My girl said the other day, "I hate maths; I'd never want to do it the way [brotherboy] does."
"Ah," I said, "that's because you are afraid of it."
"Yes!" she said.
"One day," I said, "you'll want to do it. Really! For some reason—who knows what? Then your desire to do maths will be greater than your fear, and then you'll return to it."
My girl thought this might one day, possibly, maybe (though she has her doubts!) be true.
I believe it will be true. I have no doubt.
I've thought about this conversation a lot recently, as I've been dealing head-on with my fear of flying.
The conversation made me think about my sense of calm, which I have in so many situations; my faith that good things will happen when you give/live/breathe good things and are true to yourself, and my belief that fear can be overcome, when your desire is greater than the thing you fear.
I thought about how steady I am, in this calm, this faith and this belief.
And I was filled with a sense of peace.
Then…I read this quote, in The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho:
"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.
And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity."
("God" being a deeply personal term and exploration—the name (or others like it)
meaning so many incredible things to so many people.)
And I was filled with a sense of light.
Then…I met with my naturopath.
She suggested I take some wonderful homeopathic drops and we talked. Every time I spoke of my fear, I began to cry. Not in terror or misery, but simply leaking. So she guided me to breathe out my anxiety as she helped to release it. And in that moment, I saw my fear coming out, quite clearly, as a ribbon of blueblack colour, leaving my body.
And I was filled with a
sense of transformation.
In this past week I have been calmed, transformed, and filled with light.
And…my fear has been steadily streaming out. My anxiety uncurling, unfurling and dissipating like ink in water.
And I realised that my fear of flight is tiny.
It is tiny when compared to this:
• to return to the place I lived in as a child
(thirty years literally almost to the day after we left).
• to stand by the sea as we spread my dad's ashes
(ten years to the day after he passed away).
• to stand by the sea with my mother, my sister, my children and husband and nieces, and old, old family friends beside me.
• to walk to the markets and buy mangoes from the women sitting on the woven palm mats.
• to listen to the birds arguing in the fig trees as they settle in for the night.
• to visit a rockpool we went to many times. A rockpool that had a CAVE—you'd swim into its dark centre and jump from the rocks into the cold water below. And as you hit, the water would come alive with blue irridescent light. Like fireworks and fireflies. Your very own.
• to see my sister happy and centred, realising the dream of closure she has held onto for ten years.
• to hang out with my mother for a whole week!
• to see my kids utterly delighted about going on such an Epic Adventure.
• to be with people I love. Love so much. Love to my brim and overflowing.
Fear doesn't stand a chance with desire
or this pure.
and one more thing…
My daughter found a friend for me today, who will be riding with us (and all our other furry companions!) on the plane across the sea.
Our little friend was raising money for the Leukemia Foundation. She is the colour of lavender, which is the herb of calm.
Her name is Little Bear.
As my children held her on the car ride home, I said,
"Did you know, that right now, she is filling up
with your loving kindness?
Which means when she rides in my lap on the plane,
I will be holding your loving kindness too."
And that made us all smile!
Sending love and gratitude to all of you,
you who read my words, and who also fill me with loving kindness!