Wound of the Arrow

I have thoughts about him in my mind, more often that I’d like. This state is unsettling. I was even feeling guilty for becoming obsessive. Then I remembered; this is not a coincidence; this is not just a random state. When the mind is so pre-occupied with something (someone) specific better look into it. The more I look into it the more I realize it is not about him that much; but more about a feeling of unfulfillment. I am not getting what I need.

There is something fundamentally wrong about insisting on the way I want to be loved. Not being happy when not getting the attention I’d like. That’s obvious; this is about my expectations and how I feel in control of my life. Nobody has the obligation to fulfill my expectations and being in control of my life is an illusion and a limitation of the mind. However the feeling is there; crystal clear. I am not going to cover it up with some text-book self-suggestions. I feel sad because I am not getting what I need. Not only sad, but also lonely, unworthy and contracted. I feel like a helpless baby. Or a little girl, who wants her father’s attention but he is just busy and she pretends to be OK with that not to further lose his love.

I watched a movie some time ago; about a funny and sweet chef who loses his job and had to start from scratch. While he was struggling to get back on his feet his 10 year old son was pretending to be cool with his father taking him to movies and parks but never really connecting with him. Eventually they ended up having a road trip on a food truck with the son helping his father, the father teaching him how to cook. That was the turning point for them, the father being able to share his gifts with his son. He knew how to do that and more importantly he didn't need to understand what is really going through the mind of a smart and pretentious 10 year old. Simple, direct. This sharing completely changed the dynamics of their relationships, made them a team. I was so sad to realize that my father and I couldn't find our food truck. That made me cry a lot. Then I also remembered his joy and pride the few times we could play volleyball together; a game we both love, enjoy (and kicked ass!) It felt so good to be in the same team with him. I can remember clearly how he opened up to me when we could do something together simply because we both liked it. No sense of obligation, no calculation, no life lessons to learn or teach. That made me smile a lot. I just wished we could have played more. Maybe my shell would be softer; maybe I’d try less to run inside myself and play cool, constantly attempting to be in control; not to show how hurt I am for not getting what I need. Or maybe not.

And I had to laugh really a lot when my beloved Prem Babaji said not to share such inner journeys with others, because that simply makes us a boring person. A very valid reason indeed! There is also the reason of ego games. Who in you wants to share these processes? Do you need to convince others that this is the way to go; going deep into your patterns and dissolving them? I used to get really pissed off by some friends constantly preaching me with spiritual crap, ‘showing’ how to be or do. Fuck it! So not interesting! In case you are reading these lines, the author is enjoying her journey by playing with words as she loves this toy. Nothing more, nothing less!

Here you go; the words took me from the sharp pain of the arrow to the angelic, child-face of Eros. Walking on the path, jumping up and down, picking up a flower, hiding behind a tree, up and down, up and down…

Spiritüel Psikoz

Hastalandığımı ve dostlarımın ilgisini, desteğini istediğimi yazdım geçenlerde facebook’ta. İlk tepkiler geldiğinde hemen silesim geldi. O kadar yadırgadım ki bu kırılgan hali ifşa etmeyi, üstüne bir de ilgi istemeyi. Bu gibi haller napılır; gözden sözden uzak, kapalı kapılar ardında yaşanır, atlatılır ve insan içine öyle çıkılır benim bildiğim. Off ne kadar çok saçmalık var benim bildiğim, öyle böyle değil.

Uzun lafın kısası, az bir zaman önce üstadım Prem Baba’nın programladığı, çok ağır bir psiko-spiritüel inzivaya katıldım. Psikoloji aleminin kabul verdiği gerçek şu ki bildiğimizi sandığımız her bir halt, farkında olduğumuz veya olmadığımız her bir davranış kalıbımızın altında çocukluğumuz yatıyor. Bunun illaki travmatik, dayaklı dramalı bir çocukluk olmasına gerek yok. Gayet el bebek gül bebek yetiştirilenlerimiz için de geçerli bir arıza. Çocuk dediğin istediği her an, istediği şekilde, kayıtsız şartsız sevilmek istiyor. Bu istek o kadar şuursuz ve sınırsız ki karşılığını verecek bir ebeveyn düzeni yok bu hayatta. Bu sevgiyi almadığı her an ise (ki ne kadar çok bu anlar) bir travma olarak kaydoluyor hafızaya. Çocuğu öfke ve nefret duygularıyla tanıştırıyor daha el kadar bebeyken. Bebe biraz ayaklanınca hesaplar kitaplar başlıyor, ne yapar da beni daha çok sevmelerini sağlarım kavgası başlıyor. İşitilen her azar, ihtiyaç duyduğu sevgiyi alamadığı her an çocuğun kendini yetersiz hissetmesine neden oluyor; ben olduğum gibi sevilmeye layık değilim, daha güçlü/güzel/akıllı/disiplinli (ve sonu gelmeyen, sürekli listeye yenisi eklenen sıfatlar silsilesi) olursam beni severler düz mantığıyla çocuk kendine bir ideal yaratıyor. O ideal işte ebeveynin sevgisini hakeden! O ideale uymadığı her an artık sadece ebeveynin sevgisini haketmemekle kalmıyor kendisi de kendisini sevmiyor. Ve fiziksel olarak büyüyen ama ruhen, çok özel psiko-spirituel ayılmalar yaşamadığımız sürece çocuk kalan bizler hayat boyu bu ideali kovalarken ebeveynlerimizin replikası eşler dostlar taşıyoruz çemberimize ki eziyet bitmesin, aynı senaryolar yaşanıp dursun. Bu sefer sevdiricez işte kendimizi inancıyla kuyruğumuzu kovalamaya devam ediyoruz.

