Bright and Shiny

Given the predominant tone of what I have written so far, you might think the name 'Bright and Shiny' isn't actually that appropriate for me. As it happens, I AM bright and shiny; my outlook on things generally tends towards being optimistic, although there are some exceptions. Part of the reason for this is my person belief in Christianity, which specifically emphasizes the role of hope.

Hope is important to me: hope that God will look after me; hope that things will work out right. Hope is, in fact, all we really have to go on. In deciding whether or not something that happens to us is to our benefit, we cannot, for example, try to vary all the different factors that led to things happening the way they did in order to find whatever 'route' optimises happiness (however we choose to define that... even assuming we use happiness as a measure of how successful some situation is). Some things that lead to short-term happiness also lead to long-term unhappiness. Other things that cause short-term pain and sadness can lead to long-term fulfilment, and so on. We've just got to hope that the path we're on is the best. We're not really much in control of it.

There have, of course, been quite a few films on this kind of theme. Think Magnolia, or Run Lola Run. Small changes in a situation can lead to a large difference in the outcome. In this sense, even mundane things can be viewed as miraculous as hugely unlikely 'coincidences', since they all go to shape what is currently happening.

Not that I'm trying to use this as an argument for our fates being predetermined, or our destinies shaped in every way by a Devine hand. I believe there is some mixture of 'God's will being done' and our own freedom to make decisions taking place; similar to how parents may choose what to do with their toddler during a day - where to go, when to eat etc - but allows them the freedom to run around in a field, or make a mess of themselves while eating ice-cream.

Getting back to writing, however, the trouble is that lots of my writing is inspired by the darker and twistier side of things. Sadness. Unfairness. Loneliness. 'Death'. These things have often been my stimulus to write recently. Actually however, even in these postings I think there is often an element of hope - athough I leave it to you to figure out where :)

In any case, don't give up on me. Happiness counts as well. And hopefully my writing will reflect that, even if such posts aren't hugely regular...

Frozen vision

The Sun rises over the horizon like the crack of an explosion.
I struggle to raise my eyelids and look at it.
Hurts my eyes to do so.

Frozen. Cold.
The Arcic desert stretches away around me.
Flat... the horizon so distant.
Small waves of ice and snow.
Quiet. Peaceful.

The Sun is so intense.
It filld the flawless sky with bands of soft colour.
Beautiful.
I'm so tired. My lips are cracked. Lying on the snow.
I have no energy to move.

Just me and the Sun.

Cold.
And light.

Telescope stories V

And so I'm back.

How can I describe the emotions in the couple of days leading up to me leaving? During my trip away, I had had some concerns about a lump in my mouth that my doctor had said should disappear in 7 - 10 days (i.e. just before I left for Chile), but that was still there when I had gone away.

At the time I had pushed thoughts of the lump to the back of my mind. Two extra weeks shouldn't make much of a difference even if it needed investigating, right? Enjoy the experience of being in Chile; nothing you can do about it until you get back to the UK, so don't worry.

By and large I had succeeded in maintaining this state of mind. Nevertheless, at my weak moments while away, thoughts of the lump had returned, and it's presence had remained as a shadow in the back of my mind.

Two days away from leaving, and the prospect of having to address the issue of the lump suddenly became something I had to actively consider. At the same time, however, the thought of once more seeing my parents and friends was also at the fore of my mind, as though up until then I had hidden how much I missed them all.

And yet, while driving back down from the telescope site, with the Sun dipping low on the horizon, turning the scrub around us golden and throwing the mountains into sharp and dramatic relief, I was aware that I had to savour this sight; to drink it in as much as possible before I left, and to experience the moment without focusing too much on what was to come. After all - how often was I likely to be in an environment such as that?

But despite this resolve, before long I was leaving. The bus trip back to Calama airport early in the morning; the sight of the rising Sun throwing the Andes into hazy shades of pastel colour; the landing in Antofogasta - even dustier and remote-feeling than Calama - the 9 hour wait in Santiago airport, and, eventually, finding myself back in Toronto waiting for the flight back to the UK.

