After taking the ferry, I drove up a hill and from there I was treated to one of the most stunning views I’ve ever seen! It was truly marvelous and as the sun began to set, the colors changed by the minute. From the hill, I could see the Turtle Beach, the vast river delta with its reeds and lake-like waters, the rolling hills, and the large lake and mountains in the distance. It was a breathtaking sight!
When I arrived at my new home on that hill, I was pleased to see Isa and Arne were there too. We parked our vehicles next to each other, and the following day another couple of travelers joined us. They were traveling in their UAZ Buchanka, named Olga. I have a fondness for these charming Russian off-road vans. When I had been researching and comparing vehicles to live in, I came across the Buchankas and thought they would be a good option due to their reasonable price tag. However, after learning about the maintenance and repair demands, I gained a great deal of respect for these cute vehicles. It seemed that the internet was correct about their demanding nature. Especially Martin had an strong relationship with Olga and had become her designated mechanic. Although they had bought Olga as a new car, I got the impression that they had already gone through the process of fixing every part of her at least once.
The others eventually left and I spent another day taking in the beautiful view. One day, an elderly local man came by. He couldn’t speak English or German and communicating through Google Translate was not very effective, so we communicated through gestures and facial expressions. It was fun. I figured out that his old-fashioned phone needed to be charged, so I plugged it into Rosinante. We chatted and had tea and nuts. It turned out that the man had accidentally turned on the airplane mode of his phone and didn’t know how to turn it off. It was like a puzzle game. I used Google Translate’s photo mode to translate the phone’s interface and after getting lost in its complicated menu structure for a couple of times, his phone was back online and he got about 50 new sms.
I then went on a beautiful hike at Butterfly Valley. After that, I visited a remote and secluded cove. The place was stunning during sunsets, truly magical. With the presence of trees and many rocks and stones, it was the perfect spot for relaxing in my beloved hammock.
A few days later, I continued on my journey towards Cyprus and stumbled upon a vast sandy beach that stretched for kilometers. During a leisurely walk, I met Danny and his gorgeous dog. The following day, we had a long and in-depth conversation about love, humanity, life and the universe. It was enjoyable, intriguing, and a little crazy. I noticed that conversations tend to become a bit crazy when delving into topics like universal energies and the indescribable.
Danny added me to a Telegram group where people gathered to exchange information about traveling from Turkey to India. I found it fascinating that some of this information seemed impossible to find through a simple Google search. The further east I would come, the more uncertain things like border crossings and visa regulations would be. These things seemed to depend on constantly changing factors like political situations, making up-to-date individual experiences increasingly important.
Rosinante was parked at a beautiful spot on that vast sandy beach, slightly elevated with a good view of the wide, wide beach. One day, with the arrival of a massive thunderstorm everything changed. It brought wind gusts of 80 km/h, rain, hail, and a rough sea to the beach, more and more reducing the once wide beach. Living in Rosinante during the storm felt like being on a spaceship in the midst of a solar storm once again.
After spending three weeks at the stunning beach on the Marmaris peninsula in Turkey, I was conflicted about whether to stay or go. On one hand, I was eager to embark on new adventures, but on the other, I felt like leaving would be like avoiding something. There was an intangible sense that something remained “on that beach” for me to discover or let go. Although I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was, I felt that staying was the right thing to do.
Before heading to the Beglika festival in Bulgaria, I had a conversation about fasting with that lovely German family I met at the big lake. I had been curious about fasting for some time and that conversation and its longstanding cultural significance made me even more curious. During my time living on the first beach with Artha, I had experienced how eating less and changing my diet heightened my body awareness. I had felt more attuned to physical sensations and since then I was eating even healthier than before.
A couple of months ago, my attitude towards eating had shifted. It became more significant to me and I often found myself eagerly anticipating my next meal. At times, it felt like a craving. It may have been due to boredom or a lack of structure in my daily life. I began to ponder what it would be like to not eat. So I decided to try fasting for the first time in my life. My plan was to fast for three days and observe the changes in my perspective on eating.
Shortly before the start of my fasting, Artha told me that her life at the ashram was very intense and that she felt like changing every day. Although she still felt that deep and unconditional love between us, she felt her romantic love for me fading day by day. My heart skipped a beat. Was this what was left on that beach for me to let go? I had no doubt of that deep unconditional love and connection between us and I think that this made me feel very different about this change of our connection than I had felt in situations like that in the past. I did not feel anger, despair or fear, I was not deeply sad or depressed. I did feel that I was losing something and I felt passive. Leaving Bulgaria and Artha, Artha going to the ashram. All of that had changed our connection. But our connection had been changing all the time even when we had been together in Bulgaria.
