…by afternoon the contractions were sporadic and I was able to return to my room again. My Goddess troop hung out trying to determine what was the best course of action, my mother noted we could go on like this for days, even weeks and it would be best for everyone to take turns staying with me, she volunteered to take the first shift eyeing up the empty bed in my room. Exhaustion had crept in so everyone left for the night, my mother crawled into the extra bed and was out like a light as I lay trying to find sleep. 

The contractions became steady and more intense once again, then I felt something strange; it was a ‘clunking’ sensation in my lower pelvis, “those were weird kicks” I thought to myself touching my baby boy through my belly wondering what he was up to. At six minutes apart for about an hour I gave in and called the nurse. I was in denial but finally admitted to her the pain was the worst I had felt yet and with my mom still fast asleep I was finding it difficult to deal on my own.

The nurse called the doctor insisting I be checked immediately, the doctor discovered I was six centimeters dilated and the “clunking” I had felt was actually the baby dropping. They ordered an emergency c-section, my mom was startled awake by the news and was informed we had a half an hour at most. My son was coming and my mind reeled…I questioned the universe and prayed he knew what he was doing, tears welled in my eyes as I was wheeled past the nurses station where they had gathered smiling “Good Luck” with compassion in their eyes, I choked back the lump in my throat.

My fingers automatically began turning my mala beads, my mantra sang in my mind frantic in pace as I searched for my breath, panic threatened to consume me. I held on to the words and was grateful to whoever had hit the repeat button. Slowly I found the rhythm of my breath as we entered the birthing unit and familiar faces smiled out “you’ll be great” they comforted. I had to remind myself to remain present, my mind fought to go anywhere but the moment it was being faced with.

Everything happened quickly the injection into my spine to numb me from the waist down scared me the most but wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. The anesthesia mixed with the adrenalin made me feel wonky or maybe it was just because I was having a hard time getting grounded in the rush of energy surrounding me. My legs were strapped to the bed and my arms outstretched in a t shape. I had an image of Jesus on the cross, I asked the ascended master, in fact I called on all ascended masters to be present and felt a warmth brush over me.

“We’re about to begin” the doctor peeked over the curtain. I could feel all of the sensation that accompanied the surgery minus the pain, it was odd to say the least. My body shook uncontrollably as energy coursed through me. It seemed to take forever and only seconds all at once, the doctor asked for a stool, called for a second incision, then I heard the words no one wants to hear during surgery “oh shit!” escaped her mouth. I lost my breath, my world threatened to crash around me, I was sure he was gone I couldn’t feel my baby’s presence inside me anymore. I was terrified and looked to my mother, she knew what I was thinking and quickly said “It’s okay” rubbing my hand that held hers tightly, I shook my head no “he’s gone” I whispered. There was a hint of fear in her eyes but it was concealed with strength, enough for both of us and an unconditional love that only a mother knows. I flashed to my childhood from the day I was born I found comfort in those deep brown eyes. I prayed I could offer my son the same comfort. The doctor was up on the bed with me, I could feel her pulling, tugging and panting as she fought to get him out.

  “There he is” my mom squealed, I held her hand in a death grip “Is he alive?” I asked, he was given to the neonatal intensive care team that had assembled. “Yes” my mother said to me but there was uncertainty in her voice as she stared in his direction waiting for someone else to assure us. “Oh his little hand just shot up” she smiled relieved, a lightness overtook the entire room and a tear fell down my cheek.

It turns out my placenta had separated which meant the doctor had less than a minute to get him out, on top of that his little bum was wedged in my pelvis and wouldn’t budge which is what prompted the “oh shit” and although in her words it was the hardest c-section of her career there was magic in the room and now my little boy was snug in his incubator in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, my angel baby arrived ready to face the world and this earth mama couldn’t wait to meet him.

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continue to breathe and pray...

…they took me for an echo scan of my baby’s heart, the lack of distress shown by my little boy, no signs of any leaks, blockages or holes were all positive reinforcements. They decided observation was the best route to determine how often this high heart rate was occurring and which course of action would suit us best.  I was checked with a Doppler each hour for one minute and after three days and a bit more testing they decided deeper monitoring was needed to get a more accurate occurrence. Three times a day I was hooked up to monitors for an hour, my baby kicked and squirmed showing his annoyance at this intrusion (I read somewhere the sound of these monitors is equivalent to a helicopter hovering over your house). They talked a bit more about putting me on heart medication and by the end of the week concluded this was likely the best route of action, they would continue to monitor over the weekend and on Monday begin the dosage. I meditated in an effort to communicate with my baby (something I had been doing frequently) and told him it was now or never. If he truly needed these meds to make his heart healthy and strong for his arrival I was more than willing to be the vessel to deliver them to him but if for some chance he did not need them now was the time to let the doctors know.

