Maya Rolls Over
Cindy woke as Maya rolled and adjusted the pillows she used between her knees, or beneath if on her back, and over head if cold or she felt a draft. It was annoying. Cindy woke every time she did it, sometimes it seemed every fifteen minutes. Everything annoyed Cindy to some extent, always had. Long as she could remember, some degree of annoyance “hung dark before her star,” a psychic told her once—unfinished business from a previous life, not easy to deal with, would make relationships difficult, issues of trust.
Maya helped a lot with this. Cindy looked at her in the predawn light… petite of figure, thick curly hair, dark black and shoulder length, always in her face, fat lips and bubble butt. Cindy snuggled back in, took her hand and clasped it to her chest, held still as Maya mumbled and returned to sleep, breath steady, scent sweet. Thoughts of Tom and farm hit hard in the predawn and left in their wake, confusion, fear and pain. She squeezed Maya’s hand, thought—without her, I might not have had the courage to do what I did… buoyant counter to Tom’s dead weight, sweet mermaid saved her from a sinking ship. You did what you had to… she told herself again and again, per Maya’s direction… Everybody’s having their own perfect experience.
If Cindy expressed doubt, Maya would point out, “Look at what is, girl! Everything improved when you left him. Deselect the negative… you deserve better.” It was true. Cindy had to admit. She felt in tune with the Tao… most of her time now spent on the right side of karma, making progress towards enlightenment, emptying old baggage, engaging in spiritual practice… where before she felt punished, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, never settled or sure, stuck following Tom like some tail wagging dog. Raw foods and juice, diet free of gluten and refined sugar, regular bodywork and meditation, helped her realize—Tom’s poverty mentality triggered insecurity and closed her heart, made her feel isolated, like all life ran through him and all she could do was react to what he thought was right. Cindy went from a stagnant, robotic and barely sexual relationship (she was never much interested in) to one dynamic and inexhaustible—mutual desire expressed and experienced at a cellular level, net energy gain rather than loss, no sleepless afterthoughts. Honeymoon… infatuation… rebound… keep it real, girl!
Unable to sleep any more, she slid out of bed, went to the practice room and did backbends, to open the heart and catch her breath. Never could quite breathe deep enough to overcome that hitch in her chest—a lack, she felt came from ‘the cave’ between her breasts, she hated ever seeing. Looking straight at it, in fact, could all but stop her breath. She hated being topless and swimsuits seldom felt comfortable, bras never fit. Maya helped her with these body issues and for the first time in her adult life, she felt okay being without a man and blessed to have a community that supported and accepted her choices.
She tiptoed downstairs and lit the woodstove, stacked the night before with paper, kindling and logs because once it’s lit Maya does not want the door reopened, until it’s completely out and free of smoke. Their house, so beautiful, two bedroom A-frame, cute little stove, hardwood floors, cast iron pots and pans (properly cared for), spiritual knick-knacks everywhere, the altar, very little furniture, cushions on the floor. She put water on for tea and drank the smoothie Maya made the night before, with Chinese herbs and enzymes to clear negative energy. You signed on, same as me… she imagined Tom’s response to her complaints. They used all the money Cindy’s Grandparents left her. She never had so much money at once and wanted to buy a new Honda Element. But Tom hit it big on some investments and her parents gave them a generous wedding present, tithed to that purpose—their return to Oregon. He sent her an email one day with pictures of the farm and a few lines of text. The pictures were beautiful… mountains in the sunset, fiery red, vast fields of sunflowers, dramatic canyons, beautiful house and barns. A conversation about organic farming over dinner and next thing she knew… they sold all their property in Indiana and bought a Sunshine Organic Dairy franchise, near Madras, in Central Oregon. Oregon… she was all for, hated Indiana, which felt like living twenty years behind, with a bunch of oblivious people pretending they’re ahead. Tom said he would never leave the Midwest but when his mother and sister moved to Portland, he softened his stance.
Yes… Cindy signed off on the plan, signed over her check, wanted nothing more than to get out of the Midwest. It all seemed so well timed and in line with what they wanted—an earth based life, back to the land… Back to the wall, was more like it. She had no idea how much work it would be or what veal was and felt by Tom misled, who grew up around dairy farms and knew damn well how much work it took to run one and what they did to baby cows. From the moment they stepped foot on that farm, every day was more work than she’d ever done at once and Cindy got lost in the never ending routine of finish what you’re doing and start whatever’s next, fast as you can, everything needing done about yesterday, as they say. Constant slop she had to clean, stink upon stink upon stink, no hope you’ll ever catch up, wind and weather extremes, no money to buy anything, never seeing anyone but Tom, cows and Britney the dog, stupid little town. They lived in a high desert, ungodly hot in summer and cold in winter, constant wind… until she felt half dead and hate, hate, hated… but couldn’t admit it, kept trying to the end, like something would change, the initial promise re-manifest. That she blamed Tom for all this, seemed justified and in her best interest, at least until the divorce finished and they could meet and make peace, without the fate of three-hundred cows and monster debt hanging over their heads. He lied to you… she slammed the door shut and vowed not to think of him again, cleaned the stove and made some toast but couldn’t eat it. Chinese herbs in the smoothie turned her stomach. While doing the dishes, she thought—I need to get pregnant… second time in as many days, must be ovulating… Keep it real girl! That’s not gonna happen!
“I am manifesting the reality I know I want and deserve to have,” she burned some sage and whispered affirmations to herself in Athena’s mirror. Did the mudra Maya showed her, while bundling up for the ride to work in rain gear, “I am in my full power as a woman, putting myself first…” They did not yet have a car. The Ford pick-up, she left the farm in, broke down, first week in Eugene and cost too much to fix. So she scrapped it for $300 and found a job close by, where she could ride her bike. Liked her bike but sometimes, on the ride, she’d be not quite able to get her head around the fact that she was thirty-nine, getting divorced, no kids, no car, no money or insurance and working at Bagel World… would gasp and grow short of breath, have to stop and walk or sit. Felt a part of herself was lost and feared she might never get it back. Like… she’d given up control and just gone along with what others wanted too often, lost touch with her own desire.
