The Sea Within
The magic of sadhana
Three years ago, I found myself alone in Atlanta with an afternoon and no agenda. The conference was over. My obligations were done. I’d heard the Georgia Aquarium was the largest and among the best in the country, so with a heaping helping of curiosity, I went to see it for myself.
I enjoyed everything from the start. The penguins. The gators. The eels. The humans. Eventually, I made my way to the winding hall leading to the main attraction. I couldn’t see it yet, only glimpses, small vignettes of aquatic life visible through windows in the walls, portions of something much larger than what you could take in at once. I had to keep reminding myself to slow down.
Other people were moving through the same hallway. At first, it was annoying. Bodies in the way. Noise. Friction. In time, something shifted. We found a rhythm together, a shared pace, and it stopped being obstructive. We were just people making our way toward the same thing.
And then I entered the room.
A wall of glass. Floor to ceiling. And on the other side? Magic.
Schools of fish move through the underwater terrain in easy harmony. The giant sea turtle seems to know that all eyes are on him as he takes center stage. And all the people watching hold their breath each time another shark makes its round.
I stood wide-eyed, grinning at the wonder of it all.
Then I sat.
I stayed.
And I received everything the moment had to offer.
That is what it feels like to go inward.
This is sadhana: a practice you return to with intention, again and again. And in that returning, something begins to open.
Each time you enter. You move through hallways where the deeper thing is only glimpsed at first, in pieces. You navigate the obstacles until they no longer feel like obstacles. And if you keep going, if you resist the pull to rush, you arrive somewhere that stops and opens you completely.
Because you followed the path all the way to the end.
This week I begin a new kind of practice, a circle facilitator training that I expect will work exactly like this. A journey inward, in the company of others, each session another room I haven’t seen yet.
I don’t know what swims on the other side of that glass.
But I trust the inner knowing that guided me here.
A Threshold Practice: Meeting Ganesh at the Door
In the yogic tradition, Ganesh is the keeper of thresholds. It is he you invoke at every new beginning, every doorway, every turn toward something unknown. He is the remover of obstacles, the one who clears the path so you can follow it all the way to the end.
Use this at the entrance of any new practice, new adventure, or new path you take.
Subscribers will find a guided recording of this practice in Three Cup Extras.
Find a comfortable seat. Let your eyes close.
Take a breath in — and let it go.
Take another. Slower this time.
You are at the entrance to something. A hallway. You don’t need to know yet what’s at the end of it. You only need to be willing to walk.
Bring to mind the figure of Ganesh. He has the head of an elephant, wise and gentle, and the bearing of someone who has seen everything and is troubled by none of it. In one hand, a goad to clear the path. In another, a noose to catch what needs releasing. One hand open in blessing. One hand holding something sweet.
You don’t need to see him clearly. Simply bask in the warm orange glow of his energy.
He is not in a rush. Neither are you.
Begin to repeat this mantra silently:
Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.
Let the sound move through you like water finding its level. Not forcing anything. Not arriving anywhere yet. Just walking the hallway.
Continue for as long as feels right.
When you’re ready, let the mantra grow quiet. Sit in what remains.
What lies beyond the door cannot be described. It can only be entered.
Step through.
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