Fourth Form of Madness

We started our D-Day journey at Omaha Beach. As I looked out across the sea it was easy to image the allied troops landing and coming into the open beaches to be met by hostile fire. There was a cold wind blowing and it added to the sombre ambience of the place. I was surprised how overcome with sadness I quickly became. All those young men on both sides that died. Tragic for everyone involved.

Next we went driving in some random field along some winding goat track because the sat nav said to. It did lead us straight to the edge of the cliffs, which whilst very dangerous as they are a shear drop down, are also very beautiful. We carefully navigated our way back to the main road and back to La Pointe du Hoc, where the rangers climbed up the cliffs and took control of this pivotal German stronghold on 6 June 1944. There were 225 when they began, 90 when they were finished. Through drop point errors, discovery of their mission and hostile fire they persevered on, climbing up ropes they threw up the cliff faces. When one of them fell, another was right behind them to carrying on their plight. Standing at the top looking down the sheer cliff face, I was overcome with emotion and respect for these beings. These young men showed true courage. In the world now there is a fair amount of anti-amercian feelings being expressed but standing there looking down that cliff, I for one was very glad for the Americans and that they willingly gave us so many of their sons to help win the second world war. Truly god bless America.

After an hour of searching (I’m not the best navigator) we arrived at the American Military Cemetery at Omaha beach. White cross after white cross after white cross. In silence, we walked through the crosses and stars of david. I wondered what I would have done if I was born into that time and had a son or a husband that was going to go to France and fight a war. How did these families stand the suffering and loss?

On we drove to Mont-St-Michel, a benedictine monastery building on an island just off the mainland. As we were getting close, it suddenly appeared on the horizon. It appears to hover off the coast and is beyond beautiful. When I was in grade 3 I won a citizenship award and the prize was a wonders of the world book, Mont-St-Michel was in it. I have been keen to see it since then. As it was late afternoon we booked ourselves into LeRelais du Roy within a stone’s throw of St Michel. It is a rather comfortable converted french hotel. I can’t wait to go exploring St Michael tomorrow!

This morning we left Paris. After getting up early and cleaning up the flat (18m2 really doesn’t take that much to clean) we were greeted by Florence the flat caretaker and undoubtedly the quirkiest woman in Paris, who after giving the flat a very quick once over, declared it okay and returned our 500 euros bond. Actually the only hard thing about cleaning up the flat was making the bed in the loft. It’s actually quite hard to make a bed when you can’t stand upright.

Then it was on the Metro to Gare de Lyon to pick up the rental. My husband had been giving me pep talks all the night before about how I should be rote learning the directions from Hertz at Gare de Lyon to get us out of Paris the quickest and without killing ourselves in the process. I thought he was joking, now I wish I had listened. After negotiating our way to freedom from the underground car park we were spat out onto a busy Parisian street and I froze…………I didn’t know what street we were on, what turn we should take, my right from my left etc. Luckily husband had rented a sat nav at the last moment. Finally it started working and although we were heading in totally the wrong direction and on totally the wrong motorway it started to lead us back on track. Husband advised that I best keep quiet for a bit when I suggested that perhaps the sat nav had us on the wrong the road.

Then it came to finding Monet gardens. After several loops of a random country town, one in which we weren’t sure what side of the road we were meant to be on, the good old sat nav lead us to the beautiful gardens. There is such a peace about the place. It looks exactly like his paintings and I was tempted to hold up a bottle of lemonade and look through it to see if I could reproduce the effect of his paintings (as suggested by our friend Blair).

Then it was onto Honfleur. Finding Honfleur was easy, finding our hotel which we had booked the night before on the internet was not. We drove up and down and up and down and a little bit of round and round, until finally we found it tucked away from the main road with absolutely no signage to indicate it was there. The mood in the car was not pleasant and we carried it into reception. Poor husband had been stressed out by the driving on the wrong side, the unknown bizarre road rules and on top of that he was poorly with a sore throat. We went to our room and promptly wished we hadn’t found it. Husband described it as the most soulless room he had stayed in which is no mean feat as he is from Invercargill. It was there on in referred to as zombieland. No more booking from internet. From now on we just show up.

