Me (17 page)

I was so fascinated with the conversation I was having with my friend and the ex-monk that I tried to absorb each word they said and every concept they explained. Even though I knew a bit about the philosophy they were discussing, the depths of what they were talking about were completely new to me. As they were talking, it became time for dinner and some food was brought up from the kitchen. I asked the ex-monk: “You’re not going to eat?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said to me. “This is nourishment for me. I feel satisfaction just from sitting here talking and sharing with you.”

I mention this as one of the many wise reflections this man gave me that day. He is an extraordinary man who opened my eyes to a whole new world I had no previous knowledge of, and he taught me what I needed to do in order to learn more.

As we got to know one another even better, the spiritual connection I felt with him from the beginning turned out to be very real. I felt as though we had known each other all of our lives. Just as it is said that there is love at first sight, our friendship was like friendship at first sight. Today I refer to him as the little yogi, not because he holds the official title of “yogi” within the yoga practice, but simply to give him the name of some kind of teacher, considering how much he has taught me. He became a spiritual guide for me.

I feel that for most of my life I have been on a spiritual journey. I have always sought to find tranquillity, serenity, inner peace, God—regardless of the name that is given to Him/Her. So when I encountered this man who emanated so much wisdom and such a deep understanding of these subjects, it did not take long to convince me that the three of us (myself, my backup singer, and our new friend) would need to go on a journey to the source of his knowledge.

EIGHT DAYS AFTER meeting the little yogi in Bangkok, I flew back home to Miami for the opening of a restaurant. But we didn’t say good-bye for too long, as the decision had already been made: We planned to travel to India together; all I had to do was take care of some pending matters before we would embark on our expedition. First and foremost, what excited me the most was the chance to take some time off to backpack through India. I had never had the chance to do anything like this. For the first time in a long time, I was excited about the prospect of a trip, but what I didn’t know was that this trip would be so radically different from all the trips I had ever taken.

I landed in Miami in the morning, and that very night at seven in the evening we held the opening of the restaurant for the public and the press. Just three hours later, at ten o’clock at night, I boarded a plane once again, this time en route to India. Had it been a work thing, I would have probably not been as excited, but this time it was different; I felt a kind of special energy. As we had planned, my friend the backup singer came along with me, and together we arrived in Calcutta to meet our new friend.

I had been to India a couple of times, but they were always work trips and always for very short periods of time. Even though it’s a country that had always intrigued and fascinated me, I had never had the time to properly explore it. Every time I would visit a city for the first time, I’d try my best to see as many of the main attractions as possible, but it was never enough to give me a real sense of the place or the people.

There was something about India that deeply intrigued me and drew me in, and I had always wanted to see more of it. As a country, India already occupied a special place in my heart, but it was not until I went there with my friend the ex-monk that I realized how little of it I really knew. It was not until I arrived with my backpack slung over my shoulder to meet my spiritual leader that I could finally discover the true beauty of Mother India.

The little yogi had it all planned out. We’d spend the first night in Calcutta, and then we would travel to the small village of Puri by train.

I always say that whoever goes to India and does not visit a train station has not really been to India. Indian train stations are some of the most amazing places I have ever seen, full of people, activities, sounds, smells, and colors. The important thing is to forget that you are a foreigner, to see yourself as part of the snapshot and reality of that moment. Because if not, the chaos that can ensue is enough to make a person go running in the other direction. Hundreds of people hustle and bustle to get a spot on the train. People scream and argue, and all you want to do is get to your seat with your backpack. Children on the street run all along the sides of the train, screaming: “Hello! Hello, sir!”

The day we went to take the train to Puri, in the midst of all the mayhem, there were four kids who yanked at my backpack and pulled on my pant legs. I told them no several times, until I finally took off my backpack and said, “Stop!”

They were speaking Bengali. And I spoke to them in Spanish and English. But they spoke neither, and I, of course, didn’t speak Bengali.

