Letter to You

Why this inner voice telling me softly there is still something to write? When I can read my feelings already so beautifully expressed through all the tributes that you, closed friends and long-term students, have written and offered to share with people like me?! What can I say that would be worth reading? Rama wrote it himself: I dreamed of him ! (did he dream of us …) and he is coming from a much nicer world ... than I dare to figure out and believe yet, I will try. It is easier to start with my respects for this higher self of mine. Back to the past

Krishnamurti I traveled to India, got into an Ashram to know what it is. ‘Bagwan’ was inviting to Dashrans. I though that my dress was not good enough to get into it. So I went hiking to Nepal and left Eastern philosophers. Till I red Krishnamurti's books, with deep understanding and focus, meeting him at one of his last lectures in S. francisco, feeling deep love and gratitude, honored to hear him in the body; he slowly walked out of the audience, slightly towards my direction; we looked and bowed at each other in silent respect, Salute! in my heart.

Great brakes on ice! A 1200 kms night drive to make, after a long, hard week's work. I started to fall asleep so I woke up and, oh Gee! saw no road but the dark night in front of me! so I sharply pressed on the brakes… and the car stopped. But Oh shit! my coffee pot was broken, it was middle of the night and I still had to cross Switzerland to get some papers and arrive at this French university to register before deadline! Crucial / an echo from later on, my registration as a student with Rama. I stepped out of the car to quiet my heartbeat. Well, very neat. Must have an angel, the car was right on the edge of a ravine, in a turn of that icy mountain road, on the heights over Innsbruck. Normally or technically, my maneuver with the brakes should have gotten the car and me in a whirl ending who knows where.

A monk in meditation It was such a beautiful place, this old monastery partly built on the Lake Inle itself (central-east of Burma), silky soft dark wood everywhere, so peaceful. I don’t recognize my usual discretion or tactful distance: how could I walk around as if I was at home, shamelessly (I even had a look at the WCs!) wandering through the rooms, until I stopped in a shaded room, looking at a young monk in meditation, golden brightness.

Flower, Food and Scents Did I already say that I used to walk a lot? The midday sun in New Delhi didn’t bother me. I was only thirsty at times and drank a lot of tea in the street. The sun never burnt my skin, in fact I wasn’t even sun-tanned. My presence didn’t bother the other people on the street and I could go undisturbed wherever I wanted, just walking, enjoying everything, the people, the colors, the dirty facades, the worn-out outfits, all of this daily activity, the noises, the houses and the stores. I stepped in an old temple, decorated with old trees here and there. A man nearly as old as the temple came to welcome me, an indefinite piece of cloth around his belly, a kind smile in his beard; no one else was there in prayer, this was a nice place to rest I thought. The old priest took my hand and led me under the shadow of a tree. He invited me to sit down on stones that where noble seats. Then he opened his palm to me: on his hand rested a flower, and he gave me this beauty, a ball of some coconut sweet, and he put it in my mouth, some scented powder, that he put on my nose and on my forehead. Blessing for Life. Flowery scent accompanying my walk to a temp job, in answer to loneliness in my heart in a depressed time. I looked around for the flowers: the street, the busses, trees and bushes, only green vegetation in this time of the year!

Where did the bullets go ? A fishermen’s village, some 9 miles away from the Panama border on the Atlantic coast, a New-Year eve’s fiesta on the beach in the afternoon, at the main bar-restaurant of the village ­ on the sandy path a crowd gathering around a young girl, twisted on the ground in a crisis of epilepsy; a policeman, as drunk as the rest of the people, was trying to put handcuffs on the girl, pulling her hair, while negotiating with her parents for some deal like prison or money. Shocked by the absence of dignity towards this girl obviously in danger, I rushed in-between, preventing this well-known corrupt policemen from doing anything more to the sick girl, trying to help her­ none of the people around was moving a finger ­ they were having their show. In the scene that followed, the policeman pulled his gun, pointed it to me. I looked in his eyes, deeply told him ‘No!’. He shot a first bullet towards my feet. Then pointed higher. I kept my look in his and repeated ‘No!’ he shot a second then a 3rd time, higher each one. Noone in the crowd was hit. The bullets had just disappeared. By then hysterical, the policeman ran away to his colleague, just arrived.

This higher self ! Could be something to write the CV of a higher self, well, once I get a hold of it. This energy boost when getting closer to Rama … One of the most hilarious times I experienced was this one: while waiting to be one of Rama’s student, a day in S. Francisco, walking up-hills, looking for books to feed my thirsty brains, I entered in a very pleasant bookstore. With little money to spend, I wasn’t decided to buy much. I browsed and picked up 3 books from different authors, all on the theory of quantum mechanics, red them thru at V-speed, and comparing the definitions, burst laughing, could have roll on the carpet, and shamelessly walked out for an uproar in the street!

How many of them? Some higher selves are so kind, they keep hiding for so long … or information is delivered with no further message. Since I am lazy, it takes me a while to get it. Or scared. Especially when I don’t understand! (may I add furious too?). Besides, they sit high, and I am about a handful feet high. Unfair. OK, I am of the rebel kind. And/or standing as a woman on my feet. trained myself to disciplines that could seem harsh to some (for instance, age 17, training to control and program my body. 4h sleep/night and 1 brief meal a day. Or decision to stop menstruation. practical).

Religious karma stuff to wash out? Whose karma? During my time as a student of Rama in LA, ‘light’ brought me to run in the streets of LA, to clean out some old catholic & jewish concepts. to do with religion and sexuality. They sure didn’t came from my current mind/life! But then, why did I, in Sydney, painted this scene re the ‘woman in red’? (one of these catholic stories). Once in Greece, a group of people had a sudden consensus to throw stones at me. Who was I to get stoned? It happened again but didn’t help my understanding. Puzzle. Oh, no harm. It’s surprising how my body could get through with no harm. Nothing when my son’s father made me fall to provoke abortion, or beat me when I was breast-feeding (how could this man, who was an alcoholic bum, have known about my thoughts and Rama ­ but this is another story). Once in a cold February night (what was the date?), I had to find a cheap hotel that would accept a mother with a newborn baby plus the father; walking in the streets under heavy rain, all these ‘sorry, no room’. My jean-coat was totally soaked and no protection for the baby in my arms, he was cold wet to the bones when late in the night, I could warm him up in a room. I forgot if the father was gone by then.

To have little money got me more than once to play the other side of the part. (I heard someone tell me that they’re thankful for those who play these roles!) (I suppose I was in agreement with my higher self). With no car to go to the desert trips and finding nobody to share a ride, Rama’s invitations remained on my dream stage. Instead, I found myself running miles in the streets of LA. I forgot how far and where exactly I went. But a bus driver could appreciate the routes. Once, I stopped for a breath in a coffee shop. Was nearly empty. Then slowly and silently, people started to move in and choose a table. After a while, nobody else stepped in. Only men sat there. One at a table. They were not young. I barely looked but noticed they looked as if Indians. Energy entered my head, made me move and bent over the table. I stayed a while there in a bow, in front of one of the men; then turned my bow to another then another one. Then I left the place.

Listening to this little inner voice, in obedience to the light, there I was …, but then, you don’t want to read my CV, do you? There is one thing that is not in it, and may be you know it yourself: somebody is answering or interrupting my inner talks, (yes, I must meditate and shut up! But don’t you go for Q&A’s?) in my head, and outside. I am not much of anything and lazy, so if you ask...

This is just something from a beginner, Thank You for reading, … to show the pulsating love of Rama through some stories.