Bir ara, işte ilişkilerden yorgun düştüğüm bir dönemde iyice Irvin Yalom’a vermiştim kendimi. Varoluşçu Psikoterapi’de bir dolu ilişki örüntüsünün altında gizli olan ebeveyn-çocuk arızalarını anlatıyor adamım. Fakat diyordu ki bu çocukluk hallerinin sonu yok, her biri de insanoğlunun çok temel bazı korkularının ifadesi; dolayısıyla en nihayetinde kişinin yetişkin olduğunu kabul edip kendi hayatının sorumluluğunu alması gerekir. Ben bu mesajı yanlış anlamışım biraz o zaman. Yalom’un da dediği gibi yetişkinliğimizi ilan etmek yetmiyor; kendi hayatımızın sorumluluğunu almak, başımıza gelenler için ne ailemizi ne de dışsal başka herhangi bir faktörü suçlamayı bırakıp kendimize bakmak çok elzem. Fakat bu yüzleşmeyi yapabilmek için içimizdeki tüm o karanlığa, öfkeye, nefrete, kıskançlığa, suçluluk duygusuna, tembelliğe, nice kokuşmuş korkuya bakmak, bu duyguları görüp kabul etmekle başlıyor iş. Bu aşamayı atlayıp bir takım öğretilerin peşine takılmak geçici rahatlamalar yaratabiliyor ama zihinsel mastürbasyonun ötesine geçilemiyor. Misal ben bu psikoloji mevzusuna oldum olası ilgiliydim; etrafı suçlamayı bırakıp hayatımdaki her bir bireyi kendi içimdeki aydınlığın ve de karanlığın aynası olarak görme algısını epey bir zaman önce Vivian’ımın da sayesinde günüme kattıydım. Biri beni kıllandırdı mı hemen içe döner gözüm, neden kıllandım, neyi kaşıyor karşımdakinin bu tavrı, hangi duygular açığa çıkıyor. Başıma kötü bir şey mi geldi, ayna kafası çalışmaya başlar, niye böyle bir şeyi davet ettim hayatıma? Her modern esriğin kendine sorması icap eden sorular, değil mi? Amma ve lakin bu sorular o kadar kabarıklaşmaya, hesap kitap o kadar karmaşıklaşmaya başladı ki kendini dövmekten haz duyan iç güçlerin sesi fazla yüksek çıkmaya ve bazı dengeler sarsılmaya başladı. O dönemde canım üstadım ve dostum Laura topladıydı beni; diyordu ki ‘her bir farkındalıkla bir balon gibi çıkıyor içerideki karanlık yüzeye, yüzeye çıkınca da bu balonu patlatabiliyoruz. Sen o kadar çok balonu bir anda yüzeye çıkarıyorsun ki patlatmaya yetişemeyip boğuluyorsun sonra.’ Şimdi görüyorum o balonları su yüzüne çıkaran çocuk hala kendi yaratımı olan ‘ideal’i referans alıyor, bu ideale uymadığımda beni karanlık addediyordu. Yani aslında tüm çalışma hala yüzeydeydi, önce şu ideali bir fark edip onun altında yatan karanlığı hatırlamak gerekiyordu. Aksi halde, dediğim gibi zihinsel mastürbasyon...

                             

Psikosu tamam da spiritüel bunun neresinde diye sorarsak; işte tüm o balonlar havalandığında, egonun öz-yıkımına doğru taarruza geçildiğinde bünye bir yere kadarını kaldırıyor. Ego bu, ölmeye direnir, patlarız orta yerimizden mazallah. İşte yükün çok ağır geldiği bir noktada daha yüksek bir iradeye teslimiyet, bir yardım çağrısı icap ediyor. Kimi ilme irfana, kimi doğaya yeşile, kimi yüksek bilince. Artık o noktada kişi kendine yakışanı giyecek, ama o soğuk yola üstü başı açık çıkmayacak.

