Thursday, February 11, 2016

The Grief of Separation

Do you know what happened to me? Do you want to know what happened to me? Let me tell you... it wasn't pretty. I woke up around 11pm or so... (when I say "woke up" I mean, I laid in bed for hours trying to fall asleep). I was thinking and pondering about what might happen on the trips, what I'll need to pack, and my heart started pounding. I mean it was pounding out of my chest until I eventually got up and started pacing the house. The more I paced, the more racing thoughts occurred, the more anxious I became, the faster my heart raced. I didn't want to go on this trip to India and I really wasn't even sure if I wanted to hangout with Purandar Acharya so much, what to speak of this whole 'one-roadtrip-per-week' nonsense. How much can one drive in a month? I mean, that's the only time we have left together.
And then it happened.
I don't think I've ever told you about it; I may have alluded to it, hinted at it, beat around the damn bush, but I haven't ever given you the details because the details are excruciating. My heart started to race along with my thoughts and so it continued until I couldn't keep track of my own mind. Suddenly the flood gates were open and every possible disastrous end that could happen troubled my anxiety-addled mind. I started to panic. I couldn't breath, I couldn't sit, I couldn't even think straight. I wanted to stop myself. I wanted to slap myself across the face and tell myself to calm the fuck down... but I couldn't. Could I?
So I checked my blood pressure because unlike most people, I still have the intellectual aptitude to think my way out of this whole debacle, right? I'm superwoman. Fuck this panic attack.
I checked it three times, each time hoping that it would come down and it did, with the help of pranayam and mantras. I chanted silently as to not wake the men-folk. They weren't capable of talking me down, they would only get in the way. Except, it did wake one of the men-folk-- Chandaneswar-- and he asked me what was going on. Naturally, he assumed that my blood sugar or blood pressure dropped (he says I have un usually calm demeanor) so he advised me to drink sugar water or some electrolytes but I couldn't entertain his nonsensical idea because I was fully engaged in  panic mode. I calmed myself down with more deep breathing and chanting in lotus position until I was "nearing" normal range. I stayed in meditation for some time actually, and when I got down to the bottom, I realized why I was terrified.
I wasn't scared of the trip. I wasn't worried about what to pack, or that it was last-minute, or that my passport wasn't here or that I needed to transfer my Indian visa.. none of that shit mattered, only time mattered. I knew in my heart that we were running out of time. We were out of time and I was very much in love with Purandar prabhu. I mean, at this point, it's excruciating for me to realize just how much he means to me. Much like a young girl is crushed when she is separated from her lover, I was obliterated inside. I all saw was darkness and all I felt was solitude. At that time I started to sob and cry and wail like a damn child. I knew I might not see him again, except for rare trips to India. But what of it? Who cares, right? Except... if I'm this crushed and torn about it, I imagine Chandaneswar is a thousand times that. If Purandar was this important and dear to me, he's a thousand times more important to and bonded with Chandaneswar. So, if I'm in love with Purandar prabhu, Chandaneswar and Purandar are eternal soul-mates, lovers. I even joke that Purandar is Chandaneswar's first true love. I know he will just about die of grief when Purandar leaves. I'll die of grief as well, but Chandaneswar is well, I don't know how to explain it. They're soul mates, best friends, brothers. Chandaneswar told me to hold it in just a while longer. "If you get depressed, he'll get depressed and this whole time will be miserable for everyone. Be strong until he leaves, then you can cry."
As I sobbed and cried into Chandaneswar's shoulders and ruminated over how we would return back empty-handed and heavy-hearted, I meditated on the Supreme Lord. I begged and pleaded with Sri Nityananda Ray and asked Him what would become of us. "If Purandar leaves us, I'll die. I'll die of separation. Prabhu, help me. If he goes, I'll go to India too and I'll just follow prabhu wherever he goes. I'll be the annoying little sister he couldn't have. I'll be good, Thakur; make it happen, please." When I disclosed my thoughts to Chandaneswar prabhu, his only reply was, "If you leave me here, then I'll leave too."
Today my friend came to the house and confided the very same thoughts, almost in tears, "If Purandar leaves, you can't stay here, Chandaneswar can't stay here. They're too close, like lovers. You'll leave to India, and then Chandaneswar will leave to India, and I'll be alone."
And so the cycle continues. 
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