stuff, stuff and more stuff...

(this replaces, and expands on, the previous blog entry titled "stuff")

Internal stuff, external stuff, my stuff, your stuff, group stuff… there’s all kinds of stuff. I guess, in a way, what we are really doing through these journeys is looking at a lot of stuff, and trying to let go of some stuff, and become open to some other stuff. Funny word this English word “stuff”. Because it can mean so many different things. Many of them, most perhaps, are attachments. Emotional, physical, psychological attachments… to stuff.

Lets rewind a bit. So you can imagine that after 5 months of workshops (in case anyone is interested: gurdjieff sufi camp with akash, vipassana 10 day sitting, osho’s mystic rose, contact dance improvisation, the art of living and dying, tantra, and the mystery of love), I was feeling pretty relaxed (filled with love and joy and tranquillity, open, flowing – yes, hippied out). So what does the universe decide to do? (Yes, I will continue to refer to the universe and existence as if they are my next door neighbours.) It throws Nisarga my way full force. Now Nisarga and I met for the first time in March during Mystic Rose. But it was only by the end of May that we decided we didn’t want to say goodbye just yet and let fate and the winds of change blow us back together some day in some life time some where. Ok, this is a no-brainer. Because we have a lot in common and are on very similar paths and we are attracted to each other so it makes since we want to continue being together.

But then this crazy Nisarga kid makes a proposition. Why don’t we get an Enfield, put our bags on it, hop on, and drive around India, travelling and doing different workshops. Of course with stars in my eyes, the sun in my heart, and the moon further south, totally blissed out on a meditation high, I’m like putty in his hands. I have no recollection right now what my initial response was, but I know I didn’t say no. As the idea started to sink in more and more, I got more and more scared. Scared shitless actually. I remember my heart racing, my body trembling (no, not convulsions I’m not that dramatic), putting my hands in front of my face to cover my eyes and going under the covers and screaming, laughing and kicking. This fear was triggering something very basic in me. I felt like a little kid, totally, wanting to go on a rollercoaster but at the same time being too scared to get on or too scared of what my mother would say if she found out, but at the same time laughing at myself. (this actually never happened in my childhood but this is the example that comes to me right now.)

Ok, so I tried to bring myself to awareness and remember that I took sannyas in March and made an internal commitment to myself to look within. So what about this fear? Fear of letting go of comfort zones, of security blankets, of not burning bridges just in case. Sure I had quit my job, sure I was pursuing something totally different then anything I had done before, sure I was participating in challenging processes, and yet I was still holding on to an apartment in Delhi. Why? Because my over 50 pairs of shoes need a resting place damn it! Because I have never not had a base. Because I had always said I was not one of those people who could just go backpacking for months or years on end. Because I wanted to know I could have a place to call home. Because I wanted to know there was somewhere familiar and safe I could run to if I needed to, if I wanted to, any time I wanted to, for any reason. Because this was my security blanket. It was familiar, comfortable, and safe. And here’s this crazy kid Nisarga telling me to let go! What? Madness!

Ok, ok, ok, I tried again to bring myself back to awareness. And I realised, yes this is a perfectly reasonable and healthy thing to have, an apartment, somewhere to call home. However, if this is a time of breaking patterns and comfort zones for me, and I’m taking a lot of time, effort, and money to do it, and I don’t have to worry about a family, then why not at least try, just try, to push the boundary a bit further. If not now then when? Aaaahhhhh! I think I screamed some more at that point.

In an effort to inspire me, Nisarga got impulsive. Actually, he loves to get impulsive, just as much as he loves worrying about planning things out and all. Two sides to the same coin. He had this watch that beeped every 30 minutes. Now this drove me nuts. Here I was trying to enter timeless-ness and there is this beep to remind me that 30 minutes have gone by. I asked him to turn it off but he couldn’t figure out how. So as we are having one of these conversations of me letting go, and I’m screaming and hiding under the covers, the watch goes beeeeeep. I had threatened earlier to burn it. So what does he do? In an effort to inspire me, and to prove that detachment can feel great, and that giving away things you love makes you feel wonderful, and that letting go makes you feel lighter, blah blah blah, he looks at me and says: “lets burn it!” He sets up two glass cups on the balcony, a lit candle underneath, and suspends the watch between the glasses and above the candle. I tell him to close the door, because of the fumes and because something mechanical like that might have parts that pop under flame, and we watch from the other side of the window. There are dramatic pictures of this but we can’t seem to find them. Anyway, so the watch starts to melt and drip until it puts out the flame. He picks up the watch and throws it in the garbage bin in our room. My mouth has dropped to the floor. I’m thinking this kid really is a nut case! I’m way beyond my league here! A few minutes later… it goes beeeeeep. That thing is durable. Now the drama shifts in Nisarga’s camp, to how he should have given it as a gift to someone instead of destroying it, and how he spent I don’t know how much on it. By the way, just today he said, and I quote, “I miss that watch”; so much for letting go!

Ok, back to my drama. It actually took a couple of days to stop freaking out about it. And then I said yes. Yes to this crazy challenge (crazy according to me; Nisarga had already done this to his life several months back) that existence threw my way, Nisarga being the post-man. I felt like I had just said “I do”. And then what? What happens after the honey-moon?

Well, I headed back to Delhi at the end of May and reduced my shoe count to just under 30, major progress I’d say. I went through all my clothes and gave some away. Basically I did a bit of an external spring cleaning to match my internal spring cleaning. I went to the US, then we vacationed (vacation from our vacation!) for 7 weeks, and so (fast-forward) here I am. With an expensive backpack that is supposedly top of the line filled to the rim; so much that every time I had to put it on in Spain Nisarga had to pick it up and put it on me. My mother, who during every visit offers to trade in my beat-up luggage for something new which will make my travel that much more comfortable, took me to the airport with this pack and she said it broke her heart to see her daughter carrying half her weight on her back… after all, why? She’s right of course.

Ok, so here comes reality, slowly. I have returned to a place I know, a country that has been my home for almost 5 years now, but to not having a home. I haven’t officially let go of my apartment yet but I’m not staying there, I just need to go and pack it up and transfer the lease and sell whatever needs to be sold. Seeing my friends and reassuring them I’ll be close by, yet feeling far already.

“But where are you moving to?” I’m asked. “Nowhere”, I respond. “What do you mean no where?” comes the reply. “I’m moving out of Delhi, but I’m not moving into anywhere in particular, I’m not leaving India, I’m just not going to be based in one place anymore.” Maybe it’s hard to explain because I don’t even get it yet. Of course it’s also hard to explain because most people haven’t experienced it so it’s hard to understand in the first place.

While I am managing to let go having an apartment, I must admit, my attachment to my clothes, shoes, books and DVDs has not diminished much. It will all go into storage in my friend’s mother’s basement in Delhi, and as for now, I’m holding on to the idea that I can access it whenever I want and don’t have to let go of any of my really personal possessions. Yes, these are my baby steps. Thank you for reading this far.

PS: no, we don't have an enfield yet