Persephone Arbour

This comes from an article written in March 2000.

Reading for me, is travel for the mind and the imagination. On holiday in LA, I was reading ‘The Wisdom of No Escape’ by a Buddhist nun – Pema Chodron. Here is a quote from page 3 of that book:

“There’s a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born on the earth that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable. You can see this even in insects and animals and birds. All of us are the same.

A much more interesting, kind, adventurous, and joyful approach to life is to begin to develop our curiosity, not caring whether the object of our inquisitiveness is bitter or sweet; and to lead a life that goes beyond pettiness and prejudice, beyond always wanting to make sure that everything turns out on our own terms. To lead a more passionate, full and delightful life than that, we must realize that we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is.

If we’re committed to comfort at any cost, as soon as we come up against the least edge of pain, we’re going to run; we’ll never know what’s beyond that particular barrier or wall or fearful thing.”

That is why I love to travel. There is always the element of the unknown, no guarantee of comfort, flights get cancelled or changed at the last minute, other people’s schedules get altered – anything can happen, no matter how carefully we plan our itinerary. Travelling always walks hand in hand with the Unknown.

I actually enjoy airports, the plastic food boxes, the hum of the engines, the movies and even the awkwardness of the neck pillow! In fact, the beginning of a journey is a bit like visiting a theatre or cinema – the time of waiting before the curtain goes up. At some level, of course, life is like a movie, especially when travelling!

Usually one of the first to arrive at the check-in counter, I happily spend my time wandering around, browsing in the book stores, making up stories in my mind about fellow travellers and taking that last minute pee before boarding. I love the sense of movement, the excitement of arrival, the vast, beyond-imagined distances glimpsed from a window in the sky.

I was writing this article whilst sitting in the kitchen-dining room of a film producer’s house in Beverly Hills. My youngest son Dickon, and daughter-in-law Dominique also lived there and lovingly took care of me in the lap of luxury for a couple of weeks. I saw the best of Los Angeles – beautiful houses, green gardens, winding, hilly roads, blue skies and not too much smog. After a hectic year, here was rest, relaxation, loving company and many movies to watch in the comfort and shelter from the dark side of this city. Vaguely surprised to find myself there, I felt huge delight at the ease and luxury being offered. I would have no trouble at all living like that for the rest of my life!

During that visit I took a trip to SantaFe to visit an old and very dear friend. It certainly is a beautiful and unusual place, isolated in the desert and surrounded by mountains. Holy country I would say. The surrounding desert is a meditator’s dream, and the city itself is full of exquisite paintings, silverwork, rugs and sculptures. There is also some wonderful clothes shopping to be had!

It has a varied community of artists, artisans, rug weavers and dream weavers – rich and poor. The faces are a mixture of East and West, Indian and Hispanic as well as Anglo Saxon. Nearly all the architecture, new and old, is in true adobe style. This gives the city, although beautiful and unusual, a slight air of unreality, like a film set.

We went out into the high desert to visit a mutual friend, at that time living many thousand metres above sea level, in rarified air. His home was in a sectioned off part of a huge barn – a really cosy studio apartment with all mod cons in the middle of nowhere! Here were miles and miles of scrub and desert surrounded by distant mountains on all sides. He lived there with his dog, his nearest neighbour a mile away. I felt the sky huge and vast, the air pristine with enormous space around me. I loved it and would like to live like that.

What is it about space? Freedom, vastness, unknowingness, challenge, intense beauty – all these things I think. It also epitomises for me part of the seduction of travelling.

The main purpose of my visit to LA was to spend time with my children. I did not know that, whilst I was in Santa Fe, Dominique would miscarry with their first child. My first grandchild. I have rarely felt so helpless. I wanted to be with both of them, they felt so far away. When we did meet a little later however, there was immense gratitude – and some wonder, that I was at least on the same continent and able, within a few days, to be there as comfort and also as witness to the grace, gentleness and love with which they let this baby go. Their willingness to grieve openly, and share their grief with me was a gift I could not possibly have foreseen.

My whole life has been a journey. A great deal of it a conscious one. This journey has often offered me the choice between safety and comfort or the unknown and potential pain. I am lucky, so lucky, that I have rarely chosen to run or to hide. I think that Pema Chodron’s words are true. So often the temptation is to hide, when we see conflict, even joy or unknown experience looming ahead.

I would like to repeat the last part of her quote:

“If we’re committed to comfort at any cost, as soon as we come up against the least edge of pain, we’re going to run; we’ll never know what’s beyond that particular barrier or wall or fearful thing.”

My son and his wife, in their own, unique, differing ways chose not to run. This enabled them to let go of their grief with the same grace they let go of the baby. They faced their grief and disappointment openly, at some level each more concerned for the other than themselves . . .. When this much wanted child finally arrives to start its own journey he, or she will have chosen its parents wisely.

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There is a sweet and poignant addendum to this story. After a while, these two young people had to face the loss of another baby. Later and with equal grace they made the decision to adopt a child. In 2002 and much earlier than expected, they received the gift of a very tiny, five-day old African-American baby boy whom they named Bruno. And, I had my first grandson. They had the wisdom to choose the unknown.

And yes, their little son also chose wisely!