To calm poor husband’s shattered driving nerves we decided to treat ourselves to a seafood dinner around the port. After much reading of menus and debate we settled for Frichti e Vue Bassin. Our last night in Paris we had gone to Le Petite Marche. I then wrote a bad review on google because I thought it was bad service and very average food. However, I now know what bad service and average food is. Things started off okay with a wonderful mix of seafood for starters. Long wait but eventually main came which I thought was quite average, mussels in white wine sauce, but were served with excellent chips hee hee. We asked for wine, none came. Infact for the very longest time nothing came at all. As we watched people come and go, we were left waiting and we still had desserts and coffee to go on our meal deal. We had been sitting out the front of the restaurant but it had become to cold and we had discovered that not only had poor husband had a sore throat, but now he also had quite an upset stomach. We moved inside to get warm and hopefully for them to remember us and serve us. They were less than happy to see us. When we finally got through and paid our bill they didn’t bring us our change back. By this stage we couldn’t be bothered waiting any longer, it had almost been 3.3 hrs.

Returned to Zombieland to discover the room is freezing and no extra blankets. I had a hot shower for about an hour (whoops) and jumped into bed to write this blog using the free wifi (Zombieland has it’s perks). Poor husband is passed out next to me with his stomach making loud gurgly noises. It just isn’t a holiday until husband has had gastro. Oh hang on…. I think that was mine as well…………………………….

I have definitely been kissed by the sun today! I’ve always wanted to do a cruise on the Seine, so we embarked out today to find and do one. First stop however was the “world’s best” hot chocolate at Angelina. A big call, so we thought worth a try. As the waiter brought it over to us, I could feel my insulins level rising just looking at it. A jug of chocolate velvet that had the consistency of molten larva and a mountain of whipped cream on a plate to the side. I let my husband go first and he gave it the thumbs up . I followed and managed to make it through half a cup before my gag reflex kicked in (probably a safety mechanism in my body so I don’t OD on sugar). I let husband finish the rest whilst I tucked into the remainder of the whipped cream and tried to channel Proust who was said to have dined there in his day. I don’t know how successful I was in channelling him but I did feel like going back to our flat to bed so perhaps I did a better job than I thought.

Off we went cruising…….with 20,000 other tourists. We sat on the top of the boat as you couldn’t really see anything from below. I felt myself melting in the first five minutes as the sun was cooking but as I had suggested this activity and didn’t think it was in my best interests to whinge. As I enjoyed the many and varied sights along the Seine explained in 20 different languages, my husband started doing a combination of yogi moves next to me to relieve the pain in his back that he has been having. Feeling rather overwhelmed by his ability to do lotus pose in jeans, we disembarked and was able to purchase a wonderfully cheesy photo of us boarding the boat an hour earlier. I’ve got to admit I am enjoying some of the tourist stuff.

Off we went to the Dali Museum. Two metro lines and a delicious lunch involving a very big glass of champagne later we found ourselves climbing a very big hill in Montmartre in the cooking sun. Can’t these artists live on the flats for a change. I’m sure a lot of artistic ability can still be conjured up living in the lowlands, you don’t always need a view to create! The museum is well worth the hike and husband spent half our time there playing with the Dali Photo booth where you can have your head transposed into some of his famous paintings. I’ll be framing a few of those.

Yesterday I decided it was time to sample yoga the French way. After a quick web search I located an Iyengar studio called Himayoga (actually my husband did) in the 9th Arrondissement. We decided to walk there for a 10am class as it was such a lovely day and it is a good warm up. After a lovely walk through the sleeping streets of Paris (apparently I am the only crazy one who thinks of going to yoga on a Saturday) we arrived at the studio which at 10min to 10 was still shut with the shutters down. Encouragingly there was one student waiting so we decided to walk around the area. We walked straight into the Moulin Rouge which was kind of cool. Then we walked straight into the sleazy nightclub area and girly clubs, which at 10am were still going from the night before. I’ve got to admit I was pretty impressed by that, it reminded me of my days in London when me and my girlfriend, Tanya, used to visit nightclubs just like that. I only pray that we looked better than the people coming out of them!

