Tapas-by Devi Nina Bingham

There is a word--a concept in Hinduism that holds great significance. The Sanskrit word is "tapas." It means discipline, or more exactly, disciplining oneself. Monks know this word as meaning spiritual discipline and purification. The Buddha starved himself in order to find the meaning of life (and found that it did not work); this was his tapas. It is denying ourselves what we want for what we really need. Tapas is the opposite of indulgence. Anytime we are suffering and growing as a result, we are enduring tapas. We do not ask to suffer as the Buddha did-it just drifts into our lives with heartbreak, illness, injury, death, or a divorce...so many situations in which we are involuntarily thrown in the water and asked to swim. We suffer the most when we do not have the strength or the skills to stay afloat but are asked to stay in the water anyway. Suffering can engender a host of unwelcome emotions, namely anger, frustration, and hopelessness.

Likewise, when a seed is planted it does not know it already has everything inside of it, a blueprint for how it should grow. It only knows the repressive darkness and the heaviness above it of being buried alive. It begins to reach upward but finds no help, no light. This is an apt metaphor for growth. When we are in Tapasya we just want to cry because the tests and trails seem too much to bear. We wish someone would come and lend us a hand, but nobody does. We are being asked to grow into a form we have never been before, and like the soldier being whipped into shape at bootcamp, we cannot see the strong soldier we will one day be. We feel like GI Jane, being kicked in the face and defeated by her enemies. But something within us keeps reaching upward, even when we do not know why. We were all created to burst our confines and to bloom.

If you, like me, have been experiencing anger, frustration, or hopelessness, you may be experiencing tapas--being asked to let go of your lower nature so you can be purified. Growth is the hardest thing in the world. Most people don't grow very much because it is hard. Keep fighting and moving forward towards the picture you have of yourself, the purified and the whole you, remembering that suffering, or at least struggle, is the only way the seedling can bloom.

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The Long Walk Home (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

How to feel when every last person has fled.

Every fair-weather friend and every half-hearted lover. 

You, beset with the frailty of age and of illness

even a socialite comes to it.

A barren desert that harbors no life as far as the eye can see

where the tinkling sound of fiestas and frivolous toasts are a distant memory.

What is life devoid of love, stripped of its amorous distractions? 

Left with memories of what was and will never be again.

Left with the little good you contributed, 

hiding from the selfishness, lust, and greed you justified.

When you are aged you dance with the truth.

Go on denying, even to your dying day-

but that does not change the truth.

Keep running, or face it squarely?

Admit, if only to yourself, that on many occasions

you failed to do the right thing.

Moral failures, regrets-all are riddled with them.

Admit them to those you harmed, and peace comes.

Better to confess your shortcomings than to hear them from others.

Admirable to admit that you were flawed and human 

than to go on blustering into eternity with hidden sins.

Only degrees of sin separate us. 

Though the biggest person admits his doom,

he cannot nullify the price that shall be paid in the hereafter.

Only does it cleanse the conscience so he can die in peace.

Therefore, it is a good state, alone to ponder your deeds.

Try not to resent it.

Admit that everyone will fail you.

For nobody is meant to save you or even protect you but your parents,

and even they will disappoint you in part, if not completely.

No, not a soul has the strength to be a savior,

for each is fighting silent battles you know nothing of.

Where does this leave you? "Alone on a battlefield with a dead radio" (Sylvia Brown). 

You will wish for one faithful and true yet find yourself facing life as a lone survivor. 

On the long walk home, you will have ample time to look with honest eyes at your 

mistakes

and to identify what you would do differently next time.

Growing old is that long walk home.

Aging will humble you. 

As your strength wanes the bravado melts away. 

You become as helpless as a child, which feels like going in reverse.

Illness and injury become your faithful companions.

The longer the road stretches on the more frequently they visit. 

The long walk home is made for you

just as every soldier's walk home is filled with wounds and memories 

of the horrors of war.

A soldier has time to reminisce and remember 

what he wishes he could forget.

Do not despise the quiet country fields

or the sound of the rain as it whispers,

or the snow's ominous hush.

It is asking you to see what is really there

rather than rationalizations and explanations.

There is a reason that the last stretch of road 

is lonelier and quieter than all the rest. 

Do-It-Yourself by Devi Nina Bingham

The biggest moment, and so few knew

I did this thing all by myself.

Family and friends hadn't a clue

So, I set the degree upon a shelf.

Most of my life is a do-it-yourself.

It's my own choice to live this way

ever since my hair turned grey

the only one I care to impress

is my dog, on a good day.

I'm a reclusive, if reluctant, success. 

Eclipse by Devi Nina Bingham

In a world of sound, disturbance and noise

you walked on a silent, perfect white cloud

and I went deaf at your wordless, glad poise

as you shouted over the din of the crowd.

 

From different worlds, like day and night

my sun did shine, your moon did set

I held your light ever so tightly

afraid that I hadn’t captured you yet.

 

But the moon only shines when darkness has fallen

when it’s hushed, unbound, and forever free

so you fled from me as the sun was setting

and I still rise for you, though you don’t see.

 

Our best day was together

was an eclipse in the weather.

The Philosophy of Eugenics (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

Illness is a failure. Not a moral failure, but rather, a physical restriction that prevents us from being our best self. And we all want to present the world our finest side, don't we? However, disease forces us to reveal our brokenness, vulnerability, and humanity. I am not implying that my diseases made me any less of a strong person, because it takes fortitude to withstand a condition like Polio and chronic pain. It is heroic to persevere in the face of hardship, discomfort, and limits.

Heroic, you say. In what way is illness heroic? Because it is difficult enough to live on this planet. For one individual, eking out a living, navigating the difficulties of relationships and attempting to comprehend the meaning of life and existence, is sufficient. But then you have an accident that leaves you permanently crippled, like mine did. Or an illness hits as a youngster, like Polio did for me, and you are permanently marked as different. All of a sudden, the course of your life has changed and you adjust your dreams appropriately. It is heroic to bear a disease because, in addition to living the life that healthy people lead, you also have to navigate a second layer of life, all the while attempting to appear as though life is a lark. A hero is someone who can carry twice as much while maintaining a courageous demeanor and a can-do attitude.

