I would rather be…
letting go in Amma’s arms
awakening comes
Written for Dungeon Prompts: I’d Rather Be….
Tag: dungeonprompts
A Pattern of Patterns
The Dungeon Prompt for this week asked us to identify a life pattern, one that we see repeating again and again. Since I already write regularly about the patterns in my life, I decided to answer this prompt in an unusual and fun way.
As I looked for a pattern to explore, I realized I have a nearly fifty-year-old pattern (something that happens in a regular and repeated way) of making items that are patterned (a repeated decorative design) and/or are made from patterns (a set of instructions to be followed in making a sewn or knitted item)! While I certainly don’t have pictures of everything I have made over the years, I do have a good sampling.
In the late 60’s and 70’s, I knit sweaters for myself and people important to me.
I also liked to sew. I made my blue wedding dress and the dashiki Al is wearing. I also made shirts and other clothing items for us.
I believe I crocheted the outfit Chaitanya wore when she came home from the hospital. I made the three sweaters below when Sreejit was a baby and have loaned them to friends with new babies many times. They still look as perfect as they did in 1975!
In the 70’s, I made several blankets. Two of them I still use.
In the 80’s, I made quilts for my daughter and my mother. When my mother passed, the white quilt was returned to me. It took me many years to finish Chaitanya quilt. By the time I completed it, she had moved to India where a quilt wasn’t needed. Both quilts are still used from time to time.
Sometime during the 90’s, I started making tiny Gods and Goddess dolls. They are sold during Amma’s tours as a way of making money for her humanitarian projects.
Saraswati
In the 2000’s, I worked with other Amma devotees to crochet blankets for homeless women who were moving into transitional housing.
Some years later, we worked together to crochet items out of recycled plastic.
Made from coffee and chip bags, strap and newspaper wrapper
Made from grocery bags
I can see that patterns are even a factor in the gardening I do now!
This has been a very interesting prompt for me to write. I am realizing how important projects such as these have been throughout my life.
It has been a very long time since I have immersed myself in any of these crafts. I hope to begin some of them again in the not too distant future!
Written for Dungeon Prompts: Patterns
Two Tales of Endurance
For some time, I have been thinking about writing a post about a small lemon tree I purchased during the summer of 2013. My plan was to call the article “A Tale of Endurance.”
Then on Thursday, Sreejit posted his Dungeon Prompt for the week. He asked us to address:
How do you measure up to your eight-year-old-self’s plans for the future? We all had childhood dreams, or fantasies. How did you imagine the world as a kid? When you were eight years old, what did you plan on being when you grew up? What would that version of yourself think about who you are now?
Responding to this prompt posed a problem as I have almost no memories of my childhood. My mind went blank when I thought of my eight-year-old self. As I reflected on my childhood as a whole, it occurred to me that that my growing up years could also be seen as “A Tale of Endurance.” I wondered if I had that attitude about life by the time I was eight.
I decided to include both endurance tales in one post!
A Tale of Endurance #1
What did my eight-year-old dream of? I have no idea. My only clue is that I know my primary past-time during my childhood was reading. I do remember loving the Bobbsey Twin series. I think those were books an eight-year-old might read. I have no doubt that when I immersed myself in my books I was transported to other lands. It is likely that most of my childhood dreams came from the books I read.
Since I couldn’t answer the prompt by talking about my dreams, I decided to see if I could learn more about my eight-year-old self. I searched for some pictures and found two. I believe I was eight in the first one and nine in the second.
Me at 8?
On our way to Germany
I grew up as an army brat. I was born at Sandia Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico and lived there for the first years of my life. At some point during the Korean War my father went to Korea and my mother, brother and I moved to West Palm Beach, Florida, the city where my mother’s family lived.
I thought I had attended three different schools in the third grade but as I looked through old belongings yesterday, I discovered I had gone to two schools during the second grade and two in the third. When my father returned from Korea, we moved to Fayetteville, North Carolina; I would have been seven at that time. After two quarters of school in Fayetteville, we moved to Ft. Bragg, which is also in North Carolina. I finished the second grade there. I attended third grade at Ft. Brag for half a year and then moved to Pirmasens, Germany for the last half of third grade.
I can imagine the difficulty that switching schools so often would cause a child who was a strong introvert. In an army brat’s life, friendships were usually short; either we moved, or our friends did. I have no memory of any childhood friend, other than the cousins we visited on vacations.
