True Tales

The guests begin to arrive at 12:30 at the Unitarian Church wearing heavy coats and shaking snow from their boots. Looking for familiar faces they walk stiffly about then take a seat on gray folding chairs facing the diminutive stage where three sheepskins are framed by a pair of tall candles and two clear glass vases of long stemmed yellow roses. My family, Mom, Dad, all four sisters and brother Denny are there. Aunt Dodie and Anna, cousins Zip, Pat, Vince and Susie come from Portland. Hans’ family is there; parents Jackie and Al, sisters Cosima, Monica and Teresa.

My mother has sewn my wedding dress - floor length white satin with a traditional lace veil that cascades down my back. We argue about my hair. I want it up. She, down. I give in.  I carry a small bouquet of yellow roses in my hands. Hans wears a rented white dress jacket, white pants and full white turban with a green under-turban that swathes across his forehead. My face is red and hot and my pupils feel like they are at the extremes of my eye sockets. Hans keeps his cool, like he does with almost everything, his “I can handle this” nature definitely present today.

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I step out the front door to take a walk, my second one of the day. I never walk twice but something tells me to get out and drink in the last bit of daylight. I notice how happy I feel just breathing deep and swinging my arms. The winter light fades quickly and soon I head back. I want to be home before dark.

As I round the corner and approach my house I see two police cars with flashing lights. Then I notice the street is blocked off. I blink, look again, and realize there are actually twelve squad cars surrounding my house. Officers are in the street, on the sidewalk and in my driveway.

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This piece was first posted a couple weeks ago, but taken down for a little editing and to add PHOTOS! I found my box of old solstice photos and I have many from the 70s that are fabulous! Most of the photos here are from 1975. The campsite just below is from 1973. Do you have a solstice story you would like to share? We would love to hear your story too.

The summer of 1975 I attended Summer Solstice Sadhana without husband and with a child for the first time. There was some dispute, I don’t remember what; Danny did not want or was not able to attend. So, I packed up my one-year-old daughter, Sat Kartar Kaur, and drove out with some friends to the Jimez Mountains in New Mexico.

Sat Kartar and I camped in our little tent and I attended all the 8 (or was it 5?) days of Tantric while she was at child care. I was 22, a fairly inexperienced mom, and retrospectively I can see that I was also somewhat negligent, although I had no idea then this was the case. 

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March 1, 1971, 4:00 AM

I wake up to the sound of jingling bells and an unfamiliar voice gently saying, “Sat Nam, it’s time to wake up!” It takes me a few moments to remember where I am. I am lying on a hard wood floor, in my old cotton sleeping bag from so many childhood camping trips, my head resting on my bundled jacket. The soft murmur of footsteps vibrating through the floorboards rouses me further, as others, in the ashram known as “The Olive Branch,” rise to shower and get ready for sadhana.

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“There it is! There it is!”  Excited voices surround me. I look out the window of the plane and there below, shimmering gold reflecting in crystal clear blue waters, is the most exquisite jewel in the world – the Golden Temple of Amritsar. My eyes fill with tears.

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It’s your eyes that are with me, Babaji; those deep, fiery, dark and passion-filled, or depending on your mood; merry and dancing eyes, that bore through me and touched my soul when first we meet.  I am another shell-shocked refugee of the mighty 8.1 earthquake that rocked El Distrito Federal who end up on your doorstep. Sure we have room for her, put her in the closet, er… the room where Har Har sleeps.  El maestro has spoken…

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I wrote this on October 30, 2004 in Bologna, Italy the day before I facilitated White Tantric Yoga for the first time after the Siri Singh Sahib left his physical body.

It might have seemed that we didn’t see each other often, but actually as I went about visiting our communities throughout the world I always brought them back to your dome, or your living room. I collected stories and facts of the family you created and shared them with you.

Who do I talk to now…?

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Soon after moving into the ashram in Washington, DC just over 30 years ago, I had an experience which stays with me even today, and shows me how deep the longing of the soul is for the Truth, surpassing our own limited mind’s awareness of that longing. It also shows me the peace that experiencing even a glimpse of the Truth can give to a yearning soul.

