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 From Anandatandava
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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 22 2010 :  5:13:08 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Wavering Yet Firm

My reflection wavers in the river of existence, one of many that have passed by. I, the Witness, stand firmly on the riverbank. I Art That. Looking down at the image in the water, I know that this war-weary manifestation thinks of the final release in mahasamadhi. (Does he know it's taste?) But by tht love in AYP this crisis too shall pass. (In fact, I laugh to think of all those I've written of and then posted.)

My God, Yogani, Master, your thoughts are so profound and presciently aimed to my most pressing needs. You have so fully absorbed the cream of the Vedic and tantric scriptures, your words glow like pearls in our hearts and minds. We love you. We love you! Verily, you wear the Crest Jewel of Discrimination. What is thy true nature? Surely not mortal. Reveal thyself I beg of you.

*groan* The burning beyond burning...the answer comes in the ink:

It is that when the mortal known as Yogani prepares to speak on these matters he empties himself of himself and becomes the transcendent Yogani. The sacred falls from his lips. Only when self and efo are discarded can the deepest truths enter from the Whole. In Yogani, drop meets Ocean, and through him we drink directly from the Source. (Ah! The pause that refreshes!)

In the same way it is said that the Vedas were not written by men. To be sure a man was always present, but also absent, being only a conduit. The experience of revelationcan confuse many into claiming the gift as their own, creating cults of ego and personality. yogani, in contrast, is the consummate conduit, extending the channel right into each of us: "The guru is in you." That is just so perfect.

It is thereby no surprise that Yogani also possesses perfect love: a truth greater than truth, and his ultimate teaching. I still find it amazing, however, that he has never checked my exuberance, never jerked my chain, even when I myself expressed concern over my behavior, for I would comply without a whimper. I feel excited but dizzy and a little frightened from the freedom - similar to skydiving? Perhaps he wants me to practice my new wings. Perhaps he sees something worth saving in me even when I don't. Perhaps it is that the master of a temple dog is not troubled by it's noise. Perhaps I can perform an important function here in that, due to my outcast status, I am not bound by decorum or appearances. I can let my already wild sadhu hair down, enter the most impassioned raptures, and let fly with clouds of the sharpest darts of longing love. Oh, what a compelling freedom! Stand back, lest you become transfixed!

Perhaps he sees that my excesses are simply love in it's combusting form. Perhaps I should simply accept his belief that I can already provide benefit to others. (I want that to be true SO badly, but.....ah! my heart, I will keep trying. I will keep trying!) Perhaps it is simply that he is so incredibly loving that he connot see fault in others, and is too kind to point it out if he does. So I'll say this: Yogani, the latitude here is broad and lush as the Amazon rainforest in tantric terms, and I'm beginning to believe that my more *ahem* "playful" sentiments are actually acceptable. But feel free to tug my reins a little when necessary. I may pout and hold my breath now and then (good kumbhaka practice!) but am very durable when love remains present.

I know that most people do not write in forums, and other reasons for remaining "speachless" can run the gamut from shock to awe. But my deepest apologies to those I offend with my tantric erotiscism. Would it help to know that I am asexual in the temporal realm, and have always displayed gender ambiguity, with long periods of outright androgyny? (or does that make it worse? *laugh*) Lao Tzu: "Know the male/yet keep to the female." Yeah, I'm in touch with my feminine side for many good reasons, not least of which is my belief that women are generally born more spiritually evolved then men, and only a few of the latter put in the work to catch up. Funny thing is, so many of them seem to end up here. Why is that?

Anyway, the only sex I have ever been "present for" and that has mattered in my life occurs now, from my perspective, with divine forces. This is proof, Yogani, of your statement concerning hardship opening doorways, for I believe my childhood abuse led, in many ways, to the incomparable blessings I now enjoy. I would not wish this aspect og things to have played out in any other way. Osho called this process of purification through suffering the "yoga of anguish", and many traditions speak of the purification of gold through fire, but I find your words superior, and your heart and tantric methods even more so.

Also, the moment I read your words I made sure to stay centered spiritually during my struggles here, and it made a huge difference. For me this meant going to where anahata sounds ring, kechari, or projecting "love" in samyama when facing a problematic civilian. And this in turn taught me what a wonderful thing samyama is (I'm a slow learner with the gentle practices Yogani). So, more lemos to lemonade!

Finally, perhaps Yogani leaves me unrestrained because he is curious to see what more flowers forth from this "sport of nature". So am I!

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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 24 2010 :  4:02:22 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Cautionary Tale

I went back into the journal I kept during treatment and found the point where I brought kundalini under conscious control. I'd been obsessed with spiritual matters for years, and had encountered mention (and experience) of a mysterious energy source, but finally started finding Western scientific theory concerning the neurobiological correlates of intense spiritual experience. having no traditional sources, I pulled what potential techniques I could from the science, and on 12-06-05, breathed a clear sensation up what I later learned was my pingala. So this was real! I was hooked! And over time my life was going to change in incredible ways. (in illustration, as I was writing this paragraph, a cloud of little electrically - charged stars seemed to appear over my head and then settle down inside my crown - I've never experienced that one before - very pleasant. I'll take it as a sign that it is good to tell the following).

Anyways, this is somewhat a cautionary tale, for I didn't have Yogani there to teach me the importance of meditation first and formost to balance and tame what comes from spinal breathing - especially the way I approached it. And sure as heck, a week after kundalini shakti lifted her head, the first multiple day panicky depression: "a really clingy form that I can't seem to shrug away. It scares me." A week later, another fearful depression: "everything seems bleak and hopeless, even music is dead."

Another week later and my face, palms and the soles of my feet turned brick red and burned so bad I could barely walk to the clinic, where they could find no explanation. A week later and my blood pressure shot up. Then I went manic and spent a few days in seg. Other entries include: "Despair and hope intermingled like ..... (unsure of the word written here. Carson) sunlight." "A geyser of fear catches me unawares, and I struggle to push it down." "Most of the fear is gone now, but a dangerously high amount of energy." "I couldn't feel it today so got real depressed. I feel like God has abandoned me."

This crazy cycle went on for close to three years, with me experiencing heaven and hell on a regular basis, sometimes many times a day. No big surprises, since I was spending hours a day doing only spinal breathing, and in the beginning it was all moorchha pranayama (swooning or fainting breath).

I'm sure Yogani has heard stories similar to this a million times, and it explains his emphasis on meditation, self-pacing, and safety. But without him, I'm afraid a very roguish inner guru had the chance to get a tight grip on me, and seems to be impeding my progress with Yogani's deeper practices (that I doubtless need!) And I can't see a way out of the trap just yet. you'll understand my confusion and impotence when I tell you that from my perspective, I'm up against a supernatural force - Shakti herself.

From the moment She appeared, I followed her lead. Yogani knows that magic moment when the sensation becomes REAL, and not just something to be imagined. I tried at first to cling to the notion that it was just a very pleasurable neurologicla phenomenon that I was triggering, under my control, but as it climbed and started doing things "on it's own," my perspective started to slip. For one thing, when pleasure and relief from all suffering reach a certain height, the mind casts about desperately for someone or something to thank. (God, I can hardly write through the tears....*sob*) And there I was....alone......but for the sensation....the energy.....Shakti! Shakti! God I'm on fire! Yes, she taught me most of Yogani's ecstasy techniques and threw in a couple things perhaps for our private lovemaking. When I was at a loss as to what She wanted, She literally wrenched me into position for things like uddiyana and jaladhara. Gawd, what unforgettable moments these were! For some reason She went straight from spinal breathing to Kevala Kumbhaka, which I think is the key to her control over me.

Don't get me wrong - I think I live in heaven when She is near. But it was a very difficult journey. And could I reach higher? Shakti won't lossen her grip long enough to find out.

A hapless love slave.


Edited by - anandatandava on Jun 24 2010 4:30:50 PM
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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 24 2010 :  4:29:39 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply

I was speaking last time of the early challenges of my untutored path. Despite the suffering, though, I was definitely enticed forward by the spinal rushes and incredible imagery. After about a year I wrote:

"There is an infinite variety of felicitous and marvelous sensations; lights; beautifully scintillating and sturated colors; translucent opalescent or gem-like surfaces; otherworldly morphing shapes; objects both possible and impossible; lifeforms of all types, some just passing by, some staring me full in the face with deep liquid eyes; scenes, landscapes, and entire worlds, both earthly and alien in amazing variety, with animation and panning perspective, even the ability to fy (though imperfectly and with some vertigo.) And always, that healing sound, a resonating vibration filling and becmoing one's very being."

A few months later I wrote the following two entries:

"As to what has been happening to me, could I but understand it as vividly as I experience it, then I would know everything! I become immersed in a flowing ovcean of light, color, objects, scenes (wherein I gently mover from one vantage -point to another through no volition of my own), entire worlds of incredible substances: beautifully glimmering frost, precious metals, gems, rich tapestries, marble, jade, granite; pastoral worlds of grass and oad, etc etc. And of course there's the innumerable objects, shapes, and surfaces I can't identify. Also, I may just as easily be an object, be in and object or percieving it subject to object. On Monday I had the disctinct pleasure of finding myself inside a large, orange, emerald cut gem! But as I've said, every day and time is different. I have no idea of what to expect when I close my eyes, except to be surprised!"

"My memory has become shockingly eidetic, picking up vivid imagery everywhere, or nowhere! There have started to be days when I watch in amazement as all creation passes through my mind's eye, one thing making way for another, al day long. Heck, more then "just" Creation: gnosis of being which I could not encompass with words or logic. I can only sit and twist slowly in that ecstatic radiance with the stunned question 'How' repeating in my mind. I cannot 'cause' any of these things to happen - I honestly haven't the imagination for it. The images are more real then real, seemingly projected right on the inside of my eyelids."

