One day it rains, one day it shines. So we learn to look for the beauty in these changes.
For example, on the way from the gym there is a gorgeous tree that has been offering its furry, green encased yellow blossoms since the days of snow. Its "owners" (I refuse to believe anyone can actually own anything living) chopped off some of its branches, added a box to encourage small wildlife to nest amongst its boughs. Every day I go by, it is a bit greener, a tad furrier. I kiss one of the almond-like promises of life, it seems to sigh and giggle.
Then, a few days ago, I noticed that many other trees and bushes are beginning to coat their clipped ends with little spots of green feathers, of pink skin, of reddish scales. They all seem to sigh and giggle, too, as I go by without a scarf, or fighting a reluctant umbrella, always beckoning me to stop for a quick caress. They know they make my smile wider, that I carry that smile on to be spread across the city. If you want to squeal and feel the cheer up and down your spine, stop and spot. They are everywhere, playing show and seek - they are not shy, just overlooked.
And yesterday, the magical pond appeared. OK, so it's not "magical" in the wandey sense; but it's appearance and disappearance is to be wondered at. Try to imagine this: there is a park/garden/recreation ground on the other side of the road - a very busy, wide, exit-of-the-city road. In this park, there is a large expanse of grass where the lines for the football field have been traced so often they remain brown and bare. Yet, this half-abandoned place (in winter at least) has a surrounding asphalted walk that has dipped at one corner... so that when it rains heavily, water accumulates and pools up. Nothing special about it, right? But the magical thing is, there are ducks!! I mean, usually there are seagulls camping all over the field, and some pigeons too; but from nowhere, there are ducks floating in the pond, preening themselves on at its edges, while the seagulls and pigeons have vanished. Where do they come from? Where are the others gone? Maybe they have metamorphosed from one fowl to another! Magic!
It may seem ridiculous to you, but it makes me chuckle, looking around me with fresh eyes to uncover the clues. So far, I have only noticed a patch of crocuses standing proud on the opposite end, untouched by dog, bird, or human alike. We are all waiting for their corollas to greet the sun, and then we'll all know for sure: Spring will have arrived.
What miracles have you seen recently that made you smile?
Friday 25 February 2011
Wednesday 16 February 2011
Seasons: Winter
Winter was a time feared, a time of darkness, a time of little sunlight and much cold. What fools we were!! What fools we are, when we still complain about it, knowing it is not right!
We are nearer the end than the beginning of winter, quickly forgetting that back when it started, the days ended a full hour earlier. We also forget that the "dead of winter" was, in fact, last year, since the season started in December, and that it was already following the cold and snow that brought us to a halt.
What do we have now? We have cool days, and rain and longer hours of sunlight. We have the promise of Life, spring, summer, ahead of us. We thought that autumn was ominous, that winter would be dark and dank, yet here we are: the monster that we had feared passed before we even heard it come! Instead of a gnarling beast with cavernous jaws we find a meowing kitten at our doorstep, shivering, craving Love.
Winter as a death-bringer is an illusion: most people can tell you when it is autumn, when spring, but few can place the beginning and end of winter accurately. Most confuse it, lengthening it, making it larger than life so that, in fact, it overlaps. Just like the shadow of Death is feared, when it should be simply allowed to go by. Just like pain and sorrow have a prelude of decay and a reemergence in the following generations. Just so, winter asks us to stay inside, to look after ourselves, to bundle up with our families and loved ones for protection, for warmth, for hope.
Winter came, has stayed, will be gone. Let it not leave us barren, but ready for growth.
We are nearer the end than the beginning of winter, quickly forgetting that back when it started, the days ended a full hour earlier. We also forget that the "dead of winter" was, in fact, last year, since the season started in December, and that it was already following the cold and snow that brought us to a halt.
What do we have now? We have cool days, and rain and longer hours of sunlight. We have the promise of Life, spring, summer, ahead of us. We thought that autumn was ominous, that winter would be dark and dank, yet here we are: the monster that we had feared passed before we even heard it come! Instead of a gnarling beast with cavernous jaws we find a meowing kitten at our doorstep, shivering, craving Love.
