It was the deep winter of 2008 and once again my soul was stirring and restless. Spiritual and ethical dimensions of Leadership weighed heavily on my mind, my Machine (physical body) was not well tuned and my support systems were out of synch with my Intentions. Deepak Chopra or Deepak Okra, as my friend Bill Kirkland refers to him, made a salient remark, something to the effect that successful people are those who are able to “access their choices at a deeper level of awareness and align themselves with the Infinite intelligence of the Universe.” Yeah, that sounds like a fine way of conducting my business in 2009. This was to be the final year of a seven-year cycle. The spiritual sect know what this means on a cellular and celestially level.
My BFF living in the city of Lost Angels and fellow Bisonette “auntie Monica”, and I had original travel plans for a late winter, early spring to venture to Northern Europe; Luxembourg, Amsterdam and Paris to visit and support a Moroccan friend’s bodybuilding competition efforts. That winter, I learned “Inshallah” was more than an ode to God that his will be done. Sometimes it refers to the speaker’s level of effort surrounding any event and excuses them from applying their “best” effort by inserting this single yet, profound word. Cultural lessons had begun.
Weeks passed and there was no definitive movement on the original invitation to N. Europe. No worries, one of my mottos “one monkey never stops the show” in my theatre of life. Timing, that trip wasn’t meant to be. His sister, and my long time good friend, mentioned she would make the pilgrimage home to Rabat in late March with her then 4 yr old son. In an instant I was invited. “Auntie” Monica and my 4yr old would come along for the ride; well many years ago the doors were open and I never walked thru. This year, at this time, the spirit (The Force) whispered, “go.”
As I think back, it was all very casual as if we were meeting up in Ocean City, MD for a weekend, not traveling across the Atlantic via Paris to Mother Africa- lol. This was to be “auntie” Monica’s 1st overseas trip and Yasin’s 1st trek to Europe and Africa. I felt it time to break him into his mother’s natural state of being- International Ambassador of light and love, sprinkling Fairy dust around the globe; bound by none, allegiance only to the Divine Architect, time for a passport young Jedi.
I needed to relieve the pressure in a serious way. www.Shaktimindbodystudio.com was rounding out year two and there was a lot of strange in the atmosphere. My Machine was playing tricks on me, and only the power of my Will kept all the wheels spinning. Confusion and discontent were the Order of my daily existence. There was no one in my immediate surrounding who could materially relate to my unique set of issues- no mirrors-NO ONE. Thus far, the portrait of my life had been painted with one-off brushes that were no longer being sold. Which means I needed to fan out…. I had painted myself into a lovely, but lonely corner. “Auntie” Monica was a very empathic soul sister and the spirit (The Force) told me to bring her along, for I would require her strength, grace and patience to fully appreciate this adventure. Mama needed a get away or psychiatric evaluation would soon be required.
Smooth sailing from JFK International connecting thru Charles deGaule into Rabat International, my wee Jedi impressed me with this cooperation and endurance. I purposely chose to break up the journey with a Paris layover as the idea of 10hrs direct w/ a 4yr old made my head spin. The sun greeted us as we disembarked from the plane directly onto the tarmac; counter to our jet walks here in the U.S.A. my Yaya loved this little difference. At customs the questions about parentage, “is his father Moroccan, where is his father, are you Muslim?” Hmmmm, odd line of questioning, been around the world, never encountered this type of inquisition, I laughed inside my head. Jedi “mind trick” moment let us pass. We were greeted by our friend from N. Europe, his son and nephew, it was then I learned everyone converged back home for a family wedding- Bingo, Jackpot- yeah baby- an authentic Moroccan wedding, Timing- woohoo!
I must say Rabat was nothing like I had anticipated. Well I did just about no research, but had visions of Egypt in my head- not! What a gorgeous and modern yet historical place. Not infant historical like Wash, DC,- monuments and Georgetown, but ancient historical like, The Medina Fortresses, tales of Hannibal, The Royal Palace. It became quickly obvious that Rabat is like the Wash, DC of Morocco in one respect, that is where the power lives- banking and legislation. I was anticipating heavy pockets of poverty in every neighborhood, but couldn’t keep track of the number of BMWs, Audis and sidewalk café’s along the road. Shopping like that in the West, Steve Madden, Zahra’s, and Benetton etc… yeah this place has swagger. Where are the shoeless children for whom we brought toys, clothing items and school supplies?
Day one, we ventured out to the sea with the children, it reminded me of California, the greenery, mountains and ocean all in one local, so not what I had anticipated. A bit tired from a restless night at the Soundress hotel. Oye! We wanted to stay close to the family condo, which was located in a part of town reminisence of S. Beach, Florida without the beach, but again “Inshallah” was taken to a whole new level when it came to the service. It was the antithesis of the Oberio, leaving much to be desired. Interesting how requests directly from “auntie” Monica or myself were largely ignored, but when passed thru our male hosts- they were attended to without haste, hmmmmm. Thanks be to God for our close proximity to my dear friends brothers.
