TO TELL THE TRUTH. . .

For two years, I have sacrificed a lot to be able to put this story down on paper. . . I mean that some days it was my poverty diet: bananas, celery hearts and hard-boiled eggs. Nevertheless, in many respects, it has been easy. I have experienced many delightful moments as I have relived each episode in my memory. However, the truth is my personal story did not have a happy ending—temporarily, at least. Since you know me by now, you will understand that I feel it would not be honest to not share that part since my story was often so personal.

As you can imagine from my many fascinating encounters, I came back to U.S. feeling full of life and joy. I felt I had so much to give and to share. I was quite surprised to find my friends and family had no interest whatsoever in anything I had done. Were they threatened by my lifestyle? I suppose the thought of spending three years traveling and exploring was off-putting to persons who were committed to sitting behind a desk all day. I honestly didn’t feel that I was that different, but I realized I had been plopped into a world that I no longer knew. I wanted people to get excited, to go out and have an adventure, yet it appeared that people simply wanted me to sit down, shut up, and be content to push papers for some male (or female) chauvinist and complain about my lot in life, like everyone else.

You see the real reason I couldn’t do that effectively is that at one time in my life I had the opportunity to realize material things were not going to get it for me. And I have been affirmed in that perception. I have had many peak experiences, and not even one of them was triggered by money or things money can buy.

However, I was being challenged to give up connection with people. Now really, this was asking too much of me. I was experiencing a deep depression; I had never experienced depression before in my entire life. I was also physically ill, which is a rare occurrence for me. I don’t know how much that had to do with my mental state, but it obviously didn’t help. I kept feeling something was being squashed out of me. I was forced to take a look at what I would label the transparency of Life. Certainly, it was my personal disappointments, and I took it personally. Sometimes it seemed like more than that. I wept for a world that didn’t care, that wouldn’t care, that couldn’t see beyond today. Surely, I would continue to face many disappointments if I remained dependent on this world for estimating my value.

What am I doing here? I kept asking myself. The person who less than a year ago sat so peacefully feeling like a citizen of the world was now an alien in the land of her birth. Somehow I managed to keep going—but just barely.

I ended up in Sedona, Arizona. Frankly, I was not enamored with the stark, dry desert reality. I could hardly bear to take in all those red rocks. I wasn’t able to do so for many months, even though I lived perched on the side of Sugarloaf Mountain with an incredible view of Oak Creek Canyon. Daily I was impelled to walk. Often I was up at dawn and completed two hours of hiking before breakfast time. Continually, I found a new place to explore, rarely hiking the same route twice. I breathed in starry nights, fed the quail, tanagers, orioles and hummingbirds, took care of a dear elderly lady, and put my shoulder out of joint digging up tiny plants to transplant into a wild flower garden. I had very little contact with family or friends.

One clear breathless night, as I beheld a full moon creep over the dark red cliffs, I realized that all my pain was gone. The truth was clear; all I will ever be able to count on is myself. I am all I have; somehow I must be all I need. The world is what it is, and I am what I am. The next morning, I unpacked my computer and started writing about my travels—and travails—in India.

Although I had written journals during my travels, it took me several years to unravel the story on paper. The words kept stretching out to be an awesome thousand pages. Even though I cut many details, I embellished others. The finale of my journey occurred when I was working on the material of my stay at Jeevashram. I was going over my notes of several lengthy conversations with Vijay, which dealt with the kundalini phenomenon.

First, I realized that he had clearly told me, but not directly, that the experience I had in Bangalore was the awakening of my kundalini. Over and above that info, he talked about some manifestations caused by the biological process of kundalini. Here were all the answers to my dilemma of life upon my return to the U.S. Suddenly, I had the whole picture. I understood why I went through depression; why I didn’t meditate regularly here; why I felt well for only short periods of time—usually when I was alone. Since I lacked valid interaction with the external world, I had been forced inward to process and develop my inner life. Life encompasses it all—it does not discriminate. Only minds discriminate.

I had had all the information I needed to go through the experiences with foresight, but the data had gone out of my head into a notebook, which had been packed away until now. I have to console myself with the thought that hindsight is far better than no-sight. Haven’t I always said that I am one person who just has to find out things for myself. I feel much more integrated and centered. . . and free of this world called the “united states,” even though most persons here prefer to navigate their lives in “scattered states.”

What I have to say may not be relevant in the world today. I have come to understand that I dance to an uncommon tune. But I wanted to tell my story so that if it touches you, you too may have the courage to dance to your unique melody. I have nothing tangible to show for my story, yet when I lie down at night, I remember all my wonderful experiences and my sense of an expanded self and unbounded life. In those quiet moments, I am alive and content because I lived out my dream. I feel complete and I am grateful.