THIS EXERCISE WILL END—
The Value of Changing Your Peaceful Garden

By Mari Gayatri Stein

“This exercise will end,” Peter said provocatively in between bites of garlic noodle with basil and sesame green bean with tofu. We had just met and were already in an electrifying discussion about Kundalini Yoga, Vipassana, the nature of impermanence, acceptance and resistance, pleasure and pain and the importance of remaining passionately committed to one’s values. He and two of my best longtime girlfriends, Laurie (his wife) and Saraswati, were dining at the Siamese Gardens, an intimate bistro perched beside one of the Venice Canals. It was dusk on a glorious California day.

My bosom friend, Saraswati, had persuaded me to rouse from my green Oregon nest—a rare occurrence as I am of the homing variety—and spend a weekend in the City of the Angels while her husband was away piloting doctors on a mercy mission to a small Mexican village.

Contrast gives life piquancy. To appreciate all the flavors and nuances of the moment, one must taste and savor both the sweet and the salty—with a soupçon of bitter on the side. A little jaunt to the city of my birth always gives me new perspective. I rediscover forgotten aspects of myself. The outer and the inner work in tandem; while the change of scenery pleasures my senses and refreshes my spirit, it also reframes my awareness and strengthens my core.

Ordinarily my day at home begins at 4:30. When light allows, my dog Muse and I set off on “the grand tour.” During this mile walk, we circumvent the nursery and farm, scrutinize new growth and then raise our gaze to see if Mt. McLaughlin still sports its snowy cap. We wave as we pass people planting lavender and honeysuckle, potting hundreds of bamboos, watering the can-yard and loading the delivery truck. We round the compost heap—a six-foot mountain of green grasses and flowers bursting unrestrained from the rich organic decay—pause to offer grain to the antelope, llama and sheep, then head back to the house to brew tea, settle in my office and address the writing/drawing assignments that await.

Throughout the day, it is with Muse that I carry on most conversations. Twice a week, when I depart to teach Yoga and Meditation, communication is of an ethereal nature. Even when my mate comes in for lunch, we sit in companionable silence like stoic Welsh farmers. It is a restful, intensely sensuous and spacious lifestyle, but I am a Hollywood girl at heart. So when I received the gracious invitation to spontaneously whip down south and play in the city with my sisters, I didn’t resist. Besides, Laurie and I were collaborating on a new book and we could put in some creative hours together. For both of us, our work was play.

“A change is as good as a rest,” my husband says, and I was hungry for a little stimulation and intense conversation. Plenty of time to rest when I returned home. Traveling in my imagination is where I’ve stacked up most of my air miles, now it was time to ground my mind and let my body take off.

Southern California is a remarkable place. The chic look comfortable and the casual look chic. One can do as one pleases. Here I can let my being unravel and experience its full length and breadth. Even after all these years, it still feels like home.

My Venice hosts and I arise leisurely around eight or nine. In bare feet and embroidered trousers, I saunter out with Saraswati to promenade along the Venice Boardwalk. We are accompanied by Bella, her young Wheaton Terrier, and Coca, an ancient beige poodle who spends most of the walk vicariously, cradled in an arm.
In the morning and at sunset the boardwalk looks a little like Best in Show. A melange of breeds of lovable dogs intermingle without prejudice or preference, sniffing and running and chasing each other with delight. The camaraderie of dog owners flows freely. By the time we return to our house on Grand Canal, I have seen and interacted with more people in an hour than I might in a whole week at home.

In this city by the sea, the gardens appear in a variety of cunning modes: the brave daisy growing up through the concrete walks that lead down to the beach, the cultivated pots of geraniums and rose bushes, gardenias and bougainvillea spilling out of the courtyards of the quaint and closely knit houses, the rich colorful bouquets of people laughing and talking.

Back home, I am serenaded by the sounds of dogs, ducks, geese, chickens and a temperamental green Military Macaw. The wind, the rain and a cacophony of nesting birds play in the background. At night the frogs and crickets sing us to sleep; the owls call to each other and the bats “shoosh” through the trees.

Venice has ducks, too, and crows and seagulls, and loud voices and music from all the charts and the sounds of people partying. Every venturing out brought conversation, both shared and overhead. “We’ve got to get Bush out of office, do you want to attend a Kerry fundraiser-dinner? I’ll e-mail you the details.” “Hasn’t Roxy grown—in only five months—she is positively edible.” “I have a perfect part for you in my new musical. Call me later and I’ll get you the script—oh I loved your last movie.” “Hi sweetie, are you surfing today?”

On Mother’s Day, Saraswati, our friend Padma, and I lit candles and incense and placed a trio of roses—yellow, claret and vermillion—in a vase. Beside them rested a photo of the three of us with our moms posed together in front of a Westwood restaurant some twenty years earlier. We sat in a circle and sang Kirtan in their honor. I played the harmonium. They improvised with a variety of percussion instruments including a shaker in the shape of a lemon and a vitamin bottle filled with rice. Both women are professional musicians and composers; they possess the voices of angels. For many years we gathered together every Wednesday night in my Pacific Palisades living room to practice yoga, meditate and sing our hearts out. Tonight was a blissful reunion—just like old times.

When I am away from my home, I sorely miss my family and the comforts of my routine, but they mean even more after I have enjoyed the contrast of being with my extended family in the place of my youth, and tasted the pleasures of the city—art, theater,dining, shopping—and the mother sea. My mom’s ashes are part of the waves now, and I am swept up in gratitude. Even when times are lonely and I ache for the world’s suffering, I remind myself, it is good to be alive and to love—all the more so, because we know indeed, “This exercise will end.”

Mari Gayatri-Stein is the author and illustrator of The Buddha Smiles: A Collection of Dharmatoons and Unleashing Your Inner Dog: Your Best Friend’s Guide to Life. She lives with her husband in Medford, Oregon where they run a certified organic farm and nursery. Mari also continues to teach yoga and meditation locally and facilitates retreats in Oregon and Hawaii. www.marigayatri.com