Morning. My favorite time of day. The sun peeks over the hill and the air is cool for now. A little breeze, coconut trees waving. I look to see whether any papayas are close to ready. No. They're all still green. The basil in the garden is doing well, springing up. I used origami seed pots for my latest planting, and it worked well at keeping the ants from carrying the seeds away, though when I broke the seed pots open in order to separate the seedlings and plant them, I found a couple of ant nests. Seething, writhing nests of ants with all their eggs. They weren't the biting kind, so that's okay.
I check on the plants. What's blooming? What needs pruning?
I make coffee. This is undoubtedly the morning ritual that gets me out of bed. Little Italian stovetop espresso maker. Cream. Sugar. Strong coffee.
If I had managed to wake up early today I would pound out a thousand words in my novel. But, alas, I kept pressing snooze this morning. I'm showing up at the blog instead. I've needed more sleep, these last few days. I'm not sure why. That time of the month? I'm just going with it.
Soon it will be time for breakfast, school. I'll run to the shop for milk, to the veggie stall for cauliflower and fruit. (Cauliflower for lunch, not breakfast.) I'll say hi to the veggie stall brothers, good morning to the shop owner. We'll ask how the other is doing. Making sure everything is still okay. Since yesterday.
It's election time. That means the shop owner and her niece will be hauling all the alcohol back out from the night before. During election time there is no sale for alcohol after 9:30, and then for a few days there is no sale of alcohol at all. This is because sometimes politicians use alcohol to buy votes. And I believe it's to stave off riots, as well. Get a lot of men together with a big cause, add a bunch of alcohol and watch the whole thing burn. The police are around a lot as well. They seem to be very arbitrary. They shut concerts down, close the night market. I don't even try to understand. Just try to avoid being shaken down for money.
It's hot season, now. The beginnings, anyways. It's also moving time. We go in four weeks. I'm packing again.
Here's a tiny announcement. We're moving to Thailand. We're heading back to Pai, where we were before, with the hopes of having a year round home. Our friend M will continue with the meditation center here, and we'll begin meditation practice in Pai. We can't give Goa up entirely, so our plan is to come back here for January and February. Sing on the beach, join in meditation.
I'm very excited. We need more continuity, less travel. Six months of travel has been entirely too much, and I realize that this season I've been struggling with a low grade depression the entire time. Not more than I can handle, just enough to keep me from things I love. Writing, art.
I'll be learning Thai. We'll all be learning Thai. And there are moments when I feel panicky about leaving India, like how can I do it? India has a way of making me feel that there is no world outside of it, that nothing but India exists anywhere. But of course we're never leaving anything for good. We can't leave things behind. They travel with us. And we'll always come back.