Nectarian Gurbani

This morning I took the same hukam as on Sunday. It just fell open to 113, Sri Rag, First Guru (p. 375). After a difficult sadhana where I was twisting my own arm just to do it, reading this again was like pure love!

Compassion for a Murderess

After yesterday, I was longing for sadhana this morning. I sang from my heart, and I began to cry. I cried for all the people I have hurt. I cried because I have been hurt. I cried for the people who have hurt others. My mind was consumed with thoughts of how miserable it must be for other people trying to regain their identities and their lost memories after being brainwashed as I had been many years ago. I have almost repaired my hard drive, so to speak, with the Guru's Grace, but there are still some glitches before I can even get to where I was on my spiritual path before I met a Charles Manson-wannabe 14 years ago.

That man talked about and compared himself to the Unibomber, to Jim Jones and, of course, to Charlie Manson. He didn't let me see how dark he was, until I was already in his web. Even now, if I run into him, it is hard to extricate myself from his intensely overpowering and charismatic sway ~ partly because I am still afraid. And I am also still very angry. As Ammachi says, it takes us a long time to get to the bottom of our anger. I've been working on it for years and years, it seems. The rage seems bottomless.

I was in a cult with no name. A cult made up of women who signed their lives away on glossy 8 x 10 photographs, to a mastermind, a black magician, and a psychopath. He doesn't have a signed photograph from me, though, just a shelf full of video footage of his sexual abuse of me. I wonder, in light of my experiences with a megalomaniac, what the Manson girls went through?

My heart broke this morning for those infamous three: Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel and most of all, Leslie Van Houten. I wish the parole board would let her go after 17 tries, and a clearly remorseful heart. After all, penitentiaries were originally named as such for the purpose of rehabilitating people, not sentencing them to an eternal hell behind bars.

I wish for Leslie that she could be free. Free of the memories of Charles manipulating her like a marionette. I think of the man who abused me showing me all of those movies: "Blue Velvet", "Sexy Beast", "Dust Devil", "9 1/2 Weeks", "Lost Highway" and movies about the Marquis de Sade. I think of how he took a movie I loved ~ "White Knights" ~ and pointed out how I was like the lyrics in one of the songs from the soundtrack: a puppet on a string... his puppet. The Rolling Stones singing "under my thumb!" on his stereo. I was literally dancing with the devil. People say he doesn't exist. I beg to differ. He lives in Missouri. He said I was like "Thelma and Louise", said he'd help me kill myself if I wanted him too. He would be Charles Manson himself if he could, if Charles hadn't done it first.

Was any of this like what Leslie and the others went through? The midnight violence to my body in cemetries and on the sides of freeways? The threats to kill my cat? Then the fake kindness and compassion. The hugs. The fake love. The listening with only one ear? The fun times...Chinese fire drills and swimming with dolphins all paid for in the night with my soul? The indoctrinations....hours and hours and hours of lectures, grilling, reviewing, recitation of his made-up mantras, the reminders that I was part of a family and had a responsibility to that family? Just because he held me as a cried for one day after my mother died did not make him a saint. Far from it.

If Leslie Van Houten went through that sort of awfulness and more, how do people hate on her? She isn't like Sandra Good who is not behind bars but should be. What a freak of nature she is, just like Charles. Just like the leader of the little cult I was in. God, if I could only go back and tell myself as I was forced to watch videos about the Manson Family and Heaven's Gate, that I was being shown by him exactly what he was doing to me, as he snickered behind my back! Shirley Manson of "Garbage" singing "Stupid Girl". He said that was my theme song.

Psychopaths. They ruin lives. One of them ruined Leslie Van Houten's life. And Sharon Tate's. One of them almost ruined mine. Nice try, I want to say now. Nice try. I have my soul and spirit back. I am a bride (a body) married to her bridegroom (my Soul). Charlie Manson took away those women's moral compasses, but Leslie found hers in the trash heap and fixed it up. Why is she still behind bars? Is there no mercy in this world for a murderess who will never murder again? I truly wish she would have stayed at Paramahansa Yogananda's Self-Realization Fellowship and not gone to Haight-Ashbury to meet Charlie. I wish I'd never worked in Sauget, Illinois.

It is what it is. My heart breaks for Leslie today. It breaks for the women who are still in the clutches of the man who had me.

Is it not ironic that I cannot seem to forgive my boss for being such a bitch, but I can have compassion for a murderess?

My 'Chitta' sheet (which is like a graph of my mind today)

This morning I finished sadhana in bliss! Chardi Kala Jatha is now my favorite with the traditional Indian raga. I was feeling really peaceful and as if my body were vibrating everywhere...then the phone rang. Some jerk was looking for the woman who had my number five years ago. Five years ago I used to get phone calls for her all the time. Finally they stopped. Then this jackass calls and refused to listen when I explained that I don't even know the woman, just her name ~ because I have heard it so much. He said, and I quote: "Blah, blah, blah! Just another sob story! Wah, wah!" Then he hung up, after he had called me!!!! I went off. Shaking with rage more than I ever have, my hands, arms and entire torso shaking, I called the company back, asked for a supervisor, threatened to sue for harassment if they ever called again, and yelled everything I was saying. I promised him that if anyone from his company ever called again, the first thing I would do would be to yell, and THEN I'd call a lawyer."

