MY WORLD had been turned upside down.
Literally.
I was propped up against the wall attempting Baddhahasta Sirsasanai—the mother of all yogic headstands.
Not a good idea on a full stomach.
However, it was Ram’s favorite posture, essential for uncovering the physical, emotional, and mental tensions held in the mind and body, thereby allowing insight to emerge.
Along with my lunch—if I kept it up.
“How much longer do we have to do this?” I complained. “My neck is killing me.”
Ram, on the other hand, looked practically asleep. “A few more minutes,” he murmured.
Coming downstairs that morning, I’d found my mom and Ram bonding over cups of tea. Apparently they shared a passion for Bollywood and were indulging in current celebrity gossip. Glossy film magazines, carried by the local Indian store, were spread out on the table before them. I caught a couple of the titles: Filmfare, Star-dust, CineBlitz.
As I poured Zimbabwean coffee beans into the grinder—I don’t do tea in the morning—their conversation turned to the Bollywood remake of The Wedding Planner.
“It was much better than the remake of My Best Friend’s Wedding,” my mom said.
I shut the lid of the grinder. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m waiting for the Bollywood remake of Schindler’s List.”
Blank looks from both.
Mom left for work soon afterward, and somewhere between breakfast and lunch, Ram convinced me to try meditation.
“Forget this!” I’d had it with headstands.
I just had to figure out how to return my body to its normal upright position.
Finally, I just let my legs sort of slide down the wall until I was horizontal, then I rolled over and sat up. While I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to fluff it up again, Ram executed a neat flip, with his legs curving over his head, his torso soon following, so that he was on his head one moment and in the crouching position the next.
The pundit was flexible. I’d give him that.
“Can we just do some normal meditating now?” I asked.
“As you wish,” Ram replied. “We will continue outside.”
We sat on the deck facing each other Indian-style. Although as Indians, any way we sat would technically be Indian-style.
For a winter afternoon, the day was clear and nice. A long-sleeved tee and jeans day.
Seven jeans of course.
“Should I call the Goddess Within?”
Ram adjusted the folds of his robe. “That is not necessary, we will focus on addressing your problem.”
“Right—Sanjay.”
“No. Sanjay is merely incidental. There will always be those who seek to end your life. Sanjay is most likely the first of many.” He waved his hand like it was no big deal. “The problem is, you still have not found the courage to trust your talents.”
“Well duh!” I tossed my hair and leaned back on my hands. “I’m sort of fighting evil here, not trying out for American Idol.”
“Evil is not the source of your fear. This is.” He tapped his head. “You are still calling the Goddess Within, though it should be a natural state you are in at all times. When you learn to combine your conscious and unconscious selves, you will be pure divinity.”
“So what am I now, pure freak?”
He was about to answer when I held up my hand silencing him. “Okay, forget it. Moving on—I want to know exactly how I’m supposed to save the world from destruction. A date and time would be nice.”
Ram smiled. “Only you know the answer to that question.”
I wanted to punch him.
Unaware of my desire to do him bodily harm, he continued. “The goddess was born to save the world. I do not know how, when, or where. That is for you to discover.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was totally on my own.
Realizing he was slowly becoming adrift in my emotional undercurrents, Ram slid back a few inches. “What I do know is how I can help you become a fully actualized goddess. Through meditation.”
Personally I preferred medication…
“Fine, let’s get meditating.”
“Close your eyes,” Ram instructed.
I closed my eyes.
If you can’t beat om.
Join om.