Tarot Readings with Uma Simon: Awaken Your Soul!

The Search for the Perfect hot Fudge Sundae: Putting It All Together

When I was 27, I ate my first hot fudge sundae. I looked at myself in the mirror, saw myself as overweight, and asked myself what I had been waiting for. My story was that I had gotten fat eating a lot of cottage cheese and pineapple with some sedentary activity as accompaniment. My girlfriend Virginia looked at me with her best face of compassion and asked me if I was sure that I was ready to jump off of that cliff. I assured her I was. We thereafter went to a place called Cookies in Miami where, still ashamed, I proceeded to order a glass of water, while my friend Virginia ordered a pineapple soda as well as a hot fudge sundae.  I was so excited to see the hot fudge sundae in full spotlight under those restaurant lights. Unfortunately, my waitress did not have the same anticipation and when she served up the hot fudge sundae, the hot fudge had become cold and the ice cream warm; the whipped cream sagged and so did my spirits.

However, I was not to be thwarted. I thereafter ran to the soda shop across the street, ordered one again and was again disappointed by the quality of the ice cream and fudge. Thereafter, a strange obsession began to brew in me for the perfect hot fudge sundae. I shortly thereafter left Miami and came to live in a commune in Berkeley with eight other New Agey people interested in dissecting the past and hoping for a better future. Now I would like to think that the paucity of good sundaes was not why I left Miami, but in my cynical moments, I wonder. Anyway, Berkeley was a veritable Mecca of good food and great ice cream. My commune mates quickly learned of my obsession as did all my other acquaintances. I’d like to think I spent the better part of my days working and being interested in something other than food, but I have to admit a great part was spent checking out the latest tip from my friends of fabulous hot fudge sundaes. Having exhausted the greater part of Berkeley and San Francisco, I began to feel discouraged.

Then as I turned 27, a monumental time in people’s lives, Saturn return, etc. a new idea popped into my head. Why didn’t I compile all the good things I wanted in the sundae and make my perfect hot fudge sundae? And so I did. I gathered together the creamiest, most organic ice cream (gallons); true real hot fudge to slather upon it, homemade whipped cream with big, plump salty nuts and fat maraschino cherries on top. My most important condition was that the hot fudge had to be very warm and the ice cream totally cold with the expectation that the coming together would have to provide a sort of sizzle. Well, maybe not actually sizzle, but it’s the best I can do. Years later, my guru explained that the feeling of samadhi was similar to feeling very cold and then suddenly stepping into a warm bath. What I was looking for kind of seems similar.

The night of my birthday arrived. All inhabitants of my commune were there to perform the ceremony. Anthony, my beautiful gay boyfriend at the stove heating the hot fudge, my friend Gayle in readiness at the freezer door, waiting to bring forth the ice cream, Harris, the tax collector, whipping the whipped cream, Mertie, dear Mertie, with her bought bag of fresh, aromatic nuts, Tom who had managed to get the fattest maraschino cherries around and Jeanie the crazy psychic who was convinced she should probably perform an exorcism on debauchery.

As the sundae came together, they all gathered around me, waiting for me to ingest this perfection. And that I did. While the “condition” was met, ice cream brilliantly cold and the hot fudge temperature in its “warmest” mode, yet I felt something missing. When I finally looked up from consuming my sundae into the shining eyes of my friends gathered together, happy for me, without judgment for my eccentricity, I began to feel an extraordinary feeling of joy arising in me, similar to what I’ve heard described as a satori experience. (A kind of “I finally get it). I was realizing a momentary fulfillment of my long-term longing for acceptance and love, and that made the “perfect” hot fudge sundae.

As a postscript I never longed for a hot fudge sunder in that same way again. But sometimes when I find myself still searching for perfection or love in myself or others, I have to remind myself of the lesson I learned that night: That it would never come in the fulfillment of some desire or even in the eyes of somebody else. That underneath those desires is a desire for something much more elusive and non-material and that would be, the love and acceptance I felt  that night. As I climb into my 68^th year, I have also found out that it is not something to be gained or received outside myself but something that is within me if and when I choose to look deeply enough.

