TIME TO REFLECT

This metaphor reframes the feeling that most people have about not achieving enough in their life. It is designed to give people a perspective on life, to recognise that while their part in other people's lives may be small, it is important, and in fact essential: everyone's life is worthwhile.

 

Child of Time

I wonder if I have ever told you the story that an old friend of mine once told an old friend of mine to tell to me one time my old friend was diagnosed with a medical problem... some things can really make you think, can't they?... and start you thinking changing thoughts... about your life... about what might have been... about what it all means... about where we are going... and who we are...

So my friend went out into the countryside somewhere... to get space to think... and after traveling for some time... not really thinking at all... found a lovely quiet place... in a sheltered grove... in the shade of some trees... settling down comfortably... just sitting and relaxing deeply now...

it seems my friend went for a stroll... or maybe was thinking about a stroll... or maybe just dreamt about a stroll...you sometimes can't be sure about some things, can you?...

maybe you can imagine... walking slowly... deep in thought... soft dappled light under trees... warm and comfortable... mind emptied and calm... and going down a path... grass crunching under your feet... idly kicking aside twigs... pebbles... and dislodging a flat stone... and underneath... a round hole... the neck of an old clay pot... and inside... some dusty stuff... and a bracelet... of red coral... bits of coral... from some distant shore... polished and worn from long use... warm from the sun... the sort of thing somebody might wear... as an ornament...

 

and you pick up the bracelet... and holding it in your hand... it almost feels alive... and you hold it up to the light... and light sparkles off it... and you feel dizzy... and a strange sensation comes over you... your eyes flicker... the air shimmers... the sky brightens... the landscape changes... everything looks fresher, greener, lighter... different... the air smells young... and you look around... the valley in front of you is strange... the trees are different... and smoke rises from a faraway fire... and there is a female figure standing before you... dressed in strange clothes... she looks at you... her eyes lock on yours... and you are drawn in by that gaze... and you are turning, swirling, falling, tumbling down deeper into deep dark space...

 

In the depths of your mind is a rustling... ghostly fingers turning... brightly coloured sounds swirl round... tastes and smells move past... and in your mind... silent words... ' I am Abbas. I am Abbas. I am the guardian. You see me in the moonbeams on standing stones... you hear me in the wind that whispers welcome to the dawn... Look upon my valley... is it not good?'...

 

I sense a sadness... allow your mind to clear...

 

And now... it is night... dark dark night...long ago... on a hillside path... you and many others... climbing... through the hours... torches flicker in the night... cold stars blazing high above... and chanting... in the sacred place... a funeral pyre... at the signal... you throw your torch... hundreds of burning torches arc through the night... and the smoke from a mountain top beacon sings the soul of Abbas to the other place...

 

And the voice of Abbas says

 

'Look upon my valley... is it not good?... I have watched from this hillside... countless generations... came and went... the land changed...tiny seedlings grew to mighty oaks, endured flood and tempest... they too passed away... Y0u are a child of time. You are a child of this land. The blood of the ancestors runs in your veins... the blood of chieftains and heroes, seers and poets, artists and dancers... the valley remembers you... '

 

Yet in your mind you hear the words 'But who am I? I am no hero... or artist or poet... I am nobody... I have done nothing... achieved nothing'

 

and the words that are not words whisper more...

 

'Look upon my valley... is it not good? My bones have lain here long ages... to watch, to wait, to guide. I too was young once. I was full of life like you. I studied the wise women of Cernulas. I served with the Masters of Kell. I learned the song of the wind in the wild places, I read secret signs writ on distant hillsides, I was a weaver of spells and potions, heard the hunger of the old days... I walked in the time of ice and fire. None surpassed me in wisdom and power. I am the Abbas the Enchantress. Abbas the Windcatcher. Once, great warriors trembled at my feet. Now I am dust. We all go to dust. What matters is what lives on.

 

I sense a sadness in you... Come with me.

 

And now you are drifting, floating... in the morning light... high above the valley, looking into the far distance... and you can see yourself far down among the trees... a traveller on a lonely road...

 

and the words that are not words whisper more...

 

'look again... Look upon my valley... is it not good? You are a link in the chain, child. Every link is needed... look at your own time... Oh, I have seen that too... the one who works with fire and iron must have one to gather the corn, another to fetch the water... without the mother there can be no child... without the weaver there will be no cloth... without the shepherd there will be no wool... without the rain drop there could be no river... each contributes to the greatness of the whole...

In the slow unfolding of time great trees die, streams change course, the very hills settle closer to the earth... I have seen it all... and in the valley... for countless generations... life goes on... work and play... tears and joy... harvest and headstone... but the rhythm of life beats on a silent drum...

 

I sense a sadness in you...

 

'Do not ask what life is for... or seek to know what can not be known... know that you are part of the great stream of life... if even one pebble falls from the bank, the river changes course... '

'and with each first breath the blind dice decide... a quiet life, maybe... or war, hunger, pain and death... but all are equal in the stream of time... The torch of Abbas is passed from one generation to the next... A man ploughs not for himself, but for those who who will walk in his footsteps... every child carries something into the future... a tiny spark... ready to blaze into life when needed... One day, maybe generations from now... the Torch will be needed... and you will have played your part in the march of history... Each generation cradles the spark for the next...that is enough. '

 

And as the words faded... Look upon my valley... is it not good? my friend... was back under the trees... in the shade... wondering what was real and what was dream... and how many other travellers had been this way... and looked at the valley through new eyes... maybe everything is a dream?... and thinking about pebbles and streams... things changing things... and relaxed and comfortable... came back to full realisation of the present.

 

As you can.

 

 

 

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