#62. On Meditation

*Such a lifelong seriousness, you know?
Taking life too seriously, taking myself too seriously, taking others too seriously, and giving all of us a trouble big time - hey, why did you show up late? why did I say that? why did you break my heart when I loved you such much? I'm so so so sorry... (and keeps going)     not to mention the moral hangovers, self-consciousnesses, shame of going to the library with my wonderful pajama-like blue pants.

*There's also this thing of all-that-you're-supposed-to-do at a certain moment of Time.
So it felt so painful back then this silly thing that I was the last one to kiss a boy at school when I was 13, and the last one to have my period    and at 29 I got so afraid of turning 30, because when I'm 30, well, I have to be all wise and I'm so fucking faraway from wise with these insecurities and fears, including this big one for a woman at that age: that at the moment I had no such supposedly-natural feeling of becoming a mother. [and the clock felt to be always ticking]

*Not only time but also Space.
When everybody settles, and friends become Families with apartments, or even when I listen to those who have their favorite city in the world    I watch from the inside my inability to find a place in all 5 continents where I would like to stay for more than 2 years     or, to go a little further: not able to even decide if I prefer a house or an apartment, if I am urban or if I like the countryside
Or this uncomfortable one of not feeling particularly Brazilian although not having any other identity to replace it: Exiled from nowhere with no asylum country.

*And there's also the Being a Proper Good Person.
So I read Dostoievski when I was 15, got good grades in hateful biology and chemistry, studied Law at a very good university, refrained from dancing Macarena in public, wore dreadful high heels, exercised regularly and so on (thanks God I've been a smoker for 20 years now).

* * *
Then it came this one day when I realized that it was maybe too much, huh?
Following others' advices, I tried to imagine I was my best friend and that I was hugging myself and so on. But some things are too deep-rooted to be taken care of this way.

And it was then, sitting in the cushion, that I understood that there was no way to fix myself because there was none to be fixed but the stories I had created about this me.
So I dropped everything and quickly came to this understanding:

:Life's a balloon ride


* * *

#61.Os Diários da Índia: Om Namah Shivay/The India Diaries: Om Namah Shivay

[English version below]

É fim da manhã e eu estou numa praia na beira do Ganges. Não tem ninguém: hoje somos só eu e o sadhu que seca um pedaço de pano no dia sem sol.  Lento, assim, ou ainda mais precisamente: para além do tempo     é esta praia vazia, o rio hoje que passa devagar, o nublado que me resiste calor, sombra e vontade de tomar o banho sagrado no último dia de Rishikesh.

E porque não existe mais nada pra fazer, então eu sento em Silêncio. E me vejo perguntando se eu existo quando não tem ninguém pra escutar o que eu digo         que nem agora.    Ou o que é que existe quando não tem ninguém para escutar. Ou se na verdade alguma vez houve alguma coisa que eu falei que realmente precisou ser dita.

Entre dormindo e acordada, aqui neste lugar vazio de algum jeito que não é na cabeça eu entendo que todas as palavras são inúteis. Que viver de palavras é do reino do Absurdo.        :O Essencial é do reino do indizível

E eu vejo como uma bola de futebol o nonsense dispensável que é o Pão Nosso de Cada Dia: os gestos, as tentativas, os erros e os acertos; todos os momentos de planejar, todos os planos e sonhos, a memória das pessoas que eu amo, meus pais sentados no banco do quintal lá em Curitiba, meu irmão acordando com a cara amassada. A solidão da Suíça, os amigos que sempre estão lá longe, minha viagem de bicicleta, o futuro pós-doutorado, a casa que eu já deveria ter comprado, o companheiro que eu deveria ter encontrado, o filho que eu já poderia ter tido. Tudo que eu deixei, tudo que eu ainda não consegui deixar, tudo que eu tenho medo de perder. A morte – a minha e a dos que eu amo, e mesmo meu desejo de Verdade.

Tudo aquilo que É Evidente desaparece no momento em que não existe nada, em que não há ninguém para me testemunhar a não ser eu mesma, sem disfarces       sem sol        num lugar desconhecido.  Tudo que sobra é Nada, e esse nada é o que eu sou.

