Two Suitcases, Mud masks & A Blog

 Letting go.

With my departure from Beirut just days away, the floors of my room are covered in piles of 'Need to take', 'Maybe,...we'll see', 'Only if there's room', 'Begrudgingly leave behind' and 'What? No. What were you thinking?' Remember, your life, or rather the things in it, have to fit in just two suitcases and a backpack.

I never like to think of myself as having such a fondness for the material things in life. Yet in the process of moving my nest, so many possessions have resurfaced-- hiding deep in the corners of my closet, at the back of my shelves, bottom of my drawers and now haunting my sleepless thoughts (are you visualizing dancing velvet blouses, buttons for angry eyes and long sleeves running towards me and finally engulfing me whole? I am.). Don't misunderstand. I'm not a hoarder and there's such delight in exaggeration. But the fact that we, as a modern society, collect and consume indiscriminately is undeniable and moments like these help to reflect on the affliction we face during times of “packing light”.

This has happened before, two and a half years ago. I remember it vividly. Budapest 2012. The famous 88 Kiraly utca. Roy modeling my dresses, Irina digging through piles of scarves, Shota shaking his head at all the
bags he knew would be his task to take over to the street corner for pick up. It was some going away party. The theme: letting go.

The physical process of filtering out my closet and flat isn’t as paining as what it represents. After all, this closure doesn’t really boil down to clothes, books and a few tubes of paint. It boils down to the packing up and bidding adieu to one’s home, one’s former life, one’s environment and one’s most favorite people. It boils down to the letting go and walking alongside the memories of the nest that was built before flying off. It is such an undesirable process and yet so bittersweet. This letting go coupled with the precarious nature of following my feet elsewhere, inspired by an instinctual desire to seek new adventure, has lent itself to a unique transition that I’ve only begun to understand.

So, about the mud masks. Keeping with the metaphors, a mud mask saved me from my recent pattern of morning faltering. After waking up in a darkened daze and habitually making a mental checklist for the pre-departure madness, I dragged my feet into the kitchen to seek out some comfort (food). And there Sarah was, chomping away at her computer, coffee in hand and a zaatar croissant laid out for me. She was ready to face the day, and had already gotten started hours before. Why wasn’t this me? Why haven’t all the elements come together to inspire creation despite change?

So as we often do, she and I sat together and decided that indeed the elements have come together and I just needed a bit of perspective. A paradigm shift, inspired by the Dead Sea. On my face. Twenty minutes later, after rubbing away a mud mask rich in minerals, and rubbing away all of the dead skin that symbolized my tired thoughts, nervousness and anxiety about this fast-approaching leap of faith (when did faith become so scary?), I write this first of many blog posts, rejuvenated and enlivened by what’s to come next. This free spirit is beginning to find itself unearthed and ready to go, wherever it is that it's going.   

Yes, this move has introduced new feelings into my guesthouse. And I don’t deny that even a free spirit has attachments, ones that will remain intimately within my heart. But I am finding a way to accept this array of emotions and welcome it all. As usual, I turn to Mevlana Rumi for solace:

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

(trans. Coleman Barks)