Silent Wonder
Sitting in silent communion with the spirits of the Tazza Fountain in Hyde Park’s Italian Gardens, I feel the magic of this particular spot once again. England’s resonances dance in the air while the water flows and the nymphs serenely gaze upon it all.
We’ve had a beautifully happy time this past month, brimming over with fresh experience and love. It seems now looking back, that my daughter and I were characters from another lifetime when we stepped aboard our flight to London at the beginning of July. The wonder of travel still opens its doors to us foolish mortals at present. I am sure that the focus of the past few weeks will gradually sharpen and different events will come to the fore but for now I exist amidst the colourful blur of freshly imprinted memories.
We had weeks in London where we walked and walked again amidst the heat. We sampled the furnace of the Central Line and lounged in the park with ice cream amidst the wildflowers so typical of an English summer. Reunion with family brought the sweetest taste of all; the enforced isolation of recent years seemed but a distant nightmare of unspeakable brutishness.
We voyaged hand in hand with the Bard on two occasions. Once, in the seclusion of a garden square, we sat amidst the gathering twilight as Prospero summoned his spirits. Just last night we enjoyed an immersive experience. Following the actors through the grounds of a quiet oasis in the central London, we were delighted by the antics of Puck, Oberon and the show stealing Rude Mechanicals. Both occasions brought something of that rough magic to life
The weeks we spent inside the deep reflective quiet of our Buddhist retreat in the Dordogne summoned us back to the wellspring from which all else arises. At times you could almost touch the joy which all of us felt, sitting in the presence of such all encompassing kindness and truth.
As I linger on this, our last morning, time assumes his intention and coalesces into invisible threads as strong as steel. I acknowledge with a happy equanimity that our time in Europe has wound down to its inevitable conclusion. Soon the vast openness of home will envelop us once again and our beloved ocean will be but a stone’s throw away.
And so I draw the essence of the fountain deep into my heart. I’ve learnt over the years that we carry all that we love with us, no matter the illusory distance of time and space. Just as I feel the ocean’s endless embrace on a sunny London morning so too will I feel the nymphs of the fountain on that Southern Californian sand; gently reminding me that the water here still flows. Inside every moment of silence there is the possibility for a journey of endless wonder.
