The Lotus and the Bee
June 4th, 2013
I’m not sure what today will bring, so far it’s absolutely beautiful outside, that I know, at least. The sun is shining over this little pocket of the Netherlands, and the breeze is gently flickering the trees that surround our little goat and chicken farm. A baby chick was born last night, it’s already getting all fluffy and chirpy. All the baby goats that were born about six weeks ago are getting so lively and strong too, they frolic and play, and I just think it’s so sweet how all the little babies love each other and cuddle still.
I’ve been here in eastern Holland for almost one month, and for about 2 weeks longer than I had originally planned on staying. I met my friends from Being Beings, Michael and Asher in Amsterdam almost a month ago and after spending a weekend walking the city and sleeping in the park, here we came, to Asher’s family’s farm where our salads are still alive and a year’s harvest lasts until the next.
The weather is just now really warming up and feeling like summer, and we spend our days in the garden and out in the hay fields and working on our own little projects that we have going on. For the boys, their making music. I’m trying to write a book that proves just how beautiful life is. And all of us are trying to not get too wrapped up in it all and just give in and truly enjoy the present, comfortable in our skins and our place in the world at this very moment.
This very moment I’m sitting in a little green and blue bubble of a caravan that I call my home; we have our own little caravan village here on the edge of the farm, Asher and Michael and I. They set up their recording studio in the second caravan, the bigger one, and the smaller one is functioning these days for me as a writing haven.
I look to my right, one of the deep blue curtains is open, the other closed, and behind it our bubble window props open, allowing the warm breeze to enter and pass through to open bubble window at the other end, where I sit at the table with light blue couch seating, the fabric looks like some sort of native american design. The purple sheets on the bed are ruffled, a pile of floppy, lumpy pillows are at one end, a heap of billowing blankets the other. Asher’s yellow Florida Keys shirt is on the floor, my skinny brown leather belt snakes along the linoleum beside it. The counter along the wall is covered in water glasses and candles and the book Asher is reading and the incense his sister Anna got me for my birthday and a roll of toilet paper and a lighter next to a pack of cigarettes containing one final cigarette. On the table in front of me is Asher’s maroon and white striped bag and his journal and my book, Everything is Illuminated. I wear the blue and green and yellow tribal patterned pants that his other sister Fre gave me, and a black tank top that I found in her closet.
Asher is sitting on the wooden bench about 50 meters away, next to the buck and turkey meadow, and he seems to be meditating, with a chess set beside him, which means his dad must be coming to join him soon for their daily game. I can hear Michael in the other caravan working on the music, I think I hear him shaking the noise maker that is shaped like an egg and is filled with sand…recording must have already begun.
I hear a ruffling to my left. Asher just came up and grabbed his journal through the open window, directing my attention to my coffee on the table. Sip, sip. Delicious.
In Italy we ate goat testicles. I now see them live to my left, and I’m not at all bothered. In Germany, I watched a cow get slaughtered by a local butcher after it broke it’s leg and couldn’t live any longer. He died a peaceful death, and lived a good, peaceful life. That’s what they told us about the goat balls in Italy too, which I believe, as we were on a farm. And lately we’ve been eating the goat meat from the bucks that the butcher came and slaughtered here last week, and I’m not bothered by any of this, as they all lived glorious lives on farms and were given personal care and attention. Our bodies can eat meat, so I’m not against it. But it’s so nice to know where it comes from, and I’m sad not all animals have it this good.
Asher seems to be making a song now on the bench, I can see him tapping his hands and feet and singing words that I can’t hear from this far away and occasionally he sees me watching him and smiles. Michael just made a quick trip to the main house and back, looking a little manic, which means he must be recording for sure.
The area between the two caravans has been deemed the yoga zone by Michael and I, this morning it was christened.
Purifying pranayamas, swooping forward bends, sun salutations, again and again and again, sitting twists, standing poses, warrior one, two, three, into tree pose and half moon, and again, and then I sit and fold along my limbs and bend my back and kiss the sun with my bellybutton until I can’t anymore, so I curl up like a baby and rock myself up to my feet and back down onto my head and I sway upside-down until I can’t anymore and I lift myself back up and face the sun and I sweep my arms up and bring them together and down to the heart and take a bow. Namaste. Infinite peace in all.