I first heard it when our guide Robi was walking with us through the jungle, in pouring rain. As we were navigating the slippery track, using roots and plants to keep ourselves from sliding and try to remain steady. Finding relief from the slimy mud when we would rinse our boots in puddles, step on logs, or wedge our feet between roots.
Robi, our guide and translator, was walking with us through the jungle, in pouring rain. Guided by Carolina, her son and followed by a few Mentawai people who supported Robi’s team on their way to visit family in the jungle.
Completely drenched from head to toes, with water cascading down my face and into my pants; There was no escaping the mud and the water.
Moile moile! Robi said. Slowly slowly.
He kept repeating it, like a mantra. And I soon realised this was everyone’s mantra where we were heading.
The Mentawai say it often, in all situations.
Moile moile isn’t about being lazy. It is about taking your time. Not rushing things or into them.
It is about doing things with focus, with presence, and with permission to rest – a lot!
After a good hour sliding, hopping and walking through the downward track, we reached a clearing. There it was: the Uma. The communal home where we were to stay for the next 5 days.
We were greeted by the patriarch and matriarch: Amantari and Baitari, who I quickly started calling Papa and Mama.
After greeting them and being greeted, we sat in the most commonly used area. The front of the Uma was an open space surrounded by built in benches and with views to the trees, to the paths leading to the river and creek, and to the chicken’s feeding spot.
At night, if you observed carefully, you would see fireflies in the trees. On occasion, one of the green glowing wonders would venture inside, attracted by the cigarette lights.
When I arrived, I was so eager to give my presents, in appreciation for them hosting me, I brought the bag of goodies straight to papa. Bola bola, he tells me.
I turned to Robi, my eyes probably begging for translation. Later. I turned back to papa who looked at me and gestured while saying in English “Later Later”.
Things had a time. Nothing needed to be rushed. Rushing is what I do best! A mix of my temper and trauma response. A compensation to the things that claim my attention, a distraction. A business that keeps me heightened, in an ever-repeating cycle of what I knew as a child. Fast, fast, faster! But not in the jungle. Not with Papa. Not with the Mentawai.
Moile Moile.
Moile meant honouring the silence. Honouring the moments between steps, the rest and nurture of nothingness.
Moile meant giving my system the time to notice, to pay close attention, to be present. The space to allow gentle loosening of my ribs so that my breath became smoother and deeper. Moile moile is the song my nervous system hums to remember balance.
Slowness. Intentional, ceremonial slowness of life. Like watching a tree grow. It is happening, under our eyes, but we don’t see it. Our mind moves too fast to notice. Our life is a tree, and embracing the slowness of minute transformations might just be the way to live a life of presence, of true peaceful timeliness.
There is no rush, nothing to push or pull. Things will unfold as they must, always. And there is often a best time for things to happen. If we know which time, we wait for it. If we don’t, we wait for it to reveal itself without anguish. Because it will come. Just like the tree will grow.
Lao Tzu also said it beautifully: Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.
I embraced another saying: All in good time.
These pearls of wisdom were all encompassed in one word. Repeated twice, for emphasis, and maybe also to give it more time to sink in: Moile Moile.
