#22 ‘Grace of Gratitude’

22.

‘Grace of Gratitude’

About two years ago, I had a dream. I was driving on a highway to the airport in a faraway country on my way home. The road was blocked, as usual, overcrowded with cars and people going places chasing time passing too quickly, when a sight in the sky appeared. It was fast, it was bright and it had a tail of fire. As everyone stopped to get a better look, realising what was going on, there was an outburst of panic, followed by a sound you can only describe as an unquestionable power. People started running and screaming in panic. In all that cacophony of fright, I just had a thought that it would be such a silly thing to do, wasting this precious opportunity to understand and feel what exactly was happening. Look at the colours of this world, feel the vibrations of this life, stretch the last seconds and soak in this once in a lifetime experience of these unique moments before the unthinkable happens and it all turns blank. 

And then, it did. The meteorite hit us and there was a cloud of silence that rose over the impact of the deafening explosion. The collision of elements within our world in a wider sense of our thinkable perception. I am lying on the ground, watching the blue sky above the faraway country and thinking to myself, ‘Can you still hear your voice once you are dead?’ I woke up in awe of the experience in my dream and of the peace that it made me feel…

As we lived during my childhood in a flat building, it was strictly forbidden to make noise and disturb each other at certain hours of the day. We called that ‘House Rules’. Between one and five pm, the hard-working citizens of our country would come home, eat their lunch and have a deserved nap. No other sounds but snoring were allowed, soaking in the aroma of chicken soup or some other soothing scent of comfort and fulfilment of the appetite.

For us anarchists, not belonging to that group of people with a well-established work schedule, these were the hours of torture. Tiptoeing around with a desire to break through, preparing for the next practising and noisemaking session.

After many years of routine, there came a sense of structure and rhythm to our days. The smell of the coffee that was set to brew exactly at 16.55, so that the cup of aromatic, sense awakening dark treasure would take over the scents of the lunch and find a place next to the chair or the music stand. As you tune your instrument and break the membrane of stillness, you are ready to go on being creative and build your musical strength and mental stamina.

As many of my close friends know, my five o’clock coffee is the anchor of my day. The golden cut of the day, if you like. To some, it is a funny tick of mine and we take it with a pinch of salt and humour. But, besides the obvious caffeine need fulfilment, for me it is the moment of the day when I count my blessings, sit down and feel gratitude, take a moment to breathe and observe before I continue my quest towards the better version of my self.

Routine is important to me. It has always been and I am grateful for that aspect of my character which loves regime and structure. It also likes the light of a candle in the dark. Each of us is born with a unique fingerprint of a character that shapes experiences we live through and determines our destiny. Every moment, every opportunity, judgement passes through a mould of our character and forms our reality which then travels on in an eternal interaction with all the other elements, between all of us in the endless universe of possibilities. We can’t change our character but we can grow to be able to observe it and while observing, be aware of the dark aspects and the light in every property of it.

Ever since childhood, I would get fascinated by institutions that function at a high level of discipline. Be it art, a religion or an army, which on many levels unite into being able to master a musical instrument or any other discipline of work or sport. In this last year and a half of the pandemic in which this world stood still, searching for the way into a transition to a new reality, the Hermit in me saved me on many levels. It brought out of me some of the best inner properties I have and I am grateful for that. 

I am grateful that after the impact of the pandemic and the silence in which I was lying on the ground, mourning my losses and hardship of the past couple of years, although seemingly dead, I could hear my voice. I am grateful that for me it was more than enough for a long time to breathe in and out, produce a written shape of what I hear inside of me, practice violin, have a coffee at five, dive into my daily Yoga routine, go to sleep and repeat the same thing next day. 

The contemplative in me just loved this stable repetitive state of mind, the mantra in which it could find all the treasures of this existence I needed. Coffee after a coffee, afternoon after an afternoon in the grace of gratitude, the beauty of peace and order of structure, in the infinite possibilities of solitude.