Yellow Camaro Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Mother sends me links to this Yoga
teacher. She wants me to write an essay for a woman’s program called Immense
Grace. I research Ra Ma Institute for Applied Yogic Science and Technology.
Kundalini Yoga is a technology for advanced humans. It’s brainy, pranic and psychic.
I’m thrilled to apply for a scholarship. I want to learn yogic science and
technology of sage, oracle, priestess, shaman, goddess, queen and warrior. It’s
a warrior training for cosmic humans who desire spiritual growth, evolution of the
soul and creative brightness. Guru Jagat is CEO of Ra Ma Institute for Applied
Yogic Science and Technology and proud teacher. She’s it, the maverick destiny
I’ve been searching for. I’m not alone. I used to think my cosmic vibing, soul
educating and innovative jazzing was a glitch but it’s a key.
I find myself watching countless
hours of Guru Jagat on Reality Rifting and Rama TV. Her wisdom is surreal,
funky and candid. She’s bluesy, sophisticated and luminous. She’s fearless,
dauntless and fierce. I do online classes stretching my body in Olympic ways
and extending my mind across the universe. I’m training my spirit to be agile,
strong and autonomous. I’m learning heights of eagle and depths of jelly fish.
I’m mastering breath and synchronizing my intelligence with Mother Earth. My confidence
is raising and my phoenix heart is trail blazing. Guru Jagat’s teachings are a
wonderland for real time cosmic and terrestrial midwives. I found a community
of wizarding Ravens.
I research Lemuria. I’m drawn to
idea of an ancient civilization of nature-based people who posed natural
technology different from ours today. There technology was renewable, free and
clean. It wasn’t controlled by monarchs and oligarchs. It was replenishing for
ecosystems and enlivens life force. Our technology is draining like fossil fuel
being dead things.
Native
Americans are descendants of Lemurians. Lemuria was a continent in Pacific
Ocean comprised of connecting islands. Lemuria was connected to Japan, Australia,
New Zealand, Indonesia, Hawaii, Alaska to Mexico, Guatemala to Argentine. Native
American medicine men and women originate from Lemurian culture. It’s
revolutionary to know that European conquest coming from Rome, Greece, Egypt
and Middle East isn’t the start. It’s a relief. Lemuria predates story of
Atlantis by tens possibly hundreds of thousands of years. All those ancient astronaut
theories about reptilian rule in Middle East, Egypt, Greece and Roman is
crushed by enormity of Lemurian royalty. It’s nice to know humanity is so much
more than patriarchal hierarchy and that there was once an equalitarian society
that last tens of thousands of years. There was a global democracy that wasn’t hijacked
by elitist groups and their ego supremacy.
I’d
like to believe we’re transitioning back into an equalitarian society where men
and women work together. I’d like to believe humanity is ready to evolve past
diversity conflicts and discover the sun. I think about Akhenaten and Nefertiti’s
monotheism amongst a society of paralyzing polytheistic culture and its somewhat
corrupt Amun priests. Akhenaten and Nefertiti were trying to remind people that
yes there are many gods, messiahs and high beings but we are all God. Nature is
God and we are the land in which God experiences its endless story of love,
hate and justice as a visionary journey of expansion.
My brain is exploding with information.
Rama TV is a mammoth of galactic information. I can’t retain everything though I
try. I could spend weeks in my room studying this stuff. I enjoy master set
kriya. It’s only three postures. It’s good for thyroid health, digestion and metabolism.
First position, sit on knees in rock pose, lead forward over bent knees, grab heels,
lift chin off ground and breath of fire. It’s for three minutes. Second
position, remain seated on knees in rock pose, bend backward resting head on
ground, press top of head on ground, opening neck and throat and breath of
fire. It’s for three minutes. Third position, deep yogic squat, wrap arms inside
legs and around feet grabbing towards toes, chin up and breath of fire. It’s
for three minutes. It’s a simple kriya and yet gives me a lot of potency and
vitality.
I’m practicing Ong Namo Guru Dev
Namo. It’s a mantra that starts every Kundalini Yoga practice. It’s a sound
current to enhance creative brain, connection to wise teachers and awakens authentic
autonomy. I know my house mother listens in on my music through pressing her
ear on closed door. She’s nosey and looking for something ecstatic to do.