The Reflection in the Mirror: 

I was mired in some conflict with myself the other day and spoke with a dear friend about it.  She listened very carefully, and because she gave me that loving attention and reminded me of her love and admiration for me, I left restored, full of hope again. She also gave me a quotation from the Sufi master Hafiz:   “I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the Astonishing Light of your being.”

That good feeling remained the next day,  and I was off and running to my next venture, vowing to not allow those disempowering feelings to “get me” again  The truth is that each day , I struggle with those feelings. My friend Nancilee wakes up each day full of vim and vigor, happy to greet the day. She thinks her cheerfulness is congenital; I’m inclined to agree.  I think I was programmed in the womb, no small surprise having had a very sad and anxious mother. The difference is after many years of therapy and spiritual life I refuse to buy into the mindset and work at improving that initial mood overlay every day. For me, it has become as routine as the regular brushing of my teeth that I attend to every day.  And sometimes the toothpaste I use might be Sensodyne for the very sensitive or regular Tom’s if I feel hardier.

After my conversation with my friend, I wrote to her that in her radiance I could see my reflection without the ordinary confluence of clouds. And thus began a metaphor of mirrors and reflections that dominated me last week.  Coincidentally (maybe not) during that same week I had been searching for a perfect mirror to hang next to the  picture of Ramana Maharshi, my favorite Hindu saint, and found a wonderful round, antique mirror which, placed to his side,  reflected his picture.

All of this led me to reflect on how we choose people who reflect back to us our own images of ourselves.  For those trying to become aware, we spend a lot of our lives striving to become conscious of the reality of these reflections. Many of us have families that continue to reflect back to us an unfavorable view of us, no matter how much we have changed in our lives and grown.  Likewise, we do the same to them also; we mirror back our projections.   The sad thing is we continue to hold onto these relationships no matter how disempowering. It is difficult to disengage especially in those relationships that are longstanding.  We find ourselves arguing with our relatives as to how we don’t possess those qualities that they have projected upon us, but doubt ourselves at the same time because we buy into the supposition that they know us better than we do.

As I was looking for a new reflection via the mirror, I began to extricate myself from one of my relative’s projections and to continue the analogy, got a clearer picture of myself.  As I grow more into self-love and walk away from the self hate, I am able to see myself much clearer.  I don’t seek this other person’s relationship as much as I used to, realizing that sometimes I am vulnerable to their projection when I don’t have my own protective shield up and running.

One night after finding the perfect mirror, I dreamt that my antique mirror had fallen, but was quickly replaced by something larger, sturdier and clearer.  I could then see a larger and clearer reflection of myself.  And not only I, but my beloved Ramana Maharshi, were both reflected in this new mirror. What an amazing journey consciousness is!

The tentacles of friendship:  Loneliness and Aloneness

A friend of mine in a rare show of candor tells me that she is lonely and wishes she could have a really good friend on whom she can rely. I instantly think of another friend who has myriad acquaintances and friends. A cell phone attached to her ear, she is either calling someone or being called. She is successful in her quest in that she is hardly ever alone. Luckily for her, she is appealing enough so that she is able to attract the many friends she needs in her life to dispel feelings of loneliness.  Unlike many of us who seek comfort in food, alcohol or drugs, her addiction of choice might be said to be the accumulation of friends and acquaintances.

I have certainly fallen into spaces where I have felt unbearably lonely.  Several years ago, I absolutely keened for a close friend who had left the ashram and the emptiness felt unbearable.. Not so long ago, I renewed an old relationship with somebody with whom I had previously been friendly; I had discontinued the relationship in the past because of what I felt were certain boundary issues.  I had always loved the aspect of his personality that was very nurturing and caring and now realize that I encouraged the renewal because I felt fragile about some health problems. The same boundary issues between us arose, but this time I was stronger and clearer in stating my needs and we established certain guidelines. However, as time went by, I saw that a certain personality trait of his that had previously driven me crazy was still in operation; it wasn’t something I could ask him to change because there are certain traits that we have that are very deeply ingrained and why should I ask him to change?  In the end, those qualities that I valued were strongly over-ridden, and I actually felt worse through his company. Even though I tried to suppress my feelings, and concentrate on his positive traits, eventually, my feelings of fragility actually became a gift since I did not feel strong enough to maintain a façade of camaraderie.