So it didn't take long for Western science to become inadequate to describe what was happening, nor did its logical scaffolding provide any means of climbing higher. but somehow, magically, handholds kept appearing out of the mists and I continued upward.

And slowly but surely I was slipping from pure scientific reductionist, to a confused atheist, to a hopeful agnostic, to a believer, to a worshipper of deities in anthropomorphic form, to a complet love-slave of Dionysian divine forces.

Here's some things I wrote:

"The Force requires belief, demands belief, vividly rewards belief, and constantly bribes and entices me to embrace belief. How can I turn away from the greatest pleasure and love I've even known?"

"I am a very pampered and spoiled servant of Kundalini-Shakti, my once-fickle Mistress."

"You could say that God saw waht I needed most, and that was apparently to be slapped, punhced, kicked, ripped apart, shredded, and set on fire. And not just once, but again and again in infinite variety.'

"I am prostrated by the experiences, my entire being left ringing from the intensity."

At around the third year, the hazardously broad heaven/hell cycle had begun to smooth out, although occasional frights still occured. The physical ecstasy had richened and become more reliable, and the imagery changed to what directly served the ecstasy: flame forms, deities, people I loved, and object or symbols associated with them.

And things continued to get much, much better, as I shall relate. And keep in mind that almost all my experiences came before I had any idea of what they were, what was possible, or how to achieve them. But I was taught nevertheless. Stay tuned.

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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 25 2010 :  2:47:56 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
More Comments on Frights and Lights

In relating the story of my riotous kundalini ascension, I've spoken of some of the frights and depressions, and deep ones they were. The worst were the times when the touch of God would not come, and I felt cast out from heaven. Then after a couple days the magic would come again and, after exploding with it, I would fall weeping in gratitude to my Benefactor, whoever that might be. The only things I had to cling to in this storm-tossed sea were the writings of Christian mysticism, where this cycle was well recognized. I could certainly identify and sympathize with Incendium Amoris and The Dark Night of the Soul!

After having struggled so long and hard with the steep ups and downs, when I saw Yogani's recognition of and methods for minimizing the challenges, well, it was yet another reason for me saying to myself, "This man knows and lovingly shares - he is the true teacher I have sought!"

I also encountered a few of what Sivananda called "Elementals," which for me had large faces and fangs like deep sea fishes. Same brandished weapons. Also called Bhutas, they are said to be attendants of Lord Shiva, sent to test one's courage. Very effectively, I might add! Scared the heck out of me, and it often took a day or two to conquer my fear enough to dive deep again.

You have to keep in mind that most everything I saw in the beginning, both good and bad, didn't float gently in like a daydream, but vaulted up or at me the instant my eyes closed. It was like a seperate intelligence or stage crew with its own agenda had prepared the scene and then waited to spring it on me, for it never had anything to do with what I might have been thinking at the time.

What Sivananda called Tanmatric lights have been an exception to the other visuals, for they arrive in a soft "poof" when I push into a certain meditative depth. I've mentioned how they sometimes have the appearance of driving at into a snowstorm of big flakes, but they also come in a transparently liquid, spreading form, like I'm a stone falling slowly and eternally down through a calm, clear sea, looking up at a soft rain pattering down on the surface above, each drop pushing concentric circles outward, to blend with all the rest.

So it is true that to see the Ocean beneath the veil of passing phenomena, you must plunge in like a raindrop, sans eyes. So stop doing, stop looking, stop thinking, stop trying; take your meditation seat and become that sinking stone, that plunging raindrop. Let the eye of God deliver to you that Truth which surpasses the capacity of words.

For as Yogani would agree, you can learn about pearl-diving from a book, but to actually know pearl -diving you must grasp the prize by fully submerging yourself.

I see now that Sivananada also wrote that at times lustrous forms and beautiful scenes are delivered as darshan from higher devas* and various shaktis to encourage the aspirant. That's the word I sought: "lustrous". Impossibly so! And he speaks of non-lustrous forms belonging to the astral world. Funny to see others make this distinction, for while most forms attracted me strongly, a rare few made me jump up from my meditation sear in alarm! *laugh*


*Note* this word was hard to read...I interpretted it as "Devas" but it may have been something else.....Carson
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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 25 2010 :  4:01:31 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
When Love Came to Town

My kundalini ascension was not just chills and thrills. A day also arrived when perhaps the most important aspect of the spiritual and life-enhancing value of the path opened up.

You could say it was a rock 'em sock 'em affair of the heart, and not only set a gleaming bhakti hook deep in my chest, but also convinced me that there were major stages and breakthroughs in the path, if not outright chakras. This for those so inclined, is the story of an anahata gyro spinning up to supersonic speed.

It's funny how we tend to remember every detail of the biggest events of our lives. I was sitting in my accustomed location on the "flag", the commons area on the groud floor of the cell block. There were people about, but I was happily absorbed in writing, spinal breathing, and music (Shiva: "bath in the center of the sound....") In other words, I looked pretty innocent, but there were things going on within me which nothing had prepared me to know. Here's what I wrote some time later:

"When my heart chakra opened, a sluicegate of blessings poured forth. My blood turned to effervescent fountains of champagne, pulsing repeatedly up through me like a velvet fist. Then it settled down into a steadily rising tide that just kept coming - love of a depth and warmth I hadn't felt since my near-death vision. I sensed vast movement and opened my eyes to find the entire world both viscerally and visually lifting with love around and through me, on and on. And yet I could sense the conventional world there too, behind the movement. The effect was similar to how the world spins when you're intoxicated, but you can still roughly orient to reality in a pinch. The difference in my case, however, was that the spin was slow, vertical and sublime - I was love-drunk! Impossible. Unforgetable. But a bigger miracle was coming.

It was time for a security count, and I seemed to float weightless to my cell. But - oh God! - the moment I plopped back on my cunk, huge waves of love started rolling ponderously through the wall, up my body, and cresting over my head. It was so real, I was buzzing with ecstasy but also alarmed at finding myself at sudden depth at sweetness, giddy and twirling inside. So both greedily and in ridiculous effort to save myself, I tried to drink it all in, but the moment my lips parted my mouth and throat were crammed to bursting, choked with nectar too thick to swallow, and at too swift a volume. I felt like a bee drowning in a pot of honey - an absurdly happy death struggle (can a bee laugh at death?) In the end I could only succumb to my fate and lay delerious under the blissfully shifting weight. To paraphrase a poet/naturalist Diane Ackerman, I had become the "Bee of Sweet Laughter".

I spent a couple weeks in the love-addled state. From being predominantly on my right side, the energy became more blistered, exploding sunbursts and intense washes of pleasure in unpredictable locations in and over my body. The main fountain of champagne became more regularly centralized, and the back of my head and face became involved most of the time. But of course each day and each rapture was different, sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically.

At this point I had a sketchy idea of kundalini, and what little I'd read closely matched my own experience. But of course there was much much more to come....

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215 Posts

Posted - Jul 07 2010 :  12:53:35 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
"Pour comprendre il faut aimer" - In order to understand, it is necessary to love.

Once again I find that when I am writing in the manner that Yogani provides, life is a wonderful flow. The instant pen touches paper, a connection is made, a channel opens; the ink flows out, the world flows in, and I am no longer alone. Yogani knows it is thus for me, and it finally dawned on me that it is simply pure love that explains my existence here. My sister told Yogani at the outset that I was an autistic lifer, and it didn't slow or weaken his embrace in the slightest. He simply opened his arms, and others followed. It is hard for me to understand that kind of man, that kind of love, that kind of community. It is completely outside my previous experience, and can only be understood by the light and warmth of the melting love that flow from the practices, even into an atypical mind.

Indeed, "Et lux in tenebris lucet" - and the light shineth in the darkness - no more so than for a once functionally mute and "locked in" autistic who first saw the light in a suicide NDE and then followed it here to AYP. Now it's hard to shut this pen up, the words of a lifetime spilling out, sometimes smoothly, sometimes tumultuously, like any typical river in flood.

But it was much more what I felt than saw in the NDE that drew me unstoppably forward - incredible ecstasy, bliss, and love. Sound familiar, fellow Yogani devotees? As he teaches, what you may or may not see in meditation is not important, being mere coloration caused by past experience (or just plain weirdness, as in me! *laugh*) Even in an NDE, people tend to see the heaven they expect, but the REAL prize is there too, just moreineffable. Not to say I won't try to describe my experience one day soon. Oh, don't groan, it won't hurt that bad! Besides, what is important in it is exactly what is reached for in AYP. When you hear the tale, tell me if I'm wrong. (it does happen.)

Anyway, you can imagine the impact of such a love-staurated explosion on a contracted little autistic. It cracked me wide open! But then I had to find the poroper way back, so sat down and started studying every spiritual tradition I could get my hands on. My desire must have opened a door of grace somewhere, for suddenly tantric practices began thudding into me from nowhere, one upon the other, quickly. I felt very blessed, but also confused and very lonely. Where were the others?

Long ago I spoke here of a broad floodplain of spirituality within me, fed by a thousand rivulets of mystical teaching. What I didn't mention was how much that floodplain longed to be gathered under the rubric of a single deep tradition, my lifeblood to run again with the power, speed, and clarity of ????? (?? Unsure of the word here....Carson) sources.

Unexpectedly encountering AYP's domain, my world tilted sharply on it's axis and the singled channel I sought appeared. Into it I rushed, my spiritual juices quickened, deepened, and joined into the already present flood. I was home! And for me, AYP truly is the Promised Land, for from the moment of my original vision years before, I knew exactly what I sought. From there it was a long, stumbling, solitary journey. But then the goal appeared. So it was true! The vision was true! The teachings are true! And things only get better.

