Friday 31 December 2021
The unfamiliar roads passed to reach MMXXII
Friday 24 December 2021
24 décembre
Nous n'avons que le temps d'une vie pour tout expérimenter, tout comprendre, tout pardonner, le temps d'une seule et unique vie pour ceuillir les douceurs qu'elle nous offrent. Pour autant, il suffit qu'on nous parle de malheur pour qu'on oublie les heures qui passent.
Le vieil âge a des exigences que la jeunesse ignore et j'ai beau essayé de me convaincre du contraire, il est difficile d'échapper à la réalité que l'énergie qui m'habitait autrefois me fait de plus en plus défaut. Mais tout cela n'a pas beaucoup d'importance car Dieu sait que j'en ai vécu de beaux noëls dans ma vie. J'en ai vu des 24 décembres où l'air s'emplissait de vivacité et de rires, de disques de l'année et de sapins aux branches manquantes, de vins mousseux bon marché et de canapés ratés, de cadeaux bizarres échangés au cours du Secret Santa avec les collègues, tout ce qui fait le charme d’une fin d’année.
Antish m'a fait le récit d’une scène dont il a été témoin à Rose Hill hier où un enfant, les yeux écarquillés devant un étal de jouets et ébahi par tant de merveilles, s'agrippait à sa mère. Son expression faisait tellement plaisir à voir que la scène m'a été relatée avec cette gorge nouée d'émotions lorsqu’on est touché par l’innocence d’un enfant. 'Cette image suffit amplement à me combler' m'a-t-il dit. Encore une fois il aura tout compris mon Antish, lui dont l’empathie et la sensibilité sont telles qu'il ne peut s'empêcher de tout voir, tout observer.
24 décembre et je t’en conjure existence, épargne-moi toute mauvaise nouvelle (24 heures du moins) et laisse moi profiter d'une bonne bière. Il fait si effroyablement chaud aujourd’hui.
Monday 29 November 2021
Tic Tic Tic
A few more minutes to go before the clock strikes midnight.
Not living according to slogans or inspirational quotes anymore, nopes, not happening this year. being alive is more than one could ask for in these troubled times.
busy being thankful.
Sunday 21 November 2021
Indecent Happiness
The context is such that it feels indecent to show signs of happiness (if not attached to a sense of guilt). Covid is leaving a trail of illness and death in its wake making it stressful to have clear minded views about how to go about with our daily routine. The simple fact of extracting a little bit of joy out of any situation tends to be quickly washed aside by a string of dramatic news.
Kiran called the other day. His mum had just passed away and he wanted to hear my voice. My first reaction to the news was to run and provide him with a shoulder to cry on but a quick reality check made me step back and pull myself together knowing I had to be cautious when attending the funeral. Someone leaving this world is hard enough but when the crowd showing up for a last homage is almost inexistent, it becomes even more depressing for the children. So, I went and the sight of Kiran made me realize how the aching loneliness in his chest kept growing as he watched the body of his mother leave her home. I can't even fathom the isolation and obscurity of people in his position, really heartbreaking. I didn't come back home depressed though, just reflective.
It will soon be two years since the disease has been in our lives and it has now got to the point where we’ve stopped counting the deads, instead praying and hoping that no member of our family be part of the statistics. Each time we thought things were settling a little it was only to realize that a more serious outbreak was around the corner. Becoming paranoid is of no use, so I have decided to keep on doing the few things I enjoy: reading, writing, purifying my home, doing practices, working, enjoying my daily conversations with Antish, going out in nature, taking pictures, drawing small cartoon characters, connecting with my family and also trying to make people happy and helping strangers and keep laughing with mum. There is always so much to do in one lifetime.
