Yesterday, as everyone was, for the first and thus far only time, furiously typing away on the Chromebook, assembling each part of the personal conclusion Yak, I was reflecting. I’d just written my part – a long and rather overly wordy pseudo-philosophical ramble composed of recalled memories and thoughts about “what I learned” and “what Morocco taught me”- when I looked out the window at the ocean.
Yesterday, we talked about being “present.” About giving up the obsession with the future and fixation on the past, relinquishing those things and acknowledging them as both extension of the current moment, not things to be looked at as independent of the present. So I thought that maybe then it would be cool – a neat idea – if I wrote about the present, about the place we are in. Describe the noise and the purple and red flowers growing up from the front entrance and onto the terrace, sit and feel the flies and bees land on my skin, the slide of my bear feet against the tile floor and the pounding of the winter sun against me.
The beach down below is made of hard, flat sand and the clouds out on the edge of the horizon always block out the full sunset and is littered with beach chairs that you have to pay 80 dirhams to use (About 8 dollars USD.) Surfers jog down from the European-owned overpriced board rental shop/overpriced cafe & restaurant -to the water, where the waves rise and fall, ebbing southward. The smell of salt and rainy-air (You know the smell) permeate every breath, and the noise of the ocean carries into even my windowless room in the center of the Dar. The call of the little brown and black birds that cling to the powerlines carrying their way across town, and the mewl of the cats of Sidi Khaouki accompany you even as you close in on the roar of the Atlantic waters.
I don’t know if there’s any meaning to that – if it’s some sort of deeper reflection or just a pretentious ramble. Something about mindfulness and presentness and all that.