Returning to Riversleigh

RETURNING TO RIVERSLEIGH

 Based on the prompt “Sometimes I’ve believed as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast.”http://trainsofthought.wordpress.com/impossible/

“You’re going to do what?!! Have you completely lost leave of your senses?”

I stared back, without blinking, as if even this tiny, almost imperceptible movement might cause me to lose the mental balance I was trying to maintain in the face of my adversary. Having thought, reflected and considered every possible angle it was possible to take on my proposed journey, in the end I had decided that I would do it. I would not, could not, let her destroy my dream. For the first time ever, I was utterly determined to take control of my life.

I was tired, weary of living my days out as mere responses to other people’s demands, needs and wishes, as if I was nothing more than an empty shell waiting for the next sea creature to inhabit my interior.

It had taken me so long, too long, to gather up my courage and even enunciate it, a feat I could never have achieved if I hadn’t first practised it in front of the bathroom mirror, whispering to my reflection when the house was empty and I  knew that I was alone. Yet even then I still locked the bathroom door, just in case.

And now here I was, standing directly opposite my “Just in Case”.

“No! I won’t allow it! Someone has to be responsible for you if you cannot do it for yourself.”

Yet, there must have been something about my demeanour that made her hold back, for her voice lacked its usual conviction. An air of uncertainty seemed to permeate the room, already growing cool in the early autumn evening. I looked beyond her to the world outside, where the sun was casting its last rays through the rust and orange leaves, edging them with a delicate gold outline as they hung suspended from the branches of the trees outside the window.

She changed her approach.

“Why? Why now? After all we have been through; after everything I have done for you? Why do you want to leave me?”

Her voice rose to a whine, and I turned my gaze back upon her, wondering if she always did this when she didn’t get her own way. She sounded so much like our mother, who we had buried just over a year ago. Was she trying to manipulate me just like Mother had done through all those long, dreary years after I returned from university and accepted a position in a company to do a job I hated, just so that I could look after her? Did Elinor want me to continue to live my life like that?

Shocked at this sudden realisation, I turned away and sighed, unwilling to engage in an argument of recriminations and accusations.

“This has nothing to do with you. It’s not that I want to leave you. It’s simply that I have things I want to do and they don’t involve you. There’s nothing you can do to change my mind. I’m going, and I have no idea when I shall be back.”

Then I turned and walked out the kitchen door.

Upstairs in my bedroom where I had spent most of the last 30 years of my life, I began to pack a small carry-all with the few bits and pieces which I reckoned were essential. I had no desire to bring any of the accoutrements which I had gathered through the years, filling my life with what amounted now to nothing more than representations of shackles and chains that had held me down. I had no need of any of these in the place I was heading to.

Later, when darkness had claimed the night as its own, I sat on the carpeted floor of my room. The curtains were pulled back so that I could watch the crescent moon peeping through the clouds as they blew past her. Just a week ago, when the New Moon had gleamed brightly in the westward sky at twilight, I sat in this same spot, having lit a candle on my altar while a stick of incense filled the room with its mysterious aroma suggestive of another, a higher, dimension of being. It was then that I had finally made the decision to take charge of my own life, to go on this journey into the Unknown, to live my life before it was over, to find out who I was before it was too late.

It was strange really, how it had all come about. 6 months ago the only altars I was aware of were to be found in churches. And now here I was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, praying to the Sacred Feminine! Elinor was vaguely aware that something different was “going on” as she put it, and didn’t hesitate in letting me know. She didn’t agree with these new fangled New Age ideas, and hated the fact that they seemed to be infiltrating her home. Once she even said that she no longer felt safe within these walls and couldn’t help worrying if I was about to turn to the Black Arts. For a few days afterwards I had a strong inclination to rush out and buy a witches costume, but I refrained even while I amused myself imagining the predictable outcome.

I suppose it all really began at the beginning of the summer. It was one of those almost perfect June late afternoons, when the long days stretch far into the night, and no matter how dark the night itself became, you knew that it would not last for long, that within a few short hours the first glimmers of the early dawn would start to stretch across the vast firmament.

On that particular evening, when work was thankfully over for the day and the promise of 2 more days unblighted by the dreaded alarm calls in the mornings lay in front of me, I left the cold, grey, soulless building where I worked from Monday to Friday, 9am – 5pm, and turned left towards the river, instead of taking a right turn to the bus stop. I was experiencing a strange and overwhelming desire to walk in the opposite direction I usually took, to run away from yet another overcrowded and stuffy bus-ride home.

I ambled down the broken path, taking my time, in no particular hurry to get anywhere. By now most of the shops were beginning to pull down their shutters, marking the end of yet another work day. Some of these premises had hardly changed since they were first opened, perhaps almost 100 years ago. This was the old section of the city, largely untouched by modern development, and one of my favourite places to wander through. Here people still nodded their heads in greeting as you passed. Sometimes an old man or woman might be sitting outside while waiting for the customers who rarely came. They especially loved to engage passers-by in easy conversation.

On this particular evening one old lady, who I could not remember having seen before, beckoned me over to her. She invited me to sit upon a chair set up beside her own. She began to talk, as much to herself as to me, or so it seemed, but most of what she uttered I couldn’t understand. I wondered if perhaps she was speaking a different language. Still I did manage to catch a few odd phrases. She seemed to be reminiscing about an old house, maybe her childhood home, or some place she had visited many years before I was born. I think the house was called something like River’s Way. One thing was certain though, this house seemed to be a haven for ravens.

I sat and listened to her for a long time, until the sun slowly began its turning towards the west, sinking lower and lower behind the huge stone and granite towers that lay off some way in the distance, near the centre of the city. With some regret, for I had enjoyed listening to the soft timbre of her voice, even though most of what she uttered escaped my understanding, I said my goodbyes and wished her well. She smiled up at me as I stood to go, a smile of such rare beauty that it stunned me with its tenderness and simplicity.

Suddenly, she reached down into the embroidered pocket of the apron she was wearing, and pulled an old and much used book from it. As she handed the book to me, she muttered some words, which sounded like an incantation, as if she was blessing me. She reached for my hand and wrapped it around the book and in this way let me know that she wanted me to keep it. I thanked her, and then, responding to some deep-seated impulse, I bent down towards her, giving her a hug, and kissed her upon her soft, lined cheek.

As I walked away, retracing my steps back towards the city, I felt an uncharacteristic joy welling up inside my being. If anyone had asked me why, I would have been hard put to give a reason.