“Arayan vardığında, bir şifa çalışması kişinin duygusal yaralarını sarmaya, kalbindeki geçmişten kalma yaralara merhem olmaya başlar. Bu çalışma kişi kendi geçmişiyle uyum içinde olup bu geçmişten özgürleşene kadar; geriye baktığında hayatta başına gerelen her şey için gerçekten minnettar olana kadar sürer. İşte o an kişinin ruhu yeniden doğmaya hazırdır. Aslında ruhsal yolculuk tam da bu zaman gerçekten başlar. Bu noktaya kadar yapılan herşey aslında kişinin düşük benliğinin şifa bulması ve dönüşmesi için bir psiko-spiritüel çalışmadan ibarettir.” Sri Prem Baba

Yoni Puja

Charlotte pays a visit to a revered artist whose work she would like to display at her gallery. Welcoming her warmly to his secluded studio, the artist gently removes the cover revealing his latest work. ‘The canvases you are about to see … are the apotheosis of every great idea I ever had. It is the closest I ever come to the pure universal god force. The yoni!’ [1]

Some years ago 49 women came together on the beautiful island of Koh phangan to go into the depths of femininity for five full days. We started our journey with the eye-opening perspective Agama provides based on chakras and the level of consciousness of each chakra producing our understanding and experience of femininity. Afterwards Maha went deeper explaining how emotions work, starting from natural instincts of self-preservation turning into moods defining our patterns of behavior. Emotions are very precious, they are the flavor of life, and they shouldn’t be repressed; rather expressed. The trick of the game is about the choice of what to do with that emotion; key word being ‘choice’. Do I have the will and freedom to choose where my emotions lead me to? Can I face my emotion, observe it and decide what to do with it? Instead of looking for justifications for jealousy, anger, victimhood, can I choose how I react to these emotions in my life? The mind that generates emotions also hosts the power of discrimination; the will to choose the beneficial, the harmonious. It is a matter of cohabitation made possible by awareness. I can make a choice only if I am aware of what is going on without identifying myself with the mixed messages of strong emotions. That was another eye-opening perspective. I remember a very tough moment in my life. Many years ago I was in a very difficult situation of being attacked personally and as a team with my fellows by a group of young political animals in front of around thousand students from all over Europe. The events building up to that tension for months combined with the intensity these political games played during our general assembly simply broke me; I lost sight of what is going on inside and out. I remember crying non-stop. My lovely shiva at that time avoided any pampering during the whole day while all that craziness was happening and in the evening he just  told me ‘intelligent people can control their emotions’. Of course I was very pissed off about this remark, how dare he insult my intelligence?! Well, it takes some emotional maturity to understand the value of this guidance.  

Besides all these little light bulbs switching on in my head, these five days caused a shift in my whole understanding of femininity. In fact, I realized I was trying to live my entire life as a man under the mask of ‘strong woman’. I confronted my de-masculating acts towards men around me and how these acts harmed my own femininity. Maha used an unforgettable analogy for feminine power; a samurai sword in a velvet cover. I took this analogy into my arms and put it under my pillow that night.

During these days we were asked which part of our body we like the most. Among all the generic answers like eyes, legs, boobs one of the women came out with ‘my yoni’. What? How can a woman consider her ‘yoni’ as the most beautiful part of her body? I’d understand loving your yoni, feeling the power of your yoni but seeing it as your most beautiful bit?! The next day we were asked to wear an outfit making us feel feminine. That same woman came with her yoni totally out in display. After the initial shock, suggesting myself to be open and all, I looked at her yoni. Well yes, she is kind of beautiful. Another shift in my mind; it is not only about hers, yoni is beautiful. Then a secondary shock wave; I also got one of those! So I went home and looked at myself (down there obviously), but not in a new-agey ‘we need to love and accept our body’ kind of way. I looked at her for a long time intently. I started to say nice words to her, first following the instructions of our teachers, then improvising with my own words. Yes, it is possible to actually make peace with her; she really is a lotus flower; to be loved and cherished. I announced my peace accord with my yoni at the end of the workshop and thanked the woman who inspired me to do so.

And from that moment on everything changed.

There are two important symbols in Tantric yoga; yoni and lingam. If we go beyond the reductionist Freudian symbolism it is easy to observe the polarity of the feminine and masculine symbols manifested in all phenomena. The relationship of yoni and lingam appears between mountain and valley, fire and water, electricity and magnetism, sun and the moon. Yoni literally means the source; and her higher meaning is the source of creation; just like a woman’s yoni being her source of creative energy. Feeling this power is indeed the closest one may ever come to the pure universal god force. Having said that, mere words don’t suffice to address this topic. One needs to experience her power and Anish Kapoor made me relive all these experiences through another channel of creation; through arts. Visiting his exhibition, getting goosebumbs by looking at his amazing work is a genuine, powerful yoni puja[2]. It is not my place to comment on such a high level of art but I can just recommend if you ever get the chance to see his work, just fix your gaze upon one of his yoni statues for some minutes and see what happens.

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[1] Actually he uses another word, but I prefer to use the Sanskrit word for vagina; yoni. And please try to ignore your scepticsm towards Sex and the City; these series may have used and abused sex, alcoholism, fashion, relationships and many other things but they did put lots of critical issues concerning femininity on the table.

