Driving Home
The final month of 2022 was one of wonder, though not necessarily the kind traditional Christmas songs talk about. It was the type of wonder that made my eyebrows furl and my heart ache before ultimately landing on new perceptions with a mixed sense of relief, courage and acceptance. I am still digesting all these thoughts and feelings; at times they lay heavy in my gut, like the kilos of plätzchen[1] I demolished over the past four weeks. Sometimes they are almost weightless, like the hummus and carrot sticks people swear they’re going to be crunching on for the duration of January. It’s a long, winding road with steep hills to climb, calves cramping and jaws clenched; its joyful descents send butterflies summersaulting through my solar plexus and turn the surface of my skin into a collage of goose bumps. At each road sign, I am invited to take a moment to stop and gather it all in, assimilate and move on. Even while the world keeps turning around me, the cars on the motorway zooming passed so fast they are nothing but a blur, passersby faceless but perhaps noteworthy in their roles as extras. It’s like the drive home for – from – Witchmas.
The cumbersome energy that trailed above my head like a many-hued cloud for pretty much the entire duration of November shifted into something else as we entered the month of December. For me, it is a month of meditation, reflection and gratitude, a time to seek silence and solitude, and return to the rituals that help me do so. And while I managed to create a different kind of magic for my family, and especially my daughter, I somehow missed the mark when it came to my own solstice. There was no standing still. Physically, at short intervals, yes. My mind, however, hamster-wheeled itself to the very edges of the blinkers I tried so hard to keep in place, to peak at all there was to stress and agonize over in my peripheral vision. If there was nothing there on which to focus my self-sabotaging Drishti, my mind would conjure up a pink but nonetheless giant elephant to paint on the walls for my personal entertainment.
It was incredibly frustrating. Especially considering the reminders I received leading up to the Witchmas period, the sources of which came in beautiful short and feature-length documentary film formats – namely, Frankly Speaking Films’ Holding Moses, and my good friend, Claus Mikosch’s Ahimsa – Embracing Peace. The first popped up on my timeline at a moment that felt totally wrong but was so very right, in that it revitalized the hopes I carry for a more inclusive, honest and free dialogue surrounding the nuances of motherhood and parenting. The protagonist Randi and her story, followed by the conversation I had with the film’s makers, Jen Rainin and, particularly, Rivkah Beth Medow, shone a whole new light on the importance of pushing past exhaustion and stretching farther into a space of exquisite and absolute sincerity. Not just for our children but especially for ourselves.
The process of writing this interview and the editing of the subtitles for Ahimsa – Embracing Peace practically overlapped and, while I’m not always quick to recognize or read into the ways of the universe too much, the pairing of these two projects seemed destined. Conspicuously so, given the ostensibly mundane rapidly seeped into the evanescence that encompasses us daily and which, during this season, captured my awareness more than on others. And this started with Mikosch’s documentary and the magnetic characters he interviewed on the subject of inner peace – what the concept means to them, how they nourish it and maintain it. The film premiered on Sunday, January 8th – a gift on YouTube and, hopefully, like his previous documentary, Anicca – Embracing Change, a nudge for us to consider our (in)actions and do better as we enter this new year.
The documentary is split into seven reflections, including Mikosch’s introduction set against the somber backdrop of Garzweiler II – Europe’s biggest open-pit coal mine, located just twenty minutes from where he currently resides. Following the starkness of these visuals and the filmmaker’s contemplations regarding our lack of connection to nature and our inability to recognize not just the beauty that surrounds us, but that which lies within ourselves, Sami Hoad’s thoughts on the power of creativity feel like a sigh of relief. Watching the Fuengirola-based artist create the emblem now associated with the documentary in calming, spiritual shades of blue and purple, whilst listening to her speak about her process and artistic conviction, acts as a great lead-in to the many paths one might follow in the pursuit of ataraxy and, consequently, ahimsa.
