The nun on a bike

It was a Goldwing she has, and not a Harley, she said.

And she is a nun.

What kind of a nun rides a bike.

Well, Sonnie does.

She is half-Indian, living and working in an Indian reserve. I forgot which one.

Which is why we met.

I forgot many things about her since we met two years ago in Berlin.

But what is impossible to forget is the imprint she left on me.

She came in cold from Copenhagen, not knowing a soul in Berlin. She was supposed to find some Catholic Congregation to live at. To no avail.

Instead, she slept over at various people’s homes she met in public.

I took no notice of her until she mentioned her Indian roots.

Fiercely interested in the lives of First Original Peoples the world over – being of Khoi origin myself – I had to speak to her. That is how and why we met.

But soon enough motorcycles came up in the conversation, and she told me about her Goldwing.

She did have a Harley at some point, but liked the Goldwing better.

Sounded like my kind of girl. I’m always impressed with someone that hasn’t fallen for the ubiquitous Harley or Bee-em syndrome.

She told me about her long rides through the States and different Indian reserves. And the impression she and her big machine leaves on people everywhere.

Sonnie is one of those fundamentally happy people; no matter what they might be struggling with. And people like that usually fill me with suspicion. Maybe because I refuse to believe that anyone can be fundamentally happy in a world filled with greed and self-serving interests.

Yet, there she was. Living proof.

I think it is because she devotes her live to a higher power that cares for her.

And I am not talking religion. I am slowly learning that religion and spiritually is not necessarily the same thing.

And part of this spiritually is to be of service to other people. Completely. Her whole live is devoted to doing just that. But even scarier, is how she can jump onto a plane, go somewhere else in the world she has never been to, armed with her faith in a higher power, knowing it will all work out. And it is a testimony to that faith that she never had to sleep in the streets of Berlin.

Now, it will be easy to say that she is supposed to have faith; that she is supposed to be of service; that she is supposed to be content, because she is a nun; like Mother Theresa and the rest. But this is the case with just about all the fundamentally content people that I have read about.

And the few I have met.

She just happens to be a nun.

And she is unlike any nun I know.

Not that I know any other.

But she does not even wear a nun’s dress, dammit.

She shared my flat with me for a couple of days. It took me a while to trust her, as I couldn’t figure her out. She was too wonderful to exist. Her positivism annoyed me. I looked forward to stories of deprivation and poverty in the Indian reserves, and all she could talk about is how wonderful it all is. And that they were incredibly rich, owning boats and planes even. But it is owned communally, and does not belong to any one individual; one of the basic principles of livelihood in the cultures of most First Nations.

By the time I got to fully trust her, it was time to say goodbye. Or was it farewell.

She was notoriously camera-shy. We left Berlin at the same time, and as we said goodbye at the airport, I tried to steal a photo of her. But she snapped her head away just in time for me to end up with a bundle of swaying hair in my shot.

And that is where we left each other. Two years ago.

She did not want to leave me an address or number. Curious.

Sometimes I wonder if I imagined her. Can angels take physical form and come into your life with a specific purpose.

And what if you remain blind to that purpose indefinitely.

What if you ignore that purpose willfully.

Are you doomed forever.

Will you burn in hell.

For not heeding the message that you need to serve mankind.

That a higher power exists and only wants the best for you.

But that you need to turn your will and live over to that higher power.

That happiness can be found in other places than just the next ride.

That you don’t a bike to feel whole.

That wealth and happiness, are in fact, by-products or results of doing the above.

And on the days that I have believed and practiced the above, I’ve known it to be true.

But I have yet to make it my way of live.

I open my mail hoping to get a message from her. I dream of going to Manhatten and bumping into her on 5^th avenue.

I wonder if she thinks of me as often as I do of her.

So long, Sonnie. Ride safe.

Picture: "Sister Mary Motorcycle" from www-us.flickr.com/