Serie Anonimo

Anonymous Series

La Primera/The First

One of the final things you said seemed unenlightened from my perspective. Though I could bring myself to understand or accept this situation as a reality for others, it never crossed my mind that, perchance, such circumstances would ever fall upon me or mine. That is, if you would allow yourself to be mine. You broached the topic carefully and I understood it immediately for it was of sensitive and somewhat scandalous nature.

La Segunda/The Second

Today I felt particularly drawn to you. I wanted to tell you about something that happened over the weekend but it wasn't exactly appropriate and we had company. I can't tell you how much I love talking to you alone in your office. I really like it when I hear you playing some music or practicing alone in there between classes. That's why I peek in and sit with you, even if I don't have anything of interest to talk about. Sometimes, when you get really quiet, it feels cozy and safe, even if we're sitting far apart. I'm glad I met you and that we're becoming friends because I feel like I can speak freely with you unlike others. I feel like we've been friends for ages, possibly lifetimes, and that you understand my subtle moods quickly as well as their cause. I don't have to reveal much to you; intuitively, you perceive and understand everything perfectly such that at times I feel you're a mind reader! I feel that you sense my eagerness when I walk in the door or the hesitation by the sound of my dragging feet or defensiveness when I hide out in the room alone for a while listening to music or watching puppy videos. Sometimes, we don't have to say anything at all but remain silent, comfortably in each other’s presence. Why wouldn't you feel the same around me if I feel that way about you? Isn't that how Mother Nature designed attraction and coded this into our biology?

La Tercera/The Third

Oh, when she came into your office I wanted to rush her out. I know she has a bit of a crush on you and, though I understand her, I frequently feel irritated when she simply barges in or when she interrupts or distracts you from our conversations. I feel that way and I think you do as well; in fact, I’m sure you can sense my annoyance and jealously of her. You love her so much and she loves you but I’m starved, absolutely starved, for your attention. Pay attention to me! Why don’t you ever look at me when I gaze lovingly at you? Is it that you’re afraid to make contact with me? I assure you that I desperately desire every bit of your affections and attentions, but frequently I feel your trepidation and fear.

Is it that you’re ashamed of me? I’m not ashamed of you. I want you—every part of you but I also know your position. You’re in a position of authority and power in so many ways and your life is very public to your students. Why wouldn’t you feel a bit ashamed of me? I represent every unethical possibility and disastrous outcome and scandal. I promise I’d do my best to keep your public life safe from prying eyes and use utmost discretion. Couldn’t it work if we sat down and carefully planned ahead?

Stir Crazy

So I won't pretend that I'm elated about this winter break. I was supposed to go to India but decided the money could go to better use: a decent violin bow for one & a halo sport. I really, really, really want them and I have very, very, very strong, convincing rational arguments in favor of both. They're my Christmas presents to myself. That's my argument.
The week was a blur. I got a pedicure finally and that was the most relaxing thing I did. I meant to take naps and get a massage but didn't get around to it. What's worse is that I don't know what I did besides study, practice and run errands. I can't remember right now, really.
I haven't practiced much but primarily because I wanted to give my left hand a couple days rest. It feels much better now and no cramping so far. I should be playing my instrument more but I get an hour in at most before I'm distracted by someone or something. Tomorrow I'm going to pick up a bow at Jay's with Ramon and Chandaneswar.
I took my Chemistry exam yesterday and I think I passed the class. I better have passed. I don't give a damn about the grade at this point because I feel like I stressed myself out about that course during the semester. I need to take it easy & learn to chill. I don't think I know how to chill. I've been going stir crazy if I have to spend more than two hours at home alone. I find things to do. The other day I carefully brushed and vacuumed my rug because I had a spare hour between practicing and lunch.
Bike ride! Yeah, I went on the trail... my butt is still sore. That's it.
Reading! I've been reading more devotional literature.

Bored Ramblings

Last night I had a dream that I was cooking kheer, rice pudding, and it reminded me of my fifth wedding anniversary in Belpukur when I made kichuri (rice and lentil stew) and kheer for Madan Gopal. I can't recall the dream, but from what I can put together, it was pretty lucid and realistic. There were no demons and I was no demon slayer. There was no handsome stranger trying to seduce me away from my partner. There was no grand temple inauguration or festival I was presiding over. How boring. What I can tell you is that when I woke up this morning, I specifically remembered dream-self desperately wanting to make kheer for Giriraj so I think it means Giriraj wants kheer. :)
In other news, Chandaneswar prabhu is training me in deity worship. We have been increasing our regular service since Giri Govardhan śila arrived in our home this summer and Chandaneswar prabhu wants me to know all the priestly stuff. It's slow going because between school, Krishna Chandra, martial arts, Giriraj, and sewing, I have to brush up on my Bengali to read up on procedures. It's definitely worth the trouble though, regardless of whether I receive brahmin initiation or not.
Since Giriraj arrived, I've been doing more crafting. Giriraj is definitely easier to sew for because He doesn't have specific dimensions that I must adhere to like the Deity forms. Also, since He receives daily bathing and dressing and doesn't have a wardrobe, I'm constantly designing new jewelry and outfits for him. Sometimes we borrow items from the other Deities for Giriraj to wear. I might knit or crochet something for him tomorrow. It's Odana sasti.
I'm supposed to go to India again this winter and I might see you-know-who. I'm still mad at him because he's an idiot, but I love him so I guess I should try to reconcile the relationship or at least try not to slap the living hell out of him. Anyway, I talked to him on the phone a couple weeks back and he apologized, slightly, but I imagine even that was a huge step for him and his enormous ego. I don't even know why the hell I answered the phone. I don't even know why the hell I told him I'd be in Mayapur. I don't even know why the hell I want to see him after all that bullshit he did and said to me. At any rate, I can't wait to hang out with Sanat Kumar and Jayadev's family. Hopefully we get to travel to Vrindavan or something. I really want to take them on pilgrimage. They seem hopeful as well.
The end of the semester is upon us and you know what that means-- finals week. In my case, I have a music jury I'm not particularly excited about. I feel like I'm butchering this poor concerto at this point. I don't think practicing this last couple days is going to give me any more of an edge; I think I've already over practiced and strained my body this semester. That's probably why my shoulders are sore every morning and why my hands cramp or go numb. I feel weakness or numbness in my right hand more often than my left and I always thought it was because my muscles were developing again. Last week my left hand cramped and fell asleep during my lesson! Somehow I managed to play through it, we were sight-reading a Bach partita, double stops and all. I didn't tell my master because I was afraid he'd make me put my instrument down for fear of dropping it. I think I worry him. If I ask him about stuff like this, he gives me the worried look tells me to sit down for a minute.
What else? There's a dozen other things I'd love to talk about but I can't right now. I have to finish some Chemistry homework/labs. :((
Oh, I hate typing Chem labs. There's a million data cells and you have to keep your data organized and shit or you may screw up your report. Great fucking waste of hours of your time.

