It was only when I stopped did I notice.
As I stood on the bridge
I stood still, only breathing
As I sensed the world flow around me.
On a bridge.
Next to me, the footsteps of people, passing by, their flow of movement, the chatter, the excitement, the practicality of voice, crossing roads, heading out, heading home, their movement a flow, to and from, each with different speeds, unless their hands beautifully held together, walking to the same rhythm.
And then the cars, in the space behind me, from many destinations, it was their engines, the acceleration, and brakes, from known places to other places. Carriages of metal, making their way, as they did so, I felt the air pressure change on my back, as larger cars, or trucks forced themselves through the cool air, and made themselves known.
Underneath me, the flow of water, gathering pace down stream, clear, greens underneath, awash with whispers of white waves, reflecting the sun, twinkling in the sun, water reaching for its sea destination, and on the way accommodating, inviting life to partake in the home it creates in its depths.
Flow, restless, never ending, from its origin, ultimately the heavens and back to it, via the mountains, the gulleys and heading out to sea.
Flowing underneath me. The river dancing its way in shimmers of glossy light, its flow controlled by volume, and directed by the land with which encases it, aside from later in its life downstream its force brings edges of soil and rock to their knees.
And as I stood, alive to the flow, the wind breathed its deceptively coldness, on this bright sun filled day. Origin unknown, destination, unknown, yet it made its presence real to me, the cold flow across the back of my arms, head and calves.
Wind, that breathes itself freedom, an unstoppable, untameable force, now creating power, yet as I stood, its cold flow caused shivers, its energy cool.
Underneath the river
Behind me the cars and people
Around me the wind
The Flow of life
That exact time, of a quartet of flows, never to be repeated.
And I, the watcher, the feeler, standing there.
Still.
A contrast to the flow.
Preventing in a minuscule way, particles of wind from finding their destination, affecting on me.
Flow of energy all around, life force mysterious, known and unknown combining in restless urgency, and creative power, nurturing life, and travelling through, each journeying. And I being.
What flow, circulates around me, invites me, where shall I go, how shall I flow, open, flying on the breeze, floating down the river, swimming up the stream, walking along predetermined concrete, free as the wind.
Where time is measured in wonder, and joy and creativity, partners in the dance.
And then, it was time.
Time to walk.
Alive to flow.
Alive to being Still, amidst it.
‘Stillness is the canvas against which movement can become beautiful’ (John O Donohue, Divine Beauty)
James Ballantyne 