Home again, home again

Hey there, my dear Imaginary Readers. Miss me?

Indeed, it’s been an interesting week. I know I promised to keep writing about writing — and I will. I even have a nice long list of writing-related topics about which I plan to compose long-ish essays over the coming days and weeks. (Feel free to post requests in the Comments, if there’s something you want me to cover.)

I remained more or less offline for the last couple of days due to preparations for Thanksgiving dinner, which we had here with friends. A very enjoyable get-together and massive amounts of feasting. Blue corn chips and hummus (2 kinds). Sour cream dip and fresh vegetable relish tray. Vegetarian (fake) chicken cutlets, fried in marinade and then baked with a dijonaise parmesan sauce. Mashed regular and sweet potatoes. Sage gravy. Homemade cranberry sauce. Fresh pasta and homemade marinara sauce. Fresh bread. Summer squash. Green beans and corn. Deviled eggs. Pumpkin and boysenberry pies with actual whipped cream. Coffee served in fine bone china. Yum.

A brief run-down of recent events after the break (that way those of you not interested can ignore this post if you prefer; otherwise, get ready for a LiveJournal-y entry).

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And we’re back. Okay, so where were we? Two Fridays ago, your intrepid author had a nasty existential, philosophical, and spiritual crisis, all wrapped in one. For the last six months or so, I’ve been exploring these Vedic teachings of Sri Kaleshwar Swami. Mantras, meditations, and whatnot. Among my reasons were the fact that my dearest friend came back from India a very changed woman, and also my spouse seems to be getting a great deal out of these practices.

I’d been curious, but not terribly moved. Still, they kept saying, “Try it. If it doesn’t work, you’re out nothing but some time.”

I tried it. Got some peculiar effects, and weird coincidences started happening on a suspiciously frequent basis. Oh, and if you read back in my blog a ways, there was this really bad back injury — which was suddenly healed (my doctor and chiropractor to this day have no idea how I went from crippled to fine, overnight).

Unfortunately, there remained something terribly wrong at the core of my beliefs. Which is to say that despite the uncanny coincidences, despite the miracle I myself experienced, it gave me no comfort. I found the mantras boring, pointless, and annoying. The practices arbitrary and foolish, not to mention portraying what I felt was an overly simplified and limited version of the Universe and its prime causes.

So, there I was, two Fridays ago, trying to complete one of the tasks associated with this spiritual process. I kept screwing up. There was also time-pressure involved, because we were to meet friends for dinner and movie and needed to leave soon. And an incredible feeling of rage just rose within me like Leviathan from the depths. I was literally moments from putting my fist through a window. Instead of completing the task, called a sahdna (no idea if I’m spelling that right), I abandoned it and walked out into the dark.

I just felt like what little faith I had in anything whatsoever had been shattered. I had nothing, and the feeling of bleakness settled over me like a caul. By this point, I wanted to stay at home, but knew that our friends (including my best friend) would be disappointed — since I do bail on social obligations with impolite frequency. But we went.

I barely ate, and that pattern stuck with me for most of the last two weeks (my bathroom scale thanked me… one of the few upsides of the Dharma Crisis Diet (DCD)). We went to see Clooney’s “Good Night and Good Luck” — the film about Edward R. Murrow. Great film, but I could barely concentrate on it. I didn’t want to seem gloomy or morose, so basically I just stayed quiet. Still, I must’ve been awful to be around.

The next night, we went to a fire puja ceremony. I sat in silence for most of it, except when doing so would attract too much attention. Most of the time, I wondered why I was even there. I didn’t believe in this stuff. It wasn’t for me. I wasn’t going to fit in. I felt like an unconfessed, unbaptised heretic taking Communion (I was raised Roman Catholic).

We had other friends over the following night for dinner, and I did my best to lift my public/visible mood out of its funk. As for the spiritual crisis, the best I could manage was ‘resigned.’ That path wasn’t for me, maybe useful for meditation, but forget anything more. I’m a Writer (capitalized deliberately there); it’s what I do and what I am. I recommitted myself to doing the Artist’s Way — and it did help.

