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.