Fuck! I nearly didn't blog today, for a number of reasons - one of them being that I was feeling all weepy-frustrated and bad, and was getting right in my own way as far as proper gratitude is concerned. And the ridiculous thing is, I'm on holiday! Or I'm supposed to be. But that's a different bit of the story. I have work to do, and I've struggled to do it. I'm very annoyed at myself. There is a big message and I'm resisting it. I know I'll be happier once I listen. And I'm not.This monkey makes everything better, even if only for a moment. Whoever you are, I think you know someone that looks just like this. It might even be you.
Yes... I'm in Germany with people I love, Kate, Margaret, Margaret's sweet Peter. We flew here this afternoon. Everything worked. We went somewhere lovely to eat and despite having just read about this yoga school's opinion of meat-eating, I had a proper German sausage - two, as promised earlier to Andrew Gentilli - and loved it.
I loved the yoga instruction - if you're not keen on stopping, don't stop yet. Just buy some vegetarian cookbooks, try some nice meals, replace many of your meat meals with veggie ones and see how you go. And if all else fails? Visit an abbatoir. Brilliant. They have a point, of course.
If you believe that eating no meat is better on every level and you're looking for a way to seal the deal, a slaughterhouse trip is as good a way as any. In fact, there's a part of me that thinks most of us would do well to visit one anyway. If we can stomach that, and/or kill/prepare our meat ourselves, then why not fill our boots and munch away, but if we can't, then let's not.
I once met a vegan who happily ate a piece of human placenta - not her own, I might add - because it didn't harm an animal, and nothing died. I didn't quite get it. I'm not sure even I would do that. In theory I'd eat my own, of course, if I ever make one and if they let me at it. Sauteed with a few onions and a pinch of dill. But nobody else's. And I'm currently the furthest froma vegetarian I could be. If I had to chase my food down the road and push it under a car before I can put it in my mouth, I think I would. Bugger - not very 'om' of me. And placenta is probably pretty close to liver, so by rights, I really should love it. But not... you know... out of somebody else.
[I tried to upload a picture of a human placenta, but I just couldn't look at it. Weirdly, though, the picture of a fried one in a burger bun was less disturbing. Anyway, instead, you can have this. Sheep's placenta. Please note the description on the box: DARK BEIGE OBLONG SHAPED SOFT GELATIN CAPSULE - it's a selling point. I once bought some for a very new boyfriend as a joke. He didn't get it. We stayed together for a short while, and it was a blessing - for his sexuality, for my self-esteem - when we split.
I was going to say 'top tip, girls, don't by your new love interest a jar of sheep's placenta - it could make him blow hot and cold' but actually, fucking do it. I am more and more drawn to the belief that if ever I am to be with someone, happily, in a good way, for any length of time, then they'll have to be okay with me being a twat. There's no point them thinking they're shopping at Next and finding out they stumbled into the Buffalo stall at the farmer's market.]
A different lady, on our first meeting (at her house) wapped out her first child's dried umbilical cord. Said child was now about three (but still breast-feeding, naturally). It smelt of fish. The umbilical cord, not the child. Like a budgie snack. I politely declined to touch it. She was in awe of the beautiful offering. I was a bit grossed out. The younger child's cord, not long separated from it, was with someone for drying. I think perhaps they were going to make a mobile. Or perhaps I'm just a very sarky cow.
It's not ingratitude, what I was feeling, it was tiredness, stress and frustration at myself. And again, we're back to focus. I managed to forget that this morning, when I said thank you to the bus driver as I got on, he almost did a double take and then really smiled in his eyes. And how could I forget last night's slightly drunk or just confused lady on the tube who leant in and shared her concern that she'd be late, and then made a real point of saying a happy but quite formal goodbye as she got off a stop or two later? And the bouncing teenagers jumping and waving at every National Express bus they saw, even if it was going somewhere entirely different, in an attempt to get to the airport more quickly?
And the benefit of being able to be here, and the universe with its strong hands in the small of my back, my head just above water. It's saying 'let yourself go, I've got you, and anyway, you'll float - don't worry about a bit of water in your eyes'. And I'm holding on tight to the side and risking never learning what it's like to let yourself really swim.
And even some of the lovely thoughts I've had today. I saw a heart-cloud from the plane today, just as I was thinking that kind of thoughts
anyway. And I got over-excited both at take-off and landing too. And Ruth (I'm missing her) and so many more things. All nearly given up for a moment of self-pity. Bless you, love, be gentler. Learn from what has caused this and make a change. Let go and trust and float. That hand is bigger than the water you're in.
Let go.
I dunked my head again this morning. Maybe it's a sign!
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