Letting go of the structures

Structures make us feel good, grounded, certain, safe. They help us make decisions without having to really consider whether they are going to bring us beyond the limits of ourselves, or trap us within. Sadly, the latter is the most common.

Structures come in all shapes and sizes. Sure, we all know the 'megastructures' of our physical world, including things such as buildings and houses, but also rules of behaviour set down by society/government: working hours, educational requirements, which side of the road to drive down, how to address each other, what's appropriate attire for a specific event, how to pray, etcetera.

Then, there are the individual structures, those which we have built around ourselves in order to have a certain order in life: the people we spend time with, the kind of music we listen to, where we live, our jobs, how we evaluate others' actions and our moral code, what is a reasonable aspiration, and so on.

The question is whether we need all, or any, of those structures.

I am not advocating total anarchy here, though some might choose to do so, and that's fine by me - that's their choice. What I am calling for is a return to the Self, rather than continuing life according to Id. Certainly, some structures I'd like to see followed (to avoid being run over when crossing the streets, for example), although whether those should include most individual structures, I am dubious.

The thing is, I have recently had my structures shaken and beaten like olive trees at harvest time and, d'you wanna know what? Painful as it has been, having them removed has not killed me. In fact, I can vow that the pain was more from the structures' fear at being destroyed, than of my real Self being divested of them.

Which structures am I keeping, to take along for the journey? Well, I do honestly think the one single structure I will not give up is my people: the network of friends and family who near or far have proven vital, strengthening me along the way, supporting and loving me - and I'm keeping the ability to contact others, value and cherish technology (to a point). The second is my creativity, both of my structures and that which I love. And the third? The third is my will to build up structures, and then let them go when they serve me no longer, despite the wrenching pain.

How many structures could you give up today? How many would you give up?
Why not take a leap of faith? Why not trust what you can create?

Let go...

Of children and hills

Children have no real innate fear. We should learn from them.

I was sitting on a hill in a park in Bristol, quite pleased with myself for being where few others were (most people were lying down on the flatter parts, enjoying the sun). Then, to my right, a young boy appeared. And then, his bother did too! They waited until their mother went around the hill and then, zooooom!! Ran right down the pretty steep slope. They had so much momentum, they would cross the path to partly climb the opposite hill before they could stop themselves.

And there was my head going 'oh, dear, oh, dear, careful...' But then I realised that, if they had thought they had to be careful, they would not have been able to run so safely, surefooted and upright. How often do we heed the warning, and mess up as a result?

Well, I don't know about you, but in my case, way too many. That's not to say I've spent my life as a hothouse plant, rather that sometimes I am aware I could have done so much more if only I had just ran down the slopes in front of me. Being careful is not bad, of course not; being too careful, however, is crippling. There are myriad things which can go wrong at any given moment, but living according to their dictates rather than our own passions is a recipe for mediocrity.

I'm trying to relearn to be brave enough to face the slope, feel the thrill, and nevertheless go for it. I might get a grazed knee, or maybe I won't.

How, but trying, can we know?

Celebrate!

Every thing must have its beginning celebrated. After all, it is a miracle – that which was not, now is, like the first ‘1’ of the Fibonacci sequence. So, I am celebrating the beginning of this computer, of this new period in my life, creation and all.

Not all beginnings are auspicious, however. Some are downright disheartening. But if we had no moments to make us take stock and realise what is the real value of what we are facing, what we are interested in, well then, we would simply miss the chance to celebrate all those new chances!

I am at a time where everything is a question mark, everything a chance, everything a celebration. And yes, I am riddled with anxiety at the prospect, plagued with doubts whether I am making the right choices, using up my chances wisely. I am also living through moments of excruciating pain, of grief, or sorrow for that which was, and now is not. Still, I keep going, aware of the goal, the focus of my heart, the reality of my Being. Letting go of the present is hard, but letting go of the reality we can, are entitled to, need to! create – THAT  is the true monster under the bed.