We returned to the studio where quite a crowd of yoginis and yogis had gathered. That was an encouraging sign. At 1 to 10 a very chiselled, statuesque looking woman, wearing a really nice mac (in 30 degree heat mind you), sauntered down the road. She looked like a well cut young Kathleen Turner. Whilst I settled in, brought a mat and generally explained to anyone that would listen that I didn’t understand French (much to my embarrassment) everyone else set up their mats. This left me the only position available so I set my mat up beside the wall. I was then told in much French and a little English that this was the teachers spot and was promptly relocated to right infront of the class wall that was floor to ceiling windows and faced out to the street. Great the whole street was going to be getting a great view of my bum everything I basically bent over – which is in yoga is most of the class. Luckily it was also behind the only French guy in the class that looked like he could be easily in their movies. As I adjusted my top and wondering if I could relocate myself behind the huge column that stood before me, he started speaking to me in French. He must have said 5 bonjours before I realised he was talking to me. Finally I responded with a bonjour that clearly established I was Australian. After that he spoke english to me what I thought was very gracious as I was the lazy girl who had not bothered to learn French as well as my husband.

Young Kathleen Turner reappeared and what an entrance. She had on tiny little black footy shorts (tinier than any I have ever seen) and a tight top. She certainly did look like a professional dancer. Soon we were triangling, down dogging, handstanding and headstanding like it was not Saturday morning and most of the class weren’t suffering from hangovers. The French guy ended up being a wonderful temporary yoga buddy who translated all the explanatory parts that the teacher was saying Three quarters of the way through I must have committed a yoga no-no when I thought Kathleen had said savasana and I laid down gratefully and cleared my mind and let my body sink into the ground. It turns out she said halasana, I know this as I was brought round to her face hovering above mine asking if I was okay and would I care to join everyone else. French guy explained that I looked far to peaceful to disturb. I had a great time and it was a really challenging class. It was good to focus on my breathing and not let language barriers or the high level of the class disturb it’s constant rhythm. Actually I felt almost that yoga gave us all in that room one language that we could understand each other. By the time the class started chanting (something I wish we had in more Australian classes) I was joined to them in this mutual bond and felt very moved and teary as their beautiful sounds and earnest practice surrounded me.

In the afternoon, husband and I decided to go on the “tourist tour” of Paris. We caught the Metro to the Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel tower. There is a song by “Art verses Science” that goes “The Champs-Elysees is a busy street”. That song needs a re-write, it is a very very very busy street! After strolling down the Champs-Elysees the best you can when you are surrounded by more than half the world population, we paused briefly to take some photos of Arc. The traffic flowed none stop around it as we watched almost 3 near accidents. Then we walked down to the Eiffel tower where the other half of the world’s population were waiting for us. We brought an ice-cream and sat beneath a shaddy tree. I had no inclination to go up it so it was nice to sit beneath it and savour it’s many angles and depths. Then I had the great idea to walk home. Ouch. My feet and legs are still aching. Whilst we did see more of Paris and its beautiful buildings (some of which we are still trying to identify what they were) I now can’t put my foot down without a serious ache in them and my shins. Even husband was exhausted, I didn’t feel so bad when super fit husband was also done in by the walk!

We treated ourselves to a traditional Corsican meal to help relieve the aches and pains. Husband had the wild boar stew (why not when you are in Paris) and I had linguine with prawns. I think my husband was over come with the gameness of his boar but still ate it all helpfully washed down with a beer. I loved mine. It looked like a whole block of seriously orange cheese had been mixed in with the linguine which made it a tad like macaroni and cheese but I just felt like something sinfully naughty and off the scales and I found it. We hobbled home to watch the new Tron movie on the Mac. Well I tried but I fell asleep after 5 minutes!

