Frida's Notebook

Lessons in letting go: Part V

The monarch butterfly emerged from her chrysalis yesterday. My apology for fuzzy focus, I was a little awe struck by her beauty and mystery

If I had to identify one key theme of my life in the past two years it would be this: it is harder to let go than to hold on, even when what we are clinging to is obviously doing us no damn good.

When I learned about Mr. B's abduction I was overwhelmed not only by fear and concern for him but also by a terrible wave of guilt. The guilt washed in like a heavy rain cloud stealing the sunny moments from my day. As I walked home from the coast along the ridge of Wellington's stunning "green belt" - surrounded on all sides by vistas of harbour, hills and native bush - I would be about to lose myself in a moment of pure bliss when a voice in my head would berate me.

"How can you be so happy when we are still suffering?"
"What about us?"
"Don't you care about us at all?"
"Have you forgotten about us?"

And beneath it all this insidious message:

"If you let yourself go fully and enjoy this moment then you will forget about us"

Quietly, quietly this week I have come to recognise that I was hanging onto the guilt for fear that if I let it go I would also let go of them. I was afraid of becoming like so many other people, so wrapped up in my own world, my own happiness and comfort (or lack thereof), that I would stop caring about them.

Them.

All the people I've met in Afghanistan, Timor-Leste and Palestine whose lives continue to be insecure, poor and relentlessly harsh. All the people I worked with who are still there, working through the cold, dark winter to bring a little relief, to provide a little security. All the people I have never met but whose conflict and natural disaster afflicted worlds are more real to me some days than this fantasy land we live in here in New Zealand.

I'm terrified of forgetting them. But how could I ever forget them? Seriously. It's impossible, right? But I've been so afraid of it that I've been clinging to my guilt as a kind of reminder. Every time I get too close to relaxing into joy, pleasure and fun my guilt kicks in like one of those electric shocks that scientists give to rats in aversion response research.

"Oh - look at that amazing sunrise over the south coast. Feel the sun on my skin. Feel the amazing freedom of walking: alone and safe. Revel in the pleasure of the moment. This is perfection. This is bliss."

ZAP - guilt

"Ouch. Oh, no. I was forgetting them. I was forgetting how terrible the world is for a moment. Thank goodness for guilt. This way I'll never forget."

Crazy.

I'm a little bit crazy like that. I guess we all are. Hanging onto guilt, fear, pain just because we are afraid of what might happen if we let it go.

Realising that I was choosing to hold onto the guilt because of this fear of forgetting, together with realising that it is impossible for me to ever forget, has helped me begin to let it go. Little by little I've been letting go of the guilt. Letting myself relax into the joyful moments. The joy of walking free and safe along the hill behind my own house. Those are the freedoms for which I would fight for any other person. So I guess I can let myself enjoy them without guilt.

PS: No confirmed news of Mr. B but thanks to HiK for her report that he may still be alive and being held. I'm holding onto that hope.

Five things making me smile these days

Foxton Fizz bottles at Deluxe Cafe

I've done plenty of crying in the past few days. But there have been moments of joy and goodness too. Here are five things that have made me smile.

1. Taking blogger Katie and her friend Sandra on a tour of my favorite cafes of Wellington on Tuesday. We started out at Deluxe for a late breakfast (above) and then after I showed them Wellington's wild south coast beaches we stopped at the Maranui Cafe in Lyall Bay for coffee and cake. Maranui Cafe is housed in the old Maranui Surf Lifesaving club building and has an amazing view over Lyall Bay beach where there is always some brave soul out surfing, wind surfing or kite surfing. I love the surf club inspired decor, the vegan cupcakes (see below) and the outlook onto the coast.

Maranui (Surf Lifesaving Club) Cafe

2. This vegan chocolate raspberry cupcake at Maranui. No animals were harmed in the making of this treat. How can it be anything but good?

Vegan Chocolate Raspberry Cupcake at Maranui Cafe

3. Hanging out with my little friend Tom on Monday. We went to the beach, messed about in the sand and made friends at the playground. Knowing that his mum was enjoying her time alone as much as I was enjoying my time with Tom made me smile even more.

4. A monarch butterfly chrysalis sitting on my desk. It was a gift from a lovely friend who last year returned to New Zealand after surviving the bombing of Lebanon with her two little boys while her husband was working for UNFIL. She understands better than most people the emotional rollercoaster I'm riding these days and chose this thoughtful, magical gift. She assures me that the a butterfly will emerge safely even under my inexperienced care.

And last but very definitely not least...

Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra at Te Papa, 16.02.08

5. The Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra. On Saturday after I'd had a good long cry about Mr B and a quiet, introspective afternoon my fabulous ukulele-playing housemate swung in from out of town and so I put on my high heels and lipstick and headed out to see the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra play again. By golly can they cheer a girl up.

Now, stop whatever you are doing and watch this. I guarantee a smile.

After the gig Gemma had the band back to our place so I spent Saturday night sitting on my couch with a glass of red wine listening to them play and sing their way through their songbooks into the wee hours. It was therapy for the soul.

Megan and WIUO guest Amanda at Te Papa

These things are making me smile.

For Mr. B

Grave at a shrine in Herat

This morning I got an email from a friend in Ghor. It hit me like a blast of raw emotion.

"Life in Ghor, I had to get DM involved in a female detainee case.... the case stinks!! The girl was engaged and ran away with another engaged policeman and they were caught in Kabul by 2 or 3 other police men... She has been in prison for at least a month. The defense lawyer is having problems getting to see her. The prosecutor went to the Governor for help with keeping "visitors" from entering the prison.... a lot of village elders and religious leaders want her dead, but denying the lawyer access to the prison..... I also have some very sad news: Mr. B was kidnapped by the Talibans on the southern ring road and the rumours are that they killed him... so human rights wise we are not too well of in Ghor at the moment."

