My Temple lies within

My reflection day. A warm day. More precisely, hot. So hot that I keep on moving into the shade, my autoharp in tow. After dinner, still searching for the right melody, I notice fluorescent tops. Is Amy afraid a car will hit her on her walk? And why is Swami Satyananda running? And then I become aware of the distinct smell in the air. It is not the burnpile.

I hear something about the tipi and the firebrigade and go back home. I don’t want to be in the way. From the deck I watch the beach. The smoke coming from the trees. The fuss of firehoses and pumps. Somehow I am not that touched. This can happen on a hot day. This is what all the firedrills were for. But then I look again and see the flames, and realise. It is not the tipi or the trees around. It is the Temple.

The Temple Swami Radha dreamt about as a child, the Temple we chant in every night, the giant tortoise, holding us all safe in her belly. And now I am touched, and afraid. And so I chant, for all the firefighters and support, and all the water of the lake to extinguish this fire.

But as I chant I begin to realize that even though the Temple can burn and the ashram can vanish, horrible this might be, the teachings are right here, inside of me. I can rely on the mantra, the divine light invocation. I can gather the facts and do a straightwalk. I can take a walk with my senses or have a cup of tea with Divine Mother. The fire serves as a reminder. It is not about the outside. My temple lies within.

A large & wonderful safetynet

In the Springlight everything looks so much brighter. Plants grow and little groundhogs whack their tails, as the lake glistens and glistens. I finally join the ranks of the wear-your-payamapants-all-day-long-ashramites, sporting glossy green Boutique pants to match my glossy blue toenails.

In my new home, the boilerroom of Ganesh, I feel like living on a boat, water lapping all around. Playing music on the deck. Showering with a view & all sorts of bugs. Soon more people will move in, but for now, I immensely enjoy my private residence at the lake.
In karma yoga, my main task gets switched: No more entering registrations, no more awkward phone calls or painted on smiles; just the computer and me, working on the wiki in Shakti. Added bonus: Amy & Andrej. Not to mention Forestkitty.

In our women’s class, I clamber up the mountainside for a meditation. Wobbly at times, I am steady in the light. I don’t want to come down, but realise that that’s where my class is and lessons are learned. Moving back down, I fall and hurt myself. Though it’s a tiny wound, I get help from many.
So I guess I will keep on clambering mountains to enjoy the sun, before I lose my balance and fall and start again. Fortunately I have a large & wonderful safetynet.

A clear case of OCD

A great thing about living at the ashram is experiencing things I never would have otherwise. Like raking through the huge fire with Eva, our faces covered bankrobber style. Or politely telling an older Indian man that I do not want to watch Youtube videos with him. Or waking up at 5am because of the turkeys.

What is amazing too, is that when we decide it might be a good thing to check on my medication with a psychiatrist, three days later I am sitting in front of her, in the mini clinic a 10 minute drive away.

She seems nice and knowleadgable, until she confesses: I have a mild version of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), and it is my specialism. Now I don’t want to be one of those specialists who sees their specialism everywhere but I really think you have an OCD. You should definitely read up on it. 75% is probably irrelevant for you (controlling behaviors, counting, compulsive handwashing… which all can be very devastating & disruptive), but the rest will surely hit the mark.

And yes I do judge myself, and am sensitive to what others might think, and I don’t do well with criticism and even worse in conflict. I sometimes even straighten out a painting. Still I feel like I have stepped into some cheap American self-help book. I politely sit through her examples and well-meant advice, but in my mind I think: 25% sounds pretty normal to me.

Once she is finished I tell her I don’t see the OCD in me. She seems disappointed. I should really give it some thought. Then she asks whether I ever get depressed without having negative and worrisome thoughts before, and I say yes, I can just wake up feeling bad, no idea where it came from. Hmm. Maybe you are bipolar after all... Fortunately she knows about medication too, and that’s what I came for.

When I leave the clinic I wonder whether I should have said different things in the conversation. Had I been too meek for my $200? Should I have been more persistent? And there in the moment I see it: Thinking back to what I could have done better (Ruminating! Obsessing!) A clear case of OCD.

When I return to my room in the evening, I can barely open the door. And then I remember, I was ‘reorganizing’. Putting stuff in the Boutique. It is great seeing others wear my donations. Amber with the orange scarf, Tanin with the maroon tuque, Penelope in the blue chequered shirt. I casually navigate the chaos to reach my bed. But I cannot sleep: I have to wait until the numbers on my clock line up with the freckles on my skin. And that might take a while. 

Baby Geese!!!

I am just ill

A little mouse sits on the boardwalk to Mandala house. As I sit next to it, it doesn’t move. It just looks at me, heart beating fast. There is no blood, no obvious wounds. But it is clear something is wrong. Why don’t you run little mouse? It isn’t safe in the middle of the path. When Francesca joins, we gather it might have been stepped on. She picks it up to put it near the herb garden. 

I’ve been tracking my thoughts lately. Each time I say or think something negative, I move my bracelet from wrist to wrist. I am amazed at how neutral and even positive I am. The gloomy girl I thought I was, laughs and enjoys a lot. But when I finally do go down, it is not my thoughts but my body that goes. My chest and throat feel constricted. Is the air getting more dense? I need space.

I muster all my energy to join the bhajan blast but things go downhill from there. Simple questions create fog and my eyes just want to cry. I cry on my way home, at the lake, waking up, at meal times, during karma yoga, in my room, throughout satsang. People come up to me to hug and support, and I just cry some more. Negative judgements start flooding in as I keep on breathing through urges of self harm and suicidal ideation. I am loved, I am strong, I just have to wait this out. I wear my silence badge as a coat of armor.

The little mouse didn’t have obvious signs of damage. I don’t have obvious signs of damage. Physically there is nothing wrong with me, but in my head of course there is. But aren’t neurotransmitters physical too? Someone the other day was talking of bipolarity as “disease”, making large gestures for the quotation marks. Later apologies were made. ‘I didn’t realise you were next to me.’ At the time I said, ‘no offence taken’, and meant it. But it lingered in my mind.

For here I am: able bodied, smart. I teach, I have a PhD. But obviously I am not trying hard enough. Obviously I am willing myself down the drain. And though I know that is not true I sometimes wish that mental illness would be visible. So I could remind myself and others: I am doing the best I can. I am just ill.