FRAGMENTS

 Life produces so many moments to laugh about, to cry or ponder over and time whisks each one of them away before they have been fully savored and recorded. These moments become half remembered fragments. I have not written a Heartlines for over 6 months so I have picked up a few of these fragments and structured them as an offering to Time passing. I see each piece as a tiny mirror reflecting back some aspect of us all even if the “story” belongs to me.

 

……………….R opened the door of the cupboard in the garden and the whole thing came apart in his hands, frame included. He is no strong man so I was astounded to see what used to pass for a garden shed reduced to a gap in the wall.

“How did you do that?” snapping.

“I don’t know” dumbfounded.

“Well, DO something!” demanding.

“What?” frustrated.

“How should I know?” furious.

I stomped out of the house wishing I lived with a plumber, a carpenter, a brick layer or even a mason and went to fetch the caretaker who KNOWS about SUCH THINGS.

When he arrived he engaged in a deep and loving exploration of the door frame, the internal structure of the shed, the faulty craftsmanship, the rotting wood due to water leakage and finally turned to R for a man to man conversation. I witnessed them both, legs apart, feet firmly planted on the ground, arms crossed over the chest, engrossed in the technicalities of metal door frames as opposed to wooden ones, the causes of wood rot, the challenges of door sizing and the availability of doors in general. R has zero interest in doorways or carpentry of any description but asks all the right questions. The caretaker responds; his feathers pert and erect. It is a love affair between two men and a doorway.

I hear the lyrics of a James Brown number, “This is a man’s world……….”

I remember the second line of the same song, “But it would be nothing, nothing without a woman……………………….”

Personally, I think we should just move house. ……………………………….

  

……………….It is 4am. I am awake. I am alone. The mind does strange things, unbidden, at this photo avec itis4 HL7time of the morning. I can’t solve the problem of where to run the seminar next year, right now. I don’t feel up to writing the outline for the workshop next week. It is too early for breakfast. I make tea. I read a book. I wonder what would happen if I had a heart attack. Where is home? Who cares? The mind is decidedly a strange territory to inhabit before the sun comes up. How thin the shield is between peace of mind and troubled mind. How valuable the light is when it gives shape to the day and the process of “doing” can begin again. “Being” is nothing more than the small talk of daylight hours, when it is safe to be doing the being. At 4am in that dark time before the dawn I am delivered unto myself and found to be wanting………………

  

………………….She was born December 5th just before 6pm. Her eyes stare unblinkingly out at the world around her. In the eyes of a baby one catches a glimpse of the Divine Consciousness that seeks to shine out of all us before it gets buried under the layers of story that make up our lives. Resting my gaze upon her little face, I feel joy, tenderness, gratitude, a reverence for the miracle of birth. I have legitimate permission to take her in my arms and pour all the love in the world into her tiny body. I have no responsibility for either her education or her survival. I can love her totally and hand her back to her parents for safe keeping. The sweetness of this love has the perfume of an eternal spring. Her vulnerability is mine also. Love of a human kind hovers constantly close to the edge of loss and hurt. The hues and tones of fear linger patiently in the background………………………………

  

……………….at the far end of the beach nudity is “tolerated”. There is a sort of demarcation line, a?????????? bit like the Maginot Line, beyond which clothes are not tolerated. Topless seems to be OK on either side of the line so it would seem that once the line is crossed it is strictly shoes only. It is a bit like announcing that children under 12 are advised not to watch this film. I see them lined up along the Maginot Line, passports and shoes in hand, waiting to cross into nudist territory and wondering what the film is about.

And what might the film be about? Exposed genitals? The ugliness of pot bellies and sagging breasts? The killing of the swim wear industry (the bottom half)?  It can’t be about violence. It is hard to hide a weapon on a naked body and codpieces are not allowed so who would be foolish enough to try aggressive behavior on anyone else? I suppose wrestling is a possibility. I wonder if there is anything in the Bible about the sin of a sunburned bum or the intense pleasure of swimming naked in the sea………………………..

 

 photoavec bodyHL7 

………………..I am standing in a shop full of creams and oils for all parts of the body. I am reading the labels of scientific formulas and extravagant promises and I am thinking that I could just empty the cereal packet on my face every morning and it would not only be more effective but also less expensive. This bottle contains nuts, chestnuts and grape seed and the next one contains a plant that drinks so much water it can expand itself in a matter of hours – a must for aging skin. In fact they all guarantee that they will rescue my face and body from looking like a walnut if I use them day and night and in combination with matching, enhancing serums. What remains a mystery to me, beyond the polyglot jargon used to describe these wonders is that I really enjoy trying them out on the back of my hand, sniffing them, puzzling over the contents, wondering about the miracle effects, checking and comparing the prices and ultimately admiring the packaging. Angelica, Precious, Sublime, Absolutely, Eternal, Forever swirl softly in discreet colors towards my eyes begging my hand to reach for them and …………………………………..

  

………………There are so many stories to tell and not much time to write them in. We never have enough time to do all that we want to do. That must be why it is such a great idea to have several lives. This way we can be certain that all that is not done this time round will be included in the next version. So, my friend, what are all the things that you will do next time round? What will you do differently? The same? It is rather a nice thought to think that one gets many chances to perfect oneself. Of course I don’t mean “perfect” in the sense of having more but rather, “perfect” in the sense of learning more deeply about whom one really is. Perfect in the sense of learning to recognize and welcome the presence of the Divine Self – that innate beauty that shines out of all of us when we have cleared the decks of the inessential and the accessory. I guess this is what dying invites us to do; clear the decks and turn inward, beyond the morphine, to the beauty that lies within. Hold fast to that beauty, my friend. You will be a guide for your children, your husband, your friends….. Keep your inner eyes on your essential nature, your great beauty; the beauty we all share with you and go forward with courage and determination to see this thing through – to go where, logically, none of us choose to go but where we must. I wish for you, and yes, pray for you, to go through this phase of your life with all the strength that you manifested in your life even as this body loses that strength.

I wish you well

Kindest of regards and love between old friends

Lynne

She left June 22nd when the sun stood still and the day was at its shortest……………………….

 photoavecdernierpassageHL7

  

And do you recognize any parts of yourself reflected back in these tiny mirrors?

 Have a safe and happy summer season

Lynne

Categories: Heartlines | 1 Comment

Post navigation

One thought on “FRAGMENTS

  1. I was wondering why we hadn’t heard from you… Lynne, you are always a pleasure to read! You bring on depth and thoughtfulness.
    Happy Summer, Patricia

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: