mağfiret
I am learning all the ways to sit with myself.
Here I am, in Barcelona, at the edge of the season.
My departure was exactly one year ago. The day I left for Marrakesh, I wore dark tights and a black sweater. Both are gone. It was raining, and my feet were soaked in the leather espadrilles. The gold ones that I still have.
Yesterday, when I arrived, the air was heavy and damp. The leaves are very green and shook in the thundershowers. It rained all day, and my studio apartment smells like home. The fuse box blew, so I have lamps instead of ceiling lights. It's a better ambiance. A cockroach-looking bug lurks in the kitchen, behind the fridge, and there is no way to perch the percolator on the stove. I made a Nespresso, and today, I will find a store that sells the little plastic cups of coffee.
Every time I move, I must adjust to my environment.
The pillows are gold, the bedding is white, and the cabinets where I hang my clothes are green. The table where I sit and write is glass and shakes if I type too fast.
More prompts to slow down, perhaps.
I spent three days in Marrakesh. Many places were closed because of the earthquake that tore through the Atlas Mountains. Thousands of people are now homeless. Thousands of people died. I left a bag full of my clothes at Mouna's, and maybe they will be donated to someone who needs them. I left my favorite pair of black boots and doubt they will make it to the shelters in the mountains. Who would need such a pair of shoes in that situation?
The cafe where I enjoy working had no wife because the lines were ripped from the tremors that rippled down to Marrakesh. The damage was less severe, though the emotional rupture went through the heart of the city. Many people took three days off to mourn and be in the mosques for prayers. It was a relief to be back in the home I've stayed four times. I am comfortable there, though this short trip felt heavy. The air was dense and sandy and my eyes were red for my stay. I was simply passing through before my next destination.
It's a tagline for my lifeline at the moment.
I took a plane to Barcelona for Anna Forrest. She has a 200-hour Teacher Training in September, and I have joined the ten-day intensive for the latter half of the month—four hours of class, one hour of ceremony, and three hours of yoga.
I met Ana many years ago in Vancouver for a workshop. It was short for an afternoon, and I remember her brushing me with Saje and a long white feather. Her hair was loose down her back and she had a pair of tight pink tights striped like a tiger with black lines.
The sky is lightening, and the birds have begun to twitter from the trees.
There are three massive trees outside of my window. It reminds me of the view I had in Turkey. I love sleeping beside the trees. I love working with the green outside the window. These birds are brown and very small. I cannot spot their nests but know they are concealed in the boughs.
I am in a studio apartment on a very busy street: cafes and restaurants downstairs and people babbling in Catalan past midnight. I woke up when the veil thinned at two am and knew where I was. I am very grounded in this home.
Upon arrival, there was a massive storm. It rained so hard that it reminded me of the winter I spent watching the rain wipe the windows clear in my home in Burnaby. I had a one-bedroom apartment I shared with my partner. The living room boasted floor-to-ceiling windows. Our last Christmas in this home, it rained steadily for four days. It was so hard you could not step outside without being soaked. I remember laying on the couch and listening to it, not a gentle patter but a reckless torrent that pounded on the roof!
I feel nostalgic in the rain. I feel sad in a most comforting way. Clara made chicken noodle soup in the new instapot. I'll have tested so many recipes by the time you come, she said. I miss being in a shared space with people and family and am also nervous about being there. The relocation will be difficult for me, I think. I am so used to being alone. Navigating a schedule with housemates will take some time for me to ease into. I am very controlling, sometimes, and particular about things.
This morning, for instance, when the percolator would not boil on the stovetop (this is typical in European countries; I experienced this in France also), I became very angry! I was so upset about my morning routine being disrupted. I like to sit and write as the sky lightens and sip a strong coffee. I purchased cashew milk. I did not have this experience yesterday, when I left Marakesh, because it was too early. I did not drink coffee yesterday.
I got over my unease, of course, and I am writing with a coffee in a small clear glass that I've placed on a book on top of the glass table. It is interesting to observe my moods and how quickly they change!
Yesterday, my lights went out after the yoga class and call I had with Clara and Karmen. The fuse box blew, and the concierge spent two hours with me troubleshooting the problem.
It is a line, something to do with the wires in the ceiling. Perhaps the storm caused it, the concierge said. His name is Marc. He has light hair and very dark eyes and his arms are covered in tattoos. A little bird is perched on his inner left forearm. His English is just so-so, but we managed to speak about ourselves while he unplugged appliances, replaced lightbulbs, and flicked the fuse box switches.
I don't know what the problem is, he said after some time had passed. He sat on the ladder he brought to my home and called his friend.
I call him every time, and he helps me.
Everyone needs a friend like that, I said.
Yes, the friend is good.
Marc grew up in Barcelona. His father moved to the city from the South in the seventies. There was more work in the big city, lots of industry and factories, so many people moved to Barcelona to find work. It is where he met Marc's mother, and they married. Marc grew up in Barcelona; he loves it here, though it is too expensive and very competitive to find a job.
Five hundred euros for one tiny room, just a little bed with a toilet. Nothing else. This is normal. He shook his head. You need very specialized skills for the work; it is very difficult to find a job now. So so hard. There are too many people in Barcelona, and the cost of renting a home is so expensive for the average person. Food prices have gone up also; olive oil and wine, our exports, cost too much for the people here to buy! Spain is known for its wines and oils; our cheese is very good, and it is so so much now for people to enjoy these things. We are known for it globally; it is how Spain makes money, yet it is too much for us.
He shook his head. Ah, too many people.
The sequence is the same no matter where I go or who I meet; the price to exist is very high. Large cities are overpopulated, and in the smaller towns, there is no work.
I did not feel this last year when I was in Barcelona. I was not looking outside of myself. My excitement drove my awareness into the corner and I was more concerned about seeing new things than speaking to the people about their lives.
I asked many questions. I always do.
One day, I will meet someone with this fervor!
I've created an inversion for myself: In Autumn (September) 2022, I traveled from Barcelona to Marrakesh. In Autumn (September) 2023, I traveled from Marrakesh to Barcelona.
I did this without thinking about it.
What is the same? What has changed? Who am I?
Photo source.
