Ann McMaster - Life as It Is

Christmas - 2009

I knew Rebecca, Troy, Hayleigh and Chase would be gone to Wisconsin this Christmas - sharing the holiday with Troy's family. So without the kids here, it didn't seem worth the effort to put up a tree and lights, get out all the Christmas wreaths, candles, hand towels, tree bows, and miscellaneous tchotchkes that go with the season. So I didn't do any of itl (I did buy and wrap gifts.)

As I look back on it, I see that I sank into a mini-depression - feeling listless, bored, at loose ends with nothing to do. I watched TV - whatever program came on, I watched it. The lifeshock (wake up) for me was when I came back from a short visit to the kitchen, and a very young Al Pacino was shooting a very young Robert De Niro. I didn't know who was the good/bad guy, or why they were shooting at each other. 

That's pathetic. Wasting my life doing something in which I have no investment, while I am actually split off somewhere else, and I don't know where. That's not just pathetic, it's scary.

Enough! Enough of being a somnambulist! Of finding ways to hibernate, waiting for the kids to come home (or whatever else I 'wait' for); as if I had no real part to play in my Now-life! What Could I be doing that would enrich my life, which is Now on offer with this 'empty' space of time? I usually have to schedule "empty' time.

Having done this at least a million times before, the answer comes readily. I can go inwardly receptive, instead of outwardly receptive. I can update my amazing bio-computer with the most current data - who am I NOW? What matters to me in my heart of hearts? How do I want to spend the rest of my life? Has it changed from the last time I checked in? Or has it tweaked slightly in the absence of my own presence to myself? I am honed by each moment of life, it's up to me to keep up - consciously.

Answering These questions is now my aim. And I am not bored.

PS  I'll still be glad when the kids come home! And I am totally committed to using this seasonal fallow time to ensure that Who I Am gets my full measure of attention and commitment. It's a gift of time I will not waste.

India - The Taj Mahal

  "The Taj" (as it is commonly called here) is one of the Eight Wonders of the World, and one I have wanted to see since I first saw a picture of it as a young girl. It looks exactly like its pictures - except it is much more massive and grand than I had imagined ... and intricate and pristine and imbued with love and honor.

Khan, my guide, explained that it was actually a mausoleum (or ma-ZO-lee-um as he says) dedicated to the most beautiful and well-loved third wife of Emperor Shah Jahan. She died birthing their 14th child (only 6 children lived) in 18 years of marriage. On her deathbed, Mumtaz Mahal made her husband promise two things - that she would have her own tomb/memorial, and that he would never marry again (which he didn't for the next 35 years of his life). NB He still had his first two wives.

It took 20,000 expert craftsmen from around  the world, working 24/7 for 22 years and 32 million rupees to complete the Taj Mahal. Here are pictures, but it's like the Grand Canyon - pictures just don't pick up all the dimensionality of either one. The white marble is translucent, so the light reflected from its surfaces changes as it interacts with the light from celestial orbs. It is beyond adequate description just in general, but I have heard that it is particularly spectacular at dawn and sunset and in the light of the full moon. I only got to see it for four hours in the full sunlight of an afternoon - and it sparkled.

I did the tour, heard all about the workmanship and the personalities behind the idea and the creation of The Taj. And I knew I hadn't 'grokked' it. So I went off by myself, found a place to sit and just open to the feel of it, including all the masses of people weaving in and out and around the whole site. And I felt my tears - tears of wonder and awe at how perfectly the Taj Majal captures the intent of a husband to honor the beloved of his life. It is immense and contained, simple and ornate, majestic and reflective, graceful and durable, luminous and solid - it is unique in the world, as was she to him.

I grokked it ... and still feel touched by the story of their love and by the exquisite representation of it.

PS  The picture on the right is but a small section of the replication of symmetry throughout the building - high and bas relief, all color is from inlaid jewels from around the world - different repetitive patterns circling different parts, all of which are interlocking, in which each element stands on its own and perfectly integrates with the overall theme. Translucent white marble, inlaid colorful jewels, arabesque symmetry, expert craftsmanship, conceived in love - physically impacting, spiritually moving.

PPS  Grok - to understand intuitively or empathically.

India - Old Delhi - Rickshaw Ride

One of the most eye-popping of the tours was the bicycle-rickshaw ride through parts of Old Delhi - seemingly endless winding rows of 2-to-4 story buildings separated by streets so narrow, no cars can pass. Direct sun shines only for a short  time each day, so it's mostly shadowy and cool. Some of the second story balconies project over the street, limiting the light even more. At first I was very uncomfortable about this really thin man standing on the bicycle pedals in order to get the rickshaw moving - hauling two perfectly capable adults through the rabbit warren of streets, peddlers/pedestrians/motorcycles on both sides.

