Day 34: Flow

Today, I got my period (on time, thankfully). I think it had something to do with the chakra meditation I've been practicing lately. I have begun to trust the 'flow of life's and I guess life is flowing through me.

And that's not all that's flowing. So are lyrics. As of last night, post meditation, a bulb switched on inside me and there were words!

So I did write a chorus with the words "four Paws and a bad limp" and it turned out quite nice, if I may say so myself. But the wonder that I was experiencing today was something else entirely. I was fiddling with my ukulele to figure verses for the Four Paw song, when something else started playing.

There were words, there was Melody, there were chords and a rhythm. I picked up my ukulele and began to sing. And the words flowed through me. At first I didn't understand what I was singing, and for whom. Or from whom. Then I felt like it's a song for me. From the Inner Me. It was surreal.  So I wrote down and recorded the melody for future reference. And it filled me with joy. It was simple, small and nothing spectaular, for a song, per se. But I  felt some blockage being removed and a river of magic flow through me. Yes, there was blood literally flowing down my nethers, painfully so, but I felt a release. And that is reassuring. I want to embrace the flow. I really want to.


The song (I'll put up a recording later):

"Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me.

I'm the warmth inside your eyes.
I'm the creases in your smile.
I'm the home you've always dreamed of
Inside.

Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me.
Look around... It's me."

Day 20: Taste

The smell of buckwheat flour crackling over butter. The cheese that melted as I pressed the fork and knife down to cut a piece. How the white cheese oozed out of small holes in the buckwheat crepe. The velvety touch of aubergine in the ratatoiulle, and dance of herbs on my tongue. The sweetness of caramelized onions. The fields where everything grew, ripe and fresh. The cows that produced the dairy that made the incredible cheese. The love and compassion of creating a wholesome meal for strangers. The smiles of the chefs as my mother watched them cook our meal. The attentiveness of the ladies who waited on us, with a smile, at the end of a long day on their feet. The intimacy between my lips and the cutlery. The tasteful art and the artful tastes. Gentle music caressing me in the background. The creaminess of everything. The food coma. The generosity and care of those who served us. Their large hearts. Dessert on the house. Sweetness to ride home with. The experience shared.

Bliss. Gratitude. Nourishment. Fulfilment. Happiness.

Day 17: Sleep

Sleep has been the order of the day. And I have no idea where it came from. I had planned to get a massage in the afternoon, but something just told me not to, deep inside. Instead I went to my bed, and played around with my ukulele. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

I had a bunch of dreams, different people in different places, me biking down a steep hill in China, and then eating at a restaurant for a break. Being at a festival of some sort with some old teachers from music school. Meeting an old classmate from my first-ever school. There was celebration and adventure. Everything and everyone from different parts or stages of my life came together; I didn't know where to look. 

I woke up deeply rested, half surprised I even slept that long. To have this state of deep relaxation is a luxury and I am grateful for it. 

I started playing the bamboo flute my mother gifted me. It's hard because the holes aren't placed in a symmetrical fashion. They aren't meant to be. And my fingers aren't used to stretching that far to cover them. And a bansuri is harder than a recorder. You have to get just the right kind of lip pucker, if you know what I mean. My mother saw me struggle and said, "Start with one note." And so I did. 

I'm still adjusting to this week. Some plans are set in motion to help me get back on my feet. A routine is being put in place. Some help here, some medication there, some internal meditative work and some external physical discipline. They all sound like old friends I haven't met in a while and I'm wondering if they will remember me and still think I'm the same resourceful, independent, strong, innovative woman I think I am or used to be. Brief breaks can feel like an eternity, depending on the state of your mind. I'm apprehensive, but also excited. I know I have done this before. I know I have beat this before. I know how to succeed. I have succeeded before. It's been a hard fall, recently, but I know I can walk again. You don't just forget to walk, do you?

It helps, especially, when a guy tells you you're cute just for being you, too. Let's not pretend like that doesn't make a difference. (More on that, another time.)

For now, I'm going to focus on my breath. Breathing in, breathing out. And the gap of silence in between. Nothing more. Each day, one more breath. 

Motto: One step at a time. One day at a time. One single note at time. And sleep. Lots of sleep.

Day 9: Remembrance

(This post is a day late because the Wi-Fi disconnected and I had to wait for it to get back, so technically this post was written on August 12, 2018)

Today it rained. Today it poured. Today, Mother Nature took a cloud and let it rip. And I finally got my period. I haven't ever been this happy to see blood. 

On our way to the clay modeling class, this evening, my mother and I encountered an accident on the road. While we couldn’t stop the car half way, I managed to get a good look. It was a dog who had been hit by a car or bike and was lying on the road, bleeding to death. I could see its head had suffered some serious injury and a puddle of bright red blood escaping it. His ears twitched and his eyes were closed. He was dying. A man, someone I assume to have known who this dog belonged to, was trying to figure out a way to help him. He poured a little water to cleared the blood. In the distance I saw another dog from the area rush to its side. 

I have never been this sad to see blood.

In this swift passing-by, I felt a pang so deep. Something in me connected with something within that dog. And I felt very sad. I felt powerless and immobilized. I could hear a voice in me telling the voice in him: “Shhhhhh… Shhhhhh… I know you are in pain. I’m sorry this happened. It will be over soon. Don’t be afraid. I love you and I will remember you in this life. I’m sorry this happened. Let go.” I wept in the car as we drove toward our class and prayed for forgiveness for his suffering. 

In class, today, we learnt a new technique called ‘slabbing’. This is literally flattening out a prepared piece of terra-cotta such that it is a flat slab, upon which we can either create a design, or imprint upon. My mother and I both chose to imprint leaves on our slabs. The instructor swiftly moved to the tree near by and plucked some giant leaves. It pinched me, when he plucked them, and the one I got was already dying. I was reminded of the dog and said a silent prayer for this leaf. He offered to give me a ‘fresher’, ‘prettier’ one. But this was the leaf I wanted work with. She was beautiful, half lush, half decaying. And I imprinted her onto my slab of clay, immortalizing her memory as she would eventually wilt away. 

Mom's tray

The purpose the slab is to create textures and designs for functional items (or just pieces of art). The instructor gave us several options - a tray, a pencil holder, strips of ribboned clay in an unusual design. My slab wasn’t ready to cooperate with these ideas. My mother made a beautiful tray with her slab, along with a leaf imprint. It had her trademark unconventional style of offbeat symmetry (if that makes sense). With mine, I chose to let my intuition take over. I let the edges fold in, without leveling them, without adding symmetry. In the remaining area aside from the leaf print, I made a round depression (where I had originally planned to add a mirrored glass) with a stencil. Everyone seemed to want to make it a tray for drinks and food. But I wanted it to be special. 

And then I remembered that I have been meaning to buy a sound bowl for meditation. This would be my platform to keep it. So that I may remember this leaf and the dog, and I may pray for their souls, for mine, and for the universal energy that brought us together. 

How it rained, today. 

Day 8: Eight Laps

I wanted to write a post about guilt today, but I've had a major anxiety attack this evening and have zero energy to introspect at the moment. Safe to say, a load was lifted, but another one took its place. I'm dealing with it and will address it soon.

Today, I did 8 laps and a 45-minute meditation session in the pool. I befriended my chakras, and told them it is safe to blossom. It felt wonderful.

I also went through the last two years of music I have created, sung or been a part of and remembered that I am gifted. It felt good to see myself sing and smile and fearlessly emote through music. I feel blessed and fortunate that I have been chosen by the universe to channel and spread this beautiful energy. May I always be worthy of the music.

I like how my face glows when I'm in love. I hope I can feel that glow again some day.