“Oppressive patriarchal imprints,” Maya called it, “Repression of the authentic feminine,” propagated by Tom’s domination and before that, her father and brother… but that didn’t help. It had always seemed like her soul or spirit (or whatever it is gets you to do difficult things) was not up to the challenge, took flight at the worst possible moments and left her behind, dazed, awkward and short of breath, to flounder around and stand out like an idiot, having to be told what to do next, while it absconded (who knows where?) with confidence, meaning and direction, left her to follow whomever seemed to know better than she. Well… now, things were different, “I am manifesting the reality I know I want and deserve to have, steady and sure on my one true path,” she repeated affirmations all the way to work and never lost her breath.
After she left Tom standing in the barnyard… Cindy met Maya at Mazatlan¢, a Mexican restaurant in Madras, still trembling from the wild exit. They rehearsed something quite different but when Cindy found out Tom lied and cheated on her, an instinct kicked in and leaving became necessary, right then, his misdeed sum leverage she had to make use of or risk cold feet later on. She wanted to write a note and just go, the moment she found out, leave before he got home. But dumb allegiance to the well-being of cows kept her there doing chores until Tom got back, whence Kali-Cindy rose and terrified him to the point she knew he wouldn’t try and stop her. Just in case and eager to be on their way, they did not linger long at Mazatlan¢, got some take-out and drove in separate vehicles to Sisters. Cindy behind, locked on Maya’s taillights, lest they disappear and she not know where to go. Having made a reservation at Hotel Sisters, they checked in, found their room and made love for hours, falling asleep at dawn, satiated. And thus it was that Cindy fled purgatory and plunged into a paradise of woman love. Maya’s touch… evidence enough she’d done the right thing. Never felt like that before, not even close with Tom. Maya felt present, attentive and nurturing. With Tom? Sex was like… sitting on a fence.
Maya was living in a rented house, near Sundance Natural Foods, with two other lesbians—Cilandria and Ruth, when Cindy moved in. Cindy liked them but, two weeks later, they abruptly moved out. Maya said they were jealous, triggered by their spectacle of romantic bliss and tantric sex play. Cindy, however, had overheard her tell them to leave. A few days later she confessed this fact and asked why? Maya said their energy was net negative and sapping hers and they were too materialist, wanted to have a couch downstairs… Once it was just them… the money Cindy took from the farm safe (for sweat equity) went quick. They paid a lot of rent and ate expensive and exotic natural foods. Maya, a Tantric healer and yoga teacher, did not make much money but ate like she did—every newfangled health snack or drink. It was a struggle for them to pay the whole rent but they managed, both wanting and feeling it to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Maya believed in boundless sexuality, second chakra wide open, everything as tantric play, sensual and interactive. They made love all over the place, night and day, screamed their heads off, took long baths together and washed each other. Things tapered off once Cindy got a job where she had to get up at 4. A night owl, Maya never taught before noon and often stayed awake until 2 or 3, jacked on prana. They would make love predawn, sometimes, when she came to bed.
Cindy rolled up to the back door, where several employees huddled under a small canopy, trying to stay out of the rain. She locked her bike to a gas pipe and opened the door to let them in. Someone switched on the lights, turned up the heat and started the machines. Cindy hung up her rain gear and had just set to rolling out dough, when Tiffany, a yoga student of Maya’s, working the station across from hers, said, “So… how do you feel about moving to Portland? You excited?”
“What? I’m not moving to Portland.”
“Oh… I thought,” hands to mouth, Tiffany exchanged looks with several of her co-workers nearby, who obviously knew what she was talking about and just shook their heads, visibly dumbfounded.
“Okay… what’s the big secret?” Cindy said in a maternal tone and continued to roll out dough.
They all loved Cindy. Cindy loved them. Their silliness, the perfect antidote for her boatload of emotional baggage. Best manager they’d ever had, Tiffany said. Managing them was a breeze, compared to working a dairy. Cindy was a good motivator and U of O graduate, herself. Most were or had been U of O students and attended, at one time or another, Maya’s yoga class or workshop. Tiffany, her protégé, sometimes taught, if Maya had to miss.
“Tiffany’s got a big mouth!” Sean, the assistant manager and also a star student and fill-in teacher, trained by Maya, said and glared at Tiffany, his girlfriend, who stood still, eyes wide, hands over mouth, as if froze, milking the pose for dramatic effect.
“That’s no secret!” Others chimed in.
“Come on, let’s have it,” Cindy stopped rolling out dough, felt like a housemother, only one in Bagel World over twenty-five.
“Should I?” Tiffany slid her flour covered hands from her flour covered mouth and looked at Sean, who just shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what a clown she was.
Cindy gestured with a hand, like teachers do when they know you’re hiding something you have to give them, “Come now, Tiffany… enquiring minds want to know!” Everyone stopped what they were doing and laughed at this.
“Well, I don’t know for certain… that she took it, I mean… but I know Celeste offered Maya a prime slot teaching Shadow, at Yogaflow. She’d be the only Shadow teacher in Portland. Her classes will be packed! They already come down here en masse. I don’t know how you say no to that. If she moves, I’m moving too. Sorry… I have a big mouth,” she laughed and dusted flour off her face with a towel.
“True that,” Sean said, eying Cindy for signs of distress. Most had no idea what she’d been through. Organic dairy farm sounded idyllic to them, much as it had to her at first—back to the land, natural cycles and seasons. One doesn’t think of the insects and snakes and stink of cow shit permeating everything, little calves imprisoned, rusted bolts, breached fence and broken machines, dust on everything… She’d shared more in depth with Sean, as they often opened alone together on slow days. Sean knew what Maya meant to Cindy, or thought he did, had a brief fling with her himself and hard time letting go, did not think they’d last—no one ever did. Cindy leaned on the butcher block and laughed to hide the fact she couldn’t catch a breath.
Sean sensed something amiss and muscled everyone back on task, as Cindy retreated to the office and then bathroom, where she sat for ten minutes, on the verge of throwing up, trying not to overreact, to this… betrayal of trust. What else could you call it? She cleaned the bathroom and thought things through again and again, until someone knocked and needed to use it. How could Maya even consider this, knowing the situation Cindy is in? Where’s the trust? Transparency? Unity? She said Eugene was long term. Cindy felt afraid, betrayed and sick to her stomach, threw up the smoothie and splashed cold water on her face, before exiting.