I remember my mother saying that my pattern was to have one friend and then if they moved on to another best friend I would be devastated. I can imagine myself developing a “why bother” attitude when it came to friendship.
Yesterday, I also looked through all my elementary school report cards. I probably had read them sometime in the past, but it would have been decades ago. I paid particular attention to the report cards from the years I was eight and nine.
At that time, my teachers described me as earnest, pleasant, a hard worker, cooperative, and a good student who was creative, read well, learned quickly and had a wholesome attitude. In the second half of second grade and the first half of third grade, I received “Excellent” and “Good” for grades. When we moved to Germany and they used A, B, C, etc. as the grading system, I received A’s and B’s. The area where I consistently received the lowest marks and negative comments were in Writing. One teacher wrote “Carol (my name at that time) writes large enough but her letters are poorly formed.” Those comments continued throughout my elementary school years. I have no memory of my writing being an issue, although I’m not surprised considering how poorly I write now!
After writing positive comments on my report card, one teacher added- “I’m afraid she doesn’t receive much challenge.” I wonder what she meant?
Other comments that interested me were:
“She is slow to express herself.” That seemed reasonable for an introvert.
“Carol has improved some in writing but seems tense and not able to relax when writing and other times also. Have you noticed this?” My mother, who was also a teacher, responded “I have never noticed any tension in her writing at home but then she has an eraser at home (which she uses far too often) and I think her not having one at school may cause the tension. I’m not sure. She is a sensitive child and may be trying too hard to succeed in a subject she knows she’s having trouble with.”
I don’t know how soon my life began to feel like a tale of endurance. As I aged, I became more and more unhappy at home. At one point, I counted off the days until I could leave for college. I hated moving so often and wanted to create a life where I could stay put. Hmmmm. I wonder if that was a dream when I was eight. If so, it was one I created as I have lived in the same house in Seattle since 1973!
I have loved getting some insight into my eight-year-old self. Thank you Sreejit for offering this assignment and thereby prompting my exploration.
A Tale of Endurance #2
In the summer of 2013, I bought a small lemon tree. There were several lemons on it when I purchased the tree and I had visions of all of the lemons that were to come. The nursery staff told me to bring the tree into the house before the temperatures dropped, so as winter neared I put it indoors. One by one, the beautiful lemons turned black and fell off. Then most of the leaves fell off. Soon there was nothing left but the trunk (if you can call something that small a trunk) and a few leaves.
Spring came and nothing happened. The same few leaves stayed on, but there were no new ones and there were no buds. I took the plant to a nursery to see if it was possible to save it. They instructed me to use a particular kind of fertilizer. Months later there was still no new growth. It wasn’t until late August that a few flower buds formed. The plant was still alive but it seemed too late in the season for any fruit that formed to grow to maturity.
As it started to get cold, I once again brought the tree into the house. And again, the few small lemons that were on the tree turned black and fell off. This time the rest of the leaves fell off as well. I decided to leave the tree in the house even though it was just a stalk.
Sometime in late winter, I concluded that the situation was hopeless and put the tree outside on the balcony. I would compost it in the springtime. However, when springtime came and I picked up the container to take it to the compost heap, I noticed there were many tiny leave buds!
This tree seemed determined to live. Over the next weeks, the leaves grew, flower buds formed and then blossomed!
After a difficult childhood, my life blossomed and has been filled with friends, adventure and learning. It is interesting for me to see that many of the characteristics that my teachers pointed out on my eight-year-old report cards are characteristics that I am known for now. I think my eight-year-old would like the adult I have become.
It appears that this year the lemon tree is moving forward on its journey towards health. Perhaps in time it will even bear fruit that will become ripe!
I appreciate all the ways, past and present, that I am learning the value of endurance.
In Hindsight Was It A Mistake?
The directions for this week’s Dungeon Prompt were:
All of our mistakes have made us into the people that we are today, and so this is not meant to be an exercise in regret, but rather a fun look back with the thought, “that was maybe not such a great idea.” Tell us about a past exploit of your younger, less wise self.
It only took seconds for me to know what I would be sharing!
I moved from Florida to Washington State in 1966 to go to a conservative Christian school named Seattle Pacific College. Months before I arrived, the administration had granted students the privilege of being able to go to movie theaters. The school still had rules against wearing pants on campus, except on Saturdays, and they didn’t allow students to play cards, dance, or drink alcohol.
I believe it was sometime early in 1968 when I decided to become a volunteer at the First Avenue Service Center. That was a place where the homeless men and women from “skid row” could wash their clothes, bathe and have a place to hang out during the day.
