Love in Action

This is a piece I was asked to write for a forthcoming Malaysian book.

Love in action

You couldn’t wish for a more romantic beginning. We met on December 31^st, 1999: the last day of the last century of the last millennium. It wasn’t more than a casual conversation, but it marked the beginning of a friendship that was, unbeknownst to us, to blossom into a relationship and a love beyond our previous experience.

Our paths kept crossing, more because of a mutual friend, than because of any conscious effort on our parts. Each time we’d meet, we’d have lots to share, lots to talk about. Then, six months later, she needed to change teaching jobs. I suggested she look for work in my city, a quiet and compact city with a country pace of life, and she took me up on my suggestion. She found work easily and I suggested that since my housemate was moving out, that she save herself the tedious job of setting up house all by herself and move in with me.

And so it was that she became my new housemate. Our friendship continued to grow as we spent more and more time together, but neither of us seemed to regard each other as anything more than a friend. But one thing was clear to me: I really enjoyed her company and we got on and lived together better than any other woman I had previously lived with. I remember thinking that if my next wife was half as easy and smooth to live with, I’d be a very lucky man indeed. For the ultimate test of any relationship for me isn’t necessarily what happens between the sheets, but what happens once outside.

And then we went on holiday to Vietnam and spent a wonderful time exploring the country there. We came back, settled into our daily routine and then one day became more than friends. I don’t know how normal that is for that to happen between a man and a woman, for a deep friendship to grow and blossom before anything sexual happens, but that was a very different experience for me, and to be honest, it felt like our relationship had matured naturally into something very special. It was only then that she told me that she had had very deep feelings for me for the longest time, but her pride had never let her express them until I had opened myself unto her. But she was very happy too at what had transpired, and how our relationship had deepened.

We shared a full life together, managing to balance our interests, supporting each other unconditionally, committing to full emotional and mental honesty within our relationship. We found that the more honest we were – with ourselves, with each other, then the stronger our relationship became. It wasn’t always easy, it wasn’t always pleasant to live up to that standard, but once two people have an unspoken pact to be real and truthful at all times, it’s a lifelong pledge that demands total integrity.

We lived together for two years before we left for England for me to study a Master’s in Anthropology. This was an extremely difficult time for the two of us. We were living, cut off from the outside world, in a beautiful but remote country campus: I had to commit my full energy to the course, and she had to find a niche for herself within a less than friendly social environment where she was also not allowed to keep herself occupied by working.

Whilst there, we got married. A small, quiet and intimate affair, and I’m sure the registrar who married us was subtly weaving a magical incantation whilst she read the formal vows for us to repeat. I looked at my wife to be: she felt it too. The registrar was secretly weaving a love spell, binding us to love and honour and cherish each more deeply than the words would seem to allow.

And then we parted. I had to do field work in Kilimanjaro, Tanzania and she returned home to South Africa. We next met up back up in the Republic of China nearly five months later where we returned to our old stomping ground to work and be with each other again.

During this time we grew together and learned about how love works on a day to day basis, learning to care for each other and look out for each other’s interests. Friends who were also in relationships remarked on how strong we were together, but also how independent we both were. We’d holiday once a year together, but then I’d take off to somewhere exotic by myself to explore my passion for photography. We had friends in common, but I’d understand her need to have quality time with her girlfriends, and she understood my need for male bonding time too. Yet all around us we saw relationships where couples did everything together as one and lost themselves in the process, and secretly dreamed of freedom. Or we’d see couples where one or both would seek to control the movements or activities of the other. Either one couldn’t go out without permission or the other would be prohibited from exploring an interest or passion. This baffled us. For me, true love was about interdependence, about being able to be together and also apart when we needed to, about having choice, about being equal partners in an honest and dynamic relationship.

But last year we felt that something had changed. We both still cared for each other, but the driver; the energy of the relationship had changed. We looked at the reality of how we were relating, not how we wished it were, but what was actually happening, and saw that we had changed, we had evolved as people, our interests were now very widely diverging with no shared point of contact. We were spending less and less time together as a couple and that if we were really honest, and really cared for each other, we’d share this.