Withdrawing from the relationship, as kindly as I could, brought consequent feelings of guilt.  One day as feelings of loneliness and some guilt arose, I was about to renege on my withdrawal and ask him to go to the movies with me.  As I sat with my desires, I suddenly realized that the guilt I was feeling was a very familiar one that I had often felt with my mother who had expected me to unselfishly turn my life over to her and the guilt carried for many years towards both my parents for not submitting to their irrational needs and instead seeking my own joy.  This realization became a true “Aha” experience and I “got it” that I did not have to continue relationships from a “guilt” place. My teacher, Ma, would call this a “root,” one of those things that configure your life, but are so deeply ingrained that you are not aware of their existence until they arise through relationship and become so painful that you must “root” them out.  

 How many times have I encouraged people to remove themselves from a relationship that no longer serves them but perpetuates their weakness or feelings of failure? I tell them that if they make a sacrifice to be in a relationship, make sure it doesn’t diminish them or a piece of their  character that they value.  That is the litmus test of staying or leaving a relationship. In a much more subtle fashion, we continue to endure relationships with our friends or those not really close to us that really no longer serve us, but instead reinforce feelings of weakness and fears of being alone.

Once I realized what I was really doing in my relationship with my friend, I saw that I had to brave loneliness and make the next step towards “aloneness.”  For me that meant sitting through the waves and fears of loneliness until some of them either receded or no longer had the same hold over me.  I realized that what I had to do was contact my spiritual Self, the self that is always with me and which eventually serves me.  It too has a conscience, but it is not a conscience fueled by guilt or need.  When we can brave our loneliness, we can encounter the self that lies beneath our fears.  Then loneliness becomes aloneness which can be a rich fount of experience. 

Taking a Bite out of Karma

When I was 33 and had a spiritual experience through some psychological work I was doing, I suddenly realized that I was more than that person in a therapy group pounding pillows thinking she wanted to cast off the prison that had been constructed around her. I don't know that I even understood that desire in a conscious way. Had I understood it, I might have tried to put the layers back on. I remember shortly afterward attending a consciousness group called Erhard Seminar Training. After that weekend, there was such a feeling of freedom that I took up smoking, once again putting a layer of restriction around myself.

That new person was not to be denied although I tried. But it gave me a new presentation. Every time I felt the veil falling away and something new emerging, I would say to my friends I was having a new consciousness. This made them laugh, thinking it was just me being funny because neither they nor I really understood what I was trying to convey. Now I understand this to mean that I was trying to say that a piece of false self covering my true self had been removed. Through the psychological work that I was doing, I experienced a "realness," and in that ”realness" something was released within me or another way of saying, something was cast off of my person. I could not live the same life again and soon after repeated removals and one intense kundalini experience, I left the place I had called home for 4 years.

In the last few months, I feel the same thing happening; that I am again uncovering something inside of myself that has lain dormant over the years. I find myself impatient and insecure with meaningless conversation, people who live without awareness, and my own not desiring to do what came easily for me before, but which doesn't feel consistent with me now. The metaphor of peeling an onion which some psychologists use has truth in it, and as I go through my peeling, I look around to see if there are some who will support this change.

Even scarier for me, although I have lived on an ashram for over 30 years, I am shy about revealing that I have feelings for the various murtis and statues proliferating on this ashram. I am afraid to be found out, lest somebody think I'm crazy or tread upon what I am feeling is sacred. This is an old fear arising from when I was a young person who made some eccentric choices that people were quick to call "crazy."

Now I think of it as the "Hanged Man" in the tarot deck, where the figure is shown upside down. The card represents somebody who sees the world in an inverted way. That what was up is down and vice versa. Further, those things that you thought were important and credible are just as false as that smile you sometimes wear when something is not even funny but circumstances ask you to be sociable.