I have no memory of how I found the Center but I loved being there. I talked with the people who frequented it and tried to bring some light into their days. I played a lot of pinochle with them even though I knew my college would not approve; pinochle was a major past-time for those who gathered at the Center. At some point, I wrote a letter to my mother saying something along the line of “Oh mom, I am meeting so many interesting people. I am getting to know ex-cons, drug addicts, drag queens, and prostitutes!”
I was very surprised when my mother wasn’t as excited about my adventure as I was. In fact, she told me she would be sending me a plane ticket home! I had no intention of leaving Seattle or the Center. While I don’t remember what happened next, since I never received the plane ticket, she must not have followed through on her threat. And I didn’t leave the Center.
My involvement with those people was not confined to my volunteer time. I would hang out with some of them outside of the Center as well. At one point, I started dating a young man who was a heroin addict. I was madly in love with him and did everything I could to spend time with him. To his credit, and my luck, he never asked me to get high with him. I had no interest in using any kind of drugs even though it was the 60’s. I just loved hanging out with him. I was so co-dependent though. If he wanted me to drive him somewhere I did it. I remember being so eager to see him that I drove back to Seattle non-stop after I had finished a summer job in New Mexico. The first thing he did upon my arrival was ask me to drive him to Portland … then … and I did it.
I didn’t know anything about co-dependency in those days, I just knew I was meeting fascinating people and my life was full of adventure. He eventually lost interest in me and took off. Looking back, I believe that he never considered me to be his girlfriend. I think I was mainly a chauffeur and he let me tag along at other times.
In hindsight, was it wise for a naive 19 or 20 year old to be volunteering at a place like that? Was it appropriate for me to be hanging out with “ex-cons, drug addicts, drag queens and prostitutes” outside of the Center? Was my “dating” a heroin addict a mistake? I would answer “No” to all of those questions, although I have to admit as I am writing this blog post, I am wavering on those answers a bit.
Would I want my daughter to have the experiences I had? I’d answer “Yes” in regards to some of them, but definitely not to all of them. I put myself into some very dangerous places and painful situations. Did I make mistakes? Yes I did, but I learned from them. And as Sreejit said in the prompt directions, everything that happened during that period of my life contributed to making me the person I am today.
I still remember a few of the people I met in those days. And the lessons I learned then allow me to do a much better job of keeping myself safe now. I also have a lot more compassion for my mother than I did at that time. I can certainly understand why she would react to my letter by telling me she would be sending me a plane ticket home!
Later in my life, I met my spiritual teacher, Amma. When I asked her for a spiritual name she named me Karuna. Karuna means compassion. I think that my sense of compassion and my adventurous spirit really blossomed and came to fruition during the year or so I volunteered at the First Avenue Service Center. I don’t have any regrets.
Photo Credit: Clipart Panda
Reflection on Desire
As I have walked my psychological and spiritual life journeys, I have been taught much about desire. This week I have been reflecting on what I have learned.
From Amma I learned:
Peace of mind comes when the mind is free of desire. Amma uses the example of chocolate in teaching that concept. If I have been desiring chocolate, the moment the chocolate touches my tongue I may have the experience of bliss. If the bliss came from the chocolate then I could eat more and more chocolate and I would experience more and more bliss. Instead, if I continue eating chocolate, I will make myself sick. The bliss comes because my mind becomes silent the instant the chocolate touches my tongue. Moments later, another desire emerges and my mind gets caught up in wanting again.
My desires are most likely to be realized if I let go of them. If I hold on and try to force the issue they are less likely to materialize. It is also important for me to “Put in the effort and let go of the results.” If I have done the best I can in a given situation and let go of the results, I am more likely to have peace of mind. Staying attached to them is one way I make myself miserable.
From Church of God in Christ ministers I learned:
When the praises go up, the blessings come down!
God isn’t deaf. There is no need to ask for the same thing over and over. If I don’t receive that for which I ask, the answer may be “No.”
Worry is an insult to God.