Sunday 14 November 2021
Paradise Club et autres histoires
Below is an extract from my brother's book "Paradise Club et autres histoires"
Back in those days, there was a faint element of ethnicity about beaches. It was not just that Choisy was a ‘Chinese’ beach, I remember feeling that Belle Mare was a hindu beach. Of course, you felt that more strongly on the day of Ganga Snan. The families would wrap a sari around filao trees to get some privacy. Bollywood music and bhajans would play loudly from audiotape players. Rural girls would get in the water, dressed in their pink frilly dresses. Mauritian Indians come from Bihar, and had not much acquaintance or fondness with the sea. Ganga Snan was about making a ritual bath in the holy Ganges, and somehow, by the magic of migration, it had become, in Mauritius, a holiday which hesitated between a purification ritual and a picnic on the beach. And us Indians, back in the seventies, entered the water a bit hesitantly, some in their pink dresses, others in fashionable swimming suits. Some good swimmers would show off, venture far towards the reef line, others just stood in the water and chatted with others, as if they were in a steam bath.
And of course, Blue Bay had a reputation of being a creole beach, especially on Easter Monday, or on Assumption Day. In the course of the eighties, Flic-en-Flac unofficially became, among other things, an annex of Sodnac - the place where Sodnac people would drive to, on a Sunday afternoon, just to say that they did go out a bit in the week end, and ended up meeting the one colleagues they did not like at work. Back in those days, Flic-en-Flac was a sleepy village with only one or two restaurants , such as the Sea Breeze Chinese restaurant, where, as a child, I remember glimpsing at with sinful curiosity - as I mentioned above, my parents did not approve too much of Chinese restaurants, with their pork and other strange meats - as we passed by it, one night.
It was dimly lit, almost empty except for one couple sitting close together, two hazy figures with faces looking congealed in yellowish light and shadows which seemed to me to represent the atmosphere of adult love, where a man’s hand crawled slowly across a table to grasp the fingers of a woman, on whose cheek a tear quickly ran, while a waiter with perfectly Brylcreamed hair brought a tray laden with forbidden meats, for those indulging in the tense, secretive affairs like those one saw in those late night movies which I was not supposed to watch. One sin brought the others with it, like the string of sausage which hung on the balcony of Cafe Shanghai, in Quatre Bornes.
It was not just the beaches which had a faint ethnic atmosphere to them. I remember moments of my childhood in which it felt, intensely, like being in another country. And sometimes these changes from country to country happened within the same day. I remember: my father has taken me with him to Bonne Terre, to buy some flowers for the garden. We are in one of those flower fields that you used to see on the left side of the road, when climbing from La Louise to La Caverne, and my father is talking to the owner of the field. It is dusk, and the sun has gone down to the tip of Corps de Garde, shadows are creeping in, and I am standing near the tin shed in which one of the field hands lives and works. He is a rough, plump boy of about twenty , with dishevelled hair, wearing torn pants and a soiled shirt in those twenty shades of brown which men from India are fond of, and he is watering the flowers with the sullen efficiency of the worker who knows his boss is watching him. Peering into the shed, I see a bed, and a roughly cut photo of Dharmendra from an Indian magazine. Looking at the photo and the room, I am not exactly thinking anything, but transferring myself in him, feeling , or imagining that I am feeling, what it is like to be him, a boy from somewhere in Chemin Bassin, who likes to watch movies with Dharmendra.
Another time, I remember standing on the varangue of the Curepipe town hall, with my family, and inside the town hall there is dancing going on, a waltz maybe, white and mulatto people. I don’t know why we were there, but I think my father had to discuss something with one of the men inside, or give him some document - it must have been something urgent, because we were definitely not supposed to be there. It was dusk again, but a Curepipe winter kind of dusk, and I saw the spire of Sainte Helene sharply delineated against the sunset. The sharp spire silhouetted against the sky, and that waltz music from inside the hall - it felt European in a forbidding way, like London in those grainy news footages of the Blitz.
And another time, my father has taken me to see Mr Nice. My father would say: ‘Viens avec moi, je vais voir un monsieur’ and, maybe because he was speaking French to me, that ‘monsieur’, brought in my mind the mental image of a fat white man wearing a suit, a trench coat and a fedora, with a cigarette hanging loosely on his lips, like in the French movies. But Mr Nice was nothing like that - he was the printer who did my father’s text books, and he was a thin, nervous, horsy faced Chinese man, probably from China, because once inside his flat I felt exactly the same atmosphere which I was later to rediscover in China - the same heavy smell of dust and eucalyptus oil which I associate with Chinese medicine, the furniture from Hong Kong - while my father and Mr Nice talked business, me and Mr Nice’s son crept under tables and ran around sofas made of aluminium and plastic, which felt nothing like what I saw in other people’s houses. Of course, Mr Nice was not his real name, but every year he sent us a calendar with “Nice Printing” on it, and he was always smiling and jovial in his tough-but-warmed hearted Chinese way, and so we always called him Mr Nice.
