“It won’t last,” says the seasoned voice; but I want it to linger. Through my upstairs window this morning, I am transported to a childhood memory of the momentary delusion of the world falling away, while I am rising miraculously. It’s a bit like the conundrum of sitting on a train in the station when another train moves. Two worlds in transit, beyond my comprehension. Am I the moving part, or is the strange motion belonging to the other perspective?
That day, my brother and I were to accompany our mother on her regular visit to a hairdresser in Cong, some seven miles away. I felt a certain excitement, even though it meant waiting, while all the washing, styling, and drying of hair took place. Still, it involved some variety in an empty space during Christmas holidays from school. I was ready for off! But I was in no way ready for the sudden thrill, the moment of disbelief, as snow began to transfigure the familiarity of my normally grey, ball alley, Abbey Street view.
We were sent off together, to begin leading the pilgrimage on foot. We would be picked up by car. You see, it wasn’t going to last. Two small adventurers, warmly clad and wellingtoned, we headed up the town, crossed the road at the bank corner, heading along Main Street. White flakes came from every side, as if secretly wishing to whisper urgent, surreptitious secrets. Along Bowgate Street, our noses met a new, clean cold. The familiarity of our well-known Ballinrobe was putting on a new face, a muffled mask that seemed to boast, “See what I can do!” Some adults showed a brisk uncertainty of gait, as though teetering uneasily between known normality being suddenly upended, and a secret access that might reveal new promises that could open through this unannounced pleasurable presence.
We turned on to the Neale Road, our steps turning into a more hesitant, trudging pace now. Our eyes were adjusting to that out of the usual, shimmering of light. Tiny puffballs toyed with our vision, urging our small fists to rise, clearing snowflakes from our eyes, giving new sight to our rapidly changing view. Then, just beyond the houses (were we really on the right road?) tyres squelched to a stop beside us, and we recognised a voice calling us to safe shelter. New plan…turn around…let’s head home.
Saint Thérèse of Lisieux received an insight when she saw an early elevator bringing hotel guests effortlessly to other floors. It might have made a strange mechanical rattle as it moved people mysteriously up and down. However, in her nineteenth century contemplative mind, it reflected what God can do for a human soul in ways unseen, with a sudden uplift, through no action of its own; a larger presence with unknown power.
While I reminisced on other days, this morning, I was called into that spacious silence, where the outer world is held suspended for a time, and things as usual are adrift. There was an inducement to let go of the scheduled, timetabled routine, while reality could find itself anew in reflection. A magician’s sleuth like trick of drawing attention away from what I thought I had desired, only to reveal a mystery prize in the least expected place. A short sojourn, enabling review.
Snow hasn’t lasted on my winter scene. The window is back this afternoon to courtyard grey. However, my day has been touched by a tinge of mystic enchantment; not by seeing a rabbit in a hat or by finding a coin behind my ear, but by uncovering wordless, wondrous memory. I hope this gift will last.
Suzanne Ryder