Back in the saddle, she called Sean to her desk and asked if he could cover the shift, while she ran an errand? He nodded and said, “You okay?” She shot him back a glance which conveyed everything she could not say, “Don’t worry, I got this. Take as long as you need,” he gave her a hug. She did not reciprocate. Bundled up outside, under the canopy, got on her bike and raced back home, with one thought foremost—confront Maya and convince her not to take it.
Breathing hard and wet from rain, she left her bike outside, ran in and went straight up to where Maya slept. It was 6 a.m., “Maya?” She said, in a barely lowered voice, cresting the steps, not even in the room yet.
Maya, lying on her side, awake, heard Cindy arrive… her squeaky brakes, and guessed why. Felt like she lived in a fish bowl, at times, “Hmm?” Tiffany, I bet, or Sean, let it slip… she thought, dropped into her heart, surrounded herself with white light and said, “You’re back? What time is it?” Rolled over and stretched.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Cindy came to her side of the bed and sat, even though she was wet, “I know being pushed to process is a trigger but I’m freaking out over something Tiffany said and you know what it is. Can we talk about this?”
“As is talking first thing… ooh, you’re all wet!” Maya turned away, curled up and pulled a pillow over her head.
“What? Talking first thing?” Cindy didn’t know what she meant, “What’s that mean?”
“A trigger…” Cindy pulled the pillow away and Maya snapped, “I meditate and practice first thing. You know that. Sit with me in silence, for twenty minutes, at least?” She knew Cindy wouldn’t do this, “Ground the negative energy? I can’t afford to take it on, with the kind of day I have,” she remained turned away, eyes closed, so tired of everyone’s neediness.
“Maya, please? I have to get back. I’ll be distracted all day. You’ve got classes till late. I won’t be able to sleep, please?” Cindy hated being needy but there she was—Needy Cindy in the driver’s seat, bite or kiss but don’t dismiss, unless you want a wreck on your hands.
“I feel very uncomfortable and cornered. If I say yes… I enable this pattern.”
“Pattern?” This angered Cindy, “What pattern? Reaching out to your lover for help and understanding… trust? That pattern? Maya, please? Help me out here… have you decided?”
“I have not… I have a big day today and…”
“So do I… please?” She hated the sound of her voice, being needy but she had to know.
Maya pulled a pillow over her head again, but said, “Okay… can I… get some space?”
Cindy stood, hung raincoat and pants on a stair post, picked up and folded some clothes, put them away. Got a dirty towel from the hamper and pressed it where the bed got wet, felt water drip from her hair and trickle between her breasts. Maya stacked a few pillows against the headboard, completely naked, sat in full lotus position and wrapped up in the comforter, a motion of exposure then eclipse, which made Cindy feel shut out, shunned, like… if we have to talk now, I’m going to do it from a place of complete detachment and indifference, so as not to take on your negative vibrations. Maya closed her eyes, chanted Om three times and dedicated the conversation to the highest good, then, straight to the point, “Okay, as best I can say it, as I’ve explained many times… I, insofar as I am in the world, just follow along and await the outcomes, same as you… with more equanimity perhaps but free of the illusion—I am in charge. I practice dharma, embrace karma and eat what’s on my plate. I told you that. It’s mysterious…”
This annoyed the shit out of Cindy—Maya’s yoga class persona, spiritual savant, surrender to spirit, the big dodge, “You think that helps? What does, “I want you as a life partner Cindy.” And, “I’m all in…” mean to you? How’m I supposed to take that? That’s not what you said when you invited me to leave my husband and move in here or asked Cilandria and Ruth to leave… just awaiting the outcomes… No, I wouldn’t say that. Seemed pretty assertive of your own will then,” Cindy mocked her and knew right away she’d gone too far.
“Cindy… stop. Please? Don’t do that. Don’t create a rift that doesn’t exist… be respectful.”
Cindy nodded, tried to take a deep breath and almost started crying, felt like a little kid scolded by someone who knew how to stay calm and say things a lot better than she did, when it got desperate.
Maya went on, “Sorry, but this is not realistic. I would need to pretend I am more in control than I am, of this situation, to even begin to address your reaction. I don’t work like that… Spirit unfolds, as it does, as it must and I respond when the moment persists.”
Cindy could tell she’d decided already, “You said Eugene was long term Maya. This is big. I’m getting divorced… a big financial mess. I need support and stability—things you said were here! I like my job, new friends! Tantric sex… things are going great! Why now?”
“Let no man put asunder what Goddess joins together,” Maya opened the blanket, unfolded her legs and coaxed Cindy in, wrapped them up again, wiped away tears and kissed lips, whispered, “Let go… surrender to the adventure, be-loved and held. Don’t invent stuff to be afraid of, girl. I’m honest as they come. I can’t do what I do and hide stuff. You may well know what I don’t, already. Trust your intuition. Maybe we are going…”
Cindy hated this feeling… hate, hate, hated it—insecurity, distrust, neediness… people who aren’t what they say or seem… the feeling of something hid and ever pressing change. She couldn’t breathe. Maya got her to relax, synchronized their breaths, helped her get undressed, took down her hair, made her keep her eyes open and go slow through a Tantric exchange of affirmation, “Breathe deep and feel who you are in pleasure…” Cindy embodied, relaxed, even let Maya touch her breasts. Doubts vanished, they made love to a mutual climax and collapsed, took a long nap.
Cindy woke when Maya rolled and adjusted her pillows… looked at the clock, “Shit!” She jumped out of bed, “Eleven?! Oh my goddess—work!” Maya mumbled, rolled over and went back to sleep, as Cindy gathered her clothes, ran downstairs, got dressed and on her bike raced back to work… where everything was fine, “Sean, you’re the best ever,” she said, when they got a moment alone before close, gave him a long hug and Sean smelled Maya on her.
Maya had made up her mind about everything, except how to tell Cindy. Two days later, she rented a private tub at Onzen Spa and dropped the bomb, told her she accepted the position, found a place for them to live, help moving and expenses covered, begged her to come with, forge a life together in Portland, where they already had friends and their families lived. Reconciled to this by then, Cindy said, “Yes,” even though she felt ignored and steamrolled in the process, “I support you one-hundred per cent and would follow you anywhere, my love.”