People who are not part of the circle of disease are unable to comprehend this and may regard individuals who are unwell as less important. And this is the question facing civilization. Is it better to evaluate someone based on their value as a worker or soldier, or upon their inherent value as a person created in God's image? The aged, sick, and disabled are less worth less, if not worthless, when value is only determined by output. And a lot of individuals believe just this way. Someone is said to be a drag on the economy if they are unable to produce enough. But these ignorant politicians forget that they will also grow old and ill and be reliant on society to support them. But they won't exclaim, "Since I no longer work, it is off to the slaughterhouse with me!" They will argue, instead, "I have worked and contributed, and it is only right that society bear with me because of illness." The young and powerful will bear the brunt of their economic burden. That's the way life naturally goes.

What if, however, a politician claims that the old or the crippled are the issue? What if the government neglects its responsibility to care for the mentally and physically ill, veterans, and the elderly who have limits they did not request? Then there is justification for the government to ignore people, deny them social help, or even eradicate them. This may sound harsh or unlikely, yet the Nazis actually did this. The old, the crippled, anyone who was different, even children were collected up and people who couldn't work in a camp were thrown out like garbage.

Would something like this ever happen again? Keep in mind that a giant tree starts as a little seed. There was a political movement behind every law. Originally, all political movements were merely philosophical. All philosophical ideas were once thoughts, and all thoughts were once only feelings. Movements develop in this way. The false belief that one human is superior to another based only on physical attributes is known as eugenics, and it was this belief that spread among the German people. The idea that one gender is superior or that one religion is superior originated from the idea that one genetic line is superior. Throughout history, eugenics has been the cause of conflicts and fatalities. Could it occur once more? It is taking place! The seed has been sown, and leaders and their followers are growing the bitter seed that leads to ruin.

But why would anyone fall for such a harsh and senseless philosophy? Due to fear. The emotion that sows the seed is fear. They don't want to be caught in the rain because they can see the storm clouds brewing. "It's excellent," they say, pointing to the storm. When blood starts to pour, they defend it by saying, "Blood is terrible, but it has to be done." Pretending not to notice, they turn their backs on the worst of it. In any case, their guilt is equal to that of the executioners. Fear has the power to turn otherwise decent individuals into killers and liars.

Furthermore, they are blind to the fact that they are supporting an ideology that has been shown to be scientifically incorrect. According to genetic research, all humans started out with the same features: wide noses, dark eyes and dark skin. Humanity originated in the same part of Africa. Since we all sprung from the same seed, we share the same ancestry. It's true that humans diverged and developed many bodily changes, including lighter skin and eyes. My argument is that we are genetically related, not just by name. Since we are all members of the human race, there is no superior race.

Will stop this folly and reveal the truth at any cost, or will you, out of fear, support the aggressors who spread eugenics? I don't see strength when I see racists, I see cowards. I see uneducated individuals denying reality. It will become clear to them that we are all linked and that no blood line is better than any other with just a little investigation. However, as falsehoods are simpler, they decline to look for the truth. Like kids hiding under their mother's skirts, I don't think this kind of bafoonish conduct is admirable.

Everyone will have to decide whether to support the real heroes, or the aggressors. Because I struggled against oppression while also suffering, I chose to be a hero. You see, a hero is not someone who hides behind a shield, but rather, someone who stands without one. I would never call you brave if you hide behind a political party's falsehoods. Being heroic is calling out the storm for what it is and standing your ground against it even when you can see it coming quickly.

With Love,

Frida

The Madcaps (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

I wish to speak openly and plainly to those innocent souls who find themselves persecuted for being only who they are. Those who were given a certain skin color and nationality at birth yet demonized because of the cultural heritage they bring. They call it "assimilation," meaning that you are not to abide by your own way of being, but to talk and look like a white American. To assimilate is to repress whatever may threaten their way of life, though never did you harbor rebellious intentions. You were bringing a different flavor of perspectives and experiences and were shocked when your gift was rejected. It was not only your way of life which was marked as erroneous, but you yourself, and this was the biggest surprise. Your person was deemed inferior, and your familial history was marked as suspect, even dangerous. Beloved history, telling of your family's struggle to survive was used as evidence that you were a product of weak genetics and an inferior work ethic. 

These criticisms amounted to making you feel less than, what you had never felt before, since your family had always loved and cherished you. Having been assigned this marker of sub-human, you trudge through life with your head down and your eyes lowered. You would rather follow than lead because you do not wish to stand apart from the crowd anymore than you already do. Your confidence has taken a beating, and you only feel safe at home. It is to these souls which I speak, for I have experienced the societal disparage which I describe. What is most unsettling about attempts to force assimilation is that it has never stopped. Racial profiling is as American as apple pie and the 4th of July. Prejudice is woven deep into the fabric of American society, as is the idea of eugenics, the belief that one set of features is superior. Of course, the eugenicists are white, and according to them the blonder your hair is, the purer you are. However, humans began with dark features which are considered sub-human by Arians, which means of course that your ancestors were like mine; we are one big family whose genes have been mixed up over the march of time but still, genetically speaking, we all from the same seed. In truth, there is no superior race, there is only our race. This begs the question: how does humanity, splintered into groups with differing physical and cultural characteristics, acknowledge our sameness? There was one during my lifetime that attempted to eradicate the differences by extermination, the "final solution." The end game was to crush the poor, unfortunate, and the immigrant. What stopped this madness? Nations fought together against this great foe. In the process, many brilliant and creative souls perished, and literature and art were destroyed. Anything of beauty which would inspire was stolen and hidden, or demolished. Because where there is hate, truth and beauty will not be tolerated. The goal is to root out all those who will not serve the regime with a genuflect loathing of themselves. 

What to do about the latest round of fascism, those who say they speak for God though God is father to us all? Those who boast holiness in public while in secret make dark deals that betray even children? In order to remedy the division, opposite force must be used. Nations must come together, locking arms to stand against the aggressor. There is no other way, for a madman will never admit that he is mad, nor will he step down peaceably. Madmen want one prize over all, which is power. The power-hungry tyrant will never step away from his tyrannical throne. History shows that these must be torn down. Peaceful protests will not move them, only a threat to their own existence. Until this happens tyranny will reign. I am not advocating violence, only as a last resort. These are dangerous times that are only an echo of worse times. Look to history to show the way. 

