Soulmates (6 page)

Amaya was still outside the door when I emerged. She was drinking her juice and looking contemplative. It was a silent period at the ashram and so I didn't say anything to her, but, like Yoni, she gave me a subtle nod.

I left the building in a daze. I can't even remember how I got back to our apartment. But the same phrase kept appearing in my mind, like a mantra: God-shaped hole, God-shaped hole, God-shaped hole. It's a phrase I hadn't thought of since Methodist youth group. We weren't really religious, but I attended sporadically after my mom died because my aunt Mary was worried that I wasn't getting enough support at home. Our group leader, an earnest guy with a goatee and a guitar, would always tell us that going to church made us complete. It filled a vacuum inside us that would otherwise be empty.

At the time, I thought he was a moron, with his stupid facial hair and his Amy Grant songs. Jesus wasn't going to fix what was wrong in my life; he wasn't going to bring my mom back. But after locking eyes with Yoni, I finally understood what he meant. A void that I hadn't even realized existed felt brimming. I was whole.

I was still thinking about what I had read in Ethan's book while I waited for Lo to arrive at the mind/body workshop she was supposed to be teaching. I had been able to read only a small chunk before it got too painful. Was that really how he remembered our last New Year's together? Yes, I'd had a little too much to drink, but I'd thought we had fun. I didn't remember the tiff about Nikolai, or the discussion of how much I was imbibing. I remembered getting dressed that night in a silver sequined skirt and applying red lipstick. I remembered Ethan telling me how beautiful I looked. I remembered giving him that kiss before he left.

He didn't even mention the part of New Year's Day that we spent in bed together. We cuddled, and giggled, and ordered takeout from the Thai place down the block, and watched
A Few Good Men
—Ethan's favorite movie. He thought Aaron Sorkin was a genius. Ethan said Sorkin had been a struggling playwright doing odd jobs—he even delivered singing telegrams—before he hit it big. So Sorkin was also an inspiration.
I remembered finishing that day much as I started it, asleep in Ethan's arms.

And yes, I had encouraged him to get a job. Aaron Sorkin might have had odd jobs, but they were still jobs! Ethan's account painted me like a bossy philistine who didn't care about his important intellectual work. When I started pushing him to get a paid position, it was not because I was coming home to find his ass sitting in that chair reading Howard Zinn or any other labor historians. I came home to him watching
Law & Order
reruns, playing
Call of Duty,
and once, memorably, hunched over his laptop with his fly open watching old episodes of
Saved by the Bell
.

He probably thought it served me right that he met Amaya at work. Wasn't I the one who forced him into it? I knew about Amaya before he left me, but I thought she was just his work buddy. I guess I had known that she introduced him to the yoga classes, but it didn't seem like such a big deal at the time. I was just glad Ethan had made a friend at work, and I was glad he was getting some exercise—and not only because it made his body fitter. Sure, I noticed the new muscles, but I wanted him to exercise so he'd live a long, healthy life
with me
. And what was all that zodiac nonsense? I had hardly heard him say anything like that when we were together.

To keep from seething I tried to take deep—cleansing?—breaths. Just because Ethan had misrepresented some facts, that didn't make him the kind of person who would kill his lover.

I was taking these deep breaths when Lo entered the room quietly, almost on tiptoe. She had warm amber eyes that crinkled when she smiled, and long, wavy gray hair that she wore
loose and flowing. She was really petite—I'd be surprised if she cleared five feet, and her hair grazed the top of her hips. She looked like a very old child. The title of the class she was teaching was Reviving the Feminine Spirit: Empowering Women's Self-Renewal. I had no idea what that jumble of words meant, but I decided to take the class because Sylvia spoke so highly of Lo.

Lo sat down on a pile of pillows near the center of the room. She had perfect posture. “Namaste,” she said.

There were only three other women in the class with me, all in their fifties and sixties. “Namaste,” they parroted back. I mouthed the word along with them.

