I looked around furiously for somewhere to disappear and meditate or at least calm down and sit quietly in a corner, away from where Amma was holding court. I was forced to dive underneath a folding table where devotees were lining up to sign up to work at one of Amma’s soup kitchens. Actually, the table was being manned by a friend of mine from northern California. She looked down at me with big, knowing eyes.
“It’s okay. Hide under here,” she whispered. “I know that feeling. Amma’s done it to me too.”
Once tucked away, I resumed my tears. I’ve learned that when these things happen, you can’t try to figure them out. You just have to go along with them. Because once the mind gets involved in trying to process everything, it gets in the way. So there I sat, Amma’s erstwhile branding specialist and a total blithering idiot, sobbing underneath a folding table at the Sheraton in Toronto in a complete state of love and compassion. At first I thought it was an altered state—but now I’m thinking maybe it was my true state, and I’ve just chosen to live the rest of the time in an altered reality. I’m not yet sure.
After a while, my swami—the one who had originally asked me two years ago to work with him and Amma—ducked under the table.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m just so filled with love and compassion,” I replied.
“When was the last time you had a chai latte?” he inquired. “Get up. Let’s take a chai.”
We took a chai, and then he took me in to see Amma for darshan. In stark contrast to what she’d put me through the night before, she was—and is—this incredibly smiley, beatific being. Most people who come to see her ask for help with something specific—their ego, or buying a new house, or their health. But I put my head in her lap and screamed silently, Make it stop!! End this teaching! I’m exhausted already!
She picked me up, stared straight at me, and put her third eye to mine, almost laughing.
I knew then that I was no longer living in the world that had brought me here—that I’d been given a new one. Of course, this is what all the best, most profound teachings do. They kill you. I knew I’d never look at other human beings quite the same way again, nor would I return to my former ignorance. I was suddenly full of a new urgency to help myself and others become stronger, better, more profound. I knew I’d still battle the same slothlike human laziness that is totally resistant to change and growth—sometimes I just want to chill out, as you probably do too—but I’d also been shown, or made to feel, that there is so much work still to be done on this earth.
The Divine is demanding we become proactive to stop the suffering of humanity.
To do this, we don’t have to go away for a spiritual weekend, book a ticket to an ashram, or even visit Val-Kill to learn about Eleanor Roosevelt. The tools you need are already inside of you, just waiting for you to call on them. Ruthlessness, fierceness, strength, love, compassion, and courage exist within all women—and all men too! We live in a society where our ancient powers of the feminine are still marginalized, where women are programmed to shut up and show up as arm candy for men, and where the lessons of beings like Eleanor Roosevelt have not caught on. (I guarantee that most women can name three famous supermodels, though.) We are being summoned to change over to a new way of being feminine. It’s time for us to follow the example of women like Eleanor, The Mother, and Amma and unleash our Divine Motherhood into the world.
The feminine needs to represent itself accurately, integrally, and completely. Because the quicker we get into owning our innate powers of ruthlessness, fierceness, compassion, and sweetness, being truly honest and equal, speaking up for ourselves, and doing good for the world (and having great sex!), the faster the planet will heal, and the faster we’ll all be able to get the hell out of here! We need to make “love” and “compassion” into active verbs, and we all need to embrace our Universal Motherhood—which, luckily, male or female, we can all do easily! As Amma has said, “The essence of motherhood is not inherent in women who have given birth. It is inherent in both men and women. It is an attitude of the mind.”
And here we go.
I flew back to New York the next morning and went straight to the office, where I was unfortunately forced to fire an employee who was taking a shower in a back bathroom instead of sitting at her desk. Actually, I fired five people that day: It’s still referred to as the “Bloodbath at People’s Revolution.” Later, I spoke on a panel with Little Steven from The Sopranos and the E Street Band at the New Music Seminar. After that, exhausted, I went to the Mercer Hotel for an omelette.
On the outside, it was business as usual. My life was demanding to go on on its own terms. But on the inside things were churning and burning. For the next few months, I’d find myself in tears in the most inappropriate places, from my agent’s office at William Morris to meetings over a TV deal. I couldn’t shake the power of my experiences at Val-Kill and in Toronto. My soul was busy concocting a recipe, one I’ll share with you (since I know cookbooks are really hot right now):
How to Awaken Your Universal Motherhood = Consciousness + Compassion + Love in Action. (Oh, and don’t forget to add a dash of ruthlessness.)
Here’s a quick physics lesson. Matter—a word that comes from the Latin word mater, meaning “mother,” by the way—is only matter because atoms agree to continually vibrate in harmony in order to form the chair you’re sitting on and the ground on which your house stands. Well, I believe we’re being called in this moment to harmonize ourselves too—to agree to continually vibrate with consistency, to repeat the same loving and compassionate actions every day in order to help ourselves and our species progress. It’s not always easy, I know. When I’m short on compassion, I like to literally imagine myself as the mother of all beings—to behave as if everything, from a seal in the Arctic to a charming baby to a mass murderer, came through me. This is what it means to be a Universal Mother: to walk down the street beaming love and compassion, feeling no separation from anyone or anything else.
