Thailand Part Two

Tags

anxiety, awareness, depression, mental health, Self realisation, spirituality, Thailand, Travel

Yes to everything:  Thailand Part Two (very rough draft chapter for book)

I’d even thought of saying to M about the anthem (in Thailand they play the national anthem in public places and everyone stands up), and certainly I’d vowed to be more aware of my surroundings… But lost in conversation with M I didn’t notice the anthem and everyone standing up. M and I were at a cafe upstairs, my husband had gone downstairs to find a shop, he said he could see us just chatting away, totally oblivious.

I dragged myself away from the feeling of burning shame, it was an accident, I was totally absorbed in conversation. I decided to let myself off, we were at train station with backpacks, we would have looked like we’d just arrived and didn’t know. I was actually looking at language learning with M, trying to do my best to be a good tourist! I do have to focus on things, I struggle to read a menu whilst someone is talking to me, or to talk and pay attention to directions. I can be engaged in conversation and completely oblivious to what’s going on around me. Good for the person and the conversation, can cause occasional glitches, like this one.

As well as panic buying snacks from the 7/11 for the journey, packets of crisps, pastries and something chocolatey called Euro Rolls, we went to eat a meal before getting on the train. In the restaurant we met a young British man, he said of Thailand, ‘It feels safe; I didn’t think I would but I do.’

Is this how I felt in India? But then to come to Thailand and realise that maybe I didn’t? Or is it just that Thailand provides such an elevated level of comfort? Was this our reward for five months of India? And for thinking India was fine, which it was, but Thailand, oh my God I felt so safe, so easy, so at ease…

It’s like its all laid on for tourists. They even make the beds for you on the train. The seats are soft anyway and then they put a mattress on top and then they put the sheet on. There’s a lovely blanket in a bag, white with square raised bits, like a towel but soft, warm to the touch, it holds the warmth of your body and is big enough to really wrap yourself in and cover your feet right up.

The upper beds are a bit smaller, but the lower ones are almost big enough for two. So cosy, plenty of space, and there was even three little mini metal pegs that fold out from the wall to hang your stuff on.

The train was full of Westerners and we met a nice Irish man who was travelling with his wife and young son. A lovely friendly woman member of staff taught us Thai and took our orders for breakfast.
As usual I was too excited to sleep, and sat up writing in my little cubicle long after M and my husband had gone to sleep.

The train arrived early the next morning, and after a coach, a ferry and a taxi, we arrived in Haad Rin, Koh Phangan.

There were lots of healthy looking dogs of all different breeds, medium-small, fluffy, Golden Retriever types, but many with a ridge, even small fluffy dogs that were not like Ridgebacks at all. We saw a woman on a white bicycle with two dogs balanced on her lap/the handlebars, and two dogs in metal crate like side car. Dogs sat on the top of the two tier round white tables that were often outside shops.

We saw what looked to us like a giant cat stretched out long and fluffy on a table. We saw a woman entering a shop, pick up cat, squeeze it to her and kiss it, she did this three times. Where we were staying we saw cats held like babies, being carried back to staff’s room, ‘My cat.’ One sturdy, whiteish, one orange with bright eyes, one Siamese with a collar with a plastic bow and a name tag; all well fed and healthy.  The orange cat visited us for an hour while we played cards and was fed banana cake left over from the train, all we had. At night we often heard the meowing and fighting of the various cats.

Most of the staff were from Myanmar/Burma, we should have learned Burmese not Thai. One of the staff sounded like a cockney.  ‘I copy Danny Dyer, he’s my favourite actor,’ he said, and he and my husband discussed Danny Dyer films. One of the staff showed me their tattoo, ‘It means freedom, I used not to have freedom, but now I do.’ We played pool with one of the Burmese reps, he coached me and M.

We went to the party beach: little plastic buckets of alcohol and mixers with straws, loads of handwritten signs on neon card saying f***ing and c***. Is that what we sound like? We went to the Cactus Bar: a group of Burmese men and boys did amazing fire club displays, twirling, throwing them to each other, they were really good.  The trees nearby were covered in lights flowing down, and when we went for a walk on the beach it all looked very nice. There were people doing UV body painting, sitting in the sand in front of big colourfully decorated screens. Beach sellers came round with fake flower garlands, light up ears, inexplicable toy monkeys in bright neon colours, and even more mysterious, Connect 4. All the bar staff were from Burma, our barman showed us pictures of his girlfriend who was from Belgium. The music was a mix of ‘inappropriate given there were little kids present;’ good; and cheesy- they played YMCA in the middle of it all. An old black dog wandered about the dance floor. The staff organised balloon games and a terrifying looking but actually okay game of fire limbo with the little kids. We had cocktails, the menu making a pretty list, Mai Tai and Butterfly and Black Russian; Sex on the Beach and Tequila Sunrise.

Waiting for 2am, our agreed time, feeling tired…  At the table next to me, a woman’s foot, no nail polish, half buried in the sand. The sand so soft it felt unreal, as if shipped in, but couldn’t be, the beach is so big. Seeing my blue ring, like the room in Chennai, thinking, ‘Every moment on earth is a blessing,’ simultaneously noticing a light out at sea, one of the boats, ‘Every moment you’re alive is a blessing.’ Lots of lights but I picked just one.

There was a swimming pool where we were staying but it was often busy. We found a swimming pool further along the beach, up some steps, part of a restaurant and rooms resort that was practically empty. We ate at the restaurant and asked if we could use the pool, which was usually deserted.

Walking along the beach to the pool, monsoon clouds, the sea all different colours, green, dark blue, pale blue in patches.  The beach was full of driftwood, one piece was big, worn pale, with lots of branches, beautiful.  There were piles of small pieces of darker driftwood, gathered ready to burn. Lots of broken glass including terrifying broken bottles, jagged ends up, and old coconuts, dark brown coconut leaves huge like branches, and plastic bottles.

The swimming pool below the restaurant was surrounded by fake boulders, and the complex was done out like a fake temple. Grey fake stone doors led to toilets outside near the pool. There was a sink outside, in the open air. The water came out of the tap warm; there was always one or two white blossoms in the sink and standing there you looked down at the beach and the sea. There was an outside shower with a faux stone mermaid; I used to always think someone was standing there as I swam.

The three of us went swimming together, practicing strokes, doing tricks and just enjoying the water totally unselfconsciously. Family at its best are people you can just be yourself with, and be forgiven.

 

What do you do when everyone else is drinking cocktails, you ordered iced coffee cos you have a blog to write? Take a sip. When they can’t drink theirs and offer to you, even though you ordered iced coffee cos you have a blog to write? Take a bit more than a sip, even though don’t really want to, but don’t finish them. (Like the potion!) Return to room when all back, start blog, and keep writing until it’s the end, after everyone else asleep…

Lying on my back after yoga. ‘Why do I feel so bad about everything?’ White light above me. ‘It’s your programming.’

Tired after working hard on blog and posting it. Took a walk break by myself, to decompress, relax my body before sitting, and socialising, at dinner. On the beach. ‘Enjoying yourself can be its own religion.’ I thought of my husband. Day off tomorrow. I got back to room, my husband was listening to this song on YouTube, ‘Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think; Enjoy yourself,while you’re still in the pink; Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think!’

 

I thought I’d try, maybe get a short skirt and a top, or a dress, to wear in Thailand at least. The man in the shop didn’t seem all that friendly, and then when I picked something up and asked to try it on he shook his head and said no, meaning that it wouldn’t fit. I picked up a couple of other items. How about this? How about this? No, no, he said half laughing. It didn’t even seem like he would even let me try anything on, so I left. Okay, I thought, this is one of those not so nice experiences, but let’s not make it worse than it is.

On the way back there was an, albeit more expensive shop, with a friendly Burmese shop assistant and a European manager. I had a brief look and then said, have you got stuff to fit me, and told her what had happened, oh no, that’s mean, no, we have European sizes, come tomorrow. I couldn’t face doing anything more that day.

Just before my husband left to take my step daughter back, we were having last minute anxieties about our booking choices, as we had a friend from the UK coming out after my step daughter went home and we wanted to make sure where we were staying was suitable as well as not too expensive. The more we thought about it the harder it seemed to be to make a decision. ‘First world problems, where to stay on this luxury island, and how much to spend per night, £10 or £12,’ my husband said, grounding us.

We booked a few more nights in the same place to give us some time, and decided to all go choose somewhere when they got back.  The place where we were staying said we might have to move rooms for the extra bit, and asked us to come and choose the one we wanted. (We’d paid for a fan room, and been given an ac room, with the ac turned off. If they sold the ac room, we’d need to move.) The ac rooms were also bigger and nicer. In the middle of this, my husband’s taxi arrived and he had to go, leaving the final decision to me.

Ahh, anxiety, responsibility! I was shown around the fan rooms by Danny Dyer and picked one, the biggest. But when I got back to my room, I thought, did I check the beds properly? Our friend had a bad back, and so does my husband sometimes; what if the beds are uncomfortable? I went into a cold sweat. I lay on the bed, paralysed. I even cried. Then I stopped, I went for a walk; I remembered what I had decided: Be more aware, and if you haven’t, rectify it, if you can.

The first time I walked past the office. The second time I went in and asked could I just look at the rooms again, I was in a hurry before and I don’t know if I checked them properly. No problem, of course. Both sets of beds felt exactly the same; my decision was ok.