Cindy would not have to get a job right away, because Maya could support them with advance money for Shadow teacher training (already on the books) and her Tantric workshop at Breitenbush Hot Springs. They moved into the upstairs of a duplex, at 4724 NE Garfield Ave., six months to the day, she drove off and left Tom standing in the barnyard. Realized, a few weeks later, after unpacking the last boxes, that thoughts of Tom and farm had not troubled her, since leaving Eugene. She’d been too busy packing, unpacking and supporting Maya’s transition. But no sooner had this thought passed, than worry and obsession returned with a vengeance. The divorce dragged on and ran up costs and it seemed like she was talking with lawyers every other day. Tom insisted on saving the farm and would not agree to buy her out, so they forced a liquidation, which took forever to happen. The whole mess hung over her head, like a massive dark cloud, mounting legal costs covered by her father… for now. She kept most of it from Maya, who, teaching seven Shadow classes a week with teacher training on weekends, was averse to negative expressions. Cindy wanted to talk with Tom, yet refused several offers he made, knew not what to say and did not want him to know where she was or with whom.
Maya took Portland by storm. Everyone wanted to study Shadow. Packed classes had long waiting lists. There were photo shoots, pictures on posters and brochures. She made good money from teacher training and weekend workshops and was surrounded now by a constant crowd of super-fit and attractive men and women, who all wanted to study with her (and more…). Cindy, unceremoniously plucked from her cozy existence in small town Eugene and plopped down in the midst of a hot yoga scene, big city, fast pace, lots of competition, always felt others imagined themselves in her place, behind the scenes, sleeping with Maya, the Shadow Goddess…
This is why Cindy glommed onto Sean when, two months in, he came and stayed with them. She reveled in his willingness to critique the Shadow scene. They got a lot of laughs out of how pretentious the crowd was and full of themselves. His last day there, Maya, overhearing this at breakfast, got very upset and said they were, “poisoning the well with jealousy and pettiness,” while she works herself to exhaustion trying to build things up. Chastised, they apologized and she clicked into baby Maya mode and soon had them both doting. Sean massaging her neck and head and Cindy her feet. He asked if she was crashing and she said she was. This had happened several times when they were together and he recognized the signs. It had not happened with Cindy yet, although she’d heard stories, “Spiritual exhaustion,” Maya called it, the result of a high frequency being too long in a low frequency environment—hard to gauge how much she is giving away or the intent of those who take. Sean offered to teach her evening class, something he had done many times before. She accepted, told them both she loved them and fell asleep.
Cindy decided to come with and take the class. Did partner yoga on occasion with Maya but never Shadow, never thought she could do all the swoops and jumps and stuff. Sean encouraged it, said he would go easy and show her how to modify the poses for her body type. But… class packed, he lost track of where she was, way in the back, wedged between two super-fit twenty-somethings, in spanks and sports bras. Things went okay until spinal twists, when she felt something pop in her hip, thought about stopping but the initial pain went away, when they switched to the other side. She kept up and finished the class strong and confident, hip a little sore but no big, chatted with several people she knew, while Sean closed.
He drove her home, said a quick goodbye to Maya (still in bed) and left. Cindy, exhilarated from her success, told Maya all about the class, how unsure she had been but pushed on and had a great experience. They kissed, started making out and after awhile Cindy went down on her for a long time, crouched in child’s pose, tongued her through several full body orgasms, something Maya said in the past helped raise her kundalini, when it lagged. When she reciprocated, Cindy, exhausted, faked an orgasm fairly quick and they fell asleep spooning, so happy… until… she woke around midnight, in excruciating pain. Tried to get out of bed and get some ibuprofen, without waking Maya, but could not put any weight on her hip. Maya had to help her into the bathroom and then back to bed. The worst possible timing… not only were Cindy’s hopes for a yoga surge dashed, but now, on the heels of her own crash, Maya had to care for her and everybody else. Sharp stabbing pains in her right hip and groin, meant she could only lie on her back and seldom slept, took tons of ibuprofen and didn’t drink enough water because it was so painful to get up and go pee. After a couple days, the stabbing sensation was replaced by an intense ache and radiating nerve pain in her low back and legs. After lying in bed for three days, praying it would go away, getting more and more stiff, until everything ached, she finally braved the pain, felt like an old woman, hobbled around on crutches for weeks.
All the while, Maya glowed with success, seldom home but even when… she was distracted, spent hours returning e-mails and texts, giving advice to students, deepening her own practice. In so much pain and tormented by her inadequacy, Cindy gained weight, lost the appetite for sex but kept up if Maya wanted. She snuck cigarettes, locked in the bathroom, blowing smoke into an exhaust fan, essential oil nebulizer on full blast, burning incense. Maya hated cigarettes. Cindy hated cigarettes too and herself smoking them. No one in her family smoked and she worried Maya would smell them on her breath or walk in, had dreams like that—lit cigarettes behind her back, trails of smoke in a mirror exposed, turning that way and this to hide it.
Once able to get around and without health insurance, she went to a pay as you can clinic on West Burnside, in Old Town. Got acupuncture and massage there twice a week and was offered a job as receptionist, on her third visit. They treated a lot of unruly homeless people, she was told, and no one stayed in the job for long. A fight broke out, her first day being trained and she had to call the police. Nobody who worked there was nice except the woman she replaced but they kept her busy and the time went quick.
Cindy hated their apartment. They could hear traffic from MLK, a super busy street one block east, but Maya would not consider a move until Cindy found a job and when she did, they were too busy to think about it for awhile. Eventually Maya got tired of the long commute (on bike) to Southeast and they decided to look for a place closer to Yogaflow. Rents so high, all they found in their price range were basements or places on too busy streets. After a lot of affirmations, stress, arguments and near hopeless… one of Maya’s students offered them his converted garage, two blocks from the studio. It was a beautiful place but the location made Cindy uneasy—too close to the yoga scene. Brooks, the owner of the house and a Shadow student, dated Celeste, who owned Yogaflow. Brooks loved to entertain and Celeste loved to talk. Lakshmi, as the place was named, stood twenty feet from his back door. They shared a driveway. He took Maya’s class and teacher training, paid a lot for one-on-one instruction.
