“Oh, give me a BREAK!” I scream. Storming to the bedroom, I slam the door in his face and throw myself onto the bed. He never understands! I let loose a wail of frustration then start to sob so violently my body thrashes on the bed. Why doesn’t he think about it? I get so frustrated with his stupidity. It’s so unfair. Tears smear across my hot cheeks. I reach for the tissue box. Why do I feel so awful? So attacked? So overtaken with emotion?
Gradually, I begin to calm down. When the sobs reduce to sniffles and when my emotional outrage becomes depleted, I begin to hear a quiet voice. It is the voice of reason and intelligence.
“Yes, why are you so overpowered with emotion? Hmm? Could it be . . . ?”
“NO! It’s not, it’s too soon.” I fire up again.
“Well, perhaps I’m wrong, but it might be worth checking.”
“NO! I’m perfectly reasonable—he got it wrong again. He deserves what he gets.”
“Hmm, but you could check, just in case.”
Reluctantly, I get up and reach into the draw where a small calendar is hidden. I count the days, and sure enough, it’s that time of the month. I’m in the clutches of the dreaded PMT, premenstrual tension.
I hate it. I plonk myself back down on my bed and cry anew. I cry because I am completely controlled by hormones. And I know I will be battered by my emotions like my hair in the Wellington wind for another three to five days—and then there’s the rest of the cycle. It’s so unfair. Why do I have to suffer this? At this time of month, I am ruled by unreasonable emotional outbursts. I struggle to behave normally, but always feel so volatile, so vulnerable. At these times when my thoughts and feelings are so controlled by hormones, I wonder what is real.
But then, how do I know if anything I feel is real? What if hormones control my emotions all the time? Do I have control over anything? Lying on the bed I stare up at the ceiling. I watch a spider building its web in a corner, its small, delicate body silhouetted against an expansive white ceiling. Does it have free choice? Or is it compelled to construct its web in the meticulous manner it does? Do hormones control it too? Does it feel its independence or is it just an unthinking part of nature’s machine? It must make its web; it cannot bark like a dog or swim like a fish. Am I that restricted, that constrained by nature—or my hormones—or something else? I like to think that I have free will, that my individuality adds some value to the world, and that by my effort I can contribute something. But perhaps I’m just kidding myself.
Free will versus predestination is a subject I have always found fascinating. Sages and philosophers of many traditions have debated it for centuries. I ponder a talk I heard at the Bhakti Yoga Lounge on the weekend. The speaker, Krishnananda, an enthusiastic man who proudly pointed out his wife and baby son in the crowd, explained to us how karma works: “Our actions in our past lives dictate what happens to us in this life, and our actions in this life dictate what happens in our future lives.” Positive actions create positive futures and negative actions create negative futures.
Nice idea, you might say, but if everything that happens to us is predestined, why try for anything? What will come will come. We have no control. But no! According to the bhaktiyoga texts of ancient India, we do have free will; in fact, it is an essential part of our identity.
The resolution to this paradox is that while our circumstances are dictated to us by karma from our past actions, our responses to those circumstances are up to us in this present moment. In other words, we choose our responses. We choose where to focus our mind and what actions to take. And, by doing so, we create our future karma. How we act in difficult situations (or in easy situations) is up to us. For example, if someone says something unpleasant to us, we can choose to take offence and feel resentful or revengeful, or we can choose to try to understand their behaviour and forgive them. We could consider that perhaps they are stressed, or tired, or from a culture where their comment is acceptable. The catch is that both positive and negative responses force us to live life after life, to be born and die again and again in this material realm, so that we can live out our karmic reactions. And of course, it is not easy to stay on top of our responses at all times. It is very easy to slip up.
The spider finishes its web and sits in the corner, waiting.
So now you may ask, is that all my existence is about? Am I to be rotated endlessly in the wheel of karma? No. The exciting thing about the bhakti-yoga texts is that they take us beyond material karma to the transcendental realm. They show us how to extract ourselves from this endless cycle of karma, of repeated birth and death. And how we can avoid the danger of accidentally performing some negative activity and receiving an unexpected negative response. To do that we need to rise above the pushing and pulling of the emotions, mind and body and lovingly reconnect with the Supreme Person, Krishna. Krishna is beyond karma, beyond the material realm, and, when we work to please him, we too become happy.
I guess that’s my answer then.
I—a small individual soul—need to reconnect with Krishna, the Supreme Soul.
I sigh, releasing tension, and consider what action will best connect me with Krishna now, what response I can choose that would most please that transcendent being.
The spider watches me collect the soggy tissues along with my crumpled pride and drop them into the wastepaper bin.
As I open the door my husband looks up nervously, then relaxes seeing the change in my demeanour. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, “I overreacted.” “No, I’m sorry. I’m so stubborn.” “I think it’s that time of the month again.” “Hmm… I did wonder,” he says gently, as he wraps his arms around me and kisses me reassuringly. How wonderful it is to be understood.
