Tag Archives: timeless

… the magic of remembrance …

p1080566-smallerI have a weakness for small stones. Attracted by a singular shape, colour, sparkle, texture, or an aura I can’t define, I pick up stones for keeps, like I did as a child when crossing mountain streams and climbing rocks. A stone may catch my eye when it sits seemingly forlorn on a sidewalk,  embedded in pine needles in a forest, or on a pebble beach, by the way it stands out.

Once I hold a stone, bonding begins. My fingers trace the outline, weigh, rub, listen. I sometimes even run my tongue over its smooth or rough face before the treasure lands in p1080567-smallermy pocket to later join my collection. I imagine another journey, another story through time.

Stones become markers of experience, of a place and a location. It’s a marvel that no two pebbles are ever the same. Just like people, crystals, or snowflakes never turn out the same.

The protagonist in my novel, ‘Course of Mirrors,’ finds a shiny black stone with special powers, invested so by a spirit being she encounters, or by her own strong conviction, who can say. Touching the stone her p1080570-smallermind slows down, she feels clarity, warmth, and a sense of protection. The stone becomes a medium for scrying and guides my protagonist on her journey. When she remembers her talisman the magic works, which is the point. The remembrance reconnects and recollects her to the encounter with the spirit being, a moment of timelessness – the infinite.

This is the magic of remembrance of the Self.

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… what is your bliss? …

My moments of bliss come out of the blue, when I glimpse something moving in a certain way, in a certain light, not ordinary light, but a mysterious light that shines through nature.

P1070862 - smallerLike the day after the sky was veiled by thick curtains of rain and next morning the sun spun its brilliance through the cleansed air, and a warm breeze played through my washing on the line. Such joy, when for an instant my whole attention is timelessly merged with a particular quality of being, transporting me beyond my senses in ways I can’t fathom.

I draw these tricks of light to me, like a collector tends to attract the objects he/she desires. When days or weeks pass without such moments, I feel deprived and nothing quite chimes.

Maybe it’s a rare beauty that takes the mind by surprise and stops time. The washing line reminded me of another bliss I met on a stormy day in the sand dunes of Rye on the Sussex coast. Imacon Color ScannerTo take the photograph I balanced with difficulty on a lifeguard tower that was rocked by strong winds, leaning precariously backwards to get the frame right. The light was sombre, the stirring in the air not playful but intense, yet bliss was present.

When I lose my bliss I pray for its return, like one would call on an imagined angel to make itself known. Occasionally I find a feather on the ground and think – it came and I missed it. Then again, no instance of bliss is lost; the experience is incorruptible and lives on in the calm depth of life’s pulsing heart. Everyone has their own kind of bliss.

What is your bliss?

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