[2] Puja: ritual

Capturing the scent of a week

My nose runs my life at times. I assess the place I enter, the person I’ve met, the ground I step on based on their scents; decide if I like them or not accordingly. A beloved who used to make my head spin with his scent may gently be pushed away once I smell something off about him. Probably the underlying cause is something else, but the sense of smell gives the final verdict; ‘time to move on…’. My nose is capable of time-travel, can take me to a memory from years ago just by being caught by a random scent.

There is one week in my life; I wanted to capture its essence in a perfume, so that I can smell it every now and then, so that I won’t ever forget it.

It was many many years ago, don’t remember when exactly. I was in Ankara in summer time for some reason when everybody else was scattered elsewhere as Middle East Technical University was closing its doors until the new term. Another birthday creeping me out; stirring all the fears of loneliness, lack of self-love compensated temporarily by the love and attention of others was a few days ahead. Everything was in its places; but I was in need of intensity.

I stopped by at the ‘hip pub in town’ with a friend that summer. Never been into pubs or small talks pepped up by the fake courage of a few drinks spreading in one’s veins. The dislike was probably both-ways, I wasn’t really an ideal bar customer; either not drinking or entering other dimensions just after two glasses. On that night I was again convinced that not even the funkiest club ever would help dealing with the void inside and out. Somehow though I found myself (and my friend of course) talking to two guys; filtered out as eligible companions since there were apparently members of ‘our circles’. Despite my protective shield of small talk incompetency I went into a deep conversation with this handsome, sweet guy. No amount of handsome could lower those shields at time, strengthened by my non-flirtatiousness. There was the need for a crack in space and time where only two people fitted in. Another dimension to open up and share all the stories created and to be created and dance all the joy. Yes, I needed that crack.

Until I find Mehmet's photo lighting his cigarette in my living room, this should do. May his path to light be as smooth and beautiful

And I needed the masculine power to guide the travel in that crack. When there is the slight push of a man, his gentle guidance… How strong becomes then the dance of the woman; how creative her force… The very creation is generated by this polarity. Once we remember the natural roles of man and woman (inside and out) hidden under the confusions related to social equality; once we encounter that polarity the play flourishes.

Mehmet was my North and I was his South once we have entered that crack. There are no plans in that dimension. A flow begins according to the laws of nature. It is amazing how many stories are there to tell all of a sudden. All the faded memories hidden in their shelves come out and shine once I share them with him. The fear of losing a mask, revealing a truth diminishes at each step. It is challenging to stay totally naked, but I get as close to it as my awareness at that time allows me to be.
 

We enter into deep talks in my house those days; which was the ‘in' place to be, decorated by my drawings and wild colors. There is of course the tension of being man and woman alone under the same roof in the air but we don’t enter that territory at all. There is so much else to experience in that alternate space and time. Yes, there is the obligatory shopping, cooking, outing together. However Mehmet joined me through the toughest torture at that time just after having met me for two days. He stood by my side while I was struggling to get my visa from the Dutch embassy; haha! The queue of dozens of people, my anger towards the disrespectful treatment of my fellow citizens, my fears of not having all documents ready evaporated with the warmth of his shining smiles. Well, the massive guard of the Consulate Şaban’s preferential treatment also helped. On this occasion my heartfelt thanks to dear Mr. Şaban!

Whenever Mehmet had to stop by at his house to change clothes or run an errand there was no debate; we jumped into my lady car Mübeccel; I’d wait for him outside and we went back to my temple. Then my birthday arrived; with all of my dear friends anywhere else then in Ankara with me. I left the house in the morning to go to the campus without making any plans with Mehmet. On my way back the experienced script writer in me responsible for all the dark stories to prevent the disappointment of any un-fulfilled expectations already decided about the ending of the chapter. And life confirmed the script. The house was empty. I found a piece of paper at the door with no words on. The script writer however had already added a few lines of consolation to the ending. ‘Well, you knew the guy for only a few days anyway’.

However that time-space dimension has a different flow. Before I knew it Mehmet was back. He just had to step out to run an errand, thinking he could keep the door open by putting a folded piece of paper in between (what a genius!).  I have no memory of what we did on that day or any day that followed it. Whatever had happened was so fulfilling, nourished my heart so deeply that I don’t need to remember the incidents; or how the crack closed down by the end of the week. Probably I left town as it is usually the case in my life. Or maybe that time he was the one having to leave. In any case the theme of our story was written in capital letters at the very beginning. We gave our souls to each other while we were in that crack. There was no fear, no calculation, no holding back. We knew that we’d stand by each other no matter what. I am here for you, to take care of you, to heal any wound you have, to listen to any story that you want to tell, I am here to be you, you are here to be me. Can this be real? Yes.

Did I ever tell him all that? No, never bothered; he already knew.

I just wanted to capture the scent of that one week (or less) before he decided to leave this life. We both know it all but still; just to smell this perfume whenever needed; whenever we couldn’t fill in the gaps inside by ourselves.