Tuesday 2 November 2021
Zahabia and Zulfiquar
Tuesday 12 October 2021
The Unwanted Visitor
We have an unwanted visitor in our home whom we can't wait to leave. Yes, my sister contracted the virus last week and now we have to make sure everything is properly sanitized day and night so that my mum does not catch it. It didn't come as a big shock though as we all felt that it was just a question of time before the virus started manifesting inside our immediate environment and now that it is here I can't stop thinking about last year and the hysteria in which the world was trapped when we came to learn about the disastrous effect of corona on human life. A year ago we were learning about how the virus was progressing, inviting itself into one country after the other, one town, one organization, one household and today, whether I want it or not, death seems more palpable than ever. I take comfort in the thought that a majority of people is spared, ending up with mild cold or fever and the statistics should be enough to reassure me that chances are that we fall into the category of the lucky ones. After all, we are vaccinated and the risk of real harm and damage is lower than for those who are not. But, what if?...what if something really bad was to happen? Is it how it would all end? Would this be my last post on this blog? the last time I am writing here? And if that were to be the case, what would I write about? what would I say? Would my mind be calm enough to process everything that's in me? Would I ask for forgiveness to those I have harmed, people and creatures? to life, for not having done my best? to myself, for not having taken time to study more?
I always thought of myself as someone with no regrets but let's be honest, I have to admit that I do have my load to carry and I sincerely hope that these are regrets that I can still purify before it's too late:
- I regret having been blinded by lust and sensual desires and doing shameless shit
- I regret having hurt people out of ego and ignorance
- I regret not having translated good intents into actions more often
- I regret not reaching out to enough people
- I regret not documenting myself on how to do all those things I did not know how to do
- I regret my low self-esteem and lack of courage at some turning points in my life
- I regret the arguing and harsh words towards my brother this past year. I should have behaved better :(
Thursday 23 September 2021
Quel temps magnifique pour s'en aller
Deux enterrements deux jours de suite, le mois de Septembre a encore frappé! Lundi, celui du père de Vimla dont la vie avait ressemblé à un mauvais roman et qui vers la fin a cruellement manqué d'affection (karma noir) et mardi celui de Chit Dukhira, un ami de mon père qui s'exprimait souvent en bhojpuri, un homme affable, cultivé, populaire, un intellectuel respecté qui publiait regulièrement livres et articles (karma blanc). En revenant des funérailles je ne pus m'empêcher de remarquer à quel point il faisait beau. Certainement un des plus beaux jours de l'année jusqu'ici et selon moi la journée idéale pour tirer sa révérence. Cela m'a même frôlé l'esprit qu'un jour moi aussi je m'en irai dans un ciel d'un bleu aussi parfait, accompagné par le chant des oiseaux.
Aux obsèques, je suis tombé sur Vicky et les années n'ont rien entamé de sa bouille et de sa bonne humeur. Il n'a pas changé, parvenant, avec son naturel, à me soustraire un sourire des lèvres et à me mettre un peu de baume au coeur. Il est difficile de décrire ce genre de personnage solaire. Je souhaite à tout un chacun d'en croiser au moins un dans sa vie. Vicky est comme ce poème sur lequel on tombe par hasard et qui transforme notre vie à tout jamais, celui qui nous transmet ce sentiment de soudaine liberté et de gaieté. Il ne s'est jamais marié, n'a jamais eu de compagne ni d'enfants. Certains diront qu'il a été malchanceux mais moi, au contraire, je pense qu'il fait partie des 'happy few', de ceux qui ont la chance de vivre selon leurs propres règles sans avoir à se soucier en permanence des autres.
