March 29, 2025
The Monk I Might Have Been.

I have never been big on astrology. Even though I am a Vedic numerologist myself, I don’t apply it to my own life. Why? Because astrology, numerology, horoscopes, and similar sciences can only dictate this form—the form called Ayesha, who was born on a certain date, in a certain place. Based on that, these sciences can make predictions or observations.

But isn’t our spiritual practice about going beyond the form? About connecting with and identifying as our true nature, which is beyond this temporary identity? If I can be in touch with the divinity—the only truth in this illusion of “Ayesha”—then how much does astrology really matter?

Besides this strong, innate belief, no astrologer has ever truly impressed me. I’ve always wanted proof. I’ve even consulted some highly recommended astrologers, but none have convinced me of the validity of this science.

However, recently, I had an unexpected conversation with an astrologer. It wasn’t a professional consultation; it just happened naturally.

I shared my birth details with him. Some—though not all—of what he said actually resonated with me. For instance, he mentioned something about my father’s absence during my childhood—something he couldn’t possibly have known. But at the same time, much of what he said felt quite generic, as if anyone reading it could relate to it. And since I’m a skeptic by nature, it takes a lot to convince me.

But…

Towards the end, I asked him if it was possible to know about my past life. He said that, because Ketu is in my first house—or something along those lines—I was likely a monk or someone of a similar nature in my past life.

That conversation got me hooked.

The thing is, I have always had a deep longing for monkhood. I remember back in college, when our professor asked us what we wanted to pursue career-wise, my answer was: I want to leave city life, live in a forest, and become a monk. She later called me aside for a more in-depth conversation, concerned about my response.

Years later, I actually did pursue this calling—though not wholeheartedly, but enough to get a glimpse of that precious way of life. I lived in Barsana, asked for bhiksha, had only three pairs of white kurta-lungi, and slept on the floor—or sometimes on the rooftop. Every single conversation there revolved around God, Guru, and Truth. It blew my mind, though not always comfortably. It felt like stepping into another dimension—one I had only limited access to.

It wasn’t easy because samsara was still within me. I wasn’t ready for my ego to be completely demolished. The life felt too evolved for me, I suppose. At the same time, my family back in Delhi struggled with this new version of me. Long story short—I felt damaged and broken.

I left and chose solitude in the forests of Himachal. For several months, I lived alone in a small, beautiful house, deep in a real forest of leopards and bears. The nearest road was a half-hour trek away. It was magical.

The house was painted orange from the outside, almost like a sadhu’s dwelling. Inside, the room had big glass windows on two sides, overlooking the vast forest.

On my first night there, I lay in bed and gazed at the vast, open sky. A shooting star streaked across. That night, I dreamt of a million shooting stars—as if a dream was coming true. And indeed, it was. It felt like home.

Life was slow, mindful, quiet, and rich. The forest and butterflies were my family. There was no fear—only love. Fortunately, there was no network, no music, no podcasts, no external voices—just the silence of the forest. I’m sure I had challenges, but when I think back to those days, all I feel is healing, mysticism… love.

Then, life called me to Ladakh for a meditation and yoga teaching job. There, I met my now husband, and life started flowing in that direction.

Though I have been blessed with a beautiful family, there is a deep, quiet ache in my heart for the solitary life.

Whenever I sit with monks—whom I am blessed to be around—and hear their experiences, something in me knows their truth, as if it were my own. When they speak of their most mystical experiences, I feel them—not as something foreign, but as something deeply familiar.

So, when this astrologer mentioned that I was a monk in my past life, something about it felt true. He said I lived a detached life before, and now, because Rahu is in my seventh house, my soul’s journey is moving from isolation to connection.

He told me that relationships would be my karmic battlefield in this life. That I might struggle in them because I was overly independent in my past incarnation. That my biggest spiritual lessons would come through relationships—not just as experiences, but as deep, transformative learning.

That was something to take in.

Since hearing this, I have felt a certain peace. If this is my soul’s journey—to learn and evolve through connection—then perhaps embracing it fully is part of my path.

In a way, these subjects can make a difference—not by determining our fate, but by helping us accept our lives more fully.