The email goes on - describing situations in which I was until recently deeply involved and people with whom I worked for 18 months. Mr. B - in particular - was a very close colleague. We talked, met and worked together most days during my time in Ghor. I am still reeling from the shock of learning that he has been kidnapped and probably killed. I keep catching myself thinking about how scared he must have been and it just causes me so much pain that I know I have to stop.

How can it be possible to reconcile life here in Wellington, with my ukulele playing friends, with life in Ghor?

The challenge of finding a way to live in New Zealand again after being changed in profound ways by my work in Gaza, Timor-Leste and Afghanistan some days seems like an impossible ask. An impossible task.

This week Jose Ramos-Horta was shot (and seriously wounded) and then the rebel leader in Timor-Leste was killed in a clash between rebel fighters and the Prime Minister's security police following the assasination attempt. This happened the day before I met an old friend for dinner. I had helped her get a job working with Ramos-Horta four years ago when I was still involved in Timor-Leste. She went on to work with him for two years and is still in Dili working on human rights and good governance issues.

All through dinner I was aware of the impact the shooting must have had on her, and yet I was unable to stop talking about myself - about the experiences I had in Afghanistan and how I was trying to adjust to life in New Zealand. I was embarrased at how I dominated the conversation but could also see how badly I needed to talk to someone who could understand a little what I was going through.

Every day I go to the yoga studio and take my place on the mat. It is - at the moment - the only place where I really feel at peace. As I practice I am able to quiet the commentary running in my brain and simply be. Most days the teacher invites us to set our intention for the practice or to dedicate our practice. I realise this may seem strange or self-indulgent to some people but today it was comforting to me to dedicate my practice to Mr. B's family.

I'm learning.

I'm trying to learn.

I think that I can live here again, but I haven't quite worked out how yet. I'm pretty sure that if I am patient and gentle and not too demanding the wisdom will come in its own time. I'm also pretty sure that concentrating on yoga, meditation, writing and photography is the right approach for now.

I took on a job this week. It took me onto a film set where Jame's Cameron's new movie Avatar is being filmed. I had a simple role that demanded very little of me intellectually or physically. But it involved long hours on the set. Today after reading the email from Ghor I called the production coordinator and quit.

I felt this morning as though I had betrayed the people I left behind. They respected my decision to leave because they agreed that I should spend time with my family and friends, they agreed that I should take some time to rest and they supported my plans to pursue my own creative dreams and my plan to study psychology. What would they think of me coming home to work on a film set? It was only ever a short job - 8 days. But after I read about Mr. B even 8 days suddenly felt like too much time to be spending doing anything other than what I believe in. So I'm back on track.

Deep down I believe that I can make changes in the world by deepening my own compassion, by learning how to more consistently practice loving kindness in the world and by learning the power of being fully present in every moment. But the feelings come in powerful waves - feelings of guilt, sadness and anger. I'm learning to ride the waves, not to resist them, and I'm trusting in this process.

Some beautiful things are coming together, I plan to share more about that in the coming days. For today, I'm just holding my seat. If you pray will you please pray for Mr. B (in case he is still alive) and his family. Thank you.

Ukuleles can help you let go

The Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra in action, Deluxe Cafe, Wellington. February 2008.

Life in Wellington is so different to life in Ghor that it seems ludicrous to continue writing about the former in a space originally created for my stories from the latter. But I know that some of you are interested (thank you) and also I know that this is just as much a part of my story.

Last week I got my camera out for the first time in weeks. It was the fabulous Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra that finally motivated me to get behind the lense and photograph something that isn't Afghanistan.

Up until then I had taken a few photos of my family and some wonderfully life affirming photos at a music festival where my friend Gemma had been playing her ukulele and singing and her boyfriend and some other playful souls had dressed up as skeletons and rode a multi-bike around town blasting salsa music.

Andy on the Whopper Chopper bike in front of the samba stage.

But otherwise I have found it difficult to see the subject right in front of me. I guess was still in the process of accepting that I had moved on from the subject which I had been photographing for the past two years, the people of Afghanistan. So these photographs, of my friends and their bandmates playing joyful music on a sunny day in peaceful New Zealand, are a kind of milestone for me. They are a wee symbol of my own progress in embracing the goodness of being home and letting go of the guilt and sadness I've been feeling about leaving Ghor.

It is hard to resist the joy of 12 good people playing ukuleles and singing their hearts out. Of course I love this photo of my dear friend Gemma,

this one of beautiful Megan rocking out on her uke,

this one of the multi-talented Age Pryor,

and this one of Francis - an old friend of a dear friend of mine and another multi-talented Kiwi wonder,

I love the summery goodness of this photo of my friend Nigel - yet another of those supremely talented kiwi boys (classically trained opera singer, virtuoso player of multiple instruments, playwrite, actor, comedian)

I love all those photos. But I know that you all only came here to see this one of Bret, more famous in the USA for being half of the deliriously funny Flight of the Conchords than for his role in the Ukulele Orchestra, but a much-valued band member all the same.

In other news, I have approached a few venues here about exhibiting my photographs from Ghor and received really positive responses. I described this to my counsellor as a way for me to share a little bit of the world I knew in Afghanistan with people here in New Zealand without being required to actually talk about it. It's a way of bridging the gap for me, I suppose. More on that exhibition soon.

We'll need to rethink a few things

I'm home. I'm writing, thinking, walking. I'm having dinner with old friends and babysitting new friends. I'm refilling the well, you could say. This video makes me think of us. All of us. We'll need to rethink a few things, he says. No kidding. Like community.

More soon.