Traveling alone

What joy there is in traveling alone

Attuning to my self and around

Listening in and out

Moving where I am being called to

Open in such a self-confident way

Being seen as self instead of part of a whole or bounded construct or overlaid with assumptions about how to approach, how open I would be

And that chuckle in me that, finally, what is also coming out is my little defiant, determine child that says “let me do it alone, my way” “I can do it on my own”

Adjusting my pace to my own inner drives,

An acute sense about safety, risk-taking and courage

When to linger, when to create an impenetrable membrane, when to look up and when to keep my head down, my gaze guarded

When to fill up fully, drink in, when to just take a quick sip and move on

Brief connections with women, children, and some men about shared experiences, we exchange knowing glances and smiles

With women, there is always recognition of strength, shared joy and compassion, of sisterhood and being out, being in fully, of showing up

The noise is different; it is a harmony or orchestra to attune to.  Without another to really bring home, fixate, presence, drive down possible complains or impatience or judgment, any such notions pass over me so swiftly, so lightly, nothing remains.

My energy is focused on here and on the next here, on moments of connection that arise so surprisingly, so sweetly, that keeping or staying in place with anything that darkens me or makes me rigid is not possible.

Traveling along is moving with and in, it is swaying with, connecting with such small moments and with the largest whole beyond me, us, this moment.

A midnight swim

Gliding through the water

The moon crescent above

Frangipani flowers raining onto the water

Steam rising like fairy-tale mist from the surface

As I part the water’s surface, the waves circle in ever expanding soft undulating hills, creamy, velvety soft.

To the side of me and behind me and when I turn back, nothing is untouched anymore, there is no before or after, in front or behind.

All sense of time, direction and separation dissolves into the magic of this night.

Indian traffic – surrendering into the flow

The taxi I am sitting in on this Delhi morning on my way to the Ghandi memorial and the red fort feels sturdy, a hardy bulwark, the constant, loud honking is in concert with all the other vehicles, pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, busses, trucks, vendors. The ring road is well-structured, organized, manicured, somewhat predictable.  Then we turn into old Delhi.

A smaller road, commerce, businesses, goats being sold on the sidewalk, carried over the shoulders of small men and smaller boys, led through the traffic.  Men cross the street, indicating to rushing, oncoming cars to slow down – they do or they push other cars out of the way to flow around the men.  The men rush or slow down but never stop and they don’t seem worried.  I wonder how often accidents actually happen.

Then we turn into a back street, of course against oncoming traffic and I am being transferred to a bicycle rickshaw.  Now immersion really begins.  My driver is so hardy, so small, so tenacious, so sinewy.  He is right in the middle of everything bigger than he is, than we are. Motorbikes honk, busses stop apruptly and jump lanes in front of us, cars squeeze us in from both sides, hardly leaving room, just millimeters so as not to get scratched.  The traffic gets denser and denser and the variety of traffic participants increases. Now a camel joins, motorbikes, taxis, SUVs, more vendors and goats crossing.

At first, I feel so heavy, so colonial, so big behind that small driver.  I feel as if everybody is looking at me and judging me.  I feel in the way. Glad to be dresses in long pants and a conservative shirt. And, I feel so vulnerable but that eases. Then, I amaze myself, my feet are not pushing the imaginary brake pedal, I don’t clutch anything. Making sure no body part is leaving the imaginary boundaries of the rickshaw. Planting my feet very solidly.  I am relaxed, trusting whatever flows outside us, around us, to continue doing so without crushing us.  It has been this way and will continue to be this way for a long, long time.

I look around and notice so much.  The passengers in the bus are so crowded, carrying bags, holding on with blank expressions, the goat vendors, people sleeping on the sidewalk, some covered completely by tarps or cloth, some curled up without anything. A man is retching, another weaving his way unsteadily around broken pavement. Tourists are buying peanuts and cool drinks.

And then I just am, with this moment. I sit up straighter and my confidence sets in. It is what is is. This is not taking place for the first time – what a release to surrender, to yield. What enjoyment, a bit of giddiness, a bit of serenity.  This trip to and fro is more memorable to me, more etched into my being than any of the tourist attractions I am heading for.

