Mirror of the Heart
Waking up, my throat hurts, I go to the kitchen to make myself some ginger tea. My friend looks through the door. “Oh good morning Lina. How did you sleep? You know I woke up at 4 in the morning, I had a crazy dream. I was worried about you.” He shows me the message. If you need anything let me know.
Energy. The first message I saw this morning from my friend across the world, a similar one.
Hey beautiful!
I hope you are having a great time in your mystical adventures.
I had a crazy dream with you last night so I hope everything is alright and stay wild and safe.
Is the universe hearing my needs? Coughing my lungs out throughout the entire night, feeling them becoming sore.
Settling myself early after my beautiful alone time in nature, I couldn’t hold it in but to tell my friend how I felt about the things he said to me. He replies in apology, tells me he didn’t mean to hurt me and I shouldn’t listen to him as he doesn’t know me. He knocks on the door, I open, his arms wide open, we hug. He apologizes, goes and makes me a tea. We talk a bit. He says everyone in town asks about me. I’m married to this Kashmiri guy.
This morning it moves to the next person. I go buy ginger and lemon. They talk, I hear my name, I smile. We’re laughing. They know me. “Are you married? We heard you’re married”. He takes off my ring, looks at it. I know. Married to myself, I say and everyone else as in my dream.
Lina. Lina. Lina. They say Lina everywhere. Take her to the top, show her. I don’t know which husband to pick. They saw you yesterday. Everyone asked. They know. She went to the river. People talk. I cannot hide.
“He’s a good man, with a golden heart. He’s full power. He cares about you.” My friend smiles, yes yes, he tells him about his dream. That’s real care. After last night I find this even more true. “Don’t thank me Lina”.
Shanti Shanti. Let’s have a break. The sun is strong. I need breaks. I breathe heavily. My lungs don’t get enough oxygen. We rest again. “Slowly, slowly. We have all day. You can do it. Do you need help?” He takes pictures of me. Beautiful. We’re hiking up the green hill. To the green top. Rest on the rock again. He’s playing Indian music. Sits right behind me. We become closer. Some more meters we sit down again the view over the valley. He shares his story with me. He’s heartbroken. I can feel him. I’m glad, grateful that he’s sharing his heart so I can understand more of him.
We hear it rumbling. The thunder is coming. For me it’s enough. We go back down, arriving just when the rain, even ice is falling down. We’re sitting down in a restaurant ordering half the menu, back at the guest house, I feel my battery slowly running low again. They’re bringing me chai, letting me be.
Until…classic, building up from the last days, my hiking companion wants to talk me into different activities when I tell him I only want to sleep because I’m tired. He wants to know reasons, when I’ve pushed myself up half a mountain with my heavy cough, catching little sleep because of my irritated lungs the nights before. I get this feeling in my stomach again that he doesn’t accept what I say, think or feel but asks for justification from my side. After another hour he tells me to go eat something after telling me that I should come have chai later when I see myself caught in the same spiral of explaining my exhaustion and need to rest. Sitting in the restaurant after slapping me in the face with a plastic menu as a joke he tells me again to go for the chai after food. I get angry. I don’t wanna hold it in anymore. I’m not being taken seriously. He cannot accept what I say. I get up, yell it’s enough when he’s telling me to calm myself. I leave. This had to happen. The same patterns returning throughout the turn of the three days. About how men are, how women should be, fixed opinions and worldviews that are more valid in his world than others if not the only ones.
I go back to the guest house when my far away husband calls me. I’m already proud of him that he’s respected my wish of him not constantly contacting me. He only called to fix my money issues. He’s happy. Truly. I can hear his voice, smiling. He’s that mirror of loyalty that I’ve realized two days earlier. Asking me about anything I need, that he could do. “I will come tomorrow if you don’t feel better. You need to drink tea, only hot water. Careful with the bacteria. Babe really I’m so sorry you’re alone in this. I love you. I miss you.” I know he means it. In his world he’s doing everything you do for a person you care about. Who am I to judge? I got this reflection now clearly from my first foreign friend judging exactly that about all Indians being perverts, taking freedom from women, distrusting, judging with no open window for change of perspective when my wannabe spouse has understood that part very well. Letting me be, accepting me for who I am, what I do, think or feel even if he doesn’t always understand. He respects me even when I yell at him, asking for my need. I treasure his open heart, this effort of taking the other person as they are, the attempt of understanding another universe so much more than judging over other mindsets even if ours was similar. I rather learn, expand and grow in difficulty and new challenges that are far from my world than get stuck in my own closed mind missing the rest of the world. The real world that’s so colorful, so bright as well as dark in all their different facets. So fascinating, ever changing, limitless. Always something new to see, feel and experience.
I wake up early this morning. Too early. First night without coughing. Maybe I finally let the negative energy out that I’ve been holding for too long. I go into the kitchen, preparing my tea. Still somehow fragile I put an annoyed face at my host for not understanding. I don’t like myself for it. When I later go to the kitchen last nights experience is with him - cooking chai.
“Today Lina is boss. We do what Lina says. Lina is good girl. Good woman.” This must be higher energy when both of them have their own reasons not to be delighted to speak with me. I feel truth. Not knowing why receiving this treatment.
I go outside. I need to find a car to town to get my independence in form of money. The non helpful communication of Kashmiris shaking their head or finger pointing without explaining, challenges me every time. I become more fierce in my behavior and find myself only minutes later in the back of a car down town, sitting in a restaurant having ice coffee and truffle chocolate. This is my day in this grey mountain mist.
I leave the cafe, take a slow walk in the market alley where one after the next stand offers me everything I need to cook. Fresh veggies, cilantro, ginger, cardamom, fresh cheese. I’m good to go. I’m sitting in a shared car, the rain pouring now.
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