What to do, then? After all, the pain now seems so much more real than any dreamed-of heart-fulfilling reality. Why not just sit and lick my wounds, let the future arrive when it will? If it is my promised desire, then it should arrive to my doorstep by itself, surely. And if it doesn’t? Well, then it was not to be; or I did something that made me unworthy; or someone took it from me...

How many excuses before we create what we want, rather than re-live, re-create what has already been, what is, what leaves us wanting, fearful of its disappearance? How many excuses before we stand up and take pride in our responsibilities?

Stand up and celebrate!!

I created all the beauty in my present, in my past, and in my future – I did it, and it’s all mine, and how proud I am of it!

I also created all the rough times, the fuck-ups, the mistakes – and they are all mine, too, and how proud I am of them!

For every thing in my life is an expression of myself. So I celebrate any new chance to create anew.

What have you created recently that you should celebrate?

 

'Sunday Best'

We all have a 'Sunday Best' item. For some, it's that oh-so-special dress that makes us look (and feel) like a million dollars; for others, a particular scent; a common one is 'the good dishes' with the gold leaf border and delicate flower motif; or, in my case, a fountain pen.Whatever it is, we all have an item we keep for special occasions, for those particular days that deserve a detail of superiority, for those tasks where a simple plastic ballpen just won't do. 

 

Funny, that.

See, I have long had this 'Sunday Best' fountain pen. Now, I love fountain pens - they glide over the page; they are uniquely personal (don't share yours or the nib'll be ruined); and they reek of permanence, of times when things were built to last merely by changing the odd piece here and there. Whatever you write with a fountain pen, should be worth keeping for ever. My 'Sunday Best' pen was kept sorely for my diary writing.

But today, when I tried to use it, it wouldn't oblige. My diary writing being far from a daily activity, the cartridge was empty  and the ink in the nib had dried up, blocking any new ink from flowing. My 'Sunday Best' pen, carefully kept for a higher and lofty purpose, was simply not up to the task. It had forgotten how to be a pen, an item which is meant to be used daily, to jot down all sorts of things.The absurdity was great, I realised: I had kept this particular pen away from daily use, reserving it to retell and document my daily life! I had stunted its purpose and, in so doing, I had very nearly 'killed' the pen itself.

If we keep the best bits for 'Sunday Best', what are we doing to our experience of our life? We are, in fact, limiting our whole, purposeful, living to a seventh (if that!) of the Greatness we could be experiencing. Even worse, we might be missing out on fabulous related experiences.What's the logic in that?

So, no more 'Sunday Best's for me!

I'm going to use that pen any old time I want to, even to write down the shopping list; and the new red lipstick? I'm wearing it right now, while writing this, as it was while doing some yoga in the park, though no-one is around; and those special teabags I was given? In the mug, yum-yum chai after lunch!

Don't keep your Life's Joy on hold for Sunday Best. Make every day, every activity, worthy of being taken as special. Otherwise, you run the risk of that dress being too big/small/out of fashion before you've worn it ragged; of never inviting enough friends over for dinner lest you break a pretty saucer or spill wine on the carpet; of never writing that novel or going up on that 'open mic night' stage.

Simply Love, enJoy and Live, waiting for nothing.

Everything you are is 'The Best'.

Old enough to remember to forget

The other day I was talking with one of my students (from all of whom I learn more than I can say) about the situation in South Korea regarding the conflict with the North. Among some of the things we mentioned was the contrast with Europe, which was torn asunder by the devastation of WWII only 8 years earlier, yet has still managed to reunify (in Germany) and put aside differences of opinion to create some sort of union (let's not delve into the economy now, though). It was then that the sentence came to me: Europe is old. It is old enough to remember to forget.

When we are children, everything that happens is momentous and seems to deserve remembering. It is the older people, the ones who have learned the value of moments and feelings, that insist we have to 'let it go'. It's not that we are supposed to ignore problems, but rather that we are to be aware of what really matters to us. When we do so, we can make the conscious choice to simply turn our backs on those elements whose memory is not constructive; whose memory fills us with darkness and robs us of joy; whose memory is actually someone else's hangups which dis-empower us.

