The Bubble - Reunion

Gopi… sitting in a cafe where ideas used to come alive, be created out of existence itself, I feel my senses are not the same sensitive anymore, the same creative, the same enthusiastic… writing words has become hard since I’ve left them in the far away countries that have felt  feel like home. Since I left, leaving my words there too, my understandings, my insights, my learnings, my expressions… even returning.

Returning home has not sparked any of it again. Also I didn’t try. Trying to understand the shifts, the changing worlds, returning to the West, I now have returned to my eastern spark of inspiration. At least that’s what it used to be. Three days have passed. Three good days. 

He puts his signature cappuccino right in front of me. As beautiful as ever. A new creation every time. Quite in opposite to myself. He’s not as warm as usual. Doesn’t act like he knows me. No hey how are you? Good to see you. Seems like something is bothering him. Doesn’t seem happy. Unusual. 

A girl with a heavy backpack is arriving, asking if she can sit at my table. She must have just arrived.

The woman I’ve seen every single day now who I’ve also met last time and who dared to take a picture of me the first time she sees me in a restaurant, is walking by. 

The bubble.

Things repeat itself. I’m living across my favorite tattoo artist who helps me out with anything, once more managing my accommodation. Just how I used to live right next door. 

Eating at my most favorite Indian place almost every day another piece of history repeating itself like one winter ago when N is walking by, me looking outside the box, him looking in, our expressions of surprise and happiness jumping over at the same time in our gazes when they meet. But our mouths open in awe and excitement.

Again sitting together eating when neither of us was planning to eat here now. Rishikesh always putting you to the people in the right moments. Both oily from the massages that apparently both of us got before, providing me with just the contact I need for further steps in my curing schedule for my shoulder. 

Going to see my physio girl who gives me a complete diagnosis including exercises and instructions I will have to follow for the next weeks. Providing me the next contact for alternative treatments. I’ll do it all. Whatever it takes to recondition myself.

I leave to our ceremony, for our Master. TTT. I’m the first one like so often. Everything is beautifully decorated with flowers, little candles. One year. And I’m lucky enough to be here for it to celebrate the yogi who has taught me so much, trained me so well. What an honor. 

In this cold foggy winter day where you can’t see further than the house in front of you, the mountains covered in smoky clouds.

I’m waiting. I’m too early. Nobody is here yet, 10 minutes to go. 

…

After the grey comes the sun. The next day… When the clouds have moved and a new day has broken. And with what force, moving me through the times and dimensions of what was and is. Dream and reality merging. 

Today the magic of Rishikesh is shining through every atom of existence. The magic I have so many memories of from the last years. These unexpected encounters from Ganga to Tulsi up and down the river into the streets. 

The sun has come out again and I manage with my favorite chai to find my spot at mother Ganga unoccupied. Lucky day. Sunday. Only a few meters further seems to be like minded stranger doing the same thing as me. 

Dipping, enjoying the water and the solitude, my space. Drying in the sun, enjoying where I am here now. 

The stranger is walking up to me, bringing flowers. For me to set on the water. We’re talking. He seems kind and soft and open. I ask him to join me for lunch as we’re already making our way up. A fellow traveler. A fellow spirit as I feel very soon. I’m sensing a lot of similarities and like mindedness. He’s attentive, listening, empathetic. 

Talking, exchanging, sharing. I feel we’re in a similar energy… the flow is natural. I’m smiling, I feel like talking to a friend. 

Open heart open mind.

Our conversations continue throughout my favorite signature dish at my favorite place. We go back to the places I’ve been and return here, sharing our perceptions of the place… why we’re here, what our dreams are.

And then he shows up. Unexpectedly. I assumed him far in these fresh winter days. And yet there he is. It’s Master M. He must have been my first love of Rishikesh I say. I never said anything like that before it’s just coming out of my mouth but saying it like this seems to hold a lot of truth for me. Once believing that I had found my Guru in him. I did not expect to see him at all around here this season, neither have I even thought about him. I nod, I say hi. My new stranger friend notices that I must know many people around and again I go back in my memories…

He pays. It’s time to leave, I turn around to Master M. He’s getting up from his seat. Slowly we’re hugging each other, holding each other in our arms for long moments, he’s warm as always, my heart is beating. He notices. I like how your heart is beating so fast. He’s kissing my face. We let go. 

I make my way down with my new friend with an M and feel full and connected. Warm, connected and excited.

No matter what I think about his behavior or teaching method at times, I feel like I still carry him in my heart for the times we had. The memories and experiences we shared. How I once imagined he could be my Guru and how I learned that he isn’t.

In the meantime my new friend and me talk about meeting again in the evening at the ecstatic dance. I have to laugh at the idea, remembering all the times I was organizing them with Master M getting sick and tired of them… and yet this time I feel it’s the right time.

I receive a message from each of my curing sources, finding them in the same spot at the same time, the last days fusing into taking over the decision of how to take the next steps. They’ve already been taken for me. 

When I arrive at the place he’s sitting with her giving her the treatment that I as well will receive after she’s reminding me how to move. 

I grab a cappuccino and chocolate for us and 90 minutes later I walk out fully treated and massively grateful just in time for my torture class. So much bliss and excitement about how things fall into place. How beautiful it can be to meet old and new friends… reminders of the past, the present and the future.

The torture today is real. And it’s beautiful as it’s always our same inner circle that just yesterday was sitting in a circle at the pooja, around the fire, celebrating our teacher. Ready for what’s to come. This is what we all came for. Some more than once. Ever returning like me. Some staying forever. 

And while I finish writing these lines my favorite torture master puts his head through the curtain coming in, his closest A with him, fresh from class, sitting down to join me. Are you reading a book? He’s asking. I’m writing one. I say. What about? Your pain? I laugh. That also. They’re ordering food, taking some of mine. We’re joking, talking about difficult students and funny stories. I’m sitting with friends. I’m not alone. The spark of the day keeps flickering and when they say that they will meet with the other half of the teacher healer circle I know that the dance has to wait. The flow has shifted me to somewhere else.

I’m so excited to see my other teacher -and his good friend once upon a time teaching next to each other- again today. Again it feels like all the puzzle pieces are put together. Where they belong. From my first time here in that little yoga studio now after all these times gathering the five of us together on the same table. For the first time. Making me feel like I have found my right people. From the first time. It’s almost sentimental. And with that girl A next to me, suggesting me ways of how to come back for longer, I once again feel like this may not be the last time.

I look at her. Only a few days. I’m torn. This place that feels so much like home at times just like right now in this moment with these two foreign women living here, working in their own healing spaces, it feels again like it could be such a reality. Why are you not living here? Do you prefer being here or in Germany?

How this place is tearing me inside every time. Making me shift my perspectives about life…

              😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘

              💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Sitting on the floor in this little Nepali Momo place looking at the two yogi boys, the friends, my teachers, laughing, smiling, I admire them. I admire all of us and the situation and how we have come together. All so different and yet so similar. 

Like everything is. The paradox of life. Life itself.