It’s serenity week and I spent a few quiet hours sorting through my mums old sewing threads and materials. Some of it was so old that I wondered what’s the story? Why is it here? Where did mum find it? Did she ever use it? Was any of it my grandma’s? Some items were so old they referred to housewives.
I imagined her still alive, telling me the stories in an off handed easy way, like we do when we’re alive and think things will be like this forever.
In a moment of stark clarity I realised that if she were alive, that moment of storytelling would be an utterly normal moment, lost in a sea of normal moments and soon forgotten. Uncherished.
I sat there utterly overwhelmed by the amount of moments we don’t cherish or truly see. The things we class as normal.
Mindfulness calls us to frame these tiny moments in life and drink them in. Let them settle into your heart. Tiny normal moments coming alive inside of you. Feeding you and nourishing your soul with life.
I love this calling and looked around my flat with wide open eyes, like my world had shifted and I could see.
I saw the trees outside my window and l drank them in. Framed and sealed them in my heart. Thing after thing after thing, taking it in, like I might never see it again. Nothing was ‘normal’, everything was a miracle. I had shifted.
That’s when I decided to take this out there. Look, really look at the world. Collect things to put into a mindfulness scrap book. The book of life.
So here goes.. I’ll take you with me. Get ready to breathe.
I noticed the abundance of spiders in the subway. I hardly ever see spiders in winter and wondered where they go. Well, here they all were, weaving their webs around the lights. I wonder what it is about light for them? Sometimes 5 or 6 per light. Webs layered like shimmering lace.
And then the call to fix me. I smiled, wondering what that story was. I hear these unsaid words so often as people start their yoga journey, until they realise its a never ending journey of breaking and fixing.
I had to laugh at the car owner who must hate jogging so much it went onto his reg plate 😂
Moss on ancient stones, like tiny fairy forests. It’s a soft survivor. I can’t help but touch it.
The hope of spring peeks through. Hope. Such a powerful word.
Can you spot the mushrooms. I nearly missed them. I certainly would have if I wasn’t eyes wide open.
The yellow flowers are wintral bursts of incredible scent. Such a gift I drank in deep!
A micro cavern in a wall. To a mouse it would be huge. To me it was a doorway to a hundred different stories as yet unwritten. Who would live there..
Lichen and buds, glowing luminescent. A friend messaging me as I hung over a bridge to capture the shot. I smiled because he loves photography and would have understood. A moment of connection.
Strange little messages, kind of sweet, wondering what’s their story? What were they feeling when they made this and why?
Discarded items once of use. Who did they call? Was it a moment of love? Maybe it was the final goodbye. What did the bag contain? How far did it travel? Who made it? Is their energy still in its fibres? Is it happy to return to the elements? Will it now house an animal? Stories stories.. What if your superpower was to know the story of everything you touched. What if you could wonder again, weave your own stories and fill the world with life.
And the bricks 😂 the bricks looked like the biggest ‘I can’t be arsed let’s go home/pub’ job I’ve ever seen. What’s the story?
And was the test a happy ending? What was the look on their partners face as they shared the news.
Curves and waves. Old nails coming out of brickwork. Why there? Why is it bent? What did it hold? Who made it. What are the myriad stories in its body? Everything is vibration. Do we leave our imprint everywhere we go? I sat on the bench seeing if I could feel the people before me. Would they have felt any less alone if they knew a girl would reach out to them? That they aren’t just a stranger on a bench. To her they are a miracle with eyes wide open.
And the bridge. I stared at this bridge for a long old time imagining it was the bridge of time. Pass under it and every moment becomes now. Awakened. Forever living fully in the moment, no past or future. The bridge of awakening.
What would the bridge be to you if it had a gift, a special power? Would you go back, go forward, go elsewhere. What’s the story for you?
See if you can drop into the cherishing of each moment as it arises. Look for the stories. Be an alchemist of time. Whatever surrounds you will one day be a memory, drink it in deep.
Serenity week x
2 thoughts on “What’s the Story?”
Thanks hon. Felt magical x