It was a little too cozy for Cindy. That she should ping pong in one year from rural isolation with cows and Tom, to a tight community of passionate and devoted people with diverse interests, who admire, encourage and treat each other with respect at Bagel World in Eugene, to a big city yoga fishbowl feeding frenzy love fest, with Cindy as the lame yoga-less outsider everyone wonders why Maya spends her time with instead of them… boggled her mind and she struggled mightily with insecurity and body image issues. Maya unavailable to help because she was always giving so much to others, preparing for and/or recovering from the latest kundalini overload or weekend workshop.
Other than that… it was exactly what they wanted. Having compromised on the Garfield place, Maya, hypersensitive, needed to know how where she lived was built and of what? This disqualified a lot of places. Brooks used all natural and where possible, sustainable materials. The walls were a beeswax impregnated earthen plaster and the floor, radiantly heated bamboo. Roof raised to accommodate a big loft space. Divided into bedroom and bath on one side and big practice area on the other, a heavy curtain could be drawn between. Well lit by giant skylights with remote control covers, it had a solar heated shower, composting toilets, big cast iron tub, wood fired sauna and gas stove, “Kind of place everyone wants to live and no one lives for long,” Tiffany, who looked at it just before them and chose not to live there, said to Maya one day after class, when she heard they were considering it. This revelation (Tiffany turned it down) was almost a deal breaker, causing Maya to reconsider. Cindy, who did not want to live there but feared they would never find anything better, reminded Maya how poor Tiffany is and suggested she was perhaps just expressing ‘sour grapes’ with her comment, because there’s no way she could afford it.
Maya didn’t like to analyze things, felt it only muddied the water, believed she simply followed signs, let Spirit be her guide, felt the rightness of this move and had tried to convince Cindy of the opportunity to infuse her own daily practice with a high prana field, supported by serious practitioners—The Good Company, “Very auspicious… few ever get such a chance and of those who do, few take it.” This of course Cindy wanted. Her hip still not one-hundred per cent, she walked with a limp and more than anything wished to believe in the healing power of yoga and reconnecting with Maya, at least, if not feeling at home in her body. But being fat, and fearful of hurting herself again, made it hard to go to class and/or consider living in a fishbowl, two blocks from the studio, with super-fit yoga practitioners around all the time. But Maya was sold on Lakshmi (until it wasn’t good enough for Tiffany) and there were no reasonable alternatives. Way better than where they were at, nothing else came close and two-hundred dollars less a month… Cindy was afraid not to take it and pulled out all the stops, showed Maya comps all over town, many of which were twice as much. She agreed and set it up.
They packed and moved, all in one day, not having much stuff, with the help of thirty-some students, a fleet of cars and one truck. Took only about two hours. Cindy hadn’t taken anything from the farm, except her grandma’s pie chest. Once moved, Maya took a week off, to settle in and gave Cindy a series of privates, unsolicited, helped her learn the first Shadow sequence, improved her core strength and made possible going to class without looking like an idiot. Divorce finalized and farm laid to rest, things between them better than ever (she kept her debts hid), Maya suggested they throw a party and celebrate their new home. Cindy, feeling confident and back in her body, organized it with help from Tiffany and Sean, who had both followed Maya and moved to Portland.
The party began well… late October weather cooperated and over a hundred people mingled between Lakshmi and Brookshaven (as Brooks called his house) across a broad expanse of flagstone patio, fire-pit in the middle, he had finished for the occasion. Backyard lit with colored lights, candles and torches, flowers everywhere, incense, altars, beautiful people, young and old, amazing food and drink. Maya seldom drank but Tiffany split with her a hit of ecstasy and an hour later it seemed they were making love to the whole party. Laughing at silly things, they got others laughing, did yoga party tricks and conspired in childish pranks, stuff only Maya could get away with. An adoring crowd gathered around the fire pit as Maya and Tiffany performed for them. Around 11, everyone came out, at Brooks’ request, and he proposed a toast, “To Maya, Cindy and the merging of Shadow One with Yogaflow Portland. Let the revolution begin!” The crowd cheered, pulled and pushed Cindy over next to Maya, who gave her a dramatic kiss on the lips, their first such public display of affection. The look on Maya’s face melted Cindy’s heart and like so many others, she felt incredible love and gratitude for this beautiful human being.
“I propose a toast!” Maya grabbed Tiffany’s glass, who grabbed Sean’s, who took Brooks’, etc. There was a great clattering, as glasses exchanged hands and bottles were passed until each was full of whatever, “To Cindy! Without whose insistence in finding us the right place to live, we would not be here now!” Everyone cheered and drank, “To Cindy! Be here now!” Even Maya drank but she wasn’t finished, held up her hand again and said, “I also… also, I want to recognize Cindy for the incredible compassion she has working with her clients at the Old Town clinic. Bhakti yoga in action, she’s an example for us all! (applause) And… and… congratulations on her recently completed divorce. To Cindy!” Everyone drank but Cindy, whose heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and brain scrambled to compute where this was coming from and why? Maya knew she hated the job and last thing in the world she wanted was a reference to Tom and their divorce in public. Everyone looked at her like she should speak.
“Uh… it’s good to have something to do, I guess,” she said, to get out of the spotlight.
“A Tomism!” Maya cackled and laughed. Cindy shook her head—Please don’t… but on a roll, performing for an adoring crowd, she dismissed Cindy with the wave of a hand and pressed on, “Yeah… Tomisms… Cindy’s ex- had great sayings like, Do it right, do it right now! Or, If y’ ain’t grow’n—yer die’n,” she spoke in what she thought was an Indiana accent, “See what y’ see, I love that one, See what yer look’n at, there’s a difference you know?” Everyone roared and begged for more.
“Maya!” Cindy pleaded.
“Wait, wait!” She pressed a wineglass to her forehead and held up a hand with long dramatic pause… “Make hay while the sun shines! Wait! Better’n a sharp stick in the eye!”
Everyone clapped and laughed, acted like they couldn’t catch their breath and begged her to stop. The crowd pressed in, all talking at once. They exchanged hugs, everyone wanting to be close to Maya. To them it was an inspired performance, spiritual nourishment, teacher letting her hair down, a reminder they don’t have to take themselves so serious. Here, the most disciplined among them, most spiritual, their leader, being loose and funny, drinking alcohol. To Cindy… it was ignorant and mean, ruined her evening and poisoned their new home—felt like whatever Maya wanted to do, she’d do. Cindy wished they could see how petty Maya was and full of herself when not feeling well, how much she complained about them and their pettiness.
