Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Summer in Holland

It is mid summer in Holland, and raining all day. A cold wind blows. We are at the coast, celebrating our honeymoon. The caravan seems so small today for the two of us and the little one. She cries and cries. She is restless. And all I want is to make space for my resistance.
So when the baby falls asleep, I put on my rain suit, and go to the beach. First I yell at the waves, but it doesn’t seem to help. (Although I manage to create some unusual tones.) Then I spread my arms and imitate a seagull. Nothing happens. Irritation is all I feel.
I walk, face in the wind. The beach is desolate. No one else seems to come out in this stormy weather. I get an impulse to collect plastic. Soon after it is more than I can carry. I need a bag, and wish for one. A few minutes later I see a huge grey garbage bag.
So I create my own letting go ceremony. With each step I focus on feelings of gratefulness and with each item I pick up I honour mother Earth. By throwing the abandoned pieces of litter into the bag, I let go of my irritation.
I dispose kilos of dirt in the big orange garbage bins on the beach. And of course I expect my state of mind to change. But it does not totally. I am waiting for a sign from mother Earth; like a few rays of sunlight, or maybe a little rainbow to communicate her love. Nothing special happens. I feel disappointed. Back at the campsite my child has another emotional outburst.
And yet, something is slightly different. I feel more patient, more open. I play and have fun with my girl. Her mood shifts and she becomes as quiet as a little angel

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