Everything is not so bad

‘Everything is not so bad,’ said Daniel at Kaliyoga France.  Ostensibly he’s an osteopath and a reflexologist (whole body though, not just feet) but I suspect he’s a fair bit more than that – definitely a healer, maybe a bit of a shaman.  And, oh those eyes!  Those young/old wide open palest blue eyes.  He’d checked me over and found all the old kinks, even dug around in my abdomen and found the same gut quirk that had surfaced in Austria.  He adjusted a little here, a little there and then paused.

‘It’s here,’ he said, gently tapping my breastbone. ‘You’re locked right here... in the heart.’

Ah.  My poor heart.  It’s ever been thus.  For our bodies try, dear souls/hearts, to protect us, don’t they?  They build up a carapace; they armour us with wrenched tight twisted fascia.  And our minds play sidekick, quickly jumping in, alert to hurt, watching for a reason to doubt, to suspect, to withdraw.  And Body is more protective of Heart than it is of anything or anywhere else. 

‘People hurt you,’ whimpers Body.

‘Keep ‘em out,’ advises Mind.

‘Might be best,’ agrees Body.

‘Definitely,’ says Mind with a profound sigh of relief.

Yet at Kaliyoga everything was conspiring to open me up again, to blast away heart/mind/body’s carefully constructed defences. 

A series of yoga postures – opening, exposing, baring.  And I felt a giving somehow, a loosening. A silent tear or two.  And then chanting which, again, was all about opening, being, letting go of doubt and fear because, really (at heart), whether doubt and fear are true or not, they are not helpful.  Om Tare, Tuttare, Ture, Soha... The Green Tara mantra which protects against doubt and delusion, the wrong thinking that traps your heart. And Tayata Om, the healing mantra of the Medicine Buddha.  Gate gate, Paragate - passing the threshold, evolving into fearlessness.

Once you know something, you cannot unknow it.  You can never go back; you can never change back into something you once were. And change is not just inevitable, it is safe. It must be.  No matter what happens on the other side of the gate, on the other side of change.

‘Do you really believe that?’ said Mind.

‘Hell no!’ replied Body.

‘Give it a chance,’ whispered Heart.  

The writing on the boards...

Kaliyoga France.  Sun and space.  Mantras and meditation.  Yoga magic.  And words...every day different...but saying much the same...

Hmm...

True...

 *smile*

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Yeah... :-)

Anyhow...if you want to see more pictures, check out my Facebook page - I've posted a  bunch there.

The one about the devil-worshipper and the bucket of blood

Nobody bats an eyelid at chunks of meat and buckets of blood round here. Nothing goes to waste. And that reminded me (bit of a day for reminiscences) of an incident at our old house, on the Somerset Levels. We were a lot better off then (funny, we’re getting poorer as we get older – something wrong there!) and had a cleaner.
Our old one had left and my mother had recommended someone new from the village. She seemed a bit quiet and mouse-like but worked up a storm and the kitchen sparkled. All was well. At the time my husband was working in London during the week leaving me all alone-y-oh (sometimes I got so lonely I used to engage the check-out people at Sainsbury’s in long meaningful conversations – sure I had a reputation as some real saddo). He had neglected to tell me that he had bought half a pig from a neighbouring farmer. Anyhow, Arthur appeared with various bags of meat which I duly bunged in the freezer. Then he asked me for a bucket.
‘Er, why?’
‘For the blood. Adrian especially wanted the blood. Wants to make black pudding, or so he said.’
Yeah, right. Another fine idea.

I dutifully brought the bucket and he filled it with thick black blood. Then, I’ll be honest, the phone rang and I forgot about the darn thing, leaving it on the kitchen table along with a burning scented candle and some lit joss sticks (the cat had had an accident and I was trying to get rid of the smell).

Next thing I heard the slam of the door and saw Elaine, the cleaner, hot-footing it down the lane. Odd, I thought, but assumed she’d left the dinner in the oven or some such. But no, the next day a very roughly scrawled note came through the door. It read, to the best of my memory, something like this:

Dear Mrs J
I’m sorry but I can’t clean for you no more. You are a devil-worshipper and you threaten the safety of my soul. Your house is full of devils and witches and graven images.[actually mainly Buddhas, but we do have a few rather scary African masks and a ceramic witch and cat that was bequeathed to me by my Aunty Phyllis – a pretty staunch churchgoer as it happens]. You have incense and candles and sacrifices on your kitchen table. I am enclosing a tract and hope that if you pray and ask for the forgiveness of our Lord Jesus Christ, who forgives all sins, even yours. I hope you will come to see the error of your ways. I pray for your soul which is black as soot.
Elaine.
At first I laughed my head off. How silly could you be? But then the looks started…..eyes shifted as I walked down the lane walking the dog. Heck, they all thought I was some nutter from The Devil Rides Out or some such. Should I print a retraction in the parish newsletter? The vicar popped round a few days later – as he was wont to do – to partake of a large whisky, to debate politics and, let’s be honest, have a good gossip. I told him and he nearly choked on the Glenlivet. Wasn’t he worried about sharing drink with one of the damned? ‘She’s not one of my lot,’ he smiled equably. ‘Some odd sect that goes in for clapping, dancing and writhing on the floor speaking with tongues. Give me a good old-fashioned blood sacrificer any day!’

Sorry, I have veered right off tangent. If it’s any consolation, I do do a bit of the normal stuff too. A total glut of plums this year so everyone is getting either plum jam, plum chutney or Chinese plum sauce for Christmas. Also the hedges were packed with blackberries and elderberries and the rowan tree was bowed down with berries. We made tons of jelly (half of which refused to set). But it really is incredibly satisfying having a cupboard full of fat jars of preserve. Pukka country – though most of my been-here-forever neighbours buy theirs on offer from Morrisons.

The rain has been slamming down this morning and the wind is rising. They say it’s going to get worse in the night and be atrocious tomorrow. Halleluyah! Tomorrow is football practice day and involves standing round in the freezing cold. With any luck it might be called off! We have a viewing tomorrow too. Hmm, maybe horizontal rain and gale force winds aren’t such a good idea after all. Wish me luck!

Jane