The window

The mind whirls, the cogs ticking. I think about what this all means.  What is this mindful life? how can I analyse it? how can I put it into words?  Nothing comes, the words are there but I can’t quite string them all together so I stop and look out of the window.  I have moved my little desk upstairs, in front of the window that looks out to the back, over the houses to the edge of the town and the trees on the hill.

My mind tells me this is wrong, you can’t just sit and stare out of the window, a memory flashes up so vivid now. That day I was sat in History class. I was bored so was staring out of the window, out to the school playing field and the trees beyond. I got told off by the teacher.

A little voice inside starts to speak, it is a voice that used to be so, so quiet. I could never hear it but over the last few years  its got a bit louder.  It is a voice of compassion, gentle, warming, kind and from the heart.

“You are here my friend not there, it is gone, all is ok. That feeling of wrong is just a memory.   What was wrong then, is not wrong now”

I look out of the window, here in this moment. I look over the rooftops to the trees on the hill, branches all bare hibernating for winter, their tops gently swaying in the breeze.

A plane passes overhead and in that moment a flock of birds soar up from one of the trees and then disappear out of view. Three big pigeons waddle across the top of a roof.

Beyond, the clouds roll by in colours of grey, blue, white and yellow.  It starts to rain, little droplets forming on the window, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above.

Simple, nothing special, so easy to miss but oh so beautiful.

What is this mindful life? The words still haven’t come, but here in this very moment looking out of the window, a feeling of joy bubbles up inside.

Maybe it needs no words, just an experience. A fleeting moment in time.  It can’t be grasped at, held on to, intellectualised and dissected.

A window, a little moment in time.

Maybe it is just this.