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dreaming creek drop 2

It’s been a busy month, and here, now in this moment, I have the desire to reflect. To breath deeply and let it all flow in and out and through me. To dissipate it all into the air and then watch it coalesce like a fog, like a cloud and watch it scatter in the breeze.

Where should I start?

What should I tell you about?

What can I tell you about?

Some things are confidential. Some things are private. Some parts of the story aren’t mine to share.

Lets start with the generalities. Let’s be vague. Let’s talk about my public face. Let’s talk about work.

There are good days and there are bad. Despite what LA Law, the Practice or CSI might show, most trials are civil, and most civil trials are boring. They’re boring because you have to love what they’re about, and you have to know what they’re about in detail, before you can form an appreciation of those few redeeming features they have.

Unfortunately, thrown into a trial at the beginning of my working life, I’ve found it less than thrilling. It’s proved too arcane, the points  too technical and the pacing less then delightful. That’s the result of being involved in a small trial on small issues forming part of a larger claim.  This was the unloved ugly step sister of this particular dispute.

I’ve had some great moments of research, which has thrown up some fascinating narrow technical points. In the course of researching the right of appeal from arbitrations, I’ve discovered there is a narrow lacuna of obscure technicality, where everyone from Court of Final Appeal judges down to us don’t have a clue what we’re supposed to be doing and how we’re meant to be doing it.

As you might have gathered, I enjoyed this more. I love narrow technical points, and in my ideal world I’d deal with narrow technical points of substance. As things go procedural law – obscure points on the right to appeal and leave to appeal – don’t draw the desire to play with those kind of concepts and ideas that I find intellectually delightful. They’re not a bad substitute though, not a bad substitute at all.

At the other end of the scale there are the days that are nothing short of disappointing. A day spent photocopying, filing and organising. A day spent cajoling others to get organised. A Saturday spent sorting documents and digging up obscure bits of paper in the record.

I suspect that if this were not Ramadan, I would be happier, less put out by these necessary and innocuous tasks that aroused something quite strong in me. I bit my lip and swallowed my anger, because I’m sure that anger is hunger and lack of sleep. I’ve boasted before how I’m able to get into the zone on tasks that don’t involve my brain before, and I don’t feel I’ve lost that skill yet.

There are days I wonder, have I made a mistake? Did I give up my dream of being a barrister for this? To file paperwork and search for precedents and proofread?

Let’s stick with generalities and let’s talk things not work related. Is that a satisfactory compromise? By being general I hope to preserve the dignity of those obliquely involved, but to let my wondering pen travel where and how it wishes.

I have a post saved here on my hard drive. It’s dated last Sunday. One I swore wouldn’t see the light of day because it was too controversial, too cutting, too likely to hurt someone I care for. Because it was too personal, and there are things you don’t put on your blog.

You might not have known who I was writing about, but they would have, and I can’t let my feelings of anger, confusion, hurt and affection intertwine so publicly. It occurs to me that they’re doing that now, in the sentence above. It’s too late though – I’ve sworn not to retract a word of this post, nor to edit anything but for style. I hope the vagueness will suffice – you who it is I protect, and you who’s kindness protects me – will let me know if I have gone too far.

I’ve learned a lot about my self. I’m capable of deep feeling. I’m entirely oblivious to how people perceive me, and it doesn’t really trouble me that I am that way. I’m blunt and direct, and when that conflicts with people’s pet projects or personal conviction, I don’t give much quarter. I’m closed off, and untrusting. I could never open up so easily to a stranger, the way some people have done in a way that’s amazed me. I have a strong sense of the proper – the way things should be – and not so much of an appreciation of the way things are.

I’ve learned things about trust and about friendships. And things about boundaries and lines. And things about where they go and where they don’t go. And all sorts of connected things.

One particular lesson, I learned, I didn’t even realise I was learning. It was a process of reflection and sharing and discussion that bought it to light. That lesson was about how important control is in a relationship. No one wants to be controlled and no one wants to be seen as controlling. A true friendship, a true relationship of trust, is the acquiescence and acceptance of control by both people of each other. It is the joyful acquiescence to control.

That one truth, is perhaps the most wisest most insightful more valuable piece of wisdom, of learning, that I have ever encountered. It has the potential to change my personal, spiritual and social lives in a dramatic way.

I’ve run out of things to say, the hour is late, and everything important is now above, blurred so that the contours of joy, sadness, contentment, hope, fear and anger have all been smoothed by the gentle whisper of time, who promises that this too shall pass.


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  1. By A Postscript « A Disorganised Mind on 29 Sep 2008 at 11:45 pm

    […] blog by text message. I must confess to some ambiguity – I don’t know if they were talking about My Moment of Reflection or my Empty Experience: their reply is fit for either of them. It was about forgiveness, and […]

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