(As it turned out, no, it wouldn't. Car broke down and had to be towed. I was getting a cold again, or was it just the same cold of 2 weeks ago?)
I really needed a good night's sleep.
As I stood in the kitchen, making last minute plans for the holiday, talking to A., I casually glanced into the dining room and was dumbstruck by the view.
Never, in 11 years living in this house, had I stood in this place, during this time of year, at this time of day, and looked from this vantage point. It created an instant of complete unfamiliarity.
The view was amazing-- a warm, honey tone to everything around me, the big Dutch cupboard at the end of the dining room fully visible, it's glass doors reflecting light but also revealing pottery and plates on the shelves, the thresh hold of the kitchen like a grand frame around another world, the geometric patterns of the rug a path to follow.
Meanwhile, I could feel the house plants behind me, and the darkness beyond the french doors.
Everything around me was wonderfully clear, illuminated, and the moment seemed so still.
Was I still on the telephone? I know I stopped listening.
All I could think of was how beautiful the moment was, everything about it: the sensation of a dark, cold November night behind me, the house plants at the doors like friends just over my shoulder, all the warm tones inviting me deeper into the experience, the gateway into another space, and the lovely cupboard, a little world of its own, at the end of the room.
I was in a mandala.
And it all occurred within a split second.
The phone call ended. I stood for another second or two, but the moment of deep looking had ended as well. I was so, so tired.
I climbed the stairs, and slept well....but the momentary experience of opening a new view is still with me. It changes everything.