A Deeper Story

Can We Really Be One?

by Mandy on February 9, 2012

It was 11.11.11. A date that was supposed to be special, and I was all for making things special, just because.

I’d gone once to the little yoga studio beside the railroad tracks, and it wasn’t even for yoga. But since that one time, I had gotten on their email mailing list, and so this was how I heard about the Oneness Blessing at 7 AM in the morning on 11.11.11.

I had no idea what a oneness blessing was. All I knew for sure was that the verbage in the email sounded warm and welcoming, the event was free, and this was an opportunity to do something new and different which would help make the day special.

I showed up early, before the sun had broken over the horizon. There were only two cars in the parking lot, mine and another. I walked to the door only to find it was locked, and I contemplated leaving. What was I doing here anyway? These doubts like to latch themselves onto the pant’s loops of newbie attempts. Everyone feels out of place when they’re trying something for the first time.

Eventually others pulled up in cars, and the facilitator unlocked the door.

We went inside and the building was chilly and there was a space heater to warm up our bare feet as we sat in a circle on fold-up chairs. The others seemed to know each other, and I was quiet and timid.

After a bit of small talk the facilitator stood and said she’d get started, and that she’d begin with the man to her right and work her way around the circle. I must have had a deer in the headlights look about me (I’m quite good at letting my face speak when my mouth is paralyzed) because a man across the circle from me said, “Do you need some explanation of what we’re doing?”

I laughed and said, “Um, yeah, I basically have no idea what is going on.”

He flashed a big toothy white grin, a stark contrast to his deep brown skin tones. And with that vulnerable confession of mine they seemed to gather around me with their words and their non-verbals, almost like they were lifting me to their shoulders so they could give me a better view.

The man explained briefly about a school in India where this oneness blessing, or deeksha, was first experimented with some 20 years ago. Where kids became awakened to their potential, to their passions, to their purpose, as their brain currents literally were changed. And then he explained how it greatly offended some of the parents of the children. The man said, “You see, the awakening is controversial. Some parents would rather their kids just stay asleep.”

I sighed. Yes, I am familiar with the idea that some would rather keep people asleep, enslaved, controlled.

I’m still not understanding what is going on though. Something about putting hands on my head and silence and a belief that we can awaken things in the brain by the loving compassion and power of human touch. He asks if I understand, and I nod because I get it, but it’s still foreign to me, as new things just are.

I keep my eyes open for a bit, even though everyone else has their eyes closed. I watch the facilitator stand before the man seated to her right and gently place her hands on his head. We breathe, and there is music playing softly in the background, but other than that we are quiet.

She makes her way around the circle spending a few minutes with each person. At one point the CD of background music starts to skip and it’s distracting, and I hold in my nervous giggles because I’m not going to be the immature one in the group, especially not on my first time.

When she gets to me, I have closed my eyes at this point, but I can sense her nearness. She puts her hands on my head gently. Later when my kids and husband and ask me what I did, I would tell them, “I sat in a chair and breathed while I allowed someone to put their hands on my natty dreads.” It was humbling. My husband would later say, “It sounds full of compassion.” And that’s it exactly. It’s much akin to the Christian tradition of foot-washing. Rich with tenderness.

Her hands feel warm on my head and the pressure, though minimal, feels intense. I find myself sighing, partially in relief that this oneness blessing will not be some strange event that I feel I must make a scene and remove myself from, and partially because I can feel how special I am through the touch of her hands. I feel alive and my potential astounds me.

When the blessings are completed we help put away chairs and stand at the front windows, putting on our shoes and socks as we watch the sky’s colors welcoming the new day. There is more small talk, and I find myself with this odd desire to have someone ask me what my husband does. This is odd because last year at this time, I would have cringed at the thought of these people knowing my husband works at a church. I was angry with church and angsty with my Christian faith, and a bit like Peter, not wanting to say I associate with the likes of Christ.

But on 11.11.11 I felt risky and bold, and I felt a bit of a rush when a man asked, what brought your family to Oklahoma? And I tell him about my husband’s job at the church, a church that is big enough in our area that he quickly recognizes the name of it. I anticipate the squirms before they come, and inside I giggle because now they are uncomfortable in my presence when minutes before I was uncomfortable in theirs. They don’t know what to do with me or what to say next. Am I an enemy in the camp? Have I invaded their bubble? Am I unwelcome now that they know of my Christianity? I wonder if this weirdness I’m feeling is what they would feel if attending a Christian church for the first time.

They ask me what my husband thinks of me being here. Does he know I am here?

I think it’s interesting that my Christian acquaintances ask me the same questions. I feel for an instant like I want these two parallel worlds to be thrown in a room together, intermingling with all their discomfort. Do you people ever even talk? Do you know that their are humans on both sides of this spiritual elephant in the room? Do you know that we are made out of the same substance? How can we look across the divide as if we are monsters or at the very least, aliens?

“He knows I am here, and he is okay with it. He tells me he trusts God with me. And truthfully God was feeling a bit dead to me, and so I needed some different expressions to re-connect me with the Truth. I believe God is okay with my being here.”

I want to say to both sides, to the Christians and to those who aren’t Christians: “What you see as leaving myself open to something evil, I see as opening myself up to all that God has for me.”

There is an awkward silence. I wish I could read the words flapping around in their brains. I wish I could see the flashbacks of memories of Christians they have known – memories that leave them feeling so leery of my presence now. Or maybe there are no precise memories at all and only assumptions that have built a wall between us. The same wall that keeps Christians from entering a yoga studio on the “other side of the railroad tracks.” Why so many walls? Where is this oneness we speak of? Where is this oneness we long for?

One man fills the awkward silence with the loud words, “Ah well, it doesn’t matter what label is slapped on your can. It’s all the same tin can underneath, right? We’re all eating the same vegetable.” They laugh nervously and nod and edge towards the door. I’m enjoying that this is now uncomfortable for all of us.

The facilitator turns her back on me and quickly starts a conversation with someone else. Am I reading into the discomfort in the room because I expect it to be here?

The man who made the joke about the cans tells me he is from India, and I say something silly like, “Oh wow. That’s a highly spiritual country.” This is what we people say who have seldom traveled out of our country’s borders and who think we know India because we know of Ghandi and Mother Teresa and because we have read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love.

He smiles and says, “Everyone always says they want to go to India for a pilgrimage or go to find themselves or go to be awakened. But awakening can happen anywhere. It’s something that goes on inside you, regardless of location. And sometimes I think if you can’t awaken where you’re at, no amount of traveling is going to change that.”

“I could not agree more,” I say. I smile back and extend my hand. “It was very nice to meet you.  Thanks for making me feel welcome.” And with that I say goodbye to everyone and I make my exit. I laugh to think of what they must talk about as I drive away, but I am glad to end on a good note. I manuever my car back over the railroad tracks and I think, “I hope I got to usher in as much awakening as I got to receive.”

{ 14 comments }

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