To the intellectual and artist: they will target you because you dare to speak out. They will denounce you as a liberal when you use logic and science. From one artist to another, I would say to be as stealthy as you can and stay out of the limelight. But continue to research, to write, to paint and sculpt, to act and dance, and to make music, though the madcaps will denounce your art as useless. To them, creativity and beauty is useless for it does not make them money. But it contributes greatly to the happiness of society, what they care nothing for. They do not value happiness, they value productivity. To hell with happiness. In their world, turn the sky gray and lifeless with smoke from the atom bomb, and may the rays of the sun never shine again. So low are the dark and depraved thoughts of their minds. While the artist will toil all day to give the world even a scrap of hope, the madcaps are scheming to bring more terror and destruction. Based on this, who then are God's chosen? The ones who bring death, the proprietors of misery, or those who bring mercy and hope?

When you see people gone mad, meaning that they have traded their souls for money, cruelty will be their calling card. Ask yourself: Is what they are doing unjust? If the answer is yes, there you have a madcap. Justice becomes a weapon by which they excuse cruelty. They will make everyone's life much harder and still they will be hailed by their malevolent followers. Know that you cannot follow evil without taking a part of that evil into yourselves. It will seem to you that sanity and decency has flown, and like a virus insanity has invaded their minds, for they smile at ruthlessness and applaud horrific acts in the name of God and progress. This has been so since the dawn of time; there have been madcaps in every age. Usually, they are in positions of power by bullying their way to the top. 

I tell you, try not to despair because in the end they will die or be defeated. Evil cannot triumph over good. Cruelty never triumphs over mercy. The better angels always win; it is only a matter of time. Take a breath and know that there is a force in this world which can be counted upon in every man, woman, and child who has not given themselves over to evil, which will rise up to defend knowledge and beauty, the two pillars of society. The madness is temporary and eventually, help will be on its way. Until then, persist in truth, knowledge, and beauty. 

With Love,

Frida

Frida the Reconstructed (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

The systems of this world are corrupt and therefore, broken. Like my body, which had so many fractures; my spine, the column that supported the entire structure had been cracked too many times to reassemble. I wore supportive braces beneath my dresses so no one would suspect that I was an unfortunate accident. Yes, I became the accident and not the victim while still a young and carefree girl whom life had not yet corrupted, the sacrificial lamb, so that in adulthood I was little more than brokenness and sorrow. Never did I smile for the cameras, for the joy and innocence of youth faded after the second great accident, that of my marriage.

I did not marry for convenience as many women of my time were known to do. I thought it reprehensible for a woman to give herself to a man she cared little for in exchange for his financial support. To me, it was like selling one's most intimate secrets for pennies on the dollar. But I was a lowly woman in my own way. Though I married for love, which I considered the highest ideal, it came at a high price. Whether for love or convenience, the institution of marriage exacts its pound of flesh. It requires each one to set aside their own wants and needs and to consider the other first. Not many people are really prepared for such a sacrifice. I watched my parents set aside their dreams to care for their children, so I understood it. Thus, in my marriage I became the sacrificial lamb. I reasoned that if I came second, he would love me more. And if I kept silent, I could not steal his limelight, though his art had enjoyed much more acclaim than my own by this time. And this is how I lowered myself. I dimmed my light so that his would rise. In this way I lowered myself. I would caution you that there is never a circumstance in which your voice or talent should be traded for another's, because yours is a unique and necessary gift. I am not encouraging divorce, for it will tear your heart out. If you can stay together and still sing your individual song, you should. But men especially take it hard when a woman's accomplishments eclipse theirs, especially a lover. In this case, it is better to go your separate ways rather than cheat the whole world out of your talent to save one man's ego.

I never wanted to be Frida Kahlo the Mexican icon who strangers confess their love for, and devotion to; not at first, anyway. Now I do not mind if they worship at the fount of Frida. Like the dear virgin, my presence is at Casa Azul as it must be, for who else will attend to the prayers and good wishes murmured by adoring fans? But today my ego is not fed as it was when I was Frida the Reconstructed. Then I needed every stroke, being terrifically incomplete. I was isolated by my illness, and lonely; my body in tatters and my heart shredded and paper-thin. I needed to hear that I was brilliant, that I had triumphed and gotten the last laugh. But had I? I managed to stitch together a portrait of Frida made of paint, and she spoke from the canvas because the real me had fallen silent. Frida the Reconstructed had no more heart, for it had been ripped out. Thus, I painted two hearts connected, The Two Fridas. And between the whole and incomplete me, I became the icon. 

Do you understand? Sometimes one must build a likeness of themselves so they can keep going. For if you present yourself as you really are, on the inside, you would be called a bore, and self-possessed. But wasn't I self-possessed when my topic was always myself? This was because I dared not express how it felt to be the real me. Nobody wanted to hear that said aloud. They only wished to hear stories of the phoenix rising from the ashes. Thus, I created a public me who smirked and smoked, a tougher version me who laughed only at irony. For life was and is ironic, making little sense when added up, but costing a trusting soul everything. 

What am I saying about The Two Fridas? That everyone has two sides to them, and they build the second out of necessity. In marriage you will inevitably see the dark side. You will be shocked at how different your spouse is from what the world sees. Your beloved will appear to you as the sun being eclipsed by a storm cloud. You may wish to tell others how different your spouse is from what the world sees but dare not. For if you revealed all of them there would be no mystery. And every person must keep their mask. It protects what hurts the most, as a turtle's shell does. Only keep this in mind, that it is wiser not to touch that part, the stormy part, the tucked-in part. You may hug the child who suffers within them, but best to not call it out. It takes sensitivity to walk around someone's faults, to observe as they struggle against themselves, but it is their struggle. Their life is theirs alone and brave no effort of the best intentioned can save them. You must walk on. Will they ever see how much you cared, how you only thought about them and longed to take their hand? Perhaps not in this lifetime. This is the disappointment, the bitterness of love. That you wished to walk hand-in-hand through life when they could not offer the same. Therefore, promises made are foolish. You cannot promise what you do not have, though they did. This is why I say that marriage is a trap. It catches you in unrealistic promises, usually that neither can keep though your intentions are rock-solid. 