Back at the room I did a long, proper- as in mindful, into it deeply- yoga session, then healing, then accidental nap.

I beat myself up about not going swimming, ‘What have I even done today,’ but so tired, hence low mood, maybe PMS?  I ask for time alone but it is dangerous.  I pulled myself together and went for dinner. The onsite restaurant had little bells on each table to ring for service. I disliked doing this, but it only made it worse.  I’d wait for someone to come, be fearful that no one was coming.  Plus I often used the space for writing, which was fine, but meant that they didn’t always know if I wanted food or not. The next morning I was hopelessly self conscious at breakfast, loads of people near loud,  I felt invisible, people pouring in, not ringing bell, confusion re ordered or not, who coming to take order…

It was a weird place to be alone, a party/couples/young people holiday place by myself for four days: a bit sad and lonely but safe, with the nice staff and an easy environment, and a good opportunity for writing, yoga, swimming, I told myself.

I spent the first night in a state of anxiety about spiders, having had one only a couple of nights before. I stayed out in the evening and kept the light off so I wouldn’t see anything. The second night I heard people coming back at 3am and being sick, and sick again in the morning. Even once my fear about spiders had subsided a bit I still couldn’t sleep.

The next day I tidied up and asked for the room to be cleaned, to reduce risk of spiders, writing in the restaurant while it was being done. A nice waiter told me about what its like during the Full Moon Party (the night my husband and friend would be back), more people come every day, this whole place full, kitchen forgets food orders… ahhh. ‘Crying, lost phones, we tell them, don’t take out, don’t take card, just take enough for how many drinks you have but…’ Not looking forward to that AT ALL.

Every day I made lists and stuck to them, yoga, sort out and take laundry, go for breakfast, write, swim, lunch, town, hair… Stick with the plan, the to do list, if not happy at least satisfied… Get up early, do yoga, collect laundry, tidy room, empty bins, go shopping, WordPress, yoga, hang up clothes, unpack stuff shoved in backpack while room cleaned, made space for J, breakfast, writing, walk, swim, writing, dinner…

To the swimming pool cafe, the wind and the rain got up whilst I was there, the staff rolled down the clear plastic at the sides of the covered but open sided ‘indoor’ eating area.  I ordered french fries, got more than I could eat, and a pot of Liptons tea. There were a few other tourists, young Westerners, couples. I read my notes, organising my work, conceptualising it, feeling that it was okay. I had some social anxiety, which was better the next time I went, I ate lovely Pad Thai made specially for me with tofu, it was sunny and I ate it outside.

At the swimming pool, thinking, wouldn’t it be nice to be a successful writer and have a swimming pool. But I am writing every day and I am at a pool, which I have to myself. ‘I have everything already.’

Getting into being alone at the same time as looking forward to them coming.

Orange cat came by in the evening and was still there after I came back from dinner, as if keeping me company. I tried everything to sleep, all the exercises I know. The only thing that really helped me was thinking about the little orange cat sitting outside on the bench, like a talisman.

Two young Irish women who had looked after M on her last night, been dancing with her whilst we sat outside, chatted with me about travelling after breakfast one day and invited me for a drink in the evening. I’d said maybe, thinking I wouldn’t want to, then as the day wore on, thought why not? But when it came to it they were in a group with some young guys. I thought they wouldn’t want to see me, so I walked past, eyes down.  ‘You’re not the kind of person people want to spend time with.’ Ringing in my thoughts. But I didn’t want to make small talk with a group of drunk people, I only wanted to chat soberly and with just them. I’m a control freak too, as well as not always being very nice.

I read a post on WordPress about, ‘You may have noticed how it’s easier to criticise yourself than have other people do it.’ That’s what ‘internalising the negative messages’ actually means. After twenty years in mental health I only just understood that.

Bethany Kays posted on her blog on WordPress about how it was much harder to be mindful without her husband present, about how she’d wanted some mindful photography alone time but found that she was afraid without him there and that was distracting. Bethany has real things to be afraid of, alligators, spooked wild horses, and uses a wheelchair. My fears were all in my mind, but still, I recognised the timing of this post.

DSFB had been getting very deep and I was struggling to absorb his message. I wish he would explain his philosophy more simply, I thought, and he did: ‘Try and be fulfilled; Be nice to people; Enjoy what’s in front of you.’

After two nights I realised I could watch Netflix. I mean I knew that, but I forget to enjoy myself, I think only of writing and anything that might need to be done, forgetting that in the evening I could watch something. I mean if my husband is there I’m with him so that’s taken care of, we’ll spend time together or watch something that he will have downloaded and organised for me.

Anyway, I spent the third and fourth evenings sitting out on the balcony with the cat, watching stuff on my tablet.
‘That looks like my kind of evening,’ my neighbour said returning to get ready to go out, looking as if she’d rather stay in, me with my feet propped up on the table. ‘I’ve even got a cat,’ I said. And the battery lasted right up until the end, then died seconds after it* finished.

 

I went to the office to see if we had to move rooms or not, she said yes.  I quickly packed up, she’d said ten minutes. But I wasn’t sure we’d understood each other.  I went back. ‘You can stay.’ Maybe she’d misunderstood me and thought I’d wanted to move, maybe she’d had a think and rearranged some bookings. I went back and unpacked again. The fan rooms we were offered were fine, but this was much better! I was so glad I checked. This was one of those times when I got it right. Packing, unpacking, back and forth to the office, I was very hot, but happy, and looking forward to them coming.

 

I went back to the shop that wouldn’t serve me and bought some gold hoop earrings. It was part pragmatism, it was the only place where I’d seen cheap earrings, and part wanting a do over. I didn’t want that every time I walked past or thought of that shop or that man it would be about that not so nice day. Now it was of him smiling as I paid for the earrings, me sitting on the little step outside, unwrapping them, putting them in, me happy with my new haircut and blow-dry, the first time I’d had my hair blow dried for months.  Afterwards buying a pack of cigarettes and some strawberry coloured lipbalm from the 7/11. Returning  home, ordering a beer- at not quite 12 o’clock- and taking it back to the balcony. Happily waiting for my husband and our friend to arrive, listening to Prince and co playing While my guitar gently weeps, putting on my pink lipbalm and my kohl from India, making mild smoky eyes…

(*Anne with and E two episodes second night. First night finished off last episode of Thirteen Reasons Why Season Two, and watched all the discussions afterwards. Apparently the awful stuff depicted is happening in American High Schools every day. I know my stepdaughter and her friends didn’t like it because they couldn’t believe things would be that bad and that relentlessly bad, because their school in London isn’t like that, or not as far as they know anyway. And that the legal stuff is accurate, without giving away spoilers.)

Thank you very much for reading

TRAVEL UPDATE

In Tokyo, having a very interesting time.  I have met up with B, writer and fellow blogger I met via WordPress and we have been discussing the big questions! Here until Monday then back to India- and my husband!

Throwback Thursday

Dream analysis for beginners (first published September 2014)

Pretty much every night I have loads of dreams and yet I have never before seriously considered analysing them. I have done the looking outwards, seeing signs and cues, feeling at one with The Universe and so on, and to be honest, I thought I was kind of done. I didn’t realise that there was a whole other world to explore. I didn’t really understand about working with The Unconscious and I still don’t, but I have been reading a book* that talks about these things.

When I got into Wicca, I found out my friend was into it too, and we compared notes. She read over twenty books and made copious, beautifully written notes, studying thoroughly and buying proper ingredients before casting her first spell. I read a couple of books and jumped straight in, making spells by loosely following what was in the book, adapting according to whatever I had in the house, and writing my own words.

So whilst I’m respectful of all the literature, theories and teachings of others, at the same time I believe in a just-have-a-go DIY approach, trusting my own intuitions and responses.

I’m having a go at dream analysis, not the concrete, dream dictionary kind- if you dream of a white horse it means that the next period of life will be sinless and positive (I almost wish I had dreamed of a white horse now!). I’m just letting the meaning rise to the surface, letting it work, letting the knowledge sink in. The book I am reading said that it is up to the person having the experience to interpret it. In terms of finding the message, making sense of it, it’s the same kind of ‘knowing’ as ‘knowing’ what to do in healing.

I’ve ignored my husband’s advice this time- he suggested I write my dreams down on a pad kept by the bed the moment I wake up, but writing it down would mean it was writing, and writing is a different thing altogether. So I just think about it, them, as I’m dressing, as I’m driving. Sometimes I talk them through with my husband. Later, once I have let the meaning come, I write it down on whatever scrap of paper I have with me. I don’t even mind if I don’t remember all of my dreams, I am just trusting that the ones I do remember are the ones I need, or will suffice.

I dreamed about doing something on a computer, some kind of document with lots of different tabs, keys or sections. I kept looking at them but each time I did it I knew I was doing it in a way that was longer in the long run. As I looked at all the tabs I had to open and close them all individually, when I knew there must be a way of doing them all together. I knew there must be a better way, a way to do it all at once but I didn’t want to stop and go and find someone to teach me another way. Even though my way wasn’t as good, I would rather do it that way just because I knew it and because of my aversion to being taught new things. I don’t mind learning about new things but I don’t much like the experience of asking for help and being taught something new, especially in public. I also don’t like stopping. Pausing, realising my way might not be the best way, asking for and accepting help. These are the things I find difficult.

