Soft Rain and Dangly Bits

This morning, like every other weekday morning, the alarm went off at 7am. And, like every other morning, my insides groaned. "It couldn't be THAT time yet???" The opening of one reluctant eyelid confirmed the clocks insistent beeping. Nothing for it but to resign myself, in a semi-dignified manner, to the inevitable.

Hauling myself, in a not so dignified way, to the edge of the bed, I tentatively ran the eyes on test. This entailed opening both of them at the same time. After several attempts, I did have some success. But focusing was a different kettle of fish.

In my bedroom, there is a large wardrobe, the complete length of one wall, with mirrored doors. When I sit on my side of the bed, (do we all have our OWN sides of the bed??) what am I facing? Right, the unforgiving, mirrored expanse. These mirrored doors were one of GB's projects. Need I say more? "They will give an illusion of space" he said. Right. "They will reflect light and give a sense of airiness to the room" he said. O.K.

They will also give you heart failure, palpitations and an eerie sense of your own mortality when you gaze bleary-eyed into them, first thing in the morning.

There's a lot to be said for the early morning lack of focus phenomenon.

In my half-awake stupor, I sat there gazing at what was being reflected back at me. Not a pretty picture. Hair standing on end, face all crumpled and creased from battling with the pillow and duvet through the small hours, outfit definitely not haute couture, arms dangling, legs dangling ..... in fact, everything dangling. Most certainly, not at my most attractive.

There was a time, back in the good, old days of Brian Boru, when I could fall out of bed, throw on any old rag, forget to wash my face or brush my hair, and still look reasonably human.

Not anymore.

It now takes an hour for my face to resume its normal, daytime proportions. While my features are re-arranging themselves, I now MUST remember to brush the locks, scrub the skin, polish the teeth ( I suppose I should be grateful THEY don't spend the night in a glass by my bed) and generally throw a shape at "putting on an appearance". I hanker for the days of my youth when, on first venturing, unkempt, into the outside world, I didn't frighten little children and scare the animal kingdom back into their lairs .... when excitement about the coming day and general enthusiasm for what life had to offer were the first things to occupy my waking thoughts.

This morning, having gazed at my reflection for longer than was advisable, from a mental health point of view, I girded my loins, did what needed to be done and sallied forth to explore lifes little offerings.

It was raining. Soft, juicy drops. Normally, I wouldn't be a big fan of rain. But today, it suited me.

After work I decided to go for a walk with the "psychotic one". Beloved hound. She loves a walk down by the river, in the rain. It was wonderful. Just the wannabee puppy and myself. Silence, except for the lapping of the water, the quacking of the ducks with their cute, little ducklings - all 7 of them -and the hisssing of some very displeased swans. I don't know whether it was the rain or just me, but everything around me seemed to assume a larger than life quality. The grass was very green, the rain was very soft, the air was extremely still and the scents from the various shrubs and bushes practically overpowering. And the absolute quietness. I felt as if time were standing still. And in the stillness I was dropping from the sky as rain, I was sailing the skies as a grey/white cloud, I was growing as a bush at the side of the path and I didn't really have any awareness of myself as a human being.

These sensations I am familiar with from previous experiences. But today was a little different.

Today, I had the overwhelming feeling that I was an integral part of the natural scheme of things. I felt connected to the river, the trees, the grass, the animals, the air ... to everything living, in existence.

What does it matter if, on the outside, I am a little battered and frayed around the edges, after the years of living. Inside of me, I'm newborn and ancient, beautiful and not so beautiful, necessary and unnecessary, thinking, feeling and being.

I don't remember having this connected feeling in my youth.

The early morning reflection is a small price to pay for this treasure.