Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 30
I spend most of my morning meditation thinking about my hair. It’s been more than two months since my last cut and it’s starting to look like a mop.
It’s definitely time for a haircut. I consider my options. Either I do it myself, let my partner do it, shave it all off, or do nothing.
My partner makes the point that if either of the first two options turn out badly, I can always go for the third. The safest thing would be to do nothing and simply let nature take its course. But caution’s not really my style. Anyways, I’m way to vain to let that happen. The awkward stage between short and long would not go down well on Zoom.
I’ve gone back and forth between short and long for 20 years. I shaved my head for the first time when I was 19 in the process of embracing my identity as a baby dyke. I shaved it again at 33 when I got ordained as a Buddhist. That was after a dramatic ritual where I cut off my braid in one fell swoop in front of the entire retreat. I remember hearing someone gasp.
My mother taught me how to do that. As a little girl she would braid my hair, cut it off, and then clean up from there. We buried one of my braids in a time capsule in the back garden. It’s probably still there.
When I was younger I would wear a bandana on my head when I was growing my hair out. So I know how to do it. But I don’t really want long hair again. I’m kind of over it. And I definitely don’t want to have to wear a bandana on my head for the next three months.
I decide I don’t need to make a decision right away, and kick the can down the road for a little while longer.
I spend the morning on Zoom. After lunch we go out for our daily walk. We decide to head for Hackney Marshes, as we’ve both got more time today. After crossing Millfields Park we walk along the canal a short distance before turning onto the path to the Marshes. There are lots of people ahead so we decide to go left instead.
All of a sudden we find ourselves at the Middlesex Filter Beds Nature Reserve. It’s a place where concrete, water and earth meet. A great feat of engineering build by the East London Waterworks Company in the 18th century to filter and clean water from the River Lee for all of London.
In the middle of it stands a circle of concrete blocks that look like standing stones. I think to myself this would be a great place to do an outdoor ritual.
Turns out that it was built after the Cholera epidemic in 1849 that killed 14,000 East Londoners alone. The disease apparently spread through contaminated water. They built it to ensure that no such epidemic could ever happen here again.
It was closed in 1969 and since then nature has taken over. It’s full of beautiful trees, bushes, and grasses. Almost everything is in full bloom. We are suddenly surrounded by hundreds of birds, singing away.
The nature reserve is practically empty, as is Hackney Marshes. We decide to lay down in the middle of one of the football fields, the sun high above in a cloudless blue sky. We spend long enough there that by the end of the day we’ve both caught the sun.
We head back home and I spend the afternoon writing and cooking. Roasted eggplant, tomatoes and peppers with fresh thyme and rosemary and a Spanish tortilla. Before I know it it’s time to get on Zoom again to lead a meditation.
I know I’ve been avoiding feeling my feelings and I also know what to do about that. It’s time to chant and focus on the energy centres in the body. Tonight’s the night.
Root, pelvic floor, sitting bones connecting with earth, ground, stillness. Allowing the whole of the body to drop down into the earth, an invitation to trust the earth to hold us here.
The soft, breathing belly, rhythmic, relaxing. Allowing the belly to be breathed by the breath. Feeling into the flow of sensations here, and noticing any thoughts and emotions arising. Letting them be just as they are.
The heart, our energetic centre, inviting a hand to rest here, letting the heart know “I am here”. Feeling the warmth, breathing into the heart, paying particular attention to what wants to be known and felt here. Bringing compassion to anything that feels difficult to be with.
Throat, noticing sensations of air coming and going here. A place where so much tension is stored. Inviting release and ease, ungrasping from holding back here. Listening deeply to thoughts and emotions that are present now.
The crown, reaching up towards the sky, opening to space and spaciousness. Noticing sensations here and allowing the whole body to relax into this wide, open, limitless space that is always here.
Broadening out now, noticing the whole breathing body, sensations, thoughts and emotions coming and going in a loving, warm awareness. Resting back in this awareness as refuge.
I feel like I’m realigning myself with reality, finding my place among the elements again. Coming back home.
After the class we eat dinner and tool around on our laptops. My partner tells me that there have been 500 confirmed cases of coronavirus in our borough and 85 deaths at Homerton Hospital.
I know that hospital like the back of my hand. It’s a small building, only two floors. It’s where I was diagnosed and treated for breast cancer last year. In the space of six months I went there for countless appointments.
I can see the parking lot, doorways and corridors. I can see the chairs in the waiting area and the line at main reception. I can see the garden where I waited for them to call me in for surgery. I can see the crappy artwork on the walls.
I try and imagine what things must be like there now. I try and remember all the people who cared for me and wonder what they must be doing right now. I try. It’s hard to stay with the reality, but I know I have to. I breath in the suffering, breath out relief.
I ask my partner again about giving me a haircut. They are not so sure. I try and reassure them that I think they would do a great job. At that they’re looking up where to buy scissors and other implements that will get the job done.
But in the end we order nothing. We’re going to leave that one for a little while longer.