So, my point is that since coming back to Europe and starting work, I felt my fire, my Agni, sputtering and struggling to burn.  Saddened, desperate not to let this happen, I prayed sincerely and humbly, asking to help me keep Agni alive in me.

This morning, I got a call from the post office:  a package for you ma’am.  I trotted down, as I needed to post some stuff anyway and there waiting for me was my new harmonium!!!  The woman who attended to me asked me what it was, and I told her it was an Indian instrument, typically used in vedic chanting.  She asked me if I chanted, and I said yes.  Well, turns out that she sings in Bulgarian sacred choirs and is a Sun Gazer, full of love and light.  She invited me to join her tomorrow morning, before sunrise, on the hill in Albir.  With joy, I accepted.  Thank you, Universal Spirit.

Of course, it goes without saying that unpacking and trying out the harmonium was cool and fun, but I will need to practice before I really get swinging on the thing.

Late in the afternoon, Luz and I decided to go out to find some trees. We went up to Altea la Vieja and walked a little bit.  But it was stony and there were cars, so we turned back.  I said “let’s take the other road home” and in about 5 minutes we’d found a children’s playground, newly built, with no passing cars, up in the hills, surrounded by pine trees.  Heaven!  After mucking around for a while, me playing as much as Luz, some other kids sidled up to us.  We started chatting and before you know it, I was giving them an impromptu Yoga lesson!  We did butterfly and crow and tree and cosmic dancer, I sang them a few chants, explained about the breathing and it was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!!! I had such a good time.  When it came time to leave, we all said goodbye, sweetly and gently.  As we pulled out of the parking lot, I blew a kiss to 8-year-old Rafa and he blew me one back.  Awwwwwwwww..

And to end the day perfectly, Luz fell asleep without any fuss, leaving me free to eat in peace, surf a little, and tell you all my little tale.

Om shanti brothers and sisters.  Om surya namaskar.

desconsuelo, mal, pesar, suplicio, tortura, aflicción, angustia, congoja, daño, pena, tormento, calvario
-aflicción – agonía – agujeta – agujetas – alifafe – amargura – arrepentimiento – atrición – cimbrón – contrición – jaqueca – desolación – duelo – enfermedad – goce – lástima – mal – patetismo – pena – pésame – prueba – punzada – pupa – purgatorio – sentimiento – sufrimiento – tormento – trastorno

Clearly not all of these deal with physical pain. But then again, how astute are we when differentiating between the two? It’s not that coincidental that neckache coincides with a bust-up with your partner in which words were left unsaid (visuddha chakra). Nor it is unusual for the lungs to ache when grief is intense (in TCM, grief is associated with Lung Qi).

Net conclusion: I need to improve my vocabulary. Let’s see, how can I work ‘alifafe’ into a sentence?

At least it’s better than Italy, where they do the sizing like this:  1,2,3,4,5,6 etc. each number corresponds to a certain width at the ribs and on the bust.  So what happens if you have a big ribcage and small boobs?  Or big boobs and narrow chest?  At least in Italy they have cotton underwear.

For my money, the UK has better women’s underclothing  than either Spain or Italy.  I mean, everyday, comfortable, supportive underwear.  It has to do with feminism and women’s roles in society, I reckon.  The more male-dominated society, the more boobs are treated as objects of lust, trussed up but unloved.   The more that woman are self-defined, the less need they have to endure discomfort in order to be deemed worthy.  But don’t get me started on high heels and the City of London!!!

Ladies, free your bodies, love your selves.

I can’t quite understand what it is that renders me unable to perform in the street.  I have no such fear of the stage.  Only the street.  I think that it’s the “in your face” nature of busking.  Like, people are just sitting there having a coffee and suddenly along comes me with my guitar.  I play a few songs then stick my hand out and ask for money.  It’s not that far removed from begging really.

Maybe that’s why I can’t do it:  it seems debased, makes me out as a pauper.  When you’re on stage, you know that your audience has come to listen to you, to hear your music.  You’re there on the stage with everyone paying attention. You are respected.  There is reverence (sometimes!)  You have their attention.  On the street you compete with traffic and passersby.  No one came to hear you play, you might be an intrusion, an annoyance, in the way.  So it’s not really fear of playing that paralyses me, it’s fear of the reaction to/perception of my performance.

Perhaps there are people who enjoy the challenge of winning over an apathetic cluster of coffee drinkers.  Maybe there are those who believe that they will put a smile on their faces and brighten their day.  Perhaps there are some who are hungry enough to have to play and that’s the sole motivation they need.  I guess that I don’t believe in myself enough to credit the idea that I could brighten a bored stranger’s day.  I guess I’m not hungry enough.  I don’t need to do it, so I have the bail-out-the-backdoor option…and today I took it.

Do I feel ashamed?  No.  I do many things well and can’t expect to excel at everything.  Disappointed?  Yes.  I’d have likes to write about the coins collected, the boogie woogie dance I did, the applause and appreciation.  But certainly I feel optimistic because I know that I shall overcome this block and sing in the street this summer.  For no reason other than to prove that the talents God gave me – my voice, my joy,  my love of music – increase the happiness in this world, if only by a fraction.  Sat Nam.

Of course, the bar war terribly smoky, like all bars in Spain.  The gross thing about smoke is that it’s not even the good part of the cigarette.  Everyone is waltzing around in the residue of the tobacco smoke…kind of like the difference between a poo and the meal that made it.  Thanks for the exhale, buddy, now I can swim around in your s**t.  And I say this as a former smoker, certainly not always considerate in my time