A True Story
Picture by Erika Crofut
Yes, it’s true. This takes place in the year 1995, which was, I believe, 172 years ago.
~~~
I tremble. I sweat. I have never done anything like this before.
I have never led this program, this Big Program, before. Because of the ending of the Kripalu ashram (long story!) all the senior teachers have left to pursue their next steps. I, a very junior teacher, am, quite frankly, the last one standing.
Over the past months of trembly, sweaty prep, I have written every single word I imagined I might need to say during these three seemingly long days, mapped all the transitions between activities, memorized all the past program overviews of teachers before me, and put all my notes on large, rectangular index cards. I hold tonight’s double-sided index cards shakily against my side.
The cards are wilting, drained of life in the intensity of the moment.
I have taken this program as a guest and assistant, one among a large staff. I have never, ever stood here, microphone in hand, facing the fullness of this core legacy program. I have taught Kripalu programs before, always with a co-teacher. More manageable in size and length, I found my way through those.
This experience offers me another level, an entirely new category of Tremble.
The Tremble lives deeply inside of me. I sweat wildly, undergarments and brow already awash. It is September, and the Main Hall is already steamy, with 67 guests and 10 staff breathing heat in and out, in anticipation of the unknown. My trembling and my sweating add to the collective steam.
I glance down at the top card, color-coded, my large boxy print meets my eye. They appear to be written in a foreign language. Nothing. My eyes recognize no words. Useless to me now, I toss the soggy cards all onto the beige, thick rug. They almost bounce back. Oh! To be able to fall with them. Oh! To have that rug catch me and rock me to sleep.
Okay, back to it—focus, focus.
I have opened the program. This is good. Guests have somehow been led into the room ceremoniously and silently. This is good. They sit in their back jacks or chairs, frighteningly attentive, as if a collective breath is being held. All good.
I, too, hold on to my breath. I am holding on tightly to my—something? Everything? Oh, to be home right now, watching mindless television on the comfortable, saggy white-patterned sofa.
Okay, back to it—now, I know what’s next. I know that now I lead a meditation. Now, I guide the people in looking inside. In softening. I take a few breaths. I can do this. I bring my microphone to my lips.
I dig down for my deepest, most spiritual Meditation Voice.
I dig deep.
And I say,
“Ah, let yourself relax.”
Good, good start.
“Settle inside.”
Okay! I’m rocking.
“Let your eyes be softly closed.”
I got this. I’m rolling.
I turn to cue the audio guy, sitting on the rise behind me, as we planned, my cues for each background song to be perfectly synchronized with the content I’m offering.
I see Todd crunched over the audio deck, in his chair like a sea captain’s, ready to chart us onto the oceans of meditative flow.
I catch his eye. I give him The Nod.
I come back inside my own experience, shutting my eyes hopefully.
The music jerks alive with a savage assault, a rock beat, louder than life itself, severing the silence with sound-beyond-frantic. The room is saturated, filled with more rock and roll than one would ever want, with eyes OPEN, yet alone, closed.
I shudder with terror, assaulted by the music.
The Wrong Music. My mind scrambles for an explanation, for an understanding. Yet I am thoughtless.
And then, my first feeling solidifies—I want to die.
Please, help me to die now.
Dying is obviously the only solution. I must die now. Truly.
I somehow silently acknowledge that death is not a possibility. I look up at Todd. I am speechless and frozen with desperation. His attention is elsewhere; he is elsewhere.
Yet behind him and his impotent audio deck sits the solution: a wide-open, low window.
That’s all I see. I see the window.
I feel myself. I see myself running up to the window, flinging myself out of it, landing safely two flights down, and running as far away from this moment as I can.
I see myself literally escaping through the open window.
How long do I engage with this fantasy, this delicious escape from the moment?
Maybe a long second or two, while blasting, blaring rock music fills the Main Hall?
I am frozen in place while sweat bathes my body, all in the same moment.
I cannot tear my eyes away from the Open Window.
While Todd, clueless in Lenox, sits on his captain’s chair, steering us down the wrong channel, I flounder. I sink, I bob, I sink again.
I don’t know how long.
It seemed—
Forever.
Somehow from the depths in me I finally can muster, saying into the mike, for the entire world to hear:
“Todd, put on the next song.”
And—he does.
He changes the music.
That’s all.
It’s the Other Music. The Right Music. Meditative Music.
Shaking from the core of my being, I can finally tear myself away from the Escape Plan. I discover the mike, still in my trembling hand. Shakily, I hold it to my lips:
“Let your eyes be soft.”
“Breathe and relax.”
Somehow, the words come to me.
Somehow, the Rock Music from Hell is banished from our experience.
Somehow, the next moment comes.
And the next.
And even the one after that.
Really?
All that I had to do was say: “Todd, (do not publicly call him a shithead), Todd, put on the next song.”
Six words.
Changed it all.
All I had to do was speak the truth of what was happening, rather than deny it.
OHHHH! Maybe this is what they mean when they say:
Notice what’s happening vs. What am I making it mean.
All that was happening? It was the wrong song. What did I made it mean? I am a piece-of-shit failure, and I must die.
Life!
Inner Quest!
How you teach me.
After all these years, how you continue to heal me.
~~~
One of the remarkable things about the Inner Quest is how we all grow, both individually and collectively. After teaching this program for 30 years, I have learned that being able to model imperfection is a huge gift and a massive relief for everybody in the room. In my humble and getting-longer life, I think this program has been one of my greatest teachers. Whatever my issues are, they present before me. And then I recognize my choice:
To jump out the window?
Or…
To do the next best thing?
Kindness. This program teaches me kindness for myself and kindness for us, all.
And I grown.
And I continue to grow.
Please come join us and give yourself this time of retreat, of renewal, of possibility.
~~~
Folks, here is a remarkable version of a wonderful song, Eva Cassidy singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I’m remembering Terry, who offered me this song, dear Terry, you are so missed.
Please enjoy:
~~~
Dear Friends,
With gratitude,
With possibility,
With wise hope—
Hope that gives us the courage
To be present in the moment.
Give us the courage
To be right here,
Right now.
May all beings benefit from our time together.
All blessings,
Aruni