My lesson: be aware the next time I feel I’m doing something in a familiar but could-be-better way. Even stopping reading when I would usually carry on until I am stiff and desperate to move, hungry or thirsty, getting out of bed, going downstairs, finding my notebook, writing this, was a start, as opposed to just carrying on reading in bed and ignoring the message of the dream. How do I know it was the message? It leapt out at me, even while I was reading, it just sort of surfaced. I could have got distracted by the detail of the dream, the words or tabs or what the tabs were about; but what stood out was me: endlessly repeating a lame way of doing things because I was too stubborn or impatient to stop and ask someone to show me a better way.

I agree with those who might say, well, you could have taken any meaning you liked from that dream. It’s true, you can take any meaning from anything, depending on what you see and what you’re looking for. That’s possible for your job, your garden, your drive into town, let alone something as potentially strange and unusual as your dreams.

*The Unselfish Spirit by Mick Collins

Yes to everything: Thailand

Tags

awareness, Bangkok, Japan, Self realisation, Thailand, Tokyo, Travel, writing

Yes to everything: Thailand Part one, (very rough chapter for book)

The flight to Bangkok (from Chennai) was at 10pm.  Unlike the UK, it goes from ‘Security,’ to ‘Boarding,’ with no ‘Go to gate.’  I got in a panic at the last minute, thinking we were late, but there was a big queue at the gate for Bangkok.  We met a group of young Indian men who were going there for a long weekend, like people from the UK would to Paris.

One of the young Indian men sat next to me on the plane, it was his first flight, he was next to the window, me in the middle and my husband at the aisle.  He took a selfie with us.

From the window I watched the lights of Chennai, so pretty.  I only realised how higgledy piggledy Chennai was when we saw the lights of Bangkok, laid in straight lines and orderly patterns.

It was the most cramped flight we’d been on, ever.  My husband couldn’t sit with his legs straight, there wasn’t enough room for his knees.

There was a bit of turbulence during the flight and on landing there was a short runway and some G force on landing.  ‘Very exciting for you,’ I said to the man.  He said, ‘Yes and very nice to meet people like you two.’

Thinking about being more mindful in the moment.  On the plane I pushed past a man to get out of his way and let him on, actually that was more rude, as he wasn’t ready, he was still putting up his bags.  I should have just waited, and moved when he was ready.

The chain on my Om pendant is a bit small, I knew it was but didn’t say anything at the time.  This can be rectified.

I got up to go to the loo, and sat straight down, even though my legs were still fidgetty.  ‘Do you want to get out again?’  My husband asked.  ‘Thank you,’  I said and got up and walked the length of the plane, feeling the slight turbulence through the thick springy soles of my flip flops, walking steadily, balancing between the rows.  Rectified.

Next time, pause.  Pause before taking action.  Any action?  Is this possible?  Pause before every action.  Be aware during every action.  Would time expand to allow this?  Would the pauses increase in length as we used them, or to allow us to use them, or in response to us using them?  Like a more positive version of how everything slows down in a car accident?  Try it, Rachel.  Try it, and report back.  Our actions are important.

Being in polite countries, Thailand, Japan, should be good for that; using a soft no, not criticising, always smiling, not raising one’s voice.

We arrived at 3am.  We got confused and thought we had to fill out forms to get a visa, this was so hard on no sleep; we had to change cash, change more cash; we panicked about not having enough as there were no ATMs in that bit and you couldn’t pay on a card.  We got passport photos done, the passport photos were actually good, for passport photos and for no sleep; the first thing that struck me was my green eyes and steady gaze.

In the queue I went out to the loo and ended up, stupidly, waiting for ages; a loo had become free but a Thai woman had been in and recoiled.  I checked, it was a bit blocked, but really, ‘I’m from India,’ I wanted to say, ‘That doesn’t bother me,’ but I went along with everyone and waited; luckily I didn’t miss our turn in the queue.  We queued for ages before finding out we didn’t need the visa forms after all.

I kept thinking we were in Japan; I was a country ahead.  At check in I’d had to show them my onward flight to Tokyo, in a panic as my battery was low and I wasn’t on the internet, having forgotten to download it, forgetting in my panic I could have accessed my emails easily on my husband’s phone.  (For Tokyo I downloaded everything, screenshotted it all so I could just get to it with a couple of clicks and slide to all, flight details, onward flights, bank balance as proof of funds, AND had everything printed out.)

We needed to pass the time before the earliest we could arrive at the guesthouse, which was seven am.  We sat at a little cafe and had green tea, chocolate brownie and bananas, then we got a taxi to the guesthouse.

The roads were quiet, no beeping.  There were more cars and less bikes, and a lot more people on the bikes were wearing helmets.  There were amazing buildings, like the best new buildings in London, skyscrapers and even a Gherkin.  Big brand names on the skyscrapers, Samsung.

Police stopped a driver who had stopped on a zebra crossing, unthinkable in India!  Big wide roads, toll roads.  In India on the way to the airport there was a toll road, the toll booth man wasn’t looking so our driver just drove off!  I don’t think that would be done in Thailand.

Washing hung up on balconies but on hangars, so it took up less space rather than spread out how we do in the UK.  Washing obviously dries easier in Thailand.  There was no rubbish.  Later, I saw some rubbish bags, put outside shops to be collected, it was still very early.  Everything looked so clean, seemed so ordered, and so quiet.  Clearly money was spent on infrastructure.

It wasn’t as much of an assault on the senses as India, things matched, buildings were coordinated, there wasn’t as much colour.

I could see why people who have been to India could feel superior/could be annoying- but I’m not any better than anyone else, anyone* can buy a plane ticket and go- and have the experience, but it is a different experience to for example, Thailand.

*health and plane fare permitting

Our guesthouse was in the old town, quiet.  There were washing machines on the street, that you could put coins in and use!  I met a man with tattoos, my uncovered tattoos an icebreaker, and it felt safer talking to strange men in Thailand.  I felt hyper and friendly to all.  There was a little cafe as part of another hostel that was open.  She was very friendly and served us jam and toast and coffee.  It was sort of self service, with a kettle and toasters on a shelf, although she brought us pretty little china plates and packets of jam.

We sat on a narrow long bench like table facing the front window.  I greeted a man outside on the street with a lighter, and asked him for a light in sign language/English, and had a cigarette.  I felt tired and spaced out.  I needed the loo and to lie down.  We clock watched, waiting for seven am.

At seven am we rang the bell, we actually rang a medium sized bell hanging to the side of the door, as instructed by a sign on the gate, ‘Ring bell, then wait.’  Another sign said, ‘No Thais please.’  (I don’t know why.)  After a few minutes a Thai woman came out, in night clothes crumpled from sleep.

The guesthouse had dark brown wooden floors, full wooden bookcases like an old study and rich dark wooden staircases.  Our room had pale wooden floorboards, a metal four poster bed but without the curtains.  Mosquito mesh windows looked out onto the garden thick with plants, a wooden fence and beyond the quiet street.

We got into bed and slept.  A bed, any bed, feels so good under those circumstances.  A loo, a place of your own to rest and shower.  It didn’t matter too much that it was a rather thin and uncomfortable mattress, and didn’t matter at all that it was a shared bathroom.

It rained, we listened to it while we were cosy in bed.

When we woke up we went to an easy Westerner cafe, full of tourists, with a pool table.  It was expensive but so nice.  Soft flat big noodles sexy in the mouth.  Hummus and tahini drizzled in olive oil.  Puffed up pitta bread.  Pretty coloured pickles.  The hummus was creamy and delicious.  The pink pickle and olive oil made beautiful swirls on the plate like a work of art.

There were big screens showing people doing amazing stunts, at the edge of buildings on skateboards, parkour, rock climbing, gymnasts, extreme yoga, and foot stamping Zumba music.  I could have watched that all day.  Are those people magic pixies put there for entertainment, or perhaps they are a metaphor re what a person can do?

We went to a department store and bought an adaptor, always one of the first priorities after arriving somewhere new.  The streets seemed so quiet, we wondered, was Monday a holiday?  (It seemed to be the quiet day in Thailand)

I went out by myself.  There were layers and many wires at junctions, birds nests of wires like in India.

Crossing the road, although much easier than Chennai, zebra crossings work, not same as UK but much better than India, I was still a little hesitant, I thought, can I cross with you, will you help, a woman appeared and I crossed with her.

The wonders of the 7/11!!!  Everything, vests and t-shirts in black or white packaged like baby gros.  I bought razors and talc.  Everything wrapped in plastic, even shampoo and lighters.

I went out in a black cotton dress, sleeveless, just above the knee, my hair long and loose, bare shouldered, no stares, free, light, bare legged, feeling the breeze.

I’d gotten so used to covering up in India that it just seemed normal.  Feeling the sun on my bare shoulders and the air on my legs was light and lovely.

People’s Instagram pictures of themselves in very short dresses with low cut tops, seeing thighs and cleavage had started to look weird.

There was a little shop nearby, I bought any drink out of the fridge, it turned out to be a Red Bull which I didn’t realise until later.

In the little courtyard garden of the guesthouse, a huge aloe vera plant on roof terrace hanging down, in Pondicherry we’d seen aloe vera plants in pots on doorsteps, what looked like bamboo, little pots with plants hanging down from the terrace roof, wooden framed with plants growing through and around, metal table and chairs.  A bird, a lizard, a squirrel smaller than UK ones with big fluffy tail and a white belly like a stoat or a weasel.

