Review: “All Our Waves Are Water” by Jaimal Yogis

I finished the book in the middle of the night and had a dream. Gigantic wave mounted up on the horizon like a sublime being and rushed towards the shore. I closed the doors, windows, waited.

The wave crashed against the house, boom, splash. Raw energy, ecstatic grin. Next one was glowing green in the sun. Even bigger it was racing towards the coast, I closed the shutters, darkness, crash, adrenaline, foamy saltwater seeping through the cracks.

My dream cut the just finished book “All Our Waves Are Water” open and revealed its spine. To hide behind the walls from something so powerful you secretly wish to merge with. An inner conflict between constructed safety and oceanic surrender. Fragile shack with tiny windows by the furious magnificent ocean.

“All Our Waves Are Water” is a memoir written by American writer Jaimal Yogis, and is his third book. A guy, who grew up with Buddhist-yogi parents, loves to surf, studies journalism and searches for the blissful lining of the thing called life. Rational mind, daily hamster wheel and ego are in one hand, buddhism and meditation in the other. He juggles.

The opening line “God is in this book” left me wandering through the first pages suspicious and cautious, but soon the book engulfed me and I could not put it down. Yogis’ voice seems familiar, as a good friend you haven’t met in a while and now you both are catching up. He talks, you listen. Laugh, dry your tears. Yogis compares spiritual realm to the sea. He grabs his surfboard and learns to surf the real and metaphorical waves.

Good humour works like a disarming balm and I am traveling in my imagination with brokenhearted Jaimal to the Indian Himalaya to meet warmhearted and wise Sonam, to Washington, DC, to witness Jaimal spreading himself too thin in work, we run away to Mexico to surf, go to New York to study, move to San Francisco to settle down, Jaimal starts to write a book and throws it all away, hides in Bali under the sun and returns again to see everything in a different light.

Adventures, ventures and vivid characters. Worth to meet while dwelling inside the book, including Uma Thurman’s dad, Columbia professor Robert A. F. Thurman, Dalai Lama’s first Western disciple. “With his one glass eye, disheveled silver hair, Tibetan rings on every finger, and wide six-foot-four frame, he looked part Einstein, part retired football coach, part spiritual Mick Jagger.” Jaimal signed up to his lectures on religion.

The carefully built inner hut is swept away by a symbolic wave when Jaimal is in Jerusalem and goes to stand by the Wailing Wall by a mere coincidence. Some rocks are as big as a small car, rolled paper notes with written prayers are stacked in between the rocks and Jaimal experiences catharsis and is crying for hours.

In one dream he sees himself made out of cardboard boxes, strung together with string. “I’d never noticed that I was looking through a slit cut in a box.” When he got rid of the boxes, he didn’t have a body, there wasn’t anything under the boxes except for his consciousness. He disappeared, and yet he didn’t. “I had a body, but it was loose and fluid and could see in all directions.”

Walls disappear; ocean.

“All Our Waves Are Water: Stumbling Toward Enlightenment & The Perfect Ride”, Jaimal Yogis, Harper Wave, 2017

Nakts vidū pabeidzu lasīt un redzēju sapni. Gigantisks vilnis kā dzīva būtne pamalē auga augumā un joņoja krastā. Vēru ciet logus, durvis, gaidīju.

Vilnis ar spēku izšķīda pret māju. Jauda, enerģija, smaids līdz ausīm. Nākamais vilnis saulē zaigoja zaļš. Vēl milzīgāks tas traucās šurp, aizvēru arī slēģus, tumsa, trieciens, adrenalīns, putojošs sālsūdens skalojās pa šķirbām.

Slēpties aiz sienas no jaudas, ar kuru ir riskants vilinājums saplūst. Iekšēja pretruna, vilkme starp sanaglotu drošību un okeānisku paļaušanos. Trausls namiņš maziem lodziņiem traka okeāna krastā. Sapnis uzšķērda izlasīto Jaimala Yogis autobiogrāfisko grāmatu “All Our Waves Are Water”, atklājot tās mugurkaulu.

Čalis sērferis, uzaudzis budistu ģimenē, studē žurnalistiku un meklē dzīves svētlaimes oderi. Racionāls prāts, vāveres ritenis un ego ir vienā svaru kausā, budisms un meditācijas otrā. Pirmais teikums “Šajā grāmatā ir Dievs” lika man aizdomīgai iet lapām gar maliņu, līdz vienā brīdī grāmata mani aprija un es nevarēju beigt lasīt.

Jaimala ir savējais. Garīgos plašumus pielīdzinājis jūrai, viņš pasit padusē sērfa dēli un gan tiešā, gan pārnestā nozīmē, cenšas rast viļņos līdzsvaru. Humors mani ir uzlauzis, un es joņoju līdzi uz Indijas Himalajiem satikt dzīvesgudro Sonamu, uz Vašingtonu nodilt darbu skrējienā, bēgu līdzi uz Meksiku sērfot, tad uz Ņujorku studēt, uz Sanfrancisko, kur Jaimala mēģina iekārtoties, sāk rakstīt grāmatu, atmet to visu, pazūd Bali un atkal atgriežas, lai ieraudzītu visu citādāk.

Piedzīvojumi, pārdzīvojumi, personāži. Umas Tūrmanes tēvs, dumpīgs budisma pētnieks izpūrušiem matiem pasniedz Jaimalam reliģijas lekcijas. Sanfrancisko Ocean Beach karaliene jeb Queen sērfo kaila savos 80 gados. Tibetietis Sonams, iestrēdzis Indijas Himalajos, sapņo par Tibetu, un viņa lauzītā frāze “This bery, bery sad no problem” kļūst par mantru.

Viss sanaglotais izšķīst Izraēlā pie Raudu mūra, kur Jaimala nonācis sakritības pēc. Pie automašīnu izmēra akmeņiem, kuru šķirbās sabāzti sarullēti papīriņi ar lūgsnām, viņš piedzīvo katarsi un stundām raud. Sapnī viņš redz, ka ir veidots no kartona kastēm. Nometot kastes, zem tām nekā nav, viņa nav un reizē viņš ir viss.

Sienu vairs nav; esi okeāns.

“All Our Waves Are Water: Stumbling Toward Enlightenment & The Perfect Ride”, Jaimal Yogis, Harper Wave, 2017