Maybe 67-68 years ago, I remember pulling my little self up on the couch to look at the fish in my dad’s aquarium. It was likely late morning with the sun rays beaming through the living room. I looked through a corner of the tank and saw a magnificent site: everything was outlined with rainbows! The prism effect did something powerful to me. I was amazed and never forgot this beautiful moment 🥰.
Wow what a beautiful memory! 🤩 And it’s kept you company all these years.🌈 🤗
That’s actually triggered a memory of my own… of a colourful bird in my back garden. I loosely remember being the first awake in my house at about the age of 6yrs. Coming downstairs and looking out of patio door windows to see a kind of ‘magical parrot’ in the garden.
Nobody believed me and I’ve doubted the memory ever since.
It’s highly unlikely I saw an actual parrot 🦜 in my north England home…but not impossible if it was an escaped pet or just a lost migratory bird??
Basically I don’t know what to make of this memory. 😆🫶🏼
Yes indeed. I know the trigger word is used in a lot of negative context these days but it was a wonderful memory to reflect on so thank you for that. 🙏🤗
I feel myself being softened by a lot of challenges in life right now. It feels like there's a choice point where we let these challenges make us rigid and brittle, or we allow ourselves to surrender and soften. I'm trying to practice turning toward the softening over and over. Your words feel timely today.
Oh yes I’m feeling those threshold moments too! 🚪✨ A moment where we have to decide to boldly step through the door or turn back towards the safety of our habitual patterns. Takes great courage and tenderness too perhaps. Your Heart has you. 🙏💖
I find great sadness I can’t recall the feeling you are referring to. But I’m grateful I can see the world through my two year olds eye’s…he senses that wonder, awe and magic. I also find it sad that we drop out of that universal awe in childhood and I think those of us living and committing to some sort of spiritual path are trying to get back there, because we know deep down we are part of that wonder, awe and magic!
Hi again, another memory triggered by “…we try and grab hold of a ray of light in our hands…”
In the early 60s, my dad would wash the cars in the driveway. When rinsing off the soap, the dirt and oil would swirl into amazing rainbows 🌈 🌈🌈💓! I was probably 4 or 5 and just knew if I tried hard enough, I could catch those colors in a paper bag! Never quite got them, but the memory always makes me smile.😊
“Where does wonder call it’s home now that we are adults”?
On the day my wife died, I roamed, a lost and torn vagabond of the heart, on a starlit night along the quiet dirt road of our home. Raging, cursing, spitting out words and tears — shaking my fist at the universe and just as quickly, dropping my head in despair, whispering to myself, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand” in a strained voice and a pulsating body of despair. While wiping away tears to clear my vision, lifting my head and launching my sight as far as I could into the glittering darkness, I said to myself, “But someday I WILL understand — not now, just not now.”
And my journey began (which just yesterday I christened with the title “A Walk to Forever Along the Trail of Grief.”). In that moment my wife’s great presence was no more, my being had entered a dark hall where I could not find myself, where meaning dissolved, where the prospect of tomorrow disappeared. And only now did I began to understand how wonder also has a terrible side that scratches and claws relentlessly at the soul.
Yet one day, that first winter, I received an email in reply to a message I had sent to a workshop presenter. In it I described the details of my wife’s passing and our discovery of each other at the same camp and conference center that Mirabai was offering her workshop. And this workshop fell on the first anniversary date of my wife’s death.
The note was short: “Oh, brother! I am weeping. My teenage daughter also died on October 30th.” I put my computer down. Now I was crying, then I was sobbing and found myself stumbling out onto my deck. I went to the far corner and fell to my knees. In between sobs, almost like a mantra, I kept saying over and over, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand.”
The sobbing was relentless, my words became incoherent, my body was trembling and I was gasping for air. I needed to go out back and beyond my house, through the fresh snowpack in our forest, to my wife’s burial cairn. Once there , I descended into a heart crazed and soul-broken dialogue without words — perhaps more a plea or an act of lament or contrition or …. Then I simply fell flat and prostrated myself before her in the new snow. I lay face down in the snow and just wept and wept. Time stopped.
