12~ Surrender.

December 22

I go to meditate by the Ganga. I sit on a rock near a sadhu who is performing his rituals with incense, holy water, and his mala (1) in hand to recite mantras.

A child interrupts me to sell me a pooja (2). I tell him I have no money but that I can offer him some almonds and walnuts. With a smile, he says yes. I ask him his name, if he goes to school, and if he likes living here. He says yes to everything, and we stay playing with the water for a while. Little by little, I begin to connect with India in a different way—I begin to discover new ways of meeting and understanding.

I close my eyes again to continue meditating.

This time, an even smaller girl approaches, of an even more delicate stature. India doesn’t give you a break.

She places a bindi on my forehead as if she knew how much I love them. I adore these markings on my third eye. I feel they connect me with my soul, my intuition, and the divinity—inside and outside myself. All of that in just one second. I think that is precisely the purpose. When I look in the mirror expecting to see my ego, it reminds me that there is something beyond that. It's as if the bindi says: "Tattoo it on your forehead so you don't forget it. You are not just your ego; there is something more." Simple and practical.

Meditating was impossible, but I talked with several children selling poojas. Maybe that is another form of connection and spirituality—for me and for them too.

I headed to Buda Delight—like always—one of the best café-restaurants in Rishikesh. Local food, abundant, cheap, tasty, and it doesn’t cause diarrhea. That’s pure gold around here. The Nepalese cooks are my new friends. They love Argentina, and every time they see me, they list all their favorite players: —Kun Agüero!! Di María!! Higuaín!! Messi!!— The Old School. They really know how to make me feel at home.

It’s a small place in front of the Ganga, with a straw roof about the height of the Nepalese men—meaning low enough for a tall man to feel what claustrophobia is like. That wasn’t my case. All the place is made of wood, with Hindu designs and bamboo canes, and for some reason, they have the habit of blasting electronic music during dinner. It’s a bit of a strange mix, but the food is incredible, and they’re very friendly, so I became a regular. When you’re far from home, finding places that make you feel at home is like a hug for the soul and a refuge at the same time. Anyone who knows the true value of chocolate ice cream wouldn’t trade it for mere curiosity. So, whenever I find something like that, I just repeat, repeat, and repeat. Buda Delight was one of those refuges.

A lot of people travel alone around here—more than you’d imagine and more than TV shows you. This place is full of solo travelers who move around for months, who are happy, and who see India as one of their main destinations.

Spirituality is often a solitary journey. Many hearts heal that way, and those are two of the main things people come looking for here. So, it’s common to find solo travelers, as they call themselves, eating, reading, writing, painting, living, and transforming themselves in those processes.

I got myself a little table. While enjoying my favorite moment of the day—Argentinian-style gnocchi and sitting down to write quietly on my laptop—a man dressed entirely in white asked if he could sit at my table. That’s common here. As you can see, in India, all spaces are communal, and “privacy” is something complex to maintain.

—Sure,— I said with a half-hearted smile and not much sociability. I knew he would want to talk, and I wanted to write. When I looked up, I realized I had already seen him passing through the village several times. He was easy to recognize because he always wore a white T-shirt and a long skirt, large hoop earrings, and malas hanging around his neck. He looked like a monk or something, but he stood out because he was tall, had pale skin, a reddish beard, and transparent blue eyes that were mesmerizing.

After talking a bit—clearly, I had no other choice—he told me he was from South Africa and had been traveling alone for six years doing Sound Healing (healing sound baths with Tibetan singing bowls). He said he hadn’t worn shoes since he started traveling.I don’t remember how the topic came up, but I always saw him barefoot.

—Are you kidding me?— my old self said in English. —For six years? All the time? What about when it rains? What about rocks? Even in big cities?

I thought about India. Anyone who’s been here knows the streets are as beautifully chaotic as the rest of the country, and the ground is often even more unpleasant. Pure mud, water of unknown origin, cow dung, and all kinds of piled-up trash everywhere, so that question was inevitable.I struggled with my long pants dragging on the floors of the always-flooded bathrooms, and he had been living barefoot for six years. Impressive.

—Everywhere,— he replied. —It’s a practice. It makes you walk slowly, more consciously. After a while, your feet adjust, they toughen up.—Like with life’s lessons,— I thought. Tough in a strong way—not rigid or less vulnerable because of it. “One must endure without ever losing tenderness” as Che Guevara would say.

—You have to be a little crazy to live in this world. I spent many years living in my mind—too much wasted time. Now, I choose to live in the spiritual world. India is good for that.

On my way back “home,” I crossed paths again with Anand—the young monk from the street conversation, with black hair and an orange robe. He invited me for a chai and, in passing, gave me the second lesson on Surrender—a topic everyone here seemed to love talking about.

