"This Ache In My Heart"

October 6, 2009

8:23am

I am writing about this dream from the balcony of my room at the Peacock Hotel. Mel, my British roommate is fast asleep in her twin bed under the protection of her mosquito net. Below me, on the ground, Shiva – the Peacock Handy Man-cum-room attendant-cum-houseman-cum-gardener-cum laundry man is using a hoe to turn the earth off a plot of land. I think from what I can assess from my random glances downward… that they are making a garden for the entrance. Bijoy, the owner’s son periodically comes in to have a look and supervise. There is a new male in the mix. Perhaps a daily hire? A very scrawny young lad who helps with turning the earth then takes the red soil and all its mixed ingredients, puts it in a rubber basket (perhaps made out of tire?), hoists it over his head and takes it outside the gates of the Peacock and dumps this earth on the other side of the gates. Why this destination for the soil I am not sure. But there is a multitude of trips and both Shiva and the unknown young man seem to perform this duty with a resolve and surrender that is noticeable to me but also unremarkable. Although remark on it I do and in quite a bit of detail! LOL! Oh, and one last thing… all of this is being done barefoot. As many things in India, are done… barefoot.

The soundtrack & speed of this dream is best exemplified in the song "I Asked For Love" by Lisa Gerrard & Patrick Cassidy.

I woke up this morning from the most intense & surreal dream. I don’t know what city I was in but the FEELING was of… New York.

I’m inside the top floor of a converted building that is now a loft. At an art opening. There are many people there, all of whom I feel as “familiar” but none that I recognize. There is one man there, he’s an actor. As in a known actor. I can’t place him now but if I saw a photo of him I would know… and actually … just in writing this…NO! He is NOT an actor; he is the event photographer Patrick McMullen. Someone who is fairly animated and approachable and has a way of recording through the chaos and making it always looking beautiful, desirable even. He shoots a lot of parties in NYC and backstage at Fashion Week… he is there. And… oddly enough… he is some kind of “guardian” to me. He is wearing his trademark black blazer, a little too big but not big enough to look sloppy. He never comes into the group of people that has gathered to listen to the curator speak about what we are about to see. Instead he is leaning against a corner part of a wall that leads down a corridor and out the loft space. I cannot make out the skyline of the backdrop that is framed perfectly with the industrial windows that loft conversions have. The ones with a multitude of square panes and periodically, one of them opens.

It is dusk. There is no glow of a sunset however. Instead… the sky is a flat blue-grey tint. I too am hovering near the back of this pack of art connoisseurs. The feeling of me in this dream is of a knowing that I am here only because I felt to come for some other reason. The location of this loft is geographically contextual for what I know to be a significant occurrence that I am meant to be a part of. Yet I also have no idea what this occurrence is or what exactly I am waiting for. Yet wait I do. I seem to be aware of everyone and no one at once. The most prominent person is Patrick… which in writing this in my conscious state makes me laugh a little. Perhaps it is because Fashion Week is on and that is where I usually am this time of year, doing the circuit between New York & Paris. And that is the only realm in which I know Patrick.

So… the dream… I can’t recall any art on the walls; it’s not why I am there… during the curators’ soliloquy I feel the “coming” of something… and it’s not in the room. The ether is bringing something to me and this is the place I must be to receive my gift.

Slowly I see the sky is changing color. It is taking on a more steely blue color. I turn around and look at Patrick who gives me a knowing nod to proceed and cause a little chaos because it is time… I realize this is not the time to be caught up in “world audience issues” and adhere to societies ideas of what is proper and improper. I have this feeling within that I KNOW that in order to meet my destiny a few feathers must be ruffled along the way. Perhaps that is why I have been placed amongst this group of perfectly pained strangers. All of who adhere to rules set out before them by everyone else. Is that what we do in life? We live the lives others want us to live and not the life we ourselves want to live? We walk down one corridor only to realize half way that the path we are on is not the one we want. More frightening is to turn around and change and reset or compass, so we walk, hopelessly down someone else’s path…

Without hesitation I run through the crowd of people, past the curator and to the window. I jostle people and knock champagne glasses in my path and stop not for an apology or any niceties. I am drawn to the window and transfixed much like the child is drawn to the landing of the UFO in CLOSE ENCOUNTERS movie. I seem to know that whatever is coming is coming especially for me. Behind me the rest of the crowd has rushed around as well and is looking out the window. My eyes are transfixed on the sky waiting for something precious. I see off in the distance before anyone else… THE LARGEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL CLUSTER OF A FLORAL BOUQUET! Turned upside down, hundreds of larger than life Peonies wrapped in clear paper with green leaves, wrapped in the most beautiful dusty blue ribbon floating through the nearly night sky. The petals are so perfectly a barely there pink. Once my eyes connect with this sight I KNOW… “This is for me!” Not satisfied to view it from inside I turn around and rush to leave the loft! Patrick gives me yet another knowing nod to carry on and as I rush past him he reaches in his pocket to give me a few petals and seeds. I recognize Patrick as “the Messenger”. I take the petals and seeds in my hands, never questioning their significance but noticing they are not peony petals or peony seeds. I run out the door and to the roof of the building.

