(Photo courtesy to Lula)
An ordinary Wednesday
The first call in the morning I take is from an elderly lady who wants to talk to the consulate. She lost her son, a sailor, many years ago in Belgium. His body was found without the head two weeks after he had disappeared. Now, as every year, she only wants to deliver flowers to his grave in a village in Wallonia. (Mind you, the villages of Wallonia are the strangest places. They have this on-another-planet feeling, somehow disconnected from the rest of the world.) And there, in one, with a name containing an X, as it often goes, a sailor from a Slovak village is buried. Nobody knows how his life ended and why was the body not transported to Slovakia.
His mother, even after 13 years, wants to talk – about the case, about her feelings, about her story. And I listen, as I am in a sympathetic mood and the moment is quiet. When we hang up, I glance at my phone: a missed call. A few minutes later I learn my son did not come to school. He does not pick up the phone. Anxiety. I have all tools for grasping it: breathing techniques, observing the emotional surge technique, etc. Walk, move, do what is necessary, use the common sense to calm the frightened voice. An hour or so later I know Alex is alive, skipping school is his way of reacting to pressure. So, the day continues, and a sunny one. I sit in the patch of sunshine and observe another emotional state: the body flooded with adrenaline and who knows what else, slowly working on recuperating the neutral.
The barista chef at my daughter´s course says something like: “What sells the coffee is the story. People come back to my place because they get the story and they are listened to.”
So, yes, good and clean expresso machine, good coffee and cake. And stories. Here we are.
My teachers say there is a way out of suffering: through letting the moment be. I practice the way of kriya yoga: with a steady practice body, mind, soul unite.
One essential ingredient is accepting oneself completely. Also, the unlovable parts. Accepting my clinging tendency, power games and wounds is a way of letting them dissolve. Surrender. Accept not being able to surrender sometimes. And again, and again. Mind is a swell instrument, only needs constant polishing, tuning and maintenance. Like any quality device. Like the expresso machine: barista lesson No. 1 – clean the filter every day to get good coffee.
A few links, because we are not alone on the path. We set alone on the road and keep meeting our folks on the way:
Recently has come to me:
Not yet tasted, but rumor has it is the coffee place in Brussels:
The film – the metaphor of a troubled mind and unwelcome self and urban alienation. Brilliant: