It's a sunny Sunday afternoon in London, and I'm standing in Old Street admiring the 'Wave of Waste' sculpture with Thomas, my boyfriend at the time. He's holding my phone when a message comes through. It's from my brother and it looks urgent. I read the message and my heart sinks. It says, Papa has acute pains in his stomach, Maman is driving him to ER, it seems serious. I'm two days away from going to the annual World Heritage Committee meeting in Bahrain to protect countless natural World Heritage sites, which I have been actively lobbying on all year, and a whole team relying on me to be there to guide them.
I make a few phone calls and at this stage, there is nothing I can do. He will be taken care of by the best doctors in France, of that I'm sure, and he's with my mother who takes all health matters very seriously. I will phone back once the doctor has given his diagnosis. In the meantime, I keep distracted, Thomas' unparalleled sense of humour is always a great source of distraction. A few hours later I hear that his gallbladder is severely infected and needs to be removed and there is a chance other organs are infected too, including his lungs. I begin to worry again. My heart beats faster, my throat tightens and I can't seem to breathe properly, but I tend to lean towards composure especially when in company. Thomas reassures me a little. Shall I cancel my trip to Bahrain, shall I take the Eurostar to see him for 24 hours? I don't know what to do. I speak to Alex, my sister, who assures me that she will spend the night with my father in hospital, while he waits to be operated on the following morning. I fall asleep but wake up crying. I am scared that I will never see my father again.
*
I'm the Senior Lead on Advocacy and Policy for Global Campaigns at WWF-International. The current campaign is on protecting natural World Heritage sites from harmful industrial activities: oil and gas exploration, mining, illegal logging, dredging, poaching, sports infrastructure, large hydro-power projects. Among many other goals, one is to secure strong World Heritage Committee decisions on the state of conservation of a host of sites, such as Belize Barrier Reef, Bialowieza Forest in Poland, Donana National Park in Spain, Great Barrier Reef in Australia, Gulf of California in Mexico, Pirin National Park in Bulgaria, Primeval Beech Forest in Slovakia, Selous Game Reserve in Tanzania, Virunga National Park in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Western Caucasus in Russia.
On the 26th floor of a high rise, I'm in a hotel room almost the size of my flat in London, with floor to ceiling windows all around, none of which I could open, and nothing authentic and beautiful to hold onto, and still somewhat in shock. All I see is vast expanse of sky, a no man's land with a few sprouting insipid buildings, lots of dust and a tonne of concrete; pretty much the antithesis of heritage. I'm in Seef, a suburb of Manama, pure land reclamation.
The one exceptional evening in Bahrain was the Opening Ceremony. We were welcome at the National Theatre, an impressive contemporary building, overlooking the waterfront. After many speeches, among others by His Royal Highness Prince Salman bin Hamad Al Khalifa and Audrey Azoulay, Director General of UNESCO, an incredible performance was given outside by a group of Bahraini men and boys, drumming, singing, clapping and dancing. The voices were mesmerizing. I lingered for a good quarter of an hour before going to the National Museum for dinner.
The National Museum looked spectacular, with romantic candle-lighting, attentive service, white floral centrepieces, and small palm trees surrounding the tables. The food was prepared with care. Contemporary Arab artists were asked to work with the chef to create new dishes. The result was sensational both for the eyes and the palate.
I was lucky to be seated between the Ambassador of Algeria for France and the Minister of Culture of Algeria. Being half French, I have always been curious about Algeria, having never been there myself. My final paper at university was on the role of women during the Algerian War of independence. They passionately shared their thoughts on the Western Sahara conflict between Morocco and Algeria and tried to get me to express my opinion. Diplomacy was my best card but they were relentless. I had to change the conversation, and moved them onto Algiers, the Casbah, increasing levels of tourism, the state of the environment, the newest cultural festivals, poetry, anything I could think of.
My job begins, with a great team surrounding me and a couple of States Parties I can always rely on like Denmark, Sweden and Switzerland. The fight is on and we succeed in securing strong decisions for most of the natural World Heritage sites we have come here to protect, but one. One, the Pirin National Park, where the political pressure from the Bulgarian government was so intense, we could not compete. From one day to the next, Committee members who had originally shown their support for the protection of the site, make a volte-face. Even our allies, the usual suspects, succumb to the pressure during negotiations. The Foreign Ministries of most of the 21 Committee member countries had been contacted the day before the decision was due to be discussed and somehow agreed to go in their favour. All this to make one man in Bulgaria richer by bulldozing part of a World Heritage site to expand a ski resort.