Leaving

What is it about this slow un-meshing, that separation, that unbending, untwisting, unfolding that is so hard, takes so long, is in itself a coming and going?

It happens at all levels, physical, soul, mind, energetically, changing the way of keeping space for and within.

It's like a fire that keeps reigniting itself but the flames are not as high, not as soaring, don't last as long before they fall back into glowing embers again.  The times between ignitions increases, the heat of the flames, the glow of the embers gets less and less.  It's like leaving happens before it has been thought of, thought into being.

Leaving is like removing tentacles, strings, lightwaves, tapestry strands one by one.  There are so many. And yet, the act of removing them is in itself an act of coming together, coming closer, for if they are too stretched, they can't be unhooked.

Leaving is like doing and undoing, like making happen and unhappen, like writing and re-writing history.  What is it about leaving that always leaves the sense of doing it too early or too late? Of doing it to someone or having it done to?

And at the best of times, there's a leaving that is also a returning,
a leaving to be able to come together more fully;
always knowing the risk of moving away too far to do so or with the knowledge that coming together again is meant to be;
always knowing that doubting develops a momentum of its own, that we can think and intent something into being.

Fall temple

The tall slender trees are framing both sides of the forest road.
They are so regal in their bearing.
The top branches are arching into a vaulted ceiling.
Leaves are already on the ground, smaller tress are filling in the spaces.
All is golden, orange, brown with bold shapes of grey and black.

The sky is turning pink from the early sunset, enhancing the red colors, the golden colors, the orange colors.
Like candles having been lit everywhere, that warm, vibrant, luminous glow.
And even though I am outside, I feel like I am inside.
Inside a temple, a cathedra, a palace...an architecture so perfect, that boundaries are redefined and cease to exist.

I am fully awake, taking in all that is around me with all my sense and all my being.
A path veers off, more golden archways leading into the distance.
A meadow, offering a glimpse of the sky, surrounded by curtains made of fall colored trees, drawn to show a design bar none.

I walk, no flow through this magic place, hardly believing my luck to be here, in this moment.

The flavors of togetherness

What flavors would togetherness have?

I sense it would have the taste of chocolate.  Smooth, dark, silky chocolate, melting on one's tongue, having an almost citrusy taste, lingering for a long time, very little exploding in deep flavors.

There would also be the comforting, solid, creamy, fresh flavor of vanilla.

And passionfruit.  That burst of full, ripe, fruity sweetness that tastes of exotic places which carry a promise of adventure and sensuousness and passion, full of life.

There would be something unexpected like mint or ginger or green team enticing, so bold it awes and bursts out, healing, speaking of travels past and future

Of course some chili - spicy, tangy, spiking passion and energy, causing excitement and even a little pain if too much is added - but well worth it

And cinnamon as reminder of the seasons, memories of gatherings, of outdoors and indoors, of lifetimes lived.

What a bouquet of flavors to lean into, yield to, play with and love. I can taste it all.

The best of partners

Looking into each other, looking out together, dancing, walking, being as one.

Scanning, intuiting, knowing, tracking, responding

Listening, respecting, honoring, refining

Co-creating, building onto, adding perspective

Blending, bumping into, sharpening, mirroring

Being patient, having fun, being sincere, caring, growing and supporting growth

Awed by each others gifts, enhancing gifts

Looking at each other without turning away, without tightening or stopping or over-flooding

Able to hold each others gaze with deep knowing, into the depths of each others eyes and beyond without too much or too little, not to long or too short, disengaging and engaging in synchronicity

Loving, moving forward boldly

Trusting, defining space, giving space, taking space

Anticipating, excitedly discovering new and relishing the old

Appreciative and grateful,  always knowing that together will be better than without,
that the space created for others can be held and shaped into something sacred, something that allows those within the space to grow and envision themselves beyond what they thought possible

Holding anger and disappointment, saying what real without fear of moving or pushing or pulling away

Knowing hurt might happen and it will be just a bump in the road

Walking new roads and bringing those discoveries back

Learning with and from each other, curious, interested, bringing those gifts to the world - together.