Day 26

Day 3 – 8 minutes of meditation in the apartment + 18 minutes on top of Lion’s Head = 26 minutes (Unintended coincidence on day 26)

I sit for the third day of meditation. After 8 minutes, I pack up my stuff and drive to Lion’s Head.

I notice a cyclist stopped on the side of the road, looking out into the sea. His camera is out. I think he’s crazy. What is there to see?

At first sight, I think it’s the sun rising, but it’s barely 5:30am, and sun is asleep. Stars are twinkling still. Mind making up stories when it doesn’t understand what it sees.

In the middle of deep blue sky, away from the mountains. Between heaven and water, a thin layer of clouds hang in the middle, covering the bottom half of the elongated orb. Blood orange moon is in the middle of descent, towards the ocean. Tomorrow is full moon.

On the foot of the mountain, I start my ascent, with my back pack on, with a set of head lamps, jacket, half bottle of water and car keys. It’s not busy yet, passing only a few sets of people and their head lamps.

It’s darker than before, barely seeing the contours of the ground beneath my feet. Only once, do I misstep, almost losing my balance. My body knows how to move to the steps. Breath becomes heavier and faster, towards the top. Not stopping. My body is strong and fit. Left hook of a grip for my right hand, and crevice for my left foot, the mountain creating paths back into my happy space.

I recognize navy blue silhouettes of the peaks and terrains of the mountain ranges I’ve grown to love. Atop, jutting towards the water is a couple of flat boulders. I sit like buddha and close my eyes. Feeling the wind cooling my body, senses heightening. Mostly foreigners talking among themselves, and some South Africans. I hear someone rolling a joint, taking a puff. A familiar scent.

I recollect fleeting thoughts.
Instead of avoiding the discomfort, lashing out, or giving into unhealthy craving, defaulting into past patterns.
I choose to learn to accept things as they are.
To sit with the discomfort, like I am doing now.
With my eyes closed, sitting still, trying to feel the faint current pulsating through my body, from the top of my head to the tip of my smallest toe.

This love letter goes out to discomfort.

Discomfort is where growth takes place. This is the arena where we have to fight our egos to accept life as it is.

This requires massive action.
Stop running away from situations and people, no longer mistaking it for self-preservation. Clenching our fists as if we’re clinging for dear life on the edge of a cliff, fear consuming us. If we let go, we will perish. We roll ourselves into a ball, like a porcupine, closed to life’s blessings and teachings.
All we have to do is let go, and admit that we are not coping. We are copying the past actions of avoidance of survival.
We are ready to thrive. To come to life.

I vow to shift to openness. Open to feel the pain and sorrow, the only way forward. Also the joy and happiness. Moments of magic. Enjoying moments like this, alone. And with others. Every moment, every minute.

I choose what matters. I choose my thoughts, the seed of all intentions and actions.
Choosing where I want to go. Unshackling myself, letting go of the prisoner of the past.
Choosing the destination is the first step. The second is taking the first step. Path isn’t created from thinking or ruminating.

Like the recent trip to Johannesburg for eight days. I thought I went to supercharge my career with a leadership course by becoming visible and renewing professional relationships. Instead, it was about seeing the past life I used to lead. Unveiling the facades of shiny people wanting to rub off of my shine. To see the importance of staying true to who I am. I am fast, I am good at what I do. I like corporate people and its rhythms of life. I choose happiness still, despite the ego wanting to revert to who I used to be.

These days of love letters are meandering thoughts trying to make sense of these emotions and events. Like a body of water finding its way to the ocean, with small streams joining bigger bodies, turning into rivers, flowing into estuaries.
I do not want to reincarnate. I don’t want to repeat past lives. I want to let go of old connections that no longer serve me.
I choose active verbs.
To creating. To living. To letting go. To inviting the world to give abundantly. Because my hands are open. The clenched jaw is unlocked, I am not frowning. There is a smile on my face. I relax my brows, my eyes, my eyelids, my jaws, my mouth. I relax my shoulders, my hips and my feet. I am supple and soft, feeling and accepting as things come. Letting go of what must be gone. Ideals, people and places.

This love letter is to discomfort. Greatest teacher of them all. I become willing student and creator of my own destiny.