Scold and Praise

Today Master Schultz taught me two wonderful things through glorification and chastisement.
At my last lesson, he asked that I run prepare the Bach Sonata No. 2 in A minor and familiarize myself with it again. Today, he asked me if I had played through the Bach and if I could perform it for him first thing. I replied, "Yes, but isn't not as good as I'd like it." He nodded and asked me to play it. After I finished, he praised my performance, "That's the best I've heard you play it. It was amazing. Really, I mean it." He held eye contact with my gaze until there was almost an uncomfortable silence and I thanked him. He added that I should take more time with the phrases and pauses, adding that there was a particularly lengthy pause that he really appreciated and that I should 'take my time' more often. Master Schultz regularly reminds me not to 'short-change' myself. He asked me to play it again two more times but he insisted that the first time was best. I think it was due to my nervousness that I played it better. Once I had relaxed and basked in the light of his praises, I may have slackened.
I was reminded of two lessons from his praise: I should not underestimate my own ability or convey shortcomings to others. Also, I remembered that I shouldn't rest on my laurels. Mrs. Wittrig, my first violin instructor, once asked me if I knew the meaning of that expression or where it originated. When I responded in the negative, she explained that in Greek society laurels were a symbol of accolade, merit, accomplishment and that 'resting on one's laurels' meant that one becomes innert after achieving an honor, an accomplishment or something to that effect. Essentially, she warned that if I rested too much, I would become stagnant in my studies and possibly regress. She wasn't ever heavy with me, but she often laced my violin lessons with complex life lessons in ethical behavior. I realize now that my instructors all taught me valuable lessons; they taught me violin technique, ingrained theory, engendered musicianship, and infused musicality but the most valuable thing they gave me was their life experience and wisdom.
After hearing me, Master Schultz moved onto a Dvorak violin concerto for sight-reading. During the piece, I failed to play a grace note with a double-stop and he stopped me. "Did you play that grace-note?" he inquired, to which I quickly replied, "I'm sorry, no, I didn't play it." He scolded me lightly, "Don't apologize. It was a simple mistake. You made a mistake and you move on. We're reading through it for the first time, if you'd had it for ten weeks and you missed the grace-note, then you can apologize and I can give you hell about it." he added that I shouldn't apologize all the time because people are likely to rub my face in it when I apologize, even if its a tiny mistake. He made a point of telling me that he wasn't lecturing me, but that he wanted me to learn from his own experiences.
He then related to me that he often apologized for simple mistakes to colleagues or superiors and they would berate him instead of accepting his admission and moving on. It is the behavior of uncivilized and uncultured people, I believe, but an interesting lesson in human behavior nonetheless.
After that, I promised not to apologize again, and jokingly said, "I'll stop apologizing all the time. In fact, I promise I'll never apologize for anything ever again." He chuckled but then reminded me that he was serious.

Jazz Head

This Party Is On
So my latest dream takes place at a party and it begins with my my son and I showing up to the venue of an arts and crafts themed children's party. The host set up crafting stations for every craft imaginable. For example, one table was fully equipped with felt puppet making supplies like googly-eyes, hot glue guns, felt, etc. while another was a paper crafting table. The host even hired chaperones for each table-- most of them retired teachers and volunteers. My son was enamored with all the tables and decided to make a rouched black pencil skirt. After machine stitching the skirt panels, he hand-basted some loose gathers at the center front and back to get an idea of what the skirt would look like. I really loved the skirt, it looked great, especially for a nine year old's first try at sewing. The stitches were straight and even, the tension on his thread looked perfect, but the basting was a little slanted. The only thing he worried about was the size of the skirt because he hadn't taken my exact hip measurements before starting. "I think it looks fine, babe, but I can try on the skirt if you want." I said as I ducked into a nearby bathroom.
Rouched Mess
What I hadn't taken into account was that the material was stretchy and he hadn't used elasticized thread on the gathers or stretched the material as he stitched the vertical basting stitch so the hem was too high at the center front and back. When I tried on the skirt, my crotch and butt were completely exposed while the rest of the garment rested snuggly on my thighs. I have to disclose that I wasn't wearing any under garments, so I couldn't even model the skirt for him because there was a room full of nine and ten year olds that surely would laugh at my humiliation. It was like third grade all over again. I tugged hopelessly at the front of the skirt until the basting thread popped and the skirt front fell near my knees. Krishna Chandra knocked and peeped from behind the door and giggled at the silly sight. "It's alright, I can fix that later." he reassured me. He only saw the front of the skirt and I explained to him that I couldn't possibly come out because the back was more embarrassing; the basted gathers bunched up to the point of least resistance somewhere along my lower back. He got the picture and just had a fit. Besides the mishap with the basting stitch, the skirt was well-made. I assured him that we could finish the project at home where we had more materials and measuring tape. He laughed and I looked for my lover to show him Krishna Chandra's outfit.