I sat at the metal outdoor table with my water, notebook, Red Bull, cigarettes, writing, writing, writing.  This is what I do now.  This is me 24/7.  There’s no distinction between work me and me me, I work just as hard, hard enough to deserve success, after all, I do this all the time, noticing, observing, noting, then typing up most days for a couple of hours.  Not Red Bull, ahhh!!!!  But when in Rome…

‘I love it here,’ I said to my husband.  ‘What’s not to love?’  He said.

We went to a Thai place for dinner and ate peanuts, tofu, broccoli.  I had a beer and afterwards we went for a walk, just like we were on holiday.

I would recommend anyone travelling to India for a year to take a few weeks out and go to Thailand for the food and vitamins especially if you are vegan.

It was like visiting the R&R planet on Startrek, my husband’s reference, I am more familiar with the relaxation spaceship of Battlestar Gallactica.

Walking around in the evening we saw a rubbish truck and workers in hi vis with gloves, sacks, and raffia baskets sorting through the waste and recycling.  At our guesthouse they had big green bins like in UK, I’d asked which bin for which, the man at he guesthouse said to put all in one, presumably the rubbish collection staff sort it, not householders.

We walked down the Khosan road, once the hippie backpacker area, now barely a hippie in sight.  Bars opposite each other played very loud competing music, the whole place was crazy busy.

Most exciting for me, I saw a Boots!  I didn’t really need anything, I just wandered around looking and enjoying the air con.

We sat at a small table on the street outside a bar and had an orange juice.  People watching.  In an environment like that it’s so easy to remember to be in the world but not of the world; no interest in it, no competing, no envy.  But it was kind of nice to know that all that is there to drop into, the Boots, the hair and nail salon next door to the bar, if I wish.

A nice looking black and white cat came over, it went over to my husband’s side under the table.  ‘Stroke it for me,’ I said.  He whipped his hand back fast.  ‘Good job I’ve got quick reactions,’ he said as it tried to scratch him.

We walked down a road with a line of trees beautifully lit up with matching gold lights.  It was so beautiful, the whole road lit up and all coordinated.  The road itself clean.  It was only lit up that one night, there’s a photograph of us under the lights.

We had breakfast at a Thai place by the canal, muesli and fresh fruit and yoghurt, perfect proportions of all, with lovely fruit.  It was cheap, and next to a laundry.  I arranged my laundry, we greeted each other then the laundry woman got restaurant staff to translate.  Everything was so fun and friendly.  ‘It’s like every encounter is a joy.’  I said.

We got a rickshaws to the station, to pick up our train tickets.  The rickshaws were completely different, bright pink with fancy metal work and grand looking reclining padded seats, no luggage space behind the seats, not functional like Indian ones.

The front of the bun shop at the station was decorated with ‘love messages,’ ‘from your roti.’  We ate at a noodle place opposite the station.  I had iced yoghurt drink, very cold and absolutely delicious.  A man complimented me on my tattoos, he was either one of the staff, or a friend of the staff.  He gave me some fruits, lychees, or like lychees if not.  He said, say this to your husband and told me a Thai phrase.  I repeated it back, then told it to my husband, and everyone fell about laughing.

That’s another difference between India and Thailand, in Thailand one can potentially have more of a laugh.  Thai people generally are playful, and Indian people sometimes struggle with the British sense of humour, tending to take things literally, meaning that several of our jokes have fallen very flat.

We met M, my stepdaughter, at the airport, she’d flown direct from London by herself.  We took her out for dinner at the nice Western restaurant we’d gone to when we arrived; had cocktails and took her to the Khosan road.  As well as the signs for cocktails and cheap buckets there was one saying ‘We don’t check ID,’ which made us all laugh.  The competing music was on again.  Little street stalls sold interesting things including scorpions, I think roasted to eat, although I didn’t stop to look closely.  In the middle of all this, ‘What’s going on’ was playing.

The next day we took M to Wat Po by rickshaw, that was the main thing she wanted to do, go in a rickshaw, and we chose Wat Po.  Although we’d decided we were over tourist stuff in India, seeing the enormous Reclining Golden Buddha was a wonderful experience.  I had to go round again, I didn’t feel that I had absorbed the sight.  I still don’t, maybe its just not possible.

That evening, we got the night train South to Surat Thani, that is where you get the ferry onto the island of Ko Phangan.

Travel update

I am in Japan, by myself!  I left my guesthouse in Thailand at 11am on Sunday and arrived at my guesthouse in Tokyo at 12.30pm on Tuesday.  I have been getting dinner, coffee, exploring on foot, been to a gallery, been speaking, getting more coffee, and writing in communal area.  Here are some pics of my hostel, I have a little curtained capsule in a twelve bed mixed dorm.

Writing update

Trust the process, the things I notice, the conversations I find interesting, are the things to write about, even if some seem more or less interesting; everyone likes different things, some the food, some the spiritual bits.

Thank you very much for reading.

Throwback Thursday

Everyday Gratitude  (first published August 2014)

Yesterday* was a good day. The weather was nice which helped of course. Today it is raining and it is already an effort to recall the feelings I had yesterday. We had returned from holiday the day before, the kids (my step children) had gone home and my husband was back at work. I had an entire day with which to do whatever I wanted.

We are often told to think of people in poor countries and feel grateful for what we have. I agree, but I don’t need to think so far afield to feel grateful. I think of myself even ten years ago, I didn’t have all that I have now. Twenty years ago I was sometimes short of money for food and bills; I didn’t have a reliable car or money for weekends away. I am also sure that the childhood me would have been happy with the life I have now: I have all the freedom I want, true love and two cats!

I did three loads of laundry, and enjoyed it. I remembered how lucky I was to have a working washing machine at home. In the past I have had to use a launderette or wash everything by hand in the bath, neither of which I enjoyed.

I went shopping and got food to make a healthy home cooked meal full of vegetables for dinner, having eaten out a lot on holiday. The fact that we ate out so much is also a cause for gratitude. I went to the pool for a swim. In my purse I have a swim card, paid for on a monthly direct debit, which entitles me to go swimming as often as I like. This makes me very happy. I did all this in a reliable car, which is booked in for an MOT next week, and although I am financially aware of this expense coming up, it doesn’t fill me with worry or fear.

I wrote and posted a blog. I sat in the garden with the hot sun on my back and read a good book. I did a bit of housework and prepared dinner and I didn’t mind doing any of it. I was grateful for the house and the food, happy that all I have to do is this little bit of action (cleaning, food preparation) and in return I get a nice home of my own and a filling, healthy dinner.

Of course, a major contributor to my happiness was the absence of any problems: nothing wrong with the house or the car, nothing wrong with my health, no emotional problems. Also, I wasn’t lacking anything. I had everything I needed. It hasn’t always been like that. There have been times when I have been short of healthy food or clothes or moisturiser, things that notice.

Everyone laughs at how much I take on holiday. But I have noticed recently, what a pleasure packing is, because I have lots of clothes I like, that I actually like wearing, are practical and that I feel good in. I don’t spend a lot of money on clothes, but I seem to have everything I need at the moment. So when my jeans got sandy at the beach, I had another pair. When it rained and those got wet, I had a clean dry pair to put on. And when it got cold I had plenty of warm tops and jumpers. On the last day, just when I was down to the dregs of my suitcase and wondering what to put on, I suddenly realised I had more stuff that I had hung up in the wardrobe, and found a nice, comfortable outfit for travelling home in.

I didn’t write anything down while I was on holiday, so it was in the peace and quiet of yesterday that everything began coming back to me. My stepdaughter saying to me, you’re so good with little kids, I remember when I first met you, you used to play games with me all the time.

Getting up at 5am to go and watch the sun rising over the sea, just me and the kids. Remembering the obvious: the things you give attention to, grow. God and religiosity is closer and stronger the more I pray. OCD recedes if I ignore its ridiculous compulsions. Prayer and healing is easier if done often. Although I might want to brush my teeth and wash my face or even make a cup of tea first, prayer should really come before twitter or facebook in the morning. If I feel dizzy when I do healing standing up, I can sit down instead (I cannot believe it took me this long to think of this). For all of it, I say thank you.

*It has taken me a few days to edit and tidy

Chennai Part 4

Tags

awareness, Chennai, India, Self realisation, spirituality, Travel, writing

I fell in love with you and I cried:  Chennai Part 4 (Draft chapter for book)

The taxi driver stopped at a garage that was open, he got fuel and we went to the loo.  When we got to Chennai diversion signs were up, our driver followed them and ended up at the beach, where buses and cars and scooters and people walking had all descended.  There were men waving flags and some of the vehicles had flags on them; we realised it was to do with The Minister.  People ahead of us were just parking up and leaving their cars, so it got more and more congested.  We had seen police everywhere on the way home, but not a single one trying to organise the traffic jam.

We were obviously in a taxi, and conspicuous as foreigners.  Not only that, there were only a very few women and children amongst a big crowd of men.  I was nervous, but the atmosphere of the crowd was fine, and aside from the usual few glances at me as a Western woman, we had no extra attention.  We realised the road was a dead end and our driver did an almost impossible u turn and we made our way slowly out of the jammed up area.

While we were in the traffic jam I saw on the beach the signs, ‘Live and let live’, ‘Pigeon feeding station,’ ‘Donation station.’  It warmed my heart to see.  I thought about how some people in the UK despise pigeons, and even grey squirrels who I used to love feeding in the UK.  My friend’s husband used to shoot them in his garden, not even to eat, just piling up the corpses at the bottom of the garden.

