Kind of liking the routine of all of this.  Powders before meals, after meals, before I go to sleep, as soon as I wake up.  A list of what to, and not to eat.  It’s forcing me to be conscious of everything I consume, and already, not even at the end of my third day I’m beginning to notice certain changes.  Physically, mentally and emotionally.

Yesterday was a difficult day for me.  I knew I had emotions surfacing, and I’ve been feeling hyper-sensitive to my environment and surroundings.  I’ve not quite worked out how to cope with the energies around me.  Perhaps that’s why I’m still tending towards isolation, and reclusiveness.  I’ve been on such an inward-facing journey, that there’s all this stuff coming to the surface in great waves.  Good, because it shows that I’m strong enough now to deal with it; bad – because it makes me vulnerable…and I know that’s not really bad at all – but in the context of trying to co-inhabit and reintegrate back into this very “English” way of life…well, its difficult.  I need to be strong, and I need to let all of this stuff surface and stir me up…so that I can experience it with acceptance and uderstanding….what am I craving?  What is it that I have such an aversion to?  Ah – there it is…stay with it, stay with it.  Breathe and experience it…Anicca, anicca…and then, just like that – it disappears.  The only thing is, when your environment is so unsettled, so uncertain, new aversions and cravings are being stirred up every moment.  Feelings of inadequacy and failure.  Fear for the future, and wanting to run away.  Wanting to help others, but needing to protect yourself.  That difficult debate playing itself out over selfishness or selflessness….I remind myself of my priority list:

Spirituality, health, friends/family….then work.

I look inwards and find some silence.  Listen to my heartbeat, and the chaos all around me – whistles blowing, trains screeching to a halt, drunken lads shouting about the football – falls away.  I begin to cry.  My giant red bug-eyed sunglasses, barely disguising the tears that are streaming down my face.  I’m still with that silence, and I’m making contact with this emotion.  The grip it has on my stomach and chest, the back of my throat.

A little boy looks up at me and asks me a question, “does this train go to Lancing?”

He’s tiny, and wearing a red beanie hat over matted black hair.

“Yes…yes it does.”  I hold his hand and help him across the gap from the platform to the train.  A sensation of love and compassion, rises up in the centre of me, and cuts through the sadness for a moment.

But still, the tears fall.

I get to Brighton, wipe my nose down my sleeve.  Wander into Infinity Foods on North street in the Lanes.  Pull out my crumpled checklist of what I can eat, and go about my shopping.  What I “want” to eat is beginning to change…I don’t need to refer to the list with so much precision.

Still the tears fall.

I pay with my card.  Not feeling that rush of belonging I usually feel when I walk through Brighton…until I see the art on the brick walls.

Hip-hop stars playing chess, and Aung San Suu Kyi looking so beautiful up there.  I get my camera out, and a stranger and his family stop in their tracks to see what I’m pointing at.

I like that I can feel all these emotions at once.  Recognise that they will pass, just like these strangers next to me.

It feels good to cry.  To become that emotion for a time.  It was with me well into my sleep, and traces of it are with me still.  But I carried on with my routine.  Remedy before dinner, after dinner, just before I go to sleep.  Coriander water when I wake, followed by my morning mix, and then I settled down for some meditation.  The house is quiet.  Mum’s away and Chris is addicted to those dratted computer games.  It was good to be still.  It was regenerating to be quiet.

I unfurled my legs and motioned straight into the moon sequence.  I could recite three-quarters of the opening chant by heart, and my heels were flat on the mat by my second down-dog.  I was more flexible this morning, and there was a fluidity I’ve not felt for a while in my shoulders and hips.  My breathing…not quite there…but for a minute or two I could feel the generous supply of oxygen swirling about in my chest, clearing away some of that tension, and how lovely it was to hear that empowering hiss of the ujjayi breath.  Even if it was just for a moment.

Taking each day, moment by moment…everything’s ok.  It’s all ok.

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