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So
I
saw
it
during
my
last
week
at
the
Ashram
.
I
was
reading
through
an
old
text
about
Yoga
,
when
I
found
a
description
of
ancient
spiritual
seekers
.
A
Sanskrit
word
appeared
in
the
paragraph
:
ANTEVASIN
.
It
means
"
one
who
lives
at
the
border
.
"
In
ancient
times
this
was
a
literal
description
.
It
indicated
a
person
who
had
left
the
bustling
center
of
worldly
life
to
go
live
at
the
edge
of
the
forest
where
the
spiritual
masters
dwelled
.
The
antevasin
was
not
one
of
the
villagers
anymore
-
not
a
householder
with
a
conventional
life
.
But
neither
was
he
yet
a
transcendent
-
not
one
of
those
sages
who
live
deep
in
the
unexplored
woods
,
fully
realized
.
The
antevasin
was
an
in
-
betweener
.
He
was
a
border
-
dweller
.
He
lived
in
sight
of
both
worlds
,
but
he
looked
toward
the
unknown
.
And
he
was
a
scholar
.
When
I
read
this
description
of
the
antevasin
,
I
got
so
excited
I
gave
a
little
bark
of
recognition
.
That
’
s
my
word
,
baby
!
In
the
modern
age
,
of
course
,
that
image
of
an
unexplored
forest
would
have
to
be
figurative
,
and
the
border
would
have
to
be
figurative
,
too
.
But
you
can
still
live
there
.
You
can
still
live
on
that
shimmering
line
between
your
old
thinking
and
your
new
understanding
,
always
in
a
state
of
learning
In
the
figurative
sense
,
this
is
a
border
that
is
always
moving
-
as
you
advance
forward
in
your
studies
and
realizations
,
that
mysterious
forest
of
the
unknown
always
stays
a
few
feet
ahead
of
you
,
so
you
have
to
travel
light
in
order
to
keep
following
it
.
You
have
to
stay
mobile
,
movable
,
supple
.
Slippery
,
even
.
Which
is
funny
,
because
just
the
day
before
,
my
friend
the
poet
/
plumber
from
New
Zealand
had
left
the
Ashram
,
and
on
his
way
out
the
door
,
he
’
d
handed
me
a
friendly
little
good
-
bye
poem
about
my
journey
.
I
remembered
this
verse
:
Elizabeth
,
betwixt
and
between
Italian
phrases
and
Bali
dreams
,
Elizabeth
,
between
and
betwixt
,
Sometimes
as
slippery
as
a
fish
…
I
’
ve
spent
so
much
time
these
last
years
wondering
what
I
’
m
supposed
to
be
.
A
wife
?
A
mother
?
A
lover
?
A
celibate
?
An
Italian
?
A
glutton
?
A
traveler
?
An
artist
?
A
Yogi
?
But
I
’
m
not
any
of
these
things
,
at
least
not
completely
.
And
I
’
m
not
Crazy
Aunt
Liz
,
either
.
I
’
m
just
a
slippery
antevasin
-
betwixt
and
between
-
a
student
on
the
ever
-
shifting
border
near
the
wonderful
,
scary
forest
of
the
new
.
I
believe
that
all
the
world
’
s
religions
share
,
at
their
core
,
a
desire
to
find
a
transporting
metaphor
.
When
you
want
to
attain
communion
with
God
,
what
you
’
re
really
trying
to
do
is
move
away
from
the
worldly
into
the
eternal
(
from
the
village
to
the
forest
,
you
might
say
,
keeping
with
the
theme
of
the
antevasin
)
and
you
need
some
kind
of
magnificent
idea
to
convey
you
there
.
It
has
be
a
big
one
,
this
metaphor
-
really
big
and
magic
and
powerful
,
because
it
needs
to
carry
you
across
a
mighty
distance
.
It
has
to
be
the
biggest
boat
imaginable
.
Religious
rituals
often
develop
out
of
mystical
experimentation
.
Some
brave
scout
goes
looking
for
a
new
path
to
the
divine
,
has
a
transcendent
experience
and
returns
home
a
prophet
.
He
or
she
brings
back
to
the
community
tales
of
heaven
and
maps
of
how
to
get
there
.
Then
others
repeat
the
words
,
the
works
,
the
prayers
,
or
the
acts
of
this
prophet
,
in
order
to
cross
over
,
too
.
Sometimes
this
is
successful
-
sometimes
the
same
familiar
combination
of
syllables
and
devotional
practices
repeated
generation
after
generation
might
carry
many
people
to
the
other
side
.
Sometimes
it
doesn
’
t
work
,
though
.
Inevitably
even
the
most
original
new
ideas
will
eventually
harden
into
dogma
or
stop
working
for
everybody
.