Tão pura, ela me vem assim: para além do gostar ou não gostar, a Índia é uma forma de morte.

***

[English version]

Late morning and I'm sitting by myself facing the Ganga. Quiet around: today it's me and the sadhu who dries his piece of cloth under the cloudy sky.  Slowly or even better     :timeless        this place is empty, the river flows lazy today and the gray sky asks me not to run for the supposedly holy bath in my last day in Rishikesh.

And because there's nothing else to do       then I do sit in Silence.  I'm soon asking myself if indeed I do exist when there's none to listen to what I say, like now        Or      What is it that exist when there's none to listen to what I say         Or        Is there actually something worth saying beyond Silence itself?

Half awake-half asleep        here in this empty place I understand somehow that every and each word is useless.  Living from words is to dive into the Absurd         :the Essential knows no word.

Just as if it were a soccer ball       then I watch the nonsense that I am used to play with everyday: my gestures and words, trials, mistakes, failures and successes; every planned and planning moment, every future plan, the memory of those ones who I love, my parents sitting in the backyard side by side under the orange tree and my beautiful brother waking up late in a Sunday. The Swiss solitude, my friends scattered all over the world, my bike tour, my future after the PhD, the house I should have bought at this point, the man I should have met at this point, the child I should already have had at this point.  Everything that I have left behind, that which I could not yet abandon, all I'm afraid of losing. Death - mine and my beloved ones'. My clumsy Truth-seeking journey.

And all of this which has always been so evident disappears in this moment when there's nothing and none to watch but a Bare Me       no need to pretend        in this me alone   by the river    no sun    in Rishikesh.  NOTHING is that which is left; that's only that which I am       no lies allowed here

So pure, she gives me its vertiginous gift: beyond loving it or not, India is a sort of death.

#60. Os Diários da Índia: Repouso/The India Diaries: Still

[English version below]


Quieto. Tudo que existe dança o Silêncio.

***

So quiet. All that which Is now dance to the sound of Stillness.

#59. Os diários da Índia: todas as formas de amor/ The India Diaries: all forms of Love

[English version below]


a mulher sentada na beira do caminho tem uma folha entre os lábios, e a vaca que se aproxima com a língua para tirar dessa boca a comida é abraçada com carinho depois do beijo
na sala de satsang uma pergunta surge com a voz do medo de morrer para encontrar conforto neste ensinamento que diz que há o amor se você se jogar do trapézio sem rede de segurança
são duas da tarde e uma família de porcos descansa ao sol ao mesmo tempo em que cabras e pessoas e crianças e cinzas de mortos e restos de plástico encontram seu caminho nas águas do rio Ganges
dois turistas americanos pechinchando as estátuas lindas do Buda que o indiano vende a 20 reais
na privada do meu hotel barato bóia uma camisinha usada e meio amarela dos antigos hóspedes
as buzinas de motos encontram a voz dos santos em alaranjado que cumprimentam seu Hare Om

: faz sol, e eu sentada com alguém num banco imundo      rindo desde um lado de mim        enquanto do lado avesso eu vou amando de um jeito diferente e tentando aprender essa coisa que a gente chama de Partida

***

she is sitting by the dusty path with a leaf in her mouth and the cow that is now approaching gets her warm hug after the lunch kiss from those human lips
the question crosses the satsang hall enveloped in the fear of death to find comfort in the teaching that promises love if you throw yourself from the cliff with no safety net
it's 2 pm and a family of pigs catches the sunshine at the same time in which goats and people and children and plastic bags find their way in the water currents of the Ganga
two American tourists bargaining in front of the beautiful Buddha statues that the Indian man is selling for 5 dollars
inside the toilet of my room sits a used condom from the previous guests
and this sound of motorcycle horns meeting the silence of the Babajis who greet us their Hare Om

it's sunny, and I'm sitting with someone in a filthy bench in the street        I am smiling from one of my insides for having the chance of loving in a different way        while from the other one I try to accept this thing we call Leaving

#58. Diários da Índia: residir no coração/ The India Diares: resident in the heart

[English version below]

Chego em Rishikesh.

