12 Feb 2012

This morning I was lying on my back after my swim watching the sky and was fascinated by the various depths I could discern.  The never-ending depth of the blue backdrop, still, silent and impenetrable, then a stationary overlay, still at great altitude, of wispy white cirrus cloud.  But below that, and closer to the earth, were beautiful cumulus clouds drifting along at a fairly leisurely pace and closer yet, dense grey dense nimbus threatening rain and scurrying across the sky.  And it struck me that this was like an inverted picture of each of us…  Our souls, still and immortal, inestimable in their beauty, deep and silent and yet powerful beyond measure, but sometimes at least partially obscured by our personality with its thoughts, words, behaviour and moods that bedim our loveliness. But if we can try to see beyond and wait while they pass, our exquisite splendour is revealed again.

 

Or as Walt Whitman put it in his Song of Myself

 

Trippers and askers surround me,

People I meet, the effect of my early life or the ward or city in which I live

Or the nation,

The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new…

These come to me days and nights and go from me again,

But they are not Me, Myself

 

So what is Me, Myself?

 

Not this human body – that’s not Me.  Nor my moods, my thoughts, my words, nor my behaviour, even though they try to express who I am.  But like the backdrop blue of the sky, I exist apart from those human things, and while they take form, scurry along, chasing each other in an eternal race, underneath it all, I am still in my soul, and smile at the human me as she learns what she came to learn and does what she came to do.

 

Remember the golden eternity is Yourself.

Jack Kerouac.

 

Have a lovely day.

 

Much love

 

Brenda