Every now and then I retreat back to the mountain top. Tonight each window opens to darkness and silence; an illusion I know all too well. The chickens have roosted, the dog curls up next to me, the possum scurries across the porch and the cat waits expectantly by the cabinet door containing cat treats.
Here, i am a placeholder. I walk into another’s life and take charge of their schedule and routine. They call this house-sitting, but maybe it is more like a walk-in. It is a service where function is more important than being. Darkness came early. Outside of my own schedule and habits, my body falls into the rhythm of the sun. Sleep will come early.
Lately in the valley, the crows have called from my neighbors yard each morning. They have been my messengers for years. Yet, it is not clear. Having slid, with the gracious help from two different masters, from the top of the mountain down to the lowest point of the valley, this was a silent trip back to the top. Here the perspective changes.
Ron had warned me it would be lonely. Shanta had instructed me to meditate. This is a cozy cabin and my companion is fair of face, intelligent, and wise; even if she is only 10.
In the silence, my soul is fed. For a moment there is peace.