never say never. shubh mahasamadhi.

never say never. especially in the ashram. hear me out. i walk into the kitchen ready to do some dishroom seva. who do i see? barbara. all decked out in her corporate 'uniform' baking away. happy contentment is all over her face. i say, hey, barbara, are you going to abicek? by the way, i love, love abicek. four thirty in the morning. in the temple. watching a galaxy of sari clad radiant yoginis orchestrating a ritual bath for the enlivened image of bade baba. in exquisite silence and stillness. we participants chant vedic hymns and then we eat special sweets and sacred water that blends coconut milk and rose water. all done before dawn breaks. all right, where am i? o yes, i want to find a ride. and i know barbara doesn't miss an abicek. she says, all right, i'll pick you up four twenty. i pause for a momen, don't know what to say. i really want to be in the ashram by four so i can get a nice seat up front. okay, i do understand that the grace of a saint is not diminished by one row or two. but i just like to sit a little closer to where the action is. i don't want to sound ungrateful and i hesitate to abuse barbara's kindness. so i swallow my unmet expectation and say, all right. then something overcomes me from within and i hear myself bursting out, sure, and who knows, you might be so inspired to come at three thirty. not missing a beat, barbara says, with all the courage of her conviction, NEVER. i say, well, well, well, never say never, you're in the ashram. really. grace works in creative, out-of-the-box ways.

that was a couple of weeks ago. last night, before going to bed, i had a hunch to check my emergency cell. that's right. i don't really pick up calls on an emergency cell. it's one of the many things hwubby has to put up with me. anyway, there's a new message from barbara. it goes like this. listen, suk wah, i am invited to dress bade baba, they have to dress me in sari, so i have to come to pick you up three thirty. i laugh in awe as i say, thank you, bade baba. i really believe it's my prayer answered. and the truth is that there's enough grace to go around answering evryone's prayers. we just have to have the clarity and courage to see them as smart and right on expressions of grace. seriously how else can you get a girl to get up at two forty five willingly with a smile. try this. you'll be all decked out in a glamorous sari, dripping with jewels, clothe bade baba in spectacular garments and garlands and fresh flowers.

shubh mahasamadhi.

me and markandeya

it's been a two day feast of sublime vedic mantras. there's one in particular that impresses on me so much that i think to myself, i can never forget this melody. it soars and swirls everywhere in the head while massaging the heart sweetly and tenderly. then yesterday i go through a day of worldly activity. by the time i go to bed i am ready to bring up that beautiful melody of this vedic hymn. o me o my i can't recall a note. seriously. after struggling a little bit, getting frustrated a little bit i take a long sigh and let it go. somehow i have the sense that one way or another i will get it back. by the time i sit down for meditation this morning i have already forgotten about the struggle the night before. i go about my meditation ritual, calmly and happily settle into a sweet and nice state when, just like that, the melody i have been looking for arises spontaneously from within. the voice is powerful. the color is bright. the tone is crystal clear. so there i am, sitting in a comfortable and upright posture, immersed in the resounding vibration that is, as a matter of fact, soundless.