When I hung up, it took me a while, but I calmed down. I eventually went to lunch and forgave myself for screaming.

Lunch was so beautiful! I sat outside on the patio at Rasoi, looking up at the sun, and down at the green heart-shaped leaves in the planter. I watched as leaves fell from the trees and danced in the street. My food was delicious. Jagdeep and Prakash came to talk to me, and Jagdeep reminded me that her grandaughter's name is Amrita. I ate the most delicious Chana Dahl, the rice pudding was sweet, but not too much, and the sky was gorgeous! Birds sang and I listened. The light fell on my half-full glass of water, and reflected onto the table in such a way that I wanted immediately to paint in watercolors again, even oils! I could smell the linseed oil just thinking about it. I missed being an artist. I felt the love for it that I had before Mom died, and before I dated the devil. Fat little Mr. Potato Head.

The day was so exquisite. And as I walked home, a gentleman in a fedora tipped his hat to me, and did a little bow.

At home, I sat on the sofa, and gazed out the window in awe of how beautiful the day was...

Then the phone rang again. It was the boss everyone hates and wishes would die. Up to her tricks and antics to steal energy by either intimidating or berating people, or making fun of them, or belittlng them, she had a proposition for me that involved her new little protegé subbing all my classes while at KRI Teacher Training, but she didn't just mean the ones that still needed to be covered. She meant to take classes away from people who had gone out of their way to sub for me. I regretted having answered the phone. I usually let her calls go to voicemail because she is such an energy vampire. Everyone knows it, even she herself does. I really think she is an energy addict, she can't pull the needle out. So she got me.

Finally I managed to extricate myself from her spidery phone embrace, and barely in the nick of time. I was exhausted, but not sick, thankfully. I was very disoriented, though, and dizzy. Somehow I had the bright idea to go straightaway to my meditation room before going to teach, and to sit and do Laya Yoga with the mantra. When I finished, my energy was back!!! Maybe not as high as it had been after lunch, but normal. I then sat to read a hukam again, and my rage at my boss subsided. A few hours later it was back, and I found myself so angry I wished she would fall down the stairs, but then that is generally how I feel about her. She sucks. Literally. Nobody likes her.

And so I read again from the Guru. Afterwards a blanket of peace descended, and I wondered if I could ever help this woman figure out how to draw her energy from within, rather than from other people. Can I be the friend to her that other people have been for me? I think I could, but not while working at her studio. I need to quit working there. When I can afford to, I will. Besides that, it is too stressful. Working there when she is there feels worse than giving a lap dance at a strip club. If she worked at a strip club, the other employees would likely have shoved her in a locker and locked it. Unfortunately, today, with my mind fluctuating from positive to negative to neutral and back around, shoving her in a locker is what I really want to do...

It is hard, really, to think only of positive thoughts while doing this Laya Yoga. I keep trying.

Buzzing like a Bee(be)

This morning sadhana was sweet, and the hukam from the Siri Guru Granth Sahib was sweet:

"113; Majh, Third Guru (p. 375): The Nectarian Gurbanj is sweet. Through the Guru, scarcely any one tastes and sees it. He quaffs the supreme elixir, into him dawns the divine light, and at the true court he sings the Godly Word. I am a sacrifice, my soul is a sacrifice unto those who attach their mind to the Guru's feet. The True Guru is the true gift of ambrosia. Bathing therein the man is washed clean of his filth. Thine limits, O True Lord! no one knows. By the Guru's grace, some rare person fixes his mind on Thee. By praising Thee I am never satiated, so much hunger do I feel for the True Name. I see but One Lord and no other second. By the Guru's favor I drink the Name-Nectar. With Gurbani my thirst is quenched, and I am naturally absorbed in eternal peace. The invaluable wealth of God's Name he discards deeming it as straw. The blind perverse person is attached with another's love. As he sows so is the fruit he obtains. Even in dream he shall not obtain peace. The person to whom the Lord shows His mercy attains to Him. The Guru's hymns he places within his mind."

Repeating the Name man merges in the Name.

This was truly a gift this morning, because I was wanting confirmation that my name ~ Amrita Kaur ~ is my true name, and not simply my Sikh name.

The Jewel of the Lord's Love

I've been wearing my pagri, my turban. On Wednesday it brought me a new friend: Jagdeep Kaur. She saw me and asked if I was a student of Yogi Bhajan, an American Sikh. Her grandaughter's name is Amrita! She invited me to her house for Langar, Kirtan and Gurdwara. She blessed me. I am so happy still. I told a Sikh friend, and they were more focused on the fact that she is not an Amritdhari Sikh, rather than how wonderful it is to have another Sikh friend. There is a danger in spiritual elitism...you lose opportunities for more friends.

Just before I met Jagdeep, I had been listening to a recorded lecture by a British Sikh woman explaining how important the Sangat is to one's spiritual growth:

"A Bibi will help you on your path. Like-minded friends, the sangat, is the biggest help in overcoming obstacles on your path. If you take one step to the guru, he will walk toward you."