“I'm so glad to see you all here to do this important work,” Lo said. “I see we have a new face among us old-timers here today.” She smiled at me. “Please tell us your name, and what your intentions are for our work together.”

“I'm Dana,” I said. “My intentions . . .”
are to find out about my dead husband from you
. “Are . . . to become more centered and make sure that I leave here in better emotional shape than when I arrived.” That wasn't even a lie, exactly.

That seemed to please Lo. She and the women around me all nodded approvingly. Lo cleared her throat and began the lesson. “Today we're going to focus on a mind problem that vexes many women of all ages: self-loathing.” She had a soothing, somewhat mysterious alto, reminding me of Nico in the Velvet Underground, sans German accent. “When we do not love ourselves enough, it manifests itself in all sorts of bodily problems. The healer Habib Sadeghi says, ‘Illness is what happens when women, the nurturers of humanity, forget how to nurture themselves.'”

My classmates were clearly enraptured. They all seemed to be tilted forward, as if leaning toward Lo would help them hear her every word better. “The antidote to self-loathing is self-care,” Lo explained. “While our ultimate goal is to make positive change in the world, it's impossible to do so when our basic energies are depleted. As we are all individuals, we need different kinds of care to nurture our souls.”

“Amen,” said the woman next to me.

“As this is a sharing workshop, we will go around the room and release moments when we have denied ourselves care. Whether we recognized it or not at the time, self-loathing is the root of that denial. Sharing our stories will release the self-hatred, and allow us to make room for self-love.” A sharing workshop? I thought, panicking. Did that mean I was going to have to speak? Shit, shit, shit. I wished Sylvia had warned me.

Lo turned to the “Amen” woman, who had dark hair and a strong patrician nose. “Nancy, since you've taken my workshops before, why don't you start?” I was relieved she hadn't picked me first. Maybe listening to Nancy's sharing would help me figure out what to say.

“Okay,” said Nancy, who had a slight Southern accent. “Well, when my kids left the house, I was all set to enjoy myself. I spent twenty-five years being a mom first, and a woman second. Well, y'all, Goddess, she had other plans.” She laughed ruefully. “Six months after my youngest left for school, my mom got sick. She passed a few months ago.”

The room was completely silent as Nancy spoke. “When I was going through all that caretaking, I told myself that when it was over I would have time to myself again. I would get back
to my yoga practice, which I had abandoned when Mom got sick. I thought I'd go get a haircut and maybe a pedicure. And I never get pedicures!” Nancy stuck her foot out to show us all the sorry state of her toenails, which were dry and cracking. “But I didn't do any of that. I just sat at home. I wasn't eating much, and I wasn't sleeping much, either. I felt like I didn't know what my purpose was anymore, without someone else to put first. I guess I hated myself a little for being so useless. My husband was the one who suggested I come back here, because he remembered how centered I was when I came here a few years ago, before Mom got sick. I guess this is my first act of self-care in a long time.” Tears welled up in Nancy's eyes. She wasn't audibly crying. In fact, she was still smiling. She just let the tears fall.

“We're so glad you're here, Nancy,” Lo said. “You need to be here.” Then, barely pausing, she turned to me and said, “This whippersnapper is a brand-new student! Welcome, Dana. Can you tell us about a time in your life when you denied yourself care?” Lo's amber eyes fixed on mine with warmth and kindness.

What was I going to tell them? I hadn't been prepared for Nancy's legitimately moving monologue. I hesitated for a moment, but something about Lo's stare made me feel safe. Before my brain could make something up, I blurted out, “I haven't had an orgasm since my husband left me.” My cheeks felt hot. Where had that even come from? I had never said those words before, not even to myself. And they were true. I wanted to crawl under the pillow I was sitting on and not come out until everyone had left the room.

