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May 31, 2015

Earthquake Yoga: Stretching from Nepal to Denmark.

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Earthquakes are a great time for foaming cappuccinos in brightly colored porcelain cups. Or a few sun salutations in perfectly manicured gardens filled with spring crocuses. Or sitting around in leather chairs with little to do but enjoy your fresh, organic breakfast while listening to Michael Bublé.

But when gratitude is mixed with guilt, earthquakes are also a great time for confusion, nightmares and shame. The privilege to reflect on these feelings in leisure and the ability to question these gifts of comfort is one I am well aware of, yet surely still take for granted.

Before the great earthquake and a thousand aftershocks hit Nepal, my home in Kathmandu was comfortable, yet certainly simple. Being an upper middle class North American university graduate who takes pleasure in the small enjoyments of composting and recycling, buying stylish clothing secondhand and conserving energy by riding my bicycle and turning off the lights, I got quite the ego kick out of how resourcefully I was living in Kathmandu and how “environmentally friendly” my life was here.

After the earthquake, things got even “simpler.” I was able to softly explain to family back home that I was sleeping in a tent in an open field. I could tilt my head and tell them at least I was lucky enough to have a shelter.

I had been planning to go to Denmark on May 2nd to visit my grandmother, but postponed my trip after the quake. I enjoyed the feeling that I was staying in Nepal to help. I felt a connection to the place and thought I could make a difference. And for a brief time, I worked somewhat tirelessly and relaxed into the idea that I was doing what I could in the moment, with little time to stop and think about what I should do. But after a week of relief work and fundraising, I packed up my barely damaged apartment and headed to Denmark.

One could certainly make the argument that Denmark is a tad bit different from your average Kathmandu neighborhood. The country is an orderly place in general, but the town my grandmother comes from is especially so. The city uses tax money to create beautifully paved bicycle paths that run through green and yellow fields. A pothole in the road is cause for conversation and complaint at your next family gathering, and the neighbor’s cat who pooped in your garden is reported to the district headquarters. But when I arrived here hoping to find some space to heal and reflect on the destruction I had witnessed in Nepal, I only found a feeling of uselessness or guilt, as well as a great deal of spare time to revel in those feelings.

Now, instead of being caught in a fast-paced and chaotic environment where everything happens a mile a minute, I find myself in a place where I have little time not to think and yet am unable to find any way to be useful. All I can do is think about friends and neighbors in Nepal who are still sleeping outside in shelters and wonder if their children are still getting sick from all the rain. I think about the students I taught and hope they still think that cooking ramen noodles over a bonfire every night is cozy. I even have dreams about the dogs who lived on my street and hope that someone is still delivering plastic bags of leftover rice to them. I have to remind myself that while I sit here writing about how I feel and what I think “after” the earthquake, in Nepal, the earthquake is ongoing.

For the average person who’s a little too self-involved, so much free time is most often a curse. I find myself feeling guilty over the amount of leisure I have and the time I spend not helping Nepal in some way. Other times, I feel guilty for feeling guilty and not appreciating everything that I didn’t lose. Some mornings, I wake up and am terrified to read the news, not wanting to face what new aftershocks have come. Then alternatively, I wake up feeling motivated to be involved, whether through checking reports or writing them. There are family dinners where I know that the gory details I have to share are the best bits of gossip from that day and there are other dinners where I sit in silence, unwilling to speak, and feel nothing but sadness. Moments come when I play the victim card, where I’m able to feel sorry for myself and know that others see me now as being wounded. But then I second guess the role-playing and wonder: “Am I actually wounded?”.

I was hoping to conclude with some words of wisdom as to how your average expat should act or feel upon embarking from Nepal in a state of devastating destruction. I would’ve loved to write a kind of “Idiot’s Guide” to overcoming feelings of abandonment and guilt both for my sake and for the sake of the many friends of mine in the same position. But I’m at a loss. I know my guilt takes its form in a type of self-hatred and that my ego is deliciously fueled by these thoughts. I also know that this is certainly not a time for me to indulge in my own actions or lack of action, while others who work tirelessly don’t even have the time to stop for a drink of water or perhaps don’t even have access to it. Yet I also can’t dismiss my own thoughts and hope that some order will come out of allowing them to arise. Perhaps I can slowly learn not to judge them so harshly and a clarity will begin to reveal itself. Or perhaps my hopes are too high.

The only thing that is clear, as evidenced by my constantly chaotic dreams, my inability to relax in my current environment and my total fear of returning to Kathmandu is this: my thoughts are in a million places at once and my mind is working overdrive.

Entirely unsure of what should or shouldn’t be done, for now I’m staying still and hoping that my mind will follow.

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Relephant:

Urgent: Here’s How We Can Help Nepal Right Now.

A Guided Tonglen Meditation for Nepal.

The Silver Lining to Suffering: Post-traumatic Growth. ~ Suzy Reading

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Author: Kristine Downing

Editor: Evan Yerburgh

Photo: courtesy of the author

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