Stillness in Chaos
Overstimulation and constant noise have become the “new normal” in modern society, creating an environment where inner peace feels elusive. On the other hand is the serenity of the ashram – a place that embodies simplicity, silence, and communal harmony – it bestows on visitors the transformative power of stillness. The ashram serves as a metaphor for the sanctuary we can create within ourselves, where silence and simplicity offer solace from the chaos outside. True peace is not found by fleeing the world, but by cultivating inner power that can endure amidst life’s demands, inspiring us to seek this tranquility in our own lives.
Oneness, stillness, silence; these are alien concepts in today’s frenetic world. Blaring horns, glaring neon lights, and the incessant chatter of banalities create a clamor that some embrace as music, while others deem them mere noise. This urban roar is an endless dirge pulsing through the veins of the city. Even in the supposed quiet of night, it creates an unrelenting buzz, reminding me that somewhere someone is always awake. This concrete ocean envelops me. Every pore of my skin feels the collective energy of the multitudes around me; I cannot escape. Skyscrapers rise like sentinels, their glass facades reflecting the dizzying speed of those traveling beneath them.
How does one breathe when the air smells of gasoline and ambition? How does one steady the mind when the city beats faster than one’s own heart? How does one find peace when the night emits a cacophony of chaos? For us outliers, those who seek an escape, where can we go?
The ashram. It is a sanctuary of simplicity amidst the storm, purposefully positioned just beyond the city’s grasp. The ashram’s gates, wide and open, beckon me with an unspoken promise of retreat. Within these walls, the world falls away, giving rise to something gentler, something ancient. The buildings here do not reach for the sky like the city’s skyscrapers; instead, they sit low, close to the earth, blending into the landscape as if they’ve grown from the soil itself. The towering trees, silent witnesses to centuries of seekers, whisper their secrets to the wind, their leaves chiming with a wisdom too old to be spoken aloud.
The city’s chatter and din fade into distant murmurs, replaced by a deep, resonant quiet. The air is thick – smelling of earth, incense, flowers in bloom, and something ineffable that clings to the wind like a lingering breath. The ashram’s gardens are a symphony of color: vibrant pinks, purples, and yellows dancing together in effortless harmony. Every petal, every blade of grass seems to exist in perfect accord with the universe, swaying gently in rhythm with the heartbeat of the earth.
Here, silence is alive. It is not simply the absence of sound; it is a palpable presence. The smallest sounds – the rustling of leaves, the soft crunch of feet on a dirt path, the distant chant of a shabad – can be felt within. Amidst this solace there is motion, too. I walk the pathways, weaving among fellow seekers united in our search for peace. Mothers glide along, their vibrant dupattas trailing behind them like flowing rivers, the little hands of their children clutching each end of the fabric with total trust. Here people move with purpose but without hurry, revering a higher power. Devotees from all corners of the world arrive, shedding their armors of ego – no titles here, only a shared thirst for peace.
We sit on woven mats surrounded by thousands of fellow souls, the atmosphere charged with an expectant serenity. The vast expanse of devotees forms an ocean of bodies, yet there’s no restlessness – only an unspoken kinship. Eyes closed, we gather as one, bound not by proximity but by purpose. The sheer magnitude of the crowd is unfathomable, yet it feels as though the world has shrunk to this shared moment. The silence is dense, and even the softest whoosh of cloth or a whispered breath echoes like a bell. Gratitude fills the gaps between us like a gentle breeze. The external world fades away, and the only sound that matters is the silence we share, each soul tuned to the same sacred frequency.
After the sermon, crowds rush to the ashram’s langar, a testament to humility. The mouth-watering scent of golden dal wafts through the air, its velvety texture infused with fragrant cumin and earthy turmeric. Steaming heaps of basmati rice glisten, their delicate grains perfumed with hints of cardamom and bay leaf. As I chew, the flavors linger, warming the soul as much as the body. This humble feast, free of pretension, is richer than any Michelin-star experience; its true richness lies in the spirit of sharing. We sit side by side – strangers, yet bound by deep equality, embodying the act of serving and being served. After eating, we each wash our own plates – this simple deed of service leaves a taste far deeper than flavour alone.
As the sun sets, the sound of shabads ripple through the open spaces, their melodic cadence rising and falling. It is not just music; it is a vibration that touches deep within. Devotees sit with their eyes closed as the sacred hymn washes over them like a cleansing tide, dissolving all worldly tension.
In this stillness, the mind, once cluttered with the noise of the world, finds space to breathe. Here, I begin to understand that peace is not the absence of sound or movement but the presence of a profound quietude within, untouched by the chaos outside. This is the ashram’s gift: the discovery that within each of us lies a wellspring of calm, an inner refuge waiting to be unearthed. It reveals a simple truth: peace is not found by fleeing the world but by stilling the mind amidst the tempest of life.