A Week at the Ashram

Before leaving Australia for my year abroad, I’d booked only two things. The first was my one way ticket to London. The second was a week’s work opportunity at an Ashram in Glastonbury.

Now, by no means am I a religious person. My understanding of an ‘Ashram’ went as far as my reading of Eat Pray Love got me. But as per recommendation from a well-travelled friend, I was advised to get in contact with an Ashram in Glastonbury for the chance to volunteer for a week in exchange for accommodation and food. After five weeks of mostly city living, I was a tad weary when I first stepped off the bus in Glastonbury.

Glastonbury Tor

Let me set the scene a little. Glastonbury is a tiny town in southwest England, most famously known as the home ground for the UK’s largest annual music festival (which - fun fact - isn’t technically in the town of Glastonbury). The town centre consists of only a few streets, and almost all the stores are independently owned and operated (and sell crystal balls and tarot cards). In fact, there isn't a single chain store in the whole town. A few years back, they tried to open a McDonald's and in its first 24 hours of operation, the townsfolk had burnt it down. Glastonbury attracts people from an array of spiritual backgrounds as it lies over one of the Earth’s Ley Lines (major channels of electromagnetic energies – if you fancy reading more about them, head here). Henceforth, everyone is seriously vibing. I couldn’t pick out a single person who: didn’t have dreadlocks; was wearing something that was not tie-dyed; or someone who I could be sure wasn’t on some kind of narcotic. At a first glance, it was the quirkiest, most bizarre place and my brain just couldn’t quite process what my eyes were taking in.

Naturally, my hesitation grew as I made my way to the quiet street of the Ashram. I pushed on the heavy wooden gate, and within a second, all of my doubts evaporated. Before me stood a two-story home, lined with wide open windows and criss-crossing vines. The courtyard was hidden in an organised mess of greenery; every blank space was filled with flowers and ferns and the buzzing of bees. My humble abode for the week was a private outdoor cabin nestled in amongst the foliage. After a tour of the main house, the temple, a brief introduction with the staff and a hearty meal, I knew that I’d landed myself somewhere pretty darn special.

Each day went a little like this: from 6 til 7 in the mornings, every guest and staff member would join in the temple for arati, kirtan, and silent meditation. What followed was a few hours of work – usually cooking and preparing guest rooms. The afternoons were for lounging about – reading, writing, visiting town (which I ended up becoming rather fond of), chatting with people in the ashram – and the evenings were spent huddled around the heaters with hot tea and good company. The entire week served as a delicious digital detox – most areas of the ashram were mobile-free – so I spent most of my time getting to know the live-ins.

These four special people, in such a short time, became my family.

The first of my introductions is to a young Spanish girl. She’d come to the Ashram after reading about the Ley Lines in Glastonbury. She told me that when she’s here, she can feel the energy from the earth deep in her bones. She stayed up late with me into the nights, teaching me the art of manifestation. “Whatever I want,” she would say, “I just think it, and the next thing I know, I have it. I have everything I want in life, because I believed I would have it.”

Next is the house mother of our Ashram wolf pack. You know when people become so attached to their pets, they begin to look like them? This was a little like "Mumma" and Glastonbury. She had worked at the Ashram the longest and lived in a little green caravan in the back corner of the garden. I can only assume that such a long time spent in the town had resulted in physical, emotional and spiritual effects on our dear mother bear. She was barefoot and dressed in a blue sari all hours of the day, flitting about the house, leaving bits and bobs all over the place. She was first to the dinner table, and always the last to leave. She’d belt out her morning prayers with finesse, and drink piping hot tea at night. She was the constant energy in the house, and even though she whizzed all over the place, it always felt more homely when she was around.

My deepest attachment was to the couple living in the Ashram. One half of this yin and yang duo was a young Aussie guy. He was rough around the edges, but the quietest and softest soul in the house, and quickly became my acquaintance. He cooked a mean curry, and he’d spend hours in the kitchen teaching me how to mix spices and flavours and create the most incredible foods. His girlfriend was the petite, doe-eyed sweetheart of the house. She’d patter about in fluffy socks, bring around tea on the hour, and gave you a hug every time you entered and left a room.

It was my Ashram family that left me weeping when I left by the end of the week. I missed them sorely for the days following, and still today, wish I could share a few more moments with them.

I wouldn’t say I left the Ashram prolifically changed. I exited no more religious than I was when I entered, but I had a deeper understanding for the openness and dedication of these people’s faith. Every minute spent in the temple, every conversation shared, every home meal and every morning chant made me fall in love with this Ashram life in Glastonbury. It was one of the strangest, most unique and most cherished weeks of my life, and one that I’ll look fondly upon forever.

Hari Bol, Glastonbury.