I am extremely shy. It is difficult sometimes for me to accept how very shy I am. At times I judge myself harshly for it – despite better judgment, in the sense of knowing better than to wield harmful hurtful rejection upon myself. But I restored my heart today, as I just had the sweetest experience with a group of school boys.
They were descending by me as I was sitting near the staircase.
He and his little sister help her weigh my things and translate for us, as we only speak very few words of each other's language.
I am practicing Hindi and figured out how to say “Do you have limes?” So now when I arrive, he will call me from afar, letting me know: “Nimbhu hain!”
He also greets me this way now 😀, away from the fruit stand of his mother. “How are you?”, he'll say, “Nimbhu hain!”
The boys hesitated on the next floor below. My deceased father's spirit appeared, laughing as he was observing the children, and said to the spirit of my (still living) mother: "ha die Nora die lacht halt immer so schoen", "our Nora always smiles so beautifully", indicating that the boys were hesitating for this reason.
I realized that they had been very shy with me. Only when I smiled and waved, they dared to come and chat a bit.
It's so okay and very sweet to be shy!
"How are you?" I say to the puppy at Pema's Little Restaurant.
"Good! There are many interesting smells here."
"What's your favorite?"
"Hahaha! You must be a boy. Are you?"
When he got up I saw he was, but wasn't able to capture him on camera properly until today:
My friend and I are sharing a cat call, I mean, a What'sApp video chat. Her kitty cat comes and hangs out.
Friend: "Say Hi to Nora! Can you see her?"
Kitty (looking at screen): I'm alone.
Kitty: You're not here. What good is your picture if I can't sit in your lap?
Kitty Cat Clarity: Awesome.
I see. Someone is already tasting these. Did he croak from eating them?
I'm dead! He SAID.
I should have known! Was he talking to me?
You sure look like it, I said, preparing to sweep him off the board of drying almonds.
Friday Morning, 10th of May 2019, Monastery Guesthouse
Can you please open your prayer book? Yeshe Walmo.
Although not sure why, heeding my inner husband's (reference inner mate) presence inside my heart, I do. There is only one page of prayer directly to this peaceful Great Mother. The next several pages are prayers to Sidpe Gyalmo. It takes me a moment to remember that Yeshe Walmo in her wrathful reflection appears as Sidpe Gyalmo. Briefly I let my eyes rest on the Yeshe Walmo prayer page, not doing anything further but to leave it lying open on my desk in the guest house room.
A Few Days Before, maybe Monday evening, 6th of May 2019, or so, my friend Susan, also currently residing at the Tibetan Monastery, requested my help in her home room: Spiders are appearing there regularly. I was able to talk with (!) her spider guest then. She was on the skinnier side of spiders. She was very kind.
How are you?
Why are you here inside on the wall?
I live here, said the spider.
My friend is scared of you.
Oh. I don't mean to scare her or you.
What brings you out here from your hidden place inside the wall?
I like talking with your friend.
Upon hearing this, Susan was very curious:
"What does she talk to me about?"
I inquired of the spider, and she said:
We are talking about her dreams at night. And I shall no longer scare you or your friend.
Now the spider climbed downwards, disappearing between the wall and the wall paneling on the bottom three feet of the room.
"My dreams?" Susan was still curious, "My night dreams or - ?"
I reached out to the spider's heart and asked her what kind of dreams the two of them are discussing at night.
Her dreams about her future. The spider responded to my inquiry.
"What about?" Susan was perplexed.
We are discussing what will be good for her and what will not be good for her. The spider now showed me a house. We are discussing her future home. And her profession.
"Is this true?" I asked of Susan, "Do you wonder about this?"
"All the time!" My friend exclaimed. "I have no idea what I will do after my research stipend is over." And to me: “Ok. Don't remove her. She lives here. As long as she stays behind the panel and I don't see her, I will be able to sleep.” And after a brief moment of hesitation, she added: "You know, one monk told me that sometimes Sidpe Gyalmo, the fierce protectress of this Bön tradition, may appear in the form of scary animals, such as spiders."
"Ok." I said, and to myself acknowledged that this spider did not feel like Sidpe Gyalmo to me, even though she clearly cared a lot about my dear friend. I left and went back to my own bedroom, which has been unperturbed by spiders for my entire stay.
On this Friday Night, 10th of May of 2019, I am ready to sleep, curled up naked in my bed under no sheets, as it is very warm at night. The beautiful thunderstorm from earlier in the evening has subsided.
I look up; outside my open window is Susan.
