The Dark Side of my Form Emerges

This is definitely it. Time to confront my dark side. Welcome, everyone to the Hotel Eufemia, you can check out any time you like but you can never leave. Ordinarily, I go to great lengths to avoid my shadow side.

"Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of Eufemia?" I'll tell you who, the Shadow knows.

This is the part of me that often wakes up cranky, frustrated, annoyed, tired, bitter, shallow. The part of me that wakes up thinking "so what?" or "why bother?" or "I don't feel like doing anything" or "I'M STILL HUNGRY! I don't mean here, in Pushkar, now. Though, I have had some of those days here too. Dang, I meant to be someone else by now. New, improved, stop with the barbed wire, sharp internal commentary Eufemia! Did she miss her connecting train in Jaisidhi? I'm waiting for her to show up, soften me up, so I can stop sharpening this knife I'm using to operate on myself. No anaesthestic, thank you very much.

Everybody now, repeat after me: What do you want Eufemia, a medal, a badge, or the yogic chest to pin it on?

The sharp edged part of me that I want those chocolate croissants to smooth over.

Oh I could go on and on with what I notice about my dark side: spoiled, selfish, stupid, ignorant. Unrepetant.

Ouch, that last one hurts.

Stop me any time.

But wait, you haven't heard the full story.

There's these kids, you see. They'll follow you where ever you go. I've had them in Bodhgaya, in Varanasi, in Agra. And now, the Pushkar lil' rascals. I have sometimes bought them chocolate (okay, I only did that once, and then got surrounded by two other boys immediately wanting candy, chocolate, biscuit, please friend, please? To them I said "Go ask that kid, make him your "friend, friend!" I'm sure he'll share." See, I would like to lie and tell you I'm feeding the kids here biscuits every day. Or I'm handing out rupees willy nilly. Ah, no, that is not happening. Not that I couldn't add liar liar pants on fire to my Shadow self-made, checked and accounted for list, just didn't feel like it today, alright?)

I am only being a little bit harsh. Rich did mention one day, when I was going on ad naseum (poor guy) that I seem to pick out people to help out in each location, and do what I can, "Pawan in Bodhgaya, those girls in Varanasi." Essentially he was saying quit being so hard on yourself.

Oh, what does he know anyways? Has he discovered the Fountain of Youth? Re-arranged the Time-Space continuim? Found a cure for cancer? No? I rest my case.

Today, this one rascal follows me for quite some time, saying "Biscuit, please madam, hungry, please, no money, only biscuit, please?" He kept grabbing my elbow, pulling on my shirt sleeve. Then he surprises me and says it in Italian "Biscotto, favore, biscotto, ho fame -" but I keep walking, thinking, this kid likely also knows how to say this in French, Spanish, German and Korean.

Then he stops and says, "No good fucking girl."

Just a side note, I really dislike when this type of word is everyday language, or every second word in a person's vocabulary. Writing it down is something I've been trying to get around. This time, just so you feel the impact too, it's here. I've lost my PG-13 rating.

So I stopped, turned around and glared at him. I wanted to grab him, slap him and shake the living daylights out of him.

My sense of humour, the only shield I really have, was nowhere to be seen. My patience deserted me somewhere between the cold shower that gave me this persistant bronchial cough and that guy on the bus ride.

I wish I felt like saying "Scram, kid, you're bothering me, throwing me off my Shanti, Shanti vibe," or even "GIMME GIMME GIMME NEVER GETS!"

No, I felt like I was physically capable of wringing his little neck. So I walked on, back to the hotel. I lay down under my sleeping bag in the cold, frigid room and thought "I can't stay here any longer." Meaning, not just Pushkar, but India.

(Please note: About that cold, frigid room. Yes, I've heard it's snowing in Vancouver, and most of the time, I see this trip as my dream come true. A manifestation of work, thought, some sporadic single-mindedness and an opportunity presented itself and here I am, practicing Yoga in India, a dream come true. 99% of the time I see that, I know it. The other 12% - I get cranky and upset. That's my math for you, I still can't calculate GST and PST. Just ask my dad, he'll tell you how embarrassing it is that he's a math prodigy and I have to take my socks off to count past ten)

In the moment, instead of thinking about how this kid does look tiny and malnourished and has to be hungry in a way I've never experienced - even when I have stupidily uttered the words "I'm famished!" - I looked at him like I wanted him dead. Sure, he was looking at me the same way, but he's a kid.

It's an ugly look. I think of it like Kryptonite, it's disabling. It shouldn't be used at all. It's a look that can only be used for evil, there is no other way to describe it.

There is Karma after all, cause and effect.

Once, I gave this look to an elderly fellow who had befriended me. I treated him like my grandfather, giving him the same respect. For months, I was happy to see this ol' guy amblin' along on his cane to see me, come meet me for coffee break or lunches at work. Then, one day he made a pass at me. I was 26, he was 67. I had heard of father figures, but not grandfather figures. I rebuffed him, pretended that I didn't understand him or what he meant, and the next time I saw him I had "No time for coffee or lunch," and I gave him that look.

He called me, at my place of work, very upset and said "Please don't look at me like that. There was so much hatred in your eyes."

I knew how he felt, but I felt no sympathy towards him. I learned the look from my own mother, from being on the receiving end of it. The difference of course, is that my mother then and now, struggles wth severe psychosis.

I got up from my sleeping bag, 10 minutes later, still upset. Still shaking from being a witness to the depth of my own rage. I decided it simply would not do to sit in my room. I gave myself my usual favourite pep talk "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idjit, you've had it easy."

I sighed, and walked over to the Funky Monkey for a chai. There I met some fabulous Canadians from Victoria "We're neighbours!" said the woman. We chatted briefly. I told her a little of what had transpired. She told me her first time in India, she had ended up in 4 fist fights, just to defend herself.

In speaking some more, I told her my reaction to what the child had said really startled me. I was undone.

"That's Kali!" she said, "embrace it."

Kali is a Goddess, a ferocious form of the Divine Mother. I won't go into all the details here, there's too much about her to explain. A few quotes from a website I found:

1. Her form is fearsome and vicious, yet it remains awe-inspiring through its abundant symbols.
2. Kali's exists in the cremation ground, which is representative of a location in which the five different elements cease. As far as Kali is concerned, these elements are considered to be: attachments, anger, lust, and other binding emotions, feelings, and ideas.
3. The fearful goddess with a heart of a mother

I only know that the first time I ever heard of Kali, at a lecture years ago, I thought My god, that's my mother. A strange thought, I know, but still, I could see my mother as Kali, easily. I felt it to be true.

So why pine the happy childhood I didn't have? I thought afterwards. Maybe this is about removing attachment. Why am I hanging on still? Why can't I just let go? Why not try to see my mother as burning through my illusions and attachments. And why don't I go buy a bag of Oreos to eat while I mull this over? I'm grappling with some deep thoughts here, I'm working up a big appetite.

So there I was, sitting at the Funky Monkey, where the guy running the cafe wanted to show me his poetry once he found out I was a writer (fantastic stuff his poems, he uses the phrase God Almighty alot and I loved it) and where a fabulous fellow Canadian female (who might be able to teach me poi! I've always wanted to know how to do that!) reminded me of a Goddess I hardly understand, but stand in awe of as well.

As soon as she stated "That's Kali!", I said "yes, of course," and I knew it to be true.

I felt much, much better after that. Even more so after the chai and croissant. I was grateful something compelled me to get back outside, once more into the breech dear friends, even if I had to risk walking past that kid again.

As Catullus said, "Vivamus...atque amemus."

Let us live...and let us love