8 - The Hurricane We Are

My pen seems to want to continue from day 5 ...

If we're looking for love, we're looking in the wrong direction. If we're looking for peace, we're looking the wrong direction. If we're looking for happiness, we're looking in the wrong direction.

There is nothing outside ourselves. All of these things - love, peace, happiness - are within. They are not what we have inside; they are what we are inside. There is nowhere to look.

The body is a storm, a hurricane. It thrashes about, spinning endlessly, causing harm and mayhem wherever it goes. There is nothing for which we can thank it for; it is a machine of war and is designed but to kill … us.

When we desire attributes for the body - houses, careers, relationships, muscles, locations, fame, fortune - we are on a warpath. Yes, we may get our car and be happy … for an instant. We may have that new relationship and be happy … for an instant. We may move to that new town and be happy … for an instant. But we know that if we make our body-desires our gods, these instants of happiness are fleeting and we're in a constant fight for another, then another and yet another. Love, peace and happiness are never beside a soldier of war, a frenzied, thirsting fighter who can only lay his weapons down for fleeting instants.

There is another way, if we want that which never rusts, rots or withers. This other way is that of the peace-maker who goes within and searches not but knows. All that is eternal is within and never leaves us. We need but remember our source.

In the centre of every hurricane is stillness and that stillness is what we are. That peace is what we are. That abiding happiness, unaffected by the body's (the world's) woes, is what we are, in the centre of the hurricane.

Outside the hurricane, the rest of the world (or the universe) is quite unaffected by the thrashing hurricane we create. We cause our tiny maelstroms but the world (or the universe) doesn't care … doesn't even know.

And, going within, we do not go without.

And is Arthur Bayly feeling any peace?

It was with a light and bouncy heart that he set off for home, preferring the ten-minute walk to being crammed in a tram - a far cry from the previous dread he'd felt about meeting his wife with the upsetting news. In fact, he wanted to skip like a child but, of course, that just wasn't done. Not for an adult. Not for Arthur Bayly. Not in his suit today. That didn't stop his mind skipping along inside a body that carried a battered leather brief case with proper business-like decorum. He couldn't get the silly smile off his face and he worried that other pedestrians might think him mad or, worse, being silly. However, in true London style, no one looked or even pretended to notice.

The short walk seemed even shorter than ever, this time, and as he was turning the corner into Tunstall Road, he came to an abrupt halt. A small crowd and an ambulance, with flashing light, was such a contrast to his light mood. He tried to take the unexpected scene into his mind. As he tried to imagine what could be happening, he realised the ambulance men were carrying a stretcher out of his mother-in-law's house. The covered body on it looked chillingly still. His mind froze. His body froze. It was as if he knew, subconsciously, what was happening, thought his logical mind struggled to put the pieces together. He inched forward, searching the crowd and, soon, his wife came out of the house, ashen-faced.

And then it happened. The massive and persistent hand of God - as he would later describe it - was at his back, pushing him forward. With no choice but to obey, he covered the thirty yards in no time imaginable and had enveloped his wife in an uncharacteristically warm and loving embrace. She resisted, at first, the sudden hug from a stranger but, for the first time ever, he did not yield to her attempt to break free. He stood his ground strongly, lovingly and she quietly gave into his embrace, such was her need and such was his insistence.

He was, of course, surprised at his decisive action and the warmth he felt inside. He was vaguely aware of other people fussing about him but he felt no concern for them. His only thoughts were for the woman in his arms - the woman, he realised, who he loved so much and who needed his love and nothing else in this moment. He surprised himself as these old feelings of affection arose and expressed themselves so strongly. His wife, usually the forceful one, melted into his arms and nothing needed to be said. As their envelope of silent togetherness gathered round them, the outside world disappeared and they knew each other better than they ever had before. It was as if all the millions of words over the years had - instead of explaining and uniting them - confused and separated them.

Reluctantly they separated, looking at each other, knowing they must allow the rest of the world to intrude.

"Oh, Arthur …" said Joan softly, wanting to express what could not be put into words.

"It's OK, love, I'm here," said Arthur, knowing this was more important than anything - his job, his future, their future. This moment. He knew he must savour it, cherish it, remember it.

"Ah, excuse me, Mrs Bayly," said an ambulance driver, coming as close as their envelope of silence would allow, "we'll take the, er, your mother now, ma'am. We will need you to come and complete the paper-work for us - today, if possible."

"Yes, yes," Joan said, unable to keep the crack out of her voice and the tears from flowing.

"Thank you young man," said Arthur, with unaccustomed authority, "I'll bring my wife down to the hospital …"

"No Sir, the funeral parlour, in Orchard Road," said the ambulance driver.

"Oh, ah, yes, to the funeral parlour, as soon as we can," said Arthur with his arm still around Joan's shoulders and a grip of fear around his gut with the mention of the word funeral. "We both need a little time to ourselves and then we'll walk over."

