"I feel invisible." Selim told us last night, as he sat crying under his new bed. Slay me. Stab my heart. Deep breathes. I crouched down to his level and apologized. How could he know that it the one thing that he could say that would eviscerate me more than anything else he possibly could utter?
I have felt invisible for so much of my life. I have raged inside trying to figure out how not to feel that and I don't want him feeling that way either. He reminded me that I get caught up in my own agenda and herd him along without seeing him and his reality in that moment. Patience. More patience. Be in the moment and not multi-task in my head when I am barking out a directive. Better yet, don't bark.
Upon reflection, I think I felt just like he did this weekend but I didn't have the courage to voice it. What I wanted this weekend was time alone -- to be quiet, prayerful, and still. And the only time I got it was when I woke up at 5:00 and nobody else was up. For some reason, that didn't feel like enough. I wanted my husband to see me, my inner struggle; to hear my inside voice without my having to vocalize. But he didn't read my mind or hear my silent begging. Why didn't I just ask for an hour in the house by myself? Why did I let myself and my needs stay invisible to the man who is my partner and who loves me? The worst he could say would be "no" and then I would be pissed. But that would be preferable to the quagmire of invisibility that is such a struggle for me to extricate.
On a lighter note, I made basmati rice last night and while it was simmering on the stove, the aroma brought me back to Village 77 RB, Rajasthan, India, 1978. I was eleven and there over Spring break on a meditation retreat. Every time I walked into the langar the smell made me want to vomit. I would grab what was immediately portable -- a handful of raisins, cashews, Gluco biscuits, an orange and a cup of fennel tea and sit on a bench outside to eat. It wasn't until the end of the trip that we pinpointed the smell of rice triggered my gag reflexes. Ever since that trip, I have been unable to eat an orange and the aroma of basmati still makes me want to run in the other direction. So last night I realized that particular smell still holds power over my stomach and I will not be making that again any time soon.
I wonder if I will end up in India this summer. I expect to be posted at some Embassy or Consulate again this summer for another six-week stint. With the Olympics in London this year, I know I won't be returning there. They have specific staffing needs that they have put in place since last summer and my name was not on the list. A part of me would like to return to India -- a place that I have only had glimpses outside the Ashrams where I have spent weeks in meditation. To go for employment and be able to do tourist things would be interesting. Then again, if I go in the summer, I'm sure the heat will keep me from too much outside activity.
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