January 23, 2013 - lost blog entry
Yesterday I had an appointment with Mukunda, an energy healer here. He does massage and “regression” therapy. During the intake he asked me what physically was bothering me (my left hip, left glute, neck) and emotionally (feel angry a lot, can’t rationalize it away). He says the left side is the feminine side, it all has to do with mommy dearest and rejection of the mother, though he is careful to avoid placing blame. He says it has more to do with clearing past emotional trauma that occurred in childhood based upon our limited perception of the world at that time. He wonders if I have difficulty with digestion.
“Dairy” I tell him. He says, “yes” makes perfect sense, rejection of the mother, mother’s milk, dairy etc. “Did we do a rebirthing last year?” he asks me.
I don’t think so. I think I would remember. We did go back before I was born but no rebirth.
“We will do that. It is very powerful” he says.
Ok. I’m down. I’m not going to disagree with him. Whatever he did last year worked amazingly well. He starts with a guided meditation to put you into deep relaxation. Then he talks directly to the problem body part, telling it can talk to him through your voice. He asks questions like, “when did this problem first start” “what color is it?” and you just have to go with it. It feels like you are just making shit up. I get real specific with the colors. I tell him colors like pea green, murky brown, and pearlescent blue, and I wonder if other people just stick with the basics - like red, yellow, and blue.
Anyway, we go back into the womb when my glute problem says it started and go through months 4-9 in utero, each month assessing the problem body parts and problem colors and the emotions associated with them. I am teary during the whole thing and he sweetly wipes my tears. He has a calm, soothing voice and an easy to understand accent.
Afterward I feel amazing. Part of me doubts what just happened but I can’t deny the good feeling.
I also would really like to get some weed.
Before you judge, I could write endlessly about the merits of the misunderstood herb's purpose. How the oils in the buds are more potent medicinally than almost any other herb on earth; how there are countless, peer-reviewed scientific journal articles proving that the medicine treats cancer. That is right, treats cancer, not simply palliates the side effects of chemotherapy. I could also explain how the herb is just another thing our society has screwed up -- like GMOs, food additives, bovine growth hormone, chemicals in our cosmetic products -- where we have allowed profit-driven mega companies to fool us. I really could go on and on.
For me, it has spiritual value. It has a similar effect on my consciousness as yoga practice, and I enjoy the feeling I get when I use it.
Anyway, I tried through a friend of a friend to get some, and the exchange went something like this via texts:
Friend 1: Do you know where I can get some greens?
Friend 2: Try Devaraja market or the street vendor on Kalidasa.
Friend 1 (thinking, ”does he think I’m asking about vegetables?”): smokable greens?
Friend 2: [silence]
That was yesterday and Friend 1 still hadn’t heard back as of today. So this afternoon I decide I’m just going to get weed. When he was alive, my younger brother, Daniel, never had a problem getting weed whenever we traveled. You just go to a city center where they are trying to sell you stuff and the right people approach you.
I get a sitter for E and I decide I will go to Devaraja market, the place where the local swindlers try to sell foreigners faux silver bangles, incense, oils, mala beads and all sorts of other things for more than they are worth. Or, I will ask a rickshaw driver. But it has to be the right rickshaw driver – the perfect mix of not too old, not to shady, but not-too-not shady.
I head down to the rickshaw stand. There appears to be only one rickshaw driver when there are normally like ten. My bitchy brain voice starts doubting, “how is this going to work? How can I pick the perfect rickshaw driver when there is only one?”
Then my nice brain voice suggests we decide this one driver is the perfect rickshaw driver, that he knows exactly where to go, and it has all been orchestrated perfectly by the Universe to culminate in the best possible way at this moment. The pleasant feeling that has been lingering in my gut and root center since my visit with Mukunda yesterday resonates at the thought.
He could barely get the rickshaw to start. He looks maybe thirty and has nice eyes (he later tells me he is 38 with two teenage daughters!). He asks me where I am going and I say Devaraja market. He asks me what I am looking to buy and I just straight up tell him marijuana.
He pauses, says I don’t want to get it at Devaraja. It is mixed with incense and other stuff and isn’t good. I tell him I want good stuff, and I also want to be safe. He asks me if I want some oils and incense and I start to wonder if he understood me when I said I wanted weed. The drivers often get a kickback from the vendors if they take foreigners to their shop and they buy something - that is not what I am interested in doing.
