A bed isn’t simply a bed. It’s a refuge. Considering we spend at least a third of our life in bed, we should spend more time choosing just the right one. I happened across mine in Ecseri market… the headboard and footboard were just lying up against a wall. It didn’t look like much at first glance and, as with all good things, a little closer inspection revealed much.
Each corner is embossed with a rather intricate metal figurine. The inlaid design on the footboard is rather lovely, as it the headboard itself. It was missing its original latts, although the mahogany frame was still in good nick. It’s not an Ikea-mattress size. At 140cm x 190cm, it’s slightly shorter than your average bed, but then, I’m slightly shorter than your average basketball player (and the only basketball player I know is a 76-year-old Jesuit priest!)
The footboard is curved, arc-like, which gives it a lovely shape – a lot more interesting that the usual straight-sided offerings. I loved it and didn’t have a doubt in the world that I should take it home. I had some latts made and my very good friend MI worked her usual magic and found me just the right-sized mattress in some town outside Budapest. The saints were indeed smiling on me the day I met Ms M. The bed, having come in so many parts, finally came together last Tuesday.
And that’s when I last had a good night’s sleep. Tuesday night, after about an hour of twisting and turning, I was overcome by a fierce sense of anxiety bordering on sheer terror. I’m not given to hearing footsteps in the night so the urge I had to triple lock the front door and put the chain on took me by surprise. I pulled out ye olde trustworthy crystal and did a bit of divining. The bed had had a happy history – no major deaths or dismemberment. But it was facing the wrong way. Now, despite the fact that my neighbours and I are not on ‘pop in for a coffee’ terms, I still have some sense of civic duty and didn’t feel that 3am was the time to start shifting furniture. But first thing Wednesday morning, I moved the bed.
Wednesday night, I slept. No getting up in the middle of the night. I slept straight through and when I woke I was exhausted. I felt as if I’d had a fortnight on the tear. Thankfully, my 7.30am class had cancelled on me. Thursday night was no better. Friday, the shamanic Jeremiah D came to visit for the weekend. He may as well have been riding a white horse and wearing a suit of armour! When he spent some time in the room, he felt the energy and whilst not bad, it was definitely strong. On Saturday, after yet another restless night, we had a clearing ceremony: those lost souls crossed over, out the window, and on to the other side.
Sunday morning, I awoke at 4.30am (after two and a half hours’ sleep) and felt fully rested. I could have gotten up and started my day. I slept again and awoke at 7.30 feeling energised and awake. I’ve visitors this week so am camping out in the study. It’ll be Thursday before I get to sleep there again and this time, I hope to bask in the glow of the new csillár and enjoy a solid night’s sleep. I might even dream of those who have slept there before me… 150 years makes for a lot of stories!
I miss travelling. I miss planes. And airports. And even RyanAir’s annoying we’re-ahead-of-schedule-but-only-because-we-buffered-the-timetable bugle call. Worse still, it’s taking me longer and longer to conjure