For example, the same man has now tried to give me a flower to take to the lake, several times since I've been here. In fact, the second last time he did it, I said "Nahee mil-" and he completed my sentence "Nahee milega dost" (Dost means friend, but like we both know I don't mean it. Have never meant it, everytime I've said it. Friend. Ha. He's more like a tapeworm. Ooooo. Too harsh? SO SUE ME.) Then he did it again. I said "Nahee milega dost, please, for God's sake!" And I shoo-ed him away like he was a insect of the winged variety. Five feet later I thought, I just shoo-ed a grown man away. Ewww, I disgust me.
On the main road, the same guys always ask if I want to 'change money?' or 'go Camel Safari?'. I ignore them, and while I'm walking away it's always "Yes? Madam!? Maybe later? Tomorrow? Good price? Hello? Excuse me! Camel safari." I feel like stopping and saying "Would you drop this pointless charade? You know I don't want a camel safari, and I know you don't want to provide one either. You're just here to drive me out of my mind and YOU'RE DOING A DAMN FINE JOB OF IT!"
That Ayurvedic doctor I went to for my cough mentioned my blood was too hot. Naturally I wanted to tell him, you eat garlic, pepper, onions and Italian food your whole life and let's see how cool your blood can be.
So, yesterday, like many other days here, I felt myself caving in to depression, so many sad thoughts, worries, fears, anxieties. Sure, I can distract myself a little because I am some place else, some place so different, but truly, I was past that distraction weeks ago. The shopping therapy, not so happening.
Three days ago I went to Yoga and spend the entire class in corpse pose. I told Swamiji I was going to do it. I thought I could lie there like an injured athlete and visualise myself doing the sequence. I didn't do that at all. I just lay there thinking, I wish I was back in bed. I hurts, everywhere. Gosh it's getting hot. I want chocolate. I want a Rose Lassi. I want Gulab jaman. What should I have for breakfast? He let me sit out the class, lay out if you will, much to my surprise.
You know what's a really bad idea? I'll tell you what - calling your father when you're depressed. But I wasn't going to tell him I was down, no, no. I had forced peppy-ness and cheer and felt totally prepared for this call. And here's what happened:
Eufemia: Tutto bene? (All good?)
Papaji: No, mal notizia (No, bad news - sad news)
That's all I have to hear to think, "Oh no, something's happened to one of my aunt's!" My dad's sisters are very close. The three siblings have been through everything together, and if not for his sisters looking after him for years, my dad would not have survived the years of relentless stress.
Papaji: Your cousin Julia's mother passed away.
It takes me a moment to register who he's talking about because he chose not to say her name.
Eufemia: Zi Donna? Zia Donna's died?
Papaji: Yes.
Eufemia: Was she sick?
I knew my aunt was not in good health, years ago when we were in Italy, she was obese. If you saw pictures of her way back when, she was tiny, petite, very pretty. Then she married into my mother's family and that was the end of that. (It's not like you don't know how I feel about those folks. I believe at times I have even used the words "savages", "beasts" and "pack of cannibalistic wolves" to describe them. Oh, I can hear somebody in Italy putting in a call to their lawyer now, "Pronto!". But hey, I just wanna say "We're blood, man. right? And I heard that blood is thicker than Ragu Spaghetti Sauce." )
Papaji: No, no. I don't know.
My father hasn't kept in touch with anyone in my mom's family, though he used to speak to my aunt and they would comfort each other long distance about the difficulties they were enduring, dealing with the lot they were dealing with.
Papaji: They say she killed herself.
Eufemia: No! no, no, no...
We get off the phone in no time, but not before I advise my dad I'm thinking I'll be here till the end of April (oh, that's another story, for another blog. We'll call that one Pack Your Bags, We're Going On a Guilt Trip, with bahut dhaynavad to Cathy & Jason for passing that gem on.)
So I practically run to the Lotus Restaurant/Hotel/best hang out spot, searching for Sarah, and forget all my yoga clothes and all I can think is I need to go see Swamiji and tell him "I can't do this anymore."