He says he is going to take me to a good place that has incense and oils, and I tell him that I am just in the market for marijuana right now. He laughs and says ok.
We pull up to a little shop in the city with two rooms. You walk in through the front room to get into the back room. Both are maybe 10x10 and look dingy and old. Two younger men are there, early twenties. They are both very nice and welcoming. The first one has me duck my head as we go back into the back room. Bitchy Brain Voice thinks, “what is he doing? I wasn’t even close to hitting my head on the doorway. Weirdo.”
The back room is a bit dirty and dank like most shops in the city and there is a table in the middle and 4 chairs along the wall and a bunch of old looking oil bottles on the shelf. There is a picture of a beautiful American women with her hands in a strange yoga mudra position with an older Indian man – attractive in the way Deepak Chopra is attractive – maybe “welcoming” is a better word.
Sai (the rickshaw driver) and I sit down. One of the young men sits down too and he offers me Chai tea and he makes small talk. They all say a lot of yoga students come here. I tell him no thanks on the Chai. He tells me it will be two minutes.
About fifteen minutes later the Deepak guy comes in. He glows and I instantly feel safe. I actually have felt almost strangely safe in my gut the whole time, and more than once I have the thought that Daniel is with me, laughing at this strange circumstance I’m in, sitting in a dark back room in some weird shop in India trying to buy weed.
Deepak sits down and asks what I am there to get – “oils? Incense?” he asks.
I look at the rickshaw driver and back at Deepak and say rather meekly and end kind of on a higher pitch so it sounds like I am asking a question at the end of my sentence, kinda like a Canadian accent: “I really want to get some marijuana?” He laughs and says, no worries, it is coming. But let me get you some Chai and show you some oils.
I give in and have some Chai (delicious!) and let him show me what he is selling. He lets me try sandalwood, lotus, jasmine oils – they all smell and feel amazing on my skin. He says the lady in the picture is a famous American yogi that I have never heard of, though she looks like she could be famous.
He drops some names of some local yoga students that I don’t know either. He says everyone comes here to buy his oils, and explains how great the oils are, and I start to believe him. I ask him if he has anything good for acne, since my skin has been a wreck since I came here. I end up getting saffron oil and almond oil that he shows me how to mix for my face – says to apply just twice a week.
He warns me to be careful with the weed – to burn incense when I smoke it. Miraculously he sells incense too. What luck! The incense smells amazing - sandalwood and honey.
I leave there with incense, oil, and weed, spending 3000 rupies – approximately $60 U.S.
Bitchy voice thinks maybe I was swindled, but nice voice reminds her in America I would spend $100 just for the weed. Bitchy voice reminds her that the weed in America is much higher quality. This could go back and forth for hours. I decide it is best to leave it at a stalemate.
The whole experience seems strangely magical and divinely orchestrated. I get Deepak’s card and Sai’s card so now I totally have a hookup. I thank Deepak and shake his hand, and our exchange feels friendly and warm. I have made a new friend.
Then I WHACK my head hard on the doorway on the way out.
Sai is very nice and makes small talk about our families on the way home. He drives a lot of the yoga students around, he says. His wife has health problems, so she stays home and he works.
He says, “God is good.”
I agree and look up at his windshield – all of the rickshaw drivers have stickers of deities and sayings and names and other various designs on their windshields. There is a picture of Jesus, which I also noticed on the way there.
I say, “yes, God is good, and I like Jesus too.”
Then I notice that there are letters on the windshield next to the Jesus sticker - difficult to read at first because I am reading it inside out (meant to be viewed from the front of the rickshaw, not inside where I am).
It spells, “Daniel.” No joke. I start to tear up and laugh at the same time. It seems divinity is everywhere and in every experience.
Check out my new and improved website: www.theyogalawyer.com
#marijuana #india #kalidasheart #yoga
Yesterday I had an appointment with Mukunda, an energy healer here. He does massage and “regression” therapy. During the intake he asked me what physically was bothering me (my left hip, left glute, neck) and emotionally (feel angry a lot, can’t rationalize it away). He says the left side is the feminine side, it all has to do with mommy dearest and rejection of the mother, though he is careful to avoid placing blame. He says it has more to do with clearing past emotional trauma that occurred in childhood based upon our limited perception of the world at that time. He wonders if I have difficulty with digestion.
