A yogini & an atheist walk into a bar…

Tags

atheist, Compassion, Empathy, Karma, kirtan, Love, Motorbikes, rainbows, Richard Dawkins, Tantra, Yoga, Yogini

In all seriousness, the title of this post is not the start of a joke! Okay, well maybe it is… 😉

C is one of my very good friends and a recent house guest – visiting Melbourne for a conference and then a bit of 4WD and motorbike fun. When he first asked if he could stay I kinda assumed his conference was to do with his job, and only just before his visit did he come clean about the Atheist Convention he was attending!

Which made me giggle. See when we first met, C was doing yoga and meditation which is part of the reason we had so much in common. We dated briefly almost ten years ago, and we’ve been good friends ever since. But somehow C veered into atheism and threw the baby/yoga out with the bathwater. Like many people, C didn’t have the best of times growing up, he has chronic health problems (which I suspect are related to suppressed anxiety), and one of his brothers passed away not long after we met. Outwardly he’s a very happy-go-lucky, adventurous, fun-seeking, kindly and generous person but when it comes to matters of the heart, I suspect he shut up shop long ago.

Over the years, it’s like there was a proportional relationship between my immersion in yoga and his into atheism. Nowadays he considers Richard Dawkins a hero, while I’m a fan of kirtan… But it’s cool. We love each other enough for that not to matter.

C added another twist to his Melbourne stay though. Two of his friends (a couple) were also coming to Melbourne for a few days motorbike riding (C drove to Melbourne with his bike and their’s on the trailer behind his 4WD) and I agreed they could stay at my place, too.

The only reason I’m mentioning their visit is because it meant I had to give them my sofa bed and C had to sleep on a blow up mattress in my small second bedroom. Which doubles as my yoga room – all decked out with my altar, many images of gurus, Hindu gods and goddesses, a huge sparkly print of Ganesha, prayer flags, chakra posters, incense and candles… And so the atheist had to sleep in the room in which I meditate, do yoga, chant and various other spiritual activities!! Not that he minded and I did warn him about my decorating before he arrived, but I still found it amusing (heehee!). Must be my somewhat childish sense of humour. 😉

Anyway… I took last Friday off work so we could hang out. We were meant to be heading out on his motorbike that day (we’ve a long history of adventuring around the country on his bike). But rain was threatening and being on a bike all day in the rain aint much fun (it worked out okay coz we went riding on Saturday which was awesome!).

So we took the 4WD on some very rugged back country roads. It was fun and very beautiful, and yet I felt a little uneasy. It’d been quite a while since we spent a whole day together and our views on the world differ considerably these days compared to when we first met.

Also, it seemed to me we’d both been carefully avoiding the atheist vs yogini conversation – personally I don’t have a problem with anyone’s views as long as they aren’t evangelising. However, I really didn’t want to argue with someone who’s been a good friend in my life for such a long time!

But on our 4WD trip C asked me about my “world view”, what I believed in. And ahhh… where to start when someone who doesn’t believe in anything asks you about your “world view” when you’re a yogini from a classical non-dual Tantrik tradition? Ahem!

We talked about karma for a bit (because he asked) and I explained what I could, including that most people use the term incorrectly. Generally speaking, of course. But that’s an entirely different post…

So I started explaining that my world view is an ever-unfolding path. That it’s not about “belief” for me – never has been. That what I’m interested in are my direct experiences and relationship with reality. And I told him I didn’t believe (as he does) that consciousness is just a trick of the chemicals in our brains, or that after we die there’s nothing. But I also said I didn’t know for certain, because that’s true. How can I know?

I’ve been given a lot of teachings over the past ten years and some of them are still just concepts for me. There are things I “believe” are possible – as in, they could happen – but I can’t say for sure they are true. However, some of those things have turned out to be true in my own experience. Which equals direct knowledge, and not just buying into a concept as it’s taught without any personal experience to back it up.

