Beyond Remembering

Lured by the aroma of fresh-cut hay, I threw on my coat and headed outside. Barefooted, I immediately ran towards the nearest field. It was early morning and the dew could still be seen and thus felt, clinging to the tall blades of grass. Once through the barbed-wire fence, I skipped lightly over to a fresh-cut bale of hay, one of many that dotted the landscape, and cozied up to its puffed outer edge. 

Just beyond the spot where I had positioned myself I noticed above me a small whisper of birds, hovering between the grassy green earth below and the cloudy blue sky above. As the sun beat hot upon my brow, I began to sense that Mother Nature was observing me, held in this suspended mood while time vanished into the scenes vast expanse.

Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of an opening in the sky and as though struck by some sort of grace, I was brought out into the fields as witnessed, long ago in my youth. Every summer we would gather hay, truckloads full. After a couple hours in the sweltering heat, I always exemplified an indelible thirst and could hardly wait for the water canteen to touch my hands. The cool canvassed bag felt so refreshing as water seeped through its pores. The days were hard back then, yet we were happy in their pale morning light.

I fell deeper into a fathomless reverie and visual images of loved ones jostled in my head. Inside, I was aware of nothing but the echo of voices and traced images that swirled like a flutter of butterflies. Fragments of dialogue resurfaced with a haunting quality that lent such depth and texture to that interior landscape. I was more than eager for reunion, surrounded within the realms of that holographic haze.

Impressions began to formulate of the many friends and family members whose love and laughter over the years had touched my life, leaving a distinguishable mark. And though many of their voices have been scattered through the swirling winds of away back when, time endears but cannot fade the memories that their loving kindness imparted. And like any well-kept secret hidden within, we are able to rejoice time and time again as we recall those mute fond remembrances tucked deep and held close at the core of ones heart.

As each apparition appears before my eyes with a different kind of clarity, once again I find myself mourning their loss. A silent, placid awe fills my heart as my emotions start to exude a certain kind of piety. My soul cleaves to the grand collage of all those who have passed on, yet an interior canvas that holds each of their images reassembles itself once again.

Wrapped up in this strange intimacy, I am brought back to the scattered regions of revelation as single bits of truth and brief snippets of wisdom arrive, still gracefully intact. It brings about a sober honesty as each face recalled seems to reflect an individual kind of hidden wisdom. Each image becomes very distinguishable within this depth of insight, yet there is something fleeting and evanescent about their constant succession. 

These tokens of friendship and its continuity enters each of us in curious ways. Every minute detail of fond remembrances becomes encrusted in memory and we are never fully aware of their islets of meaning until their next resurfacing. Those who have bestowed on us their special gift, offer something beyond what was ever required by circumstance. The steadfast inertia of their love, delivered always with the grandest measures of pride and humility.

A distant kind of joy surrounds me, arriving from all sides. And then, as though by conspiracy of grace, this private space falls silent and I find myself at the edge of a high precipice. It is at that moment that I realize the love of family and friends comes to us unbidden, and we must learn to appreciate its blessing while it nurtures our souls, smoothing the sharpest of edges. As our hearts awake to gifts of love, may we continue to receive its grace throughout the scattered links of our existence.

Subsiding within the various pixels of nostalgia, I begin musing over their mystery, drawn out by time and engraved in ones mind. As both light and shadow apply their alternate brushstrokes to ones reality, little by little the interior landscape reveals itself and a new spirit, if allowed, begins to pulse. We can all be comforted within the space of such intimate reverie and be anchored once again to the soft sound of our own breathing.

I have become a firm believer that we should try and steal away from our familiar surroundings as the day offers each of us invites into its boundless depths of possibility. As the hours open before us, one after the other, surely we can find time for ourselves. In doing so, I feel we can become more observant, more focussed and more able to muster those diverse acuities of the mind.

Far off in the vastness of contemplation we are able to resurrect details and dramas while looking back on the receding perspectives of time that exists somewhere far beyond remembering. Wrapped up in this sentimental embrace my spirit responds with an intense longing and I am always touched with a certain sweet religious melancholy, left in the wake of each receding hour. Yet, there exists a strong sense of elation and freedom that offers a brief reprieve as the minutes press on and the day resumes its previous pitch.

Isn't it amazing how some luck into a spot as though pinned there by chance. As the chapters of our lives circle back again and again to certain people and the love they've inspired, it becomes not only a blessing but also a teaching. But, how do we endow it all with a proprietary name so as to convey to others its elemental pulse?