Clear Sight - John Ruskin

During a visit to John Ruskin's home at Brantwood, Cumbria, I saw this quote by him on what it means to truly see. 

Photo: Kathy Roscoe taken at Brantwood, Cumbria

Every moment we are awake, our eyes are open. We see the people and things around us and the events of the day unfold in front of our eyes. We look out of the window, at the faces of others, at TV screens, the sky, the street. We say we saw a friend, the neighbourhood, the park, or the people walking past us. The question is- do we see these things or are we just looking at them? Are they merely images, be they human or otherwise, that pass before our eyes and register in our brain? 

From time to time in our lives, something will happen and we find ourselves saying things like, "I did'n see it like that before," or " I see him/her in a whole new light."  These expressions imply that we are now seeing something we thought familiar in a clearer and deeper way.  Up to that point, we were seeing someone or something in a superficial way.  We saw the surface and mistook that for the totality of the person or thing. We failed to see that there was more.  To truly see, we must take our time and give our full attention. then we might see things as they really are.  

If we saw other people and other creatures as they are - their true essence and their reality - we might be more compassionate and see the miracle that is life. We might treat others and the earth in a new way and create a better and kinder world. 

Beyond Ourselves

Meeting some ducks in Borrowdale, Cumbria

“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space.  He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.  This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us.  Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.” 

(Albert Einstein)

Riding Out the Storm

 

Yet another storm.  They’re naming them now. We are only in January but already have reached the letter J.  Today Storm Jonas arrived in the area, and without seeming rude to Jonas, it really would be better if he had stayed away.  A storm by a different name but bringing the same as the others; gales and rain.  

It is becoming all too familiar now – the blanket of grey cloud that throws a half-light across the days, the sound of the wind roaring across the fields and hills, and the incessant rain beating on the windows and soaking everything, animate and inanimate, plant, animal and human.  So yet again, the wind gushes through the tree-tops flinging the branches from side to side, and rocking the trunks so violently that I am amazed that more of them are not felled by this invisible force.  The bodiless roar is almost deafening at times as it rushes along the lane, building momentum as it goes, before slamming  into the group of trees at the bottom.  It ploughs into them with a howl like a battle-cry, and the firs and birches whoosh, rumble, and clamour back in defiance. 

From its vantage point in a solitary rowan nearby, the raging battle is quietly watched by a ring-necked dove. 

I notice the dove as I finish securing the shed-door against the storm.  It sits with its underbelly covering its claws and its feathers fluffed out for warmth, hunkered down against the wind and rain.  Though the tree rocks fiercely, it simply rests there swaying in tandem with the branches, watching.  From time to time, it closes its eyes, a picture of serenity and repose amid the drama of raging forces.

Mini rivulets of water run down my coat onto my legs, soaking into my trousers, sneaking under my hood and the wetness cools my skin. My face tingles under the slaps dealt out by the wind and rain.  I head inside to the warmth and comfort there. Glancing back at the rowan tree, I am again struck by the stillness of the dove amid the turbulence of the scene.  I leave the bird sitting quietly in the tree while I go indoors to read and write and ride out the storm in my way, just as it is doing in its way.   

Around us both, the wind continues to roar and rage, and the rain fills the streams and rivers and soaks an already saturated landscape. Jonas will be with us for a while.

 

Horse Talk

After days of torrential rain, holes finally began to appear in the blanket of dark cloud that covered the area, revealing patches of blue sky to the drenched world below.  The freedom to roam outdoors proved irresistible so I set out for a walk after almost a week of being confined within the solid walls of the house.   At each gap in the hedge and every field gate, I stood to drink in the sights and sounds of the green rolling hills, distant fells and increasing expanse of cloudless sky.  I continued along the road absorbed and enthralled by the darting and twittering of the sparrows, blue-tits and finches, the rabbits running in and out from under the hedgerows and the sound of water running along the field drains.  Suddenly, a different sound filled the air and brought me back to the road and out of the dream-like state into which I had drifted.

It was a horse making short, repetitive noises.  I turned and saw a piebald horse standing under an oak tree set back from the field gate I had just passed.  As I walked back towards him, he moved from the shade of the tree and made directly for the gate making little noises as he progressed.  Standing face to face, we looked into each other’s eyes and I noticed the left was one blue and the right one brown which is characteristic of these horses whose iris colouration matches the surrounding  area of skin (blue eyes for pink skin, brown for dark) and which is caused by a  genetic condition known as leucism. I began talking to him in a low and quiet voice and looked more deeply into his eyes noting his breathing and the slight, almost imperceptible movements of his body.  I wanted to understand this creature, to find some means of communicating and connecting with this living being. He was big and strong which made me acutely aware of my own small size and I fought off the creeping fear that lurked inside me for I didn’t want him to sense I might be afraid of him.  I continued talking to him, telling him how fine he looked and how much I wanted to get to know him. He looked at me with those bright, vital eyes and I sensed that he on his part was equally seeking to communicate with me.  I asked him if I could stroke his neck and scratch his nose and tentatively began patting his neck.  He responded by  rubbing his head against my arm and then nuzzling into my shoulder.  I continued stroking him and talking to him about the weather and how lucky we both were standing there on such a beautiful morning.  He made no sound but looked intently at me.

I apologised for the fact that I had nothing to give him, had neither apple nor carrot in my pocket, that I had not known he was in this field and this was not my usual route.  He listened a while, seeming to  mull over what I had told him and then made a noise and gave a movement of his head.  He was trying to convey something to me but I didn’t understand and apologised to him for my lack. After several minutes, he took a step forward, leaned his head over the fence and stared in the direction of some long succulent grass growing in the ditch beside me. He then raised his eyes to me and  back again to that spot.  Now I knew what he wanted.  I picked a large handful of grass and held if out to him to eat.  When he finished it, he gave another look towards the ground so I gathered more handfuls of grasses and other plants and stood feeding him and talking to him until the patch was bare.

I expected him to move away when his appetite was sated but he remained in the same spot while I patted him and brushed back the tousled strands of mane from across his eyes.  From the time we met at the gate we had been looking, searching deep into each other’s eyes but now my words stopped for they were no longer needed.  With my hand resting gently on his head we felt the contact of skin on skin, heard the rhythm of each other’s breathing and began to know each other.  I didn’t want to break the spell and walk away and he made no move to leave so there we stood, the horse and I, together silently sharing the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze and the sound of the birds and sheep for a long while.  In the end, it was a passing tractor with a trailer loudly rattling behind that startled us both and the horse ran to the middle of the field.

When walking, I prefer the quieter lanes and tracks but I now often go on this road walk just to see the piebald horse.  There is no greater pleasure than standing under the trees by the field-gate, in sun or rain, in silent companionship and unspoken rapport with another living animal.  There is no need for a shared spoken language just a gentle, quiet approach and use of intuition, innate understanding and natural feelings.  The horse and I are simply two equal entities, being ourselves and sharing time and space. To be permitted to touch another living creature, being physically and psychically, is a privilege.  On the occasions when he has not been in the field, my spirits have sank like a stone and cast a shadow over the remainder of the walk.  Each time I pass on foot or by car, my eyes scan and scour the field to see if he has returned and I am surprised at the extent of my disappointment and at how much I miss him. The reappearance of this beautiful, powerful yet gentle animal fills me with pure joy.  Across that field gate we are not horse and human just sentient beings who have found a connection; something that is always there between man and animal if only we let it happen.