And sure, I understand the atheistic view – that those experiences I think I’m having could just be delusions. But how do you prove that I’m delusional? I mean, I’m an otherwise (relatively) sane person but whenever I have an experience that doesn’t match with the general consensus of reality, it *must* be a delusion? It sounds like a very convenient argument…

C asked what kinds of experiences I was talking about. But hey, those things are difficult to explain even to other yogis sometimes. So instead I talked about how what we think of as reality is really quite limited. For example, we generally don’t see light as the spectrum of rainbows that science proves it to be. And we don’t hear every sound that’s out there – things that a dog or a whale can hear. Our experience with reality is limited by our senses and just because we can’t see, feel, sense or logically explain every darn thing that happens, doesn’t make it not true. And that sometimes as a result of my practice, I find my senses expand (permanently or temporarily) in some way and I experience the world differently. Which helps me unfold/unpack reality a little more for myself.

I explained how my guru encourages all of his students to see Tantra and yoga as hypotheses, and our body and mind as a laboratory in which we can run as many tests as we like. Experience. Sense. Feel. Think. Reflect. Consider. Witness. Do. Be.

Don’t just take anyone’s word for it!

C asked me how any of what I’d been explaining can be used practically. So I got to the point – Tantra, yoga, meditation etc affords me the ability to see the world as non-different. The concept of non-dualism posits that nothing is really separate or different they way we tend to see things in day-to-day life, which helps me understand that not everything is about me.

For example, I was eventually able to see how some angry guy using me as a punching bag was not in any way personal. It just so happened that I was there and he was reacting to his own experience of reality and chose to get violent. Actually, it had nothing to do with me at all!

To get to that realisation is HUGE, especially when you’re crippled with PTSD and depression – it is NOT an easy path to come back from.

I told him how many people who go through things like I had, end up on medication for the rest of their life. Or they end up dead or destroying their lives in some way because they can’t cope. And that everything I’ve studied and practiced, hand in hand with therapy, is what helped me extract myself from the pit of hell I’d landed in. Therapy alone could never have given me the world view that I learned through practice and study.

And then I told C that actually, there is something I believe in: a (crazy) little thing called Love.

I believe that Love is pretty much the only thing worthwhile in this world. That getting to know your heart intimately and being connected to your emotions is important. That compassion and empathy and accepting people just as they are, no matter how different they are from you without expecting them to change… that that’s what I believe in, if anything… and I just silently hoped that my message of love was heard, loud and clear because even an atheist can’t argue with that, right?

**Update** @Skipetty asked in the comments how my friend C reacted. To be honest, he said very little. Possibly it’s because I said a bunch of stuff he didn’t agree with and he didn’t particularly feel like arguing with me, either. But I also hope I gave him a few things to think about in that science-driven noggin of his. And hey, maybe he took it all in the way I intended, which is not meant to be a threat to what anyone else believes. It’s all just my point of view in the end, isn’t it? 😉

~Svasti

Keeping mum

Tags

Adoption, Depression, Empathy, Family, Half-brother, Mother as Guru, Mother's Day, PTSD, Therapy

I’ve got some confessions to share with y’all. And some venting.

Today is Mother’s day. I’ve always had a problem with those cards expressing gooey sentiments about wonderful mythical mothers who are loving and generous to their children. I’ve felt a little guilty that I don’t feel that way about my own mother… that I’ve never once wanted to write ‘thanks for being a great mum’ on her card…

Anyway, the family plans for today changed when mum came down with a nasty dose of the flu, all aches and pains and totally bed-ridden. So, Mother’s day lunch was transferred to my sister and brother-in-law’s place with everyone except mum.

Sorry as I am that she’s unwell, to be honest it was something of a relief that mum wasn’t there. Sounds horrible, I know.

Jaliya has written a thought-provoking post for Mother’s day, and the innate ability within us all to develop mothering-type qualities. Even if we aren’t mothers, or even females.