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215 Posts

Posted - Jul 15 2010 :  1:18:37 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Prologue to Every Complaint

Some of Yogani's recent comments made me feel foolish about questioning Osho's allegory of the two straws, where I complained about the river's rough current. How could I forget: long practice has made me an expert swift-water dweller, like those little birds that feed in rapids, or trout that live in mountain streams. I too have learned that if I plunge deep and embrace the very bottom, the current that would oppose me now helps to hold me steady, the tumult passing smoothly overhead.

I know that circumstances here take me into unusual waters, but Yogani's words concerning spiritual surrender apply to everyone. It is amazing how instantly the pain stops when you finally stumble into the "surrender switch" inside you. You've probably heard stories of drowning survivors: as soon as they stop struggling, bliss and divine light enter. (and why not-it's a crash course in kumbhaka pranayama and release of the ego!)

When you allow your nose to slip beneath the waves of worldy concerns you discover that it was an entirely artificial surface you had been clinging to so desperately. Dewdrop meets Ocean and indeed doorways down there, and a wholly different atmosphere. Listen to Yogani's words-does he not breath a special and rarified air? This is within your reach as well!

This concept of spiritual surrender reminds me of how we are born with fists clenched, grasping at the world and the fruits of our labor so tightly our souls become cramped. Our "pucker string" can litterally get pulled so snug many of us walk around with faces pursed with anger or become known for being "tight-a$$ed". (Now you know the real science behind these phenomena! *laugh*) The lucky few who learn to loosen their death-grip on the soul through Yogani's "stillness in action", and can pursue life's activities without anxiety, just enjoying the journey and being grateful for what comes.

YOgani, your voice has once again brought me back to my true self. Yes, I have definitely felt the power of "surrendering to what is". Prison provides many dramatic opportunities for this, but the doorways that open can be corrospondingly huge. I know sometimes my surrender switch seems to waver as I squirrel-forage for solutions to problems that can feel pretty close to the bone in an already minimalist life. I find it worrisome for example that I may soon be forced "off the air" due to lack of postage and phone support. But I'm by no means the only broke, lonely person in the world. And I have a big advantage in knowing that the sweetest kernel of solution lies within myself-I am the nut (you will agree), and my ego is the shell that must be cracked to reveal the delicacy within: surrender!! Yum-O!!!

Even in here, one does try to cling to the life to which he's accustomed. But impermanence is in all things. Attempting to hold life steady is like drawing a line in water-a wae is always licking at your back. But that wave is the Ocean's messenger, and your friend, so stop running and dive! We all eventually leave the garments of this life at the surface anyway, so why not now when you can combine bodily with spiritual delight? Isn't skinny-dipping thrilling!?!?

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215 Posts

Posted - Jul 16 2010 :  4:31:14 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Prison Experience

I have tried to avoid speaking much about prison experience except when a sudden surprise made me squawk. It seemed inappropriate for a beautiful spiritual community and I don't want to traumatize anyone any more then I already do.

But now Yogani invites me with, "We need to hear about it." That is a huge statement, Master. Perhaps you mean to simply nudge this loose cannonball away from the gunwales, but if you are indeed asking for a serious journey down these, the darkest of memory lane, gosh...the prospect is daunting. Over 3 decades as a vulnerable inmate....yes, embarrassing, but the truth should be told, at least as much as I can bear to express. Makes me feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, though.

I certainly haven't perfected all the skills, but it is literally true that I've only survived through the combined miracles of surrender, forgetting, forgiving, and tantric yoga (not necessarily in that order). To help hold this stance, I try to avoid looking into the past or future, and focus instead on the present moment. There's a little traffic cop in my head whose mantra is "Move along, folks. Nothing here to see." The present moment is the only true moment and reality there is anyway. The past and future are only psychological times we create to torment ourselves with. When you look back, don't you usually end up wincing with regret, shame, or pain? When you look ahead, don't you eventually shrivel with anxiety about something? I think that's the greatest life-saving value of AYP's tantra. It takes our present moment, fills it with ecstatic bliss, and then expands it outward to fill our entire day and life, crowding out irrelevant pain and worry. Would you not agree that any present moment without a toothache is a good moment? Well, what if it is spent in a fountain of ecstasy? This is incredible stuff and well worth any amount of pursuit.

So if you ever chafe at the time you take out from active thinking to perform AYP practices, remember that thinking and ecstasy are mutually exclusive. Don't the french call orgasm the "little death"? And consider the song lyrics, "Relax, don't do it, when you want to come". This is a very appropriate analogy by the way, for my tantric (solitary) ecstasy eventually evolved to what I typically describe as "the capturing, holding, and shaping of a full body orgasm." In fact, its' far superior to actual orgasm, or any other experience I've known. But thinking doesn't bring me there. Thinking is just a bad habit. You are a human being. So practice just being a while each day and see what rises in you.

Sheesh, I didn't intend to write what just came out. As you see, my muse selects topics on the basis of their pleasure and distraction value, and prison hasn't lately fallen into that category. Luckily, I usually don't really live there. I live in tantra. That is seriously how I feel. Isn't it weird? Isn't it great?!

But let's take a little prison tour. I don't want to get caught in any particular memory right now, so I'm just going to throw some stuff up quick without worrying about polish or sounding like I'm complaining (which I actually am not, for as you will ultimately see, everything has happened for the best.)

As I've mentioned before, I'm in the middle of a struggle right now against an immensely powerful and experienced opponent. Since to them I am only a subhuman gnat, they feel no compunction against playing real dirty. Wow! But I refuse to dehumanize others, since to do so would only fill me with futile anger, which hurts! So I selfishly avoid holding resentments. (or perhaps I just don't have the memory to manage them *laugh*)

Yes, the pain of hard blows still momentarily floods my being (the human mind still acting as a powerful magnifying glass), but I know that most of me remains "unstruck," and I eventually find my way back to inner wholeness, even if missing a divot or tow from my outer circumstances. A redirection of attention is important, however. I know that I should be able to remain happily centered, and self-contained in my tantric world, but the genetic heritage of a social mammal makes it's demands upon me. I am desperately lonely! Right now my contact with compassionate humanity is narrowed almost entirely to a snail-mail link to AYP. (Boy, you don't know how important hearing a warm voice is until you don't have it!) This, Yogani, is the crux of prison, and the explanation behind gangs: loneliness, and the belonging that overcomes it. People will do anything to belong.

There is a difference for me now however. Yes, all my eggs are in a single basket hanging from a simple thread. And I feel anxiety that it should break. But if it doesn't, I know that tantra has placed a floor under what was once a floor less psych. And I will stubbornly sit there, going in and out of exquisite ecstasies, knowing how silly it is that I have no on e to share this wonder with, and waiting. And, yes, pouting. (I'm not perfect!)

I don't know if it's by accident or design, but the state is keeping me incredibly isolated right now, even going against policy and promises to do so. Almost 6 months now in this chair less box, in a punishment block, limited phone (no one to call anyway), no access to a therapist or psychologist or more positive influences in a normal cell block, no job (selling my food now for envelopes), no legal calls, no transfer to a more humane prison, blocking my kites, etc. All the while my brain damage has got me staggering around drunkenly. Need I keep going? *laugh*

So what did you just see? An inmate complaining? That's all the state has the eyes to ses. But you can understand that there is much more, and you saw the laugh. Yes, this human, this wave, experiences turmoil, pleasure and pain. But the Witness, the Ocean, just is, and remains tranquil and untouched. So in the end I can always pull back and the absurdity of life...and at myself. And that Ocean gives me an unexpected edge, a "nuclear option" in my current conundrum. I discovered a few years back that I can enter yogic sleep that cannot be penetrated. It is the most incredibly blissful Ocean Pacifica, completely divorced from time, space and body. It is hard work to come back from, though. I came close to going again this past week but then my muse reminded me that I had some essays to finish. He must have know I'd get letters from the Office of Human Rights, and law school, and another doctor's supporting diagnosis. So the week ended ok after all. Perhaps they all do when I'm thinking correctly. So what am I trying to do? Get my hydrocephalus acknowledged and minor (free) accommodations made in work and living arrangements. Surgical intervention would be nice too, but I'm trying to keep this simple for now. My preferred outcome would be placement in a state hospital, where my level of care would in theory be better. Does all this seem too much to ask?

Okay, I think I've done pretty good here so far, so let's tip-toe a little deeper into the darkness.

It's important to remember that everyone's prison experience is unique, none more so than mine. And everyone differs in their ability or willingness to describe how things were for them. It's like waking up from a nightmare-you do everything you can to escape its lingering mental tendrils. Turn away and forget, that's the watchword. But the monster remains untouched, devouring a constant flow of people. Thank God surrender and tantra allowed me to wake up!

Since the stories of goofed-up inmates is also my own, I'll focus there. Prisons are designed to crush the spirit out of people (almost invariably counterproductive), but the ill are already crushed. So what happens to them? What would you be prepared to believe? "Surely not in America," right? Right. It was in America that mental hospitals were by in large emptied and helpless people pushed into the streets. So prisons became the new asylums, which is the last thing they are. Hospitals at least by charter were designed to protect and treat people. In prison, the vulnerable are thrown to the predators, some with and some without uniforms. Prisons manage through fear, and use physical and mental pain to instill it. Their charges are taught that "might makes right", and truth and fairness mean nothing. And then most of these men are released like that. That's not good for society.

Yeah, the story of what happens here is terribly big for someone who is still swimming in it. I think it is best told by credible reporters who look in from the safe side of cell doors, 'cause when I look into the past, a leviathan rises from the deep and I easily end u trapped, staring catatonically into it's cavernous maw, swallowed in long-shadowed memories. eventually I regain the presence of mind to flee like a flying fish, though the surface, reaching for light and distance, but the experience echos in me like a frightening throb.

