Monday, September 25, 2017

Tropical commune as a gateway to deeper self-inquiry

This morning felt like a treat. I arrived at my English class nearly half hour earlier to find it still deserted. I sat down with my freshly roasted coffee (an occasional treat in itself) and inhaled in the peace and quiet. I nearly forgot what it felt like not to be talked to, let alone finding myself alone in a room!
My commune living is one of a kind. It seems like a hostel, but it's a couple of level upscale. Including me, there are currently four women living upstairs (normally six), two people living downstairs (normally four), and seven more people sleeping in nearby cottages or caravans, yet using the same kitchen and bathroom facilities. Yesterday I was told that a new couple was coming to stay upstairs and a new girl downstairs.
It's time to move.

While jumping up and down on my carseat over each bump on the red dirt road leading north of Litchfield National Park, and listening to some old-school rock tracks in the company of two lads and my roomie, I felt so much appreciation for my decision to move into the 'Tropical Paradise' community. 
I found new friends.
But at the same time I challenged myself, which led to growth. Old childhood trauma surfaced - feeling as a black sheep of the family, thinking I probably wasn't being accepted, and having my sleep disturbed by some noisy housemates. 

One evening, on my way home from the bus stop, I caught myself brooding over the aversion to coming back to the ever-eventful house and a female housemate in her fifties who just wouldn't shut up. Karen's only entertainment was the house with all its young 'backpackers'. 
I realised that an underlying fear of not being a good fit for that open-minded, open-hearted family was the cause of my funny mood. I had no need to socialize every day and I didn't want to force myself. But what if that could have been accepted? What if my new family knew about my introvercy and accepted it regardless? 
What if I was enough?
That night I told Karen to please give me some privacy. I told her I liked sharing, but I also needed some alone time to just recharge. She got it, and she left me at peace. A couple of days later she said she really appreacited my straightforwardness. Then we got talking and we both admitted to having been running all our lives, feeling trapped or not accepted for who we were.
My confession, therefore, had the opposite effect - she started liking me more, and motherly checking up on me more frequently...

Anyway, all the youngsters mingling in and around the house are such a cool bunch of people!
Yesterday Larisa and her mates organized a trip to Litchfield and generously invited me along. On the road trip I met all of her British friends from a previous hostel and to my surprise, no special skill was needed to fit in - except for jumping off cliffs and singing along rock songs.
Swimming with this bunch of beautiful souls felt like the highlight of my Australian adventure. Before meeting those Brits, I was unconsciously entertaining classic bitter single woman's thoughts: "Men are closed-off, feelingless, uncaring assholes just after sex and binge-drinking." Ok, I'm sorry for this dogma tripping, it happens to the best of us.

Perhaps it's only Karen's constant surveillance that bothers me about the commune living, nothing else. I shall ask myself - why does it do my head in so much? Maybe it's because I think "I'm 30 for fuck sake, I can cook my own dinner."
When will I unblock the stuck energy from the time when my mother pestered me around? That discomfort remains, yet no immediate threat lurks around. 
So, when will the stubborn child in me dare to grow up?!

Sending my love from Darwin

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