Thought for the Week: Sniffing the air
Judy Clinton reflects on 'tuning in' and making choices
Sometimes expectations are not met, leaving me disappointed. I was aware this morning that I needed to connect with my deepest self and had decided to go to my old haunt: Witcombe reservoir. The thing was, though, that this had been a decision of my intellect; it hadn’t arisen within me, as it so often can do, with a kind of intuitive pull-towards, akin to a dog rushing outside, sniffing the air before setting off in the desired and needed direction. I hadn’t done the equivalent of sniffing the air!
I was in need of spiritual connection, but I wasn’t taking into account that I was physically tired and that my back was hurting more than usual following a treatment I’d had the day before. Therein lay my mistake. To walk round Witcombe reservoir involves getting over three double-stepped stiles and opening a heavy metal seven-bared gate, which requires lifting it to disengage and then re-engage the bolt. It also means picking my way across fields and uneven surfaces: all manageable on a not-too-tired and reasonably pain-free day. But not today.
It’s strange how things seem to conspire against me when my initial choice has been a poor one. The metal gate, which is often open, wasn’t today. The first stile was slippery with mud, and brambles, bristling with thorns, grew over the post I would normally hold onto. Then, right at the other side of the stile lay a dead rabbit covered in flies, just where I would normally put my feet. It was not an auspicious start.
Part of my intention in going there was to collect apples from trees behind a derelict house beside the reservoir. This house, which belongs to the local water authority, is not being looked after. This is an appalling waste. Once upon a time it was a happy, busy family home. The windows, previously boarded, were bricked in. The building is falling apart. It is impossible to access the apple trees, as nature has created a wilderness of brambles and weeds where there was once a beautifully tended garden. This sorry sight left me feeling miserable.
I didn’t walk far. I’d lost the urge and my body concurred by hurting more. I picked blackberries, getting stung by nettles as I did so. I laboured my way back to the car and I’m now sitting on the one garden bench in the churchyard, which is also suffering from gross neglect. Many of the seat’s slats are covered in moss and an untrimmed hedge pokes through the back ones. Rain threatens.
However, I am glad to sit down, to have the drink I brought with me, and to write. It is in this quiet, reflective process that I have become aware of the link between non-tuning in, poor choices and subsequent disappointment. Yet, without having made the poor choice, I wouldn’t have had this insight either. So, maybe, in a round about kind of way, my needs have been met; but not in the way that I had wanted.
Next time, I’ll sniff the air first!
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