With the feather-clad pilgrims
Readjusting. Finding a new place. In this flotsam and jetsam jungle of Western refugees. People who have fled civilisation as they know it, hoping for something more. Looking for it in experience, in community, in religion, in Asia, in travel, in hallucinogens, and in themselves. This is a bay of pilgrims, although perhaps some have lost their way. Caught up in backwater eddies, swirling in a perpetual circle, unable to propel forward. In a world of dread locks, leather/feather clothing ensembles, bare breasts, shamanistic healings and mushroom shakes, its hard to see beyond the pungent smelling fog.
So me? What on earth am I doing here?!
I think at the Heart of it, I am looking for self-acceptance. For love. For practices that lead the way into the darkest corridor of my being and teach me to laugh, cry, love and be in all of that.
I walked here once before, and led by those who have been before me, I learnt to hold myself a bit gentler. To let life roll through me, and accept all it stirred within me, without judgement, without fear, without anxiety. Instead, to bring curiosity, interest, humour and most of all, a loving-kindness to myself.
This practice, staring into my most fevered neuroses, unstitched me. Released layers I still can’t grasp.
I come back, for an experience I can barely name. A practice, that terrifies, excites, intrigues and bores me all at the same time.
When my third meditation class leaves me feeling like I’ve been wrestling wolves, I look around the serene beach and ask again: What on earth am I doing here?!