Meditation troubles

The trouble with Meditation is that 'it' and I do not seem to be in the same library let alone reading the same book or on the same page!!

Having worked my little cotton socks off in a most satisfying way over on South Cliff, transforming the garden from a rather over grown landscape to what I saw as a fabulous clear area full of various raised bed that were packed with seedling vegetable and flower cuttings, I now found myself taking over half a dozen other projects …... that in my eyes needed sorting.

Each one was a challenge, each one took time but I loved being busy and so I thought nothing of it.

Peter had now returned to the UK but I still had a few days until I was due to move into Steve's old flat and so I continued to look for things to do until I was instructed by a caring Steve to slow down and meditate for at least one hour a day.

He even gave me a mantra to recite as I sat in quiet contemplation of the moment. “There is Nothing to DO” repeated in a slow clear voice while holding my mala beads. 

One repetition for each of the 108 beads over and over again for an hour.

Deep down I knew this was going to be a challenge before I even attempted it but, trusting that Steve as a healer knew what I needed, I climbed onto the roof of the house 

(the flat roof that is, one mustn’t get too drastic about finding a quiet spot to meditate in)

 sat comfortably and with the beads firmly grasped between my thumb and second finger I began.

“There is Nothing to DO!" 

…..I looked out over the flat roof noting the many fallen leaves that lay scattered over the 30m squared area. 

Well, I told myself, once I pick up those leaves there will be nothing to do.

I picked up the leaves pleased with the now clear vista and sat back down.


“There is Nothing to DO!" …... a leaf fluttered down and settled in the dust beside me. I resisted the immediate urge to pick up the leaf but as I gazed at its form I noted that the roof could really do with a good sweep!


I wrestled for a while with the near overwhelming need to popping down the stairs to fetch the sweeping brush eventually settling on a plan to file the job away in my already overworked sub conscious as a job to do after There is Nothing to DO was done!!


“There is Nothing to DO!" ….......

As I looked out over the roof space averting my gaze from the fallen leaf plus its companion that had fluttered down to join it, I realised I could reach the tops of some of the many huge trees that surrounded the house from up here and a stray thought popped into my head …

...... if I trimmed those branches those trees would look so much better plus there would be less leaves to pick up.


I concentrated harder.


“There is Nothing to DO!" …..

..... My mind slipped again allowing the thought that I needed to pick up drinking water for the yoga studio on my way to the cliff later.


Another job was added to my personal mental list and I concentrated once more.


“There is Nothing to DO!”

Two whole minutes passed as I struggled to focus on my mantra and then my mind rebelled! 

This is ridiculous the many voices cried, there is loads to do!

Leaves fall throughout the day and need picking up, the burning pit needs lighting and then digging out. 

The flower beds need weeding, everything needs sweeping and watering, there are more seeds to plant, the stone wall needs a good scrub let alone the steps to the roof although the rest of the steps are looking great since I scrubbed them a week ago, the balcony needs cleaning and that is even before I go inside the house!! 

I may as well chant "I have a Huge purple wart on my nose!!"


“There is Nothing to DO!”


I struggled on repeating the mantra another 102 times with about 98 mental interruptions as I thought of things I could, should, would like to be doing rather than sitting on a roof that by now was covered with a totally fresh scattering of leaves and goodness knows how much fresh dust saying there was nothing to do!

I looked at the clock beside me … ten whole minutes had past!!! 

There was no way I could manage another fifty!! 

I closed my eyes.

“There is Nothing to DO!”


My mind was quiet.


“There is Nothing to DO!”


Without my sight my mind actually didn't answer back!!


“There is Nothing to DO! ….. There is Nothing to DO! …. There is Nothing to DO!”


I yawned and continued.....


“There is Nothing to DO ....... There is Nothing to DO …. There is Nothing to DO!”


I yawned again but my mind, apart from acknowledging the tiredness attached to the yawn, was quiet (if a bit dismissive of the actual words being said).


“There is Nothing to DO ....... There is Nothing to DO …. There is Nothing to DO!”

One by one the mantra was repeated, the yawns becoming so frequent that by the end of the 108 repetitions I was yawning between every chant.

I reached the last bead in the round and looked at the clock. 

Another ten minutes had passed, yet now I was satisfied that I had at last mastered my mind. 

I lay down to rest for a moment …. and promptly woke up 40 minutes later!!!


“There is Nothing to DO!" ................... The battle started again.

“There is Nothing to DO" …...... By now I was awake and my mind raced through a list of things that I hadn't even realised needed doing until this point.


“There is Nothing to DO!”


I desperately needed a different mantra. 