Roads were closed and the driver pulled up to ask someone where to go.  Everywhere was shuttered and closed, no one was around.  I saw a lone flower garland hanging up still and realised we were on the corner near where we went for dinner; everything looked so different with all the shops shuttered up.

An Indian man who had just got out of a taxi told us to walk, he explained that the Minister’s funeral procession would be coming down the road, and that the only way to get to where we wanted to go was walking.  It wasn’t that far, so we thanked and paid our driver, put on our backpacks, picked up our bags and walked back to Broadlands.

The manager at Broadlands hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks like a father.  It was about five o’clock.  He told us to go up and have a sleep and that when we woke up at six thirty, seven, everything would be open again.

We were in the same room as before but people had been in it since us, there was a folding camp bed put up, and glitter on the sheets.  It hadn’t been cleaned, probably due to the events of the previous day, perhaps the cleaning staff hadn’t come in.  ‘I’m going to assume they (the people) were clean,’ I said, but the truth was, I didn’t really care, I was just so glad to be back.

We woke up later when it was dark and went downstairs.  Nothing was open.  We saw the Italian woman, she said that the evening before, The Minister’s death was announced then everything shut in ten minutes.  She’d only had biscuits and bananas.  One of the staff who worked at the hotel appeared, he apologised for our room not being cleaned.  He went out to see if there was any food places open.  He came back once saying that everything in one direction was closed, then set out again, we and the Italian woman gave him money just in case.

We thought there would be somewhere, Y had told us you can always get food, as there are lots of bachelors in Chennai and they often eat parcel meals (takeaway) from the restaurants.  About forty-five minutes later the man returned, with little plastic bags of sambar (curry) and orange sauce and parota bread.  We ate on the little table in our room.  The little plastic bags that the sambar was in were tied with a twist of fine twine that wasn’t even knotted, just wound around neatly and expertly.  The parota was thick and filling and the sambar was hot.  It felt so good to eat hot food after an evening and a day of crisps, biscuits and nuts.

The mosque sounded very loud again the first morning, then on the days after we slept through it or half slept through it like we had before.
As usual in India, the caw caw of crows was a near constant noise.  One morning very early the crows were especially loud.  I mentioned it to my husband.  He said, ‘There was one on the ground below the window making loads of noise, and another sitting right on the shutter not making a sound; I said to it, ‘What’s the other one’s problem?!’’

Also as usual, there were barking dogs, a pack of dogs seemed to live on the waste ground below our window.  Sometimes the barking and howling of the dogs was so much it made us laugh, like when we were at Osho’s (guesthouse in Kerala) and a dog over the road would start up the most ridiculous sounding howling just as we were going to bed.   ‘Dogs in the UK don’t have the freedom just to howl and express themselves like that,’ my husband said.

We saw an Indian squirrel climbing on the outside of the window mesh, all four feet clinging on, upside down and doing acrobatics as if it were in the circus.

On Friday the mosque car park was filled with lots and lots of scooters, a handful of cars and on the waste ground beside the mosque, some rickshaws.  There were people praying in the outside part of the mosque, there were so many people that they couldn’t all fit inside.

The mosque car park was a beautifully clean paved area.  One day when it was quiet I saw a man and a little boy arrive on a scooter.  They fed the pigeons, who arrived and left in great beautiful clouds.  When they had finished the man put the boy on the scooter, patted him on head, threw the empty food cup over the wall into the street, and left.

At night the flats on the other side of the mosque car park had their lights on and curtains open; the colour of their walls lit up, one green, one mauve, with the silhouettes of house plants making shadows on the walls.

The mosquito mesh on the windows was bent and folded, gently undulating like a sheet of fine wire mesh.  When the light caught it it looked like taffeta, the colour of burnished gold.

Sitting on the bed in my favourite indoors outfit, I caught myself in the mirror: black scoop neck t-shirt, black and grey sarong, colourful tattoos on both arms.  The t- shirt had tiny holes in it.  The sarong was a bit bobbly close up.  Everything was soft and thin and comfortable.

 

The quest for fresh vegetables led us to a Chinese restaurant where we ate vegetables and noodles, big florets of broccoli and chunky carrots, in a thick and glutinous msg sauce.  We sat beside a fish tank full of big fish swimming sadly back and forth.

I brought up some of the things I had been thinking and feeling in Pondicherry.  We agreed that being happy can’t be the aim, it’s a pleasure seeking and a Four Winds pain-pleasure trap.  That kind of bliss cannot be sustained and anyway it would be boring, people need challenges.  We agreed that the spiritual journey is a red herring and that the ‘goal’ has to be to feel overally neutral:

Observe yourself and how you are and what you do like a character in a film.  E.g. do you react impulsively?  Drop down and forget all this for an evening and reflect afterwards, how did I do?  That’s the work.  The trick is to try and maintain the clear awareness even when the key breaks in the lock or the Uber is late.  If not you’d have nothing to do.

Most people are locked into feeding the pleasure centres; the ‘reward of nothingness’ wouldn’t appeal to them as worth it for a lifetime of searching.  Anyway, most people aren’t actually actively looking for enlightenment.

But if you are prepared to accept this peaceful serenity, this above-ness from the senses, so that food isn’t really much of a thing anymore; this distance, beyond love, beyond joy…  If you are prepared to accept that, then maybe the reward will be to understand everything.  That’s what makes renouncing worldly pleasures, or rather, drifting away from them and letting them fall away, (like when following Buddhism) worthwhile.

 

The Broadlands manager told us that a film crew was coming to film at the guesthouse; apparently the film had a famous film star.  It took a whole day to set up with all kinds of props including chicken coops being brought in.  In the UK they would have closed the hotel or at least closed off part of it.  There, we were shown different routes to and fro our room, via different staircases and courtyards.  When they were shooting in the central courtyard below our room, we just had to peek out.  ‘Shooting,’ they’d say, or not.  One could be annoyed but aren’t.
Sometimes we had to walk through their chill out area, in between the plastic chairs arranged in a circle for lunch.  Huge pots of food were carried in at lunchtime, the pots of food, filled with all different kinds of curries, laid out on trestle tables.

We went down separately to use the internet, the famous actor sat on the sofa going through his lines next to husband then next to me, he turned the fan on to keep cool.

At the end of the filming day they all gathered for a group photograph and there was lots of clapping.  I had a cigarette and hung about outside soaking up the atmosphere and watching them pack up.

The Italian woman had complained about the film shoot and told us it would start at six am and go on all night, with flashing lights and loud music.  We weren’t concerned; there’s nothing we could do about it and it’s not as if we had anything to get up for or do, we could always sleep during the day.  I sympathised with her for getting woken by building work above her though; they were doing some pre season alterations, and she was woken at six am.  She asked for a day’s refund but I don’t think she had any luck.  The film shoot was over in one day though in the end, it wasn’t noisy and it didn’t start early.

I can see how one could get really stressed, being woken up, building work, dogs, mosque, crows; plus re coping with things being different, food, people, and each other, but we’re ok.  I do have the odd thing (hand cream).

There’s things I could get annoyed about of course, if I had a mind to:  Many rooms only having one plug socket available so that we have to take turns charging our phones and tablets.  The traffic, the pollution, the rubbish.  The food all coming at different times.  The complicated menus with strict times, this 12-2, this 3-6, this all day, this 12.30-9.30.  The occasional restaurant bureaucracy, ‘Can I have a cup of tea or coffee?’  ‘No, only after 4pm,’  ‘Can I have tea or coffee with my breakfast?’  ‘No, juice first, then afterwards we’ll take your order for coffee or tea.’

Not being understood, not understanding things.  Some things remaining a complete mystery, others tantalising only half explained… Missing friendships.  The poverty.  Being sometimes viewed as a walking ATM machine; even after giving the hotel cleaner so much stuff (he’d asked us to give him anything we were shedding), he still came and asked us for money.  How sometimes it seems as if almost every conversation invariably turns to money or trying to sell us something.  It’s the natural consequence of the actual or perceived disparity of wealth between us as Westerners and people we meet.

But the secret is to accept it all, and not to judge.  If my few days in Norwich Travel Lodge in the winter taught me anything, it’s that the UK isn’t perfect.  The level of homelessness in affluent Norwich city centre was shocking.  And if things are different to what I’m used to, of course that’s to be expected, and that is my issue.  And there’s so much beauty all around me that my attention is taken up with that.

I went out feeding cows again, early evening seemed to be the time when more cows were around.  A man gave me advice in sign language, don’t bend down, due to the horns? throw on ground, or put on hand and put hand out.  I misinterpreted his facial expression as gruffness at first.  People sometimes watched and even stared but did not seem unfriendly.

We drank chai tea at a little stall in the backstreets on the corner of Big Street.  The first time we sat outside on little stools and smoked cigarettes, the second time we were seated inside amongst the flies and heat.

We saw Indian men feeding street dogs in the evening.  Even a very humble looking shop had put out puri on the pavement for the crows.

In the street parallel to Broadlands the houses were painted pretty colours.  Just around the corner, at the end of an ordinary street, was an incredibly beautiful temple.