We, who make up the nations, are not that different from them. If we, as a nation, can accept another's topical and typical foibles, have our own accepted, for a 'common good', why should we resist a similar action at a personal level? Why limit the generosity of that specific selective amnesia to the 'bigger picture'? Let's face it, there is no bigger picture than that of each and every one of our selves.

Remembering can bring pain, sure, but only if the memory it brings about was suppressed rather than excised. The memory of a loved departed is bitter-sweet, and we may rant about the loss, all the while relishing the beauty of the shared moments. Revisiting that memory will slowly bring about a scarring, a healing however ugly. On the other hand, a trauma avoided will fester, untreated, weakening us at the core, so that when it bursts (and it will), we won't be able to withstand its destructive power. Like a cancer, wounds of the soul need attention. If they are harmful, they need to be treated, removed; otherwise, they will metastasise and become parasites off our emotional health.

Choosing to forget does not need mean pushing things out of sight. It means facing, evaluating, dealing with and subsequently letting go of that insidious jagged edge we have learned from. Similarly, being old does not imply forgetting the wonder of living passionately, fully, in honest innocent. Just be wise and clear about your own Wants and Needs, to weed out the self-destructive burden of what was and need be no more.

How much of your life do you remember?
Do you really need all that junk?

Spring clean your soul, for you are old enough to remember.
Now, forget.

Time to wake up from the anaesthesia

We live in a beautiful, bountiful Cosmos, We see its surprising creations daily, miraculously, all around us: the glory of dawns and sunsets; the fantastic changes in the seasons; the astonishingly logical economy of the ecosystems - where everything has a role and nothing goes to waste; the awesomeness of life-generation, two half-cells combining to create a unique, complex, independent, sentient multicellular organism (be it krill or whale, plant or animal, snail or human); the mystery of planets, starts, galaxies far and similar and unlike our own;...

It should be so easy to be aware of all that munificence at every life-giving breath, at every passing cloud spotted, at every thought. Why don't we? Because we have been taught to shy away from it all, which has in turn become too much to handle, and thus appears hostile, oppressive, scary.

Instead of relishing the World around us, glorifying human kindness and creativity, respectful of the Gift they truly are, we aim to control, subject, destroy this (and other) worlds. Then our nature, our inner self and instincts, desolate at the deprivation that will invariably ensue, sounds the alarm so as to jolt us awake to the horror we're producing.

Sadly, we've become too smart for our own good. We've created an untold number of distractions to keep our attention well and busy. Like a toddler with a dummy (pacifier), the many gadgets, terrors, news,... maintain our awareness and will to act distracted, seemingly content. How many times have you, of people you know,  found out about some issue requiring protest and action, which you (or they) have subsequently forgotten? Was it a phone call or an instant message, a cute video of a chain email, that reclaimed your attention to 'the real world'? I cannot tell how many opportunities to create a new world I have let go that way...

I refuse to believe that we've lost the ability to stand up and walk tall, to see and act. Rather, I believe we're under a sort of species-wide, self imposed, state of anaesthesia. As Sir Ken Robinson points out in his research, we're bombarded with interests and then medicated to narrow down our focus. We've deadened our awareness and capacity to react, hoping for a gentler world we can 'handle'. The problem is that anaesthesia only allows for vague, wavering images as dreams, not the observation of the awesome, 3D, polychrome, multi-sensory, fully-fledged reality. We're cheating ourselves. As they say... 'It's time to wake up and smell the roses.'

Good morning! Look! It's our Marvellous World, greeting us all around!

Action, not reaction

People often complain that 'life isn't fair', that 'shit happens', that 'they don't deserve it'... So when I insist that Life is, Always, Perfect, they think I am some deluded (or drugged) optimist, who has no real grasp on reality - or, worse still, who chooses to close her eyes to that same harsh reality.

