Fairy snow and pampering

Today I realised how terribly fortunate I am to live my life in a peaceful, abundant area. I woke up with the first signs of a migraine, but was lucky to catch it on time, most often I tend to be too late, a few minutes longer in bed are enough.

I was reminded that all I had to do was take a pill that can be bought in any Pharmacy, unlike around 70% of my fellow human beings. The pain slowly disappeared, I took it easy and arrived at work a bit later than usual. Lunch at the Office restaurant was fresh vegetables, beans and rösti, a sort of grated potato pancake. Nourishing, tasty and cheap.

Around this time the remnants of the headache were lingering and as I had to leave for a meeting at another office, I was chauffeured in a warm and safe car and conveniently dropped in front of the entrance. After the meeting I had a osteopath massaging my neck & shoulders, re-aligning my elbow and manipulating my ever soar right wrist. Then I moved 5 steps next door for a haircut, a luxury again.

Walking home on slippery roads with comfy, warm snowboots and music playing in my ears, the night had set, the roads were lit and the front door welcoming me with a warm embrace. Opening the fridge to prepare the evening meal, the second nutritious warm meal today, I opened my office mailbox, finished a few tasks and went on paying health bills, energy bills and a yoga holiday in March online.

I'm not just blessed to live this easy, comfy life, I'm 360 degrees pampered. But I'm constantly in search for a balance with the majority of the world that lives in poverty, in war, with constant hunger, disease and without clean water or medicines to feel better.

It's so easy for me to honour all these people with my compassion, my prayers, my donations, but I know that this is just another way to buy off my guilt for having such a luxurious life with all the comfort in the world. How do my tears rate compared to the suffering of people in war torn areas? How do my tears look when a child that dies from being dried out and terminally underfed, locks his eyes into mine? How does my horror stricken soul rate compared to the horror of a mother running on the street with a blood-soaked baby in her arms?
What can I do more and will this feeling of being out of balance, of unequal human justice, ever disappear?

Yet I also know that there is another reality, that of what I call the Universal Spirit Highway, the USH. This is the reality in balance, held by respect and compassion. It's where we're not a name, a passport, a religion, a profession, a bank account or a patient or age. I'm hoping that the spirit of the famished child, the spirit of the desperate mother and all the other people that suffer are there as well and are able to balance this reality with the physical, tactile reality on our planet.