The farcical moment of the 42nd session of the World Heritage Committee came on the day Pirin was to be discussed.
At lunchtime, there are a few ambassadors left in the plenary room and my Bulgarian colleague, Katerina, is impatient. Understandably, she wants to feel like she has tried every possible path that may lead to a strong decision for Pirin. She knows we have not spent much time speaking to one specific delegation. This particular delegation is from a region that generally operate as a block, for the most part in favour of harmful industrial activities, it has just jointed the World Heritage Committee and may be reluctant to take a stand on a European site. However, she needs to keep herself busy before the session resumes and I let her approach the Ambassador. She spends ten minutes with him and returns telling me that we need to write on a piece of paper what we want him to say when the site is to be discussed. The moment comes and when the discussion begins, Australia takes the floor, the International Union for Conservation of Nature, the Advisory Body for natural sites, follows and this particular Ambassador puts up his nameplate and reads what we have given him to say, which no longer makes any sense given the way the discussion has progressed, but it doesn't seem to bother him.
I tried to reach out for something. The buffets were the same daily, bland cakes and triangular sandwiches. Nothing I could taste brought my soul alive. I could tell my energy level was fading, but the thought of being a part of the fight to protect the crown jewels of our planet always keeps me going. I couldn't even go on walks for more than a few minutes given the heat, humidity and abysmal quality of the air. Oh, the mall, yes, the mall was exciting. Zara, Mango, M&S, Paul, Fauchon, a few Arab perfume shops and a prayer room. I saw mainly Filipinos work and Bahrainis venture from shop to shop. I did enjoy watching the Bahraini men however, with their long white dress called a 'Thobe', and a red and white scarf worn on the head with a thick black rope. Certainly much more elegant than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
I phone my father daily to hear his weak voice in hospital, comforted to know that Alex spent nights with him. He was slowly recovering and what originally seemed to be something possibly life-threatening, ended up being the removal of his infected gallbladder. Nonetheless, I am still worried, like I have been for the past year and a half. My father has Alzeimer's.
After two weeks in Bahrain and a brief visit to see my father, I was longing for a light healing holiday in the sunshine, by the sea, with lots of dancing and swimming. Finally, I get to relish in nature with clean air to breathe.
This holiday in Ibiza revolves around a 5rhythms retreat mainly focused on exploring the elements. For those of you who are unfamiliar with 5rhythms, it is essentially a meditation in movement. As the name indicates there are five rhythms: flowing, staccato, chaos, lyrical and stillness. Gabrielle Roth, the founder of 5rhythms, explains it best: "The first rhythm, flowing, is fluid continuous motion and flowing builds into staccato, short, sharp, percussive starts and stops, and then chaos wild abandoned and free, totally surrendered. From here, we are lifted into the lyrical rhythm, airy, light, playful, and this energy will dissolve in moving stillness focusing on the inner dance, the still point of your moving centre."
A couple of years ago I admired colourful photos of people dancing in the sand and in the sea, that Guillaume, a 5rhythms teacher, posted on Facebook. I knew instantly I wanted a similar experience. In June, when I saw Guillaume was offering a 5rhythms retreat in July in Ibiza, exploring the elements, I booked immediately.
As I walk out of the airport I choose to go towards the bus rather than a taxi. I ask the bus driver a few questions and am proud to use my Spanish. Although you never know how the Catalans will respond when you speak to them in Castilian Spanish. Apparently, she couldn't care less about me or the language I speak. As we drive towards Eivissa town with "Me cuesto tanto olvidarte" by Mecano playing in the background, she keeps talking to herself. She is very big breasted with short hair and mumbles about every person who gets on the bus, from the student with her super micro jean shorts and her huge bundle of dirty laundry, the foreign giggly party girls, to an Arab woman on her way back from work; I felt like I was in an Almodovar film with all these women on the bus. She reluctantly shows me where I need to get off. I figure out which street my hotel is on, Carrer de Joan d'Austria, and am confused for a minute as I walk in front of a brothel. My hotel is indeed on the same street, just a few blocks away. I speak to the Polish receptionist about Poland, as I have recently discovered Krakow, will be going to Katowice in December and have been working hard to protect Bialowieza Forest from illegal logging. I drop on my bed, my room is all white, the window is open, I hear life in the patio, my life is on again.