“Dairy” I tell him. He says, “yes” makes perfect sense, rejection of the mother, mother’s milk, dairy etc. “Did we do a rebirthing last year?” he asks me.
I don’t think so. I think I would remember. We did go back before I was born but no rebirth.
“We will do that. It is very powerful” he says.
Ok. I’m down. I’m not going to disagree with him. Whatever he did last year worked amazingly well. He starts with a guided meditation to put you into deep relaxation. Then he talks directly to the problem body part, telling it can talk to him through your voice. He asks questions like, “when did this problem first start” “what color is it?” and you just have to go with it. It feels like you are just making shit up. I get real specific with the colors. I tell him colors like pea green, murky brown, and pearlescent blue, and I wonder if other people just stick with the basics - like red, yellow, and blue.
Anyway, we go back into the womb when my glute problem says it started and go through months 4-9 in utero, each month assessing the problem body parts and problem colors and the emotions associated with them. I am teary during the whole thing and he sweetly wipes my tears. He has a calm, soothing voice and an easy to understand accent.
Afterward I feel amazing. Part of me doubts what just happened but I can’t deny the good feeling.
I also would really like to get some weed.
Before you judge, I could write endlessly about the merits of the misunderstood herb's purpose. How the oils in the buds are more potent medicinally than almost any other herb on earth; how there are countless, peer-reviewed scientific journal articles proving that the medicine treats cancer. That is right, treats cancer, not simply palliates the side effects of chemotherapy. I could also explain how the herb is just another thing our society has screwed up -- like GMOs, food additives, bovine growth hormone, chemicals in our cosmetic products -- where we have allowed profit-driven mega companies to fool us. I really could go on and on.
For me, it has spiritual value. It has a similar effect on my consciousness as yoga practice, and I enjoy the feeling I get when I use it.
Anyway, I tried through a friend of a friend to get some, and the exchange went something like this via texts:
Friend 1: Do you know where I can get some greens?
Friend 2: Try Devaraja market or the street vendor on Kalidasa.
Friend 1 (thinking, ”does he think I’m asking about vegetables?”): smokable greens?
Friend 2: [silence]
That was yesterday and Friend 1 still hadn’t heard back as of today. So this afternoon I decide I’m just going to get weed. When he was alive, my younger brother, Daniel, never had a problem getting weed whenever we traveled. You just go to a city center where they are trying to sell you stuff and the right people approach you.
I get a sitter for E and I decide I will go to Devaraja market, the place where the local swindlers try to sell foreigners faux silver bangles, incense, oils, mala beads and all sorts of other things for more than they are worth. Or, I will ask a rickshaw driver. But it has to be the right rickshaw driver – the perfect mix of not too old, not to shady, but not-too-not shady.
I head down to the rickshaw stand. There appears to be only one rickshaw driver when there are normally like ten. My bitchy brain voice starts doubting, “how is this going to work? How can I pick the perfect rickshaw driver when there is only one?”
Then my nice brain voice suggests we decide this one driver is the perfect rickshaw driver, that he knows exactly where to go, and it has all been orchestrated perfectly by the Universe to culminate in the best possible way at this moment. The pleasant feeling that has been lingering in my gut and root center since my visit with Mukunda yesterday resonates at the thought.
He could barely get the rickshaw to start. He looks maybe thirty and has nice eyes (he later tells me he is 38 with two teenage daughters!). He asks me where I am going and I say Devaraja market. He asks me what I am looking to buy and I just straight up tell him marijuana.
He pauses, says I don’t want to get it at Devaraja. It is mixed with incense and other stuff and isn’t good. I tell him I want good stuff, and I also want to be safe. He asks me if I want some oils and incense and I start to wonder if he understood me when I said I wanted weed. The drivers often get a kickback from the vendors if they take foreigners to their shop and they buy something - that is not what I am interested in doing.
He says he is going to take me to a good place that has incense and oils, and I tell him that I am just in the market for marijuana right now. He laughs and says ok.