Sick of the Maya love fest, Cindy drifted off, away from the party, walked up the concrete drive to the front of the house, looking back several times, half hoping Maya or an emissary would break from the crowd and follow, recognize and atone for this mistake with some gesture of private time to recalibrate. Rounding the front of the house, Cindy saw an orange glow on the porch… a lit cigarette! And wanted one. Looked back down the drive again… no one followed. The party laughter now seemed sad, forced, alcohol fueled and excessive. Walk well lit, she made her way to and up the front steps, crossed the porch to her left, where an old woman sat in black light, cross-legged on a futon couch, smoking a cigarette, “Hey, got another one of those?” Cindy asked, wanting to smoke, loving the way it looked in black light, ice cold smoke.
“Oh dear, no. I got this off a young man, lighting up as he left. Sorry, I don’t generally smoke but I took some Adderall earlier and it makes me want to, a lot. Is that normal, do you know?”
Cindy recognized this woman from somewhere… took classes at Yogaflow, no doubt. But something else, her eyes and mouth, youthful voice… “Eleanor?” She asked, realizing of a sudden it was Tom’s Aunt Eleanor, “Is that you?”
“Yes… and you are… Cindy? Cindy Brown? I thought I saw you, across the crowd, wasn’t sure if it was you or not.”
“Yes! Wow,” Cindy tried to get her head around this, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’ve taken at Yogaflow for years. They always invite me to these things. Celeste was my first teacher in town. You know Celeste? She is the owner or I think she still is. Used to have a studio downtown.”
“Yes, I know Celeste. Of course… you do yoga. Wow, long time no see. You look great!”
“For an old lady… you mean? In the dark?” She laughed, passed Cindy the cigarette and declined to take it back after Cindy had a drag, so she smoked the rest while they chatted, “Sorry to hear about you and Tom, Dear. Constance told me,” she gave Cindy’s hand a gentle pat, “I’m sure it’s not easy to go through something like that. She said it was over? You sold the farm?”
“Yes, it’s over,” Cindy did not want to talk about it, “I know you weren’t married but did you ever have a bad end or break up? Sorry if I’m being nosy.”
“Oh dear, don’t worry, nice thing about being old is you don’t much care anymore what people think, don’t have the energy. No, never had the pleasure, per se. Plenty of friends shared their experiences… and literature of course, movies, song—no shortage of impassioned testimony, is there? But… in ninth grade I fell in love or thought that’s what it was, what all my friends and me wanted it to be. It wasn’t fun… always wondering what he thinks and how I should behave and look? Will he call? Then one day, he broke up with me, on the phone, said he’d fallen in love with another girl. Devastated, I felt sick, my chest hurt, couldn’t sleep, had no energy, was angry all the time. The relationship was no fun in the first place and I did not want to get back with him, but still I hurt so bad, got obsessed, would walk by his new girlfriend’s house, look for his bike. Once saw his shoes outside. I never forgot that. Felt like a virus, or something, waiting for the right conditions to strike me, no matter how much it didn’t make sense or have anything to do with him, other than he was a necessary catalyst to trigger loss and heartache, I guess. Sorry dear, Adderall makes me talk… excessively.”
“Eleanor… believe me, you are the most interesting thing at this party, by far!” Cindy laughed, felt relieved and blessed to have come upon her, “I didn’t see you out back… did you come in?”
“Oh, yes I did, for a minute, made the rounds, said hello to Celeste. I’m not much for parties anymore, too much going on. Jangles my nerves… and this stuff’s like I hear every word.”
Cindy asked why she took Adderall and did she not take it all the time?
“Oh no… I don’t take any medications. A friend at Castle Manor suggested I try it, when I told him how hard it was for me to read things anymore, painful almost and I hate the internet with all its jumbled gobbeldy gook, can’t tell what is and what isn’t an advertisement, refuse to multi-task or text. He’s a ‘Juicer’ as he puts it, big fan of, uh… oh, I can’t remember the man’s name, wrote about drugs and how to use them… and their history? Mackinaw? Mackenzie? Something like that… anyway, I tried some at dance and it blew my mind, like I could feel what happened before it did, if that makes any sense? I’ve been dancing sixty some years, so, as you can imagine, that got my attention and there was no bad aftereffects. Going to a party on it was ill-advised I think, because I don’t drink and now can’t find who I came with. Not that I’d be able to sleep were I to go home. Thought maybe I’d get on the treadmill or something.”
Cindy could not help but smile, listening to Eleanor go on like a child, talking almost faster than she could breathe.
“I don’t have a car or I would drive you. Wish I could get away myself. What about the bus?”
“Yes, that’s a possibility. What would I take from here? I don’t have a look up things phone.”
Cindy looked it up for her. Saw a message from Maya—Where are you? And ignored it… “The 4 east on Division to the 75 at 39th, take that to Broadway and… you still live at Castle Manor?”
“Yes I do! Well, that sounds… complicated. I think I will try and find my ride. So nice to see you dear! You should come to ecstatic dance sometime. It really is great exercise and I see quite a few dancers here tonight, you may already know.”
“There you are! Party Pooper!” The screen door opened and a large man came out of the house, “I’m surprised! Usually she’s the life! Not tonight!” He addressed Cindy, who stood and helped Eleanor to stand and balance, while she slipped on her shoes.
“Thank you dear… just that little bit went to my head. Cindy, this is Toni, with an i. She works at Castle Manor. We came together. Cindy was checking bus routes for me.”
“Hi, Honey. Bus? Nonsense! We come together, we leave together—it’s the Castle Manor way. Now… if you like? I’ve said my goodbyes. Are you ready, Hun?”
“Oh my! Really, Dear? Don’t leave on my account. You were so excited to come.”
Toni pulled out and jangled her keys, “Do you remember where we parked? I’m beat, partied out. Too pooped to pop, as they say.”