As expected, the wedding was off the hook! The percussions of the band, dancing, chanting… the food, beyond fresh and organic! Pickled veggie’s, Tangine’s of poulet, almonds, saffron and noodles, couscous- Baklava! Like in India, I truly enjoyed hanging back checking all the ornate and colorful Sahri’s, here they were Kaftans, hand beaded and crafted for the individual. The bride glowed brighter with every change of costume, western and traditional.
Each day held a new adventure for the marauding American’s. Language was a particular issue, as we were not staying in the traditional tourist areas. Even though the Soundress hotel was a test of our western patience on every level, we stayed with the locals and that meant just about no English being spoken. Arabic and French or bust- Oye! Unlike France the Moroccans were much more patient and forgiving of our “handicap” and willing to help. Their openness gave me courage to practice my rusty French without harsh critique or judgments. I was on a new round of medications for my thyroid condition and it was heavily affecting my ability to think clearly and quickly, so their patience was appreciated beyond “merci beaucoup.”
My dear friend and hostess was home to visit with family and also reconnect with old friends, which left many instances for “auntie” Monica and I to roam. Many times we were “escorted” by a male family member or friend. Family ties are preserved here. I felt protected, but not smothered. This has a lot to do with the fact that our host family members have struck a well-calibrated balance between eastern and western values. They all live and work in the West and were educated at the Royal schools with the King’s relations, groomed to be International citizens.
It was Good Friday. Not so good for this Shaktimama. My new med’s had me in a tailspin. The jet lag hit me, the text messages about issues and problems to solve at home continued to dog me and I was at the breaking point. My “family” mounted up to give me room to breath by taking “auntie”Monica and Yaya for the day. Alone in my room I cried, called my Oracle in Pasadena, California and rested. I instinctively knew that the new Pharmaceuticals were “evil” and counterproductive, but I was too afraid to discontinue use while traveling overseas. I prayed for Divine intervention, “Help!” I asked for grounding, my spirit was itching to leave this disorganized body. I was too far from home to break. A few sleeping pills later and some home cooked couscous, brought to my hotel room by the family and more rest I faded into the next day.
My spirit was vibrating low and slow, but we still had another week to go and the next day was Easter. My dear hostess, Fatima, suggested I meet up with her at the local Hamam to recalibrate. I had no idea what this ritual entailed, although her eldest brother had fantastic paintings reflecting this ancient ritual throughout his condo. I first ventured over to the family condo that am. Now, mama Aicha and I had been introduced, yet communication was a bust- she no English, me no Arabic and only elementary French. I had arrived at an auspicious time of the day.
Fatima had already gone for her appointment and the family assistant was going to escort me over to the Hamam to meet her. Before leaving, Mama Aicha motioned for me to meet her in her bedroom. She pointed to the prayer rug facing east, gave me a head wrap and with her luminous brown eyes, instructed my restless spirit to bow and pray. Wow, I had been married into a Muslim family for well into 5 years at the time, and none had ever invited me to pray w/ them. This was the grounding that my soul yearned for. I sat in Vkrasana (heroes pose), palms up (receptive) and quieted my mind in meditation. She was a stranger in a foreign land who brought me back to the actual. Balasana (child’s pose) and I was calm once again.
Now, the local Hamam was the icing on the cake. In retrospect, I would have not been able to handle this experience had my spirit not been grounded beforehand. I was taken into a small, ceramic tiled room- everywhere beautiful shimmering Moroccan tile work. In the center rested a large marble table. I was instructed to completely disrobe and lay on the table face up. Ok, freaky, but I’ll go with it. For an hour I was washed, scrubbed, rubbed cleansed and renewed by the hands of another. It was the most sensual experience I ever had without the anticipation or expectation of sexual intimacy. As I meditated, during the more vigorous scrubbing portions, my mind ventured back to the tomb drawing in Egypt, that of Anubis washing and performing Reiki over the dead body in preparation for judgment. I laid my burdens down on that marble slab. She washed me, pushed the bolder out of my way and restored my soul.
The following day was Easter, a beautiful day in all respects, and my first time away from home on this holiday. Yasin and I spent the morning doing yoga asana in the park. I could go on… Casablanca, the oil shortage, an afternoon with the Princess & family at her seaside playground, Henna at the Medina, the search for the perfect Riyad, enough for now. I imagine blogs shouldn’t exceed 2000 words- a book yeah, I’m feeling a book- stay tuned Jedi’s.