After a bit I got entranced by the combination of the slower energetic metronome of the people and the frenetic environment in which they lived/worked - ganglions of cables and wire strewn helter-skelter over our heads, spreading electricity and internet connections to a myriad of outlets and computers; monkeys cavorting amongst the wires and second-floor balconies; and jillions of cubbyhole shops selling every imaginable thing.

There was the ever-present honking from motorcycles, people yakking in foreign tongues, the clack and clatter of doing business in small spaces. Incense wafted through the air, mixing with the pungent odors of spices and food and feces (human and animal). It was a swamp of sensory input - sights, sounds, and smells, all exotic.

It was a lot to absorb - like being in an alternate universe. On one hand, we were largely ignored. They were oblivious to us, going about their daily business. On the other hand, I was like a sponge,  sopping up all that was on offer. And I wish I had interacted more personally.

And I do see the pattern in my life. When bombarded by lifeshocks (events that sharpen my worldview or wake me up to more Reality), I often experience a jet-lag between life's input and my volitional behavior. And what I've learned is that I can use that time to imagine what I Wish I had done - so that the next time it happens (and almost Always, there's a next time), I have some circuitry in my brain that provides an alternate scenario, rather than just keep being stupefied by the same situations.

PS Again the juxtaposition of rudimentary living And technology - and the consistency with which India holds polarities so naturally. Amazing to me.

PPS You can click on the pics to enlarge them.

India - Traffic

Traffic in India warrants a posting all its own. A wise man once said, "If you believe in a Higher Power, and if you have a good relationship with that Higher Power, and if you believe that once you die, you'll experience Nirvana, then go ahead and drive the streets of India." Only the most audacious, intentional people with quintessential depth perception, nerves of steel and a willingness to submit to God's Will seem to be driving the streets of India.  Only brand new cars have no dents - and I suspect it's only a matter of time.

It is the norm to have only a few centimeters between the skins of neighborly cars, trucks, taxis, tuk-tuks (3-wheeled auto-rickshaws), regular rickshaws, motorcycles, bicycles, tractor-pulled carts, oxen/horse/bicycle/hand carts, elephants, horses, cows, goats, dogs ... and masses of pedestrians - a few centimeters on either side of your own vehicle. An easy exhale effortlessly reaches your immediate neighboring vehicles, a cough could extend itself 2 vehicles over. Yep, I said elephants. I saw three - one in a round-about in a major downtown Mumbai street, one in the middle of downtown Agra, and one of the road to the Taj Mahal.

Basically it's a swarm of humanity/carts/machines in a free-for-all, everyone jockeying for the pole-position. There are rules - rules which no one either knows or obeys. Honking is the sonar system by which all vehicles communicate to everyone else - there is the polite "Here I come up on your side" honk; the insistent "Move Over, Stupid!" honk, and the ever popular "You Dumb S***, where did you get your driving license!" honk; and the ever fashionable honk - "It's high time to honk again - just to check my honker." Red lights,  white stripes on the road, one-way streets - they mean little. Here, if my side of the street is too crowded or too slow, nothing prevents me from driving the wrong way down a less crowded one-way street.

At first Bill and I were holding our breath, white-knuckling the arm-rest (no seat belts) - fearing imminent death or dismemberment at the very least. After more than 2 weeks of experiencing Indian driving, we have come to appreciate the ability of the people here to access the almost inaccessible spaces.  Truly, it's like a zen walk in Opening the Heart, effortlessly going with the flow - except it's a zen drive.

PS  We never saw any accidents of any kind - a testament to Indian driving.

PPS  You can enlarge the pictures by clicking on them.

India - Hawkers and Beggars and me

Having lived in South Africa, I am used to hawkers and beggars. In SA, I developed my own way of addressing them - some of which I learned from the wise guidance of Orlene Bar Chaim. I learned to connect, and not buy; and I would give food, instead of money. One day, I gave a banana to a young boy, because he had indicated he was hungry. I watched him, in front of me, throw the banana into the gutter. He didn't really want food, he wanted money - which most likely would have found its way into his pimp's pocket. It was yet another call for discernment. Even Jesus didn't heal all the sick and lame. There must be some kind of receptivity in the other.

 This time, in Mumbai especially, I practiced looking into their eyes, acknowledging their humanness, while still being firm in my stand about not buying. In particular, there was one woman who was persistent in selling her purses, and yet she made eye contact, continually suggesting alternatives. Bill ended up buying a purse from her, while she taught us how to say, "No, thank you. I don't want anything." It was a good laugh and a good connection.

On the other hand, there was a woman with a well-fed baby on her hip, dogging our every   step, looking desperate and then hard-eyed - a combination of anger and intentionality. She was flipping from one tactic to another - hopeless/helpless, guilt-tripping, and finally a malevolence that I refused to give her money. I felt slimed. She never saw me as a person, she only saw me as a mark.