I’m sitting here, in bed, with my head hovering dangerously close to the ceiling trying to balance my husband’s mac (I want one too now) on my oversized belly. We are post dinner and well stuffed if you will excuse the expression. Today has been a day of eating in Paris. We rose earlier (my husband two hours than me, what can I say something in the air makes me sleep over here) and went out to breakfast. After careful consideration of the menu we went with what we were originally shown at the beginning of the transaction – the standard breakfast. This consisted of an oj, half a baguette and jam/butter, a croissant and a coffee (the french sure do make good coffee, I have converted from a die hard tea drinker to a coffee drinker in one day!) I think it is fair to say that I have never had a croissant until today. It was amazing, as I tore strips of it and held it in my hand it was so light that I felt like I was holding nothing at all, and then I put it in my mouth and it melted away whilst managing to leave a comforting buttery film. I now understand the “unbearable lightless of being”.

After exiting the cafe we spied a beautiful big building and decided to go an investigate. It turned out to be the Louvre. We weren’t the only ones with the idea of visiting it today. After we watched half of the world pile out of tourist buses and into the queue we joined them mumbling to ourselves about bloody tourists until we had to concede that we were ones too. Strapped with talking tour recorders we set off on the Masterpiece tour that had us ducking and weaving some of the most heavily congested parts of the Louvre. We squeezed ourselves past masses of picture taking tourists to get a glimpse of the Mona Lisa, we wedged ourselves between camera wielding Japanese tour groups to view the Venus de Milo’s milky form.

This is just an observation, but when I squeezed myself out of the crowds and stood quietly back to admire the art and also do some sneaky people watching, I was struck by the fact that most people weren’t viewing the pieces with their eyes but through the lens of a camera. I was intrigued by this. Photos are great but there is nothing like spending some time with a piece of art and seeing it through your own eyes. Seeing how the light falls on it, seeing all the cracks and imperfections, the angles that makes it look different. Seeing with your eyes the way the artist saw the piece or at least how the artist saw the world that he brought this piece into. And yet here I was watching people approach the Venus de Milo at break neck speed with a digital camera in front of the eyes pausing only briefly to knock the grandma to their right out of their way so they could get a better shot. My husband spotted a guy that must have been trying to do the Louvre in 10 minutes or less. This guy practically was sprinting through the Louvre holding up his camera to all the pictures, snapping off a shot and then running off to the next one. We, overcome by his efforts, were forced to follow him for at least two galleries so we could enjoy his stupidity. After that we couldn’t endure his pace and dropped back to enjoy the art.

We then took ourselves to lunch and wonderful husband managed to order two plate du jours and more importantly wine! It was a gorgeous hole in the wall kind of restaurant, which was packed with serious lunchers. My husband became all adventurous and ordered steak tar tar. To his credit he ate all of it even the raw egg in the middle even though it did look like just raw mince with a raw egg in the middle. After pointing randomly at the menu I ended up getting some very delicious chicken dish. Three courses and two wines is enough to be send me into a coma. I proceeded to sleep for 2 hours when we returned to the flat. After which I awoke to my husband doing this 10 min intensive exercise routine which involved him hanging for the loft’s railing doing chin ups and grunting alot. What will the neighbours think of us. After he had finished with the downstairs space, I converted into my yoga studio and did a relaxing post “I eaten way to much food” session. I now appreciate why they say never do yoga on a full stomach. Twists are not your friend when you have a citron tarte trying to digest in your gullet!

