St Martin, Thompson, Breckland, Norfolk: Still at Last
I once overheard someone describe 'grace' as, 'an unearned gift'. It was, then, a pure moment of grace when the low winter sunlight flooded, shimmering, onto the floor of the church. I sat within the curiously small south chapel and saw a gift unveiled before me:
The crystalline light, patterned with the shadow of window tracery, illuminating the parclose screen and floor beyond...
The russet brown of the small organ and the metal pipes, tightly packed, shoulder-to-shoulder...
The cool blue sky framed within the elegantly intersecting tracery of the windows on the north wall...
The outline of my voluminous, lived-in head, cast in shadow in the foreground...
The irregular curves of the curtains either side of the screen, offset against the vertical lines of the tracery...
All so still within...
And further beyond still:
The metronomic, yet meditative, sound of the clock pendulum steadily swinging within the west tower
The slight smell of mustiness and the dessicated butterflies and rickety spiders stranded here...
The ancient silvery timbers of the seventeenth century benches...
A wooden cross nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the chancel...
Green Man staring sternly beneath the burst of a sunstar...
I am here, in this moment, writing to you because the boy I once was knew no piece of mind and could not sleep. That brutalised boy hid behind his fists, but also reached for a dictionary to keep him company through the long sleepless nights. He lived in a colourless, cruel, hopeless nightmare - a world away from places of sanctuary. He cradled a flicker of humanity within through his writing that he shared with no-one.
And now:
It is not only because of that boy that I am able to articulate my experience here. It is also that, it is in places such as this, within moments such as these, that I am able savour stillness and genuine peace of mind. It feels sometimes like I have arrived where I was meant to be.
The Fallible Flâneur <*(((((><(
Beautiful writing, exhibiting the artistry of presence.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully expressed.
DeleteThanks Paul & Nickie!
DeleteFascinating. I wonder what it was about the coming together of many layers that day that opened up the state of 'grace.' I imagine you could have been sat there on numerous occasions and not experienced the feeling of sanctuary and peace that enabled you to reflect on brutal times without succumbing to the memories.
ReplyDeleteFascinating. I wonder what it was about the coming together of so many different layers at that moment on that day that opened up a space in which you could reflect on a brutal past without succumbing. Grace indeed. I love that kind of mystery and don't feel it needs an answer.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for taking time to comment here. I wonder too... but I have no answers. For me, there is something potentially transformative about being in special places like beautiful medieval churches.
DeleteThank you for sharing such a memory with us. The quiet and stillness in churches seems to have a special significance and ambience to them which makes you want to whisper so to not disturb that silence
ReplyDeleteThanks Adam. Yes, at this point in my life, it's an invitation to savour stillness and be present in the moment. I spent a lot of my earlier daze endlessly catastrophising, haunted by my past, anxious about the future. Nowadays, I remind myself that it is NOW that I am alive and I try - where I can - to seize the day and savour the moments
DeleteA beautiful piece and photo to mark it
ReplyDeleteThank you for your' appreciation
DeleteThis is beautiful. The brutalised boy has become the gentle man. Thank you for sharing this moment.
ReplyDeleteThanks! There is always the potential for beauty within our 'brokeness'.
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