and then i remember something else. a magical story associated with this hymn. yama, the lord of death, riding on his buffalo, goes to collect a soul whose time has come to leave the body. of course this is no ordinary mortal like me. when it's time for me to go, yama sends the lowliest of his servants. so who is this guy that demands yama himself to come? look at this scene. yama can't even go inside and drag his feet the way his servant would be doing with me. yama is standing outside and says loudly, come out, markandeya. inside, this markandeya is one-pointedly doing worship to shiva lingam. what's the story with this maekandeya? he is sixteen years old. his father is a brahmin. his mother has boundless devotion. together they have done phenomenal austerities. so much so that shiva comes and asks him, what do you want. the brahmin says, i have your darshan, my lord, i don't want anything. shiva turns to his wife and asks, what do you want? his wife says, i want a child. shiva says, i can't change your destiny but since i grant you a want, you can choose between a wise child who lives to sixteen and a foolish child who lives to a hundred. the couple discusses among themselves, and says, we want a wise child. so maekandeya is born. when he is five he asks his mother, why are you crying so much since i have memory, have i done anything wrong? his mother says, again and again, no. finally maekandeya says, i will stop eating unless you tell me why are you crying so much? his mother tells him what shiva says. maekandeya says, i am five, i still have eleven years. so in the ensuing years markandeya dedicates himself to the worship of shiva. fast forward. that takes us to the moment when he is supposed to die and yama is standing outside, demanding him to go. markandeya is so immersed in the worship of shiva that he wraps himself, hand and feet, around the shiva lingam. no matter how loud and hard yama calls markandeya's mind is totally immersed in the mantra. finally yama is out of patience. he throws out a noose over markandeya's neck. but since the boy is all around the shiva lingam, the noose is all over the lord as well. at this point shiva manifests himself, with his third eyes wide open. shiva is furious. he says to yama, what are you doing? yama realizes he has done a big disrespect to his boss. what about why he is there the first place? never mind. forget it. even yama has to run for his life.

the mantra markandeya is singing with all his heart is the one that i love so much that it arises spontaneously in my meditation. me, markandeya, the beautiful melody are one.

pure pasta. pure practices.

these days the only pasta i eat is uncle vito's. let me explain why. first of all it's after doing spiritual practices together. we sing vedic hymns and om and meditate. by the way we are now singing om on a deeper level. we focus on the nasal resonance. the result speaks for itself. we glide into this meditation that, in shivaa's words, quick and still. half an hour go by in no time. i am deeply absorbed in the subtle throb. i am all full in this gentle and rich pulsation.

then, pasta. the pasta sauce is a recipe from vito's fellow italian, lydia mastianich. mushroom, garlic, parsley. how can it be not terrific, right? and then vito throws in his own touches. sage. a cheese that is not reggiano. i can't remember the name. but what it does is not drowning out the delicate mushroom flavor but enhancing it. you can't taste the sage but the whole thing is that much more interesting and richer. i scrape off every drop of it.

this is pure pasta. perfect complement to the pure practices.

one light ablaze in all. the sweetness of oneness

i am offered the opportunity to wave the light at the conclusion of the vedic hymn. since i don't know a thing about wrapping saris shivaa bravely takes up the responsibility to prepare me. we have so much fun. a girls' nite out at five forty five sunday morning. she says, i was worried that i had to wrap a toothpick. i say, check it out, i have boobs and butt.

as i wave the blazing flame of ghee in front of the guru's chair i see four rivers of light. from my own being. from my guru. from my grand-guru. from my great-grand-guru. all this while my awareness is afloat in the sound of everybody in the hall chanting the melodious and rousing hymn. i hear one sound. the sound of boundless devotion. i see the light of compassion, the light of pure and supreme joy, ablaze everywhere, permeating my consciousness. the sound of devotion knead all the lights, within and without, into molten gold. i become a bundle of warm sweetness. as i reflect on this i realize i am bestowed the sublime experience of oneness. i taste the sweetness of oneness. the selves of me and all are no different from the self of the guru. one light is ablaze in all. one sweetness.

love my fellow yogis

back to doing spiritual practices with fellow yogis after a two-month absence. love it. the eight of us pour our whole being into the practices, be it chanting a vedic hymn or singing om or meditating or...eating. about singing om. this time i consciously shift the note after several rounds. as i rise to a higher note i hear waves of beautiful harmonics sweeping into my consciousness. our individual sounds come together. mystical alchemy happens. blossoms of grand resonance appear, sustain and dissolve in a comforting rhythm. soon i experience no difference between the resonance outside of me and the reverberation within me. i am filled with waves of sweet and spectacular resonance. i hear my own resonance pulsing through my entire being while the vast symphonic sound undulates everywhere in my awareness.

and then shivaa feeds us to beautiful, pure food. a bowl of azuki bean soup permeating shittake aroma gently fills the belly with yummy nourishment. a dollop of fresh whip cream, infused with maple syrup and vanilla, over upside down apple pie provides the perfect sweet note to satisfy the body and mind. i love my fellow yogis. we check in with each other on our spiritual wellbeing. we don't gossip but we support each other's spiritual growth. we pray together in one voice with one intention.