My favorite tantric meditation is
Tersula kriya. Meditation goes like this. Sit in meditation posture, place arms
ahead of chest at a 40-degree angle, bring hands together, left over right at
fingers with thumbs out forming a trident. Eyes are closed, looking straight
ahead. Inhale long and deep. Hold breath on inhale and mentally recite
Gobinday. Visualize gas stove blue light spinning around hands very fast. Exhale
long and deep. Hold breath out and visualize lightning bolts shouting out
finger tips. I continue meditation for twenty-two minutes. It’s designed to
clear subconscious. Yogic science teaches that subconscious stores a lot of
stuff. Not all stuff is good. There is perversions, phobias, negative
interlocks, generational trauma and collective mental waste. It’s can be a hoard
house of miscellaneous stuff that makes us psychologically heavy and dense.
Message pops up. I look at on my
phone. “See you by the river at 7.” I smile at Pasha’s care for me. Everything
is new for me. I feel cleansed of ideas of who I should and shouldn’t be. I’m
not my mother or my childhood. I am a unique individual who has a special
perspective and splendid gift to share that originates from my soul. I feel safe
inside this wild unknown. It keeps me alert, vigilant and strong willed. I’m my
own best friend. I’m my own mother and father. It’s lonely at time but I’m
never alone. I have friends who are equally inventive, adventurous and playful.
Seriousness of the world hasn’t calcified me yet. Boxes and labels haven’t
marked me yet. Trauma of tough survival hasn’t wounded me yet. I’m an orange
that hasn’t hit cold ground yet. My orange hasn’t been consumed by world of
hustle, compete and take. I take what I give. I’m artistically ambitious and that
makes me unhinged to a world that settles for a nightmare instead of the journey.
I redress. I remove blue jeans and
white flowery shirt to put on black flowy dress. I grab my bag and head into
street. I take scenic route to river flowing beside University of Segovia. Following
dirt road through tall grasses with abundant red roses, I see Raven on his brown
stallion. He’s perfect portrait of a timeless moment. Mountain of green with
snowy top behind him, ocean waves of green whirling all around him, city of
Segovia sprouting out of grasses to his right and endless roaming green rounds
to his left. Red of roses and blue of sky where a sun revolves closer to Earth,
is tattooed on my soul. If death has a panorama show revealing life’s many experiences,
I will see Raven on his horse riding into green towards brown hawk’s nest. I
pass walkers on their usual track. Some wave. Some are memorized by the now.
Some need to destress.
Trail takes me around Segovia. I
climb onto street, walk across a bridge and enter sanctuary for birds at river.
University of Segovia is a castle once occupied by nobles clenching to gold
with big barns full of horses, ruby necklaces and emerald light holders. Rooms have
high heights and echo. Megalithic stones make rooms heavy, dropping them into
deep Earth.
I see Pasha sitting on bench facing
river. Trees hang like willow trees. Flowers grow colorfully and city chatter
and enterprise disappear inside forest of ethereal smells. I sit beside Pasha. We
stare at river. He squeezes my hand placing it in his lap. He intertwines his
fingers with mine.
“How was school?” Pasha asks.
“I’m doing very well. Have you
written any stories?”
Pasha is nervous to speak.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I rise
and stand at river edge.
“There’s one about a girl with hair
like an owl’s nest. She’s brave, fun and very smart. There’s a young man whose
never been in love before. He distances himself from love because he’s scared
it will end painfully and he’ll be swallowed up by despair. He knows despair well.
He’s nearly drowned in its stormy waters. He’s learned how to numb the pain. Alcohol
is his only true friend because it gives him an escape from reality. There are
times when reality is too overwhelming. His feelings are deeper than most people
know. He finds this lovely girl but a part of him knows she’s too good for him.
A part of him knows love is a fading rose. He’s afraid her care for him will
fade. One day she’ll just move on. He wants to live in the moment but is afraid
to surrender. He wants moments to last forever but nothing is eternal,” Pasha
is silent, introspective and distant.
I sit on bench. Pasha can’t look at
me. He’s detached. Vulnerability is too shattering. He’s an empty chalice and
his waters flow through me.
“I like this story. I don’t think
the girl is too good for him…I think about my past sometimes. I had a best
friend Lele. I thought we’d be friends forever. She helped me overcome my isolation,
endless grief and emotional disconnect. She gave me fire, craziness and
loyalty. She turned my hearth on and it hasn’t gone cold since. We radically
split freshman year. One day I just forgot to call her. I used to call her every
day. Then, a week went by and then a month. I saw her sometimes at football
games but we never really spoke. Years went by and her number is lost to me. I
called her after high school graduation. She helped me pack for Tennessee. We collided
as if no time has passed. We laughed, fooled around and spoke about our mundane
adventures. She’s forever in my heart and I don’t know why. I’ve known many
people. I’ve had a lot of good friends and not so good friends. All we can do is
be here now,” I smile slowly.
