instead of simply being present with the one I was actually living.

In that sense, the retreat became something else: a mirror.