—You don’t have to change your essence. It’s more about accepting who you are—not going against it. You don’t have to become celibate or stop eating meat if you don’t want to. Sexual energy, for example, holds some of the strongest powers, the greatest energies—but it’s important to know how to manage it.

The truth is within you—being alone helps you connect with that. Solitude teaches a lot, it helps you understand. And then, you have to surrender. That’s why, in India, people touch the master’s feet and even lie down flat on the floor before them—literally. Surrender is the only way the master appears. Your ego submits to the other’s wisdom: "Master, I know nothing, teach me what you know." If you already know… why learn? If you think you know everything, there’s no room for the new. It’s like a cup full of water—there’s no more space, nothing else can fit. So first, you have to empty it.

The universe is also a master. Ask for help and surrender to its wisdom—that’s the key. Then, all that’s left is to accept that sometimes what comes isn’t what we want—but the secret is that sometimes what arrives may be even better than what we wanted.Our minds are limited—we can’t see beyond them—but the universe is infinite, it holds the immensity of possibilities. In the laws of the universe, anything is possible.

He kept talking while I just sat there, silently watching him with furrowed brows, trying to grasp the complexity of what he was saying beneath the surface of the words.

—Masters, enlightened beings, they exist and help us from other planes. Telepathy is real, and their help will reach you when your spirit needs it. I used to walk through the forest alone, and I was scared. Now I feel all-powerful because I walk with the divine—and the divine always protects you. I’m not afraid—nothing can harm you when you walk with God by your side. And everything that happens to you, if you see it that way, becomes a necessary lesson for your path.

(…) Many yogis can do unimaginable things—they could suspend themselves in the air if they wanted to, burn or break a branch—because they meditate on the elements for years and develop powers that we don’t… but they don’t do it, because that’s ego. They don’t need to prove anything to anyone. That’s why it’s important to keep your spiritual path private—your powers, your practices, your silent moments of meditation, your spaces… Your routine will require time.

I had to leave my family, my friends—because on this path, you must truly dedicate time to yourself, and that’s not easy. People will get upset—they’ll ask you why you don’t spend time with them, why you’re distancing yourself—but you know where you need to be and what you need, and you have to stay true to that. You slowly learn to say no—even to yourself…

When I met my master, I didn’t believe in his power. I felt like I didn’t need to learn—I thought I was wise, pure ego. Later, in my personal life, I fell back into the same patterns—anguish, senseless pleasures—and I returned to him. Only then did I surrender.I asked him to teach me everything he knew. I’ve been a monk for five years now—I still have several more to go. "The master appears when the student is ready." You’ll hear that phrase a lot in India. Not before, not after—at the exact right moment. And if you truly trust, that, too, becomes a kind of liberation.

At that moment, I wondered if I was ready… I had just arrived in India—of course, I wasn’t! But I had already given up so much and made so many efforts to be where I was, and you get anxious. I thought about my mother again, about keeping everything hidden and how much it would hurt her to know I was here. That she wasn’t ready. That I didn’t want her to suffer. And maybe, deep down, I wasn’t sure if I was ready either. I still hadn’t decided what to do about it—or how long I could keep it up. I felt a fire inside me—but I also felt fear.

My mind grew restless hearing all this. I think it’s because I sensed the truth in much of what he said. Maybe there is another, more “real” world—but to access it, you must let go of certain things. And yes, you end up a little alone—or perhaps, better accompanied, depending on how you see it. Not because you want to, but because you stop wanting to share your energy with just anyone—you become more selective.

Some things stop being interesting. Certain friends and environments too. Everyday routines, automatic behaviors. You have to make new choices. Opening your eyes comes with responsibilities and sacrifices—and those cost more than living in stupidity, ignorance, and the placebo world.

That choice isn’t easy—but sometimes, it just happens. Sometimes it stops being a “choice” and becomes the only possible path left—a kind of awakening. That was exactly what I felt was happening to me.I wasn’t choosing—it was just that the old ways weren’t working anymore. So, I had no choice but to move forward.

I thought about how often we force things—how stubbornly we insist, feeling all-powerful—sometimes at enormous costs, burning through our energy as if it were infinite, as if the battle had no consequences.I had always believed in fighting for my ideas—for what I seek. Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve done this tirelessly throughout my life—it’s like a flag I carry. Maybe the thing that defines me the most.

We’re taught to fight—at least, I was. And at first glance, that seems the opposite of surrendering.But maybe—spiritually speaking—surrender isn’t a very popular word in our culture of power and control.

Now, I’m starting to think that true wisdom lies in the delicate balance between both. Having the discipline and conviction to follow our path with steady steps—but with the subtle understanding to stay awake to what is unfolding.Paying attention to the signs, the motives, and—most importantly—our place in it all.

