“It’s a Chakra thing,” she said, her calm and serene smile making her look like one of the Mother Mary statuettes placed in various niches of the Catholic school Mama had sent me to as a child.
Our own goddesses looked fierce and had “Don’t mess with me” written all over them. I wish I had the spunk of the goddesses. With great effort I brought myself to the present, but tears filled my eyes. I seemed to weep all the time lately, even into the dough I’d knead for our meals. The first born kept getting into fights. The baby tried to wipe my tears away, and failing that, he would sing to me or cuddle. Just the other day, he had wept with me, scared and confused. I had to snap out of it, for ther sakes. This guru was my only hope. I had heard she was good, but it wasn’t working. She had told me “I can only help you if you want to be helped.”
“We are all creatures of energy. We need to find our connection to the primal force, and once we establish the connection, we will shine. We will possess inexhaustible energy.”
I blinked and cast a surreptitious glance at the others sitting cross-legged next to me in our class, trying to visualize them as shiny round bubbles of something bright and pulsating, may be light bulbs on electricity. Nah! Too far-fetched.
That fat auntyjee looked like Pillsbury doughboy. The old fella looked like a candle with a dull yellow flame, bent, weepy and spent.
Here I was, age 28, mother of two kids, single and jobless. And I had sold the last gold chain I owned to pay for this very expensive meditation course. I had to make it work, or else.
“There are seven energy centers in our body. We have to keep them clean, powerful and pure. They correspond with the seven colours of the rainbow. They respond to external stimuli like music, simple music, wood sound, string sound.”
“I’m tone deaf “ my mind declared, rebellious and angry.
She continued, “Simple music puts us in a state of harmony, of peace. Then we can meditate on the colours. We will start with Red, the colour of the root chakra, and slowly progress upwards to violet, the top of the head. Breathe deeply, inhale …. Exhale”
My mind was fixated on the colour red …. The colour of a bride’s sari. Was it because she was stepping into a bloody minefield? Was it because she was being sacrificed that she was wrapped in the colour of blood? It was as though a dam had burst, I wept silent gasping sobs.
Somewhere music played, the simple soothing notes of a santoor.
Muscles of my back, neck and shoulders relaxed, the red lightened up, turned into orange, and then faded into yellow, transformed into green, the heart chakra. I felt love, boundless love, joy, a connectedness. The universe and I.
I was not alone, I had never been alone, I could never be alone.
The santoor kept weaving its magic.
Blue – communication. The truth. If we are brave to hear it, we can be truly free. Free to understand the wind, the rustle of the leaves, even the blade of grass has a story to tell.
Purple and then Violet
I smiled after being in a funk for almost a year.
I was reborn. My life had begun.
Written for Indiblogeshwari’s That Tuesday Thingy