Open Writing

Dear Del,

‘Feel the serenity!’ A much loved phrase used many times after we all laughed and cried with the folk in that great 1997 Aussie film ‘The Castle’.

I have spent some time searching for a place of late where I too could lean back comfortably somewhere, maybe put my feet up and repeat ‘Ah, feel the serenity’ as I absorb the tranquillity of my surroundings.

Where could I go in this bustling suburb where the sounds of traffic and the noises created by busy people going about their stressful lives could be shut away from me and quietened for a time?

I needed a few moments to ponder and think my own thoughts uninterrupted by anything.

As you know, my dear old dad was a clergyman and although I don’t attend now I thought I might find what I searched for if I sat in the quiet I can remember feeling only in a large old church.

I looked forward to the absence of traffic sounds and to the little cracks and rattles from the wooden fittings, the smell of old books, the scents of furniture polish and dusty fabrics of generations past. I wanted to experience once again the particular peace which settled about my shoulders as I watched the colours from the stain glass windows slowly make patterns move across the walls.

I approached my chosen building of sanctuary puffing a little because I thought I may have been running late for the service.

At the door stood a large square shaped woman wearing an electric blue coloured dress.

She handed me a pamphlet, not a hymn book. Her smile was wide and welcoming as she asked if I was a stranger to their congregation. I replied in the affirmative.

‘Oh marvellous’ She cried in jubilation. ‘I’m a ‘huggie’ sort of person are you a ‘huggie’ sort of person?’

Before I could reply to this rather unexpected question she lunged at me and I was enfolded by her ample arms and receiving a shock from her charged and blanketing garment.

I stepped back as quickly as I could to disentangle myself and replied firmly. ‘No I’m NOT’ I stood rubbing my neuralgic neck which had taken the brunt of her powerful right arm.

‘Oh.’ She was crestfallen. Instantly I knew I had failed my first Christian test of the day.

The beginnings of an apology for my brusque reply were forming in my mind when a deafening roll of drums followed by a crash of symbols echoed from the interior of the church.

The apology died on my lips as I asked ‘Do you have a band playing?’

‘Oh yes’ She brightened recovering from my rebuff. ‘They play every week.’

‘No organ music?’

‘Oh no, the young ones love the band.’

I handed back the pamphlet.

‘What do the older ones think of it?’

‘Oh there are some who find it not to their liking.’ She began to deflate again as I glared at her once more.

‘I can hear rock music in every supermarket, garage, building site and emanating from most of the windows of my neighbours. Why don’t they go there?’ I fumed. ‘I came here to contemplate, not be bombarded by what the young want, even if the lyrics might conform, for me they do nothing for reverie, quiet contemplation, meditation or the serenity my soul requires.’

I realized I was being unfair to her and took my leave.

I drove away quickly feeling the burden of my rudeness toward the unfortunate woman and arrived at the next Anglican Church, a small unattractive wooden structure. Before anyone could great me I heard the loud twanging of an acoustic guitar. I turned and left. Was there nowhere left in this town where a person could find peace?

As a child I had done my share of mangling beautiful Chopin piano nocturnes and jumbling Rachmaninoff concertos into almost unrecognisable cacophonies of sound. It took me some years to realize my father would beat a hasty retreat from the house when he knew I was about to begin my piano practice. The sight of him putting his hands over his ears as he went out the door should have warned me earlier than it did I would never become a good pianist. But I did learn to love the music.

This was also about the same time I became enamoured with Elvis Presley and rock and roll appeared on the entertainment scene. I loved that too. In addition I enjoyed and still do tap my feet at traditional jazz music but never did I expect or want to hear it in places of contemplation.

These days hospitals, retreat centres, meditation and Ti Chi classes etc all use quiet soothing music to play to the physically sick and those seeking rest or are spiritually tired. Music therapists know the power of music in the process of healing and almost anyone can attest to its mood changing affects.

If it can be used to rally soldiers for war, or build the atmosphere to fever pitch at football games it makes sense to me it can be used to smooth life’s turbulent times.

Classical music is used in some public areas that have been trouble spots where antisocial behaviour by some has driven ordinary shoppers away. The mood changing and calming music has helped return the malls and town squares back into peaceful places for the population to enjoy.

My children and my grandchildren have always heard the music Teddy and I play.

One of our grandsons plays in his own rock band but when he visits us he is often transfixed in amazement at the skill of a classical guitarist, trumpeter or pianist.

What is wrong with introducing all forms of beauty to the young?

As I sat in my car wondering what to do next I began to wonder why everything seems to be reduced to a sales-pitch to appeal to the taste of the young.

Eventually after driving about aimlessly for a while I reached a walking track which meanders beside a small creek. Here volunteers were working hard trying to reclaim the surrounding flora to make it habitable once more for the native birds and animals.

They worked quietly, steadily, taking time occasionally to watch the lorikeets, honey eaters and blue wrens singing and feeding in the more established plants.

Here I found my peace.

Other people sat in solitude meditating, thinking or just enjoying the quiet sounds and music of nature. When I thought about it later, the majority of people I saw walking dreamily along in the sunshine admiring the tranquillity were young people absorbing the beauty and peace surrounding them. Like me it was endowing them with the energy to continue their busy lives.

Perhaps the modern Christian churches in the pursuit of trying to make their faith more relevant to younger folk are missing many people looking for reason, meaning, beauty as well as tranquillity for their disturbed and searching spirits.

Today I think is does exist but not in a building full of noise and clamour but outside in the beautiful world of nature.

Do you still meditate Del? It is many a year since I have but I intend to begin again now I have discovered somewhere brimming with Darryl Kerrigan’s ‘serenity’.

Love from your ‘flower child friend’,

Cynthia.

**

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