Spacious Solidarity Blog: Day 65

We’re up early again to meditate. It’s Tuesday and the rubbish collectors are just outside doing their thing.

I open to the sound of bins being dragged across the paving, the truck engine humming, the compactor opening and closing. It’s a rich, textured cacophony.

At first there is some resistance to it, but the more I listen the more absorbed I get until it actually becomes deeply pleasurable. There is a gentle whir and a humming mixed up in there and every once in a while I can hear the men talking to each other and laughing.

When they move on and it goes quiet again there is also the relief of less sounds, space, a pause.

After meditation I make my green monster smoothie and drink it while catching up on email.

I decide I need to do some laundry. I’ve been intending to wash the linen cushion covers from our couch for weeks now. I strip the cushions and throw the covers in the washing machine. Fingers crossed I don’t shrink them, as the couch belongs to the landlady.

Although that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. It’s a shitty couch. 15 years old, white(ish) and covered in stains. Too small for both of us to lounge on comfortably and cuddle. It looks like the kind of couch you’d find in a college dorm.

Replacing furniture when renting is a sensitive negotiation. It took us months to negotiate a new mattress. We’d been sleeping on a futon she’d bought used ten years ago and we were both developing back problems.

In the end we decided to buy our own mattress when it became clear the landlady wasn’t willing to spend more than £200 at Ikea.

When we first moved in and commented on the state of the couch she said that she would eventually replace it with her old couch when she got around to buying herself a new one. Classy.

In the late morning I have a supervision session with one of my few remaining mindfulness clients. He’s transitioned to doing all his teaching online. We talk through the challenges of supporting people on Zoom when they are experiencing difficult emotions.

There is something about being physically on one’s own when on Zoom. Especially if you are the one holding the space for the group. It feels weightier when strong emotions surface. I also can’t feel the rest of the group and their responses to what’s happening.

I support him to try and stay authentic to his own experience, not fix anything for others, or try to explain or teach in those moments. Just holding the space with kindness is enough.

I eat lunch with my partner, who’s been in the bedroom all morning on work calls. Afterwards it’s my turn to be confined there, as they have a group Zoom session and the Wi-Fi connection in the bedroom isn’t great.

I do a bit of writing and then it’s time to interview my Dad about his early life. We dive right in, starting with his parents, what he remembers them sharing with him about their lives before he was born.

I learn that my grandmother lost her father to diabetes when he was quite young at a time before any treatments had been developed. She would have been a teenager. A year later, she lost her mother, sister-in-law and newborn niece in an earthquake when the family home collapsed. No one in the house including the dog survived.

It’s amazing how our entire existence rests on a series of countless choices made by our ancestors. The only reason my grandmother didn’t die in that earthquake is that she’d decided to go to her family’s farm just that afternoon.

The entire town was decimated. Another brother of her's only survived because he was walking down the middle of the street on his way home after an evening of celebrating the birth of his new born baby. The one who dies along with his wife and the others in the house that collapsed.

Afterwards she was adopted by an aunt who ended up being a domineering presence in her life throughout her early adult years and well into her own marriage and family life.

They all lived together in a big house in Santiago. My Dad tells me that they converted the house so his family could have their own separate kitchen upstairs. They kept chickens out back. He never killed them himself. He imagines the cook did that.

They had a cook and three maids.

He says he never liked it. That it never sat well with him, being served by others. But it was part of the culture. And the people who worked for the family were very grateful to have jobs. They came from the smaller towns and farms across Chile to live in the city and earn good money.

Some of them stayed with the family for decades.

We have to stop there because I need to get on another supervision call. I tell my Dad I want to hear more about it when we speak again on Thursday afternoon.

After my call I have a little bit of time to catch up on email before my evening drop-in meditation class. I’m going back to stillness and spaciousness again. This time, interested in how we can integrate these qualities in our direct experience of the elements of earth and space.

We have a bit of dinner, leftover red sauce and pasta, and then head out for a late evening walk. On the way, my partner tells me they’ve been looking on Open Rent for bigger flats on our street, online viewing only.

If social distancing goes on indefinitely we’re going to need a second room. Right now it feels like the walls are closing in on us, both needing confidential space for work and teaching every day and often at the same time.

We sit down on a bench and they show me the photos. One place has three roof terraces! We begin fantasizing about what we could do with that much space. I decide if we are going to move again, outdoor space is a non-negotiable.

On our way home we stop by the shop to pick up a few bits and pieces. The owner is there and I know from what one of the workers told me recently that he’s had a long day. He goes out early in the morning to get the best produce he can find from wholesalers and now here he is, stocking shelves at 9pm.

I thank him, telling him how grateful I am that he is able to keep things stocked and provide such beautiful produce. He looks at me confused, looks to the man behind the register, who translates what I’ve said, and then looks back at me and smiles.

I turn to get in the queue and notice a plastic bin with a sign for Akwaaba. I know what that is due to our Sunday walk to the West Hackney Recreation Grounds. It’s the free food takeaway for migrants, refugees and asylum seekers that runs out of the church next to the park.

They are collecting food donations. There is a list of what they need with rice at the top. I go to the rice aisle, pick up a 10-kilo bag of basmati and add it to my shopping basket.

There is something in this for me about paying attention to the world around me. This one right here on my doorstep. I’ve lived here two years and it took going into lockdown during a global pandemic to take notice of a local free food takeaway.

When I lived in San Francisco my day to day life was deeply woven into the fabric of the community. Perhaps that was because my first job was as a youth worker at a local community centre.

It was through that job that I got to know most of the local charities and organisations serving the community. I also got to know the intricate details of how the school system works and the department running youth services for the city.

Since I’ve moved to London all my work has been elsewhere. Teaching dharma and mindfulness in places other than Hackney. I’ve lived here, but most of my life, especially my altruism, has taken place elsewhere.

Coronavirus has inadvertently changed all that and I’m really grateful for it. I have wanted to feel more connected, but never quite known where to start or how.

When we get home it’s time for chores. The sofa cushion covers need to be ironed before they can go back on the cushions. My partner gets out the iron and plugs it in. And waits.

Nothing.

Are you sure it’s on? What about the wall plug?

Everything’s on and it should be working, but it’s not.

My partner decides it must be the fuse inside the plug. They take it apart but now they can’t find their stash of replacement fuses.

Eventually, after turning the flat upside down, they find their fuses in a place I suggested they look in again. They replace it and still, nothing.

Time to buy a new iron.

Meanwhile an ongoing drama with the front curtains is unfolding. For some reason, the hooks that attach the curtain to the track keep coming off and catching on the cord that’s used to open and close the blinds. We’ve replaced them dozens of times to no avail.

The whole system was cheaply thrown together by our previously mentioned landlady and is a complete fucking pain in the ass. And to fix it we’d have to replace the whole thing which is expensive and another negotiation we’ve been kicking down the road.

I get fed up and decide it’s time for a bath and bed. As I’m running the bath I decide to brush my teeth. The water pressure from the bathroom sink tap is noticeably weaker with the bath running at the same time.

I huff. I’m so done renting.

I have to pause and remind myself that I chose this life. And that I still have it so much better than most.

When I left home I decided I wasn’t interested in accumulating wealth, working in a high-status career, owning a home, etc. I was interested in living a simple life, giving of my time and energy as best I could to the world without taking more than I needed.

I take another look around the flat. Our little palace. Full of stuff, so much goddamn stuff. Do we really need all this stuff?

Time to do some spring cleaning. I feel a full on clear out coming on. But what to do with it all? Are charity shops still taking donations?

I’ll have to look into it.