Vou caminhando e vendo que estou no meio de um milhão de ashrams. Eles estão em todas as esquinas, tudo está em todas as esquinas porque tudo aqui é feito de labirintos, de becos, de curvas, de lugares escondidos       este lugar das esquinas
a cidade consagrada a Shiva, na beira do Ganges sagrado, aos pés dos Himalaias, a capital mundial da yoga, todos os gurus e todos os charlatões reunidos e cheio de gente e de vaca e de lixo e de esgoto e de sujeira e de brancos fazendo curso de yoga ayurveda meditação e sabe-se lá o que, porque também aqui é o mundo e essa vontade existe        às vezes     de comprar a iluminação     de arrancar a Verdade do pé pronta como se fosse um abacate ou uma jaca
então eu não entendo direito como é que assim       desse jeito       sem mudar nada     uma coisa pode ser também tão linda

então eu continuo caminhando, e de repente eu vejo o Mooji que vem na minha direção, caminhando com poucas pessoas em volta
ele é pequeno e parece um ursinho de pelúcia
eu paro, cumprimento
ele me chama, a gente se abraça e eu só consigo dizer thank you, Mooji, thank you, thank you
meu amigo chega perto dele, eles conversam, mas eu não tenho vontade
 eu estou tão feliz
acho que nunca fiquei tão feliz assim
se eu tivesse que pegar meu avião amanhã e nunca mais vê-lo, ainda assim eu estaria feliz

e essa incrível sensação de amor besta, o retorno para um lugar que parece minha casa, esta gratidão por encontrar residência no coração


*Este e o segundo de uma serie de posts escritos on the road sobre minha primeira vez na India, numa viagem que estou fazendo para estar na presenca do meu guru Mooji, em Rishikesh. E, portanto, mais um diario de aventura espiritual do que um caderno de viagens.
**Em gratidao ao querido Mestre, estes diarios sao dedicados a ele e aos amigos maravilhosos que, de uma forma ou de outra, me acompanham por aqui.

--------

In Rishikesh.

My legs take me for I walk, and all around me these ashrams, everywhere, in every corner, and this city is nothing but corners   encounters   dead ends   curves   hidden spaces   :the city of all corners

the sacred city dedicated to Shiva, by the holy Ganga mother, by the feet of the Himalayas, the world yoga capital, every guru and also every charlatan gathered together in unmoving peace. and people and cows and trash and western people taking all kinds of courses ayurveda meditation yoga whatever        because here is the world         and in it there is this strong feeling of attaining Liberation, so sometimes this urge expresses itself as "I want to purchase it now, please"      as if Freedom were this fruit we could get ripe from a tree   an apple   a mango    3 peaches.    and all this is also ok and understood

the joy fills me as I don't understand how          exactly the way it is     without changing any little thing         this Rishikesh can be so beautiful

thus I keep walking to suddenly catch a glimpse of Mooji who is coming in my direction, walking with almost nobody around him
he's small and his presence is a sun that invites embracing
I stop by, put the palms of my hands together and say hello, my face just a big smile
he calls me, hugs me, and I can say nothing but thank you, Mooji, thank you, thank you
my friend approaches him and they talk, but I don't feel like talking
I'm so happy, and this happiness now does not have space for words
It's happiness, I AM nothing but happiness
so I feel that even if I had to take the plane back tomorrow and not being able to see him again, even in this situation I would be the happiest creature on earth

: this incredible sensation of Love, the certitude of coming back Home, the gratitude for having found residence in the Heart

#57. Os diarios da India: nada de novo no front

Primeira posicao na minha lista de desejos desde sempre - la em cima, quilometros de distancia da segunda posicao. Por isso essa coisa inconsciente de pensa-la sempre como uma grande viagem. A Viagem Espetacular pela India Profunda, a Viagem Quintessencial, aquela que mudaria tudo, separando o tempo da vida entre o Antes e o Depois. Entao eu planejei que um dia eu iria, e li todos esses livros, e sabia tudo que eu faria muito antes da partida acontecer. (Minha cabeca, essa grande anti-viagem).

