This summer I traveled to India in search of a dream -- but I did not know which one.
The cradle of civilizations, religions and philosophies, India's wealth is so vast that it would be unthinkable not to dream of going there. From the majestic architecture and ornamentation of its sacred temples to its outstanding scenery and the friendliness and honesty of its people, the list of attractions is as long the River Ganges. My goal, however, was not that of a traditional tourist.
One morning I woke up early in the town of Dharamsala in the foothills of the Himalayas, the headquarters of the Tibetan government in exile, to watch the sun rise and go to morning meditation in Tsuglag Khang, the largest Tibetan religious complex outside Tibet, which houses a monastery and the residence of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I dressed in ethnic clothes that I bought years ago from an Indian at a market in Panajachel, on the shores of Lake Atitlán in Guatemala, believing that the outfit would gain me entrance. But the service was for monks only.
Disoriented, I met a Tibetan, 22, whom I offered tea . Though he spoke little English, he was able to relate episodes from his harrowing story. At age 14, he had escaped from his country, occupied by the Chinese communist regime, without family, in a daring journey on foot over several days. The desire for freedom and a better education on the other side of the mountain range seduced him. He felt lonely in India and missed his loved ones.
Most refugees live in Upper Dharamsala, known as McLeod Ganj, a 19th century British military garrison. Hundreds of volunteers from the West worked in community organizations, so I could not leave without rendering service. I chose to devote a few hours to teaching English at the Tibet Hope Center. Because my student did not know what Latin America is -- or where -- I talked to him about the region and repeated words to improve his vocabulary. I was so fixated on the moment, that time flew.
Another moment that months later remains vivid in my mind was spinning prayer wheels outside the Dalai Lama's temple, gold cylinders that contain scrolls with prayers that, according to Buddhist scholars, rise heavenward every time you spin them. I observed tradition, because on this trip I had decided to live the cultural and religious mosaic called India from within.
Days earlier, I had visited the city of turbans and beards, Amritsar, the Sikh holy shrine in the Punjab region. My desire, like that of millions of Sikhs, was to see the magnificent Golden Temple, which preserves within its walls the sacred scripture of Adi Granth. The hospitality was immaculate. Instead of me taking pictures of the faithful, they were asking to be photographed with me.
In the temple, open to the four cardinal points as a symbol of universality, some children sat next to me and, laughing, asked where I came from and what my name was. I didn't want to move from there; a sense of peace enfolded me. I was fascinated by their doctrine, the attainment of inner divinity through devotion to God, an honest life and service to humanity.
However much one might venture to approach other faiths, in distant lands it is refreshing to touch base with our roots. On the road to the legendary Leh, in Jammu state and Kashmir -- which unfortunately I could not reach because avalanches blocked the road -- I went through Manali, nicknamed ``Little Tel Aviv.'' A rabbi of the Chabad movement organized a Shabbat dinner; the only non-Israeli Jew who attended was me. I returned for the reading of the Torah the next day.
Nevertheless, the spiritual part of the journey began in the Rajasthan desert. Months earlier, I had participated in a meditation in Coral Gables, organized by the branch of the Brahma Kumaris World Spiritual University, with headquarters in the high mountains of Rajasthan. From Mount Abu comes the knowledge of raja yoga, a practice that tries to offer you a spiritual image of yourself and helps you to understand it.
At the Universal Peace Hall of Mount Abu, I attended a lecture by Dadi Janki (not the Puerto Rican reggaeton singer), the director of Brahma Kumaris, who, at age 90, travels the world preaching optimism. At the conference's end, hundreds of faithful lined up to receive from her hands a homemade sweet called toli. I still have the card that came with it, which reminds me daily that my ``original nature and personality is purity and royalty.''
The most wonderful experience came at the end: the Osho Meditation Resort, a sumptuous spiritual oasis in Pune, near Mumbay. Osho was a mystical rebel who died in 1990, whose life and teachings have inspired millions of people, including my traveling companion, Ariel. It was necessary to dress in robes, burgundy during the day and white at night. There is a gigantic pyramid, enveloped in a mantle of energy, where one can meditate with dynamic techniques that include dancing with one's eyes closed.
The center offers a residential program that consists in ``work as meditation,'' where you are taught to introduce meditation into your daily actions. I would love to do that. But who will pay my bills in Miami and what employer will give me six months to go to India to meditate?
On my way back home, the airline mistakenly assigned the same seats to several people. The plane resembled a circus; families wanted to sit together on the flight. Suddenly, a flight attendant asked me to stand up and take my bag. Yes, after days of traveling in slow and dirty buses, with passengers vomiting all around me, I was upgraded to business class for the first time in my life.
Undoubtedly, a divine sign that I should continue on this path in search of my dream.
Daniel Shoer Roth, El Nuevo Herald's Metro columnist, writes monthly about spirituality and values.