That Saturday evening I began bleeding quite heavily, I was rushed to the birthing unit where I spent the night with what I deemed my Goddess troop. My mother, grandmother, aunt and bff did their best to keep the situation light and joyful. Although there was fear in the air the laughter cut through it like moon piercing the night sky outside our window. We made bets on the baby’s arrival and size, bribed the nurses to let me eat and joked with the doctors referring to them as characters from a popular TV medical dramody.

 I was released back to my room upstairs early in the morning but by the end of the day was brought back to the birthing unit because of enduring contractions. My Goddess troop assembled once more but now things were getting a little more serious. We did our best to keep things light but exhaustion and the reality of the situation was beginning to weigh in. I was one centimeter dilated and the contractions were steady, when they reached four minutes apart once again my mantra was the only thing that could help me breathe through the intensity and keep faith in the circumstances. I had to trust God’s plan but it didn’t stop me from begging for more time, I was only 30 weeks and I knew every day my precious baby boy was inside was a good day, I continued to breath and pray…

 

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The story continues...

…When I arrived at the local hospital and explained my situation they quickly hooked me up to monitors explaining that Braxton Hicks don’t occur at frequent intervals, what I was experiencing were actual contractions. The ultrasound showed low fluid around the baby and his heart rate was a little high so they prepared me for transport to my hospital. The helicopter couldn’t fly due to foggy weather so I was taken by ambulance, the attendants and I chatted as we made the hour long journey, I was grateful for their conversational distraction.

Taken to the birthing unit and hooked up to monitors, the nurse assured me the baby was doing fine, his heart rate was normal and the contractions had subsided somewhat. By mid afternoon I was admitted to the high risk unit for overnight observation. They did an ultrasound using advanced equipment and found “adequate” fluid around the baby, who once again put on a performance for his viewers doing what I referred to as his Bollywood dance. An internal ultrasound revealed I had a shortened cervix. Bed rest was ordered until this little man made his entrance. The next morning I wondered if they would release me, I knew pregnant women who were on bed rest in the comforts of their home.

They came to take me for second ultrasound to determine the baby’s bio-score which gives them an idea of how developed the baby is. During this test the baby did something they referred to as “super ventricular tachycardia” (high heart rate) it was beating so fast they immediately called the specialist who in the span of minutes talked about an emergency c-section, putting me on heart meds in hopes of regulating his heart and/or releasing me provided I had somewhere close by to stay. My head reeled in confusion and tears threatened to consume me, I had never felt so scared in my life. When the doctor left the room I found my voice and although the lump in my throat threatened to consume me I asked the technician for clarification. She assured me everything was going to be okay that they were trying to determine the best course of action and these were the potential possibilities.

I had to surrender, I had to draw faith from the deepest resources of my being, I looked away from the monitors and focused on the love I had for this little starseed growing inside me. Horrible visions flew through my mind, in an attempt to control them I tried visualizing him at different stages throughout his life happy, healthy and strong but fear had a grasp and the more I struggled to control my thoughts the harder it became. I turned to my mantra and instantly felt some ease; terrifying thoughts still crossed the movie screen of my mind but I allowed the power of my mantra to blare, like somebody turning up a radio to drown out unwanted noise…

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The story of my pregnancy

In week 26 of pregnancy I had some bleeding, it was terrifying. My best friend rushed me to emergency where the staff took incredible care of me. During the series of tests they ran to determine what was happening I received confirmation that I was indeed carrying a boy (something I had been sure of since the moment of conception) I was excited to see my baby boy on the ultrasound but the anxiety of not knowing what was happening was threatening to overwhelm me.

The baby was breached but that wasn’t uncommon for this stage of pregnancy. They printed me off a picture that was time stamped 11:11. In that moment I found my breath, everything was going to be okay; 11:11 is a prompt I (along with countless others) have received since childhood; a sign from angels, the universe, God, whatever you want to call it; a reminder to have faith.  Releasing me after 48 hours of observation they ruled out everything “bad” it could possibly be and with no eminent threat to baby or myself they sent me on my way with instructions to come back immediately if the bleeding returned.