Parfümünü yapmak istedim

Burnum yönetir hayatımın bir kısmını benim. Girdiğim mekanı, yaklaştığım insanı, adım attığım toprağı kokusuna göre elerim; sevdim mi sevmedim mi kokusundan anlarım. Kokusundan sarhoş oluyorken, burnum darlanmaya başladığında bir mesafe girer arama kişiyle ister istemez. Muhtemelen başka mevzular nedendir o mesafeye ama koku buyurur; ‘hadi canım…buraya kadarmış’. Bir koku gelir burnuma beraberinde kocaman bir his taşır teee yıllar öncesinden bir anıdan.

Bir hafta var hayatımda; parfümünü yapmak istedim, ara ara koklayayım, hiç unutmayayım diye.

Çooook yıllar önce, 98 mi 99 mu bilemedim. Nedenini hatırlayamadığım bir şekilde yaz vakti Ankara’dayım herkes oralara buralara çil yavrusu gibi dağılmışken, ODTÜ kepenkleri mevsimlik indirmişken. Her yaklaştığında tüylerimi diken diken eden, hayata dair her nevi korkumu; en başta da eksikliği, yalnızlığı, kendine sevgisizliği başkalarından gördüğü ilgi ve sevgiyle telafi hallerini depreştiren bir doğum günü daha kapıdaydı. Her şey gevşek, rahat, olması gerektiği gibi ama ben bir yoğunluk ihtiyacındayım.

Ankara’nın o zamanlar hip mekanı Likya’daydık bir akşam. Bar muhabbetleri, kısa sohbetler, alkolün gazı sayesinde üç beş yüzeysel cümleyle damarlara yayılan sıcaklık çok bildiğim, ilgilendiğim şeyler değil. Oldum olası berbat bir bar müşterisi oldum zaten. Ya içmez, ya da sadece iki kadehle gerekli dünya şaşmasını yaşar... İçerideki ve dışarıdaki ıssızlıkla baş etmeye yetmeyeceğine inanmama rağmen, bir ‘belki’ ile girmişim mekana arkadaşımla, nasıl olduğunu bilmeden bizim çevrelerden olduğu onayı verilmiş, filtreden geçmiş iki delikanlıyla muhabbete girmişiz. ‘Small talk’ özürlülere mahsus kalkanımla oturuyorken biriyle sohbet derinleşmiş. Güzel çocuk, cazibeli, şu bu ama yetmezdi o kadarı kalkan indirmeye. O yaşlarda hele, istesem de indiremiyorum; vahşi doğam özürlü. Soluduğum atmosferin, yaşadığım zamanın içerisinde bir genişleme, tam iki kişilik bir açılma olması lazım ki kişi ile ben o aralığa girelim ve orada, bambaşka bir boyutta yol alalım. Anlatacak çok hikaye, edilecek çok dans, yaratılacak bir dolu anı var ama işte o aralık lazım illa ki.

Mehmet'in salonumun ortasında sigarasını yakarken resmini bulana kadar bu iş görsün, yolu böyle güzel olsun

Bir de o aralıktaki yolculuğu tetikleyecek eril güç. Erkeğin yarattığı hafif bir ivme, verdiği ufak bir yönlendirme ile kadın nasıl çoşuyor, çağlıyor; neler yaratıyor… Yaratım dediğin zaten kutupluluktan doğuyor. Sosyal eşitlik kaygısının bize unutturduğu kadının ve erkeğin (kendi içimizdeki ve dışımızdaki kadının ve erkeğin) rollerini rahatlıkla, hep içimizde saklı olduğu doğallığında oynamaya başlıyoruz bu kutupluluk denk geldiğinde.

Mehmet benim kuzeyimdi, ben de güney oldum o aralığa adım atmamızla. Oradayken pek bir plan program olmuyor. O an eşyanın doğasından gelen şimdi hatırlayamadığım bir şekilde beraber akmaya başladık. İki insan arasında konuşulabilecek ne kadar çok konu olabiliyormuş. Hayatımın en kıyıya köşeye attığım deneyimleri bir anda sandık köşelerinden çıkıyor ve değerini buluyor onunla paylaştığımda. Bu maskemi çıkarırsam, şunu da gösterirsem ne olur acaba korkuları teker teker atılıyor üstümden. Zor tabii öyle tamamen, olduğu gibi çıplak kalmak. Ama, hele hayatımın o dönemi için, olabildiğince yaklaşıyorum buna.