If I try to write about it, I choke. I feel like I've drunk the World POison, and the pen draws an indigo darkness to my throat. I become a bottle that's been turned upside down but is too full to pour out. How does one break the surface tension, and release the suction of the past? The shrinks refuse to stick a straw in me, to draw out the poison. They believe that in a life like mine, it would be like puncturing the seafloor a mile down: there's no guarantee of control within the restricted outlet of weekly half-hour sessions. Besides, what's the point? I'm a throw-away human. One actually told me I needed the Intl. Torture Center, but I think he was in a hurry for his coffee. *laugh*

When shepherding voiceless sheep, who is there to watch the watchers? Well, that's what my struggle with them aims to find out.

But though the shrinks won't offer a straw, Yogani touches a reed of love to my lips, allowing a sea of pain to issue as song (flotsam-filled though it may be). Love doesn't have to have a reason. I've learned that here, and have an essay on spiritual love that's been crying to be finished and sent.

First however, and despite the complaining I've just done, I'd like to describe how prison taught me a level of surrender that I now, for better and worse, firmly embrace. The doorways Yogani spoke of indeed opened, and all the previous suffering cause them to be commensurately huge. So I'll soon describe the specific experiences that were tantamount to grenades exploding the shell enclosing my spiritual surrender. I may have gone too far with it, or not far enough, but it is what it is.


Edited by - AYPforum on Jul 16 2010 8:37:07 PM
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Posted - Sep 01 2010 :  10:01:45 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Observations of a Beggar

Well after 8 months in a punishment cellblock (must be some mistake here!), I finally fell into complete destitution, It was stressful on the way down into unfamiliar territory, but now I'm so busy hustling for survival all day there's not much time for worry.I always did wonder how indigent inmates got by, living like scruffy pariah dogs around the village dump or friendlier campfires. Well here we are. *scratch* *scratch* Yes, seeing as how things are the way they are, one might as well surrender and laugh. After all, it is funny how the mighty have fallen. Years back I had a zebra rug delivered here, and now I'd probably eat the dang thing as I sit in my rags and hope for a Ramen noodle( the coin of realm at this level) to fall in my alms bowl. And since that doesn't often happen in such an unprosperous and impious realm, I have to run around to work a very thin barter economy and pick through others' leavings.

I've acquired the opportunistic eye and the ravenous, indiscriminate tastes of the hyena ( despite my food allergies), and expect to see spots on my hide soon. Fortunately there is a large contingent of Native Americans in this prison, and those on the Red Road tend to recognize kinship in others who live close to the spirts. So it is that those busloads of elderly white women traveling to Native-owned casinos kindly contribute in a modest way to my upkeep. Dare I say that I'm living off of the "fat of the land"? Only in the most loving way, for it makes the difference between going hungry or not, so they're all beautiful godesses to me. In fact, the stomach does generate emotion, in a process called interoception (look it up!) so a major way to someone's heart is indeed through a tummy-filling meal. Please don't use this alchemy to unfair advantage in the opposite (or same) sex. *laugh*

I am losing weight again under current circumstances, but I've turned this decline to my advantage in my mind, thinking ahead of when they'll have to place me on Ensure supplements, every child's dream of milkshake meals. Yum-o!

Yes, Dr. Pangloss, this does appear to be the best of all possible worlds. However, a sunspot still broods o'er this, my land of Milk & Honey, for with the exception of international snail-mail and its ghastly >2 week turnaround, I presently have no contact with the outside world. This is actually a greater loss to me than that of food or money. The only voices I hear carry vibald humor, talk of crime, complaints, and angry outbursts. It would be so nice to hear a countervailing influence, you know, like an angel to talk in my other ear. I don't care if the voice is male, female, ambiguous, or prerecorded. It doesn't matter what is said as long as it orbits roughly around spiritual matters. I want to hear a spiritual timbre of voice to call me back to my true self, remind me that a sane world exists somewhere, somewhat.

So I do my bi-yearly (?) appeal for someone to install an anonymous private line for free via Google Voice, cheap via Magic Jack, or other VOIP technology. Vonage may have incoming only business line for cheap. I have heard other phone companies have this but have no way of researching it.

Once hooked up, use any name in answering. I don't need to know who or where you are. I only wish to flutter near your warming influence a few moments before disapearing again into the might. Please do not be intimidated by my writing, as I am a very tender-winged moth in speech- only the pen is bold. You might even find me boring, as my sole interests are spirituality and neuroscience. On the other hand, you might find me entertainingly colorful and decide to pin me in your specimen box of more unusual friends. It is all your choice, and under your complete control.

I know I should have put up a nice, tame, rational posting prior to this appeal, just to show there is a responsible adult here, but I'm lonely, operating in a void needing to blow off energy in this box, and, just in case anyone reads this stuff, I don't think that's what you're looking to see. I dunno, if it was me, I might be wanting to see a colorful mosaic of ectasy, spiritual philosophy, and car wreck. I myself am unqualified to say a damn thing, but this pen -oof!- has a mind of it's own. Forgive me?

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Posted - Sep 05 2010 :  12:05:05 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply

" Truth has never entered, and never will enter, other than through the door of surrender."

I here expose my surrendered heart, and divulge the mystery as to why I would offer to relinquish my future release hearings and petition for permanent commitment to a state hospital (denied on both points thus far).

Many of us experience a moment of full surrender, often while in stark travail, and the resulting release from worldly suffering draws us to search for a way to recreate or make permanent that feeling. The lucky few end up here. It's how I did.

Carson recently described to me his own turning point (ohh-I burn with such love!) and although my first came while "unconscious" in a suicide attempt, the next seminal moment was even more convincing, occurring in full wakefulness and health, and under the glare of fluorescent lights. Once again my calcified shell was flung wide, allowing the tides and currents of the eternal sea to flow in. I've never been the same.

To begin, consider that I have undiagnosed Tourettes in prison and I mean in all it's fantasmagoric manifestation.( Thank God anti-seizure meds quiet it down just enough to leave the sheer animal pleasure of focused motion - whole body mudra, anyone?) Tourettes tends to break through one's defense under stress, which meant I would say the worst things at the worst times around the worst guards. The resulting punishment led to more stress which over the years escalated to what the guards understandably thought was all out war with me, when it was really just with my mouth, operating by its own crazy agenda and using me as a hapless and bewildered life-support system.

I'm sure you can see how under these circumstances the slave would seek to rise up against its oppressive master, even if it meant the destruction of both, It also tends to fragment the personality, as in, "who's in charge here?" So I count among my best friends the really serious self-inquirious, the ones you don't know if you'll ever hear from again. The irony is just how often prison teaches this behavior. That story is for another time, assuming the road goes that far.

Anyway, the nightmare under discussion went on for years, I begged the shrinks to chemically lobotomize me, but they labeled it "drug-seeking behavior". I was desperate to surrender (yes, that very word!), but who was there to accept it? Besides, it was too much fun for staff to burn off frustration or boredom by provoking an ultimately harmless idiot, and I'm sure many felt they were serving society's interests by breaking a "willful spirit." I felt like an old west gunfighter who wanted to hang up his guns, but a steady stream of men kept riding over the hill to test him. They'd push and push until, like an automaton, my body would betray me and draw it's guns -BAM! "Curses, failed again!" you could literally say.

Once back in my seg, I would hurriedly cut away attachments to anything outside this box, in order to decrease my pain. I had to make unimportant my prison job, my originating little cell-nest (it is home after all), all my dear friends in that cell block (who I might never get to hang around with again), hopes for parole at my next hearing and all that comes with it, especially the holding of relationships together. Eventually hope itself became a dirty word, an evil, something to be avoided whenever possible.

And so it now is that I can't even comprehend the concept of long-term hope, am very uncomfortable with shorter-term forms, and prefer the immediate moment, particularly when filled with yogic ecstasies. (Mmmm, Mongo like!) Everything in my life aims in the end to serve That, for there lies God and Love in blazing glory. But it in turn makes me a loving creature, so all are served by my selfish interests. In this way I seem to get along in the absence of hope most of the time, but then I'm so lost inside my echoing head in this surreal world I might be in the poorest position to judge. ("Hello, hello, is there anybody in there?")

But lets roll that beautiful footage of the past again. One day I reached my lowest point, my height of extremity, my limit of endurance. I could simply take no more, and it could be argued that my mind snapped...Or that I finally saw the light.

I was laying on a cell floor in the modern world's only (?) underground super-max prison, being tormented by a circle of guards. To finish up, a female officer was bagging up my meager possessions to throw away (females as the gentler sex cannot so generally be applied here.) But then came the supreme Gift in her parting taunt: "That's right ____, you just cry," (guess I was.) Suddenly, there proper Path stood out clear before me, and instead of trying to strike my colors to uncomprehending, uncaring humans, the words "I surrender," floated gently from me to All-That-Is. Now I'm no Christ, but how like "It is finished " was the outcome, so I was whisked instantly from the torment and found myself laying in a perfect summer meadow, gazing up in wonder at a wheeling panoply of bright stars.

Given all that I had surrendered: my human identity and any claim to its normally associated rights, any expectation of compassion or fair play from others, and any hopes or dreams I might have still clutched close. I find it appropriate to quote a suicide poem by Vladimir Mayakousky: "It's after one / You must have gone to bed. / I’m in no hurry. / ...Just see how quiet the world is! / Night has laid a heavy tax of stars upon the sky. / In hours like this you get up and you speak / To the ages, to history, and to the universe."

