Written by Laura Jane Mellencamp, founder and owner of Yoga Among Friends.
This reflection was written during a period of extended study and collective practice in India, exploring courage, devotion, and how shared spiritual practice shapes the way we meet the world.
Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a
community, a work, a future. It does not arise from a mind linked to the need for outcome
as a way to preserve the safety of survival. It rests in the heart of not knowing how and
brings us to our knees to ask for help. Asking comes from the pain of being human and longing
to move forward. Courage arises out of the broken heart and allows action to have meaning and
urpose. Sometimes courage arises from a place of stillness—to just be present.
Last spring, I was invited to participate in a profound and humbling opportunity—one that asked far more of me than enthusiasm or intention. It asked for discipline, devotion, and a willingness to sit inside uncertainty.
The preparation itself was a true effort. I was asked to learn a Vedic mantra—the Sri Suktam—by heart, a practice that I found deeply challenging. My personal sadhana became the steady recitation of the mantra, again and again, each repetition asking for patience, humility, and trust.
Courage does not arise from knowing the outcome, but from the willingness to stand in the heart of not knowing.
As my confidence slowly gathered, I prepared to travel to India to participate in the Maha Sri Yaga—a shared spiritual practice of chanting and meditation held with the intention of uplifting humanity in a positive, loving direction. The journey brought me to Khajuraho, India, where my teacher, Pandit Rajmani Tigunait, has built a sanctuary for practitioners to gather and engage in these ancient sacred practices.
The Sri Suktam itself is composed of sixteen individual mantras, each invoking the power of Sri Vidya—the inner light—and the grace of the Divine Mother, the source of abundance and unity within collective consciousness. While the language and lineage are ancient, the experience of devotion and collective intention transcends words.
From the new moon in January through the full moon in February, I committed to rising at 5:00 a.m. each morning for prayer and meditation. Before the day began, I recited the Sri Suktam thirty times on my own, making every effort to complete the practice in the stillness of early morning.
Breakfast follows at 8:00 a.m., and then I take my daily walk. For those who know me, walking is not about distance or pace—it is about presence. I walk to let my senses roam freely, absorbing the scents, sights, and sounds of this sacred place, allowing awe and wonder to arise naturally.
Later in the day, we gather for Panditji’s teachings, studying the depth of the tantric lineage and the profound power of mantra. Together, sixty practitioners chant the verses aloud twenty times in unison. The experience of group chanting cannot truly be described—it must be felt. Something shifts when breath, voice, and intention move as one.
My deepest preparation for this journey was not only memorizing the mantras, but learning how to surrender into the practice itself. I struggled to find the space and time until I realized that this work had to become my priority. In our endlessly busy world, I am still questioning—and listening to—the quiet pull of the soul toward devotion.
Many of my daily walks at home were consumed with chanting, and I’m sure my neighbors wondered about the woman “talking to herself” as she passed by. I arrived here as a humble student, not as a teacher—willing to make mistakes, to feel awkward, and to sit among brilliant practitioners from all over the world.
I came as a humble student, not as a teacher—willing to make mistakes, to feel awkward, and to begin again.
Each evening, we gather for a Havan, a sacred fire ceremony. As Panditji chants the entire Sri Suktam, we make offerings into the flames with each mantra—repeated 108 times. Ritual slows us down. The fire invites reflection, purification, and transformation, reminding us that change often requires surrender.
I know I am deeply blessed to be here, especially as the world continues to struggle to find balance. News of suffering and conflict reaches us even in this sacred place. And yet, alongside the grief, I am witnessing something else—a quiet shift. People standing in solidarity. Hearts longing for peace. A collective call for a moral compass rooted in compassion.
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
— Margaret Mead
The purpose of sadhana is not to change the world overnight, but to transform how we meet it. How do we encounter difference without closing our hearts? How do we listen deeply and hold space for the suffering of others? Every human being is carrying unseen battles, and who am I to judge another’s path?
The purpose of sadhana is not to change the world, but to transform how we meet it.
These reflections can sound lofty when anger is so present in the world. And yet, perhaps the work is to transform the fire of anger into light—to sense the possibility of another way forward. Courage is arising within collective hearts. Peace must begin in our own minds. The higher path does not begin “out there,” but within our own willingness to shift pain into purpose.
Pain itself is not a failure. It is often the great motivator—the force that moves us toward change, toward healing, toward joy.
When I return in February, once my body has settled from travel, I am committed to offering a morning meditation as a community service. This will be a gentle 45-minute practice, including pranayama and the introduction of a simple mantra, as we gather to support one another in meditation.
As we move through the harshness of winter toward the promise of spring, my intention is to gather our collective hearts. To remember that within dukkham—difficulty—there is also sukkham, sweetness. Together, we are moving in a better direction.
I am deeply grateful for your support and for this community we continue to nurture. May we create a healthy, vibrant space rooted in presence, courage, and compassion.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.
Key themes: courage, sadhana, collective practice, meditation, community, transformation.
