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."
oh mama.... our fierce mother. the life giving and taker. She can give us perfect atmosphere to torrential storms taking everything away, but life will always come out of her.
thinking of pink floyd's ......"mother, did it need to be so high?"