Social Butterly

As it turns out, I knew plenty of people at the party, and by 'people' I mean intelligent adults with whom I could converse with for more than three minutes at length. Apparently, I was single because everyone at this party either kept asking me if I was seeing anyone yet or they would flirt and ask me out. I was seeing someone, and by 'seeing' I mean I was having casual sex with someone I knew but we weren't an official couple. My dream self is not very complicated but she confuses me. I really enjoyed the attention at the party but as the party went on, I started to feel guilty about lying to my friends about my relationship status. I wanted them to know the truth but I didn't know if my lover wanted to be my boyfriend yet. I looked for him everywhere as he assured me that he would be at the event, which, as I already related was more like an Arts and Crafts fair than a kid's birthday party. I started to feel bored and frustrated without my partner and so I left search for him. I wondered if he had fallen asleep or if he was sick, or if something terrible had happened to him.
Mountain Cabin
Around that time, someone mentioned to me that a huge storm was headed toward my lover's house and several attendees got emergency weather alerts from the National Weather Service in close succession on their smart phones. Thunderstorm warning. Flash floods. Hail. Heavy Rain. Flood warning. The jarring sounds of emergency alarms resonated in the corridors, which amplified the cacophony and my trepidation. I jumped into my car and drove to my lover's part of town and then hiked the rest of the way up to his cabin. He lived in a log cabin with a beautiful scenic mountain near a lake or river. As I hiked up to his place, I noticed the emerging thunderstorm clouds nearing the mountain and remembered that terrifying sound of resounding alarms so I ran up the rest of the way. I saw my lover's vehicle nearby and an unknown car as well. I thought that he must've gotten tied up with unexpected guests and was hosting them. Being cut off from cell towers and internet, he must not have received my texts of any weather alerts. It all made sense; I just had to warn them that the storm was on its way to this part of town and get them out of here before the flood water washed away the mountain side. Images of landslides and a collapsing mountain side wiping my lover's cabin from the face of the Earth rushed through my mind. As I approached his window side, I caught a glimpse of him in bed with a young blonde woman. As it turns out, my secret lover is none other than my husband, Chandaneswar. I should relate that is a recurring theme in my dream. It is unclear whether Chandaneswar and I are divorced, separated or if we were ever married in the dream. I just know that I'm an available single mother, a flirt, and I'm sleeping with an asshole. I don't know what it means, and it doesn't matter because we're at the scariest, darkest, most sinister, disturbing part of the dream. I hiked up the mountain trail past my lover's cabin and looked down at the view.
As I stood on the mountain side, a deep sense of calm detachment washed over me. I realized that his cabin was a perfect bachelor pad. I began to contemplate my life and wonder if it I wanted to make a scene or confront them. I grew apathetic and indifferent and concluded that it really didn't matter. I was using him as much as he was using me; perhaps I only wanted him for the purposes of filling a void in an uncomfortable social scenario. After all, I wasn't accustomed to handling social events alone. Eventually I would have to accept this new identity and social dynamic. As the storm descended upon that mountain, I decided to let my lover and his lady friend brave the storm and its wrathful destruction on their own. I didn't have to warn them, after all. Maybe they would perish in the flood water and resulting landslide. Who knows? Who can say for sure? Who knows the future?
Creative Destruction
I ran back to my car, got in and drove back to the party. As I drove, I remained eerily calm and determined that I would write my own future. I would go back to that party and get some phone numbers of people who wanted to be with me, who had no problem asking me out in public, and who didn't keep their cards to themselves. When I got back people were looking for me and asked me where I went and why I took off. I told them that I went to pick up a friend but got scared when I saw the approaching storm so I turned back. They all assured me it was wise that I had come back to the party quickly, I have a young son to care for after all. Krishna Chandra was still hanging out at the sewing station so I sat at an empty bench, grabbed some scrap paper and started jotting down lyrics, chord progressions, and a simple melody line. In my melancholic trance, it quickly turned into a jazz chart and song about murdering my lover and his mistress. I showed it to a couple of jazz guys and musicians at the party and asked them if they thought it was any good. The consensus was that it was inexplicably brilliant. "Have you ever written jazz before?" someone asked. "No, but I guess I should." I replied.