Now my admirers do not make any promises, and I prefer it that way. Come and worship at the Fount of Frida for a day, or even a moment as you gaze at what became my fate. I always hoped that you would see some of yourself in my paintings. Perhaps the furrowed unibrow or the pursed lips; the incisions and the blood flowing mixed with the tears. And above all the heart pulled out and suspended like an offering. However you choose to relate to my life, my suffering, you are right. There are no wrong answers, only more questions, which is the beauty of abstraction. It is whatever you say it is. But however you relate to Frida the Reconstructed, remember that I am not she. For after death, which is not death at all, you become what you wished to be on earth but could not. Your idealized self, the not-broken you, the whole soul steps forward and claims the broken you. Then the parts broken and scattered in the wind make what was intended to be you but because of pain, could not be. Thus, I am not that broken woman anymore, the woman of many sorrows. Nor am I any nationality or tradition. All those trappings are forgotten in an instant, as the storm clouds clear away. What remains is a blazing light as bright as the sun which twinkles like the stars. You will light your own way, glowing and pulsing with new hope and courage. 

This is your ultimate destiny, my reconstructed friend. For now, wear your mask and your heart on your sleeve, and cry tears for the tower within which was busted. It seems such a waste now, all your love gone to waste. It seems hopeless now, because nobody can put it all back together. Maybe it needs to fall apart, spectacularly. Let it fall apart, because life always regenerates, haven't you noticed? It always comes back together, given enough time. We were all towers, broken down and busted. One day you will join me, Frida the Reconstructed, Twice: once on earth, again at death. The second time it will all make sense.

With Love, 

Frida

 

The Law of Supply and Demand (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

There are only two ways to get what you want. Whether it is finding love, financial success, or anything else, there are only two paths that will lead you to it. The first way is known to all of you, it is how everyone in the world has been taught to obtain success, and that is to work hard for it. Sure, inheritances are given because someone else worked for it and has enough to share with you. In this case, you do not earn it. The second way, as compared to the world's way, may seem fanciful or impossible to the one who has never tried it. And, while there is nothing wrong with earning and spending, the second method, dubbed the Cosmos' way, is considerably preferable since it is practically spontaneous. You can conjure whatever you want with the flick of a finger, just like magic. I hope this will interest you enough to give it some thought, and to apply it. 

Have you ever met someone who somehow summons what they need when they need it without having to buy it? These folks desire something, and it emerges without any effort or intervention from them. What is their secret? Are they special, more deserving than you? If you talk to these folks, they will tell you that everything they need always appears, and that they do not work or try for it. They reach out their hands, just like a hungry child, and the food was delivered to them, that simple. Logic says that if it works for one individual, it will work for you as well. What does this individual do that you don't? Why does the Universe pay attention to those who do not believe in God, yet your prayers go unanswered? They believe in a metaphysical rule, not in God. You see, there are spiritual principles at work that apply to everyone equally. The rule of gravity applies to everyone, regardless of who they are or what their beliefs about God are.

Similarly, there are metaphysical rules that your religion, or lack thereof, cannot affect, and you have unknowingly used them before. They are fixed and unchanging, as solid and real as the visible physical laws. You may do an experiment to demonstrate the influence of gravity by dropping an apple into your hand (or on your head, as Sir Isaac Newton did). However, metaphysical rules exist in an etheric level. This means that they operate at a greater or lower frequency than the one you are now experiencing. A dog can hear pitches that you cannot, and you see in color, but the dog sees in black and white. This is because nature provided you with everything you needed to perform correctly. You were both created with the sensory faculties necessary to complete the task at hand. Evolution has given you the qualities of a human. You did not have to work for these adaptations; they arrived as a result of not just evolution, but also of your karma, which brought you here. But now is not the time for a discussion about karma; that is for another day. I am pointing out that while it may seem coincidental that certain people get what they want when they want it, it is not. Whether consciously or unconsciously, they are making use of metaphysics. 

I'll name it the Law of Supply and Demand. In order for the Cosmos, or the creative Cosmic Force, to respond, a demand must be made. You understand that you can't go to a diner and expect the cook to know what you want. No, the cook awaits your order before beginning to prepare your supper. The Cosmos can assemble everything you want or need, but you must request it. Not demand it, since if you take liberties and order the cook around, you are sure to receive anything from his kitchen that you will dislike! Order your desired item from his kitchen politely but confidently. Let me warn you that if you curse someone, the cook could agree with you. The cursed person may deserve unpleasant things, and the cook may inflict the curse. But be aware that whatever calamitous conditions they face, you are accountable for them. You, not the cook, placed the order. Curses exist and can be effective if the chef decides to use them, but you will bear the consequences. This is a negative application of the law. In any case, the cook is obligated to fulfill your request, which begins the minute you make it.

Your meal's cooking time is determined by a variety of factors. You may receive your dinner the same day, or you may have to wait a long time. The length of time it takes for your meal to be served is determined by a combination of the cook's urgency to serve you (remember, he has millions, if not billions, of other orders to fulfill), the other people involved, and the circumstances, which include weather, location, and a variety of mitigating factors. You may have your meal before the end of the day, or you may have to wait a lifetime for it. You will have to be extremely patient because so much is beyond your control. However, if you persist and do not amend your order, the cook is required to give you supper under the Law of Supply and Demand.

But what about these "instant manifestors?" How can these fortunate folks have their wishes fulfilled so quickly? They have mastered one concept, which they employ liberally: never doubt that it will come to you. Speak and act as if it is over, as if you are merely waiting for the parcel, which will arrive at any time. They do not change their opinions. If you are continually changing your mind, the planning must cease, right? That meal is discarded, and a fresh order is initiated. This all consumes precious time. If you truly desire something with your heart and soul, keep asking for it and remain excited that it is on its way. If you tell the cook, "I sure am hungry, and I am so excited for my dinner!" he will be eager to serve it. The Cosmos reacts to your requests, but not if they are selfish ("I deserve it!") or negative or doubtful ("He's never going to cook it"). Only if you trust the cook with your order will it be delivered. Supply and demand is a cooperative law. You must totally collaborate with the cook or the delivery person in order to receive it. Christ referred to this rule as "faith." He asked us to believe in a cosmic metaphysical rule.