Sometime later, realizing my weeping had ended, I quickly became transfixed by the quiet all around me. I got back on my feet noticing how blue the sky, how gentle the swaying of the tall white pines, above me their sweetest scent filling the air. And my heart, my heart — at peace and at home. It was as if I made the greatest discovery of my lifetime. There was this secret revealed to me that, within the farthest wasteland of my despair, there is this special place of unmitigated grace and beauty. And it was both in me and without me — these stone walls, this cairn I built, this great forest that I stood under, had been sanctified and blessed by something I could not understand. I was alright with that. Perhaps for the first time in my adult life, I found comfort in this great mystery. And what was birthed was an even greater wonder.
Oh my Mark. That has to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read!
“I don’t understand” sounds like the purest prayer one could utter.
I shall give it the space it deserves and not trample all over it with my clumsy words but just to say I’m deeply humbled you would share your songline here with us. 🙏
I feel like I should share it somehow. It’s such a gift. 💜
I remember my granddad watching my two toddlers playing with their cars on his rug. He had a serene smile on his face so I asked if he wished he were a child again. He was a very private man, very stoic so I was surprised when he said he did and then proceeded to tell me a story about his childhood. Such simpler times with much fewere choices to make.
I couldn’t ask for more affirming praise Karen. If I could give the world a hug through my writing I would.
You mention war & peace in another comment and actually your original comment was very Tolstoy-esque. Tolstoy’s genius was not complicated language but complicated moments distilled very clearly. He uses very straightforward language to paint whole tapestries of human lives and places them right in front of you. Which is what I felt when you wrote about your grandad. Like I was in the room with him.
Whatever place you were writing from. Do that. There’s magic in it. ✨
Oh wow! OK. Your writing seems to spark this in me. Thanks so much. I am toying with writing in different ways to encompass all that I am and want to express while encouraging others to fully embrace their authentic selves too. Your feedback is gold!
Beautiful piece David 🥰.
Maybe 67-68 years ago, I remember pulling my little self up on the couch to look at the fish in my dad’s aquarium. It was likely late morning with the sun rays beaming through the living room. I looked through a corner of the tank and saw a magnificent site: everything was outlined with rainbows! The prism effect did something powerful to me. I was amazed and never forgot this beautiful moment 🥰.
Wow what a beautiful memory! 🤩 And it’s kept you company all these years.🌈 🤗
That’s actually triggered a memory of my own… of a colourful bird in my back garden. I loosely remember being the first awake in my house at about the age of 6yrs. Coming downstairs and looking out of patio door windows to see a kind of ‘magical parrot’ in the garden.
Nobody believed me and I’ve doubted the memory ever since.
It’s highly unlikely I saw an actual parrot 🦜 in my north England home…but not impossible if it was an escaped pet or just a lost migratory bird??
Basically I don’t know what to make of this memory. 😆🫶🏼
Thank you for sharing your memory David! I’m glad it was a fun trigger 🤗.
Your colorful bird memory is cool. Real or not, it’s your memory and it stayed with you too😄.
Yes indeed. I know the trigger word is used in a lot of negative context these days but it was a wonderful memory to reflect on so thank you for that. 🙏🤗
That is so beautiful. ✨
I feel myself being softened by a lot of challenges in life right now. It feels like there's a choice point where we let these challenges make us rigid and brittle, or we allow ourselves to surrender and soften. I'm trying to practice turning toward the softening over and over. Your words feel timely today.
Oh yes I’m feeling those threshold moments too! 🚪✨ A moment where we have to decide to boldly step through the door or turn back towards the safety of our habitual patterns. Takes great courage and tenderness too perhaps. Your Heart has you. 🙏💖
I find great sadness I can’t recall the feeling you are referring to. But I’m grateful I can see the world through my two year olds eye’s…he senses that wonder, awe and magic. I also find it sad that we drop out of that universal awe in childhood and I think those of us living and committing to some sort of spiritual path are trying to get back there, because we know deep down we are part of that wonder, awe and magic!
I feel like your great sadness is your great remembering Emma my lovely. ☺️
The sadness *is* the awareness.
It’s like that other childhood thing where we try and grab hold of a ray of light in our hands then wonder where it’s gone when we open our fist. 😆🌈🩵
Hi again, another memory triggered by “…we try and grab hold of a ray of light in our hands…”
In the early 60s, my dad would wash the cars in the driveway. When rinsing off the soap, the dirt and oil would swirl into amazing rainbows 🌈 🌈🌈💓! I was probably 4 or 5 and just knew if I tried hard enough, I could catch those colors in a paper bag! Never quite got them, but the memory always makes me smile.😊
These childhood memories are lush! 🤩 I’m delighted in the retelling! 🌈🥰 I feel like they should be shared somewhere…like in a book or something. ✨✨💖
“Where does wonder call it’s home now that we are adults”?
On the day my wife died, I roamed, a lost and torn vagabond of the heart, on a starlit night along the quiet dirt road of our home. Raging, cursing, spitting out words and tears — shaking my fist at the universe and just as quickly, dropping my head in despair, whispering to myself, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand” in a strained voice and a pulsating body of despair. While wiping away tears to clear my vision, lifting my head and launching my sight as far as I could into the glittering darkness, I said to myself, “But someday I WILL understand — not now, just not now.”
And my journey began (which just yesterday I christened with the title “A Walk to Forever Along the Trail of Grief.”). In that moment my wife’s great presence was no more, my being had entered a dark hall where I could not find myself, where meaning dissolved, where the prospect of tomorrow disappeared. And only now did I began to understand how wonder also has a terrible side that scratches and claws relentlessly at the soul.
Yet one day, that first winter, I received an email in reply to a message I had sent to a workshop presenter. In it I described the details of my wife’s passing and our discovery of each other at the same camp and conference center that Mirabai was offering her workshop. And this workshop fell on the first anniversary date of my wife’s death.
The note was short: “Oh, brother! I am weeping. My teenage daughter also died on October 30th.” I put my computer down. Now I was crying, then I was sobbing and found myself stumbling out onto my deck. I went to the far corner and fell to my knees. In between sobs, almost like a mantra, I kept saying over and over, “I don’t understand, I don’t understand.”
The sobbing was relentless, my words became incoherent, my body was trembling and I was gasping for air. I needed to go out back and beyond my house, through the fresh snowpack in our forest, to my wife’s burial cairn. Once there , I descended into a heart crazed and soul-broken dialogue without words — perhaps more a plea or an act of lament or contrition or …. Then I simply fell flat and prostrated myself before her in the new snow. I lay face down in the snow and just wept and wept. Time stopped.
Sometime later, realizing my weeping had ended, I quickly became transfixed by the quiet all around me. I got back on my feet noticing how blue the sky, how gentle the swaying of the tall white pines, above me their sweetest scent filling the air. And my heart, my heart — at peace and at home. It was as if I made the greatest discovery of my lifetime. There was this secret revealed to me that, within the farthest wasteland of my despair, there is this special place of unmitigated grace and beauty. And it was both in me and without me — these stone walls, this cairn I built, this great forest that I stood under, had been sanctified and blessed by something I could not understand. I was alright with that. Perhaps for the first time in my adult life, I found comfort in this great mystery. And what was birthed was an even greater wonder.
Oh my Mark. That has to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read!
“I don’t understand” sounds like the purest prayer one could utter.
I shall give it the space it deserves and not trample all over it with my clumsy words but just to say I’m deeply humbled you would share your songline here with us. 🙏
I feel like I should share it somehow. It’s such a gift. 💜
I remember my granddad watching my two toddlers playing with their cars on his rug. He had a serene smile on his face so I asked if he wished he were a child again. He was a very private man, very stoic so I was surprised when he said he did and then proceeded to tell me a story about his childhood. Such simpler times with much fewere choices to make.
What a beautiful story and a beautiful moment! Generations and while lifetimes in one. A real treasure of a memory for you. 🥹💖
You've made me reflect on that and really at the end of the day (at the end of our lives, what else do we have but memories? 🥰
BTW I think your writing is poetic. I find it soothing and helps to slow my mind down. 😁
I couldn’t ask for more affirming praise Karen. If I could give the world a hug through my writing I would.
You mention war & peace in another comment and actually your original comment was very Tolstoy-esque. Tolstoy’s genius was not complicated language but complicated moments distilled very clearly. He uses very straightforward language to paint whole tapestries of human lives and places them right in front of you. Which is what I felt when you wrote about your grandad. Like I was in the room with him.
Whatever place you were writing from. Do that. There’s magic in it. ✨
Oh wow! OK. Your writing seems to spark this in me. Thanks so much. I am toying with writing in different ways to encompass all that I am and want to express while encouraging others to fully embrace their authentic selves too. Your feedback is gold!
I think we sometimes think we’ve got to be ‘Substackers’ or ‘creatives’ when really we just need to be Karen’s and David’s.
Love the beach too! Always an adventure ❤️