Story Telling Became Soul Revealing
My home life was full of different religious and spiritual activities. Once a month we invited a priest from the Sikh temple, for Kirtan (prayer songs to God). Every Sunday after family yoga, we had a puja, a fire ceremony with a Hindu priest chanting Sanskr
I usually accompanied my mother, along with friends and relatives, to discourses held by enlightened teachers and masters. These revered teachers often shared their wisdom through storytelling. I was too young to understand it all, but some part of the story would capture my imagination and I would use that to create my own fantasy. I looked forward to being in these stories and imagined myself playing and chatting with the other characters. I would have my own conversations and come to my own conclusions, not realizing I was creating a direct experience of what was being taught.
Every story molded me ever so slightly, and every visit developed a new way to look at things. The stories were always about Indian Gods, prophets, poets, Buddha, and enlightened masters, so I thought it best to go straight to the top and hear the words for myself. I would connect with Buddha, Christ and other masters, ask questions, and put their wisdom to the test. I always received the proof that I asked for and I began to believe that someone or something was on my side, watching over me and caring for me. This was comforting, and I was encouraged to reach out even more to these masters.
I often wished I was free of chores and school, so I could spend my days communicating with these beings. If my mother’s dream was to fulfill her responsibilities and then leave everything to embark on a pilgrimage to be closer to God, then why couldn’t I do the same now? Why should I work hard to build a complicated life and then after all that, work on becoming detached? Investing years of hard work in a life and people that I would then renounce, made no sense to me. But I was still young, and I was often told that I knew nothing about real life. So, I learned to turn off such thoughts and keep quiet; being the youngest of the four daughters did not qualify me for an opinion.
Nevertheless, because I had discovered how to communicate from my soul, I questioned and doubted all information that came from anywhere else. Only if it made sense inside, was it real. My inner connections were warm, kind, loving, and effortless, unlike the external, where I had to fight to establish my identity and fight for love and approval. Just being noticed meant having to go over so many others who were older, louder, and bolder. All the drama made me insecure, sad, and angry. I hated these feelings. One day I noticed I had the power to change the way I felt. I stared into the mirror, wiped off my tears and said to myself, “It’s okay, you have the power to stand alone.” In that single moment I was set free and my burden lightened. I would take full responsibility of myself and do everything because I wanted to, not because I had to. At these times, I felt a force pouring out of me and I would give my best, no matter what I was doing. Responsibility, through self-dialogue had set me free.