A Night, Moonlit

Early morning, late night, did not check the hour. A hurried phone call - get up, get dressed, drive to hospital. I'm fine, we're fine. Just an alarm we found, thankfully, false. Nevertheless the A&E (Accident & Emergency) Room, lags. Drags. A strung-up tension pervades with the lingering scent of spilt bottles/cans. So quiet except for the hum of the coffee machine. While I wait for the doctor to see our loved one. I sit, write and look out. Expectant of a long night. All around us, the murmurs of humans. Delicate, hushed. All the vulnerable souls in this room are in it together yet utterly separate. Small islands of fear, trepidation, calm.

I am fine, we are ...

A woman with red hair and white clothes bobs her head to her ipod. A young woman with short hair and pyjama bottoms holds on to the hand of her beloved for dear life. Lifeboat love. He is young - dutifully responsive without looking at her. Shy - embarrassed, I can't tell. She rocks back and forth for a while then continues touching him - his hair, his blue-jeaned leg. He might as well be in another room. I notice the twin-taped cuts on her shins, then look away.


Not for the first time, I notice the lady with the green shoes. Beauty with tired eyes and hair. She looks alone, even desolate. Somehow she has turned up stylish. Looking at "us", so did we but this was done in a haze of sleep. Her green shoes glisten in the fluorescent glare. Her eyeliner, smudged. Is she alright? The result of a late night or late life. She curls up in her steel chair. Then stretches here and there, head back, uncrossed then crossed legs, conspicuous. I think that I am watching a show. Perhaps she has played the role of beauty too many times, opposite a beast of a life.

It is now 2 a.m. I write and ignore any gaze from me to pen and back again. Why can't they look at the lady with green shoes? Stream of consciousness, I am adrift. Thank God for this pen. Ipod lady has started speaking with two porters, they are pally. I wonder if it is a return trip. The lady with sore taped shins has stopped touching him. I feel relieved. Almost want to get her a coffee. It's alright, he's brought her one. Perhaps that's how he touches. Perhaps it's none of my business. Yet tonight I feel we are all in the same lifeboat, - While children sleep, mothers worry and God watches. A microcosm of a night, somewhere in England. I am fine, we are fine. Looking back on what I wrote, thinking. Sometimes I know I love the whole world and see only beauty, soft-winged beauty.

Peace,
x

New beginnings, ascending

I hold a bird in my hands. This bird of love. It looks up with sad eyes and I notice then that its wing is injured. Whose fault was this? Yours, mine or ours? It doesn't matter now. I must heal it without fail.

On waking one day, I find, not when I tell it to, but when the bird tells me, that it is well again - I can let go, let it fly, let it be. The eyes are no longer sad, but trusting, aware, forgiving. "Forgive me", I still say. For whatever we do or don't do that causes pain, we humans should always ask forgiveness. There is value in releasing hurtful pride, and allowing truth to be our friend. Acknowledge the wrong. This could be apathy, forgetfulness or worst of all, ignorance. Be truthful that it might have been your fault and if it wasn't, there is something to be said for healing the wound that isn't your doing.

Love is one of the most precious things we can offer. How easy it is to forget the love we see every day, the love we share, the love we hold. How foolish it can be to look for it elsewhere, either out of sadness or even boredom. The brave heart understands the trust in its hands. The mind reminds it to look at it, every day, every night.

"Forgive me" are powerful words. With them, we lay ourselves open to love and - acknowledge the weakness we are programmed to hide in this motorised world. We are not machines, mistakes will be made. The lesson of wisdom when this happens is what you do afterwards. Do you ignore it? Turn your back on it? Or heal the wing?

Years might have passed, or simply days before such questions are asked of ourselves. The important thing is to ask them. Believe in the good and let it come through you as light that rests within us all. Ready to shine, glisten or murmur through your skin ever so quietly.

Love is a tender bird, strengthened by our actions. Love is the bird in flight. Treated well, it can transcend time and trials. Know yourself and those you love by understanding - without judging. Loving freely soon follows.

Peace,
x