April 4, 1980 We gave our wedding invitation to the Siri Singh Sahib tonight. It's simple but looks nice and has Adam's okay. My Women's Camp tenting mate Awtar Kaur did the calligraphy:
“We thank God and Guru for giving us the eyes to see and the power of Love to merge in a blessed destiny.”
When the Siri Singh Sahib read it in class (!) he read “love to merge” as the emphasis rather than the “power of love.” For a second I thought he was reading something different. He read it like a command! It demonstrated how the pure sense of merging will be there even if I leave out the word “power.”
Siri Singh Sahib mentioned our having a duplicate relationship over the past four to six years, meaning that Adam loved me even while I was married, unbeknownst to me. He said that our love probably goes back a lot farther than that—did he mean ages, lifetimes?
He said, “It is good. It is good to mature first and then get married. Adam is thirty-two—that should be long enough!” adding, “I only read this announcement because Adam wanted me to.”
It was the most painful period of my life. I had recently
lost custody of my precious three-year old daughter to a man who left
the Dharma and did not even want me to call her. To be free of the pain, it seemed I would have to give her up, give up all attachment to my own born into whom I poured my blood, breath, life, love and soul. I wished to drop the pain, not the child. It was the only way to serve her destiny, yet even praying for my daughter brought tears.
November 1980
To share a sense of the Divine energies keeping us together, I created this card and bound it into a little book for her. Sat Nam
To God’s Child, for Adi Shakti Kaur
Mary had a little lamb, (with a picture of our Lady of Guadalupe) Its fleece was white as snow (with a picture of a prancing lamb) And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go.
And so God has the little child Whose soul is whitest white, And EVERYWHERE God is, His children feel His LIGHT (all sparkly!)
To the pure light within you …LOVE, Mataji
I moved in to a peaceful beach cottage with my new
husband in April of 1980. Having little money to live on, we considered
being together in our idyllic environment with a lovely cliff-side
beach nearby all that was necessary for a honeymoon and revelled in the
healing beauty of nature. Even when the honeymoon was over, I found
great peace there.
January 11, 1981
Ang So Hung -- God is in every atom of my being!
I have found a place to rest Where all I can hear is the sea, Where the breeze and sun are there to bless While the Earth's wide lap holds me. There I love to bow my head Sweetly to Earth’s gentle breast And merge in the sound of Ang So Hung And merge in the throb of the Sea.
January 21, 1981
A million wishes I have wished A million answers given Some as trials Some
as a
kiss All pure gifts from heaven.
As you see me So I see you Eyes
into eyes into
soul
Reflecting the mirror of Infinity We into One shall flow.
I cannot forget the promises Made beyond time and space Into my beingness to the Divine… The pain of my onliness serves to remind me— Promises are not left behind.
Learning to Love
February Friday 13, 1981
Ah the ups and downs…only to learn to live in my neutral mind and beam only upon soul….Adam is a Saturn teacher and a Jupiter lover. And myself, I need only remember the give and take of my breath, which is the flow of my life and links me to the eternity of my soul. Ang Sung Wahe Guru!
I wrote this Valentine’s Day poem to give to Adam tomorrow and maybe some cake or cookies too:
Valentine’s Poem
Love is a gift of life
Of the Creator’s Light within and without me. And given, in longing to truly live The pain is in not knowing How to express Love, Deserving of its True Essence Of Purity and Grace So sweetly and silently is Love given. Just so I need learn to give of life, Of the Creative Light within me, For never are we without Love And vain the losses in not giving So sweet and silent is Love’s Prayer And Sacred is our living.
Sat Nam
Our Daughter's Home in the Dharma March 1, 1981
Dedication to Adi Shakti Kaur
Torn from my embrace Daughter, the Guru’s gift To raise as strong and pure With grace In the image of the soul’s longing and belonging A Khalsa to be formed. In my womb The prayers, the dreams Of every mother for perfection Molding, enfolding the newly given soul Bowing before the Divine Mother To be the Nurturer through me, Adi Shakti, Adi Shakti, Adi Shakti, Namo, Namo… (I bow, I bow…) And blessed, a daughter given, The Guru’s child, Bundled and cradled in Gurbani, In three years so guided From the Amrit Vela of her innocence Until darkness fell. Torn from my embrace The Guru’s gift Eating flesh, her hair sliced, To whom does she belong? To live the prayer As pure and strong With Grace In the image of my soul… But in my womb The waves of labor Dreams crisscrossed Dying to be born Molding, enfolding My grief. Bowing before the Divine Mother To be the nurturer through me, By my will I cannot find the way. Leave me not to depend upon my will, This I pray… By Your will alone This daughter will return To the Guru’s home Swept along on the longing, belonging of soul.
Sat Nam
Tears Searching for Reality March 30 1981
I do all the yoga and say all the prayers I have the “bright future” But see all through tears. My child is not here My child is not here My child is not here.
Where is my child, where is the bond? Why the great distance and time so long? My womb Is a well of tears.
Will I still be crying when she is here?
I am beautiful I am sad Am I bad? I am only human Being Sad.
Rain falls to nourish Tears, they dry Sometimes, I let myself cry To empty my clouds and clear the sky. Rain falls to nourish Tears, they dry… Waiting, dry sponge clouds.
My body tries to wash the pain away Almost, I do not want to stop Flowing memory stream of tears Dam them, cram them— To be cynical is a greater pain. Released, some day they may cease When the pain has melted away.
Only, do not let me dig deeper... Imagination composes fears! The well is deep enough Painful memories are like scabs Too many thoughts can scar.
May I be blessed to apply The healing salve of Nam With every thought, Truth even tears cannot betray.
Sat Nam
As my husband's true nature came out, his blindness to my heart and soul, I was thrown into greater and greater turmoil.
