I came to New Orleans to give up on life. I had been physically unwell for a number of years and was pretty sure I was going to die. After every possible medical test I discovered that nothing at all was wrong with me, I am in fact quite healthy, despite the horrible problems I was having with my nervous system.
When I got to New Orleans I largely stopped caring about life and death. I drank and danced and fell in love and pushed the chaos of life to take over. I stopped caring if I was doing anything useful with my life or education. I rode a tidal wave of crazy New Orleans madness. I was in such agonizing physical pain, it had permeated every element of my life, I’m not certain that I didn’t have a death wish.
I let obsession and desire take over my ability to process things. I got strung out on sex, something my life had been largely missing. I gave up on everything. I found my thought process had become overwhelmed by the habits of an angry lust. All I wanted was some dude who I wasn’t even sure I liked. We tried to destroy each other, over and over. We fell into a pattern of mutually abusive nonsense. Then he started meditating.
He started meditating and then I did too. We started meditating together. Then we dropped acid and he had a religious experience. He told me that he almost became a priest ten years ago. He told me that he wanted to stop having sex. My brain went crazy. Sex is my religion. Removing sex from our relationship was possibly the one thing that I was not going to tolerate. I mean what else did we do together? Meditate.
I was super cunty for a few days, then I got high again and tried to see things from his point of view. I saw the love, the light, the god in everything. Drugs and God are an amazing combination! I sobered up and the cynicism kicked back in. A couple days past and I forced a frightening sex ritual into his bedroom. It peaked when he put his thumbs in my third eye and said om. I slipped into a trance and chanted Hare Krishna for three hours. The next morning I had a vision of myself dead. It seemed perfectly natural to see that, so I just made breakfast.
I had not thought of Krishna in 25 years. I spent a little time at one of their temples way back then. Not enough time to convert but enough time to read some of their philosophy and have some delicious food. It was unexpected that Krishna showed up as I was pushing my relationship to the very edge of its limit. I went past that limit. I had a religious encounter that I can not deny. Before this I would have suggested that I was an atheist; denying the validity of the very real seeming experiences I have had with with hindu gods and goddesses over the last 13 years while practicing yoga. This time the veil that separates low level human consciousness and the perception of that reality from a realm where other types of beings who ordinary mortals can not usually see — that veil was lifted.
I guess I thought I could play with sex and energy and power and yoga while submerging myself in education and that it would just be a thing – not a deep thing, not a spiritual thing, not the kind of thing that changes a person. I was wrong.
So now I’m looking at my life through the lenses of religion and passion and yoga. What I have been doing seems largely pointless. I feel like I was really rolling in the squalor of human existence. I am totally unsure of what comes next. I’m trying to be a better person, but I’m not sure how that is working out. I keep getting looped into strange things that point out my poor choices.
Since the chanting trance of Hare Krishna, the obsessive magnetic pull that seems to have held me in that relationship has totally reversed. I’m not repulsed by him but I am totally not drawn to him in the way I have been for years. We meditate, we do yoga, we finally had a chance to actually become friends. I’m trying to be kind to myself when I fuck up, I can’t imagine that lingering catholic guilt is going to be in any way useful as I try to navigate becoming a person who does not act like an asshole just because I can. I keep fucking up. But at least now I care about things a little more. I’m actually trying to act like a nice person. I’m confused about how that translates to every aspect of my life.
I’m finding that I can’t really participate in a number of things in New Orleans. My old behavior patterns frequently make this town impossibly difficult for me to navigate in the new realm of trying to be a decent person. Oh dear. I’m getting over myself. Fuck.