All the way there, I'm thinking of my aunt, thinking of 2 stories my father passed on about her - one that always made me feel a kinship for her in that she was one of my mother's first victims. My aunt told my father that my mother would tell her brother lies about his new young wife that would make him beat her. This would be when my mother was 16, and my aunt was 17. Yes, that's right, 17 and married. The second story involved my aunt running all the way back to her parent's home after she was married, with my uncle hot on her heels. She made it home and her father came out with a rifle, and set his son-in-law straight. There would be no more of that for as long as he lived, he would not tolerate seeing his daughter treated like that.
Of course, both stories always made me cry, but the second one, the father-daughter one, would send me reeling into a sad, sad place.
I find Sarah and tell her I'm going to see Swamiji, and possibly will be missing Yoga. I ask to make sure it doesn't sound like I'm using this tragedy as an excuse, because I'll do almost anything to get out of Yoga. There's 2 things you should know about me: 1. I am sick enough to use a tragic situation to my benefit. 2. I say what I say about yoga and then recognise I've reorganised my life to stay here longer and I AM SUCH A LIAR, I do not avoid Yoga. Enough of the self-hatred, it's time time time I move on.
By the time I reach Swamiji's, I am a ball of self-loathing, pulsating pain. Nothing else. I'll give you the short version:
Eufemia: Swamiji, can I talk to you for a minute?
Swamiji: Yes, come.
Eufemia: Swamiji, I don't know if I should practice today. You saw how I yelled at Mincho yesterday, and nothing to do with him, this madness is me. I told you, I always cry, I'm always depressed, I do my best to hide it and then, when I think about it, this is how it is, but now I am always angry, so angry. I yelled at all these men yesterday. Lots. I still feel like yelling.
I felt like I could climb up to the top of the temple hill and yell "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! ENOUGH! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Some other part of me, the part I can refer to as "how loopy can I go?" part, also wondered as I ran to Swamiji's and ignored many camel safari offers on the way, some part was wondering, when did this happen to my aunt? When did she die? And when I was angry, was I just channeling years and years of rage, for her, for me, for everyone in this family that's been beaten, and there's been many.
Swamiji: Mia, okay, many years I am teaching, look, crisis is coming. This is petrol, inside. Yoga is the fire. I promise to you, keep this practice. We born alone, we die alone. Yoga will help you. Many people come, many crisis have come here.
Eufemia: I heard practising Yoga can help your family seven generations back, but Swamiji, I think I am lazy and crazy. This is hard, very hard. I can't do any of the balancing postures - I am completely unbalanced. I am upsetting my father very much, just by coming here, and I owe him alot, alot Swamiji. I've caused him a lot of suffering, even though he won't say so. I'm not traditional, understand. No family, no kids, not like this Indian life. I am so alone, always feel so alone, and I don't fit in anywhere.
The short version I said, and now the internet place is shutting down because it's late. It's late and I'm exhausted, spent, mood a bit brighter, heart still feels heavy, as does my stomach, shared a Hello to the Queen tonight. I was definitely into my story with Swamiji, recounting to him "my special pain, my particular pain, isn't it worse than anyone else's Swamiji? Do I get a trophy for trying harder? Am I not so amazing and so messed up at the same time? how great, how awful am I? You can tell me Swamiji, I can take it on the chin. Not really, but I want you to think I'm brave." What a trip I was on, who needs drugs when you think like this?
So what happened was, I stayed and practiced to the best of my frayed nerves ability. I felt much love and support from the core team. And even though I really wanted to sleep in today, because it was Sunday morning, our first full day off in 11 days, I got up and went to chanting, and said the Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra for my Aunt. God rest her soul.
FYI found online: This mantra is referred to as the Great Death-Conquering mantra. The seeker is more concerned with avoiding spiritual "death" rather than physical "death".
OM Tryambakam yajamahe
Sugandhim pushti-vardhanam
Urvarukamiva bandhanan
Mrityor mukshiya mamritat
1 comment:
Eufemia, I love you. You are brave and special! This post is really touching and beautiful. I'm sorry about your aunt. I'm sending you am e-mail!!!
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