I heard about Kripalu—a yoga retreat center in the Berkshires—more than thirty years ago. I participated in my first “Rest and Renewal” weekend soon after.

Back then, in the early 90’s, Kripalu had an in-house guru, daily pranayama sessions, and silent breakfasts. No caffeine. No sugar. Just a full menu of serenity.  The residents and other guests seemed calm and luminous—lean, upright bodies with dancer’s posture, and a quiet confidence that inspired me.

In the gift shop, the t-shirts read: The Kripalu Experience. I wanted that, ambiguous as it was. By the end of that 3-day stay, I’d achieved that end in my own way. This has remained true for every subsequent visit to Lenox, MA. I’ve averaged one stay there per year for three decades.

This past mid-July I spent four days at Kripalu with a group of women friends. My only intentions were to unwind, share meals with excellent company, and treat myself to a few indulgences in the Healing Arts Department (a deep tissue massage and a Dr. Hauschka facial to be specific). In the back of my mind was the question, I wonder what I’ll come away with this time, but it wasn’t in the forefront of my desire.

After a recent bout of vertigo (if you’ve ever had it, you know what a hideous experience it can be), I decided to forgo yoga—wary that an inversion might trigger a recurrence. With a newly cleared schedule, I wandered into a workshop on herbs. I’d be attending a potluck lunch soon and figured I might up-level my side dish contribution with fresh oregano. I was only vaguely interested. 

The large room was ringed with backpacks and chairs surrounded by yoga mats with, what I can only describe as twined bunches of assorted wildflowers atop each one. At 9:30am sharp, in walked a petite, barefooted gentlemen with a wispy beard and soft curls. He introduced himself as the Yogi Medicine Man—and from the first moment he spoke, I was rapt. His deep knowledge of plants and their healing properties entranced me.

When he asked us to walk the circle and select a plant that ‘spoke to us,’ I followed.

“Sit down beside one that is calling you. Spend a few minutes really looking at it. What do you see?” 

As an artist, this part came naturally. I noticed the bright lilac tubular petals, the tall stamens with their orange-y heads, the serrated edges of the leaves. I’ve always gravitated towards the secondary colors. My chosen herb held all three: orange, green and purple.

“Now, smell the herb,” he prompted. Not my strongest sense, but I detected a slight menthol note. “What does it make you think of?” he asked. It reminded me of Vicks Vapo-Rub; my mother swabbing it across my chest when I was sick.

“Break off a small piece and taste it – don’t eat it, just lick it.” Not much registered for me there. But to the touch, the leaf felt slightly peachy/fuzzy.

“This may seem like a bit of a stretch,” Yogi Medicine Man said gently, “but listen to your herb. What is it telling you? What do you hear?”

Oh, boy! That could have been a George-Washington-Bridge-too-far for this New Yorker… But I followed instructions.

I got quiet. I listened.

This is what I heard (and wrote down):

Inhale me. Infuse me. Mash me into a paste and breathe me in.
I attract bees and insects with my beauty and provide cross-pollination.
I attract harmful insects. They disappear inside my web of deception.

During the ‘reveal’ at the end of our session, Yogi Medicine Man described each bouquet. I’d chosen Wild Bergamot, known for easing coughs and congestion. I felt like a genius.

But here’s the true Kripalu Experience—the essential insight I didn’t expect. As I sat with the unknown fragrant herb, I heard it say:

I know what I am. I know the purpose I serve on this planet. I do it perfectly.

I thought: Just like our instructor.

And then: Just like me.

P.S.  I read all of your comments and truly enjoy hearing from you! Please feel free to comment below or email me at jane@janepollak.com.