Until now all the chatter and conversation that constantly babbled away within my head had at least been manageable but this new mantra was causing so much conflict that new voices and ideas were rushing around all trying to beat the mantra down!!

I choose to Do Nothing? ….. Well that's nearly as crazy as the first mantra my internal voices screamed. 

You're breathing, thinking, planning, digesting, growing, etc etc etc!!


I then recited about ten 'There is Nothing to DO's before I realised I wasn't even listening any more so busy was I listing all the things I was doing while trying to do nothing.

"There is Nothing I want to DO?" …

....... No that doesn't work either the voices laughed as everything I am thinking of doing would be better, in my and their opinion, if I did them straight away rather than sitting here putting it all off until later.

I abandoned the chanting, let the voices run away with themselves and thought.


What had triggered this advice to meditate and chant, to slow down? 

DID I actually need to slow down?

Why did I need to slow down?

Because others were afraid I was over doing it?

Was I over doing it?


I was pushing myself pretty hard but I was also getting a buzz seeing everything transform........... but was it my responsibility to make everything change? 

Was I actually helping people by getting all those things that I felt needed doing done, rather than letting others do things for themselves?


The words of a friend echoed in my head. The more you do the less others get to do, sooner or later the doing becomes expected, THEN you'll get tired! 

Then you'll get resentful and sooner or later you'll either explode or run away!


(The story of my life!!)


But how to let go?

How to remember to let go?

How to remember not to take over in the first place?

The saying 'Not my Circus not my Monkey', popped into my head. 

If I spent more time dealing with my own monkeys and gave everyone the chance to sort out their own circuses would life get simpler?


“Not my Circus, not my Monkey!”


“Not my Circus, not my Monkey!”

The word Monkey didn't sit comfortably as I thought of all the lovely people around me, in what I perceived to see as struggles that I could 'help' sort out.

“Not my Circus, not my Lions?"

"Not my Circus, not my Clowns?”


I smiled.


“Not my Circus, not my Clowns …

... Not my Circus, not my Clowns ….

... Not my Circus, not my Clowns”

Yes I still had plenty of things to Do but for one hour I was content to let them wait while the Ring master in me let go of my many gathered circuses.

Between my chants I silently wished all the wonderful clowns I knew and loved, the very best with their own circus rings and mentally allowed (ok forced) myself to step back a few feet. 

I would stop my unsolicited 'helping' (interfering) and that in turn would allow the gifted people I knew the space to sort out their own performances.


“Not my Circus, not my Clowns”


“Not my Circus, not my Clown?”


Maybe I could do this after all …...


“Not my Circus, not my Clowns”


“Not my Circus, not my Clowns”


A story to be continued .......

A House in India!!!

Greenlands Beach Resort is a wonderful place not far from Black Beach,

I met Mohamed the owner a few years previous when my friends Andy and Nicole had spent a very happy 2 months there. 

Mohamed is one of the kindest souls you will meet, smiling, helpful, a joy to be around and during Andy and Nicole's stay he had nick named me 'Blue Hair Lady'.

I was even in his phone under that name!!

Just before Peter left for the UK and I moved into Steve's flat but after the hair cut, Peter and I were passing Greenlands on the way to Black beach, when I spotted Mohamed's motorbike parked outside.

When I had met Mohamed he was lamenting the fact that he considered himself to be 'too big'!!

Wonderful cooking from his adorable wife, evening socialising with his guests had added a few pounds to his frame and despite working hard on the garden the weight didn't seem to shift.

When we had last met I consoled him by saying he was not so big.

“Mohamed Ji, my husband is much bigger” I had laughed one day.

“Not possible!” had been his reply and so I promised that when my husband arrived I would introduce them.

Between the garden, the bike rides and all our other projects our paths had not crossed but with only a few more days of Peter being in the country plus the fact that Mohamed was actually at Greenlands, I asked Peter to turn around so we could say hello.

“Mohamed Ji!!” I beamed spotting Mohamed through the large gates at the entrance. 

Peter parked up the bike as I began to chat.

“Blue Hair!”

 Mohamed grinned back and then looked more closely ….

“Where your blue hair??”

I laughed and told him “Husband cut!”

I told him he looked good. He had lost a little weight but was still the cuddly Mohamad of old.

“Too big Ji!” he reciprocated, “Still to big,”

“No Ji,” I laughed as Peter walked through the gate,

“This my husband Peter, he is much bigger!!

Mohamed stands at about my height …. basically up to Peters shoulder. 

As his gaze rose to meet Peters smile, his own smile froze in fascination at Peters huge frame.

He looked back at me and then at Peter once more, his grin broadening.

“This BIG!” he beamed at me, then looking up at Peter once more he announced ...

“Mohamed not so big …. I like this man!!”

