There was a phrase from one of the scriptures that we heard a lot in India. It would get inside my head and make my mind itch. “What is poison for you in the beginning,” it said, “will be nectar for you at the end. And what is nectar at the beginning, will become poison for you at the end.” I’ve been connecting with the
meaning of this lately, in a whole new way. Somehow this experience has lifted me up, encouraged me, and awakened me to new possibilities for our future.
How we know ourselves, how we imagine ourselves, can feel so solid and static. And how quickly it can change. Our whole identity can open and expand in a moment, no matter how much resistance we are feeling.
About a year and a half ago I came to a turning point in relationship to Mother Earth and my willingness to live a sustainable life. I realized that prayers, recycling and emails to our government were not going to do it for me. I felt this longing, deep in my heart, to take a big step forward. And I kept wondering why we humans so often wait until things are totally desperate before we are willing to do things differently.
Gradually it became clear to me that I wanted to learn to live without my car. I was quite surprised by this, as I was very attached to my car. It was a Honda Accord I inherited from my mother, after 25 years of living in India without one. It represented freedom, mobility, and the spirit of adventure. I would think about letting go of it and feel a lot of resistance.
But the longing was even stronger than my resistance- I knew that to be true. I was preparing to go to a Radiant Mind teacher training course in France this fall, and in July it became obvious that the only way I would be able to afford the trip was by selling my car. Isn’t it strange how the universe conspires to help you evolve and grow, even when you think you are not ready?
I put my car on the market and started walking everywhere, in preparation for the time when it would be gone. It is six blocks down from our house to town. It was very hot walking up the hill in July and August, and I was not fit enough to do anything except huff and puff my way home. But in a very short time, I got a lot stronger. I watched myself almost trotting up those six steep blocks, and realized I was actually starting to enjoy it.
I sold my car, and we went to France for the teacher training course. I returned home at the beginning of November. In Nelson it’s a dark, cold time that many
people find quite difficult. Now I was really missing my beautiful little Honda. I would remember great trips I had taken in it, and even started dreaming about it at night- the world whizzing by outside my window as I listened to Adya Shanti on my CD player. I was full of regrets, and complained a lot to my partner Jonathan about the prospect of walking up and down that hill in the winter. “It’s going to be awful,” I moaned. “Icy, slippery, freezing cold.”
Jonathan was not even slightly interested in catering to my mind. “You have no idea what it’s going to be like.” he would say. How I love him for that response!
“Yes, I do!” I argued. I know what winter is like here, and I hate it!” I could feel the negativity bubbling around inside me, and this feeling of being deprived, left out in the cold by myself.
“You are making this whole thing up,” he replied. “Just let go and see how it is. You might really surprise yourself.” So I did. Only because I had no choice. It’s truly liberating to be choiceless sometimes, even though this six year old inside me was having a major temper tantrum.
I just kept walking, and the more I walked the more I liked it. The poison was turning to nectar. Winter came, dark came, and I walked- in snow, in rain, in sun, in fog, and in moonlight. I started to notice how different I felt, how much more vital and alive. Sometimes Jonathan or my daughter would offer me a ride, and I would say no. I didn’t want to miss the walk.
Before I began what I now call ‘my walking life’ I was convinced that I could never afford all that extra time. Now I laugh about that. I feel like something inside me has slowed down; my whole relationship to time has transformed.
“This is really strange,” I said to friends over Christmas. “Now I’m even liking winter! It’s so different when you’re out in it, instead of looking at it through a pane of glass. The sound of the wind, the snow on the trees, the way the clouds move over the mountains-all of this was lost to me when I had my car.”
So that’s how I came to understand how nectar and poison can change places with each other. Now I would never exchange my walking time for the warm and cozy interior of a car. And if you had told me a few short months ago that a steep walk up the hill in the middle of winter would be one of my favourite things, I would have laughed at you. This was not the way I knew myself.
with love
Shayla
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