I used to think this lack of meeting ground stemmed from a different concept of the Universe, where I consider all (Natural or fortuitous) events as part of a wondrous Cosmic Balance Economy; while the others seemed to consider the Universe a hostile place, intent in making it hard for us. Then, this evening, sudden realisation!! It is not a matter of different universal perception, but rather of our own part in that Universe that makes such a divergence.

In other words, people tend to spend time reacting to the world around them; I, on the other hand, would rather act and observe what my actions create.

Now, when I say 'act and observe', I'm not talking about breaking rules for the sheer heck of it, or being a rebel and trailblazer, or even the need to produce and uncommonly wondrous gadget. What I mean is taking action regarding any situation I notice coming, so I am fully responsible for said action and its outcomes. When you take full responsibility, you are in a stronger position, which means whatever happens (positive or negative) will affect you much less powerfully than otherwise. If, instead, you wait for things to happen so you have a guide on how or what to do, then whatever events surround you will have absolute deciding power over you - you are weak.

Action gives us power, thus courage: we become our own heroes. Reaction makes us weak, thus fearful: we become victims.

You still don't see it? Let's take an example: who is responsible for the current economic crisis? You will probably say 'the banks, the economists' - and you are partially right. They are responsible, but so are we. They are responsible because we gave them the power, agreed to follow their rules, and still today have done little but complain (are you still using a bank, a mortgage, credit cards...?). What do I say to this? I am responsible! So, I take action: learn about the options, change my economic schemes, get rid of the plastic. Is it hard? In the beginning, maybe a bit. Later? Well, it all becomes mere results.

Let others worry about the waves in your wake - take the helm.
Act, don't just react!

Greatness knows not of size

When we try to express 'great' without using words, we tend to use our hands, to create an expansive arm movement, as if to encompass an outburst of whatever. We also tend to finish in a certain double-shake, as if implying gravity, a solid weight, were part and parcel of greatness.

But Greatness is so much more, how can we limit it to size, to stature, to weight, to dimension?

Take, for example, the phrase 'a great person'. Does a great person need to be tall, heavy, and generally imposing? Nah, not really. If that were the case, people such as Mahatma Gandhi would not deserve the adjective. Same goes for people like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Jesus Christ, or Socrates, to mention but a few.

Another example: what do you have to do to have 'a great time'? Little, really. Mostly it's a matter of spending time with people you love, doing things you enjoy despite the economic or social impact they may have, and generally enjoying life for and as it is. You can have a great time going for a walk in the park, having friends over for a BBQ, or merely watching a film while holding hands with one you love.

So it is with most things in life. In fact, Life is Great, all on its own, and so are each and every one of its parts. Sure, some bits are more awe-inspiring than others (the Northern Lights, a volcano erupting, a tiger springing from the fronds by the path,...) but, when we look closely... How great is an embryo? How great for a mother to feel the tiny first flutter of movement within her body? How great all the tiny fingers and toes of a newborn? How great is the possibility of life in every shoot in spring? How great and heartwarming the shrill chirping of tiny chicks following their parents, daring to explore an amazingly huge word?

We are all Great, for every aspect of us is miraculous, courageous, creative, unscripted as yet. That we decide to measure ourselves and find ourselves lacking is all due to that misunderstanding of what 'great' really means. It is only natural that we will be displeased, for how can we become 'great' if we are aiming for something totally unlike it? We aim to have weight in society, to stand tall, to stand out!, to control large amounts of (fill in the blank), to own ample space and call it 'my house'. All these are very desirable, indeed, but none is great. For they all require a scale to compare it to something else, which is by definition unlike Greatness.

Greatness is Being, because we were all born as a result of that miracle that is Life. All we have to do is Live fully... and have a whole lot of laughs on the way!

Home

We all know what 'to feel at home' means. What is less clear is what 'home' really is.
For some, home is where the heart is; for others, wherever they lay their hats; of maybe it's sweet Alabama; for Jack, it's probably the house he built; and so on.

