Slowly slowly

It is funny sometimes when something happens in life, or for me when I heard an expression, and the first time round you may not even take any notice. Nothing really stands out, it is just an ordinary every day moment. But then when the same thing is repeated, you may notice, raise an eyebrow, and even say to someone, “wow this is a little familiar”. But when the 3^rd time comes around, you start to wonder if there is some message or lesson that God or the universe is sending you, and you had better stand up and take notice. For me it has been the expression, slowly slowly.

You may remember back in Rishikesh, the beloved gardener who seemed to really “get” life with his sparkle in his eye and his cheeky smile. He used to teach us asana at the ashram and one of the few English phrases he used was “slowly, slowly”. At the time, I thought it was a great mantra in life but pretty much dismissed it. It wasn’t until I was in the heart of the Himalaya’s and the guide each day would start with “slowly, slowly” that my ears pricked up and I thought to myself, “now that is something I have heard before”. And it really IS a good mantra for trekking in the mountains. But it wasn’t until a very close friend said to me in response to my sad farewell, “slowly, slowly” (meaning patience, we will see each other again) that I said to myself, “Ok universe, I am listening”.

I am someone who usually operates at a pace that I would describe as maximising efficiencies, and others could describe as tiresome.  In my previous life I was very good at filling every minute of the day from 5.30am til 10pm. I am doer, an active person who has a level of determination and also discipline to achieve. With this level of doing and efficiency also comes a level of impatience. I am often well organised (handy trait to have) and always on time (also handy sometimes, in particular when in Europe and catching a train) but it can prove frustrating for me when things don’t go to plan (try catching a bus in Guatemala where maybe today, maybe manana). So like all qualities, it has it’s ups and downs.  At the moment though, it is perhaps the first time all trip I don’t have a real plan, and I am finding I becoming impatient and what to know NOW....what should I do, what can I do, should I meet up with this person, should I go back, should I go somewhere new.....I get impatient and want to rush things and find answers and “know” what the “right” thing is. (Whatever that means anyway, who the hell knows, I have decided there is no right and wrong just different). So I am trying, note the word trying, to heed the advice of the gardener, my guide and my dear friend and go slowly slowly. There is no need to know right now what I am doing next month, crazy and a little bit scary, but I need to practice patience. For this control freak busy bee, that is tough, but hey, what is life about if you can’t practice some of the tough stuff. So whilst I resist the urge to take out my calendar and start mapping out my next few months, I am going to take one day at a time, and enjoy the lakeside view of Pokhara in Nepal, and go slowly slowly.

Not really a direct connection to patience, but a nice bill posted in NYC as part of the "Wall Street Out" demonstrations

Choice

I am sitting in Bahrain airport and I have just written a post about non-attachment and how my week has been about learning lessons of letting go. As I sit here and look around me, a woman sits opposite me dressed head to toe in the traditional muslim attire for a female. The full burkha, gloves cover her hands, stockings on her feet, a small window for her eyes.  And I feel guilty or rather ridiculous about what I have just written. I whine about losing my scarf, my phone, about having to change my plans. How they are presenting life lessons for me. Blah blah blah. I feel stupid. This woman clearly does not have the freedom I have. I can’t even imagine how her life compares to mine. She gets up to leave, slowly covering the only area visible, a dark veil drawn over her eyes. And she becomes nothing but a black ghost. Not one ounce of that woman is visible to the outside world. Nothing that defines her as a person. She becomes nothing but a swathe of black cloth.

Witnessing this brings some new perspective to the loss of my favourite scarf, to the changing of my plans, to the loss of my phone. Sure, I can see the lessons in non-attachment, to really and truly let go of my attachment to things and my expectations on plans and people. But I can in this moment be humbled by the freedom that I have, by the unique opportunity I have to be able to chose, to be a person and to be seen by the world. I am not saying that this woman’s life is better or worse than mine. Quite frankly I don’t know. But I realise how easily I can get caught up in my own reality, my own bubble of existence and how sometimes only looking within can make you forget to look up and around every now and again.  And today, I am grateful that I am not doing that through a veil of dark cloth.

So I was going to blog about my last few weeks in Guatemala, or my time in the fabulous New York city, or my adventures that have bought me back to a country I love Nepal. But for now, I can only focus on the woman at the airport. Everything else about my world seems to be pale in comparison, that my decisions of what I am going to do next, where am I going to go, are really my biggest dilemma’s that I have. However with freedom, often can come fear, with opportunity can come challenge, but this is my choice, to be free, to do what I want. And today, I need to remind myself of that black burkha and the alternative to choice.