Archive

All the moments

January 2, 2023   ·   0 Comments

By Constance Scrafield

Things are shaky, we have to admit and I suspect many people are living their lives in swathes of time. Because so much of their daily lives is spent in the virtual ocean of the virtual world, they may be missing in the actual moments of their real lives.

Time, the mischievous phantom that it is, is open to interpretation, speculation and absent mindedness, dragging its feet here, scrambling to rush us there. Primarily, it is the one asset in our lives that we can never replace and whatever else it is, it is precious, more precious than any possession we could ever own.

A moment is gone, a day, a year and that is it for those opportunities. That terrible old expression, “killing time” sets my teeth on edge. I know, it means while waiting or hoping or putting the moment on pause. Still, spare time should still be treasured.

Time should be revered.

Like seeing a ghost, still hanging around since who knows when, our perception of how we can capture the life we have changes continually. To grasp all we can and see it, feel it, know it was real – to make memories within our lives and the lives of others we know, the souls in our lives whom we love and remember to let them know we love them, that can be a good use of our time.

Every chance we have to make the moments belonging to other people, make those moments better, whether near and dear or a complete unknown, every chance – why would we ever miss an opportunity to improve it with kindness, courtesy, a smile?

The meaning of life is to benefit the space in which we find ourselves at any given moment, to assure that the air we leave behind us is in good shape from how we behaved, how we embraced the needs in any small way, of the others who were in the same space.

Silly of me to harp on about it, I realize. Too “Pollyanna?”

Think about how people drive. We all complain but how many of us participate in the frenzy of passing at high speeds on country roads, dashing in and out of lines of traffic on the highways, risking our own safety? Silly. Crazy. Living in a hurry. I do it too.

You know, we are responsible for the memories we create for others. How often do we hear stories about the time when the individual telling it is relating a moment of unexpected kindness and from a stranger? Those stories seem to last forever and some are told often, displayed like a treasured thing, as something rare and important.

That is the meaning of life. To have the privilege to deliver the unexpected kindness that becomes a treasure in the life of another.

If we are blessed with the ongoing and daily obligation of creating memories for our children and, on the other hand, our parents, siblings…how would we not do everything we can to make those memories precious, bricks from which to live benevolently?

I am an only child, an only grandchild to my maternal grandparents and never a day goes by when I do not think of them with gratitude for the memories they gave me and the strength of love they bestowed on me and I do not understand how any parent or sibling or cousin would not want to do as much for their family.

By extension, almost like a joke wrapped in truth, we are, so it seems, so it is said, linked to each other, related to each other.

We are linked to every living thing around us – what has science begun to understand – that we are mere molecules from our kin, the banana. What this really means is all life is connected. The ancient Celts knew and celebrated this interconnectedness of humanity with nature with the spirit world by the weaving of their knots, in and out with no ending: life is circular, not a dead end…

There is a lot of pain in this world, intentionally, methodically inflicted pain coming from the worst in us, the undefeated darkness that disdains all but the glory of self, bathed in the debasement of others. Somehow, that darkness is working to have a strangle hold on everything, understanding all too well on how the link of everything to everything else works.

We can only stand against it, refuse to participate in it, point it out for all the cruelty and falsehood that it is. Some of us hold the line to influence in a big way; for most of us, our influence is small. Yet, every pebble by the ocean makes the beach. 

Whether or not we march in protests against the dark, bearing our home made signs, tacked proudly to wooden sticks and held aloft for the cameras to see and report, whatever we do to tell the stories of harm, we can tell the kind stories too. 

We can keep telling those good stories, keep making new ones and hold them up as the necessary way to run the world.

Readers Comments (0)