Although “just a dream” I cannot get over how intensely beautiful this bouquet is. The sheer size of it and its floaty nature. Just gliding through the sky. It is moving both slowly and quickly. I take in every detail. Mesmerized. Half hypnotized and half awake. As the bouquet approaches the roof of the building, it stops and begins its upside down descent…

Just as it is about to connect with “reality” (the building) it magically turns right side up and now I am in a different room. One that is empty except for recessed lighting behind a large empty bar that has behind it the largest glass vase I have ever seen and within it a multitude of smaller glass vases carefully arranged within it. The room is empty. The floating bouquet enters the room like a wedding crasher and is dropped into each of the vases. It seems to have lost its ethereal nature and is more gross and solid now. The water in the vases splashes out and some of the leaves and petals break and fall out of to the sides in a slow motion, John Woo (Heat) movie type of way.

By the time the Peonies have self arranged itself in the vases the cavalcade of art lovers comes rushing in. They are convinced THIS IS THE ART SHOW! The curator, a young woman in her late 20s in head to toe artsy black pencil skirt, fitted black scoop necked tank top with slender arms and a bosom every man (and woman) in the room imagines bare… is both bewildered and panicked at being upstaged by the Peony Parade and my erratic behavior… I catch the card that dislodges from the bouquet. It comes straight towards me, as does a bridal bouquet tossed by the bride to the best friend who she wishes to be “next in line”. Except there is no jostling, jockeying or elbowing to get this card. It appears too subtle and uninteresting to everyone else. Inside the card, is the MESSAGE. I read it and immediately know I must make my way to find the sender. The sender is The Englishman. He looks like a man from the turn of the century. Tall and lanky as he is in this lifetime but wearing a pocket watch, a vest, a suspenders, a vest, crisp white long-sleeve cotton collared shirt, a top hat and a dramatic curled up moustache. As soon as I read the card I can hear the ticking of his pocket watch and can see him periodically look at it to gauge the passing of time. I don’t know his location. All I can see is blue sky and peppered clouds behind him. Passing as sky and clouds do with the passing of time.

As soon as I leave the building and enter the streets below I am no longer in current day but in early 1920’s Manhattan. The streets are a flurry of activity. Frantic with authorities trying to control the mayhem of the cities inhabitants having witnessed the fall to earth of this beautiful gargantuan bouquet of peonies and me, moving like a shadow hunter. Aware there is a pressure of time.  I seem outside of all the mayhem. It is as though the titanic is sinking and everyone is scurrying to get off or to higher ground and I am listening to a symphony that only I can hear and trying to find the conductor of this beauty. I make my way to the South Street Seaport where people seem to be so afraid of what has happened that they want to leave the island. It is chaos all around and within it I have only one goal, to find the man with the black & white suit and the ticking pocket watch.

I keep looking around me through the panic stricken and confused faces. Through the cries of little children being pulled to an unknown destination by mothers who don’t know what they are running away from or where they are running to … it is then that I look up. There is the conductor, The Englishman. Riding a bicycle, peddling and floating through the air on one of those bikes with a very large front wheel and the tiniest of back wheels. He looks down at me and waves. I look up at him and smile recognizing the twinkle in his soft blue eyes, the familiar lines that crease his face. The minute our eyes have connected we know who the other is. Our connection is so strong the pathway of our shared glance emits energy so powerful that all the chaos below stops for a few minutes and EVERYONE looks up. Rather than be able to see the cycling Englishman who has peddled his floating bicycle across the Atlantic to see to it that his gift of the Peony Parade is delivered safely to the recipient of his choice, as a passive pursuer of his destiny, the cities inhabitants are full of fear and their fear needs someone to blame. The focus of all their fear is the man peddling in the sky. All the concentrated glares pull the cycling Englishman to the earth. I watch him crash into the water and become separated from his bicycle. His 1920’s suit balloons from the immersion in the water. He is struggling to stay afloat. On his side he appears to be sinking. I am running to reach him. Trying to yell over the panicked and confused city populates to The Englishman. To turn on his back so he will float and that will give me time to jump in and rescue him. But he is now in a world he is not familiar with. A world not based in his ideal, but in reality. As I try to find the best place to jump into the water to make my way to him there are so many people trying to physically stop me. I struggle and wrestle out of everyone’s oppressive grip. I jump in to a part of the river where there is a levy and a heavy metal gate. I feel as though I’m in a tanker made of steel. The colors I see of the walls around me are red and burnt orange and rust. The water is not fluid and water like at all, but looks and feels like mercury. I am swimming towards this one fast closing opening to reach the now sinking Englishman and just as I get to the opening I see him float by. My own right arm is outstretched towards him in danger of decapitation when just then; the gates close in front of me. His eyes were open and resigned. He had made his choice and here I was still struggling to reach him. Is that what we do in life, struggle to reach the unreachable? The height of the gates was so high.  Once closed I cannot see above it. I swim to the side where there are hundreds of people waiting along a dock. I struggle to climb up to gain a vantage point where I can see him again so that I may jump back in at just the right place and pull him to safety. But all I see is his black and white suit floating above the water. In the left chest pocket is the glistening gold of the chain of his pocket watch. I jump in and swim to this floating hollow coffin and grab the entire bloated outfit in my right hand and take the pocket watch out of the upper left breast pocket which would be placed above his heart and clasp it in my left hand. I swim back to the docks and sit with the soaked remnants, open the pocket watch to see the time so I may record the time of his sinking. But there is no time; there is only a message within the watch whose hands stand still at 11:11. On the inside flipped open lid is an engraved sentence that reads: My Love, It is not our time.

