Katarína Varsiková

Autor -Katarina Varsikova

Soľná a škoricová

„Čo ak sa ten strop preborí, a zomrieme?“ Pomyslí si, polohovateľné sedadlo vo vodorovnej polohe, a vzápätí si povie, „Veď som tu s K, tak no a čo? Zomrieme spolu.“

Strop je zo sadry a pripomína kvaple, všetko ostatné v jaskyni je zo soli. Himalájskej, poľskej, z Mŕtveho mora. Kryštalickej, sypkej, svetlosivej, ružovej a bielej. Zem je vysypaná soľou, voda steká po soľných hrudkách. Hračky pre deti, čo sem chodia inhalovať, sú obalené soľou a vyzerajú ako vianočné darčeky zabudnuté za polárnym kruhom. Privíta nás pani neurčitého veku s dobrými vlasmi (kvapka rozmarínu po umytí, dozvedeli sme sa  neskôr). Dýchame zhlboka, na perách cítim po chvíľke slané kryštály. Vyzlečiem sa do tielka, nech tú soľ dýcha aj koža. Sem by mal zavítať kráľ z rozprávky soľ nad zlato v okamihu totálnej deprivácie. Všemožné účinky soli na zdravie si nájdete ľahko. Podľa Richarda Rudda (autor systému génových kľúčov, Gene Keys) je soľ to médium, ktoré rozpúšťa, a jedného dňa rozpustí ľudské ťažoby. Možno preto po náročnom dni a v strese siahame po lupienkoch a slaných orieškoch.

Trochu sa v jaskyni rozprávame, o číslach – tá pani je čistá trojka, to zatiaľ nevieme. Hovorím o tom, že chcem rozumieť mužom. (Keď nastupujem do autobusu, vždy sa pozriem na šoféra, jeho predlaktia formované otáčaním veľkého volantu, a pozdravím sa. V Belgicku sa to robí – Bonjour. Občas sa šofér ukáže byť šoférka, rodové stereotypy padajú.)

Veľkú časť pobytu v jaskyni mlčky ležíme, a zhlboka dýchame. Je tu príjemná teplota, pri ktorej sa dá byť v tričku aj pulóvri, a atmosféra jaskyne, kde možno zostúpiť do hlbín seba a je to dobrovoľné a pokojné. (Nie ako voľný pád do králičej nory).

Vyhradený čas je rýchlo preč, pani nás príde zavolať. V uvítacej miestnosti si dáme pohár vody, obzrieme a dokúpime niečo z doplnkového sortimentu: voňavé oleje, doplnky výživy, sviečky. Klasika. Pani nám chce predať niečo na neduhy, naučená na klientelu, čo si sem chodí liečiť rôzne ťažkosti. Chcem si vybrať podľa intuície, vône. Napokon je to citrónový olej a tinktúra z kotvičníka.

„Čistá trojka (už to vieme) ti predá hocičo, hocičo ti šplechne, či chceš, či nechceš.“ Dozvieme sa, že má 77 rokov, jasné oči, vystretá postava, a tie vlasy…robí skvelú reklamu svojmu podniku.

Ocitneme sa vonku, v chladnom vzduchu, ostrom vetre a slnku. „Milujem všetky prechody sezón – z jari do leta, z jesene do zimy…“ Hej, aj ja. Ten najnáročnejší je asi zo zimy do jari, mámenie, zvádzanie svetlom a striedaním teplôt. Najpokojnejší je hádam ten z leta do jesene. Hoci, keby sme si mali vybrať jednu sezónu, väčšina by volila jar. Nie všetci. Určite nie – všetci.

Stará dedina Lamač je jedna ulica, ktorá stúpa kolmo k vŕškom Karpát, okolo nej vyrástlo sídlisko. Na západ je krajina otvorená a rovná, hranicu s Rakúskom tvorí rieka Morava. Za jasných dní však vidno aj prvé kopce Álp. V Lamači nie je žiadna hipster kaviareň, ani vychytená reštaurácia. Paneláky lemujú zvažujúcu sa cestu v dvoch radoch, na konci jedného radu sa nachádza soľná jaskyňa. Otvorili ju v roku 2005. V architektúre tejto štvrte osemdesiate koketujú s deväťdesiatymi. Sedemdesiatky sa tomu blahosklonne prizerajú. Je piatok, koniec februára, deň otvorený dobrodružstvu. Kľukatými cestami popod les a zachádzkou okolo sklárskej dielne prídeme neveľkému obchodnému centru, aké nájdete v ktoromkoľvek meste východného bloku. Mozaiky, fontána, nízke, hranaté budovy, brut-krásne.  

