Stuck in the Mud

Like the Essaouira seagulls that hover in the night sky above the sea I am seemingly still; surrounded by sand dunes and a watercolour sky I’m hovering in a Moroccan dream. Today I woke up out of a 2-week mental trap; being ill calmed my body down but as my energy began to rise up again, my mind stayed down. I was locked into the routine of doing nothing. The idea of exercise, getting in the sea or seeing people felt draining and the thought of lying in the sun and eating food, a far better option. I felt the lack of movement in my body begin to slow down my mind and my inner critic began to raise its voice. I was planning the next place I needed to be: a healing retreat, a house by the sea or in the countryside maybe? Anywhere else. Escapism is a funny thing; the more I travel the more I learn that no matter how far you go you can never escape your mind. Those old patterns that we all carry around and sometimes try to run away from always rear their heads eventually. So I indulged in this self-pity for a time – finding new ways to excuse my lack of movement and eating my feelings.
And then yesterday I broke the loop; my alarm rang at 8.30am for the yoga class I was expecting to teach, the first morning class I’d had in a while. My mind was half awake and hazy on 5 hours sleep after D’s birthday sesh the night before; my eyes were tired but my body was burning for action so I got up and walked to the riad where I was teaching. As I reached the door I looked at my phone and my client had sent me a message, cancelling last minute; instead of listening to my mind and sinking back into bed I walked to the beach, dropped my bag off at my surf school and ran. I ran away from the feeling that had me stuck in my muddled mind but it remained with me all the way. I’d look at my incredible surroundings – the motionless sea to my right and the untouched sand dunes to my left. I felt like I was running along the lines of an unseen painting leaving my fading trace behind me.
But despite its beauty the anger in my mind took me away from that scene; for an hour I played a mental game of trying to see how long I could remain concentrated on my surroundings without engaging in another negative thought - how long I could remain present for. I’d last seconds before my mind would loop on the muddled mess I had created.

As I ran passed the simple fishing hits on the side of the dunes my mind began to clear. I was noticing the ridges in the sand now and the abstract stones beneath my feet with their unique patterns - a Moroccan mosaic in the sand. I had been setting goals for myself as I went like ‘run until you get to the end of the bay’ and then I’d reach ‘the end’ and look ahead at the infinite stretch of coast that wound into the mist – an endless task. My feet ached and I suddenly felt thirsty, 1.5 hours away from the surf school with no water. Whatever I was running from had passed and there was no flag at the end of the race. I stopped and stretched out – sitting cross-legged in the middle of a deserted beach with flat sand and scattered seagulls stretched as far as the eye could see. I closed my eyes, turned inwards and breathed. I’d woken up my dormant mind.
The run back felt longer than expected and the next morning my legs were not happy; but they’re no longer stuck in the mud and my mind seems to have found its escape. So now having found my balance I hover like the seagulls as though held by strings, a puppet to the wind.