In other words, it doesn’t mean you have to like everything you see. It just means you have to recognize you’re not different from it.
Chapter Five
Compassion Is in Fashion
No matter how rich we are, as long as we are not prepared to be compassionate towards the poor, we are truly living in utter poverty. Such people are the true destitutes in the eyes of God.
—Amma
Over the years, I’ve received thousands of letters from young people who want to get into the fashion business; others ask me for clothing or interview advice or even how to handle a breakup. But not one has ever asked, “Can you tell me how I can help make a difference in my community?” I guess most people just don’t see compassion as a chic thing to aspire to. They see it as something hippies do, or something the superrich do as a tax break, or something unemployed twenty-somethings do while trying to figure out their next move. Don’t get me wrong. Fashion is worthwhile and powerful, and can turn Cinderellas into supermodels. But it’s not attractive to have the spoils of this world and not feel for people who don’t. I believe everyone who breathes the air of this earth, regardless of their job or their bank account, must give back more than just carbon dioxide.
I’m shocked now at how, with the exception of a few days or weeks of my life, my blinders have allowed me—a sensitive and aware person—to walk by my fellow humans in distress without noticing or helping them. I’m not alone. Most of us are taught by our parents to turn away from people in the street who are in desperate need of help! We’re told to keep walking, to “mind our own business.” We learn to pass by unspeakable things and situations without ever stopping, whether it’s a mother hitting her child at a Wal-Mart or a homeless person starving or freezing on the street while we’re on our way to American Apparel to get a two-for-one special on T-shirts. We’re fed meat at every meal, but nobody would eat a ShopRite steak if they saw how the animals were treated! From a young age, we’re programmed to believe that to be
normal means not fighting the injustices all around us. Well, I don’t believe we can kid ourselves anymore.
In order to have a full life, one’s life must be full—of struggle, strife, glory, victory, living, education (both book and street), and, most important, one another. We need to connect and relate to all the others on the planet. We live in a world that’s full of everything, yet we walk by homeless kids on the street! Do you see the disconnect? Not to sound 1960s, but isn’t it time to “Stop, children, what’s that sound, everybody look what’s goin’ down”? We shouldn’t just accept destruction and individual devastation as normal everyday occurrences. Only when we start to attune to what’s really happening all around us can we start to transform it. If you have the time to go out to a bar with your friends four times a week, you can go to a soup kitchen at least once. In fact, call me up, and I’ll go with you.
I now believe that in order to have a balanced life, you have to do something every week for other people or your community—that making a difference should be on par with making love or making money. I’m not saying that just getting up in the morning, going to work, and doing your best can’t be a service to your community; after all, people need jobs, and the fashion industry, for example, employs people from the shipping, trucking and freight industries to the garment district and definitely keeps the employees of Starbucks afloat. But it’s no longer enough to just have a job. Doing good is not the exclusive responsibility of cute nonprofit vegan kids. We all have to have a HEART:
Health: If you’re going to die young like Jimi or Janis, you’re only temporarily helpful to the world. We have a genetic responsibility to live longer than the previous generation.
Earth: Protect and be connected to this earth. In other words, have your feet on the ground and your ears to the sound. I’m talking about recycling. Water. Power. Government. Safety. Violence. Neighborhoods.
Art: There is a calling and demand for beauty, even in the ugliest places. Art is a need of civilization. Bringing beauty into a place full of pain and suffering is compassionate and productive.
Revolution: Transform through action. Fight for truth like you fuck: with passion, commitment, blindness, and openheartedness.
Truth: Act when every one of your cells is saying yes. To me, there’s no point in fighting unless you feel called. There are many injustices that I’m just not called to fight against. Who do I feel called to fight for? Young women and gay men. Everyone has different talents, but we’re all called to fight for something. We’re like a Divine football team: God made quarterbacks, linemen, safeties. So you better fucking take your position.
In our twenties, our time is mostly taken up with getting a job, finding an apartment, paying the rent, dealing with four roommates, finding someone to have sex with, partying, and then realizing, Oh my God, I have to get up and go to work again? In this period of your life, you may be very self-indulgent; I was. When I first moved to New York, I wasn’t the most compassionate or well-informed person. I was consumed with having a wild time and thought mostly about myself. Thinking about Kelly was actually a pretty full-time job, between late nights out in clubs in the East Village and long mornings recovering, so I’d be ready to do it all over again. I got caught up in the video game we’re all brainwashed into playing, consumed with chasing a nice apartment and a hot guy and a fancy wedding and more money and power. But none of that made me feel good, and it still doesn’t. So eventually, I learned to use my time differently, and better.
Amma says that there are two kinds of poverty. One is caused by lack of love, and the other is caused by lack of money. She teaches that if we can cure the first, the second will not exist. To that end, she’s directed her devotees to be mindful of homeless people in their own communities. Let’s face it. Americans are always talking about disasters in other countries, but we have the highest rate of violence against women and children in the Western world and sixteen thousand homeless kids in New York City alone! Where are they? Why don’t we see them? Are their moms selling them for crack? Are they being kept as massage slaves in some cramped storefront in Manhattan?