And this we did, discovering we both felt the same way, that our relationship had indeed morphed into something other than a husband/wife relationship and that if we wanted to be honest and remain in integrity we’d have to recognize this and honour this. After all, who wants to be like a mother who cradles her dead baby to her breast, refusing to recognize what is, hoping that somehow it can be brought back to life? “You can make it work,” our friends told us. “No, we can’t,” we replied, knowing this to be the absolute truth – like a soufflé that can’t be re-heated. “But you guys are so good together, you’re perfect for each other,” they’d say. And we’d reply, “It’s because we love each other and are so good together that now we have to recognize that it’s over, and that the best course is to respect that and let go.”

This seems so counter-intuitive: We’re brought up to believe that if a relationship ends, it’s broken or a failure; however, the truth is that relationships are like everything in nature: they have beginnings, middles and ends. The wisdom is to recognize that and to let go with love when a relationship truly is concluding.

Agreeing to separate was, of course, a painful process, but we faced our pain, and made amends for small hurts over the years. Even the way we separated was beautiful with practical agreement reached as to what she would take and what she would leave behind. There was no pettiness over material objects, and that made for a smoother and more loving parting

It’s coming up to a year since we parted, and we both still live in the same city. We still see each other to catch up with new developments, and we both openly share the details of our newly emerging single lives. We’ve asked ourselves whether either of us harbours a secret wish to get back together and neither of us do. Perhaps that’s the surest indication that we read the signs accurately and made the perfect decision to part ways.

As for me, I’m eternally grateful that I experienced such a profound, mature and loving relationship with a woman who was my perfect equal on so many levels. Perhaps the lesson here is that true love isn’t measured by how passionately one holds on, but by the grace and ease with which one lets go.

A year today.

It's a year ago to the day when my friend and mentor, David Grove passed away.

I remember the day I heard about his sudden passing, and how much distress I was plunged into upon learning that his funeral was to be in 8 days hence in New Zealand. I knew I had to fly there and be physically present to mourn him.

It was an emotionally wrenching experience, but I was surrounded by his family and colleagues who had worked with him over the years, and drank deeply from his seemingly never-ending curiosity and wisdom. Looking back now, I am so glad I made the decision to fly half way across the world to bid farewell to someone who was instrumental in shaping my worldview and teaching me of the true poetry of the human soul in all its guises.

It turned out to be a very healing experience, to meet his family, to celebrate his death in a traditional Maori fashion, and to connect with the very land that had shaped his outlook and his craft. I thought myself lucky when I first met him, and I count myself blessed to have studied intimately with him over the many, many years that our paths would interleave.

This is what I wrote and read out for him at his memorial service. It was the hardest challenge to capture my admiration and love for this man, and I trembled at the thought of sobbing while I read it out, but I didn't: whilst my eyes clouded with tears, my voice kept firm and my words moved many at the service.

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I first met David Grove in London when I was 22, shortly after I had qualified in hypnotherapy. After the first morning session was over, I remember thinking that I was in the presence of a very special, very brilliant healer. Many years later, our paths had criss-crossed several times over the years, the joy of seeing each other each time increased in inverse proportion to the quality of the bad jokes we shared.

But now I realize that my initial impression of David was wrong.

I had been in the presence not just of a very special, brilliant healer, but also of a maverick amongst mavericks, an eccentric amongst eccentrics, a genius amongst geniis.

So today on this day, the 21st day of January 2008, I find myself attending the funeral of someone very important to me, someone who opened my eyes to the reality of magic, and the infinite pathways to power of the human soul - someone whose very life was a testimony to a life lived accordingly to spirit; someone who truly was a modern day alchemist, able to turn dark into light; grief into joy; confusion into clarity, and to allow silence to find its voice and speak its truth.

David, my friend, through you your Maori ancestors spoke, and shared their wisdom, compassion and insight into the difficulties of living on this material plane.

It is only fitting, therefore, that you leave this plane to join them in a manner that reflects the sacredness of your worldly contribution in dispelling fear, awakening joy, and encouraging compassion, humility, elegance and laughter everywhere you went.

David left an enormously rich legacy. He left no children but his ideas and myriad inspirations, and it befalls upon those who studied and learned from him to act as guardians to those very precious gems to watch over their growth until they illuminate the whole world with their radiant beauty.