They said goodbye, “So wonderful to visit with you Cindy. Do come dance, Tiffany Ballroom, Sunday mornings, 10:30 warm-up, 11:00-ish circle. No experience necessary and anything goes… almost,” they kissed and parted. Toni gave Cindy a cigarette. She sat alone on the porch and smoked, ignored Maya’s text and when finished, went straight to bed and passed out. Woke when Maya came up the spiral steps, rustled about in the practice space with someone(s) else and drew the curtain. Tiffany and Sean, Cindy guessed, by the tone of their whispers and giggles, looked at her phone—2 a.m., multiple texts from Maya. She felt around the nightstand for earplugs and found some just as Maya came in, slid under the covers and snuggled up behind her. Cindy relaxed, took the earplugs out, smelled alcohol on her breath and… marijuana? “My love,” she kissed Cindy’s neck, nibbled on and then whispered in her ear, “We are going to practice a little, unwind the party. You are welcome to join us?”
A stabbing pain gripped Cindy’s chest. She struggled not to overreact. The night’s shock, palpable yet, she wanted only deep sleep, dreams and no more ‘us’ for the moment, “I’m beat, gonna sleep. Have fun.”
“Oh… pooh. We’ll get you energized,” she kissed her neck again, slid a hand between her legs, set off a ping pong of contradictory impulses, Cindy really did not appreciate.
“Maya please… I’m tired. I didn’t take any X.”
Upset by this attempt to rain on her parade, Maya whispered, “K… sweet dreams, my love. We’ll be quiet,” and slipped out of bed, with an icy chill. Cindy fought off feelings of guilt and put the earplugs back in. Fell right asleep and had wild dreams full of chants, moans and screams of ecstasy, people trying to get her to do crazy things—eat food with worms in it and razorblades. At first light she woke, Maya beside her in bed, naked and sound asleep, pillow on her head, snoring. Cindy had to pee. Still dressed from the night before, she grabbed her phone and headed for the bathroom, glanced at the practice space en route… saw Sean and Tiffany, naked, snuggled up on a futon, clothes scattered all over, wall heater blasting. It hit her like a brick… Had Maya been part of a Tantric sex orgy? Sure looked and smelled like it… Cindy knew how she felt on X and these were three of the sexiest human beings on the planet, all well versed in Tantric practice. You were invited and chose to sleep instead… but Maya said this would not happen, had strict boundaries with students and only with mutual approval would they engage intimacy outside the relationship. But they were on X… and you know how you get on X… these thoughts tumbled one over another, hard edged and she wondered was she right back in the same situation she had been—following someone who doesn’t keep their word and seems rather oblivious to her feelings? Cautioned herself not to overreact but still felt the need to leave right then and threw a bag together, whatever was at hand, a few snacks, without going back up the steps. It was leave now or ugly-bummer-angry Cindy will wake them and shit all over their fun or try to. She changed into a blue Adidas sweat suit, filled a water bottle and went for a walk, twenty-dollar bill in her pocket, billfold by the bed. Where to go? Checked her phone and saw the Trimet schedule, still up from the night before. Thought, why not go to Castle Manor, visit Eleanor? Somewhat near where her parents lived, she’d go see them if Eleanor wasn’t home.
The 4 did not run early on Sunday… so she headed downtown instead, had a vague notion to walk the arboretum at Washington Park, which, having any idea how far that was, she would not have done. Made it though and, park shrouded in fog, was amazed at how beautiful and still… colorful leaves dripping, sounds muted, sky close and thick. Visibility at times a few feet and then, of a sudden, she’d crest a ridge, rise above and behold a brilliant white blanket of fog, submerging all but the tippy-tops of the tallest buildings in the valley. She zigzagged across the park, even backtracked, wanting to see it all, looked up trails when she got lost, eventually found and descended some concrete steps onto West Burnside, hoping to catch the Max at the stadium stop or maybe the 75, if it came by. Once at the stadium, she realized, it was only a few blocks from the Tiffany Center, where Eleanor said there was dance at 11:00…
Cindy knew the Tiffany Ballroom, went to prom there and had a lot of fun with her friends. Not ready to go home yet, feeling empowered by having left and found ways and space enough to dissipate rather than feed the need for external affirmation and/or revenge, she decided to check out dance and, excited by this coincidence, alternately skipped and ran ten blocks to the Tiffany. On the sidewalk out front was a sandwich board, on which was written—Sacred Circle Dance and beneath it, inside a hand drawn heart—Be Yourself, in bright red letters. She entered through one of four ironclad, big wooden doors, same ones as twenty years ago, when she went to prom. In the lobby, she was directed where to go by a nice man named George, “Welcome… Second Floor, today. Either way,” thumbs out to indicate she could go right or left. In both directions broad stairways rose, with marble steps and brass rail. Twenty dollars in hand, shoes and socks wet from walking the arboretum, clothes mismatched and thrown together, Cindy felt like a wayward kid, first day at a new school. Her heart beat hard as she crested the steps, crossed the foyer and stood in a short line before two women at a foldout table, beautifully decorated, in the outer hall. No one behind her in line, they took her twenty and gave back ten, engaged in small talk a minute and eventually asked if she’d been there before? Cindy saw a clipboard with forms on the table and realized they probably wanted her to sign a waiver and put her on the mailing list… so she lied, acted like—Oh sure, a million times… and they nodded, Yes of course! We recognize you now! It wasn’t technically a lie, she had been there for prom twice and probably a wedding reception or two.
Beautiful people were milling about and chatting in the hall, dressed all kinds of ways. Cindy scanned for Eleanor but didn’t see her. It seemed things had already started. Music you could feel, played in the ballroom, so she made her way through the crowded hall and went in. All the eyes she met were warm and welcoming. Everyone smiled and nodded approvingly. Once inside, she put her stuff down where she could get it quick and leave, if this wasn’t her kind of thing. On the dance floor a few dozen moved around, stretched and/or socialized. One man, head covered in what looked like a cut off pant leg/hood sort of thing, wearing stylish wrap around safety glasses with a metallic blue tint, barefoot in a tight but stretchy black dress and leggings, was really going at it… some kind of routine… he moved with such precision, never stressed, even though doing extreme things. From a forward bend he’d stand, lunge a leg ahead and bring his ear to his front knee, lower from there to the floor and curl into a ball, trail leg kept straight, then somehow spin to end up in a yoga plow, feet extended the same way he’d been facing. A moment’s hesitation, before continuing on over, to end up face down in a full frontal sprawl and drawing in his arms, push up into a standing forward bend, by sliding feet to hands, forehead to shins and upright again; whence he’d adjust his dress, bound off across the room with a few graceful steps and repeat the sequence—all in time with the music! Mesmerized, Cindy spaced out a long time, jacket half off, watching him.
