The other night my friend Fred announced he didn't believe in God, that religion and spirituality were just an opiate imposed on the suffering masses. Clearly Fred had never seen Godspell. That said, even though it rankles me when people make such sweeping pronouncements, I decided not to argue in favor of the Divine. Instead, I simply asked, "How's that goin' for ya?" And Fred shrugged and replied, "Not so good."
The following day, a dreary one, I was pondering what it means and doesn't mean to be bound to a set of pre-ordained structures that define the way we eat, drink, pray, have sex and wear clothes. Was horror progenitor H.P. Lovecraft correct in his assertion that the universe is fundamentally monstrous or did I just need a yoga class and a sundae? Is the monster inside or out? And whatever happened to metaphor?
I took these and other questions to Adi Shakti, AKA Kali: the demonic yet benevolent mother goddess, the incarnation of Maya and the destroyer of egos. Talk about on the rag: homegirl is covered in blood and wears a necklace of oozing, bloody skulls. 108 to be exact. And they're all kvetching non-stop about everything under the moon. Moreover, she's got four arms one of which is holding a sword and the other your severed head/ego. Meantime, she's flashing the abhaya--fearlessness-- and varada--blessings--mudra while she's stomping on Lord Shiva's chest; and she breastfed and possibly birthed the guy. Just another family dinner, I guess. Or rather, the mind is a terrible thing to taste.
"What kind of mother are you?" I asked. "What's did I do to deserve this?" Only I couldn't quite catch Kali's response over the chatter of the 108 blathering heads, which were either my maya--illusion--or my own ego--dissolution--raveling and unraveling my self with every crushing step. For this I went to Hebrew school?
Unnerved, I pondered further. Surely our beliefs, whatever our opinion of the Great Equalizer and his/her existence, are a manifestation of our ego and Kali has to stomp those suckers too. That's just part of her dance. But here's the deal: revolution's a bloodbath. Could it be that Kali is time itself--kala--simultaneously dancing, procreating and wreaking havoc in my blessed wrecking ball of a head just before she rips it off and wears it as an earring? Though a scenario we may justly seek to avoid, in the Cosmic Reality Kali's actions are merely monstrous in the word's most literal form: from the Latin monstrare- to show, reveal. As in, show me the monster.
"Oh my Goddess," I thought. "Fred's right. And wrong. I have to call my mother."
It's difficult to date a super hero. They're busy, unreliable, moody. Most make promises they can't keep. But that's the hegemony of promises: AKA well-intentioned resolutions reliant on the notion of life in a permanent external honeymoon state rather than a journey towards internal, self-sufficient bliss. Think of Superman and Lois Lane, Aeneas and Dido, Ram and Sita. Now, as adults, we all know the honeymoon stage is just that: a stage, even if we're blindly standing smack-dab in the middle of it. And yet, save deep suffering, we cling to the idea of perfection and permanence in all external states of being, especially where relationships are concerned. Meantime, we're so busy polishing the pedestal of what was and what could or should be that we not only don't notice the man behind the maya--illusion-- we also strive to maintain the maya like there's no manana.
Among the Trimurti-- Brahma (the Creator), Vishnu (the Sustainer), Shiva (the Destroyer)--the past, present or future sufferer is often drawn to Shiva rather than Vishnu or Brahma This makes sense. Shiva's got the danse macabre, the five heads, the elephant man for a kid. It's demonic yet human. Also, every culture starts with the idea of death and dissolution. Indeed the root impulse of all culture is to band together to create rituals that attempt to stave off death. And I don't just mean exercise and under-eye cream. Just as the mind needs its obstacles or it's just jelly in a jar, civilization needs the monster behind the wall and civilization is that very wall. AKA it's what you do all day long. As Zorba the Greek once said, "Life is how the time goes by."
A life without obstacles is akin to a sock without a foot: practical but limp. Just ask Ganesh. The son of Shiva and Parvati, baby Ganapati was beheaded by his own father just for hanging out in the doorway while his mommy took a bath, thus blocking Shiva's entrance to his own home. Clearly, Shiva's reflexive and some might say overbearing response was highly upsetting to Parvati. After all, it had been a difficult labor; Parvati had created her beloved progeny from her own oils, sweat and tears. Subsequently, there was a lot of turbulence in the home. What could Lord Shiva do but replace Ganapati's head with that of an elephant? End of domestic dispute. Beginning of Lord Ganesh, remover and creator of obstacles, lord of intelligence and rider of the musica--the mouse/rat, AKA the subjugated demon of the ego. You gotta admit: the guy triumphed under seemingly impossible odds.
