"...What's Enjoyable Is The Journey."
I woke up the day after our "off day" feeling loads better.
I was sleepy, but not "blue." There had been a lot of activity in the dream space, but I couldn't recall any of it. But it made me feel warm and dreamy.
My appetite was completely gone. I pulled myself out of bed - as the last one always out of bed - and marched myself to the dining house. Nothing appealed to me on the buffet line. Not even the scrambled eggs and buttered bread, which were my go-to things. I slathered some butter on two slices of toast, made myself a black tea with milk, and sat down at the table. I took a single bit out of my bread, and decided I wasn't going to eat it.
I picked up my tea and went to sit down at the table and rocking chairs we had been using as a lecture space n the other side of the room. There were always people camped out, smoking or inhaling tobacco snuff. The conversations were always fun and stimulating. Discovering how the medicine was working for others was often a topic. As was people's families back home. And also the travel many of us had done.
The ayahuasca experience tends to attract a lot of nomadic gypsies. People who traveled often, if not continuous. All in search of opening their minds and learning as much as possible from their experiences in the world.
Malcom was lecturing about "change."
"You can't change anyone else. All you can do is change your relationship with them."
"Ask the medicine to change you."
"Life is rich in the uncomfortable. What's enjoyable is the journey."
I sat listening to him. Knowing that based on my personal experience, what he was saying was true. Rocking back and forth, with my feet propped up on the coffee table, with my eyes closed.
"The journey begins before you think it does. It's always going. There are rests along the way, where we regroup and recharge. We purge what no longer serves us. Sometimes we battle that purge, making it more difficult rather than accepting it and allowing it to seamlessly flow out. Some of us push ourselves into the path more aggressively, rather than allowing it to unfold organically as well. That's not always a good thing.
I've often exploded into the next journey. Very quickly. Too quickly.
But this is where my life is 'rich.' In that discomfort. In that change."
I knew I was clinging to a few things that didn't need to be on my path anymore. They were all choices. And I was struggling with letting them go.
"You're good at change," my inner voice reminded me. "Maybe it's time to define a life that plays on that as a strength? That allows you to enjoy the journey?"
I opened my eyes. The Self had a point. But how to get on that type of journey...
That's what I'm still waiting for the medicine to help me realize.
I vowed to actually eat food at lunch. That would be a good change from the morning.
I was sleepy, but not "blue." There had been a lot of activity in the dream space, but I couldn't recall any of it. But it made me feel warm and dreamy.
My appetite was completely gone. I pulled myself out of bed - as the last one always out of bed - and marched myself to the dining house. Nothing appealed to me on the buffet line. Not even the scrambled eggs and buttered bread, which were my go-to things. I slathered some butter on two slices of toast, made myself a black tea with milk, and sat down at the table. I took a single bit out of my bread, and decided I wasn't going to eat it.
I picked up my tea and went to sit down at the table and rocking chairs we had been using as a lecture space n the other side of the room. There were always people camped out, smoking or inhaling tobacco snuff. The conversations were always fun and stimulating. Discovering how the medicine was working for others was often a topic. As was people's families back home. And also the travel many of us had done.
The ayahuasca experience tends to attract a lot of nomadic gypsies. People who traveled often, if not continuous. All in search of opening their minds and learning as much as possible from their experiences in the world.
Malcom was lecturing about "change."
"You can't change anyone else. All you can do is change your relationship with them."
"Ask the medicine to change you."
"Life is rich in the uncomfortable. What's enjoyable is the journey."
I sat listening to him. Knowing that based on my personal experience, what he was saying was true. Rocking back and forth, with my feet propped up on the coffee table, with my eyes closed.
"The journey begins before you think it does. It's always going. There are rests along the way, where we regroup and recharge. We purge what no longer serves us. Sometimes we battle that purge, making it more difficult rather than accepting it and allowing it to seamlessly flow out. Some of us push ourselves into the path more aggressively, rather than allowing it to unfold organically as well. That's not always a good thing.
I've often exploded into the next journey. Very quickly. Too quickly.
But this is where my life is 'rich.' In that discomfort. In that change."
I knew I was clinging to a few things that didn't need to be on my path anymore. They were all choices. And I was struggling with letting them go.
"You're good at change," my inner voice reminded me. "Maybe it's time to define a life that plays on that as a strength? That allows you to enjoy the journey?"
I opened my eyes. The Self had a point. But how to get on that type of journey...
That's what I'm still waiting for the medicine to help me realize.
I vowed to actually eat food at lunch. That would be a good change from the morning.
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