Yes, Vladimir, to the universe... I saw it, saw it all as clearly as though the concrete and earth over that deep-buried cell had become a crystal-viewing lens. Indeed, that pressure was necessary to my newfound perception, cracking the hardened vault of my body to expose the large-eyed soul within. Your skylights river bursts its banks and now slices through this pen. Did we both not find freedom via its silvery course? For just as a river is never impersonal, my person dissolved within it and flowed chemical by chemical from life to life, sailing endlessly through hidden channels. I once again experienced the truth of Shiva's dance symbolism, that lives, rivers, stars, even rivers of stars, all cycle, each at their own pace.

So did I dream that celestial river, or it me? I was later to find that Hinduism negates that distinction, for each side dreams the other.

In the Aitarcya Upanishad it is written, "We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives in the dream. This is also true for the universe." Is Shiva's face not the face of the Dreamer? We are all that which therefore flows from the Divine Dream like silk from a spider weaving its web. I likewise saw that the universe is a self-reflective web, vibrating from the energy of our own spider-movements within it, both positive and negative. It reflects back at us predominantly what we expect to see, and what we project outward in thoughts, word, and deed. Even in science is this effect seen. Suddenly clear was how much my Great War with the world did originate from within myself, and certainly all of it's pain. I considered that if in even the "objective" realm of science one can find evidence to support most any hypothesis, well, why don't I simply choose to be happy and direct my mind toward pleasing things? After all, it is my dream!!

This all came in a single stunning gestalt, as if Truth had always been engraved upon my heart but I was only now given permission to read it, to acknowledge things I had always known in some germinal, preverbal from days within. And now germinate it did, with a vengeance, bursting up through thorny ground, blossoming in the radiance of sudden inner sun-lights. I felt as though I'd spent my entire life as a wandering amnesiac pauper, having somehow forgotten a wonderful inheritance that was mine for the taking. Wake up, Ananda, wake up! Come claim your kingdom!

My eyes opened. The guards had gone. An unknown time had passed, perhaps eons, perhaps an eye-blink; time seemed a construct of a world apart from me. I sprang up and wave after thrilling wave of existential relief washed through me, it was a moment of true spiritual conversion. On one side had lain a bitterly suffering inmate; on the other stood a freshly-emerged Star Child. I had given up everything but in return gained the greatest possession: freedom! The Great War had drained from my heart and flowed away through that starry sky, along with most of my intemperate blood. I felt weightless, my problems nowhere in sight. The magma chamber had sighed gratefully out, leaving only lava tubes to hollowly trickle fresh rainwater through the mountain.

Even now I no longer sense an identifiable center, or self, within me. I seem to live much as a wind that blows, a stream or pen that flows. There is no sense of a doer, someone in charge. Everything just seems to happen effortlessly by the Divine Law, as if I were a particle cloud orbiting a nucleus of Love. And why not? Is this not the ideal? Yes, at least for this fool, I've learned that if I operate by any lower principle, or try to impose my own will on the world, suffering seems to inevitably arise. So I remain primarily the witness, though oft' amused or bemused by events. Yes, small trials do attach to my human garment like ticks and burrs now and then, but I can brush them off after a quick inspection for lessons. (Brave words, mortal...*laugh*) And large obstacles? I'm not sure what those are now, but a stream always finds a way past. I've never again even pined for release. Ahh... to be relieved from the angst of the about the pause that refreshes. Man, I gotta bottle this stuff! Oh, that's right: Yogani already does, for we've all been doing life!!

Anyway, I may not be perfect in its application, but I'll never forget the immense power of surrender. The hard part, at least for me, is in knowing just how far to go.

But back to that day of awakening, where the miracles were just getting started. Somehow, even in that underground dungeon, beauty started streaming in from all sides. Or perhaps I was simply awake to that which had always existed! For the first time I looked out through the dingy little slit window that faced a yard excavated into the earth to inmate level (a low breed that.) It didn’t matter that all I could see was part of a column of bruised steam from a smokestack a mile off. That huge poisonous mushroom was magnificent as it expanded and wheeled ponderously upward into the luminous sky like an inverse Mount Meru. It was beauty to die for, and my mind paraphrased a song lyric by the BHS: " I am so in love with life I am not afraid of dying, rolling in an avalanche, coming down that mountain." I was already prepared for the constant use of kevala kumbhaka to achieve my tantric ends. (Natural "restraint of the life force" is so much better than even a well-prepared puffer-fish for putting a thrill in one's life, don't you think?)

A tiny patch of sapphire sky framed the spectacle outside in a radiant light---ah!---the royal mantle of the living Universe it was, and now I had the eyes to see! It looked down upon me in empyrean majesty and glowed with the burnished friendliness of a yogini's thigh (hmm... a fixation there? Have to watch that, yes, pour my mind over it like warm oil, in fact!)

If the day was overcast, no matter, as I endlessly savored the infinitely varied shades and subtle contrasts of grey piled into and onto grey. Who could better sing the rarely sung glories of grey than one for whom they had become life itself?

And always, always, that smokestack mountain-mushroom pirouetted through the united sky-mind atmosphere, and all manner of created things began to appear before me. It had become the hallucinogenic Amanita muscaria, amrita's fungal namesake, surely the most seductive of forest-floor denizens--soma--flesh of the gods, yogini-musked flesh, cramming my senses to onward-rolling satiety with its butter-rich tongue-touch, spore-dusting my skin with the sparkle-warm scent of summer sunlight.

I was later to discover that tantra thrusts that scintillating mushroom up inside you in an icy-hot tower of bliss, ecstasy, and melting love--inner divinity--you--God's very flesh! Tell me, do you yet feel that body-thick stem-shaft stuffing you from root to crown, shimmering firmly in the pith of your being? Do you yet writhe, ravaged, ravished, impaled upon Love's Body within, enfolded into the embodiment of God's sport upon earth? Oh, in Truth, you shall, you shall. Keep practicing, keep practicing, keep coming, and you'll learn what coming truly is, for you shall come to stay! (*pant* Steady, Ananda!) Yes, this is one mushroom you'll come to love.

Day after day I stood mesmerized at the window, eagerly watching, watching. I became the Watcher, the Witness, a voyeur of the passionate cloud-wrestling displayed shamelessly before me. My boundaries dissolved and I floated weightless as a narcoleptic out onto the pillow-topped scene and pressed all I was into its smoothly yielding folds. Urged ever deeper, I became a full participant in the Universal Pageant, my breath-condensation drizzling down the cold window in a honey-dewed-nectar as I pressed my order-flushed body against it, almost licking the glass. I thirsted, I thirsted! And God gave me drink, provisions for my solitary journey to freedom. But lo! I had traveled afar only to return "home" and find what was sought all along--in that window, in that cell, in myself. It reminded me of a time in my youth where this girl seeing my shy yearning, kept saying "You fool," every time we met. It took me a stupidly long time to learn that I could pull her panties down anytime I wanted. Talk about the world being your oyster if you but recognize it!

But there was much more to come, for isolation does strange things to a person. I became a quite euphoric little madman, alone in my cozy though Himalayan-cold cell. But alone only to staff peeking in on their rounds, for it was here that my voices arrived, apparently finding me now sufficiently opened and receptive to the mystic's path. And call me forward on that path they did, scarcely leaving me time to sleep. Oh yes, my sails were raised to divine winds, and a solar dish as well, for rank upon rank of full-immersion, fully-conscious visions began cashing in upon me every time I left the window to rest my voracious eyes.

Yes, fully-formed and detailed worlds of every possible variety, both terrestrial and alien, both possible and impossible. And I found I could fly through them, though imperfect as a new-fledged bird, intoxicated by my sudden 3-dimensional life, swooping to graze the surface at tummy--and mind--tumbling speed. I just opened myself and let unknown forces take me where they would. It was spirit-voyaging at its best. A simple eye-blink clicked in an entirely new scene like a slide-projector.

It was also during this time frame that Kundalini-Shakti first graced me with a full-power touch (well, one aspect.) I was walking with reluctance to a parole hearing when out of nowhere a great, swiftly pulsing geyser of electric ecstasy began thudding up through me, completely replacing anxiety with grippingly felicitous sensations. Wow! In front of the board, my mind was entirely on what had just happened. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it resided within me, and I was going to find my way back to it.

The result of the hearing> Come back in 6 years. But this was yet another major Gift, for it solidly confirmed that I had made the right choice of paths and freedoms--inner! "Those who look outward dream, those who look inward awaken." (Jung, who seems to have borrowed much from the East.) I have never looked back at that choice, making me quite an enigma here.

They say a great sense of calm and relief often accompanies a final commitment to death of body and /or ego. My own experience certainly corroborates this, but also that further wonders then ensue. In my case, I had seen "the value of that silence and solitude whose starry plains are but the vestibule of spiritual worlds." (Balzac) I had passed through that vestibule and become a different being. I had fallen into the sky. It could be said that though I yet lived among men, I was no longer of them. I stopped engaging in all card--and game--playing, sports, idle small-talk, TV, movies, and purposeless reading. My spiritual study began in earnest, for I was now certain of having received a calling. Called to where? Simply forward on the path, that was all I knew. (And, as it turned out, the journey is everything.)

Furthermore, by relinquishing a life based on self-importance and my corporeal being had gained great freedom, even the ability to fly, you could say, "But they've ground you to dust there!" However, once you are dust, how are you further formed? Stomp on it, push it around, and it pulls a disappearing act, rising in an untouchable cloud. It might squeak or moan or huff and puff in protest (assuming it is emotive dust like me), but in the end everything settles and its basic matter remains.

