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They say that the good or evil that you commit in each life is repaid in the next. Well, I surely must have done something
saintly in my last life to have earned this afternoon.
It's the last Sunday in spring, with winter seemingly far behind me. The sun is blazing out of a clear blue sky, and
it's just cool enough to wear an old favourite jumper. I have a tasty brunch of poached eggs on toast digesting nicely, and
a lamb cutlet for dinner thawing in the kitchen. The fresh veges are all prepared ready for steaming, the white raspberry
yoghurt is chilling, and a task-free afternoon lies ahead.
The garden looked inviting, as it usually does, so here I sit in my comfortable patio chair, with a couple of Walker's
all butter shortbread and a cup of liqueur flavoured coffee on the glass topped table beside me. Real decadence! The house
phone, the mobile phone, and the neighbours have all taken the day off, and apart from birdsong, all is silent, and peace
reigns on Earth, at least on my little patch of it.
I think of the troubles in East Timor, and thank God that my daughter Rose wasn't there on business to be caught up in
the revolt, and consider how such trauma contrasts with my state of well-being. I have some beautiful handicrafts made by
these suffering people, and I can empathise with them, and pray that they soon regain the peace they so richly deserve.
I took my tablet, so I am pain-free, my walking stick is at hand in case of dizziness, and my new lapis lazuli pendant
is working overtime to help my balance along, while the New Zealand jade pendant looks after my finances. Maybe Chinese jade
might do a better job of that chore.
In less than half an hour, I have seen a procession of assorted birds visit my wattle and grevillea bushes and my bird
bath. I have seen doves, honey eaters, a Willie wagtail, pink and grey galahs, a raven and my favourite, a mud lark, alternatively
known as a magpie lark and a peewit. This last little bird is enamoured of its twin living in a mirror propped against the
house wall, and happily dances and sings to its own reflection.
The usual tribe of magpies is strangely absent, but I expect they will be here soon, with their young chicks standing
over a piece of biscuit, yelling for a parent to pick it up and feed them. Their behaviour seems incongruous coming from
chicks that are the same size as the parent birds, but they are always a delight to observe.
My tabby cat Buggerlugs sits at my feet, watching these meals on wings coming and going, and the occasional soft murmur
of "Buggerlugs," keeps her from hunting. Or is it fear of Mum's displeasure that holds her in place? I can hear
her purring loudly, so I guess she's enjoying reading the menu rather than planning an early dinner.
So I'm alone. So what? Any companionship, of whatever kind, would ruin this exquisite mood. Even my favourite music
coming from the CD player would intrude.
Buddhists conduct a lifelong search for Nirvana, but I can devote my future life to other things. I have found my Nirvana,
it's here and it's now.
©Sandy Parkinson, May 2006. Word count 560
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