FMS-Blog : The Wildly Whimsical, Mostly Musical WebLog
Monday, October 09, 2006
Walking in Shadows
Sometimes I find the simple act of taking a stroll in the park, across fields, through woodlands or perhaps around the cemetry is more than just relaxing... ethereal even; it liberates me from the shackles of the everyday and, in the quiet of a weekday afternoon, delivers to me a sense of unity - belonging without ownership.
I like to think that this experience is related to that which 'people of faith' get when they gather in their places of worship, singing together of glory and humility, or when they silently commune with their God in the wee small hours, kneeling in darkness and yet knowing that they are surrounded by light; an experience akin to the meditative state sought after by those who we in our modern culture glibly refer to as 'spiritual' and which many such people testify relieves them of the pain of as many physical traumas as it does of their psychological burdens. These times, you see, speak directly to the humanity within, heightening our senses while halting the constant conflicts that drive us to try to keep on top of the day's schedule, a false timetable that too regularly means fighting battles that needn't be fought. Like a climber finding refuge in the freezing, merciless mountains, always aware that in searching for his heart in the hills he also risks losing it for good, I find tranquillity and perspective in the places, moments and concepts that leave space for inner reflection.
And so I stroll between the dancing shadows of Peel Park's many great oaks and sycamores, tickled by the flickering rays of our life-giving sunshine, freshened by the cool breeze and humbled by the seconds, minutes and hours as they march along, relentless and as untouched by my presence as they were by the presence of those who so long ago built the Yorkshire stone monuments that punctuate this public space, the young children who laughed, cried and argued their way along these concrete boulevards, so often with only BMX bicycle races to concern them, and the teenage sweethearts who used these playing fields both as a convenient route to their own dwellings, taken hand-in-hand, of course, and as their own refuge from parents who might scold them for the public outpouring of affection they both knew they'd be performing in the fading light of some summer evening. These voices that echo from each shadow, carried like acorns by another generation of squirrels into this year's haven and nestled high in the branches above us, remind me that our lives are as fleeting as words uttered in hope, frantically scribbled in desperation, screamed in pain, shouted in triumph and written in love. There is no point in denying them their course any more than there is in holding on to them once their meaning is lost. Like a glance or a touch, they cannot be captured and they feel no shame, for shame is just another word and, some day, it will also fall with the leaves.
Then, driving on the road back to normality, I find myself having returned with a thud to my gripes and my anxieties, my woes and my worries, my self-criticisms and my doubts, my intolerance and my fears, and ultimately the sheer disappointment in myself for letting 'me' buy into all of these things. And it strikes me that if I can just keep a bit of the park with me then today might not turn out so bad.
I like to think that this experience is related to that which 'people of faith' get when they gather in their places of worship, singing together of glory and humility, or when they silently commune with their God in the wee small hours, kneeling in darkness and yet knowing that they are surrounded by light; an experience akin to the meditative state sought after by those who we in our modern culture glibly refer to as 'spiritual' and which many such people testify relieves them of the pain of as many physical traumas as it does of their psychological burdens. These times, you see, speak directly to the humanity within, heightening our senses while halting the constant conflicts that drive us to try to keep on top of the day's schedule, a false timetable that too regularly means fighting battles that needn't be fought. Like a climber finding refuge in the freezing, merciless mountains, always aware that in searching for his heart in the hills he also risks losing it for good, I find tranquillity and perspective in the places, moments and concepts that leave space for inner reflection.
And so I stroll between the dancing shadows of Peel Park's many great oaks and sycamores, tickled by the flickering rays of our life-giving sunshine, freshened by the cool breeze and humbled by the seconds, minutes and hours as they march along, relentless and as untouched by my presence as they were by the presence of those who so long ago built the Yorkshire stone monuments that punctuate this public space, the young children who laughed, cried and argued their way along these concrete boulevards, so often with only BMX bicycle races to concern them, and the teenage sweethearts who used these playing fields both as a convenient route to their own dwellings, taken hand-in-hand, of course, and as their own refuge from parents who might scold them for the public outpouring of affection they both knew they'd be performing in the fading light of some summer evening. These voices that echo from each shadow, carried like acorns by another generation of squirrels into this year's haven and nestled high in the branches above us, remind me that our lives are as fleeting as words uttered in hope, frantically scribbled in desperation, screamed in pain, shouted in triumph and written in love. There is no point in denying them their course any more than there is in holding on to them once their meaning is lost. Like a glance or a touch, they cannot be captured and they feel no shame, for shame is just another word and, some day, it will also fall with the leaves.
Then, driving on the road back to normality, I find myself having returned with a thud to my gripes and my anxieties, my woes and my worries, my self-criticisms and my doubts, my intolerance and my fears, and ultimately the sheer disappointment in myself for letting 'me' buy into all of these things. And it strikes me that if I can just keep a bit of the park with me then today might not turn out so bad.
