Meditations
Jan. 23rd, 2006 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
olorielThere was a meditation practice thing we once did, in the olden days, when I regularly went to church service.
Before I was old enough to join the dreadfully boring adult group, and after I was old enough to leave the easy-peasy kid's group.
We were to imagine ourselves in nondescript surroundings, without light or something to orientate by except by the land and the stars. (We were to imagine ourselves in the dead of night). We were to visualize ourselves all alone.
I always ended up in an Arctic environment: Nothing but ice and snow around me. But the stars, the pale white cold stars, were always very bright: Because they were the only source of light, and because they were reflected easily by the white surface around me. It was cold, but at the same time, that made the air crisp and clean, pure, unpolluted.
Despite the cold and crispness, despite the loneliness, I felt different from the others doing the same exercise: The others would report how they felt abandoned, afraid, alone: How they longed for company and bright light: How the felt utterly desperate in that environment, which, usually was far less hostile than my arctic icefield. Not I. I felt safe. Alone, yes, but safe: All the more safe for being alone. I was in the cold, in a desert of ice and snow, but the stars were reflected, and reinforced, and reassuring.
We did that meditation exercise in a time when I was being mobbed for being different, when I had few friends and more antagonists, where I was so desperate for acceptance that anyone who did so much as smile at me was my friend, when I knew that I would never be able to satisfy people. That was why I felt happy in the dark, the cold, the solitude. It was safe, more safe than light and warmth and company could ever be. It was only me, me and the darkness, and I knew myself and didn't fear the darkness, for I knew that it was never absolute.
Sometimes, today, I still feel that way. Sometimes, visualizing happiness, I get the image I had back then: Myself, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, with no light but the stars high above - but more stars than one single sky could hold - and that is the only way, the only single way that I could ever be content. Me. Cold. The stars.
I realized today, for the first time, just why it is that my family expects me to finish studying and become useful (at least), rich (at best) and famous.
This year - in four months and one week - I will be 23 years old.
In the year my mother turned 23, she not only finished her studies magna cum laude, but also did her doctorate.
Of course, I am expected to do her proud and do the same. Instead, the only thing I manage to accomplish in this year of turning 23, after seven semesters of studying, is finishing my intermediate exam.
But I am not my mother. It will take me at least two more years to finish even one of my subjects. And unlike my mother, who knew that she wanted to be a medical doctor, and whose course of studies was neatly structured and clearly organised, I have no idea whatsoever to do with myself, my interests, my life. Right now, I am hanging in a vaccuum. Right now, I feel more lonely and in the dark than I ever felt when visualizing myself on my knees in the ice, with one single blanket and the stars. Right now, I understand that passing or not passing an exam is altogether meaningless, because it doesn't guide me either way.
Right now, I long for the simplicity of a life where everything has been preordained.
Sometimes, I miss the grinding ice and the cold stars. Today I am blinded by lights that I cannot trust, in a land of intellectual achievement. I miss the simplicity of the illusions of my adolescence. I miss the clarity of feeling that the odd girl, visualizing herself in the snow under the stars, felt so keenly. I miss a feeling of purpose, or safety.
Of course I know that I will find my way. I will, because I have no other choice. I will, because it's only natural, because it is my life, because I am not living it for anyone but myself.
But I remember the snow and ice and stars. And I remember that I didn't dare to tell others how I felt after that exercise, because the others would report how they felt horrible, painfully abandoned, desperately longing for others, whereas I would feel, just for the brief time of the exercise, just for a few minutes, safe. Not in spite of being alone and in the dark and cold, but because of being alone and in the dark and cold. It was me. I knew myself. I was safe. I was alone, but alive.
And there always, always were stars.
Before I was old enough to join the dreadfully boring adult group, and after I was old enough to leave the easy-peasy kid's group.
We were to imagine ourselves in nondescript surroundings, without light or something to orientate by except by the land and the stars. (We were to imagine ourselves in the dead of night). We were to visualize ourselves all alone.
I always ended up in an Arctic environment: Nothing but ice and snow around me. But the stars, the pale white cold stars, were always very bright: Because they were the only source of light, and because they were reflected easily by the white surface around me. It was cold, but at the same time, that made the air crisp and clean, pure, unpolluted.
Despite the cold and crispness, despite the loneliness, I felt different from the others doing the same exercise: The others would report how they felt abandoned, afraid, alone: How they longed for company and bright light: How the felt utterly desperate in that environment, which, usually was far less hostile than my arctic icefield. Not I. I felt safe. Alone, yes, but safe: All the more safe for being alone. I was in the cold, in a desert of ice and snow, but the stars were reflected, and reinforced, and reassuring.
We did that meditation exercise in a time when I was being mobbed for being different, when I had few friends and more antagonists, where I was so desperate for acceptance that anyone who did so much as smile at me was my friend, when I knew that I would never be able to satisfy people. That was why I felt happy in the dark, the cold, the solitude. It was safe, more safe than light and warmth and company could ever be. It was only me, me and the darkness, and I knew myself and didn't fear the darkness, for I knew that it was never absolute.
Sometimes, today, I still feel that way. Sometimes, visualizing happiness, I get the image I had back then: Myself, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, with no light but the stars high above - but more stars than one single sky could hold - and that is the only way, the only single way that I could ever be content. Me. Cold. The stars.
I realized today, for the first time, just why it is that my family expects me to finish studying and become useful (at least), rich (at best) and famous.
