Prayers In Rogers Park

 

I work in special education- with students who have unique needs.  Many of them suffer from autism.  I don’t know if “suffer” is the right word.  Can you suffer from an inborn, innate and immutable part of who you are?

I have physical disabilities.  Do I suffer from them?  Yes, at times they can make my life inconvenient.  Even with amplification, my hearing is often spotty, and I will always be legally blind in my right eye.

Would I wish not to have my disabilities?  No, I would not want them to magically disappear.  I’ve learned a lot from them.  And, hey, I get a reduced Disabled Pass for Chicago Transit!  Also, when I go on airplanes, and they call for the disabled passengers, I’m always first in line.  I have to spend hundreds, and sometimes thousands of dollars a year on hearing medical devices and also special glasses for my vision (I only wear glasses for certain occasions).  So, I will milk my disabilities for everything they’re worth!

I think I might be just a little more relatable to some of the kids I work with because I also have disabilities.  Many of the children are completely non-verbal.  They often just play simple mix and match games on their ipads, tapping frantically at the screen and making incoherent noises.  I sit next to them and sing Guru’s songs under my breath.  I also meditate and try to feel my oneness with them on a soulful level.

Over the years, I’ve also had issues with mental health and wellness.  What helps more than any medicine?  Guru’s songs.  Really!  I’ve overcome so many inner problems just by taking Guru’s songs more seriously.  If I’m dealing with something inner, I will sit down and just try to sing twenty or thirty songs.  It always helps.

At the college where I swim, I meet many autistic young men.  They have a mild form of autism, but I can recognize them by the pitch of their voices, their mannerisms, their intensely focused interests.  I know who they are, but I don’t usually say, “Oh, I can tell you are autistic!”  They often get lost in ethereal trains of thought.  I cannot follow them into that realm.  I’m happy to see them in the gym because it’s especially important for ASD people to exercise, to feel grounded in the world.  This can strengthen their link to the physical world, and make them more confident socially.

I was walking in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago, on my way to a school.  It was early in the morning, and I walked past an old church.  I stopped.  I felt something, and I turned and walked back to the church and looked at it.  It had a big round tower with a huge faded stained glass cross for a window.  There were weeds in the gardens around it, and some parts of the roof were sagging.  I went inside, because it happened to be open, and I saw the ceiling was a dome, in dull but beautiful gold, with paintings of angels holding books.  I bowed in front of the altar.

I remember it had a thick red carpet inside and I felt I was sinking in it.  The church had an old fashioned feeling, a deeply Christian feeling. I went next door to the thrift shop, which is owned by the church.  I spoke to the proprietor, Bobbi.  Bobbi uses “they/them” pronouns, and does not present as either gender.  I told them that I was walking past the church on my way to work and I felt a strong Christian vibration.  It pulled me.  I told them that I felt people practise prayer very intensely here.  Bobbi told me that the Church was about to close because of lack of membership, but then many people in the LGBTQ+ community started attending.  Bobbi said that the congregants are people who felt hurt or betrayed by Christianity, but that Christ has called them back to him, to love and worship only him.  I told them that the aura of the church is palpable, deeply Christian, and full of love, universal and also practical love.  When Bobbi asked my name, and I told them that my name is Mahiruha and that it is a Sanskrit word for “tree”, they were very happy and intrigued by it.  They said, “Even if you are not a practicing Christian,  you are always welcome to our Sunday morning services.”  I thanked Bobbi for the kind invite and I will try to come sometimes.

Interestingly, as I got closer to the school, I saw a convent.  There are no more convents in Chicago!  They’ve all closed, unfortunately.  But I saw a light on, and I asked the crossing guard about whether anyone still lives there.  And he told me that for many years it was abandoned, but now three nuns have moved in!  I was so happy to hear it.  I asked him if they were elderly women, and he said, “No!  One is middle aged and two are young women.”  I was very happy.  Every neighborhood should have people there whose main job is to pray.

The school I worked at had very interesting architecture, and I think the prayers of the church and the nearby convent might have something to do with the living architecture of the school- the sloping corridors, the covered tunnels that lead to the library, the huge windows and skylights.  I was assisting some special needs students in their class, when an old Muslim woman, in a traditional headdress, pulled out three students for their daily prayers.  They actually have a dedicated room in the top floor for Muslim children to pray!  I’m happy that the school has such sensitivity to the spiritual needs of these immigrant children.

I’m sure people know the book “Prayer- Language of the Soul”, a book of prayers from around the world compiled by Philip Dunn.  He quoted three of Guru’s prayers in the book, but he prefaced the main section of the book “A Gathering of Prayers” with this particular one:

“I must realise that my God-Satisfaction

Is only a prayer away.

Therefore let me embark

On my prayer-journey

Lovingly and confidently.”

(From Twenty-Seven Thousand Aspiration-Plants part 197, by Sri Chinmoy)

I saw that book for the first time in early 2001 at the now-vanished National Wholesale Liquidators bookstore on Kissena Boulevard.  One disciple saw the book there, read from it, and discovered Mr. Dunn had quoted Guru so many times.  She read out those poems from the book at a function soon after, and also said that Mr. Dunn had included a long bio on Guru, naming him as the founder of the Sri Chinmoy Oneness-Home-Peace-Run.  Guru was very amused, and said he himself had actually seen that book at the National Wholesale Liquidators but didn’t look at it because the book was “too big.”

At the end of the day, I stopped by the thrift store again, and bought some beautiful vinyl records, including a symphony by Sibelius conducted by Leonard Bernstein, and also a collection of Renaissance madrigals sung by Alfred Deller, one of the greatest counter-tenors of all time.  Then, I noticed there was a magic shop next door.  It said “Witches Coven” or something like that so I thought it was a Halloween themed place.  When I went inside and I saw the many paintings of goat skulls, and also lots of candles, incense, statues of Greek gods and goddesses and esoteric books, I realised it was an occult store.  I spoke to one of the proprietors, “Graham”, and asked him when the human sacrifice was and he said, “Monday at eight, as always!”   Then I asked him if he was Wiccan because I saw his Pentagram necklace, and he said that no, he’s an actual witch- not just a nature worshipper.  I asked him what tradition he followed and he told me he’s not allowed to tell me.  Then the co-owner stepped out from the back room.  His name is Blake.  When I saw his name tag, I recited the first stanza of William Blake’s famous poem “Tyger, Tyger burning bright.”  Both Graham and Blake looked alarmed, raised their index fingers, did something like a jig, spat over each shoulder and uttered an incantation in a different language.  I asked them what they were doing and Blake said, “We were casting a counter-spell.”

I said, “But that wasn’t a spell!  It’s a poem by William Blake!”

“Well, we nullified the spell with one of our own,” he insisted.

Then I said, “Did you cast a spell on me?  What kind of spell?”

“I’m sorry- but I am oathbound.  I cannot tell the secrets of my spells.”

Is this where our civilization is going?  Poetry is witchcraft?

Anyway, I left without buying anything from the warlocks and took a long cold journey home on old smelly Chicago trains and buses.  That night I played one of the Deller records, that featured a beautiful dirge for Henry Purcell by Dryden set to music by the unjustly forgotten composer John Blow:

“Mark how the lark and linnet sing;

With rival notes

They strain their warbling throats

To welcome in the spring.

But in the close of night,

When Philomel begins her heav’nly lay,

They cease their mutual spite,

Drink in her music with delight,

And list’ning and silent obey…”

Such beautiful music, beautiful poetry, and so soulfully sung.  I got these records for a song and was able to hear these beautiful ancient songs.  Life is good, after all.