Flood

I am distraught about how close my arrival and settlement were to the floods in Valencia. How, on Monday, 28th of October, I was in Masanassa picking up my rental, sitting in a car inside a lift, taking me into a garage underground and towards the street afterwards to drive home. Twenty-four hours later, that garage was flooded, and all the cars in the vicinity were either trapped below ground or destroyed and piled up on the roads nearby, maybe with people trapped inside them. A similar story was told in many towns along the south of Valencia, and it all felt too close and too surreal to make sense of. The family were volunteering in Alfafar, and friends could not commute to work and take their children to the school in Paterna. Yet we remained unaffected, our homes and livelihoods intact despite the emotional shock that a disaster of such scale brings to those who witness it. Amidst all these, I am enjoying the ups and downs of my sabbatical, studying, philosophising and developing a deeper spiritual connection with the world around me. It feels so middle class, so superficial and vane to sit down to meditate when, around me, thousands have lost everything, including their or their loved ones' lives. And yet, the only thing I can offer right now is a wish for hope and peace. I can gain perspective, relativise my "sorrows", and be grateful for the opportunity of transformation unfolding within and around me. Maybe I will find a way to be helpful in a more practical way once I feel a bit more settled in my new environment, perhaps I can join the volunteer network and do something useful because you cannot help but think how those living with the smell of death around them will receive your wishes for hope and peace. It makes you wonder what all this philosophising is for. How does it really help? Those questions plague me through the winter of participatory enquiry, which does not feel so mild regarding my psychological unfolding. I have the privilege of waking up each morning, walking on the beach, and having meditative experiences afterwards. I feel highly connected to the sea and, here, seem to be able to really connect with it with what feels like a deep spiritual presence. But there are so many layers in front of that far-away, unattainable, peaceful, unattached beauty. There is physical pain from the practicalities of moving home and missing the comfort and security left behind. Emotional pain that may or may not be reflected in those body sensations: fear, uncontrollable anger, guilt and shame for the self-centredness that accompanies my path and the frustration of not being of use in a disastrous situation. Is this goodwill or ego, I wonder? There is also an almost magical energy that gets my attention while I sit in awareness of my pain, thoughts and emotions, a movement of colour and light, in and out of my vicinity, in my body outside it, everywhere. And far, far away, that sense of stillness, of just there. It is comforting but does not seem to have any meaning without all the layers that precede it and the need to do something useful right here.