At 29 weeks while in the valley house sitting the bleeding resumed, my mother rushed me to the local hospital where they too monitored the baby and reassured me all was ok and upon release a few hours later told me if early labour occurred they would medivac me to my hospital which is known throughout North America for its neonatal specialists. I had an appointment with my OBGYN two days later, he was still not overly concerned, everything was still intact for me and the baby was doing beautifully, bleeding was going to be part of my pregnancy and unless there was pain involved not to worry.

Despite the prompts from source and reassurance from doctor’s fear continued to veer its ugly head throughout the week. Each time it surfaced I turned inwards, the baby reassured me by giving me kicks every time I asked for confirmation he was ok. I felt the bond between us growing and marveled at the personality that was already making itself known from my womb, I was blown away by how much love I was already feeling for this little being.

Just shy of week 30 I began experiencing what I was told by family were Braxton hicks, a form of early contractions that prepare the uterus for birth. One night I lay in bed trying to sleep but each time I dozed I was awoken they seemed to be happening every half hour, being told they could last throughout the entire pregnancy I wondered how women coped. My mother suggested Tylenol but I had never been one for medication so opted to just breathe it out. On this particular night I also began bleeding again, after twelve hours and no end to the discomfort of Braxton hicks I decided another trip to the hospital was needed…

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smile and the world smiles with you...

Everyone wants to know more about Indian culture and the biggest differences I’ve noticed. One of the most confusing things I witnessed was the lack of smiling faces. Indian people come across as quite stern, especially the women. One of my first experiences in India was at an ashram, I was convinced the women who worked there disliked me based on what I felt were disapproving looks. What I discovered is smiling in public or around strangers is not part of their nature, when you do see any girl smile their hand immediately covers their mouths and laughter is often stifled before it leaves their lips.

The first wedding I attended I watched as the bride and groom had their photos taken, there was no smiling in fact it looked somber. A few family members offered a closed mouth grin but nothing like we are used in the west. My partner explained if you do smile in the presence of others the mouth should always remained closed. In fact when we first began spending time together we’d be driving through the streets on his motorcycle and I’d be smiling at everyone and everything because I was having so much fun. One day he sat me down and said “please don’t take this in wrong way but you need to stop smiling with such a big smile.” “What?” I stammered having always been complimented on my smile I wasn’t sure how to react. He explained ”when we are alone it is fine, I love your smile and want to see it always but out on the street it means something different and you don’t hear the comments because you are still learning Hindi but I have to stop myself per day from getting off my bike and beating people.”

I understood, looking around at locals and other western women who had adopted this culture as their own they were all much more reserved.  One day my fourteen year old niece and I were giggling when she shared with me that her mother told her that “she needed to stop laughing so much”. I couldn’t imagine these words ever being muttered in the west but understood her mother was enticing her to begin behaving like a grown up.

That being said I want you to know India is far from stern, my family’s home is filled with laughter and smiles daily but the minute we go outside a different face is shown, the biggest reason according to the women is to avoid unwanted attention. My husband and I find balance always breaking the photo rule; his friends teasingly say it’s our “Canadian smile.” Once in awhile we’ll also jokingly strike our official “Indian face” which always brings about big laughs. It’s not something I can change about the culture it's something I have to respect. I am far more conscious of when and where it’s appropriate but I often remind myself that this is afterall the land that brought us Laughing Yoga…

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I know it. I desire it. It is on its way!

I’ve been gifted an opportunity that I prayed for, I’m surrounded by nature with nothing on my schedule except writing. My ego wants to put pressure on me, I can hear its negative voice sarcastically saying “you’ll never get it done!” I allow myself a hesitant laugh before thinking “I really shouldn’t have mentioned to so many people my goal of emerging with a final draft in just one month, what if I can’t do it?” I follow my thoughts and begin to better understand the truth of my “self” and where the inner work still needs tweaking. After a year, I’m on the second draft, which surprisingly is a little harder; the first draft flowed out unrestricted and raw but now as I assemble the jumble of words and place them into chapters in an attempt to make it flow as a story I realize it’s a lot like floating down a river I’m still not sure where it’s going, the scenery is great but where will I end up…

I suppose that’s the adventure of being a writer or on the other end reading a book for that matter, the excitement is to see where it goes. I recognize the only thing stopping me is the fear of failure, or is it the fear of success? I’m still not 100% sure on that one.

Why am I convinced that what anyone else thinks matters? I’m not alone with this destructive patterning but I’m quite surprised to see it veer its ugly little head again. I thought I was past living my life in fear of displeasing others, or allowing the pressure of others expectations to permeate me. Obviously there is still some subtle patterning that needs to be addressed and I’m grateful to have it surface now before the “critics” get a hold of my work.