My Deepest Darkest Secret

My new passport arrived in the mail this week. I'm really excited because the next step is to get my visas transferred to the new book. I ordered the larger passport because I intend to travel abroad as much as possible. I haven't had enough time to practice this week or do much studying because I was so exhausted from our road trip that I had a hard time catching up with my normal routine. I only went to Taekwondo a couple times this week but I feel like my body is getting back to 100%. Slowly but surely.
Tomorrow is Śrī Nityānanda Trayodaśi and I couldn't be happier. I feel like I haven't been to the temple in ages and, at the same time, like I need a break from everything. I need to withdraw and take time for myself. I don't know if that's strange but sometimes it's just better for me to relax and recover. I feel as if I'm mentally preparing for something incredibly life-changing and transformative. I don't know if its something in the air, my intuition, or what. Somehow, I feel like this trip to India is going to be ground shattering, even though I've been before and nothing particularly exciting happened.
I wanted to talk to you about my dream... the one I had when I was in India. About eight years ago, I was in Belpukur village with my in-laws and I had a weird dream. I was back in high-school except it was not a high-school anymore. The campus was also a college and a lot of my friends from school were studying or teaching there. I went there to pursue a degree and met with a few class-clowns from freshman year. I thought they were irritating in fact; their antics were no longer amusing but distracting and disruptive. I chucked a couple times but the novelty quickly wore off. I don't know what the hell this means so don't ask me. After class, another professor came in, a guru! He was someone I was close to and highly respected; he was also extremely dear to me so I felt bad that he had to deal with us, that he had to instruct us. It was strange, a saffron-clad Gaudiya monastic teaching a mathematics course? At any rate, I woke up with a feeling of urgency. I had to go back to school, take my spirituality more seriously and help others by giving back. I wanted to teach again. I wanted to play my violin again. I wanted to open an ashram, temple, and university in Belpukur. It was ingrained in my mind and for eight years it has slowly eaten away at my conscience. I feel guilty that I haven't taken steps toward my dream. I can't sleep at night because I'm trying to hash out plans to make this project happen. What do I do? Where do I start? Who do I ask for help? How will it manifest? So, I've broken this idea into smaller phases and goals to make them more realistic. I decided to pursue a degree in Music Education, as well as take some business or administrative courses. Over the years, it has nagged at me and, feeling the project was too far-fetched, I kept it hidden-- a secret. My most intimate hidden contribution to society and my goal of life.
When I first started school we had a project in one of our classes-- setting out a long-term goal, short term goals, and life long dreams. Of course, it didn't take long for my dream to come pouring out and when it did, I realized why I was so miserable. I have been locking my deepest, most daring desires away because I was afraid others would laugh at it. I don't care anymore. In fact, I've found that it helps me to discuss it with people and pick other people's brains. There are people in this world who have experience beyond our own and if we don't express our interests, there is no way they'll ever know who we really are. They will never have an idea of our inner most inclinations and that person may be a hidden gem, a treasure trove of knowledge waiting to give its bounty.
So I'm letting you know in hopes that you're also a vidya-ratna, a gem of knowledge and wisdom, and will assist me or guide me in actualizing my dream. Thank you.
About Sri Bilva-pakkha, Belpukhuriya, Belpukur

Attaing Mañjari Bhava

I woke up from a strange dream this morning and decided to write it down. We went to temple this morning for Guru-puja and Bhagavatam Katha. I dreamt that I was back in Braja-Dham searching for something. I was at the marketplace searching for something or someone. It was unclear what it was, or who it was, but I was desperately searching. At the marketplace, I spotted a lovely yogini dressed in tattered cloth performing yoga postures in the muddied road. She wore no garments save for a shredded loincloth, and kept an old, ragged mat which she sat upon. There were shoppers that would place alms in her bowl and after some time she collected her belongings, shattered, tattered, and bare, and left. Intrigued, I followed her alongside the road back toward her hermitage, which was shockingly clean, resplendent, fresh, aromatic, and wonderfully decorated with auspicious symbols. The courtyard area fumed with cow dung smoke billowing out into the atmosphere laced with purifying herbs and resins that reached out and caressed my hair and face. I gazed around the courtyard and spotted well-manicured gardens with fruit, berry, and nut tress of various types. I couldn't believe my eyes and rubbed them to be sure it wasn't an illusion. The very site of such a spiritually infused domicile lifted my consciousness and mood, and I suddenly felt that I was transported to the real Braja-Dham.

Along the walls were written names of Sri Radhe and Sri Krishna along with beautifully drawn flowers, creepers, and invocation symbols: lotus, oil lamp, plow, discus, club, water pots, bow, leaves, and syllables. I announced myself to the yogini and she re-emerged from within the residence dressed in fresh, clean garments, adorned with tilak, scented with intoxicating oils, and ornamented with enchanting cosmetics and donning a large set of chanting beads. So different from before, she looked more like the goddess Durga in her mood of meditation as Brahmacharini rather than the dirty, ashen, gaunt yogini from before that I hardly recognized her!

She introduced herself and pointed out that I was not a local, therefore, I should not traverse these parts unknown alone. I asked her forgiveness and stated my intentions clearly and boldly. She understood my mind and heart immediately and accepted me in her home. She said that I would receive a day's instruction from her, and then in the evening I would have to bathe in the holy river Yamuna, and change my garments. I readily agreed and asked what services I should render. She told
me that she was self-sufficient and perfectly capable of serving herself, what need was there for a servant when we are borne in ignorance and serve our senses since birth! Admonished, I apologised, and rephrased, "Devi, what tasks should I perform that serve me best?" She said, "Naturally, you're inclined towards the arts, so you should perfect those traits and qualities that are your strongest. Master this, young one, and you'll be a favourite among the damsels of Braj". She introduced a simple choreographed step, which I mimicked perfectly, then another, and again. We continued for some time until it was time to rest and eat. Somehow, it seemed that she did not cook, ever, her plants, vines, and trees produced food that were so complete and perfect, it would satiate all thirst, fatigue, hunger and unrest. So she continued tutoring me in political arts. "In Braj, you must master diplomacy, tact, wit, and stratagem in order to manage the various camps. Each has their strong suit, yours is to know their hearts and engage them rightly. Master this, and you'll learn the secrets of the universe."  Much of what she taught was veiled in cryptic allegories and coded messages about battle, politics, and military stratagem.

We practiced yoga and dhyan for some time in the afternoon, and she taught me bits of her bhava sadhana by which I understood that she was an adept practitioner deeply realised in the raganug path. In the evening, my mistress sent me away to the market while she continued to immerse herself in her evening meditation of the Divine Couple and Their elevated servants. She cried out names of various mañjaris. I almost didn't leave her presence for fear of never seeing her again. If I found my mistress by chance, certainly I could lose her by chance. As I made my way to Loi bazaar, back to the clamouring marketplace buzzing with chatter, swarming with throngs of anxious shoppers and sweaty shopkeepers, inundated with cheap trinkets rattling and colourful cloth waving in the air, I was brought back down to earth. I had to find clothes that were more suitable to Braja-vas, for as my mistress said, what I had on screamed out that I was a Mayapur-Vasini, an outsider, a foreigner. Not from Braj. Right then, a large dark, ominous cloud in the heavens burst on the scene and I suddenly found myself caught in the height of a monsoon storm. Soaked to the core, I waited around for a break in the rain with no luck. The shoppers scattered here and there. Some attendants retreated into their shops to relax and eat while my eyes darted around restlessly looking for shelter. I woke up from my dream. It was yet only six o'clock. 