I take a deep breath and have a shower before my exploration of the town begins.
On that first night, while exploring the port and the windy narrow streets of Dalt Villa, the old city and a World Heritage site, my mind takes me back to San Marti d'Empuries, also in Cataluna, where I used to spend summers with my family as a young girl. I reminisced of the happy moments I shared with Pino, my first love, holding hands, walking along the sea at night. Envious innocence.
*
I was 10 or maybe I was 11. My mother had recently told me I would find it hard to find a boyfriend. I didn't quite realize how crushing that would be for me. That being said, that same summer, a young boy, called Pino, started following me around the village. It seemed like his whole extended family, who own most of the houses in the village, were aware of his crush. Since all his cousins were curious about me, we would often get people starring through the windows to try and catch a glimpse. Later that summer we began to make friends with them all.
They took me out on their patin catalan, a traditional wooden catamaran, regularly, especially Pino. They would refer to us as 'Popeye y Olivia'.
I was really too young to comprehend this unsolicited attention from a boy and it scared me a little.
It took about four or five summers and a few letters throughout those years before I was ready to look his way.
When I arrived one of those summers, I saw both Pino and Yago, his closest cousin, going out with two very attractive tall blond Swedish sisters. I think that's probably how he got me to really pay attention to him. As I no longer had his undivided attention, I was quite possibly jealous and made it very clear.
Once he broke up with her, we spent the rest of the summer, inseparable, sailing, walking, kissing, watching the sunrise and the sunset, swimming, eating. I still have never met a man intensely respectful of the female body while being wonderfully sensual. He seemed curious about everything and already incredibly passionate about the world, politics, poverty, injustice. I loved being by his side, with my heart beating like it never had before.
We said goodbye. That last night with him still keeps me awake, his delicate touch I can still feel on my skin. It's that one night with a man that I always go back to in my dreams.
*
I walked up the steep streets, getting closer to the bright slender moon, walking along the 16th century fortified walls with my shoes off, feeling the soft cobbled stone on my bare feet. I moved away from the bustling streets and further up to find myself alone between the stars and the waves. On my walk down I paid more attention to the warm yellow light shining onto the Catalan Gothic houses with their thick wooden doors.
When you look up Ibiza in Wikipedia, you learn that the Phoenicians called the island 'iboshim', meaning dedicated to the Egyptian God Bes. According to Wikipedia "Bes or Beset (feminine counterpart) is an Ancient Egyptian deity worshiped as a protector of households and, in particular, of mothers, children and childbirth... Bes later came to be regarded as the defender of everything good and the enemy of all that is bad... Since he drove off evil, Bes also came to symbolise the good things in life - music, dance, and sexual pleasure."
As an aside, it does seem a little odd to me that the protector of mothers, children and childbirth should be a male God... It seems more than likely that the deity would have been female and with time and the rise of patriarchy, 'she' became a 'he'.
The following day before meeting with the group in the centre of Eivissa, I went on a hunt for a notebook and found one appropriately named 'Flying Spirit'. It reminds me of Ajeet Kaur's song 'Carry me'.
Mother, I feel you under my feet
Father, I hear your heartbeat within me
My spirit flies free
Carry me home
...
Can you see the faces of the mothers of your past?
Listen, they are calling for your healing
Can you see the faces of the fathers of your past?
Listen, they are calling for your healing
I sit down under a tipuana tree on the Plaza del Parque, not far from the meeting point. I've identified a fellow dancer but I'm rather happy being on my own for a while longer.
The group comes together, eight or nine of them, and I remain at a distance. I tend to be shy at first and mostly don't like groups.
*
I have yet to find my voice.
At the age of five, I must have made the choice to bury my voice. It was a subconscious decision I must have taken out of self-preservation. I believe I hid it in my womb, the safest of places.
What I observed at that age are adults wishing to silence children by telling them they are to be seen and not heard. My conclusion, if I wished to be loved, was to stay silent, and hide my voice.
In a group, as I have not been able to have a significant enough voice, I need time to observe before deciding how to act and what to stay. Probably very much the same way as when I was a child after having taken the decision to be loved.
I'm still needing to be loved.
*
Guillaume, the 5rhythms teacher, arrived a few minutes late and gave me a hug with such an open heart, I felt its warmth and sincerity.
