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Meeting the Divine Motherby Janine Canan |
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Justine stepped barefoot up the steep stone stairs of the temple. On either side of her a large golden Lion stood guard. Devotional songs poured out of loudspeakers, and surrounded the nearby villages. Pearls of sweat rolled down her face, upturned in the damp hot air toward the Charioteer, who drove his dutiful horses out over the entrance. Freshly painted pale pink, with white capped towers, the building was covered with a vast array of sculptural detail in every conceivable color. Faint breezes wafted through leafy coconut palms off the Arabian Sea. At the top, women in bright saris, restless children and men in light dhotis, entered and exited large carved wooden doors. Crushed between bodies, Justine pushed her way inside. The Amritapuri temple was filled with people closely seated on the tile floor. Along pillars on each side, lines of men on the left and women on the right waited for darshan from the Divine Mother. In the front rows musicians and singers poured out songs of love to the Mother. Above the inner temple beautiful sculpted goddesses -- Lalita the Great Goddess, Saraswati the Goddess of Knowledge and Art, and Lakshmi the Goddess of Abundance -- watched over the worshippers. Within sat the Divine Mother Herself, the supreme Queen of the Universe, upon a small silk-lined throne surrounded by devotees. Wearing a sari of pure gold, on her head a jeweled silver and gold crown, and round her neck white floral garlands that tumbled to her knees, She pressed a whole family -- woman, man and child -- to her bosom with her strong dark arms. All three faces turned to Her with an expression of innocent expectation. Justine melted in the pulsing, golden, goddessy energy that suffused the temple and spread beyond. Her body began to flutter. Stepping closer, she fell to the cool tile floor, tucking her feet under her, never for a second taking her eyes off the Golden Goddess, who now was smiling into the hurt face of an elderly woman in tattered clothes. Her body vibrated as She whispered something repeatedly into the woman's ear. Lifting the woman up, She laughed heartily and pulled her fiercely back to her shoulder. A flood of tears ran down the old woman's face as she staggered to her feet, radiating pure bliss. But already Devi held a balding head in her lap, pressed tight under her elbow, as she exchanged animated words with the Swami bending over her right shoulder, all the while keeping the middle-aged man smothered in her lap. When at last he stood up, his hands were clasped in reverence, his radiant head still bowed. Justine's gaze merged into the beatific round face of the Mother, who was beaming like the moon and blazing like the sun, streaming endless Love. The words of the Mother she had read in books washed through her wide open mind: We should look at every person with compassion. Compassion is love that is expressed in its fullness. God is the all pervading consciousness. God is here, there and everywhere, pervading every atom of creation. Empty your mind for Mother to fill with her Love. After several hours of sitting thus entranced, Justine rose. In quiet ecstasy she wove her way, feet scarcely touching the floor, through the seated crowd to the darshan line. It was early in the morning now, the air was cool. The Mother had received thousands of people -- poor and rich, illiterate and educated, healthy and sick -- and there were still many more in line. But Her energy was tireless. Warmly she embraced each person, chanting holy words into their ears, giving little packets of candy and sacred ash, sprinkling them with flower petals, pausing to speak to some, giving a kiss. Drawing nearer to the Mother, Justine became so excited she could hardly bear it. For a moment she became fearful. Self-consciously she pushed her hair away from her face and behind her ears. The mango she had brought as an offering moved back and forth between her hands, as she stared at the mesmerizing Mother, who was even brighter under the flood of overhead lights. Justine quivered. Behind Her, sealed in the innermost sanctum, invisible now, was the victorious figure of Mother Kali. A wave of sweet rose perfume blew over Justine. The music grew more and more intense. Like a single giant throbbing heart, tablas, harmonium, violin and synthesizer resounded with the voices of men and women singing, "Jai Jai Ma, Jai Jai Ma, Jai Jai Ma, Jai Jai Ma" - Victory to the Supreme Mother…. The whole temple vibrated at the speed of light. Justine was very close to the Mother now. She lowered herself onto her knees, gazing prayerfully at the unfathomable Being who poured Love and more Love into the man kneeling before her. Giving him a good shake, She pulled the man toward her and pressed her cheek -- bruised black from so much hugging -- against his. "My son, My son, My son," She uttered; then kissed him and slipped a candy wrapped in sacred ash into his palm. Justine pressed her knees up to the Mother's beautiful little feet, and bowed her head against the Mother's shoulder. "Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma," Devi chanted rapidly, their souls vibrating as One. Justine's ear drank in the precious syllables uttered by one who saw the Divine in everyone -- even in her. Devi pushed her back and looked into her face. Justine looked up at the magnificent visage, the gray-streaked coal-black hair pulled back under the towering silvery crown, that rose up in a dazzling spire. The unbelievably kind, motherly face gazed upon her, bathing her whole being in pure care. "Tired?" the Mother asked, gently rubbing her hot weary forehead. "Yes," she answered in a moment that lasted forever. Tired, yes she was tired, terribly tired of carrying the burden of her little self for so long. The Mother pulled her close against her bountiful body. "My daughter, My daughter, My daughter," She said, each carefully enunciated word resonating profoundly, as She gave back to Justine her real Self. Smiling with the bliss that is infinite Compassion, She pressed a candy into Justine's hand.
From "Divine Mother" in Journeys with Justine by Janine Canan, forthcoming. Janine Canan is the author of the acclaimed anthology, She Rises like the Sun: Invocations of the Goddess by Contemporary American Women Poets, and 12 other books of poetry. She has three new books out: Changing Woman, Star in My Forehead: Selected Poems by Else Lasker-Schueler (translations), and The Rhyme of the Ag-ed Mariness: Last Poems of Lynn Lonidier (edited by Canan). Janine resides in Sonoma, California, where she is a practicing psychiatrist. |
