The Lantern Bearers

There are many times in my life I have looked into the darkness of the night landscape watching for the return of the lantern bearer. That lone light appearing in the gloom to let me know a person who brings light into my life is returning safely to the home fires. As the years have passed I became aware that the mantle of the lantern bearer has passed to me and it is one I cherish.

From my perspective I can literally be the bearer of the light returning from my wanders, but for others in this day and age it could be the headlights of the car or the bike to cast a welcoming glow and announce the arrival of the traveling soul.

I still look for those lights, and will never stop doing so. As my life journey continues I have found many other lantern bearers, those fine people who strive to make a difference, to search for empathy and understanding. To read the tales of those looking to become self sufficient, who have learned to question aspects of life that are unjust and are simply doing things their own way without compromise is inspiring. From writing, crafting and art through to living a harmonious life, such souls are truly inspiring.

In many ways I have been lucky to have those lantern bearers visit here, to read or leave a helpful comment or compliment. This blog post is something of a milestone for the Quiet of Night, it is the 100th post and for those who have taken the time to visit and comment you have my thanks.

Every question we ask is a spark to light the lantern and every piece of understanding we gain is a flicker to the flame. Perhaps as other learn to look deeper at their lives they will look to the horizon and see the approaching lights of thousands of enlightened souls.

The Gift of Rainfall

Orange and violet hues from the setting sun cast their light through the western fringe of the woodland. Above the trees heavy clouds shrouded the evening sky and I had only a moment to wait before the pattering of rain began on the canopy above me. With the sinking sun laying between the horizon and the spreading darkness of the edge of the rain clouds I was given a perfect view of the world between the elements of fire and water.

As the rain cascaded off the canopy and down to the woodland floor the drops caught the light and blazed like jewels for the briefest of moments. Looking around me the bark of the conifers glowed with warmth and a stunning green light emerged through the young leaves of the woodland shrubs.

The gentle rain seemed to wash away the stresses of the day, as it had done many times before. As I watched the scene before me I put my hand into my pocket and passed the few coins held there through my fingers. I had to smile, the coins I had would barely buy a coffee at a cheap cafe in town, but there they had no meaning at all. As the light faded and the rain increased the colours changed to delicate muted tones, but I was none the poorer for the passing of the light. The soothing sounds of the rain on the leaves together with the aromas stirred by the movement filled the air. I felt the softness in the ground beneath me as I continued my wanders on the boundary of the woodland and the fields.

The jeweled light of the living energy of the sun with the scents stirred in the twilight of the woodland are the most modest of the gifts of rainfall to some, but to others they are treasure beyond compare. As with many things, it depends on where you stand and the perspective you take.

Solitary Oak in the Storm

As the landscape flattens towards the river a solitary oak stands among the grasses of a fallow field. The eye is drawn to the distant flickering movement of the brown hares, the wide open ground combined with their speed allows them to display a bolder side to their nature.

Above the oak the sky begins to slowly tumble with dark clouds and the air lays heavy with charge. As spring turns to summer there are often impressive storms, the low lands provide a spectacular stage to watch the lightening strikes against the horizon and turmoil of the clouds.

My eyes again rest upon the form of the oak, within the nearby woodlands I have often seen these trees bearing the scars of lightening strikes. It seems the shelter of the neighbouring trees on occasion will do little to stop the blinding white light from seeking out the oaks, but the solitary tree seems to show no obvious signs of damage. It has clearly held its ground for many years against the onslaught of the elements. Perhaps the virtues of fortune and good roots has allowed it to remain strong, while those among the crowds of trees have not always done so well.

As the skies darken my mind turns, the strength to stand alone is something quite special in nature. It is something only a few beings seem to be capable of, but with a little good fortune and strong roots it would appear it is possible, even against the difficulties and turbulence that surrounds our lives.

The Healing Path

A few drops of early summer rain began to take the heat from my hands, it had been a long day of hard work with the sun and the physical effort tarnishing the skin. Muscles were tense and seemed to lock into solid forms around the bones. The rain, gentle breeze and the soft twilight with its crescent moon washed over me bringing relief and movement in waves. I realised many years ago that the human body is at its best when moving. Step by step following time with the beating heart, blood flowing with a steady heart rate and each step naturally pushing the energy of life around the organs, the limbs and to the extremities of the feet and finger tips where the nerves seem to hold sway among the skin.

Together with the elements of the woodland and the subtle reflected light in the crescent moon each relaxed step along the trail brings a reassuring healing energy to soothe the body and draw calmness and connection to the mind. The natural moving state of the body along the trail forms a bridge between the forced working energies of the day and the restful deep sleep where the tumbling sub-conscious holds dreams before the minds eye. Within the natural state is both healing and the rationalisation of our waking experiences.

Surrounded by and filled with the pulsing energies of life the trails carry me deep into the woods where the colours of the night sky and the rain drops on the gentle breeze bring a rejuvenation to the mind, the body and the spirit.

Mimicry of Adulthood

Late afternoon sun warmed the sandstone of the medieval buildings and threw shadows across the paved streets. The last of the weekend crowds heaved along the streets, changing direction and purpose with the thoughts and priorities of the individuals among them. I allowed the hill to carry my steps towards the retail centre of the city and away from the aged charms of the old urban heart. It seemed as if I had unwittingly followed the crowds or perhaps it was the reflection of the sheet glass windows to the designer shops that gave an amplification of the noise and movement of the passers by.

