There are times the world seems against us. There are times we just don't know what to do, which decision to make. There are times everything seems to be closing in on us, threatening to engulf us in its ugliness. We want it to end. Indeed, there are times we just want to end it all in some way. These are the times, my friend, that tell of your greatest potential and of your gift to the world. And, no, these may not feel like times for words like potential and gifts, especially concerning you! Indeed no!They seem like times of potential and gifts for everyone else … but not you. They may seem to be times that you're singled out by God for misery and dread, while everyone else has potential and gifts. Why me? Why now? Why this? When will it end? How can I end it?
The questions rage round your mind like viscious dogs, snapping at your every good thought, every quiet moment, every desperate attempt to believe in something holy about yourself. They bark and snap and tear at the very fabric of your being, giving you no rest, no peace and nothing left to grasp for.
Whatever is left for you to cling to crumbles to dust as their claws flail the ground beneath you. The cliff edge your bleeding fingers weekly claw at is falling, stone by stone, to the abyss below you. You will follow soon. You know this is inevitable but still you grasp another stone … that drops away … and you grasp another and another.
Though the inevitable is ready to take you, you cling on there, ever more desperately and despairingly each moment. Something keeps you here. You are still here. Against all odds you are still here and, despite the ferocity of the gnashing dogs in your scull, you can afford yourself a smile - a grim smile that you're still here, a soft smile as a small light glows, however dimly through the dust and blackness. As your smile softens, that light, that dim light moves, changes, imperceptibly. This light … is it growing? Is it moving? Yes! It is moving toward you, growing, growing ever so slowly. Your soft smile spreads across your face, around your fevered brain and down your neck. The light is closer, bigger, brighter, stronger, as your smile flows down your body, through your arms. The light is an arm's length away. You want to touch it, feel its warmth but you do not let go. Your smile flows down into your legs, your feet, your finger tips. The light warms you, lightens you. There is less weight on your finger tips and you're tempted to let go, to touch the light … indeed, to dissolve into the light.
It seems so easy to let go, to stop grasping, to fall into the light. You are tempted to give up, to give in to the warm glow of peace that envelops you, that seems to lift you. Should you let go? The decision seems to float off, somehow, for there is just inevitability.
You give in. You smile. You unclench your fingers, ready to drop. You give up and wait for the terrifying fall … it doesn't happen. The crumbling cliff and the furious dogs have somehow dissolved into the light and you have gone nowhere. You are still held in the warm light, held and embraced. You are home. You are home at last. There is nothing to do … nothing to do but smile and weep your tears of relief as the light enfolds you as a father's arms around his precious child. There is nothing else to do, my friend, but let go, smile softly and weep thankfully.
This is your moment, my friend. Savour it.
Now, here is another moment for Arthur Bayly, continued from the previous posting ...
"Oh hell!" said Amanda, looking down, sighing. She put down her knife and fork and looked directly at Joan, then at Arthur. The silence was palpable. "Look, I'm really sorry. I've overstepped the mark. I shouldn't have said what I'm working on. I just felt so comfortable with you two - the first two really friendly people I've met in the six months I've been here. I'm so sorry, I just should not have said anything ..."
"Amanda dear, Amanda," said Joan, patting her hand, "it's OK, it really is. We're not police informants, we're not secret agents, we're not going to tell anyone. It's OK dear."
"Oh Joan, Arthur, you're such lovely people and you've had a horrible, shocking day and I go and blab my mouth off!" said Amanda, wiping tears from her face.
"Well, perhaps this is another of those miraculous moments you keep having!" said Arthur, trying to lighten the mood, while wondering how such words found their way into his brain and out his mouth - perhaps he was going mad too. Amanda looked into his eyes and smiled and sighed. Arthur felt quite tearful himself.
"By gosh, Arthur, you're probably right!" exclaimed Joan. "Maybe we're meant to know about this for some reason. It might explain that young Australian man or something ..."
"Yes, maybe you're right, Arthur," said Amanda, wiping the last of her tears as she sat up purposefully. "OK, I can't take back what I've told you and I can't give you any more details. I'd be out of the police force quick smart and no goodbyes! But what you do know is what you saw today, in the middle of Croydon and that, yes AIL is part of our investigation. You're not there any more so you should be fine. But please, please, please don't tell anyone I said any of this. NO ONE. PLEASE!"
"Amanda, dear Amanda, of course we won't," said Joan patting her arm. "And, as long as we can get through the next three days, we'll be fine with my mother's protection after that!" They all giggled. Even Arthur, though that spider had taken a slightly sinister feel in his tummy now. Still, he'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, a James Bond. Maybe this was his chance to savour some secret agenting.