Nous avons aussi croisé M.Chadien en revenant à la maison. Comme ma mère, il est issu de cette génération des années 30 qui voit s'éteindre au fil des années leur voisinage tant aimé. Il a perdu son oeil vif et sa démarche enjouée depuis le décès de sa femme et même si je le vois souvent arpenter notre rue, je ne peux m'empêcher de constater que cette aura assumée qui l'accompagne inlassablement faiblit de jour en jour. Il se hâtait aux funérailles et nous a glissé que M. Dukhira était un ami qui venait lui rendre visite à la maison. "Rendre visite", voilà bien une expression en voie de disparition. Qui rend encore visite à quelqu'un avec une boite de biscuits Bakers de nos jours? Cette image de paquet biscuit et de tasse de thé laiteuse, trop sucrée dont on nous servait de force reste statique dans ma mémoire. Dans le temps, il était mal poli de "recevoir' sans offrir une tasse de thé.
Je suis parti à deux enterrements et tout ce dont je me souviens ce soir, ce sont ces petites choses qui me font du bien; un ciel d'un bleu éclatant, le rire d'un ami au milieu d'une foule solonnelle et morose, voler deux phrases à mon voisin, avoir soudain envie d'une tasse de thé laiteuse et trop sucrée. Je me dis que c'est ma vie, là, tout autour de moi, faite de sensations et d'émotions qui esquissent leurs propres pas de danse. Même si tout change et mue, se dilate et s'évapore, il reste inlassablement en moi une vitalité infaillible qui me fait avancer avec légèreté. Et j'aime, oui, je le dis sans honte, j'aime cette conversation que j'ai avec ma propre existence, ce dialogue simple et sans détour qui me permet de vivre à la hauteur des valeurs que je me suis imposées et d'honorer les miens.
Friday 27 August 2021
Days of the week / Feels of my life
I believe that each day of the week has pretty much a taste, flavor, texture, color or even sound of its own that makes up one's routine.
Mine goes something like this:
Funny how when you pay attention to these tiny details they suddenly end up adding a special 'feel' to your existence.
Sunday 22 August 2021
Intangible memorabilia
A beautiful obituary was dedicated to Madhvi in Mauritius Times last Saturday: http://www.mauritiustimes.com/mt/tribute-madhvi-narain/
Madhvi is my neighbor and I cannot resort to the use of past tense as I refer to her. Too soon, too weird.
Her father, whom we affectionately called Chacha Nund, was my father's very close friend and those two acolytes came to settle with their respective families in Quatre-Bornes in the mid-sixties. The Narain house faces my window room and every night a light that spread its comforting luminescence over her back porch and part of my garden used to be kept on. This week, after being done with all evening rituals that follow a funeral, this same light has been switched off marking the official status of the house as an empty one. I can't recall the number of years it had been on and for but now that the atmosphere has turned drastically gloomy, it kind of numbs my heart. At night time before drawing the curtains, I take a few seconds just so to stare at a house which a few weeks ago we would still call a home. And not just any, one filled with warmth, life, music and laughter. This home is now four walls.
My mum, my siblings and myself spent endless Saturday evenings watching Dev Anand movies at chacha Nund's and these happy images suddenly rush to my mind. I remember four weddings taking place on our two compounds and the joy we felt decorating our two gardens or the indescribable pride and happiness we felt when Aruna was proclaimed laureate and how we rushed over to congratulate her, I remember the ongoing exchange of recipes and LPs between our homes and the bond that united our two families. The 00s saw the sad demises of chachi Rani and dad followed by chacha Nund's long illness before he too left us a few years ago. And now, Madhvi...
My heart is filled with that unpleasant feeling called sorrow which I have knowingly chosen to wrap myself into because sometimes pain is the only familiar affliction that seems to make sense. And I think I need it, I need to nudge myself to dive into melancholia as a reminder of how vulnerable and humane I am. It is a fact that in the last stages of her life Madhvi was trapped into an unbearable suffering which she is now delivered from, a thought which we take comfort in. I don't know if things could have been different or should have been different for her. We choose to remember departed ones as happy souls but how far is that true? Who can truly know if people were really happy or not?
My true sorrow tonight lies in the reality that though I try to pretend the contrary, sometimes I am not always ready to let go of souvenirs of happy yesterdays and it is hard for me to accept that they are just chapters of an intangible memorabilia that I don't need to cling to. Watching this house next to mine trapped into darkness is as if a little light inside of me just went out as well.
