Out of the Mist

Past experiences normally hover in misty memories while the present seems to plod or whoosh along. Work days, plod plod plod. Weekends, vacations, special moments, whoosh. Mist, plods, and whooshes.

But sometimes, sometimes, synergistic moments present powerful, pensive, awareness. This synergism lends itself to seemingly time-warped experiences which stir up intense, emotion-packed reflections that flood the senses and yank the tears. Unforeseen clarification results.

Disneyland, 1966, I was ten, joined by my parents and three siblings. My dad’s favorite ride was It’s a Small World, where riders board little, low-sided, turquoise boats which slowly float into a huge building magnificently colored with animated, costumed dolls representing children and objects from around the globe, while children’s voices repeatedly sing the Small World song in complementary languages. As a ten year old it was the boat and the water which excited me most. My little fingers were happily compelled to flick the cool liquid in delight, as my body gently rocked to the floating rhythm. The little doll-children were pretty, the colors and postures of the dolls fun, and the music cute. Enjoyable.

Disneyland, 2007, I am fifty, and joined by my husband, and daughters (15 and 11). “We have to go on Small World! It’s my dad’s favorite ride and I want to see if it’s the same,” I enjoined.

"Life must be lived forward, but understood backward," according to Soren Kierkegaard. This is how I tend to operate. I was about to have one of those moments.

We boarded the boats, entered the building, heard the song. Cheerfully, I began to sing along as my girls smiled, thankful I’m sure, that the music of the ride drowned out my voice.

I found myself remembering certain dolls, then my mind pulled, out of the mist, the memory of my dad, as a 39 year old man, sitting at the back of the boat next to 10 year old me. I remembered the pleasant look on his dark, handsome face, and his outstretched arm and finger pointing here and there. Suddenly, I visualized my entire childhood family overlaying my present family. Somehow, this Disneyland ride was experienced from my ten year old and fifty year old minds, simultaneously. Vividly.

Forty years had passed and here I was again, possibly in the very same boat, with my young daughters. As I pointed things out to my girls, I recalled my father pointing the same things out to me. My exclamations of delight paralleled Dad’s. My laughter joined his.

Overwhelmed in mind and heart, I began to cry. Sitting in that gently swaying, bumping little boat I cried, for the good times. I cried in thanksgiving that my siblings and parents are still alive and in good health. I cried in gratitude for the three dearly loved people sharing the boat, and moment, with me. I cried for ten year old me who was having such a good time then, and for fifty year old me who was having an even better time now.

And I cried because it seemed I had entered my 39 year old father’s mind, and I knew that he'd had a joyful experience on this ride, in 1966. I absolutely felt his love for me then.....and for me now. I experienced the love he demonstrated to me which I didn’t fully grasp or appreciate at the time. I completely understood his happiness for the first time, while experiencing my own.

It was a strange and beautiful thing not adequately conveyed in these feeble words of mine.

But I want to remember the moment. So I write.

And I reflect. On family. On life. On God. On higher ways.

And I wonder, what foggy aspect of my present reality will come into crisp synergistic focus decades from now.

Life. Deep, deep, astonishing, mysterious life.