That Tuesday night, as I noted in another post, I went to hear Kaleshwar speak in San Francisco. I also thought, “Here’s a chance to get a feel for the guy. See what he’s really like, and turn my empathic talents on him.” While I can’t say I was exactly impressed with the venue (the acoustics were simply terrible), and what little I did hear seemed to be stuff I’d heard via other sources before, he did seem to me to be sincere enough. During the group meditation, I thought I felt a little something, a minor easing perhaps. Between that and my own psychic impressions, I was honest in saying to my friends, “He does seem to be the real deal.”

“But still not for me” is what went unsaid. I spent the next few days working on my writing, working on this blog here, and thinking. I’d heard tell that Kaleshwar would be doing healings and possibly talking to people for brief interviews, up north there in Laytonville — but the notion of driving four hours each way, just for five minutes with a guy whose teachings did nothing much for me… well, the idea was ridiculous. Besides, I was planning to go on this road trip to LA and Maui with my spouse and our friends — and I’d probably get to hear two more of his scheduled talks during this tour (assuming I could hear anything). If it had just been him, I wouldn’t have gone, but this was to be a group vacation with our friends and I’ve never been to Hawaii. I was resigned, but hoped I’d have a good time anyway, and I tried to concentrate on the vacation aspect of the upcoming two week trip.

Last Friday, I went on an artist date (part of the Artist’s Way process). At first, it was to have been a quick trip to the mall to find a bathing suit (I look quite good for 42…but I just wasn’t going to be comfortable in either of the bikinis I own), and then drive up the coast north of Santa Cruz. The trip instead turned into a fruitless search for that suit, but did entail exploring parts of the city I’d not seen before. (Found the bowling alley though — and I’ll be back there on some future trip.) So I got home a few hours later, with Stephanie smiling. “How’d you like to see some real miracles?” she asked. We’d been invited to Laytonville for a special program — one which would involve a fair amount of in-person time with Kaleshwar.

It’s weird. If my brain had managed to interpose itself first, it would’ve said, “No, thanks. That’s not for me, and I just don’t have the time. I should be writing or exercising or just about anything else other than making the round trip to Laytonville.”

Instead, I paused just a beat and said, “Yes.”

That was the genesis of that trip. We left Saturday evening, staying at a motel in Willits. Went to the Divine Assistants temple the next day, returning to the motel around 7pm or so. Drove home the following morning.

And in between… well, something remarkable happened. I witnessed a few miracles, some subtle, others overt and tangible. I have the proof I was demanding, that this stuff is real (as much as anything can be considered ‘real’). But most importantly, I feel like that great gaping wound in my spirit and heart are healing. Lots of stuff in the form of emotional baggage is coming up…but I’m dealing with it. Plus I don’t feel anywhere near as hopeless as I did two weeks ago.

(This all proved to be extremely fortuitous, because Kaleshwar abruptly cancelled the rest of his tour and went back to India the day after we were there. No LA, no Maui — which is one reason why we cancelled our own plans. Another reason was that I was too emotionally and spiritually blasted to even contemplate travel, as was Stephanie. It feels strange though, having seized the opportunity — only to be shown that it was wise to have done so, else it would now be long gone. If I see him again anytime in the next year, it’s likely going to be at his ashram in Penukonda. Well, in the flesh anyway. I’m not sure how far this guy’s abilities extend.)

Am I some wide-eyed saffron-robed mantra chanter now? (Not that these people are at all like that, no insult intended; the Kaleshwar devotees are really very nice. Even if they do seem to have a predilection for Indian clothes.) No. That way’s not for me. I got things I want to do, places I want to be, and one day, hopefully book tours and lots and lots of hours of dreaming up new stories. But I was impressed, and I feel better — and isn’t that all that matters?

I’m not sure what the future holds for me. I did ask Kaleshwar with some help the writing, both the internal blocks and external circumstances.

There’s a price to be paid though. One is I needed to return to the meditative practices — only they don’t seem pointless now. So that was one gift.

The other is I’m not allowed to write garbage. Ain’t that a hoot?

-Becca