Flat Line

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I will pick up from where I left off a few days ago. Last you heard from me I was explaining the "clear and purposeful" feeling at one end of my emotional spectrum. At the other end awaits something much darker. It is not like the freeing darkness that I feel when walking on the beach at night before the moon has caught the light of the sun. This darkness makes me "feel" useless. It makes me feel despair. This side is frustrated by the unending questions without any answers and wants to snub its nose at India and return to the safety of comatose ignorance. Let me tell you why. This is one of many similar, daily situations I experience.

Walking along the main street in Arambol a boy comes up to me with his hand out. I have no food but I do carry a pouch of small toys. I reach to give him a lucrative super bouncy ball and see his eyes light up. Instantly five more children surround me. They too want toys, not just one, but all of them. They want all of my toys. I am not surprised and I understand. As they pull at my arms and bag and clothes and hair and heart, a woman carrying an infant approaches. One young girl, about three, is especially forward and is practically climbing up my front to get another toy. The woman, maybe her mother or maybe not, winds up like a batter and takes a swing at the girl. She hits her square on the nose and a sickening crack rings in my ears. The tiny child is rocked backward and tears well in her blood-shot eyes. Rage rises from deep within my stomach. All of my beliefs and morals come to the surface and threaten to boil over.

But then I stop. What can I do? Give a lecture on my western beliefs and morals? Be angry at her? Hit her back? Comfort the child? Anyways, was I not a large part of the creation of this situation? Did I give out that first toy because I truly wanted to bring joy to a child or did I do it to lessen my feelings of guilt? For once, I know exactly what the answer is and I have great difficulty accepting it. I am not solely responsible for that child being hit, I wouldn't dare be so self-absorbed as to suggest that, but I did have an undeniable part in it. And I get scared, and my cowardice whispers that tourism is a form of colonialism and that my presence, while benefitting me, is having an overall negative impact. "Take what you have stolen and flee back to the safety of home", it tells me as it grows from a whisper to a shout. "Take those feelings of clear-headedness and purpose and go apply them back home. That will make a difference. That will make you feel good. The problems here are too big. You are not capable of making a difference. You are not smart enough. Your calling is not here".

My cowardice is right. I'm not smart enough. There is no way I could solve these problems, these wide, sweeping tragedies that I see all around me. But, there is a brave voice that speaks sometimes as well. Its voice is not strong yet; I must strain my ear to listen and even then I miss much of what it is saying. But, it is there. The lesson is elementary, pre-kindergartenic, even. Sometimes though, when you are in the dark like I am, it is not so easy to remember and hugely necessary to repeat. If we all do nothing, nothing will be done. One person's efforts, when added to the collective, make a difference.

And so, I repeat this simple and obvious message to myself over and over. I decide to stay and hope that I will soon be revisiting the other side of the spectrum where perhaps a few answers might be hanging out with my hope and optimism. I will go on with this journey and continue to stumble through my thoughts. I will continue to bring you along with me and give those of you who are smarter and wiser a chance to laugh at my fumbling and perhaps reflect on your own. (Don't make too much fun, I'm a bit sensitive!).

Today the sun is out, the market is colourful and full of life and everyone is swimming in the sea. Sarah and I have made many strong connections with many fascinating people and we are feeling a sense of community and belonging, maybe even familiarity. My oscillations of the past few days, the ones I have tried my best to explain, have now flatlined. I was warned that this would happen. I didn't expect it to have occured so soon. It worries me and I find myself searching for what was. A few nights ago, while sipping tea on the beach and listening to a group of Israelis sing in Hebrew, Uri, a man who had befriended us at dinner turned to me and said, "Do not fight it. How can you create something so new before you erase the past?".

In my next entry I will tell you about Uri. No, that is wrong. I know nothing about Uri, himself. I will tell you, to the best of my knowledge, what he believes. It is an interesting perspective and I feel it is worth repeating. In case you didn't notice, I am slowly phasing out my idea to explan India through my feelings, and my over-use of the word "juxtaposition" and any of its synonmys has all but disappeared. The discussion that I had with Uri is the reason for this. Forgive my desertion. It doesn't make for a linear read, but I suppose that is the risk of publishing before the story is complete. Thank you for bearing with me.

Until next time,
Carlie

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Comments

[A. Karen]

Hello, hello. What a WONDERFUL read! I will be the first in line to buy the book that I suggest you must to write. I also want mine signed. Keep safe. Love A. Karen