I was very afraid of the waves in the ocean at the time I first moved in to the ashram. I would walk beside the ocean and it would look inviting, but as soon as I went in the water, the waves caused me great fear, no matter what their size. My husband patiently tried to help me get over this, but the fear stayed with me. Even when he stood with me in the water, as soon as a wave formed on the far horizon, I would hurriedly retreat to the shore. Just the sight of a slight swell in the water would cause a tightening in my stomach and terror deep within me.

The Washington, DC, community was a few hours from the Atlantic Ocean beaches, and so we would go there a few times in the summer. One night I had a dream about the ocean which at first terrified me, and then inspired me. I was floating on a small raft in the middle of the ocean, and there was no land in sight. A huge, angry blue-gray wave was coming down upon me with terrifying speed and force. I tried to scream but I couldn’t. My stomach was tied in a knot. It seemed inevitable that I was going to die a horrible death.

Suddenly, effortlessly, with no thought, an idea came to me; “Keep in mind Sat Nam” a voice in my head said, “and everything will change.” I said Sat Nam, without thinking, and my experience changed completely. I was totally at peace. The ocean became a beautiful turquoise blue color, with a feeling like an ocean paradise. The “huge” wave washed over me and, rather than being terrifying, it just gently and kindly rocked my raft as I lay in the warm sun. Such peace filled my soul that it is indescribable - I could have stayed there forever, gently rocking, and experiencing beauty and peace that I had not ever known. Time had no meaning. Wave after wave came and went, and the deep peace and contentment never left me.

This dream amazed me, and what I began to understand from it was that Sat Nam, even my short exposure to it, had satisfied a great longing in my soul. Until the dream, I was not even consciously aware of the longing, but even so, I was guided to satisfy that longing on a level that I did not even know was possible until it had already been done. It was a life experience that was outside the thinking and calculating of day to day life. I thank God for His gifts to me – first for bringing the Siri Singh Sahib into my life, secondly for so dramatically showing me the depth of the longing of my soul, and thirdly, for blessing me with the satisfaction of that longing.

This poem was written a good 25 years after giving birth. We have only one child so the memory of this time is very strongly embedded in my heart and mind. Birthing a baby and going on the yatra to Hemkunt Sahib in India, were the two most diffcult times in my life in terms of body, mind and spirit having to rise to the occasion and knowing that once begun, there was no turning back until the pinnacle was reached. Both experiences, of course, brought an unimaginable wealth of spirit and love into my life. When Sat Sangeet was born I began to know the depth of what it was to be a woman, a mother, a guiding light to a new soul, one that came to earth to be a hero, a giver or a saint.

To hear the poem read aloud click on the arrow on the bar below the photos.

********

Birth

Bracing against pale-
green ashram walls for a day,
a night, another day, I walk,

squatting in doorways every
five to seven minutes, breathing,
breathing. The second night

you mount the wave
and I, the vessel, fasted
and pouring sweat and blood,

turn into the storm:
body within body we seek the shore.
The mantra of raindrops

on roof and windowpane, chanting
from the room below guides you
out into the morning

haze. Wrapped in blue eyes, fingers
and toes rippling, you
splay on the altar of my ribs.

********

Me, pregnant. fall, 1974 at our farm in Bend, Oregon.

Two days after the birth of Sat Sangeet at the Portland ashram where I spent my forty days.

Birth by Hari Bhajan Kaur

Bhai Sahib Dyal Singh
December 31, 1955-September 22, 1975

I’m going to tell you a little bit about Bhai Sahib Dyal Singh. I hope that I can give to all of you – those who knew him personally and those who never met him – the feeling and understanding of just how very special he was to us and to the Dharma and how deeply he touched our lives.

There are so many stories about him. There were a few of us who were blessed to live with him and share our daily lives at Adi Shakti Ashram in Los Angeles.

The first time I saw Bhai Sahib Dyal Singh was some time in the spring of 1975, the night that I moved into Adi Shakti Ashram in West Hollywood. I had been a student of the Siri Singh Sahib’s for almost two years.

