In the intricate dance of existence, amidst the challenges and complexity that often engulf our lives, there exists a serene beauty in finding order within the simplicity of everyday moments. It could be in the gentle repetition of a morning routine, the comforting familiarity of a loving partner, even the subtle symphony of nature’s palette that we discover a profound sense of harmony in creating patterns and structure. In our relentless quest for meaning and significance, we are reminded that sometimes, true clarity and tranquility lie not in the grandiose and elaborate, but in the quiet elegance of the simple things.
An old friend of mine finds his order and serenity creating rainbow patterns with coloured pencils. Now, I am a big fan of a sharp HB pencil, but I do not seek the soothing, straight lines of a desk bound rainbow of coloured pencils, that Paul Cheika designs.
Admittedly, the sight of a rainbow stretching across the sky can produce a profound sense of order and spiritual speculation. A rainbow is so much bigger than the ‘ME’ and its vibrant colours shimmering against the backdrop of clouds ignites a feeling of connection to a higher power. For many, the rainbow symbolizes hope, renewal, and the promise of better times ahead. Its momentary presence serves as a reminder of the beauty and diversity of the world around us, and in its spectacular arcs, some find a glimpse of the divine, or a reminder of the mysterious, natural forces at play in the universe.
But is there something more, or should I say, something less? Apart from the otherworldly pondering the appearance of a rainbow evokes are we merely recognising a moment of soothing order from our crazy, consumer driven lives?
I cannot speak for Paul or anyone else, but when I achieve spiritual connection, the feeling is not otherworldly.
It is just simple relief.
Relief from the realisation that I am not trapped in the ‘ME’ and yearning about what I haven’t got or regretting what I have.
My ‘flaming bush’ moments are embracing a still mind and as I anticipate the feeling of a tranquil drop into stillness, my humanity becomes a splash of water in an ocean of love, and the love I bathe in, is the acceptance that I am not important.
My manufactured, Western life is not that special, and all the trinkets and baubles I place so much importance in are just fluff.
Fluff that can be blown away on the wind.
And when the fluff floats off towards the horizon, I accept myself and love others, and that my friends is a life well led. When we sit in acceptance, we are open to the beauty of our world and the silence I feel in the presence of a loved one, is for me, the true meaning of grace. Grace leads to an open and nonjudgemental mind and that will allow God into my conscious…..it truly is a wonder.
Many spiritual gurus have spent a lifetime of searching in silent retreat to attain grace, but for me the search is not as arduous.
Grace is lack of ego and just like a rainbow, it is fleeting. However, the more moments of grace we can achieve the greater the stretch of silence we can create and the more content we will be.
In contrast, if we seek pleasure in the accumulation of assets and the ego of ownership moments of silence will merely mask the fear.
That fear is the knowledge that pleasure from ownership is a trick, and the more pleasure we seek the louder the echo of fear.
Fear is the conductor, society is the drummer, and we are the runners. And when we keep running, we get tired. I got tired. Sick and tired. Are you tired? Because the fuel we burn to keep running is not beneficial for us or our surroundings. The fuel that lights the flame that heats our running feet is tainted. Most things Western man mass produces mask a darker secret. For what is shiny is not always new. What is wanted is often discarded, and the festering piles of discarded waste decay like the false promise it briefly held.
Have you ever wondered why you see more kids playing and laughing on the streets of working-class suburbs than on the boulevards of the elite?
Why does the disconnected, passive aggression of beautiful Bondi bounce off Hall Street as it emanates from the magnificent women and men strutting the streets?
Why, in general, are the well-to-do strangely unhappy? Why do the young women of Double Bay pump their faces full of plastic and the young men snort cocaine and ketamine off filthy toilets in the chaotic bars of Surry Hills?
Why are the highest rates of alcohol abuse now appearing in affluent women over 40 who live and work in our ‘successful’ suburbs?
And why, in contrast, when I visit the humble villages of Northern Thailand are the villagers happier and healthier than many of the well-paid residents of Sydney and Melbourne?
The bigger the bank account often just means more worry and more fear.
And the helicopter parents of Queens Park and Turramurra madly SUVing their offspring to ballet, soccer, swimming, piano, cricket and tennis rarely produce an adult that excels in any discipline they were taught as a 10 year old.
Most elite athletes come from the cracked concrete pitches, dry parks and worn-out netball courts of Western Sydney, Southeast Melbourne and Southwest Brisbane.
Most virtuosos are the product of worn-out keyboards and hand me down violins.
Not from the over watered ovals of Bellevue Hill and South Yarra, nor the multimillion-dollar music rooms of our private schools.
And yes, some of the questions and provocative examples I have posed can be dissected, and no, I do not look through the rose coloured glasses of a white man touring Southeast Asia or the resentment of a recovered Eastern Suburbs alcoholic.
I know this to be true, because I have lived in Punchbowl, Cronulla and Vaucluse as a child and a young adult and ascended and descended into the decadence of the fake promise of a successful Western life. Fortunately, I have survived, admitted my mistakes, owned my crap and now live a different and joyous life.
And this doesn’t mean I’m gifted or blessed or one of the chosen few. I accept that I still breathe and walk upright because of love, forgiveness and a large wedge of luck.
Finally, let’s go back to Paul Cheika’s rainbow.
Paul designs his rainbows when he is volunteering at Lifeline.
Lifeline is a national charity providing all Australians experiencing emotional distress with access to 24 hour crisis support and suicide prevention services. They exist so that no person in Australia has to face their darkest moments alone.
Paul gives his time, energy and expertise as a crisis volunteer to achieve the Lifeline Vision of an Australia free of suicide.
Some of the calls that come into Lifeline are from people facing pitch black darkness. Their words and tears are full of fear, trauma, remorse and hopelessness. Yes, there can be victory and a sense of hope, but crisis volunteers absorb the hurt and trauma like a sponge.
The silence and waiting between each call can be just as disquieting as the call itself. This work is done by courageous, empathetic and extraordinary human beings who provide an anchor to those of us drifting off the shores of desolation, and we have all drifted.
Do Paul’s rainbows give himself and his callers a spiritual sense of colour and hope?
Do they soothe the wounded spirit?
Are they the patterns of awakened past trauma straining to burst apart with a palette of riotous joy?
Has Paul become the child that lives within all of us and the rainbow reminds him of a sunny school room in his Coogee boyhood?
No matter.
In the kaleidoscope of existence, Paul’s spiritual colours whisper gently and provocatively to the secrets of our collective human soul.