Pasha is uptight, serious and stiff.
“Do you want to go to the carnival
with me? We’re going tonight.”
Pasha nods, yes. His quietude needs
space.
“I’ll see you later then,” I begin
to walk towards heart of city where a festival is occurring.
Pasha is reserved for a reason. Something
bothers him. We’re all going through hiccups becoming adults. Our brain doesn’t
fully develop until twenty-five. Until then we’re imbalanced, chaotic and wild.
We’re wet clay. I’d rather be this way then hard clay that cannot be changed. Our
young adult chaos is closer to nature than cement jungle called a human mind.
I want to kiss Pasha. He holds back
because he doesn’t want to get attached. Attachments always cause suffering because
life is impermeant. Everything we are, everything we know changes.
Divorce
rate is at all time high. It seems most divorces are messy full of vindictive
behavior, shallow breathing and ridged attitude. Other divorces are numbing
like getting used to the sun and no longer appreciating its warmth and
vitality. I understand Pasha’s hesitation. It’s scary to trust what we can’t
see but know to be. It takes gallant risks to survive world of distance. We’re
all distant from each other and we don’t realize it because we’re used to it.
I stride into festival with crowds
of colorful people holding streamers of red. It’s a European holiday. I’m not
sure which. Cheerful faces are childlike. Elderly people sit in chairs smiling
at their grandchildren. Musicians play on a stage. Market places are every four
yards going up and down streets. I see Lucus, my sparkly friend.
“What’s up with you and Pasha?”
Lucus asks.
“You think he’s hot?”
“Of course,” Lucus wraps his arm
around my shoulders.
We gallop streets matching strides.
“You didn’t answer my question,”
Lucus is juicy and spicy.
“I like Pasha. I think he likes me
back but he’s distant.”
“He must be in love with you,” Lucus
goes to market booth and buys two sombreros. He places one on top of my head.
“We look like Raven,” I say to
myself.
“Who’s Raven?”
“He’s a neighbor. He rides his horse
through fields early morning a lot.”
“Is he sexy?”
“He’s old.”
Lucus and I marvel at lines of
market booths. People are selling gorgeous art, baskets, clothing, shoes,
vintage photos, produce, quilts, shays, trinkets, pocket watches, ceramic cups
and bowls, blankets, boots, garden tools, clay sculptures, handmade drums and
flutes, original music CDs, live paintings, jewelry, candles, books,
windchimes, dream catchers, Mother Mary pins, Jesus stickers, Segovia
keychains, University of Segovia student art, Catholic books, Isable de Castile
portraits, giant landscape art, abstract canvases. Lucus buys a Jesus sticker
for three dollars and places it on his bag.
Lucus pulls me into his chest,
wrapping his arms around me. His friendship is possessive.
“Does all this religious stuff make
you feel uptight?” Lucus asks me, being openly queer and invincibly proud to be
a one-of-a-kind human being. He’s artsy, colorful and wears tie-die a lot. He’s
perfect surf dude and is not afraid to socialize with gay men. He’s already
went on a date with a guy he met at a disco. I think he’s slept with him too. Lucus
doesn’t hold back. One-night stands don’t hurt him. He’s content with letting go
and moving on.
“Overly religious people make me
nervous. My grandmother is super catholic. She believes Buddha, Shakti and Thot
are demonic. Born a sinner. Die a sinner. I was told by a preacher that in
order to be accepted by Jesus I’d have to let go of my Native American culture.
I told him my Native American heritage isn’t bad. It’s a way of nature. He told
me I must surrender to Jesus in order to receive his love. I didn’t return to
that church. It reminded me of European monarchs manipulating the people into
surrendering free will to a society that places them always at the bottom and discourages
their independence.”
Marigold red sun beams through
streets as festival ends. Stars glint and blanket sky with indigo. Lucus and I
walk uphill towards our homes hand in hand. We skip matching feet. Lucus twirls
me around. We dance slowly in street. Lucus has been learning salsa at discos. Lucus
picks me up and whirls me around. I imagine I’m a bird rolling through air.