Saturday 31 July 2021
Nothing lasts forever so yeah, thanks for the good times
Sunday 20 June 2021
Shut up and learn!
We have been handed individually a list of our flaws at centre yesterday. This is how members of the sangha perceive me:
Monday 7 June 2021
Comment passer une vie à essayer de donner un sens à sa vie
J'ai parlé à Mike samedi soir et il m'a dit qu'en contractant le virus une seconde fois, cela l'a affaibli. Il m'a confié qu'il s'était réveillé en sentant son coeur lâcher. Mone senti moi pe aller, mone penser c'est la fin... Son medecin parle d'inflammation du coeur, un des effets secondaires du variant anglais.
J'ai du mal à m'exprimer à propos de cette situation. Cela m'inquiète, cela me tracasse. J'ai lu le mail qu'il a adressé à sa psy. Mettre de l'ordre dans sa vie alors qu'il est physiquement diminué, saura-t-il y parvenir? S'il devait être le protaganiste principal d'un livre, je l'intitulerai 'Mike ou comment passer une vie à essayer de donner un sens à sa vie’. C'est comme si il attendait que tous les éléments soient réunis pour enfin commencer à vivre. Il recherche l'équilibre parfait, cette harmonie où tout doit être bien câlé à sa place afin de se dire oui, ça y est, on y est . Sauf que...
Sauf que ces moments éphémères sont ce que font une vie. Elles ne sont pas la vie. La vie, elle, est faite de fractures, de brisures, de choses irréparables, de débarras, de renoncements. Tout cela afin de pouvoir mieux avancer, grandir, accepter et comprendre.
Mais je ne suis pas là pour lui faire la leçon, je suis là pour l'encourager, le soutenir et l'aimer ainsi que le font les amis. Je suis le témoin d'un mariage qui se désintègre, d'une histoire qui se termine dans l'amertume et cela me navre. L'époux qui n'a pas tout dit et l'épouse qui cherchait dans son mari un prince charmant qui la sauverait et qui lui fournirait une vie de rêve. Deux illusions entrechoquées.
Accepter qu'il n'y a plus rien à sauver de ce mariage et avancer sans culpabiliser. You both gave your best shot but you just were not meant to be together.
"Même si la vie n'a pas de sens, qu'est-ce qui nous empêche de lui en inventer un?" écrivait Lewis Carroll.
Bientôt 11 ans que j'ai créé ce blog et je réalise que je l’ai fait uniquement pour justifier mes pensées, pour donner un sens à ma perception des choses, pour justifier ma façon de voir la vie, pour valider mes opinions, pour valider la personne que je suis, pour qu'on ne puisse pas me contredire ou contrefaire, pour me complaire dans mon illusion à moi. Ici, je règne en maître et souverain absolu. Je n'ai aucun vis-à-vis, aucun contre-poids, personne pour me juger, personne à qui rendre des comptes, je peux me lâcher et je peux même mentir, inventer, embellir et façonner à ma guise. Et cela fait un bien fou. Car la vérité, c'est que ça fait du bien d'avoir son espace à soi. Au fil des ans, ce blog m'a aidé à structurer mes pensées, à dédramatiser certaines situations, à m'auto-consoler, à jouer avec les mots, à me sentir exister, à évoluer et surtout, surtout, à me remémorer et me souvenir de certains pans de ma vie. Quelques uns de mes anciens posts me font chaud au coeur. Ils me ramènent à l'instant précis où je les avais écrit, à mon spleen ou excitation du moment. Il me revient tout à coup en mémoire la personne que j'étais cette année là et je mesure le chemin parcouru depuis. Il y a des teintes de mélancolie mais dans l'ensemble beaucoup de joie et de liberté même pendant les périodes un peu sombres.C'est très réconfortant de relire des passages d’une vie et de se dire que la seule constante, finalement, est l’état d'esprit pétillant que l’on entretient année après année, de se redécouvrir soudain mélancolique et positif à la fois.
Sunday 9 May 2021
Avoir été.