So que quando veio, veio assim: Ordinaria. Tao prosaica como pegar um onibus pra ir no mercado. Um dia o Mooji anunciou que ficaria um mes em Rishikesh oferecendo satsang para os discipulos. No meu coracao veio a vontade de ver o Mooji antes mesmo daquela vontade velha de India. Comprei um bilhete barato e voei ate Delhi. E e tao pertinho da Suica que eu fiquei sem entender porque nao tinha vindo antes.

Cheguei de madrugada, ontem. Assustadoramente normal, minha reacao foi de embasbacamento pela falta do Esperado. Nao me assustei com o transito, nem com a comida, nem com a pobreza, nem com o jeito de vestir, os barulhos nas ruas ou o cheiro onipresente, e nem fiquei achando tenebroso essa coisa das pessoas ficarem me olhando por eu ser branca e meio careca.

***

Acho que quando tudo e tao radicalmente estrangeiro, entender vira um pais distante. Da pra singrar as aguas turbulentas de interpretar e querer entender essa coisa que e completamente bizarra para todos os meus tipos de condicionamentos. Eu nem cheguei a tentar, e no primeiro momento foi reacao instantanea, e eu just let it go: passo a viver bem assim mesmo, sem entender nada. Tudo e fresco, nada me cansa porque eu nem me importo em saber o que significa. Sou uma tonga nas ruas de Delhi.

Melhor sensacao de leveza deste mundo, esta de encontrar um lugar onde a vida e surreal e taken for granted. Essa liberdade tao maravilhosa e excepcional que me faz sentir imediatamente em casa aqui em Delhi; a maravilhosa consciencia de me encontrar profundamente burra, quase nem sabendo quem eu sou.

Welcome to India, Mariana.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBqluZ5LieM


*Este e o primeiro de uma serie de posts escritos on the road sobre minha primeira vez na India, numa viagem que estou fazendo para estar na presenca do meu guru Mooji, em Rishikesh. E, portanto, mais um diario de aventura espiritual do que um caderno de viagens.
**Em gratidao ao querido Mestre, estes diarios sao dedicados a ele e aos amigos maravilhosos que, de uma forma ou de outra, me acompanham por aqui.

#56. The ashram diaries: standing still on uneven ground

Caught up in motion
Swirling around
Sometimes you're standing still
On uneven ground 
[Cornelia and Jane, by Yo La Tengo]

The celestial utopia, a spa for my all-over-the-place mind, a laundromat for the soul (wash it at a 100 degrees Celsius and you'll get rid of every stain). I took off to Finca La Luz, in Spain, hoping to enlarge that glimpse of peace I had learned to identify and managed to keep inside after my bike trip was over. Being in the presence of Saraswathi Ma, living in an ashram - that would be free peace; those would be overwhelming winds of love coming to cure me from every disease, past and future. Yes: let's go back to 1969 Woodstock, lots of music, everybody dancing and being crazy and walking and having flower-power fun.
Of course all of it was romantic Mariana swimming in the waters of caramel ignorance. No, awareness is not an item to be purchased. And just like psychotherapy yet a bit differently, the way into exorcizing ghosts out is never cheap. Not because they insist to stay -  not at all.  In the very end, I came into the learning that... yes, we all love our ghosts way too much to let them go that easily.

* * *

Ok, so here I am, at Finca la Luz. So let's start this meditation.
Sitting in the cushion, I quickly come to learn that to sit in silence, to live in the present means to be always fresh. Wow. To be fully aware and immersed in the here and now requires a level of abstraction of my prosaic life so radical that it almost feels impossible.
For this one who sits in silence is not staying there to contemplate the past, to surf into the waters of memory, to make plans, to imagine life, to think about my beloved ones. This one who sits in silence Now is almost like a space where the now happens by itself. This Now-Mariana does nothing but this: she sits to observe from the point of view of the unchanging/everchanging present the madness of being out of it all the time - and isn't it what everyday life's all about? Well, it is all easily seen, but it often feels a bit schizophrenic: am I getting nuts? Isn't it way too psychologically dangerous to divide yourself in two - the observer and the object who is observed? Am I imagining this all?
Experience answers, and I start to feel angry. I am angry with being here, angry because it is not fun as I imagined and everybody is silent all the time, and angry with ex-boyfriend who broke my heart and decided to follow me into coming to this ashram, angry with all other ex-boyfriends of my entire life and angry with myself for no being able to let it go. And specially I am angry because anger is such an ugly, horrible feeling that should not come here in my spiritual spa! Wasn't it supposed to be a cozy, sweet, painless sort of vacation from my busy everyday life?

