When the gloom descends there is an invitation to be humble in the face of powerful forces sweeping through us. An invitation to open wide just as we yearn to close down. To hold up the light and look for undiscovered treasure.

To dance on the cusp of awareness of the hurt and wounded self reaching for the whisky tumbler and the whisper of something else that is timeless and profound.

In that magical place, all we think we know falls away and time stands still. And gratitude flows for the grace of such a glimpse.

And we may dance between the two, cowering beneath the fully-felt force of life’s seemingly cruel blows to this frail and fallible self, licking wounds and yet and yet, as we teeter on the edge of despair, often there comes unbidden, a glimmer of something new, an imperceptible change of course that catches a little wind in our sails and sets a different self on a different tack.

Unbidden, for though our little self strives for peace and perfection, reaching always for a port in the storm, there is a greater awareness that conjures the storm, the port and the self that is flailing and recovering, flailing and recovering.

That greater awareness is always calling us home to our essence, to the peace that ‘passeth all understanding’. Calling us to open to what is. Inviting us to be aware of being home in any moment. To see perfection in the illusion just as it is: in the flailing and recovering; in the port and in the storm. For in each moment lies the infinite richness and potential of life served up for the unique, created self of that moment to experience.

And that is all there is: at once so little and so much. Each moment and the potential of it.

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The harbour wall
Photo © Juliet Fay
Burry Port 3 January 2018

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