Instead of a more formal handshake he embraced Peter around the middle … or rather he tried to! 

Between Peter's girth plus Mohamed's, it was like watching a meeting between two of the sweetest teddy bears imaginable!

The three of us stood on the driveway chatting while catching up on the things that had happened over the past 6 months.

I explained we had been over at South Cliff but I was about to move back to Borneo Mukk while Peter went home for 2 months.

All my friends seemed to have houses now and I was very lucky to be able to stay with them for free.

As we talked an idea came into my head. 

Greenlands consists of two properties....... 

Mohamed's old family home nearest the road

.......... and a block of 4 purpose build rental rooms in the lower garden from which he earned an income.

As Peter and Mohamed continued their mutual admiration of all things with engines, I gazed at the house and its over grown garden.

Steve and Emma had a house, 

Catriona now had a house …

....... could I have a house too?

Broaching the subject as subtly as I could I asked Mohamed what were his plans for the family home.

“Oh big problems Blue Hair, many many big problems.

Too much maintenance … maybe I pull it down and build new place!”

Horrified I looked at the beautiful building. 

Yes the paint was faded and grubby, the garden was overgrown but to pull it down!! 

His father had built this house for his mother. He had grown up here before moving to a fabulous house just up the road once he and his wife had a family.

His parents had since died and the house had fallen into sadness but to pull it down!!!

“Please Ji you can not pull it down, how much maintenance can one house need?”

He led the way to the flat roof covered with tin sheeting and pointed to the upright bars.


Three had rusted right through.

Holes dotted the sheeting and the place was a mess!

A local restaurant had stored their old restaurant tables up there along with the mattresses their staff had used when they had stayed in the house for a season.

Dogs had totally destroyed the area and the entire roof moved!!!

I agreed that this was pretty major but Peter was looking at the place with a trained eye.

“No...” he mused, “Cut here and here, pop a new bar in and weld here and here.” 

He moved around the roof oblivious to the destruction of furniture and bedding.

He checked each upright, examined the supports for the roof. 

“I can fix this.” 

He spoke more to himself than to us but it was all I needed ….

“Mohamed Ji, show me what else is wrong with the house!”

Mohamed had a friend who stayed occasionally in the house.

The friend had agreed to rent it until the end of August so we arranged to come back once Mohamed has spoken to his friend before we went into the rest of the house.

24 hours later we were back!!

The house was used by his friend as just a place to put a bed after a night on the cliff two or three nights a week. 

Furniture was minimal and most of the rooms were not used at all but to me it was perfect.

Peter and Mohamed walked around discussing the electrics, plumbing, walls and tiles while I simply envisioned what it COULD be like.

We sat down on the friends foam and wood sofa to talk.

 

“Ji, you give us good rent and we will fix your house!”

 Peter nodded approvingly.

 Everything that needed doing was within his ability and I knew I could create the most amazing home here.

Mohamed smiled, “Last week I prayed for guidance regarding this house. Today he sends you!”

We embraced as hand shakes were now obsolete. 

As of October 2019 this would be our new house in India.

A dream had just come true for me ….

….....but for now I had to wait!!

PS. While I waited I became fascinated by the colours of Indian houses,

...... and as Mohameds entire house was going to need painting I needed some research on colour ideas.

It is only now that I am writing this that I realise just how many houses I photographed over the next two months!

And this is just a handful of what I found on the camera!!!

So many colours to choose .....

In the end I decided on a colour that I had basically decided the day I saw the house ….....

...... Krsna Blue and white !!

Shave the head!!!!

After two months in India my hair had faded to its usual green and it had grown long enough to get into my eyes again. 

Sun salutations now involved extra breathes to blow hair out of my mouth, morning bed head had returned, swimming involved shampoo and conditioner and all the reasons I had wanted to shave my head returned.

In the UK I love my long hair. 

Bright blue vibrant hair blows in the breeze as I walk.

With a single hair pin or a pencil I can pile it up onto my head out of the way, I can plait it, ribbon it, I had dreads and beads and it was fabulous at festivals when I told my stories.

Many people in town only knew me as the Blue Haired Lady.

But in India it was hot! 

If I tied it up it was like wearing a hat, if I braided it it was like wearing a scarf, swimming every day was a nightmare, the sun bleached the colour and no one ever saw my wonderful dreads as it was constantly in a tight bun at the top of my head which got in the way for yoga!

When Mr P joined me for the first two months in India he brought with him, his beard clippers.

When I had informed him I planned to cut all my hair off in Singapore he had been unsure. Over ten years we had been together, ten years of long hair, four years of bright blue long hair.

Once he arrived and saw I still had hair to my shoulders he had been relieved but now as I moaned each day about my hair his patience gave way.