***

In our bicycle days together, Judi once told me that in a long bike tour there's always a breakthrough moment. It's that decisive instant when your old settled "I" disappears completely and you become one with the tour itself in its ever present transience, and when you start to function by the day, no planning, and acts basically through intuition. Hers happened when she cycled Bolivia. Mine was in the desert of Aragón, and when it came it was so sharp that I remember thinking: "shit - she was right!".
I could say the same about ashram life and silent meditation.
So it happened that somehow one day I stopped being angry with anger, so anger was now not reacted to with more anger - it started to be observed. It was felt, too, and it was painful - but it was also observed.
And the shock was: Jesus Christ, there is so much anger here. I didn't imagine a little body like mine could store so much of it.
Not without feeling it, then a journey to the very heart of anger started. In sitting in meditation I observed that much of my actions in everyday life were actually reactions, and most of them structured through this very feeling of anger - sometimes hidden in some camouflage pretty smiley skirt, but usually there. As memory danced in front of me, I paid a visit to ancient events. I was not identified with then now: I was the observer. I could see the structure of anger down there. I felt ashamed and sad. The present anger with ex-boyfriend came many times, and I was then able to watch actual anger as it unfolded in the present. By watching it, I also watched my body reacting, the heartbeat going crazy, the thoughts and conclusions popping out, the shoulders contracting, my cheeks getting warm.
Well, my friends... A journey into the depths of those cupboard feelings are much more like a week on living hell than a fairytale spa.

***

I came then to the very obvious and simple realization that the anger feeling was there because it was my own created way to face situations I didn't like. I was not forced to adopt it - it was a part of me, of the way this Mariana had lived in the world so far. There was nobody else to be blamed for it. This anger was (somehow) Me. But it was not real by itself. It was an expression and a part of my identity at once, and when I saw it in depth, and when I experienced it... Then I could see a little bit who Mariana was, but with distance. The anger was acknowledged, so it lost its mysterious, unknown power.
Do this experience: picture yourself in your mind. Now strip yourself from your most potent feelings - pick two or three. Strip yourself from anger, from kindness, from your dreams of future, from your desire to be/have this or that, from some particular resentment. What would be left, then?

As for me, I got to understand that no feeling is one-sided, no sharp marks are written in our perception of the world. And now? Should I let this anger go? Wouldn't that create a passive, submissive Mariana instead of the fierce, proud, strong one? I was afraid of letting anger goes, because that letting go would mean abandoning identity. And I am in love with that sense of identity which is anchored in this lifelong experienced sense of anger against that which I don't like. It gives me the identity "Mariana, the warrior".

When I started to let go, sometimes I felt I was falling from a cliff. Sometimes I felt I was being absorbed into a dark hole. Sometimes I feared I was going crazy and losing my mind.  One day I realized anger was gone and I understood I had surrendered.

I felt spacious. I felt light. I felt like I had really fallen from a cliff and that I had not survived.
It was very good.

So this story does not have a conventional happy ending, because awareness is in itself a path of destruction. It is not painless. Good news is: all the pain is imaginary. You're standing still on uneven ground.

*"Cornelia and Jane", from Yo La Tengo's 2013 album "Fade".

** This was the last post of a series of three texts on my experience in "Finca La Luz", in 2013. "Finca" was a small ashram-like space in Andaluzia/Spain, where Saraswathi Ma offered her presence in satsangs between February and November, 2013. All these posts are written in deep gratitude for her, and dedicated to the beautiful friends I met there.