But I was still looking at Lo's face. It wasn't judgmental or pitying. It was just open. Despite my embarrassment, the
words continued to tumble out. “He left several years ago. Sex was an important part of my life then. But he left me unexpectedly, and I was shattered. I haven't dated anyone since then. Well, I went on one blind date because my sister made me, but it was such a disaster she never tried again.” I let out a bitter little giggle. No one else in the room laughed. “But I, um, used to masturbate, even before my husband left. We had opposite work schedules and sometimes the mood just struck when he wasn't around. And I haven't really thought about it until now, but I stopped doing that, too.” I stopped talking and held my mouth in a firm line.

Lo nodded. “You have literally been denying yourself self-love. I'm glad you're here. You need to be here.”

DAILY AFFIRMATION
:

The most important love of all is self-love.

I would not have been accepted into the fold were it not for Amaya. She and Yoni have a special bond that can only come from practicing together for more than a decade.

Amaya met Yoni right after she graduated from a very progressive college in upstate New York. She thought she wanted to work at an NGO fighting for the rights of the indigent. But she spent three months in India and Bali and returned a spiritual seeker. She joined Yoni's Vikalpa commune, which was then operating in a Crown Heights brownstone but is currently on hiatus. She described it to me once on a break from our shift at Green Wave.

We were sitting in the barren, windowless break room, drinking green tea that Amaya had brewed in a hand-thrown ceramic teapot. Our supervisor had gone home sick for the night, so Amaya and I took the opportunity to get to know each other better. I remember that it was so hot outside that the sidewalks were still
steamy even during the night shift. Amaya was wearing a nearly sheer white dress, and her hair was twisted into a high bun that managed to be both sloppy and elegant at the same time.

“We would get up at five and meditate for two hours in the nude at the commune,” she told me. “Then all of us women would make the clean porridge we ate every morning.”

I didn't really know what to say back. Because I hadn't yet come to see the unclothed body as the soul in its most pure state, I thought it was creepy that they were all naked. Because I hadn't yet learned about how each role a member of the community plays is of equal importance, I wondered why the women had to cook, and was curious about what clean porridge was. I ended up asking, “Didn't you get bored?”

Amaya smiled and sipped her tea. “When you're fulfilled, it's impossible to get bored, at least in the worldly sense. You are at peace with a blank mind.” She always made intense, direct eye contact. She seemed sort of crazy. But also really, really hot. Looking back, I realize that things weren't great with Dana at that point. She was in her second year as an associate and she was working ninety hours a week. She was always afraid she'd burn out before she made partner, and that all her work would be for nothing. It's what drove her.

But I felt like she was always too busy to care about what was going on with me. I couldn't remember the last time she asked me how I felt about anything. And here was Amaya, sharing her spirituality with me, a virtual stranger.

“And what about you?” Amaya asked. “Are you a seeker?”

“What do you mean, a seeker?” It's funny to recall how ignorant I was about Amaya's enlightenment at the beginning.

“Are you interested in learning more about yourself and the world around you?”

“Of course,” I said. “Who isn't?”

“You'd be surprised,” Amaya said. “Most Americans are immune to the deep soul work that needs to be done to understand the world around us.”

“Well, I've always been a really spiritual person,” I said, unsure if it was remotely true but wanting to impress her.

“My guru, Lama Yoni, would love that about you. He has a whole philosophy about how good things happen to people when they follow the laws of karma,” Amaya said. Then she closed her eyes and clasped her hands more tightly around her mug. She looked like she was about to say something else, but instead she got up slowly, nodded at me, and left the room.

On my way home from the office that night I couldn't stop thinking about Amaya. When I saw Dana sleeping peacefully in our bed, her lips slightly parted like a cartoon Sleeping Beauty, I felt guilty, but only a little. I was starting to feel the burgeoning of a spiritual awakening, and I owed it to myself to listen to those feelings and see where they led me.

I took Dana out for Valentine's Day to our favorite restaurant. It really felt like old times again, and I know she was happy then. She got off work early, like she said she would, and I took the night off from Green Wave. That alone felt like an accomplishment
for us. But I was already starting to feel like I was holding a crucial part of myself away from her.