Ask for what I want and then start praising and thanking God as if the desire has already manifested Continue reading “Reflection on Desire”
I’d Still Like to Learn…
On Thursday, I was asked what I would like to learn in the future. That was an interesting question. At first, what came to mind were skills I already have, but haven’t done for years, e.g. knitting, crocheting, and quilting. And I’m a beginning gardener so I definitely have much to learn in that arena! While those answers would have been true, they didn’t seem like the one I was looking for. Continue reading “I’d Still Like to Learn…”
Introducing My Alter Egos
The Dungeon Prompt assignment for last week stated:
We all have some aspect of our personality that most don’t see. It may be a superhero that we walk the world as. It may be a tough guy telling back the bullies that only you hear on the inside while the world sees a soft spoken person. It may be the shy, sensitive, insecure child that you cover up with a bold and outgoing personality. Who are you hiding within? Who do you walk the world as, but most do not see?
As I pondered those words, I thought of three parts of me that are still buried so far within that I barely know them myself. Let me introduce you to them. Continue reading “Introducing My Alter Egos”
My Spirit Soaring
When I read Sreejit’s post “Dungeon Prompts: Take Me To Church” this past Thursday, I instantly knew what the nature of my response to the prompt would be. Even so, I had the sense that I shouldn’t write it then and there. Now I know why.
On Sunday evening, I attended the ordination of a friend who was becoming a Unitarian Universalist minister. She had worked towards that goal for many years. It was a day of great celebration. The ordination rituals affected me in ways that I hadn’t expected. Towards the beginning of the ceremony, there was a procession of already-ordained ministers. It reminded me of college graduations where the professors walk in, each clothed in different robes reflecting the school they had attended. I took one look at these ministers and my “being” erupted in grief. Grief of recognition, grief of longing. Was it related to past lives? Maybe. Probably. That grief came again as the group of ministers walked out of the sanctuary during the recessional.
Tapping into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
tears flowing
touched to the core
Home
During the ordination, in addition to thoroughly enjoying my friend’s experience, I was flooded with ideas for this post. Ideas continued to “come” for the rest of the night. By the next morning, I was ready to write!
Photo Credit: Wikimedia
Spirit has “taken me to church” so many times during my life.
I remember feeling embarrassed as an eight to ten year old child when my mother brought a friend to my bedroom as I was kneeling beside my bed praying. I also remember avidly reading books and watching movies about nuns in my early teen years. I had a sense I was “supposed” to become a nun, but that was not possible. I wasn’t Catholic!
When I was in tenth grade, and living in Hawaii, I went to a Billy Graham crusade and became a born again Christian. Afterwards, I joined a Youth for Christ group at my high school. I remember the group traveling together on buses, singing hour after hour. That was pure bliss for me. I felt like I was part of a family, I belonged!.
Tapping into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
heaven on earth
joy abounds
Home
At the end of that year, my father retired from the Army, and we moved to Florida. I attended a Congregational church, which was my mother’s denomination. I loved being part of the youth group. During the summer of 1965, we traveled from Florida to Washington State and back, studying The Belief’s Men Live By. I still have many memories of that summer. It was also the time I decided I would go to a Free Methodist college in Seattle.
When I arrived at the college, I was still a fairly conservative Christian, much more conservative than my Congregational friends. The college that I attended was so conservative though that over time I became very disillusioned, and for the next twenty years considered myself to be somewhere between an agnostic and an atheist.
Spirit did not leave me during those darker times though. I loved to go to the University Unitarian Church the day after Christmas to participate in a Messiah Sing-a-Long. I went every year until I started spending every Christmas season in India. Singing the Messiah was such a highlight in my life.
Tapping into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
heaven on earth
joy abounds
Home
About the same time, I started attending the Unitarian summer camp at Seabeck Conference Center. My children and I participated in that camp every summer for thirteen years. There I had the opportunity to be with a group that was like an extended family, where there were plenty of hugs, lots of rest, and fun, and children were cared for by all of the attendees. Crossing the bridge into the conference center was like traveling to another world. My whole body would relax and I could breathe fully. I considered Seabeck to be my home in the universe for many years. In fact, I still consider it to be one of my homes.
Tapping into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
heaven on earth
my soul is at rest
Home
I was still quite negative about anything spiritual. I reached a point when even hearing the word God made me feel sick to my stomach. That changed the night I went to Amma’s Seattle program in 1989. In the months prior to that event, spiritual people started showing up in my life, much to my dismay. In fact, it was one of them who had invited me to go to Amma’s program. My internal response to her was “NO” but “YES” came out of my mouth. When the day arrived, I walked into the room after the program had already started. As Amma and the Swamis (monks) began to sing, I burst into tears. My tears lasted throughout the night and I entered into deep meditational states. What was happening to me? My friend had told me that she thought I would like it once I adjusted to the cultural differences. What cultural differences? I had never had any contact with Eastern spirituality yet I felt completely at home.
