Author: Celeste Higgs

“The most overcrowded vessel is the one that sails on the golden sea of memories.”

― Stewart Stafford

“You can miss places. You can miss people.

Just know that what you’re really missing is the way things were. And even if you could go there again…. see them again…. you can’t go back.

They’re not the same.

You’re not the same.

The loss of them changed you.”

― Ranata Suzuki

“The things that had changed seem out of place, and the things that had remained the same made (me) feel out of place.”

― Scott Cawthon, The Silver Eyes

“The trouble with life is, we never know when we are in the zone, until we think back, with jealous longing, years later.”

― Robert Black

Today I revisited the place of my past. The sky was still blue. I walked in the place where the clouds once were the most spectacular clouds of my life. This is where sunrises and sunsets bewitchingly told me wondrous lies of unending love and promises of a prosperous future. The landscape which was once a symbol of happiness and a rich, carefree life now lay dry and exposed. On this winters day I was confronted with the fact that the sky was still bright blue. The clouds dropped to the earth to rest on the dam that was once filled with bright blue water that softly wrapped us in loving promises of a dazzling future. I walked over what now is only a muddy mess and looking down at my feet treading through the mess on the ground, I remembered clearly that it was the exact spot where he let the anchor down before slipping the ring onto my finger.

The water was all gone, and the sky still cloudless.

I look up searching for clouds in the sky, but there is none. I involuntarily have to find another focus point, and notice the mist lying softly on the ghost of the dam. A beautiful sight. Memories of the mesmerising expanse of water that was once a source of inspiration to us come streaming back into my consciousness.

As I walk through the dry grass, I reminisce of times spent here on this beautiful piece of earth: humid days filled with love and wonder. The paradise we had the privilege of living in is now only a shadow of my memory of it all. Where there once was a vast expanse of water, there is now only dry grass and parched earth. I calmly cross the dry land which was once the life-giving source of beauty and happiness, but I can only feel emptiness. There are no tears or sad thoughts.

I realise why I was only meant to come back now. Once again this message is kindly given to me through the beauty of the universe.

The memories are gone, and so is the past.

Forgotten.

I smile softly and open my heart in anticipation of the promise of new clouds that will rise from the mist of my past.

“Waiting hurts. Forgetting hurts. But not knowing which decision to take can sometimes be the most painful…”

― José N. Harris, MI VIDA: A Story of Faith, Hope and Love

“Men trust God by risking rejection. Women trust God by waiting.”

― Carolyn McCulley

“…as long as nothing happens between them, the memory is cursed with what hasn’t happened.”

― Marguerite Duras, Blue Eyes, Black Hair

“Knowing someone isn’t coming back

doesn’t mean you ever stop waiting”

― Toby Barlow

“What we are waiting for is not as important as what happens to us while we are waiting. Trust the process.”

― Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

And then, of course, with the blue sky comes the waiting.

In this painful process of waiting for the iridescent blue to disappear, my mind starts playing games with me. The waiting and the absence of words excruciatingly eats away at the corners of my mind. There are no clouds and no inspiring words to feed on…..

I know I have to trust the process of my current transition, but I cannot keep the worms from happily eating and digging deep into the past. They eat the words while I cruelly judge myself in the current state of the omnipresent blue sky that bars my escape route. I am stuck. I look up at the bright sun and make a silent wish for the worms to eat it all up and make it disappear into the blue.

I am lost for words.

(His words are lost)

We are lost in translation.

As I write the words my heart also turns blue.

How I wish I could erase my clumsy words and retrieve his perfect words.

“And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day.”

― Emily Bronte

“Truth is hard-hearted and unrelenting, too clear, precise; a lie is much more imaginative.”

― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun

“There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul.”

― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

– D.H. Lawrence

Today was another clear day with no clouds in the sky. I searched all day long for a cloud. I needed a cloud to be another stupendous inspirational lie to write about. I desperately needed my spectacular cloud to speak the truths the interior of my soul was searching for.

But there was nothing. Nothing but clarity.

On this perfect Wednesday I felt overwhelmed by the blue expanse above me, and it scratched uncomfortably at the back of my eyes ……. were they lies?

It is an uncomfortable truth, but perspicuously true. What to do if your soul is laid bare? What am I to do with the possibility of the lies I suspect? There is nothing to do about the destined blue heavens above me, no escaping reality in the spectacular blueness of the overwhelming nothingness I am confronted with. I pray to God to send me my perfect cloud, but suddenly realise that He had already done so – two years ago, at the beginning of my liminal voyage – but today I struggle to find solace in His eye looking down at me, for I have had a taste of my perfect cloud, and it escaped me.

I can feel the blueness of my vulnerability envelop my whole being. I need to see for myself: choose for myself? Panic turns into a bright blue nightmare…….. I scrupulously aim the lens upwards in order to find something in order to escape reality. No escaping reality today. I think back to a week ago and suspect the lies: the blue enters my soul, seeping into the corners of my heart.

I have to face my demons and those devilish lies within my dreams.

Maybe the ideal, perfect cloud is nowhere to be found?

Instead of finding that perfect image in the lens, I am coerced to see the positive shapes cutting through the perfect blue background. The autumn of my soul cuts through my blue heart.

I am compelled to appreciate the colours of the cold winter’s day in the perfect shapes of nature. I do not like winter. The skies are too blue, and the autumn colours contrast too intensely with the dream of my vulnerable heart.

I know you are watching, God.

Today I lay my perfect dream before your feet.

“Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”

― Andrew Boyd, Daily Afflictions: The Agony of Being Connected to Everything in the Universe

“Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey.”

― John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

“I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I’m gone which would not have happened if I had not come.”

― Salman Rushdie, Midnight’s Children

The view from my verandah is the same every day. Unless, of course, it is not. The view changes constantly, although the beacons stay the same. The rolling hills touch the sky, while the clouds softly rest on the safety of the earth’s solidity.

And then there is of course the bright light of the airport: never-changing, but also everchanging.

Fluctuating nuances of the sun’s last rays of warmth binds destinies before the day disappears in the mist…..

The bright light of the airport beckons and shines with hopeful possibility. Destiny has put me in this place: in clear view of the sunset at the end of every day. The bright light is my beacon once the sun’s rays disappear behind the hazy blue solidity of my current abode. It steadfastly insists on being a constant reminder of places to go, people to meet, and my stranger to arrive.

My destiny?

Why has destiny moved me to this spot ?

Do I have to be the witness of the sunrise and sunset of my daily existence?

As I watch the light shine and disappear day in and day out, the clouds speak to me softly: ‘you are your destiny’.

I do not trust my message in the clouds. My destiny is bound to the destiny of others. The choices we make, the opportunities we create, and those we squander. I frantically look for validation elsewhere, but can only see that beaming light of the airport, beckoning me to take a step into the future. But I am scared, and the fear makes me draw the curtain at the end of another day…….

Destiny is not in my hands.

Fantasy is the power or process of creating especially unrealistic or improbable mental images in response to psychological need, or

a mental image or a series of mental images (such as a daydream) so created

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fantasy

“We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

“She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.”

“There’s lots of good fish in the sea…maybe…but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you’re not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.”

“Neither was in love with a young man unless he was she were verbally very near: that is unless they were profoundly interested, talking to one another. The amazing, the profound, the unbelievable thrill there was in passionately talking to some really clever young man by the hour, resuming day after day for months…”

D.H. Lawrence – Lady’s Chatterley’s Lover

And then there are days like today….. a day where you have to search for the clouds. A day where the sky is bright, blue and clear: like those bluest of blue eyes. Snippets from my favourite novel, and my favourite actor. All in one day. Fantasies. Shallow dreams. Fantastical tales. And a clear, blue sky full of potential. I become Lady Chatterley for a wonderful, exciting few hours…… getting lost in the blue expanse…….blue which you can drown in and lose yourself forever…..

In my fantastical dream the text popped up on my phone. I respond….. I have had some practise lately…. Technology: isn’t it amazing to be able to chat to someone thousands of kilometres away, over the expanse of an ocean; and still feel the closeness. A stranger; but yet so very familiar. I would recognise those bright blue eyes anywhere, because I have lost myself in them many times before….

