A TOUGH MOVE

Three years ago I moved to Chicago from Houston, Texas. I left my parents and ;my closest friends behind to work for my uncle. This was a difficult thing to do, but necessary.

Since then, I have learned how the food business works, learned a new city and tried to make a new set of friends. It has been a challenging transition, but meeting and making new friends has been tough. I have struggled with this because I already have friends, close friends, but they happen to be 2,000 miles away. I do not necessarily want new friends. I also find it harder to open up and trust people nowadays. So for three years, I have had plenty of time to think about my life and to listen to my inner self.

Slowly I began asking questions, the big questions. Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why is Chicago a part of my life's path? And most importantly, where do I begin looking for answers?

Throughout my childhood, I attended just about every denomination of the Christian church, but never felt comfortable in any of them. I did not, and do not to this day, feel that my destiny resides in a Christian church. In no way am I saying that any one religion is right or wrong . . . just that I need to follow a different path.

I began looking into "New Age" religions, but after a little research, I found that most are actually Old Age religions. Religions that were formed and practiced by people prior to Christianity's dominance. As I read and learned something really clicked inside me. I saw a new way to look at myself and the world around me. My brain juices began flowing. I was actually thinking and forming my own opinions. Something that always seemed frowned upon in mainstream religions. It was comforting and a breath of fresh air.

So perhaps my move to Chicago was to help me open my eyes, to teach me about change, to open up and really see the life that is around me, and then some. I have learned that every person, every religion and every moment of our life has something beneficial to teach. I have learned that change is a constant and we must accept the change in order to learn and grow. Lastly, although I still struggle at times, I have learned that we must open up, trust, and let our love show through. We were not meant to walk the Earth alone and we are the only ones who can make sure that does not happen.
by Shane Turner
LaGrange Park, IL

IN YOUR EYES

It's strange when someone walks into your life and you don't realize the impact they have made until they are no longer physically with you. I had such an experience with the well-known philosopher, J. Krishnamurti. Krishnaji, as he was known to many, came for a walk every evening on the beach in front of my aunt's house in Adyar, India. I had come to live with my aunt in September of 1983 after losing both my parents in succession. I was a rather lost and sad specimen as I had not healed from the loss, but the evening walks helped and being in Krishnaji's presence was stabilizing, to say the least.

As we walked one evening, a poor fisherman came up to Krishnaji speaking in his native tongue. Krishnaji did not understand what the man said so he gently took his hand, held it and moved on. I had lingered a step behind Krishnaji when suddenly he looked at me with despair in his eyes. Looking at him, I knew he felt my sadness. I gave a reassuring smile as I always did, to show I would be okay. He took my hand and we began to walk, conversing as two dear friends.

"Do you understand them? I don't. I speak Italian and French, but not Tamil," he said in a childlike way.

"No sir, I don't. I would like to," I said softly. He needed in agreement and proceeded to tell me about his childhood and his brother's death. Knowing, as he spoke that I was doing more than listening to him. I was healing. Holding Krishnaji's hand was like holding his heart. It was warm, nurturing, and he was there just for me. Something I needed at the time. With every step we took, the world began to look more radiant and my heart felt much lighter. I soon began to feel a balance and joy within that I had not felt since I was a small child.

When our walk finished, Krishnaji bowed to me and wished me a good evening. Before departing, his eyes met mine. This time, the look in his eyes was very different. There was serenity and strength. A mirror of what lay within me. For this I am eternally grateful.
by Anaya S. Rajan
Lake In The Hills, IL

MARTA THE MOUTH

The raw courage it takes to initiate and then maintain inner change is especially memorable during the time great adversity is going on--and adversity is exactly what it was to work in the same office with Marta the Mouth. (I've changed her name to protect advances I expect she's made in the many intervening years.) Of course, no one voiced the possibility that her lack of critical judgment was a gift for me of the highest order. Certainly I didn't think of it until the day I let it go.

I dearly loved my job-but too many days were made a living hell by co-worker Marta. No doubt about it, she was having a wonderful time baiting me, especially whenever I'd had all I could take and lost my temper. Things got so bad that I'd walk into the office looking forward to the day's projects-and realize that tears were rolling down my cheeks.

This passive twist in my own personality was the effect of learning early that it was less painful to withdraw communication about what hurt than to risk angering or being ignored by an extremely controlling caregiver. It was necessary to my defense to shove frustration, disappointment and anger down so far that I literally lost awareness of
them. A religious background that taught that the comfort of others was more important than my own added its own charge to my greeting to the world. What the childhood experience endowed me with was a penchant for expressing myself on paper, and a great curiosity about just who I was.

My seeking for answers paid off when I found the books Games People Play and I'm OK - You're OK and then came across In My Soul I Am Free--and a spiritual path that worked for me. Each of these helped me identify the fact that I was letting myself be blown about by the desires of others. I learned that no matter how twirpy someone was acting, they were actually doing the best they could with whatever understanding they had at the time. It was all a matter of my remembering to be cause, not effect.

One morning Marta the Mouth came to my desk and began her usual diatribe. My first reaction was, "Here comes trouble!" then I caught myself. If I was expecting trouble, I'd find it easily. No, trouble wasn't what I wanted. My studies had taught me a better way. Marta had her say and to my complete surprise, I found myself smiling. Her snippy words had gone in one ear-and out the other. "So this is detachment!" I thought.

For the last twenty-five years, I've said a silent thank you to Marta when I've thought of her. Little did she know that in providing practice for a spiritual principle, she was my dearest enemy.
by Leah Mokshov
Chicago

SUDDENLY ALONE

When the telephone rang on July 4, 1998, my life changed in a way I had never imagined. The call was to inform me that my beloved, Jessie, had suddenly died. Our then fourteen-year-old son was with his father when "it" happened. Although I have always been strong-willed and determined, I needed Jessie to confirm my strengths for me. I relied upon his opinions, advice, encouragement and even disapproval as my guide. Sometimes I fought him, most times I accepted his way of thinking. I needed to know, always, what he thought. For eighteen years I relied heavily upon Jessie. I couldn't live without him. Or so I thought.

The moment I learned of Jessie's death, I knew I was going to be able to live without him. My sorrow, fears and insecurities were replaced with the knowledge I had to be strong for my children. I couldn't fall apart or be consumed by my loss. I had to show them that we really would get through it and we would be okay.

Three days before Jessie died, we talked. I wasn't feeling very good about myself. He put his arms around me, kissed me and told me he loved me. As he brushed my tears away, he became very serious. He said, "Debbi, clear your mind and let all of this go. Stop questioning yourself. Promise me you'll be strong. You never know what may happen." I felt better and knew I was going to be just fine. I now believe he knew his life on this earth was going to end.

On the day he died, I was blessed to be able to tell him I loved him and thanked him for being a wonderful man. Twelve hours later I learned I would never be able to see or speak to his human form again. Since that day, Jessie and I have had many conversations. He comes to me I my dreams. We laugh, we talk and he still tells me to be strong. I feel his spirit everywhere around me. I look at our son and know his father is with him always.

I learned that life does go on and can still be full and happy. I know I can be without a partner, and feel great about myself. I've changed my way of thinking about what I want from a personal relationships. The time will come when I will be ready to open my heart to love again. It won't be because I "need" it, but because I want it.
by Debbi Powless
McHenry, IL

In our June edition (with a deadline of May 1) we will feature An Affirmation That Worked For Me. In August, we're asking you to tell us about a column, feature or author who writes for our magazine whose words have made a difference in your life --and why. Did that person do you the favor of saying what you needed to hear just when you needed to hear it? If so, what? The deadline is July 1.

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