St Patrick's Day

 

St Patrick’s Day, many years ago, I am flying into London, looking down at England, about which I know nothing, wondering what lies ahead.

This morning the daffodils outside are wet with rain. All those years ago, I had literally just stepped off a tropical, surfer's paradise beach the day before. It felt very cold, very old, very strange here.

That night I flew in and gazed down, it might have been over Linda’s house. Who knows?

All I know is that I had no idea what joy and happiness lay ahead. We were meant to be together.

The suffering, the agony, the struggle, is terrible and continues. The isolation appalling. The politics disgusting.

Yet freedom and love, I have learned to my joy, cannot be suppressed.

As Linda writes:

"The bizarre nature of my life continues,

Whilst I cling on to my essential being.

I choose life and all the freedom my spirit is.

There is a unique insight that comes

When literally no plans are possible to make

For No direction is known or knowable.

The future is impossible to predict

Or channel in your own direction.

You are at the mercy of freedom, in it’s truest sense,

You live eternally in the now of the present moment."

Even though it was raining, as I strolled down the garden, first thing this morning , I took great comfort in the daffodils, for we planted them.

And there they are, glistening, soaking wet, alive with irrepressible hope and courage. I took the picture below.

Brave flowers that, if I had not flown into London that Saint Patrick's Day, where I would eventually meet my beloved, might never have been.