Raining,  

 

I keep experiencing again and again, moments of great victory. I am capable of not reacting, under circumstances, in which, in the past, I used to react. I do not know, when was the last time I reacted and I am surprised to notice, it was a long time ago, yet I clearly remember the negative feelings, I used to have. I am also still puzzled, that this could happen to me. Although, it was quite a while ago I have reacted, it seems, as if I have only just started, to not react, yesterday or minutes ago. The clarity of my language amazes me. It is such a contrast with the confusion, conflict, and chaos, I used to have whenever I reacted. I like to describe this space.

 

At the time of this writing, not reacting seems to be about having an evaporating memory of what used to happen, when I got upset. I used to get upset a lot, but, these days, that does not happen anymore. Moreover, I notice that something else happens, as it can happen. It seems as if I have won the grand price and I feel so happy, proud, and vindicated. I recognize myself and burst out in laughter about all the shit I have been going through, because I was carrying it with me for so long. I feel unburdened and certain that I will continue this way. I am free.

 

It is raining and that pleases me tremendously. It reminds me of Holland, my country of origin, where I used to ride my bicycle, every day, rain or shine. I was wearing a rain-suit, but it was always cold, wet and windy, yet, I got where I needed and wanted to be. In The Hague, my hometown, riding my bicycle, was my only means of transportation. Not reacting, to me, is as big as being in Holland, but not riding my bicycle anymore. In Chico, California, I no longer ride my bicycle, because I find it too dangerous and stressful. I still have an old one, but seldom ride it and do not really miss it. I ride my car and I get my exercise in the gym. However, I enjoy writing about the memory of riding my bicycle in Holland, before I emigrated to the United Stated in 1999 and can still picture myself riding around in the town where I was born.

 

One day, many years ago, something very unusual happened. It was a beautiful spring day and I was riding my bicycle along the canal, on my way down town, to some place, to have a coffee. However, I was feeling restless, bored, and aimless. I was only doing what I was doing, to have something to do. Actually, I didn’t even want to go to that place, as I had already been there so many times before. I knew the people, who were usually there and I felt frustrated, I couldn’t have a good conversation with any of them. Why was I even going there again? Why go through the same thing again and again?

 

I stopped pedaling my bicycle, as my body refused to do it and let my bicycle come a halt. And then, I was just standing there, with my bicycle in my hand, next to the water. I briefly considered throwing my bicycle in the water, but I began to walk back home, with my bicycle in my hand. What was I going to do? This was definitely an existential crisis. Was I going insane? For me, to just stop riding my bicycle, was something unbelievable. Yet, I had really done it and I had to wait in front of the open draw-bridge, near my house, until some large boats had slowly passed by. It seemed to take forever and the line of cars of people waiting became longer and longer.

 

I can still see myself standing there, with my bicycle in my hand, feeling somewhat relieved by the fact that there was nothing else for me to do then wait. Finally, the ships had passed and slowly the bridge came down. It felt as if it was a dream. As soon as the light turned green, all the traffic started moving fast past me, while I walked with uncertain steps to my house. When I arrived, I went up in the empty attic. I sat on the carpet and looked around in this recently vacated space, which was soon going to be rented out. The old, kind people, from who we rented the second floor, used to sleep here, but they had moved all their stuff to the ground floor, as they were no longer able to walk up the stairs.

 

My wife Bonnie was at work. She just graduated with her MBA and had an important job for the Rotterdam School of Management, while I was jobless and still trying to figure out, what I was going to do and who I really was. I remember this deep pit-feeling of dissatisfaction, not depression, but frustration, resentment and disappointment. There I sat in that attic, muttering to myself that the roof wouldn’t cave in. Low and behold, it didn’t. My eye caught sight of a small box, in the corner, which had been overlooked and was left behind. I crawled into that corner under the roof and pulled the box closer. I opened it, to see what was in it. Only old books. I took them out, one by one and put them aside. They didn’t interest me. Underneath these books, I found a gong. I took it in my hand, with the string that was attached to it and looked again in the box, to see if there was also a stick with a ball, to hit the gong? And, yes, there it was. I had the stick in one hand and the gong in the other hand.

 

I wanted to hear what the gong sounded like and softly struck it, just once. I enjoyed the sound and then I said calmly to myself: that sounds good. In that unforgettable moment, I heard my own voice, which sounded like that gong. I knew instantly: this is how I want to sound, while I talk and this is how I would like others to sound, when they talk with me. I began exploring what it is like, to talk with myself about everything that was going on, but with that sound. My heaviness and turmoil subsided, as I was effortlessly able to speak in a different tone, with a sound I liked, as it was really me. I was so excited, as I had discovered the language that creates space.

 

I spoke with myself only for a few minutes and was showered with many blessings and insights. It felt so right to say to myself what I had always wanted to say, but had never said before. The experience was so restful, relieving and energizing. I stretched out on my back and closed my eyes. The renewal was so moving. Our cat Lola, suddenly came in through the open roof window. She did something she had never done before: she situated herself on my chest and started purring. I was healing from my hurt and trauma and quiet tears ran down my neck. I felt so fortunate and certain that I had discovered a phenomenal treasure: I had heard and found my own voice. For the first time, I had stopped my own Disembodied Language (DL) and with my Embodied Language (EL), I had recognized and verbalized my Language Enlightenment (LE), which is my nature.