I still felt that romantic love for Artha. If a fairy would have come by, I would have asked her to bring Artha to that beach. But I didn’t feel like my happiness was depending on her. A sense of freedom joined my feelings of loss. It was not a freedom from Artha but rather a liberation from a part of myself. The part that altered my being by clinging to and trying to preserve our romantic love, no matter what. That made me realize how strong this influence on me had been.
A part of me wondered if it was okay to not feel deeply sad, depressed, or angry about Artha severing our romantic connection from her side. Could our love have never been as strong as I thought it was? Was it all just a fantasy or a dream? How could I not feel sad and depressed about losing it and not be upset and angry with the one who took it?
These feelings and thoughts reminded me of the emotions I had experienced after the death of my parents and grandparents. I had been deeply sad and overwhelmed with grief. It felt like losing them meant losing everything. My life and myself. It was all-consuming. As time went by, I realized that even though we wouldn’t be able to see or feel each other in the way we used to, we would always be connected through love and memories. This realization had helped me a lot to let go of that all-consuming sadness and despair.
Back then, I had thought about whether it would be okay to stop being sad. I thought how could someone stop being sad about losing something that one loves so much? Wouldn’t that be wrong? Wouldn’t that be a betrayal of that love? Back then in Germany and now at that beach in Turkey, I deeply realized that being not sad, not depressed, not angry and not mad was perfectly fine and would not diminish any love I was feeling at all. I still wanted Artha to be happy and live the life she wanted to live at every moment. And for myself I still wanted the same. And as I would like to meet all people, when we see each other again, I will be open to everything there will be between us.
I was at peace with my feelings and thoughts, but there was still a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite shake. I felt that the opportunity to let go of this thing was within reach. To focus on it I decided that I would spend my three days of fasting with only meditating, slow walking and yoga, reading the Bankei lectures and sleeping.
The first day of my fasting started and I was feeling very good, calm and curious about what was up to come. I had no plan or structure for these days. I was just doing whatever came up and I did not much think about it. I did a lot of meditating and I never started a timer while doing so. I just sat down and started. When I felt like l laying down, I laid down. When I felt like walking or sitting again, I did that. When I felt hunger arise, I observed that and most of the time, I drank a tea. And I spent a whole lot of time just perceiving the beauty of nature. Doing that for more than some minutes was a pretty new thing for me and it felt wonderful and fulfilling.
At some point I got the impression, that it would not only be possible to trust my pure being (like I had described in the previous post), but that I could really do it. These upcoming thoughts in my mind felt not only less important, they felt obsolete. The commenting voice inside of my head felt like being a commentator of a live game. It was like this commentator told me what was going on and offered topics to think about, but all of that was already known inside of me. Several times I caught myself giggling about how weird that felt.
I started to think about if there were any necessary thoughts. I still don’t know but back then it felt like these arbitrarily arising thoughts that seemed to deliver only things that were already known were of no real use. But I felt like in contrast to these thoughts, the activity of pure thinking was useful. And this pure action of thinking felt much smoother now. Letting go of arising thoughts felt so easy and natural. It felt like my inner commentator had been used to mostly comment something like “hi upcoming thought, I let go of you” or “oh nice, I let go of that upcoming thought” when letting go of thoughts. Now he was mostly silent. The submerging of thoughts felt like a light was dimming itself down.
Since I had started meditating about six years ago, I had often been longing for the end of a meditation session. Although I did not skip one day of meditating for more than a year, it was not unusual that I had to push myself to start a session. And while meditating, thoughts about quitting a session in early had been not unusual as well. All of this had changed during the time of my fasting. Meditating felt like kind of just having a good time. No part of me questioned that.
Not eating, no phone or iPad didn’t feel bad for those three days. In fact, everything felt very good for that short time. Everything felt very good, light and free. Especially my experiences regarding the unimportance of my inner commentator, the ease of letting go of arbitrarily arising thoughts and the ease of meditating felt super good. They felt so good that from my perspective, as I’m writing this four weeks later, it feels like I was at least partly “high on them” and “high on myself” for being able to experience them. Maybe those experiences and the way I clung to them were the things waiting for me to let go off on that beach.
But in the end it doesn’t matter. I’m happy for the experiences I made and I loved and still love my time at that beach. Everything of it. And I’m very thankful for that.
