[claire]The view from here

[Mark Holmes]

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Hi everyone,

All three of us have had a very peaceful night, and it's a blessing all 
around.  There's a peaceful quiet that has settled over room #1 in the 
Dwaraka building where Tara has spent much of her recent time.  Today 
is our 5-week anniversary, and it literally feels like lifetimes.  
Remind me to tell you about it sometime over a meal, or glass of wine, 
or prassad, or just a friendly chat and smile.  As you know Tara is an 
extraordinary woman, and her recent life with cancer is certainly no 
exception.

Below is a picture I've just taken that I can guarantee will not win 
any photo contests, but then that really isn't the point.  If I were to 
step about 3 feet to the right you would see Tara sleeping peacefully 
on her bed, and Clare sleeping beside her on the floor (I offered her 
the other bed, but either some English martyr streak or her recent 
experiences sleeping on the floor in Malaysia told her to go low).  All 
3 slept in the same room last night, and it was lovely.   This is 
actually a long-exposure shot, as it's fairly dark out, and the world 
is slowly awakening from it's slumber.  I can hear the soft sounds of a 
hindu temple below the hill carried gently up to us on the slowly 
stirring morning air; their 5am music has been the single most 
consistent thing about our time here, and it's poignancy is not wasted 
on me this time.  One of the semi-adopted ashram cats just tried to 
walk past my door into Tara's room, and I chased her away so she 
wouldn't wake anyone up.  She's got 3 beautiful kittens that she's 
trying to feed, so I'm not surprised she's prowling about this morning. 
  Life goes on.

I realize as I write this that a huge weight is starting to lift here, 
and something deeper, lighter, and more timeless is settling in.  It is 
very sad, but also lovely and in some way just right.  It is what is 
correct in this time and in this place, and there is no need to 
question it.  Some of the tremendous difficulty and uncertainty of the 
last few weeks is dissolving, and there is peace at this moment.

In the photo you can see the cane chair where Tara spent so much of her 
early days here just mere weeks ago.  Behind that you can see coconuts 
piled up; we kept a well-supplied stock and fed her as much tender 
water and flesh as she could eat (tender coconut is one of the most 
delicious and satisfying things around).  There's also a mop that has 
been used quite recently in the middle of the night; and an extra 
mattress pad lies in the foreground, left over from a recent one-time 
excursion out to the porch.  Just behind the railing you can see a 
banana tree, and I've watched it's spiral bunch of bananas grow rapidly 
during our stay.  As quickly as they're growing, I honestly don't know 
if we will be here to enjoy their harvest.

And so my thoughts are simply about this snapshot in time, this still 
point, this eye of the proverbial storm this very morning.  There is 
peace right now, and I am savoring it with a little bit of shock, a lot 
of sadness, and no small measure of awe and wonder.  I have no idea 
what this day will be like; Tara continues to teach us that there are 
no guarantees, and that your life is this moment, not the next.  "Just 
keep swimming" said Clare last night, quoting Nemo.

I'm going to try to get a little more sleep before this next day in 
this adventure begins.  May your own snapshots contain mops and 
coconuts in great quantity, and no small measure of peace and beauty.

More soon.

Much love,

Mark