Sitting on Suitcases and No-Man’s-Time

There’s an old Russian ritual of sitting for a few moments before travel. “Sidet’ na chemodanakh” it’s called; “sitting on suitcases”. The sit is an essential part of preparing yourself for a journey. For two minutes you pause, holding where you’ve come from and where you’re going together in your mind, allowing their apart-ness to exist before bringing them together within yourself. An interval is carved out, designated for transition, during which forwards and backwards stretch on either side of you, their lines of equal length. You look both ways.  

The self you understand yourself to be as you leave, collects in your mind, gathering on the backwards-stretching line. It balances against the unknown self you’ll be when you arrive, gathering on the forwards-stretching line. It’s no-man’s-time, separated from the rush, saved for careful, intentional movement from one place to another. Movement between phases becomes slow, effortful, active. 

‘Look Both Ways’. Artwork by Elodie Cavill and Eve Sakai-James.

I’m thinking of no-man’s-time on the way to Bristol before term. My suitcases were too full ever to close, let alone be sat on. The pressures of term gather; it rains, the sun sets earlier and we hurtle from summer into autumn, easily forgetting to stand still on that line between forwards and backwards. In a rush, time turns to solid blocks, packed edge to edge in colourful calendars. 

Writing often means stealing away from that hurtling rush, often by yourself and at insensible moments with deadlines creeping from all sides. It means telling no-one there’s an un-coloured block in your calendar, then fiercely protecting that burrowed cut of unlabelled time. Sometimes it feels duplicitous, even selfish to want caches of preserved time. It’s easy to feel a little alone, or even a little guilty, for sneaking snatches of time to write, time you could have (should have?) promised to someone but didn’t.  

When you’re among others, who are also stealing away to write or work on any other project, the lengths to which you’ll go to protect your burrowed cache, feel less extreme. Without explanation you’re able to respect each other’s need for that time, and help each other to preserve it.  

Aurora is a gathering within the liberal arts community, of people sneaking off to write and make. We can and must in this world of jostling jobs and pressures, band together to fend off invasions of the time we need to write. We can remind each other it’s okay to say, no sorry I’m busy, even with writing you don’t strictly have to do, but you do have to do because otherwise you’ll go mad. Protecting time to write is almost half the work sometimes. 

Whether you’re returning from summer or at university for the first time, come to Aurora to find a collectively defended groove of no-man's-time, protected for our community of writers, makers, thinkers, lookers and explorers. You can find us by reading, writing, drawing, photographing, dreaming... Or join us on adventures – our wonderful workshop co-ordinator Orlá has found a hill-top bench in Perview by a fire pit, just right for sitting, story-telling and for letting horizon become that line between forwards and backwards.  

Rosa Picard (Aurora editor)

Also on Aurora team this year, the wonderful: 

 Liv Lockowandt 

Eve Sakai-James 

Orlá Brachi 

Rose Jeffs 

Essays, letters, lists, dreams, poetry, photographs, music scores, drawings are on their way to Aurora. Send more! Read and enjoy! We love your stuff keep it coming xxxxx 

 All our love and thanks to Tom Dance and Juliette Hughes who gave the blog much energy and vibrant verve last year!