At the time of working on the subtitles with Claus, the documentary clip I most related to was Pete’s. Following the many transformations in his life – from 1960s child of California to a musician in Paris’s hay-day, from CEO of a big company to homeless drug addict to bank robber, to prisoner – he has now settled into the role of a prison coach. Sitting in a wicker chair in the middle of an open forest clearing, the set up was meant to be idyllic. And, to be fair, the natural environment is. Society’s contribution to this clip, however, was not. Much to Mikosch’s initial chagrin, Pete’s interview was filmed to a soundtrack of planes flying overhead every few minutes, the noise of which he felt was disruptive to the overall vibe. In the end, the opposite is true – it was meant to be. It inspired a thought-process, that is sure to leave viewers with a knowledgeable smile on their face.
“Maybe it's a sign,” Pete says, as another plane flies overhead, “that we're still on such a low level that we’re being sent one plane after the other, every minute. If the Dalai Lama were sitting here now, there might just be a plane once every ten hours because he doesn't need these tests. But since I'm such an amateur, they are coming every 30 seconds […] There is no such thing as the perfect place.”
In that week leading up to the stress and division that often comes with the festive season, Ahimsa – Embracing Peace was my plane. Each clip and accompanying transcript Mikosch sent me flew over my house, noiselessly but noticeably, shaking up my walls a little bit, rattling at my comfort zone here and there, before smoothly sailing on, leaving me with its trail in the sky for further consideration. Like Mikosch during the filming of Pete’s interview, I had allowed myself to focus too heavily on an expectation that did not compute with the reality of the moment. And thanks to this super charismatic, wise and instantly likeable coach, I was able to remind myself – at times – to spot the perfect imperfections, and to simply roll with them. Yet, just as I couldn’t settle into any profound state of meditation during those twelve “dead nights” that fall outside of the lunar calendar, I found it difficult to hold on to all the little lessons I received along the way, too.
Then came the trip “home” for Boxing Day – a five-hour car journey not to any particular place, but some of the people that shape the concept of home. The sun was shining, the daughter was surprisingly cooperative and the roads were virtually empty. The drive seemed to go by faster than it ever had before, even when we finally reached that monotonous, desert landscape, that last 30-minute stretch that usually makes me retreat into toddlerhood with an almost insuppressible urge to whine, are we there yet? While it still dulled my senses with its underwhelming colour-palette, I did not wish it away this time. I actually allowed myself to find an irritatingly comical comfort in this aggravation. And it was then that the words of Phil, Ahimsa’s beekeeper, came to mind:
“I’m at an age now where life just has to slow down a little bit, I’m not raging around like I was when I was in my twenties, thirties. And there’s definitely peace in that. It’s a lot less angst and needing to get there and then there and…That was necessary to find out that it wasn’t really very necessary.”
There are many opposites here. For one, my life has sped up exponentially since my transformation from die-hard pothead to doting mother. I am in my thirties, but while I’m still “raging around” in some areas of my life, I feel like I’ve arrived at the most important. And whenever I do find myself getting caught up in the angst of the significantly insignificant, I know how to make those parading pink elephants disappear from my focal point and evaporate into clouds as soft and soothing as my daughter’s rosy cheeks. Because I have it all; we have it all. It’s a process, and sometimes it takes those big, seemingly volcanic moments like the holidays or other family occasions bubbling with expectations and heated with the remains of dangerously dormant skeletons, to take stock. To understand that, as Ahimsa’s Ben and Anne Marie put it, “everything is impermanent, has a beginning and an end, but love is all that remains. Down at the end of the line, that’s what matters most. Everything else is just decoration.”
Herein lies the point Ahimsa – Embracing Peace and its inspiring subjects are trying to make. Spending our lives perpetually running the rat-race track won’t win us anything but dissatisfaction. Next time I find myself tripping over obstacles that aren’t actually visible to anyone or anything other than my fragile ego longing for momentary kicks and comforts, perhaps the best thing to do is to summon the image of a snail by the name of Penny Lane, whispering – “you are home”. As the sailing philosopher, José said: “peace is something you live moment by moment. It's not a place to get to." It all starts within.
[1] Christmas cookies