Three Weeks in India. I can go home now.

 The last time I saw my 'boss' before I headed off to India, he said to me, half-jokingly,  "please promise you'll stay at least three weeks?"  I know that he's never been to India, but I think in that moment he suddenly had some deep connection with the immensity of this journey he was sending me on.  And he's a wise, wise, man.
Because at the 3 day mark I was ready to pack it in, but I couldn't, because I promised.  At the week and a half mark, I was SOOO ready to come home!  But I couldn't.  Because I promised. And at the two and half week mark . . . yep, you guessed it:  I want my mommy, and I want to go home.  But . . .I bet you know what's coming: I promised.  So, here I am at the three week mark, and I can go home now, because I've kept my promise.

Funny enough, now that I have the choice, I'm ready to stick around and really experience this place. I don't know how Peter picked 'three weeks' as the magic number, but it appears to be just that.  The last week has been an emotional roller-coaster, dominated by frustration, impatience and irritability.  (To all my friends and family who have borne witness and listened to me vent, Peter and I thank you.) Something shifted last night as I slept, and I awoke softened, more open, more able to see what is . . .and what's possible. 

There is so much to learn from this incredible country, from its people, from its heritage.  When I pause to think about a place with thousands of years of history and heritage, as compared with my country that really only recognizes a couple of hundred years.  wow.

I won't say I'm smitten with India; just like Delhi streets, the relationship is just not that clean.  But, somehow, I'm hooked, and I'm ready to open myself to her.  And there are so many opportunities here to both look outside myself and look deep within as Mother India shines her mirror back at me.

The paradoxes and contradictions here boggle my mind. Every day I pass poverty on the streets like I've never seen. I spent Sunday afternoon with a friend and colleague at her golf & country club, surrounded by immense wealth, and had a powerful conversation with her about holding that place of paradox.  I know that part of my journey here is to make peace, hopefully once and for all, with the incredible wealth that I already have, and the freedom it provides me. (I have a Canadian passport.  I actually kissed it the other day, as I recognized just what privilege and freedom that passport affords me).   We talked about that balance, the ever grey lines around what is enough . . . and the implacable, painful realization that no matter how much we give, we cannot solve all the problems around us.

Literally, my head begins to ache as I think about these things.  Some part of me can't let go of the notion that there is a systemic solution or a system of solutions that could change how we all co-exist in the world . . . . like a series of threads that if we could just reconnect them, would return us to balance.  I am grateful to know that even as I get older, wiser, and generally more cynical, I remain an idealist.  May I never grow up or out of that.

And may I never be hardened so that I can't see and feel the pain of the children on the streets, or the dogs that limp along hungry.  And may I continue to open my heart to see the balance, rather than getting trapped in the sorrow.  To laugh at the simple joy of children playing; even as they weave amidst the traffic, trying to sell me things through the car window . . . and get distracted into playing tag when I won't buy.  Dogs, sleeping in the sunshine, looking content in that moment.  The cabbie smiling at me, surprised, as I give him a 20 rupee tip (about 50 cents).

I truly do not know what this journey holds for me.  I have spent the last three weeks struggling against the not-knowing, wailing against the injustice of the universe demanding that I surrender into trust.  I can't promise I won't continue to put up a fight occasionally, or that I won't continue to have moments of home-sickness, overwhelm, or just general India-fatigue.  In fact, I think I can promise that all of the above will resurface again and again . . . .but I'm ready for them.  I survived my first three weeks in India, and fulfilled my promise.  Now I'm here because I choose to stay, because I am willing to trust the path unfolding in front of me.  Because I can't resist, like a child in front of a christmas tree laden with gifts, the opportunity to unwrap the packaging and see what I find.

PS: Of course I know that I always had a choice to go home if I really wanted to, and I never really considered throwing in the towel . . . but it was touch and go for a moment or two, I'll admit.

The Wonder(ing) of Love

I have been called to wonder deeply over this last month about love. What is it, really? We have so many fairy tales, and beside them equal number of horror stories. What is it that draws two people together? What makes them really good together? What is it that makes their interactions, their relating to each other something that is good and healthy – something that builds and creates - rather than something that hurts and tears down?

How do we know when we have found our ‘other’ – the one that meets us truly? Not one who completes us –for no one but ourselves can do that . . . but how do we know when we have found that other that is truly our match, the one with whom (at least for now – for what, really is forever?) we, together, are more than the sum of our parts?

And when we have found it, how do we know whether the timing is right? If it hurts others, or threatens to take us away from the path we know we need to be on, is it more courageous to dive in against all odds, or to walk away, holding that love in reverence, trusting that it will come again when the timing is right?

I tasted, briefly, this month what it was to experience that match – that equal - to love and be loved with equal joy, passion and reverence. To learn and grow with and from another even as he learned and grew with and from me. I also experienced what it was to let it go, with love and reverence, and a knowing that the timing was not right. I feel a little like I’m living a romance novel, and am chagrined at that . . . .life often imitates art, but somehow the romance novel is not the art-form I think of when I hear that reference.

Truly, even as my heart aches, I am filled with gratitude and a clear awareness that I would not give back a moment. I willingly accept the pain of loss knowing in it that I am vitally alive – that is a testament to how deeply I have felt love and joy in such a short period of time. I do not know if the timing will ever be right for the two of us – and right now I cannot picture another man being with me as this beautiful man has been in this past month – but I know now what is possible. I know that such a way of being with another exists. I know that it is possible to be truly met on all levels: body, mind, spirit and heart. I know that the skeptics who say I want too much are wrong. They, like me, simply need to call on more patience and trust.

And so, even in my sadness, I know joy and hope. I choose to hold my heart open, even as it wants to contract. I choose to breathe through it and allow the feelings to move through as waves - for I dishonour the beauty of what we have shared if I close in response now, and I hold myself stuck if I contract.

I know my love to be ever-growing and expanding. For he will have a piece of my heart forever – and still there will be a full heart for me to give when the timing is right – be it to him or another. And always I know my life to be filled with love - for I am blessed to have a rich circle of friends and family, and a wonderful community - and I am filled full by all of these.

And so I know the Power of Hope . . . and that is a whole other story