The Moment

There are the trivial questions in life, and then there are the big questions. What is the meaning of life? Why are we all here? What will I leave to the world when I’m gone? Will there be a moment, however brief, when I will understand it all?

​According to legend, Faust exchanged his soul with the devil, Mephistopheles, so he could have a moment, just one moment, in which he would experience the highest, most amazing pleasure attainable by man. A moment so special, that he would want it to last forever.

Faust was, however, a difficult customer; no matter what Mephistopheles offered him – wealth, youth, knowledge, the love of no other than Helen of Troy, he remained unsatisfied. Finally, when he was an old man in his 80s, he found his ‘moment’ without Mephistopheles’ help, when he stopped looking for his own happiness and found a way to give happiness to others.

Like Faust, I’ve often found myself searching for that transcendental experience that will change my life. I spent decades overlooking the present, waiting for that momentous revelation. In an effort to focus on the here and now, I tried a number of techniques, including meditation and yoga. But my mind always raced ahead, worrying, searching, working things out, dealing with issues and scenarios that may never come to be.

A few years ago, facing a change of circumstances that had been causing me a degree of anxiety, I was introduced to the practice of mindfulness, defined by Jon Kabat-Zin in his book Whenever You Go, There You Are (1994) as ‘Paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally.’ This sounds too simple, and it is. Ever since, whenever I can, I have been trying to pay attention to everything around me – focusing on what I can hear, what I can see, what I can feel, what I can smell, what I can taste. Trying to discover things in ordinary situations that I haven’t noticed before. If I have stray thoughts, I observe them without judgement, and let them go.

A walk in the rain, an hour – or three – spent cleaning, or a short drive have suddenly transformed into special moments since I have been paying attention. Music has always had a way of heightening experiences for me; I now switch it off, so I can listen to the sounds around me: so many different birds chirping, the wind among the leaves, a plane in the distance, the constant flow of traffic on the busy road nearby, which after a while begins to sound like a river. Sometimes I even switch the light off when I’m having a shower – it is amazing how much you need to concentrate in the present moment when you don’t have the luxury of sight – especially when you are shaving your legs!

One Easter Friday, my partner and I watched the 1957 movie The Seventh Seal, directed by the formidable Ingmar Bergman. The story takes place at Easter, during the Black Death (bubonic plague). Death is going around, having a field day, taking people right, left and centre. When he tries to sneak upon a knight who is returning from the Crusades, the knight challenges him to a game of chess, in an effort to prolong his life for a while. Knowing that all he has done is buy a little time, the knight wants to know that his life has had meaning; that all the years spent on the Crusades fighting for his God have been worth it, that there is something waiting for him after death – heaven or hell, it doesn’t matter, as long as there is something. He asks these questions to a priest, to Death, to his God, even to a witch about to be burned at the stake, but the answers don’t come.

He then meets a couple of itinerant artists, who are travelling with their baby. They offer him all they have – some music, freshly picked strawberries and a bowl of milk. Casting his internal struggle aside, the knight rejoices in that moment, saying he will remember that hour of peace. The strawberries, the bowl of milk, their faces in the dusk.

I now realise I don’t want to wait until I’m 80 to experience ‘my moment’. I don’t want to sell my soul to the devil, or bargain with death in exchange for that transcendental experience. If there’s one thing I am beginning to understand, is that I no longer want to understand the meaning of life. I want instead to understand the meaning of each moment in my life. Because the secret is not in that one momentous revelation, that might never come, but in each single moment that makes our life, and which we so often dismiss as inconsequential.

I remember, for instance, the sense of satisfaction felt recently, after finishing a 10-kilometre walk with a friend. We were sitting at a café overlooking Narrabeen Lagoon on the northern beaches of Sydney, with sore muscles and gratified hearts, rewarding ourselves with a well-deserved meal. It was that ‘in-between’ time; too late for lunch and too early for dinner, and the place, usually busy, had a relaxed atmosphere enhanced by the laid-back music emanating from their sound system.

From my viewpoint, I could see the light of the afternoon sun reflected on the surface of the lagoon, kayakers floating peacefully on the waters, bikes zooming past, couples strolling, children laughing as they fed the ducks. And I thought – this is what life is all about: this moment.

Yesterday my ‘moment’ presented itself while I was driving to meet with friends to see a movie, when I witnessed a glorious sunset.

When all is said and done, if we can look back and remember the moments spent enjoying a good book, writing a poem, or gardening with the sun on our backs; and the moments of laughter, of joy and even of tears shared with lovers, family and friends, then we can say we have lived a life filled with happiness.

Today, my moment starts right here, right now, sharing my innermost thoughts with you, my reader. And to you, I say… let this moment linger!

'The Moment' is part of my collection of short stories (fiction and non-fiction) Tales of Suburban Castaways. Click here to read more about 'Tales' and where to buy it.