Fourth Form of Madness

I had an exam this week. I wasn’t that stressed about it. I did my usual thing of studying past exam papers and noticing the questions that came up the most over the years and based my studies around those questions. My husband has often said if I spent as much time actually studying the subject as I spent trying to work out what would be the questions in the exam I would smash the exam anyway. I’ve always loved my husband’s clear, rational, realist logic. Loved it, but for a dreamy, irrational, idealist like me, I just can’t follow it. Anyway, in this particular subject the past exam papers were basically the same over the last seven years. Jackpot! All I had to do was pick three questions, study them in depth, write 3 essays, turn up at exam and write furiously for 2 hours and then go home safe in the knowledge that I had passed.

So there I am on exam day, hanging out with my fellow external students from all other courses, laughing with the exam supervisors, buying free range eggs (and this people is why I love the uni I study at – what other uni sells free range eggs at exams) and arranging the thirty pens I have bought to the exam on my desk in artistic patterns. I still haven’t quite shaken free of the fear of my pen stopping in an exam but hey I’m not alone on this one, at every exam I am surrounded by Bic pen hoarders rolling them back and forth on their desk in nervous anticipation prior to the exam. I’m doing a quick check in my head that I can remember my essays on Nietzsche, Heidegger and Kierkegaard appear to be all there. I’m signing off my attendance sharing a joke with the supervisor, thinking life is good, things are controlled and running smoothly. And then it happens. Reading time begins and I am allowed to turn my exam page over. As my eyes run over my paper, I wonder why my Professor had to have a mid-life crisis this year, this semester. He had not only changed every single question on the exam but made them obscure! I’m the only external student for this unit this semester and the only student of the unit that takes an exam as I don’t get to sit tutorials. This is personal, he wanted me to actually learn something damn it!. I wondered briefly if my hubby had secretly called said Professor and arranged the new exam, then dismiss this idea and realise this is a fine example of the divine comedy of life and I chuckle to myself, which does raise a few concerned looks from the supervisors.

So there I am in my 10 minute reading time chuckling to myself about not having prepared for a single question. Actually this is pretty much my worst-exam-ever-scenario that I play out in my head prior to stepping into an exam, the one in which between hyperventilating and sobbing hysterically, I write my name on the exam booklet and then leave after the 10 minutes reading time is over. But back in the exam room, there are no tears, no hyperventilating, just me chuckling to myself. So I decide to use the 10 minutes to relax and take stock of what I do actually know from the past six months and the remainder of my life. I open my muesli bar (yes how cool you are allowed to eat and drink in exams as well at this uni, I think this is because they got sick of people passing out from hunger in 4 hour exams) and stared at my free range eggs for inspiration. Mid muesli bar the creativity gods smiled upon me and I began jotting random ideas down for the best 3 questions I had picked on the paper. Suddenly quotes came back that I could still use from the other essays I had prepared. By the time the official exam time commenced I had the outline of 2 essays and thought I would just let my brain work on the other as I finished those. On I scribbled and scribbled and scribbled. One idea fell into another and even though I thought I didn’t understand the question, I did seem to somehow construct a reply that I felt answered it sufficiently.

It came time for me to answer the third question. The third question involved Albert Camus. I love Camus and luckily I had done one of the semester assignments on him. The fact that I had actually got the bit wrong in my essay that this question was specifically asking me to explore didn’t dampen my confidence. I had reviewed my Professors comments on my semester essay so I knew what the answer should be, I just had to justify my answer and show how I had arrived at the ending. I did send a silent word of thanks to my Professor for this small sign of mercy and commenced scribbling on. As I did my final full stop, I looked up and realised I was the only one left in the exam room, well me and my free range eggs and one exam supervisor who looked like he wanted to leave 30 minute ago. My hand ached but everything else felt wonderful! For once in an exam, I had been forced to think, forced to create and forced to get over my fear of not being prepared. As I wandered out into daylight, keeping a watchful eye out for snakes (and that would be the thing I am not to fond about at my uni), I really felt I had learnt something. I learnt that control is futile, you never have it, you stress yourself out about trying to be in control and all the time you are chasing an illusion, chasing the dragon. I learnt that thinking on your feet is really enjoyable as it opens the floodgates of creativity and life loves creativity. I learned that you never can be “prepared”, life is random, let it flow and you learn to flow with it. Oh yeah and most importantly I learnt the best place in town to buy free range eggs is my uni!

