True Tales

As the kirtan resumes after the Ardas and Hukum at the Golden Temple this morning (which I watch on television in my bedroom in Bangalore), I notice one of the sevadars handing out Prasad to those sitting behind the ragis. In all the times I have had my television tuned to this early morning tradition, this is the first time I ever remember seeing Prasad being distributed.

As the camera focuses on the section where the ragis sit, I see the tall, lean back of the sevadar, and the movement of his back and upper arm as he reaches with his right hand into the dull, well used steel bowl which is carefully balanced on his left arm. Each movement recalls the grace of a ballet dancer, a rhythm with each serving of Prasad that he delivers into the waiting hands of the faithful. I cannot see the bowl, or the people being served, or his hands giving, or theirs receiving.

With each movement of his arm, the vivid smell, texture and taste of the Prasad stimulates my memory, imagination, longing or all of it. I know that the Prasad is very soft and very hot and fresh, and perhaps some ghee might even be separated from the rest of the Prasad which would smart with a light burning feeling each time he dips his fingers in this sweet, blessed mixture. I could further imagine the texture, which is very soft and smooth. 

As I continue to watch, I begin to taste the Prasad. I slowly allow the taste to penetrate each taste bud and the sweetness and blessing washes over me in a way I don’t think has ever happened, even when I was physically present to receive it. This is the most conscious I ever have been of accepting the blessing of this sweet mixture, and suddenly all imagination and memory is replaced by a longing for a taste of that blessed Prasad, which has blessed so much of my life.

The light in Amritsar comes early in the morning in July and this morning the day is breaking with a beautifully defined, thickly clouded sky, all in a golden glow, and streaked with the pink of an unseen sun. The reflection of the sky gives a golden glow to the water in the Sarovar.

The sweetness of the Prasad is equally matched by the sweetness of this morning’s kirtan.  The devoted and faithful walk confidently with short sleeved cotton clothes and bodies relaxed, not having to fend off the damp, cold of the winter mornings. There are many people and many sitting around the tank on the Parkarma. The expanse of the Sarovar offers a cool respite to the hot, close quarters of homes in the nearby surrounding area and allows the devotees to be able to fully enjoy the Amrit Vela.

My longing becomes coupled with gratitude – gratitude for the times spent in the Golden Temple and gratitude to be able to call up the memories evoked by seeing it this morning. Surprisingly, but maybe not, my longing becomes stronger, and I know that until I once again touch my head on the cold marble of the parkarma and to the entry way into the Golden Temple itself, and kneel on the red carpet and bow to my Guru, my gratitude for what has been and the blessings that I have received will have to sustain me.

 (Written in the Amrit Vela, Tuesday, July 10 in Bangalore India)

It was 1974. Guruka Kaur and I had recently arrived in Columbus Ohio from Brooklyn, New York to serve as the ashram directors here. The ashram was a beautiful old Victorian house near the OSU campus. It had solid copper gutters and a slate roof. There were still gas lines in the walls from the original gas lighting fixtures and bits of coal dust residue still seeped out under the baseboards left there from years of heating the house with a coal furnace. The large living room on the first floor was our sadhana room and beautiful Gurdwara. Guruganesha Singh (now from Herndon) had visited recently and had taken it upon himself to paint the red brick facade of the house gold on the bottom half and white on the top half to resemble the Golden Temple.

The phone rang in the middle of the night. I looked at the clock and it was about 1 AM.  I thought, “Who would call this late? It must be Yogi Ji.” I answered the phone, “Sat Nam!” It was Lehri Singh calling from Washington D.C. He said, “Bhai Sahib Dyal Singh was just killed in an automobile accident. It happened in Indiana. Gurubandha Singh was driving Bhai Sahib cross country from California to New York where he was scheduled to take a plane to India to go to the Golden Temple. The car went off the road. Bhai Sahib was lying down asleep in the back seat and he was ejected from the window, struck a tree and his neck was broken instantly. We need five ministers for the funeral ceremony, can you come?” “When?” I asked. “Right now.”

