Posts Tagged ‘tea’

I moved into a new house. One bedroom by the sea. I thought I would feel free. I don’t. Every night when I get home, it’s just me. I thought I would like that. I don’t. There is no one to bug me, but no one to talk to me either. Maybe being bugged is the price we pay for not being alone. Sometimes I just want someone to listen to me tell them some boring office story from out of the quiet measured chaos of my day, want someone to share with me their thoughts on what we should have for tea. Sometimes I just want someone to bug me, but instead I just listen to the sea. The sea moves in a regular, unrelenting rhythm, it pays no heed and will not be interrupted. Sometimes (not often) I turn on the TV. Sometimes I sing.

I work in an office as a typist. Easy, flexible, hassle free. Sometimes I want someone to come and hassle me. My left wrist gets sore. Doctors drone their intelligence and boredom into my ear. I think some of them care – it’s hard to tell. I don’t. I just type. My eyes glaze over but my fingers keep moving. Autopilot. If a world exists, it’s contained within the four black corners of my computer screen. Tab, control-v, control-c, enter, type. I know all the shortcuts. No road less travelled for me. I thought I would feel free. I don’t.

I meditate. I try to find God. I pay good money for someone to teach me yoga. Maybe somewhere, between a bended knee and arched back, I will find God there waiting for me. I wonder if he lives in the sea, so I sit and watch it. I feel the smooth rounded wood of prayer beads beneath my fingers – japa mala – I speak to a foreign god. Om namah Shivaya – my fingers are already searching out the next bead, Shiva becomes a habit. I watch my thoughts and mostly they’re wondering if we’re done yet. I read books in solitude and write a few pretty words, and feel that I know myself. I interact with others and find myself in conversation, and I wonder who this person is that wears my body like a tight jacket and uses my mouth around her speech.

My soul aches for communion, my skin for touch, my life for meaning and purpose. I dwell within a solitude of choice and long to grow beyond it. I have lived a seeking life. I have craved a spiritual life. I have sought after passion as if it were a pair of lost keys. I have spent so many years with half a foot in quicksand, knowing that just a small wriggle and !PLOP! I would be free, have longed for a helping hand, someone to help me see, have known that the strength to shift would have to come from me.

The only thing I can think to do is something I haven’t done before. I’ve lived as a rider on a rotating carousel, lamenting at each repetition of the circle, not knowing how to jump free. I am jumping now – but really, I know not whether I will land on the grass or just the next white horse ahead of me, galloping forever after my own tail. I am jumping now because it’s the only thing I can think of to do – jumping off the balcony.

I am basically turning my life inside out, like looking at the negative of a photo you are tired of, and realizing that it was the negative you had been holding the whole time and missing the clarity of colour and shape in the true photograph. I live in New Zealand, so I am moving to the opposite hemisphere on the opposite side of the world – to England. I work as a typist, earn good money and talk to no one all day – so I am going to work in a pub, earn minimum wage, and fill my day with people and talking. I live an easy life in a familiar city – so I am moving to somewhere I have never been to do something I have never done. I’m learning to look at life sideways.

I hope that by living a life in opposite, I will somehow see a way to move forward into the space between, that secret place between the extremes – the true life, the life undefined and yet the very definition of life, the life where all the contradictions of my self can reconcile and live side by side.

I hope, I want, I’m learning to… I catch myself looking for life, living it all the while in the looking and yet oblivious, and every time hoping that in the next step, the next choice, the next version or action or minute, I will be able to dwell as fully in the life of right now as I do in the life of later. I ache for connection as if I weren’t already connected, I run after life as if I weren’t already living it, I long for freedom as if I weren’t already free. I try to learn how to be me, as if there were anything else I have ever been or could ever possibly be. I want to fly like a butterfly on the wind, I want to nest like a bird in a tall tree, I want to swim like a fish in the deep ocean, I want to be surrounded by the life that lives within me until the borders drawn in skin begin to blur.

But seeing as I’m here, on this Earth, in this body, held by gravity, then I intend to experience every inch of it, nosy out all the nooks and crannies this life and this world have to offer, to smell and taste and touch and hear and see all that this earth can assault my senses with… and to feel – oh yes, of all things, to feel! – to feel all there possibly is to feel, without judgment, filling myself up with love and carving myself out with pain, that there may be more room for love to fill. Oh, to live and love and die and feel and cry and drink tea – if there is any purpose beyond this, may I learn to live with the fact of its mystery and not look beyond the soft warm zing of lips on scalding tea.

Cup of Tea by ~sibuki on deviantART


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