This week I was very fortunate to be involved with Homeless Connect, a day held in Russell Square in Northbridge where all the services a homeless person could require but may not usually be able to access are there, in one spot with the service providers attention focused solely on meeting their needs. The company I work for was a major fund raiser for the event this year and also put together a band of volunteers to help on the day. They also set up a one stop beauty shop in one of the buildings opposite the park. It was a very popular stop as each person could get access to a shower, a haircut, a facial, their nails done, reflexology and reiki.

Much to my surprise I volunteered to offer reiki to anyone that was interested. Originally I was down to just help with packing up after the event. That’s very much my style, stay in the background, be quiet and watch. However, when I found out one of the other ladies I work with was going to be giving reiki at the event but couldn’t make it until 12 noon, life just gave me a push and before I knew what I was doing I was signing up for the day of reiki. I have always given reiki a bit of a wide berth, not sure why but I always had plenty of resistance there. To be fair, I guess it is my beliefs about what a spiritual path should be about, you know all hard work, learning, contemplation (hee hee hee) that got in my way of just going with it. But leave it to the universe to keep bringing to you what you need to learn about and embrace. About six months ago, a girlfriend and I booked ourselves a private retreat down south and were taught reiki from someone who has been about the reiki traps, so to speak.

The whole time I was thinking I’m just going along with my girlfriend on this one, it’s not my thing but I will go along with it to at least learn something. Well the weekend was quite the experience, for some reason reiki just hit something in me that fought back. I still remember the drive back me driving, saying loudly and clearly that I don’t think much of reiki and that it doesn’t do anything and then proceeding to spew out all this stuff from my childhood that any other sane person would have forgotten by now. Up it came, on and on I ranted, until I caught my friend’s expression and humbly conceded that perhaps the reiki had worked on unloading a lot of stuff I had squashed down around my heart. However, my reiki practice since then has pretty much been on myself, my much appreciative pets and a very unimpressed and doubting husband (poor love he had to endure my hot rock massage phase as well – not good for his bjj street cred).

Anyhow there I was with my table set up, my yoga music going, my sweet smells burning and the fluorescent lights off standing in the doorway of the very clinical room I had been allocated watching all these people flock to get haircuts, their nails done, their feet massaged but no reiki takers. I needed a better promoting point. I learnt that day if you give something a title/label, however well meaning, you will alienate people and segregate us into the knowing and the not knowing. That was what was happening that day. If I said “hi would you like a reiki session” I could see the shutters go down, the shields go around their minds and the resistance rise in their hearts. I’ve been there with reiki, I know the signs. Just as the carpet started to wear thin from so many hasty retreats out of my room, I finally said “hi there would you like to join me for 10/15 mins of relaxation?”. Everybody loves and needs to relax, no matter who you are and what your life circumstances.

I was reminded of the time I was asked to give a yoga class to children living with cancer. The theme of the class was tactics for dealing with stress. You could not find a better tool than yoga for this. As well as asanas, I focussed on breathing, nothing fancy but effective. I chose a long relaxation and yoga nidra at the end. I was nervous when I came to give it as I thought the kids were going to think I was crazy (crazier than they already thought I was). You should never pre-empt anything. At the end of the 20 min relax I asked them to gradually start to move and to become seated in their own time. Nobody moved, not a muscle, not even the four camp guidance counsellors who had come to do the class. I repeated the instruction – still no movement. After what seemed like an eternity there was movement at the station and I breathed a sign of relief that I hadn’t comatosed 30 odd people. We had a little chat and then I kept saying ‘thank you, it was lovely to work with you, I’ll see you again sometime”. No-one got up, I stared out across the 30 odd faces, a little lost as to what was expected of me. Everyone stared back with spacey smiles. Then one beautiful youth said “I’m so mellow, I don’t think I can move”, there were ripples of laughter and it got the energy moving again in all our bodies. I sat their in total love and awe of the power of yoga. These kids face the very real fact that they might die, very soon, way before their parents and other siblings. That must be a very anxious and frightening thought and it was lovely to be able to share the art of yoga with these amazing beings to help them cope with all that this existence had in store for them.

