Contrasts

Continuity gives us roots; change gives us branches, letting us stretch and grow and reach new heights.

Pauline R. Kezer


This time two weeks ago, I was in warm, boisterous Bangalore wearing skirts and t-shirts and staring nostalgically up at swaying palm tree fronds, knowing that soon this would all come to an end. Now, here I am in 0 degrees Basingstoke, watching as the slow falls slowly outside. It all feels quite surreal; the transition so fast.

My sleeping patterns are often to sensitive to change. But I'm pleased to report that since I've been back in England, I've been sleeping okay. In fact, I feel like I could sleep alot more which is a good thing, as often I know that I need the sleep, but that doesn't mean I would be able to have it.

My nights continue to be nightmare-free, sleep-paralysis-free and filled with dreams, peopled with weird and wonderful characters and scenarios. But there's nothing strange about that.

So far, so good.

Moving on

Death is an angel with two faces; to us he turns a face of terror, blighting all things fair; the other burns with the glory of the stars, and love is there.

T. C. Williams


And so life goes on without Akilesh. At times like this, I sometimes wonder why the world doesn't stop; why everyone's faces don't turn, for just a moment, towards the grieving family. To acknowledge their suffering at least, and then carry on. But of course the world doesn't work like that, because tragically there are hundeds of Akilesh's that make the transition each and every moment from this world on to something else. But is it tragedy? Or part of a bigger plan? These are big questions and for the moment, at least, it still hurts.

For the past few days, I've been feeling very low. Because of what has happened, from missing Deepa's presence, and from lack of sleep. Yesterday morning I went to have some Reiki with Priya and it really, really helped; to have sombody be present with me and to be present myself and allow myself to relax whilst gentle, loving hands are placed on me. I told her that my sleep over the past weeks hasn't been very good and how this has surprised me, considering the issues that have surfaced for me that I've considered to be highly significant. It's one thing to acknowledge issues, she told me, but quite another to truly process them. Have I processed what's come up? Have I allowed it to sink into every fibre and feel the anger and the fear? Probably not. I'm so 'English' in many ways. I'm so pre-conditioned to remain calm.

So, my next challenge: to find a way to channel the emotion that I have inside me.

Why?

I'm at a loss to know what to write today, but I feel that I need to write something. To try and get my head around what has happened. To understand. To accept.

We found out yesterday that the lady who has been working for us in India, the wonderful person who has looked after Lily and allowed me to write in the mornings, lost her five year old son. It was all very sudden: he was healthy, and then he was gone. It's no surprise that I didn't sleep last night. My sleep patterns are so finely tuned to my emotional wellbeing and if something upsets or disturbs me, or even if I'm excited about something, I feel it ten-fold in the quiet of night rather than my body giving itself the rest it needs.

I feel truly devastated for Deepa's loss. And that suddenly everything has changed: the sound of her chappals padding towards our door each morning, the tapping, her quiet, unassuming, gentle manner and her complete and utter devotion to her family. Some things are impossible to understand; the more you try, the more confused they become.

But questions swim around my mind like goldfish with their large, unblinking, uncomprehending eyes. But perhaps they know, perhaps they know, just like my questions, that they're never going to get out.

Making tracks

...our verb "to write" originally referred to a kind of incisive track-making.


Before going to bed last night, I thought it might be helpful to write down a 'plan' for what to do if I wake in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep, as I have been doing this past week. The reason for this is because, try as hard as I might not to, my mind is so pre-conditioned to defer to the default reaction of annoyance (why am I awake again?) or mild panic (I'm going to be exhausted tomorrow). Obviouslly, it's not helpful feeling these things at 2/3/4 am in the morning.

So this is what I wrote in my diary:

1) Do the protective shield for Andy, Lily and Maya.

This is something the hypnotherapist taught me and I do it on myself each night in bed. You imagine a line being drawn around your body of bright light or energy, then envsiage positive thoughts and positive energy from outside seeping through the line into your body. Then you imagine all negative energy trying to get through but it is unable to because there is now a strong protective shield around you and all negativity bounces back to its source.