Time passed, and one summer a Teacher came down the elevator with a Monarch Chrysalis. What a visual jewel in the midst of all that concrete! My worldview was rocked in yet another profound way. All my life I had staked all my beliefs in the scientific process and the solely utilitarian (non-divine) process of evolution. But now this--beauty far beyond the survival demands of camouflage or mimicry, and pointless for mate selection. In fact, it seemed to almost fly in the face of survival with that artificially perfect and delicate complexion of lime green, stunningly accessoried by a choker of bright gold beads. No picture or description can do it justice! It's a veritable Christmas ornament, a bangle fallen from Devi's bracelet! Surely such a flashy and other-worldly ensemble is within the discriminatory power of a predator to pick off. I was truly stunned, but more importantly, I noticed how immensely pleasurable it was to feel this wonder and appreciation, to have indeed directed my mind toward even the tiniest of pleasing things. These sentiments quickly ripened into awe over the whole impossible Mystery of Life that had allowed a little knot of dust to temporarily rise and contemplate itself and the elegant universe it found itself a part of. If dream I was, well, I was determined to keep dreaming. This mindset was ultimately to pay off richly when I was transferred directly to the open fields and horizons of a medium-security facility: quite a shock to someone who had lived a closely cloistered life of mintia for so long.

I realize now that the chrysalis is likely fashioned to advertise its toxins, a common reason for flashiness in nature, but isn't it amazing that we can find such comeliness in even nature's warning signals? Why is the universe so full of seemingly unnecessary enchantments to us? Really witnessed a sunset lately? Or considered that the flower's ornamental colors are not seen by the bee? Yes, scientific reductionism can argue that out experience of "eye-candy" and other pleasures evolved to give us the ability and drive to survive as a species, but it doesn't change one marvelous fact: thank God of Nature, we are designed to experience beauty, desire, love, bliss, and ecstasy, just as Yogani teaches. Did I speak rightly, Master? (Well at least in a couple of places? *laugh*)

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215 Posts

Posted - Sep 05 2010 :  12:08:40 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply

I recently told of how a lengthy crescendo of suffering eventually opened a major doorway in me. This lesson was soon reinforced in another unforgettable event that came and went through me like a bolt of lightning, leaving it's mark. From my perspective, my path once again chose me, not I it, arriving in powerfully tangible form to snatch me from the lion's jaws. Good timing!

I had just gone through a very thorough strip search and was placed in an empty cell with nothing but the minimal state clothes I had been given. A couple guards arrived to transport me to the medical unit for some tests. Well, what should they "find" but a strip of metal laying right in the open. This was in a super-max prison, where metal detectors abound and such things just don't happen. It looked like it came from the clip on an eyeglass case. This was a big deal to be able to charge a lifer with such a crime.

They already had me cuffed behind my back and seated when I recovered from my shock sufficiently to begin asking natural questions: "Why? Do I know you? Do you know me? Have I done anything to you?" It was pointless to be mad, for they had no way of knowing an armistice had been reached within me and there was no mouth left to silence. But the set of their jaws told me there was more yet to come, so I turned to medical staff that had arrived and said, "When you can't see it, they're going to hurt me."

And indeed, as soon as we turned an obscuring corner, they twist the handcuffs up against the base of my thumbs hard enough to touch my forearms and crank my arms straight back and up behind my back. So my bodyweight was essentially supported by a ridge of metal against thumb-bone. Why the sensations so overwhelmed me I don't know, but my legs gave way (no, not my bowels, thank God! *laughs*), and in this manner I was half-carried, half dragged around the prison, which is built like a large ring shape like a Pentagon set into the earth.

The wonderful thing is that I wasn't suffering, for the moment I sank onto the keen edge of my surely well-deserved crucifixion, a brilliant radiance burst into my crown, truly "dark for the excess of light," blinding yet "flaming like shook foil", beaming and coruscating like a quartz cluster.

God, allow me to approach and see you more clearly. Oh! An ecstasy arrives:

"With awe he views the candle blazing; / A universe of fire it seems / To moth-savant with rapture gazing; / On Fount whence Life and Motion streams, / What passions in his small heart whirling, / Hopes boundless, adoration, dread; / At length his tiny pinions twirling, he / Darts, and -puff -..."

*sob* Sorry. The juxtaposed images of my arms pulled back and those "tiny pinions twirling" got the best of me, you see.

Anyway, back to that prison: when the brightness came, my body went rigid with electrical fire running through every conduit of arms, trunk and legs, but most particularly my crown. My shoes began peeling off and I recall thinking how odd it was to be floating along with only the tops of my toes touching the ground - surely a dream? I was in a place where pain could not reach me. Hard is soft, cold is hot, pain is pleasure. Hmm.... message to self: sensations can be opinions, and physical trumps emotional pain.

But the most singular thing was the sound issuing from what I knew to be my mouth but yet seemed something far removed. Heavens! - was such a sound ever before heard on this earth? Certainly not English, and I doubt any mortal language, it was an interwoven tapestry of the most joyous chatter and ululation, echoing off the narrow catacomb walls in the same sun-doppled pattern that played in my head. It electrified the guards as well who apparently found it entirely out of keeping with the gravity of the situation. *laugh* So they jerked me higher and began shouting "Shut up! Shut up!" which only made matters worse. For when my sound went to the same "frequency" of what should have been pain, all the angels in heaven burst into chorus as well, opening a doorway into a perfect sound-scape or brightly lit soundstage in the center of my brain. There I first experienced Shiva's counsel to "Bathe in the centre of they sound" from the Vigyan Bhairau Tantra. Oh, and bathe I did and became swallowed by God's dazzling and eternal resonance. Listen, for God comes:

"If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the Mighty One - I am become Death, the destroyer of Worlds."

Truly, I have become glorious destroyed, God-annihilated. Touch me - do I exist to you?! Best think quick, for a flick of the eye and I flit like a shy thrush into the Sambhavi thickets.

I also noticed in that soundstage that time didn't exist, or was sliced so thinly that past and future were transparent. Therefore I couldn't suffer in remembrance of torture past or anticipation of torture to come. The present moment just scrolled along in a singing universe of it’s own, with me riding atop like a cosmic surfer.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted by being thrown down and the guards landing on top in a nice wrestling move. Then they pulled me up by the cuffs to repeat the maneuver. *laugh* But they needn't have bothered, for the Gift had already been passed. Frankly, I wanted nothing so much as to kiss my torturer's hands and implore them to replay the entire incredible process over from the start. What transcendence! But, alas, though I felt vivified, my playmates were out of breath and looked spent. So it was time to button things up. Taking the cuffs off, they checked me over. One said, "We're going to have to justify this," which meant they'd left marks. (Amazingly, there were, among other things, perfect fingerprint bruises on my arms from the long ride over, and I couldn’t feel my thumbs for over a month.) The guards left and I closed my eyes. Then I felt a blood pressure cuff and heard a nurse's voice, "This is terrible." When they left, guards started screwing with me again, on and off, over the course of the night, dumping water on me and then making me wring it up with my sock, etc. This incident is what led to the lengthy offset at my next parole hearing.

As I've said earlier, however, it was all to the greatest good, for now I'm always "bathing in the center of the sound," and over time have become well-marinated. The raw cucumber has become a firm Tantric pickle, as irreversible a process as losing your virginity. Like first sex, it had its fumbling beginnings but was soon to hit its stride, and ripen into the impassioned frenzy of fresh love. And of course, with Tantra love always keeps its fresh juicy snap. (which do you prefer: sweet, hot, or garlic?) This also applies to those on the solitary path, for one becomes the embodiment of Ardhanarishvara, half-man, half-woman, with kechari being the repeated painless popping and penetration of your own cherry. We all carry Shakti and Shiva within, so Yogani uses the language of love, the only way in which true, deepest Tantra can be taught. So please enjoy yourself (-hell yes!)

This incident also scorched a strong path to ecstasy through me, actually several paths - a veritable treasure map! - to a multiple - faceted Gift. It's a smorgasbord of tasty delights: AYP methods, shaking methods and hand/arm mudras/hastas that have come "out of the blue", and the wild reaction to asanas that stretch my arms and shoulders toward the same position as I was carried - wow! It can become the Full Monty: Rudra howling in my ears, the light, the speaking, the electricity. I don't sense myself breathing, but my tummy can start popping madly in and out like the driver in a subwoofer, indeed "driving" vibrational pulses through me.

But I'm such a silly, undisciplined child that the intensity can easily go beyond sustainable limits. I can stop an orgasm but I can't yet stop this once the pressure and electrical charge start to ramp quickly up. I go rigid, a wail starts to escape me, and then -crack!- a thunderhead throws a convulsive bolt through me. I take a moment to recover, wipe away the tears and drool and start again. *laugh* All very improper. And of course, every experience is different, especially through different methods. A number of asanas cause this, but I definitely find the "thunderbolt pose" variation where the toes are grasped to be aptly named.

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215 Posts

Posted - Oct 14 2010 :  4:39:07 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply

Hopefully this is the last vignette concerning prison for a while, at least while I’m alone. It’s too much like face-planting into a pile of iridescent dog-poop… enough to make the most experienced yogi’s mind (and stomach) jump.

Before I finished the last posting, guards had hunted down my young autistic cellmate in the chow hall and hauled him off to seg. When I got back to the cellblock, other guards were searching our cell in detail, even paperwork, obviously looking for something (or perhaps anything, in retrospect.) Thinking of my cellmate, I said, “He’s an innocent, be gentle with him.” “Innocent!” one shouted, not noticing my inclusion of the article “an”.

Finally they stuffed me back into the disarray and slammed the door. I was standing there stunned when the door crashed back open, and I instinctually crouched. A guard was there with a camera; others stood behind him. He chuckled and said “Relax Roy, we’re not here for you.” Then he strode into the cell, went to the electrical outlet on my cellmates side, and took a close-up photo.