So back in my little room at the Homeless Connect day, I began to have a steady flow of takers for a relaxation session. The sessions touted as 10/15 mins stretched into 30-40 mins. Many fell asleep and I was lulled into a state of total relaxation by their soft rhythmic breathing. Some shared with me some stories and history before or after the session and I listened to their stories be told from their own mouths. I was struck with how after every session their was such a connection between us, like both of us stood together unseparated by the usually social restraints. Often we hugged or shook hands and I felt like I was learning more about living than I had in the last forty years. One man stood out in particular. He just didn’t look like the person who would embrace a “relaxation” session. Once again you should never pre-empt. He lay down on my table and the minute I lay my hands on him, I was overcome with a feeling of softness and gentleness and beauty. I was quite overawed with his essence. The session was for him but I would be lying if I said I didn’t get more out of it than him. I felt an amazing peace with him and as he slowly woke up at the end, gathered his things together and shook my hand and said thanks, I held onto his hand with both of mine and thanked him for working on me today. As I watched him leave, I was reminded that we are all students and all teachers. What you have to learn in life, usually doesn’t come with a fancy title or alienating label, it just comes with the flow of life, the experiencing of it with an open attitude and fearless heart, and lots of love, crazy, maddening love.

This week my husband jumped out of a plane. Totally willingly he flung himself out of an aircraft and proceeded to free fall towards the earth, all the while chanting instructions to himself and running several checks. Prior to him jumping, he performed a little demo of this falling instructional routine in our lounge room. It was really beautiful watching him go through his routine with memorised precision and joining him in “hard arch” once or twice. However, when he jumped, he jumped alone. Falling through the air with just a bag packed of material and routine performed earlier in the lounge room. Well maybe not completely alone, fear jumps with you, even if you have to stand on its head to get out of the plane. Of all the amazing aspects of the jump, I think this aspect, the working with fear, interests me most, because it applies to each and every one of us. Even us non jump out of plane types.

Fear. Whether it be over spiders, flying, work, public speaking or just plain being, we all live with some shade of fear. I caught myself in one of my old favourite’s last night at the movies. There I was settling back in my comforty chair, sipping my beverage and mindlessly shovelling popcorn into my mouth (and lap) when an advert for superannuation came on. Hit the panic buttons!!!! One of my biggest fears is ending up, old, poor and desolate on the streets. It’s always been with me since as young as I can remember (umm there’s a clue, childhood, maybe I learnt it there). Anyway back in the cinema my hand tightens around my drink, my breathing escalates to one step off hyperventilating and suddenly I can’t swallow my popcorn as my throat has tightened. In fact, my whole body has tightened, my chest, my stomach and my face, and believe me I can’t afford to be tightening my face, I don’t need anymore wrinkles. My mind races over what I own, will it be enough, I make a mental note to ring my superannuation firm tomorrow and see what I can do about building my retirement fund. I’m practically on my way to the foyer to text my superfund, why wait to call tomorrow with all this fabulous technology, when I catch hold of myself.

Whoa girl! Take a breath. See the fear, and by see, don’t just look at it, really see it. Understand the friends it is travelling with. The old voices from the past that educated you about their beliefs and values and didn’t leave any room for you to shape your own beliefs and values from your experiences of the world. Time to open a window, let a little fresh in and do a little bit of “unlearning” – my favourite kind. So as I sat there with a death grip on my soda watching my fear, I began to feel like my free falling husband. Only this time, as I free falled with my fear, packing awareness as my parachute, instead of chanting a routine full of instructions on how to be and get through this, I was watching to see where this routine of fear’s originated from. I wanted to know its nature, it’s origin, so next time when it came to visit I could say “hello my old friend, pull up a chair, this is going to be a long fall”.