T
hat my heart’s voice called from a place within where I could not ignore it, or that its tone often played a melody completely different to the melody of others, was something I understood early on.
Whether this was my karma’s payback or my blessing was not yet known to me.
Neither did I know that my journey from ‘person’ to conscious presence had already begun long ago.
I did not know, either, what I was getting myself into.
The only thing I knew for sure was that, despite my protesting mind, my flagging steps were directed towards a sailboat destined to cross the Indian Ocean.
Bo and the limping dog keep company with my slow steps. He talks about something but I don’t hear what.
My attention is once again focused on my escape from this.
Janek is already at the boat and bounces back and forth from dock to boat, loading bags, food, jugs and other things I assume are necessary on a journey such as this.
Our boat is caught between mooring lines and two larger sailboats, one on either side.
“Isn’t this a bit small?” my weak voice breaks at the end of the question.
“And is that the lifeboat?”
I point toward the tiny rubber boat anchored at the stern.
“It’s 46 feet, I just assume it will be fully able to take us through all the storms we’ll meet!”
He laughs and places a calming hand on my shoulder.
“And yes, that is the lifeboat and it will manage all four of us in an emergency, but you’ve read all this in the email, right?”
He takes off his flip flops and puts them down in one of his bags.
“What email?”
My question isn’t heard as Bo already is occupied telling Janek which bags contain delicate objects and cannot simply be thrown aboard.
Bo takes the step from the dock to the boat.
Janek takes my bag from my hand. He doesn’t feel that I can keep hold of it a bit. He doesn’t feel that I’m still in doubt. He has too much in his strictly structured mind-set to experience the here and now.
Now there is nothing, no-one but me left on the dock.
I’m writing this story and could so easily change direction and not sail with the boat. My character could follow an escape plan that I’ve secretly been cooking up this past hour, pay my way and then catch the next flight to Bali. Imagine if I could also change my so-called true character and in that way save myself all the challenges entailed in always following the paths of one’s heart. The last time I decided to once again dare to do that was at my previous workplace. It convinced me to quit my job and take myself on this journey alone. And once again I was reminded of how draining it is to be surrounded by people whose actions are driven primarily by fear. I was reminded of how disturbingly many, even those I once counted as my friends, argue in the name of the heart but to ego’s advantage. To stand up for children being unjustly treated and/or excluded, is for me a given. Especially so when such offensive behaviour comes from an adult.
An adult responsibility we all ought to accept, even when our own children are not affected.
A latent, bubbling modern or entirely natural charitable action from the heart. For the ways of the heart are not neutral and do not ignore children or anyone suffering or being treated unjustly. But as so many times previously when I’ve dared stand up for the one obvious choice, I found myself quite alone in the storm when fear of alienation and the winds of change are beating us.
So of course, I would change much if I were the one writing The Great Script. Of course, I have perhaps chosen to not need to accept the role of the sole whistle-blower.
But in the end, I am not the one writing history – life is.
And when my courage is great enough to dare to listen entirely to my intuitive voice rather than the complaining mental voice, that is when I give thanks.
Thanks for all the challenges. Thanks to those people who exit my life once they’ve served their purpose. Thanks to my naïve good faith and candour. Thanks to all my trials I am constantly moving through towards my life journey’s meaning and goal.
But right now, that goal seems quite diffused. Right now, I need confidence.
The wind seems to abate.
The flag on the boat on the other side of the dock is no longer slapping against the mast.
A moment of calm.
A moment of presence. Of freedom from fear.
The dog sits close beside me and looks up at me with a kind of understanding and empathy in its glance.
“Do you want help, Valentina?”
From the stern, Nora stretches out her hand to me.
An older couple watch us from a neighbouring boat.
Janek exchanges a few words with them that the tide is on its way out.
He wipes away the sweat from his brow with his forearm and says we need to sail now.
Some gulls circle above us, hunting for some breakfast from someone’s cockpit.
The dog whines and seems to remember previous farewells like this from this dock.
She feels the moment has arrived.
She feels that my heart beats faster than normal.
I bend down to pat her and am reminded by the stab in my right side of my limited movement.
Despite this, something draws me to take Nora’s outstretched hand.
My grimace of pain reveals what is happening in my body when I jump to the boat deck.
And there the jump is done.
A jump I will already regret on that same day.
The jump that I somewhere know within which it will bring great challenges for me, perhaps the greatest of my life.
The jump from security to uncertainty.
From control to capitulation.
A hope that the one writing this story will show mercy to the characters acting in life’s divine circus.
A hope to change the story if I get to write it myself.
A hope of faith in life.