Time and Space

It is a cool day, maybe 70 degrees, and there are almost no flies. The air is fresh and the breeze almost has a chill. The canvas roof cover flaps and gently thumps the felt canvas ceiling. There is the occasional nicker of a horse, or a dog barking, or a bumblebee passing. Simpson’s clouds drift overhead, hawks circle. It is a lazy day. I slept in until almost 9, and everyone is napping this afternoon. Enhee is away in town, and there don’t appear to be any big projects to be done. I walked to the Artesian spring, which is a very nice 1.5 mile walk up the valley. I go there to get the most pure delicious water I’ve ever tasted. I know how to go now to avoid people’s properties and their dogs. Often, people come to talk to me or children come along for the walk. Today, a little 8 year old girl I have seen before walked with me, holding my hand, singing, reciting poetry, asking questions, and then finally just launched into a breathless monologue that lasted 20 minutes. No idea what she was saying, I think she needed to talk, and I was able to listen.

People live so close within the family. Six to nine people sharing a small space means there isn’t the privilege of privacy…but it also means that privacy is not a value they have. If they see someone alone, they assume that person is lonely and come to join them. Rarely do you see anyone walking alone. Women usually are in pairs, and link arms. Boys and men can do the same with no meaning regarding sexuality. When one of the women or girls come to talk to me, they sit right next to me, and lean on me, while they are talking. I had to learn not to back away. Now I am so used to it, that I am starting to enjoy it rather than see it as an encroachment into my space. I feel included, and see it as a sign of acceptance.

There are other shifts happening. Time is strange out here. I experienced a similar kind of time disorientation in my solitude experiment in Alaska. There, small tasks like hauling water, what the light was doing, what the tide was doing were what defined the time. Hours and days didn’t mean much. Here, the tasks and projects for the day matter, and milking time matters, but otherwise time is slippery and strange. I struggle to remember how many days since I was in the city, and how long in general I have been here. It feels like anywhere between 5-7 weeks, when I have actually been here 4. Sometimes I call Kelly in the city to verify the date and day. She works a regular M-F job, and has a better grip than I on this calendar business.

People are slippery too. Relatives come and go. Children appear for a week or a month, then new children come and the others are gone. I rarely see them arrive or leave. We are in a huge open space…it seems it would be easy to see when someone was coming. I will often be on a walk thinking I am alone and then there is suddenly someone right near me walking, on a horse, standing. Gives the feeling that people can beam in and out.

One of the reasons I came here was to experience this kind of time. To be here long enough to really sink into the rhythm of this place. Sometimes I feel restless, and need to invent a new art project or do some physical work (there is always cow dung that needs shoveling or collecting). I have strong feelings I should be “doing something productive” and working to “earn my keep.” I would like to find a new relationship to those things. To work to contribute to the community, rather than to demonstrate worth. My worth here is inherent and not in question to anyone but me. The here and now is what matters. Unless I am specifically taking time to plan for the future, I try to stay in the now. If I am off in the future, thinking of a life I’d like to create in Alaska, I do it knowing I am indulging in fantasy. After a short time, I remind myself to be HERE while I am here. I dreamed of coming here for 10 years. Silly to dream of Alaska while I am finally in Mongolia. I am quicker to recognize I am away, and more mindful of how I am choosing to “show up.” I appreciate that this place both gives me a mirror to see these things, and the time and space to try on different ways of being.