I stated this metaphysical truth in the form of a story so that you might grasp it. We've all waited for food when we were extremely hungry, and we know how difficult it is to be patient. When the cook is inundated and the orders are backed up, we may wish to go and make our own meal, and you are welcome to do so! There is nothing wrong with it. It may be faster than waiting. However, there are instances when you need the assistance of a professional chef who can prepare better than you. If this is the case, and you require more assistance, place your order, knowing that it might be a short or lengthy wait. But once it is placed, your order is being processed, and soon you will be the next in line.

With Love, 

Frida

The Truth of Karma (Dedicated to Frida Kahlow) by Devi Nina Bingham

You have a propensity to prepare and save for a rainy day. Since the day may come when the reserves may be required, it is not a bad idea to be ready for the worst. Will you, however, allow me to warn you to balance enjoying life with being ready to care for yourself? When you have finally gathered the necessities, it is time to stop worrying about what lies ahead and what could happen to you. Because no matter how well you prepare, the weather may and probably will take a turn you did not expect. After that, who can you trust? Nobody needs to be your reliance since everyone is busy with their own concerns. In an emergency, it will be every man for himself with most people. Shouldn't you stress, worry, and concern yourself because you will ultimately have to rely only on yourself? One day you may have to depend upon God to provide for you. Yet you dismiss, "Do you expect me to believe that manna is going to rain down from Heaven to feed me?" Yes, I am stating just that. You see, even though believers are instructed to accept the Bible literally, a large portion of it is made up of tales and parables. Indeed, the Bible is a historical record because historians of the time attested to the fact that Jesus was a genuine person who lived on earth, just like you and I. However, it is a text that provides both history and teachings.

The Israelites' desert wanderings are described in the Bible as one of its teachings. For their sustenance, God sent manna from heaven. Regardless of your opinion of the verifiability of this manna, the principle and lesson it teaches is applicable today. You should be able to tell what this narrative is trying to teach you: you will be blessed when you are in need. But because God is not a wish dispensary, there are occasions when prayers go unanswered. God's dispensary is karmic. It distributes whatever is coming to you, but it may not give what you want and ask for. 

"Do children deserve to suffer?" you could ask. Although you might not agree with this response, I never was one to mince words. When pain occurs, it is never uncalled for. This is the response: "Explain how an innocent child deserves to suffer!" To obtain a clear and persuasive explanation, I would need to investigate their previous lives. It might seem reasonable to argue that a child's suffering is unjust. A youngster is too little to cause affliction to other people. A soul, however, could have lived hundreds or thousands of lives. It is OK for those who do not believe in karma to reject this response. You do not have to believe it is oxygen you are breathing to breath it!

Karma, according to some, is a thin pretext for an imaginary God. Well, then, keep on with the belief that there is no creator and no karmic system. Karma is not slowed in the least, and God smiles at objections because breaking the law, even if ignorant of the law, will not remove the consequences. Others ask why God punishes at all if He is love. What happens to a youngster who never receives reprimands? If its acts have no repercussions, does its character develop appropriately? Isn't it a spoilt brat that becomes unbearable as an adult? We are held responsible for our actions so that we can develop and become model students.

Karma is real, my dear friends, and it haunts us until the day we die, and beyond. By beyond, I mean after death. Our actions follow us into the afterlife in the same way that you would carry a bag on a well-earned vacation. Your name appears on the baggage as it rotates in the luggage carousel, but you might not want to claim it since it contains unwanted items. You quickly pass the carousel on your way to Heaven. However, your baggage is waiting for you when you arrive at the bottom of the escalator. "I can't bring this!" is what you think in a panic. "Heaven will not accept me." After stepping around it, your luggage is waiting for you at the top. Since karma is yours, you can't escape it. And eventually you'll need to break it all down and describe what's within. Yes, as they must, our actions haunt us on the other side. We have to learn to take responsibility for the baggage we have produced. Life after life, your bag will be waiting for you, and you keep it with you until it is empty. Once emptied, you will no longer be burdened, which means you will stop incarnating and be able to relax and have fun.

Karmic cycles: how long do they last? Until you've learned the lesson. What do you learn? To accept accountability for your deeds, and to discover who you are. At first glance, this seems simple. You would answer sarcastically, "I always take responsibility for myself." Should we question others about your honesty and transparency? How would they respond? However, the truth has already been recorded and is played back to you, so you don't need to question yourself or anybody else. This should inspire you to live a more enlightened life since you know that karma exists and will be carried over from one incarnation to the next. 

You see, God can punish people without your assistance. They are not getting away with it, despite the appearance that they are. Not at all. All they are doing is postponing the inevitable. They believe the luggage will vanish if they walk around it. Consequently, make an effort to accept accountability for both your positive and negative actions. To lessen karma, one can apologize. It's an indication of humility. If you have a difficult time apologizing, you are pretending. People would want to act as though they are not the issue. And, if they so want, they may continue living in denial forever. But who wants to live in a never-ending circle of suffering for all eternity? 

This letter serves as a reminder that eventually you must face the consequences of your actions. It's like a kid who stole chocolates. It tasted really sweet, and the store owner had no idea. In this world, the business owner might not suspect. However, part of the candy remains in the child's pocket, and something will happen in his next life to level the score--perhaps something will be taken from him. I believe that honesty is the best policy; be honest with yourself and put things right when you can. If you try to make things right but your apology or attempt to reconcile is denied, you are free. You have removed the mark against you. 

You cannot keep karma from accumulating, that is part of life. As long as you are in a body, karma will be nipping at your heels. Simply become more self-aware. Examine your deeds and motives. When you find a crack in your foundation, seek to repair it. If you pretend it is not there, karma will make note of it for later. I have simplified these concepts of spiritual laws so you can easily conceptualize them because simple is good. Simple is me. The truth is always simple, and I have always loved telling the truth.

With Love,

Frida

Spirituality is Simple (Dedicated to Frida Kahlow) by Devi Nina Bingham

"Being spiritual is an existential reality, not a decision. Spirituality is easy; it was never intended to be so difficult. For the believers, customs and regulations are in place. But in actuality, spirituality is not a choice despite what the term "believer" implies. It isn't picked as you would pick a partner, chosen after serious deliberation. This suggests that there are a plethora of varieties and approaches to faith. But even a youngster can comprehend the system since it is so basic. According to Christ, we shall not see the Kingdom of Heaven unless we approach it as children. What does spiritual simplicity then mean?