I remind myself the only deadline I have is self imposed. The reason behind writing is because I love to. I’ve been a writer since childhood. In fact my mother just found some school work from as early as elementary where teachers encouraged me to continue to write. I recall many positive reinforcements my English teachers provided over the years encouraging me to explore writing. When it came to exams I always breathed a sigh of relief when essay questions were involved, I thought everyone did, until I spoke with friends in senior year after finishing our finals. Their brains ached from the three essays that we had written, where mine was still alive with more stories longing to be told. I knew somewhere deep inside writing, in some form, would be part of my future but I still lacked the confidence to dream of being an author until now I can’t ignore the prompts any longer.  

By end of the month the dream that was scared to have a voice now has the intention to have quite an accomplishment under its belt and finishing in itself will be success.

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what would your perfect day consist of?

I was asked “what would your perfect day consist of?” It was profound for me to dig my way through the layers and get to the truth of how I would live my perfect day. I felt a need to pay it forward and there has been a lot of interesting conversations amongst friends and family.

Would you want to eat pastries while overlooking the Eiffel Tower? Relax on the beach in the south pacific? Or have a picnic on top of a mountain? As much as all of these days sound beautiful and easily could translate into a “perfect day” my truth is much easier and accessible than that. I couldn’t help but notice the majority of my loved ones wanted days that were similar to mine; the key factor we all longed for in our “perfect day” was love, laughter and most of all the peace that comes with simplicity.

After much contemplation if I was to manifest my “perfect day” it would consist of waking up on my own, no alarms, just the dawn air whispering good morning, I’d meditate to the sunrise and marvel at the world as it came alive with the promise of a new day. I’d deliver my husband a cup of homemade chai while he was still in bed (in India this is referred to as bed tea) and watch him wake up, there is a beauty and sweetness in the waking moments of loved ones when (and only when) they are awakened with love in just the fashion they like. We’d share a morning snuggle before I found my way to my yoga mat, preferably with a teacher to guide me through my practice. I’d return to do some writing then prepare and share a delicious lunch with loved ones. I’d rest and do some reading, then spend time connecting with members of my soulpod (people you feel a deep connection with on a soul level) expanding consciousness, sharing love and light. I’d take the time for a walk in nature and attend kirtan (devotional sing-a-long), participate in Pooja (worship) and even find time to watch the magnificent free show provided by source each evening, the sunset. Then I’d cook dinner and once again enjoy the meal with loved ones and if the day was truly perfect I’d get a moment to reflect under the stars, receive a massage and fall asleep in the loving embrace of my husband’s arms.

The beauty is, this isn’t too far from how my days are spent. By simply setting the intention and visualizing the life I would like, the manifestation can come forth. You may ask “what about work?” Well for me ideally the ‘money’ energy would come from the writing and connecting to members of my soulpod at my Spiritual guesthouse.

I encourage you to pull out your journal and detail what your perfect day would consist of, I’d also love to know about it so please feel free to share…

The task of becoming one with source is a labor of love

I spent the week in Annapolis Valley Nova Scotia, it’s a rural area where most of our provinces farming is done. There are lush rolling hills, fields filled with Mother Nature’s Bounty and an ease with the way of life that these sleepy little towns that make up “the valley” operate.

I used my time to relax, write and share laughter with loved ones. My family own horses so we headed to the barn where I fed them their favorite treats (apples and salt licks.) I watched these magnificent beasts in awe, their shear power would be enough to injure anyone who crossed their path yet the gentle playfulness these creatures encompassed always warms my heart, I could see the love flowing from them.

I went berry picking for the very first time in my life, something that has been on my bucket list for years! Walking through the field at one of the various u-picks in the area I felt the warmth of the sun caressing my body; the raspberry bushes were high and filled with juicy treats. Each time I picked one (filling at least a half-dozen containers) I felt more alive, I could actually feel energy coursing through my veins. I became one with mother earth, she was sharing her treasures with me and although I have always taken a moment to appreciate my food before ingesting it something inside of me became more connected to earth’s presence as a living entity than ever before. I thanked each bush as I gently pulled berries from their buds, bees buzzed around, thorns grazed my hands and snakes slithered by; all things that normally would have annoyed, frustrated or even scared me in the past suddenly came together in one cosmic dance of universal harmony.