Part of what helped that night was drinking. She hadn't noticed that I didn't have a sip of alcohol on New Year's, or that I had not been joining her in her boozy brunching. Because I wanted us to have a harmonious night, I split a bottle of wine with her at the restaurant, and since it's an Italian restaurant, I even gave up my clean eating for an evening to indulge in this Nutella calzone we always get for dessert.

Dana looked really beautiful sitting across from me in the tight red dress she wore every Valentine's Day. She's a sucker for tradition and doing things for old times' sake—hence the return to this particular restaurant and the dessert. She took solace in these rituals, and I was trying to apply my newfound discoveries from Yoni to our marriage. Lama Yoni would definitely approve of the idea of ritual giving people comfort.

I hadn't mentioned anything to Dana about the Urban Ashram at that point. I had been trying to think of a way to introduce her to everything I was learning, but I couldn't figure out how to do it without her saying something nasty. Dana has always been caustic, as long as I've known her. I remember when we first met, in our nineteenth-century lit class. Dana said she didn't like the main character in Jane Austen's
Mansfield Park
because she was “a weak little ninny.” I wondered who that spunky blonde was, with her bob haircut and square glasses.

But that was long before I started my work with Yoni. It was starting to feel like another lifetime, in fact. Now all those sharp edges that seemed so bright and shiny when we were in
college began to feel like razors, slashing up the meaningful work I'd been spending so much time on.

But during the main course Dana asked me how the yoga was going, and seemed to truly want to know the answer. “Can you do a headstand yet? That always seemed like the most complicated thing,” Dana said.

“I can! It's not that hard when you put your mind to it,” I said. “You should come with me sometime. I think you could get something out of it. You've been so stressed at work lately, I think it might help you unwind.” I tried using subconscious persuasion techniques with targeted eye contact, which was something I had learned about in one of the classes at the ashram. The trick is to connect without intimidating.

Dana was a little drunk, and I could tell she was not in the mood to fight. “Sure. I could always use some de-stressing.” Then she smiled a crooked little smile at me, and I wasn't sure she meant it, but at the time I accepted it. I knew she was in a good mood because she even let me pay for dinner, a gesture she didn't always make, since most of the money in our bank account came from her salary and we both knew it. She would usually say, “Why are you pretending that you're paying for dinner? We know who is really paying for dinner.”

We walked arm in arm up First Avenue, and while we were waiting for the light Dana leaned over and kissed me, a kiss that made my experiences at the Urban Ashram disappear, for just a little while. We went home and had the best sex we'd had in months, maybe years. In that moment, I felt like our lovemaking had reached another level, not just physically but metaphysically. I was so pleased she'd agreed to go to a class at
Yoni's. Maybe she was really ready to understand the true me. But after she fell asleep, I remember that good feeling faded into a whole lot of nothing.

At this point, though I still attended my classes at the ashram, I was trying to avoid Amaya between classes and kept our break room talks to a minimum. Things weren't perfect with Dana, but I had made a marriage vow to her. My parents' marriage was not the most actualized, and since my mom died my dad barely talks about her. I refused to repeat that pattern, especially considering the conversation Dana and I had the morning after Valentine's Day.

Dana woke up in a good mood, still beaming from our connection the night before. “I love that you're awake with me,” she said. “It's been so hard since we've been on opposite schedules. We're like ships passing in the night.” She leaned over and kissed me, then put her head on my shoulder. “Us being together and it feeling so good . . . it makes me start thinking about making some little Ethans together, watching them running around our apartment.”

I pulled her closer to me and said, “Mmm.” We were having a nice morning and I didn't want to ruin it with a prolonged discussion of our child-having prospects. I always figured we'd have kids someday, but since our marriage wasn't in the best place, I didn't think we should rush. I didn't want to risk
bringing a brand-new soul into such a dark environment with so many conflicts.

