Instead of wondering

Images from Lucy's album

I have this desire to capture my thoughts and feelings as they arise in moments of experience here in the country of my birth, in the town where I grew up, among the people – family and friends – that were an integral part of my life for the first 19 years of my life in this physical form.

I so want to hold these moments to the light of awareness and ask questions such as:

Who was I then?
How did I really feel then?
What did I really think then?
Who is asking these questions now?
Why does she want to know?
How did this event shape me? What did it leave in me? What did it create? What did it destroy?

I want to know where all the fragments of that moment are. Where did they disperse? Where did they collect? Who has them? Will I ever get all the bits together again? What would that feel like? Will it be momentous? Will I be frightened by it or encouraged?

I know I shall not pine for it but there is a certain nostalgia that I cannot seem to shake off. Why?

I sometimes feel like I am an observer, quite apart from who I was, looking into the times of my past, transfixed. I feel somewhat disconnected though not completely.

It is an odd, sweet, musty, haunting, slightly disturbing feeling. There is so much of my past that was painful for me or at least that is what I mostly feel about the past.

Yes, there were joyous moments, triumphant moments, moments of childhood abandon and teenage thrills but they are overshadowed by traumatic episodes, so frequent and so terrifying and that never seemed to end.

I cannot be certain that the past is no longer with me. If anything, these oddly nostalgic moments persuade me that I have never fully left the past and this can be disconcerting at times.

I wonder if I shall always feel this way? I wonder if there will come a time when I will no longer feel this tug of emotions to my past?

Ah Lucy, you surprise yourself though not me! You do know, of course, that you decide exactly what your experiences will be, exactly what will happen to you. So, why wonder? Unless, of course, you are not yet ready to choose? Is that what this is about?

Yes, I am sure that’s exactly what this is about.

There’s one thing about making choices, Lucy. You don’t have to do them straightaway. There’s nothing wrong with not being ready.

That’s true but sometimes, the delay is more debilitating than energizing and so, for that reason, I realize that I’d rather make the decision sooner than later. Not always, but increasingly so.

After all, it is fear that prevents me from making the decision. Fear that:

I might make the wrong one
That I’m forever bound by it
That I will never be able to reverse it or make a different one

Yes, Lucy, it’s always fear of one form or another. But, you are well and truly on your way to recognizing fear in its many forms, even the more subtle forms. That is your awareness.

I am Blessed and I Bless

My desk sits in front of a wide glass window through which I look up into the branches of ancient fig trees. Peeps of ice blue sky fill the spaces between branches and leaves, some of which are drenched in spring’s sunlight, others in shadows of varying contrast.

Rainbow lorikeets make good use of the trees while offering a different voice to the urban sounds of traffic and domestic equipment. It is easily possible to forget that I am only a fifteen minute walk to the city.

What makes this dwelling home after twelve months of a somewhat nomadic existence? It is knowing that I won’t have to move unless I want to. Having moved house six times in the last ten years because landlords have decided to sell or raise the rent to levels I have not been able to afford, it has become the most relevant reason.

So I have been setting up home once again. It has been a joyous experience. Finding new items to bring into my space while delighting in the pleasant surprise of unpacking old favorites has been part of this joy.

This move is different to all other moves because this time, my children have not moved with me. I feel as if I have been instructed to start from scratch. It’s not just a new home. It’s not just a new beginning. It’s a new life.

It’s not that the old has been discarded. It is rather that the old has transformed and I must be ready to meet it on fresh terms. And the old includes who I have been and how I have been, not just a few months or years ago but even a few moments ago, a second ago!

In all this movement and change, and now this settling down, I feel the strength and the ever-growing sense of two things – Gratitude and Faith.

Deepening gratitude, strengthening faith.

And so I am blessed. And so I bless.

May I live for the greatness and goodness of all.

You wreck my shop and my house and now my heart, but
how can I run from what

gives me life? I’m weary of personal worrying, in love
with the art of madness!

Jalal Ad-Din Rumi Translated by Coleman Barks in The Soul of Rumi

That window in my heart

What change! I am, at what I still refer to as, 'home' although I first left it over thirty years ago! Since then, I have visited, on average, once every two to three years. Yet, it remains a place of strong sentiments, triggered by memories that awaken unpredictably.

Voices, smells, scenes that I rush past in a moving car, a name mentioned here, family friends who drop by without warning, certain that they are always welcome, and they are of course... All these and more remind me of a time and place and family that are no more, in some sense, yet by no means lost. They are all there, every bit of them, in the secure vaults of my memory, released, from time to time, by daily moments.

I watch my oldest brother, a shadow of his former self following an operation several months ago to remove a tumour in his brain. I watch his inability to care for himself or to speak for himself. I watch as he is fed and cleaned and changed by a number of caring, competent hands. I watch as he is prompted to speak and answer questions as if a child. I watch as if I had expected to see all this. I watch as I become aware that regardless of my expectations, I have been shocked and I am deeply, deeply saddened.

I find myself resisting old memories, fearing that they will only make the difference between what was and what is simply too unbearable. It is better, I say to myself, to remain right here and now. And mostly I do. But in the two days that I have been here, I have sobbed in the confines of our daily family prayer. This has been the only time when the gulf between Life Was and Life Is has stretched so far that it has torn the heart which holds all three.

How can the human being have such indignity enforced on it? How can what so majestically was have become so unceremoniously is? And yet, these moment to moment displays of tenderness, caring, patience, unconditional love, encouragement, faith...where do these come from, if not from that same gulf which separates was and is? It is as if a window has appeared in my heart and through it, I see god in many forms.

Listen, open a window to God
and begin to delight yourself
by gazing upon Him through the opening.
The business of love is to make that window in the heart,
for the breast is illumined by the beauty of the Beloved.
Gaze incessantly on the face of the Beloved!
Listen, this is in your power, my friend!

Jalal-al-Din Rumi