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Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Grace comes and goes

Evening arati in Varanasi

GRACE. Not because I try. Not because I do. It flows to me on God's time, Guru's gift, Shiva's delight, Kundalini's exhilarating freedom.

I've felt like a mess all my life. I have tried so hard, above all other activities, to grip and change and channel my life, to repair it, get it on the right track. A lifelong obsession.

Sadhana is portrayed as improving the mind and body with yoga, meditation, mantra repetition, chanting, reading sacred texts. All that is uplifting, that creates merit, nurtures the virtues, clears the mind.

Sadhana is most certainly not a waste of time. But it isn't going to fix me. Fixing in all its forms is a tangle of samskaras filling my life all the way back to the beginning of at least this life.

All I know is because I tried as hard as I could all my life, trying this and this and this and that, a seeker desperate to "fix" my broken life. Because I gripped as hard as I could for so long, I used up this ability as my youth slipped away. Now I have to lay around a lot. Gripping and building and gathering is a no no. It's an instant samskara stirrer.

Photo by Nilmoni Ghosh
IT SEEMS I am always different from other yogis. My sadhana seems to be the mirror opposite of every yogini I meet. I don't focus on this. What matters is what my guru wants for me, how she makes me free. 

I did meet one woman like me at the ashram and we became fast friends. She was a yogini of many years, and never sat for meditation. She did open eyes meditation. I did both.

We wore black all the time because we liked to. We skipped morning chant and slept instead. We drove an ashram vehicle to go get steak and eggs, watch a lot of movies, shop at Target and go to a bar (she would drink and I as designated driver would smoke Shermans). We both had TVs in our rooms and signed up for this brand new thing called Netflix. DVDs came and went in the ashram mail room. 

It was just the way these ashramites rolled. My friend and I went a lot of places in and outside the ashram together. We were the yoginis that partied. 

Does he still wave the lights, my rock star of brahmins?

FIXING IS NOT a conduit of grace for me. I'm a mess. I am not accomplished. I was born with high-functioning autism for a reason. It took a long time for me to give up on this obsession to fix my life. Even just cleaning my house, eating better, not watching Breaking Bad is not going to fix me. It isn't what's wrong with me.


I'm not supposed to be in control. I know because I'm not, and this has never changed over decades of trying my best.

This voice of fixing gets in the way. The one that thinks I can get to grace by a certain set of actions. Foolishness.

My sadhana is to make that little quarter turn into the NOW. That's it.

When I do this, I realize my life is perfect, it's the lila I've got going on.

All I have to do is stop, get out of the way of grace.

Grace comes and goes in either case.

This is not a concept to follow. It simply is. I didn't decide it. I found it.

Grace comes and goes.

The sun rises over the Ganges, the place where it is experienced that two worlds are one

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