Lucus is awestruck to be away. Segovia is his bliss, refuge and jubilee. It
gives him reinvention, style and advancements to his being.
I look straight ahead and see Pasha.
Pasha is stunned, confused and angry. He rushes away.
“What’s wrong with him?” Lucus
notices Pasha scowl.
“I think he thinks we’re a thing.”
Lucus laughs. “If only he knew how
gay I am.”
“I’ll see you at carnival,” I rush
off towards Pasha.
Pasha runs very fast. He goes into
alley and then into another. I try not to lose him. I run after him until I
slam into someone. We hit the ground. Spanish man with black hair, blue eyes
and thick black eyebrows curses at me. I get up and run forward. I’ve lost
Pasha.
I try texting Pasha. “What you saw
isn’t what you think.” There is no response.
I sluggishly walk to carnival alone.
I enter carnival and it shockingly doesn’t have a lot of people. It’s near
empty. Maybe, people are coming later. Maybe, people don’t know it’s going on.
I see Kathy a beautiful dark chocolate woman with big Egyptian eyes, bushy afro
and purple dress. She wears crystals around her neck and wrists and sings Oshun
songs. She’s jazzy and lyrical. She’s a ballet dancer and performed in community
nutcracker. She’s a long tree with fruiting boughs.
“Nobody’s here!” Kathy is confused.
“More for us,” a smile takes off.
“I thought you’d come with Pasha.”
“There’s a little misunderstanding.”
“What?”
“I think Pasha thinks I’m dating Lucus.”
Kathy laughs loudly. “Let me text
him.”
Kathy takes my phone, “Pasha, don’t
be a pussy. You want me. Come and get me.”
I grab my phone, “Hell, no. Don’t say
that.”
Kathy and I fight over my phone. I
finally get my phone.
“Oh my God. It’s sent,” I think
about what to say to fix the mistake.
“Don’t text him again. Let’s see what
he does.”
I’m blushing with shakiness. My blood
is warm. My upper lip sweats.
“Come on. Let’s have fun,” Kathy
grabs my hand and leads me to a ride. We sit in a swing and whirl in circles
soaring high above. Kathy screams drunkenly. It’s a rush and we’re adrenaline. I
take Kathy to pentacle of rides. We climb into seats. On green light, we ascend
to top then drop, free fall towards the ground. We stop abruptly before
crashing into bottom.
We play shoot moving animal target,
toss coin over bottle, hit button and pump-up air to bell, throw softballs at
mark that drop person into ice water and go through fun house with freaky clown
that throws pies at us. We enter mirror house. Kathy is intoxicated from trippy
clowns. She rushes through mirror maze. I lose track of Kathy.
“Kathy! Wait for me!” There’s no
response.
Mirror maze is rough. I’m wandering
around for thirty minutes. I’m starting to go insane. My brain hurts. I’m
walking in circles.
“This is supposed to be a kid’s
game!” I scream at my reflection. I roar, slamming my hands on mirror. My make
up is running from sweat. I have raccoon eyes. I look gothic. I keep pushing forward,
trying different directions. I’m restless and anxious. I start to panic.
“Help!” I shout for a carnival
employee to come get me.
I start running. I’m going nowhere. I
stop to catch my breath. I close my eyes and cool down. I open my eyes and see
Pasha. He’s looking at me in mirror. I turn around. He’s not there.
“Great! I’m losing it!” I’m becoming
the mad hatter.
I steady myself and walk forward. I
push past my mind playing tricks on me. I keep seeing Pasha in mirrors. He’s
nowhere around.
“Pasha, if you’re out there, please
come out!” I must be starting my period. My hormones are out of whack.
I see Pasha in mirrors guiding me. I
follow him. I feel chilly air. I’m close to exit. I look at my phone to see if Pasha
has responded. No response but it says read. My heart is racing. I feel icky
sweaty and out of breath from anxiety. Chilly air comforts and soothes me. Pasha
pops up in mirror again. I turn to see Pasha smiling. I hit his shoulders
playfully.
“I thought you were a ghost,” my
mind has ease.
Pasha stands towering over me. He’s
pensive and intensely masculine. He smells of cologne and has his hair slicked
back. His face is flushed and rosy. His breath is erratic and lush. He stands
far from me. I step to him. He steps back.