My clear blue dream of hours of chatting; like-minded individuals sharing thoughts, likes, dislikes, and some underlying lust: a lust for life? Sexual lust? Seeking companionship? Loneliness? Lusting for love. Shallow indeed…….so unlike me.

No. Life cannot be this easy.

Impossible.

A dream.

A shallow dream?

No, I wish I could dive off the deep end………

I will listen to the song and go to bed with sweet dreams,

and imagine myself looking into those bright blue eyes: for real

What a wonderful, shallow dream..

See you in my next dream, blue eyed man!

“Shallow”

Tell me somethin’ girl
Are you happy in this modern world?
Or do you need more?
Is there somethin’ else you’re searchin’ for?

I’m falling
In all the good times I find myself longin’ for change
And in the bad times I fear myself

Tell me something boy
Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void?
Or do you need more?
Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?

I’m falling
In all the good times I find myself longin’ for change
And in the bad times I fear myself

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in
I’ll never meet the ground
Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us
We’re far from the shallow now

In the sha-ha-sha-ha-low
In the sha-ha-sha-la-la-la-low
In the sha-ha-sha-ha-ha-low
We’re far from the shallow now

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in
I’ll never meet the ground
Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us
We’re far from the shallow now

Pysche was originally a mortal princess. She was compared to Aphrodite by her admirers, who, neglecting to pray to the goddess, made offerings to Psyche. In jealous revenge, the goddess of love bid her son Eros to shoot Psyche with an arrow, to make her fall in love with the next person she saw.

https://mythology.wikia.org/wiki/Psyche

The Self

The self then is the sum of everything we are now, and everything we once were, as well as everything we could potentially become.

The Persona

In every public arena we present an exaggerated version of ourselves which we hope will make an impression.

The Shadow

If nothing else, the persona is obedience to expectations; it is the mask one wears to hide the shadows of our weaknesses and darkness.

Anima/Animus

Nested inside the shadow are the qualities of our opposite gender; or rather, there is the image of the ideal man/woman.

https://medium.com/personal-growth/4-carl-jung-theories-explained-persona-shadow-anima-animus-the-self-4ab6df8f7971

According to Carl Jung our psyche consists of four spheres: the self, persona, shadow and anima/animus. Our inner and outer worlds that overlap somewhere in the middle where we find ourselves: that (hidden) personal ‘self’.

How fascinating man (and woman) is. As I embarked on my liminal journey towards the new me, I stumbled upon another soul whose acquaintance helped me (re)discover the real (original) me. The clouds knowingly looked down on me, and as I looked up to find the silver lining, I fell head over heels:

The universe took my John and I stumbled across another John. The beautiful words that popped up on my screen every morning spoke to my soul. At last: another soul who is not afraid of himself, his shadows, my shadows, and the persona that we are? We both experience the magnetism and I could, for the first time in 30 years, write again.

I felt rejuvenated. Maybe it was Eros’ arrow that hit me by mistake. I was fragile and vulnerable: for the first time in a very long time not fearful to show these qualities. How invigorating to find another soul who feels the same. And someone who, even if only for a week or two, wanted ME.

But then the ego, the world, Eros’ cruel arrow, maybe my stupidity in the longing for that perfect soulmate, stole it all. That persona – the mask we wear for the world – hid the important beauty that we needed to find. Perhaps it was his idealism that killed my image.

I have to wear these masks daily, now, but somehow feel safe hiding behind it for a while longer. I will keep on praying for the soul who will realise that we are the sum of everything we are now, and everything we once were, as well as everything we could potentially become. Someone who will not only write the words, but believe in them, and will hopefully not be scared to live them and take me as I am. Someone who will be brave enough to be vulnerable too. Somebody who is willing to take off the mask and kiss me with his mouth and his words:

‘Vulnerabilty is the true strength, and along with authenticity it’s the key to being able to be loved and to love. It can feel scary, but without it a real relationship isn’t possible…. the possiblity of the right relationship …. that the other person helps unlock the beauty and potential within us that’s been somehow lost or limited or even undiscovered.”

