by Marga
I can proudly and with dignity say that I never lose anything. Really. At most I misplace something inside the house when I’m distracted or while I’m on the phone, like the key to the safe deposit box that I put in a spot that’s impossible for any thief to find and even for me.
But in those situations I focus, retrace the mental and geographical route through the house and in the end the lost thing turns up. In short, I don’t have a history of lost objects. With one very specific exception: umbrellas.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve been living the same story in cycles: I find the perfect umbrella, gorgeous in color, shape, functionality or some detail that makes me feel it’s the most beautiful umbrella in the world. But inevitably, after a while, I lose it, especially on those days when rain alternates with bursts of sunshine.
Sometimes I leave it at the supermarket and five minutes later, when I go back to look for it, it has already vanished into thin air. Other times I remember exactly where I set it down, I go back, nothing: gone.
And then there are the surreal episodes: the umbrella inside my little backpack that slips out through a hole I didn’t know existed, or through a gap left by a zipper that looked closed but wasn’t. If in that same backpack there are pens and pencils, lip balm, my phone, iPods and other objects that are much smaller or much more precious, the hole or the not-quite-closed zipper won’t let them through. The only thing that falls out, and of course I don’t notice, is the umbrella.
I’ve even devised secure transport systems like an “umbrella quiver” or a crossbody “carabiner hook and leash” setup, but nothing: I ended up losing the system too.
There have been umbrellas that lasted a little longer, for example the ones left in the car between one rainy season and the next. Sometimes I fooled myself: “There, this umbrella is lasting, I’ve had it for a long time, maybe we’ve made it past the critical phase…”
Then the rain comes, I use it, dry it well, put it away carefully, I think about it, I remember it, I treat it with attentions almost as if it were a living creature and after one, two, three rains at most, I lose it.
Even though I’m a migrant, I can say I have objects I care about that are almost my age and that I’ve moved across different parts of the globe without ever losing them, yet I also have to admit, unfortunately, that I must have bought hundreds of umbrellas and I’ve lost every single one. In the last month alone I lost four.
This time, instead of buying another one, I went to the LOST AND FOUND office in Auroville, where I live, and I said, “I lost my umbrella.”
The young woman told me, “The pink one?”
The one I had just lost was light blue, but one of the previous ones was indeed pink, so without having to lie I answered, “Yes.” And I walked away with a pink umbrella that wasn’t mine… Who knows, maybe this will break my umbrella karma…
Calling it karma might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it may have a grain of truth. One of those inescapable things that slip past willpower and good intentions and that you have to resolve in a more mystical way…
In life I’ve identified various more serious recurring patterns and in that realm, with meditation, therapy and a lot of awareness, I’ve always managed to get some results. Umbrellas, on the other hand, keep evading any control, and I take it as a funny detail of the way I move through the world…
BTW The pink umbrella is still with me. But the rainy season hasn’t started yet… so nothing is certain…
Previously distributed as editorial in a newsletter of the Italian Osho Times (oshotimes.it), translation by the author
Photo (detail) by guy stevens on Unsplash
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