“At home in the muddy water…”

At the beginning of every meditation, the teacher opens with an aphorism before we plunge into silent sitting.

“…Our practice is to be at home in the body.”

Home in muddy water is a reference to the lotus flower. The lotus is an emblem of practice because it exudes a peaceful beauty. At the same time, it grows on mud and swampy debris.

This weekend I made a choice to embrace the swamp that ebbs and flows into life.

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Every so often, Sydney reminds its denizen that the city is at mercy to the histrionics of the tropics.

It was cold and rainy this Saturday. The type of cold where when you wake up, somehow the duvet seems exquisitely more tender than usual. Like a womb hugging your flesh and bone, begging you not to enter the world.

I decided not to go to jiu jitsu training this morning. This is a tough decision for a ‘go-getter’ like me. Usually, a bike ride in the rain is just another foe to warm to before training starts. But today from somewhere in the depths of my soul rung a “HELL NO”.

I spent the morning doing a few tasks fuelled by caffeine. In the afternoon I decided to sit and do nothing. A strange act that was in fact, quite pleasant. Apart from moments of panic thinking that it might be an insane thing to do nothing.

Usually, on a Saturday night, I like to go out dancing. But tonight, I also skipped that.

I ate a meal. Watched some show. And then went back to sitting. Sinking into the mud.

In the mud there are moments of loneliness.

I became very curious about this. What I am calling loneliness comes and goes but remains very familiar. It sounds like stories of “I should be doing something!” and it feels like failing. It looks like a picture of “what I could be doing” and “who I could be”. It shivers like doubt querying and questioning if I am doing something wrong or could be doing something more.

I became more curious. Is loneliness an emotion, a thought, or a perception?

Tonight, I saw that my beloved, sweet loneliness is primarily a perception. A perception of a ‘Me’ in the context of a ‘World’. It begets thoughts and beliefs about who I am and who I should be. It is self-defeating belief because it separates me from the world which then gives rise to emotions of sadness and shame.

It was good practice because being at home in muddy water is about being with the mud that nurtures a lotus. Sure, some weekends I will be hanging out with mates, doing exercise, dancing the night away. But I want to be at home even when I choose not to do these things. By doing so, attachment decreases. And then I can enjoy these activities with greater ease rather than dependence.

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Part two: Muddy rain

Sunday morning, I woke up refreshed. I could feel something had shifted. In fact, I was excited. Because today I had booked a Finnish sauna at Manly wharf.

It was the perfect Sunday plan. A bike ride over the harbour bridge to the ferry terminal. A ferry to Manly. And then a short bike ride to the sauna spot.

I had prebooked the sauna for 2:30pm for $35. A slight indulgence. I chose this sauna because it was right on the beach so you could jump into the cold winter water in between sessions. The sauna was booked for 45 minutes.

I left home at 1:15pm. Plenty of time!

By 1:30pm I took a coffee break in North Sydney.

By 1:40pm I was crossing the Harbour bridge. Despite the grey skies, the view was still stunning.

By 1:50pm and a few wrong turns I realised I was running late.

I biked through the crowds and Circular Quay wharf. I was definitely running late. The ferry was due in 2 minutes.

I ran to Wharf 3. The ticketers ushered me in telling me to hurry. I BLOOPED past the gates.

I took a left turn.

Wrong wharf.

I retraced my steps. I saw the ferry slowly undock.

“Sorry mate you just missed it!”

I wore my disappointment on my face.

“We saw you running and couldn’t figure out why you went left!”

 

The next ferry was in 20 minutes.

It was 2:00pm. The sauna was due to begin in 30 minutes.

 

As I waited for the next ferry I descended into a mood. I was disappointed. I was angry. I was sad that I would miss what was meant to be a highlight. On top of it all I had squandered $35.

The next ferry arrived on schedule. I scurried aboard trying to figure out what to do. I pulled out my phone and desperately emailed the owner of the sauna explaining I would be late. He replied kindly but firmly:

“Hi Rahul, 

We always try to accommodate where possible to extend. 

We are fully booked for the rest of the day after your session. In this case we are unable to extend sorry.”

 

At the current rate, I would land on Manly wharf at 2:40pm and the Maps said it would take me 15 minutes to bike to the sauna spot. That left 15 minutes of sauna-ing.

I made a promise to myself that I would bike as hard as humanly possible. Even though most of the 15 minutes would be climbing a 60m incline.

Line at the exit of the ferry.

Try to push past.

Don’t they know I am in a rush?

Walk out of terminal. Hop on bike. First gear. Second.

It starts raining.

Up the incline.

It really starts raining.

Quads burning.

Can’t see, glasses dripping with rain.

Legs hot. Hands frozen. Skin soaked.

Mind angry.

While I was aware of the dire situation, I was also aware of the pure physicality of the climb. In another storyline I could be an avid mountain biker on a Sunday training session. I could be working on my cardio trying to beat the clock.

Going into my body didn’t take away the disappointment. But it was nice to know that there was another form of awareness that didn’t feel biased to outcomes or context.

I winded up the hill. Another few wrong turns. Down the hill. Past a strange cottage-type place above the wharf.

I landed at the end of the wharf to the sauna pop-up just as my group ended their session.

I went to the sauna attendant with audible huffing and puffing partly to catch my breath and partly out of dissapointmet. He was kind and sympathetic, but he couldn’t help me out. The sauna was fully booked out for the rest of the day.

I sat on the wharf and tried to find some solace looking out at the sea. I was soaked through. Cold. Sad.

Walking back up the hill defeated, I went back to my body. Here again, I felt a degree of loneliness. This feeling was akin to feeling a little sorry for myself. Self-pity. It was a feeling of wanting a hug but realising there was only myself to do so.

I guess a large part of growing up is learning how to give yourself that inner hug. As I took the train back home, I took off the wet jacket. I realised it was taking away the heat because it was damp. I refilled my water bottle and drank. Thirst can be disguised in the rain.

I got on the train. My planning mind knew I had some chicken curry in the fridge at home. I was already visualising the hot shower. I planned to dip by the supermarket and buy something chocolate-y for my troubles.

I ate a lot that night. After some serious biking, it felt good to eat. I destroyed a Kit Kat slab. I was warm now and a distance away from the cold, dampness.

I still felt a little disappointed. There was a lens of sadness that coloured the rest of the evening. I wish I could report that my self-pitying miraculously turned into some positive perspective. The most I could muster was, although I didn’t plan for it, I got a pretty good work out. That, and a reminder that we make plans and God laughs. This week really was about trying to be at home in muddy water.

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Part three: Lotus

I don’t know if I actually seen a lotus in the wild. I’m not sure if they grow in this part of the world. Certainly not in my post code.

I imagine that the beauty of a lotus is partly its colour and vibrancy. Partly due to the unexpected context in which it blooms.

I feel a little like that latter type of beauty these past few days.

Monday morning was strange. Unannounced, a pleasant sort of joy descended. No real rhyme or reason. There was an air of lightness that buoyed upwards from my centre.

It is hard for the mind to grasp exactly why. Perhaps the new sunshine has something to do with it. My work-life is a bit more relaxed this week. I also received an email from the sauna manager who gave me a free voucher for my next booking.

I can appreciate how an unannounced lotus is more beautiful than an expected one. The randomness of the current mood in the context of recent difficulties gives me faith in being at home in the muddy water. Not to rid of the mud, but to rest in the shifting nature of moods and situations. Rain and shine.