Sunday, January 01, 2012
A few hours in the winter sun
I am sitting here in this tiny mountain village with my down jacket on. This morning I decided to count my blessings, as I sat next to a very ancient woman, so bent over she was incapable of standing up straight. She indicated to me to sit down next to her in the sun, the few hours of winter sun limited by the surrounding hills to maybe five hours a day. We sat for a few minutes and she indicated "let's turn around", and there we sat, two old women, with our backs to the sun, soaking up the rays, and I could feel her muttering and trying to
revitalize her bones, so used to bone cold winters, no heating system, hard labour, poor clothing, poor nutrition, feudal superstitions and traditions, personal pain and loss unrecognized and disregarded.
All I could do was sit there and decide to count all the things I am grateful for. I thought about my father, his migration to Canada, as he was leaving behind the people he loved to escape from that which was not good for him, and his move gave me the things I normally take for granted. Suddenly the old woman got up painstakingly. Into our little courtyard came a wailing woman with an entourage of kids and other women. She had lreceived news that her father had died this morning. Since she was married, she had had to move villages and her father was far away. She wailed and wailed inconsolablly, and the old woman took her place along with other ancient woman to surround the young woman wailing. They sat there, rocking back and forth, every now and then trying to say something consoling, sometimes berating, and otherwise just looking very old and haggard. There is so much pain in life. We all have pain, and I am grateful for the presence of people
and a culture that acknowledges my pain, does not dismiss it, and is not entirely helpless in the face of the expression of my pain. Someone listens to me when it hurts. I am grateful for human migration, for evolution, for the moving forward of life, that the planets rotates fully once a day and the seasons in our lives. In this
moment, whatever I have learned is forgotten, and gives way to simply sitting in the sun, with a tear in my eye, grateful for the vessel that carries me here and there.
revitalize her bones, so used to bone cold winters, no heating system, hard labour, poor clothing, poor nutrition, feudal superstitions and traditions, personal pain and loss unrecognized and disregarded.
All I could do was sit there and decide to count all the things I am grateful for. I thought about my father, his migration to Canada, as he was leaving behind the people he loved to escape from that which was not good for him, and his move gave me the things I normally take for granted. Suddenly the old woman got up painstakingly. Into our little courtyard came a wailing woman with an entourage of kids and other women. She had lreceived news that her father had died this morning. Since she was married, she had had to move villages and her father was far away. She wailed and wailed inconsolablly, and the old woman took her place along with other ancient woman to surround the young woman wailing. They sat there, rocking back and forth, every now and then trying to say something consoling, sometimes berating, and otherwise just looking very old and haggard. There is so much pain in life. We all have pain, and I am grateful for the presence of people
and a culture that acknowledges my pain, does not dismiss it, and is not entirely helpless in the face of the expression of my pain. Someone listens to me when it hurts. I am grateful for human migration, for evolution, for the moving forward of life, that the planets rotates fully once a day and the seasons in our lives. In this
moment, whatever I have learned is forgotten, and gives way to simply sitting in the sun, with a tear in my eye, grateful for the vessel that carries me here and there.
