I was laying in bed. Tired. So tired. Trying to fall asleep.
My room is small and square. Bright. The walls are white and should be painted again, the ceiling is light blue en has few patches of unpainted plaster. One above the bed where the souwer of the neighbours above leaked and I repaired the wet, crumbling, but never gave it the finishing toudh of smooth cool plaster layer and paint.
The layout of our apartment is quite unusual. Son 2 lives in the cellar. Son 1 lives in the frond room on the ground floor, next to the living room, which I use as my atelier. The kitchen lays at the far side of the apartment, an extension into the garden. My sleeping room is above the kitchen.
I was laying in my bed, my bed is actually too big for me, on my own, long long years.
I like to keep it empty and tidy.
Tired. Sick. I felt life ebbing out of me. Like the waters of the sea, retreating, quietly, to other shores.
Breathing in, a pause, breathing out. Breathing in, a pause, breathing out. Shallow, light, weak, ebbing.
I read about awareness meditation, where one should try to be aware at the very moment of falling asleep.
A meditation which should prepare us for the ultimate moment of awareness, the moment of our death.
This is something I could try, I thought. Exercises with awareness might be interesting.
Tired, empty, vacant, as if the person who was living in my body was already packing his stuff, throwing away broken parts, unused parts, parts which wont be useful the next step.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Eyes closed I was calling sleep to come.
Emptying myself to accept sleep.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Light, shallow, sharp breathes.
Here I am sleep, I am here, I watch you as you come to take me.
My eyes are closed, but I am watching.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause. Pause. Pause.
Breath in.
Breath out.
And the came Fear. The emptiness that I was becoming - a wave of Fear flooded me.
Drowning in Fear. No movement could be made. No sound came.
Darkness inside my eyes, darkness around my laying body, in the warmth of my bed, under the soft blanket.
Emptiness.
Fear.
"Son!" I called, "Son!".
He was downstairs. Downstairs is so far away in our home.
"Son!" I called again, "Son!, please come!"
He rushed up the stairs and sat on the bed by my side, near me.
He is a young man now, tall and slim, broad shoulders and an Italian hair cut, done by
a Turkish barber.
He took my limp, dry hand in his hand. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I am here, mom" he said.
"Shhh.... all is good, I'm here."
His hand feels thin and small in my hand. My eyes are closed. We don't talk.
He holds my hand. The black fear is dissolving into our warming hands.
"All is good, mom, I'm here."
He goes to his room and returns with Flaff, the three headed blue hand puppet dragon I gave him
years back.
"Here, mom, Flaff will keep you safe"
He lays Flaff the blue dragon next to my head, next to my pillow and leaves the room.
I think about my mother. In another house. In a different continent. In a double bed.
Thin, getting smaller every day, still winning.
No one with her to keep her safe, to accompany her, to hold her hand.
My room is small and square. Bright. The walls are white and should be painted again, the ceiling is light blue en has few patches of unpainted plaster. One above the bed where the souwer of the neighbours above leaked and I repaired the wet, crumbling, but never gave it the finishing toudh of smooth cool plaster layer and paint.
The layout of our apartment is quite unusual. Son 2 lives in the cellar. Son 1 lives in the frond room on the ground floor, next to the living room, which I use as my atelier. The kitchen lays at the far side of the apartment, an extension into the garden. My sleeping room is above the kitchen.
I was laying in my bed, my bed is actually too big for me, on my own, long long years.
I like to keep it empty and tidy.
Tired. Sick. I felt life ebbing out of me. Like the waters of the sea, retreating, quietly, to other shores.
Breathing in, a pause, breathing out. Breathing in, a pause, breathing out. Shallow, light, weak, ebbing.
I read about awareness meditation, where one should try to be aware at the very moment of falling asleep.
A meditation which should prepare us for the ultimate moment of awareness, the moment of our death.
This is something I could try, I thought. Exercises with awareness might be interesting.
Tired, empty, vacant, as if the person who was living in my body was already packing his stuff, throwing away broken parts, unused parts, parts which wont be useful the next step.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Eyes closed I was calling sleep to come.
Emptying myself to accept sleep.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause.
Light, shallow, sharp breathes.
Here I am sleep, I am here, I watch you as you come to take me.
My eyes are closed, but I am watching.
Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause. Pause. Pause.
Breath in.
Breath out.
And the came Fear. The emptiness that I was becoming - a wave of Fear flooded me.
Drowning in Fear. No movement could be made. No sound came.
Darkness inside my eyes, darkness around my laying body, in the warmth of my bed, under the soft blanket.
Emptiness.
Fear.
"Son!" I called, "Son!".
He was downstairs. Downstairs is so far away in our home.
"Son!" I called again, "Son!, please come!"
He rushed up the stairs and sat on the bed by my side, near me.
He is a young man now, tall and slim, broad shoulders and an Italian hair cut, done by
a Turkish barber.
He took my limp, dry hand in his hand. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I am here, mom" he said.
"Shhh.... all is good, I'm here."
His hand feels thin and small in my hand. My eyes are closed. We don't talk.
He holds my hand. The black fear is dissolving into our warming hands.
"All is good, mom, I'm here."
He goes to his room and returns with Flaff, the three headed blue hand puppet dragon I gave him
years back.
"Here, mom, Flaff will keep you safe"
He lays Flaff the blue dragon next to my head, next to my pillow and leaves the room.
I think about my mother. In another house. In a different continent. In a double bed.
Thin, getting smaller every day, still winning.
No one with her to keep her safe, to accompany her, to hold her hand.