The UK. Strange: I've always been a bit dismissive of our country, and yet there is little doubt that both times I have returned from Chile, I have found myself looking forward intensely to being back on British soil. Not necessarily that I specifically wanted to leave Chile; but somehow returning to the UK felt comforting, like returning home allowed me to acknowledge a liking for our country (despite it's faults) that I usually disguise.

One thing that definitely does stand out is how green the UK is. After spending almost three weeks away, most of it in an environment where the dominant colours in the landscape were orange, yellow and brown, the UK suddenly seems an oasis of vegetation.

And Cardiff! How strange to be walking back down the familiar streets; to see things that once were mundane but which now I realise to be special, and for no-one to know where I've been and what I've been doing and how different it all was to this. How many of the other people walking down the streets have similar stories to tell? Stories that I may never hear.

And once reunions with loved ones is complete, and I have slipped back into life in the UK once more, Chile will, once more, seem a long way away. I guess, however, it will always be there - the experience of being away an indellible mark on my history. I'd like to return one day, but it looks as though the reciever is being moved to Mexico, so it may have to be on my own initiative next time.

As for the lump? It turned out only to be a wisdom tooth coming through - the one on the other side of my mouth is in a place I can't reach with my tongue. If you have any problems with your mouth, I advise going to the dentist rather than the doctor...

Telescope stories IV

Again, it is the highway that provides the focus. It snakes over the mountains, like a river of information; of stories and intrigue.

This time, the story is of a highjacking. The astronomers had been driving down from site late at night, and had stopped to assist a group of people. Except the people then pulled a gun on them and drove them back into the mountains.

What would they have felt during that trip on the highway? Fear? Or unexpected calm? One can't really guess, right? They were eventually put down somewhere on the caldera; their vehicles and possessions taken, and left to the cold dark night. They made it back. The hiked until they found the highway, and hitched their way back to San Pedro.

Some of the other astronomers won't use that road at night now. Happily, we haven't up at the telescope late enough to be worried about it. While at San Pedro, I've been dreaming more, and sure enough, the night I was told of that story, I dreamt of being kidnapped. Sometimes you wonder if the stories from around the fires are told for the benefit of the rookies; something to help their over-active minds form ghosts out of the shadows of the night. But I think it did happen; it was real.

Another story from the highway.

Telescope stories III

The road into the mountains,

hot and black tarmac,

amid yellow shrub.

On the roadside,

the little white and blue shrines,

to those who passed this way,

but didn't return.

'Animase'... prayers to God,

You have taken our loved ones from us,

and we prostrate ourselves before you.

Behind are the mountains,

tall and dark,

impressive and cold,

detached from the concerns of mankind.

The slow-moving lorries wind their way,

like beetles,

bonnets open to cool the engines,

loads covered with tarpaulin and cord.

Onwards, onwards,

up and up,

'til daylight ends,

and the stars blaze brightly in the sky.

To those far away

I can't say it was about me. I'm pretty sure it was, but it still seems conceited to say so. And even if it wasn't, it hardly matters - the message applied to me all the same.

We had a fundamental difference of opinion. I said love was mystical, she maintained love was a convenience. There was a connection, even though we seemed opposites in so many ways, and the connection was strong.

But was it love?

I'm not sure if I knew at the time, and I still don't know now. Is it childish to expect love to be immediate and clear, like a bolt of lightening? In any case I postponed, and she moved away.

But she is not forgotten, and the world is a small place.

Now I see her smiling, and I sincerely hope the smiles reflect true peace and happiness. But I still feel our connection remains - an invisible thread between our minds. What will come of it? Who knows. Should I even be writing this? I think it's OK - this is addressed to the freeze-frame version of her that existed 4 months and 20 days ago. Maybe none of this matters any more... like pale ghosts floating over distant cities.

But maybe it still applies. What I have to say is that if it is right that we are to be together, then I believe time will tell. Everything in its right place; everything in its right time.

For now, continue what you are doing, see what comes of it; be true, be happy. And I will try to do so too. But you are not forgotten.

You are not forgotten.

 

I suggest...

The things that really matter are the choices that we make.