"I am so sorry to bother you; but with this particular spider in my room I will be unable to sleep. Can you talk with her?" (My new unexpectedly emergent siddhi is being put to interesting use 🙂 )
10:30 at night. Ok. I get dressed and accompany my friend to her room. It is one story down, right below my current room. Wow, what a big spider behind her door! I knew I would find it scary, but I don't have a phobia like Susan. She is a beige spider, larger and squishier than the one from a few days ago, and has a scary-looking mouth.
Um, hi, I am approaching the spider, how are you?
Good. She immediately looks at my uterus and my third eye, making me feel a bit very queasy. How is yourself?
I’m fine, thank you. Um — my friend is afraid of you. Are you willing to go outside?
I live here.
"That's not true!" Susan exclaimed, "she has never been here."
Internally, inside my heart, my inner husband Saint Germain gets the hand broom and pan from by the door and sweeps her up and outside.
Ok. I mentally convey to the physical spider on the wall. I will open the window and encourage you to climb onto the dust pan to take you outside. Please do not climb onto my hand!
I won't, says the spider, quickly moving downward, disappearing inside the wall paneling.
"She does live her." I feel very bad.
"Oh no," says Susan.
Why did you come out today? I ask the spider.
I like the weather. Oh, like me, she liked the thunderstorm, too. Our air is nice and fresh now. Remembering the spider from earlier this week, I ask her:
Do you talk to Susan at night, too?
I only talk with myself at night.
Oh. Ok. I'm readying to go.
Where do you live? This spider now inquires.
Um. I live upstairs right above this room.
May I visit you?
“You’re not telling me this spider will visit you now!”
“Probably not. But you know, Susan — if any spider is the protectress Sidpe Gyalmo, this spider today feels much more like her to me than the one from previously.”
And I go to back to my room one story above hers.
The Next Evening, Saturday 11th of May, 2019
Entering my bathroom, I see ...
... and jump away, back into my room. A mental memo arrives in my heart: 9 o’clock tomorrow morning. I don't know what, though. Regaining my bearings about the spider guest – it is obvious what is going on here – I muster courage and re-open and re-enter through my bathroom door.
Do you live here?
With a sigh of relief, I request:
Can you remain living outside, please?
Yes. Is visiting okay?
I will be very honored to have her as a guest.
Yes, visiting is okay. In fact, I very much wish I did not fear her leaping on my naked butt while I am peeing or pooping.
Reading my heart, this spider assures me: I promise not do to this. Then she peers at my bucket full of laundry water and clothes, and inquires: What is inside?
My clothes, soaking in water and soap.
Can you take them out?
Are you thirsty?
A little bit.
Well, this water will not be good for you.
Sunday Morning, 12th of May of 2019
Before going upstairs for breakfast, my eyes briefly rested on the Yeshe Walmo/Sidpe Gyalmo prayer page, and I found myself quickly memorizing the wrathful protectress' brief mantra. Other guests tell me that the Sidpe Gyalmo prayers have started this early morning, and that monks have already been making preparations since yesterday or the day before.
“Every year the monastery performs one week of prayers and offerings to Sidpe Gyalmo for removing obstacles, “Susan explains. “Sidpe Gyalmo is hungry and must be fed.”
Wanting to know the morning prayer start time, the small group of Westerners approaches the guestmaster.
"Gupa." 9 o’clock.
I decide to prepare a small container of fresh water and another with a few soaked-then sun-dried almonds, for my spider guest. These I leave for her outside on the high up bathroom window's sill, making it clear that I want her to live outside but welcome her visiting and eating here.
Tuesday, 14th of May 2019, Guesthouse Room
So the spider is back in my bathroom. I have not seen her in two days, but here she is, clearly visible on the wall. She wants to move in.
No, please stay living outside.
I don’t want to. You need not be afraid of me. Go, do your business.
I don't dare seat myself on the toilet: You could jump on me!
I will! She is teasing me.
Like a tarantula!
But I am not a tarantula.
I can see my inner child self talk to Ma, my inner mother: This spider is very sweet. She is trying to remove my fear of her.
Did you leave this food for me? The spider sees my wondering about the water and nuts on the high up window sill.
Yes. Did you like it?
She shows me that she prefers meat. I wonder about offering her dry meat when I have some, but she shows me how much more delicious sucking out the liquefied innards of a bug is in comparison:
Don't worry. The water you left for me is fine. I will find my own food.
Oh man. Would you suck my blood?!
Not what I usually eat. I could try it, if you want.
No! Please, stay outside.
I carefully approached her with a small broom. But she runs down the wall instead of up toward her high up entrance window:
I am not leaving. I want to live here.
I touch her legs with my little broom, and this time she runs up on the wall toward the window. She huddles into one corner of the window, hiding well if I didn’t know already that she was there.
Good hiding there, Ma'm.
