Sunrise over the Ananda Ashram. / Kaysie Ellingson

Pune, India -- My ankles rolled under me as we walked the rocky path from the Indian ashram. It was 5:30 in the morning and pitch black. The only light available came from the flashlight of a cell phone.

The daily meditation would start in an hour, but this morning four of us tried to find another way to achieve inner silence. We were racing to get to the top of the mountain before sunrise. However, none of us knew the path. The locals had only told us about it.

We found a clearing in the foliage and began to climb. The ground was covered in leaves and my sneakers, fine for American sidewalks, weren’t doing a good job of holding my footing in the hills of rural India.

The greenery grew denser as we ascended. It bloodied and scraped my arms and legs, as if to tell me, “this is not the right path.”

Eventually the trail disappeared into the thicket. As much as we tried, we couldn’t fight our way to the top. We surrendered to the mountain, panting, sweaty and tired—at least I was.

We sat and waited as light trickled into the valley. Within ten minutes we realized that the mountain blocked the sun as well.

On our way down the extra light helped us find our way. It lit a new trail, illuminating the path that the locals had talked about. This time, our steps were easy, and we made it down in less than ten minutes.

Maybe the mountain was telling me I was on the wrong path.