Tapping into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
tears flowing
touched to the core
Home
I went back to Amma’s program the next night, and to part of her retreat on Orcus Island the following weekend. Six weeks later, I attended her retreat in New Hampshire and six months after that took my first trip to India. Being an Amma devotee has been the center of my life, and the life of my children, ever since.
One of the first changes I noticed after I met Amma was that I was able to separate my love for Christ from my anger at the Christian church. In time, even my anger at the church decreased. After all we are all human and are doing the best we can on this life’s journey. My spiritual life once again became my major focus.
Being with Amma, however, had opened a part of me that I didn’t know existed, a part that contained so much grief. I was still experiencing deep, and often spontaneous, trance states. At times, I felt as if some part of me was at a party that the conscious part of me was not invited to. Although I was very curious about that, I sensed it was a protective mechanism. If I was experiencing this much grief without knowing what was happening, what would I be feeling if I knew. I believed I was experiencing the grief of longing, longing for union with God. When I was with Amma I usually felt a sense of peace and fullness. But when I was away, my separation grief flared.
Through grace, Spirit led me to many places and situations that made the time away from Amma more comfortable. They often were areas where left brained, reserved Carol Poole (my name before I asked and received a name from Amma in 1990) would never have considered going.
- Soon after I met Amma, I started studying the tabla, an Indian drum. Over time I became aware that my tabla teacher was the leader of a rock band called Tribal Therapy. He invited me to come to a show but said I probably wouldn’t like it since it was rock music. When I went to his concert, I discovered his songs were all spiritually based. I had never danced before but something inside of me “turned on” and I danced the night away, filled with joy. I started attending his band’s performances as often as I could. I was one of the last people I would have expected to ever become involved with an Indian guru, and now, at 41 years-of-age, I had also become a band groupie. Unbelievable!
- One day in 1991, I walked to a service station near my home, inexplicably taking a different route than I would normally take. As I passed an open field I noticed a sign that said “Tent Revival starting August 28.” A big “YES” erupted within me as I gazed at the sign. I was very surprised at my reaction because at that time I still felt very separate from the Christian church. I eagerly awaited the night of the revival and when it came, it was wonderous. The revival was sponsored by Power House Church of God in Christ, which is an African-American church whose roots are in the Deep South. People were dancing in the spirit, speaking in tongues, praising God, and singing. The sermon spoke to me, even though I needed to reframe some of the content. The Gospel music sent me into ecstasy. I started attending that church regularly, and did so for many years. Being in that environment “fed me” during the times I was away from Amma. Early on, my body started dancing spontaneously, in a form that was similar to a whirling dervish. The whirling felt familiar, probably from lifetimes long past. I found it hard to believe that I was once again attending a conservative Christian church, a Pentecostal one at that. I loved that I was able to immerse myself in the experience and was treated with love and respect by the congregation even though I had beliefs that were very different from theirs. At one point, from the pulpit, the minister claimed ME as a member of the church. (I had never joined because I didn’t believe parts of their Statement of Faith.) I felt so grateful and blessed.
- In 2000, when I visited St. James Cathedral in Seattle, a flyer caught my eye. It was for a Taize service that was going to take place in the church in a half hour. I decided to wait and see what Taize was. When the service started and the music began, my tears flowed. The grief I felt was so familiar. The music used a call-response style and was in a variety of languages. Soloists sang the call portion and the congregation responded. After some time, the congregation continued with the main chant, and the soloists started singing melodies above it. The moment they started singing in that way, my body filled with bliss. I soon learned that Taize was the name of a monastery in France, one that is dedicated to reconciliation of the Christian church. I attended the weekly Taize service at St. James Cathedral for some time. Years later, two friends and I visited the French monastery when we were on our way to Amma’s ashram in India. Below you will find a video of the monks singing my favorite Taize song, Veni Sancte Spiritus.
Each of these experiences tapped into something beyond my understanding, but no doubt, I had been “taken to church.”
my spirit soaring
heaven on earth
joy abounds
Home
There have been many special times on this spiritual journey of mine but these events have been some of the highlights. The path has taken me one place and then another. What stays consistent throughout is Amma. My journey with her has been the center of my life since 1989, and probably for lifetimes before this one. While Spirit has led me in many directions, the place where I feel most at Home is when I am enveloped in Amma’s arms.
my spirit soaring
heaven on earth
my soul at rest
Home
Written for Dungeon Prompts: Take Me to Church and Weekly Photo Challenge: Enveloped
Amma’s North American Summer Tour begins in Washington State on May 30. To see her entire tour schedule click here
Loosening Your Grip (Acrostic)
Living and learning that is our task
Each encounter, removing the masks
There are no shortcuts, no easy way
To live life’s journey, day after day
Instruction manual? That would be nice
Not possible? Then here’s some advice
Gripping your plans with hands of steel
Gives pain, misery, endless ordeals
Open your hand, the path to reveal
As I wrote the acrostic, I remembered a poem that I have loved for decades. The author is unknown.
