Vive la France

So it's now been a week that I have left Singapore, and what a week. Have you noticed how Life accelerates while time shrinks when you are out of town and things are running on high?

The few days I spent in Paris were magical. Not the weather. Although, I have to say that I was invigorated, if not totally juiced up, by the cool windy weather. I finally was able to wear my best sweaters and jackets again, and felt like a million bucks in my old (read 'classic') winter clothes. My skin dried out, my gut is gone, all is good! But obviously, the real gift was to reconnect with all my friends, Guillaume, Sylvie, even Julien and Olivier. And it is then that I realized how much happier I am when I am surrounded by my tribe. My culture. My food! Not that I am significantly less happy whenever I am outside of France, but this is - against all odds and what I have chosen to believe for the last 10 years - home, after all. Life is sweet there, and so much less hectic, while still being completely captivating and buzzing. Less pretending and more being, I guess.

Anyhow, the week was fun. I took my first ashtanga classes in French, and - VERY surprisingly - loved it. At first, hearing anatomical and poetic invocations in another language is very odd, even if it is your mother tongue, simply because it makes every word so much more intense and meaningful and creates a sharp presence. It felt as if I had been invited to connect with the 'plante de mes pieds' (soles of my feet) or 'mon bassin et le cote de mon torse' (my pelvis and the sides of my waist) for the first time. It felt as if I was trying for the first time ever to 'atteidre le ciel avec mes doigts' (reach for the sky with my fingers). Fascinating. Totally mind-blowing, and it made the ashtanga primary series, which I know fairly well, totally new and captivating. Jai Jai Monsieur Jois.

And then there was the food (and plenty of it), from amazing croissants and pains aux raisins (some sort of superior raisins roll with cream) to ecstatic and quasi-orgasmic salads and cheeses. And the wine, ricard and other caperinha… Strangely, though, I did not put on weight, and actually lost some. I definitely must check that 'why French women don't get fat' book, it may very well contain the details of a genetic miracle I do not know I am blessed with.


Then there was the falling in love, floating above the skies, and then crashing down in the depth of the Earth, all within 28 hours. Paris, they say, is the city of Love, and it most certainly is. From people kissing and holding (more than) hands at every corner of every street to the romance-filled face of the city, Love is everywhere. And whether you plan it or not, it is bound to fill your heart at some point. Now, if you happen to be like me (i.e., slightly dysfunctional, likely to systematically make the wrong choice, trusting, and still very much optimistic despite some pretty rough recent life lessons), don't expect not to be brushed (or rather crushed - that was the case this time around) by the sharp arrows of Cupid. I won't tell you more, just because I have written something about that amazing Love Story, which I am reworking and will post next week.

Stay tuned.

And then there was home. My real first home. Montauban, a small city in the South of France. Old (founded in 1144), tiny (50.000 souls at most), peaceful (any more peaceful, it would be dead), and charming (because it's … old, tiny and peaceful, you guessed it). I flew over to Toulouse to meet my parents on Saturday morning (after - I must avow - 2 hours of sleep), and was welcome by the background of my youth. Things have not changed, and because I have left years ago, I am glad they haven't. As scary as it can be to go back to the museum of your early years, where the 'why I needed to get out of here' exhibition is always on display, it is so grounding to go back. I love my parents. I love my sister. I love, most of all, my niece, Lola, and my nephew, Nathan. I love the grass. I love the fields. I love the horizon. I love the pace and lights. I would never live there again in this Incarnation, and I love it all the more because of that.

And then there was a last day in Paris again, with Guillaume, stuffing our faces with some of the best tapas in Europe (yes, they are not to be found in Spain :p) and amazing Sangria. A last night of chatting away until the wee hours of the night, talking about Life. Life. And Love. Our Dharma. The present that is in preparation in our hearts.

And then off to the airport (which, again, surprised me with its cleanliness and efficiency - WHAT HAPPENED TO MY COUNTRY????). And a bump-less flight to LA (Sweet Shankara, thank YOU!).

I am now in California, sitting at the Rose Café, my emotional bunker in this town. The Great Pacific Ocean is scintillating down the road like a million gems, and the wind is blowing my way. I went for a run this morning, and am now sipping tea, waiting for my adored, revered and dearly missed friend Gina, who's coming to help out with Shiva's teacher training as well. I will catch up with Seane Corn in a couple of hours and attend her class, before heading out for dinner.

More friends and amazing spaces for the next 10 days. I am blessed, grateful, and totally intent on sipping every drop of the glass of my Life until the glass is licked clean.

Jai!

Franck

'THAT is the true experience of freedom: having the most important thing in the world without owning it' (P. Coelho)

'Say what you like, do what you feel, you know exactly who you are. The time is right. Now, you got to decide: stand in the back or be the star' (Madonna)