Take a look at nature; it holds all the mysteries and secrets. Every particle of life contains geometry. Numbers, particularly geometric forms and patterns are present in all sentient beings, even non-sentient materials. Does it not make perfect sense that life itself should have a spiritual blueprint? And what gives life its sentience? Naturally, DNA, the components that make up life. A sperm and an egg combine to form DNA, a genetic code for growth. Your mother gave you half of your special design, and your father gave you the other half. Then your DNA is passed on to your children. This is life: a system which has functioned perfectly as intended for billions of years.

This is precisely how the human family was constructed: a mother and a father, and we are their children. How much more straightforward could it be? Even if you might not consider yourself a child of God, it is comparable to an adopted kid. It thinks the adoptive parents are biological and is unaware of the truth. But a DNA test would reveal the truth in a flash. Without ever questioning our beginnings, we are born to earthly parents. We think that there is no mother in this creation equation, as religion has taught us. But use rationality and logic, I say. Without the egg, it doesn't work. When we hear this truth, it sounds incorrect because religious patriarchy has conditioned us to deny it.

We are all equal because we are offspring of the Gods, regardless of our gender or nationality. This is pure spirituality without the human trappings. Instead of judging their children as superior or inferior, deserving or unworthy, a wise parent recognizes that they are all a part of me and that they are mine. Likewise, all of us are a part of God's family. The idea that you are better than others is an act of rejection of God's method. Being the largest fruit in the garden, the watermelon should be favored, according to this idea that one should dominate another in God's garden. This kind of thinking lacks depth and is uninformed about diversity. With billions of varieties, we are God's garden. Yet we have been divided into genders, groups, forms, and colors. We all belong to the same group-that of human. All of us were sent to this planet with the intention of honoring our parents by getting along with one another. Spirituality is just that. It is not a form of worship; that is a human invention. It's not even the Ten Commandments. What is divine is not decided by sacred texts, prophets, priests, seers, or monarchy. Your DNA is divine.

You are spiritual. The very cells that make up your body are dynamic and part soul, which is spirit. God's mathematical signature is contained within each atom of your biological makeup. In contrast to Christ's teaching that we should look inside, humanity spends its entire existence gazing up and outward. But the truth is engraved in your DNA. Spirituality is a part of who you are. Spirituality is therefore you. It was never external. Therefore, a shrine is disrespected when we treat one another disrespectfully. The Holy Spirit resides inside us; didn't Christ teach us? Furthermore, what is this spirit if not the soul? We have been brainwashed. We have been indoctrinated, divided into different religious groups. Into this and that nation. Into this and that nationality. Into one culture and another. Into one gender and another. Into one sexual orientation and another. Partition, partition, partition. While we are one people under God. Governments and, before them, churches have sold us a policy of separated humanity!

I want you to consider everyone else to be just like you for just one day, even just one hour. But it is almost impossible to look in a straight and accurate manner since our minds are so deceived by what we perceive. However, it is time for us to examine our own behavior and mindset. Are we practicing the idea that every person is a temple, as taught by Christ? Do we treat everyone with the deference they deserve? Are you honoring the divinely created spiritual system? Are you conscious of your divinity, and your deep connection to all people? You should not be religious since God is not religious. Yes, there is no religious preference or allegiance for God. Avoid making things overly complicated. Now realizing that you are a member of a large spiritual family you never have to experience loneliness again. If you remember this truth, you will be free."

With Love,

Frida

Loving the Unattainable (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

Save the anguish of losing a loved one to death, to love another with your heart and soul who will never return your love is, without a doubt, the worst pain. It is worse because they took themselves from you, whereas the dead had no choice in the matter. Given these facts, one can rightly say that loving someone who is unattainable will cut one's heart the quickest. When your true love forgets you, preferring the company of others, there is no greater betrayal, no deeper cut. If you persist in loving them you become a wound which weeps silently, blood mixed with tears trickling down your sullen, pallid face, for you are chasing shadows. You are devoid of meaning, for love gives us purpose. Your minutes go to waste as you lay crying for them while they gallivant with fair-weather friends and insincere lovers. This sort of love gives more than it takes, losing itself in the memory of the other, a forever kind of pain. If you say to the heartbroken, "Why mourn? Move on," they will obediently nod but think, "If I could have moved on, I would have." You, like I, struggle like some wild thing caught in a steel trap and we slowly bleed. With no way to extricate myself, I accepted my fate. The victim of cruelty so ominous that it overshadowed all of my life. I became conditioned not to admit what was painfully obvious, so I smiled and politely denied the depth of torture I lived in.

There are no answers as to why we try so desperately, giving every last ounce as they take their beautiful person and throw it away. There are no reasons explaining the mystery of why one bleeds and cries while the other cannot shed a tear. And all the while what my beloved was searching for was waiting inside of me, waiting to be discovered. Seldom to never did I realize what I was, nor did he see what he held in his cold and unfeeling hands. For all he had was hands to do with, to grope with, and not feelings that would allow him to love another in the unselfish way he was being loved. He did not understand that language. He was only acquainted with the courser movements of love. And there are no answers as to why he could not give, could not cherish, could not treasure.

You, wondering and puzzling over questions even your beloved cannot answer, these constant inquiries weigh you down until you can hardly move, ultimately forcing you to hate the one you really love. You wish your feelings of malice against them would survive, but they never do. You wish you had never met, chastising yourself for nothing you started; you simply walked into a mess of a person and decided you could help them. But they had abandoned themselves, turned from themselves, so convinced of their unworthiness, certain of their unloveliness. But something in you could not leave them alone and so you stayed. To this day you stand alone in the room of their heart, an empty, old place, hoping they will return to themselves. Can you see how futile loving someone who refuses to mend is? Why hang on to futility? It is like not being able to drop a stick that your own arm beats you with. Time passes, and still your heart holds on. Holds on for what? They were never yours in the first place. Seldom did they give all of themselves to you. On occasion they adored you, and their love was so superior to all other loves that it created a desire in you to never be apart. The drive in you to know them wholly is what repelled them, which only confounded you. A vicious circle was established of chasing and of running, because you liked the effort of proving your love, and they felt powerful when spurning you. In this scenario they always won, and you always lost. Is it remarkable that the unattainable chase wore you down?

