My Spiritual Ego - Morning pages einer Erwachenden

Namastē the choir echoes back to me as every day when I enter the gate to my sleeping place. Same procedure every day. On the streets, on the way to the temple, in the restaurants, shops and anywhere else we go we hear them calling us. Drawing our attention to them.  It’s been five days in spiri-town. The longest time in the same place so far. Spiri- food- drink- and shopping heaven. We’ve managed to spend the whole of the days hanging out in the noisy, buzzing alleys of town, scanning through shops for hours, having vegan ice cream cappuccinos, mixed fruit juices, fresh lemonades, shakes, lassis, street food, falafel wraps, fried Momos, bowls, salads, curries, cakes, chocolates and snacks of all kinds. The variety is sheer endless as we reach our last day still discovering new places where they offer the largest range of foods and creamy drinks you could ever imagine at prices that undergo your wildest dreams.  Returning back to the hostel for our last night we’re again carr...

That ever lasting hurt of being second. I’m out of balance. I’ve felt it for a few days now. Maybe she hasn’t. It’s my all too well known old wound. The feeling that I’m not being looked out for. That she doesn’t have my back. That her convenience comes first at times and she doesn’t mind so much how I feel about the situation or tries to avoid one at all, laughing over it, ignoring my mood. Story of my life. And now here in this country with her, a chance to heal parts of it if I can face it. I tell her I need time alone. I feel my hurt turning into passive aggression, turning into active aggression towards her. Tears running down my cheeks when she’s closing the door behind her leaving for the city with her new friend, our Indian roomy. Leaving the train ticket booking to me as expected. I feel affirmed in what I was thinking before, yet I know it’s biased. Still I cannot hold my tears back, this time from anger towards her. As I don’t want to put this on her. It’s mine alone. Ye...

  I’ll never do it again. Or In India everything is possible, only one thing is not possible nothing. Love it or hate it. Live it or leave it.  The country of contrasts. The flow following us by foot. Arriving at the train station, welcomed by locals guiding us to the exit, our driver taking us to… Pachamama. They say you shouldn’t reject a tattoo when it’s offered to you. At least that’s what we say, totally enthusiastic about the    idea of getting a tattoo the next day, researching spiritual signs, symbols and star constellations. Sitting down at the top floor restaurant, beautifully lightened with red lights, the walls decorated with paintings, the mats on the floor batik colored, we become more and more excited, studying the menu. By then we wouldn’t even know that this would also be the most delicious meals we’ve had so far.  This place bringing us from one moment of laughter from synchronicity to the next. Spotting a guy who was in the same spot the night...

Two slices of orange. In the Sparkling wine. Just for you. Dejavu. He puts the drink in front of me. Like the week before. Only this time it’s different. Different place, different time, different people. It’s my last day in Georgia before going to the far east. One of the extremely fun nights that I won’t forget easily as it served me for all that was denied to me the days before. My needs on mental, emotional, spiritual, fun and physical level fulfilled until the next morning. Starting with day drinking with a friend ending in a grateful hangover ready to leave behind what needs to be left, taking with me what fulfills me. Happily satisfied with all that has been given to me throughout the time in my home of choice especially these intense last days and weeks that have once again opened my eyes as to whom I appreciate in my life and who’s better left behind. Only a few hours later I find myself standing way too early in a different world where Leen is already waiting for me. A new fr...