Fool On The Hill

“In this place where life is made it possible – who am I?”
En-Hedu-Ana

I recall the words of the High Priestess of the moon god, and the earliest known poet whose name has been recorded, at the end of an equinox/full moon yoga class on the beach of Saint Simons Island.

I am a very intermittent yoga practitioner, but the call of the astral conjunction and the outdoor character of the class convinced me to ride the bike there and join strangers in this pagan ritual.

The class was refreshing and energising. I waited a couple of minutes to bathe in the rising moonlight and meditate on the sand, facing the moon and the ocean. Yoginis left the premises while others flocked to the beach to snap pictures of the incredible moon opposing the departing sun across the blue sky. .

That day of two months ago, I offered the astral body some dross surfaced from practice, an offer of purification. The perfection of the present moment, which is every moment we live now and forever in the good and bad days, is the tonic that soothes this troubled stage of my life.

Breathe the sadness coming in, smile to the sadness because it’s part of you.

The dross that was clogging my soul during that equinox evening, regarded the most important part of my life. A part that changed for good.

The course Kate and I had plot together for few years did not unravel as imagined. The squid got caught in the net and became fried calamari.

Divorce is a strong word that nobody wants to hear, and that I could never imagine I would say about myself. But it’s real and it is what’s happened, no need to swipe it under the carpet. There is already enough dust there.

Sadness, of course, spreads beyond the two of us, and touches the people who celebrated our union with laughs and hugs, or that we met briefly along the route. People who thought that this adventurous couple would make it to the moon and back. We barely made it to Panama, before things started to crawl and then stop all together.

Expectations failed to materialize, goals diverged, and a long process lead to the only possible outcome, revealing itself among blaming, confusion and distress. We could not function together any longer. Changing means accepting a reality, adapting to it.

“We carry the same wound
But have different cures
Similar injuries
But opposite remedies Björk, Notget

The project we had together will remain inside as a ruin, a place I will only be able to visit by myself, in times of grief, acknowledgment and healing.

A space of pain and regeneration, bare bones of a once powerful energy.

A wreck that holds stories and legends, but no longer hospitable.

Memories act as shadows of problems, sometimes experiences we want to repeat or we try to avoid. If there was not conflict inside of us we would not need to remember. My mind is full of memories, some joyful some painful, I watch them go by and try to smile to them regarding which color they are.

Kate is going for a bright future where her talents will be fully appreciated as she keeps growing into the beautiful being that she is. I can only be grateful for the time I could spend at her side, for how she coloured my universe of fresh shiny tones, for the energy she infused in me and, most important, for all the lessons she taught me. She is the best teacher I’ve met so far.

Passed the hump of loss and confusion I am enjoying what life throws at me, the good and the bad. I am a man who does not know his final destination and has no clue about which route will take him there. Keeping a small footprint, learning from mistakes and experimenting ways to express my inner nature seem the only plausible conduct to take for now, but I am not able to tell what this will look like in five ten or fifteen year.

This does not bother me, I prefer surprises. The most probable thing is that I will continue in exploring outer and inner oceans propelled by wind and curiosity. But even this is a mere hypothesis. The longer I step on this planet, the less I seem to understand who I am.

Some say it is a good sign, because who we are is one of the greatest mystery in life, it’s not the name we carry, nor the last name. It’s not what others imposed on us during childhood, nor what the most recent trends in society and politics make us believe. We have to figure it out along the way, but possibly we will never really know, or else it would not be a mystery.

On the practical side of things I will keep taking care of Tranquility. I feel that her role in my life is not finished yet, but I do need to take a long break from the boat. As I have parts of myself to heal, funds to build and experience to gather I am not the best boat caretaker at the moment. She is better off resting on dry land while I take care of these things. Right now she is in a good spot.

There is an opportunity for me in another continent. After South and North America have been so generous to me I am heading to Hong Kong, another place where I supposedly do not belong.

Like the Fool in the Tarot, emotions and opportunities in the form of a dog push me while I carry scant belongings on my stick. Impulses rather than plans and strategies take the wheel, Constantly going in the direction of self realisation, and constantly leaving the World descending into Madness, the Fool rides unconscious waves that help expanding reality, exposing the games that society rigs, but keeping the illusion up, as the beauty of games is that we need to believe in them to keep the fun alive.

The beginning of this journey resemble so closely the jump into the unknown I made ten years ago, when a shy and pale dweller of misty Padania took the slingshot to the bright and colourful South America. I knew close to nothing about Venezuela. I even know less about Hong Kong, Asia’s World City.

As I closed Tranquility’s door behind for who knows how long, I feel a little knot in my belly. Closing the boat is closing a big chapter, renouncing to a role that seemed already decided, and taking another big risk. The cramped but comfortable fiberglass shell was my home and my prison for a big chunk of my recent life.

A little nicked but secure on my two legs, I continue the voluntary exile.