I take what is left of the Englishman and walk through the streets. Singing with the skill of a Soprano… over and over again “this ache in my heart”… passersby look at me with sadness, guilt and remorse. It is as if they know only AFTERWARD that what they feared was nothing to fear at all. What they feared was PURE LOVE. The fear was present in all of them because of their lack of familiarity with it. Looking in the eyes of each of them as they looked within me, walking with what seemed like lead for legs, we both know that I recognized love too soon, and they recognized love too late. And because of it, The Englishman sank.

I awake and it’s 8:05 am.

I sit up in my bed. Look around. Mel is asleep with the eye mask I gifted her with over her eyes. I am sitting up confused and emotional under the protective mesh of my mosquito net. There are the usual voices and sounds that make their appearance into our room. That of human activity outside, the birds, the lizards, the bugs… working their lungs and expressing their beings both little and large…

I look around, take in my reality, and burst into tears. They are tears so full that my vision is blurred. I have within me a smorgasbord of emotions upon awakening. Knowing that my dream is about My Love and the love we share that cannot be… because “It’s not our time.”

And only later upon recording my dream, do I recall I was given the petals & seeds of a different flower altogether. So with all my love for one, I trust the process for another…

Should be studying...

but instead I'm tip-tapping on my mactop ... I've just returned to Sudha's, she's my Anatomy & Physiology teacher. I spent the night at her house and she's off teaching at College. I've been taking advantage of some much needed alone time and had the opportunity to see a bit of Trivandrum. However... I REALLY DO NEED TO revise and study. My finals for Level I TTC are in a fortnight and I feel like I don't know anything... I'll catch you up on the progress of my teaching skills soon, I promise!
What I will share is that I LOVE the Surya Namaskara (sun salutation) and have taught it many times. I still need to perfect when to inhale and exhale but it will come, as Swami Santhi says... "slowly slowly.."
So I will leave with a photo of Sudha, her best friend Suresh and my fellow classmate (they are both part of Swami Santhi's inner circle) along with some of my class mates... 
Once I've revised my plan is to post some photos of my new neighbourhood, which is colorful fairly run-down and full of colour.
My life here is simple. I spend little to no money... the most money I spend is 444 rupees to top up my Indian mobile!

It's 3:16pm and post lunch I have a bit of the daysleeps hanging heavy on my eye-lids. So wherever you are and whatever you're doing, I hope you're happy and able to find the sunshine.

Photos top to bottom: 
-Edelweiss studying.

-Unikrishna teaching us Sanskrit
-My room mate Mel really pleased it's dinner time!
-In the yoga studio with  Mami (Japan)the most flexible student!)  and Nikka (Slovenia)
-Swami Santhi teaching us about the Muladharta (base) chakra
-Sudha and Suresh, after class.

How many Indians does it take to...

hang a mosquito net?
well... what's your answer? One? Maybe two? Nope.


Here is a little story from my first two days at the Peacock Hotel. I was the first one of my class to arrive. I'ts low season currently and there are ten rooms at the Peacock, all of which are occupied by students from The School of Santhi. The owner, Rathnam runs the hotel with the help of his son Bijoy. Both men are dark skinned and Bijoy has the face of a baby. He always bursts into a beaming smile whenever someone is presented in front of him. He was the first person I met when I got off the plane and out into the throngs of people waiting for loved ones at the airport in Trivandrum.


Anyway... before the arrival of Mel and the rest of the students, I had the entire hotel to myself for two days. The caretaker and cleaner is a man called Shivan. I knew eventually I'd be sharing a room and the original set up of two twin beds side by side sharing a mosquito wasn't going to uhm... "fly" with me. So before everyone came I requested for the beds to be separated and for my own new mosquito net (aka: the key feature that makes my bed a "Princess Bed") up. Besides, I had never dished out $41cdn. for anything so functional and I was determined to get my $41worth used well! 


So at my request... Bijoy, his father Rathnam and Shivan landed in room #302 much like the soldiers landed on the beaches of Normandie with a mission to accomplish. Let's call it "Mission Mosquito Net". After a successful dismantle of the hotels netting there began the assembly and placement of my netting. After a few false starts it all ended successfully! My net was up and my bed was separated. It's enough of a stretch for me to share my space with someone I don't know but to share a mosquito net with a complete stranger to me is like sex on a first date... a complete no! no! thank you!


Here are some photos of the process... and if you answered: THREE! to my question "How many Indians does it take..."

 

The correct answer is FOUR! I was sitting in a chair taking photos and supervising the entire time! With a lot of giggling throughout!

GDV 101

September 11, 2009
6:41pm


It’s early and I have some alone time… this is because “The Machine” is here today! Swami Santhi told us about “The Machine” on the very first day and then later on by Susan, who is working as his Teaching Assistant in doing our Yoga Asanas each morning and some other duties in and around supporting our studies. Susan was here in Kerala doing the Level I TTC in February of this year and passed with the highest marks in her class.

The arrival of “The Machine” has been highly anticipated by all of us. Some with anxiety and nervous excitement and in the case of Edelweiss (who is from Mexico) and myself, much in the way that a child gets excited about Christmas and the arrival or Christmas gifts placed under a tree especially for us by the Father of all Fathers… (speaking non-spiritually, of course…) Father Christmas!