O zamanlar çevremde ‘in mekan’ olan, resmimle rengimle süsleyip beslediğim hanemde detayı önemsiz bir dolu muhabbete giriyoruz. Karşı cinsten olmanın getirdiği bir gerilim var elbet ama ikimiz de hiç kurcalamıyoruz oraları. O zamanlar ki flört özürlülüğüm bir yana, yaşadığımız zaman-mekan boyutu o kadar zengin ve yapılacak o kadar çok şey var ki. Bakkal çakkal alışverişi, yeme içme, gezme tozmada yarenlik anlaşılır da, Mehmet hayatımın o dönemki en büyük çilesine kalkıp geldi tanışmamızdan yaklaşık üç gün sonra bir sabah; Hollanda konsolosluğunda vize başvurusu! Kapıda metrelerce kuyruk, bendeki evraklar tamam mı stresi korkusuna, nedir memleketimin insanının çektiği bu eziyet derdine rağmen Mehmet’in sürekli gülümsemek için bahane arayan aydınlık yüzüyle eridi gitti. Tabii o zamanlar Konsolosluk’un kapısında görevli Şaban abimin imtiyazları da yardımcı oldu, sağ olsun. Bu vesileyle onu da anmış olayım, kendisi bilmez ama kalbimde yeri büyüktür haşmetli Şaban abimin.

Mehmet’in evine gitmesi, üstünü başını değiştirmesi gerektiğinde bile yine hiçbir özel iletişim olmadan atlar Mübeccel’e giderdik; ben az beklerken o işlerini hallederdi, geri yolunu tutardık mabedimin. Derken doğum günü geldi çattı; benim yedi dostum ayrı alemdeyken Ankara’da olmamı gerektiren dönemde, ‘ah bir başıma’ diye öncesinde dertlendiğim günün sabahı herhal bir ders için çıktım evden. Alışılageldiği üzere bir plan program yapmadan Mehmet’le; çıktım gittim. Dönüş yolundayken içimde beklentilerimi yüksek tutup hayal kırıklığına uğramamı engellemekten sorumlu felaket senaryosu yazarı çoktan karar vermişti bölümün sonunda, evimi terk edilmiş bulacağıma. Nitekim evde kimse yoktu; kapının arasına sıkıştırılmış bir kağıt buldum ama onda da bir şey yazmıyordu. Yıkıldım tabii hafiften ama senaryo yazarı altyapı hikayesine eklemiş çoktan avuntuyu da; ‘zaten iki gündür tanıdığın adam’. 

Ama diyorum ya işte, orası, o zaman-mekan bağlamı, farklı bir yer; ben ne olduğunu anlamadan Mehmet geldi tabii. Çıkması gerekmiş, anahtar yok, cin fikirli kapı arasında kağıt sıkıştırma dehasıyla geri içeri girebileceğini ummuş ama olmamış tabii. O gün ne yaptık, ondan sonra ne oldu detayları hiç hatırlamıyorum. Kalan parçalar ve deneyimin yekûnu kalbimin o kadar doğru yerlerini doldurup okşamış ki aralık nasıl kapandı onu bile hatırlamıyorum. Her zamanki gibi ben başka bir şehre gittim herhalde. Veya bu seferinde o, bilemedim. Aslında belli neden hatırlamadığım detayları; çünkü bizim sayfamızın başında yazıyordu zaten ana fikir. O aralıkta kendimizi verdik birbirimize. Kaygısız, tasasız, hesapsız, kitapsız sonuna kadar yanındayım dedik. Niye bunu dedik, biz kimdik düşünmeden. Neye ihtiyacın varsa karşılanacak, hangi yaran varsa bakılacak, nasıl bir hikayen varsa paylaşılacak; buradayım. Seni tamamlamak, seni mutlu etmek, seninle sen olmam için, benimle ben olman için. Oldu mu? Oldu.

Bunları ona yazdım mı anlattım mı, hayır; hiç öyle derdim olmadı. O zaten bilir.

‘Bir hafta mıydı, değil miydi’ aralığımızın parfümünü yapmak isterdim işte yine de o gitmeden. Biliriz ikimiz de ama olsun. Koklasaydık gerektiğinde, boşlukları kendi kendimize dolduramadığımız zamanlarda.

Path of Shakti

We kept on asking Guruji; what will happen after these purification processes. Assuming that we finish this cycle of pujas with the purification of manipura chakra, which rules over our ego, will we manage to go beyond anger and aggression? As such negative emotions are caused by the impurities of this chakra of the fire elements according to the yogis, will the seas of our soul be blue, calm, shanti? And Guruji gave the ultimate answer. Shakti is made to be imbalanced! So this body and soul are made to make mistakes, mess up, stand up and fall down again.

Some may wanna pack up and leave but this answer makes me feel blissful. An old friend from high school, a very dear one asked me (well, texted me) how I am. I said ‘like shit’. He gave me the nowadays-standard response; ‘shouldn’t you yoga people be non-stop happy and flying in the air; wasn’t that the point?’ No, we just face our shit; head-on. It is tough, it is annoying, challenging and all that with the hope that one day the lotus will pop up out of the mud. This is the work with the Shakti; trying to be fully present with all states of being within and around; aware, attentive but still in the flow and using this power, this intensity as a stepping stone to go beyond.

