… then they lived again – friends – soul families …

How we make friends is a mystery. What is the unremembered that draws people and groups together as in a mirror? Are there families of souls tasked to exchange particular reflections during particular times?

Via serendipitous events my son was born in a Hamlet in the deepest Somerset hills among neighbours who adored him. The phase lasted five years, enough to provide me with a much needed hiatus after intense years of work, travelling and communal life.

Our selfless neighbours left an indelible impression on my son. They made him a valued and loved part of a small community. Our farmer friend, Hope, was hungry for knowledge, though never realised her dream of travelling as a journalist. She had however the most vivid visions of Tibet; a place neither of us had visited but felt strong emotional connection with. Not the first time, I had a shock of appreciation for the unremembered sparking instant rapport slipping through time.

‘We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep.’ – William James

I was thirty then, had travelled much and been involved with innumerable internationally composed groupings, circles upon circles – this was to continue for decades to come. Among the groups were people who felt strangely familiar, like Hope. We would guard out solitude, cry together, or laugh hilariously about silly things. Equally there were those wary of me, often for reasons unknown to themselves, which made me wary of them. You may know this treading-on-eggshells feeling.

Serendipitous time-jumps weave through my novels. The cast of ‘Shapers’ has characters from ‘Course of Mirrors’ set in a future time, but caught in similar psychological dynamics.

It has been said that behind every creative expression is a desire for immortality, the prolonged influence of personal achievement. This seems simpleminded to me. I think our desire is to create beauty and meaning to make our existence worthwhile. It is the human search for our spiritual identity, generated by three persisting questions: who are we, why are we alive and what is the purpose of it all?

In this illusionary play of differences and multiple meanings we need friends. To have even one friend is a blessing. Friends distanced by space, and time, reside in the heart nevertheless. They include those who died. They may be writers, artists, innovators, past and present. They include friends who moved to other continents. They include the sympathetic minds we encounter via the internet, who greatly enrich our lives.

Friends I shared core experiences with are especially dear.  A few of them I see face to face at yearly intervals. We may catch up on the narratives we hold of each other, though there will be new thresholds – moments where the known encounters the unknown.

My mum used to put a ruler or a book on my head and mark my height with a date inside a doorframe during my rapid growth years. More than a physical measurement, these marks made me think of what else had changed during the months since the last recording. Our essence abides, but our persona grows and is mutable in the way we evaluate ourselves against the passage of time.

This is why I like having guests. When a Dutch friend visited last month, the thought arose as to how the time gaps between our actual meetings affect us. He suggested I write something about this. He works presently in Germany, so our conversation slipped into German, with snippets of Dutch and back into English. He uses one language for business, another for philosophy, and yet another for emotional subjects. This strikes me as a neat arrangement. A little space between feeling and thinking, and a choice between modes of operating can make one’s internal communication more finely tuned and coherent.

The occasional visit of a friend eclipses my routines and opens extra dimensions, like the virgin pages of a notebook where our idiosyncrasies are redrawn, edited and updated. Connective threads shift past memories or future visions.

We are re-imagined and in the process re-connect to our essence.

The lens we focus on each other is subtly adjusted by the most intimate of all friends, the angel that is our inner story teller.

 

 ‘Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.’ ― Henry David Thoreau

‘No human relation gives one possession in another—every two souls are absolutely different. In friendship or in love, the two side by side raise hands together to find what one cannot reach alone.’ ― Kahlil Gibran

 ‘Mankind is interdependent, and the happiness of each depends upon the happiness of all, and it is this lesson that humanity has to learn …’ –  Hazrat Inayat Khan

 

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18 Comments

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18 responses to “… then they lived again – friends – soul families …

  1. Yes. Friends get rarer and more precious!

    Liked by 2 people

    • It happens when we get older. Just counting, I lost ten friends friends during the last 27 years. But I also made new friends, some through online contact, like you, Philippa. We even shared hugs 🙂

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  2. I can so relate to your comments vicariously through my brother who was active in the Hippie Community back in the 60s, but also loved cultures and traveling. He did many things, but ultimately ended becoming a Buddhist monk. My brother connected with a variety of people. I was the one who hid until I grew up. Now I LOVE diverse personalities and people of different cultures. They enrich my life. Plus, now I have done a small amount of traveling but it did enrich my life. I do so love hearing about the connections you have made over the years.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Good you went travelling. I almost went to Tibet before I moved to the UK, mainly because of friends. I wrote a little about my earlier years in Germany in an introduction to ‘Heart of a Sufi,’ a prism of reflections on a remarkable man by people from all over the world.
      http://www.troubador.co.uk/book_info.asp?bookid=2180
      On amazon as an e-book as well.

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      • My brother did go to India, but it was during the Gulf War. The sentiments against Americans was so bad that the monks had to hide my brother in Kathmandu, disguised as a Nigerian for three months. My brother hated the caste system and stopped being a Buddhist monk when he returned home. I would be curious what your opinion of the caste system would be.

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        • How sad for your brother to have needed disguise and protection. They were difficult times. During the 70s I was inspired by Chogyam Trungpa, and his books – The Crazy Wisdom form of Padmasambhava. Later I studied Comparative Religion. India’s caste system is maintained by deep superstition. It will take time to to sort the grain from the chaff.

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  3. davidselzer

    Pertinent and touching as always, Ashen. Thank you for the Thoreau quote, which I’d not come across before. Still true even in lands of instant connectivity.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Beautiful words. While I like my time alone, I also enjoy friendships and family time that help me take stock of myself and my relations to the world.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Maristella Tagliaferro

    Great subject, beautiful ideas!
    Much love,
    Maristella

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Having viewed a Van Gogh exhibition yesterday you may well understand my emotional awareness is at a peak. One gets the feeling when immersed in such a display, it is possible part of oneself is being exhibited also. Such is the rawness of with which Van Gogh appears to have expressed his own personal treasures.
    This rawness is what comes across in how you write also Ashen.
    When someone writes, paints, dances or perhaps sings; and when this particular form of communication touches another’s inner treasure chest of emotion, then joyfulness ensues.B

    Liked by 4 people

  7. A wonderful insightful post. I look forward to reading more

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Pingback: … in gratitude to unnamed authors & soul companions … | Course of Mirrors

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