So, I want to wear my guru's crown on my head. When I look in the mirror I want to see my guru's sacrifice on my body, to walk the path and be reminded by my bani of the geis (vows) that so many have taken to be a good person walking the Sikh path.

I wish I had a proper pagri with an Adi Shakti gem:

"She is the most beautiful among women; upon her forehead she wears the jewel of the Lord's Love."
~ Guru Nanak Dev Ji

To me, moving onto the Sikh path is a natural progression from being a Hindu. Being a Hindu is fine. There are Hindus who who worship form, and also Hindus who worship the formless. There are Hindus who ignore ideas of caste. In Sikhism is a blend of openess to all faiths, with deep roots in the Hindu and Muslim faiths. Wearing the pagri is a way of reminding yourself how important devotion is, and the Adi Shakti seems to me to be much like the bindi Hindu women wear ~ it is the jewel of the Lord's Love.

Surrendering to a Healing Spiral of Kundalini

It seems that everything I do in terms of Kundalini Yoga is now entwined with Gurbani, the reading of the Siri Guru Granth Sahib ~ the Sikh Holy Book. Still practicing Laya Yoga and the Ashtang Mantra, I sat to read this morning. I read the following:

"21, Sri Rag, First Guru, (p. 71): To forget the Beloved, even for an instant, produces great affliction in the soul. How can honour be acquired in God's court, if He dwells not in mortal's mind? By meeting the Guru, peace is obtained and the fire of desire is quenched in singing the Lord's praises. O' my Soul, day and night deliberate over the excellences of God. Who forget not God's Name even for an instant; such persons are rare in this world. (Pause) When human light blends with Supreme Light and the union of wisdom is effaced with the universal wisdom, then mortal's killing instinct and egotism depart and suscepticism and sorrow afflict him not. The Guru-ward, within whose mind abides the Lord, him the Guru unites with Lord's union. If I surrender my body like a bride to the Master, the Enjoyer will enjoy me. Make not love with him, who appears to be but a passing show. That Lord Consort, on His Couch, enjoys the virtuous and chaste brides."

As I read I felt the strangest sensation of warmth at the perineum, which began to grow hot. I re-read the rag 10 times more, feeling that for me, it would be as healing as saying the So Purkh 11times is for a man. That was my intuition, and I was right. As I read again the heat intensified. It grew so hot I felt I was on fire! Hotter than any Reiki hands had every been. It quickly began to frighten me. I knew this was a form of healing, the Guru's grace, but it was too intense. I suddenly remembered that the ajna chakra, the third eye, is where the pituitary resides, connected energetically to the pineal gland in the crown chakra. From here supposedly comes the Amrit, the Amrita, the Divine Nectar. I imagined it flowing down like cool water to cool my blazing root chakra, and amazingly, it did!!!

Then the sensation of heat rose up my spine, like a bubble from a boiling pot, into my heart, where it seemed to burst and fall back down. It rose again more slowly with my visualization, and then it became almost like a flicker of a breeze, a cooling breath, blowing the energy up into my throat. I coudn't feel it for sure after that. It seemed to flutter and hang suspended in midair like a hummingbird.

But something happened. Something healed. Maybe it was a way of boiling off the residue from long past abuses to my body. It felt as if so much of the torture and abuse I endured beyond my curiosity was being lifted. That even the side of me still perversely drawn to pain because I knew it so well, was being healed. I think of Nirinjan Kaur's "Heal Me" and "Kaval Nain" as well. I'll have to go find the words and read. Meanwhile, I am "...back at my cliff, still throwing things off", like Björk in her song. I am sitting for Bound Lotus. Singing the Ray Man Shabd. I am sitting for Laya Yoga. Chanting the Ashtang mantra.

Bless the Sikhs. Bless all those turbaned heads. Bless Yogi Bhajan. Bless my father and his prayers.

Resonance & Light

The Darshan of the Guru, the sight and sound (shabd), is a blessing that fills me with intense devotion. Sitting with the Sri Guru Granth Sahib is sublime, peaceful, calming and soothing. After my experience Monday night sitting also near to the deep experience of Guru Nanak's presence, I am resting within an embrace of love I have not felt since I was 4 or 5 years old. I thought I would be lonely for the Guru, but when I unwrapped the Sikh Holy Book yesterday, I saw light coming from its pages. The resonance of my voice and any sound in the room is like that of a cathedral or church.

That resonance has been there before in deep devotion to Ammachi and to Vaishnodevi as a Hindu. It has been there in through my years of practicing as a Ceremonial Magician in the tradition of The Golden Dawn, but never this deeply. The resonance of Kirtan and the reading of the Guru is profoundly deep. The room echoes as if it were ten times its size.

And when I sit to do Bound Lotus now, and to chant the Laya Yoga Mantra in meditation, my eyes seem naturally to draw upwards towards the the third eye, the ajna chakra.

"Hope For the Flowers"

A new day, and a borrowed copy of the Guru Granth Sahib, with light visibly pouring forth from it, are healing my heart. In my notebook I have written the words:

"Hearing the Shabd Guru builds the knowledge within yourself. You might wish for someone like Yogi Bhajan to tell you what to do, but you already know it within you. You don't need to tell your stories...it is just garbage to be released.

