One of the more appealing side affects of coming so beautifully back into the world- yogi blitzed and pretty regularly blissed out on breath awareness and meditation- is that I have discovered this passion for language. But not just my own native language; and not just the Sanskrit of my practice, which is, needless to actually say, ancient, perfect, and austere- but Italian (ha, of all the choices...), and French, and Maori.
These languages are potent. They are delicious. They are like ice cream to me. Italian is sharp yet rolling- like bitter, dark coffee. French, sophisticated, lilting French, is like caramel- creamy and sweet. But Maori. Maori is exotic and traditional all in one- it is unlike any other taste in my mouth. I wish I knew more of all of these languages. I wish I could eat them all at once, digest them, and wake up speaking all three fluently. Once upon a time I could speak French rather fluently. But that was once upon a long long time ago.
And what this linguistic buffet has caused me to do is continue on my travelling bender. I want to go and go and go.
So now it is open season for suggestions- for votes.
A tour of the Mediterranean (of course starting in Belgium with my perfect Tante Annette)? Or perhaps working my way South of the Border in the vineyards of Argentina and Chile? Back to New Zealand? For more study and more Maori?
My manuhiri, mes amis, Amicos,
HELP!
Until next time. Love and happiness and happy thoughts.
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