What is and is not here
I found myself in the kitchen, preparing some pizzas for the evening, alone. The music was loud, a German band, Wir Sind Helden, I sometimes put it on when I miss everything that isn’t here. I found myself by the window, looking out at Birgitta and Lean, while Elia was still in the car, finishing his audio book. 30 seconds earlier, my head was full of thoughts, Italy, Spain, alternative learning, Barcelona, tomatoes, oregano, expats, finances, self-confidence, projections, cheese, and I started crying, by the window, looking out at my family. They were unaware of my looking, they were so painfully, beautifully there, they were just there. There was nothing special, nothing extraordinary. There was just me, by the window, and my family, outside, and it brought me to tears and the onions were getting brown in the pan and I went back to finish the sauce.
Morocco is getting closer, I can already smell kamoun and mint and colours and the cool morning air. Camilla and I have worked together today, planning our upcoming trip to Aourir, where we invite people to spend a week with us — cooking, coaching, sharing, exploring, transforming, tasting, laughing, learning… and the magic feeling of getting up together, in silence.
Together in silence. One of the most beautiful sentences — and experiences — I know of.
My last travel was to Istanbul, my old and beautiful lady. I absolutely loved the silence behind all the noise, through all the noise. Like with so many other things, meditation often seems to be an effort of moving towards something better and different, something we do as a great contrast to our normal lives. I do love to find myself in the absence of outer impressions, to sit in peace, to explore myself and life in different, and more peaceful contexts. But whether I’m in Istanbul or spending time at home with my two kids, I increasingly find joy and meaning in a different kind of silence.
Last week I wrote about searching, the ongoing search that most of us more or less take part in. Isn’t the noise of Istanbul a silent whisper compared to an average day of brain chatter? Realizing that it’s possible to stop the search, at least for a second, opens up a whole and almost forgotten world of silence.
The silence I’m talking about isn’t new or overwhelming or without outer impressions. It seems like it was always there and it feels like it will never go away. As a great contrast to the searching mind, where nothing or nobody is ever good enough, this silence encompasses all the sounds and movements and cars and cultures and children there is. It even has room for a searching mind!
Together in silence. Strangely enough, looking at myself gives me a feeling of being together in silence. And for all I know, it may not be so strange at all. It may just be natural.
PS: There are still a few places left for our Soulfood & Food for the Soul trip to Morocco in November! For more details and booking, you can look at the Facebook event or Camilla’s website.
(Photo: Camilla Jensen © 2012 - check out her enthralling portfolio!)
There was this moment today when the sun gave a hint of mesmerizing autumn light to come. The air was quiet as if waiting for someone special, and I don’t think time was present at all. Elia, Lean, Birgitta and I watched the sunflowers in our garden. One had done its duty and reached back to the ground. One shone towards us like it had found its very own purpose. One was about to come out of its shell, while the two others still cuddled up inside. Everything was as it was, the natural beauty of it all could speak its silent language. Together we tasted the petals of our orange Calendulas, and the moment was allowed to turn into another.
A glitch in the matrix
Out roadtrippin with Elia, through Swedish woods and moments of deep breaths. We’re with good friends on the farm of other good friends, alongside with chicken, cats and spirit guides. Our friends have been very close with the Mayans for many years, and the weekend is a happy mix of kids, joy, love and spiritual work. Today we even had the slightly absurd and deeply enjoyable experience of being served dinner by a chef who used to work in El Bulli. Life is a surprise. I love it.