Coming Clean

I used to be a monk – or so I tell people. The truth is, I never was a monk. Granted, I lived in an ashram, had a shaved head, wore robes, and slept on the floor. I was, though, never a monk; not in the truest sense anyway.

The image of a monk conjures up images of men living very simple and austere lives. They take vows of silence, eat simple food devoid of taste, and tend to gardens, or other such menial work to fill their days.

During my tenure as a “monk” I sang and danced daily in kirtan (a form of worship from the bhakti tradition of India), my meals were wholesome and very tasty (I particularly liked the pizza and chips), and I regularly travelled around London conducting seminars at Universities on spirituality.

So there you go. For those who think the periods in my life when I was a “monk” must have been difficult for me – they weren’t. Those 2 years were actually the best years of my short life so far.

Below: Addressing a group of University students on a yoga retreat to Bhaktivedanta Manor in my “heyday”.