My dear heart, yours is a royal line of love, a highly idealized form of love that mortals cannot sustain. You give what you one day hope to get but never do. You give truth, transparency, and you give without measure, forgetting your needs. My dear one, let them go, free to roam. In truth, you haven't the power to make them stay. The tighter you cling, the farther they will roam. They do not recognize love; it is a foreign object to them. It is a circle while they search for a square. They chase no meaning, they long for no sincerity, and they spurn the truth. They are ever thinking another grass is greener and longing to lay upon it while you hold in intrepid hands jewels, but they are content with fool's gold. What you offer is unbelievably precious, tender, wonderful. But they don't recognize it and call it something else altogether. You must not cry for them when they should be crying for you. 

I cannot say how or by what means you will remedy this imbalance, only that you must try to rid yourself of any failure complex. How could you have failed to love them when you are still loving them? You hold out a treasure and they act as if you are worthless. Can you see what nonsense it is to blame yourself when you gave all of yourself, and silently still offer it? My poor, unfortunate comrades in love. Even if your heart refuses to turn away, at least know with conviction that you did not break them, they were already broken. Your sin was in wishing to save them. You saw in them something nobody else could see: their innocence, fragility, and their ruined childhood. And ever after you could not leave them alone. And where has it led you? To the door of your own emotional destruction. To a deep crater filled with regret. To a loneliness that is unfathomed. It led you to question your sanity and goodness because they questioned it. Immobilized, you stopped walking the path of love for it had turned out the lights. Standing still in the darkness, not able to trudge another step, you sat, because to take another step in that dangerous jungle of love might have lured you over a precipice. In a profound darkness you held yourself as you had learned to do, though you detested it. And here you are on the same impossible pass wondering when the light will return to your eyes? Listen closely, for I shall say it only once: their unavailability is their wound to heal, not yours. Do not mistake a wounded other for yourself. You are overqualified for the job, not insufficient. You had nothing to do with the wounds they received. They were hunted and struck down years ago. 

Seek to soothe your weary heart. See in yourself what few have taken the time to see: a compassion for another so deep and true that it knows no limits or bounds. A love which stretches on for eternity, pure as white silk. Even a humor which surpasses all and which still lives in your belly. See these precious, tender things and know that all of nature loves you: the sun and moon delight to shine for you, the breeze blows for you. Know that it is time to pick up your bags and walk the only direction anyone can walk. Don't wait for another to walk beside you, as yours is a silent and solitary soliloquy into the sunset. 

With Love,

Frida

Fate, and the Pigeon (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

"I was not a believer, but if you had asked me, I would have told you I was Catholic in respect of my pious mother. But I was my father's daughter, a dreamer who believed in doing things on your own if you wanted them done correctly. I learned early on not to turn to God for help, since it never arrived. As a vulnerable youngster with Polio, my parents looked away from the harsh reality, saying, "She'll be fine." And again, when I was a young adult, I nearly died, and many of my family and friends prayed for me, including my father, who was not a prayerful man. But God did not spare me from agony, and for the rest of my life, I realized that if anybody was going to raise me out of the anguish and despair that were a daily part of my existence, it had to be myself.

I used to wonder why such gloomy and menacing shadows had to sweep over me like enormous waves over a small boat. Why had I been selected as unfortunate by fate—or God, which is actually the same thing? Had I been a horrible monster in a previous life, now being punished for unidentified transgressions? Or did this chaotic universe have no justice, order, or meaning because there was no God at all? Had I dropped out of Heaven by accident, falling with a gasp? Was my destiny a blind chance rather than a punishment for the terrible history of another life? Was I a colossal mistake? I pursued these ideas in an attempt to understand why I was here. I really believed that even God is fallible. When I was younger, my family and friends would chastise me for asking existential questions and warn me that I shouldn't have such pessimistic ideas. Therefore, until the day of my death, these profound issues remained unaddressed. I had a lot of questions but never answers. Like an echo, my questions reverberated back to me from the emptiness. In addition to slapping me, Providence's hand was raised as though to declare, "No admittance."

Sometimes you are the statue, and other times you are the pigeon. This is an old proverb that is accurate. A filthy bird, the pigeon lacks great intelligence. To fly and explore, however, is up to them. Something is symbolized by a statue, which is still and immobile. I was every ounce the statue in my life as Frida. I was imprisoned, like a stone sculpture, the representation of an artist. I was the hungry artist's representation. I stood for the artist who endures hardships to elevate the world and give it beauty and significance. Wearing traditional clothing, I represented my own Mexico as a Mexican peasant girl, and my strength was that of the Mexican female warrior who bravely fought alongside the men during the Mexican Revolution. Additionally, I played the abandoned and devastated lover. I was the contemporary whore who drank alcohol and applied crimson lipstick. I was a caregiver attempting to save a man who did not want to be saved, so I saved animals by providing them with a home. I was the married housewife who prepared meals, cleaned, and hosted guests. I was a symbol of all these worldly duties. I did my best to dispel misconceptions about women and Mexico without receiving too much criticism. Frida rose to fame for all of these reasons.

Undoubtedly, intellect is incapable of comprehending anything pertaining to fate. Comparable like a locomotive on a track, your mind simply follows instructions. Going with the flow, you are mostly operating on autopilot. Furthermore, it is tragic to hang up your usefulness, even though aimlessly wandering is acceptable for a short time. You are not meant to be a leaf floating in the stream of life. Your continued presence is a testament to the significance of your contribution. You have a purpose in life and in time. Never completely retire, please. Do your best to be involved till the end of your life. You might no longer be able to be the firebrand you once were as you get older. No one expects you to do that. However, make every effort to be innovative. Write a brief narrative or essay about your life, bake something delicious and share it, or do a simple art or craft activity. Have an important conversation that people won't soon forget. Set one or two goals each day to push yourself. Establish your goals in the morning and evaluate the results at night. Regardless of your age or impairment, you can achieve one or two objectives each day.

