And that's a lie. Kind of.
The truth is that I have purged every poem and story I have ever written because I am afraid to look at them. Because I am afraid that I suck as a writer and that nothing I have to say is really all that meaningful or eloquent. Because I am afraid that my work will remind me of who I used to be and I am afraid that I won't like what I see. Because when I was in my 20's I wrote a poem inspired by the Earthrise photo taken from the Apollo 8 on Christmas Eve, 1968, and I sent it out as a Christmas card and I didn't think anyone "got it." You know, those kinds of insecurities.
Which brings me to Satya.
Last night I started "tattooing my house," as my boyfriend put it, with Sanskrit. I decided to paint the Yamas and Niyamas on my walls. The plan is to paint all ten of them, in Sanskrit, and beneath each, in English, describe their meanings in a short and sweet manner that can be understood by my children, who are 8 and 9-years-old. I started with Ahimsa, non-violence, in the dining room. Under it: "Be kind." Then Asteya, non-stealing, in the hallway: "Give more, take less." The kids started asking questions. Score one for Mom. Daughter is walking around the house saying, "Give more, take less." Son is suggesting places for the next Yama I plan to paint: Satya. We decide on the living room. I sketch it out and paint it, but I can't think of how to explain it in simple terms.
Satya. Truthfulness. To say "Speak the truth" isn't enough. Yes, we should speak honestly, but that doesn't quite cover it all. I considered "Speak YOUR truth." Be true to yourself, to your Self, to the essence of who you really are. That was better, but doesn't quite encapsulate all that Satya means. Satya is Truth with a capital "T." It's not just about not telling lies, or about hiding who you really are; it's about living a life of integrity in a world where there is an absoluteness of Truth.
How do you sum that up in a few words for a couple of grade school kids?
Swami Satchidananda wrote in his book on the Yoga Sutras that "The more we lead a life of honesty, the more we will see the results, and that will encourage us to be more honest. With the establishment of honesty, the state of fearlessness comes. One need not be afraid of anybody and can always lead an open life....So, first follow truth, and then truth will follow you."
It occurred to me that I had spent so many years of my life unable to speak, act, or be my Truth that it was no wonder I couldn't figure out how to explain it to my kids.
Take this blog, for instance. I took it down in part because my ex-husband kept reading it and then commenting on it in some shape or form, often in a manner that indicated he was uncomfortable with something I had written. I haven't really written about my divorce on this blog. I have tried to refrain from speaking ill of my ex-husband on the Internet.
But this just needs to be said. It needs to be said not because I am trying to bash my ex, but because I am compelled to be an example to those who are younger than me and/or who have yet to dive into the world of marriage. IN CENSORING MYSELF VIA THIS BLOG, I WAS DOING EXACTLY WHAT I DID TO MYSELF FOR MY ENTIRE MARRIED LIFE. I was allowing him, albeit indirectly, to dictate my truth. Without assigning fault, let me just say that I spent one-third of my life in fear of expressing who I really am to my own husband. I wasn't being my Truth. And that was--and residually, it remains--a problem. A big one.
Okay, so this new paragraph is a tangent. Not really. But it will seem like one for a second. When I was in college, I had this friend (really more than a friend, I had a crush on the boy for years, actually) who thought I was an amazing writer. Frankly, I think he overstated how great my writing was, but regardless, he really dug my work. So much so that, upon reconnecting with him after 14 years, I learned that he still has some of my writing. He kept it. He wants to know things like, why don't I write anymore? When did I stop? Have I lost my marbles? The answers: I'm not that good at it anyway; I don't remember when I stopped; and No, I'd like to think I am pretty sane. (Okay he didn't really ask if I was crazy, but he has implied heavily that I have no clear concept of just how talented I really am.)
So tonight, as I am struggling to find a simple way to define Satya for my children, I have this epiphany: I stopped writing when I met my ex-husband. Just like everything else I stopped doing, and saying, and being, and believing. All those things that made me who I was without him--all those things I forgot, those things that were the essence of my inner Truth--I just gave them up. Willingly. And in doing so, I lost who I was. I lost the freedom to just be me.
Wait--I think I got something.
"Truth is freedom." No. Too Orwellian.
"The truth will set you free." No. Too cliché.
"Be true; be free."
And there it is.
The moral of the story and the reason I am compelled to tell it: Marry the person who sees your Truth, loves your Truth, and knows that your Truth is amazing even when you don't believe it yourself. Marry the guy who "gets it." Only then can you be free to love yourself and, in turn, love him back.
The blog is back.
The blog is back.
