Om for a Day

Sa Ta Na Ma

A hefty auburn cow, protruding hump on its back and sporting two-inch horns, saunters beside me on my left. On my right, four nondescript dogs run back and forth along the wide beach, frolicking as only happy dogs do. One stops for a second in front of the cow as if to greet her, then continues with his friends. A crow dips into the water, missing his goal, a tiny scampering crab.

Sa-ta-na-ma I say. To myself.

Dawn is arriving on the Arabian Sea. We are among the few on the never crowded Goan beach.

Sa=breathe in, left foot forward.

Ta=breathe out, right front forward.

Na=breathe in, left foot forward.

Ma=breathe out, right foot forward.

Tiny circles in the sand give evidence of last night’s rainfall, the one I heard gently peppering the thatched roof of my beach cabin. Just softly enough to let me know rain had arrived, not monsoon rain but brief, gentle rain. Larger circles display crabs hiding inches below the sandy surface.

Sa=breathe in, left foot forward.

Ta=breathe out, right front forward.

Na=breathe in, left foot forward.

Ma=breathe out, right foot forward.

This ancient mantra was given to me, written on a handwritten onionskin paper by a California yoga instructor, far away from where I am now. That Saturday morning nearly two years ago in his class, I never…