so.
Alice sat down on the dusty ground beside her son, putting her arm around him. Thomas looked back at the space in the light just above him, and Alice stared with him, asking that if God were nearby, to watch over this one of her children. And some other presence warmed her, and a little thread weaved a small part of her broken heart together.
Thank you, Lord..
6
Those who have passed on through death,
have a sphere of their own. It is not removed from ours;
but it is sanctified from time and place.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá (1844 – 1921)
Timothy Watson was not the child his parents imagined, nor indeed anyone. He was really very different.
He was also lucky. He did not have to feel pain in his life, and the love that was his particular birthright helped him connect to the world of Light, and to a world of detailed imagery that other people did not see. This was not so uncommon for children that were born as Tim was, although Tim had particular assets and friends that even others like him did not. Being able to see the light and the space between things and the patterns in the spaces – these, many could see. Tim’s light spoke to him, and further, the rock in his life, which was his father, unwittingly strengthened his confidence in who Tim was and what he may be capable of.
Not only did Tim receive light but sometimes when he became white enough with the light himself, he was able to reflect it back at his surroundings, like a pure white wall that reflected light but did not absorb it. Tim as yet had no comprehension of this ability, but in this way he could change things in his surroundings – little things that no one noticed, like making people happy. Tim could do that in the same way the light made him happy. People around him would think themselves delighted because he was a joyful soul and something beautiful and innocent to watch and even to feel blessed by. They would go away feeling they had made a special connection with a poor wee boy who had not much life to expect for himself, and they would condescend to imagine they had provided some mature, charitable, and useful support to his poor parents. They satisfied themselves they were not so cruel as others or ignorant, but knowing all the while – not so deep within themselves – that they could not have coped with a child such as this. Indeed, that they would have been embarrassed if people knew they had a child like Tim. And all the while they believed it was they who brought some light into the child’s day, not the opposite.
They also thought that inside little Timmy’s head there was nothing much at all.
‘Jesus, Pete. You’re here all bloody day! It’s not that hard to fold the fucking washing, is it?! It’s not like I can come through the door and not notice this bloody great mountain, y’know. Does it not bother you? Can you not see it?’
Pete was hammered into unavoidable silence.
‘Oh, fuck it! I suppose I’ll just do it my bloody self then!’
Searching hopelessly for an opportunity to redeem not himself but the situation – since he was of the view that the presence of a mountain of unfolded washing did not warrant a barrage of this proportion – Pete sought to create some opportunity for Alicia to retreat from her attack position and recreate some common ground between them.
At this point though they succeeded only in widening their no -man’s-land as Alicia inwardly fumed at what she took as Pete’s refusal to rise to any admission of accountability with regard to washing – or any fundamental of housework – and Pete remained silent, bereft in fact of possible solutions or ameliorative response.
Alicia had arrived home a minute before. Jillie had come out from the living room where she was playing with Tim, and hugged and greeted her mother before returning to her play. Proceeding into their large kitchen and family space at the rear of the house, Alicia
Alice sat down on the dusty ground beside her son, putting her arm around him. Thomas looked back at the space in the light just above him, and Alice stared with him, asking that if God were nearby, to watch over this one of her children. And some other presence warmed her, and a little thread weaved a small part of her broken heart together.
Thank you, Lord..
6
Those who have passed on through death,
have a sphere of their own. It is not removed from ours;
but it is sanctified from time and place.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá (1844 – 1921)
Timothy Watson was not the child his parents imagined, nor indeed anyone. He was really very different.
He was also lucky. He did not have to feel pain in his life, and the love that was his particular birthright helped him connect to the world of Light, and to a world of detailed imagery that other people did not see. This was not so uncommon for children that were born as Tim was, although Tim had particular assets and friends that even others like him did not. Being able to see the light and the space between things and the patterns in the spaces – these, many could see. Tim’s light spoke to him, and further, the rock in his life, which was his father, unwittingly strengthened his confidence in who Tim was and what he may be capable of.
Not only did Tim receive light but sometimes when he became white enough with the light himself, he was able to reflect it back at his surroundings, like a pure white wall that reflected light but did not absorb it. Tim as yet had no comprehension of this ability, but in this way he could change things in his surroundings – little things that no one noticed, like making people happy. Tim could do that in the same way the light made him happy. People around him would think themselves delighted because he was a joyful soul and something beautiful and innocent to watch and even to feel blessed by. They would go away feeling they had made a special connection with a poor wee boy who had not much life to expect for himself, and they would condescend to imagine they had provided some mature, charitable, and useful support to his poor parents. They satisfied themselves they were not so cruel as others or ignorant, but knowing all the while – not so deep within themselves – that they could not have coped with a child such as this. Indeed, that they would have been embarrassed if people knew they had a child like Tim. And all the while they believed it was they who brought some light into the child’s day, not the opposite.
They also thought that inside little Timmy’s head there was nothing much at all.
‘Jesus, Pete. You’re here all bloody day! It’s not that hard to fold the fucking washing, is it?! It’s not like I can come through the door and not notice this bloody great mountain, y’know. Does it not bother you? Can you not see it?’
Pete was hammered into unavoidable silence.
‘Oh, fuck it! I suppose I’ll just do it my bloody self then!’
Searching hopelessly for an opportunity to redeem not himself but the situation – since he was of the view that the presence of a mountain of unfolded washing did not warrant a barrage of this proportion – Pete sought to create some opportunity for Alicia to retreat from her attack position and recreate some common ground between them.
At this point though they succeeded only in widening their no -man’s-land as Alicia inwardly fumed at what she took as Pete’s refusal to rise to any admission of accountability with regard to washing – or any fundamental of housework – and Pete remained silent, bereft in fact of possible solutions or ameliorative response.
Alicia had arrived home a minute before. Jillie had come out from the living room where she was playing with Tim, and hugged and greeted her mother before returning to her play. Proceeding into their large kitchen and family space at the rear of the house, Alicia
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