I finished my yoga session just in time for a nice stroll to Notre Dame followed by dinner! How do the french women stay thin. I spent the whole dinner watching a french rake with very nice hair devouring a three course meal including crepes for dessert. I was watching to see if she hid her food in her handbag but she appeared to eat every bite and then casually help her partner with his chocolates at coffee. Perhaps this was her one meal for the year but I have this haunting feeling that she eats like this every day. Oh to be french. Meanwhile I was cursing myself for not packing my black stretch tights which are far more forgiving than my jeans. I guess I will have to take up jogging or my husband’s intensive 10 exercise programme but I don’t fancy myself hanging from the loft railing doing chin ups!

After much planning and anticipation, my husband and I have finally arrived in Paris. The flight over from Australia was long and boring. On the longest leg, Singapore to Paris, our inhouse entertainment system was broken and all we experienced for the 12 or so hours was a reboot screen that you couldn’t even turn off. I just love the way the French air hostesses handled the situation. Instead of buying into our stress they just smiled very jovially and said “don’t worry we will fix that”. It was so convincing I went the first 2 hours believing it, after which I was over worrying about it and reached for my i-phone that my rather clever and forward planning husband had suggested I download some movies on before we left home. Reading was not an option as our overhead light was not working either, so I settled in to watch much loved classics as “Steel Magnolias”, a new film on an old writer “Enid” and “Entre Nos” a film that filled my heart with admiration for the characters in it and reminded me how resilient and adapting we are and how life asks us to stay present as much through the good times as the bad (a topic I am working on a lot in my life at the moment).

We arrived in Pairs tired but filled with that manufactured energy that comes when you are confronted with the new and exciting and you want to explore. We caught the bus into Arrondissement three and sat in traffic jams oggling the people in the cars going to work. It took some getting use to seeing the driver on the otherside of the car, I hope we are used to it because in a week’s time my husband starts driving us around France. We arrived in the third arrondissement to earlier to go to our rented flat so we enjoyed a coffee in a parisan cafe and my husband got a chance to practise his French. He is doing a great job, so far we have managed to order us coffee, lunch and most importantly pastries. Usually the person serving speaks english and helps out a little which we are very grateful for.

Florence showed us through our flat at 9am. By this time I was swaying with jet lag and my husband was definitely looking worse for wear. The flat is a studio apartment and is only 18 square metres big. It is amazing how much they can do with space though. It has all the modern devices you require for living. A well fitted out kitchen, albeit smaller than my wardrobe back home, a bathroom that is so cute and spotless, and a loft bedroom that you keep having to remembering not to stand up in or you put your head through the ceiling but is nethertheless very charming and cosy. After struggling with the tv settings and discovering that the wireless wasn’t connecting, both of which were later resolved, we were settled in and Florence gave us a very informative and funny tour of the neighbourhood. On her departure, we promptly purchased a half a dozen pastries for the nearest pastisserie, returned to our flat, inhaled the marvellous creations in one gulp and flopped into bed. It was only 11am and we know that you aren’t meant to sleep until it is dark in the place you arrive in but seriously we didn’t have any chose we were so exhausted. I also get land sickness and the world was swaying all over the place so I just needed to sleep. However, it seems the universe had other ideas. No sooner had we drifted off into longed for sleep than our phone rang. Wrong number and they hung up but not before ruining our sleeping chi.

We decided to explore and went out and rambled around the cobbled streets of our district. The day had really warmed up and it was nice to feel the parisian sun on our skin. After a few hours of gawking which I think is more correctly called people watching, we visited the Pompidou, well we made it as far as the ticket line and decided that we were way to tired to enjoy it and to save it to tomorrow. We then returned to the flat, all 18 square metres of it, to devour a ham and cheese bagette and a bottle of red wine. After reading all about what we should be doing, hopefully tomorrow, we retired to bed at 5pm vowing that we would get up at 7pm for dinner. There was a surprise visit from the owner at about 6pm which I still don’t remember clearly what I said to her or her to me. Nothing like having the owner pop in when you are in your pink girly shorty pjs, no makeup and only one brain cell working whilst the flat has unpacking everywhere, an empty bottle of red wine hanging around and remains of strawberries on a plate on the table. Meanwhile she looked like someone from “Paris’s next top Model” show. I returned to bed to get over the trauma of the visit. Once again my husband assured me that the alarm would go off in an hour for dinner. We awoke at 9.30pm – no alarm had gone off. In a sleepy consciousness the decision was made to stay in bed and sleep. Tomorrow is another day in wonderful Paris.

