Dear Anias, 

A wick that's been pinched by a sweaty palm. Short nub. Too tight to be lit. Perched in its ceramic dish with a pink handle. A vase the same shade with dried babies breath and billy buttons. I always think of Sarah when I see these small yellow bulbs. 

Mango upside down cake with a flaky crust and the fruit sticks to the spoon. Cinnamon sprinkled on the latte. It looks like a cappuccino without the chocolate. Murial was wearing a cord jacket with a paisley print. She'd knotted it at the waist and left the top undone. It was the shade of marigold and plum. Her dark brown eyes looked ravishing and I told her so. She blushed and we waited too long for the man in front of me to choose a loaf of bread. 

Paper sleeves stamped with the cafe's name sit on a shelf by the cookies. I watched as Muriel used a pair of silver tongs to choose three biscuits. A little girl with a white dress pointed at the three cookies she wanted. The ones with the largest chocolate chunks. I would have done the same. 

There are some things I am very patient toward and others I am not. 

I waited in line for perhaps ten minutes to pay my bill. The transition from the little nook where I work to stepping outside to slip my jacket on took half an hour. This stealing of my time should have annoyed me. 

Maybe it was because the sun slung low and the trees waved in the light wind. Perhaps it's because I could keep my leather unzipped to feel the fresh air on my clavicle and neck. I took the long path home around the canal where the swans swim and koi fish glide beneath the lily pads. 

No one feeds the birds, not like at home. In Rabat, men stand by the sea and fling worms to the birds. Sometimes it's small fish that the birds rip apart with their bills and the flayed pieces decorate the sidewalk.

The mess I do not mind, though the stench is striking and upsets my gut.

The question I am sitting with right now is this: what do I avoid? What am I moving through and what am I using as a cover for the mess I am unwilling to witness? 

I can see how I've used different elements of my life to evade confronting the areas I am less adept with or comfortable in. I've used work, specifically when teaching yoga, to escape my internal turmoil. To dodge the ennui. 

There is no way to circumvent certain actions. I've put them off. I've held them out at a legs length, which doesn't mean they're not there. It's like the child who closes their eyes and thinks they're hiding. 

Just because you will yourself not to see something does not mean it isn't happening right before you. 

Honesty is the best fidelity. Ralph Fiennes's character says this in The Bigger Splash. 

If a person is not honest with themselves, they cannot be sincere with you. 

It's not as easy as saying, open your eyes. Seeing is less about the physical quality of sight than what a person is willing to accept within their psyche. 

I've read the Bhagavad Gita many times, and each experience is unique. I receive the lessons I am living or have lived. Reading is about interpreting a text, and my understanding of the text evolves as I do. 

I see Sattva's shadow in this cycle. Sattva is the purity and light, the luminosity within and being present. There are three Gunas, Rajas, Tamas, and Sattva; how often have I read and reviewed this material? Rajas is passion, action, and heat. Tamas is gravity, ennui, and groundedness. 

Thinking universal consciousness and light was the ultimate aim, I did not see how attachment, ego, and absolution from the material world created Sattva's shadow. 

Contradiction exists in everything. I need a balance of all three Gunas; it is not about being one or the other. It's about holding all of it. 

I long to fly and see what else is possible! I want to taste all of the textures- people, places, and pretty things- this world has to offer! How many times have I reached up and out when I should have focused my efforts on dropping in or going down?

It is not greed; it is a deep desire to learn. Children put things in their mouth to understand what it is until they realize how to identify through all of the senses. Discernment occurs in the mind. 

I want to put the world in my mouth and hold it on my tongue like hard candy. I want to suck on it and feel its sweetness dissolve slowly. 

My desire is like the fox leaping from the snow! 

A youth who knows nothing and counts on their presence being enough of a contribution. 

It isn't. Appearing does not deserve an ovation. I must create to weave my existence through the world of things. I must write. I must sit and contemplate and wring out my emotions before I set them on the page. 

The child must undergo many tests before it sheds the orphan archetype and ascends to the Mother. The Mystic. They are one and the same. 

Which were you, Anias? What divine symbols did you recant through your person? The Lover? The Creator? The Innocent? 

I have retreated into this quiet nook where I've hung my green coat and set my white shoes on the hallway rug. I walk with bare feet and brew coffee naked. Little delights creep into the corners, and having these mornings to myself is wonderful! I am the Hermit for the moment.

Only the bells, just the ringing, mark the time of day. Morning and evening. The in-between parts do not matter. 

Last night I did yoga at sunset and completed my sequence when it was dark. I could barely see my palm in front of my face. There were no stars, just clouds. It was a new moon, so the sky was a blank slate. What will I conjure in the blackness? 

Part of me wants to stop this daily journal with you and the other part is curious about our conversations if I stick to it. 

Would quitting be more honest? 

Or is staying where the fidelity lies? 

Is it a question for you, or is this inquiry for him?

The bells will tell me. 

Photo source.