I wished I could show my Grandma the clothes, or describe them to her.  She was a dress maker and interested in clothes until the end of her life.  In Chennai I saw flouncy dresses, just below the knee, slightly shorter than I’d seen before, with scalloped hem, and lacy lemon or white flowers at the hem and on the bodice.  Saree prints in a bold block print making a three dimensional pattern, others in bold flowers, and lots of yellow and orange sarees which matched the colours of the Tamil Nadu rickshaws.  In restaurants we saw whole families colour coordinated and wondered if it happens naturally or if the woman picks out the family’s clothes?  I’ve maybe seen three outfits ever that I didn’t think worked perfectly.

There were lots of sweet shops and stalls in Chennai, although we managed to resist and just admire them from a distance…

We’d found a little tea shop at the side of the road that did the best coffee, sweet and milky, as well as nice little samosas and melt-in-the-mouth homemade biscuits in jars; it became our favourite place for those last few days in Chennai.

We’d got our photocopying and printing of tickets and so on done at a little copy shop, got glasses for my husband, ticking jobs off the list, and were feeling pleased with ourselves and went to the tea shop afterwards.

We bought cigarettes and offered them to the staff and fellow customer; cigarettes can be a good icebreaker when you don’t share a language.  We sat and watched the traffic and the people crossing the road.  The smell of traffic fumes, rubbish and occasionally animal or human waste.

We watched two people lifting a big drum onto a scooter.  It was common to see scooters loaded with sacks of onions, even sacks of cement, or a family of four riding all together.  That is the mode of transport that the family has, they don’t have a car, so scooters are used for everything.

A truck went past laden, absolutely laden with plastic pots, urn shaped but big like garden pots.  Instead of being terracotta colour to pretend to be made from clay or green to blend into the garden like they would be in the UK, these were shocking pink, bright leaf green and bright unsubtle primary colours; as if they were saying, were plastic, we’re plastic and we’re proud to be plastic.  Not for the first time, we wished we could say to India, don’t do it, don’t let the plastic in, don’t fall in love with and get taken over by plastic.  In India not everywhere has formal rubbish disposal and recycling systems in place; the plastic drinking water bottles alone present a huge problem.

A girl, a young woman, came skipping down the road.  We made eye contact and she came over and said, ‘Hi,’ skipped off, then came over again, pointed to her cheek and said, ‘Kiss.’  I couldn’t kiss her, I’m British and can’t easily kiss total strangers, but I offered her my hand and we shook hands.  She went skipping off again, almost dancing across the road.  She dropped her scarf in the road, and picked it up scarily in front of a rickshaw.

 

When we checked out of Broadlands the manager shook hands with Anthony and hugged me.  ‘I love Anthony,’ he said, ‘He has a good heart.’

In the taxi on the way to the airport, the driver said, ‘Look, look,’ said something and pointed.  We couldn’t understand him, then just at the last moment, my husband realised, ‘Parrots!’  About fifty small parrots were sat on the electricity wires across the road.  ‘That is their house,’ the driver said.  ‘1,000 parrots live there.  At 6pm every day you see them.’  It was around 4.30pm.  We were a bit sad that we hadn’t known about this before, but happy that we had heard it then and seen some of the parrots.

I kept thinking we were going back there, to Broadlands, to Chennai, when we went to Thailand, and had to remind myself that was over and we were going to Kolkatta when we go back to India.  I know we were only there for eight days in total but…  If it weren’t for the pollution, which the Tarot man in Thailand said wasn’t good for me, although I don’t need him to tell me I don’t suppose, I’d like to live there, at least for part of the year.  What would I do?  Write, feed cows, put up posters at the bins re tip food waste onto the floor don’t put in plastic bags (the cows eat the plastic bags and can get sick and die); get involved with some kind of rubbish clearing/recycling initiative (my husband’s idea).  Learn Tamil, teach English in return.  (But Tamil seems so hard! I feel like Hindi would be easier so maybe pick somewhere where the main language is Hindi…)  But that’s all dreams, I haven’t seen hardly any of India yet, I may yet fall in love again many times over during the rest of our travels.

Photos of Chennai by Anthony Hill Instagram travelswithanthony

Travel update

In our third week and third place in Koh Phangan, Thailand.  We are in the vegan/yoga area.  It’s absolute paradise but we are looking forward to getting moving on proper travelling again.  In a few days I go to Tokyo, my husband goes to Cambodia and we meet up back in India on October 1st.

Writing update

Did this this week, worked on it every day except Saturday.  Also scheduled five weeks’ of Throwback Thursday posts which is harder than it looks sometimes with patchy internet.  Next up, Thailand.

Thank you very much for reading

See you next week

Throwback Thursday

Tags

awareness, Enlightenment, gong meditation, healing, meditation, sound healing

‘It’s not about clothes, except that it could be, if I find that helpful.  We do, as human beings in society have to wear clothes, so why not occasionally wear something that makes me feel great and supports my emergence.’

Wow, the patterns are really sparking for me right now!  (At the time of scheduling this three weeks ago)  I said this same thing just a few days ago, then went shopping.  India for me involved dressing like a nun, Haad Rin, Ko Phangan, not so much…

I don’t use the words ‘higher self’ any more though.  As Diane says in Bojack Horseman, ‘I’m not sure that there is a deep down, there’s just what you do.’  I wrote that down the other day too.

P.S. Watch Bojack Horseman

Create the Conditions (first published August 2014) 

Gong therapy is my favourite discovery of the past year.  Its proper name is gong meditation or sound healing.  You just lie down and listen to sounds being played on huge gongs and on didgeridoos, on singing bowls and shakers.  You don’t have to do anything.  You can’t help but listen.  It doesn’t really matter what happens to your thoughts.  The sounds go through you anyway, working their magic no matter what you do.  And did I mention you are lying down?  It’s like meditation for lazy people.  Except, the effects can be intense.  I first tried it a festival a year ago.  This year, I did it again:

That feeling of ‘what’s next’, of striving, isn’t about what I am doing at work, or whether I should change jobs, or about where I live and whether or not to move to a different area.  I just thought it was about that because that’s what I see immediately around me when I look at my life.

What it actually is about is my higher self or the real me emerging.  Maybe my higher self is just next year’s me… maybe at last year’s festival today’s me was looking on, watching me do gong therapy for the first time.

That sense of pregnancy, of emergence, is my higher self waiting to emerge.  How do I get it to emerge?  DO NOTHING.  Just don’t do anything that hinders the emergence of my higher self.  Avoid worry, fear, anxiety and over thinking.  As I went through each of these, I felt and was feeling them too.

The sound was evoking those states.  I felt my chest crushed with fear, my heart palpating with anxiety.  A bit later, when I realised I was thinking thinking thinking; a shaker sounded like waves breaking on a stony beach, a singing bowl rang out, and I came back to where I was, to my new found awareness:

My higher self is just waiting to emerge, all I have to do is CREATE THE CONDITIONS.

The man leading the gong meditation talked about the higher self and about rising like a phoenix.  As I lay there I imagined… lose two stone, buy an elegant white dress.  It’s not about clothes, except that it could be, if I find that helpful.  We do, as human beings in society have to wear clothes, so why not occasionally wear something that makes me feel great and supports my emergence.

Stumbling out of the meditation tent afterwards, wobbly and shaky, I found a quiet place to sit and with a hot chocolate beside me, I wrote down everything I could remember.

Pondicherry

Tags

awareness, India, Pondicherry, Travel, writing

Pondicherry DRAFT chapter for book

I dislike long bus journeys, I much prefer trains for the long distances.  The experience of having to ask the bus driver from Goa to Hampi to stop for me to have a pee is not one I want to repeat, but there wasn’t a train to Pondicherry so we had no choice.  The journey was three to four hours so not huge.  I felt anxious, but when the bus arrived and we got on, I relaxed.  It was very comfortable; blue luxurious seats, magazine racks on the seat in front like on an airplane and free small bottles of water.  The seats were comfortable and I sat next to the window.  I do love travelling, just moving and looking out of the window.  The trees had the brightest red-orange blossom.  We actually did stop for a food and loo break; there was a stray dog in the car park and a little stall, I bought biscuits and fed the dog.

Our guesthouse was down a run down looking alleyway, and didn’t look as nice as the pictures on the internet.  It had almost art deco style small chrome and coloured glass screens at the balcony, which reminded me of the coloured glass at the first place in Chennai.  Just beyond our room was an invisible step in the marble that we had to be mindful of, and beyond that another little balcony that looked out onto the alleyway.

The ‘spiritual journey’ can be lonely sometimes.  I wrote in my notebook:  I feel far away… maybe that’s part of it, necessary, and that I’ll come back, naturally.  I could force it, like I forced the grounding last time; through fear or guilt, but no, wait it out.  Who would notice, anyway?

My husband is used to me being quiet or chatty, and doesn’t get unsettled if I am off by myself either emotionally or spiritually.
I thought about D, completely devoted to the pursuit of self realisation, seemingly sure of his path, with a guru and long periods spent in ashrams, and C, a Christian with faith in God.

Should I be doing more?  I wondered.  Should I be more focussed on ‘the quest’ or associated practices, do something more ‘formal’ rather than this strange and ever changing way of mine?  But at the same time, feeling spiritual and sensory overload.

Maybe it’s all part of the same thing for me.  I knew there was a reason I’m walking round wearing a huge Om, it’s to remind me, not for others, about the different levels of consciousness, or rather the different places that our consciousness resides in.