Kelly from the Bloque
Last year, inspired by Amma and the example of Eleanor, I was moved to become more proactive in my own neighborhood. In fact, I even made up a new name for myself; Kelly from the Block (or Bloque). I’d often ordered extra meals at dinner to give away to the homeless on the walk home, but now I started making this a more regular thing. There is a man who lives in a stairwell around the corner from me. One night, walking back to my apartment with my daughter and her father, all of us incredibly well fed, I popped my head into the stairwell. “Hi, I’m your neighbor,” I said. “I’m wondering, is there anything that you need?” The man was about sixty-eight years old and kind of out of it. He grabbed me and said, “Yeah baby! I need a kiss from you!”
Okay, so sometimes people aren’t ready to accept your help at the exact moment you’re ready to give it. In New York, people get used to being on their own and not accepting help, since in this big, rich city, there often seems to be so little compassion available. I told the man I couldn’t kiss him, but that I’d be happy to help him find a shelter or get him some food. He said no—that he was okay. (Three months later I told this story to Amma herself; she laughed hysterically. I think she sees the beauty and humor in everything.)
I didn’t stop trying, though. Everyone sleeping on the streets of New York is someone’s child, and once I started to reject the idea that I’m just supposed to mind my own business while people suffer, I became unable to walk by anyone in need without stopping. This can be tricky in downtown Manhattan, because the “haves” and the “have-nots” tend to sport similar looks (I guess deconstruction and devastation sometimes go hand in hand).
One day, leaving the SoHo Grand Hotel with my trainer, I locked eyes with a man who was either a cool artist or a homeless person. What I noticed first was that his eyes were on fire. I watched as he glanced over toward the garbage cans—he was possibly hungry, but also discreet and elegant. Then I saw him pause in front of a gallery window to look at some art. I realized he was reading the reviews in the window, as if determined to stay connected to this earth and its culture. I bolted toward him. My trainer, who was just thrilled to see me in a full-on cardio sprint, followed close behind. When we caught up to the man, he turned around, and I saw that he was not only beautiful, but powerful. He didn’t look homeless; he looked like Adrian Brody’s uncle!
It was obvious he hadn’t yet crossed over into the realm of “here, but not there”—the place so many of society’s forgotten retreat to, behind a wall that protects them from our callousness. This man was still on the bridge, where a work rehabilitation program or even just a fucking hug could have been the thing that saved his life. I asked if he wanted my help. I even told him I knew he was someone’s child and that I recognized the Divine in him. It was weird, but as I said this, I started crying, overwhelmed by the urge to grab his hand and walk him to a safe space, to pull him back to my side of the bridge, back from somewhere over there and into the now.
He glanced at my trainer and told him in Spanish to tell me that he was fine, that everything was okay. I decided to at least offer him some money, but then realized, fuck, I had no money! So I borrowed a $20 from my trainer, who was blown away. (Granted, he’d only ever seen me cry doing squats at the gym.)
“This is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life,” he said, as we walked back to the hotel.
Even after this, I wasn’t discouraged. Sure, I’d been hit on by one homeless guy and rejected by another, but I told myself I wouldn’t stop keeping my eyes open and trying to fulfill my mission. If you’re going to be a helpful being, you have to feel people’s energy and act on your intuition—and you have to be ready to look like an idiot sometimes.
The next time I saw a homeless person, he was sitting on Grand Street with a sign that said “Homeless and hungry. Please help.”
I stopped. �
�It’s cold out. Can I get you something hot to drink?” I asked.
“Yes, I’d like a hot chocolate,” he replied.
“C’mon,” I gestured toward a deli. “Let’s go get one.”
“That’s okay, baby,” he said casually. “I’ll just wait here.”
As I walked away, he called after me to request a granola bar too. As I walked out of the deli with the homeless man’s hot chocolate and granola bar, I ran into a friend of mine.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m just working for that guy!” I said.
Outside, the man with the sign accepted my offering with the air of a husband zoned out in front of the Super Bowl. He barely muttered, “Thanks.”
I guess you can’t necessarily expect a lot of gratitude when you wait on homeless people. If you want positive reinforcement, thank-yous, and a marching band to publicize your generosity, this is not the right kind of charitable work for you to be involved in. Homeless people haven’t read the latest Emily Post book and don’t necessarily have the best manners. Which is actually a good reminder that we shouldn’t just do these things to stroke our ego—we should do them because we can.
Do Not Ask What a Publicity Stunt Can Do for You; Ask What You Can Do with a Publicity Stunt
Sometimes, when you start looking around and actually notice all the people and worthy causes that need your help, it can be overwhelming. You might feel like you can’t possibly help them all, so why bother trying? What I have always done is to rely on my intuition. Where and when do I feel called to act? Sometimes you see someone suffering and you have a heartfelt moment of empathy, and other times God hits you on the back of the head and says, “You can’t sit by and let this happen. You have to get up and do something or say something.” Once you’re in tune with that feeling, you can go toward it.
Normal Gets You Nowhere Page 8