~ Keep an altar to 'alter' yourself."

The act of worship keeps the adolescent (Shakti Pad) on the right path, when it is so easy to mistake one's ego for the voice of God or Guru. This is WHY I did not want to leave Sri Tirath Ashram without a copy of the Sri Guru Granth Sahib. It keeps me humble. It is obvious when reading it that I have done nothing purely on my own. But chanting Sanskrit and Gurmukhi mantra help with that too...no matter how much Sat Inder Singh thinks I should stop chanting so much. He is wrong. The chanting and the reading and the physical yoga heal not only my body, but my ego.

"Always try to increase Simran. It is always about meditating on the Nam. The path is difficult and you may falter, but remember Seva ~ selfless service."

So I read the Guru for Kyle this morning. I called and spoke to him. I continue to sing the So Purkh for my father, for Sat Inder and for Joe. I did my own practices too, to keep the oxygen mask on myself. Doing Laya Yoga with the Ashtang mantra for 31 minutes a day continues to be a healing balm for the junk released from Bound Lotus.

"When chanting, austere meditation and self-discipline become your protectors. Then the lotus blossoms forth, and the honey trickles out."
~ Guru Nanak Dev Ji

I, and everyone else, are like flowers to the sun.

As I left to sub a Yin Yoga class tonight, I asked for God's grace. I received it. The class was inspired. I let the poses flow where they needed to go...I read from Clark Strand's "Seeds From A Birch Tree", from the chapter on daisies. He quotes from Zen Master Soen Roshi's beautiful haiku:

Hana no yo no
Hana no yoh naru
Hito bakari

"All beings are blossoms
blossoming
in a blossoming universe."

We are like the butterflies in "Hope For the Flowers".

Walking 'The Razor's Edge'

Last night, after a beautiful day spent singing to the Guru, having lunch with Sat Inder Kaur at Baljeet's Korma Sutra, and a sweetly delicious Women's Yoga class where Adi Shakti Kaur got to do the 'warrior princess' la-la-la-la-la-la-la!! she had been longing for, during which my neck pain released, I had another quietly transformative experience. This time it was outside the Gurdwara. As I sat to eat a piece of raisin toast in the ante-room outside my bedroom here at the Ashram, I felt a presence of deep love and caring. As if someone were holding me, but without arms. I could see light around the fireplace and above. When I looked up, there was a picture of Guru Nanak! For a fleeting instant, I felt as if we were just married, and I was in my bridegroom's special room. But then I thought, "well maybe I am just feeling old ghosts here in this house, or getting nostalgia for my childhood...maybe remembering the peace of my home in Chattanooga, and the homes of my godparents, the Bertrands (Annabel and John) and Landis Gunn."

Maybe it was all of the above, and maybe it was Guru Nanak, but I felt such deep peace and love from my own heart. I began to feel as if my beloved were sitting on the sofa, cradling me in his arms, like a mother. I felt safe.

I tried to go into my bedroom and sleep, but I missed the presence in the other room. I fell asleep on the sofa for an hour, awash in a feeling of utter bliss. When I got up and went to bed, I felt lonely.

This morning I sang with Sat Inder Kaur and Karta Purkh to the Chardi Kala CD, which really expanded my voice! At the end I heard my voice as if from a distance, and it sounded like the voice of an Indian woman. We then took a Hukam, which Sat Inder Kaur read: page 452. I went back to read from that later, and it was such beautiful language that I could not seem to tear myself away...

I was scrambling again to leave. Trying to get a sub for my class tonight was of no avail, I had to leave the Guru and come home. All of a sudden life exploded me out of my bliss. Lynn's mother had died, and a relative of her husband's as well, and she was telling me all about it while I had to leave. Then Joe told me Kyle had had an emergency appendectomy, and was still in excruciating pain. Then the gas pump poured gas all over my car and tire for the second time, and I went from a state of peace to berating the station attendant and the customer service representative for BP.

By the time I got home, with a borrowed copy of the Guru wrapped in cloth, I had recovered from my frenzied state somewhat. I taught my class though, and it didn't go well. For the first time in years I felt arrogant and overly sure of myself. While I was lamenting privately the fact that I now seemed to be behaving as I have Sat Inder Singh behave on a few occassions...I thought, "Oh my! I am in Shakti Pad like he is! This is so hard!" I had no idea what he was up against, what with the ego expansiveness one moment, and a horribly deflated ego the next. What a roller-coaster. It sucks. I feel for him, and I do not look forward being in this stage of growth. How has he handled it with as much grace as he has thus far? It's rough. I forgive him for being such a monumental jerk at some times.

Thinking all of the above WHILE I was teaching, I was only vaguely aware of a student's discomfort with the flow of a class too intense for her, and yet feeling very frustrated with students who come to take a more advanced class when they aren't ready for it. I felt that she expected me to tone it down a bit, but if I did, the other students would have complained. I resented being called to teach a relative beginner in an advanced class where she did not belong. I knew it was not fair of me, and I was not, even in my state of having an inflated ego, able to seamlessly teach, as I have at times in the past, to more than one level...probably because my ego was so expanded. Jeesh!