Everyone introduced themselves and split into different cars. I left with Dirk, a fit blue-eyed middle-aged Belgian-Flemish vagabond. I found him to be upbeat with dispersed energy. We are in a rusty colour 1980s Mercedes 420SE, the same model my grandfather used to drive. The other two in the car, are a couple, Ashoka and Eva. Ashoka is from Delhi and Eva is form the Netherlands. They both live in Zurich. Dirk and Ashoka know one another from having spent time together in Pune many years ago. Eva is a classical ballet dancer, soft spoken and lively.
We arrive and discover 'moving hearts', our home for the next week. It is a charming farm near Sant Llorenc. We will be dancing under a white big top in the middle of the pine forest.
I was glad that I would be dancing surrounded by trees, seeing the horizon and the sun. The shadows of the branches and the leaves appeared on the white canvas on the big top, which caught my attention.
A miniature fluffy friendly lively little creature named Indie made me rejoice when I saw her in Guillaume's arms. 'Poupouchichikiliplikiti', that's what generally comes out of my mouth when I see a dog I want to squeeze.
Florence appeared later that day and I knew we would be caring and connected roommates. The way she approached me to introduce herself was kind and clear. In retrospect, I think what I liked about her is what I aspire to become, centered with a respectful voice.
We danced on the first night. Frustration is mostly what I felt. Frustration with myself for having difficulty being heard in a group and frustration for not having been able to release the feeling. Generally in chaos I am able to let go of my mind enough to evacuate feelings but in this wave the chaos simply didn't last long enough for me to have time to let go. It was, nonetheless, useful to have that insight once again.
The first day begins with flowing, the first of the five rhythms. We arrive in Aguas Blancas, a sandy beach in the north, a little before 7am and we are greeted with a soft enveloping light. As we begin to move in the sand, we each choose a partner and another lovely human connection is made, with Marlene. Our exercise is for one to explore the beach blindfold while the other is 'the angel', in protecting mode. We have 45 minutes each of exploration. While I move in the waves and laugh I discover my longing for more playfulness, opening the gates to my child's soul. The rocks felt awkward but not as threatening as I thought. The stability that I once feared, that I associate with rocks, could be explored. The sand was extremely sensual and made me long for a true tantric lover. The gentle breeze caressed my body lightly and gently.
A hang drummer performed for us in the afternoon. The sound made my hips call on my feminine. Today I more fully realize that power doesn't only lie in the masculine. I can call on my feminine energy to feel powerful. It's a different kind of power and a mighty strong one.
My mother is a powerful woman and yet she taps into her masculine for that power; so little reverence seems to be given to the feminine in my family. They don't associate power with the feminine. I grew up believing that I had to be masculine to be in my power or I could be feminine with no power.
During day two, in staccato, the explanation Guillaume gave for this rhythm was truly helpful in understanding how I want to respect myself and I how I want others to respect me. I realize I have more work to do to understand the notion of boundaries and would be interested in going further than just that one day in this rhythm. Guillaume did mention a workshop called 'power and anger' and I have yet to find out who leads it. Perhaps learning a martial art may help in grasping the notions of boundaries and respect.
After many exercises in strong solid postures with the group, I become overwhelmed with a feeling I can't quite my finger on.
Was it the fear and sadness of slowly losing my father to Alzheimer's?
*
Alex, my sister, Eric, my brother, and I woke up most mornings to you coming into our bedrooms and pretending to squeeze the cold water of a humid dirty sponge on our faces to get us up. It would always make us laugh and was definitely very effective. It still makes me laugh thinking about it.
In August, every summer, I would spend countless hours with you on the terrace of La Rectoria, in San Marti d'Empuries, watching the stars, listening to the waves, and waiting to spot the shooting stars.
These are but a couple of my most cherished memories.
My loving Papa, tender soul, kind heart, honest man, joie de vivre.
I can't imagine my world without you. Curiously, all the anger that I once felt towards you has disappeared.
When I spend time with you now, I am fully present. We play ping pong and laugh, we go for long walks with Denver around the Bois de Boulogne and at the Mill, we play tennis and laugh, we pick vegetables from the garden, we cook together. This may well be the best form of connection there is.
You may or may not remember what we did the next day and it's ok, we start all over again. We play ping pong, laugh, play tennis, laugh some more, pick vegetables, cook together, watch the sunset at the end of the garden.
You are still young, only 71. I haven't even had time to have children and that makes me sad. The thought that you may not meet my children or you may not remember them, if I ever have any.
