venters
“Love has rhythms which are not those of sadness:
the shape of waves, impulse, running water.”
Dear Anias,
She wore a furry vest, a red hair bow, dark denim jeans, and boots. Entering the cafe with an armful of cardboard boxes. They were stamped with black ink. The table she set them down on was beside me, and she laid them side by each. The flaps on the top had not been taped down and she pulled them back and began taking out stacks of cards and tissue paper.
A deep red paper with gold polka dots. Cellophane. I liked the sound of paper crinkling in her hands.
I was staring and she looked up.
Hello. I remember you from last week. How are you?
Her shirt beneath the vest was forest green.
I am well, and you?
Good- we have a lot of orders today. It is busy. Bonne journée.
We smiled at each other and went back to our work.
I ordered a latte and a piece of banana bread. Maurila cut off the end, a thick slice with chunks of chocolate and hazelnut. I used the small silver spoon to take little bits. It was delicious.
I work at the cafe for three hours, the duration my computer stays charged without being plugged in. I could bring the cord. I choose not to. That is long enough to be sitting. It is good to end things before I feel stratic and fatigued. End on a high note, a clean run, my ski instructor used to say.
Yoga was a class with handstands and I moved so far back from the wall just my big toe could reach it and I was forced to use more of my core and less of the room to balance. Focus on yourself; do not rely on the external to give you a foundation. It comes from within.
Clara told me to move back from that little box on the screen where she watched us. I would not have dared to go that far into the middle of the room without someone watching. I can do it. I just want the validation. I want the gaze.
After class was a live discussion and energy work with Goddess Cindy on embodying the queen archetype. We talked about the struggle for control, how to create power with opportunities, and how to act with justice. It is gravity and grace, this being a woman. I understand the evolution from the maiden to the crone. A mother is anyone who nurtures and gives without asking for anything. A queen rules with compassion.
Someone once said that kindness didn't always look one way; sometimes, it had to be cold. Birds don't help their babes step out from the nest. No one aids the butterfly as it breaks from the cacoon.
We must cleave the path on our own if we are to survive.
I had a lot of sweets yesterday. I ate the most magnificent cookie after the talk. Quinoa salad. Poached eggs. Banana loaf and a salted peanut cookie.
The church bells are ringing at this very moment! The sky is clear and blue. I can see the last slice of the moon. It will be New in Aries in three days. I told Clara I wanted to detox the three days before the new moon on Tuesday. Ramadan begins Wednesday evening. Energetically, I felt these shifts in my body and have adjusted accordingly. I have just reviewed my calendar with the cycles and dates right now. Bells clang every Sunday. This time last week, I was contemplating a cleanse. This week I have begun.
I established my own rules. I do not want to do the Wild Rose Detox. I have done it twice per year and eat mostly the foodstuff anyway. The only thing worth considering is how many sweets I ate yesterday, though I feel my being was craving and created the indulgence knowing what was to come.
Today I am fasting during the daylight hours, in a similar fashion to Ramadan; only I am taking liquids. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I am allowed one meal midday and liquids. Thursday is the first full day of the Muslim ceremony and I will do a fast by the daylight hours.
I had no difficulty sleeping last night. My dreams were of camping. Sleeping outdoors in the wild and there was snow. I was cold and yet content. Abderrahmane was with me though he went in a different direction. I do not think we will spend all of Turkey together. He should do as he wishes, as will I.
When I go down into the gallows of my being, that little voice is there. She is learning to trust me because I am willing to stay with Her and listen. Georgina said to be patient; things take time. Trust cannot be thrust upon us. I am still wearing that red and gold bracelet wrapped around my wrist.
Passion is the flow of energy that enters my body when I am lighted by love! Why is the Red Man dangerous? Why must lust belong to Satan? I love how alive and wonderful I feel when I am desirous. I appreciate the longing and arousal when it ripples up from my center and pulses at the edges of my skin!
Impulse. That's why lust belongs to Satan. We must learn to control our impulsivity: one cannot act on every desire, especially if it concerns another person! I fling my desire outward into my writing and onto my yoga mat. When my body burns, I move until it cracks open and the light spills out. Backbends are the best way to purge. Cold showers. Long runs where I can see flickers of the natural world in the periphery. There is a lot of cement, rocks, and ruins in Nimes, though I see the weeds pushing in between the stones. I see the wildflowers waving at me from the hills! I see the ducks paddling lightly in the ponds and the swans swimming in the garden past the fountain. We are all here, doing our work.
I run, the birds float, the beetles roll, and the cat's lounge from the windowsills. Licking their paws and glancing with jeweled eyes.
I would love a cat to keep me company in this tight loft! I am terrific with pets for a short duration.
I am worried about who I will be when we are in Turkey. How will I hold this rhythm with him around?
I can sustain what I have created no matter what the external world offers. This is my mantra.
How to hold without clinging and create regardless of what occurs around me.
Emmanual is the cafe owner's name. She reminded me of my purpose, without saying anything, through the red and gold. The cafe is Textures Comptoirs & Objets.
The bracelet I wear has nothing to do with him, though it was a gift from his family. It is a reminder of my faith. It is a symbol of my devotion. It is so like the gold threads that were would around my wrist during the Fire Puja ceremony in India. I sat under a burning sun and threw rice at a fire for hours and when I left the circle my face, fingers, and feet were blackened by the ashes.
What am I committed to right now? Writing.
What am I purging this month? Excess.
What have I dedicated myself to? My Voice.
Before I put myself to bed, I listened to a reading of the Quran. A man sang it with a magnificent voice and I did not understand it! Like the Sanskrit mantras, I chant to touch the places within me I cannot physically locate, I felt the power of the syllables through the song. Clara says, 'it doesn't matter if you don't understand the full meaning or cannot pronounce the words; it's about your intention.'
I intend to keep moving, look forward and never back. What will I create today? What notes come next? Who is on the other side of the door?
What do you hold onto when the wick is low and there's nothing left to burn? The scent that lingers? The passion! I beg them to run high and wring me out so I can wander further and further beyond the boundary I am comfortable with; temptation is what lent us our free will.
The ability to say YES with my entire body. To scream it when no one is around me and to listen to those bells clang every morning at nine am. Who else waits for the bells to chime?
Who is waiting out here with me?
Photo source.