So, I took hold of the four kids and said to them, “Hold on!” and I began to sing:
“Palo, palo, palo, palo, palito, palo es . . .”

It’s a typical Latin American children’s song, the kind you teach very young children.

They were mesmerized. “Eh?” they said with a surprised look on their faces. But soon enough they started imitating the words to the song.

“Palo, palo, palo, palo, palito, palo es . . . ,”
they repeated.

Just then and totally unexpectedly, I taught those children something that came from my part of the world. Once again, music transcended the language barriers that would have otherwise come between us. And even though they didn’t understand a word of what I was saying, I felt that we made a connection through music. It was a singular moment, in which we lessened the gap between our cultures and touched something very deep within our humanity.

After playing with the kids for a little while, I finally said good-bye to them and boarded the train amid all the madness and we headed toward Puri.

Puri is a well-known town because one of the most sacred temples of Hindu culture is situated there. The temple, which has existed for thousands of years, is called Shree Jagannath, as it is dedicated to the Hindu god Jagganatha, which is an incarnation of Krishna. Only Hindus are allowed to enter the temple. Each year, thousands of Vishne-Krishna worshippers arrive at its doors, for a festival where they mount an idol of Krishna on a giant carriage that is carried all through the streets of Puri.

The city is also known as the Golden Beach, due to the golden sands of the beaches that face the Bay of Bengal. It is a place with unique views, where you can watch the sunrise and sunset from the same place, without moving, and where at sunset you can gaze directly at the sun without burning your eyes.

In addition to all of this, Puri is a spiritual retreat for yoga and is the center of many religions. There are many
mathas
(Hindu monasteries) of the various branches of Hinduism, as well as Christian, Jewish, and Muslim houses of prayer. It is impressive to see how all these religions can coexist. They all share this extraordinary little village, and each one has its own temple, where they can practice their religion in peace and absolute tranquillity. The town is also a sacred place where people come to die and to be cremated.

In one day alone, I saw the cremation of a Muslim; a Hindu ceremony that involves throwing the body into the river; and a Buddhist, a Christian, and a Hindu sharing tea in a small bar: the Buddhist monk had a
mala
on his wrist, the Christian had a cross hanging down his chest, and the Hindu had a
tilaka
on his forehead. I couldn’t believe it. It was such an extraordinary vision that my head started to spin. How can it be that in the Western world we are so limited?

We come from a society that tells us that just because of their religion, people are good or bad. We load ourselves up with prejudices and cultural stigmas that are based on what? On nothing. We have been taught to fear anyone who is different from us. . . . Why? Because of sheer ignorance. Instead of focusing on the differences that exist between human beings, we should instead focus on the similarities—and the fact is there are so many! That’s what I do from a spiritual point of view as well as in my everyday life. I always seek to find a common denominator, and the truth is that I almost always find one. There are millions of cultures in the world, right? We are all different in so many ways, but ultimately what matters is that we are all human beings. The only thing we really need to live is the urge to breathe. And when we get cut, the blood that comes out of our bodies is the same color.

The only thing I desire in my life, and in the lives of all other human beings, is to find inner peace. It doesn’t matter what path you choose to reach it. Be it Catholicism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Judaism, quantum physics, Taoism, atheism—what matters is to find what works for each of us, and since each one of our minds is a universe on its own, it’s not surprising that each of us would need to find a different way to reach his own state of inner peace. No one thing is better than another; no one religion is more effective or more valid than another. The key is to find one’s own way. In Buddhism there is a teaching that says the worst thing you can do to your spirit is tell someone his faith is wrong. Not only is it an act of extreme arrogance toward others—it is also the worst thing you can do to your own karma. This is a very powerful concept that, if we all apply it, can make the world a better place.

