Postcards from the Edge

It's nearly five o'clock and I'm sitting on my bed reading "Know About Astrology," my face, neck and chest covered in tiny beads of sweat. The power is out and the late afternoon twilight is rapidly fading away. I am considering whether I will attempt to cook dinner by candlelight or go out for some Indian food when the dark outline of a large mammal darts into my room.

Catching my breath, I tell myself it's a cat when I know it's not. I start screaming when I see its long hairy arm reach out to grab the last pieces of my suji toast from the plate on the table next to me.

I jump up on my bed and continue screaming while I frantically search for something to protect myself, but the beast is unfazed. It turns nonchalantly, waves its big red butt three times in my direction and smugly saunters out with my toast.

. . . . .

This morning, yesterday morning and the morning before that all began in much the same way.

My alarm goes off at 5:30am just before the first morning light. I stagger to the bathroom to pee when I notice a huge cockroach chilling out in the hallway. I grab a plastic flip-flop and prepare to murder it. Once the deed is done, I open the front door and sweep the carcass outside where the ants will congregate for their feast in a matter of minutes.

An hour later I am sitting on the floor in the basement of the main hall at Ved Niketan Ashram where Swamiji leads his morning meditation. Monsoon rains prompt all the little creatures of the world to take refuge and dark basements are prime real estate. Fat cockroaches scurry back and forth around me as I eyeball them nervously; I really want them to die.

But I am sitting in half-lotus, my hands folded in prayer and my thoughts supposedly on God and not on the murder of disgusting cockroaches. It would be unseemly for me to make a scene in the meditation hall. At least they don't bite, I tell myself again and again, stifling the scream at the back of my throat.

. . . . .

When I booked my train ticket for Chandigarh, I didn't stop to consider whether I had a good seat or a bad one because, well, any train ride is better than a bus. But as soon as I squeezed into my spot on a bench with three other Indians, I wished I had splurged on a better ticket. It wasn't long before several men had gathered nearby to get a closer look.

I sat, sweating and miserable and looking out the "window" (an opening with bars) for three hours trying to ignore the men who stood there studying my every move with expressionless faces. When my three-hour journey stretched to three and a half and then four hours, I found it inconceivable that they could still be hovering there. I cursed them under my breath, "don't you ever get tired of staring at me?"

Within minutes we had rolled into our final destination. Windblown and withered, I gathered my bags and prepared to exit the train. But 15 frantically pushing Indians blocked my way and before I knew it I was screaming "let me out!" at the top of my voice as I shoved my way through the glut of bodies.

For a moment I felt that old familiar twinge of panic, the kind I used to have in crowded supermarkets back in San Diego. I haven't had an actual panic attack in years, but if I don't get a break from the most populated place on earth soon, it won't be long before they're back.

. . . . .

I've been sweating for three days. Come to think of it, I've been sweating since April. Yesterday in a rash moment I took the scissors to my hair - for the third time this month - and snipped away, making it finally impossible for the left side of my hair to be pulled back into my trademark hairstyle. Is it the heat?

Was it mama who said the definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over, expecting a different result?

. . . . .

T-3 days until I'm in the cleanest, most organized airport in the world..let's hope I'm not bald before I get there.

more soon,

from somewhere in the grey area between spiritual life and mental insanity,

LMA

PS: The current surplus of writing is partly due to the fact that I've got a cold and I'm spending an inordinate amount of time in my bed, partly due to the procrastination of my packing duties and partly due to the likelihood that I will not be able to post anything of substance during the next five weeks..

It all came down to the computer or the guitar (GEE-tar), and considering that I'm going to live hippie-style from a VW bus for the next five weeks, the guitar (GEE-tar) was a no-brainer..