I always thought my life would be like the novels I liked to read when I was a teenager, where the heroine's life was a constantly unfolding drama, replete with emotionally charged moments and anchored in the importance of her actions, where every meaningful event was anticipated well in advance and everything turned out more or less as planned.
Finding you was supposed to be a glorious professional moment, and I daydreamed of basking in the glory of compliments and approval, and savoring the pith of a prestigious career which would be undeniably earned.
And then I found you.
There is nothing more disorienting than a dream come true: all your struggles, your planning, your entire focus, is thus brought to its end.
Nobody thinks through what they want to do with that fulfilled dream, because unconsciously we don't believe it would happen.
It never looks like you planned. It feels so alien from your cherished vision you can barely recognize it and it changes you, in ways opposite from what you'd expect. It opens you to the sudden revelation you do not know what you're doing, and you didn't when you were sure of your goals either, and the terrifying clarity that life is not what you thought.
Accomplishing your dream makes you unsure of everything, trying to catch a glimpse of a future you can no longer see, and feeling your way through the unknown with fearful, trembling fingers, the same fingers which used to have surgical precision in your very secure and accomplished phase of chasing your dream.
There is no wisdom in the over-hyped drama of life: wisdom has to be earned through meekness and acceptance of your ignorance.
It lives in silence and in darkness, in the larger continuity of being, beyond the struggles of navigating social life, beyond the biological realm even, in the invisible connections that bind reality into a cohesive whole.
I have a feeling if Denise didn't make me stay here for the dark half of the year, I would have missed this completely.
There is equilibrium in this world of duality in which we've been thrown with no directions, a harmony which demands everything to be balanced by its opposite, even the light.
The time of the Shadow is heavy with meaning, so much so I feel like stopping every few steps on the way to ponder its weight on my life. There is not much to do in the dark but think. We retreat from the glare and the noise of activities to find our souls.
Denise insisted we go to Maeshowe at sunset for the winter solstice and in very uncharacteristic fashion she did all the preparations for the trip: got the tickets, packed, got the car ready, picked up warm clothes and provisions for the road.
I don't know why this trip means so much to her: I always thought Denise's life ran completely on curiosity and a thirst for new experiences, and had very little room left for contemplating the mysterious, especially in stillness and silence.
"Wake up, Ethel!" She jumped on my bed while the sun was still struggling to breach the horizon.
"What in places, Denise! It's the wee hours. Go back to sleep!"
"Not at all, my liege. It's past eight. Get up, we need to get ready. Come on, wake up."
She pulled off my comforter and grabbed the pillow from under my head. I got instantly aggravated and fully awake.
My irritation, which meant I won't be able to go back to sleep, satisfied Denise.
"Why?"
"Get dressed. We'll get breakfast and coffee and then we'll be on our way."
YOU ARE READING
My Dear Fiona
ParanormalAn American anthropologist and her creative sister spend a year in the Orkney Islands trying to locate the burial site of a Viking princess from the 10th century. Much to their surprise, they find themselves embarking on an adventure much more meani...