I stopped for a while by a quiet shady corner to watch the comings and goings of people, from the laden shopper to the retail worker chattering loudly on their mobile phone. History has shown us repeatedly how civilisation too will ebb and flow, I find myself wondering how long scenes like this will be as the last of the fossil fuel resources are wrung from the earth. The thought of sitting in the traffic to leave the city while forced to enjoy the aroma of the exhaust fumes from the vehicle in front was not one that thrilled me. Until the passing of the crowds it seemed that a coffee shop could provide sanctuary needed to prevent a fraying temper, once I found my good lady among the crowds I found my suggestion was well received.

Moments later we found ourselves seated behind the smudges and smeared windows of a cheap franchise restaurant with the warmth of a brew passing through the paper cups into our palms. As before my attention was drawn to the crowds, a gaggle of young teenagers burst through the doors and took to the seats a few tables away. All seemed to wear the latest in high street fashion and were well groomed in reflection of the celebrities that no doubt took the place of role models within their minds. The dynamics were immediately obvious, the tallest of the lads placed his foot on the centre of the table forcing the others to move their food, he talked loudly commanding the attention of the others and continually gestured and touched the gold chain and rings he wore as if reinforcing his status. The younger lads paid attention to him but also lavished the regard of welcome distraction upon the expensive mobiles and smart phones they drew from their pockets.

One of the girls sitting closely by the tall lad obviously had favour with him. She was able to be bolder with her language and tone, and used him to help reinforce her remarks to the others. The other girls stood around the edges of the tables choosing moments to join the conversation and support the opinions of the two dominant figures. One girl had clearly dressed to impress, but her constant preening and awkwardness portrayed her self consciousness, this was also perhaps the reason the group largely ignored her.

We chatted with our observations, my partner was all too aware of the group and the goings on between them. We both had memories from our youth of the way similar groups formed during our teenage years and of how the same mechanics carried on into college years and corporate life. It seems that the mimicry of adulthood going on before us would be carried on by these youngsters into their later lives. As we finished our drinks and prepared to leave I also remarked on how things were different within this city from the place we grew up. The designer gear, jewelry and mobiles they so proudly displayed and used would have marked you as a target for mugging within the rough northern town we used to call home, but despite this the language and behaviour was remarkably similar despite the years. Schools and curriculums may change as times go by but the way humans seem to unquestioningly organise themselves, seems to remain unaltered.

For me it appears the observations of the late afternoon would remain as thoughts to be carried with me on the solitude of my night time wanders.

A Sense of Arrival

Glancing over the advertising in the newspapers and through the windows of the local travel agents the mind is flooded with offers and bargains. Exotic locations for cut prices, last minute special deals or once in a lifetime offers. By road, rail or air we can cocoon ourselves in sleek metal vehicles to carry us at high speed to those special places. You can go anywhere for the right price and be whisked away like royalty or shoe horned into budget class for a few uncomfortable hours.

I have often wondered if some of the people of this island have lost the meaning of travel and journeys. The miles we travel are eclipsed by the perceived destination, and monuments and countries become a check list of must see places. To travel by your own means and power can change your perspective of the world. A geographical destination becomes a pleasing stopping point towards the end of a valuable journey and is part of the new sights and experiences gained along the way. But for me it is the journey that helps to tune us into our surroundings and offers insights as to the evolution of land, history, geography, biology and botany. It draws together as a whole spirit and speaks to the soul as a wanderer passes by. I have found my destination is not the monument or the grand vista from high on a hill side. It is those moments when you rest. Memories and experiences flood back to you as you sit by a fire or unwind to ease the aching limbs earned during the miles. The destination is the assembly of experiences, sights and emotions as mind and body finds rest, and the spirit draws it together as a whole.

Travel well and enjoy the peace before the wanderers sleep. With the healing of body and mind, the tracks of your next journey can carry the spirit to new highs. Perhaps we will meet on the trail and share a tale or two which will go far deeper than the holiday snap shot.

The Chittering Tree

The setting sun bathed the raised track before me with a warm light. Like many of the tracks through the clearings it had been formed by the passing of walkers taking best advantage of the lighter undergrowth. Beside this narrow green way the ground had sunken deeply and the light undergrowth covered deep ruts caused by arboricultural machinery from the past years harvesting of the trees. Where the ruts drew closer to the track it became extremely narrow forcing my foot falls into line to prevent turning an ankle by a misplaced step.

As I walked this natural tightrope I became aware of short sharp calls from the trees at the edge of the clearing. I cast my gaze into the dappled and lengthening shadows of the tree line to see a small shape flitting among the branches. The call was reminiscent of little owl calls I had heard in the past, I decided to push through the undergrowth of the clearing to investigate, careful to check the positioning of my steps as the ground was well suited habitat for the adders which on rare occasions grace these parts.

Closing on the tree line I approached a single standing dead wood. Continual chittering calls echoed loudly around the trees. The calls were relentless and quite hypnotic with their regularity and persistence, only the occasional call from the wandering bird broke through their repetition. With the last of the sun on my back I stopped for a few moments to try and find the cause of the cacophony. Close to the top of the deadwood I could see well chiseled holes on the bare wood of the tree. With a flurry of movement a bird appeared from the surrounding branches and closed on the deadwood. It appears the woodpeckers have created a nest overlooking the clearing and the noisy demands of the chicks would be keeping the parents busy while they remained.

I turned and left the young family to their evening as the sun set behind the horizon. I soon found myself back on the narrow trail and followed it along the western tree line of the clearing. In the twilight I looked into the silence and gloom of the wood to see another standing deadwood. Perched on the top was the sight of a tawny owl, motionless for a moment holding me in a gaze of quiet regard.  In an instant the bird turned and glided silently into the woodland. The deadwood stood silent as if the tawny had never been there.

With a smile betraying the enriched moments and experiences I had just added to my life I continued, following the trail until I also turned and vanished into the darker woods.