We pull up to a little shop in the city with two rooms. You walk in through the front room to get into the back room. Both are maybe 10x10 and look dingy and old. Two younger men are there, early twenties. They are both very nice and welcoming. The first one has me duck my head as we go back into the back room. Bitchy Brain Voice thinks, “what is he doing? I wasn’t even close to hitting my head on the doorway. Weirdo.”
The back room is a bit dirty and dank like most shops in the city and there is a table in the middle and 4 chairs along the wall and a bunch of old looking oil bottles on the shelf. There is a picture of a beautiful American women with her hands in a strange yoga mudra position with an older Indian man – attractive in the way Deepak Chopra is attractive – maybe “welcoming” is a better word.
Sai (the rickshaw driver) and I sit down. One of the young men sits down too and he offers me Chai tea and he makes small talk. They all say a lot of yoga students come here. I tell him no thanks on the Chai. He tells me it will be two minutes.
About fifteen minutes later the Deepak guy comes in. He glows and I instantly feel safe. I actually have felt almost strangely safe in my gut the whole time, and more than once I have the thought that Daniel is with me, laughing at this strange circumstance I’m in, sitting in a dark back room in some weird shop in India trying to buy weed.
Deepak sits down and asks what I am there to get – “oils? Incense?” he asks.
I look at the rickshaw driver and back at Deepak and say rather meekly and end kind of on a higher pitch so it sounds like I am asking a question at the end of my sentence, kinda like a Canadian accent: “I really want to get some marijuana?” He laughs and says, no worries, it is coming. But let me get you some Chai and show you some oils.
I give in and have some Chai (delicious!) and let him show me what he is selling. He lets me try sandalwood, lotus, jasmine oils – they all smell and feel amazing on my skin. He says the lady in the picture is a famous American yogi that I have never heard of, though she looks like she could be famous.
He drops some names of some local yoga students that I don’t know either. He says everyone comes here to buy his oils, and explains how great the oils are, and I start to believe him. I ask him if he has anything good for acne, since my skin has been a wreck since I came here. I end up getting saffron oil and almond oil that he shows me how to mix for my face – says to apply just twice a week.
He warns me to be careful with the weed – to burn incense when I smoke it. Miraculously he sells incense too. What luck! The incense smells amazing - sandalwood and honey.
I leave there with incense, oil, and weed, spending 3000 rupies – approximately $60 U.S.
Bitchy voice thinks maybe I was swindled, but nice voice reminds her in America I would spend $100 just for the weed. Bitchy voice reminds her that the weed in America is much higher quality. This could go back and forth for hours. I decide it is best to leave it at a stalemate.
The whole experience seems strangely magical and divinely orchestrated. I get Deepak’s card and Sai’s card so now I totally have a hookup. I thank Deepak and shake his hand, and our exchange feels friendly and warm. I have made a new friend.
Then I WHACK my head hard on the doorway on the way out.
Sai is very nice and makes small talk about our families on the way home. He drives a lot of the yoga students around, he says. His wife has health problems, so she stays home and he works.
He says, “God is good.”
I agree and look up at his windshield – all of the rickshaw drivers have stickers of deities and sayings and names and other various designs on their windshields. There is a picture of Jesus, which I also noticed on the way there.
I say, “yes, God is good, and I like Jesus too.”
Then I notice that there are letters on the windshield next to the Jesus sticker - difficult to read at first because I am reading it inside out (meant to be viewed from the front of the rickshaw, not inside where I am).
It spells, “Daniel.” No joke. I start to tear up and laugh at the same time. It seems divinity is everywhere and in every experience.
Check out my new and improved website: www.theyogalawyer.com
#marijuana #india #kalidasheart #yoga
Dear Kellie,
ReplyDeleteI have been following your blog ,I truly feel so blessed ,it feel like I am sitting next to you and your talking to me,just beautiful thank you for sharing ,I am having a great time with you and Emerson in India ,
Namesta Teri
Thanks, Teri! Really glad to hear you are enjoying it. Hearing that makes me inspired to keep writing. <3 and Om to you!
ReplyDeleteOmg!!! Daniel. Xxxx. Very nice.
ReplyDelete