Winter as a death-bringer is an illusion: most people can tell you when it is autumn, when spring, but few can place the beginning and end of winter accurately. Most confuse it, lengthening it, making it larger than life so that, in fact, it overlaps. Just like the shadow of Death is feared, when it should be simply allowed to go by. Just like pain and sorrow have a prelude of decay and a reemergence in the following generations. Just so, winter asks us to stay inside, to look after ourselves, to bundle up with our families and loved ones for protection, for warmth, for hope.
Winter came, has stayed, will be gone. Let it not leave us barren, but ready for growth.
Tuesday 8 February 2011
Transitions
I wrote this bit while flying back after saying good-bye to my mother. She died the following morning. This goes for her. And for all who go through the pain of loss.
Transitions
We all have to go through transitions. Life changes, and we have to adapt to the new situation, the new people around us. We may complain more or less, but we comply with the requirements, in the end. We get used to locations and company alike. It is, it turns out, not that difficult to add experiences, names and faces to our habits. The really tough call is when we are required to give up that, but mostly whom, we consider 'ours.' Then, it hurts! A friend says that "losing someone you love is not a wound, it's a mutilation:" we are attached, just like the arm is attached to the shoulder.
I have long been 'independent,' a grown-up nomad, yet here I am, bleeding soul and dried-out eyes. The general feeling of unreality is periodically shattered by a sorrow that burrows beneath the skin and makes me shake, lost. Still, I know it is hardly going to get me 'ready' for the phone call that will inevitably come. When that does happen, my umbilical cord will be well and truly cut. They say we lose 21 grammes when we die: how much do we lose when the ones we love die?
I may have been 'on my own' for a long time, unafraid to move to another country, to find new wonderful friends. I took a certain pride in it. Only now do I realise that it was because, somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I could return were anything bad to happen. Now I realise I may, in future, come back to the city where I grew up; I may stay (even live!) in the same flat we lived in since I was 17... but I won't be going 'home' anymore. Because there is now a Sleeping Beauty with the dragon and the thorns all twisted and tearing at her from the inside, and there is no gallant prince but blessed, restful morphine.
My beautiful Mam is in Transition, pulling us along, blissfully unaware. It is peculiar, what we can learn to be grateful for. It is time to be strong enough to take up her motto, to see and honour her in it: Always look on the bright side of Life. Because Life is Love, and Love is Joy, and Joy is Life. And I want to remember her as the Joyful being who gave me Life, and whom I so dearly Love.
Anja Blaauw Westland: 2nd Sept 1945 - 7th Feb 2011
Mother, Teacher, Giver: Woman.
Thank You!
Transitions
We all have to go through transitions. Life changes, and we have to adapt to the new situation, the new people around us. We may complain more or less, but we comply with the requirements, in the end. We get used to locations and company alike. It is, it turns out, not that difficult to add experiences, names and faces to our habits. The really tough call is when we are required to give up that, but mostly whom, we consider 'ours.' Then, it hurts! A friend says that "losing someone you love is not a wound, it's a mutilation:" we are attached, just like the arm is attached to the shoulder.
I have long been 'independent,' a grown-up nomad, yet here I am, bleeding soul and dried-out eyes. The general feeling of unreality is periodically shattered by a sorrow that burrows beneath the skin and makes me shake, lost. Still, I know it is hardly going to get me 'ready' for the phone call that will inevitably come. When that does happen, my umbilical cord will be well and truly cut. They say we lose 21 grammes when we die: how much do we lose when the ones we love die?
I may have been 'on my own' for a long time, unafraid to move to another country, to find new wonderful friends. I took a certain pride in it. Only now do I realise that it was because, somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I could return were anything bad to happen. Now I realise I may, in future, come back to the city where I grew up; I may stay (even live!) in the same flat we lived in since I was 17... but I won't be going 'home' anymore. Because there is now a Sleeping Beauty with the dragon and the thorns all twisted and tearing at her from the inside, and there is no gallant prince but blessed, restful morphine.
My beautiful Mam is in Transition, pulling us along, blissfully unaware. It is peculiar, what we can learn to be grateful for. It is time to be strong enough to take up her motto, to see and honour her in it: Always look on the bright side of Life. Because Life is Love, and Love is Joy, and Joy is Life. And I want to remember her as the Joyful being who gave me Life, and whom I so dearly Love.
Twinkle, twinkle, in her eye,
How I loved it when she smiled.
Full of Joy, Love, and Light,
Shining Beacon, guidance bright.
Twinkle, twinkle, in her eye,
How I loved it when she smiled.
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