The Year of Parts & Pieces

The vacuum of time strikes again.

It sucked us through its straw last January, and we felt the slow pull of irresistible traction. As we passed the year's centre, there was a floating sensation as we were suspended in its vortex. Now we are being lifted and pushed out the other side, to land with a 'pop'...right here. Some of us on our feet and some on our asses.

Today, the final day of the year, is usually one of reflection. This morning I have pondered the year that was, how it played out for me and those around me. For many, it was a tough year, one that seemed to stop and start, to happen in parts rather than as a smooth, uninterrupted length of time. It was adjunct and haphazard, cyclic and challenging.

One wise owl (often perched on my shoulder) informed me that in August, several planets cosmically aligned for the first and last time in our lifetime. The period leading up to and subsequent to that alignment was unsettling and uncertain for everyone as the universe anticipated and then consolidated this astronomical anomaly. For me, this made some sense of what has seemed to be an unusual period of upheaval.

Each year is extraordinary in its own way. On New Year's Eve, my husband and I often get together with one particular friend, look back over and dub the year with a theme that captures its essence in a nutshell. There was one year (2006?), where absolutely nothing seemed to happen and it was therefore dubbed, "The Year Where Absolutely Nothing Happened". As you can see, we place an emphasis on integrity.

For 2010, I submit the theme, "The Year of Parts & Pieces", for consideration by my comrades. It was a year that gave a whole new meaning to the term, going with the flow.

There has been one constant for me throughout this year. The commitment I made back in January (New Year? Really?); that I would consistently post and maintain this blog. In 2010, an average of 70 and sometimes over 100 people have visited this site to catch the latest post. Since I started collecting stats mid year, there have been 983 visits to Mindfield.

So next year, if you want to keep reading, I will keep writing. Thanks to those of you who have visited once and a special thanks to those of you who keep coming back.

Reading over the posts from 2010, it seems there has been one other constant that I forgot to mention. The only other thing that ever stays the same.

Change.


Wishing you all a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year.

Trojan horse

The year is almost at a close and it hardly seems the time to start something new. But that is what I've done. Timing is everything or so they say, yet time itself is more a mock structure for our lives that sets our expectations of what should be happening right now, and what comes next.

It's a new job. That's what I've started. The gates opened unexpectedly, and at first I was cynical. Not a trait I'm proud of but it's part and parcel of my long-suffering survival instinct. I rode in slowly on my Trojan horse. As the wheels creaked to a halt, I sat inside, huddled, listening for explosions, gun fire, yelling. I wait for it, confused and suspicious. I have long prepared myself for this moment. I am armed and I am dangerous. But where I find myself now, this is not the same war zone... I am met by a resounding silence.

Over a decade of siege, I have constructed this wooden horse. It has been my protection. My get-out-of-jail-free, hide-when-you're-scared, armoured shell. The tough 'n' stuff I carry on my back, so that nothing sticks and there is no cut too deep to heal from. Though made from hard, resilient timber, the horse is always hungry. He feeds on fear and indignation.

And in many ways, he has been feeding on me.

Now, I pop the peephole and look out to survey my new surroundings. The sun is shining. The air seems clear. I emerge, surprised to find I am no longer at war. People are amused and pleased to see me as I dust myself off and shut the horse's gut behind me.

I am not their foe, nor have I tricked them to let me inside their secure space. I am invited. I am welcome. Low and behold, the horse that got me into Troy time and time again, was not at all the stratagem to end the conflict. All it took was me.

Needless to say, I do not intend to ride out on the horse I rode in on. But I will stable it, for now. I don't quite have the energy to push it to the outer yet.

From where I sit at my new desk, I can see the back of a sign, advertising the company to those that pass by. A bird is nesting there, inside the letter 'r', and occasionally I look up to see him bringing small twigs and leaves to build his urban hideaway. He tweets and flutters, scampering in and out from behind the metal scaffold. Every so often, he appears to look me in the eye. Head tilted to the side, he regards me with feint interest.

Mr Bird has things in perspective. He reminds me that everything we do feeds back to our home, our family, and is part of something much, much bigger.