Looking for a logical reason for this feeling, I attribute it to perhaps it's the OA group I am now attending where my denial about my eating falls flat at these meetings. Or is it the fact that I pray to Dhanvantre, God of Healing, and finally he is listening to me. Or is it that I am holding Nityananda's hand and praying for discipline. Has he heard me yet? Or basically, is it the hour of exercise my heart doctor gave me that I am finally not resisting? And maybe it's the new medicine the acupuncturist has prescribed is really working.

Or is it something I dare not admit even to myself because then I would truly be living on a different planet from this one? Is it that I have finally taken a bite out of the karma with which I have been struggling for so many years? Is it time for it to be removed? Have I finally been granted that grace I have prayed for all these years?

I have known people to take off a mask and afraid they will no longer be accepted in "polite society," or whatever society around which they have gathered and grown their insulation. That scares me at times too; that I will not belong to the society I have held around me as a blanket. I am afraid that I will no longer have the friends I have relied on either. Jesus exhorted his followers to leave their families behind, to pick up their pallet and follow him. How true that sounds now to my ears. How freeing it can be. But am I willing to pay the price of freedom? I don't know if I am. When I sit still, this place feels familiar. I know I have been here before and run away from it. I don't know that I will not sabotage once more.

When I was 17 in the 60’s, I wanted to be “cool.”  For me it meant lighting up a cigarette, letting it dangle from my lips and assuming a demeanor of not caring.  Talk about multi-tasking.  I think I was hoping for a kind of a John Wayne laid back style –“Howdy Pilgrim”—with perhaps swash-buckling, sword-fighting Errol Flynn thrown in, as he maintained that famous grin even while being assaulted by somebody’s sword. Those were our heroes then, strange secular models for what I was looking for.   Today while reading Wikipedia, I discovered that my erstwhile movie model, John Wayne, not only was a rabid conservative, but also died from lung cancer as a result of a six pack a day cigarette habit.  Errol Flynn was an alleged Nazi sympathizer.   That put the lie to the word “cool.”  

When I consciously thought about being spiritual about 38 years ago, I changed “cool” for the word “detachment.” Nevertheless, I still thought it meant that I would no longer react to whomever or whatever was making me uncomfortable or pushing my button.  Entering into spiritual life, I still hoped for that veneer and thought it would come effortlessly through my spiritual connection to my teacher.  This actually was to be true, but not in the way I thought, the operative word being “thought.”  Even though I received wonderful compliments for some of my career work, it really didn’t mean as much to me as when I returned home and didn’t react to somebody who made a careless or unconscious remark.   Non-reactivity for somebody who has considered herself a basic “hysteric,” was quite an accomplishment.

What did I hope to achieve?  That I would become Teflon as my favorite girl friend says, and comments,insults, and disappointments, would just roll off me? She told me she developed the Gardol shield (popular in the 60’s when referring to a cavity-fighting attribute of Colgate toothpaste.)   I have to admit it looks good on her as she ambulates through life, having a good time no matter what.

Last year, giving up on becoming detached, I thought I would do something else and prayed for “acceptance.”  However, what I found was that trying to love myself and accept my flaws while engaging in them was like an expanded oxymoron. Two very separate emotions were competing for space at the same time. Finally defeated from my desires of spiritual accomplishment, I am left with the realization that both these wishes, one for detachment and one for acceptance, are still ego motivated and in fact, means I’m still looking for that ice cream on a stick that has no calories, the hero who has no clay feet, or the life that has no obstacles.

 Today I read a quote by Ma Jaya which Swami Krishnabai compiled in her wonderful calendar that “non-reactivity was surrender.”  It made me realize I had been riding the wrong horse all the time and that I had subscribed to a set of beliefs and desires that were false. In my limited understanding, I think that surrender is a place of letting go of egoic expectations, desires, hopes and attachments that run counter to the true spiritual quest for peace. On those rare occasions when I drop my aspirations and desires and let myself “be,” I experience peace within myself.   While a moment to moment thing, that peace seems to turn into joy and I discover that to be the true detachment I have been searching for.  Halleluja!