Ronald Reagan

When I Answered “Ronald Reagan”
Melissa Cruz

I
I guess you would not understand
If I were to tell you plainly, I was dreaming,
Daydreaming, imagining, fantasizing
When I answered “Ronald Reagan”
I can tell you here without import,
Without repercussion knowing
It is never going to happen.

II
I wandered over beside your cheek
And inhaled the scent of your breath,
Hair and the wafting echo of your sensuous desire.
I could not possibly tell you this in class.
Certainly not or it would have been my ass.
Did you sense my caressing touch upon your neck
Meandering down across your torso
Absorbing every detail of your flesh
As I gazed deeply into your eyes?
I told myself I had to stop.

III
While I rushed through your dumb questions,
I delved into another fantasy propounding
All the inner secrets of your loving, tender, soft embrace.
I could not tell you this in class….
I gazed over at your desk as you checked on all the rest
And imagined; I could kiss and bite your tempting flesh
While you made every single effort to withstand
My increasingly aggressive, mounting, erotic wander.
Oh! But you would not glance over at me,
For if you had, you would have seen
The visage of a hungering, thirsting, insatiable beast
Craving every drop, every bite, every delicious taste of you.

IV
I imagine you would have resisted
Had I grabbed and fed upon you as I wished it.
And if you did, I would have told you
“Resistance is futile, weak fool!”
Certainly, I could not tell you this in class.
Well I could, but your ass’d be grass.
Oh! But how I wish I had.
For if I had, you would lose sleep, tormented,
Unable to imagine the depths to which I dived
Within the short span of a stupid quiz.
Don’t you wish you had not asked?
With every utterance, I gain strength and become more daring.
Surely, you must agree it is a small miracle
I answered only one question wrong.

V
Now you know how much I want you,
And long to feel, and taste, and be with you.
Now I have admitted all my secret thoughts,
And grown accustomed to the throbbing,
Crushing, overwhelming sexual hunger.
Now I have cleared the air and my lusty mind.
Now I have released my intense yearning
Into the vast cosmic manifestation.
Having no other purpose,
This poem has accomplished
The inconceivable, insurmountable, volatile task
Of explaining what the fuck I was thinking
When I answered “Ronald Reagan”

Mesmerized

I dreamt another mesmerizing, lucid dream about you. The tenderest, loving-est, sweetest dream of you. I felt your delicious and tender kisses upon my breast and sensed the urgent longing within yours. I couldn't look away from you. I gazed deeply into your eyes, and though it was but a fleeting moment, I felt that we traversed the entire cosmos with our gaze. I couldn't wake up again. I knew the hour was late and I felt like prolonging our rendezvous. It was too late, however. I woke up to the smell of freshly brewed ginger tea and knew it was time to rise. Once again, I felt your delicious and tender kisses upon me, but not from you.

My Humble Thanks

School is fantastic. I still have my 4.0 even though several people said it wouldn’t last. “You’ll get burned out!” Well, maybe I would have but the fact remains that I’ve accomplished my goal so far. I am reminded of the adage, “Slow and steady wins the race.” I am nothing if not slow and steady. My friends and family laud me for that quality.
I haven’t named my violin yet, but if she had a name, I’d name her Anastasia, resurrection, because has resurrected me. I’m with her most of the time at school, and with my friends and family the rest of the time. Of course, I am always with the Lord; Chaitya-guru guides me from within. I've relied heavily on Nitai-Gaura mantra meditation and pranayam to get me through daily tasks like focusing on boring documents or presentations. I didn't know it was possible but it is. Gaura Nam is my heart; Nitai Nam is my life. I feel a renewed sense of joy when I chant... it can only mean one thing.
Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time practicing my violin. I spend my time with Kreutzer, Bach, Tchaikovsky, Handel, and Mozart. I started playing violin seriously this semester, and I'm focusing on improving my piano skills. I practice classical repertoire everyday, and I’ve made a commitment to finishing a degree in Music Therapy. I would love to be a therapist and counselor, employing music to heal people in pain, trauma, and crises. 
I feel great to have accomplished my goals so far, but I couldn’t do it without the support of my friends and family. Without them, I wouldn’t have the courage to face it every day. They inspire me to do better for others and myself. They challenge me to reach for bigger goals. Thank you!

Dhām, Dhan, and Dharā

Yesterday I had another interesting dream worth noting. It took place in India at a temple, but one portion involved a local prison, interestingly enough.

In my dream, an old high school friend was traveling with me on a tour. He had a room in the temple's guesthouse, and worked on recording/editing audio. It appears I was performing again, and I was traveling to my favorite places on the pretext of touring. I was in Mayapur again, and the rice paddy was growing high. I couldn't believe it; I was elated and leapt with joy as I walked the muddy roads. There was torrential rain, and roads were washed away. I didn't care that my sari was soaked. I didn't care that I had to hike up my sari and struggle down the muddy, slippery road. I was content. As I struggled toward the temple compound, I sang and skipped along the paths. I saw flood waters near the end of the road, and the surplus spilled into a small dirgha. The river seemed to change its path, and I felt reassured in seeing it. The earth smelled beautifully fragrant, alive with all manner of plants and aquatics. 

I finally arrived back at the temple guesthouse, where I met my friend. He was happy to see I made it safely to Mayapur. He didn't know I'd been there several days already. He was working diligently while I roamed the flooded countryside, and I didn't care to tell him. It was best he found out, it was time I focused on my work. I headed to my room, showered, and changed into a fresh garment. I had an assortment of beautiful gowns, saris, and frocks on my room. I wondered why anyone with such pretty dresses at home would ever choose to run in the muck outside. I felt quiet and alone in my room as the dresses didn't console me, and I suddenly felt the urge to wander the town. 