I went for dinner with my mother and three of her dearest friends; sitting with these auntiji’s once again I was inspired. As the consciousness shift begins to take place you never know who is going to evolve and who will standstill, these beautiful goddesses are flowing with the change. Working through relationships with self and finding new balance around them. Their hard hitting questions as they inquired about all of the changes this past year brought forth came from a place of divine love and I was grateful for the opportunity to once again analyze and re-affirm my truth, if even just to myself.

The biggest lesson of the week was in my growing ability to manifest exactly what I want and need to further myself in this life. My faith continues to grow in God on a regular basis. I’ve been asking the universe for a space to write freely. I believe if I go into seclusion for a month I can have my first novel finished, turns out one of those auntiji’s is heading out of town for a month and her comfy cottage style home needs someone to love it and guess who she thought of instantly?

Happiness can exist only in acceptance of what is

For the last three weeks I’ve felt like a fish out of water trying to adapt back to a culture that I never really felt comfortable in to begin with. I sat in India daydreaming about what Canada had to offer that wasn’t available and being pregnant that mostly consisted of food and since returning I’ve eaten like a ravenous monster. In doing so I’ve had a reaction, doctors are shaking their heads in confusion and writing it off as one of those ‘pregnancy things” but I (along with some beautiful insights from guides, mentors and healers) have figured out that my body and my baby have just gotten overwhelmed with the bombardment. I’ve gone to town on processed foods and sweets, a luxury that doesn’t exist in my humble life in India and now I am paying the price. So I’m happy to announce wonderful progress has been made with the pain I was dealing with in last week’s blog but now I search for answers on why this rather annoying rash has manifested.

Food is an obvious variant between the two cultures and I have eaten epic amounts of what I once would have considered “comfort” foods. I can’t help but notice the irony as I suffer through this intolerable itch. I realize how disillusioned I had been with what the ‘comforts’ of the west had to offer me. I’m used to eating simple, local foods, which means most of our meals in India consist of one or two vegetarian dishes with chapatti (flat bread).  My mind in India was growing increasing bored with daily cuisine and I longed for veggie burgers, chips and dip and chocolate bars that were larger than the Halloween size found throughout our bazaars. So after bingeing and not finding comfort I’m back to preparing the simple foods I have grown accustomed to in India, minus the bread which I cannot seem to master on an electric stove!

Another area I was excited to find solace in was blending into the crowd. I’ve gotten used to people staring at me abroad, I understand I’m a foreigner, which in itself offers intrigue but add traditional Indian dress and the markings of a Hindu bride and it’s an open invitation for gawkers. In my daydream about Canada I was looking forward to the multicultural faces roaming the streets and blending in quite easily. This hasn’t been the case, because I continue to wear the markings of an Indian wife; sindoor in my parted hairline and a bindi I’m still getting curious looks from passerby’s. 

Holistically an itchy rash often occurs because there is something we are “itching to do” and in my case I think it’s time for me to accept that I am foreign not only in India but even in my birth country. The quicker I accept, appreciate and celebrate that I will always be different, the sooner this rash may disappear…or maybe I just need to change my laundry detergent.

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Befriending pain and listening to it's wisdom...

I’ve been in Canada for two weeks and as much as I’ve enjoyed my time I’ve been dealing with some intense pain. I believe it was triggered by the long flight from India and perhaps aggravated by the baby getting his/her feet under my ribs. I’m fortunate to have wonderful healers in my life who’ve provided me with massage, adjustments and healing energy. As I lay on the massage table receiving my second treatment it dawned on me that perhaps God was helping to prepare me for giving birth.

This pain I’m working through is the worst I’ve felt in my life and now I’m seeing it as a gift for deepening my threshold. I understand labor is going to be something I can’t even begin to comprehend until I experience it and learning to breathe through this ‘minor’ pain has been a test. I’ve been overwhelmed and even terrified at moments wondering how I’m going to be able handle something more intense than this but when panic lingered at the edge of my consciousness trying to find entry I remembered my mantra and begin reciting it. By focusing my mind on Bhakti (devotion/unconditional love) my breath became steady and a sense of peace entered my heart, a tool I will surely use in the delivery room.

In another massage as trigger points were worked I felt my body fight to shut down in attempts to hide from the pain. During labor I’ve been told shutting down is the mistake many new moms make, it has potential to prolong the process; the key is opening in spite of the pain.  I took a deep breath and let the pain have its moment, within seconds my body relaxed.

I wish I could tell you all that I’ve been pain free since these experiences but that’s not the case. I know there’s a lesson but I’m frustrated, as a holistic healer myself I’m supposed to have the answers and I can’t seem to get into the truth of what’s going to relive me. I’ve opened myself up to the universe asking for divine guidance and followed the prompts but still the pain lingers.

