My Spiritual Peanut(contribution from Munirah)
The name Paradise Island should be a warning -that it is not. Looking from the ferry there are defensive looking battlements around multi-million dollar properties and posing right behind them a grotesque giant Sauron meets Barbie pink Mega Resort called Atlantis.
More ironic Paradise at the quay, the public toilet has no paper and no running water for the handbasin. Subway and Scotiabank welcome us beyond tarmac and concrete curbs, there are no sidewalks…why walk when you can ride in a cadillac?
The Sivanada Ashram is nestled on a stunning beach mostly possessed by The Reef condo and resort complex. Cute pastel and white cabins and colorful murals of Krishna among the palms. Lots and lots of tents and an eclectic mix of woofer types, anorexic yogis and hefty Boomer devotees. A warm and effortlessly efficient welcome at reception and we are signed up for Hanuman chanting in the Garden Pavilion. There is a labyrinth of buildings but fresh, un-Indian bathrooms.
I am reassured by the ease and calm in what is actually a more crowded campground than any trailer park. In the Garden Pavilion I settle shoeless into a plastic chair with a cushion from the meditation mats alongside, which fill most of the open sided wooden structure. Onstage three women are seated with microphones and a tabla and harmonium. Behind them are huge posters of orange clad gurus and another picture of Krishna. A large and relaxed older man and an older than me matriarch who seemed to know everyone, help me find the right page in the devotional handbook. We will be doing page 37 and there are transliterated chants with English translation underneath.
Center stage a young slender Indian girl with an ivy league style begins with her impressive spiritual resume and assures us that this wonderful chant was introduced to her by Krishna Das, presumably in an intense spiritual setting. She will call a line then we will repeat it, like in Kindergarten and then we will all sing it together. A wave of suppressed excitement seems to be pass through the audience. I study the detailed picture of Hanuman on the page of my handbook. he seems to be wearing Birkenstock sandals and an elaborate skirt, he has the muscular body of a professional athlete but the head of a sloe-eyed chimp as well as a crown with feathers. It is all a bit confusing.
I start to feel a little uncomfortable. I feel a sneeze building and then my nose starts to run like a tap…uh oh.
“Oh Hanuman, born from the amorous passion of Siva, in a forest glade with a deva….”
My eyes are watering tears of irritation….
“we are your slaves as you are the slave of the great god Rama”
I cannot speak and I do not want to say these words-
slayer of the demon Ravenna in the kingdom of Lanka…Oh Monkey God”
i do not like monkeys, I have been attacked by them on several occasions.
At this point my throat closes up and I feel like someone has thrown a drawstring sack over my head and it is choking me.
I try to cough in my sleeve but the cough just keeps going and I look around for help. My eyes lock into the cold stare from across the room of the ashram cat, he probably thinks I am prey and I am.I have to get out of here, now. Closest exit is ahead close to the stage but I cannot go to it, instead, wheezing and blinded I stumble to the back to empty space, to the steps, to quickly getting the heck out of monkey mind control and
sub rational absorption. I collapse on the last step but looking up i see a palm frond and a blue sky. Alhumdullilah.
I have never had an allergic reaction like that before. As I write this hours later, my body has stilled and calmed from the aftershocks, and my nose and eyes are dry.
Who would have guessed a little Hanuman chanting was my spiritual peanut?