Peaceful Activism and Annoying People

 

     Last night I attended a Satsung with Alakananda Ma and crew at a local yoga studio, in Denver, CO. “Satsung” is translated as “a meeting of hearts.” It begins with “Kirtan,” a repetitive sing-along in Sanskrit, where we celebrate the power within. Afterwards, we listen to a local guru: Alakananda Ma speak. I went to one of her talks a year ago and liked the personable way Ma spoke about serious subjects like world hunger and our current government. Last time’s message was to cultivate the “feminine,” where we can overcome our personal crisis with humility and the nurturing—care that comes from loving children.

     Tonight’s message was about how to be a peaceful activist. I thought it sounded like an oxymoron, so I was there with bells on. It was a full house. Seating at these groupings is a pillow on the floor with a cross-legged yogi-style posture. They have chairs for those of us who are not ashamed by our obvious western-ness, but only the late comers use them. The Kirtan drums began to bounce around the large yoga room. A dread-haired, spindly gal in her late twenties sat to the right of me, sipping Asian tea; an Indian bejeweled shawl pulled around her shoulders. Her heavily dread-locked boyfriend was one of the Kirtan musicians, strumming a lute-like device. Every now and then, the girl popped up to get more tea. A couple to the left of me, which I became obsessed with throughout the talk, attended last year’s, too. I remember them because I wondered the same thoughts about the girl—how can someone be that petite? What would life be like where a size two didn’t crease around the waistline and an entire wardrobe fit just right?

     For these types of thoughts, we’re supposed to acknowledge that they’re mindless chatter and go back to our breath and nothingness. The drums should invoke a mantra and a rhythm for breathing. As a writer, it was a no go. This petite gal took hurried notes in a large journal. Her boyfriend didn’t look like the type who’d get anything out of this meeting except to be in petite girl’s vicinity. In the very front, a grayed woman in her late sixties took a seat. She wore leg-warmers over sweats and whipped out her tie-dyed pink shawl with confidence.

     I sat in the middle, sticking out with my purple suede sixties jacket, bell-bottom jeans, and cross necklace. One of the Kirtan musicians scanned me and looked back to the corner of the room. Near the end of music time, a younger girl strolled in, tie-died and spangly with long black hair, and plopped on the last pillow in front of me.

     The Kirtan music twanged to an abrupt stop. For those of us who were mouthing words silently, it was embarrassing to pretend to know they were going to stop. Alakananda Ma began her talk and recited a prayer in Sanskrit. The Kirtan people, along with the many scarved women knew the prayer and mouthed it with her. I stared at the corner of the Persian rug.

     Ma’s British accent lit the room. Her lilt and excitement on how to balance activism and spirituality made me reflect on what practices I could change in order to achieve a Gandhi kind of result. Ma spoke about a yogi who appeared to a spiritual man. The yogi asked him if he knew why he appeared to him. The man asked, “Is it because I pray five times a day?” “No,” the yogi answered. “Is it because I go to synagogue?” “No,” was the reply. “Is it because I say your name in all things?’ “No. One day, as you walked home, you saw a kitten, cold and shivering in the corner. You took her and put her under your fur coat.” Ma then went on about how this illustrates peaceful activism. She spoke about minorities and marginalized people of the United States as well as the diminishing resources of our planet. At the end, Ma took a question and answer time. Ma’s companion, an emaciated, bearded, cross-legged musician, asked, “Why is America so depressed?” Her answer, “Why is depression bad? If this depression is examined, then perhaps it will be a beginning to change. If this depression is the first step to a new manifestation, then we can move forward past it.”

     The spangled youth with black hair spoke up. She began with a blanket statement about “her generation.” I bristled as she claimed to be the spokesperson for such a vast and far-reaching group. Then I got my first chance of the evening to practice Ma’s vision. The girl went on about how “we don’t see black and white. We just see humans,” in reference to minorities. “I mean, I see that we already have equality. The other day, when I was in a Blockbuster renting a movie, this guy with tons of tattoos and piercings rung me up. I said ‘Krishna’ at the end and he followed me out wanting to know its meaning. We talked about tons of stuff then. I mean, we all want to know the same things on a certain level.”

     I got her point about bringing love to people, but I also felt the unreality of her optimistic bubble. In this setting, at this “meeting of hearts,” I was stuck between actually applying Ma’s words about peace, and letting this girl know how there was life outside of Boulder. Instead of anger, I felt sadness. Okay, I did make a counter judgment that in this girl’s trust-fund-Boulderite-peace and joy-bead infested world; she might have the luxury of experiencing her statement. I settled into a knowledge that she would meet her maker someday and I hoped it would be a 200 pound black woman, sitting on her.

     This “meeting of hearts” was more a testimony for patience. As Ma said, we go around in our own little worlds at break neck speed, not acknowledging the kitten in the corner, leaving it to the cold, while we button our fur coats against the frosty wind. Yes, it’s a simple little allegory, and it’s easy to excuse as corny. If we really want to fight complacency and Bush’s imposed crisis mode on our country, Ma’s wish is that we start small. We shouldn’t condone but have tolerance and let the tolerance speak for itself.

     For me, I just wanted to let this spangly yogurt loving girl look up some web pages, shed some harsh light on her limited quasi-hippy notions. Do we have permission as activists to let people have their own stupidities? What about the time when it hurts someone, which is all too often? Do we wait for people to have their own mini-epiphanies? If I went back to this young girl to tell her even a small part of the scandals Krishna won’t absolve, would she think twice before she spoke for a generation of people? Or is it like telling someone how to parent? I’ll save that one for the next Satsung.