That being said as I write this I hear the whisper of my inner voice saying “slow down”. The two weeks since I’ve arrived have been a whirlwind. I haven’t spent any time time writing, using the pain as an excuse to avoid my computer. I haven’t been on my yoga mat and meditated only three or four times. I’ve allowed myself to get caught up in a cycle of just trying to pass time with distractions, using the pain as an excuse. The truth is I miss my partner and India more than I’ve admitted to myself. I’ve been scared to feel it because I didn’t want to take away from my Canadian experience. I thought I was cultivating presence but really I’ve just tapped into another form of distraction; pain as an excuse to avoid my truth….

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You don't have to go looking for love when love is where you come from

It’s been two weeks since I posted last, life has been a bit of a whirlwind. I ended up with a cold (upper respiratory) and although it’s change of season in India and most of my family is walking around with fevers, sniffles and coughs I know a big part of the reason I came down with the symptoms is stress. Louise L Hay in her book “You Can Heal Your Life” says colds are caused by “mental disorder and confusion” and I admit that was my life leading up to it.

My Indian visa expired August 2nd and my partner and I had to make a choice on what course of action to take. We decided it would be best for me to head to Canada for a visit with my family, get a pregnancy checkup from my doctor, take the time to concentrate and finish my novel and meet with my agent, within the two months before I can apply for a reentry visa, and so I write today from my family’s home in Canada with mixed emotions.

Saying goodbye to my Indian family was harder than I expected. I had been looking forward to a break and get around some western comforts but as I reached the gate of our home to get into the car awaiting to whisk me off to the airport I broke down into tears. My family stood wiping tears from their eyes as we hugged. It was sad but in retrospect so uplifting, I now understand how much they love me and have fully accepted me as part of their family, at times my ego would like to have me believe they only tolerate me, but leaving for my journey to Canada I realized how much they have tucked me comfortably deep within their hearts, how much I am their family.

Being away from my partner I feel like part of me is missing, as cliché as that sounds, it is the truth. It is like someone cut off a part of my body, my soul and its missing presence is undeniable. Instead of wallowing I am doing my best to embrace the opportunity of being back in the west, remembering certain parts of myself that perhaps I have lost in the last six months. My life between India and Canada has always been about trying to find the sacred balance between east and west, and I know me being back here is God’s plan to help me achieve that goal.

Waking up this morning I grounded myself into my Canadian experience, when sadness threatened to consume me after hearing my partner’s voice on the phone, I diverted my mind by embracing the emotion as another beautiful reminder of the truth In our love. It’s hard to be apart but this is an opportunity for this spiritual warrior to find even more balance on my sacred path. Looking forward to the insights this voyage will bring…

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Can my truth hurt others?

After last week’s blog about conditioned responses I received a comment “Genuine with a touch of common sense so as not to hurt others with the truth” this sparked an interesting internal dialogue for me. How can my truth hurt others?

I thought about the differences in the two cultures I’ve been living in. Canadians are very concerned about hurting one another’s feelings, on a profound level this can often lead many people to denying their own truth in an effort to shield those they love. They don’t realize the damage they are doing to themselves and to those they are trying to ‘protect.’ But that’s a whole other blog.

I never fully comprehended how sensitive I was until I moved to India. Here there is a frankness amongst the people back in Canada we would describe as ‘brutally honest’. I joke with my girlfriends back home, if you think your butt looks big in your jeans then don’t ask an Indian boy cause he’ll tell you it does if indeed it does (and truthfully, you already know the answer.) I have not come across anyone who offers “white lies” here, there is no ‘sugarcoating’ or as Indians call it no ‘oiling’ the truth. They don’t worry about what others reactions might be they just tell it like it is in their opinion. Many times I felt tears welling up based on something my partner or family commented on. I felt like I was being picked on but as my heart grows stronger I realize that each time I take offence to what has been said to me, it’s an ego reaction and a beautiful chance for continued spiritual growth. Living in the India with this new version of truthfulness I’ve really had to walk the walk when it comes to one of my favorite quotes; “You can’t control other people’s actions only your reactions to them.”