„Aha, aha, kaviareň, a pekáreň!“ Osie hniezdo, oškvarkový pagáč, káva a k nej miska škorice. Rozprávame sa o číslach. O energii 3 a 7. Na tento kúsok námestia v tejto chvíli slnko nesvieti, sedíme zamotané v deke, a pozeráme, ako si obyvatelia v ten posledný piatok vo februári chodia do pekárne a susedného obchodu po dobroty na víkend. Oči sa mi stretnú s nezábudkovými očami okoloidúcej.

„Vieš, kto to je?“

„Nie.“

„Tá herečka.“

„Aha.“

Presunieme sa na lavičku na slnku, keď mu nastavím tvár, cítim jeho silu. Socha čítajúcej dievčiny je vydareným kúskom, obklopená borovicami. Mimo vychodených chodníkov čakajú prekvapenia.

Soľ. Citrón. Škorica. Sedmička a trojka.

Trojky sú mentori a učitelia. Keď sú v tom pozitívnom. Keď sú v negatívnom, celý život študujú, ale boja sa postaviť pred ľudí a odovzdať im múdrosť, ktorú v sebe majú. Chcú stáť na pódiu, túžia po uznaní. Ak ho nedostanú, môžu byť veľmi smutní. Majú v sebe niečo detské a preto si veľmi s deťmi rozumejú. Ale detský môže znamenať aj škriepny, urážlivý, tvrdohlavý.

Sedmička… to sú nomádske duše, ľudia, ktorí sa presúvajú z miesta na miesto. Ako to je: nikde nie som doma, alebo všade som doma? Je to pohyb, objavovanie, chodiť po kľukatých cestách, neprebádaných trasách. Poďme sa stratiť a nájsť. Tieňová strana je – dávať nevyžiadané rady. Sedmička je duchovný učiteľ, len potrebuje uznať svoju autoritu sprievodcu, a odovzdať ju tým, čo ju chcú dobrovoľne prijať. Sedmička je nabitá sexualitou, v tieňovej energie bojuje a ničí, v svetelnej energii inšpiruje a vedie.

Nabudúce… Žeby päťka a osmička?  

Paradox a rovnováha

„Nemusíš robiť všetko sama,“ hovorí pokojným a pevným hlasom. Moja nová spolupracovníčka. Spoločne sme pripravili prezentáciu knihy. Volá sa Katarína a popularita tohto mena na Slovensku naprieč generáciami je pre mňa nepochopiteľná. Učím od tejto mladej, dôverujúcej a dôveryhodnej duše. Alebo, lepšie povedané, odnaučujem sa hlboko zakorenený vzorec, podľa ktorého si istá časť mňa myslí, že si zaslúžim ťažšiu cestu a trest za to, že som, kto som.

Syndróm podvodníka. Celkom normálne, uznali ženy na networkingovom stretnutí pri káve.

Kniha Balón je na svete. Výsledok viac než ročnej práce spolu s Andreou Klimo a niekoľkými ďalšími ľuďmi. Obrovská podpora mnohých. Elegantná, ukrýva príbeh, ktorý som napísala už pred nejakým časom. Vychádza z inšpirácie a pozorovania mojej dcéry a jej kamarátok, ktoré vyrastali na bruselských predmestiach. Balón zároveň predstavuje tenkú hranicu medzi fyzickým a duchovným svetom, medzi realitou a tajomstvom. Ich vzájomné prepojenie.

„Si človek, robíš chyby,“ hovorí Peter Crone vo videu, a vyzerá pritom ako niekto, kto nikdy neurobí žiadnu chybu. No verím mu, keď hovorí, že ich robí. Cítim veľkú úľavu, keď ho počúvam. Nie je potrebné byť dokonalý, nikdy neurobiť chybu, tráviť kvantá času maskovaním nedostatkov a strachom z omylov, bojovať proti kritike, obávať sa súdov. (Desiatky rokov sa jeden fragment mojej bytosti venoval presne tomuto.) Keď ho prijmem za svoj, energia sa okamžite zmení a vibrácia sa dvíha, v nej tancujú neprebádané možnosti a sloboda. Sme súčasťou vibračnej reality a jej zákonov. Zákon zrkadiel, často nazývaný aj zákon príťažlivosti: Naša realita presne odráža vibračný signál, ktorý vysielame. (Niekedy sme chytení do siete kolektívnej drámy, ako v časoch vojen, katastrof.)

Cibuľa, ktorú šúpeme, je nekonečná, ako raz povedala moja učiteľka jogy.