So… what is “The Machine”???
Let me share.


The Machine is called the GDV. The letters GDV stand for Gas Discharge Visualisation Technique. It is based in pure science and has nothing to do with Astronomy or Astrology, but rather based on the Kirlin Effect. By placing your thumb and each of your fingers from both hands on a scanner it records the energy movement in our body based on our meridians, nerves & cell to cell communication which provide both a physical & emotional composition of our body. This is because the GDV picks up emissions of electrons & photons from fingerprints, which emit the gas, which is then photographed and later processed by a computer programme covering over 30 parameters of an individual.

With the sciences of Physics and Biology now joining forces you may find the official name to be Biological Emissions & Optical Radiation of Gas Discharge Visualisatio by Computer Programming…. Yeah. A bit of a mouthful. In North America and some European countries it is referred to as EPC, which stands for Evoked Photo Capture. All of this work is in the area of quantum informational biophysics. As I stated, combining the biological science with the physical science to better understand the body and getting to know the unknown.


So now that you’re well curious about “The Machine”, here are some of the uses:
-Analysis of physical and psychological conditions
- Early detections of a pathological condition
- Monitoring the effectiveness of Holistic Therapies such as: Reiki, therapeutic massage, acupuncture, naturopathy, homeopathy, meditation, yoga etc…
-Used to monitor stress in an individual
-Analysis of entropy – which is the degree of disorder in our body. This disorder is happening all the time, moment to moment, and in one aspect can be referred to as “growth”. In the way of breathing, eating food, listening to music, drinking, and our personal thoughts. All these factors de-stabilize our body from its natural STABLE CONDITION. It is almost always based on an external source. The downside is that when our bodies re-adjust they do so at a higher level. If entropy is happening at a high rate in your body and your body is under stress to constantly re-adjust at higher and higher levels, severe health problems can result.

The example we were given in class today by Suman was The Boiled Frog Story. A frog is placed in a pot of water and a single low-level flame is placed underneath the pot. The frog, never feels the rise of the temperature, which is barely 1degree every hour, therefore never really feels the stress of the rising temperature of the water in the pot. After 7 hours the water finally reaches boiling point, at which time the frog himself has become boiled. The frog never even attempted to jump out of the pot because his entropy kept re-adjusting to the slow but constant rising level of stress in the pot and he didn’t notice and it was too late. However, when a frog is placed in a pot of boiling hot water, it will immediately jump out of the pot. This is in many ways how human beings work. We expose ourselves to a gradual rising level of stress, which our bodies constantly re-adjust to, albeit at a higher threshold and we are not aware of illnesses that are festering in our bodies until it is too late.


The Machine is also used to monitor the effect of external noises and their effects on us both physically and psychologically. This can be in the form of computers, mobile phones and even another person. A couple of other uses are that of Human Resources studies to analysis which individual is better suited to jobs with higher stress levels. Therefore, the GDV machine is extremely useful in the high-powered world of Executives in Business as well as the Military. It can also conduct liquid and gel analysis.


At the School of Santhi, the readings will focus on a more physical and spiritual nature as one of the aspects is to detect our Chakra centers and which ones are working well and which ones are stressed. I haven’t explained it here but our chakras are directly related to our organs so it’s not as hooky spooky as it sounds. I’ll write up the aspects of the different chakras in upcoming entries for all of you to explore and enjoy.


So the GDV machine will show us where we need to do personal work. The theory being if we are rigid and not willing to adjust ourselves we get to either a very low level of entropy which leads to depression and in worst case scenarios, suicidal tendencies or at the highest level of entropy, insanity. Therefore it is best to stay somewhere safely in the middle. Everything in moderation. Even moderation.


So there you have it! “The Machine”. We receive our analysis over the next two days and I’ll be sure to share the findings with you. Suman was saying that we have a great advantage with receiving our reading while studying the Science of Spirituality at The School of Santhi. That being, that we will receive the data from a scientist in the presence of a Master, being Swami Santhi. A Master (or Swami) is someone who is enlightened because they have mastered themselves therefore has great awareness, alertness, and insight into the world and all those who inhabit it, from little ant colonies to the swaying palm trees to human beings. Swami Santhi will offer us guidance as to how to correct any dangerous areas immediately, and then after that, it is up to us to follow his guidance or to abnegate from it.


Needless to say, some are very worried they will be told their relationships are destructive or they will get cancer or some other horrific disease in 2 years time… I say… “It’s better to know than not to know!” So personally, I’M EXCITED!!! I told Swami Santhi today I want full disclosure on it all, the good the bad and the ugly! So stand by for the results!




7: 53pm

http://kirlianresearch.com/ 


http://gdvcamera.com/

The Daily Bend

September 10, 2009
10:34pm


I’m sitting here under the protective netting of my mosquito tip tapping from my single bed listening to the Police sing “I can’t I can’t I can’t stand losing…” over and over again.