I wondered if it is actually hurting us to tiptoe around our truth in Canada under the guise of politeness. If being raised to be polite we are somehow weakening our ability to hear the truth without ego getting in the way. It leaves us unsure of whom we really are without the approval, acceptance and acknowledgment from others. After days of contemplative meditation I believe it all stems from a lack of knowing our soul, the disconnection we have from God-self, the most authentic part of ourselves. Once we tap into that and begin the healing process of reconnecting back to our most authentic self there is nothing anyone can do or say that can truly hurt us. Our heart and soul can never really be hurt by anyone else’s truth only our egos perception of it. Our truth is ours to live freely and joyously. We can all live in harmony by accepting we are all different and each version, of each individual’s truth, is right for them and more importantly not ours to take offense from.

Are your responses conditioned?

In my last blog I talked about using my pregnancy as a gateway for evolving my consciousness and so far it’s working like a charm. This doesn’t mean I haven’t cried, or felt angry but I’ve been able to remain conscious which was my intention; to allow the emotions but not get caught up in them.

I’m deepening my connection to self and my genuine feelings and this led me to do a little research on myself. By paying closer attention to all of my responses “good” or “bad” I have begun recognizing whether or not my reaction is conditioned. I’ve been checking in to see if the response is genuine or something I’ve learned. Perhaps I respond to a situation the way my mother always has, or I like a certain object because somebody I admire once shared that they enjoyed it. I’m trying to figure out what is real for me, I must admit it’s a very interesting process!

I can remember one of my aunts telling me her daughter didn’t like tomatoes. In truth it was the mother who didn’t like them. When I fed this three year old child tomato she enjoyed them thoroughly. I recall another time when my younger sister had a friend over, we cut up fresh fruit and sat it on the table. The fruits weren’t uncommon in our home, pineapple, cantaloupe, honeydew, the little girl watched my sisters eat with enthusiasm, I asked her if she’d like some since she obviously wasn’t about to help herself. She said “no I don’t like those” I asked if she had tried them before and she admitted she hadn’t. My mother suggested she try a piece of pineapple as she herself munched on some “it’s my favorite” she added, the little girls eyes welled with tears, at the tender age of five she was already conditioned to fear anything out of the ordinary. It made me realize how blessed I was from childhood to have people around exposing me to so much. Very little restriction was placed on my sense of adventure, ranging from my palate to my desire to roam the world. I can’t recall limitations ever being set.

I still do however grapple with fear when it comes to many things in my life but once again I have realized that fear is a definite gateway. When I feel any “negative” emotion, if I search deep enough it usually finds its source in fear. Then the obvious question I ask is what am I honestly scared of? Fear only exists only in the absence of love, so when we shine the light of our love into the darkness of fear, it disappears. So they say…I’m still working on this one.

My goal is to make sure each response comes from a genuine place of spirit, from my soul, not my ego’s attachment to what it thinks it knows. I can already feel the sacred balance coming into alignment in my soul’s journey.

Using pregnancy as a gateway for spiritual growth...

Spiritually it is miraculous to be growing a life inside me. There are times when I feel flutters and wonder if it’s my baby and I’ve been told it is quite possible to feel movement at this point if you go into the stillness. There are moments when my heart knows it’s my baby doing what doctors refer to as water ballet. When I eat something the baby enjoys I feel happiness outside of me but part of me, even some yoga postures bring a joy and I swear I can feel the baby’s delight.
The first three months of pregnancy weren’t so bad, although I did feel nausea I never actually vomited. I was extremely tired, emotional, and lost some weight but they say that is pretty normal. Now that I’m in what is known as the honeymoon trimester I have to admit I feel pretty amazing physically. Except the fact that I have insatiable hunger, I eat and feel full but within minutes I’m ravenous once again. Being from Canada I still miss the variety of foods available on any given day, but knowing that I am eating local and organic is not just good for my baby but also Mother earth.

The emotional turbulence has been unnerving, I was expecting to cry, I was not expecting such strong sensations of anger. Last week I was the horror movie version of myself, when I finally grounded back into my body I wasn’t even sure what words had come out of my mouth, I was vaguely aware of threats and by the look on my partners face he had just encountered a demon. I spent the better part of the next day in meditation, contemplating how to remain emotionally grounded amidst the tidalwave of hormones that are bound to intensify as time progresses.

I am proud of the fact that I am (for the most part) conscious of my thoughts, words and actions but during that instance I lost touch with not only reality but my own heart. In truth I do remember a pivotal moment just before I turned into a lunatic where I thought “cross your eyes and tell him he’s making you crazy” it would have lightened everything but I chose to ignore the prompt. There were a couple more prompts but they were like distant fog horns, warning of shallow water but my bearings were lost and I couldn’t make out their direction.

