Land of Oz

Oz has a familiar air to it; as if I am at home. And yet there are such differences. Some of the birds here make truly alarming sounds, like a small child being tortured. It is spring; the jackaranda trees have gone mad with purple, painting it everywhere and dripping it onto the streets. The story I heard was that the jackaranda are native to South America and were brought over. Later, an OB nurse fell in love with them and gave a baby tree to each of her new mothers. They are planted everywhere.

I walk for hours a day, downtown, to the Rocks, where the first settlers lived, to the opera house, to the botanical park. I have been on a short ferry ride cool ocean breeze licking my face and plan to take the longer, two hour ride around the harbor when I get back from this retreat.

But the thing that keeps sneaking up on me is joy. It jumps me as I am walking, trying to figure out which way the cars will be coming from, trying to figure out exactly where I might be going as I meander about. It is such a strong impulse, this joy, like a sudden buggle blow billowing out into the quiet, filling my mind. For so long I felt I had messed up my life in some serious ways, choices made that if only. . . Things might have been so different for my children, for me. Guilt and worry and what if's. This joy rips that to shreds. It shouts of the wonder of this moment, of the strength that evolved through all that I have experienced. It whispers of aspects of my self that would never have bloomed had I lived the life my mother painted; safely married to a devoted, wealthy husband who would tenderly care for me and our children. And I find myself laughing outloud, shaking my head and letting my imaginary long hair blow free (let's hear it for another bad, inch long hair all over my head haircut). I am well and truly alive. Fearful sometimes, lost sometimes but such adventure just here, just around the corner. It is a gift; the pearl from years of struggle. I live. I laugh. I learn. And I love it all.

Back to the western world

My last morning in Kathmandu, I walked the fifteen minutes to the stoupa. I walked past the new mother bathing her two to three month old baby on her cement front stoop as she let him have some sun. We exchanged the same smile we'd been exchanging every time I pass by and see them, the smile of awe and joy. I passed the men sitting on their front stoops sewing, the men and boys playing the same game of flipping a chip with their fingers across a board, past the men hammering copper, brass and silver pieces, past the cows, the goats, the dogs, over the mounds of dirt that surround the men digging up the street (with shovels and picks) and putting it back together again. They are preparing to pave it. I walk all the while dodging bicyclers, motorcycles and the occasional truck as the street is blocked off due to the working men. The barriers are large bamboo poles tied with nylon rope and a few cloth flags under which scoot pedestrians, bicyclers, cows and dogs. I walk avoiding the mud, the cow pies, garbage that lines the streets, the dog poop, the beggars (there are two to three regulars on this walk). It is my last day so I give the old woman with the blind husband(?) she leads around 100 rupees. I tell her, even though I know she won't know the words, that today is my last day. Usually I give her 20 rupees when I see her, ($.25) which delights her so today, she knows something is different and we look into each others eyes wordlessly for a long time before I hold my hands together in prayer and tell her goodbye and Nameste. My eyes fill with tears. I give the emaciated man with one foot who sits in a tortuous position on the ground 100 rupees as well. Usually I ignore him. My old woman and her blind husband are my charity and the rest, well it was too overwhelming. But today, I am out early as is he, and for some reason, maybe because it is my last day, we look into each others eyes and I have to offer some part of me in response to the part of him that is open for the whole world to see. As I give him the bills, he too looks deep into my eyes and we hold that look for some time before I say Nameste and he says the same back to me. Quietly, softly, and then I walk on.

I left the monastery at 2PM, flew to Delhi, flew out of Delhi at 11PM to Kuala Lampur, Malaysia, two hours later, flew the last 8 hours to Sydney, arriving 8PM the next day. And it is another world. The streets are paved. Traffic flows in an orderly fashion, albeit on the wrong side of the street--I mean on the left side of the street. There is no honking. There are traffic lights. There is a speed limit. The traffic is light, moves easily. And this morning, I took a long, hot shower. I love it. I love consistent electricity. I love a computer that works quickly and reliably. I love air that is clean and doesn't hurt my throat and lungs.

And yet, my heart will hold Nepal.