Negative attitudes and positive thinking

The river in the early morning mist

Day Four of the 5-day enema programme. 

I was in an angry mood this morning, and I think it started with my camera. A few years ago I bought a high quality Nikon digital SLR as I felt it was time to graduate from my beloved Pentax 35mm. But I find the Nikon infuriating. All its supposed manual options are so complicated to invoke that it is obviously the work of engineers trying to see how much technology they can cram into a camera, rather than the work of enthusiasts producing equipment that will respond with intuitive flexibility. What I hate most is that I now have a creeping sense of senile incompetence. I love photography and in 1965 I was a prizewinner in the Pentax World Photographic competition. I want to shoot more prize-worthy pictures, but technology is defeating me. Most of the photos in this blog have been shot on my Nokia phone because it’s so unobtrusive and convenient. I’m very tempted to sell the SLR and go for something much smaller and with simpler controls. 

We’ll see.

Looking downstream

I spent an hour this morning fumbling with the camera, trying to get the right photo of the river in the early morning mist, then I stomped into breakfast in full a Victor Meldrew Grumpy Old Man mood and sat down with the newspaper at the “Silent Table.” As I mentioned earlier, Ayurveda teaches the importance of meals both in terms of content and in terms of the dining process, as part of the treatment and I studiously avoid the giggling gaggle of loud women (and their male acolytes) who take over part of the dining-room balcony both physically and vocally at every mealtime. They were all there this morning- but I’ll delete the descriptions rather than receive hate-mail in a week or two. So, Botox Brunette, Alpine Technologist and Fearsome Fashionista, you shall all remain anonymous and your idiosyncrasies shall be kept secret.

I sat with the newspaper folded to the Sudoku and fumed silently at all the things that were annoying me about many of the other guests. The critics who insisted that the food on their tray couldn’t possibly be healthy or appropriate to their condition, the self-diagnosers who exchanged their herbal hot water for coffee; the moaners who complained about the bitter medicines, the whingers who couldn’t possibly face the prospect of vomiting as part of the treatment, and the whiners who similarly challenged the need for medicinal enemas. And the beds were too hard, and there was nowhere to sit, and the paths hadn’t been paved properly, and there weren’t any shops, and, and, and... So it went on, waves of discontented discussion that were getting to me and depressing me.

Later, after my morning massage, I had my daily consultation with the doctor who asked the question I didn’t want to hear: 

“So how is your mood today...?”  

I pondered for a moment and then let rip with a passionate denunciaton of my fellow guests. This junior doctor has a charming way of getting to the bottom of things and she smiled warmly. 

“You are right and you are doing fine, and you shouldn’t let them influence you. You are letting their negative energy overwhelm your positivity.”

Simple, obvious and clearly the right answer. She continued, 

“Just go and sit by the river, or write your blog, or read a book. Don’t concern yourself with what other people are doing, focus on your own treatment and your own cure and you’ll be fine.” 

So, duly chastened by her magisterial tone, I put my camera away; I relaxed in the armchair on the verandah, took my laptop and found peace in the pleasure of writing.

What I’ve been learning here has been about all aspects of life, and this new awareness is worth even more than what the experience has been doing to my body. In the doctor’s paraphrased words of wisdom: 

“The world is very negative, and a positive attitude is very vulnerable in a negative world. The slightest whiff of negative energy can throw you off balance. Don’t let it affect you, focus on your own positive thoughts.”

I now remember the controversial advice someone once gave me:

What other people think of you is none of your business.

Equally, I must be consistent and add that what I think of them is my stuff, and totally my own stuff. Except that to accept this would verge on tolerance – which, as my children will endorse, is not one of my obvious traits. 

It’s been a tough few days; it’s tiring and there’s more to come. At the end of it, I hope I can climb out of this mood.