"Look Amanda, I'm not at AIL any more and I ... well, I was there for a long time but I was hardly in any position of power," said Arthur, feeling a stirring of anxiety about what else was going to come out of his disobedient mouth, "but if there is anything you need to know that I can help you with, please do ask. As I said, I don't know any deep and dark secrets there but I might be able to steer you in the right direction. I do know how their systems work and who does what and when and all that. I probably know more than I think I do, if I think about it, after all these years ..."
"Oh Arthur, I really don't want to get you into any trouble," said Amanda seriously. "Some of these people are quite without conscience, quite ... well, quite viscious, if I must be blunt. There's a lot at stake - probably a lot more than I know, actually."
"I think it's time for another cup of tea, don't you?" suggested Joan, obviously more comfortable with spirits and miracles than with criminals. She gathered up the plates and was gone before Amanda or Arthur had a chance to move. They looked at each other and smiled.
"Look Amanda, you could be right that I don't know what I'd be in for," said Arthur. "I know nothing of the criminal world and I definitely don't want to put Joan in danger. But, well, I've had some strange dreams ... or thoughts, I suppose ... about Australia, lately, and then I meet two New Zealand ladies today and then I witness New Zealanders in a police scuffle and then his young Australian man turns up ... oh, I don't know about all this mad spirit stuff but, well, maybe we're not as much in control of our lives as we think ..."
"Yes, Arthur, I think I know what you mean," said Amanda, smiling at his attempts to put meaning to mess.
"Maybe there's a kind of destiny, a sort of inevitability, and certain things are going to happen anyway and the only choice, the only free will we have is how we deal with them. I don't know ..."
"Mmm, I don't about any of that," said Arthur, feeling the conversation turning towards those dark and creepy depths again. "But when I look at my life - and I've been shocked into doing that today - I haven't done much of note. I haven't made much of a splash in the swimming pool of life, if you like. Now maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to do something ... oh, I don't know ... to make a difference, somehow." They both sat looking at each other and, in the silence, they knew no words were necessary. After a moment that seemed to stretch for eternity, Amanda began to cry.
"Oh, Arthur, I wish you had been my father!" she said between sobs. "I know it's an awful thing to say but ... aah, I don't know, I just feel a real connection with you."
--------------------------------
After Amanda left, they both sat down, sighing to each other. The phone stabbed through the peace of the moment, shrill and jarring. Arthur was momentarily stunned and then reluctantly moved to pick it up.
"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you time and again," said Martin, obviously in a mood. "And why don't you get yourselves an answer phone? You really must get up to date and it's so rude not to let people contact you or leave messages. I don't know how many times I've told you about this, why don't you get one ..."
"Martin," Arthur said wearily, wondering who was father and who was son for an instant, his quietness stopping the tirade in mid-stream. "Martin, we don't have one because we don't want one."
"But I've told you, it's so rude and so damned annoying when people really want to contact you and you don't even have mobile phones, like you should and it's like you're in the last century and you really need ..."
"Martin," said Arthur, quietly, "I've had quite enough of this. Now, what is it that you want?"
"Well, yes, it's still so rude and backward not to have an answer phone or a mobile, everyone else has them ..."
"Martin," said Arthur quietly, again. "I'm going to say this one thing and then I'm going to hang up. OK?"
"Uh, oh, OK!" said Martin, surprised by this unaccustomed shortness from his father.
"Now, you haven't told us what you want so I'll tell you where we've been," said Arthur in measured tones. "We've recently got back from the funeral parlour because your grandma died today. I've also lost my job, I think. The funeral is on Thursday and we really hope you and Ruth and the children can all be there. Good night."
No sooner had Arthur sat down, under the admiring gaze of his wife, than the phone screamed again.
"Ah, I'm, ah, I didn't know, Dad," said Martin, coming the closest he ever had to an apology. "We just didn't know."
"Well, now you do, Martin, and we did leave a message on your home answer phone and I left a message with your secretary. I hope you can all be there to support your mother and I," said Arthur. "Now, what was it you wanted us so urgently for?"
"Ah, oh, well, I was wanting to know if you could look after the kids for four days ... Ah hell, I didn't know, I'm really sorry, Dad."
"Yes, so are we, Martin," said Arthur in a more conciliatory tone than before. "So, when would you like us to look after the children?"
"Well, we had hoped we could drop them off first thing in the morning ..." said Martin, trailing off.
"Look Martin, it's been a big day so let me have a talk to Mum and we'll call you back within half an hour. Is that OK?"
"Of course, Dad. That's fine. I'm really so sorry ..."
Later, when Arthur's and Joan's minds had cleared a little, they rang Martin to tell him to bring the children round tomorrow - perhaps they'd provide some pleasant diversion from their current concerns.
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