Posts by Margaret

High Fives

Just back from a three day business training & networking conference. You know the drill: the tea-breaks, the rush to the toilet to avoid the queue, the water, the mints, the workbooks, your partner, your group, the speaker, the exchange of business cards, the best friends made. There were lots of high fives, sharing with my partner, sharing with my group, and even chair-surfing.

I laughed alot – thinking wistfully about another speaker who made me laugh alot. Oh, and the food was good. Last day, afternoon exercise: “If you were told that you only had 2 months to live, what would be the single most important thing for you Share with your group.” I was grateful I had an answer for this one: ‘I would appreciate every breath.’  Seven pairs of eyes on me and seven open mouths.

It’s the one thing we all have in common – breathing. More though, it’s the small, small, doorway to a deep and expansive world within. So unrecognized and unacknowledged: the breath. Something we take for granted, but without which nothing happens: no-one’s successful or famous or super-wealthy.

Deepest thanks to the giver of the Key to the knowing of my breath, a Key to something more vast and beautiful within me.  Now, that deserves a High Five.

One Word

It’s a bit late for Valentines but Valentines Day got me thinking about “love”.

The roses and chocolates and the fluffy bears with red hearts for Valentines Day are a bit thin for something that seems to be so significant for human life. For something that is in every layer of ourselves and our human society universally: Love.

The Ancient Greeks had three words for love: Eros, Phillia and Agape. Sanskrit has ninety-six, ancient Persian had 80. In English we label lots of experiences with one word: “love”.

There’s love and marriage, there’s the love of parents for children & children for parents, there’s the soap opera “love”, there’s the compassionate love of people who help those less fortunate, there’s the talk of love for and from a God. Then there’s the lusty love. And the reverse of it all: a lack of love, being brought up without love, not having anyone to love or anyone to love you,

Going Back to the Island

There it was — 1971 & I. Tuned in, dropped out and turned on, and on the ferry to meet up with friends and live for 3 months on The Island. Talk about traveling light: not even a backpack: the possessions wrapped in a blanket that doubled as a poncho if it ever rained or got cold, a treasured copy of the “I Ching”, and “Be Here Now” by Baba Ram Dass, a spare ankle-length hand-painted dress, and (although I can’t recall it now) there must have been some personal hygiene necessities of civilization — a toothbrush perhaps? And a bag of mangoes I had collected from the ground on my walk to the ferry terminal. Was this paradise or what?

We were the generation who wanted more: we had grown up with post-traumatic-stressed parents — many years later they told of their war stories — of friends being shot right before their eyes. We wanted the lot: a scholarship to university meant a free tertiary education; those oh so soft drugs (compared to the horrors of today) of the 60’s had opened our minds up to other possible realms of inner experience — but only as whisper, a wafting scent of possibility, fueling the search. So there I was — on semi permanent holiday: just a need to show up once a week for a job, a private bay to live in — a choice of a hut right on the beach or one with the geckos under the poinsettia tree. And the eccentric but loveable landlord, who treasured his hermit life, but welcomed the other drop-outs into his bay — for rent of $1 per week.

Fast forward to 37 years later — back to The Island.

Sea still as blue. Rocks still magnificent-cascading down the sea, interspersed with bays and beaches, water that feels like warm like a bath, pines sprouting from barren cliff sides; amazing little bays with private beaches and views for ever. Still the streams of young people from all over the world — now probably with trust accounts and deferred university courses and parents they can keep in touch with by email and phone (with requests for more money). Not like the totally alienated and bemused parents of the boomer generation of the 60’s.

Still the dreaminess of this island, a feeling of sanctuary. I took myself back again to 1971; why had I left? Wasn’t this what I’d always wanted? I remembered sending a letter to a friend, as I left The Island to go back to the city: ”There is so much beauty here, but I need to find that beauty inside of me.“ Paradise on the outside, but a longing for the paradise within me. It was a palpable, driving, intense passion. And did I find that Paradise Within? Happily and gracefully, yes. A big joyous ”Yes“, a triumphant shout ”Yes!“

Just a few months after I left The Island, I went to see a young boy speak — he was 14 years old; I was 21. He didn’t seem like a child to me; I was just so conscious of how I felt: I felt at peace. I felt a gentle energy that was fresh (like mornings) and hopeful. I knew that feeling, it was welcoming & comforting. I wanted more of it.

And so, to The Island, 37 years later. I saw & loved the sea & the sunrise still, but I appreciated even more that exquisite beauty within myself & recognized the gift of life. And felt the depth within my breath.