John, July 2020

It took a complete stranger to ignite the self I have lost for so long.

Thank you, my stranger, John. It is through you that I connected with my inner self again.

“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between them, there are doors.”

William Blake

“Every exit is an entry to somewhere else.”

Tom Stoppard

Arnold van Gennep invented the term ‘liminality’ in his novel Rites of Passage in 1908.

Van Gennep held that rites of passage consist of three distinguishable, consecutive elements: separation, transition, and reincorporation—or, respectively, pre-liminal, liminal, and post-liminal stages (before, at, and past the limen [Latin: “threshold”]). The person (or persons) on whom the rites center is first symbolically severed from his old status, then undergoes adjustment to the new status during the period of transition, and is finally reincorporated into society in his new social status.

https://www.britannica.com/topic/rite-of-passage/Initiation-rites

Dawn. The emergence of a new day – the daily symbolic, almost ritualistic, commencement of my new life. Day after day, I wait in anticipation to witness the red glow on the horison. Every sunrise is an exit from the old and a threshold to the new. Liminal space becomes spacetime: that moment before the sun’s plump red fire appears on the horison. I use this time to circumnavigate my past, and find courage for the future.

As I walk past the tree on my way home, it happens again. The exact same spot.

Every time.

His soul silently speaks to me every time I pass this spot…… and I know now what happened that morning was not a coincidence. The message that was sent to me just after dawn was meant to keep me calm when the news came. The Holy spirit did it for me instead. Or maybe John’s soul was reaching out to mine. Knowingly trying to make contact for the very last time.

My dearest brother, John.

My hero who vanished within a second.

My devotion for the meeting I did not have time to plan. I desperately paged through the bible trying to find something meaningful.

No time left!

I somehow thought of John and started talking about his presence in my life, our last philosophical conversation about religion and philosophy and gurus. He ‘knew’ and I ‘believed’: in his eyes there was a huge difference between these two approaches towards life. I should not only believe, he said – I should KNOW and it will be as I want. I differed. As I shared this tale and listened to the seemingly strange, unplanned words that came from my mouth, I was amazed at what they were….Closure suddenly married his and my views – then and there – with colleagues as witnesses.

The plane crashed two hours later, and John was gone forever.

Our different perspectives did not matter any more. His Wayne Dyer and my God reconciled there and then.

And now I suddenly understand why he loved the sunrise, and know that my liminality already started on that day.

The universe does not disappoint.

Each day has a promise of its own.

a flowing or flowing in of the tide

continuous change, passage, or movement

to melt; make fluid, to fuse by the use of flux

to flow.

https://www.dictionary.com

flux describes something that constantly changes

a state of uncertainty about what should be done (usually following some important event) preceding the establishment of a new direction of action

https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/flux

In art flux values the process of making art above the end product. There is no logical, clear and chronological process. Everything is deconstructed and there is no final outcome or definite meaning at the end of this process. The essence does not exist, and there exists intertextuality in this process of deconstruction.

Flux refers to the (ever-changing) loss of essence.

I now realise that my ‘deconstruction’ lasted 30 years. I lost myself, my essence, during this time. I had my head in the clouds, looking down from high above.

As I look down from my vantage point high up in the air, I naturally aim and click. Of course. It is what I do. I am hypnotised by the everchanging shapes of mystical white clouds floating next to the plane. I wish I can stay here in between my soft white clouds and escape reality. I float aimlessly, and embrace the slow disintegration of the cloud in front of me….its delicate, rounded shape vanishes as it starts radiating its perfect beauty into straight lines of water. Shedding its weighty beauty. Yes. Okay! I am listening, God.

The universe has spoken, and I need to listen.

