Around the moving time of moving flats, I realize more than ever that roots are deep, and deeply symbolic. Non-physical, and all so more real. They are mighty energetical threads sprouting from the heart, descending all the way to the centre of the earth. The day after the actual move with a lot of shouts, smells, actions, male energy at its best, I lie down on a sandy beach and let the hot sand absorb whatever it can absorb. Water is pleasantly cool, and I give in to the fact that swimming is only allowed in designated area. More and more rules, restrictions, check-ins in this world, even to the beach area I must make an online reservation. It is vital to keep inner freedom and space. And inner freedom is only possible through acceptance. Between the swims I read an old copy of inspector Maigret crime story and it is refreshingly pre-technological. The dead body of an old marquess is found in a church is transported to the castle in her own car (parked outside the church), without any protocols or codes of conduct. The old marquess is put on her own bed and stripped naked and Maigret roams the castle to get psychological clues that will doubtless lead him to the murderer. I can´t tell you more because I have not yet read further. The afternoon hours at the beach are too short. I am longing for an admin-free world, the more I long, the more admin there is to be done. Very well. Drop longing? Another acceptance-freedom exercise. From above the built-in wall that prevents people to swim further to the lake, I observe the water birds, in their own worlds, do they realize how free they are?
Last week, at a different lake where swimming is prohibited but it was hot and full of kids in an end-of-school year mood, so everybody was in water, rules or not, I had to admit the Belgian obsession to impose rules has advantages. There, with no beach watch, there were cans flying to the water, there was loud music coming from all directions, there was noise, and a fleet of stressed ducklings were sliding around the lake in search for their mother. I left rather sad. Until we mature and gain the inner freedom which involves respect for all and everybody, we need prisons, designated areas, arrays showing directions.
Today, at a quiet embassy, as almost everybody left for a business trip, we had a talk with two young colleagues about the need to find honesty in relationships, to inspire, to be accepted. A cosy moment over a coffee connected beyond words.
The new apartment is what it is: a new space that reflects me back as I reflect myself to it. Boxes, items, known and strange because they are not in their usual setting. A lot of sorting out and getting rid of – as this flat has less storage room. Yes, whatever I do, I play with the elements. Space is the most abstract one, and the most tricky, empty, and full at the same time. The more junk is thrown away, the clearer, calmer the space is. And it is so true about our inner mind-body space.
How do you drop what you do not need when it is a thought, or a feeling?
By dropping it. Again, and again, and again. And what lingers because it wants to stay? Perhaps, carrying still some meaning, some messages? Drop the idea to need know. Just breathe. Breathing transforms. It is the magic of being. Observe, root, perceive, welcome, let go. Again, and again. Yoga leads us home. All roads lead us home. Not be afraid to go in all directions – deep to the symbolic roots all the time. It is the unique rooting we do each for oneself, supporting each other, holding safe space for each other when the descend is particularly scary.
Fear is fog. Mighty, but fog.
I hope the ducklings have found their mother. And I fished a few cans from the lake. Whatever sense and meaning the present moment offer, it is here to seize.
From the new place, the street is named after a tulip flower and the neighbourhood is essentially Brussels. No answers, only questions. And I do not know who killed the poor old marquess. Not yet.
A new inspiration: https://www.jordanbpeterson.com/
