A massage centre has opened down the road and here I sit - surrounded by gem stones, books by the sage Osho and tankas of the Green Tara - absorbing the energy of each.
The owner, Unmani, is a dreadlocked Italian with a smoke-begotten rasp from a life on the tough. She’s celebrated, sure, gone through all trials of celebration but is no shirker.
Down the road from her is a woman in her forties with multiple sclerosis up to the neck. Unmani takes care of her and a team of eight women – friends who have decided the lady’s last paralysed days should not be spent abandoned.
The lady lies on her bed, lungs heaving with their lessening ability to breathe. And by her side, along with the eight other women is her ex-lover who too refuses to walk away.
He's a KLM flight attendant with another girlfriend who won’t stop pestering him to leave the MS sufferer alone. But so far he has remained resolute, calling his ex every day if he cannot see her in person.
Unmani tells me all this from an Italian-accented mouth crevassed on either side by lines that have seen entirely too much shockery. Around her are crack addicts and alcoholics and she seems to be a bolster for them while dabbling a little in their vices.
She is no doubt a healer – to which her deeply rifted geometry doesn’t quite give lie.
Unmani - think there’s the Sanskrit for lotus in there.
“Om Mani Padme Hum” – “I am one with the jewel of the lotus” in the Tibetan way.
I spent a happy day holding the door open. Unmani couldn’t be in the shop so I sat behind the desk giving information to the (three) customers that came in the door.
And then came a fourth – man with a crooked throat, who wanted a healing then and there.
I obliged.
A burnt out career and woman that had left him had led him to my healing table. He was suffering from weak kidneys and therefore low energy. (Chinese medicine it's the kidneys that hold your jing or sacred essence).
It’s strange how the soul speaks. You could see he was suffering but he seemed overjoyed to be there. Body broken, mind numb, wondering what the hell his next steps were, though his eyes betrayed by dint of shining that the release had come, that resolution may be in sight.
Not seeing that this resolution is nothing but a revolution and it goes round and round and round.
Steps, though, ring a little more joyfully when they’re taken off the treadmill.
Political Economy
13 years ago
loving this series of unborn writers diarys., a great concept to write on, and a beautiful name for it,. perhaps what i like most about them is how you mix the details of life with the bigger thoughts that we have while we go about maintaining/living through the details., its very natural and as result it rings so much truer in the mind of the reader as they read it., although there has been a period of radio silence from me at this end events have been spiralling somewhat fast and uncontrolled and i've been doing my best to hold on... but in amongst that i have been snatching minutes here and there to check read and catch up on your writings,. loving it., keep up the good work, its inspiring for me here to read these posts, thanks,. will be in longer touch in a week or two by which time should be in position to with lots to tell., all my love r.x.
ReplyDeleteRich,
ReplyDeleteOne day it'll be fashionable for men to have a male Muse and I'll confess you're chiefly in my mind as I write.
Good to hear your holding on.
Amsterdam's been something of a wringer but the golden dawn's not far out of sight.
In fact, sitting peacefully typing and meditating, without work and little money, I think this may be it.