In an action that would have been foolhardy for anyone other than a lifer known as a harmless village idiot (seniority carries its prerogatives; idiocy accords invisibility), I stepped forward for my own look and saw tiny ink or scorch marks in the insertion holes. They could have been there for years with no on previously noticing.

Acting like I owned the place (as usual), I protested: “No way Sir, I’ve been with this kid the whole time; he didn’t do that! If you have to put it on someone, put it on me!” But another guard responded, “It was in his possession” (his side of the cell), in a way that foreclosed further discussion.

I was trying to keep the kid from becoming embittered. See, in the past every time I had been charged with something ridiculous like that I went through a period of intentionally destroying things just to regain some sense of control over my life. It really brings home the lesson that if you don’t watch yourself you can become as you are treated.

But back to the kid. I knew the real game: they were stacking up the bogus charges to force him to plead guilty to whatever they really wanted. I long ago stopped reading my charge papers, or really most anything from the DOC; it’s just too corrupting and corroding to the soul. Better to just lay back silently on that seg bunk. Still, it’s unfortunate that pursuing the truth with the truth isn’t good enough. Instead, it is often the pursuit of a questionable end by any means, and the purely adversarial process causes both sides to distort and discard truth. I guess it’s understandable in an imperfect world, and at least the advent of restorative justice is a step in the right direction. For me, it’s just another good reason to remain above the fray.

When the doors opened again later, I asked for some way to clean the mark off the outlet and was denied, leaving the trap for the next unsuspecting inmate (who are called “offenders” here, but the way). In this and similar ways a good flow of “justice” can be meted out and everyone can play their assigned roles properly. *laugh*

Going to chow I ran into my ex-cellmate’s psychologist (at least he had one) and asked if he was okay. She spun on me in fury and said, “You are not to get involved in another offenders treatment!” Wow. Treatment? *laugh* Pretty impressive ferocity too. See why I crave hearing a humane voice now and then? Anyway, I wanted to contact his family through their band website but had no way of doing so, so did my best to forget.

Then, after a year’s silence, a dear friend in the system finally answered my letters. As I feared, he’d done something: opened his abdomen through the muscle wall like a samurai performing seppuku. He said he felt nothing, but I knew he’d felt a tremendous release from emotional pain. Among his reasons was a terrible loneliness, which I understand well. The outcome was over a year in seg, the state’s expression of thanks for being inconvenienced, and their idea of the best creative therapy for a person I know to have a Beautiful Mind.

Reading the letter, my spirit folded it’s wings against a growing chill wind. God, I wanted to rush to him, hug him tightly to life, even selfishly, for two crumpled souls together might fly where each alone could not. And standing together, braced 4-legged against the gale, we might endure where a 2 legged creature could not.

Sorry for the excessive emotion of that moment, but I’d also just learned that I’m blocked from anything other then the most menial, poor paying jobs; and can’t request any prison services, including medical, except through a “team meeting” that happens every 6 weeks. I’ve never heard of that being done to an inmate before. All this comes from the head of psych services, who believes she can punish the neurological problems out of me. I’ve asked that these show trials be cancelled, since they are meant only to slap my requests down. There is no reasoning with people who don’t see you as human, so I plan to remain silent in any event.

And then a wonderful friend I’d just “met” after a very long search suddenly stopped answering my calls right after I asked her to look up a couple of yoga terms. Although her son tried to reassure me that she had merely dropped her phone in the bathtub and the problem was no in me, all the negative influences caused me to conclude I wasn’t worthy of anyone to call, so faced an endless loneliness of the same nature as my friend.

I collapsed into bed and wondered why I had this crippling need to hear a nurturing voice once in a while. Is it a personality disorder? It’s terrible in a life like this: never the birdsong of children, never a lover’s cooing, never the giggled non-criminal conversation between friends. Ever and always, only prison. Is it unreasonable to crave even phone proximity to human warmth?

When I started fantasizing about how I might get near my friend, I knew I had to snap the mood. I got down on the floor and a fountain of ecstasy rose up. Music was playing, Sarah McLauchlin singing, “In the arms of angels, may you find some comfort there.” I tingled in surprise for a while, but knew that access to ecstasy is not the problem for me. No, it is something else, some essential element in a warm human voice itself that I craved, but what? Then it dawned on me – it was the nurturing I experienced, remembered, or at least recognized as a child. Now I’m desperately trying to fill that love-shaped hole in me, trying to record loving voices into that blank spot in my memory banks where parents’ voices should have been.

Okay, so I am that autistic butterfly who, upon finally unfolding his wings, finds them misshapen from the chrysalis in which he developed. Others may think it a minor flaw to require the milk of human kindness, but when you have no such life-bearing vessel to press to your lips (or ear) you experience it as an existential crisis. Well, my ear has briefly tasted the spiritual love it craves directly from within this community, and won’t, can’t rest until a perpetual wellspring is found. I know the right person exists and that technology is swiftly making it easier to set up free and anonymous phone lines, perhaps even internationally. I can’t afford to call very often anyway, so will only be a blessing, not a burden, to you. I don’t know, am I adequately expressing my desperation here?

I know I have been my own worst enemy with my wild writing, but you won’t hear any of that in conversation. No, then the focus will be on a deeper penetration of Yogani’s teachings and people’s experience of them. And it matters not whether you are raw beginner or ripened expert, whatever your gender, orientation, religion, race, age, health, species, or whether you have broken your vows a thousand times, come, come, fond lover and let us enjoy exploring the Inner Temple together.


P.S> I’ve just heard of 3 more phone options and am trying to get information.
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215 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  12:39:32 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Prison Starfish

Anyone remember me? Perhaps its best you don't. Anyway, I re-emerge briefly to paint a charming little Christmas prison scene, "Snowfall Glinting on Razor Wire." This vignette runs as follows:

I have a close friend doing a long stretch in segregation over a drug charge. He suffers greatly from arthritis, so I forgive his possible desire to augment meagre prison care. (I can't even get the brain surgery we all clearly see I need! *laugh*) Seriously though, to make matters worse, some very bad people are after him now too, over the loss of product etc., and they brook no excuses, making his life hell even back in seg. I happen to know that his partially estranged parents are finally flying in for a visit, and there he sits, unable to give even a hug of gratitiude. I know his heart, and deeply feel his suffering. To others, the waves have closed over his head and he is gone. But I refuse to turn away and forget. I've written him my love and support. I've chastized many for their abandonment. I've convinced many to also write him in this dark hour. And whether you consider it idiocy or an outcome of Yogani's teaching to "turn love outward," I'm throwing myself into the melting love furnace with the following message to my friend, and a similar one to seg staff:

"Mark, today I'm requesting to take your place in seg for the holidays (and beyond, for what is it but a welcome opportunity to express love). Though it is true that this request will not stand up in a court of law, nor in the minds of most men, perhaps something bright will germinate in a heart somewhere, sometime, and what more can we ask? And if only laughter results, well, 'tis the season to be merry, and I don't care if it is at my expense.

This is the nature of my path. Mark, thick, rich, and warm within me. I welcome you onto it, but in the mean time would in all sincerity take you place back there."

So you see that despite it's hopeless elements I am doing all I can. Even a small gesture of love can warm a cold prison cell. But in my view, empathy without actual physical action is meaningless, mere self-congratulatory back-slapping. Praying serves on the prayer, not the prayee. Ya gotta get your hands dirty or it's all just empty words!

If you sensed frustration there, please forgive me. It comes from years of lonely struggle to get an Eastern tradition study group of any type established in this prison. Without it we cannot share books or even meet each other. *sigh* VBery disappointing, and it comes from a lack of civilian assistance. This is understandable, for I am a flawed messenger, but even if it seems impractical to stopp for a single soiled starfish, consider that I lie with a multitude on this beach, all stranded far from external humanizing influences. But tantra causes melting love to develop from the inside out, even in prison. So let us drench the entire beach with it. Let us paint with broad brush strokes and change many lives. Let's get wholesomely dirty together!

I can do most of the work, although having a devotee "devote" a little time within the walls would be helpful towards the development of a self-autonomous group. Otherwise I will try to begin teaching AYP practices in the chemical and sex therapy programs. Toward this end it would be helpful to have AYP group instruction materials and/or overstock or previous editions of AYP or other tantra books. Unfortunately, books must be new and come from a bookseller. We do not have Internet or audio access.

Well, these were the latest rushed words from a perennial beggar. I want to share the healing wonders of tantra, but need help. I would also like occasional phone help to ask a quick question in the website. I would prefer us to be mutually anonymous to one another, but will play it as you see fit. All I seek is the spiritual. All within it is possible, but first must come the desire. Or even curiosity....

Love from the Hinterlands
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5192 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  1:31:03 PM  Show Profile  Visit yogani's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Hi Anandatandava:

You are never forgotten, and your contributions here in the forum are much appreciated.

I would like to donate a complete set of the AYP books to help you with your sharing project. There are 12 titles in all (see list below).

Would also like to add several extra copies of the small Deep Meditation book, which is the best book for beginners to get started with a daily sitting practice. All the rest flows naturally from that.

All I need is a shipping address for UPS. The books would come directly from the printer here:
I hope that would be acceptable for receiving at the facility. UPS also needs a phone number in the receiving room, in case they need to call ahead.

Have someone email me with those details, and it will be done.

If you have any suggestions on how this should be handled to assure a successful delivery, let me know.

Looking forward to hearing back so we can get this in the works.

Wishing you all the best!

The guru is in you.