I didn't even think we should plan. I've never been a huge planner. Dana was the planner, and I was usually happy to go along with what she envisioned. Like she'd say whenever we traveled, every marriage only needs one suitcase packer. But since I started studying with Lama Yoni, I had become concerned that her need for control was altering my natural stream.

Yoni once told a parable about the formation of the Panch-chuli Glacier in northeastern India. While we were in savasana he described the hard snowpack accumulating year after year, compressing into a pile of forbidding ice and helping to create the Darma Valley. He talked about the compression pushing all the air out, so that the ice turns an otherworldly blue. He emphasized the fact that glaciers are always changing, that's their natural state. But you cannot plan the path of a glacier. It will shape-shift in a preordained way, at a preordained pace.

I knew that Amaya was in my life for a reason, but by that same logic Dana was in my life, too. And even though our bond was frayed, it would be moving that glacier to break that bond. I would need a loud and clear sign from the universe that my time with Dana was over.

After Valentine's Day, things were slightly better between Dana and me for about a week. But the following week we were back to our old inertia: I was asleep when she left for work, and I was at work when she finally got home. On the weekends, all she wanted to do was sleep and watch really ugly, soul-searing reality television. I kept trying to get her to come down to the Urban Ashram, but she kept finding reasons to avoid it. She'd
say her ACL was acting up, or that it was too cold to go so far downtown. She knew she was hurting my feelings because she wouldn't look me in the eye when she gave me her excuses. I knew she thought yoga was boring, but she didn't care that this was important to me.

If our marriage had faltered a year earlier, I would have asked Dana to go to couples therapy to help us reconnect. But Lama Yoni believes that psychiatry stands in the way of our spiritual development, because it intellectualizes our instincts. I was sick of intellectualizing everything, like I'd done since I was a kid, so I was inclined to agree with him.

One morning Dana shook me awake at six thirty before she left for work. Her eyes were shining. “Hey,” she whispered, her breath minty fresh. “I want to come to a yoga class tonight. Can you set it up for me?”

“Sure,” I said sleepily. “What made you change your mind?”

“I know I've been really stressed lately and I haven't been spending enough time with you,” she said. Then she kissed me sweetly before leaving. I was so grateful and happy that Dana was finally coming around. When I woke up for the second time I looked at her chart, and found that her transiting Venus was in strong trine with her natal Midheaven: in other words, the relationship energy of Venus was charging up her personality with more sympathy for others.

I called the ashram after I looked at Dana's chart and scheduled an eight
P
.
M
. class for both of us. Yoni was supposed to teach this class, and I wanted Dana to get the best of the best. I even remembered to e-mail her to tell her to get there fifteen minutes early. Dana was always annoyed with me for not remembering details like that. I hoped she'd give me extra points for being so responsible.

On the subway to the ashram, I was so excited I couldn't sit still. Yoni always said that one enlightened event can change a lifetime, and I was hoping that this might be one of those events. If I could start taking Dana to the ashram, I wouldn't need Amaya to fulfill those needs. It would take a while—first she'd have to get into yoga, and then I'd have to show her the spiritual stuff—but it would be worth it. Wouldn't I prefer to live an honest life, with my wife knowing all sides of me?

I walked into the ashram and waited in the lobby for Dana. I watched person after person walk into the class and set their mats down. I kept looking up at the clock that sits above the reception desk. Dana hates being late, so I couldn't imagine why it was 7:56 and she still wasn't there. I did some of my deep breathing exercises to calm down, then looked up at the clock again: 7:57, still no Dana. I started whispering a mantra to myself to keep tears from gathering in my eyes. Was Dana really going to let me down after all that?

At 7:59 she rushed through the door. From the look on her face I could tell she was in a dark mood. “I. Ran. Here. Subway. Stalled,” she managed to get out while she put her hands on her knees and bent over to catch her breath.

“It's okay,” I said, trying to retain my Zen bearings. “Yoni
just really hates it when people are late. He says it disrupts the energy in the room.”