Maybe I experience ‘the absolute state’ via experiencing the world through the five senses?  I can’t do any more, but maybe I don’t need to do any more.

‘Every enlightenment has its own melody,’ as R from Switzerland said.

It doesn’t feel like anything, not bliss or joy, although that comes on the way, it’s a clear minded observance, awareness (Osho emphasised being in a state of awareness), above pleasure and pain (the Worldly Winds described in Buddhism).

The hot windowless room of the guesthouse in Pondicherry was not conducive to writing, or maybe it was my emotional/spiritual state.  Plus we didn’t feel that well.  We’d been eating at different places in Chennai and had also been quite casual about drinking the water off the table even at new places, saying no to the bottles often offered to foreigners and drinking the free water* everywhere like locals.  Maybe we’d been too cavalier.  One of the catchphrases of the Pondicherry trip was coming out of the toilet and saying, ‘Well that wasn’t normal!’

Or maybe I just needed a break.  I am not that good at taking breaks though.  I didn’t do much actual writing except making notes, but I did stay up late reading blogs.  WordPress was especially inspiring and I was almost overloaded with things to think about.

I read a blog about family influences, about the process of working out the influences that have come from our parents, and which to keep and which to strip away.  I read a blog about not having any friends, and had a dream where I realised, ‘No one likes me.’ ‘No one likes me, and that’s okay.’  Really feeling, accepting and at peace with this realisation.  (Which isn’t actually true) ‘The most terrifying thing of all is to accept oneself completely.’  (Jung).  The next day I woke up and discovered that it was friendship day.

Those first couple of days in Pondicherry I was reflective, almost over inspired.  Engaging with other bloggers in the comments sections helped me, as it often does, to clarify my own thoughts:

I still over pressurise myself now re writing vs experiencing and going to see stuff vs just being.  But my focus now is, what benefits me, what strengthens my centre, what do I really want above all else and nothing else is going to distract me?  (For me, finish the fxxxing book, and self realisation, which may be the same thing?)  Which means I am unfit and look a mess and haven’t learnt any other language (other than a few words), but all of that is a price so very, very worth paying.

… the spiritual journey thing can become a kind of trap; it makes you think you should get somewhere, that where you are isn’t okay or enough.  Realising that you are already there, and that there’s nothing to find, that it isn’t all high bliss and blazing lights, (although that can come on the way, it’s not the aim I don’t think, although people are so focussed on chasing happiness and pleasure) it’s a calm clear awareness, an observy kind of state.  The hard bit is carrying it through into daily life, when things irritate, or the body is sick etc. 

I agree with Osho saying, ‘Don’t seek don’t knock, just be still and it will come,’ and Krishnamurty who said it’s all about getting to know yourself, and Buddhism, which says there’s nothing to find re sense of self, re who you really are, and with Bojack Horseman’s Diane who says, ‘I don’t think there is any deep down, there’s just what you do.’  Here’s to another day of observing and trying to iron out the kinks, after a day of calm observing mixed with mindless eating of cakes!

Where am I at?  Just stop trying.  Remember that you are both already there…  All you have to do is realise it.  Don’t get distracted re new development activities.  E.g. working out which traits inherited from parents and which deliberately abandoned, which opposing ones adopted, which to keep, even though that would be a great exercise.  Or reflecting on friendships and the ‘well of loneliness’… (also like re the book, I don’t get distracted by submitting articles or trying to get freelance work, that can be done later.  I don’t even read at the moment, although I have many things I would read if I did, I have a reading list.  (Okay I have names of books and authors scribbled randomly within the pages of my notebook))

Just stop trying.

It doesn’t feel like anything (sometimes).  But sometimes it does:  An orange cat sitting on a wall in a warm dusty alleyway, or the light glittering on the raindrops on the shutters of my room.

It doesn’t feel the same as four years ago when I was meditating and reading and seeking.  It’s in daily life now as opposed to a separate spiritual practice.  Now it’s all integrated and more stable.  All that seeking was to get here, and now we’re here (for now).

What does it look like?  Peaceful, stable, with moments of illumination.  Interspersed with dark nights of the soul, keeping the faith, and all turning out okay.  Guilt, and permission to be happy.  That’s my desert-without-water.

It means living in the moment, fully, then letting go (Thank you to Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha for this).  Act silly, make a joke, snuggle up with my husband.  Eat something nice.

Use all experiences to reinforce my centre.  Do not allow others to destabilise it.

In quiet moments I sat on the invisible step and looked through the railings into the alleyway below.  I thought how I had travelled there, how I had the room, money, a plan for what I was doing next.  I thought about creating a little pocket of safety.  I thought about should it be more edgy, is it too easy?  I thought about how even people in more edgy environments would still have little pockets of stillness like this, a place to sit and at least eat safely, a place to sleep.  (I’m always comparing myself unfavourably to others; hard core backpackers, war correspondents.  I know, weird huh?)  I thought that if I have that, a safe place to sleep, and somewhere to sit and have a quiet moment, I am okay.

The other catchphrase of the Pondicherry spell was in restaurants after eating, ‘Well it wasn’t brilliant food was it?’  A lot of the food was fusion or Indian food with a European twist and we didn’t enjoy it that much.  We got excited about a shop almost next door to the guesthouse that sold dried fruit and nuts, soya milk and health food type items.  I drank almost a whole big carton of soya milk in one go.  One day I bought hummus, crisps and fancy lemonade for lunch.  Everything was expensive, and none of it tasted particularly nice.

Meeting the Yoga teacher in Chennai, who was so surprised that I did yoga; meeting the Italian man who asked us if we were right-wing (we’re not, if I have to say it); and the covering up, and wearing of ill-fitting or unflattering clothes that weren’t always my style in India, triggered yet another minor identity crisis.  I read somewhere that style was about saying who you are without words.  Really?  Maybe?  Yet at the same time, I can feel myself dissolving under these sartorial experiments.  Playing with sense of self, identity…  Being here, that is the work.

We saw Indian women tourists in Pondicherry in short dresses and shorts, albeit near the beach, but I decided to relax my self-imposed modest dress code a little while we were there.  My husband supports me whatever I do, but I know that he thinks I am overly covered up sometimes.

So I went for a walk by myself wearing my lungi dress- above the knee, with side slits- without loose black trousers underneath and without a scarf over my shoulders.  I had got so used to walking around with trousers and a scarf that I felt half-naked and vulnerable.  I walked down the road and to the park, feeling a little self-conscious.  I saw no one dressed in as little as me, then at the park, although there were people around and it was daytime and there was a policeman outside the gate, I still felt uncomfortable.  This could have just been me, I get anxious, you could say I have anxiety except I haven’t been diagnosed or labelled; anyway I get paranoid the drop of a hat.  I didn’t stay long, came home, put some trousers on and grabbed my scarf.

We went to the beach at Pondicherry which was completely different to Chennai beach.  It was very clean, no rubbish, bins everywhere, and a new looking wide pedestrianised boulevard.  There was a beautiful statue of Gandhi.  There were lots of Indian tourists, well off looking; we saw lots of expensive looking gold sarees.  We sat on a low wall between the boulevard and the beach.  We saw a little Indian owl like in Panaji.  I drank takeaway coffee that tasted bitter.  I foolishly said hi to some kids selling plastic tat and then they wouldn’t leave us alone until we got up to leave.

(My favourite shop window in Pondicherry, or possibly, ever!)

We went to a big weekly street market.  The length of a big main street was lined with stalls selling leather belts, parts for cars, all kinds of everyday household items and products and clothes including God dresses, gold gowns and dresses that looked like little girls’ princess dresses in adult sizes.  In the street I saw a woman wearing a floor length fairy tale gown of red and white net with red velvet applique flowers.

Plastic animal face masks were sold on stalls and in bunches like balloons by street sellers.  The smell of coffee, citrus fruit, and occasionally toilet smells.

It was the first time I had seen women’s underwear since leaving the UK.  First plain white then padded bras in bright colours with polka dots and slinky night dresses.

My husband bought pants (underpants), they had a pocket in them!  The man explained that that, plus the top pocket in the short-sleeved shirts that India men wear, was where Indian men kept their money and their phones, as they wear lungis that are essentially a piece of material and so has no pockets.  D told us that some Indian women sew a tiny pouch into the tucked in end of their saree and that is where they keep their money.  The man on the stall explained how money was safer in the pants pocket as it could fall out of the top shirt one when you bend over to pray.  Later my husband tried on his pants and put his mobile phone in the pocket.  It did indeed seem safe and ideal.  He even thought about keeping the passports there!

Pondicherry streets were a mixture.  Down one side pretty coloured buildings with intricate lattice iron work, on the other side grey and dusty concrete, people living in very basic pavement dwellings.  Metal grills like big drain covers propped to make ramps at kerbs and pavements, outside shops and restaurants, like in Chennai.  Chalk rangoli patterns decorated the pavements outside shops, like in Kanyakumari.

We didn’t go to the temple that the Italian man we’d met at Broadlands in Chennai had recommended.  We went to a different one, that Y had suggested.  We didn’t feel like going to more than one, involving as it did a trip in a taxi.

If we go everywhere people recommend we won’t have any space to just be spontaneous and discover things for ourselves.  We both really enjoy just discovering the local area, getting to know the shopkeepers a little, the guesthouse staff, and just being there in the immediate surroundings and the place that we are staying in.