So David, I thank you for your many gifts so generously shared. Thank you too for sharing this last great teaching with us, teaching us about community and connection.

May your final journey be sweet, straight and joyful.

I finally leave you with some words from Antonio Machado, a poet from my Spanish tradition.

Caminante, no hay camino: se hace camino al adelantar.

This translates as:

Traveller, there is no path but that which we forge upon forging ahead.

Vaya con Dios, mi amigo. Vaya con Dios, mi hermano. – Go with God, my friend, Go with God, my brother.

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The intensity of the Maori Death ceremonies wrenched every last tear out of me. It was as David would have wanted it: a clean grief, a good grief. We said our goodbyes, lowered you to earth, and I haven't cried for you since.

But it can't be denied: it is a year today since you left, and I find I still miss our banter, I miss the inspiration of your eternal curiosity, your genius with language and your amazing ability to heal even the sickest spirit with the lightest of touches. If I can just pass even a fraction of this on, and likewise transform light into dark, salve the deepest pain, then I will feel that the gift of your work lives on, and is still able to touch those who most need it.

My deepest thanks.

Honing the list

The small steps of transformation

Well, I've done it. I've taken the first step, a step I never thought I would take.

I've now joined the ranks of those sporting body art.

I've gone and got my own tattoo.

It's been a while coming. Back in June 2008 after a particularly vibrant Ayahuasca session I decided I would like to honour the spirits that teach and protect me by bearing them on my body.

I sat down with an American friend of mine who looks more gang than engineer, and who has many years of experience with tattoos. "Tattoo, eh?" He looked at me with a glint of the initiated. I explained I wanted full colour tattoos of the guardians of the realms, specifically Jaguar who has been there many, many times at my hour of greatest need. Jaguar needed to go on my right arm by the deltoid. No mistake.

And so we headed to a local tattoo parlour where he had had some spectacular work done, a beautiful design based on a South Pacific tribal motif, and some exquisite Chinese characters chiselled into one of his lower legs. "This guy is really good," he enthused.

We entered a well lit, clean, modern and - dare I say it - very funky shop, with eerie artifacts, swords, masks, buddhas, rows of bottles of colour ink. The photos on the wall attested to a tattoo artist with prodigous skill and talent. With full colour photos of full body tattoos of dragons and scenes from various Asian mythologies, I knew I was definitely in gangster land. The shop owner/tattoo artist welcomed us in and invited us to look at stacks of magazines and folders for ideas.

This we did but you have to believe me that choosing a tattoo can be an arduous process. After all it's not something you enter lightly into. It's a decision you have to stand by. No spontaneous drunken imprinting of, and subsequent lasering out of ex-girlfriends' names permitted. But finding the right image is tough. Sometimes it's made easier by the tackiness or sheer classlessness of the image, but sometimes the images were astonishingly beautiful even though not quite right for me. And then it was hard to find an image of a jaguar that really hit the spot. I trawled through nearly the whole stash before I found a small photo of a full frontal profile of just a jaguar's face. This was the one I wanted, and I'd return to get that one.

Unfortunately, when I did return about a month later I had forgotten where exactly I saw the image, and had to go through the magazines again. I kind of suspended the search because I didn't have the time needed at that point, but I got thinking about a plan B: my friend was on a definite timeline and was heading back home to the States PDQ. He had talked me through post tattooing care procedure, and I didn't want him to go without me getting some kind of image engraved upon my body. I don't know about you, but I hate loose talk. Word is mosdef bond. Once uttered, the talk's gotta walk.

My plan B? Well, it wasn't an image, more like text. In my readings I had come across the term, moksha - Sanskrit for liberation: the end goal of the spiritual search, the transcendence of duality. I figured that this was a perfect image to begin with, something small and compact, highly meaningful to where I am right now, and for what I'm committed to, and that I could get it placed somewhere relatively discreet.

So with this in mind, I accompanied my friend to the tattoo shop today for him to say a final goodbye to the artist before he left the country, and there and then I decided to go for it, to get it done. We printed out the Sanskrit word, enlarged it some, then the assistants traced it out, the artist primed the underside of my forearm by shaving it, applied disinfectant, applied the traced image to my forearm and somehow transferred the outline of the word. He prepped his tattoo gun; I lay down on the couch, and he put needle to flesh.