A part of you has gone but at least another part of you is still with us and that is what I must concentrate on. While I'm grieving the part of you that's gone, I have to remember the part of you that is still very much alive.
*
I spent the lunch hour under the big top by myself letting the tears flow, dancing through the feeling and walking through the pine forest admiring a pair of fluttering butterflies.
Later that day we climbed down to reach a beautiful creek to admire the sunset. Our exercise was to explore the rocks. For the first time in my life I was no longer scared of rocks nor of climbing. In fact I became quite competitive with Dirk and Ashoka and wanted to go higher, wider and deeper. The best part of the exploration was jumping off the rocks with Christian into the divinity of the sea and swimming towards the setting sun with the playful Catherine. I shall cherish this moment all my life. Thank you for allowing this magical moment to happen.
Funnily enough, I spent the whole night touching the protruding stones on the wall near my bed, continuing to investigate stability. I hope Florence didn't see me as it must have looked a bit odd, to say the least.
The farm reminds me slightly of my grandparents'house in Provence with the stone, the dryness, the isolation, the pine trees, the tranquility and most especially the crowing rooster early in the morning.
*
Chaos. Day three. Nothing very much on this day.
This is my prefered rhythm. I thrive in chaos, which means I always look forward to this rhythm; very much essential if one really wishes to complete the wave. I realize though, I'm probably addicted to it; that place of pure tribal ecstasy I reach for a few minutes is my drug.
As no exploration is arranged on this day, I go swimming in the salt-water pool of the farm and the sea after lunch. It is suffocatingly hot but being in the sea is delicious and refreshing for a moment.
We have a session at night, all of us dressed in black. Dancing spirits under the stars.
*
Another creek in the morning of day four. It's in a shape of a womb.
We open up to lyrical.
Rocks and climbing, I'm thrilled. I get to explore this newly discovered pleasurable activity. We each have to find a space to develop a choreography to present to the group, that reflects what we have experienced in the retreat so far. I move away slowly from the group and find another type of landscape. I choose a rather surreal one hidden away, a flat surface of dark rock with small pools of shinny crackling white salt, dense white salt sea, white algae and the sapphire blue sea as a backdrop. I'm attracted to the salt, which triggers the thought of my paternal family history. Salt was of great importance to my family in the 16th and 17th centuries in Switzerland, with which they made a fortune. Perhaps I am attracted to the salt due to my recent thoughts of stability, which has led me to think of more abundance to find my own physical home. I decide then that it's also time to make peace with this history. This is what I want to explore: my roots, my family, my heritage. I use this salt to purify my body, let go of the difficult stories it has carried for the last decade, one in particular, which I will reveal in due course. The end of the choreography is of my body in a vermilion swimsuit, lying on one side with my back curved and my head bowed, in the white luminous salt, with my hips held by one of the pools, much like a womb.
I then wish to connect to my maternal lineage and seek the water. My great-grandfather invented the water softener in the US and wrote multiple books on water. Ironically , its softness that my mother could not give me and its softness that I feel when in the water.
I want to be held by them, my maternal ancestors. Despite the countless jellyfish in the sea that day, I find a clear spot and swim. I feel the support of my lineage while I traverse the sea to the big rocks rising above the water. I feel like I'm swimming to my home. I get stung but I persist to the rocks and find myself faced with what I perceive as the facade of a classical temple.
*
"If we disconnect our own consciousness from the wisdom of our bodies, then we will always need to be looking outside for the source of the light that shines from within, and we will experience a profound disconnection from our own inner teacher. It is this disconnection that disempowers us." Yoni Shakti by Uma Dinsmore-Tuli
*
In the afternoon the dogs join us in our dance. They must have understood that this is the playful rhythm.
We go out for dinner at La Paloma and for the first time in a while I wear a dress, consciously brush my hair, put some make-up on, earrings and pay more attention to what I look like. I feel cared for.
As we leave the restaurant, we go towards the car and I ask whether Claudia has already left as I didn't see her leave. I can tell Catherine, the driver of our car, is starting to get agitated. She huffs and puffs, like the French do so well, and berates Claudia, who she calls Sandra, for making her wait when she knows we are supposed to be leaving together in the same car. However, Claudia didn't come with us, in our car, to the restaurant. Catherine is getting confused but persists in affirming her annoyance. I start to laugh about the absurdity of the situation. We ask the car next to ours, about to leave for the farm, if they have seen Claudia. Dirk, the driver, doesn't know who Claudia is after having spent the last four days dancing with her. I laugh some more, which makes Marlene next to me, start to laugh. He asks in his car if they know where Claudia is and she is sitting right next to him. Catherine then starts criticizing Claudia for choosing to go into another car than hers to return to the farm. At this point we all start to laugh in unison, Florence, Marlene and me. I don't think Catherine realizes what's going on. We calm down a bit and Catherine begins to talk about Guillaume who she thinks hasn't paid enough attention to the group. We arrive at the farm, Catherine marches up to Guillaume to complain about his lack of attention and the laughs start anew.