The lyrics remind me of how “out of cause” so many songs are… where our entire sense of self and happiness is derived nearly wholly from another person.
Last year, during my 16 day intensive I learned the critical error we function under when living by this widespread belief on a very scientific level. Now, this year, in Kovalam, I’m learning it still… on the level of spiritual science. There is a sense of satisfaction (yes, with ego… after all, I’m seeking enlightenment, but I acknowledge I’m not “there” yet!) and another sense, that of gratitude to know from one year to the next, that I am on my path. Regardless of my mistakes and failures, and taking in my mistakes and failures, it is with the Grace of all the positive & negative, all the joy & sorrow, all the playfulness & suffering, that has lead me here. So how can any of it be … negative when looking at my life on a holistic level?


It’s not. I’ve been mostly really happy. I haven’t made as many posts as I’d initially intended only because my curriculum is mind boggling when it comes to the intensity factor.
So let me share with you the routine of my day, so you have a better understanding of what my life in Kovalam looks like while I attend the School of Santhi.


I live in Room 302 at the Peacock Hotel. I have an English roommate named Melanie but she calls herself “Mel”. I always picture a boring tall lanky man wearing beige that is a dysfunctional ally to Woody Allen in his New York City based movies when I hear the name “Mel”. It evokes a 1970’s boring-ness in me. But Mel is not boring. I don’t know her well but I’m glad I’m rooming with her. There is a cultural understanding and a shared love of tea, which seems to perplex the other students.

Our room is a shade of light pink. This perplexes me… It’s kind of like living inside a whirlwind of cotton candy that’s been allocated the sad role of “DISPLAY COTTON CANDY”. You know, the stuff you find at the PNE or in Scarborough that attracts all the flotsam and jetsam that life has to offer. What does this mean? This means our room looks clean on the surface but at closer inspection there is griminess to it. I did take a towel the first day and clean every single surface with soapy water (notice how I left out the “hot” in the “soapy water” doublet? It’s because we have no hot water). We don’t complain though. We’ve got the best room out of the 10 rooms available by EVERYONE’S estimation and we know it ourselves to be true too… We have a balcony, which means we have outdoor space and somewhere to hang our laundry, which I do by hand every day while I shower. YEP. Me and laundry everyday. The very thing that is an epic event in the western world, much in the way Gone With The Wind is an epic, is now an everyday occurrence for me. I don’t do Mel’s laundry, just my own. Mel doesn’t launder much, but she does shower everyday. Thank God.


Okay so here is my schedule:

I wake at 5:30am
I quietly go about changing into my Yoga Asana uniform of white t-shirt with “School of Santhi” written in light blue and my white cotton Sinbad drawstring yoga pants. All of us wear the same uniform. Yoga. Uniform. Union. I brush my teeth and wash my face and tie my hair back. Mel and I don’t speak much in the mornings. I’m happy she’s not much of a chatter. Besides, it’s dark out when we rise.
We have water only and no food.
6am. We’re upstairs and doing our Sun Salutation Asana. Yoga Asana are 3 hours long. I am sweating by the 2nd or 3rd Sun Salutation. A series of postures and mantras in between paying respect to the Sun. The source of all life. The routine of Sun Salutation is that of Respect and Surrender, so it’s looking upward then downward in a series of different postures. We learn with each Asana (posture) what we are doing and why, along with the Sanskrit name. This makes the Asana (posture) so much more meaningful. To do something without knowing why is like living life with your eyes open and your heart closed. In one week, my eyes have been further opened and my heart each day is raised towards the heavens and planted firmly in the reality of my Earthly life with Yoga Asanas designed to reculture (move back into correct posture & alignment) my body.
At 9am after a grueling work out which now includes every student taking a turn at teaching alongside Santhi and our Teachers Assistant, a woman called Susan from California who has already successfully completed Level I, we break for breakfast.
All our meals are provided for us. I always go for a shower first and then go down for my meal. I’m alone in doing this. At first there was curiosity if I was “okay”. It’s kind of like high school; if you don’t follow the crowd something must be wrong… But slowly people are starting to realize there is nothing “wrong” that I simply like to eat with a clean body, not one that is stewing in sweat from a 3 hour work out. I attribute my "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" like ways to Mrs. K.

At 10:15am we start our theory lectures.
With Swami Santhi this includes studying Kundalini Yoga, the Sanghya Philosophy of Master Patanjali, The entire Chakra system and all the Deities invoked in each Chakra along with their elements and characteristics. On Tuesdays & Wednesdays we take Anatomy & Physiology on a university level with Sudha Rajkumar, who is such a wonderful woman. By her own admission she says she is a little crazy. She teaches at a college in Kovalam and is a Scientist. After an extremely traumatic personal experience of losing her husband in a plane crash, he was a pilot of a Cessna flying for an air show, she became a Spiritual Seeker. She told me over lunch one day how her husbands death confused her and sent her into despair. The most beautiful description of their relationship passed ever so eloquently from Sudha’s lips… she said in her thick Indian accent fully loaded with rolling “R’s” … “we were not just husband and wife, actually, we were the most intimate of friends…”
I found this beautiful. She went on further to tell me how she discovered Life through Death. That it is Death that makes life so Beautiful. That if there were no Death, we would become bored…
Sudha later gifted me with her book about her experience, “In The Light of Fireflies”. I’m looking forward to reading it on my next day off, which is every Monday.
When the subject matter gets really heavy (like studying 4 of the bodies systems in one day – digestive, respiratory, circulatory and endocrine systems in great detail – she stops and gives us a break to DANCE! Yep! She puts on Indian music and says just close your eyes and become one with the music… some of the students are shy, but it turns out I’m not one of them. Nikka (from Slovenia) Mel and I are now dubbed “The Supremes”.
I have a good time twirling it really does wake me up. I even took Susan and showed her how to Waltz. She was the male partner… lol! A girl through and through!