 As a postscript, I find myself returning to my ego quest and praying that this peace will last.  

Having lived in an ashram for over 30 years, a friend thought I would be a good person to ask about what I thought being spiritual meant.  Like everyone else, I use the word a lot without really knowing what it means. I knew that many people who live like me, including myself, do not always act “spiritually” or kindly, and I would oftentimes judge our behavior and wonder how we still manage to inhabit this special place we have chosen to come to.  I however, find it painful to continue in his line of thoughts. 

My teacher says that her only demand on us is to be kind, yet it smacks of a simplicity that I don’t always get. Kindness has many permutations which are not all evident.   One might think one is being kind to somebody, but it might just be indifference, an unwillingness to be honest or, acting in some collusion of codependence. Living with a hundred or so people, I have in my later years and desire to not be self-righteous or tutorial, found that  it is often kind not to remark upon a person’s particular failing in the moment, since most times my fellow ashramites  are chiding themselves for their  own unseemly behavior.

Sometimes people come to the ashram and have remarked that we do not always act in ways they consider to be spiritual. I have to agree with them. We are still acting from personalities that rub up against each other and are reactive.  I have tried to defend us at times, saying how would you like to live with a hundred or more people,  knowing as you do how difficult it is to live with one person?

In my deepest feeling, I think that spirituality is an attempt to not be ruled by survival, sexuality and power, all self-serving desires.   I feel it is an attempt by us to act not from feelings of self-interest but towards an ideal of loving and serving humanity. When I can do that, the contradictions and distinctions between me and others dissolve into feelings of non-separation and equality.   It is for that reason I have come to conclude that spiritual people are those who attempt to lead a righteous and kind life, not someone who lives upon an unreal pedestal of non-reactivity.

I am also grateful that in these days’ people no longer have to get themselves to a monastery to become spiritual. Spirit and God are available to all souls in all places.  One can simply pray to an altar that one constructs or sit meditatively in nature.  In my fortunate days, I feel lucky that I have chosen to live among satsang (a spiritual community).  Imperfect as we seem to each other, it is good to live amongst those with similar aspirations.

(If you wish to unsubscribe to these mailings just reply with “unsubscribe” in the subject.) or for a reading or other consultation, write me at umasimon@comcast.net.

How any of us are still playing the old Marlon Brando cry from On the Waterfront, “I could’a been a contenda,” a plaint so full of regret and pathos for his life. For those of you too young to remember, it has become a familiar outcry when our lives do not turn out in the way we had imagined.

How any of us, especially as we reach those pivotal ages of 30, 40, 50 60, and 70’s begin to take stock of our lives and start to regret some of the choices we have made?

Would you really have been happier had you chosen that other guy who wanted to marry you?  Or, had you been 20 pounds lighter and dyed your hair blond when no one was doing it, could you have been the femme fatalle with different opportunities. Or had you not succumbed to dropping out of that math class, and received a 79% among all the other 99%’s, could you have won that National Merit Scholarship and had many opportunities open to you?  (That was mine.)

Here are some other general ones which most of us share.   Had our parents been more supportive and recognized that true talent of ours, would we have  been much more prosperous or famous in our lives? What are your regrets?   And do you really think the “who you were then” could have made a different choice?

As I leave my 60’s, I have concluded for myself that regrets are just fodder for not moving ahead with what I want now.  Being steeped in remorse and regret just keeps me from this moment of power to make new decisions.

What keeps you from moving ahead in this New Year?  Let’s examine it together and throw off any old regrets and take a look at the he or she who still wants to keep them around. Who is that person?

Early on in my days as an ashram resident, I practiced celibacy, only to one day meet a man to whom I was very attracted.  He was of all things a Baptist minister.  An exceedingly kind man, what surprised me was not the feeling of intense attraction, but when I was in his presence, of all things, I felt Christ.  I don’t know if it was because his passion for Christ was so authentic, but something spiritually significant awakened in me.  Being raised Jewish, Jesus was not significant in my life and in fact, I probably still harbored a prejudice towards him, having been raised by post World War II Jews, for whom a Gentile could still be scary.