Guruka Kaur and I rose up, showered and started the drive west, chanting our morning sadhana together in the car as we drove. It took several hours to arrive in the small Indiana town where the ceremony was to take place. We met with Lehri and the others in a motel room. Bhai Sahib’s body was already at the funeral home. “Okay, what do we need to do?” I asked. “We need to wash Bhai Sahib’s body and clean it with yoghurt. Could you go get some yoghurt and bring it back here? Then we’ll go over to the funeral home for the ceremony.” I headed off in the early morning light to look for yoghurt.  We were in a small town. I went from store to store only to discover that no one had even heard of “plain” yoghurt. The little cups of strawberry and blueberry yoghurt were just beginning to make their way into the stores. I found a pay phone and called the hotel telling Lehri the story. Although I could imagine seeing Bhai Sahib covered in blueberry yoghurt, this was clearly not what we were supposed to do. “Can you find any buttermilk?” Lehri asked. Sure enough I found that… the odd kind that had little yellow flecks of some unidentified substance all through it. But it was the best we could do under the circumstances and I headed back to the hotel with a quart carton in hand.

Lehri scrounged around in his car and found a quart glass juice bottle. He soaked it in hot water in the sink and painstakingly scraped off the label and then poured the buttermilk into the bottle and screwed the cap back on. Wrapping the bottle in a white hotel towel we headed off to the funeral home. “When we get there, let me do the talking” Lehri said.

At the funeral home, Lehri explained to the undertaker with great solemnity that we were ministers and that we were going to perform the Sikh funeral rites on Bhai Sahib’s body. Showing the bottle in the towel to the undertaker, he said, “as part of the ritual we need to wash the body with this special sacred lotion.” “Ah… looks like buttermilk to me” said the undertaker.

Bhai Sahib’s body was on a stainless steel gurney in a back room. We lovingly washed the body with a washcloth and then washed and rinsed his beautiful black hair. We dressed him in his five K’s and prepared to recite the banis.

At 29, I had never seen a dead body before. And looking at the body of my beloved brother, so young and beautiful, I had but a single thought. “Bhai Sahib’s not here. This is an empty shell… the house where he used to live.  It’s not Bhai Sahib.”

We begin to read the banis together and as a panj, when one of us faltered in our reading, someone else’s voice filled in the gaps. As I read, slowly and haltingly, I was suddenly flooded with gratitude to this young boy whose body lay before us on the gurney. His spirit, his enthusiasm, his unswerving devotion and patience had brought all of us to recite the Guru’s words for the first time. It was he who had encouraged us, taught us and shown us by his own example the power of the Gurbani.

Then I heard Bhai Sahib chuckle. The sound came clearly and distinctly from the ceiling in the corner of the room.  I looked up and there was Bhai Sahib Ji smiling. He said, “Your pronunciation is getting better. Keep up” and then, in a flash, he was gone. My heart smiled.

Later on I remember Yogi Bhajan saying, with tears rolling down his cheeks, that God had picked the most beautiful flower from his garden.  He also said that when the car went off the road, Bhai Sahib was not in his body.  He told us that he was already at the Golden Temple with all the Gurus and in complete bliss, and I realized that he had come back just to encourage us one last time.

Please note that if you have any problem viewing these photos try using a different browser. It seems to display better (at least for me) using firefox/mozilla, than with IE.

 Peace Prayer Day started with an outstanding Bhangara performance by the Izzat da Punjab troupe. They made it look so easy and soooo fun. I took Ravi Kaur’s bhangara class on the last Friday of solstice. Let it suffice to say that I will stick to watching. I am so much better at rocking out!!
 

Above are tantric warm ups.  Below a shot of the tantric shelter, which is  now twice its original size. The first day of tantric there were 1340  participants, completely filling the tantric shelter (squeezed together). It looks like we will have to add another extension. I’m not quite sure what we will do with continued expansion and suppose  we will have to start expanding  the shelter’s width as well?

This is my daughter Sat Amrit and her partner for the day, Hargobind.

Walking around during the lunch break on the second day of tantric, I was overwhelmed by the beauty and peace of those napping. I took so many pictures of sleeping people, most of whom I do not even know. Here are some of my favorites.

