I’ve had a very quiet couple of nights and I did not realize how much I missed those, how good those felt. The last year has been fun and crazy. Socially, the pendulum has swung to and from opposite sides a couple of times, but now it is sitting at the middle. I am loving this reprieve. I am thrilled to be uninvolved and detached again. It is allowing me to set goals for myself, both short and long term. It is allowing me to take an inventory of my life and reinforce those that are most important to me and slough off those that don’t serve me.
I find myself in the familiar mind frame that the Universe is mine. The Universe is me. Such a powerful time.
And indulge me to play play a little play on homonyms here. I got two wonderful presents from Afghanistan today:
I wore both all afternoon. My co-worker asked how I can wear the scarf unwashed. Does the smell not offend me? No, it does not. In fact, that’s precisely why I kept it on. I like the fact that in an odd way, I was coaxed to reflect on the existence of other human beings. All because I have a piece of a foreign, far away land and culture with me. A few weeks ago, this scarf that I have draped around my neck was in the desert where it’s a punishing 120 degrees, where there is unrest unimaginable to me right now, where the women do not have the same rights as I do, where children are protected from lives of entitlement…
Yet at the same time deep, deep down, despite all these exterior differences, somewhere in a different part of the world, regardless of what the geographic, economic, social and political landscape out there is, there lies a place where people are people; and they are just people like me. Wearing the scarf made me feel somehow connected to the nation comprised of people no different from me or you. The smell of Afghanistan travels to my olfactory senses and I imagine the man (or woman? Are women allowed to work in that part of the globe?) who dyed the fabric painstakingly and created the aesthetic patterns. I hear the tiny bell sewn at the corner make its little playful jingle (which for some odd reason reminds me of a meditative bell) and I try to get in the consciousness of the Afghan man/woman who added this little detail and I ponder if this had any cultural or religious relevance. The scarf brushes my face and I can almost imagine the deep facial lines, the yellowing teeth that are exposed with the friendly, open smile of the jovial, enterprising man who peddled the scarf.
Alright now. I better hurry. I'm getting picked up in half an hour and we all know it takes me longer than that to get ready.
Namaste and TGIF!