This year - in four months and one week - I will be 23 years old.
In the year my mother turned 23, she not only finished her studies magna cum laude, but also did her doctorate.
Of course, I am expected to do her proud and do the same. Instead, the only thing I manage to accomplish in this year of turning 23, after seven semesters of studying, is finishing my intermediate exam.
But I am not my mother. It will take me at least two more years to finish even one of my subjects. And unlike my mother, who knew that she wanted to be a medical doctor, and whose course of studies was neatly structured and clearly organised, I have no idea whatsoever to do with myself, my interests, my life. Right now, I am hanging in a vaccuum. Right now, I feel more lonely and in the dark than I ever felt when visualizing myself on my knees in the ice, with one single blanket and the stars. Right now, I understand that passing or not passing an exam is altogether meaningless, because it doesn't guide me either way.
Right now, I long for the simplicity of a life where everything has been preordained.
Sometimes, I miss the grinding ice and the cold stars. Today I am blinded by lights that I cannot trust, in a land of intellectual achievement. I miss the simplicity of the illusions of my adolescence. I miss the clarity of feeling that the odd girl, visualizing herself in the snow under the stars, felt so keenly. I miss a feeling of purpose, or safety.
Of course I know that I will find my way. I will, because I have no other choice. I will, because it's only natural, because it is my life, because I am not living it for anyone but myself.
But I remember the snow and ice and stars. And I remember that I didn't dare to tell others how I felt after that exercise, because the others would report how they felt horrible, painfully abandoned, desperately longing for others, whereas I would feel, just for the brief time of the exercise, just for a few minutes, safe. Not in spite of being alone and in the dark and cold, but because of being alone and in the dark and cold. It was me. I knew myself. I was safe. I was alone, but alive.
And there always, always were stars.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 01:18 pm (UTC)I have experienced that feeling of being on my own in the snow and not feeling lonely at all in real life when I was a kid – well, when I was about 15, maybe the same age you had your meditation.
I was in Austria together with a group of hockey-players. I was no member of the hockey-club but my cousin was and so I was allowed to go with them. Lots of families were there, parents with their kids …
I knew nobody there (my cousin stayed with his parents in a hotel, a youth hostel not being good enough for them). I did not belong there. I was in a strange environment, I was feeling terrible lonely and I just wanted some company, some friends who made me feel welcome.
I guess you know how it is when you hunger for a smile, for a feeling of acceptance, the feeling of …being part of something greater – of having friends.
Nothing like that happened.
No one talked to me. The laugh at me. They were the fun-people, the sporty people, in style, slim. I was fat and shy and … the perfect looser.
I wanted to cry but you do not let them see your tears, do you? So I went outside into the new fallen snow.
It was cold the air was crisp and under my boots the snow crushed.
After a few steps I was all alone, the lights of the youth hostel (situated on the rim of the village) faded – but a light far more beautiful was there. The light of the stars above.
I wandered through the night for hours.
And I did not feel lonely anymore.
Since that I firmly believe, that you can only be lonely when you are together or want to be together with other people and when these people do not want your company. On your own … you are not alone, you are … with the truest company one can have. Yourself.
In the end or when it comes to the moments that take all you can give you are always on your own – so I think if you can be at ease being with yourself you are a very, very strong woman.
Stronger than your comrades who could not stand being alone. If you feel endangered when nobody but yourself is around – what does that tell about you?
Strong does not mean happy. You can be strong but very unhappy. Proud and strong and numenorean öh … well proud and strong and unhappy.
To be happy you have to experience the fulfillment of dreams. Dreams coming true make one (me at least) happy.
But you must have dreams in the first place. Not "dreams" like "living happily ever after" (hard to see when that comes true) but dreams like "I want to become …", "I want to pass my exam", "I want to buy myself xxx".
And here we come to the heart of the "mother-matter". Your mother had an aim/ a dream (being a doctor) so she worked for it. Not many people have aims like that (anymore).
If you have non like that (only a vaguely clear thinking of "I want to become famous :-) " or "happy") you are in good company. Look around. How many determined people you see?
So do not put pressure on you. Time have changed since your mom finished her studies. She grew up in a world of certainty. "Die Renten sind sicher"…. You are growing up in a world were only one thing is certain: nothing is certain.
You do not only have to study but you have to do scout's work all the same time. Your task is far more difficult than your mother's was.
If you finish in two years – you have done fine.
If you don't finish but do something you are more happy with – you have done fine as well.
You have a challenge your mother failed. Your mother failed … as a mother. She is not your support but the ghost that haunts you. She did not tell you that you are perfectly okay.
So if you only accomplish that – you have fulfilled a task nobody (well maybe Jörg :- )) has succeeded in so far. And making a fine person like you are happy is a goooood thing!
So … have a good time.
And because I have already written so much I will write some more. I LOVE the way you express yourself (in German and in English) – I wish I could do it that well.
And I love your art.
And I love that user icon where you are standing at the see with outspread arms.
So, that's it.
Wishing you will always have stars to guide and comfort you.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 04:42 pm (UTC)Wunderschöne Gedanken, jedenfalls. Vielen Dank.
Und extra für dich, das Agulhas-Icon!
warum?
Date: 2006-01-24 04:43 pm (UTC)Ist das da?
Re: warum?
Date: 2006-01-24 05:21 pm (UTC)*schniff* *will da wieder hin*