No Room For Sin

At Shreyas Yoga Retreat, Zac O’Yeah finds himself stretching muscle and mind to a new tune.

- Zac O’Yeah

The winter sun is gentle, palm fronds rustle, and I’m lying on my back wrapped inside a thick layer of banana leaves as I chew on things in my head. A meditation teacher has just told me that my mind is a drunken monkey. How did he know?

The Shreyas Yoga Retreat experience is conducive to third-degreeing oneself—in case of doubt, their slogan on the gatepost reads, “journey of self-discovery”. Here, I’m lifted out of my natural circumstances of unthinking non-veg hogging and brain-numbing boozing to be inserted into a veggie utopia as far from a bar as the sun is from the moon. There’s nothing to do other than observe myself, “witness” as the guru put it, and figure how to improve my life.

One of the in-house naturopathy doctors at the new Anaha Spa devises a plan for how to deal with my obesity, bad habits and hypertension, and gives me a colourful timetable that chronicles my hours for the duration of my stay. Not only am I signed up for three to four massages each day, but also twice daily yoga and meditation, plus there’s the gym and swimming pool to deal with. I never thought resort life could be so hectic.

Luckily, my first treatment is a stress reducing mud wrap of cool clay that’s been dug up from six feet below ground and that is expected to lower my BP. Afterwards, I’m ushered into the meditation hall to meet the guru who is to tweak freak my mind. We start with chakra cleansing-balancing. It is quite hypnotic and an hour goes fast. He asks how it felt.

“Terribly hard,” I blurt out. “Whenever I try to think about what you tell me, my mind thinks of something else.”