M E R I D I A N     M A G A Z I N E

Letter from the Highlands,
Thoughts of Eternity, May 2003
by Anne Perry

Actually this is written from a beach house on the Oregon coast! I am working - really I am! I came to New Jersey to do a couple of lectures, then across to Utah very briefly for two meetings, and now on the West Coast for a radio interview – and several days of mere bliss – writing, walking, talking with friends, and generally catching up with myself.

Today is Easter Sunday. Yesterday was one of those perfect days which come along occasionally, just to remind that they can exist. Rain was forecast – and it was crisp in the morning with a few clouds. We walked briskly, heard red-winged blackbirds sing, smelled the sweet air full of the scent of growing things – bluebells (just like ours at home), rhododendrons blazing in reds, pinks and amethyst, some azaleas, and other flowers whose names I don’t know. But most gorgeous to me was the scent of damp earth under the pine trees, and the muffled roar of the sea as white waves rolled in and broke on the shore only a few yards away.

Later the sky cleared and it was pure sunshine. We drove to the edge of a promontory where we could see for miles in every direction except behind us. I have never even imagined anything more beautiful. This is the time of year for whales to pass on their way north, and we saw one rise, and the white spout of water break the blue surface.

It was such a timeless place it drew my mind to thoughts of eternity, and to the limitless vision of the horizon looking west from the brink of the Pacific. How often do we limit what we can achieve, because we have limited our dreams? I find it broadening to the soul to stand where I can gaze at the vast, shining height, the width and the boundless horizon of the ocean, the sky, and actually physically see that there is no end to creation, no limit set to what I can achieve – except that which I myself have set.

Cowardice will stop me, if I let it. There is nothing wrong in being afraid, but everything wrong in allowing that fear to cripple me. Anger would stop me. I should be too locked up, muscle-tied, too stiff to run, let alone to fly. I should fall from sheer clumsiness. There is nothing of grace in anger – either physical or spiritual. Sometimes it is a good engine to fire one up to change what is unjust, deliberately cruel, wasteful or destructive. But once it is begun, the task must be accomplished for its own sake. Anger can become a habit, and eventually it not only cripples, it maims.

Doubt could weaken me until great distances are no longer possible. I could end up sitting in the same place forever, because I have lost my vision of beauty ahead. I need to see it in my spirit once in a while, to give me purpose.

If I could see even the smallest glimpse of the glory of the God who created all this in its measureless order, every part of it, from the tiniest creature that lives a day, to the mighty (and harmless) grey whales, and the possibility that I might become a useful part of it – endlessly – would I ever have a mean spirit or grubby thought, let alone allow it to become an act? Could I keep that burning peace in my soul, and belittle someone else, or take what was not mine? Could I fail to nurture anything tender or vulnerable, wounded or afraid? Above all could I feed my own vanity by exercising unrighteous dominion, robbing others of their dignity, their right to be held of equal stature, unique and as infinitely precious as every living soul can be? In the face of the majesty of Creation, could I ever judge arrogantly, with blind criticism or the idiotic assumption that I am in a position to know?

But how, in the temptations and distractions, the disappointments and rebuffs of life, do I remember these things, and keep my sense of proportion?

Perhaps Easter is the best season of all to think on time, the eons before Gethsemane when the fate of the world and everything in it then, now and always, depended on one Man’s power of love to endure every sorrow, guilt and pain that could be. Before Gethsemane there was only trust and hope that He would drink that cup to the dregs. Afterwards, after Easter Sunday – it is accomplished, and it is true, whether we believe it or not.

All who have ever lived, the millions upon millions we never knew in this life, we will meet again, if we learn the love and courage and honour to make it all the way. We knew them before, perhaps many of them were dear to us, but our missions here were at separate times, and in separate places.

Before leaving England I was in London on business for a day, and had time to visit an exhibition in the Imperial War Museum. It was called Anthem for Doomed Youth, and was on twelve of the most famous British poets of World War One. Some of the best fought and were killed then, so of course died very young, most in their twenties.

There were photographs, letters, brief histories of their lives. It was unforgettably moving and I found my mind and imagination returning to it again and again, seeing their faces and hearing their words on my mind.

They are a tiny fragment of all those who exist. I think of them because they are of my culture, and close in time, only my grandparents’ generation. But there must be countless millions who might one day be my friends. Do they watch us, and care? Our ancestors are part of our eternal lives – but so is everyone else. There is no one whose life did not matter.

What is my mark on eternity? Do they watch me with pleasure, or pain?

Most of the time we need to attend to today and its needs, but there are times, like Easter, when it is good to look at the infinite picture, rejoice in it, and put things good and bad in their places, to remember the purpose of it all.

Man is that he might have joy, but he can have it only by becoming able to hold it, to see the beauty, to become part of the eternal journey towards the light.

I hope that you may travel well –

Until next month.