The Precipice

I am standing on the precipice ... I have been here before, but never in the day time. It looks so unfamiliar, but I am well acquainted with the pathway that leads here, so I know it is the same place.

Today it is a bright and sunny place with a magnificent view of lusciously green, grassy knolls leading towards a horizon where pure blue skies rise above. I feel uneasy though, despite the perfect setting … I know I must scramble down the rocky slope to feel the softness of the grass beneath my feet and to
smell the fresh scents of the array of meadow flowers I see before me. But I am hesitant. For three days I have looked longingly at this view; I have felt it call to me through gentle, warm breezes and heard my heart’s desire to step off this vantage point. But, still, I maintain my position with leaden feet and a stubbornness to hold onto my fear.

The last time I was standing here there was nothing but blackness for my eyes to see. The upward winds were frighteningly ferocious and howled about me like hungry wolves circling their prey. I daren't go even one step further; it seemed certain that to do so would be a choice to die. Despite my fear, I stood with courage to withstand the wind buffeting my body, the wild flapping of my long gown and the stinging of it as it lashed my bare legs. The howling noises continued and eventually I no longer felt vulnerable, but smiled almost menacingly toward the black sky with the knowledge of life's fragility. A desire to shout "Is that all you've got for me?" to the unknown spirit above me sat roughly in my throat, but in truth I didn't want to face any more challenges. Just one more step ... one more and there would be an end to my fears, my confusion, helplessness and disappointments. But, in my heart, I knew my only choice was to retreat back, barefooted along the rocky path, through the dark tunnel from whence I had come. There was no other choice. I needed to return to the place where my loved ones awaited me.

On that occasion, there had been no 'light at the end of the tunnel'. Yet, today, I am blessed with a spectacular view of greener pastures out yonder. Why? And why this time after so many experiences of complete darkness and desolation? Could it be that a kind friend led me here? Could her recent visit with open conversation and complete honesty about my need to take a journey be the reason I am offered this view? If so, then I am utterly indebted to her.

Why, then, can I not bring myself to move? It doesn't seem to difficult to find a way down. Could it be that my courage is no match for my fear? This place, these feelings are all so familiar AND I know how to get back. What if I can't go back? Will my family and friends be there to meet me in the new world? I think this is my lesson: it is time to move on. I have dwelt too much on the past; I have looked for answers to my past for so long that I have forgotten to embrace the future with all of its unknowns.

Four weeks ago, I experienced my worst nightmare -- the possibility that I might leave this world and leave my two young girls without their mother. I know what it feels like to have lost a parent! I know the feeling of never knowing who they were, what they liked to do, to read or to talk about ... or how they felt about anything! It is a big unknown, which haunts your happiness, your sense of belonging, your understanding of yourself and it can turn up when you least expect. Despite the years of research into my Father's family and asking millions of questions about his life, I am no closer to knowing his personality nor what characteristics I carry of his. Perhaps I will never know, but to admit defeat means I give up hope and I am unwilling to do either. So, I have been rooted to this spot for some days now afraid to acknowledge the depth of my fear. Yet, it is time now to accept the situation because not only have I carried the burden of this fear, but one of my children too as she has physical signs of stress and anxiety. It is a wake-up call we all needed. I hope we can start to deal with what has happened and heal our emotional scars.

My kind friend said to me that my physical scar would act as a reminder of the journey I needed to take for myself and my family. She is right. Our family needs to consider our short term happiness. We need to embrace the opportunities that come our way to feel joy, the aliveness of spirit, spontaneity and answer our desire to explore the world before us ... A fellow high schooler once suggested I buy a hat with my first wage since childbirth, instead of putting it away on my mortgage. A hat! Such frivolity! But, she was right. I still have a mortgage, but my hat collection remains poor. Life is for living now; one shouldn't always be cautious and careful because you can't choose when it all ends.