*
Stillness. we are all dressed in white for the final dance in the morning. I am most grateful for these past few days and reach out towards the sky, slowly coming down to earth.
*
The 10th century Tantric philosopher Abhinavagupta, gives the following definition of the absolute path:
"Straight away, remove yourself from the field of spiritual progression, stay away from contemplation and skillful discourse, do not research or meditate on the divinities, and stop concentrating and reciting textbooks! Tell me, what is the absolute nature of reality which allows no room for doubt? Listen carefully! Stop holding on to this or that, inhabit your true absolute nature, and peacefully enjoy the essence of what it is to be alive!"
*
The closing of my holiday in Ibiza is of the spectacle of the Super Blood Moon. If indeed an eclipse symbolizes beginnings, endings, and clean slates, I am happy to end on this symbol. Endings and beginnings.
All photos are taken by Guillaume Laplane for 5rhythms retreat.
The following day before meeting with the group in the centre of Eivissa, I went on a hunt for a notebook and found one appropriately named 'Flying Spirit'. It reminds me of Ajeet Kaur's song 'Carry me'.
Mother, I feel you under my feet
Father, I hear your heartbeat within me
My spirit flies free
Carry me home
...
Can you see the faces of the mothers of your past?
Listen, they are calling for your healing
Can you see the faces of the fathers of your past?
Listen, they are calling for your healing
I sit down under a tipuana tree on the Plaza del Parque, not far from the meeting point. I've identified a fellow dancer but I'm rather happy being on my own for a while longer.
The group comes together, eight or nine of them, and I remain at a distance. I tend to be shy at first and mostly don't like groups.
*
I have yet to find my voice.
At the age of five, I must have made the choice to bury my voice. It was a subconscious decision I must have taken out of self-preservation. I believe I hid it in my womb, the safest of places.
What I observed at that age are adults wishing to silence children by telling them they are to be seen and not heard. My conclusion, if I wished to be loved, was to stay silent, and hide my voice.
In a group, as I have not been able to have a significant enough voice, I need time to observe before deciding how to act and what to stay. Probably very much the same way as when I was a child after having taken the decision to be loved.
I'm still needing to be loved.
*
Guillaume, the 5rhythms teacher, arrived a few minutes late and gave me a hug with such an open heart, I felt its warmth and sincerity.
Everyone introduced themselves and split into different cars. I left with Dirk, a fit blue-eyed middle-aged Belgian-Flemish vagabond. I found him to be upbeat with dispersed energy. We are in a rusty colour 1980s Mercedes 420SE, the same model my grandfather used to drive. The other two in the car, are a couple, Ashoka and Eva. Ashoka is from Delhi and Eva is form the Netherlands. They both live in Zurich. Dirk and Ashoka know one another from having spent time together in Pune many years ago. Eva is a classical ballet dancer, soft spoken and lively.
We arrive and discover 'moving hearts', our home for the next week. It is a charming farm near Sant Llorenc. We will be dancing under a white big top in the middle of the pine forest.
I was glad that I would be dancing surrounded by trees, seeing the horizon and the sun. The shadows of the branches and the leaves appeared on the white canvas on the big top, which caught my attention.
A miniature fluffy friendly lively little creature named Indie made me rejoice when I saw her in Guillaume's arms. 'Poupouchichikiliplikiti', that's what generally comes out of my mouth when I see a dog I want to squeeze.
Florence appeared later that day and I knew we would be caring and connected roommates. The way she approached me to introduce herself was kind and clear. In retrospect, I think what I liked about her is what I aspire to become, centered with a respectful voice.
We danced on the first night. Frustration is mostly what I felt. Frustration with myself for having difficulty being heard in a group and frustration for not having been able to release the feeling. Generally in chaos I am able to let go of my mind enough to evacuate feelings but in this wave the chaos simply didn't last long enough for me to have time to let go. It was, nonetheless, useful to have that insight once again.