I was walking around the grounds of the ashram, so excited and nervous to be living there. It was evening and getting dark. Everyone was preparing for sleep. There was a small, white building that was separate from the other buildings. It looked like a converted garage, which it was. I knocked, but there was no answer. I opened the door. I can still remember the feeling of love and light that flooded that room, which turned out to be a small, beautiful gurdwara.

Bhai Sahib was sitting behind the Guru, doing sukhasan (closing and putting the Guru “to bed” for the night). He motioned for me to come in. I sat down and watched. I remember the light lavender color of the cover of the Siri Guru Granth Sahib. Everything in that room was so calming and pretty. When Bhai Sahib was done, he sat with me and explained sukhasan and prakash (the opening and presentation of the Siri Guru Granth Sahib). I had just started attending Sunday gurdwara, but we were still using the 8-volume set of the Guru (with English translation). This was the first time I had ever seen the full one-volume all-Gurmukhi Bir. I remember at the time thinking that he didn’t even know who I was, what my name was or anything about me – and yet he was so open and trusting to show me how to take care of the Guru. It was obvious to me at this first encounter that this was a man who truly loved being a Sikh.

We got to know each other as we all lived in the ashram, went to sadhana, did seva, and went about our daily lives. Many times he used to tell me, “You know, we are so lucky, we are just plain lucky – so very lucky to have a Guru to relate to. Any time we have a question or a problem, we have our Guru.” I think he liked the word “lucky.” I must have needed to hear this as he said it many times to me.

Sometimes I would look at him when he was playing around with his friends and laughing with everyone and I thought, “Who is this Jewish kid from the San Fernando Valley?” I was very young at the time, 20 I think, and he was 19. But I would look at him acting all silly with everyone and he seemed so very young and innocent to me. I would roll my eyes and think to myself “He’s just so immature!” But, then he would teach us Gurmukhi or tell stories about his trip to the Golden Temple and his face would light up. He was a wise, old man, like an old Rabbi. I felt much younger than him and knew I had a lot to learn.

As I learned Gurmukhi and kirtan and got more comfortable with all of our daily practices, Bhai Sahib told me that his favorite shabd was Arti. He thought I could easily learn it. Well, he was partly right. I figured out the music part easily enough, but the words… oh my God! They looked like they were all run together and it was so many pages long! I told him to forget it, that I needed to learn Gurmukhi better. Of course, he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

Instead, he coached me in the evenings after work and slowly but surely, I got better and better at it. I remember one time I hid the transliteration behind the Gurmukhi words to the Arti so I could cheat. He took it away and I never saw that thing again.

I did learn the Arti and played it for the Bhog after our Akand Path – and have continued to play it nearly every week since 1975. I am so grateful to Bhai Sahib for seeing in me what I could not see in myself.

The night before he left for India – his last trip to India – a few of us were helping him get organized. He was giving us things to give back to people – weird, little things – and I asked him, “Bhai Sahib, what are you doing? You’re not going away for that long!” And he said, “I just have to wrap things up.” It occurred to me later that maybe he knew somewhere in his consciousness that he was not coming back. It was getting later and later at night and he was still organizing and packing. I finally was too tired and went to my room. It was almost midnight.

A few minutes later, he came knocking at my door. You know, when there is a profound experience in your life, the memory of it is so clear, like it just happened and you can remember every detail. He was standing in the doorway and he said that he had signed up to read in the Akand Path from midnight until 1:00 AM and he still was not packed. He asked if I could read for him. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but who could say “no” to Bhai Sahib? He looked so radiant, standing in my doorway. Thank God I said “yes.” That was the last time I saw him and those were his last words to me. He died the next day or the day after, on September 22, 1975.

It was such a shock – and we all shed a lot of tears. I had never seen the Siri Singh Sahib or Bibiji cry before. We didn’t know how we would go on without him – but we did go on and we will go on.

I don’t think about Bhai Sahib much since those early days, but every time I sit down to play the Arti, as soon as I touch the first note on the harmonium, he just pops into my head and I feel his presence. His spirit is so strong – it lives in every fiber of our dharma. He helped build our foundation.

We honor his memory every day with our sadhanas and Gurdwaras and kirtans. I hope that we can keep sharing all of these stories and remember him and be inspired by his innocence and pure love for the Guru – he was our Bhai Sahib and the kid brother I never had.