Live Yantra made of soil and seeds representing Shakti

The basic difference between Shaktaic and Shivaic spiritual practice in yoga tradition lies here. Shiva represents the supreme consciousness, verticality, transcendence beyond the manifested world; whereas Shakti, the Mother represents power, horizontality, creation and manifestation. A purely shivaic spiritual practice would focus on the transcendence of the mind to the superior levels of consciousness through techniques like meditation while refraining from worldly cravings and attachments. Shakti on the other hand offers all these gifts to sadhaks to fully enjoy from a place of presence and awareness, so that the power of Shakti can bring one to liberation, self-realization, union, enlightenment; whichever way you want to call it. That is the difference between the two types of practices in a nutshell.

Working with Shakti involves a new connection with the elements of creation; earth, water, fire and air; an opening to some secret languages already hidden in nature, imitated by the practitioners through rituals. Contemplation of Shakti needs to be an experiential learning process at times. The practitioners need to reflect upon various aspects of manifestation; time, space, harmony, art, decay, abundance… However intellectual efforts do not suffice; an excitement and emotional contemplation is required and this can best be achieved by practical experience. While thinking about time, feeling the effects of time, taking one step ahead and being time by embodying a goddess symbolizing this concept… As a male practitioner one can attentively look at that goddess embodied by a woman and feel that aspect within oneself. Augusto Boal says that we are all actors on the stage in life, performing many roles as we see fit. For the sake of experiencing Shakti, we take the drama up a nudge; perform a divine role this time.

A moment from Goddess Celebration captured by Third Eye Lenses

Last year we went full on with this experience; created a space of learning about the divine feminine for the whole Agama community on the campus on the occasion of Palaharini Puja of Rama Krishna. This enlightened being transfigured his wife into a goddess during this puja and lead her to samadhi in the process as a perfect exemplification of how deep Shaktaic practice can go, how thin the dividing line is between the truth and the act in lila, divine play of the cosmic couple Shiva and Shakti. For three full days we danced, played, experimented with the elements, senses and perceptions, transfigured countless goddesses representing different aspects of the divine and welcomed Her sweet joy. It is not always pink and pretty though. Mama has tough tests. Just in a few weeks until the Goddess Celebration, there happened a military coup in Thailand, a dengue epidemic on the island, Swami had to move out of his house; plus there was a mild, maybe even subconscious resistance to Her from some Agami’s who keep their distance from this type of practice. Observing the attendance to the rituals, it was mostly junior students/teachers both male and female enjoying the blast whereas many of the more ‘seasoned’ members from the community watched from a distance. Yes, Mama is tough but full of beauty and bliss. Ultimately She is all about being fully in the flow; in tune with Her, as She is alive.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGeXdv-uPaw

There is one more practice easing my surrender to Her.

Sandman enters a duel with Choronzon in hell to retrieve his stolen magical helmet. The challenged chooses a Club called hellfire as the venue and a verbal battle between them. Games within the games… Choronzon makes his move:

Choronzon (C ): I am a dire-wolf prey-stalking, lethal prowler

Sandman (S): I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing. And I feel grass beneath my hooves, the flanks between my legs.

C: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing

S: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight-legged

C: I am a snake, spider devouring, poison-toothed

S: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy footed. I feel the snake writhe beneath my hoof, its spine crushed

C: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying

S: I am a world, space-floating, life nurturing

C: I am a Nova, all exploding, planet cremating

S: I am the Universe, all things encompassing, all life embracing

C: I am anti-life, the beast of judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds…of everything.

Ssss. And what will you be then, dream lord?

And the dream lord ends the game with his last, definitive blow:

‘I am hope’

In the midst of all darkness, when the mind is trapped in its own labyrinths not being able to produce brighter scenarios, Shakti presents unimaginable gifts beyond the limitations of the intellect. It all comes down to having hope. 

Kashmiri Mountains in the Dark

I have this habit of doing some accounting of my life. Checks and balances
in previously undefined intervals. Definitely avoiding birthdays and new
years loaded with emotions. I mostly choose random hiatus moments between
transitions in life to do this exercise. Moving from one city to another,
from one profession to another, from one connection to none or another.
Funny, for many people those phenomena in life: home, profession, social
circle remain pretty much constant. My restless fiery drive keeps me on the
move, even if all other variables remain more or less constant (not that
they ever do)

