There it was. A large dark brown pool of water, with runny branches reaching out in all directions against the satiny surface - like caramel coloured tentacles, desperate to see how far they can fly away from where they came, until at last, they reach the end of their tether and fade away into the faintest of drizzles and drops; the final perimeter of the blast, where force and gravity lost all power against the rigid and unyielding pine.
Was this a woodland curiosity I happened upon during my mindful morning walk, you might ask.
Quite the opposite.
Sure, I was walking, and yes, it was morning, but unfortunately - especially for my knees and my favourite coffee mug - I was mindlessly climbing the stairs, cuppa’ in one hand, phone in the other, when I missed the last step and went catapulting and crashing onto the landing floor. (Did you know you could go up and down at the same time?!)
My coffee went splat. I went boom. And my inside voice went; “What the..!!."
I slowly picked myself up, assessed the damage to my knees and elbow (not too too bad, thankfully), and stared down at my splatter of shame. It was everywhere. Floor. Baseboards. Walls. A CSI scene showing evidence of my crime: Not paying attention. Or (for those of us who can’t stomach the ever increasing array of violent shows), a piece of modern art: ‘Distracted’ No. 5
“These damn phones!” I grumbled with my outside voice as I wiped up my stupidity, thankful that no one had witnessed.
What was it I was checking anyway. Emails? The weather? How many new subscribers to my newsletter? Whatever it was, it most certainly was something that could’ve waited until after I brushed my teeth.
“You’re lucky, Carolyn.” (back to inside voice) One minute you’re going to brush your teeth, just like you do every day, and the next minute your teeth are almost breaking your fall. Like that one time, 4 years ago. One minute you’re gliding along the ice, thoroughly enjoying a Sunday family skate, and the next minute you're on hands and knees searching for your tooth. (white tooth on ice rink is similar to black cat at midnight by the way. I never did find it.)
Or worse, one minute you’re on top of a horse, and the next minute you’re underneath it. (It was my ribs this time that bore the brutal brunt of that one).
One minute.
One minute everything is the same, and the next minute it’s not.
But that’s the illusion.
One minute everything looks the same, but the next minute, if you look closer, you realize it never is.
But we rarely ever do, do we? Unless we are forced to, through the most inconvenient - and painful - ways, we rarely look close enough to see that everything is always changing, one minute after the next.
I took the lesson with me when I went out to feed the horses. I made a promise to myself that I would slow down and look closer. I would slow down so much that I could crack open the space between moments. One minute…..and the next; what could I notice in that itty bitty space if I slowed down that much. If I paid that much attention.
I stood there in the paddock, very much aware of how this would easily be a ‘just like every other day’ moment. So I took a deep breath, felt both feet firmly on the ground, and remembered that it wasn't. All of a sudden - as if tickled by promise - the clouds decided to join in the lesson: seemingly out of nowhere it began to rain. I was in just a t-shirt - that's how unexpected the rain was.
Darn it. I would have to hurry up this slowing down thing if I didn't want to get soaked! But then, in the very next moment, the rain stopped. I looked over at Jezabelle who was standing next to me…
There it was. A silky bay canvas, stretched over muscle and bone and power, splattered with the faintest of drizzles and drops. The rain, gone before it barely began, left perfect imprints on her shiny coat that was now neither wet nor dry; evidence of the fleeting space in between where ‘one minute’ crosses over and becomes ‘the next’. Those drops, catching the light just so, created diamond like dapples that meandered along the rolling slopes of her back. Another modern painting, only this time: Fully Present. No. 4.
In no time, nature’s work of art would soon disappear, so I took another deep breath and stood back to take it in for just one more minute. It would have been so easy to miss this, but I didn’t. Not today. I stood there, feet planted, in the space between this very ‘one minute… and the next’ and smiled. Inside and outside voice said in unison;
“I'm so glad I paid attention.”
What might you see in the space between ‘one minute’ and ‘the next’? Let’s share and discuss in the comments!
xo