We break for lunch from 1:30pm to 3pm. I’ve begun eating in 30 min. and retreating to my room for an hour nap before class resumes. This is because my toughest time to stay awake is after breakfast. I’m so sleepy after breakfast and keeping my eyes open during lecture is sometimes tougher than surviving a tornado.
Two evenings a week, after 6:30pm when Swami Santhi & Sudha are done, we have a man named Sunil Kumar (yes, another Kumar!!!) come and teach us Mantra Chanting. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this! To my surprise! I think for so many years I’ve been surrounded by musicians who were the “official” artists that I’ve always just accepted that I can’t sing or never really been bold enough to put forth my voice. But something beautiful happened today. In a very simple mantra “Om Namah Sivayah” (pronounced Ohm Namah Shee-vai-yah) I heard my voice in a way I have never heard it before. It went from shaky and quivering to smooth upon multiple repetitions. This Mantra simply means, “Oh Lord Shiva, I Call Upon You” Shiva is the God of Destruction. Most people take this in a negative aspect but it is meant in a positive manner. He destroys all that impedes us and clears our path to Enlightenment. Sitting in the Lotus posture with my eyes closed saying this over and over again stimulates a vibration within that is so peaceful and uplifting. It was a beautiful experience.
We do group study of the Asanas (the yoga postures) in great detail, learning contra-indications, benefits, possible diseases that the posture will aid in healing, the internal and external organs effected by the asana etc… from 7:30pm all other nights and break at 8:30pm for dinner. After dinner it’s usually about 9:30pm and Belington calls most of us.
I shower at night so that I get my half hour extra sleep in the morning and wash off all the toxic bug spray and dewiness of the day and crawl into bed fresh and clean.
Which brings me to now… 11:28pm. I had allocated an hour to share with you and now my hour is up. If I stay up and share more I will suffer for it in the morning…


So with Love, I bid you a good night as I listen to the creatures of the night that I can hear but cannot see…
Until I close my eyes… then I see everything… including all of you.
All my Love…


11:29pm

Sonic Boom

Monday August 31, 2009

7:22am

Early morning and I rise naturally. To a symphony of exotic sounds which include birds who caw incessantly. Which amongst the lush setting of green leafy trees, banana leaves, palms trees so burdened with coconuts they bend and sway in the monsoon inspired breeze seem to sound more melodious and less cacophonous. Then there are the exotic ones, feathered friends I cannot see but only hear. They emit a sound so foreign and exotic my mind projects long iridescent feathers of bright metallic blue and purple onto their backs and wings… then there are the hissing and clicking of my lizard friends.  All of these creatures seem to be having daylong conferences with themselves and each other.  There is the occasional tooting of a motorbike horn or a rickshaw as the road is shared with children riding bicycles with bells to make themselves known and animals, locals walking either with tattered sandals and many barefoot, male friends with their arms around each others shoulders, something rarely seen in the west unless the two males are gay. There is all this activity, which goes from, mild and mostly timid on the ground to harmonious in the trees until it all climaxes in a rapturous mixture of all the creatures going mad all at once.  All these sounds are supported by my favorite sound of all, the thunderous Arabian Sea crashing against the shores in the background. I’ve decided to look at it as Mother Nature’s alarm clock.

My sleepiness has been coming to me early while here for two days. This surprises me as I don’t do much but cannot say that I’m bored. It is cool and humid then when the sun comes after the morning monsoon rains; it burns and makes me sweat what feel like 3 to 4lbs. daily.

My sleeps haven’t been solid but they do seem to leave me rested. Sleeping in the sequestered zone of mosquito net (endearingly referred to as my  “Princess Bed”) with the constant whirring of an overhead fan blowing is new to me. I can sleep peacefully amongst sirens and random strangers yelling through inebriated states and arguing on the streets below but the tropical accessories still have me adjusting.

The air in Kovalam is moist. So much so that every surface is constantly damp. My papers and the pages of my journal are damp during the day. When I first arrived I took a towel and soaked it in soapy water and washed every surface. Only to have the same sticky film return the next day. I learned a quiet lesson and was humbled. What I assumed was a “dirty room” was merely a room that re-acts to it’s surroundings without the constant care and attention from an army of staff to make it all go away… like at the Leela Resort.

Aaaah… The Leela. How wonderful would it be to end my tenure or spend my 10-day break at The Leela! The place is as beautiful as the name, Leela. It is only through my familiarity with negotiating high-end hotels the world over that I made my successful entry into the compound (and believe me, it is a compound) that is “The Leela”. Heavy with security and uniformed staff and guards at gates I smiled and walked through ever stage with success. Yesterday I wore a white cotton dress that I love from Zara. Yesterday, every Indian man I encountered referred to me as an “Angel”. Even whilst walking along the beach from my side of Kovalam to The Leela all the gang of boys along the beach who troll in groups for foreigners to seduce all make this hissing and clicking sound when I pass, which I found the first day, but yesterday they were silent and just as I passed by in unison they would sing… “Aaaaangellllll”.