She actually walked out on my class. That should have come as no surprise, but it floored me. I was devastated. I have never, even in the years during which I taught aerobics, had a student walk out. I pride myself, paradoxically, on teaching with a level of humility that allows me to approach teaching as a Seva ~ an act of service to others. A gift. A blessing. Tonight, I had changed. I had thought I was 'hot shit'.

I was wrong. I have been teaching by the Guru's grace and the Grace of God, until now. I guess I am not the only one who needs a little 'Ardas Bhaee' in my life to help me through Shakti Pad. God help me if I am ever an ass like that again. And yet, if I stay the course, it is almost certain that I will, yet again, be an ass. I truly do not want to be though. I hope people will forgive me. That is why I try to forgive them, even if I don't want to be in their vicinity while they themselves act strangely.

I am thinking of a quote of Guru Amar Das Ji:

"The path they take is sharper than a two-edged sword,
And finer than a hair."

I am like the chatrika bird crying pe-oo, pe-oo

With the crickets still singing in tandem with a solitary cicada, and the stars hanging weightless in a cool, indigo sky, I got up with a twinge of apprehension and excitement to sit for Sadhana and to attend Gurdwara for the second time this week, while in the Kansas City Ashram of Sri Tirath. I read Japji by myself, as no one else was there. At first I was sort of miffed, but found I was perfectly capable of reading Japji alone. Karta Purkh came down eventually, and we sang to Mata Mandir Singh's "Live from Sweden" CD. I loved how it tests my vocal range and seems to have expanded it.

Toward the end of "Wahe Guru" I did not get shaky, but I realized that I had not brought an offering for the Guru neither yesterday nor today. I debated about running back to the room to grab a few dollars. A small voice firmly suggested I do so. So I did. When I came back, the moment I began to sing again, my voice expanded beyond my imagination! I found myself promising God and Guru that I understood this lesson about not going 'empty-handed' to Gurdwara (the Guru's Door). I made God a promise that if I could sing as beautifully as Simrit Kaur and Sat Purkh, I would dedicate part of the money received to dasvandh, and repaying my father and Rick for their kindness in helping me climb out from under the depths of despair.

When Karta Purkh and I entered Gurdwara, he asked if I wanted to read a Hukam. I said "Yes!" and he explained the protocol of doing so. The book opened for me at page 662, and my eyes were scanning to the other page, but Karta Purkh said we usually read from the first whole paragraph. That Hukam spoke of how a thief in the eyes of the Guru can be invisible to the eyes of others, but not to God and Guru. I took it to heart. I had not consciously meant not to bring money either today or the day before, I just had not.

However, I had been wishing that I did not have to pay for my tuition or books. I felt quite guilty for wishing that. I had been ready to do so at the last session, yet Sat Inder Singh was in such a hurry. So now I owed for two weekends, not just one, and some books and CDs. I knew I needed to write the check as soon as possible, and was apalled at myself. Not only that, but I was feeling tremendous guilt for the years past, and all the financial help that my father and Rick provided. Granted, I needed it, but where the real guilt comes in is this:

When I first asked for help, my father did not take me seriously, because the last time I had fallen flat on my face and he helped me, I took it for granted. When I got well that time, I went straight back to what I had done before. So the second time I lied about how much help I really needed. I was so sick that I needed to not work at all for quite some time. I knew I was not fit for a regular job outside of the craziness of the strip club industry, and yet I also could not heal while working there. I tried to apply for several positions at a jewelry store and knit shop, but was so exhausted just from moving.

I had been struggling with Chronic Fatigue and was developing Fibromyalgia. I also had begun vomiting in the morning frequently, and several times losing control of my bowels. How could I possibly work? I couldn't even clean my own apartment. I knew that Dad wanted to know for sure that I had stopped working in the clubs, but I couldn't prove that to him by getting another job. At least the club would let me work one day a week, and ignore me if I had to lie down alot. It was a Catch-22.

So I lied. I told my father that I had jobs which I did not. I could have told him how sick I really was but I didn't...until later. I could have told him how I never wanted to work in the clubs again, but that wasn't true. I missed being beautiful and in control, admired and catered to by men. I loved dancing on stage. I tried to ignore how much I hated giving privates. But I wanted to get well and go back to dancing, like a true addict. I knew my Dad would not go for that, so I lied. Yet, in the process of getting well from all those illnesses and potential illnesses, I've found I really don't want to be a stripper anymore.

I've begun to teach yoga for the last 2 and 1/2 years and I love it! I love it more than I used to love teaching aerobics in the 80s, before I ever danced. I wish I could make more money at it than I do. I want to focus on teaching yoga, singing and chanting and getting better at it so that I CAN make a decent living from it while doing what I love. To do that, I still need financial help. Now I do not lie about why I need the help, but I do ask. I am not a thief anymore, but I was one once...and the Guru called me on it.

The Guru also let me have a bit of Grace: the next page over, 663, housed the words of a Gurbani hymn set to music by Singh Kaur that I love. I have often wondered where the Gurmukhi words to the 'Azure Salver' could be found, and there they were in the slokah that I tried to read first. I believe I was meant to read it too, but not before taking my medecine.

