Shritanu, Koh Phangan, Thailand.
It is a quiet and somewhat overcast Friday morning. I am behind my laptop at Shangri La, the place with the best caffe latte on the beach of Shritanu. I am skipping yoga school because I want to have at least two posts online in a week and the weekly update is sent out today (every Friday). My average is three posts per week and I have done only one. Yesterday was one of the first days that my internet connection was so slow and therefore frustrating that I gave up. Which was convenient because I downloaded the series “Game of Thrones” and need my daily fix of medieval slaughter, intrigue, conspiracy and honor more than spending time typing and reflecting.
The restaurant is not really open yet, the guys are doing a bit of sweeping and I am the only customer. Behind me there is one of the kitchen ladies on the phone, conversing in Thai. Of course I can’t understand what she is saying but when I just got up to put repellent on my skin I realized she was crying. When I peeked around the corner she looked quite devastated. Her face is wet from the tears. Something is happening to her that she doesn’t understand, she didn’t really see coming and that crush her ideas of how things should be. I can hear how she is desperately trying to get her point across but it is not helping her. I feel for her. I have been in similar places so many times.
Meanwhile mosquitos, despite the fact that it is 9.42 in the morning and I am covered in repellent, are biting me, diverting my attention back to my own suffering. I just tried to kill a mosquito and I am always amazed how much gratification I feel when I succeed and have my own blood on my hands. I find pleasure in killing the mosquitos that are pestering me. When I manage to kill my enemy in mid air I feel vengeance, relief, success and justice. No compassion, no remorse, no guilt. I kill mosquitos just as easy as knights kill knights in Game of Thrones. But I failed to kill this one. I missed.
The heart-broken lady has put down the phone and now somebody else is making a call. I hear her giggling and laughing. The heart-broken lady has wiped her tears away and has gone back to work. I hear the rhythm of the sweeping broom and the humming AC in the background. I see the calm sea gently washing over the rocks in from of me.
I feel I am being offered a meditation on life. The sweeping, the humming and the washing water are uninterrupted and creating a steady flow. Within this flow phenomena manifest: crying comes and crying goes. Laughter comes and laughter goes. What stays is that everything is in flux; there is always movement. This realization is calming me down. I am not perfect: I was a vicious murderer 5 minutes ago and am covered with environmental unfriendly repellent. The world is not perfect: people get their hearts broken all the time, in every country and culture and at every time of the day. At the same time there is an incredible beauty to being part of all that. I am part of this Universe, I am part of this eternal dance of joy and sadness, giving and receiving, living and dying. I am witness and actor simultaneously. I am life being alive. And so are you.
Have a nice life.
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