May 6, 1981 Adam is very cruel and heartless. But I cannot allow myself to think about divorce, because then it would happen. That is how he wishes I would think and pushes me to the brink to desire.
Please God give us The eyes to see And the power of love to merge In a blessed destiny.
Guru Ram Das Rakko Saranaee Guru Ram Das, Grant Us Your Protection
Poems for a Husband Putting Me Under the Grill May 19, 1981
I wrote these poems for Adam. He has been putting me under a harsh grill since he has had to deal with arranging for us to see the Siri Singh Sahib. He does not want me to go and try to make him look bad, so he is making sure I understand that I am the one who is messed up. He may be right, but I can't deal with it that way. The Siri Singh Sahib told me to relax and not worry, right?
This first poem is my recognition for Adam's sake that I have been crying out of ego:
I can't live to the Truth No matter how I try The higher my ideals The lower my appeal I can't live that high I can't live that I can't live I can't I
The next poem is how I resolve it and see the way for us to have a good relationship:
My love for you will always be The longing to merge with you In love of God's Name. The only source of peace and solace for me Torn by an ego that claims to know more than me… All knowledge and grace Residing in faith In God's Name. Only in this can our love come back again Merging, with no room for pain.
Sometime let’s chant together Just for the love of it.
Sat Nam
I made the mistake of giving Adam both of those poems. I should have given him only the last one, like my intuition told me. The problem was, he did not read the final empty line of the first poem. He thought it was total ego. To me it was discarding the negative structure of my ego and following that train of thought until even the "I" was dropped. In that neutrality the second poem was to be approached. But Adam got stuck on the "I" and did not appreciate either poem.
May 24, 1981
Among my notes I found this old poem, the first sketches of it, written
in 1979. Soon after I wrote it, Siri Singh Sahib gave a talk in his
class using the same concept and the words, “When we love the heavens bow”!
When we love the heavens bow
When we love, When we love,
When we love Truth reveals its power.
The mind ever wanders round and round
Up and down, The Guru bound
Only when we love.
When we love the heavens bow
When we love, When we love
When we love Truth only is to be found.
In-Between Distances
April 25, 1982
Caught in the play of separation Between enemies, family and friends, Close, then far away— From each other, from ourselves In-between distances We pretend to pray. Who is coming? Who is going? Who is still? We are all puppets in God’s play. The strings, the breath. We may follow these strings To the Hand that holds them And melt in One embrace.
The hand that holds me molds me, As the breath given to God Is held by God, Who ever dwells within Who is coming Who is going Who is still Who is found abiding In Perfect Grace. May the Guru bless us To be together In love of God.
Poetry on an In-House Detox
April 7, 1984
I wrote some poetry on the eve and sudden prospect of giving up our bedroom to two heroin addicts doing a detox program here. Insight into typical groundless tensions:
This poetry is A flood of complaints Of worldly foibles And personal strife Rhythmically spoken Harmonious tokens That hope is Innate In all life.
Pisces vs. Pisces vs. A sketch of a fish Floated out of a sketch Of a dream Its scales of stars Emerged from my pen Doodling to sleep. And then he burst in (So many questions are asked when ever I break our routine. What to answer them with— Stars and a fish?) He does not relate To my private state Of abandon and Random design. Fish-bowl aggravation His push—such abandon Best lead a predictable life.
Inner Love
This room is my retreat Suddenly for money (Digging out of the hole yet still no light) I must leave it behind. Blundering, wondering Where lies my peace of mind? In a room, in a bed, In compartments And neat shelves Where secrets are stacked not To be read. Now some stranger is coming Into this haven Where I am woven Among the illusions of thread. Such is the problem, The heart of my haven Within me Forgotten And capped in my head!
The Touch of Words Someday I will die And these scribbles on paper Regardless of me Will survive. The thought makes me ponder— The touch of words May be as great Or greater Than life.
Anger Day 1 November 19th Thursday
SGGS p 850-851
Shalok, Third Mehl: Cursed are the hopes in the love of duality; they tie the consciousness to love and attachment to Maya. One who forsakes the peace of the Lord in exchange for straw, and forgets the Naam, suffers in pain. The ignorant self-willed manmukhs are blind. They are born, only to die again, and continue coming and going. Their affairs are not resolved, and in the end, they depart, regretting and repenting. One who is blessed with the Lord's Grace meets the True Guru; he alone meditates on the Name of the Lord, Har, Har. Imbued with the Naam, the humble servants of the Lord find a lasting peace; servant Nanak is a sacrifice to them.
Today I received the Siri Singh Sahib’s letter, feeling very grieving, angry, despondent, crying because of Adam saying three times that someday he will divorce me. Death row. So angry at him for putting me through this turmoil whether or not he meant it absolutely. So hurtful.
In the evening I was unresponsive to him. He got very angry, threw a chair to the floor with my sweater on it when I wouldn’t move it right away. Over-reacting outwardly but inwardly justified because of all the pain and hate I projected onto him.
I am forty-two, yet through Adam’s eyes feel old and weary. At least that is how I looked in a photo Adam showed me. How can this be happening?
I feel like a tree, half green, half dead. Mid-life crisis? I feel too young to be growing old. But life is always that way. I need to nourish my green branches to bear fruit. It makes no sense to keep the drying ones, or at least to dwell on them. But, anyway, this poem—climbing over dead branches…
A Mid-Life Photograph
I was shown a current photograph of me With thinning hair and shadowed eyes. Sunken in, giving in, unaware— Somehow plain and gray all over. To you—is that how I appear? Am I old? In that mirror, I am a child, painted gray, afraid, Hoping to disappear, Self-straddled with unfinished lies…. Somehow I must see I must love I must BE The Real Me that ever remains For it was Just a photograph.