In Tantra and Hindu traditions, one’s mother is considered the first Guru (teacher) – for many years, the mother is everything to the child. Then, as the child gains independence, the mother’s role morphs to provide support, love and advice, but her life-sustaining qualities are no longer required. All children eventually need other teachers.

While I understand the reasons its hard for mothers to let go, it’s crucial for the health of the parent/child relationship. Mothers and fathers must learn to adapt their ‘job description’, for want of a better term… to grow with their children and enable new ways of relating to them.

So I confess… I love both my parents, but I’m finding increasingly difficult to have a relationship with my mum.

Partly, the reason for that has to do with her inability to see me as an adult. The few months I spent living at my parents’ place revealed this very clearly.

The other part of the problem has to do with our seemingly incompatible emotional states.

As I’ve mentioned before, my mother had a child out of wedlock in the 60’s. The method of dealing with such things in Australia at the time was to put pressure on young mothers to give their children up for adoption.

This happened to my mother. Between the doctor and my nan, mum was coerced into giving up her child (one she almost died giving birth to). She wasn’t allowed to see her boyfriend, and never saw her newborn child.

There’s way more to this story than I’ll ever know, and I’ve heard plenty. Neither my grandmother or mother have a penchant for telling the truth. Rather, they’re both proficient at re-writing history to suit their tastes. Possibly, this has coloured my desire to be as utterly and painfully truthful with myself and other people as I can be.

According to my mother, nan destroyed the adoption papers and told mum they would never speak of the matter again. She was expected to keep it all a secret. And she did that for a long, long time.

When she met my father, mum did tell him at some point. Maybe part of the reason they suited each other is because she doesn’t want to let stuff out, and he colludes with her desire to remain as she is…

Because of the ‘lost’ papers, mum never knew her son’s exact date of birth (til they met decades later – another story). She only knew it was some time in February. And apparently she’d always ‘go a little funny’ around that time of year. Not that I ever noticed, because while growing up my experience of mum was that of an emotional yo-yo. There was always a crisis, she was always mad about something and then in tears. We kids would have to be quiet, say nothing, and walk on egg-shells for days afterwards to avoid any flare-ups.

Eventually, I was told about my half-brother, but sworn into secrecy too (which I found to be rather impossible). I’ve given as much support to mum as I’ve been permitted… I was there to support her the first time she met him, suggested ways to get professional help, and talked to her about it whenever she felt like talking.

However as the years passed, I noticed her unavailability whenever I was a mess. I don’t mean physically, just emotionally. If I called in tears, she couldn’t find anything to say. So she’d say things that were just… inappropriate… awkward… strange.

My sister and I gradually realised that mum has no plans to ever put down the mantle of her life-wounds. In fact, I’m certain she intends to carry them to the grave.

All of which means she has no capacity for other people’s issues. This has been particularly hard for me in the last few years, while I’ve been dealing with depression and a vicious case of PTSD.

Except for the weekend directly after the assault, I was never once asked how I was doing. There wasn’t a single attempt to find out what happened, offer support or even anything practical. And there was a long time there when I could barely take care of myself. Cooking was impossible. Getting out of bed was outrageously tough.

But it wasn’t just a lack of care from mum – seems to be a trait going back generations on both sides of the family. And maybe that’s part of the reason I over-share, and feel the need to talk about things so much? I seem to be the polar opposite of my family in so many ways!

Then, maybe I’m like her in other ways… do I focus too much on what’s happening in my life to the detriment of those I love? Perhaps sadly, I do…

It’s been an added source of pain, and I’ve often discussed it in therapy – it’s natural to want to turn to one’s family in times of need. But mine is not available.

Additionally, things haven’t exactly been good between mum and I since I stayed with my folks after my return from Thailand.

But it’s tough to resolve problems with someone who won’t talk, and lets you know they’re mad in very subtle ways, every time they see you. So, we’ve limped along in this half-life of a familial bond for months now… when I lost my job, mum didn’t call me, not even once.

