Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.
I forgot until about dinner time, when daughter was asking me how to spell it, but covering up the words with her cupped hand, begging me: “Don’t look Mummy. Don’t look.”
I nourished myself with MediYoga with Mari Hall. Mari is magic. She gives Kundalini Yoga classes and now MediYoga classes under a tree, or under the sky, at Mount Maunganui’s Banks Reserve.
What a delightful and understated park this is. A family of lush banana trees in one corner. A large oak holding space in the centre. A puriri somewhere else. And a rata or pohutukawa with a most curious ‘marking’ on it which resembles ‘the feminine’. I may photograph it sometime. And pitch black the cat, who as Mari says, chooses someone to ‘heal’ each session.
The class was deliciously balanced with 3 men, 3 women, pitch black the cat and Mari.
We sat on our mats under what became a more balmy night, and less likely to rain kind of eve.
I’m procrastinating a little in this moment, with cicadas singing with their thighs and fridge telling me its still alive.
I’m going to be writing about markets in the bay, about matua in the bay, about water, and about minimising. But now, i linger here instead. In gratitude.
Yesterday, after dropping the children to their places of learning and community (and having cheerfully discovered the youngest was ‘booked’ in for longer than i suspected) i ran with slowing down a little. The pooch had jumped itself into stowaway position in the boot, on the way to dropoffs, and was already making endearing pathetic (wanting empathy) noises as we drove straight past the off lead park.
Instead of coming directly home to hang out washing, find my missing car key, harvest the plums and dump the duplo into a container so i could reach the kitchen’s cup of tea and chocolate chippie, i decided to EMBRACE THE DAY.
Beau-beau-de-guard bounded down the sand looking wild & triumphant.
The morning air was unusual.
The park sitting on the harbour was without breath.
The swans were floating, their necks curled, hugging their breasts.
A gentle mist sat somewhere near the island.
Dogs panted smiling, children swung, women jogged, tourists teased each other about breakfast on the bbq, a fish became skyward.
I felt grateful.
I felt gratitude for my dog and my kindy for bringing me to arrive at…
Funny how time transforms experience and nothing ever remains the same.
A few years ago when our children were younger our canine companion had been a rather regular source of guilt. He wasn’t being walked enough (by us at least, as he was finding all sorts of ways to take himself for a walk). Had i even touched him or said hello today?
He has been patient, waiting for our other dependents to grow less so.
Today he is a total source of joy, a symbol of abundance and freedom, as i let go of my planned domesticity and embrace our wild nature.
It is through beauregard (who is not a sweet potato) that we met Desrael. What a human! Desrael from Ngongataha Hill. Her body is relaxed. She is gentle and cheerful. She looks of the land. In her presence, she is with no one else, she has nothing else to do. We talk of her simple life, rural living, with her country bumpkin bitzer. She is collecting seaweed to fertilise and help ‘moisturise’ her and her mother’s garden. She is visiting here to care for her father. He is quiet today, so she has slipped down to shake the sand off the dry-ish translucent green sheets of lettuce from the sea. The wet stuff is too heavy. She says everyone could be using it. I romantically decide it will be the weekends’ family activity, to help our garden, and to help take some ‘potency’ away from our local beach.
Later conversations with more dogs’ parents, kindy mums jogging, & kindy dads with their children so Mums can jog, warn me to stay away from the stuff. It smells.You can dig it in to your garden but guess who digs it up. The salt burns your grass or plants.
I’m curious. Desrael saw it differently. She talked about the rich, natural, nourishing properties. Perhaps her parents have little sense of smell left, or perhaps one can still smell sulphur in Ngongataha. Or perhaps Desrael looks at life from a different vantage point?
These places of viewing from. these perspectives, interest me.
We look at them during Yoga.
I look at them through literature and film and conversations with myself and other selves.
As my dear friend Helen says thanks to Syd Banks:
“We are living in the feeling of our thinking.”
we are all
“one thought away from happiness.”
Photo credit: Kia ora mucho Greta Kenyon of Vela Images for this shot.