The worst thing about the experience was that initial moment of anticipation: just how much would this hurt? But in the end, the pain was only very intense initially. Since it didn't get any worse, I found making small talk, looking at the various objects around the room, and a good fan cooling my brow made the experience, while not exactly pleasant, quietly bearable.

He worked fast with a touch which spoke of confidence, experience and passion. Twenty minutes later it was all over, and I examined my new tattoo with great pride in the mirror. Yes, this was what I wanted, and I wasn't disappointed with the result.

Five hours later and I must say I'm still buzzing, and not a little proud of myself.

I'm looking forward to celebrating Jaguar spirit on my body sometime soon. It's going to be spectacularly beautiful. But funny thing is: I think it's shifted my perception of myself. Getting a tattoo is a real threshold experience. I now have to get used to myself as someone who has a tattoo, and maybe many more in the future - and that from someone who used to be very fuddy daddy and judgmental about those who celebrated their love of body art.

Some say that getting older often leads to becoming more set in one's ways and more and more conservative. I find the opposite is true for me: I find I'm changing constantly, and am ever more open-minded, progressive, curious and optimistic with each passing year.

मोक्ष

It may be one small tattoo, but it sure is a giant leap for me...

Meditation on meditation.

It's late and I'm tired, but I'm feeling like I want to sit down and do some more meditation today before I go to bed. I've been on something of a learning curve these past few days, doing more and more meditation. Yesterday I managed two hours, which I was impressed with, considering I'm a newbie at all of this.

All my life I've been attracted to meditation, and all my life I've struggled against it. Now I guess it's time; now I really have to roll up my sleeves and do the work if I want to make some significant progress spiritually.

I'm still struggling with watching the breath. I can get so deep into it and then I can drift off into reverie. Just goes to show how busy my mind really is. And there I was I thinking it was relatively quiet. Ha! But I notice it's getting easier to quiet down. Often the first ten minutes are really busy as my mind settles down, but then I find it drops a notch and gets quieter and quieter, and if I am really lucky, my sense of a physical body drops away and all is left is awareness. It usually doesn't last long since there's usually a thought ready to gallop through that temporary oasis of calm, but it's a worthwhile achievement on this journey of learning how to quiet my mind and cultivate awareness.

I wonder sometimes where this is going. Will my efforts result in my being able to reach a state of non-duality, to experience unity with the one, to commune with the Godhead? I don't know. I hope it does, but I don't know. All I know is that my Ayahuasca experiences show that these sublime realms are real and are accessible, and they should also be accessible without Ayahuasca.

I'm even contemplating a 10 day Vipassana course in January. That's going to be one hell of an experience, and I can't pretend I'm not scared by the intensity of this process. It'll be insanely full on. Perhaps my practicing now is all about preparing for that. Can I really do it? Do I really want to?

I have a blog?

OMG. I had forgotten about this. Hmmm. Maybe I should use it more regularly since an awful lot has happened since my last post, and I too and my life conditions are rather different. Watch this space.

A blog begins to dream

I've been connecting to scattered friends across the globe via Facebook, but I'm not too enamoured with their blogging facilities. While the fingers wish to keep it short, the mind often has different ideas, and so perhaps a blog is the best place for keeping a personal journal of feelings, impressions, ideas and dreams I'd be willing to share with myself(!) and others.

It's been a lazy day so far. Somehow unable to muster Type A personality behaviour (or as I once heard it, Taipei personality) especially since I live in chill-ville itself, Chiayi city. The high point of today has been receiving a Cuban movie I ordered from Ebay, watching it and contemplating switching on the running machine and watching my perfect exercise brain candy, Star Trek Next Generation. I seem to have lost Adel (my wife) to the intrigues of Rome Season 2, but that's OK because I need some downtime for myself.

The Cuban film? La vida es silbar - Life is to whistle - Promising moments, but ultimately didn't hang together very coherently for my taste. Still it's always good hearing the companeros swing in Spanish.