I’m presently being struck by one reoccurring thought all the time. What is my experience of life? I’ll be at work typing emails and worrying about getting things done and then this question will ask itself in my consciousness. I could be doing yoga, having dinner with a friend, chatting with my husband and there it appears again. I don’t think it is being asked for me to list all the things I do in life. That is doing, not being. I think it is serving as a reminder to me that life is not felt through the senses, through the mind. These are the faculties that produce the stage that we paint up and prance around on and dearly love to call life. I think it is asking me to take a leap, truly trust in something deeper and uncreated and be in that, be in life.

I am only now starting to understand that life remains a constant. There is no good life or bad life, it is just life. Only a self can bring judgment of good or bad. A self trained by a society to think like the rest of the group, taught what is an acceptable experience of life and what is not. A self encaged by a desire for security in a world which is in no position to make good on that contract. This same self that constantly experiences sadness because things haven’t gone her way, happiness because she feels like she is controlling everything, stress because she feels like she isn’t in control and anger because all is not to her liking. But what are these feelings and where do they come from? They have the power to create the atmosphere of your world, and we often refer to them as “just part of life”. I think they are indicators of how we can get closer to life but they are not life. They are perhaps our greatest most powerful creation but they are just a creation, all smoke and mirrors. Every feeling or emotion shows us where we are “still on stage”. Still performing for the masses. Behind the emotion, when the mind is still, comes knowledge of the most valuable kind, self knowledge – the whole reason we get the gift of consciousness.

So in my constant mulling over of “What is my experience of life”, I am focusing on the vehicle of what I experience life through. I want to quieten my minds analysis of all the sensual material brought to it. I no longer want to think of myself as just a neural pathway, reacting to receptors. I am not that. I want to trust my instinct on another way of knowing that comes from the quiet and dwells in us all. I want to be in life, be of life and be life.

I’m not in a mood to write today. I keep trying to write stuff and end up deleting it and starting off something else. Somethings a little out of balance in me. I’ve been studying for so long I think I got use to the routine and unscheduled time feels wasted. Hopefully I will rid myself of this soon. I even cleaned the car in an attempt to show some fruit for the day! The dog enjoyed coming through the car wash with me and watching all the foams and appliances hit the car.

In an effort to get myself to shake the “time must be scheduled” mindset, I did a new form of yoga today based on viniyoga, called emotional yoga by Bija Bennett. I found it very centering and within a minute or so I dissolved into the practice as there was a real focus on breath and regulating the times you held your breath after exhale. I found it very calming and am looking forward to exploring it more. After I finished my practice I devoured a jam, custard and cream donut and a coffee and it suddenly struck me what is out of balance in my life. My eating habits – I eat all that is possibly bad at the moment and not enough of the healthy and virtuous. So I am once again going to focus on healthy eating as I have let this part slip out of balance. I was wondering how that extra roll at the top of my yoga pants had got there!

Something else I have let slip out of balance is attachment. I realised there were several areas of my life that were causing me anxiety and stress but then I examined these areas (with the help of Bija Bennett’s book) I realised I was feeing this anxiety and stress as I have got attached to certain outcomes I want and was in the process of trying to control the situations. I’m going to say this in writing to myself but feel free to use it if it is applicable to yourself – “Control is an illusion you create to allow yourself to feel safer (or more powerful or more meaningful or more important – the list is endless) in the world but in the end it actually ends up crippling you. The flow of life is out of your control, choice is not. Choose to let go and explore the possibilities of your being without this element of control.”

