Memory and loss
Yesterday, I visited a cathedral of sorts. Like most of its kind, the soaring height and sweeping beams seemed to engulf the visitor – turning them into a small part of something bigger. Inside, there were relics, preserved in glass that the faithful might see them as they shuffled by. Here were pieces of folk art and more formal tributes all woven together into a single narrative – a tale of good and bad, heroes and villains.
As is often the case, for me, the space outside seemed somehow more sacred – a spirituality which blossoms beneath the open sky, perhaps. The memorial below took my breath away with a reaction so visceral it almost floored me. Here was a picture of loss like no other I have ever seen. Millions of tiny droplets fall down and down and down – swallowed up into a black hole from which they never return. Here is loss, and loss and loss – ever receding and never returning. Like a waterfall of tears they fell – catching the Autumn colours as they did.
In this first week of November, again, I am glad to have seen it.