Restless, I left the temple compound and headed toward the bazaar. There I saw trains, busses, and rickshaws headed in every direction; I walked further and spotted a jail. The jail was a chatur shala building, like a square. The interior courtyard was sealed with metal mesh to keep the prisoners from escaping. Some cried out to me, "Devi, please have mercy. Kripa koren! Bless us, please, that we may leave this place." 

I couldn't understand why they were calling out. I simply felt sad, and wondered what good prayers or blessing would be. Despondent, I turned back and sang a song. The prisoners cried, "Beautiful! Sing more for us, it brings us joy, ma'am. Please don't walk away from us." I turned and proposed to sing more songs if it pleased them, but all devotional songs of Śrī Hari. They wept with joy, and thanked me.   

I headed back, I told them I would return with instruments and more vaishnavas. 

My friend asked me as I wandered in for the second time, glassy-eyed and covered in mud, "Where do you keeping disappearing to?" 

Mayapur. 

Life Experiences

My schedule is really different this semester. I have a light school schedule throughout the week, but Friday is my lightest day of all. At the beginning of this semester, I was a bit frustrated that I could not schedule more classes, and had an hour gap between two classes. However, now I have found other activities to occupy my time at school, and manage my time there wisely. This way, I do not feel like I am commuting in vain, but accomplishing other things also. Yesterday morning I joined my friend Dolly and her friend Cheko in the gym for a morning workout. He is really helpful and knowledgeable, with a sense of humor. I also plan to practice piano for an hour on my break.
My theory class is pretty relaxed. Our professor gives us ample time to study, work, and inquire on our own time. Additionally, because we have students of different levels in the same class, we pair into small groups and work together. This is nice for me because it helps me recall and solidify my knowledge of music theory by helping my group mates.
We were discussing trustworthiness during class; I mentioned that people feel at ease around me, strangely, and often recount their personal troubles, trauma, or struggles to me. I told her and our group-mate that even complete strangers open up to me, tell me embarrassing, traumatic, and even incriminating stories about themselves, with no hesitation.
That is what finally pushed me toward the therapies, and why I decided to pursue music therapy as a career.
On the ride home, I met a young woman named Anabel on the bus. Anabel introduced herself briefly, and then told me about her troubled past, and hopeful future. Again, I was shocked at how much graphic, personal information she volunteered to me. Additionally, she reflected about her children's future and opportunities. I reassured her that she was a great parent; she was cultivating healthy, trusting relationships with her children, and that it would reap its rewards one day. I gave her my phone number, hoping that Anabel would call one day in search of a trustworthy friend.

Simple Reckonings

Today was my first day of the semester, and it was thoroughly enjoyable. Except for the cold weather, everything was great. I have not attended my self defense and Taekwondo class in about a month. I was planning to immerse myself deeper into my martial arts practice this winter break, but I think The Lord may have other plans for me. I want to take a semester of martial arts on campus, at least, to better discipline myself and regulate my practice. On Sunday I had the opportunity to perform a duet with Bob at church during the Prelude. I am so flattered that he is impressed with me, and I could swear Juanita almost cried during the service when she heard Be Still My Soul. If I can satiate one soul, and thereby please The Lord with my service, it will make my life fruitful.
Piano class is going to be another enjoyable challenge. Yet again, I found the mercy of Sri Guru personified in an excellent professor, Ms. Jones. She is a thoroughly witty, opinionated, and humorous lady; I think I should do well under her tutelage.
I frequently hear students complain about their incompetent professors, but I am starting to believe this is a myth. There are probably very few incompetent professors, if any. I think it is more likely the students are incompetent, and lack a sense of accountability. It is quite common to blame someone else for your own mistakes, shortcomings, and flaws. It is easier to blame someone else for your problems rather than admit fault and take rectifying measures.
Today Citravasini taught me a new recipe for non-yeast rolls; she says the recipe can be adapted with any filling, whether cinnamon, cocoa, poppy seeds, or nuts. I will try to share it here with pictures. They resemble cinnamon rolls, and are prepared much in the same way yet omit yeast leavening. They are soft and tender due to the use of cottage cheese in the dough to condition it. Additionally, I am almost finished with another set of deity outfits, though, they are probably too small for the gurukul deities. I may have to alter the outfit in order to fit Their Lordships' height. I am not sure, however, I hope a good night's sleep will bring some ideas. Tomorrow, I plan to purchase textbooks, practice my instruments, and sew Deity outfits.

Krishna help me, my mind is thoroughly active and restless. Time is my enemy.  Even a thousand arms and heads would not accommodate me. If only I could expand myself to engage fully in each of my services. Lord of  all mystics, achieve this feat for me, please. 

Dreams Revealed

Last night I had a wonderful dream full of devotional sentiment and splendor. When I related the dream to Chandneswar prabhu, I asked if the dream was a bad omen or inauspicious because typically, when I dream of temples, pilgrimage, or spiritual events something terrible happens shortly thereafter. Most notable are pilgrimage or travel dreams, especially involving Deities or temples, which indicate a death in the family. Also notable are dreams of gold; whenever I dream about gold, usually a disaster will befall my immediate or extended family, but sometimes death will occur also.

A few days ago, I woke up to one such dream of gold. I dreamed that I was getting remarried, or what is known as a reaffirmation ceremony in the West. My god-brother came to attend the ceremony, and requested me wear the nuptial jewelry he gave me. "Where is the gold bracelet I gave you? Why aren't you wearing that one?" I related to him that it was in storage, and needed repair on the clasp, to which he responded, "Let's go to the jewelry store now, and have it fixed." While we were there, Boro-da purchased a couple more pieces for me. I put on my jewelry: rings, bracelets, bangles, necklaces, earrings, and admired myself in the mirror as I prepared for the ceremony. I even wore my wedding sari of brocaded silk. When I recounted this dream to Chandaneswar prabhu, he confirmed that I was right, it was a bad dream and soon after we heard disturbing news from a friend regarding our family members. 

