Tis a peculiar place, that where memories reside. Peculiar still that they call it a ‘bank’ when it’s really nothing of the sort.
In a bank assets are stored. Neatly. Sequentially. With order and reason.
One may consciously choose to select a memory at any given time, to access that data, analyse it, delete it even. Deposit new memories. It would make sense.
But the place where memories reside is not a database. And it cares little for reason or sense.
The place where memories reside is more like a pool. Fluid. Abstract. Prone to distortion.
Memories float. Some lurk in the depths, some drift to the surface. Some are such permanent fixtures. Staking a significant spot, standing the test of time, yet slowly becoming hidden by moss.
In this pool, of tantalising temptation, memories drift, sometimes they sink. Sometimes they plunge straight to the bottom, causing waves and dragging ones soul into darkness and despair. They can twist themselves into a vortex. They can lie.
Memories. The past instantaneously becoming the present. A flashback! Days gone by. History. His story. Your story. Mine.
If memories really lived in a bank I’d like to think they’d be 100% unequivocally reliable.
Accurate views of events. Captured in HD. All 365 degrees. That way they’d be irrefutable replicas of who, what, where, when and how.
We couldn’t question them.
If memories lived in a bank our records would match precisely. And we could replay our mutual scenes, with confidence and conviction, knowing we witnessed the exact same thing.
But the place where memories reside isn’t a bank. And it doesn’t care for clarity.
It was never crystal clear to begin with. How could it be? The data was constructed by another force entirely. Perception.
You see the place where memories reside is governed by perception.
Your goggles, my goggles.
Perception. Now that is something peculiar…
A twisting turning, (occasionally) turbulent journey, one may suddenly find oneself embarking on; whereby a soul with unknown intent or forces incarnates into a tiny body, that we carry for a period of 9 months, (and worry about for the rest of our lives.)
And though it is often the fathers, whom are invited to severe the umbilical cord at birth, you can bet your bottom dollar that Love has already woven her own invisible binding between Mother and Child. And that shit is strong. Unbreakable. Fierce.
And from hereon acts as the undercurrent that keeps us sailing these unchartered waters.
A journey we take with just one half-decent navigational device, which we have to dig for. Because often it is shrouded in BS, (other people’s ideas and bullshit) and we’re not encouraged to trust it.
But trust it we must. Because our INSTINCTS are about the strongest tool we possess for surviving this journey.
It’s taken me 14 years of parenting, 6 pregnancies, 4 experiences of child birth, 3 children and many a sleepless night to discover this.
Your instincts; that internal pull, the ‘feeling in your waters’ as my Nan would say, is literally the only navigational device worth using.
Because no matter what the media tells you about being a Mother, no matter what preconditioned ideas society sells you; only you will know, as you get to grow with your child, what forces you are working with.
We have all these ideas before they’re born. About what they’re gonna look like, who they’re gonna be. We buy them pink or blue accordingly.
We ponder which genes will be more prominent, which attributes they may inherit, whose eyes, whose hair, whose smile…?
Even the ritual of naming our children is accompanied by at least some kind of preconceived notion of who we think they might grow to be.
And we might have an ego that’s seen and judged and criticised all the other parents, including our own, before concluding that we ourselves would do a much better job. So we ‘know’ which kind of parents we’re gonna be too.
All well and good until these children of ours show up, with forces as unique as the lines etched on their skin.
Their own eyes from which to see this world. Their own voices, albeit minus the guarantee they’ll get to use them. Their own internal compass drawing them to a destination we cannot yet know.
And suddenly the foundations upon which we built our expectations start to feel a little rocky, to say the least.
And much like the ever-changing phases in the moon meeting the relentless roll of the tide, our children change and grow. Dance through phases, bloom and shrivel like the darling buds of may.
They like to keep us on our toes.
Honestly without our instincts we’d drown.
But as they reveal themselves to us, our children, with all their phases, in all their states of glory they also hold up mirrors for us.
Reflections of ourselves.
And if we can just quieten those voices of judgement, the preconceived notions and ideas, the bs ingrained in us… if we have the right binoculars onboard, we can see those reflections.
Add them to instinct and it’s *plain sailing ahead!
*Sort of 😂
But once you see yourself, not just through the eyes of another soul, but through the lessons they gift you, you start to see the bits that need throwing overboard.
The parts of ourselves that exist only because someone else put them there. The stuff that anchors us to waters we don’t wish to dwell in. And if you’re having trouble discerning which parts of you to release INSTINCT will help with this too.
Three beacons of light, holders of my heart, truth bounce-backers were sent to join me in this life. 3 different voices that call me Mumma. 3 bearers of much of my love and indeed fear.
3 cubs. 1 Lioness.
But who is raising whom?
Motherhood: An ocean abundant in opportunities to evolve.
I grow, they grow.
And instinct is the only light house we need.
Things to remember:
Life is always in motion. Even when all seems frozen still.
And even when consumed by dense grey clouds; the sun continues to shine.
If we’re lucky we respond to the whispers to “look up” just in time to witness the beautiful moments that life presents us with.
We try to capture it, preserve it somehow. As though we already know it’s value. As though we already sense the longing we’ll have for it, once it passes us by and the moment has gone.
Because beauty deserves to be preserved, embraced, adored! Who knows when the next beautiful moment is going to appear?
And what if that moment was the last one..? And so snap we do. Instagrammed moments of ecstasy. To share the beauty with others, to let it swell and take us all in its presence.
Except the magic of the moment, even with a filter, is almost always diminished once beauty is transferred from the souls eyes to a small screen.
Still, the intention is there. To bear witness to as many beautiful moments in our lives as possible, and to share the beauty back out there with the world.
Truth is, of course, that the best moment; the most beautiful, that fill us with joy and peace and love and contentment… is this moment. Right now.
And there is always beauty to be found in the now.
Let us not be tempted to cling to the moments of the past, not to live in the abstract pool of memories, nor in the fear of an unknown future.
But instead let’s be here now. Soak it all up in this moment.
Because tomorrow the canvas will inevitably be altered.
And there’ll be a new beauty to behold. ❤
#LifeLessons #NatureKnows #Beauty #AsAboveSoBelow