THE UNWRITTEN SHEETS

I’m finding my life stranger and stranger. Not my life as it stands, but the phenomenon of life. This time I have here, to do what I will and make what I want. A friend wrote to me last night saying ‘Every time I see you, you make a wish, and the next time I see you, you’re living it.’ I am moved to tears this morning as Isaac and I sit at our dining table, having woken up to another day blanketed in white, and I see the white birds on the river, floating with the ebb. Isaac looks at me without saying anything and my heart clamps. “Thank you for loving me,” I tell him. I don’t share the question which hides deep within me: “How could I possibly accept all of this? Am I deserving of so much? Can I ask for more?” “It’s so easy” he says, “it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” Can I possibly ask for more? What next?

I find I feel happiest when I am working towards a dream much larger than I think I am. I know this is human. I need something to inspire me. Recently, I’ve been drawn to the pink peaks of the Himalayas, the faces and spaces of other cultures outside my own. Perhaps it’s the fact that I am thirty-three weeks pregnant and approaching a time of limbo – a waiting time, when baby is here but not here, when I am a mother and not as yet. I am closing shops and sweeping floors in the room of my life. It’s a strange feeling.

I have wanted to close certain shops for months, but the fear of being outside in the open frightened me. Frankly, the possibilities were daunting. I don’t think I had the energy or willpower to create something other than the comfort and abundance from which I was already living. But there is always more. And I don’t think it’s selfish or greedy to want for more. All around Tibet, people journey to sacred staircases, climb to the temples, and pray for a better life, either this time or next. I feel I am the base of a great staircase, pacing its floor. What do I want to see when I reach the top? What do I want to pray for?

One thing is clear to me, I am at a precipice in my life, a time when everything matters and nothing matters at all. Suddenly I feel compelled to work towards healing the environment, and supporting those in other places of the world who aren’t as blessed as we are. Bringing our first born son into the world renders every problem magnificent in size, and every joy profound in color and taste. Perhaps it’s the year of the horse I’m sensing; my feet itching to run, to move, to see new sights. The same snow lays on the ground here for months, and though I am lumbering and cumbersome, I feel my spirit flighty. There’s an energy in my body today which will sweep like a hurricane through the house and the forest and then to places beyond this physical reality. I dream, therefore I am.

“The snow lay white as a sheet of unwritten paper…”