©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com
*
Turns out, I’m not going to have to make awkward conversation with Bay this morning after all. Based on the racket the birds are still making outside, it’s not that late, but when I peer over at Bay’s side of the yurt I’m met with an empty bed. My own, however, appears to have gained an extra body. I try to wiggle my feet, but they’ve been trapped by a large, snoozing mound of Dennis.
‘Hey, boy!’ I say, reaching down and just managing to tickle the top of his head. My hand gets a thorough slobbering in response and then Dennis wriggles himself up so that his head is almost on the pillow next to mine. ‘Reckon your dad’s going to be in a better mood today?’
Dennis licks my nose, and I splutter. Nice. Ah well, at least someone’s glad to see me. If I’m completely honest with myself, I’m a bit gutted that Bay isn’t here. There’s a part of me that really wants to apologize for yesterday. He caught me off guard, when I was completely knackered, and now, with a bit of perspective, I know he was only trying to look out for me, and I wasn’t exactly grateful. At all. Ah well, I’m sure I’ll get the chance to say something later.
Today is Russ’s first mindfulness session with us, and, according to the handbook, it includes a bodywork aspect of its own, so we don’t have Claire’s usual session on top of it. I realize that I’m actually a little bit gutted about this. I enjoyed starting yesterday off with the yoga . . . I just hope Russ has something similar up his sleeve.
I’m not sure what I think of this whole ‘mindfulness’ thing anyway. It feels a bit like a buzz word – all style, no substance. I can’t help but feel a tiny bit sceptical.
*
When Dennis and I reach the breakfast table, it seems the rest of the group have similar reservations.
‘What do you think?’ Geoff asks, slumping onto the bench next to me and yawning widely. ‘This session going to be any good, or can I head home and grab forty winks?’
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ I say, stuffing my face with porridge before it goes cold and congeals into cement in my bowl.
‘Ah, come on, don’t give us that!’ says Sam from across the table. ‘You know Bay’s involved in helping Russ with today’s session. He must have told you about it at some point, what with you two living together . . .’
‘What do you mean he’s helping Russ? He’s here for the retreat like the rest of us . . .’ I say, looking surprised.
‘Oh, it’s something to do with the garden,’ says Beardy Weirdy. ‘Bay designed it for them and does a bit of work on it a couple of times a year when he comes down for the retreats. At least, that’s what he told me. He’s a bit of an unofficial volunteer here, really.’
‘Well, he’s not told me anything about it,’ I say, feeling a bit wrong- footed. I’m just realizing that I’ve not taken much interest in getting to know Bay.
‘Well, I reckon today’s going to be complete crap.’ Than’s voice cuts across the table. There’s something about the way he says it that makes me bristle.
Doreen catches my eye and raises her eyebrows at me. I shrug. ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I say.
We’re gossiping around the edge of the vegetable patch when Russ’s voice makes us all jump.
‘Welcome to your first mindfulness session.’ He makes his way quietly to the front of the group and turns to face us. ‘So, what is mindfulness? It’s a practice, a meditation, a manner of truly living in the world, moment by moment, without following our thoughts down the rabbit holes that take us away from the reality that surrounds us.’
He’s already lost me. Ironic really. I shift from foot to foot as Russ waffles on and catch myself staring at Bay. He’s next to Russ, and the sunlight on his hair is making tiny, golden lights appear and disappear as he tilts his head this way and that. My attention finally snaps back as Russ says, ‘Mindfulness can stop you chasing thoughts that lead to your fears and encourage anxiety. When you’re fully in the moment, you don’t worry about the past and you’re not anxious about the future. You’re just reacting to this moment right now.’
Well, that makes a bit more sense. I guess.
‘We’ll be coming back here to the garden a little later on to discuss the session and work on some jobs that Bay’s got lined up, but first I want to take you all on a walk.’
A murmur of dissent runs around the group, and I catch Geoff’s whisper of ‘Not another bloody walk.’
‘I’ve done this walk several times with you all in mind. It passes through some really important energy points on the land,’ Russ continues.