We went to the temple at Chidambaram.  Chidambaram is where the God Lord Shiva is represented as Cosmos.  That, plus the fact that Y had recommended it, was why I chose it.  The temple that the Italian man had recommended, Tiruvanramalay, is dedicated to Shiva as Fire.  Kanchipuram, not far from Chennai, is for Shiva as Earth.

The driver stayed with us and took us around.  This was good in that it meant we didn’t accidentally walk in a wrong area or the wrong way, but bad in that he whisked us around so fast we could barely take anything in.  He’d been there maybe thirty times before, he said.  He didn’t have enough English to explain things so we didn’t know what we were looking at.

We were called over by two monks who gave us a blessing and asked us to write our names in the visitors book, then asked us for money.  We gave money, we would have done anyway, for our visit.  The monks blessed only us, and asked only us to write our names, even though our driver was the only one who was a Hindu, which I felt a bit uncomfortable with.

The temple was made of several buildings, each one incredible to look at, and beautifully coloured.  I could stand and look at one area for hours and still not take it in; sensory overload, again.

We came outside and sat in the shade on the stone floor of the grounds.  I went for a little walk across the courtyard by myself.  People and cows were asleep under the cool stone walkways.  I stood and soaked up the sight of blue sky above a row of gold minarets, and below, a beautiful white cow statue.  Those two sights alone filled me to the brim with beauty.

The evening before the temple trip an important political figure died in a Chennai hospital, he was a much loved ex Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu.  In India each state has its own political parties and Chief Minister.  We had been out for a very late lunch/early tea, we’d eaten light as we’d intended to eat again later.  On our way back we saw that the street was almost dark and the metal shutters of shops and restaurants were half closed or closed.  We thought at first there was a power cut.  In Chennai the power had been scheduled to be off from nine am to five pm for maintenance.

We got back to the guesthouse, several men were gathered in the lobby.  The guesthouse staff explained what had happened and advised us to go out and buy bread, as there would be nothing open that evening or the next day.  We went back out and joined many others in a shopping rush.  The restaurants were already closed, but from street stalls and shops we bought nuts, biscuits, crisps, bananas and water.  Within an hour everything had closed.

Literally overnight there appeared framed photographs on tables, with flower garlands and coconut shells, like little shrines.  Huge billboard posters of the Minister’s face and shoulders, some with huge real flower garlands hung around his neck.  A level of adoration UK politicians could only dream of.

In the morning we checked out of the guesthouse as planned, intending to go to the temple and then get our bus back to Chennai.  We got a message confirming that the temple trip was still going ahead, but in the car on the way to the temple we got a message saying that the bus to Chennai had been cancelled as part of the closures.  We asked the driver if he’d take us to Chennai, he said it was too dangerous, that later would be better.  His manager said he could arrange for us to be taken back by another driver later on, but we’d still have a few hours to kill in Pondicherry.

When we got back to Pondicherry we met some Westerners that were trying to get back to Chennai, they decided to get a rickshaw to a halfway point and stay there the night, they said that people had thrown stones at taxis in Chennai (for being disrespectful by working).  We didn’t want to stay in Pondicherry,  which we hadn’t liked much for a fifth night and were eager to get back to Chennai, which we loved.  Everything was closed, there was nowhere even to go to the loo.  We asked the guesthouse if we could rent a room for just a couple of hours but they said they would charge a whole day.  We weren’t prepared to do that, the room wasn’t very nice and it had been at the top end of our budget anyway.

We sat on a big concrete step at the side of the road around the corner from the guesthouse, with our bags of snacks and our backpacks and wondered what to do.  Just then a taxi pulled up on the opposite side of the road.  We asked the driver if he’d take us to Chennai.  We told him what we had heard and asked him if it were safe.  He asked us which area we were going to, he called a guesthouse in that area and then said yes, it was okay to go.

*usually comes from big bottles like gym water bottles, or is carefully boiled tap water.  But if it isn’t a regular place you visit you don’t always know if it is okay for you.

Next up, Chennai Part Four, then Thailand.

Travel update

Koh Phangan, Thailand.  We moved from Haad Rin, party bit, North to Thong Sala which is more of a proper town and our place is right on the beach and very quiet.  Tomorrow we move further North to the yoga and vegan area.  About a week later I will travel to Bangkok and then to Tokyo.  My husband is going to Cambodia, and we are meeting again in Kolkatta, India on 1st October.

In a bar the other night I caught the end of an advert for India.  ‘Find the incredible you…  Incredible India.’  Amen.  See you soon, India.

Writing update

This week I worked on this piece, everyday except Saturday, day off, and Tuesday, when we went to Koh Samui to extend our visas.  I have more to add in from notes and notebook that I didn’t have time to put in this week, that can be added in later for the book.  These drafts on the blog are a great way of me testing things out and your feedback is much appreciated!!  It shows me what is working well and what needs fuller explanation or description.  Dear Indian readers please forgive me if I make mistakes, and feel free to correct me.

Thank you very much for reading

See you next week

 

 

Throwback Thursday

Tags

ageing, aging, Harlequin Fayre, healing, OCD

‘I spent whole days with frizzy hair and no makeup and I felt just fine.’  Just wait til you go to India!  Sad to have missed the Harlequin Fayre experience this year.  Re female company:  As I schedule this I am looking forward to a woman friend from the UK arriving soon and when this posts I will soon be off to Japan visit a woman friend!

How to be a healer (first published in August 2014)

My last post was all about my need for solitude and yet I spent last weekend in the bosom of a crowd of people with barely five minutes alone.  I had a really, really good time.

My friend brought us all together.  She has three children, 11, 13 and 18, and an event shelter.  All three children invited friends, my friend invited her friends and so there we all were, four days camping in a field together, 17 of us ranging in age from 11 to 54, half of us strangers before the weekend.

The weekend relaxed all my inhibitions or maybe I had to relax all my inhibitions in order to embrace the experience of the weekend, I am not sure which came first.

Being with so many young people brought me to realise and accept where I am, i.e. no longer what anyone would call young.  At the same time I realised that in some ways I am still the same, my brain hasn’t changed that much, it’s just that I lived through it.

In having lived through it perhaps older people send the message to the young that they can live through it too.  We didn’t sit giving advice, but just being a person who is older and who has survived, maybe gives a reassuring vibe.  These realisations enhanced and strengthened my sense of self.

I had a role, something like: cook, feeder, mum, healer.  I felt held in place, but I didn’t once feel like I was putting on an act, making up a role or being anything other than totally myself.

As a healer, the whole weekend was profoundly instructive.  Healers need to learn how to heal themselves as well as learning how to heal others.  I drove straight from work and was totally and utterly relaxed within a few hours.  I lost track of time on day one.  Being outdoors in the fresh air for four days felt good.  I spent whole days with frizzy hair and no makeup and I felt just fine.

I healed myself of regrets and envy and of getting older.  I saw myself concretely reflected by a big group, as having a place, a role and a value.  I enjoyed having the company of women.

One of the women taught me a kidney cleansing healing (place left hand on top of head, right hand on kidney and feel the kidney spin, she didn’t know that my husband has had some kidney problems).  She told me about bringing up phlegm and that it is okay to vomit during healing (useful as the next day someone I gave healing to was sick during it).

I practiced healing on four people and I learned how to end it (say, ‘blessings to (person’s name)’, the answer comes back, ‘they are blessed’, or, ‘you haven’t finished yet’, in which case, do a bit more, on shoulders, sending it everywhere, or go over the chakras again).  I learned how to do grounding (after doing all the chakras, place a hand on the ground beside their feet and another hand of the back of their neck and feel them being ‘earthed’).  I learned how to have a conversation with myself and with the other person to ensure I wasn’t pushing them toward a spiritual emergence that they were not ready for (it’s easy to feel evangelical when I have found such personal happiness and want others to share it, especially as I have seen them be sad and think that I can see an opportunity for them to be happier, but people must do things their own way.  I thought all this and I said it aloud too).  I learned to think about and focus a bit more on the third eye, or brow chakra, as this person was in the middle of thinking ahead and planning for a big decision and event; afterwards she said she had seen an eye, and lots of light.

Healing at a festival was great because I felt super relaxed and in great condition and there was probably lots of positive and healing energy around, from the other people and from the healing area.  I went to gong therapy (more next time).  I did a bit of drinking, being silly and tipsy in the rain with lots of fun and laughter.  I was in my element, happy, relaxed, having a good time.

Standing quietly listening to a band in the music tent, thinking over my last big problem, a fairly mild but definitely present OCD.  The conclusion to this music induced thinking session: 1) Resist the compulsions, 2) Relax, 3) If I can’t do it on my own, get help (from husband, a book, or a service).

Since I’ve got home I have gone up to bed first and left my husband to switch everything off.  He realises what I am doing and has been supportive in a gently humorous way, perfectly pitched to help me.

It was profoundly healing to be liked and accepted by lots of people and to feel the same about all of them.  I made sure I said thank you to my friend.  I told her how grateful I was to her for bringing us all together and for allowing me to share her life, because that’s what we do, we share our lives with each other, because you can’t create everything yourself.

Sending love and light

Sending love and light to Susan Briscoe and her family and friends.

I just heard that she has passed away.

Susan wrote an incredible blog about living and dying, the post below resonated so powerfully with me.

https://susanbriscoe.wordpress.com/2018/04/16/on-imagining/