I'm both these women - at times engaging with all around me while still pursuing my goal; and other times, so intent on my goal, I forget about connecting - both to myself and to others. And I usually generate the same sort of responses as these women did in me.

India - The Phenomenon of Being the "Strange Ones"

I have never thought of myself as being 'strange' ... 'weird,' yes ... 'strange,' no. In my family, weird was an appellation to be cherished, signifying uniqueness, out of the norm. It was a 'good' thing to be weird.

In India, with Bill's white hair and pinky-white skin, and with my red-blond hair and green eyes, we have been accosted several times to have our picture taken with some locals. After one of those experiences, our guide told us that the guys (and they are usually young men who want their picture taken alongside us) who asked for a picture were from the country and had never seen a white person before.

This happened several times, then in front of the Victoria Memorial in Kolkatta, a man holding his daughter's hand laughed and came up to us saying, "My daughter has never seen white people before, and she wanted to know what you were." Which seemed funny to us, so we shook her hand and asked her name, all of which was translated by her father. It was a touching little encounter. I could see Hayleigh (my 5 year-old granddaughter) being as curious.

It is a strange phenomenon to be stared at, first with what looks like curiosity and/or suspicion, and how it all melts away with a smile and connection - ah, yes, underneath the external differences, we are truly all one.

There is the other side - being recognized as a 'mark' - no connection, no smiles, only the persistent intent to get what they can from the rich foreigners. The difference between the two perceptions is stark - another of those wide-set polarities that exist side-by-side here; or maybe it's just more obvious here.

India - Trip to Elephanta

The day we arrived at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai marked exactly one year since ten separate bombings took place in several parts of Mumbai, including the hotel - killing almost 200 people and wounding over 300. That explained the many police cars and militia surrounding the hotel when we arrived, as well as the airport-like security just to enter the hotel. Then there were militia of some kind by every elevator in the hotel - and one that watched our room 24/7. That's the "Taj" on the left - very imposing and grand building.

With all that in mind, we signed up for a trip to the Elephanta Caves, site of high reliefs carved from the stone of the mountain, worshipping Shiva. Truly, the carvings are amazing, both in their immensity and in their attention to detail. To the right is one of the main carvings, with 3 faces of Shiva. It's difficult to imagine the hugeness of this one from a picture.

It is an hour's trip by ferry from Mumbai to the island mountain. I felt a bit tentative even crossing the plaza to get to the ferry, OK, a lot tentative, as I took my place out of the sun, on the open-sided ferry. Stern faces met my every glance. They could all be bombers for all I knew. Maybe this trip to Elephanta was to be the bombers' way of celebrating the year before. Maybe it was my last trip to anywhere. I withdrew into my fear, seeing possible danger from any corner.

Then a little boy about 2 years old, thrilled to be in his father's arms and feeling the wind and sun on his face, started screaming. I was startled at first, then relaxed with a smile as I saw the laughter on his face. Something in me shifted. I decided to enjoy this trip as much as that little boy, even if it were my last. So I experimented, smiling at different fellow-passengers - even the previously-hostile-seeming young men with bandanas around their heads. Lo and behold, they smiled back. The more I smiled, the more they smiled - most everyone was smiling.

By the time we reached the island, our particular ferry seemed to be downright festive! The whole rest of the trip, strangers came to us, asking where we were from, trying out their English, asking to have their picture made with us - almost like we were some kind of visiting stars. 

Once again, I am astounded by the power of the mind - either to determine my fate, or to be bridled by my mastery. This time, I won - and had wonderful connections - people connections.

India - Mumbai - Parsi Tower of Silence

Malabar Hill - the ritzy section of Mumbai (formerly Bombay):  we were driving down the hill, when the driver mentioned the Parsi Tower of Silence, which we could barely see through the dense trees. It is a round building, situated high on a hill, not far from the posh residential section. It is called the Tower of Silence because that is where the Parsis (followers of the Persian prophet, Zoroaster) take their dead. The bodies of men are arranged in the outside circle of the roof, women inside the second ring, and children in the middle circle.

The idea is that birds of prey will clean to the bones, the sun and weather will bleach and disintegrate the bones further, which are then combined with lime, filtered and eventually washed back to the sea. All is a natural process that honors the full cycle of life.

The problem with Plan A is that the pollution of the city has seriously diminished the vulture population, so the process is much more extended time-wise than usual. So far, there is no Plan B.

I find that an interesting parallel to my own life. When my Plan A doesn't play as well as I thought it would, how much time goes by before I develop Plan B? Mostly it depends on how addicted I am to my Plan A. The more addicted, the more time goes by before I wake up to the fact that Plan A needs either to be adjusted or scratched all together. Or I could end up at the Tower of Silence with my Plan A, waiting for the vultures.