Montana Wolf

Friday, June 11, 2010

The Final 24 Hours

There are waves. Powerful emotional surges that reel me far from center. So deep I can not discern what the feelings are...some mix of fright, excitement and sadness. Sometimes I awaken in the middle of the night paralyzed by panic. It takes a few moments to rouse myself from bed and swing my feet onto the floor in search of something solid. I am intent on their passage. I must ride this groundswell that I might arrive clean on the shore of my new life. I do this with the help of a few friends. Those who call and email to check on me; those whom I can call and say, help. I'm sinking. Let me grab the sound of your voice that I might stay afloat.

Last night I dreamt that I watched Pooka walk along a fence line carrying a black collar in her teeth. Tom said no, it was a fan. (?)  She jumped into a hollow stump and a tiger stalked along, reached the stump and leapt in after her. I ran to rescue Pooka, reached the stump and saw her in the clenches of the Tiger. I reached to grab her from the jaws but was stopped short by her calm, potent green eyes that pierced mine. 'It's okay,' they said. 'It's over. Goodbye.' I awoke in shock. In real time she has not entered my trailer in days. She knows what's happening and it tears me in two.

Girlfriend Emilie phoned two days ago. She said, I give you 150 miles. As in, 150 miles until I move from tears and utter sadness to ecstatic excitement. Then, she said, it'll hit again at 450 but you'll move through fast. We laughed at the prospect. I suggested I call friends and start a pool. At what mileage marker will I move beyond the dead zone and into the thrall of terra infirma?

I do laundry this morning. I dump the grey and black water from the trailer and fill the tank with fresh drinking water.  Out with the old; in with the new. Pooka sits outside the door and anxiously mews...having spent five years with me in a fulltime motorhome life, she knows the drill. She knows this signals departure. I want her to hop into the trailer and hide until I am so far away I can not drive her back. I guess that to be, saaaay, 150 miles.













1 comment:

  1. Oh, Christina! Such a potent dream. And such a clear message:
    it's okay. it's over. I think it'll be a lot of miles before you know your new life, but it's okay, it's beginning.
    Blessings on your journey,
    Love, Carole

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