White space
What is a white space?
A space between two words. A pause.
The moment between the inhale and the exhale.
Sunyata.
Emptyness.
White space.
What is a white space?
A space between two people. A pause.
The moment between two snowangels.
The moment you are flying over snowy mountains, the time between times. –
I am there right now. Here, in the white space. It’s not totally empty, I need to let go. I need to settle this chapther to be able to reach to the white page, and leave our words behind.
Yesterday I was still walking on sandy beaches and the sky was clear. Today I woke up in a white nothingness. Good to change perspectives. Good to walk over the snow. Good to permit myself to fall. Good to lay down and recognize all the effort it took to get me here. All the karmic hoops, all the overcomings. And overall, the volition to surrender, the willingless wish to surrender to the white space. Good to be hold, between angels.
My sheets are also white, no stains, no loss. No waste of time. Or too much waste of time. Time that passed, trains that I didn’t catch on time. The tracks are white now, the train is not on time. I am the one waiting. I am the one looking in to the white, I am the one getting wet.
What is a white week? A week when you chose to leave out something from your daily routine. A week without… A week when you permit yourself to sway in the emptyness. A week to surrender. A week without… That opens up space for something new to come.
This is what Yoga is about. Letting go. Changing patterns. Give yourself to the white and let it be just like that. Without colors. Is white yet a color? Can the night be white? Why do you want a colorful life, anyway? Yoga leads me to open up, and ask myself those questions noone asked me before. I am in a white space now, in a white week. I try it not to be a struggle.
I was walking this morning, my meditation is always in movement, is sometimes white, but never empty. The walking gives my thoughts a break, they flow differently. I can’t hold on to them. I have to let go, and in that moment it’s not a struggle, it just happens. And I reach a small cottage, I am in a forest where I never been before. All the words are only happening inside, and the walls of this little space are not willing to sustain them. That’s why they leave, and I feel maybe 21 gr lighter, I reach for my shoulders, but it’s nothing there, my wings are transparent, my thoughts are not to be seen.
Is this the time? I lay down in the snow, I sway what I still think are my arms,, like I did when I was a child. The sky is white. The soil is white. My soul is white, or at least I felt it was for a moment. I leave now. This is not me giving up, it’s me falling into the white wings. I am white now. I am hold, by the angels.