Peace at last. After a week of entertaining guests at mother's new home. For mother, it's nothing unusual. For me, it's record to have guests more than once a week.
For some strange reason I can't comprehend, nor would attempt to right now, I find myself catapulted out of Turkey. The land of the Ottomans. The land of beautiful men and women. The land of a man I look up to very much. And a land I was forced to bite the bullet and open my still infant eyes.
Wrong and right becomes one. Black and white blends to blur. Where I feel the world just becomes one massive country. Where I am a citizen of nowhere, no home and belong to no one.
Initially returning to Rotterdam to visit my sick youngest sister, to be present in person with her and give her comfort and guidance, I found the same elements coming back my way.
Deciding to pack my bags and make my own road, never look back is the hardest thing I have had to face since the time I was given the responsibility of being a surrogate parent to my siblings mid teen years.
I did not feel great angst as the plane took off. Not even when the plane rapidly rose suddenly and then dropped, lifting my rear off the chair, a few times in succession leading to the shril cry from a man. I found out later that this can be common. Caused by the existence of pockets of vaccum in the air, according to mother who was once herself an air hostess.
I only felt compelled to continue my journey through the map of life. One which I could not buy and trace with my fingers. At least, I am out of the tunnel of terror. Where I turn next is tricky.
No one can tell me where to go in this vast world. After years of caretaking I have forgotten to know about me. Simple things as to what I like, what nourishes my soul. If I knew, the next turn would be clearer.
I find some lyrics of songs starting to speak to me like roadsigns. The song by Red Hot Chilli Pepper (of all bands!) helped me imagine talking about my own story and where I want to go. The latter took about two weeks to draft, thirty pages to write out. It changes ever so often, depending on what doors are closed, and what ones open. Rewriting plans like play for a theatre, plenty of paper crumplets. Messy.
Balls to juggle in the air. Some cannot be let go while new ones get added in to see what fits in the pattern. Examples of these balls include maintaining two mortgages while one continues on with unpaid self search typical of Dharma, from Dharma and Greg. Mortgages I knew I had to tough out on my own. Why? Let's just say if I plant a fruit tree I don't kill it just because conditions are harsh. I try to nurture it through tough conditions including if I were to manage it on my own to keep it alive.
Along the way there are cheers from my sister, mother and new people who are friends of either sister or mother, all strangers to me here in Rotterdam. Some are positive verbal support, some, more silent and subtle in the sense that I draw strength from the way they live their life through tough times.
The strength. I have always sought it from somewhere Divine, outside, a new location. Now I am starting to open my eyes to the well within. A well that is part of the Whole Divine. And the same exists with other companions I meet as I travel on.
I believe some of these wells merge to give circulation of contents. As to when and how, that has something to do with this map that I seem to be on, while driving on autopilot. All I know is I never cease to be amazed when I meet these other wells of life as they enrich me, and likewise.
The well of yours truly has just had two helpings of caramel pecan ice cream, and for now, is content to be still.
~.~.~
Do not suffer life to stagnate: it will grow muddy for want of motion; commit yourself to the current of the world.
~Anthony Inquemani~