2) Breathing deeply and remaining in the present. Each time my mind wanders to what I did today or what I'll do tomorrow, bring it back to the now.

3) This is contradictory in light of number 2, but this just came to me without thinking about it: To imagine myself as a child, walking up the hill from the house we spent alot of time at in Switzerland, along a winding mountain path to go and fill pails with fresh milk. I don't know why I thought of that; something about envisioning the action of placing one foot in front of the other, upwards and onwards I imagined to be comforting in the small hours.


Anyway, so what happened last night?

When I woke up, I spent a long time on numbers one and two and never made it to number three because by then it was starting to grow light. Which was good, because it meant that I had got through more of the night before my customary waking. And I certainly feel better today.

Writing...making tracks....moving forwards...making progress.

Questions

The less your mind rules over you, the more you can be connected to the wisdom and compassion of your heart.

Mynavati


Where, or where, has my sleep flown to? Certainly not my bed at night. This past week has been....tough. Five out of seven nights I've slept badly and, as I said in my last posting, such a week admittedly leaves me with a feeling of confusion as there seems no rhyme nor reason to it. The good news is that I am, I think, coping with lack of sleep better. I'm not prone to bursting into tears and have more of a handle on my emotions, as well as still getting out and about and making myself be sociable as this helps me to feel more normal.

I do wonder though, when the morning is cold and the sky is grey back in England, how I shall feel. Somehow, everything seems so much easier out here in India. I haven't done this for some time, but I'm sure if I read back to some of the early blog postings I wrote, I'd remember some of the emotional anguish that came with them and I find it hard to believe I can ever sink as low as I know I did. But at the same time, I musn't take anything for granted and keep taking a day at a time. Anything can happen, but let's just hope I have the courage to be guided by my heart and not my mind.

Restlessness

Nothing has really happened until it's been described. Therefore, write alot of letters to your family and friends. Keep a diary. Don't let a day pass without recording it. whether something interesting has happened or not. Something interesting happens every day.

Virginia Woolf


Last night I slept better, but the three nights preceeding that I spent tossing and turning and skimming the worlds of hazy, half-remembered, senesless dreams. Why? Was it because these nights roughly coincided with the dawn of a new moon? Or, if I look deeper, because the dreams which I largely chose to ignore, were trying to 'tell me' something? Or was it plain and simple bad luck?

As I mentally and emotionally prepare myself to fly back across the seas away from India, patches like this when I don't sleep for a few nights leave me feeling confused. Because I like telling myself and others that I am so much better. But then I realise I'm missing the point. To be totally 'cured' of insomnia in eight months is alot to ask. But here's the thing: I can deal with this now. I'm not saying it's any fun, and I still have days that I'd like to stuff my head under a pillow and block out the light. But these days are fewer and I have, I think...I hope...stopped being a victim and taken more control of life and the cards that I'm being dealt. And that's a good feeling.

The Past

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

LP Hartley


These photos are of my dear grandparents, Eric and Christine, taken on their wedding day in 1944. They taught me so much, without trying to teach me anything - about humility, about gratitude, about the pleasure in small things, the importance of family and dealing with adversity, pain and grief. I miss them both very much.

My grandmother was one of these characters with infectious enthusiasm and zest for life. She never complained, she raised six children with no help and when she smiled, her whole face shone. She was very much of the attitude (and generation?) that you just had to get through problems....not talk about them too much, not wallow and definitely not dwell on them; the 'chin up' attitude. She was amazing - she could deal with this. But it's not for everyone. And it's interesting thinking about this kind of stance now, how in this generation we've almost gone the other way - counselling, self-help, talking talking talking through your problems and really feeling them.

Interestingly, my mother commented the other day how much my grandmother suffered. This was a surprise to hear. Certainly, from the perspective of a child and young person, she painted a picture of boundless energy and joy. But this was Christine's choice and her upbringing: to buck up and to carry on. And now I do wonder how much time she spent suffering alone, without feeling able to share what she was going through. Christine was an incredible mother - I can't begin to compare myself to her and that's not what I want to do. But I know that I don't want my own children to feel they can't talk about their problems, no matter how small. Imparting some kind of emotional intelligence to them is one of the most important things I strive for.