Far from home, far from self.
Friday the 7th November. In a few hours I will get the train to Heathrow and leave for my furthest trip away from home today – Belém – the gateway to the Amazon. A Portuguese word meaning Bethlehem, derived from the Hebrew, meaning home of bread. Perhaps not the first city that comes to mind when travelling to Brazil, but it is home for this year’s Conference of the Parties.
There is an irony, if that might be the right word, in that, I am travelling the furthest from home I have ever been and I find myself, feeling the furthest from myself that I have felt in a long time. My usual enthusiasm – perhaps even exuberance for life, seems to have faded a little. I find myself worried to exist in my usual rhythm. These last few weeks have been quieter than usual. I have been in my thoughts mainly, between sajdahs of gratitude and questions.
The mind is a fragile thing and the timing of our thoughts, – the point at which we make a decision and the point at which we feel another conviction. How strong our instincts and convictions feel – how telling a gaze feels, how decisive it feels, and how convincing. And then in an instant, another thought brings to question every previous thought, feeling and conviction. And where does place come into this?
I find myself weighing up the clarity of my thoughts, the precision of my decisiveness – the inner methodical ways I brought myself to one place and then to another. Between distrust of my own convictions and those around me.
Perhaps perfectly timed, all of this has come in Autumn, and I have fully embraced the state of wintering.
I took all of this with me on the busiest two work weeks of my year and for a while they subsided. The heat and humidity, the violent rain that falls upon Belém daily, the unpredictable tropical weather; walking into the office amidst live protest reminding us of the urgent climate crisis. And being amongst the Amazon – the largest river in the world. An entire ecosystem that is not fully known to us – homing millions and storing vast carbon emissions. The quickness with which fruit became soft and brown in Belém, the signage reminding us of water scarcity, the brown water often leaving taps, the intense heat and sudden waves of rain. There is an urgency to all of this, a vibrancy, and an inconsistency too, that made me forget the depth of my own thinking and the thoughts that had consumed me at home and felt as though they may bleed out into my life outside. Instead, I found myself, in Belém, adopting the city’s vibrancy for a little while.
When you find yourself, to be a traveller among God’s earth, between the vastness of the Amazon, the wonder of all that exists and the little that may be known, what else is there to be than oneself?
As I made home for a few weeks in a place I had only ever read about. I was reminded that despite it all, I will always carry myself to places far, new and unknown.
Sometimes, clarity is sought furthest from all that you know.
I am sat on the 14th floor balcony in the equatorial city of Belém. A rare quiet morning to myself without the rush of queues to get into the COP venue and I am looking over the city that feels like multiple cities all in one. From the vitality of the Amazon to the busy skyscrapers towering over the city to the historic markets, ports, and colonial settlements reminiscent of the city’s past.
I have always felt able to make home in places – to believe that home, is not a singular place, a familiar sound, or a group of people. It has not scared me, being far, or distant. Near, alone, or around people. The direction I feel pulled towards, through prostration, whispers to God and the physical movements of my hands leaving behind all that happens in the day, remains.
Sometimes – you have to be taken away even from yourself, to come back to yourself. In being far from home, I am grateful to have felt far from what I felt. To have distance from feelings that almost overwhelmed me. And now I notice myself differently. I am excited to hear the rain again and scurry to the doors nearby that will give me a glimpse of the rain as it falls. Still this confusion, this heaviness, this distrust, turmoil, denial hovers over me, and I am amidst questions, but I choose to notice and look at the world. Once again, with amazement, with awe, to walk towards the rain that sounds like it may leak through, to put my hand out and feel ripples of water.
Perhaps this is what is meant when we are urged to constantly be grateful to God and have patience – the gratitude, the patience – it is to convince yourself when you feel tied up in your own ways of thinking and scattered thoughts, it is a state of being. To notice the signs, to believe in the redirection amongst waves and tides that, at present, seem to point to no obvious direction.
It is now the 30th of November, I am back home. With a cup of tea in hand, wearing my favourite fleece lined socks and pale pink pyjamas. A cinnamon candle burns, and I am accompanied by the sounds of London bursting through my windows. Earlier, I came across some poetry on the tube. A few lines of Lucille Clifton who wrote, ‘…what did I see to be except myself? / i made it up / here on this bridge between/ starshine and clay’. I noticed this poem twice the last two weeks that I have been back home. Perhaps this feeling I am contending with currently, the confusion, the tracing of every thought and conviction, it will not wash away very soon, but I will continue to notice, to make space for whatever comes in between, and whatever it means to be here, and be taken along.
May we never feel so far from ourselves that we feel we must retreat. May we always remember who we are – from the bare bones to the warmth of our skin, to the heart that prays to be directed to the Hearer and Sustainer, of All hearts – to the soul that sees others, and dares to notice, to discern what lies beneath.
☾ The Empowered Prole ☽ 
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