As I read the 'Azure Salver', the words inspired me to continue reading up to page 670. I felt my head begin to wobble from all of the wisdom overloading it about two pages before. I saw I was getting greedy for the Guru, and stopped before my head might have exploded (maybe), but I literally swooned at the thought of leaving the Gurdwara. I could not bring myself to leave. I had fallen in love with the Guru. I felt like a bride. Like a gopi for Krishna. Like a Bibi for her Guru Nanak.

I remembered Karta Purkh saying that I seemed to enjoy singing the mantras so much, and seemed to have a 'knack' for reading from the Guru in Gurmukhi, and that I should consider singing Kirtan and Rhehiras, as well as devoting myself to the Siri Guru Granth Sahib. I feel I have been a priest, a scribe, a temple consort, a geisha to a priest, and many other things in my lifetimes. I feel I am uniquely blessed in this lifetime to have the benefit of such a rich and varied karmic history to guide me now in the teaching of yoga and the singing of hymns and kirtans for the Guru. He will not fail me. He will raise me up and heal me so that I may heal others and repay the kindness of those who have helped to heal me, and who continue to do so.

May I be blessed to not only help my father on his journey through healing from cancer, but to sing from the deepest part of my heart out of love and gratitude for God and Guru!

Darshan of the Guru

I sat for Japji with Karta Purkh and Sat Inder Kaur, with Arjinder and David, and with Sat Inder Singh. I sang the Aquarian Sadhana mantras to the CD which Sat Inder Singh brought: Sat Purkh's "Beautiful Day", and it seemed to have a similar effect as I had experienced the first time I heard it. I'd thought the first time that happened might have been due to the number of people present, but I have since done Sadhana with four or five others, not having such an experience.

It was beyond words, really.

Yet, I can say that toward the end of "Wahe Guru", my body began to float, and when we finished I did not want to get up, so I began to cry. ...then to laugh. I could not stop it if I had tried. I did try to stand and almost fell, I was so unaware of my body, but David reached out a hand to touch my back, and it grounded me enough to stand and walk into the Gurdwara. Then I literally fell onto the floor. My body shook intensely as waves of energy spread over me, moving gradually down my spine, then stopping. It stopped and started twice.

When Gurdwara service was over, I did not want to speak. Arjinder and David were so kind to ask if I was okay and if I was 'back', but I wanted to just sit with the Guru. This still surprises me...to have such devotion to a book! And yet I know that the tenth Guru, Guru Gobindh Singh, authorized the Siri Guru Granth Sahib to be the Guru.

So this is devotion to God and Guru...

And an afternoon spent in quiet reflection.

For the Birds/For the Bees

Phoenix, Heather, Amrita, Brianna, Annalisa...take your pick. For three days at birth I was Annalisa, then Heather. For ten years I was 'Brianna'...the name and the persona. Then I picked the name Phoenix to protect myself from a Black Tantric magician who tried to steal my identity. Then I was given my spiritual name~ Amrita.

Into Great Silence

Jaap Sahib. The Ajai Alai. Words that can bring siddhis...the power to know what people truly mean behind their words. This knowledge can be tempered with compassion, and swirled into wisdom. How much wiser though to gain that gift from listening to the silent spaces between each other's words. When you know by grace from the heart, not from power?

My father in describing the peace of silence within which to gather yourself for a great task at hand, such as making your appearance at the doors of the underworld to get your CAT scan results, or driving alone to a place where your very DNA are pulled apart like Lego blocks to be rebuilt, told me the story of his great respect for Douglas Steer. Douglas Steer the Quaker mystic.

My father loves Albert Schweitzer. He tells the story of this man's unpretentious, unostentatious kindness to strangers. My father said another idol of his, Douglas Steer, had been, many years ago, on his way to meet Albert Schweitzer. Upon arriving in the city where he was, Douglas Steer refused a taxi to meet him, and walked. He said he needed time to adjust his spiritual garments for he would soon be in the presence of greatness.

So my father, many years later, went to visit Douglas Steer, who had visited Albert Schweitzer. When my father arrived at Douglas Steer's Quaker retreat on the train, he refused a taxi to the center. My father chose to walk. When he arrived, he said to Steer, "You should know that I walked to get here, because I needed time to adjust my spiritual garments." Douglas Steer blushed. So my father said, "Don't worry Dr. Steer, we are all just pointers." Dr. Steer smiled and replied, "Yes we are all just pointers."

I did not take the train to Kansas City for the third weekend of teacher training, but I chose to drive alone, because I needed time to adjust my spiritual garments.

Wet Wings Bursting Forth

On this, the final and 13th day of chanting for my teacher Thomas Ashley-Farrand since his passing over to the other side, I wish that he may fly like a moth to the flame of the divine and light his wings afire into bliss, until he is born into another incarnation on this earth. Having taken boddhisattva vows, I know that I will see him again in this lifetime, as a small child come back to feed the fire of devotion on earth. When he does, he will find an old woman smiling because she has long since opened her wings, shaken off the wetness, and flown to many flowers and carried the nectar of love with her. I remain forever grateful to him for his gifts to me when I might have died.