 I try and keep a straight face through all of this but sometimes, I just laugh a little to myself and shake my head. It seems wherever you go; the world is obsessed with sex. I’m surprised at how many foreign girls engage the local bad boys along the boardwalk on the beach. They will walk a good long distance in that bullshit banter of the bad boys trying to arrange a hook up and the foreign female saying maybe later or maybe tomorrow. I always wonder, do they really mean maybe or do they mean leave me alone but don’t know how to say it?

Yesterday I ate along the beach at Waves Restaurant, which houses the German Bakery.  Swami Santhi told me about it so I went. There I met my waiter Ramesh,whose photo I've included here.

 Upon leaving he asked me to return for dinner and I said “maybe” and I did mean “maybe” but didn’t go due to meeting Lincoln, from Pennsylvania, who arrived yesterday and is also staying to do the Level 1 & 2 Teacher Training Course (TTC).

Ramesh told me that there was once a very famous (he never stated her name, of course) Indian movie star who came to eat at the restaurant and that she was very beautiful. He then went on to say “You look so much like her, very beautiful too.” I smiled and said “Thank You” as I made my way down to the boardwalk to head back to my home at the Peacock before the rains returned.

This morning, as I sit tip tapping I see Ramesh walking the street below, looking into the compound of the Peacock. I want to say I’m certain this is his regular route to work but I guess I’ll find out as I head there for breakfast. He asked me yesterday how long I’m here for and what I’m doing here and once I mentioned Yoga TTC he said “are you staying at the Peacock?” to which of course I replied “Yes”.

All the while I always wonder what would happen to the little fantasy bubble these young Indian men build around me when they find out I’m a year away from being forty! LOL! My interaction has illuminated me to one very strong realization, aside from my two brothers and my father, I DON’T TAKE INDIAN MEN SERIOUSLY!

Much like Western men who are less than 6’ they simply don’t register on my radar. It’s like they are “background”. I know they exist, I accept they exist, they add colour and texture and drama to life and I almost expect to speak to one as I call to ask for help with my blackberry when it has a technological tantrum or my internet service does everything but provide internet service. Beyond that they are my Uncles, Cousins or the boys I never speak to in Yaletown the odd occasion I do go to Yaletown and in London they seldom to never really look at me and I don’t ever check them out. Aside from this I never engage with them on a serious level. It simply NEVER happens. The only other Indian men I take seriously are Gandhi, Nehru, and now…. Swami Santhi. To me the Indian man who is not my father or brother is the Spiritual Seeker.  Everyone else a supporting role to their journey. It is the simplest yet profound realization. Nothing in my being engages with Indian men as an equal.  I encounter them with a sense of frivolity and just passing time… yet a twinkly eyed Englishman was able to keep me in his grip of so many present moments that it turned into a good two hours while on set and hold my attention to which I surrendered wholeheartedly to answering every single one of his hundreds of questions about me with great detail and honesty. What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Why do we like the people we like? And is it true that the heart wants what the heart wants?

I have my orientation for the TTC today at 3:30 pm. So I’m going to shower and get dressed for my day and head to the Beachfront to have some breakfast before I make a second attempt to upload photos and post my blog and share my life in Kovalam with a select few. Swami Santhi said we would get 90 min. for lunch every day since we are so close to the sea and that the ocean is a powerful source of energy to keep students focused. This being from the original 45 min. This makes me very happy since it means I’ll be able to facilitate regular updates, which are much shorter because they could possibly be… DAILY?

But before all the technological machinations, there is much more important work on the agenda. This work includes me filing my long naked nails down to a pretty little curved squares and painting them the colour of the palest cherry blossom pink.

I am determined to figure out a way to reach spiritual realization and keep the pretty factor in tact. I’m sure my downward dog will be executed which much more grace and ease if I have pretty fire engine red toes and blush pink fingernails to bend towards… after all, inspiration comes in many forms and for me… today… it’s nail polish.

8:19am

 

The Mars Venus Thing ...

Starting to feel the pull of missing The Englishman. Especially when Joy Division or New Order comes to play on my iTunes. What do I call that constant feeling of seeing something my eyes have never seen, smelling something so lush warm, moist and overwhelming that it defines a moment, feeling the breeze through my hair and my soul being swept into the sea, all the while wanting just one solitary person to know exactly what it feels like to be me in this very moment. What is the name for this feeling? Is it LOVE?

And tomorrow I begin the journey of letting go and letting God. This feeling, this attachment, this constant need to share, should I embrace this journey authentically and surrender to the process, the unknown constant wanting will be eradicated from my being, and perhaps, just perhaps, I will know what it truly means to be free.

The idea of this overwhelms me. Mostly because it allows me to recognize how much of my pleasure is derived from pain. That longing that tugging at this place in my body that stems from throat to my heart and to the core of my stomach… this constant longing to be truly understood and witnessed by one person more than any other on this planet, when realized for that flash, is such pleasure. The union and that moment of getting everything you want. Then the inevitable realization that no one other person can ever bring about lasting happiness or peace. That  it actually is all up to me and I am the only person who can place myself in  a place of peace and contentment that is constant. What on earth will I do without my longing and my attachment? What on earth will I do when I realize true Freedom? The thought of it makes me want to burst into tears, because being a prisoner of my pain is a feeling I have come to know so well. It is so much a constant for me that I have no idea what emancipation will feel like.