Kráčam rodnou Bratislavou a vidím ju akoby prvýkrát. Zmenila som sa. Zmenila sa. Dunaj stále majestátne preteká mestom, oddeľujúc staré centrum, rozprestreté na kopcoch a vŕškoch, od Panónskej nížiny a novších častí na pravom brehu. Kaviarne sú úžasné, prekvapivé, pravdepodobne tento biznis pozdvihli Ukrajinci, ktorí tu našli útočisko. Niektoré mi pripomínajú Kyjev pred vojnou – to úžasné mesto s ešte širším Dneprom.

Prijímam paradox. To, čo kedysi bolo najchudobnejšou stredovekou časťou Bratislavy, domovom rybárov a malých obchodníkov, štvrť známa svojimi nevestincami, sa teraz mení na tú najluxusnejšiu v širokom okolí. Developeri odvádzajú precíznu prácu, snažiac sa zachovať čo najviac dávnej pamäti. Komunistický režim nechal Vydricu a Zuckermandel upadnúť a potom ju zbúral, spolu s dvoma synagógami. Pomsta v maske „rozvoj“. Ľudí nemeckej menšiny vyhnali z mesta. Židovská populácia sa takmer vytratila, z hŕstky tých, čo prežili vojnu, utiekli mnohí cez železnú oponu alebo emigrovali do Izraela.

Učím sa prijímať svoje mesto v jeho celistvosti – s jazvami, ranami, pochybnosťami, ale aj s jeho hrdosťou. Pozerať hore, pozerať cez.

Rovnováha. Prijímať radosť aj bolesť ako súčasť cesty. Učiť sa kráčať ľahšie, dýchať hlboko a vedome.

foto z priestoru, kde sme vypustili Balón do sveta: https://knihznica.sk/

Equanimity and Paradox

“You don’t have to do it all alone,“ she says in a calm sure voice. My new collaborator. We prepared together a presentation of the newly published book. Her name is Katarina and the popularity of this name across generations is beyond my comprehension. Nevertheless, I am learning from the young, trusting and trustworthy soul. Or, to put it more aptly, I am unlearning a deep pattern according to which a fragment of me thinks I deserve the hard way and a punishment for being myself.

Imposter syndrome. Quite normal, women at a networking coffee meeting reckoned.

The Balloon book is here. A result of more than a year work together with Andrea Klimo and a few others. A huge support of many. It is slender, elegant in shape, holding a story I have written quite sometime ago. Inspired by observing my daughter and her friends growing up in Brussels suburbs. The balloon also represents a thin line between physical and spiritual worlds, between reality and mystery. The entanglement of them.

“You are a human, you mess up”, says Peter Crone in a video where he is looking like somebody who never messes up anything. But I believe him when he says he does. Peter Crone repeatedly speaks in a juicy way about not so good smelling juices coming from otherwise delightful humans.

And yes, it is true, I feel a great surge of relief listening to him. No need to be perfect or to never make a mistake or to spend much time camouflaging flaws and fearing mistakes, fighting off criticism, dreading judgement. (I had spent decades doing precisely that). The energy shifts immediately and the vibration raises, bouncing with new possibilities and freedom. We are part of vibrational reality and its laws. The law of mirrors, often called the law of attraction: Our reality is an exact response to our vibrational call. (Sometimes, even often, we get caught in a collective drama web).

Indeed, the onion we peel is endless, as once my yoga teacher said.

Walking my hometown Bratislava and seeing it for the first time. I have changed. She has changed. The majestic Danube still flows through, dividing the old downtown spread on hills, from Pannonian lowlands and the newer parts of the city on the right bank. The coffee scene is incredible, probably uplifted by the Ukrainians who have found here their refuge. Some barista places remind me of Kiev before the war, that wonderful city with the even wider Dnepr River.

Holding the paradox. What once was the poorest medieval part of Bratislava, the home of fishermen and little merchants, famous for its brothels, is now being converted into the poshest area wide and far. The developers are doing a neat job, preserving as much ancient memory as possible. The communist regime had let the neighbourhood to decay and then tore it down, together with two synagogues. A revenge performed under the disguise of “development”. German minority was chased out of the town almost completely. The Jewish population was already diminished after the war, and a number of the few survivors fled over the Iron Curtain or emigrated to Israel.

Learing to accept the town in its wholeness, its scars, wounds, doubts, as well as its pride. Looking up, looking through.

Equanimity. Taking both, pleasure and pain, as part of the journey. Learning to walk lighter, to breathe deep and consciously.

Words and Wings

Silvia on the DanubeBank in Vienna

When letters spread their wings and fly

Deep into the blue

Or even better, into the chalk-grey-white

Sky.