What, and/or where, is your home? And mine?

I've just spent a few days back in the city where I grew up, back in the flats where, all in all, I've lived most of my life - or for the longest stretches, at least. It was thus bittersweet to realise that, at no point in that visit, did I feel 'home'. I certainly felt loved, welcome, comfortable, all the while happy not to suffer the pangs of homesickness. I knew where things were, and the people and animals showed their love (if in my family/friends circle) or kindness (if not in it).

Still, I felt 'alien', a mere tourist to those spaces. Why?

For one thing, it's become obvious that, for me, home is not a matter of people. As I've said, the ones I've been with are all family and dear friends - whom I also consider family. Even their company, the community they mean, warm, generous and beneficial as it is, was unable to create 'home' for me. Not even my cat's cuddles managed it!

Home is also clearly not a place, for that city and those flats, where I spent my childhood, late teens and late twenties; where I got my basic education, my first graduate job, my lovely long leather coat and first tattoo; where my love for books and trees first revealed themselves and were allowed to develop;... all those were not enough to bring me 'home'. Of course, the people and places were 'home' during certain periods in my life. And the same can be said for any, and every, people and places who have become part of my history.

What, then, is 'home', and when does it stop being it?

To begin with, I believe that 'home' is not a feeling, a place, a concept, but rather a state of being. It is at home here you can experiment, develop, bare and observe your soul. It is at home where you can be and become more 'you', and less what the world thinks of you. And, as any state, it is transient, mutable, unselfish. Home will be where, with whomever, whenever you need it to be in order for you to achieve that 'you-ness' - so that you may go on and explore, develop, bare and observe other facets of your soul; so that, once it's achieved, you can move on, and on, and on.

Home is where the soul earns its uniqueness; where soul becomes Soul.

Welcome home, wherever you are.

Why you can't buy love

I do not believe in capitalism. In fact, although I understand the logic behind using money, we have made such a horror off it, than I would rather see it disappear so we could try and manage without it. Tough, but fair - real need for real need, and all within our means.

Now, one of the things that put me on the trail of the horror of money is the concept of meanness, and of showing love. And, as any horror, it could be a story...

Once upon a time, people realised they had different gifts and values. Of course, there was the lordship and the church, but they were not people. People were the ones who worked, who produced, who knew the value of things: one bushel of barley = x hours of backbreaking work in the fields; one dress = y hours of blinding weaving and sewing; and so on. Most of all, they knew the value of family, of children, of neighbour.
These people were not necessarily nice,  mind you. Sometimes they fought, they hurt each other, they could be violent and criminal. Yet, because they knew the value of things, they understood the value of gifts.

These people knew, for example, how hard it was to grow fruit, and how many lemons went into a glass of lemonade. As a result, they would leave the lemonade-drinking to days of merriment, and praise the lemonade-makers for their effort and generosity. A glass of lemonade, refreshing and full of vitamins, was a gift fit for a king (in fact, oranges were only available to a few until less than a hundred years ago - mull on that for a bit)! The ability of a household to economise and organise its resources wisely to last was its greatest wealth. Thus, old clothes were handed down and reused,donated or recycled into patchwork items, and lastly used as rags. Similarly, food was purchased according to need, not whim, when it was not foraged or grown at home. Even more careful was the acquisition of houses, furniture or household goods: there were few, though built to last and be bequeathed to future generations.

Then, slowly, wicked forces made the people forget the worth of things. They grew distant from the value of the labour and came to believe that bits of metal, then colourful paper, and finally numbers on a screen (mere pulses of light, after all) could equate that value. But in their heart, they knew better, and so they recognised that never mind how many numbers you used to buy stuff, they could not cover the worth of the object, let alone the recipient.

Parents started working more and more hours, trying to accumulate more and more numbers, in order to use those numbers to get something for their kids, to show them the worth of their love. Lovers became convinced that only through using numbers to get things to give their beloved could they really show how great their love was. Friends began fretting, for the items their other friends had given them (for Xmas, say, or their Bday), had to be matched for a new item of equal 'numberness' on the tag, lest they be proven unworthy.

