I am feeling a little off-colour this morning. A quaint term but one that seems the most accurate. I’m not sick as such yet my stomach complains continually and I am feeling queasy and cold. The feeling of coldness is a sign I recognize – something is going on and I need to pay attention to my physical well-being. I have hardly eaten at all today as I am unsure whether in doing so I will worsen my sense of un-ease.

 

Cari texted me last last night with a simple message – “I’ve been made redundant J xx” and I have heard nothing since. I worry about how she is and then work at letting such thoughts go and touch that place of trust inside me. Once there I am happy she will be leaving her job as it often causes her sadness and the behaviour of others there will sometimes cause her to question her own worth. This is perhaps the most difficult thing for me to witness as she is such an amazingly caring, loving, sincere and genuine person. So for myself I am glad the universe has freed her from that environment. I worry though (unnecessarily it turns out) especially as I have not heard from her, how she is coping with the fears that can often come with the news of such dramatic change.

 

My stomach won’t stop gurgling and every second exhalation is accompanied by an expulsion of air from my gut. Not good. I sit wrapped in a duvet with multiple layers of clothing on, as if in the midst of a good old London winter. In spite of all this I have meditated and done some grammar study this morning. However my motivation to work has diminished along with my taken-for-granted good health. I have started boiling water before I drink it – perhaps there is something dead in the water tank?

 

I rested until early afternoon by which time both myself and the day were looking and feeling a whole lot brighter. I managed to get some work done and by mid-afternoon I had peeled the layers of clothing from my cowering body and lain naked in the sun. Perhaps this was the best tonic as I soon felt a whole lot better. As I rested and pondered my self-enforced exile I recalled my first Vipassana retreat (over the millennium New Year) and remembered standing on the hill as the century slipped away, looking over to the lights of Auckland. I remember wondering what was happening. Whether there had been any major catastrophes (such as the Y2K disaster the technological doomsayers had been predicting) or whether indeed anything of significance had happened in my absence. As I stood there gazing across at the distant lights I realized it didn’t matter to me what was happening. I realized that I could live without it, that I didn’t need to know the news or the latest current events. I was feeling the same sitting in Jim’s front yard. There could have been a political coup in the country for all it mattered to me.

 

Somehow as the mind does my thoughts flick over to a memory of sitting beside my aged mother in North Shore Hospital as some teenager in a doctor’s outfit asked her questions to gauge her level of dementia (at least I think that’s what he’s doing). He leans in towards mum who is trying her best to be accommodating but doesn’t really know what is going on and asks ‘do you know who the prime minister is?’ Mum stays mum, looks him the eye as if to politely say ‘what rubbish are you talking?’ and turns to look at me for assistance. I’m not meant to help obviously, so I decide to keep mum as well. No answer to that question then, onto the next one, ‘do you know what day it is today?’ Again mum looks at me, I feel a bit mean not helping out, and more so because I can tell mum is becoming even more confused by these questions and also upset at her inability to answer them.

 

 

 

‘She doesn’t need to know these things” I say to the doctor, and it’s true, she doesn’t. It no longer has any importance or meaning to her who the prime minister is, nor does it matter what day it is. She does not need to distinguish Monday from Sunday, or Friday. These questions are no longer valid measurements of anything, ask her something that it is important that she knows I want to say to the doctor. Ask her if she feels loved? Ask her if she feels she is being well looked after? Ask her if she is afraid, or in need of anything?

 

By 6.00 my unease has passed and I am feeling well enough to make a completely spontaneous decision to head towards the coast. I have seen on Jim’s map that there is a sand island about 4 miles away (oddly enough called Sand Island) that looks like it would be particularly beautiful as the sun disappears behind it (I am that close to the West Coast). If I am reading the map right it looks as if I could walk across to it when the tide is out, which it is at 7.33. I have 1 ½ hours to travel four miles, sounds about right. So without any further ado, off I go, down the road.

 

And it is literally down the road, and this has to be one of the biggest most disappointing differences between here and the UK for me. I love walking and if I was in the UK right now this 4 mile walk would not be down the road. It wouldn’t be a walk, it’d be a ramble. I’d be walking along what is affectionately known and very clearly signposted as ‘public footpaths’, walking tracks that cross the land, public land, farmer’s land, all the land and intersects here and there with roads only to shortly leap off again on the other side. Getting from here to the coast would be an adventure in itself, a rambling journey of solitude, exploration, contemplation and adventure. Here I follow the way of the motor vehicle, gravel crunching under my feet, dust around me as a car passes and no chance whatsoever of getting lost.

 

It was an adventure anyway, of course it was. I came across an old deaf dog on my travels, at an intersection he came and said hello to me before trotting off in front of me and disappearing around the corner up ahead. How did I know he was deaf? His owner who came around the intersection about 5 minutes later told me. He was looking for him and of course could not call or whistle him back.  I pointed down the road ahead, he cursed and trotted off after him. About 45 minutes later they came out of the setting sun heading back towards me. Old deaf dogs can still move pretty quickly when they want to.

 

As I got nearer to the turn-off to Sand Island the sun was getting real low in my eyes and I knew it was going to be touch and go as to whether I made it in time. I ran the last ½ mile from the turn-off, trying to gauge as I turned each corner where the sun was. I willed myself onward, willed the next corner to be the last. And finally it was and gasping for breath I was there, looking at Sand Island. Well I did make it, for it was a beautiful spot, lit by a sun that had not long disappeared. I stood there sweating and puffing and just soaked it in.

 

 

 

I didn’t stay long, long enough to rest a while, take a picture or two and feel the beauty and tranquility of the place. I knew I had a walk back in the dark that was probably going to take me longer than the 1 ¾ hours it had taken me to get here. That was ok. I was worth it. I was pleased I had come even if I had missed the actual sunset by a few minutes. I started back as the darkness quickly closed in around me. No street lights here at all. I had walked for no longer the 5 minutes, had not even cleared the track leading from the coast when I heard a vehicle coming up the slowly behind me. Fishers in a 4×4, I stepped out of the way of their headlights to let them pass. They didn’t, they stopped, and asked if I wanted a lift, only they had no room inside but I was more than welcome to ride on the spare wheel pinned to the back. And that’s what I did. I rode the 4 miles or so back to the bach sitting on top of that wheel. My fingers wedged into the gap between door and roof, my body way above the top of the truck I traveled free as a bird through the warm dark blue night sky, the stars above me and warm wind on my face. It was glorious. They didn’t go too fast and stopped once to check I was alright. I was more than all right. What an amazing treat it was, what a totally unexpected pleasure, riding up there gazing out into the moonlit darkness, the road unfurling in the headlights in front of me.

 

They dropped me off outside the gate. I couldn’t thank them enough, not just for giving me a lift and shortening my journey home by a good hour and a half, but for giving me something I would never have dreamt of having and will always cherish. Thanks guys.

 

…… day two

…… day four

 

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x

Tags: caroline, nana

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 15th, 2010 at 9:19 am and is filed under family, friends and me, trust. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.