Until this existence is only a memory, the majority of existential concerns about God and destiny will remain unanswered. After it's over, you'll have the opportunity to reflect and clearly recognize your strengths and places for improvement. At that point, everything that baffles and perplexes you will appear as clear as spring water. You have to try to remain patient till then. I am aware that patience is difficult. No one enjoys waiting. We need the answers right away. However, there are a lot of unseen elements at work. The only suitable answer in many situations will be "I do not know." It's okay to not know. Being ignorant is not a source of guilt. At this point, you are in a holding pattern as you wait for the solution to become apparent. When we move too quickly when unsure, problems arise. Being patient might seem like a lack of productivity. Rushing into the wrong circumstance, however, is the most ineffective thing you can do.

It's possible that you were destined to be a statue if you find yourself still and trapped. Naturally, this implies that the pigeons will shit on you and that there won't be anything you can do about it. You will not have enough money, your heart may be shattered, and your genius might go unnoticed. Whichever direction you choose, God's hand will be telling you to "stop." These are the cycles of learning. Your soul is learning to become the pigeon in the following cycle. It will seem like life is passing you by and that possibilities are just out of reach. Everything you do won't work, and having to be patient will start to feel more like a burden than a benefit. You are certainly fortunate to be a part of life, regardless of whether you are the statue or the pigeon. It is like the moon and the sun. The existence of mankind depends upon both. The moon provides light and controls the tides, while the sun provides heat. Both are necessary and equally significant, even if one rises during the day and the other at night. During this existence, you may be under the moon's influence. Simply let it to hold you. It is going to hurt more the more you struggle. As Mother Moon provides you her tolerance and serenity, lie as still as a newborn. Give up resisting the captivity. Give up fighting against the unavoidable. Let the moon win you over, let the night win you over. There is a still core in every atom. You need to locate your still center. What use does it serve to fight against what was created for you if you are the statue?

You might never understand the reasons behind the suffering, difficulties, and losses you have experienced until you have left this world. Then you will see clearly, I assure you, dear adventurer. It doesn't matter if fate has created you a statue or a pigeon; in the end, you'll realize that everything had a purpose and aided in your development. All experiences, no matter how positive or negative, are worthwhile. All lives, whether they are cherished or horrifying, are essential. From up here, everything makes sense—you'll see."

With Love,

Frida

A Giant Game of Inferiority (Dedicated to Frida Kahlo) by Devi Nina Bingham

Yes, everyone is a masterpiece. It will not appear that way to you since you are being created brick by brick, much like a house. You are the total of your pieces, not just the individual bricks. All you see are the flaws, however the master builder has flawless vision and sees what you are becoming. If you had such an everlasting vision, would you be concerned about the flaws, or would you celebrate, knowing that in the end the house will be a palace suitable for royalty? Because your vision is limited to the dreadfully imperfect earthly plane, you regard your flaws and weaknesses as something to hide. People can see your humanity, even if they don't see their own. They are well aware that they are just as flawed as everyone else, but they are busy concealing this from themselves and others.

It is all a giant game of inferiority resulting in superiority complexes. The greater the superiority complex, the stronger they look and sound, when they are as needy as you, if not needier. There is a world full of needy souls refusing to show that they need anyone, desperately pretending that they are superhuman. Every needy person feels smaller, less powerful, less capable, and less acceptable than everyone else. What a silly way to behave, feeling inferior when you are as deserving of love and forgiveness as everyone else. And, as I already stated, a masterpiece in the making.

What you do for a living will never improve your self-esteem. I was a well-known painter, but it just made me feel inferior to other Surrealists of the period, such as Picasso. Yes, he was my confidante and admirer, but I envied his work because he embodied Cubism, and Dali, of course, wrote the book on surrealistic art. These were the Spanish artists of my day, and I was meant to follow in their massive footsteps? In comparison, my paintings sang vulgar songs of my heartache and misery, but their work condensed a feeling, a notion, or a dream into magical shape and color. I believed that they were so much beyond my ability that it was preferable not to copy them, but rather to paint as only I could. I just had one thing to offer the world: my brokenness. And, to my delight, the rest of the world comprehended the language. It is a mistake to try to be someone other than yourself. It is who you were meant to be, whether the news enrages or excites you. And soon, this voyage will come to an end, and from this side of Heaven's door, it will seem like such a little time to have lived. If I could offer you one piece of advice, I would tell you to be grateful for everything that has happened (or been denied you) since it has shaped you into the unique person you are. What has formed and sculpted you, particularly the sorrow, has resulted in a person that you have grown to love, since we cannot help but love ourselves. Without the disaster that struck me down, I would not have had a motive to resuscitate myself and make such acclaimed work.

Look at individuals you admire, and you will see that their lives were not simple; success did not come easily to them. They worked their way to the top, and it is the effort that gives us wings. Isn't it true that the ugly caterpillar wrestles in its cocoon until it's ready to fly? As you writhe in the darkness, trapped as I was to your bed, tied to a shattered body, you will see no meaning in your suffering. You will turn your gentle face away from God, because He appears to be little more than a sadist. It will appear that you could perform far better than He. Will you remember what I said in these difficult times, that you are only seeing a small portion of your entire life, not the good that lies ahead? When you reach the bottom, you are on your journey back to the top. When your spirit hurts with loneliness and emptiness, someone is only around the corner and will arrive just on time. How do I know? Because I lived at the bottom for as long as anyone can and survived.

Did I perform well at enduring? At the moment, I would have told you, "I have given everything I can give; I cannot offer anything else." I was wrecked on the jagged rocks of love; I was a dinghy adrift in the wild sea, battered and broken to bits. On the beach, I lay in my wheelchair, wearing a body cast, unable to stand or even wash. But in the end, I had two arms and two hands that worked wonderfully, so I set them to work. I offered what little I had and recounted my sad story. To my astonishment, there were others throughout the world who had broken up on the shores of love and were stranded in emotional wheelchairs. So many people were sobbing inside, just like my paintings did. But did I live life correctly? Definitely not. I was a disaster. But I was proud of my appearance and refused to look amess. I was proud of my abilities and gave everything I had. However, I was a complete wreck on the inside. Frida Kahlo's beauty did not stem from her perfection. It was her elegance, her class, and her will not to give up.

You are a work in progress, so keep your head up, even if you are a mess inside, because you are still being built. As long as you have to be here, you might as well create something you can be proud of, giving something to the world despite the agony you are in. Make it beautiful, because the world needs more beauty. You don't have to be like others; being different is contagious. But always, always hold your head up high. 

With love,

Frida