Then, one day, one of the people, exhausted of trying to match numbers (which, after all, never did exist), gave up. S/he got together friends and family and confessed that s/he had nothing more to give. And the friends and family, who loved the one very much, decided that it was OK. They decided, from then on, to make - not buy - their presents. But they did not know anymore how to produce things of value, they did not know how to value things. So they decided to ask one another 'What do you need, that I can give you?' One said a hug, the other a favourite book in another's collection, yet another asked for some delicious homemade pie... And they were happy sharing like that.Soon, the people around all cottoned on, and unlearned to misunderstand worth. Some of the number handlers were mad, but they soon forgot. After all, the numbers never did exist, but in bits of light.

So now it's our turn, to ask one another, 'What do you need, that I can give you?' 

Dark places

I am staring into a dark place, and its unresisting pull scares me. I know it of old, and I wonder why I have to come back again.

I left it behind, glad to do so, way way back. Yet now, when the days are getting longer, lighter, warmer, inside I shrink, shiver, cower. Why do we have to revisit the dark places?

The most interesting thing, for me, is the fact that I am fully aware of the gap, the step I teeter on but mustn't take, the abyss I dip into one day, look at from the shore the next. I guess that's the part I have already learned, and for it I'm grateful. I am now trying to relearn how to raise my gaze, to reacquaint myself with the stars, with the creatures that wait for me up high. So I call out, awaiting for an echo of inspiration, a breath of help, a hand to hold on to while I steady my legs, while I walk away.

Dark places are not bad: we all have them, because we all need them, so we all can learn from them. It doesn't matter how 'strong' you are, you will have to face some; the more of them you face, ironically, the better off you'll be in the end. And the more flexibly you do so, the quicker they'll let you out - with a gentle pat, maybe a few scars, all dusted down back on the saddle.

At this point, I am mostly asking questions: how much reflection on it is good, bad, harmful? How much can I dwell on it before tumbling down? Who to ask for help, that I won't pull along? What is it, after all, the gem of self-awareness hidden in the dark? I know it's there, I know it's the one tangible thing in the void - I even know there is no real void, but is it really worth the fear, the pain, the tears?

I am staring into a dark place, unshaken in my belief that Life is, always, perfect, wishing beliefs were candles.

With, but without you

We all live together on this planet, we huddle close is cities, we cram into popular pubs, and yet... Are we together, or are we alone? And I'm not talking about aliens.

I have had for quite some time a feeling of contradiction: I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I commute daily with a few other millions of people - a few thousands at the same time as me, I cross an incredible number of individuals wherever I turn, and yet...I find that people are starved for human contact, for human recognition, for human kindness. Seriously, the more people you find together, the less acknowledgement you'll observe. And I talk from lengthy observation.

Take, for example, a rural community we visited at around New Year's. We stayed in a secluded cottage, in a remote farm at the bottom of a valley. There was no internet connection, no mobile phone signal and, being the darkest time of winter, the short days meant we'd be back 'home' in the afternoon, not to get out again for a good 17 hours. However, and even taking into consideration our exploring and driving times, we still managed to talk with people, who'd be more than willing to stay and chat. In particular, I remember the couple who run the post-office/convenience store, who seemed happy chatting and sharing a few laughs for an hour after their closing time, although we had already paid for our purchases, just because we were there.

Now, compare this couple (business owners, after all) with the hoards of suited and be-briefcased I encounter on the tube (the subway/underground). These people rarely crack a smile, let alone speak to a stranger, and would rather get RSI on their thumbs from scrolling on their super-phones in their drive to make loads of dough for someone else's business, then get the crumbs. It is so bad at times, that even the charity fundraisers look close to tears after a few hours of being pointedly ignored. The commuters arriving / leaving this station at the heart of the banking district would rather isolate themselves, to the point of being rude if one tries to catch their eye. It's very painful to watch; still, it's more painful to be trapped among their numbers: feeling that you may be allowed to be another individual in their midst, although the midst is a battery of single entities and never a community of empathy. If you then commit greater sins, like trying to smile, thank someone for a helping hand, or offer them the newspaper you've finished with and noticed they were reading over your shoulder... Horror! They'll quickly sake their heads in refusal, and turn away, leaving you to feel like some violent burglar caught red handed.