On one level, I really do find it hard to understand how my own mother has no empathy for the suffering of others. Even though I understand what she’s been through.

But my own experiences of trauma cause me to feel for others very much, and it’s generated a desire to help other people.

And so, on this Mother’s day, day of thanks for the gift of this life, I find myself glad I didn’t have to see my own mother.

It’s not something I’m proud of – it just is what it is… part of my process of recovery, I suspect.

~Svasti

Break down

Tags

Empathy, Exams, Failed high school, Heartbreak, Lonely, Maths, Physics, Teacher, Vulnerability

One day Mr J, her Physics teacher asked (let’s not get into why a creative type had been shoe-horned into a science class) – Just what the heck is wrong with you anyway?

At the end of the day, at the end of the last class of the day. He was fresh enough at teaching to still be completely optimistic. She was in the first class he ever taught. Right out of university.

In that moment she trusted him enough. To tell him about N.

She cried and he cried too. For her. With her. Tears rolling down his cheeks, openly. Such gentle empathy expressed in his eyes. Kindness. Shock. Disbelief.

She told him how empty and desperate she felt. Not in those words exactly, but he got the gist. And she told him how sad and lonely she was – none of her friends could understand, and no one talked about it at home. Like it never happened.

Except the impact was ongoing for her. Made worse by the silence, though she couldn’t speak of it. Til now, years later. Still confused by what happened.

And still overflowing with feelings there wasn’t really a place for. No one wanted to know. But it was with her every day, all the way through high school. She felt dirty and didn’t know how to feel better.

Then, a teacher cared. He saw her, beyond the bravado, the joking around, the silence. He saw her struggle and he cared enough to ask.

And they talked for over an hour, and somehow, just saying it out loud, it helped.

Thank goodness for Mr. J!

His reaction showed her it wasn’t weird she felt the way she did.

But then, as much as it helped that night, she realised giving away her secrets made her feel even more vulnerable. So, now when she sat in Mr. J’s classes, or saw him looking at her, she knew that he knew.

And she couldn’t stand it.

So she distanced herself from him, she wouldn’t let him get that close again. Not all the way through those last two years of high school.

Between her brother’s daily torment, and her heartbreak, the wheels were coming off. So slowly, no one noticed. And she just tried to keep going. School. Swimming practice. Friends. Trying to avoid her brother. That was life, that’s all there was room for.

But the whole school it seemed, was shocked when she failed her final year of school. How could that happen?

Everyone knew she was smart. Really smart. But her smarts, if properly assessed, would have been better off in English Literature and Drama classes, instead of Maths and Physics. She tried to tell them, but no one listened.

Not even Mr. J, who perhaps, just wanted to keep her in his class.

But as hard as she tried, her Physics and Maths grades just got worse. Her parents’ response? Hire a tutor, who hopelessly attempted to explain things that refused to compute. She wasn’t coping in the least, and still, no one listened.

Then, final exams. And she was stressed, knowing those two subjects for her, were doomed. Then, she messed up another one, not seeing the final page of the exam til it was too late. Ensuring a poorer grade than she would have gotten otherwise.

She failed year twelve.

And all those plans made on her behalf, dreams of university (though she had no idea what she wanted to study) were gone. For now.

Very little was said at home. No one asked her – what happened? Although it was a complete surprise to everyone.

Her parents’ first assumption – she’d repeat the year. No question. She agreed, for a while.

But she wasn’t going back to her old school. Way too embarrassing. Everyone knew she’d failed – the news whipping round the student body like wildfire.

One of her old school friends (a very loose term) incredulously said – Wow, so I passed and you didn’t!

To this layer cake of torment, sadness and heartbreak, add shame. A cream filling of feeling stupid. And the icing on top – incredible embarrassment, just for being who she was.

~Svasti

Please note: I am writing here about the past, and mostly its in the past. I do this to help shine the light and illustrate where I was, and how I got to this point. This is no longer stuff that torments me.