It was time for Constance to see Super Swami. "Bring your Heart Vibration Scores," said the guru. Constance faithfully slid them into her briefcase - along with a copy of her financial statement. This document was not to be reviewed with Swami. Its presence served like a string around one's pinky. A post-it reminder for, "Don't forget to be solvent - and soon."
Constance had quit her job to obey her inner voice. But today, she started to worry more about the state of her financial health than that of her heart. She saw Swami at the top of the hill and quickly slid the bank statement back into her briefcase.
"Come, we must look for a tree to sit under." Constance scanned tree after tree in true Goldilocks fashion. This tree is too skinny. This tree is too ugly. This tree is surrounded by filth.
And this tree with the rest of this seedy little park, is filled with nothing but eyesores. Constance sighed. Why Swami chose to live in this neighborhood - when she had a growing clientele of highly paid, utterly dissatisfied urban professionals - was beyond her.
Swami wasn't so picky and settled under a firm oak. Constance randomly picked a meditation. It was on Love. As it would, she mused. Her heart scored the lowest in the Love Category. This, on top of her money concerns, could pose much distraction.
"Here, put this over your eyes," Swami pulled out two tattered pairs of eye masks embossed with a Virgin Airways logo. Cross-legged, eye shades drawn, both meditated for 5 minutes. It ended with a Buddha bowl's ding or Deepak Chopra's voice. Constance couldn't remember which one after opening her eyes. Swami looked at her expectantly, "Well, what image came up for you during this love meditation."
Constance was hesitant. "Nothing. Nothing other than I was hungry. When I closed my eyes, I felt ravenous. I mean I could devour a horse. Perhaps, Swami, my new love will arrive on a horse."
"Stop such nonsense," Swami snapped. "No one is coming on a horse. Your hunger came up because you have been starving for love."
Constance wasn't impressed. Swami continued, "People who starve for love are afraid to be seen as they are. Why do you not show yourself as you are?" she demanded.
"How could I possibly show myself as I am without edit...to...everyone? Imagine, the very idea! There are risks, you know."
"And they would be?"
"There are so many unseemly things that we all should take great pains to conceal. Without this, well, people might not care for the package and walk away."
"So you are merely a package... and what's inside, some disposable product? The outside with the right claims and clever design like one of those brands you peddle? And how does your inner self feel about this?"
"Oh, Swami, my inner self is never to be seen."
"Then you will never feel loved. You do not find it, so you cannot give it. The greatest thing in this life is to love and be loved. You have denied yourself this by denying the desires of your heart. When you must choose, do not think what you should do, do what your heart desires. What is it that you want?"
Swami gravely pulled out her clarity stones. "This is a source of great detriment to your happiness and success. I will give you a key to tune up this energy field in your heart."
She motioned for Constance to place these colored pebbles to her head and heart. Then she chanted a mantra to operate from a place of love. That this would ensure the universe to sort things out for her higher good.
"Alright, you do this exercise on your own, I need to call another client."
"Swami, I'm still famished. Is there anything to eat around here?"
"There's a pizzeria down the hill. It'll be a quick call," she pulled out her Blackberry.
Feeling somewhat disoriented, Constance made her descent towards a deserted, seedy looking street. Why doesn't Swami just move to Manhattan, she wondered.
The pizza sounded delicious, but Constance feared it would ruin her no wheat, no dairy, all raw, just plant food diet. It was her All-Restrictions-Systems-in-Place for times of great fear and uncertainties in her life.
But her inner voice - the one wanting love - gently reminded, "Swami said choose what your heart desires."
Constance was relieved for this voice and walked right into the pizzeria. She inhaled the aromas with gusto. Rows and rows of pie, each one made her mouth water.
A ridiculously cheerful man behind the counter asked what he could bring. So strangely happy for such plebeian food, location, traffic... She shrugged it off and opened up to his bright presence. Constance rather enjoyed herself. She smiled while trying to decide between the lemonade and iced-tea. It had been another white-hot summer day.
This bizarre ambassador of pizza went out of his way to fill her cup with half lemonade and half iced-tea. All worries on lack, lack, lack, uncertainty, and the weight of the world on her birdlike shoulders melted away. Constance laughed at all his silly lovely gestures.
In anticipation of a feast, she ordered not one tiny piece as she would, but two of the largest slices. The man could not have been more enthusiastic in his service. Constance mused, who is this person - this pizza giver. She imagined him announcing he was Michael, the Archangel of Heavenly Pies.
He swiftly took the slices out of the oven and wrapped them up with great care. Constance smiled in gratitude. Pizza angel said it was one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen as she glided out the door.
"Oh, can I have a piece!" shrieked a hapless woman on the street. "Yes, yes, here you go." Constance was without her usual display of repulsion for such occasions.
Back to the top of the hill, Swami was still on her call. Constance took another bite while watching the sun start to set. She sat and chewed leisurely, until she made a realization. The lemonade/iced-tea, the whole communion of garlic, extra cheese, tomato sauce, spinach, mushrooms, and much much oregano - they had not been paid for.
In that short beatific trance at the pizzeria, there was no accounting of any kind. At a time when she would have been acutely aware of money - bank statement burning in her briefcase - Constance hadn't thought of pulling out her wallet. And the man hadn't thought of ringing up his register. She couldn't even recall feeling for a Mastercard. The whole exchange failed in epic proportions as a mercantile encounter.
Swami, finished with her call, sat by her side. Constance offered what was left of the last slice. Then she revealed what took place. Swami nodded, "The guided meditation on love not only led you to feed your stomach but also your heart."
Be open to the gestures of love and you begin to taste the food of the gods. ~e