I’m off to go walk my dog with my luscious husband down the most beautiful piece of coast. I know nature with her beautiful open, clear sky, her gentle kisses of the breeze, her warmth from the sun, the fluid sounds of her watery lullaby and the wet earth beneath my feet will harmonize all that is out of balance in me. All I have to do is be open and present…..oh and breath. Peace to you all!

Today I finally did it, I started back at home practice. I’m apparently going through my tardy lethargic period. I didn’t realise this until I was well into it. I seem to have released my obsessional grip on every part of my life that I thrived on before. I guess I realised that things work out, for good or for bad and really it will have very little to do with your input. I like to think I move more with the flow and allow myself to be part of it rather than thrashing aimless against it like a salmon moving upstream.

This only dawned on me the other day when I realised that I wouldn’t have time to study for my next philosophy exam coming up. Now this might seem like nothing to anybody else but I have always believed my self worth revolved around my perfect academic record (ok maybe not perfect but definitely that of a high achiever). I have dropped out of courses before because I realised that I wouldn’t be able to keep up my high scores. Umm now that I have written that down and re-read it, that does even seem extreme for me but that was how my life was full of high expectations and avoiding any experience that I feared I could not fulfill my vision of perfectionism in. It was a narrow, bland existence and I appreciate that now. Not this time, I am looking forward to it. I can’t wait to get the chance to write “off the cuff” so to speak, not rehearsed or well versed but stripped bare and writing with what I have in the moment and being appreciative of just that.

So I spent a delicious hour or so working with my body and listening to its current state of affairs. A few things groaned, others right out complained. My right wrist was in no state to take my body weight, so I listened and stuck to non weight bearing moves and eagerly relaxed into legs up the wall in a state of absolute abandon. Bliss. Why had I ever stopped home practice? The usual suspects stepped up – too busy with the demands of everyday life, too many study or work commitments, have to walk the dog, want to watch tv, don’t want to get up early or stay up late….I could go on but I will spare you. I have been going to two or three yoga classes a week with a wonderful skillful therapeutic teacher but home practice is in a realm of itself and I find so integrally important to your understanding of yoga. You have to be your teacher in home practice. You have to know what your body needs on that day and accommodate your practice. You need to know when you need to work a little harder and when to back off. You must connect with every part of your body and your existence and make friends with that. It is truly a time of tune in, stayed focused, breath and learn. Life doesn’t get better than that!

I’m back fresh from a yoga retreat. When I say fresh, read exhausted. I always forget how hard these things are. Lots of sitting with issues, processing of different energies, learning from others and acknowledging the wisdom within. Yet I keep going back!

I’ve always found being with groups of people difficult, which I find hilarious as I study sociology (do double major degree the other part is philosophy). I struggle with feeling comfortable and at ease. It was only fairly recently I realized that this discomfort was due to my habit of always being what other people want. When I am in a group I struggle with being what people want of me because there are so many conflicting demands and I didn’t think just being me was good enough. This has been a most helpful insight and I have consciously started working with this when in groups of people, which I seem to have actively sought out more of lately, like a moth to the flame!

At the retreat, I felt myself settle back into my breath and relax into my core. I listened openly to their stories without a need to agree or even reply back right away or a feeling that I am not adequate in comparison with them. I was just there and open and just enjoyed them for themselves which I think has been able to manifest from a newly found ability to accept myself on all levels within and just be with myself.

I only rediscovered recently that I love being by myself. I mean I have had plenty of time to be by myself in the past but it was always spent in the intention that this was just passing/killing time in between moving onto the next activity or time with someone. I even realised that I had been using meditation, the pinnacle of time alone, as an activity to do to get me somewhere instead of an activity of just being. However, before this yoga retreat I have just been on, I went on another yoga/philosophy retreat to Bali (yes I know it makes me sound like a serial retreater but I don’t go to that many it’s just how it worked out this time). At the Bali retreat I was really able to address this aspect of myself and make peace with it and fall in love with it. I made friends with loneliness and found out it truly was an illusion.