Here is a list of the books I would like to send:

Advanced Yoga Practices - Easy Lessons for Ecstatic Living

Advanced Yoga Practices - Easy Lessons for Ecstatic Living, Volume 2

The Secrets of Wilder - A Story of Inner Silence, Ecstasy and Enlightenment (a novel)

Deep Meditation - Pathway to Personal Freedom (5 of these)

Spinal Breathing Pranayama - Journey to Inner Space

Tantra - Discovering the Power of Pre-Orgasmic Sex

Asanas, Mudras and Bandhas - Awakening Ecstatic Kundalini

Samyama - Cultivating Stillness in Action, Siddhis and Miracles

Diet, Shatkarmas and Amaroli - Yogic Nutrition & Cleansing for Health and Spirit

Self-Inquiry - Dawn of the Witness and the End of Suffering

Bhakti and Karma Yoga - The Science of Devotion and Liberation Through Action

Eight Limbs of Yoga - The Structure and Pacing of Self-Directed Spiritual Practice

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3189 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  1:38:02 PM  Show Profile  Visit CarsonZi's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Hi Yogani

I am in contact with Anandatandava (I'm the one posting for him) and I will print out your above post and mail it to him today. It usually takes about a month for my mail to get to him/his response to get back to me, so it may be a little bit before I can give you a phone number (I have the address already) but I will be in touch as soon as I have the necessary info to ship him the books. I'm sure I can speak for Anandatandava in expressing much gratitude for your beautiful and generous offering.

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5192 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  1:41:16 PM  Show Profile  Visit yogani's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Thanks much, Carson.

We could probably ship without a phone number, but it is better to have it. Also, there may be a problem with receiving so many books in one box. Maybe doing it in smaller pieces would better. Let me know.

I updated the above post, so if you printed it already, better print it again.

The guru is in you.

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3189 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  1:52:18 PM  Show Profile  Visit CarsonZi's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Will let you know exactly how is best to ship these books as soon as I hear back from Anandatandava. Thanks again for your generosity!

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4854 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  2:13:10 PM  Show Profile  Visit Shanti's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Originally posted by anandatandava

Anyone remember me?

Funny, I was thinking about you a few days back and wondered if you got tired of writing to us.

Good to hear from you again.

Thanks for your contributions.

Thanks Carson for posting them here and Thanks Yogani for your kindness. _/\_
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3189 Posts

Posted - Jan 11 2011 :  3:19:49 PM  Show Profile  Visit CarsonZi's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Hi Shanti

Anandatandava said in his most recent (personal) letter to me, that he had taken some time off of writing (which is essentially habitual for him due to his hydrocephalus) because he had learned something about frontal-lobe disorders and it had helped him to control his need to write somewhat. Said he figured he should "shut his yap" for a bit.

He's doing well though, despite (because of? ) his silence and he seems to be in good spirits. I will tell him you were thinking of him.

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215 Posts

Posted - Feb 05 2011 :  5:16:36 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
"I should mention that circumstance played the largest role in silencing me. Mostly, I ran out of money to air-mail my postings to Carson. But for the time at least I can "speak" through the life-saving fingers of Barb, the wife of Tim, (my closest friend in here) he also is gifted with Aspergers. So she's very familiar with the laser-beam focus (tunnel vision) and unquenchable thirst for information of "aspies". She even read all my writing in without blinking, and now expresses an interest in using yoga to address her own anxiety disorders. How perfect! For I know from direct experience how causes of that order can convert to incredible blessings through Tantra. But you must have the best teachers to properly tune taut-strung nerves, and Yogani is exactly that. I did not have him in the beginning so although my ecstasy is intense, it is reckless and incomplete. I am overjoyed at what I have, and do seem to be slowly improving, but I'm so hooked on experience I wonder if I'll reach the level of spiritual ripeness Yogani hints at. I also remain stuck in the belief that I need to hear a practitioner's voice to break through my internal barriers. I also finally learned the full ramifications of the frontal lobe syndromes that come from my form of hydrocephalus. Turns out I'm no where near enlightened and idiotic! "ha ha" So Barb, perhaps it is up to you to become that practitioner. I believe that with your sensitivities and Yogani as your guide, you will progress quickly on the path and perhaps become the voice I need. But then you already are, just in other ways.
Ah! My new Yogani book just arrived, flown in swiftly on the wings of love. Now there's a voice anyone can use! Thank you so much!"
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215 Posts

Posted - Feb 11 2011 :  07:14:34 AM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
I''m a classic esprit de l'scalier ("wit of the staircase upon leaving the party"), I realized I should have said... I'm not enlightened I'm inebriated on fermented brain mash! hiccup!
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215 Posts

Posted - Mar 08 2011 :  1:44:33 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
*'m Your B*tch!

Talk about la vida loca, here's a capper. As you know, I drive the staff nuts with this "love turned outward" thing. Compassionate acts are against the rules here, mostly out of concern over the victimization of vulnerable inmates. But they don't want to punish me; the resident love-addled mystic, so my cell door is often watched on camera from 300 yards away and locked electronically when things seem far out of control.
Things finally reached a point where a female guard sat me down and said: "I want you to start telling people I'm not your b*tch! when they ask a favor." That advice was soon reconsidered and they told me to just practice repeating it to myself silently, like a inner mantra. Recognizing the humor in this, they now trot me out, especially in front of guards who haven't yet heard it and ask if I've been practicing what I was told. They then prod me to repeat it out loud, with feeling! Now keep in mind that although the whole thing is clearly staged, I'm having to say this at guards, including those who aren't expecting it, so my mind is doing flip-flops. But then everyone yucks it up and all is well. And I walk away thinking that being everyone's b*tch isn't such a bad thing after all.
For playing along good-naturedly with others' humor, even at my own expense, brings a lot of goodwill to me, and even those silent, secret smiles that sometimes appear at my cell door. Course, they also look in to watch what "strange" automatic yoga I'm doing in ecstasy; and then when I catch 'em what else can they do but smile? It's all good.
As to whether I actually am vulnerable is impossible to determine. Compassion happens by reflex, with no time to reflect. All I know is that I don't walk around with a feeling of fear or obligation, and have learned that pouring a steady stream of love-libations into humanity's ocean inevitably lifts my own ship as well. After all, when you become a glowing ecstatic candle, the melting love that drips from you flows not into the gutter, but into others' hearts. In this way, one candle lights another, and Yogani is out thousand-fold menorah.
The potential to light and be lit is in all of us, and eventually emerges as Yogani's dream: a sea a festival of waving divine lights. Darkness can be lifted in the strangest places. For proof, go to my Facebook page (Roy ErikWahlberg)and Google to your heart's desire. Keep in mind that no man lives up to his legends, and history is written by the victors. Well, I've opened a new chapter in my life that cannot be stained by anything in this temporal realm.
Oh, many of you know what I am like in my heart of hearts, so any help in portraying myself accurately in the unfamiliar territory of Facebook would be greatly appreciated, especially since I can't see the interface, at least in real-time. And if you have exotic tastes, you might consider friending me. Ecstatic lifers are hard to find.
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215 Posts

Posted - Jun 08 2011 :  1:51:50 PM  Show Profile  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply

Ah! My ability to speak reopens somewhat. What a battle for satsang, but I never give up. My apologies to those who have been trying to contact me, but my link to the Web is still very tenuous.

I have momentous news! Thanks to AYP influences, I now speak as a freshly-minted GED tutor, a stepping-stone to much more. All the personal encouragement and internal changes brought on by AYP practices finally convinced me that I am a human being, not my brain damage, or past, or the way I write. I burst awake, cut my hair short, got the job, was moved to the “good” side of the prison, and already have a computer job waiting for me on the streets.

Everything just fell into place so swiftly and miraculously. I wonder if someone’s been slipping some samyama enchantment on me! I no longer feel like a child, and everyone interacts with me far differently, inmates and staff alike. Everyone is so happy for me. Gosh, to think that this was in me all along, and just needed the water and sunlight of tantra to flower. ‘Course, I won’t forget that I just survived over a year by the support of other inmates. Apparently, even in prison, one can live by grace and love alone. Think of what that says about these men, that they would care for a child wandering in their midst. Guards too. So much tolerance. Love and harmlessness have indeed been my shield.

Anyway, on my job, I was originally slated to work mostly on records management, but my duties were changed when they noticed my unusually good rapport with students. (Once again, love rules the day!) A video of the classroom was being taken the other day. As usual, I was kneeling between two students, helping each in turn work out math problems. Glancing up, I noticed that the camera was locked on our little animated group. Yes, apparently I can infect even math with excitement and triumphant noise, but what they don’t know is that I’m still just amazed to get the right answer!

I thought for a moment of what the camera saw. Learning made fun? One inmate kneeling to serve others? Whatever the interpretation, it seemed to be what they hoped to capture, but I knew it was the effects and expression of yoga they were witnessing. I thought of Yogani’s advice to turn love outwards. Gosh, it’s so effortless and pleasurable! And to think I’m getting paid a quarter an hour to do it; I’m on the fast track to success!

People in AYP believed in me even when I couldn’t. The very fact that they chose to see through all the wildness of my existence to perceive the loving soul within speaks to the power of the traditions taught here. My deepest gratitude.

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5192 Posts

Posted - Jun 08 2011 :  5:04:40 PM  Show Profile  Visit yogani's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Hi Anandatandava:

So happy to hear of these wonderful developments in your life.

The journey continues!

The guru is in you.

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56 Posts

Posted - Jun 09 2011 :  1:34:27 PM  Show Profile  Visit WoodDragon's Homepage  Reply with Quote  Get a Link to this Reply
Roy, we are all worthy of Love, we are all worthy of this gift.

A wild cacophonous life can be the perfect guide to the pain life is and how to be free of this misery. Our experiences can teach us if we are free of our attachments enough to learn from them. I have often found that it is true that those with the hardest lives can reach the greatest heights more swiftly, being purified by the desire to be free of the trauma.

Peace, Bliss and Joy to you!
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