My Time in Cue ~ Part 15

Sunday Musings

The past several days have been hectic with hardly a moment that I could call my own. A cook in the kitchen whose cooking skills were below the level my children were capable of at age 10 put pressure in the workplace. It was with relief that I climbed the stairs last night to my room, to watch a little TV without watching the time, and to fall asleep knowing the alarm was not going to blast my eardrums at 4.15am.

The body is a creature of habit however. I did wake at 4.15am, but taking advantage of a day off, rolled over and dozed into a restful sleep. Twice more I wakened from dreams that were pleasant, and finally when the body and the mind decided to act in a coordinated manner, woke to face a new day at the time I normally have finished my first shift of the day. What utter bliss!

A long bath, a leisurely breakfast, a stroll across to the general store for the Sunday paper was followed by my housekeeping chores … I like to live in a clean room, sleep on clean sheets, and wear clean clothes, so a trip downstairs with my white plastic clothes basket full almost to the brim of washing was concluded when I stood in the blazing sun hanging out my personal wash. That wash is in, and I am positive this is the hottest day yet. It feels like an oven outside. I am not in the mood to make scones to test that.

What does one do on a lazy Sunday in Cue? One of my workmates set off on an expedition with a group of guests to view some Aborigine art sites. Other folks read the papers, and once the sun reaches it zenith … that blazing heat of midsummer in an almost desert environment … they stay indoors and do whatever folks do indoors on a day of rest.

I watch TV … for most of the day Sunday has some extraordinarily excellent programming. Of course that is a matter of opinion, but in my opinion Sunday far surpasses any other day. Songs of Praise: whether one has a particular religious belief or not this is one programme that I find extremely interesting … compiled in the UK, the presenter takes us to places of interest. Last week we were whisked around stately gardens, gardens that exuded peace and restfulness, gardens that create an environment where one can feed the soul. This week we went on a voyage exploring Celtic places. We saw the place where St David [of Wales … the presenter who had a strong Irish accent told us his view that St David was in reality Irish], we visited Ireland, and Lindisfarne … amongst other places.

A point offered up for consideration was the comment that the world has some 'thin places', places where mankind can come in touch with the spirit. She was not meaning a thin place on the earth's crust where the hot lava heated underground water to create hot pools as in the Rotorua area of New Zealand, nor was she inferring that zones earthquake prone were sacred places. Some of us go through life and never experience the mystique of these 'thin places'. The thin places exert their influence on different folks in varying ways. A 'thin place' experience is sometimes not recognised for what it is particularly in the fast paced times that are the 21st century.

Thin places are not necessarily places at all. Thin places can be objects, such as stones that one finds on the beach, or tucked away in obscure places, kept by their finder simply because they have felt the magical pull of the otherwise mundane object.

I once walked on Wave Rock at Hyden here in Western Australia. I was rooted to the spot by a knowing I should not be there. We were on a coach trip and no one else appeared to be so affected. Holiday makers were walking across the top of the rock, were laughing and joking taking photographs while the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I went into a cold sweat. A suggestion that I was scared of heights was utter rubbish. It was the rock that affected me so. To me that rock was a thin place.

Yesterday I was in conversation with a fellow workmate whom I felt confident would know exactly what I was talking about when I related to her my experiences on that rock. She too had the same experience, and she informed me she knew of others who were so affected. Then today when this commentator mentioned thin places I was struck by the synchronicity of the statement. Yesterday we were discussing just such an idea, and today it was mentioned as an aside on a TV programme.

As the old folks used to say "there is a lot of things of heaven and earth that we are unable to explain". Surely this is what we need? We should not need to know exactly what, when, how or why things occur. Perhaps we can ponder upon the mysteries of the Universe, of the world, and other things … ponder upon possibilities, but there away in the back of our mind is a little area that does not know. Isn't it that little bit of not knowing that keeps us alive … that keeps us searching for an answer that we will never find out?