In today's dream, however, I was taking darshan of the most beautiful arca-vigraha forms of Radhika-Krishna Chandra during a temple festival. There were many brightly colored flags and festoons, banana leaves, flower garlands, and auspicious symbols decorating the large ornate temple hall. I sat down within the kirtan mandala to sing along with the kirtaniya present. Suddenly, he stopped singing and another singer came forward to take his place, but a sannyasi objected. "No, you have already sung several times before, can't anyone else sing instead?" I could sense the sannyasi's irritation with her so I quietly rose and tried to slip away. Another devotee singer caught me in his arms and said,

"Maharaj, this girl knows how to sing, and she knows Bengali. Let her sing some Bengali bhajans."

"Oh wonderful, please chant Hare Krishna first, then we can get into bhajans." said the sannyasi.

I retorted, "I'm going to disappoint you, Maharaj. I'm not a vocalist, and I can't play the harmonium. I can read and write a little Bengali but not much. It's better if someone else sings instead."

I was annoyed with the devotee for putting me on the spot like that, but he pursued it until Maharaj ordered me to chant Hare Krishna.

"Alright, here we go, I guess this is happening. Maybe they'll get tired of me after a couple minutes." I thought to myself as I offered namaskar to the instrument, and began pumping the bellows. By some miraculous intervention every vocalization emanated like nectar and resounded beautifully in the large hall. I began interpreting a simple melody into a chant with velvety melismatic embellishments.

I continued to sing at length, and everyone who entered the temple room remained captivated by the Holy Name. The sannyasi commented, "Wow, she acted as if she couldn't even play a single note, but she moves across the keys with fluid expertise and dexterity." Later many elders approached me and complimented my singing, and I felt great pride and ego when I heard their praise.

I realized that this dream suggests that I still have a deep yearning for respect, admiration, and fame. Particularly when it comes to musical talents, I have ambitious motives for praise and gain.

On another note, I have exactly one year to get my shit together. Meaning, I have to practice violin daily, take violin lessons, Music appreciation, theory, sight singing, ear training, and history, in order to complete the required courses for my degree plan. Vocal and piano lessons also. I have one year to complete this along with my core in order to transfer on my sophomore year into the program of my choice. And I want to do it with a perfect GPA. There, I said it. Those are my plans and intentions. It shall come to pass.

Educational Aspirations

Today Krishna Chandra and I played MyNoteGames before bed, it's a music app for iPad that we found in the educational category. Anyway, we found out that we are terrible contraltos, somewhat better sopranos, and that Krishna Chandra loves Christmas carols and hymns. The boy needs voice lessons, though, to get over his timidness.
Eventually we abandoned the app for YouTube in order to find more Christmas carols with lyrics so he could follow along. His favorite so far is Silent Night. I hope he continues singing; one day he could be a good bhajan singer because he seems to enjoy spiritual or devotional lyrics most.
On another note, I recently registered for two classes and a musicianship class (which is only one credit hour, but whatever). When I tried registering for the history class I had planned, I noticed it was already full. I am considering taking the same online, which will cut some commuting to and fro', but I'm not sure how I would fare in an online class. Perhaps I am a social creature with a need for personal interaction.
Says the woman who would rather email you than text, text than call, and definitely prefers to call than see you in person. If all else fails, and you didn't return my voicemail. Maybe the online course will suit me just fine. And remember, I will not expose the ignorance of the faculty. 

Expecting Summer

Well, I have one more final exam left, but this semester is finally over. I'm really proud of myself; all my hard work has paid off with straight As. I'm looking forward to the fall, but for now I just want to take a break and spend time with my friends and family. I have a few sewing project ideas lined up, so stick around to see them. I'll post my travels, ideas, projects, and realizations here more frequently during summer.
Recently, I noticed more matajis wearing the Bengali style sari, and while I am somewhat flattered (I can only take credit, since, I'm the only one around here who wears it), but I'm also a little worried. Some matajis still don't have very good fashion sense, or lack a sense of appropriate colors. I blame viewing too many Bollywood films with over-saturated colors, or color shock. For example, I observed a Westerner who colored her hair jet black (I guess to appear more ethnic), but instead she looks old, unhealthy, and strange. On top of that, she wore dark or rich colors, which would be appropriate for a warm complexioned person, but simply exaggerated her unnatural hair color and darkened circles around her eyes. Of course, I am not sure if she is just tired, but darkening the hair will only worsen the appearance of wrinkles, dark circles, and pale skin. If you dye your hair, please make sure you dye it to your natural hair color (to cover gray), or stay within two shades of your natural shade. If you are not sure, visit a professional hair colorist. Similarly, when lightening the hair color, it is important to stay as close to the natural shade, or one will risk looking 'washed out'.
Honestly, the temple is not the appropriate venue for something like this, however, it is obvious to me that these women need serious help. I wish there was a place where these matajis could receive personalized styling and fashion advice from an expert. A visit with a professional stylist, colorist, or hairdresser could have easily averted such a horrible mistake from ever happening. On wearing appropriate color combinations, shades, and hues, a person will appear healthier, beautiful, and natural. Everyone has different combinations of hair, eyes, and skin, therefore, everyone has a different color palette combination. On another occasion, I saw a mataji wearing heavy makeup, combined with a shockingly unnatural hair color that was too red for her skin tone, and a poor choice of apparel for her figure. This made her look older, sickly, and frumpy. Whereas, if she had chosen more appropriate make up and apparel, she would have appeared more vibrant and attractive.
Naturally, all women want to look beautiful, and they go to great extents to look and feel more attractive. Unfortunately, due to ignorance, some matajis are enticed to mimic the unrefined and gaudy styles they see in trashy Hindi movies. I forewarn anyone from copying these styles, as they are mostly unchaste and inappropriate, and will typically not suit many complexions. Matajis that combine these poorly will end up looking older, unhealthy, strange, and in some cases, extremely unchaste. Sometimes I feel like saying something, especially if others are criticizing or mocking them. However, I'm just not sure how to tactfully mention something like this without hurting anyone's feelings. Truly, these women need help. Most of the time, I see them trying colors which are not suitable to their complexion but  I have seen less obvious mistakes like combining apparel which is not suitable to the body type, personality, or appropriate for temple festivals, as well.

