Outside of human structures, to the structures that feel as if they approach timelessness. There is a beauty in nature that lies beyond the cities in which so many of us live. We also comprehend something of ourselves in how we sit in creation, in the space that gives us context, of which we are a part. We comprehend something of ourselves in relation to other people. Our ways of knowing are inherently linked to our bodies, and so to how we are in space. We encounter and connect with and through our bodies. Elijah hears the question, ‘What are you doing here?’ In coming to recognise the mystery of creation, the Creator who sustains it, we come to glimpse the mystery of ourselves. God is in ‘a sound of sheer silence’ (1 Kings 19:13). Sent to go and stand on the mountain the Lord will pass, Elijah witnesses a great wind, earthquake and fire but God is not in these. At once an experience at once in creation, and in a creative moment that reveals the Creator. The experience of the prophet Elijah is suggestive. Their insight is making me more appreciative. Many school students I now work with often answer most confidently that they find God, whatever that word signifies to them, in nature. Those who have modelled God as I experience and hope God to be. With those who have shown me love and compassion. I have often understood my sense of God to have been most clearly developed in my relationships with others. It does not do to write too much about it, because it was, is, beyond words. In a way that I had never been before, and rarely have been since. I was overwhelmed by God’s presence in that moment. Shone more light on the shrub and dust, the mud huts and those surrounding fires. I turned and watched as it lite the little valley below. It emerged magnificent, gently warming my face. A little way up I caught sight of the sun. Not wanting to outstay my welcome, and compelled somehow, I climbed a nearby hill that arose out of and over the village. And then jokes, I imagine, about the foreigner who came and stood with them but could not speak with them. Another family were nearby, warming themselves around a fire. I emerged from the mud hut in which we had stayed to find our hosts cooking some breakfast, and their lunch to be taken off for the day. Travelling with another school student with the Jesuits in India, we spent the night in a village far from roads and things familiar to me. When the only thing to be grateful for was the momentary suspension. Even the sticky situations that sometimes awaited return from the water. They were moments of quiet, peaceful gratitude at all that was. That allows my thoughts to unravel and dissolve.įor the longest time I did not think of these as spiritual moments. But in general, there is a familiarity that allows me to feel something like peace. Occasionally a new detail: last summer the lighthouse covered in scaffolding. All of it provides a familiar scene within which I can let go. Looking north and south I can see the way the shore meets the bay in different ways. Those same trees give shelter to the space where the foreshore campers set up during long summers. But from the water it is obscured by trees. Even though I’ve seen fire roll down that hill.īetween the high hill and the sand is the highway, companion to so many Australian beach. Mostly green and somehow reassuring, even with the impressive houses dotted about. I can swish myself round to look back to shore and up to Arthurs Seat. At other times just the drab grey of clouds or the dulling light following sunset.įrom this favourite spot in Port Phillip Bay, looking east, I can see the city on a good day. Diving under water, engulfed and somehow freed. In recognising the mystery of creation and the Creator who sustains it, we come to glimpse the mystery of ourselves.įloating, the odd paddle keeping me upright, suspended in salt water.
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