bir
The whole point of the voyage was to establish a perspective anchored in something different than she already knew. Familiarity creates a shield; it protects us from discovering the stuff we don't want to feel. It is uncomfortable to roam and even more so to feel what shifts when you are misaligned with your surroundings.
How to create alignment? This is the question for the day.
What are the actions that allow for space? What language is used, and how do the words affect the internal and external environment?
Silence is the key to that locked door the girl cannot enter. She has tried so many different tools. Rifling through a metal box with knives, pens, paperclips, wrenches, screwdrivers, and a hammer.
You cannot bang your way out of the box! Freedom arrives in many forms, like the birds peeping from the bush outside the window.
The babies wait to be fed whatever their mother has collected. The female regurgitates what was discovered, and the kids slurp it down greedily before identifying it.
When you are so young, does it matter who feeds you?
This idea of a Mother is a curious one. Someone designed this archetype in the same fashion our idea of home was established.
Here is a list of all the ways I take care of myself:
and (distractions from absence)
floss teeth
boil water, add 1 tsp of honey
lay on the floor and breathe into the back ribs
rub scented lotion on the skin (almond or lavender)
observe the hands while writing or typing
focus on the sounds in the environment
read a poem
read a book
wash something; dishes, underwear, hair
take prostration or a child's pose
All this time, I didn't know that the voice was real; it was the voice of God/Goddess.
I want a new name to express the Divine, and I also have reverence for a name that was chosen long before I showed up. Whatever I suggest will not stand upright on its own. I've always loathed a person who arrives with too many props. It's not necessary to carry so much around with us.
Part of me is very uneven, like my teeth. Start small. Let it grow organically. Listen to what people say when they return.
I sit and write at a cafe where a man also arrives at the same. He chooses the table beside me. He is tall and handsome, with dark hair clipped in a low bun. The Turkish way, this is so.
The nameless man and I take each other in through little glances. Smaller than the sips of espresso from white china cups. The coffee at this cafe is so-so. I attend for the atmosphere and because I enjoy the walk along the seaside. It's twenty minutes from my home, allowing me time to digest my dreams as I stroll.
Last night I dreamt I was driving an orange car through the forest. Instead of being in the seat, I was above the car, watching it move between the trees. The road was blocked, and I had to navigate through the bush. It was impossible to see inside the car, so I navigated from the sky, watching the objects moving below.
Items for analysis:
orange - creativity, relationships, desire, pleasure.
car - mobility, freedom, autonomy.
forest - wild, exploration, fertility, mystery, diversity.
clear sky - transcendence, intuition, universality.
My placement in the dream points to the position I hold within the framework of my surroundings. I'm reading Julia Kristeva. I'm listening to Douglas Brooks review The Bhagavad Gita. I'm practicing reiki alone and in public settings. Purple is the color that comes to me when I'm surrounded by people; the color of clairvoyance. Orange comes to me when I am alone, the color of creation.
I am annoyed by everything today, and it is not even noon! The man who took the table adjacent is not the man I am used to. This man keeps watching the black cat sleeping on the cushions across from me, and I don't understand why he cannot focus on himself. My stomach is upset again, and it could be a cause of the black seed oil I take each morning to stimulate digestion. Perhaps I do not need to be stimulated.
It's been cloudy for four days, and today, the sun is peeping beyond the grey, and I don't like it. I'd rather it be windy and wet for a little while. I am the tempest, and nothing can contain my tears.
I've been crying midday for no reason I can name. I might be lonely. I feel misunderstood.
I toured the west side of Istanbul into the area where the Syrian refugees sit with their palms out in the streets. I have no money for the metro, and the taxis will not drive across the bridge. I still have no credit card; it has not arrived in the mail, and I am out of cash. I got on a bus (the incorrect number) and could not pay, but the man let me on even though he was unhappy about it. I clutched the rail with one sweaty palm. I watched the ruckus out the window—hundreds of people carrying rugs and trolleys on the sidewalk—bare feet, cracked teeth, filthy fingernails, ill-fitting clothes, swollen bellies, and gangly limbs. I am never frightened for my safety while on the road. I fear humanity for its greed. I fear the thirst of poverty. I fear the unlevelled class war percolating in the corners where we don't want to look.
A man with perfect teeth, too white and straight to be real, told me he hoped there would be a war. He wants things to go to the worst place possible, so people feel ignited to revolt.
There is already a war, I said.
Turkey is too crowded, he replied; there are too many people in the world.
Doesn't it seem counterproductive to ban abortion in the USA?
The man turned to look at me fully once I said this. Mouth closed, hiding those beautiful false teeth.
It makes no sense to me, he finally said, shaking his head.
I left him like this, wondering why the world is how it is.
I don't ask that question anymore, the why of what is.
Sometimes, things are what they are, and this is the only way to keep moving ahead - why worry about what is behind you?
What a terribly privileged thing to say. I understand this better.
This is the question I am considering now: how elitism shapes my perception, environment, and interactions?
This is why I left Canada, to see all the different ways of being in the world. However, I will never get as close to what I crave because of my appearance.
Photo source.