‘Christ, energy points? What is this – how to be a gullible hippy using twenty simple clichés?’ says Than, smirking and giving my arm a nudge.
I look at my feet. Despite what was going through my head yesterday in his tent, this morning I don’t want to be a part of Than’s club. It’s not just Bay’s warnings last night that have put me on edge . . . I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something in the way that Than treats the others too. I noticed it around the fire last night, and then again at breakfast. I’ve got a feeling it’s been there all along, but I’ve been too overwhelmed by his attention to notice.
‘I have certain points on the walk where you will each be dropped off,’ Russ continues. ‘From there, I want you to wander at will for a couple of minutes until you feel compelled to wait and watch and listen. Use all of your senses to really be there, in that moment.’
‘What are we watching and listening for?’ asks Emma, sounding both excited and confused.
‘For whatever comes to you. Open your hearts. Try to stay in the moment. Don’t let your minds wander, but trust your senses.’
‘How long for?’ asks Doreen.
‘For as long as it takes, and then we’ll meet back here. Bay, I’ll start with you. I’d like you to remain in the garden and complete your session from here. This is familiar territory for you, but I wonder how much of it you truly see and experience as you work on the garden?’
Bay nods, and sits down on the edge of one of the raised beds.
‘Okay, let’s go. And I want silence please. Open your ears and your hearts.’
*
There’s a definite sense of mutiny in the air as we traipse out of the garden, through the little paddock and towards the young woodland on the other side of the valley.
Than is the first to be dropped off, and as we march solemnly past him, I catch his eye. He winks at me and does a huge fake yawn.
About ten minutes later, after both Emma and Moth have been left at separate spots, Russ says, ‘Okay, Tori, this is you. Stay within about two minutes’ walk of here. Good luck.’
No one meets my eye as I stand stock still and watch them trudge away. I feel quite strange, staring at their departing backs. Well, there’s nothing for it but to explore my little parcel of countryside and hunt out somewhere comfortable to sit.
It’s a lovely spot. I turn a slow three sixty degrees to get my bearings. I’d been so intent on watching the feet of the others ahead of me on the way here that I hadn’t noticed how far up the side of the valley we’ve climbed. Stretching out in front of me is the patchwork of fields on the valley floor, with the farmhouse nestled in the distance, snug as a bug in its blanket of greenery. I can see the willow beds that Ted pointed out on our first trip to find our various campsites. As a light breeze blows down the valley, the slender trees throw up the undersides of their leaves, turning the patch of green into rustling silver.
I’m now at the corner of a large stretch of young woodland. The trees are small enough that they’ve still got little plastic guards protecting their trunks. Around the edges of this baby woodland, as far as I can see, runs a border of enormous, full grown trees. They must have formed the boundary when this was just a field. Some of them are so big that I wouldn’t be able to get my arms around them if I hugged them – which, of course, I’m not about to do. I’m just not a tree-hugging kind of person. Still, they’re bl
oody enormous trees.
I walk a little way along the bank and notice that there’s the remains of a wire fence, and here and there strands of barbed wire have scarred the oaks. In some cases it runs through the centre of the tree, and in others the wire is looped right around the trunk. Clearly, in the past, some farmer has saved on fence posts by nailing the wire directly to the trees.
I come to a halt next to one that has been ringed completely. The tree has tried to grow around the wire and the wood almost looks like it has spilled over the top. It’s been completely strangled. The tree is dead, and I can see that some of the others are going to follow it very soon.
I sit down heavily on the bank, my heart beating fast. What’s wrong with me? They’re just trees. At some point they saved a farmer all the extra work of putting in fence posts. But sitting here now, I can see how short- sighted that was. Sure, it might have saved him the extra work and cash back then, but what about now? He has condemned these beautiful trees to a slow death.
God, this is a depressing place to sit. I struggle back to my feet, deciding that I’ve already had enough, and start to retrace my steps back towards the farm. I’ll go back to the yurt for a while.