Asking ourselves the right questions—frequently—to ensure that our fight isn’t just stubbornness. The fine line between holding on just enough to let the energy flow—or clinging so tightly that we choke ourselves.

Why am I pursuing this? What am I really searching for here?

Learning to let go of a little control—so that something else can manifest.Letting the ego fall from the pedestal—to see beyond it. The wisdom we do not yet know.

—When you truly believe—when you genuinely surrender—the universe guides you, and the truth appears. But for that to happen, you must first believe.

Little by little, I began to feel the energy moving within me again. The "coincidences" or causalities, the telepathy. Suddenly, I start finding what I need, and what I need to happen, just happens. I meet the right people at the exact moment I need them, and I begin to try to manage that more consciously. It feels perfect.

I truly believe that we can do much more than we think if we can control our minds. Of course, that is precisely the hard part: controlling our minds. But I believe that, at the very least, having that as a real possibility on the horizon guides and helps.

I breathe. I set out to reconnect with that wisdom again, to practice it. After all, that was how I arrived in India. Here, it’s easier. There isn’t much to do or commitments to fail. I try to focus my energy, go slowly, and meditate. My mind calms easily when I focus; I can clear my mind if I concentrate. I think I'm lucky. I've been on this path for a while, and it seems that time has brought progress.

Every time I meditate, I feel like I am on the top of a mountain, right among the clouds. I direct my energy to the third eye as the monk taught me, and I try to visualize a God—or something like that. I feel the energy rising from the base of my spine to the crown of my head, and like a powerful swan—that animal I’ve always felt connected to—I spread my giant wings. I flap them forcefully against the ground, feel the vibration, and lift off with tremendous power. Sometimes I forget, but when I remember, all of it feels too real.

"What are you looking for?" Anand asks me.

"Peace of mind," I answer.

He tells me to meditate facing east, on a red cushion. To chant a mantra before each meditation and to offer flowers, incense, and fruit to the gods if I have them. He teaches me how to use the mala—the Asian rosary used to recite mantras.

He tells me I am very emotional, that I need to meditate to control it.

He also tells me not to be afraid. I try not to be.

The next day, I sat down to meditate.

As soon as I finished, I had a message from him that said: "Meditate"

He says his Guru knows what he does and what he will do, that there is a connection.

I like walking with him. I start to feel like he is my Guru.

____________________________

Surrender, letting go, giving up control, jumping, trusting...

Everything Anand was telling me now seems like premonitory words for what was coming—in a few days and over the next ten months of my new life.

I was about to participate in a retreat at an Ashram, and those words would become the slow process I would go through, the one he had been walking for a while and the one I was about to embark on for a long time—in India, Thailand, and later, Bali.

That was exactly what was going to happen: jumping, letting go of my ego, surrendering... with all the fears, insecurities, and uncertainties but beginning to trust that there was something beyond me, something that knew more than I did, that knew the path better, that accompanied me and vibrated in my favor if I allowed myself to be guided. Something that told me that if I dared to jump, it would catch me.

My mental calculations and my "sense of power" were no longer working.

That's why I came to India, to let magic—some kind of magic—guide me because my mind hadn’t found the way for a long time. Jumping had become almost the last option after a long road traveled. And a truly long one.

But that is the ego's most feared nightmare—it never wants to lose control. The mind cannot compute it and goes into panic mode. The body sends out alarm signals:

"What the hell are you doing!?"

And a daily battle of statements and counter-statements, affirmations and setbacks. A constant struggle between your soul and your mind. The different parts of yourself contradicting each other.

There are fleeting moments of awakening that last microseconds, hours, or sometimes days; and moments of terror, "reality," and anguish that last just as long but feel eternal.

As uncertain and painful as that was, it was the path I was about to walk.

I had already begun it, but I still had to go through more pain to start clearing the crystal and transforming myself.

To truly inhabit every part of the leap I had taken, just as I knew it would happen from the beginning, just as I had been doing for months: the anguish of separation from others—my partner, my mother, and my friends—physically but fundamentally symbolically. From my profession, my identity, my job, my "home," and my physical space. Now, I was facing myself, the Being that remained beneath all those layers that had been stripped away.

And now, who am I?

The hardest battle of all.

(1) Mala: A string of prayer beads used in Hinduism and Buddhism for counting mantras or breaths during meditation ↩︎

(2) Pooja: A ritual or offering performed to honor deities, involving prayers, flowers, and other symbolic items. In this case, I’m referring to a small basket made from a tree leaf that holds flowers, a candle, and incense. It is lit and placed on the Ganga to make a wish.Yes, just as lovely as you imagine it ♡ ↩︎