For now, I am not yet that old woman. I am only 43, but it is late in life to be just really spreading my wings. Yet, such it is, and so I have this to say to the world~

If a butterfly is about ready to fly for the first time, or the second as it may be, and is struggling to release its new wings from its cocoon, it is folly to try to speed up the process as an outside observer. A hand touching those wings, or trying to make them come out faster can easily leave the butterfly crippled. The butterfly needs to struggle alone to release its wings. The act of doing so strengthens them. It is a liminal moment...a crossing of a threshold.

I am there like the butterfly. I am struggling and making my way out of the cocoon.

I've been inside the safety of it for five years, inside the primordial soup of cells actually changing their DNA content. Now I can come out fully, and I know there are many who would like to help, who have helped in the past, but in this case, they need a hands-off approach. This is my journey to wholeness to make~ not my teacher's or anyone else who loves me~ it is MY journey out of the cocoon.

Before I made my cocoon of words and chants like silken healing threads to stitch, I was already coming out of the first cocoon. Someone touched my wings. Someone ripped them. A spider caught my butterfly body in his web and sucked the nectar out. My broken butterfly body was left for dead, its wings in shreds, its antennae mangled beyond repair. But someone else found a bit of nectar from the flower, the amrita from the heather, and mixed it with what was left of my once swollen insides. They made a new caterpillar of me, and I wove again~ this cocoon. Now my wings have cracked the surface. Once again.

"Please," I say to the world, "don't touch my wings. They are mine to stretch."

There comes a point in every student/teacher relationship when the teacher must let go, and the student must stop asking and trust their own inner connection to the source of being. I am at that point. My wings are wet and fragile. When they have dried, it will be safe to flit and play with the flock of other butterflies...to tease the caterpillars into thinking about spinning their cocoons. For now, it is my job and no one else's to squeeze my wet wings through the crack between the worlds.

And as I do so, my beloved mentor Thomas Ashley-Farrand has passed 13 days into the void. My father is making his journey into the unknown territory of healing from cancer. My prayers and my constant chanting are with them, but my hands do not reach out to touch their wet wings, nor would they touch mine. Thomas, my father and I, we know what can be said, and what must be left unsaid. And what must not be done.

Amrit(a) for the Bees

I was just feeling almost human again, after a night of releasing anxiety, when, instead of doing the rest of my Aquarian Sadhana practice late yesterday, I was unable to ignore a friend calling me a 'pansy' for asking them not to make me cry, and because I started sadhana late. I finally did Sadhana much, much later yesterday. Today I almost did not. Fortunately, I realized my desire not to would be an act of cutting my own nose off to spite my face, so to speak, simply because I resented being told what to do.

I am pretty self-motivated. The only reason I am actually doing sadhana every day, is because it keeps me from totally freaking out over Dad's cancer; but I can't get up always at 3:30 am to do it. Sometimes my head hurts too much, and that doesn't seem to go away, unlike queasiness from exhaustion, which seems to if I do sadhana anyway...the headaches stay. Unless I stay in bed longer. Other old illnesses have re-emerged as well. I can't always do sadhana so early. I mentioned it to Guru Sandesh and Sat Inder Kaur and they both said: "at least you are doing it! Sadhana is good whatever time of day."

And so is Bound Lotus, and the Releasing Fear meditation, and the chanting I am doing along with hundreds of other people during the 13th days since Thomas Ashley-Farrand's death from excruciatingly painful liver cancer. So is saying the So Purkh for my Dad, for Joe, and for Sat Inder Singh. So is my ongoing Sanskrit mantra practice that I have been doing all day long for years. And so is chanting the Laya Yoga Ashtang mantra.

Especially that.

Yesterday's text messaging brouhaha left me with dark circles, really, really bloodshot eyes, and a huge lump in my throat. Some of the things my friend said to me in the past have reminded me of the way the man who tortured me and stalked me for years spoke to me~ and yet my friend is a good person. He really does not mean to hurt me...and yet he does. When he speaks to me sometimes like that, he later pretends he was only teasing, or 'yanking my chain'; he wants to hide his darker side and pretend that it isn't there. I hear it and read it in his words. I am not stupid, and my intuition is not wrong.

I have decided that as much as I predominantly enjoy his friendship, I refuse to be spoken to this way anymore. And as much as he thinks I chant too much, it is the very chanting that I do that allows me not to indulge my own dark side and attack him intensely with darker thoughts than just pain. The way he badgers is too much. I can't take it anymore, especially with Dad sick.

And what is more, contrary to what my friend thinks, the chanting I do for my father can help him. The So Purkh. Ra Ma Da Sa.

The chanting of the Aquarian mantras and the Laya Yoga practice are healing me. Healing me in a way in which Bound Lotus is not. Bound Lotus seems to be healing the more physical problems I've had, while Sadhana takes away the anxiety, and this Laya Yoga practice is the healing balm. It is like sweet honey in the raw wound. Like the honey of my name Amrita, it has healed my heart and mind both yesterday and today. It has brought me peace since I began it. It brings me peace every day I do it, no matter what time.