Where do you live? She internally peers into my bedroom: Inside there? Can I come?
No! No. This is enough. I close the bathroom door and check how well it seals against the door frame: Not very well. I am sorry, Ma'm. You will have to leave my bathroom. I understand that I am unduly afraid of you.
I look around and discover above me on the wall a spider’s web with a motionless insect inside. If I remove her food and put it outside, she will for sure receive the message, I figure and pull the net down. It falls to the ground, and I can no longer find the bug, which I intended to gather and place outside the window for her. My plan is spoiled.
Ok, M’am. You will have to leave.
I touch her legs on the bathroom’s high up window sill, and she scurries outside.
Saint Germain, I announce to my inner mate, I am locking the window!
Courageously, I climb onto the extremely unstable toilet seat to lock the window, unfortunately preventing the bathroom from proper ventilation. Phew. It doesn’t seal optimally, but I doubt that she will make it inside. Relieved, I go to bed.
Below my right ear on the pillow, I perceive something crawling. It takes me no time to realize she has entered my bedroom astrally, having now clarified its location. She is much larger in her astral shape, retaining her beautiful darkish brown, chewing away on the etheric channels inside my ears.
I am cleaning them. So that you can hear your sweetheart’s loving words at night. She shows him reading an imaginary poem to me every night.
Next she walks across my eyelids, cleaning my inner vision. Then she climbs down between my legs and chews out blockages from my root chakra. She climbs up to my womb and second chakra, does the same there, and back down to my root, chewing on my perineum.
I fall asleep, feeling safe.
Wednesday, 15th of May, 2019
In the morning, I go for the daily Sidpe Gyalmo morning prayers at the temple. The spider returns to my memory. Finally, she offers three small silver sugar balls to me, the kind one might find on top of a praline or sweet pastry. She has given me this because she thinks I will like it: Fluid insect innards encased by a silver sugar shell. I eat one right way.
Saturday, 18th of May, 2019, Simla, Woodstreet Cafe
I already had some before recognizing it:
Tuesday, 21st of May, 2019, Guesthouse
During meditation, I see the spider climb up several stories and into the guesthouse kitchen: She is helping the cook organize the pans and pots on the shelves so that no one will trip over them.
View outside from inside Simla View Hotel several months ago.....
It was so very cold there. I got sick and it doesn't get warm inside the hotel rooms, there is not sufficient insulation, I was not able to recover despite renting a heater and receiving extra blankets. I just couldn't get the place and myself inside warm. Usually I recover naturally. I got so scared during my visit there that I took allopathic medicine to force the cold and very rough cough to disappear.
The manager and cook of Simla View -- his name is Sunil -- took me to a nearby doctor. The old man was very kind and familiar with San Francisco, where I come from. He explained to Sunil in Hindi, which I don't speak well enough yet to understand their conversation, where to get medicine and what kind and how to take it, and Sunil asked for 500 rupees from me and walked away, soon to return with a bag with three kinds of regular medicine.
I asked my inner healer spirit guide Menga whether to take this chemistry.
"Who gave it to you?" Menga asked.
I thought about it. In effect, it was Sunil who had made the effort to bring this medicine to me:
"Then it is safe to take it," implying that it was the heart with which Sunil had brought it, his love inside, which made the medicine good and healing for me.
It then snowed that night.
The next morning, Simla View's view was this:
I was ready to leave on this snowy morning. I wanted to get back to the monastery, where it was warmer, to get healthy. Sunil was reluctant to let me go. I insisted.
I slipped and fell on the steep hardened snow downward slope, not because I was sick, but because my soles have no grip. Then, to my embarrassment, I realized that Sunil was observing my leaving:
“Ma’am! Stay here!”
“No worries, I am ok!”
“Ma’am, no!” And he made a scary face.
I didn’t want to insult his caring intimidation, but I really needed to get to the warmer region.
I just talked with a dog I hadn't seen before. He came to visit the dining floor deck. There were four of us humans on the deck. The dog and I chatted a bit and then he asked:
"Are there more people here like you?"
"What do you mean, like me?"
"Who talk to dogs and animals."
I left the temple two seconds or so before the puja finished, hurried to the nearest bathroom to peeeee, and left properly by completing a circle around the temple -- one should not walk away from the temple against the official Kora/circle-making (skor wa) direction --, approaching a black furry dog by the temple's entrance stairs.
I: How are you?
Dog: Good, how are you?
Dog: What’s your name?
I: Nora. And you?
Dog: Susan. (Something like that. All dogs in India seem to say this.) Do you come here often?
Susan: Where do you live?
I: In the guesthouse. Yourself?
Susan: Around here.