The first day begins with flowing, the first of the five rhythms. We arrive in Aguas Blancas, a sandy beach in the north, a little before 7am and we are greeted with a soft enveloping light. As we begin to move in the sand, we each choose a partner and another lovely human connection is made, with Marlene. Our exercise is for one to explore the beach blindfold while the other is 'the angel', in protecting mode. We have 45 minutes each of exploration. While I move in the waves and laugh I discover my longing for more playfulness, opening the gates to my child's soul. The rocks felt awkward but not as threatening as I thought. The stability that I once feared, that I associate with rocks, could be explored. The sand was extremely sensual and made me long for a true tantric lover. The gentle breeze caressed my body lightly and gently.
A hang drummer performed for us in the afternoon. The sound made my hips call on my feminine. Today I more fully realize that power doesn't only lie in the masculine. I can call on my feminine energy to feel powerful. It's a different kind of power and a mighty strong one.
My mother is a powerful woman and yet she taps into her masculine for that power; so little reverence seems to be given to the feminine in my family. They don't associate power with the feminine. I grew up believing that I had to be masculine to be in my power or I could be feminine with no power.
During day two, in staccato, the explanation Guillaume gave for this rhythm was truly helpful in understanding how I want to respect myself and I how I want others to respect me. I realize I have more work to do to understand the notion of boundaries and would be interested in going further than just that one day in this rhythm. Guillaume did mention a workshop called 'power and anger' and I have yet to find out who leads it. Perhaps learning a martial art may help in grasping the notions of boundaries and respect.
After many exercises in strong solid postures with the group, I become overwhelmed with a feeling I can't quite my finger on.
Was it the fear and sadness of slowly losing my father to Alzheimer's?
*
Alex, my sister, Eric, my brother, and I woke up most mornings to you coming into our bedrooms and pretending to squeeze the cold water of a humid dirty sponge on our faces to get us up. It would always make us laugh and was definitely very effective. It still makes me laugh thinking about it.
In August, every summer, I would spend countless hours with you on the terrace of La Rectoria, in San Marti d'Empuries, watching the stars, listening to the waves, and waiting to spot the shooting stars.
These are but a couple of my most cherished memories.
My loving Papa, tender soul, kind heart, honest man, joie de vivre.
I can't imagine my world without you. Curiously, all the anger that I once felt towards you has disappeared.
When I spend time with you now, I am fully present. We play ping pong and laugh, we go for long walks with Denver around the Bois de Boulogne and at the Mill, we play tennis and laugh, we pick vegetables from the garden, we cook together. This may well be the best form of connection there is.
You may or may not remember what we did the next day and it's ok, we start all over again. We play ping pong, laugh, play tennis, laugh some more, pick vegetables, cook together, watch the sunset at the end of the garden.
You are still young, only 71. I haven't even had time to have children and that makes me sad. The thought that you may not meet my children or you may not remember them, if I ever have any.
A part of you has gone but at least another part of you is still with us and that is what I must concentrate on. While I'm grieving the part of you that's gone, I have to remember the part of you that is still very much alive.
*
I spent the lunch hour under the big top by myself letting the tears flow, dancing through the feeling and walking through the pine forest admiring a pair of fluttering butterflies.
Later that day we climbed down to reach a beautiful creek to admire the sunset. Our exercise was to explore the rocks. For the first time in my life I was no longer scared of rocks nor of climbing. In fact I became quite competitive with Dirk and Ashoka and wanted to go higher, wider and deeper. The best part of the exploration was jumping off the rocks with Christian into the divinity of the sea and swimming towards the setting sun with the playful Catherine. I shall cherish this moment all my life. Thank you for allowing this magical moment to happen.
Funnily enough, I spent the whole night touching the protruding stones on the wall near my bed, continuing to investigate stability. I hope Florence didn't see me as it must have looked a bit odd, to say the least.
The farm reminds me slightly of my grandparents'house in Provence with the stone, the dryness, the isolation, the pine trees, the tranquility and most especially the crowing rooster early in the morning.
*
Chaos. Day three. Nothing very much on this day.
This is my prefered rhythm. I thrive in chaos, which means I always look forward to this rhythm; very much essential if one really wishes to complete the wave. I realize though, I'm probably addicted to it; that place of pure tribal ecstasy I reach for a few minutes is my drug.