“Are we still playing a game?” I step
towards him. He steps back. He smiles like a prank. I see way out. I walk
towards exit. Pasha grabs my hand. I turn to face him. He’s quiet. He’s just
staring at me.
“What’s going on?” I’m impatient and
jumpy.
Pasha speaks to me through his eyes.
He’s soulful.
“You want me to read your mind?”
Pasha winks pleasantly.
“You read my message.”
Pasha bits his lip.
“You thought my message was shocking
and…a wakeup call.”
Pasha steps forward. We must be
playing Marco Polo.
I continue to read Pasha’s charming face.
He’s so handsome, endearing and ages like fine wine. His spirit is cedar and
his heart is rosemary. He’s a bear and a wolf. I don’t want to say what I feel.
Pasha’s unmoving presence forces me.
“What you saw earlier, Lucus is gay.
We’re just playful.”
Pasha takes another step forward.
“Can you tell me how you feel? Why
must I go first?” I breathe, mending my frustration.
It’s overwhelming his eye gaze. I keep
looking away and then back at him. His eye gaze is fixed on me. He stands like
a statue, a riddle I must solve. My heart is racing. I can sense his heart is
racing. He tries to hide it. He folds his arms behind him interlacing fingers. He
waits for me to crack the code. People pass by, exiting mirror house
thankfully.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking but
I know how I feel…You make me feel nervous and powerful. You’re the only person
I think about all the time. I love how you dance at the disco. You’re so free…”
Pasha takes another step forward. I try
not to concave and collapse in on myself. I anchor my feet to ground.
“What you’re thinking now is that
you want to kiss me,” I say hesitantly. I look away from his empirical eye
gaze. I’m shrinking while he’s elongating towards heaven. My hands are sweaty
and my throat is choking up. My stomach flies out of my body. Tingles up my
spine arouse me. I can feel Pasha’s sexual energy radiating from his strong
body. I want to pounce on him like a jaguar. I want to rip off his clothes and
jump on top of him. I want to press my ear to his chest and listen to his
heart. I want to feel his pelvis open and inject me with some of his infinity. My
breath is shaking. My legs are wobbly. I feel faint. Energy between us is
original.
Pasha takes another step towards me.
“I made this for you,” I take out a friendship bracelet from my pocket. It’s red,
orange, purple and green like Segovia sunrise outside my window. I extend it
out for Pasha to take. He resists.
“Haven’t I won,” I wink at Pasha’s unmovable
stare.
Pasha’s mouth opens as if he’s going
to speak. I step forward. “You want to say it but you’re afraid. I want to say
it but I’m afraid. We’re at an impasse,” I look down at my friendship bracelet I
made for Pasha. Pasha steps forward. We’re close enough to touch. I want to
touch Pasha so much. We’re in a game. Whoever gives in first loses. I don’t
want to play this game anymore. I tie friendship bracelet around Pasha’s left
wrist.
“Where ever you go, whoever you’re
with a part of me is with you,” I mouth “I love you.”
Pasha grabs my face and kisses me
fervent, foolish, rough, smooth, soothing, monstruous, valiant, harmonic, orgasmic,
melodic, symphonic, jubilant, generous, big and sentimental. His tongue slides
into my mouth. My tongue grabs his tongue. They slide above, below tracing each
other’s spine from bottom to top. I feel his memories, heartbreak, profound joy
and determination. I sip from his infinite waters as I pour into his eternal
chalice.
In
closed eyes, chakras explosion electrifying my body with pure prana. Orgasm wets
my underwear. I’m soaking in Pasha’s pheromone. I smell of Pasha. His psyche
interlocks with mine. Weaving energy is bathing in holy waters. I feel safe,
boundless, clear and magical. My body synchronizes with Pasha. I feel his juice
like biting into a pear. I’m taking in Pasha’s ojas. His power overtakes my
free will. I am free falling without parachute and I’m unafraid of death. I
surrender to passage of youth and old age. I embrace fear and allow it to dare
me. Pasha dares me to give in, let go, release, open like a budding rose. Pasha
devours my rose like a predator. I'm a lamb and he's the lion. Pasha surfs my waves without
hesitation. He swims my storms level headed. He uncages my captive heart and rehabilitates
my existence. I’m meant to be untamed, glorious and different. Our difference
is classic meteorite like stardust impacting the Earth sharing its enrich guts
so Earth can have ingredients to new potential. We’re growing a big bean stock
that extends beyond this realm and enters into other realms where we exist infinitely.