slipping a gear into oneness

On one unusually radiant day, I took a walk up the burn above the house and into a steep-sided corrie.  It was sheltered there and magnificent – mountains on both sides, and below, tiny stands of water which looked like handfuls of shiny coins tossed down.  I sat on a rock and ate cheese sandwiches.

And there, quite suddenly, I slipped a gear.

There was not me and the landscape, but a kind of oneness: as though the molecules and atoms I am made of had reunited themselves with the molecules and atoms that the rest of the world is made of.  It was very brief, but I cannot remember feeling that extraordinary sense of connectedness since I was a small child.

– Sara Maitland © 2008

From A Book Of Silence

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