As I see the endless array of flowers stretched out before me, so too do I see life's possibilities. Bless you all. May you make your own courage bigger than your fear to step off your precipice of life. I just have ...

What fabric are you creating?

As I sit now, looking out my window at the yellow glow of the disappearing sunset, thoughts of how I came to be here float through my mind.

Our paths in this life are not pre-determined ... we have made choices in the past and we have choices ahead of us. All of our choices are woven together to form a fabric of life. What colours will dominate? What patterns will emerge? What can we learn from looking back at our creations?

Today I am presented with a new creation of life. I am joyous. I am pleased for the happy couple as their lives have suddenly been enriched with deep, overwhelming love and there are colourful times ahead. Yet, this colourful event is connected to me; connected to a time some 18 years earlier. As I look back I see painful colours emerge, and a pain that continued for many years after. The pain, however, does not reach into my present life. Why? If I remember correctly, I actively found strength to acknowledge my guilt and sorrow, then I let go and sowed seeds of love and forgiveness.

I am now filled with positivity; perhaps I have discovered a way to live and create a fabric of comfort and warmth despite having to weave together both agreeable and disagreeable material. So why do some of my closest connections continue to create haphazard and ill-shapen designs for themselves? I do not believe, as they do, that somehow I have received more favourable supplies. Instead, by continuously racing ahead without occasionally reviewing their creations, perhaps they cannot hope to see painful patterns emerging or cease to carry burdens into the future.

There is no sense of superiority here, for which I am commonly accused. My hope is for others to look at themselves as closely as I do so that they can feel joy, hope and positivity for their futures.

Today has been a reminder of another time. But it has also been an awakening ... a recognition that by actively seeking to acknowledge the past, the future can indeed be brighter. Mistakes may be made, but we have the capacity to learn from them.


Do you like your current creation?

Can you actively seek to drop a few colours and replace them with uplifting ones?

Or are some of us destined to create disastrous designs?

Marlee's story

On the day Marlee Aburo was born, both her parents John and Mary, knew there was something different about their daughter. Her impatience to enter the world caught them both by surprise, such that John Aburo had not the time to get his sister-in-law from the hut on the other side of the escarpment. Instead, Marlee arrived quickly from her mother’s womb falling literally into her father’s outstretched hands. The eldest son was soon sent scurrying out of the family hut by his shocked father to fetch his Aunty, “Mwana, kukimbia na kupata Aunty yako. Haraka! Haraka!”

The birth had been relatively quick, which left Mary Aburo the ability to direct her husband and eldest daughter to find a blanket to wrap the screaming Marlee. The evening sun had yet to set over the horizon, so there was enough light for the rest of the family to prepare a fire. A bucket of water, which had been carried on the head of one of the children earlier from the nearest waterhole a kilometre away, was used to fill a pot ready for heating.

...

John Aburo stood outside his family hut; he stared into the distance with many thoughts passing through his head. What luck would this child bring the family? She was strong, but it remained a fact that he now had four daughters instead of three sons. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the shouts of his sister-in-law, Ghati, waddling eagerly over the ridge. Wanting to avoid questions and the woman’s need to tell him what to do, John moved down the hill in the direction of the Mara River. He would wash the blood from his body and leave the women to it. He wondered what he would see in the stars later, but somehow he knew he wouldn't need to search too hard to find a name for his binti.

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A beautiful heart

A young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it.

But an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said,

“Your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine.”

The crowd and the young man looked at the old man’s heart. It was beating strongly but full of scars. It had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in … but they didn’t fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. The young man looked at the old man’s heart and laughed.

“You must be joking,” he said. “Compare your heart with mine … mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears.”

“Yes,” said the old man, “Yours is perfect looking … but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love….. I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them … and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart but because the pieces aren’t exact, I have some rough edges.

“Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away … and the other person hasn’t returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges … giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too … and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?”

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man.

The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man’s heart.

It fit …. but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.

The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man’s heart flowed into his.

Paulo Coehlo