I love this image… But what on earth is it?
It’s obviously reflections, though it’s not obvious. And I like the fact that you have to take a second look and you still don’t know…
The question is: will you walk away because it’s confusing and disorientating, or will you press in to know more?
I suspect that for many of us, especially in the UK at the present time, standing back and reflecting on where we are in our world doesn’t give us cohesive answers. Nothing is straightforward and not everything that looks real is…
There are twists and turns – both in our national and personal lives – that we haven’t anticipated. We weren’t prepared for this…
So the act of reflection takes courage because it doesn’t confer safety.
What are the options? We can return to the fray and hope that someone else will sort it all out. Seeking comfort in whatever numbs us from the feeling of vulnerability.
Or we can stand at the edge and look. But even there we have a choice to make.
We can act as judge, quickly passing judgement whilst wearing a Teflon coated mantle. Or perhaps we can try and take charge. Sorting out this issue because “we’re better than others.”
Or we can hold what we see. Not rushing to diagnose, but reflecting with an open heart seeking wisdom.
This kind of reflection changes us. Quietly disrupting the sense of who we are and what we’re here for.
For those who want to know…
It’s a simple image taken right at the end of our valley at The Waterside, where the earlier Victorian reservoir had its origin.
The only part that is not a reflection is a small area of vegetation covered concrete wall on the top left of the picture. Beyond that you see the brook reflecting the green trees, the water rippling as it’s pushed around the protruding wall.
Then you see the shafts of sunlight highlighting stones on the stream bed before the shadows obscure the depths. The water then reflects the overhanging trees with their tracery of leaves against the blue sky and we finally see the wall’s reflection. The only straight line in the picture.
And the story behind this?
I love standing in the brook, being immersed in the sights and sounds of this part of the valley. We are far away from any road here and it is so peaceful.
It’s a place where I wait, quietly, knowing that in doing so I am calming my soul and opening the ears of my heart to hear beyond my own clamouring.
It’s a place where I sense the smile of God. Not because I’ve done anything, but because God is good.
And it’s a place I come to rest in the unknowing.
Pause. Breathe. Smile.
Thanks for reading
Has continued to be a slightly strange, unsettled week, with the invitation to lean in and nurture seeds of hope.