I am sitting next to Kamalashila in the hospice in Clapham. It is the oldest hospice in London. I am the one who is benefitting from the lush green outside his window, as KS is not really opening his eyes much now.
In the background intermittently some sort of machine that sounds like a siren. And closer by the air mattress pump that gently changes the distribution of his weight. And even closer: KS’s breathing, fairly fast and shallow. But easy. He hasn’t woken up since I arrived here a few hours ago. I have been going home in the evenings, taken a bath, drank some tea accompanied by tears and then off to bed with a book. My lifelong habit of regulating myself through reading is helping me hugely. I arrive here before our usual meditation hour. Although he hasn’t really been here long enough to create habits.
I sat with him this morning, listening to his breathing. I was sensing into the pain of the here and now, some bitterness about what is happening and how it is happening. I opened to the situation fully on the in-breath and let go on the out-breath. It helped. People who work here take their time to talk to me. That also helps. They are asking me how I am. Telling me they are here for me. I talk to them about how we arrived here. And it is an astonishing and lengthy story. I am and feel more supported on this part of the journey. I relax into it a bit and feel grateful.
