Dear Hanuman,
I want to tell you a little bit about myself. I am a
60-year-old white lady. I first saw your name on a menu at a health food store
in the middle of America in 1972. The menu item was called “Hanuman’s sandwich.” At the time
I inferred from this that you had invented or especially liked sandwiches on whole
wheat bread with avocados and beansprouts. Then a few years later I saw a picture of you in an Indian gift shop. You were tearing your heart open with your own hands. It reminded me of a Catholic store Jesus (I also noticed at the time that you were a monkey).
I learned a more and more about you in bits and pieces over the years. I once heard that you stole Sita’s lipstick and put it on yourself so that Rama might love you more. I don’t know if that story is true. I liked the songs I heard about you. They were all bouncy and fun. At some point I began to delight in the sound of your name.
Then I met a teacher who told me that the real love story in the Ramayana was about you. I took notice.
At some point over the years, I realized you had been walking
along side me in life. You have given me strength. I know you’ve helped me complete
my studies and remember to do my practices. I call on your valor when I need
it. Your Divine Mace has rescued me many times. So here we are, years since I first heard your name. Isn’t it something? Now I can pull open my own heart.
And there you are.