Yes, the more people enclosed in a succession of small spaces, the greater the abyss between the humans.

So, what's the solution?  I wish I could say, it's turning the city back into a community, but I'm not that naive anymore - there are too many blank stares in my days. So, I'll say it's re-turning to the village, the clan, the family and friends.Even among tall buildings, keep in mind the unity and the feeling, and spread the village back. And never forget, a village will always welcome new members in its midst.

Wanna go for a barn-raising tonight? Together, all of us...

Beyond

There is something beyond, something I cannot see. I know it is there, because others have gone before me.

There is a perfect symetry to the Universe, and nothing goes to waste: energy begets energy; matter begets matter; and they both create and destroy each other.

However, there are questions that remain, the shadows of what was, of what we miss, of what we cry for and let go off all at the same time. There are memories of joys and sorrows, which day by day seem further away until, upon a number on a calendar, come rushing back. Then there's wonder at how fresh it all feels, at how long it's been, at how little we notice the vanishing, the going, the was and is no more, creeping up like a monster upon a sleeping child.

There is something  beyond, I know.
It's just that, sometimes, when the here is too empty, when I miss too much, I wish I could see through for a moment, a smile, a wave.

One year is all the time there is, yet it is not nearly enough.

Comings and goings

Once upon a time, not quite so long ago, people travelled only rarely and only for specific reasons. Back then, the focus of travelling was divided into two according to the travellers' social and economic status: rich people travelled for the joy of travelling itself, whereas the poor travelled in order to arrive somewhere.

The love of travelling as a leisurely activity has left us tales of sumptuous trains and ships – think Orient Express and Titanic; tales of mystery and romance – Agatha Christie, for example, or the homonymous film about the sinking goliath; tales of artistic and courageous development – the Romantics travelling to sing to Etruscan urns, or the Arthurian legends; tales, oh so many tales! Stories we love, we envy, and which we cannot really give up. They are stories of lives unlike our own, of people so decadent in their daily existence they could spend time in a suspended state between here and there. They are stories that tell us that what matters is not where were going, but how we change while getting there.

Yet we mostly travel to get somewhere, destination has become paramount. We act as though we were the migrants of old, scraping and enduring in order to move, willing to leave behind their loved ones in the hope of a new life far away. We have lost the ability to pause and breathe different airs at different hours of the day, to observe the mutating landscapes, to feel the gradual change in temperatures. Life today is about doing, moving as fast as possible, and doing some more.

We have lost the ability to explore Life as a Journey, and journeys as parts of our lives. The goal has become a gaol, rather than a liberating objective. The rat race has gnawed at our heels, and rendered us unable to move truly, freely, constructively.

Those Arthurian legends, those tales of travel, still call to us. They tug at our heartstrings and play an ancient tune that stirs our soul: a call to adventure, a call to being in the moment and savour the change. They are the thread that ties us to the fabric of the universe.

If we concentrate on destinations and places, and forget to experience the journey itself, what will happen? We will tear asunder the connection, and will be left with mere islands – isolated, lost, drifting, alien forever after despite our brief visits. If we detach the places from the process of their discovery, we detach them from their birth into our lives. The time and experiences lived there will forever be relegated to the dream-world.

Regain the journey, regain the world. Regain the world, regain yourself. Regain yourself, regain all people.

Cherokee Traveler's Greeting:
‘I will draw thorns from your feet. We will walk the White Path of Life together. Like a brother of my own blood, I will love you. I will wipe tears from your eyes. When you are sad, I will put your aching heart to rest.’

Happy journeys!