Le temps était splendide aujourd'hui. Un vrai beau temps de mai qui bizarrement n'a pas su m'appâter. Ayant conscience que mes mouvements seraient restreints à l'extérieur et que l'inaccessibilité à certains lieux allait entamer ma bonne humeur j'ai préféfé m'enfermer à la maison à rire des sketchs du tandem De Caunes - Garcia à la grande époque de Nulle Part Ailleurs. Qu'est-ce qu'ils étaient bien ficelés leurs textes, putain! un humour à la française parfois un peu irrévérencieux mais toujours tellement drôle. Certes, pas du Devos, mais vraiment, alors là vraiment, marrants car très inspirés.
Mon cerveau enregistre beaucoup d'informations ces derniers temps. J'ignorais qu'il fût assez vaste pour contenir toute cette rimbambelle d'idées et forger des opinions aussi diverses mais chaque soir quand je parle à Antish, je lui formule tout ce que j'ai observé de ma journée et je me transforme en cette espèce de moulin à paroles qui n'en finit pas de vomir des phrases. Souvent dans ces moments je souhaite qu'une cloche sonne et me ramène à une paranthèse plus calme et apaisée. Je crois que j'ai besoin d'un grand galop à perdre haleine, besoin d'échapper aux prévisions de la logique, besoin de croire que ce nouveau monde qui se dessine dans mon quotidien n'est pas aussi effrayant qu'il en a l'air, besoin de croire en quelquechose de meilleur que la vérité.
Une année est passée, et à chaque palier nous avons essayé de nous persuader que le pire était derrière nous, sauf que la réalité, elle, nous a à chaque fois rattrapée comme pour nous rappeler que rien ne pourra être comme avant et qu'il est temps de choisir un camp. Lequel? je ne le sais pas encore très bien. Nous nous sommes enfermés dans des ghettos de la pensée bâtis sur des formules toutes faites pendant des decénnies et voilà que sur ce quai de gare nous cherchons confusément et en vain les trains en partance pour la destination que nous souhaiterions. Mais de destination il n'y en a point et à la place, il ne reste que des traversées dures, laborieuses et longues.
Il faut accepter et non se résigner que tout est dans l'ordre des choses. En classe, nous discutons inlassablement, semaine après semaine, de la responsabilité que nous avons envers nous mêmes et de celle que nous avons envers les autres. Cette simple pensée ne devrait-elle pas être le plus précieux des outils qui nous permettrait d'avancer? Pourquoi, au contraire, nous freine-t-elle autant? Prendre à bras le corps notre rôle, aussi simple et effacé soit-il, ne serait-il pas un début de solution qui nous permettrait de nous mettre enfin en résonance les uns aux autres? Que reste-t-il à transmettre à la génération à venir? ou plus important encore qu'avons nous à receuillir et à apprendre d'elle? Nous occupons une planète abîmée par la pandémie et nous essayons de sortir de ce sommeil trouble et agité en nous raccrochant aux souvenirs d'une vie passée alors que les jours qui nous attendent ne demandent qu'à être façonnés comme de l'argile.
Dans l'histoire de l'humanité nous 'fûmes' et nous 'avons été' . Aujourd'hui, comme à chaque grand tourbillon dans l'espace temps, il nous faut une fois de plus 'être' sans pour autant savoir comment faire.
Sunday 25 April 2021
(Dis)connecting
All my past travels have been constantly and unrelentingly on my mind these recent weeks and I keep asking myself why. Is it because the world is changing at such an accelerating pace that it brings about a sense of fear about what awaits me once I will venture out of my small island in an unknown future? It's undeniable, the planet will not resonate with the same vibes anymore. Human tragedy is all over the place with this pandemic bringing a complete upheaval in its sway and for someone like me who has been blessed with the opportunity of seeing a few destinations, I can already feel the wind of change occurring.
I have always traveled for pleasure. And from what I have gathered, it is very much different than travelling for work. Travelling for leisure gives you ample time to pause, enjoy and reflect on the small experiences that come your way as you visit places and meet people. There is no rush, you can sit on a coffee terrace and lazily stare at passers-by for hours or walk down the streets with no specific destination in mind. Actually, one of my favorite word is 'flâner' which literally means 'to stroll'. It is one of the most enjoyable things to do on holidays as it is the perfect moment to slow down and wear a relaxed smile on your face without having to worry about any daily chores.
