Perfect Moments

Looking at old photos can be a bittersweet experience. There are often very mixed sentiments involved in remembering those captured moments. Perhaps because it’s painful to look back at a time that is lost and regretted. Or because the smiles were just for the camera and were hiding some personal turmoil. The pictures can only record a single moment, but looking at them can sometimes stir up a whole complicated set of emotions. I suppose its inevitable that as you get older you are increasingly remembering people that are no longer with us or a self that that seems long gone.

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A moment full of hopes and dreams from our wedding in 1974. Both sets of parent and Father Gerry Hughes, have since passed away, as has our marriage. But it’s a lovely memory nonetheless, and one I can look back on with fondness.

But you can’t keep looking back at the past and blaming yourself for the way things turned out, the if-only’s. I confess that sometimes that tendency is there in me. And then I have to remind myself that the only way to heal is to forgive yourself for your shortcomings and understand that you did the best you could at the time. It’s human to get waylaid by wishing that things could have been different. The trick is to remember that our history is what makes us the people we are today, inevitably older, but hopefully wiser and more tolerant too.

So, while there will always be a few ghosts along the way when we delve into our past, there are also, happily, some moments of perfect joy. Moments which encompass so much more than just the image, but all the emotions associated with it. For me, many of those moments centre around my children and grandchildren, from the instant I first held them in my arms to all the small childhood tragedies and triumphs along the way, when yet another little bit of your heart is captured and gladly given away.

One such instance comes from decades ago, a sunny day at the beach when we’d packed the children into the car for an impromptu picnic, not something we did all that often. It was when we were living in Holland near the border with Germany, so the beach was one on the banks of the River Rhine – there are sandy beaches along its length just at that point. Anyway, the children had run down to the water’s edge and were splashing each other, jumping in and out of the spray.  I have an idea they were wearing those plastic sandals called jellies – or maybe they were just wearing their good sandals!

It was such a lovely day, bright and hot, and I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deep. I opened them to see the image that has stayed with me all these years – the sunlight sparkling on the water, a heat haze over the wet sand and my four children visible through it as they played on the shore maybe 40 metres away, the sound of their squeals of laughter floating towards me. All wasn’t well with our marriage at this point and I don’t have a photograph, but this was a perfect moment out of time which nothing has ever been able to spoil.

These moment, these tender moments of the heart, I think come much closer to our true memories than any camera can ever capture. Sometimes you look at a photograph and although you know you were there – the proof is laid out in front of you – you can’t actually recall how it felt to be there, how YOU felt. Or you know that the photographer has failed to record the real all-singing, all-dancing you but instead has brutally chosen the moment when you are looking uncomfortable in a badly chosen outfit or were squinting at the sun.

All in all I prefer to close my eyes and explore the inner pictures which are much clearer, much nearer to who I really am and how I remember things. Often those moments aren’t the ones that are imperfectly captured on film, but are instead indelibly imprinted on my heart and remembered with infinite tenderness.

sparkling on water

 

 

 

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at the eleventh hour…

… of the eleventh day of the eleventh month,

at the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them

poppies

The sun is hidden, undecided;  /  The clouds torment the trees,  /  Thunder lurks, loose, yet undivided  /  By the faintest breath of breeze.

The coming storm is longed for, hoped for  /  To ease the electric atmosphere,  /  There is no time now to stop the downpour,  /  Let it come, yet still I fear.

Long streaks of light create a chaos,  /  Rivers swell and oceans roar.  /  Death, destruction, killing, fire,  /  The earth is shaken to the core.

Filled with dread, yet never doubting,  /  This terror comes in the murk of night.  /  But after night will come a dawning  /  Of beauty – breathless, fresh and white.

John A MacFarlane

Internet Inspiration

I’m working on something a bit special (and time consuming!) for my 50th post next week. In the meantime, for post number 49, I thought I’d share with you eight clips from the Internet that have inspired me in recent months. Mostly they have encouraged me to think a little differently about the world, given me hope or joy, or have even restored my faith in humanity – maybe they’ll do the same for you. At the very least I hope they raise a smile or two!

So, in no particular order, here are some random ideas worth spreading… (You might need to activate the sound on each one – copying seems sometimes to turn it off)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come to Your Senses

timeoutI thought I’d share a little mediation exercise with you. You might find it helps you focus when you have too many thoughts swirling around your brain. I suggest you read this through first and then try it out for yourself when you have the odd five or ten minutes to spare to take some time out for yourself.

First, switch off the radio or any other distractions and just sit quietly with your eyes closed, breathing slowly. Turn your attention to the weight of you as you sit on your chair; feel the seat beneath you, your feet pressing against the floor; your legs, back, arms, your chest moving up and down with each breath. Acknowledge any small aches and pains – sometimes I will gently roll my head if my neck is a little stiff – and then pass on…

Next, breath in deeply and notice any smells in the air and, closely related, tastes in your mouth. Perhaps you can both taste and smell toothpaste if you’ve just cleaned your teeth. Or the lingering flavour of a delicious meal. Or a faint scent of cut grass coming in through the open window. Allow your mind to briefly identify the tastes and aromas, and then pass on…

Keeping your eyes shut, open your ears to the sounds that surround you. Is there a clock ticking, or other sounds made by your house? Can you hear peoples’ voices in other rooms or perhaps passing by your window? If you can hear traffic is it individual vehicles or the distant roar of a motorway?  I often find I’m holding my breath as I concentrate on allowing the tiniest noises to come to me. Note each sound as you recognise it, then let it go and pass on…

Finally, open your eyes and try to observe what’s in front of you as if you were seeing it for the first time. What colours and shapes do you notice? Cast your gaze around the room – does something catch your eye that you’ve never really looked at properly before? Today, I found my attention drawn to the vase of sunflowers sitting on my table. I noticed that their bright sunny colour made everything else in the room look quite dull.

Take a deep breath and for a short time just enjoy that feeling of being entirely in the moment. If you’re like me, none of the tasks or issues you might be tussling with will have gone away, but somehow you’ll find yourself looking at them with a fresh perspective. It’s as if focusing on the five physical senses frees up the subconscious mind to get to work like a magical sixth sense that shows you the solutions you knew were there all along, but were too busy to see.

sunflowers