A few times, while stretching on the side, she thought she saw someone she knew but felt even if… it might take awhile to determine who? The room seemed to alter perception and things were more fluid than fixed, including appearances. The ballroom was huge, bigger than she remembered. Before, it had seemed to her small and intimate. On one end, there were fifty feet of mirrors, twice as tall as her. Several tables set before them were decorated and spread with divination decks, open journals, pens, bells and figures of Buddha and other divine personages. On the other, south end, there were huge windows, wall to wall and near floor to ceiling, leaded glass in geometric patterns sparkled with morning sun. The hardwood floor, well kept, had an amazing depth and seemed translucent, like melted beeswax. The room was big… Cindy wasn’t good at estimating distances in feet. Speakers the size of mini refrigerators perched atop telescoping poles, one in each corner and two at either side in the middle, with similar size woofer set on the floor below. She’d entered through double doors from the outer hall, onto a carpeted area behind columns, where people put their stuff. The side opposite, curtained off to hide what looked like catering equipment on one end and on the other, a low carpeted stage, curtains pulled back, up two steps, decorated in colorful fabric, oriental rug spread, around which was arrayed a circle of red and gold velvet pillows. An energetic sense of anticipation hung in the air, like at a performance or athletic event. Cindy, excited, looked for Eleanor again but did not see her and had just hit the floor with a few tentative steps, when the music stopped.
“Dancers! Circle up, please!” A woman walked into the middle of everyone and yelled, with her arms out, spinning slowly around. Cindy froze, not knowing what that meant but people on either side took her hands and pulled her with them, to the edge of the room, forming a circle of what must have been well over a hundred people, pushed back as far as they could go. She held the cold clammy hand of a middle-aged man who, nervous and wide eyed, stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. His upper arm twitched and he had raspy breath. To Cindy’s left, she clasped the hand of a tall young woman, late twenties, body of a model, all arms, legs and lips, hand delicate and limp, eyes closed in trance, rising periodically onto her toes, like she might take flight at any moment.
The woman in the middle twirled, arms out yelling, “Welcome dancers! Welcome one and all, to Sacred Circle Sunday Ecstatic Dance! My name is Shari Love. How many here for the first time, are you?” About a dozen held up hands to a round of applause, hoots and hollers. Cindy started but balked, felt maybe the man whose hand she held, did the same. The woman in the middle talked about the day’s intention of ‘Be Yourself…’ Cindy felt tense in her shoulders and numb from standing still and stiff for so long holding hands. Her palms began to sweat and she looked around for Eleanor again. The talk went on and on but she didn’t listen, needed to pee and was about to break for the bathroom, when they dropped hands and started doing some simple stretches to Shari Love’s directions, deep breaths, encouraged to jiggle around, jump up and down, get the blood pumping, turn to your neighbor and introduce yourself… she skipped this part and went to the bathroom… when she came back, it was time to dance!
It took a minute but Cindy found her groove. The first song she recognized—Medicine for the People, by Nahko Bear, came on after what seemed a painfully slow, ethereal and almost arrhythmic first two songs, she had trouble getting into. Boosted by the familiar tune, she closed her eyes and turned within, self judgment lapsed and one move just followed the next. In fact, not until many songs later did she register anything outside herself and the music, and only then because the man she’d held hands with in the beginning, circled her and signaled he wanted to dance. She danced with him (not wanting to) but quit halfway through, gestured that she needed a drink and bolted from the floor for the Ladies Room, to regroup. By the time she got back, the music had slowed and a period of free form chanting commenced, mostly some variation of OM but here and there, quite other and stranger tones arose, to renew and refresh the ongoing rounds. When the chanting came to an end, about half gathered for a closing circle and comments, while the other half got dressed and left or mingled in the outer hall, foyer and lobby, looked at jewelry, someone had spread on a blanket, for sale. It had gone so fast and Cindy wanted more dance… not to hang around and talk about it. Decided she should head back home before the exhilarating effect wore off and she got depressed or made Maya more mad.
Once out on the sidewalk, she checked her phone… Maya had sent five texts, called three times and left a voice message. Cindy’s heart felt like it doubled in size and pushed into her throat. Short of breath and afraid Maya was upset, she sat on the curb and listened to the voice message: Maya… (crying) apologized over and over for what a fool she’d been at the party and is so embarrassed and sorry (crying), feels like shit and, “Where are you? Call me! Please come home! I need you, my love!” This blew Cindy away. Barely able to contain, she jumped on the MAX and rode it across the river to Lloyd Center, took the 8 down MLK to Division, then walked, skipped and ran the twenty blocks back to Lakshmi, found Maya on Brooks’ front steps waiting and when she realized it was Cindy coming down the sidewalk, ran and leapt into her arms, strong legs wrapped around and squeezed her waist. This almost buckled Cindy’s knees, on top of so many miles walked and vigorous dancing, with nothing to eat. Maya started crying.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she reassured and carried her all the way back to Lakshmi, patting her back like a little baby. The place immaculate, dirty clothes washed and folded, fresh flowers everywhere, incense… no sign remained of the party, Sean or Tiffany. They snuggled into bed and Maya confessed, between sobs, how bad she felt and still feels, about what happened and what message it sends to the community, what kind of person she is. Cindy hugged and kissed and stroked her hair, wiped away tears, got tissues to blow her nose with, hot water, honey and lemon. Maya hated feeling bad. Hated indulgence and setbacks. Vibrant and good were her norm but always in a delicate balance. At first sign of low energy or scratchy throat, upset stomach, etc., she’d do hours of breath work, focus all her attention on herself, muster an arsenal of herbs, essential oils, vitamins and whatever other natural aid promised quick return to robust health and superior vision—her normal state of high frequency being.
Even with all that mornings’ trauma and physical exertion, Cindy felt sexually stimulated from dance and wanted to share it but held back, knowing Maya didn’t feel well but… she might want to anyway… for reassurance sake and reconnection in a difficult time? God knows Cindy needed that, through a lot of pain in her hip… but no… not desperate… no need to press. Dance… she thought about dance. How it felt, lost in the moves, all on her own, closest thing to sex she’s ever not had… ecstatic dance, she wanted to go again… fell asleep and woke sometime after dark, when Maya rolled and adjusted the pillows she used under her knees or between, if on her side…