The final day of tantric included the Blind Walk. After the last exercise there was a brief thunder shower and the sky was full of brilliant sunlight contrasting with heavy dark clouds ready to burst. During the walk, it did rain for a few minutes, even though it was completely sunny. Looking out across the healing circle area, a vast rainbow stretched across the sky, completely visible from end to end. By the time I located a piece of it in my camera’s viewer, it had nearly faded away. I kind of went crazy taking photos of the blind walk too. I hope you enjoy these pics. It was just about the most unorthodox blind walk I’d ever seen… One line had at least 20 people in it (supposed to be 11). Another line, toward the end of the hour, rather than walking stood in a fully connected circle facing each other, and in the most angelic and harmonizing voices chanted Wahe Guru in unison. They are toward the end of the blind walk photos. So much light!!!!

The blind walk came to an end, and all the lines (with 11 people in a line, there were probably around 80 or more lines) assembled outside the tantric shelter. Within a few minutes, we were all back on our mats, ready to listen to the Siri Singh Sahib’s last words for the course. Then… the dancing began. This was around 7 pm, and it continued for almost 4 hours.

That’s Hari Karm Kaur and me just above, and on the right are Mahani and her quite happy and precious little daughter.

During the walk, watermelon was served (as it was nearly all the time, except during tantric exercises). I think I ate close to a watermelon a day. It never tastes as good as it does at Summer Solstice! I imagine that with a total of 1600 people at the site, we went through 4-5 tons of watermelon. I would be interested to know the actual number! Here is Siri Vishnu Singh enjoying his melon. 

These pics are post-blind walk, and then the after tantric dancing.

 Kewal Kaur and Bhagwant Singh from L.A. (along with their two friends) hands down had the best and most popular booth in the tantric bazaar (at least in my book!). Selling all organic and all raw amazingly prana-filled and delicious salads, treats, hemp iced smoothies, green coconuts…. Mmmm. The bazaar and Yogi Tea cafe were alive and vibrant every night after tantric. A festive and heart-centered atmosphere permeated everywhere.

There are so many things I did not take pics of, but I hope that you enjoy all these. Please feel free to add your comments about solstice, and also if you had an experience you would like to share, email it to me and we will love to get these posted.

 love and light to all

svk

On the way to Summer Solstice 1973, my German travel partner and I stopped in New Mexico at Spence Hot Springs, a hillside dotted with pools of hot mineral water. I thought we were the only ones there in the wild Jemez mountain forest until I heard voices. It was like finding Waldo – the way we all blended in with the vegetation and rocks.

I was so excited to be back at Solstice. As I walked the dirt road from the tent city to the Tantric area, I saw Pangat, a member of my home ashram in Phoenix. She ran up and cheerfully greeted me. She then quickly threw clothes over my hot-pink-bikini clad body, explaining that things had changed since 1970. However, I was determined not to give in to her fear tactics, and persisted in wearing my pink bikini, until I was so sunburned (we had no shelter for Tantric back then) that I turned hot pink, and had to throw clothes on myself!

It was difficult being silent after not seeing everyone for so long.

I took the plunge into the icy stream in the morning before sadhana with a few other crazy polar bears, in lieu of the showers, which were cold water anyway. We weren’t allowed to bathe naked, which I thought was ridiculous.

One morning Black Krishna led sadhana and had us do stretch pose for 7 minutes!  I kept up the whole time – I will never forget that – first hating her for the challenge, then loving her for it.

At the end of solstice, I remember the Phoenix bus filling up, as it sat in the tent city, and Kevin Smart/Surya Singh, whom I had known in 1970, hurrying about like a hummingbird, helping others get their things loaded.     

It was good to be home.

Hari Bhajan Kaur and I each have written a lot of stories and poems from our experiences on this spiritual journey called life. We’ve shared some of our favorites with you here, as have other "True Talers" and contributors. Our hope in creating this blog was that others (like you!) would be inspired to share their stories too. We’ve had some great contributions and comments so far, some from people we haven’t seen or heard from in many years. This is so great!!

We really do hope that more of you will share whatever tidbits and tales you can muster up and write down. Maybe there’s a photo posted with one of the stories here that jogs your memory about a similar event? A funny or touching remembrance of the Siri Singh Sahib? Or, even from the present day, an experience or lesson learned that others can enjoy or also learn from.