“OK I'll cut it!” he announced a few days before he headed back to the UK for a month.

“Cool!!”

I had the clippers, chair and bucket on the balcony within moments before either of us could change our minds.

“You sure?” he asked one more time clippers poised for the first trim.

“Sure!”

The clippers whirred into life.

With the waste basket a quarter full with the results of the first initial cut, Mr P went in for the second cut!

He held the clippers at the base of my neck and arched them up into my hair.

“OH!!!”

.... was all he said as the first of the hair hit the floor. 

“Didn't mean it to be that short!”

I couldn't see a thing so was unworried,

“No Problem,” I reassured him “It will be fine!”

The clippers buzzed into life once more as what was left of my blue hair fell to the floor or the bucket.

Mr P is a man of many talents. With two boys in the house haircuts have always been done at home, his own curly shoulder length hair is cut once a year by me by piling it up into a pony tail and then cutting said ponytail off!!

I trusted Mr P and no matter what it looked like when he finished I could always got to the barber and shave it off after he left!!

As the last of the hair sprinkled to the floor he turned the clippers off. 

“OK go and have a shower.” 

I gave him a quick trim, swept the balcony, emptied the bucket into the burning pit and headed to the bathroom which is the only room containing a mirror.

It looked amazing!!!!!

I kept running my hands over the back of my head to make sure it was all gone.

It felt so soft! 

Showering was bliss. 

I could feel water on my neck. 

Shampoo was now obsolete as was conditioner. 

Drying took moments and the coolness as I emerged back onto the balcony was breathtaking!

Liberating isn't the word!! 

All my life I have loved having long hair. I had envisioned growing old and grey (or pink or blue) with long plaits and red ribbons. 

Until I made the choice to come and live in India the thought of short hair had never crossed my mind.

Mr P just looked crestfallen. 

“You'll grow it back wont you,” was all he said as he packed the clippers away. 

“I wasn't keen on the blue,” he confessed “but I love you with long hair.”

I was still on the high of liberation to answer. 

I had cut his hair shorter in return but I am no hairdresser, cutting a pony tail off once a year is one thing, raising curly hair off the shoulders is another. 

The result was more of a Beatle look than a real haircut!!

In desperation he headed to the barber where for 300 rupees he had an amazing short haircut and a shave!

Each day I swam, did yoga, rode the bike and kept running a hand over my head to remind myself it was all gone. 

People I had met didn't notice at first as from the front it just looked like my hair was tied back but when I turned my head the gasps of surprise were amusing.

Mr P departed for the UK to check on the children before heading to Thailand with the 'boys' while I embraced in my new look. 

Would I grow it back?

Laziness said I would, as going to hairdressers and such was never in my time scale but Mr P had cut this and Mr P could cut it again. 

But did Mr P want to cut it again?

Catriona by now had rented a beautiful place in a quiet side street. 

Steve was awaiting Emma and a group of friends from the UK and as they began to arrive I passed responsibility of the garden to them and moved back to Steve's flat in Borneo Muuk.

“The rent is paid on the flat until the end of February”, he informed me, “Emma and I will stay here (South Cliff) so enjoy the freedom.”

I packed the sewing machine and my belongings and asked Sandheev to drive them over to the flat while I rode the bike.

Having the place to myself was bliss.

Each day after I had swept the flat I went for a swim.

I bought a cotton sari , modifying it in my usual way,

still loving the new hair.

I went to the temple for puja

and I acquired some fabric from the tailor next door to Ballu's shop to make a hand puppet for a child I knew. 

Tailor Man offered me a never ending pile of the stuff as he normally needed to hire a boy to take it away and burn it!!

Burn it!!!!

Without the garden to look after or a Peter to hang out with or even any hair that needed my attention, I now had loads of time on my hands …

.....as I looked at the left over scraps a new project idea entered my head …

.

... Burn it indeed!!!!






PS.....

The question of whether Mr P would cut my hair again was answered when he returned to India in February 2019 without the beard clippers!!

My hair had grown about two inches, still short enough to be really short but bed head was now apparent. Teeth brushing, wash face finished off with a wet flannel over head to dampen the sticky up hair into place, was now my morning ritual.

One morning as I stooped to pick up coconuts I realised my hair was long enough to fall forward!!! A haircut was needed but how did I broach the subject with Mr P?

He took it very well and on the way back from town, we stopped in at the barbers where I had a haircut and a facial while he had a shave all for 500 rupees!

My hair is now 1cm long, 2cm on the top. When I eventually return to the UK in a few months it will grow but when I return to India in October ….... I will be back to the barbers.

At these prices I can have a facial and a haircut every week!!