So I arrive in Srinagar; making another move towards a new puja mind and
heart burdened with my accounting exercise. I ask myself where was I and
where did I get to? Which of the many lives I have visited really suits my
complexion? Where do I want to go? All I heard was a dark silence in my
head. Not a happy one: an audible, almost touchable darkness covering
everything else underneath. The response of the heart was even worse. Total
numbness, as if I don`t love anyone, especially myself; as if there is no
love flowing in my direction. Again a dark, nasty numbness blocking all the
sweetness and joy out there. The mind generates all kind of explanations.
from scientific (PMS, reaction to remedies as a healing crisis, anxiety due
to leaving yet another settled routine...) to spiritual (purification
before the puja, loss of connection with the flow, a temporary darkness
shadowing the soul). And the very mind is annoyed of all these attempts
to explain the so-not-significant-nor -interesting state of my being and
just wants to enjoy the voluptuousness of suffering. Yes; we human beings
tend to enjoy that dark hole, dig our nose deeper and deeper into our own
crap. The cheerful curiosity and enthusiasm of my travel companions excited
for their first puja experience feels like a burden on my shoulders. I
feel invaded by these bubbly states; I take a deep relaxing breath only
after meeting old friends who have travelled this path before, who are happy
to be here but calm, just ready. Yes, joy, lightness, flirtation not
welcome, I get annoyed even witnessing them. Here is a good question; is
this the exact time to dig deeper and search what is the underlying cause
of all these reactions? Am I just escaping a tough process of
self-confrontation? Or is it my intuition telling me to accept this shit on
the surface and surrender to the process of the puja trusting that some
truth will be unravelled just by being in this flow. As for now, I am
following the second option. I watch the amazing green while others are
chitchatting. The contact with the cracks in the mountains, the bluish
transparent colour of the rivers, my rebellious pony annoyed by its sherpa,
the reflection of the trees on the lake is sooo much more fulfilling than
any human connection right now. Although it is the very human contact - or
lack of it thereof-has probably pushed me to this state.

After entering the military-camp like airport of Srinagar and getting lost
in the city we touched base with the puja group. As said before; finding my
little community gave me comfort; a few greetings later I could slip into
my silence waiting for the intro meeting to start. But then I saw Guruji
walking towards me in the crowd. Despite the two strong puja experiences
mostly taking place in his home I never had much of a personal contact with
him. It was part of my surrender to his work; not asking for a particular
attention to my ego. So he reached me smiling while I was sitting in the
circle with my fellows; I gave him a greeting which in my body language
translates as humble and sincere but a bit formal. I thought that he’d
move on to go where he was meaning to head to. Then I realized he indeed
stood up from his seat, crossed the garden just to give me a loving hug.
Yes, they kind of know what we actually need.
















This puja aims to purify Anahata, the heart chakra. I want to have a
clearer understanding of what is going on\wrong in that level of
consciousness. What is preventing `love` from flowing in and out? What is
making me feel heavy, void of joy and enthusiasm, killing my playfulness at
times like this? What is making me afraid of being hurt? All that and many
more questions about the heart. It is one big topic by itself so I come
back to the puja experience.  During each puja we visit a sacred
tantric hotpot and do a specific sadhana (spiritual practice) there.
This puja started with a trip to Kashmiri mountains to attend the
Amarnath Yatra. Amarnath hosts the cave of Lord Shiva. From the cracks
of the cave walls appears a little waterfall. Each year the Mother
carves a lingam out of the frozen waterfall representing the masculine
principle; supreme consciousness. Play of Shakti carries the sadhaks
(spiritual practitioners) to Lord Shiva. It is my habit to avoid
reading about the venue we`ll visit. I prefer to know nothing, have no
expectation and just accept the experience. This time I tried the same
although it was more difficult as we had to be prepared to go through
a rough hike up to the cave, prevent altitude sickness, bring warm
cloths and have all of our documents in order for the official
registration process. Having received multiple emails and warnings
about the conditions I didn’t know what to expect, but now that I have
the comfi pony-ride up and down behind me I cannot help thinking back
of my mountaineering days climbing up much tougher and longer tracks
on foot with 80 lt. backpacks. Still it was great fun to ride on a
little pony watching the breath taking view of the mountains (and
imagining the sarcastic smiles of my mountaineering buddies at the
back of my neck). Such an amazing combination of green and blue.
Mountains not covered but decorated by the trees grouped in forms of
crescents. Numerous waterfalls; transparent wild rivers uniting all
the hills. I can still visualize the beauty when I close my eyes.
The logistics was primitive but very comfortable given the fact that
we were a more than 3 thou km altitude. Numerous tents were set up by
the cave. Their doors facing each other across narrow alleys. At the
entrance of each tent there were little stands displaying malas, spiritual artefacts
and many many tiny little objects I have no
interest in. Further inside the tents the stand owners arranged
blankets and pillows on a platform to rent the space to the visitors.
It was so comfy and cosy to share that space with 9 other fellows;
visiting the Lord and coming back to our own little cave, meditating
together all dressed in white supporting the ones suffering from the
high altitude just by being there. The entire camp is built on this
support. People calling you to their tents offering Prasad, a whole
meal for free for sadhaks, almost feel offended when you don`t accept
their invitation.

I cannot write much about the actual practice there. I visited the
Lord twice and on both occasions he took away a big chunk of the load
in my heart I was carrying.

Now we are back in Srinagar; much sooner than planned, practicing,
visiting a few remaining references of Kashmiri Shaivism teachings,
admiring the amazing nature, buying pashminas for the loved ones back
home and waiting for the second round in the middle of India.