One day after meeting this man, driving down U.S.1, sending outward prayers to be rid of these distracting feelings of sexuality, I had what might be described as a vision.  It was almost like a meditative state, being able to look within and yet focus outwardly simultaneously. I was seeing Jesus, carrying a heavy cross.  Viewing him  laboring under the great weight of the cross, I was to feel an extraordinary compassion and love for him, but  then, my heart seemed to expand and expand until  those singular feelings expanded to overwhelming feelings of love not only for him ,but all of humanity. What an extraordinary experience this was.

Through this experience,  I felt I understood the true meaning of Jesus carrying the cross; how he as a Holy person, undertook to carry the pain under which we labor. Being human, we do carry a weight of human imperfection. Some religious people might call that “sin.”  For me, that imperfection means my own laziness, fear, cowardice in situations or unwillingness to forgive and have compassion towards either myself or others. As someone who had committed herself to a spiritual life, I struggle with my lack of spirituality in situations and sometimes feel that much of my time is spent hating my human frailities.   But here now was this holy figure willing to help me carry the burden of myself. My experience   awakened a gratitude that someone had come to earth to help me in my “burden.”

 Counseling others who live in convents, monasteries and ashrams, I sometimes feel that they perhaps have cultivated a sensitivity that actually makes it more difficult for them to be compassionate towards themselves and others because  they are constantly attempting to rout out that one black spot within themselves that only they are aware of. The consequence of self-hate only continues unacceptance of both themselves and others.

The experience made me realize more deeply my own attraction and willingness to commit to my Guru. In her presence I have felt oneness within myself where I am no longer torn by judgment of myself and others.  How wonderful to be in the presence of someone who having once found their place of inner peace, now sacrifice their lives and live amongst us as holy inspirations. Those who have had the fortune of being in the presence of Jesus, Mohammed, the Bal Shem Tov, Ma Jaya, or other enlightened gurus and teachers, how lucky we are.  As we strive towards emulation of them, they help us and show by their light the way.  They look upon our struggles with compassion; they do not blame us for our imperfections, they feel infinite compassion towards us and are willing to carry their own version of the cross.   

I sometimes forget that what I see as their perfection is the very same compassion that I must show to myself and that this self-compassion and love are the tickets to my own holiness.

I have a friend who is always regretting that she did not become an operatic singer; instead she bowed to her mother’s fears and earned a sure living so that she could support her mom.  Fifty years later she still regrets that she didn’t fulfill what she thinks she was destined to.  Obviously the short answer is that if it were her destiny, it would have happened.

I told her that perhaps it was from a great well of compassion, not weakness, that she surrendered her private aspirations. This woman did indeed have a great feeling of love for her mom and out of that feeling we sometimes surrender our own desires. Sacrifice can be a kind and holy deed.   I also pointed out that she could still have taken singing lessons and continued that aspiration; to that she really had no answer.

There are some instances however in which people feel that if they do not fulfill who they are, that something will die within them and they could not bear the great sacrifice asked.   This reminds me of a story that Carl Jung told in his book Memories, Dreams and Reflections, which has been one of the “stories” in my life that I have often told because of the great resonance to it that I feel.

A young Jewish woman came to see Jung suffering from severe depression.  He saw a beautiful, intelligent, well married and well cared for woman and asked himself from where the depression arose.  That night after meeting her, he dreamed that he bowed low before her, in some way acknowledging her as a holy woman.  When he told the woman about his dream, she told him that her father had been an atheist and raised his children similarly.  And then to Jung’s amazement, she spoke of her grandfather who was reputed to be a tzaddik, a great holy person who appears perhaps once every millennium and who possesses great spiritual powers. From Jung’s dream, it became clear to him that this woman also possessed great mystical qualities within her that had not been allowed to grow, and this had caused her great depression.   She left his session with deep gratitude.

 Similarly, what might abide deeply within us that can be brought to the fore and allowed to flourish? The question then arises: Whose dance are you dancing this lifetime?

If you wish to contact Uma, write her at umasimon@comcast.net