They are reminded of their birthplace – Paper.

And even further of their true origin – Breath.

It is Air and Lips

Who have given them Life.

Spoken first, then written with a feather

By hand of an ancient scripter.

Liberated they’re flying again.

I watch them leaving Paper

Free of gravity reaching a faraway Soul

Whispering to their ear:

Love prevails.  

A Bar of Lavender Soap

A bar of lavender soap lies beside the wash basin. Each morning, when I come to the bathroom that is not mine, for a glimpse of a second, I mistake it for a mobile phone. Similar shape, and smartphones have become so omnipresent, so indispensable. Need to say, I am overwhelmed. Still not fully recognising I have wrapped up my existence in Brussels, quit the embassy job, emptied the Ixelles flat, and took a plane with two suitcases. All the rest is in boxes and vacuum bags at different places. Things I have claimed I had a few. Even a few grew to quite a pile. Need to say, a lot of them I never bought, they somehow landed at me. Emptying the fridge, a handful of nail polish bottles went to the trash (my daughter’s acquisition). Also, a frozen raspberry cream leftover from last summer’s cake (joint venture). I was packing mindfully. A few boxes prepared for friends: books and cups and candles and such. Bags of textile into clothes bins. Recycling container once appeared in the neighbourhood as a community courtesy and it came handy for old bed frames and such.

And still, some nights, I was staring at things I had no clue what to do about. Dog-eared photos, pens, utensils, beauty products, sheets with yoga sessions (my creations) an old camera I wanted to repair. I did sorting out as carefully as capable of. Simultaneously, handing over the secretary agenda to… Nobody. Nobody to hand it over to. A situation that made everybody else at the service nervous. Who would do the job? I am very sensitive to pressure from others.

Applying grounding exercises, countless yoga nidra sessions, breathing techniques. On my final Friday at the office, almost everybody is out. A bright winter day, one of a few, as the year 2024 was quite sombre in the western part of Europe. The sun shimmering on surfaces filling the secretary room. It used to be a food preparation space. In the times when the house was an elegant bourgeois mansion. I packed a sand-filled cloth rhinoceros (a gift from a friend), a few funny stamps (a dragonfly among them), and a few personal folders. Left several documents to be signed on the table, with the keys and the mobile phone, and walked out saying good-bye to a colleague who has become a buddy the past year. Head/mind rarely stops swirling, as we know. At that moment of leaving, though, my mind really did shut up. Perhaps a frozen copying mechanism that I am aware of within my system?  Or calmness of knowing this is a good decision? I left behind some pots of thriving plants, some had names. These past weeks, the computer was reminding me before logging in: You should change your password within so and so many days. But I counted the days, and did not change the password, the old one lasted as long as my resigned contract.

This is the way I will be gone for good one day. Some fuss, some movements, then, silence.

For the moment, it is an ending and ended chapter.  

Having moved frequently (from my home country to Belgium), from a house to a house, from a family house to a big apartment (children still around), to a smaller apartment in busting Ixelles, I have become a minimalist when it comes to things, sticking to favourites: a coffee percolator, a favourite salad bowl, cups are a matter of choice, (never found an ideal lemon squeezer, but still searching for it). So, I packed the favourites into two suitcases, and the rest went to my friend‘ s house. He is currently putting up an airb&b in the very same neighbourhood. Universe’s playfulness.

Standing at the landing at a friend’s where I found refuge for the last days before departure, I was panicking when looking down the steep stairs of another townhouse, this one in St. Gilles. No way I have the force to bring the two suitcases down. The cortisol levels has taken a toll on the sleep, despite nidra yoga breathing techniques. For a moment I feel I cannot carry any item anymore. And did it anyway, got the small and the big suitcase down, stepping on the pavement where bars were getting ready for another Sunday crowd, coffee places already busy. I head to Woluwe St Stephens suburbs, from there another dear soul takes me to airport.

Leaving the town after 20 years. Many comfortable years of family life security (on the outside only, all the shadows hidden in the light of prosperous EU officials’ situation were sleeping in the darkness). Then a huge rupture – divorce – what felt as a multiply treason – chaos of not knowing what to do about broken pieces and debris. As it goes, it turned into the best emancipation, self-discovery, walk-the-yoga-talk path. Layer upon layer peeling off. 6 years at the diplomatic service where a lot of tribal in us, humans, gets the upper hand. Grateful for the 6 years immensely. Quite some lessons learnt:

If somebody is abusive, recognize it, and put a stop on it showing the person clear boundaries.

Every situation mirrors back what needs to be brought to awareness.