I asked God for strength that I might achieve.
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.I asked for health that I might do greater things.
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.I asked for riches that I might be happy.
I was given poverty that I might be wise.I asked for power that I might have the praise of men.
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.I asked for all things that I might enjoy life.
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.I am, among all men, most richly blessed.
Written for this week’s Dungeon Prompt.
“Stop Thinking!”
The Dungeon Prompt Sreejit gave us for this week was to “take some time and think about the one thing that you’ve learned which you would most like to pass on to future generations.” I gave myself several days to simply be with the instructions, knowing that the answer would “come” if I allowed myself to be quiet. And come it did! While I am far from having learned this lesson, I have come a long way down the path, and know I will go a lot further before I pass from this world. The lesson that is most important for me to learn and pass on is to quiet my over-active mind.
I have always been an introvert, and probably always will be. In addition, I lived in the era of “Children are to be seen and not heard.” In our home, the most common form of punishment was to be sent to our room. I spent a lot of time in my room. Did a lot of pouting there in fact.
I think my patterns of over-thinking have their roots in those early years. By the time I was in my thirties, I spent so much time immersed in my thoughts. When I was with a group of friends, or in a class, I analyzed everything I wanted to contribute to the conversation. By the time I had the perfect words figured out, the conversation would have moved past the point where speaking the words would have purpose. When I did manage to get them out, I would then spend an inordinate amount of time afterwards reviewing what I had said. Had I said what I wanted to say correctly? Had I made a fool out of myself?
That problem was probably at its height at the time I started my personal therapy process in the mid-eighties. I remember feeling like my mind was a computer that was about to explode. At one point, my therapist told me if I didn’t stop, I was going to end up in the hospital. He told me to pay complete attention to every moment. For example, when I was going to eat to say in my mind, “I am picking up my fork, I am putting the food on my fork, I am lifting the fork to my mouth, I am putting my fork down, I am chewing my food, I am swallowing my food, etc.” When I followed his instructions, my mind slowed down.
I met Amma in 1989. My mind was often very quiet when I sat near her, and I entered meditational realms that held so much deep peace and bliss. It was as if a door had opened for me and I could see what was possible. When I was away from her though, I would go back to many of my old thought patterns.
At that time in my life, I felt a strong desire to live in an ashram (monastery), even though I knew that it was not the appropriate time for me to do that. Whenever I thought about living in an ashram, I would feel so much grief that I couldn’t stop crying. Sometime in the early 90’s, I took this problem to Amma. Her immediate response was “Stop Thinking!” I now realize in those two simple words, she had given me a direction that could change my whole life.
Simple to say, but not simple to do. I have come a long way in that endeavor, but if I am in my “stuff,” over-thinking is still likely to be the cause of it. I make myself so miserable in that way.
I know that a silent mind is where intuition, insight, and inspiration reside. I also know that the road to a silent mind is by doing the spiritual practices I have been taught, such as japa (mantra repetition), chanting spiritual texts such as the Sri Lalita Sahasranama, singing bhajans (devotional singing), and mindfulness. Processes such as meditation and yoga also help.
So what is preventing me from doing those practices consistently, what is my resistance? I have no doubt that the resistance is fueled to my over-doing. As long as I fill my life with doing things that do not support my goal of having a quiet mind, I will not have it.
While I still am over-doing, I am much more likely to say no to things that I don’t want to do. I have a harder time saying no to activities that give me pleasure. However, some of those activities, such as studying Sanskrit and writing for my blog, are part of the path to a quiet mind. I am most successful in those undertakings when I do them in a way that is meditative.
Like most big changes, learning to quiet the mind takes time. I have the opportunity to make choices between doing and being many times each day. As I experience the benefits that come with a still mind, I am more likely to make choices that will promote it. I am progressing on the path, and that is what is important.
quieting the mind
bliss flows in
deep warmth for my soul
Living, Learning and Letting Go 