I petted her for a bit, then readied to go: I will go back now, and left. Behind my back, I saw the dog imagine barking loudly at my back. But she was not sounding her physical voice.
You’re doing what the monks are doing, I laughed, doing something invisibly.
Susan: Barking is not allowed around the temple.
At Mission Cheese in San Francisco for lunch, I ordered a 12-oz French Press coffee with my lunch. They don't have honey there, and remembering that they use natural cane sugar, I asked then for sugar and cream. They brought a 12-oz glass French Press, and on a small beautiful square wooden board about ¾ inch thick, a white 4 oz cup for pouring the coffee, and a small glass jar of cream together with a small white porcelain bowl filled with natural cane sugar – the lighter, off-white kind.
Carefully, I spooned a small amount of cane sugar up and added it to my coffee. I began to stir, and struck up a conversation with the sugar cane spirit.
Is it nice to be cane sugar?
It's nice. People like me.
Because you're sweet.
I thought of the article on “The salt of the earth” I came across a couple days ago. “God didn't say we are the sugar of the earth, we are the salt of the earth,” the article read. “We preserve, and we also irritate people's wounds.” But here I was, sitting with a sweet sugar cane spirit. I turned my attention back to it to learn about its life.
But are people aware of you?
What do you mean?
I thought about how nonchalantly the little bowl with sugar sat on the wooden board on my table. I wouldn't even have thought of talking to the spirit was I not so very reluctant to take sugar into my body in the first place.
Don't they kinda take you for granted?
The cane sugar spirit shrugged. After a couple moments, it asked me:
Why did you ask that?
You mean about people being aware of you?
Just thinking about things. I mean, maybe you are actually good for people.
Oh yes, I am! The spirit was clear about that. If taken medicinally.
Medicinally? You mean in small amounts?
Yes. And consciously.
I pulled my spoon out of the cup and licked the coffee off it.
Wow. This coffee is very good with you in it. Thank you for being on my plate.
I could see the spirit now, it rose from and surrounded the wooden serving board on my table.
How is your life? It asked me now.
The music switched into a danceable fun tune, and behind my right shoulder, I could see Thoth, who was my first inner mate on the spirit plane, dancing with it.
You're with him?
The sugar cane spirit pointed to Thoth.
You love him?
How did it notice? Saint Germain was sitting across from me, he's usually the love in my heart whom spirits notice. But the cane sugar spirit seemed only aware of Thoth.
Yes. We are a bit like a team, we have an inter-dimensional partnership. I think I am part of him, and he is part of me.
I understand that.
The cane sugar spirit showed me its existence within the large spirit of all sugar cane plants.
Wow! What's it like?
In response, it showed me a field of green-leaved cane sugar plants, rubbing against each other and moving together in the wind, touched by the rays of the sun:
It sounds like it.
We rub against each other, we grow together.
It sounds beautiful.
It almost makes me want to be a sugar cane plant.
We paused. I took a sip from my coffee. I imagined the cane sugar coming to the West for consumption.
But no one talks to you here, do they?
I thought of the shamans in Peru and Ecuador, and added:
Oh, but of course the shamans in Latin America do?
Yes, of course, they do. You have been there?
It could see some of my memories.
In Ecuador. That's where I first saw cane sugar plants.
For a moment, I sat with the memories of Ecuador, both the Andes as well as the jungle, the trip on a little canoe in the mosquito-laden muggy Amazon rainforest. The climate had been difficult for me, but the visual beauty of the luscious greens had been a pleasure to absorb.
I took a little trip on the rivers in the Amazon Rainforest. It's nice.
We contemplated the image together for a moment.
So what is it like when you get cut? I imagine some of you get transported on canoes on rivers?
It showed me itself, lying on the boat with several other sugar cane staves. The leaves were still richly green, but in the process of wilting.
What's that like?
I thought it would be sad, and even felt some fear, while imagining being a wilting sugar plant.
It's like nightfall. The spirit said.
Nightfall? That sounded very poetic.
Yes. I know now it's over soon.
It showed itself having been cut from its root. The bottom and top of the plant wilted first; life slowly retreated from the outer edges of the leaves. Once cut, it was nightfall for the cane sugar spirit.
So you don't mind?
Of course not.
That made me laugh. Mortals, of course, I thought. We worry about this stuff. I realized that to the cane sugar spirit, there was no concept of death. And I said to the spirit:
You don't see it as death, do you?
No, it just feels different.
Do you experience it simply as a change of state? I shared with it how I imagined its stages of life from growing upwards from its root, being surrounded by its fellow plants, to wilting without roots on a boat together with other imaginary cut plants, still in community, to all life having left the leaves – the plant's life winding down. Is it like that for you?