i couldn't be happier to be back with them. love my fellow yogis.

so happy to be with my spiritual study buddies

great to be back. it's so easy to experience the oneness in all when i chant and meditate with committed yogis, surrounded by gorgeous roses that are from shivaa's gardens. while chanting the vedic hymn i see the sweet and mischievous play of dusk lights on the roses and statues on shivaa's magnificent altar.

this is a fiery hymn. sure enough i sense the presence of a vibrant blaze surging in waves within me. i am not afraid of it. this is beneficial fire. quickly i see what's in the fire. anger. anger triggered in the earlier interaction with my editor. i gaze into it. it becomes clear that the fire is burning away impatience and something else is revealed. what is it? in the meditation immediately following the chant i get it. i am filled with the courage and strength to stand up to the challenge in front of me: i'm walking a path of light, i'm writing the book i want to write and who says it's easy? the only way to do it is to intensify what i'm doing with sustained discipline. have no doubt. i am equal to the challenge.

when i open my eyes coming out of meditation what do i see? a spread of divine food prepared by shivaa. as i grate nutmeg into the soup i have to be careful not to drool into it. it's hard because it's yummy and aromatic beyond measure. the mushroom stock brings everything together into a beautiful, harmonious whole. you can't see the onion paste and minced garlic but you can taste the complexity and purity in the soup. the blended carrot and turnip ground it. the baby lima beans, sweet corn add an extra dimension of richness. add a dollop of sesame pesto...the huge pot of soup is gone in no time with everybody having seconds.

what about the salad? just when we think shivaa's salads couldn't get better she breaks her own glass ceiling. slices of fresh fig, sparkles of pomegranate, roasted peanuts and blood orange bits turn a pile of green leaves into a one-dish sumptuous meal. i don't eat cold and raw but this i can't resist.

dessert is the generous and abundant shares of insights and understandings from our own experiences and reflections. i gobble them all up.

thanks everybody. lucky me indeed.

judgmental. just mental.

how fortunate am i to have such sublime, super-fun fellow yogis? let me count the ways.

we come together regularly. i don't drive. so they make sure i get schlepped around. it always give my heart an extra lift to know i will always be welcomed and received by all these big, open and generous hearts with their warm, beaming smiles. we chant a surpreme vedic hymn, meditate. and then we eat all that superb food that shivaa lovingly and skillfully prepared. as we feed the stomachs we discuss, contemplate, share insights and what we have learned in the context of applying a particular teaching in our day-to-day life. full beyond measure. always lot of laughter.

last evening as i am relishing the rice fuselli that is well coated in a sesame pesto and tossed in a stirfry of mushroom, sugarsnaps and summer squashes i marvel at the palette of bright, bold colors and refreshing flavors and chew on the residual tendencies that i have been working on. unworthiness. fear of getting lost. i say them out loud. i receive no judgments, nor indulgences. they look at them with utter compassion and detachment. in that way i learn to disengage from them a little bit more. the habit of beating myself up for having such thoughts is largely uprooted. whatever remains i am aware of it but it no longer has the power to suck me out of the present moment.

the spiritual dissection is deep. at one point i feel the mind is saying, you are frying me. fortunately shivaa's salad gives a cooling relief. the golden, nectarean, juicy mango shining through the bright greens, sparkling with pomegrantes tones down the fire of resistance in the mind. roasted peanuts pack the right punch to keep the fidgeting mind still. the lemon tarragon dressing only enhances the calming effect further.

we love our spiritual discussion so much that we do some more of it after singing om and meditation. it is then i remember another biggie that's been tugging me for my entire life. i say, hey, here's one that i am still working on hard, judgmental. shivaa, ever witty and spot on, says, yeah, just mental. indeed. it's the thing of the mind to keep making up stuff. mental creations are, at best, like tchotzhkes. cute and taking me out of the present moment.

really, seriously, without a doubt, well fed on all levels.