angels in a hallway

 I had an incredible realization this morning about our ability to go back into our past (ah, the time axis) and be present in a memory.

Horse and Venetian Carousel in Paris, photo by Kate McKinnon, 2011

For example, we can go back into a moment (perhaps into a hallway where a mother is on the floor, shrinking from an angry father) and we can stand there, silently, in active love and protection. We would bring to that room our awareness, and it would be across time. Each participation in the experience would be anchored at a further point in spacetime, each participation could be with the full current self.

And it must be true that if we stand there enough (whether of time or intention) our active being in the moment could affect the system of the actual experience; we can stand in the string and vibrate it in all directions. For example, that woman, that mother, just might (if she has the seeing) be able to look up and see angels, loving her and giving her strength. Or the boy in that moment might feel a deep vibration; he may have awareness blossom in him at that moment that goes beyond the shock of casual cruelty (which, by the way, is a thing that is routinely dished up in the name of disappointed love.)

Good Morning Horse

Maybe an experience like that day is one of those lever points in the crossing of interaction and experience and time for the boy … maybe if the moment is accessed from multiple points in time, he will become more anchored in the true nature of things; in a moment that somehow never ends he can grow deeper and stronger in a bond of understanding with the man he will become. Those moments are vector points that we can go back to again and again, continually deepening awareness.

That man is, after all, always and forever standing behind him. What does that man bring? If the memory brings fear or anxiety, wouldn’t we make it somehow more difficult in that moment for the boy, do we not add to the echos of guilt and dread of a moment like that, a father threatening a mother? What if those future men that that boy would become were aware of the moment, were waiting for it, were already there and loving him unconditionally? Would it bring a more forgiving adult awareness to the unforgivable, would the experience of the boy gentle as a function of time?

If Wishes Were Horses

I cannot escape my scientific bent, and so I wonder how often is this practiced, this going back to be present in a moment? It could be used to undermine (naughty wizarding) as easily as to heal. I’ve used it in my own work as a tactic to connect; if someone holds me at arm’s length at one point on the time axis, and my need to connect with them is strong, instead of forcing the present I will access points elsewhere in the timeline.

That can tricky to do (time impersonates a directional line with great persistence, and I cannot leave my own line) and so I usually start with a place. If the person I want to connect with has walked over the same bridge over the same river twice a day for most of their life, by walking over that bridge (or being on or in that river) and intentionally thinking about that person, you will stick at a quantum level to the action that takes place in those places, and actions are stuck to the time axis, so they will communicate.

The more often you do this, surely the more familiar your vibration will become. We each have unique signatures in time, in physical space, in the way that we smell and think. We can in fact become oddly familiar to people we have not yet met.

Horse is Strong

A daily meditation of love and strength (especially targeted at a vector point like that) must inescapably be like a strong slow cosmic and quantum feed, titrating what is fed in as surely as a drug delivery patch.

This idea is not new (in fact it is not separate from the concept of prayer) but it feels like something more, like a deep docking point into something important about how experiences or rooms might fill and change as a function of time.

Dustin fiber by Sam Norgard
fiberwork by Dustin Wedekind
photos of Horse by Kate
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Also:  If you need a reminder of what pure joy looks like, watch Laurie Anderson talk. And it’s not like she doesn’t know what loss feels like.

3 thoughts on “angels in a hallway

  1. Kate, what a beautiful piece you’ve written. Agreed on every point. I now believe I am 60% terrier and 40% poodle. My hair should be a dead giveaway.

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