"Thank you, Sir," said the young man, "just when you can make it. There's no hurry, none at all."

"Thank you so much," said Arthur, thinking with remarkable clarity. "Now, Dear, I'll lock your mother's house and we'll pop home for a cup of tea and a sit."

"Mmm, yes," said Joan quietly, apparently happy to hand over control for a change.

As they settled in their favourite lounge chairs, Joan suddenly looked up at Arthur who was placing a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits on her side-table. "Arthur, I've just realised … what are you doing here, now?" she asked. "I got Dottie, our neighbour, to ring your office but that was only half an hour ago."

"Yes Dear, it's been quite a day hasn't it. Quite a day," said Arthur, sitting down with his cup of tea and wondering where to start and how much to say right now. "I, er, left work early today. I would have been on my way here when she rang, I suppose."

"But, Arthur, you've never left early before. Is something wrong?" asked Joan, realising she may not be the only one with problems.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid there is, my dear," said Arthur, still struggling with what details to reveal. "I was made redundant." He waited for her attack …

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Joan, not quite comprehending anything beyond her own shock and grief.

"It's OK, love, we can talk about it later," said Arthur, aware that she was unable to absorb much else at the moment. He was, also, quite relieved to have said the worst of it and avoided the terrible scene he had played out in his mind, several hours earlier at work. He was relieved, too, not to have to continue further explanations and tempt fate.

As he thought of his previous dread of this moment, it all seemed so far away - commuting, work, the interview, the shock - and it seemed to matter so little that he wondered how it could have mattered before.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" asked Arthur.

"Oh, ah, well, I just went up there to see how she was - she hadn't called me," said Joan as her tears started again.

"Leave it for now if you like, Love," said Arthur tenderly.

"No, I want you to know … there's not much to tell, really," said Joan, wiping her eyes, determined to go on. "I knocked and there was no answer. That was unusual. I heard nothing inside, absolutely nothing. I had this horrible feeling in my stomach, that something was wrong …" she said as another sob interrupted her story. Her crying subsided; she wiped her eyes and sat upright. "I've just got to tell you now, Love. There's not much to say but it doesn't seem real, somehow. You know …"
"Yes dear, I do know," said Arthur, smiling a little as he recalled his own unreal experience that morning.

"Mmm, I think you do," said Joan with unaccustomed insight into her husband's thoughts. She blew her nose, sat up and started again. "I used my key, got in and found her on the floor of her lounge, beside her card table. You know, I always thought I'd scream or run away or do something dramatic when that happened. I always knew it would happen sometime, obviously … it just, I just stood there and looked and looked. I knew a big part of me was lost, gone forever. I felt sort-of empty, dead, but … but complete somehow, too. I can't explain it."

"Gosh," said Arthur, wanting to say something but not sure what. Some people just had the knack of saying the right things but he had never acquired it, he thought.

"But, you know, love," said Joan, dabbing her eyes, "it's not nice finding your mother, well, like that. Not nice at all but, well, yes, I was shocked and empty, somehow, but also … I can't quite explain it … I just felt fully complete, yes fully complete. That's all I can say. Strange really …"

"Quite, yes, fully complete," said Arthur, savouring the phrase as if it was a new food he was tasting for the first time. Perhaps that's how he felt after his news at work today - shocked, frightened, maybe even angry. A little bit angry. And, yes, if he had to admit it, a sense of completeness, even peace, seemed to pervade. It certainly wasn't logical but it was undeniable - completeness and peace - there were no other words for it.

"Arthur Dear, why are you smiling?" asked Joan with curiosity, not annoyance.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear," said Arthur, feeling a trifle embarrassed to be smiling at such an inopportune time. "I'm not quite sure but you said you felt a sense of completeness. It is so very illogical, at a time like this bit it does seem oddly right. I'm not sure how, but it does. I'm certainly not smiling at you dear."

"I know you're not, darling. I know that," said Joan as a smile sneaked onto her face. "I know I'm supposed to be sad and that I should be gnashing and wailing and making a scene but I don't feel like that now. I do feel sad and shocked - it was so unexpected - but I can't deny the completeness thing inside. I feel a weeny bit guilty for it. Maybe I'll feel the full impact later, when it all sinks in."

"Mmm, maybe you will; maybe we both will," said Arthur, feeling a complete empathy with his wife's explanation. "These things are supposed to make us feel the worst, have us behaving the worst but there is this odd sense of rightness to it all. You agree?"

"Absolutely, my Love, absolutely!" said Joan feeling less lonely in her unaccustomed feelings. "Oh, Arthur, can I have a hug please?"

"Oh, ah, yes Dear," said Arthur, wondering when he'd last heard those words - maybe during their honeymoon. As they stood and hugged, Arthur could feel the sense of completeness grow imperceptibly. He also felt something else grow a little - a nice but slightly embarrassing movement below his belt. But there were things to be attended to.