Thought Picnic: Awake and asleep

Awake to my inner voice

It is not a too distant memory the holiday I had over a week ago in the sun. There was more strength in my legs that the 60 minute walk to the beach from my hotel in July was now done in just about 30.

The look was still the same, my feet well shod, enough of my body exposed to the sun whilst maintaining a modicum of decency, my cane, still comes in helpful and my Creative Zen Mosaic MP3 player in ghetto-blaster mode playing out in shuffle-mode my collection of classical music from Bach to Telemann and the almost 700 in between.

I cannot say why but when I read up on it is realised why, I start off with Johann Sebastian Bach Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme (Wake up, the voice calls to us), it is also my ring tone, it has an awakening for me, an uplifting and readiness for the journey I am about to embark on.

It is peaceful; it brings calm, the beginning of meditation as you enter the caverns of deep thought and introspection.

Asleep to the world around

The world is quiet in spite of the ambient noise, I am not wearing headphones but I hear nothing else, as I walk, my arms begin to conduct an imaginary orchestra anticipating the next chord ready to wield my baton towards the violinists, the roar of the percussionist is quelled and the wind instruments bring the cooling breeze to my face, I am in dreamland, a somnambulist with intent, mesmerised and oblivious, at one with myself.

The look out to sea is a look of wonder, the waves lapping the beach, a coast is a far as your imagination will allow and in the horizon is a speck brought to life by a pair of binoculars, a freighter of goods and supplies, part of what makes the world so small.

The sun bakes each side for minutes before the refuge of the shade is more pleasant, you are in a crowd of sun worshippers and yet one and you, beside none else.

Hours pass, the roar of the waves and the sound of the music have become too familiar to be noticed anymore, they are all in the background when it is time to walk back to my hotel.

The voyage on the sands

The undulating dunes of troughs and crests test each unsure stride that lands in shifting sands it is laborious and energy-sapping but all to the good, you have strength you never knew you had, in reserve and to expend, the longing for a journey’s end does not weary you as you catch the glimpse of shadows so long cast from the light of the setting sun.

We all return like from a wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey, never a walk to be taken without flagons of refreshment, the voyage ends at the ports of concrete, respite is close and a shower to relieve.

Many a day took this rhythm; it was my comfort and my refreshment.

Thought Picnic: The sands of light

A longer walk than most

On my walk to the beach which took probably twice the time it takes for people to cover the distance, I decided to do it in silence, in contemplation with deep reflection.

Thinking about how fortunate I have been in my life and experiences even when things have seemed so seriously out of control and beyond me, there has always been some hope, some inspiration, some angling for change and possibilities that in the depth of those situations is far from view.

The grains of sand that make up the living dunes of Maspalomas revealed a part to them that I had never before noticed. Innumerable as they are and brown as they seemed, in the high sunlight of the day grains glistened and reflected back the sunlight in thousands or more of mirrors.

Each had a light for me

All those evident from my moving through the dunes, as I looked in every direction there was a flicker of light and I could imagine there could be millions of reflectors reflecting heat and light at my body from all angles just because I was there.

The grains were self-existent and mutually supportive creating this amazing landscape constantly sculpted by winds and other weather conditions the dunes experience.

In general the grains would remain unmoved and untouched except when affected by external stimuli which includes the many feet that walk those sands creating tracks some well tread and some very new soon to disappear as if no one was ever there – a clean slate every few days that would make a novice of an expert bush tracker after a while.

Dunes of memory

And so, I wondered about how we live our lives sometimes not affecting or affected but there for circumstances and situations to give meaning to our existence as each grain of sand became a reflector to me even though without my noticing this before, the grains were reflecting regardless of what I thought about the composition, the refractive index and all other optical components of sand and silica.

Each significant bit becomes part of the whole and so does the memories of the many who have come and gone, who have touched my life in many ways innumerable to mention, they will not be forgotten but each reflection and thought is replayed over and over again forming the dunes of my own personal experiences and more.