A Past Life as a Middle-Aged Woman on a Frigid Russian Plain

This is a past life that I have explored, that keeps unveiling itself to me in deeper ways - love, betrayal, and ultimately, choosing to love yourself.

She is a strong woman, sturdy. I smell fish. She stands outside of a cabin built of rocks, smoke pouring from the chimney. Her hands are cold, red, scarred. I can see the fog of her breath drifting slowly from her mouth. It sits nearby in the cold air. There is snow all around, and ice. A ray of sun peaks through the clouds and warms her face. She is cleaning a bucket full of fish out there in the cold. The bucket is made of wood thatched together with a wire of some sort. She wears layers of clothing, but her hands must be bare to cut and clean the fish.

Inside now, she warms her frigid hands over the fire and cuts pieces of fish into a pot of stew that hangs over the flames. There is one room, a heavy wood table in the middle for eating and preparing food. Sleeping areas consist of layers of animal – perhaps seal skin – and rough wool blankets. She is not happy, but she knows that she has a purpose: to care for her son, who is still young, 11 or 12 years old.

I can now see her with him when he was even younger. He would stay home with her while her husband, his father, was out fishing. She taught him to read, as best she could and they laughed together. When she is with him, there is a spark of light in her eye. She loves this boy and he is her only reason for being.

Back in the cabin, she continues to cut fish into the pot then hears voices outside. It is her husband and her son, now 12 years old, returning from a day of fishing and hunting. The door bangs open and they come in. Her husband, a brute, simply proclaims “There’s a pile of fish outside that need cleaning”

She kisses her boy on the cheek, and dishes up the food. It is a steaming hot fish stew and her husband is unhappy at eating this yet again. She tells him “why don’t you bring home something else to eat then?” and he nearly hits her in his anger. She gazes upon her boy, his dirty blond hair and ruddy red cheeks and smiles. Such love she has for him that is it the only thing that is keeping her alive.

I then flash on a series of images of this woman taking her beloved boy to the circus when it would come to the nearby town. She loved the theatrical display, the high wire, and so did he. It was her way of showing her son that there is more out there for him. There is more to this world than this cold, smelly, frozen place. Indeed, it was her way of remembering this too.

Back at the table, her 12 year old son and her brute of a husband eating their fish stew, she tells her son that she saw the circus caravan from afar. It is heading to the town once again, that they will go to see it. Her husband erupts in anger. His rage has been building at her trying to show the boy that there is more in the world. To him, the boy is his and the boy, will stay. And to fill his head with dreams of something more, is not allowed. He forbids her to take him to the circus.

Next, I go to perhaps 3 years later. She has continued to cut and clean the fish in this frigid place, and to love the sight of her son returning each day, after fishing with her husband. There is no love in her life except for that of her son. On this day, her son and her husband had left early, as always. On this day, her son left without saying goodbye. She had seen this coming. Her son was becoming more like his father.

He grabbed the wrapped food that she had prepared for them and went out the door without a word. He was not trying to hurt her, but she was hurt. He did not realize that the flash of his eyes, looking into hers before he left to go out into this forsaken world, was all that she had. I think in that moment, she realized that she may have lost him. That the loving and warm boy who she had raised, was becoming his father.

Toward nightfall, she was cutting potatoes into that pot of stew that was steaming over the flames of the fireplace. I can smell the fish and the dirty clothes. I can see that there is a carcass of perhaps elk, outside, and strips of meat hanging over the fire as well.

Night came, and her husband and son did not return. She walked outside, bracing from the icy wind and looked out over the cold, moonlit plain, but they were not there. She sat inside, ate a piece of potato from the stew, and waited. She picked up a book that she had used to teach her boy the basics of reading. Her husband had ripped it in half one night in his rage. He was as terrified of losing the boy as she was.

The next morning, the next day, came and went. They did not return. Gazing out over the frozen plane on that day, she saw the circus caravan off in the distance. It was heading for the town. It was in that moment, that she made a decision. She looked one last time off into the distance and there was no one there. She quickly gathered up a few of her things and threw them into a burlap sack.

It was time for her to go. She would seize the opportunity to escape. I can see her eyes welling up. Wondering if she just stayed a bit longer, if her son, the boy she so dearly loved, would return and she could save him from becoming his father. But she knew better. It was too late. She made sure that the fire was stoked and that there was a full pot of stew simmering on the flames, then left the cabin without looking back.

This was the first time she had made a choice in honor of herself. She had turned over her life to her husband and child and now it was time for her to do this for herself. It felt strange, walking out over that cold plain on her own, but I can feel that the closer she got to the town, the more powerful she felt. She did not look back at the cabin. Not even once.

The next thing I see is her sitting alone watching the circus, in this town. She had always fantasized about running away with them. Discovering a new world and leaving her old life behind. The only thing that had kept her in that frigid place, with a husband just as frigid, was the boy. And I think in that moment, as she sits there and watches the trapeze and the crowd is cheering, and the tears are running down her cheeks, she is at once terrified, but more alive than ever in her life.

She even eats cotton candy. Just as she did with her boy, when she would sneak him away to see the circus and they would marvel at the magic of it all. I can feel her cry. At feeling alone in the world, to no longer have her boy at her side, but also, at choosing herself for the first time in her life.

While I would like to say that this dear woman joined the circus and went off to start a new life, I don’t think that is what happened. I think that she died soon after this - some illness that perhaps had been there for a long time that finally took over. She died wondering if she should have scooped up her son when he was young and escaped from that husband and that horrible place. She died wondering why it took her so long. But also, she died feeling that at last, she had made a choice for herself. She deserved more. She deserved more love. And for her, this was perhaps the most important realization of all.