Now, stepping into the unknown. A mixture of feelings, sensations, teaching me again that we are a process and a never ending one.

Where is my takeaway coffee mug I don’t know at this point. The rhinoceros is in the car boot, that I know. Items appear here and there, Universe, again, playing its playful side. Lila hum.

Sleeping the tiredness away. Laughing, dancing, not knowing.

One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. Carl Jung.

Here are a few of my tools for shaky times: cold shower every morning, no matter how the mind tries to tell me out of it; barefoot on the ground as often as it gets; full prana belly breath; frequent walks through forests and fields; being present to feelings, thoughts, sensations; supportive yoga asanas; regular seated morning meditation; lot of water and a good deal of coffee; companionship of kindred souls (both humans and non-humans); journaling. All of them contribute to placing the centre o awareness into the heart and thus enable allignment of physical, mental and emotional boddies with the essence of the being.

The Third One

„They can let you our of jail now, because they have put the jail inside your mind.“ Starhawk.

Mocking other people was a pattern that ran in our family. Whatever could serve as a pretext to scorn: Hungarian accent in Slovak, funny looks, intelligence (or seeming lack of it), different political opinions or lifestyles, all was commonly dealt with sarcasm and mocking in the environment where I was growing up. And a lot, I mean, a lot. Daily.

Was it conscious? No. Most of our patterns are still unconscious. Welcome to the state of evolution we are in. Embrace it.

Did I feel bad about making fun of our neighbours, other family members, acquaintances and strangers? No. But I was sensitive to sarcasm aimed at me, of course. It hurt, obviously. Life sometimes hurts, as songs go.

Unconscious patters run deep, unnoticed, and it requires a will of a warrior to recognize their existence and to start healing them.

What we pick in the childhood, feels normal. A norm.

Did I mock others myself? Of course. It was an adopted normal.

Scorn hides shame and humiliation. Shame and humiliation are the shadows of the third chakra, which – when balanced – is the seat of our autonomy, activity, vitality. Anything connected to food and metabolism is also related to the third chakra. Solar area belongs to the element of fire. The symbol colour is yellow.

A true success cannot come along without bringing the shadows of the third chakra to the light. We are here in the business of building a heathy ego. An ego safely anchored in feelings and emotions of lower chakras, the realms of earth and water, can further move upwards, to the heart centre and towards all higher chakras. We need an ego that becomes the engine of our dharma (a unique path).

On the level of behaviour, the third chakra shadow shows itself in different ways. When we are not connected to our own power and the energy centres are not aligned, we compel, rebel, withdraw or manipulate. Often not even noticing these strategies.

Desire to dominate? Excessive third chakra.

Victim mentality? Deficient third chakra.

A balanced one? We are in our true power. Responsible. Reliable. Confident. Spontanous. Warm and much more.

Transformation is the business of the third chakra called manipura , so there is a standing invitation to come out of copying mechanisms and old patterns. Not a job for sissies.

As a result of my wounding, I used to be oversensitive to any critic and mocking, dreaded remarks, hence in need of over protecting myself. This copying mechanism often paraded as a bravado, extravert nature and boldness. People who do extremely well in the world, gaining wealth and success, often carry this same wounding, and behind their achievements there is a dread of not being enough. Deep fears.

Are we bound to hurt each other? Yes. The closer, the more chances and opportunities for hurting.

Did I show true colours to people I cared about?

Never, never, never. Danger zone.  

Did I receive a lot of depreciation?  Quite a dose.  From peers, boyfriends, other wounded human beings. I believe we all know that. I gulped the pain, numbed it, and continued explorations. Nothing is ever lost, time does not heal, the residues of emotional pain stay imprinted in the energetic body.

The key to change anything is awareness: gently disarming inner guards who do not let us enter our own vulnerability. Holding – letting go – holding – letting go – holding – letting go. And on and on. This is the way of a warrior stepping into her/his own power. The power to own all feelings. The power to drop resistance and become responsible for all the feelings and actions. If we blame somebody or something for what we experience, we are not in our power. Enlightening is a series of softening, though parents, schools and societies teach us the very opposite.

Our nervous system cannot be stretched infinitely, suppression, pretence, resistance and outward aiming fights fail us at a certain point. It is already happening, individually, and collectively. A good piece of news and a next step in our evolution.

Based on my current inspirations: Richard Rudd and Gene Keys. John Bradshaw and his loving contribution to inner child´s traumas healing. My ever favourite companion, the book by Anodea Judith: Eastern Body, Western Mind.

And… and this is perhaps the best piece: Thankful and grateful to the few people who let me be part of their vulnerability and to whom I finally can show my true colours without a risk of being ridiculed.