High up in the air on my way back from this very special place, my soul started breathing again.

doubtfulness or uncertainty of meaning or intention

an unclear, indefinite, or equivocal word, expression, meaning

https://www.dictionary.com/browse/ambiguity

Author and theologian Richard Rohr defines liminal time in this way: “It is when you have left, or are about to leave, the tried and true, but have not yet been able to replace it with anything else. It is when you are between your old comfort zone and any possible new answer. If you are not trained in how to hold anxiety, how to live with ambiguity, how to entrust and wait, you will run…anything to flee this terrible cloud of unknowing.”

https://www.livingcompass.org/wwow/liminal-time

My life after this trauma became an ambiguous journey of self-discovery. The liminality of the mundane, new reality, caused unspeakable anxiety. I could not deal with it by myself. This terrible cloud started eating away at my bloody heart. But then the universe stepped in again. It offered me wanderlust and I gave in to the opportunity.

High up in the sky, far above my beloved clouds, I could start my liminal journey and flee from the terrible cloud of ash left by the traumatic burning of my past.

I have lost a piece of my soul once, far away from this foreign, beautiful country. As the boat quietly entered the bay there was absolute silence…..just the sound of the water softly touching the boat’s edges. I reminisce of the one other time I felt this: a unification of mind, body and soul. I would desperately want to experience that moment in my beloved Karoo very far away from this special place again….but I can feel the ashes of the past fall softly, silently settling on the boat’s shifting, floating deck under my bare feet.

I know I now have to take what the universe is offering me, and quietly listen to its silent message.

On this silent floating vessel.

Alone.

Strangers share this unbelievable journey into the most beautiful, romantic place I have ever been.

I wish I know why..

I need to come back with someone who has a key to my soul one day.

And I need to revisit my sunset in the Karoo…..

As I whisper my secret wishes into the thick warm air I can feel the soft touch of destiny’s promise on my bare arms.

As I utter a deep sigh of relief, the lens catches the dragonfly in flight.

Halong Bay, Vietnam, September 2019.

When I saw this dragonfly caught in flight, Google gave me the answer:

“The dragonfly symbolizes wisdom, change, transformation, light and adaptability in life. It shows up in people’s lives to remind them that they need to bring a lightness and joy to their life.”

I had to, once again, thank the universe for its silent, powerful messages.

Thank you, Viëtnam; it is through your soft beauty that I became aware of this journey of exiting the tried and true past, and giving me the courage to bravely step into the ambiguous space of my liminality. I knew then that I had to move on and face the terrible cloud of unknowing – and face the (unknown) future.

Cumulus congestus clouds are characteristic of unstable areas of the atmosphere which are undergoing convection. They are often characterized by sharp outlines and great vertical development. Because they are produced by (and primarily composed of) strong updrafts, they are typically taller than they are wide.They are an intermediate stage between cumulus mediocris and cumulonimbus.

https://whatsthiscloud.com/cloud-species/congestus/

Convection is the movement caused within a fluid by the tendency of hotter and therefore less dense material to rise, and colder, denser material to sink under the influence of gravity, which consequently results in transfer of heat.

https://www.dictionary.com/browse/convection

• 

• 

I looked up at the breathtaking beauty on the horison. There was no escapism. The cloud transformed and quickly started rising. The unstable concoction of our daily nightmare started to take its toll and I eventually gave up. I let the red cloud go its way: upwards, upwards, upwards……until it suddenly broke up into remnants of its once spectacular stature and beauty – into the heavens above. Everything. My dream disappeared within a second, and once again, I could not breathe. I was trapped. Nowhere to go. But needed to go. For his sake and mine. There was no options. What was there was suddenly taken away cruelly.

The smoke cloud billows from the strong, but fragile, interlaced steel structure. There is an unstoppable force from beneath. I dumbfoundedly stare at the screen. The church is on fire. The spire of this sacred place I have often visited and adored is going up in flames. Gone. Forever. I cry as the fire swept upwards from my beautiful Notre Dame – the sacred lady is bleeding as I cry tears for her memories and mine. They were good. But gone: forever.

“Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”

–  Lucy Maud Montgomery, The Story Girl

In the wake of tragedy, I was reminded that familiar buildings can burn, todays and yesterdays can pass, but the people we shared the travels and memories with is what makes today bearable, and hopefully tomorrows last.