I could very easily post more of my stories, and over time I probably will… but my hope really is that this blog will be a place for a great many to share their tales, tears, triumphs, and stories of their journey, and not the mere stumblings and fading memories of a few.

Anyway…. I suppose I can include at least a very short story…. This short piece is the result of a timed writing exercise with the prompt "clock". It takes place some time in late 1971 or early 1972.

31 Minutes

It’s 4:00 AM and Danny is sleeping, but I got up early today so I can try the meditation that Yogiji gave last night, Tattwa Siddhi Kriya. I set myself down on the linoleum floor of our little apartment under his parents’ house. It’s cold and damp and I snuggle under my blanket. I set the little brass alarm clock to go off in 32 minutes, giving myself a minute to get in posture and begin the meditation. Inhaling deeply, I begin to chant, “Pritvee Hai, Akaash Hai, Guru Ram Das Hai” (Earth is, Ether is, Guru Ram Das is), applying the locks, meditating on Guru Ram Das in a figure 8 pattern above my crown chakra and projecting to the heavens. I easily slip into the rhythm of the mantra and am absorbed in the sound current.

It must be 31 minutes by now. My senses tell me that the sun is beginning to peek through the window, birds are singing, Danny has stopped snoring… I inhale, exhale and open my eyes. Looking down, I see the clock, which says it’s now 6:30 AM.

One year, and only one year, 1972, Summer Solstice was held in California, in the northern forests of Mendocino County. Even though I had begun practicing Kundalini Yoga a year and a half earlier, this was my very first Summer Solstice. Here are a bunch of photos from then, along with some of my memories. I hope you enjoy!

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It was our third year of a father/son camping trip. Sat Sangeet was six years-old and we were venturing farther from home than the previous two trips which were in the Angeles Crest Forest, only a few miles from Los Angeles. This time we were going up north to the Sierra’s, to Tioga Pass, the highest paved passage over the Sierra’s at over 9000 feet. We loaded up our Toyota pick-up we had named “Ralph” (just where that name came from escapes me now) with our new 2-man domed tent, sleeping bags, cooking utensils, gas stove and food which included mung beans and rice, buckwheat pancake mix, Wha Guru Chews, and some of those not-so-yummy freeze dried dinners.

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I have many memories of the Phyllis house as well as its genesis. Shakti may have already told it all but here’s a bit from my end starting with what I know of Toronto to California. That part is culled from my memory of what YogiJi used to say when I met him in March of 1969 in Los Angeles. After his Toronto experience he was invited by Dr. Marwha to come for a weekend to Los Angeles. Once here he stayed. Next he was somehow invited by the ladies of the East/West Cultural Center where I believe he began to teach his first yoga classes. Again, Shakti would know best as she was there a bit before I was. At that point he had a tiny little studio apartment near the Center around Vermont, I think.

One day a bus load of hippies from New Mexico comprised of me and the Juke Savages: Lisa Law, Tom Law, Paul Ehrlich and Steve Samuels (who went on to open Banana Ananda Ashram in Marin), pulled up to take his class. Oh, we were a sight alright!

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Over the years of being in the presence of Yogi Bhajan I have seen his amazing facility with language and emotion to reflect the consciousness of whomever he is teaching at that moment. I remember being the object of his intense "fire" energy many years ago when my marriage was going through a difficult period and I just couldn’t get it through my thick skull that my husband needed me right then to come through for him. He minced no words (words I won’t repeat here) and made it very clear that I needed to wake up and act with compassion and commitment or there would be great loss for all concerned.

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Shakti Parwha Kaur Khalsa is one of the original “True Talers” going back to 2002 when we first started writing our stories. Known as the “mother of 3HO,” Shakti is also my very long time friend, neighbor, confidant, support, and constant inspiration for keeping up… I don’t think she has ever missed a day of sadhana since she first woke her neighbors at 4:00 in the morning with her powerful long Ek Ong Kars back in 1969.

I had the blessing of being one of her next door neighbors from about 1978-1985. Many a night she’d pop over with a bowl of popcorn or some freshly baked apple “soggy,” just to simply share in love.

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