Soul Imprints

alive
January 1st, 2015

Soul Imprints

alive

January 1st, 2015

The storm rolled in and rolled out, so smoothly and elegantly, it blew me away! What, wait, wow—my senses tried to take a quick inventory. A wedding party with its timeless elegance had swept in—discreet, alive, and unpretentious. Adults were dressed appropriately (not as show pieces), and children were dressed and behaving like children.

The experience was pretty incredible. I can feel the emotions that captured me, but I am struggling to put it down in words, to define it. That’s the brilliance of simplicity, isn’t it? It has innumerable refined layers—the couple with their two children exerted freshness, yet they felt lived in; their energy oozed fullness, yet their tapestry hinted of room for growing parts to be sewn in; they were a picture of a modern family, yet their traditional values bloomed. What was utterly refreshing is that they didn’t subscribe to the perfect “intimacy” conjured by a team—“the perfect moment” to be a prop in one’s life! The canvas spoke of simple, imperfect luxury—an apparent continuation of the life they lived.

This intimate wedding party had all the makings of unforgettable moments—curving hilltop, cobblestone streets, quaint neighbourhood, and effortless style—it was absolutely poetic. Moments like these reassure me that traveling without a schedule—one that’s devoid of starch and stiffness—is the way to roll. It is with room for spontaneity that I am at the whim of the unexpected—a music school that pulls me in, a paint store that springs up, or a wedding party that descends. These unpredictable meanderings encourage me to live in the moment and participate, like this time where I could drink in the aliveness of their coolness, which infused me with warmth.

Moments like these also teach me to be mindful. I say this as my delight can get the better of me. So swept away was I by the wholesome simplicity of this celebration that my enthusiasm overflowed, prompting one of the guests, I was chatting with, to invite me to the town hall, to witness the brief ceremony. Thrilled with the “polite” invitation, I not only accepted but my feet raced a few steps ahead of me. As I skipped up the well-worn stairs my legs froze—timely intervention by my conscience—“This is about them, not you,” it reminded sternly. So very true—chances were my presence could have upset the bride or/and groom, and apologizing would not have brought back their moment. Thanking my alertness, I slinked down the stairs no different than a gratified cat that had had its share of cream!

The celebratory mood was intact as I stepped out—I chatted with a policewoman and a few locals before the married couple with their precious children emerged, beaming to hurrahs! They left as smoothly as they arrived, towards their journey of celebration.

With time, the intensity of their memories doesn’t change; the appreciation grows—for their aliveness!

Heera

 

 

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