The conclusion I came to; this is a gift, not only for growing this precious little starseed but for evolving my own consciousness. My intention is to ride the emotion rollercoaster as it comes but to remain true to my inner voice, listening to the prompts of my heart and most importantly acting on them. I believe if I can remain present during the onslaught of hysteria pregnancy sometimes brings I can use it as a gateway for ascension.

"Tears are God’s gift to us. Our holy water. They heal us as they flow." ~Rita Schiano

My ten year old nephew’s birthday party was this week. About twenty kids, a mix of boys and girls ranging in age from two to fifteen. There was the traditional cake with candles, everyone clapping and singing “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” until the last person gave up, the song never did quite finish the way it would have in Canada. He blew out the candles on his pink cake and everyone handed him his gifts. In India you place the gift from your right hand into the right hand of the recipient, it is not customary for the presents (on any occasion) to be opened, they are sat off to the side.

There were no chips or pop, the usual standards of junk food strategically placed around the home were nowhere to be found but the smell coming from the kitchen was heavenly. The food was served after nine at night as the culmination of the party. Indians take great pride in their cooking and often refuse to serve anything that is not homemade; we ate until we were ready to burst.

The children happily spent the better part of the party dancing along to the latest Bollywood music videos. The boys along with girls seemed to know every lyric and accompanying dance move. It was beyond adorable to watch, the freedom and enjoyment these young boys take in expressing themselves is something I have loved about this culture from my very first visit.

I think because of this freedom it has been my experience that Indian men are very much in touch with their emotions, they dance when the mood strikes and even more beautiful they feel and express all their emotions. The majority have never been told to that it’s not okay to cry, allowing themselves to cry when they are sad, even if it’s just while watching a sappy love story.

In Canada where boys are often told that it is not ok to cry, to toughen up, they learn to suppress their emotions early on. According to statistics Canada there is a heart attack every 7 minutes and heart disease accounts for thirty percent of all male deaths, here in India only 11% of the population is at risk. A spiritual perspective is that a heart attack happens when one can no longer feel the prompts of their heart center.

Every soul needs to find the right balance for them; personally I feel this comes with the ability to be tough enough to handle the perils of the world yet soft enough to feel the subtlest whispers of your heart, this may be the key to long lasting health and happiness.

"Lots of people talk to animals.... Not very many listen, though.... That's the problem." ~Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh

Being what many refer to as a Nature Devi I love to watch animals and as I witnessed a lizard crawl across my wall hunting its prey with patience and stealth it dawned on me how foreign it would be to see such a sight in Canada, so I spent the rest of my day looking around at what is truly different in the animal kingdom here in Vrindaban.

I’ve mentioned the monkeys before, we have mainly Reece monkeys which are the naughty ones, always stealing bags and glasses, they are the ones I’ve deemed the ‘monkey mafia’. Occasionally we have Languor monkeys come to town, they’re pretty cool (they actually keep the Reece monkeys away) and are quite friendly. You can hand feed them and in my experience they will only take what they are given and be quite content. I’ve had one come and sit down beside me, mimicking my posture, one knee bent, one leg stretched out in front of me, hands wrapped around my bent knee, he just looked at me for a moment then stared off in front of him. I wondered what he was thinking, was he like “hey this is cool, I’m sitting next to a human” because I know I was thrilled to be sitting next to a monkey!

We had a four foot cobra get dropped by a bird of prey just up the street from us a few weeks ago. I was terrified it would slither towards our home. Within a half an hour the same bird swooped down and captured its meal, all the villagers were safe…felt like I was in a national geographic program.

Dogs roam the streets, goats dressed in t-shirts sit in peoples doorways and of course cows. The cow is Holy in India because traditionally you go from your mother’s milk to the cows; therefore she is considered your second mother, thus holy. The male cows work in the fields just like fathers have for centuries earning them the same respect.

We have horses used in a taxi type service and camels. These long legged creatures cart various items around town. Whenever I walk by one I always get the feeling I’m being assessed. There’s an air of arrogance about the camel as they look me up and down, I’m not sure what it is they’re grading but they are known for spitting on people, fortunately I must pass their test because this has never happened to me.

My favorite animal to see is the elephant. Here it isn’t a daily sight but it’s not uncommon. The majestic beasts are the epitome of grace, strength and beauty. There is an energy that comes from being near an elephant that is hard to express with words.

The animal world has provided countless hours of entertainment, more so guidance, if you pay attention there’s knowledge to be gained observing their primal behavior, their connection to source is instinctive and natural, just like ours is meant to be.