Today is one of those days when this blog becomes so much more than some words written for the benefit of others. Today I am using this medium to pay hommage to a woman who changed my life. If my post from last year about my teacher, Joan Ruvinsky, went unnoticed, check it out here.
Three and a half years ago I woke up from having a dream while visiting my extended family in England and immediately wrote down the its contents because I knew it was somehow necessary. I then wrote about it in the blog post Repairing My Cabin, but, in a nutshell, I felt that, through the dream, I had been called to India by a sadhu or guru there waiting for me (visit the post from 2013 to read the details of the dream).
When I was twenty-six years old I lived on a street right next to Parc Lafontaine in Montreal. I was nearing the end of a nine-year relationship that I had held onto desperately because I knew that when it ended, I was going to be faced with me, myself and I, and I was a bundle of insecurity and uncertainty at that stage in my life.