Its been a crazy couple of weeks. And judging by my bodily state yesterday, too much for the human body to take. That is what working 6 days straight, 11 hour working days, 4 hour bus journeys, whisky hangovers at work, recieving the best news all year and seeing the best two bands in the world live in concert (Obviously referring to these guys and these guys), all in one week will do to you. I’ve been overwhelmed from every molecule in my body. And I have spent the past 36 hours immobile in bed, feeling like I’m dying. And then dreams, dreams of my mother and I am telling her about everything, and I love her, I love her.
In the space of one year I lost the whole world but then gained everything else. What did I do to deserve this?
“It’s finally some good karma coming your way”, remarked a friend.
I can’t begin to describe the past 8-9 months. My attempts are what have cluttered this blog. All I know is this: There came a point where I simply accepted my life as it was. Poor, alone, exhausted, yoga-less; I put my dreams on a shelf where they became shrivelled and dust-covered. All I had was the city, and it was relentless, consuming, it was devouring me. Morning tears shed on the bus, all attempts coming to nothing, and becoming nothing. A life worth living; an impossible proposition. I don’t think I had ever felt sadder in my life.
But I am starting to think that perhaps we do all have a vocation in this life after all, it’s just merely awaiting our realisation. Bear with me, I am desperately trying to avoid motivational feel-good speak right now. Writing about ‘happy’ emotions does not come easily to me. But it would seem I am soon to re-enter those ivory towers I fled from only 12 months previous. When I left I thought I had lost my beloved academia forever. I headed straight for the Indian tropical sun and didn’t look back.
Since Mysore my life has centred around how I can get back to Mysore. Sometimes I wonder if that is really what I desire, or I am only romanticising a place that doesn’t really exist. But Mysore symbolises something more: it is freedom and it is home. It all goes back here. My only real happy times.
And so life has begun to open up again and pierce through that oppressive greyness. This is the work of karma. To (finally) be on the recieving end of some good karma feels like a weighty responsibility. What if I screw it up, what if I leave my PhD again, what if it isn’t what I want after all. What if I still feel sad. Deserving is such a tricky proposition. Sometimes you reach and reach but it just turns to dust in your palms. You deserve this. What does this mean? Life is only ever a combination of the shit we were given and what we make of it. Because I was given more shit than most early on, I am suddenly more deserving than the average person. And there is something quite isolating in this feeling.
Ah. Maybe I just can’t ever be happy for myself. (Need to work on self-deprecation – not always endearing…)
I think I am only ever really happy when I am on my way to somewhere else. Perhaps its time I relax on this journey and see what karma’s got in store for me next.