I am a keen traveler and very often I imagine myself in the shoes of a globetrotter. My wildest dream would be to take one year off and travel the world in search of that 'je-ne-sais-quoi' which makes life so exciting. It is difficult, though, to leave an island so remote as mine, a place where air fares are extremely costly, almost unaffordable for the average income earner. Were I married with kids, it would have been almost impossible for me to go anywhere. Since I am not and that I used to earn sufficient money in the past with no big loans to repay, I was blessed with the luxury of treating myself to a trip abroad every now and then. My air ticket booked and I would become a kid again in my head.
I can never understand people who feel blazé taking the plane. As far as I am concerned, my journey never begins when I step inside an airport. Oh no! No, no, no. It starts way before (probably two weeks prior) to the actual trip itself. I have this crazy childlike enthusiasm which sticks with me and I have come to realize that the more I age, the more enthusiastic I become about the whole idea of stepping inside a terminal, so much so that I can already smell the perfume of coffee past the immigration desk in the waiting area before boarding. There is no sound more enchanting to me than the 'ding ding ding' in a departure hall and the musical voice preceding flight announcements. I absolutely delight in observing passengers with their luggage rushing over to the check-in counter, others getting all emotional and tearing up at the moment of goodbyes and farewells. The emotions contained in their gestures and reactions are always something priceless to watch. I love the perfume that spills in the air in the duty free shops, I always long for that little lump in my stomach the minute I board inside the aircraft and can't get enough of the warm, welcoming smile of the flight attendant at the door. Yes, it does sound mellow and stupid but I couldn't care less. I enjoy every micro second of that whole process.
Then, there's is the trip itself. To me travelling is first and foremost a mindset. It is about being bold and open enough to welcome whatever experience lies ahead, good or bad. I enthusiastically look forward to discover the culture, food, architecture, history, scenery I am yet to come across while ensuring that I show respect to the people I will come across, from the cab driver to the hotelier, the cashier in the shops or the waiter in the restaurant. I have realized that the more friendly and respectful I was the more enriching and warm my trips became. People around the globe are so different yet so similar. They all carry their own stories that, at times, they are willing to share with you. All these cultures I have been exposed to have a soul which speaks to the core of who I am, a soul which truly resonates in me. With time it has dawned on me that it is a combination of little things that create that soul; the human stories, the attachment to the homeland, the culture, the history, the scenery...
There have been years of frustration when I was unable to fly and I became all morose, feeling a real emptiness inside of me, longing to be hypnotized, captivated and fascinated again. Exploring foreign lands helps peeling a new layer of understanding in me. The world holds indescribable beauty and poetry. Had I not stood long minutes mesmerized by Van Gogh's 'Starry Night' one afternoon maybe I would not have been able to fully grasp the very essence of melancholy. Had I not attended that midnight projection of ' The Rocky Horror Picture Show' I would not have immersed into joyful subversiveness . Had I not walked into a gompa at 5am and assisted to a tantric prayer session, my spiritual flame would not have awoken to what it is today. Had I not met Leo, Nick, Josie, Bashar, Anne, Thomas, Kundan, Sholto or that sweet old lady owner of a fragrance shop in Innsbruck, my outlook on life would definitely not be the same. All these 'strangers' ignited something in me. They offered me a broader perspective of what life could be. By travelling mindfully, we connect. We connect to people, to places, to authenticity, to honesty, to diversity, to truth and thereon we quietly find our place in this world.
As I write tonight I cannot but feel a little scared of what is out there, nervous about venturing into a covid world where the 'feel' of what makes a place so special has suddenly faded. A page in human history is being turned, it will take us time to recover and the idea of not being able to find a connection to the spirit of what makes a place unique and special is kind of depressing to me.