For me, one of the greatest failures of human beings is that we always search for a way to define people, to categorize them and give them a label. And within these categories that are created by man, there are, of course, good and bad things. To not categorize them as either positive or negative when we call them “good” or “bad,” I instead try to visualize them as frequencies that are either compatible or incompatible with mine. I have simply decided to grab on to the compatible ones, those that help me and nourish my spirit, and I try not to focus on whatever steals my peace or decelerates the growth of my soul. I always seek whatever is most effective for me, what aligns most closely with my own personal beliefs, religion, or philosophy. I try to remain open to everything and I make a concerted effort to always find new teachings and new paths everywhere I go and in every situation I find myself in. If I limited myself to being only a Buddhist or a Catholic or a Hindu, to a certain degree I would be closing myself off from receiving other lessons from other beliefs and philosophies. I had some wonderful experiences with Catholicism and I also have a strong affinity to certain Buddhist teachings. In fact, I see many similarities between Hinduism and Christianity, and I feel that in each one I find answers to the challenges I face in my personal life.

There is a story in Sanskrit that says Jesus—during the so-called lost years, in which, according to the Bible, he disappeared and went to meditate—traveled all over India and crossed the Himalayas to get to Tibet. It is said that he joined up with a caravan and traveled throughout the Middle East (crossing through Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan) until he arrived in India, Nepal, and later Tibet. There are dozen of facts that support this affirmation, but the most interesting one to me is that upon returning from his trip, Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Isn’t that curious? Jesus explained to his apostles that washing the feet of a fellow human being is a sign of humility and servitude. In fact, the custom exists in other religions, such as Islam and Sikhism, and in Hinduism touching the feet of another person is a sign of respect. I don’t think something like this can be a coincidence. To me that piece of information has a reason, and it crystallizes the connection I myself feel exists among all religions.

IN PURI THE little yogi took us to an ashram—a place of meditation—where we spent time studying yoga and sharing with the Swami Yogeshwarananda Giri, a master sage who had reached a very high level in the practice of yoga.

The swami was a very quiet man who radiated a very special light, a beautiful energy. I had the honor of meeting him, because at one point in his life the little Puerto Rican yogi had lived in that ashram and studied with Yogeshwarananda Giri’s master, who was called Paramahamsa Hariharananda. Just as the swami himself had studied under the tutelage of some other great master, now another student—the little yogi—was bringing him a new generation of students—us. Before that swami there had been another swami, and another one before him; it’s beautiful to think there is a long line of masters and students to which I was now having access. But it is important to clarify that just because I was a student of the swami does not mean I can teach the techniques that he taught me, as I am not trained to do so. The swami was born to be a yogi: He spent his entire life studying and preparing his body to be a yogi, and that is his destiny. I, on the other hand, only had the privilege to study with him for a short period.

The first time I met the Swami Yogeshwarananda, I noted that the little yogi—his disciple—did not kiss his feet, but he did touch them and recited a prayer. I saw his gesture as a beautiful demonstration of humility and respect. So I did as my friend and kneeled down to touch the man’s feet. Because I didn’t know what one is supposed to say or think while touching the swami’s feet, I started to recite the Lord’s Prayer. I think it was the quickest “Our Father” I have ever prayed in my life, because I found it strange to remain kneeling in front of the master for so long. It was a totally new situation for me and I did not know what to do. So many things crossed my mind, including, “What would my buddies say if they saw me do this?” I could even imagine my manager’s face, as he tried to stop people from taking photos of the scene that could end up in something like
People
magazine.

Inside I was laughing, but later I realized that this small act of humility represented so much. I had spent so many years living in a world of glamour, luxury travel, hotel suites, and private planes that that simple act of humility was something I profoundly needed. Getting down on my knees and touching the dirty feet of another man was a very symbolic and powerful gesture for me, because it meant casting my ego aside as well as the aggrandized image I had of myself because of everything I had accomplished. I could have very easily just shaken the man’s hand and said: “Good afternoon, how are you?” But no. I kneeled down on the floor and touched his feet, and from that moment I felt something vibrate within. I felt I was doing the right thing, and that is how I began the long road back to connecting with the deepest part of my being. I had spent too many years separating my public person from my private one, and I was finally starting to find the way to reconcile those two polar opposite sides of my existence.