Short Stories
The Book of Changes. Spring
Here I am, sitting in a little cottage in the outskirts of Berrima. Inland. I wonder why I am here, and think about all the paths that led to this destination. How every step we take on our journey leads us to a moment where everything is born anew, this constant change that seems to be forcing me to keep pace with it, to trust that I am meant to be here.
As I look over the acres of trees they are being shaken by the wind. Yet they stand, moving, flowing with the conditions that occur around them, battered but steady and strong.
It is only when we resist the flow of the tide and the natural cycles of all things that we find ourselves beached – helpless to act. I have learnt to jump in, to release the urge to hold my breath, to drown amongst these waves. They carried me here, to this place, they washed away everything I thought I knew.
The birds reassure me. The petals shower me with blessings; their pink carpet laid beneath my feet as I take another step forward – another step into the unknown.
At first I was surprised at finding horses in the garden, now I have grown accustomed to seeing them open the gate. The grass always seems greener on the other side. It is only when we are there that we wonder why we needed to reach for it at all, was it not more comfortable in a familiar place?
Yet it is not until we open our eyes to new possibilities that we are able to broaden our vision. For beyond the gates we have built to contain our lives there are many new experiences that lie in wait, asking to be discovered.
So I treasure this time, I relish this moment and where it has taken me. I allow the sun to warm me each day as I sit and write. For that is now what I know I must do. I must forget the past and let go of the future; there is only the urge to answer my present calling, to allow the words to light my way.
Chapter by chapter they bring new awareness, as if I am the reader being led by the hand. I imagine Salome as I move to the dance of the seven veils, each one removing doubt, shedding confusion, releasing insecurities, bringing me closer to the clarity of the complete vision, eager to expose the final result – the sound of trumpets announcing the finale.
Each page is spun with gossamer thread, each chapter woven with its own pattern, its own fluid form. They cling together as I allow them to take shape, this creation that is slowly emerging into being.
It is a new beginning, the seeds are sown and with patience I will watch them bloom. My book, my first book. Can I really say it?
Yes, I have written a book.