As I reach the edge of the woodland, the wind starts to pick up. The large oaks groan and strain in the sudden gust, but the young trees just sway gently, protected by their dying rear guard.
A bank of stormy-looking clouds is marching across the sky towards me like they’re looking for a fight, and the wind picks up another notch. That’s it, I’m out of here. I’m starting to freak myself out. Rather than opening the gate, I climb it and jump down the other side.
I break into a run and the wind seems to chase me down the hill, catching and whipping my hair up behind me. I’m hurtling back towards the field where the yurt is nestled as fast as my feet can carry me. The mayhem of the wind is echoed in the frantic beating of my heart. I feel like a child again, trying to outstrip some unknown terror as I run, my breath coming hard and fast. At last, I spot the yurt.
I’m just metres away from the flap when it happens. The skies open and the feel of giant raindrops on my skin brings me to an abrupt halt. It’s something I usually avoid at all costs, but right now, in the middle of this field, it has caught me by surprise. I’m frozen in place.
As if someone is cranking up an invisible dial, the rain gets harder and heavier, the warm drops pound against my head and soak into my hair. My heart is still hammering from the run, but for the first time in a long time, I’m getting drenched by falling rain and I’m not afraid. The smell of damp grass and earth rises up to greet me. I open my arms wide and, raising my face up to the sky, I start to laugh.
‘Are you insane?’
I jump and peer through the deluge towards the voice coming from the yurt.
It’s Bay, standing just inside, laughing at me.
‘What are you doing here?!’ I call.
‘Hiding from the rain!’
‘Come out! It’s beautiful,’ I yell. In response, whoever’s controlling the rain dial turns it to maximum. Bay shakes his head, still laughing. I march straight towards him and, grabbing the front of his shirt, I drag him, barefoot, out into the rain until we’re both standing, laughing at each other as we’re pummelled by the downpour.
Bay reaches forward and gently pushes a sodden strand of hair off my face. Suddenly we’re not laughing anymore. We just stand, staring at each other. My hand is still holding the front of his shirt and my breath is still coming too fast, but I’m not so sure that’s because of the running anymore. I’m staring into Bay’s green eyes, and all of the movement I felt in my soul as I pelted down the field comes to a halt as I lose myself in his gaze.
The rain stops just as abruptly as it started, and the silence that follows breaks the spell between us.
‘I—’ Bay says.
‘We’d better—’ I say at exactly the same time.
‘Sure,’ he says, turning away from me and striding back into the yurt. I take a deep breath and follow more slowly. In a completely useless move, I try to wipe my hands dry on my sodden jeans.
As I struggle through the dripping entrance flap, I see that Bay has already stripped off his wet shirt and is stepping into a pair of dry trousers.
I go straight over to my bed and, with my back to Bay, strip off my top. I don’t dare turn around for fear he might be watching me . . . or is it hope? What just happened out there in the rain?
I tug on a pair of dry jeans and top with some difficulty and then turn back to Bay. He’s now sitting quite calmly on the little settee, flipping through a book on herbs as if nothing unusual has happened. Which, of course, it hasn’t. Not really. So why do I feel disappointed?
I go and sit next to him.
‘So . . . did you get bored?’ he asks, looking at me steadily.
‘Bored? No. No, not bored. Completely freaked out may be nearer the mark,’ I say.
Bay nods. ‘I saw you come belting down the field.’
‘Well, yes.’ I don’t really want to talk about this yet. I’ll save it for later, I think. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were being mindful in the garden?’ I smile at him.
‘I was . . . until I spotted a big black bank of cloud heading my way. So I thought I’d avoid a drenching. Or I would have, if it wasn’t for you. Anyway, I don’t get it . . . You have a fear of water and there you are, enjoying the rain?’
I think about this for a second. ‘My phobia is really specific. Rivers, waterfalls . . . running bodies of water. Rain’s different somehow. It’s tiny drops.’
‘So is a shower,’ Bay counters, trying to understand.
