I am working towards going away to India on Sunday. It feels as though life is passing at an incredible rate. I cannot seem to find a still moment. It is flying by, and I am left somewhat shaken as though a lorry just went past at speed.
I read the other day that time goes slowly for children because they are young and they have no frame of reference, but for us grown ups it flies because we have so much reference. So many years to relate a moment to. I have this idea that I get nothing done, but I know I do. I acheive so much. Yet sitting here at 5.50am, it is hard to think of all I need to do. then daylight comes and I panic.
I have booked a flight to India on Sunday, not remembering that it is Holi. Holi is a festival where they throw large amounts of colour all over each other. Truly hideous if you are a westerner, because you are just drowned under it. Last year when I was there it was a seige. It fell on the day I was leaving and we had to go really early from the hotel to avoid being totally drowned in awful dyes.
The streets of jaipur are beautiful when it is building up. Piles of colour eveywhere. All the most garish colours imaginable. And it does not come off. I will have to make plans to spend the day in the hotel and write. I make these plans to write, but don’t do it. I go away with all manner of idea to fulfill and don’t.
The 45 day meditation finished yeasterday, and I must confess to missing it! I could go on, for 120 days, but I think I will take a break and see how I go. I can always go for another 45 day stint from there. It has been a good experience and has led to changes. I cannot write what the changes are, as that it not allowed. Apparently you cannot divulge your progress to others or it dissipates the experience. So you will just have to take my word for it.
I am starting to worry about travelling. To worry about the bombs in Varanasi and the earthquake in Gujarat, and what else….. Each time I go away for business I get a mild PTSD and imagine all the unimaginable things that are going to happen to me. I get scared that I will die and never see my children again and go away in a strange state, hoping I have done the most I can with my life. It is this constant awareness of Death that I have had all my life, that sits on my shoulder and colours all my expriences. Does it happen to all of us? I am sure it does. But then why is it not talked about? Why do we not have endless conversations about our deaths? I worked on a meditation for a while where I had to imagine my own funeral. It was awfully painful the first couple of times, but then it settled.
I am working on a series of portraits of men in make up. I photographed a young man yesterday who was, I suppose, like me, thinking about it a lot. His was much more negative thinking than mine, but he was able to verbalise it in an interesting way. We sat on the floor of my studio working at the protrait together, talking about death. It was very lovely.