A master of meditation in one stare

I was going to write about swimming today as lad swam his first few strokes this week.  But I will write about it another day.  This afternoon, surrounded by hundreds of people in our little community, an eight year old boy and his ten year old brother stood beside their daddy at the funeral of their young mother.  Such was this lady's role locally that the school closed at lunchtime so that the staff and most of the children could go.  Although I have never met her I have spent the day wiping away tears and staring at the grey clouds in the sky.  Three weeks ago this vibrant, athletic lady was diagnosed with cancer.  Three weeks.

Just recently I have spent quite a bit of time wondering what it must be like to fly out of the earth's atmosphere and stare through the blackness at our beautiful planet.  Whilst standing on it and trying to imagine our world as one, you are overwhelmed by landscapes, problems, people, billions and billions of insects, political leanings, cruelty, kindness, arguments with your neighbour, love and elation, fish swimming in the absolute dark of the depths of the ocean, drought, genocide, the list is infinite.  But from space, the world is one thing.  Your eye need not travel far within its socket to take in its entirety.  It would probably have the same effect on you as studying meditation for 50 years, all condensed into a silent, silent gaze as you drift across the universe.  We are nothing, in the scheme of things.  And yet we can feel so raging and full of life force with love and loss.

Aah, sweet mystery of life

Last week I went to see a medium. Nearly 10 years ago I was riding pillion on my friend's motorbike. We had a head on collision with another motorbike and both my friend and the other young driver died. Ever since then I have wanted to talk to Wiz. It was as if our conversation stopped midway and I was left, slack jawed, waiting for someone to press play so we could continue. For months after he died I would get a taxi to the graveyard in his pretty little village, sit by his grave in the cold, grey air and chatter to him. At first it was just a mound of freshly dug earth. After a while his gravestone was added (Richard Wilson, Wiz, truly a star). Flowers came and went, new graves were dug, the earth settled, the weather grew warmer and I continued to visit. I loved it. In the loneliness which followed the accident, I felt comfortable and less hollow sitting on the gravel and wet grass by his body. Sometimes I just sat and listened to Harry Potter stories on my walkman (the big bang to my nut had affected my ability to read - the words wouldn't sit still on the page for a good year). When the cold had seeped into my bones and made me stiff I would amble over to the pub adjoining the graveyard and drink a hot chocolate in the corner, studiously ignoring the interested stares from locals who were all in sad shock at losing Wiz.

The medium said "There's a young man here who'd like to talk to you". She asked me if there was anything I'd like to ask him. For 10 years I've been having a one way conversation with Wiz. I have whiled away a great many hours fantasising about talking to him, playing out scenes in my mind where were would talk about what had happened and the affect it has had on our families. I looked at the floor and could feel an enormous surge of energy billowing through my organs and blood. It felt like some of Wiz's soul was inside my body. I couldn't articulate even one word in response.