How many of us live like this? With flashes of happiness? I’m not a gambling woman but I bet the odds are very high indeed.  My life has been filled with a journey that has led me here. And how perfect that it comes to me through LOVE. A Love that is based in freedom and not in conditions, contracts and contradictions.

I have been handed the perfect hand to fulfill my destiny and become the woman I feel I was always meant to be and more importantly, the woman I want to be. One who is free of suffering and able to feel my pain and pleasure with a gratitude and not make it become who I am. I have come to Kovalam in Kerala to live along the Arabian sea in Monsoon season, to witness the death of my ego and the rebirth of my authentic self.

I am a lost being. Comfortable tip tapping on my computer. I don’t want to be pretentious and think I know that listening to a guided meditation or playing my Indiano classical music will eradicate the overwhelming missing of someone I love.  Part of this  journey is like being a junkie who has been placed into  rehab. Having little to no contact. Studying, feeling all my feelings and focusing not on engaging or creating magic with a man with who I cannot be with or my family who is a constant source of comfort to me by virtue of familiarity. Whether it be through laughter or tears, there comes a knowingness when inside myself I know there is a group of heartbeats that I belong to. My friends, who through the world of email, facebook or bbm are moving further into the technological recesses of cyber space.  I imagine what it would be like to walk through these mud puddle paths with my most well heeled gang of girls… who would giggle and who would gag. This is called the third world but no one here would ever think they are without. No one that I have met anyways… from the truly sincere souls that have chosen not to fall into the Kovalam version of the Douche Bag life of salacious scams along the sandy shores there is a wonderful witnessing of consciousness in humanity. The need to help a genuine desire to want to make life easier for a Mermaid like me along the shores of a foreign shore.

Then the inevitable happens, I watch the same men who have gone out of their way to assist me in obtaining my Indian sim card with local phone number, a restaurant to eat at which is safe and hygienic, find my way to the beachfront without getting lost in the backwater maze of Kovalam… I watch these same men in their gentle and patient way try and tell the latest foreigner to arrive her way to the beach. A foreigner who is heavier set, openly graying (unlike mine that are creeping to the surface but still well enough hidden under the home dye job pre Barcelona from a fortnight ago) and dressed like  she’s been coming here for years, with the hippy slouch bag in bright purple over one shoulder that doesn’t lift but most definitely separates her well endowed bosom, hair pulled back in a messy stringy pony tail, Thai fisherman style pants and Birkenstocks. I witness from my top floor corner suite balcony how this woman, in need of the same guidance is shown the way around with hand gestures and left to find her own way through the windy muddy hot and sticky back roads of Kovalam. She looks like she can most definitely hold her own… but it begs to ask the question: Is Youth & Beauty a currency the world over?

It has long been proven beyond any shadow of a doubt that people like to help people who are more attractive in their eyes without hesitation. So then, what is the X Factor of Beauty?  What is my X Factor in Kovalam?

In India, I am a foreigner to Indians and an Indian in the eyes of the foreigner. It’s like being in a slipstream. Of which I’m sure there are advantages, none of which I have identified, yet. So far, it’s been a bit like being an exotic bird on loan from one zoo to another. People look, some look pleased, some look confused, some curious to the point of wanting to make eye contact , and some, often men and at times children and always… dogs… to come up and touch me.

Of course when I find myself in this situation amongst unsavoury men along the boardwalk of the beachfront who seem to always use the same line, asking me whether I like Massage (inside voice YES!!!) outside voice “No, thank you” and then it’s followed with “Where are you staying? Why don’t you come up and have a look at my room? It’s very nice…” (inside voice “FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!”) outside voice, “No, thank you”…

This is my first trip alone to India, so I won’t be Miss too-cool-for-school and say that having such intense attention every step I take of each day isn’t unnerving, but I will say that I realize now that it is up to me to decide how I react to this.

So, along with bringing demure not so attention grabbing clothing coupled with the most sensible stash of underthings I’ve ever packed in my entire adult life, I have equipped myself with an equal dose of grace and girl power. And so far, not much has happened. So much of our experience is in our attitude. When I first visited India at age 19 with a very white skinned blue eyed boyfriend, I was volatile and my experiences reflected as much. Much of my volatility came from my sheer disgust that an entire nation of people could actually choose to live in this manner of squalor and heat and what I saw as backward deprivation. It was a testament to my ignorance as I lived my life in the cozy suburb of Coquitlam with my birth family and the privileged existence of experiencing London and the UK with Aunty Sarla and the world she opened up to me. A world where I was encouraged to explore my personal tastes away from North American trends and encouraged to be independent and travel and pursue my education. All wonderful influences from two homes, but void of any contact with what it truly means to be impoverished or how people who have much less privilege of personal space, personal freedom, personal time could ever be happy being handed down choices that are more in line with lineage than living as an individual.

My first trip to India I desperately wanted to be viewed as an Indian. And was outraged that Indians in India were very forthright in telling me that although I had a very Indian name in “Sima Kumar” and that although I looked Indian, I most definitely was not an Indian. It was a lesson that took me YEARS to learn…

Now I arrive on a solitary journey, with the recognition that I am of Indian descent, but not an Indian in the eyes of India. This simple acceptance of who I am in this country has made my introduction to the place and its people very peaceful.

What’s the lesson? Be Yourself. I am Sima, a Canadian girl with an English heart and Indian blood.