Thursday 18 March 2021
The Ides of March
My brother-in-law was born on the 15th of March and he always refers to his special date by saying: "Beware the ides of March!" in that very theatrical shakespearean manner, just like in Julius Caesar. My sister and him have been married for the past 30 years and I've always found it amazing how well we get along. I can't ever recall getting into any fight, dispute or serious argument with him. There are, of course, a few subjects and topics where our opinions differ and even serious issues where we can not get to see eye-to-eye but all in all we always make sure that our discussions do not degenerate to the point of becoming embarrassing. That probably has to do with the fact that, despite both of us being quite opiniated and pretty much stubborn, we are both of non-conflictual temperament and we understand and appreciate each other's character. I was a teenager when my sister got married and it seems like yesterday.
These days I often surprise myself thinking about all these seasons of my life gone by, how light and colorful they have been, a palette of misty hues and strong colors, depending on the years; the childhood years which I call the spring of my life, protected by the walls of parental love where yellow and orange predominated, then summer and its hazes of adventure and curiosity, experimenting with romance and sex ( red, scarlet red) and now beginning of autumn where softer tones (beige and caramel) keep me alive, where pure love is all that matters. Soon enough winter will come and who knows whether it will be icy grey or bright silver? All me to decide maybe. For now all I know is that the global health crisis has thrown us abruptly into a new age, a new world, one of volatility and uncertainty where most people's comfort and safety bubble have suddenly exploded. I feel relieved and thankful that my unconventional mind has kept me safe from this blizzard so far but at the same time I cannot take things for granted. Luck has its limits and I am very much aware that a next crisis is always looming so I better roll my sleeves up and keep working hard at sustaining a healthy mindset.
Tuesday 23 February 2021
Grant your blessing
By this coming Friday, we will reach the end of this year's days of miracles and going to the center every evening has been such a delight. Vimla has toughened the program this time so I have to admit that I was somewhat lost during the first two sessions and had to call upon my patience to slowly, steadily, quietly let all these words of wisdom and practices find their way inside my system and allow me settle within myself, feel more comfortable and at peace.
Yesterday we did a meditation on lovingkindness whereby we had to generate strong compassion towards 03 categories of persons:
- the people we love
- those we are indifferent to
- those with whom we do not get along
It is my 4th time encounter with this type of meditation. It has helped me assess my progress on the path as the first time I tried it, I felt extremely uncomfortable generating compassion towards people I did not like, but I believe I must surely have evolved as I can truly generate compassion towards the few toxic persons still around. Impermanence which is one of the essential doctrines of Buddhism has also been tackled at large and will be dealt with more profoundly in the weeks to come. Driving back home, the subject already started tickling my brain cells when it suddenly dawned upon me that I was not the same person that I was when I rose from my bed in the morning. Impermanence is there in our face at every step of the way. Change comes constantly at every second and death can be imminent. It should not be seen as a friend or an enemy but simply as an occurrence. Isn't it what life is all about actually, a series of occurrences? The friends we had yesterday are not the same as those we have today, the job that we had yesterday is not the same than the one today, feelings and perceptions that we had yesterday are not the same anymore, they evolve. Many events occur and they change us but and at the end of the day they are only the reality, that we, through our beclouded minds, perceive. They are not the true reality that really exists around us. When doing the four kayas it was mentioned that through the emanation of form and mind, we can reach this level of perception where everything becomes pure, clear and knowing. Our conditioning has polluted us so much that it is only through analysis, introspection and meditation that we will be able to declutter our mind.
To help in this process there is this beautiful prayer that has been given to us. Hereunder are a few lines of this prayer which speak to the very core of who I am:
Grant me blessing that wholesome thoughts arise from within
Grant your blessing that desire may lessen and contentment increase
Grant your blessing that I remember the certainty of time and death
Grant your blessing that I practice impartial pure perception
Grant your blessing that I develop devotion and respect
Grant your blessing that the duality of hope and fear be extinguished
Grant your blessing that I see non-dual wakefulness
In the pervasive space of evenness,
Even the world "suffering" does not exist.
So who ought to be striving for Happiness?
In the kingdom of Samantabadra, Happiness and Suffering are of one taste
Without grasping, they liberate of themselves
May I attain Samantabadra's kingdom in this very life
This, which to me, resembles a contemplation perspiring serenity and equanimity, fills me with humility and peacefulness and gives me a broader perspective of what our existence is really about.
Tuesday 19 January 2021
To grow Happiness in 2021
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