For the students of Sraddhasagar, born November 21, 1959, died January 17, 2022
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. She was a true teacher because she didn’t force her lessons nor did she back away from them. She taught yoga in the context of Indian thought, alongside Ayurveda and Vedic astrology. From her I learned my true planetary guide, my ishta devataa, is Saturn, a taskmaster who bestows discipline. She taught me that this discipline is not something to rebel against, but my gift. Herself, a Vipassana meditator, she sat and witnessed her inner being for an hour every day. Probably more.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. She explained that spiritual names aren’t for show, but to remind ourselves of our path. For my first teacher training with her, she had to rely on her name when only a couple of us enrolled. Even she, a well-known teacher with a devoted following, could be tested. Her faith paid off—at the last minute, enough of us joined to form a group for an experience that would change us for good.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. She was vata dosha, of the air, her hair a wide river of curls. Slight of stature, a tiny thing, she shocked me during a chanting lesson when she came to my mat, eyes locked into mine, and barked from the gut: SUT! The power of her sound cut through me, and I got it then—we are moving energy. We are not playing at this.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. When she taught us to breathe fire, she emphasized that we do so while maintaining quiescence of mind. Quiescence—the word itself a glittery fish. When she taught us how to instruct our students in rapid movement, we were to balance the practice by including a break after each exercise, what she called a “moon pause.” She taught us balance; she taught us balance. She balanced our lessons in breathing fire and rapid movement with yogic sleep. This mix allowed me to achieve the thing that had eluded me for 25 years: sobriety. When I broke down in class and fled the building, she came out and sat with me. As we talked, I saw how disconnected I had become. She helped me connect to myself, a gift I could never repay.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. At my second training with her, she was unwell and enlisted help. We began in early March 2020, days before it all went amiss; the help got frightened and left. The gift of discipline helped her rise up, Durga the Warrior Goddess herself, and declared the training would continue, that we were self-contained and safe. In the frantic start to the pandemic, we sat in a group and she encouraged us to look for the blessings, to stay bright in the dark, to be strong and have faith. We finished together in full wellness.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. She taught Conflict Resolution using yoga philosophy to liberate people from the turbulent waves of their minds, the waves that cause conflict. For hundreds of people around the world and at home, she clarified the goal of yoga: to shift from the judgments of the ego to the higher mind, which is clear and serene. Quiescent.
Her name meant Ocean of Faith. That faith is now in us, her students, who all have stories like these. She gave us this work to do; she gave us the tools and the will. Her body is gone, but her work continues. She is dead, but her faith is alive.
My Kundalini teachers: Hari Jap in center, Sraddhasagar on the right
