Stillness.
Aug. 30th, 2001 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathpixieIt's a bit later than I'd intended, but Greta came around both before and after her yoga session, and there was food (veggie stir fry with egg noodles, courtsey of moi), there was wine (courtesy of Greta and the bottle shop across the park), there was amusing music (the Arrogant Worms, courtesy of Gerg - most popular with Greta) and there was fun conversation to be had (courtesy of all of us). So I didn't log on again, until now, which is probably a good thing.
I was going to discuss the Afghan refugee situation, but I'll have to leave that for tomorrow. It's late, and I doubt I could do it justice. Not after a couple of glasses of wine and another of a rather nice Brown Brothers Muscat port, I couldn't. So what I will do is waffle about some things that occured to me during the impromptu walk I took this afternoon.
See, I'd gone to the hairdresser across the park (there's a small strip of shops, including a general store, a bottle shop, and a hairdresser) to see if I could book in for a trim - no luck until Tuesday, so I made an appointment and went on my way. But it was such a nice afternoon (around 4.30), that instead of turning left and home, I kept going straight, towards the line of hills that rises directly behind our little part of Wodonga, known as Federation Park. There's a rough track that runs along the base of the hills, between them and the last line of houses (there's a local council restriction forbidding development above a certain elevation, which is good) which eventually twists and turns and goes up the hills and runs along the top, at least until you get to the fence. I don't know if it's public land or not, but I took this road less travelled by, and found myself wandering along the top of this tall-ish range of hills as sunset approached, thinking many and varied thoughts.
Y'see, when I was in high school, we lived on a farm, a hobby farm, really, in this area. And behind our small property was a hill, not unlike the one I found myself walking up. And on this hill, alone and by itself, was a big old river red gum tree.
I can't remember exactly when I claimed this tree - on someone else's porperty, actually - as mine, but I do remember that I used to spend a certain amount of time sitting under it, watching the world and the weather and letting my thoughts go where they would. It was the place I could be assured of privacy - I could see anyone approaching for miles, and the hill was rather steep, so no-one was much inclined to come after me - and it was where I went when I needed time alone, to think, to sort myself out. It was where I went when I'd had a particularly bad day with the cliques, where I fled to when I failed my first Chemistry test (the first test I'd ever failedin anything!). It was my refuge when my parents argued, or my brother was being an annoying little shit (as he was wont to do, back then) or when there were words in my head and I needed quiet to let them out.
And it wasn't jus tin summer and good weather that I'd go up there. I remember vividly clouds the colour of brusies lowering overhead, seeming so close I could just reach up and touch them. Hot summer nights, when I couldn't sleep, with a pair of shorts slipped on underneath my nightie and my bare feet shoved into a pair of rubber boots. The chill of the winter wind, biting at my face and sneaking through the layer of wool and flannel shirt. The small yellow and black daisies that invariably gave me hayfever in spring, but which I braved all the same.
This evening, wandering the tops of these hitherto-unknown hills, I found myself thinking of those times. And I realised something: we all need a place like that, a refuge, a quiet space. But not necessarily a physical place - for me, my tree is the embodiment of the place inside me from where I draw my strength, my patience. In meditation terms, it's the centre, the calm eye in the emotional storm. It's the place we all need inside ourselves, the place we can store our happiest memories to use in times of stress, the stillness within. When I think of that place, in my mind's eye, I picture my hill, my tree, and I remember the peace I found there.
We all need our refuges, our quiet places, our moments of stillness.
I was going to discuss the Afghan refugee situation, but I'll have to leave that for tomorrow. It's late, and I doubt I could do it justice. Not after a couple of glasses of wine and another of a rather nice Brown Brothers Muscat port, I couldn't. So what I will do is waffle about some things that occured to me during the impromptu walk I took this afternoon.
See, I'd gone to the hairdresser across the park (there's a small strip of shops, including a general store, a bottle shop, and a hairdresser) to see if I could book in for a trim - no luck until Tuesday, so I made an appointment and went on my way. But it was such a nice afternoon (around 4.30), that instead of turning left and home, I kept going straight, towards the line of hills that rises directly behind our little part of Wodonga, known as Federation Park. There's a rough track that runs along the base of the hills, between them and the last line of houses (there's a local council restriction forbidding development above a certain elevation, which is good) which eventually twists and turns and goes up the hills and runs along the top, at least until you get to the fence. I don't know if it's public land or not, but I took this road less travelled by, and found myself wandering along the top of this tall-ish range of hills as sunset approached, thinking many and varied thoughts.
Y'see, when I was in high school, we lived on a farm, a hobby farm, really, in this area. And behind our small property was a hill, not unlike the one I found myself walking up. And on this hill, alone and by itself, was a big old river red gum tree.
I can't remember exactly when I claimed this tree - on someone else's porperty, actually - as mine, but I do remember that I used to spend a certain amount of time sitting under it, watching the world and the weather and letting my thoughts go where they would. It was the place I could be assured of privacy - I could see anyone approaching for miles, and the hill was rather steep, so no-one was much inclined to come after me - and it was where I went when I needed time alone, to think, to sort myself out. It was where I went when I'd had a particularly bad day with the cliques, where I fled to when I failed my first Chemistry test (the first test I'd ever failedin anything!). It was my refuge when my parents argued, or my brother was being an annoying little shit (as he was wont to do, back then) or when there were words in my head and I needed quiet to let them out.
And it wasn't jus tin summer and good weather that I'd go up there. I remember vividly clouds the colour of brusies lowering overhead, seeming so close I could just reach up and touch them. Hot summer nights, when I couldn't sleep, with a pair of shorts slipped on underneath my nightie and my bare feet shoved into a pair of rubber boots. The chill of the winter wind, biting at my face and sneaking through the layer of wool and flannel shirt. The small yellow and black daisies that invariably gave me hayfever in spring, but which I braved all the same.
This evening, wandering the tops of these hitherto-unknown hills, I found myself thinking of those times. And I realised something: we all need a place like that, a refuge, a quiet space. But not necessarily a physical place - for me, my tree is the embodiment of the place inside me from where I draw my strength, my patience. In meditation terms, it's the centre, the calm eye in the emotional storm. It's the place we all need inside ourselves, the place we can store our happiest memories to use in times of stress, the stillness within. When I think of that place, in my mind's eye, I picture my hill, my tree, and I remember the peace I found there.
We all need our refuges, our quiet places, our moments of stillness.