Sewing 'Patiala' Salwaar

I just wanted to share a new project I completed yesterday. A couple days back someone asked me if I could make those really baggy salwaar pants or patiala salwaar. It's been a while since I made a salwaar so I decided to refresh. I have to say I've outdone myself, its a comfy fit with just the perfect ease. Here's a photo Krishna Chandra took of me modeling the new famously baggy pants. I'll have to post photos about this topic detailing how to make a patiala salwaar later. That and other cool projects such as a gored skirt, lengha/gopi skirt, choli and possibly churidaar.

Diwali Lights

Rangoli/ Alpana designs on my porch.

Different parts of India celebrate Diwali or Dipavali a little differently but what remains constant are lights. Lots of frickin' lights.
In Bengali culture, Diwali coincides with Kali puja and typically it is a huge affair. Everyone gets dressed up in the evenings to walk around the neighborhood and take darshan of the local Kali thakur, clay forms of the Goddess and decorates their homes with candles, ghee lamps and electric lights. While I do enjoy Kali puja, I love decorating the home with lights and alpana even more which is why my favorite festival has to be Lakshmi puja.
In South India women decorate their homes with rice flour mandalas or kolams daily and ancient kolams range from the simple to ridiculously elaborate and intricate designs.

My last edition was my sloppiest, my back was aching.

In North India the use of a wide variety of colored powders, sand and flour are used to make rangolis. Vivid and bright-- red, yellow, green, orange and blue are not only beautiful to look at but also liven up the atmosphere and look very festive.

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Tealight candles illuminate the walkway to my doorstep.

I prefer the traditional rice flour method as it is bright enough to show on even dark surfaces and will stay longer when dried. You make a paste by soaking some rice flour in water preferably overnight. When you're ready to use your paste, simply add more water to your desired consistency. I like it thin and apply it with a cotton ball or my hands but you could use pretty much anything from your hands to a paintbrush, or even a stencil blotter..

Pondering and such

 Well, it's been a really long time since I blogged last-- exactly a month. I'm sorry I've let my blog sit for so long but if it's any consolation, I haven't been writing in my journal either so you know there isn't anything worth mentioning even in passing. I've been pretty busy these past couple of weeks with class and preparing myself for more classes. I don't want to take on too much at a time as I don't know what my capacity for coursework is, how stressed out I might become or even if I'll be able to manage my time wisely. Besides that, there is nothing really going on in my life.

I've been thinking more about my education and where I want it to take me, career-wise. I am more lost and confused about a career path than I was fifteen years ago. I can honestly say my twelve-year-old self had a more defined sense of purpose in life. I guess my general interests have changed but specifically, the only thing that's really changed since then is my spirituality. When I was twelve, I was trying to distance myself as much as possible from crochet and crafts, as it was no longer 'cool' and instead obsessed about violin and violin mastery. I was really obsessed, I mean, I used to write poems and make artwork about my instrument, music and violin.

  I don't have that one-pointed vision anymore and, though I'm glad I've broadened my general interests, I still wish I had that yogic mental prowess I had then. It's laughable if you really think about it carefully. I was strong-willed, determined, patient, and extremely mature in my musical endeavors. I wonder if I still have that energy and enthusiasm in me. Can I focus my energy and enthusiasm towards a higher purpose and reach my goal?

I guess you're wondering if I'm going off topic and I wonder that too. I write in cryptic and vague language, sometimes alluding to different topics or even writing in hidden and double meanings. I know, I've been doing that a lot lately but I'll let you figure it out.

মাদ্রী দেবী দাসী 

Bagpipes and Fiddles

Krishna Chandra woke up with pink eye on Tuesday morning and I thought it would clear up by now; this morning, he woke up with swollen, red eyes and I decided to take him down to the doctor. As I suspected, he needed antibiotics, we were out all day at the doctor and pharmacy but drops have already eased some of the inflammation and discharge so I'm happy. I hope he's feeling better soon. Poor thing was crying last night because his eyes were itchy and he wanted to scratch them so badly. I have never seen anyone wriggle around the bed like that before! It was as if he bad ants in his britches, it was kinda funny but don't tell him I said that because he'll get mad at me. So, I let him listen to some fiddle music on my iPhone (yes, I listen to fiddlers) and he seemed to really like it so I kept clicking on more videos to keep him satisfied and distracted while we were shopping. He was swaying around to the music in the shopping cart the whole time! A couple songs later, I recognized a tune as 'The Gael' and we were fascinated with Gaelic music all afternoon. It was nice to find something else we had in common.. It's not everyday you find out your child is keen toward bagpipes and fiddles. Yes, I'm counting this as a 'win'.
I want to watch The Last of the Mohicans just to hear that beautiful violin again. Or, I could just sit on YouTube all day and listen to it again and again and again. Alas, I only like one violinist's version on there, her name is Jenny O'Connor and she's from Texas (as most great musicians tend to be). No, I'm not much of a music snob, though I call myself that, I'll listen to pretty much anything... but I am a Texan snob.