As no exploration is arranged on this day, I go swimming in the salt-water pool of the farm and the sea after lunch. It is suffocatingly hot but being in the sea is delicious and refreshing for a moment.
We have a session at night, all of us dressed in black. Dancing spirits under the stars.
*
Another creek in the morning of day four. It's in a shape of a womb.
We open up to lyrical.
Rocks and climbing, I'm thrilled. I get to explore this newly discovered pleasurable activity. We each have to find a space to develop a choreography to present to the group, that reflects what we have experienced in the retreat so far. I move away slowly from the group and find another type of landscape. I choose a rather surreal one hidden away, a flat surface of dark rock with small pools of shinny crackling white salt, dense white salt sea, white algae and the sapphire blue sea as a backdrop. I'm attracted to the salt, which triggers the thought of my paternal family history. Salt was of great importance to my family in the 16th and 17th centuries in Switzerland, with which they made a fortune. Perhaps I am attracted to the salt due to my recent thoughts of stability, which has led me to think of more abundance to find my own physical home. I decide then that it's also time to make peace with this history. This is what I want to explore: my roots, my family, my heritage. I use this salt to purify my body, let go of the difficult stories it has carried for the last decade, one in particular, which I will reveal in due course. The end of the choreography is of my body in a vermilion swimsuit, lying on one side with my back curved and my head bowed, in the white luminous salt, with my hips held by one of the pools, much like a womb.
I then wish to connect to my maternal lineage and seek the water. My great-grandfather invented the water softener in the US and wrote multiple books on water. Ironically , its softness that my mother could not give me and its softness that I feel when in the water.
I want to be held by them, my maternal ancestors. Despite the countless jellyfish in the sea that day, I find a clear spot and swim. I feel the support of my lineage while I traverse the sea to the big rocks rising above the water. I feel like I'm swimming to my home. I get stung but I persist to the rocks and find myself faced with what I perceive as the facade of a classical temple.
*
"If we disconnect our own consciousness from the wisdom of our bodies, then we will always need to be looking outside for the source of the light that shines from within, and we will experience a profound disconnection from our own inner teacher. It is this disconnection that disempowers us." Yoni Shakti by Uma Dinsmore-Tuli
*
In the afternoon the dogs join us in our dance. They must have understood that this is the playful rhythm.
We go out for dinner at La Paloma and for the first time in a while I wear a dress, consciously brush my hair, put some make-up on, earrings and pay more attention to what I look like. I feel cared for.
As we leave the restaurant, we go towards the car and I ask whether Claudia has already left as I didn't see her leave. I can tell Catherine, the driver of our car, is starting to get agitated. She huffs and puffs, like the French do so well, and berates Claudia, who she calls Sandra, for making her wait when she knows we are supposed to be leaving together in the same car. However, Claudia didn't come with us, in our car, to the restaurant. Catherine is getting confused but persists in affirming her annoyance. I start to laugh about the absurdity of the situation. We ask the car next to ours, about to leave for the farm, if they have seen Claudia. Dirk, the driver, doesn't know who Claudia is after having spent the last four days dancing with her. I laugh some more, which makes Marlene next to me, start to laugh. He asks in his car if they know where Claudia is and she is sitting right next to him. Catherine then starts criticizing Claudia for choosing to go into another car than hers to return to the farm. At this point we all start to laugh in unison, Florence, Marlene and me. I don't think Catherine realizes what's going on. We calm down a bit and Catherine begins to talk about Guillaume who she thinks hasn't paid enough attention to the group. We arrive at the farm, Catherine marches up to Guillaume to complain about his lack of attention and the laughs start anew.
*
Stillness. we are all dressed in white for the final dance in the morning. I am most grateful for these past few days and reach out towards the sky, slowly coming down to earth.
*
The 10th century Tantric philosopher Abhinavagupta, gives the following definition of the absolute path:
"Straight away, remove yourself from the field of spiritual progression, stay away from contemplation and skillful discourse, do not research or meditate on the divinities, and stop concentrating and reciting textbooks! Tell me, what is the absolute nature of reality which allows no room for doubt? Listen carefully! Stop holding on to this or that, inhabit your true absolute nature, and peacefully enjoy the essence of what it is to be alive!"
*
The closing of my holiday in Ibiza is of the spectacle of the Super Blood Moon. If indeed an eclipse symbolizes beginnings, endings, and clean slates, I am happy to end on this symbol. Endings and beginnings.
All photos are taken by Guillaume Laplane for 5rhythms retreat.
