Notes from a visit to Germany in 2011:
I have loved all my men, the two husbands and the boy-friends in between. This thought spun inside my head, while I strolled along the asphalted service road, surrounded by lavish, green meadows and the rolling elevation of the earth levee, behind our farm. Wind rustled in the leaves of giant poplars; a row of more than 30 trees, still growing taller and taller.
I reflected upon my life with every step, a habit I had become accustomed to when I started walking labyrinths. It is said that a life not reflected upon is a life not lived. Now, after years of practice, I didn’t need to walk in circles; during moments of solitude my mind easily tuned into a contemplative state.
I have loved all my men, the two husbands and the boy-friends in between. The thought brought a warm sensation to my chest. I knew that as soon as my heart caught fire, I easily embraced new love, new experiences and without second thought moved across continents. I never minded riding the rollercoaster from the heights of total oneness down to the depth of delirious pain and then up again. Love in all its facets; fresh, delicious, delirious and totally irrational has always been attractive to me.
I have loved them all whole-heartedly, unlike the first boy who I allowed to kiss me at 14. There was no love; just a simple, practical calculation. Stephan, 16, a farm boy from the nearby village, rode an 80cc, two seated, brown-reddish moped. Stephan desired to kiss me; I desired to ride his motorbike.
Now, 31 summers later, as I walked along this road behind the levee and closed my eyes, I could see my younger self zoom by at high speed. I wore jeans, a T-shirt and leather boots; my favorite outfit ‘til this day. My face was round and young; before I grew into my distinctive facial features. My eyes looked straight ahead, not focused on the road but on a point farther into the distance. Seeing the big smile of my younger self brought back the expansive sense of pure joy. Stephan sat behind me, his hands tightly wrapped around my waist. I had opened the throttle all the way. The engine, pushed to its limits, roared. The wind in our faces we were going as fast as we could.
It had always been a delicate endeavor to sneak away, and escape the watchful eyes of my father. Just the mentioning of motorcycles made him furious. “Girls don’t ride motorbikes,” he said with a stern voice, at times for emphasis he even slammed his fist on the kitchen table and the dishes clattered. Girls don’t ride motorbikes became the mantra of my youth.
Stephan knew and was careful, always checked that my dad was working the fields farther away from the farm, so he wouldn’t discover our little exchange.
I continued along this road, which was less than a kilometer long. Our dog Max had followed and now trotted next to me. He loved to join my many walks to the River Rhine during my two-week vacation.
Then time switched again and I could hear Stephan’s voice yell into my ear, “Slow down. Slow down.” His fingers nervously pinched into my waist. I always tried to hold off for as long as I could, but the end of the road and the iron gate approached quickly and I jammed into the breaks. Then I had to keep my part of the deal. Kissing always felt awkward and often my eyes turned to the lazy cows grazing around us. When I had enough we would get back onto the bike.
This perfect arrangement lasted for one summer.
Meditation & Motorcycles, an interview with Dorit for Wise Women Magazine
Related Video Clips:
Stories of my Youth – Dorit discusses the source of inspiration for her book ‘Girls Don’t Ride Motorbikes – A Spiritual Adventure Into Life’s Labyrinth,’
Enjoy this short video and hear what others say about Dorit’s Book and how it will benefit you.
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Meet Dorit – You are invited to view the Guided Imagery Videos, Spiritual Teachings and Spiritual Journeys on Dorit’s YouTube Channel.