The sounds of cars parking
Latecomers walking up
Some with heels smacking
Others a soft shoe shuffle
A small child whimpering
A dog barking
Person coughing
Rooster crowing
All of these noises impact the sacred one minute
Is there any way to gain purity of silence
In a body of humans?
No
But listen to the mass of people as they shift
Remembering
Making their way here in the full dark before dawn
To stand imperfectly
Intentionally
Remembering
Honouring
Respecting
Together imperfectly perfect in our hearts
The brave men who sat in boats dotted along a foreign shore
About to storm beaches in a far off war
So long ago now
Remembering that bravery is only gained by leaping the high and terrifying hurdle of fear
As we peaceful people of all walks of life stand here
And a bugle plays, with a bit of an airy puff
Imperfect notes hit my ears a bit rough
And then we are dismissed
A mass of dark shuffling, clacking, soft whisper chatting, red tail lights and car tyres kissing tarmac
Another Anzac Day dawn service
Over
Remembering the imperfect who have become immortal saints to we, who stand and worship
Imperfectly
Remembering them
*I love the dawn service on Anzac Day, it always feels like the heart and soul. A silent mass, gathering in the dark to hear The Ode, to remember that at this time, so long ago young men sat in rocking boats, about to storm the beaches and run into catastrophic gun fire.
This morning as I stood, slightly frustrated by the late comers and the low hum noise infestation within the sacred minute silence I realised there is no purity – ever. We don’t get to have perfect sacred silences. So I tuned into what each noise was, where it came from and suddenly I could feel the silence.
Strangely, amongst all the subtle noise the silence bloomed greater than all of the small, it was huge. Maybe my mind stumbled across a connection with all the other humans standing there.
Perhaps it was the intention. True loving intent over comes all the petty stumbling:
We try.
That’s what matters.
Just like all those young men and women that fought so imperfectly bravely. They tried.
And because of that, it felt more special this morning.
I don’t know if I have mishandled this poetry badly this morning.
Or perhaps you can hear it too
The hearts that beat all together for a moment
And then we lose our tune
And become separate and striving again
It’s Anzac Day 2022
The sacred will soon get lost beneath the beery cheers at noon. But beneath it all, for me at least, will run that imperfect silence. Because that is the way this day began.
When dealing with big groups of people, the outcome may not be pure, but if the intent is pure, then the outcome becomes …nearly pure, and that’s enough. Now if we could take that into the world as a whole it would make an impact.