Yes, sadhana and the other practices have a stronger effect if done during the Amrit Vela, but if I can't bring myself to do them then, I still do them everyday. Sadhana every day as soon as I can is my commitment. 1'000 days of Bound Lotus is my commitment. 1'000 days of Releasing Fear meditation is my commitment. 90 days of Laya Yoga for 31 minutes, just like Bound Lotus, is my commitment. That's more than most people do. If I fail to do them all during the Amrit Vela, maybe the honey, the nectar of the names spoken in earnest when I can do them comes anyway...

Like my name, Amrita, that nectar will always belong to me as a child of the universe trying deeply to open her heart, even when people step on it.

Just for today...

Today.

Just today.

Rawness. Pain. Grief. Anger. Hurt. Rage!

What do you want from me teacher of mine? Did you mean to wipe the smile of bliss from my face? Did you realize what you were doing when you did it? Do you know it now?

I want to let the floodgates open, but I am afraid of how I might hurt you if you keep standing there. You would be like a twig in the path of a roaring dam as it breaks. I want to scream and cry out in such agony. Everyone's tears are mine. The grief is unbearable. Leave me alone. Let me be in my grief. My grief at all that has past and all that may come. My grief tinged with some moments of bliss like a tiny pinch of glitter on a child's torn drawing.

Let me be. Let me grieve. Alone. For the babies, for my mother, my father, my sister, my nephews...for the whole world if I feel like it. Let me GRIEVE! Don't touch me. My heart is breaking. Your touch will make it crumble.

Let me be.

Alone.

Just for today.

Writing in green ink...

The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (incidentally first his 'pen name' then legal name) wrote exclusively in green ink because it is the color of "Esperanza"...hope. I 'hope' Cross pen refills come in green? I think not...but I could be wrong. I feel like channeling some Pablo Neruda love.

And I think about how this kriya I am doing (Laya Yoga), helps one to let go into what is truly essential. For me, that would be hope for sure. Yesterday's meditation in GuruSandesh' class for envisioning our dreams on 10.10.10 had me filled with tremendous hope that my heart will open so wiiiiidddeee! Like Sade, I want my love wider than Victoria Lake, taller than the Empire State! I think of the Meiji Emperor's wanga poem: Like a sky in clear, light green I wish my heart would be as vast!

And then I think of what is truly essential. More than hope. More than faith (and lovely people with names like Faye and Tutu)...it is love. And as hokey and goofy as some people might think I am...so what? If looking up videos of 'Marcel the Shell with Shoes On' and Rick Astley Rick Rolls keeps me from agonizing too much over a loved one getting diagnosed with prostate cancer, early but in an aggressive form, then I say Marcel and Rick Astley rule! They along with chocolate, books, paints, yoga, walks in the park, and friends who truly care (and don't dump me the way they did when Mom died) are what I love right now. That and Björk. And flowers pressed in books. And Brian Froud's "Pressed Faeries" book. Hell, I love faeries! And I am not afraid to say so!

I love Antoine de Saint Exupery's "The Little Prince", and how he says what is essential is invisible to the eye. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. You can see it in an Instant Message if the sender sent it, you can read it in an e-mail. Words are powerful: spoken or written. My intuition always tells me if someone is really sincere. It's in their words. It's in their hearts. I'm looking for what is invisible to most eyes...the color green around someone's heart chakra. And I'm looking for green ink so I can channel the poet Pablo Neruda in my diary...

A Kundalini Christmas

I am highly amused. I personally believe in angels, and I think they like to play practical jokes and tease, and "poke, provoke, confront and elevate" as Yogi Bhajan would say. I also think they like to let us know we are on the right track, following the pieces of candy corn to treasure buried beneath a kriya, or under a tree. Either that, or I am an idiot savant like Rainman, and can count the days until Christmas, and know subconsciously that 90 days from Amma's birthday, when I began this practice, is December 25th! I know it is a 40-day practice, but when I curiously decided to see when 90 days would be up, I found, to my sheer and utter surprise, that the day will be Christmas Day. This is perfect! Ending the chanting of a mantra with a riff from "The Nutcracker Suite" on Christmas. I almost want to celebrate with milk and cookies.

But besides that, today was up and down. I had a beautiful morning Sadhana again, but the battery was low on my iPhone, so I didn't sing along with Bachan Kaur on "Angels in the Amrit", but instead with Mata Mandir Singh on "Live from Sweden". Let me break out the marzipan and pinwheel cookies of my Danish childhood.

I had a nice chat with Sat Inder Singh, and reconfirmed that I want to take Sikh vows and Amrit, though my body is revolting, by making me do Sadhana late. My inner demons in the closet, like a bunch of Voodoo Petro loa, are pitching a fit. I am painting over them. This is my way of doing therapy for my pissy inner child. Sat Inder says my real self is shining through more, and I think he is right! I feel more and more like the 'girl' I was before my mom died 14 years ago...before I dated Satan.

I am in awe of what Kundalini Yoga has done for my life, let alone this particular kriya. However, I almost didn't finish it today, because I was too busy looking at YouTube videos of Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, and the fake one with Rick Astley in it from the 80s. I almost fell off the sofa laughing so hard, and Rick Astley gave me butterflies, which scares me. I hope I don't have nightmares, and dream instead of celluloid faeries from the 60s.