I shiver and rub my arms. ‘A shower is more intense. It thunders at you, straight on your head and on your face . . . and there’s that pounding noise.’ I pause and take a deep breath. ‘I mean, I do usually avoid getting caught out in the rain, but that’s more about wanting to avoid any chance of having a panic attack, if I can help it. It’s not about fear of the rain itself. Does that make any sense?’
Bay nods slowly. ‘You get scared of having a panic attack, so that starts to make you afraid of even more things?’
I nod. Nailed it in one. It starts to control more and more of your life. But that’s enough of that subject for me for a while . . .
‘Bay, look, I wanted to say sorry about yesterday.’
‘Why?’ He looks surprised at my sudden change of subject.
‘For the way I reacted, I guess. I know you were just trying to look out for me.’
Bay shakes his head and sighs. ‘It’s me who should apologize. I’m sorry, that was probably not the most sensitive way I could have said what I did. I was . . . I am worried, and I didn’t think it was fair not to give you a heads-up.’
‘Truce?’ I say.
He nods and then chucks a towel straight at my head.
‘You might need this. You’re still dripping all over my cushions!’
Chapter 18
Busy Hands Calm the Monkey Mind
‘Your mind is a tree; its branches are your thoughts. Imagine your consciousness is a monkey swinging through these branches. It grabs hold of one thought, only to swing to another. It’s rushing, excitable, frantic.
‘Simple, repetitive work that keeps your hands busy can become a tool to help calm your monkey mind.’
©TheBeginnersGuideToLoneliness.com
*
Even though we hang out in the yurt for twenty minutes before heading back down to the garden together, Bay and I get there way before most of the others. I’m guessing they’ve all had to go in search of a dry set of clothes after a good, mindful drenching. Doreen’s there though, so as Bay makes his way over to join Russ, I go and sit next to her underneath the overhanging roof of the little tool shelter.
‘How was it for you?’ I ask.
‘Well . . . uh . . . I listened to the land,’ she says, avoiding my eye, ‘and, well . . . I went for a bit of a walk. And it was really weird bec
ause I walked straight into Geoff.’
‘Really?’ I raise my eyebrows, wondering what’s coming next. They barely seemed to be talking last night.
‘Well, you could say that, rather than listening to the land, it had to listen to us instead,’ she says, looking uncomfortable.
‘Oh no. You had a fight? Are you okay?’ I ask. Poor Doreen, she’s so desperate to reconnect with Geoff.
‘No, no . . . not a fight! Completely the opposite,’ she pulls a horrified face at me.
My jaw drops. ‘You didn’t?’
‘It was like we couldn’t bear any space between us, and we just . . . kind of . . . melted into each other . . .’ She turns the most epic shade of beetroot I’ve ever witnessed.
I’m not sure I really want to hear the rest of the story if I’m honest, but I am intrigued. ‘You weren’t worried that someone might hear you?’ I say.
‘Didn’t even consider it. It was like everything bad and all of the rubbish times we’ve been through just disappeared.’
She looks at me, and pure happiness is shining from her face.
‘I’m so happy for you!’ I say.
‘Well, this is all meant to be about new experiences, isn’t it?’ says Doreen with a giggle. ‘And I’ve never done it up against a tree before!’
Argh. There it is. Too much information.
She takes in the horrified expression on my face and laughs. ‘What, didn’t think we were past it, did you?!’
I shake my head, as much to dislodge the unwelcome image she’s conjured as to answer her question.
‘Well,’ I say finally, ‘this makes my tiny bit of gossip feel rather insignificant.’
‘Ooh, gossip! Play fair now, Tori!’ Doreen’s eyes have the light of mischief in them, and she looks about twenty years younger.
‘Well, you know that rainstorm?’ I start.
‘Don’t I just? In fact, I blame that for . . . sorry, you carry on!’
‘Well, I was caught out in it. I got all freaked out by the wind, and then the rain came and I sort of stopped in my tracks. And just stood in the rain. And I loved how it felt,’ I say.
The Beginner's Guide to Loneliness Page 14
