This was the first time my daughter (almost a year old) had ever had a babysitter. I had 3 hours. I went to the bottom of the garden and sat in the grass. It was a beautiful day. I closed my eyes and emptied my mind and waited. I felt a deep sense of the ground pulling me closer so I lay down and listened to the earth. Words came and I took my pen and scribbled:
I just wrote freely, almost a stream of consciousness. I wrote until I ran dry. I didn’t push anything. When I had gotten all the words out, I began to sing. I had brought my shruti box (insert photo of shruti box). The act of singing opened me up. I sang the song I sang with my brothers and father when I found out that my mum had died. I was connected to my grief, back inside it. I found myself singing long notes, like sighs only sometimes they got louder towards the end of the breath. It was more like vocalising the exhalation rather than controlled singing. I played with this for a while to see how it felt. I felt like I had released something. I lay down again and looked up at the clouds. This quote came to mind:
“Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.”
- Thich Nhat Hang
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