The Meditations of a Meandering Mind: Perspective

Prefer to listen instead? Click play above and join me as I read this week’s meditation aloud. Take a few moments to pause, breathe, and let the words sink in.

I live a three-hour drive from the Drakensberg Mountains in South Africa. They extend like a dragon’s spine along the length of the country, reaching heights of over three kilometres. In winter, snow dusts rocky crags, and lingers in the valleys. In summer, rain drenches the peaks and revitalises the waterfalls.

The mountains are a looming presence over the landscape, offering hikers a challenge to conquer, dreamers a canvas to paint. They dwarf the cottages clinging to their lower slopes, shade the towns and villages with their presence.

Paths criss-cross ridges and contours, leading the explorer higher and deeper into the mountain’s fissured embrace. One foot in front of the next, persevering upward and onward.

I’m not a mountain goat! I’m the dreamer, sitting at the mountain’s base, watching the interplay of light and shadow, wind and rain, thunder and lightning. I inhale the solid permanence, the towering strength, the elevated horizon.

I rarely experience the view from the top. My perspective is bottom-up, rather than top-down. My vision is a narrow window, not a sweeping vista.

It’s a bit like an aeroplane sitting on the tarmac, awaiting takeoff. Sight is limited to a narrow gap of activity — officials in yellow high-vis vests striding towards the terminal; an open-topped truck hauling a trailer-load of suitcases and bags; a flashing light on the tail of the neighbouring plane.

And then the engines roar into life. The pilot reverses onto the apron, manoeuvres to line up with the runway. He depresses the throttle. The airport flashes past in a flurry of speed. The nose lifts. Stomachs lurch. The world falls away.

And the perspective shifts.

Daily busy-ness fades — model cars on a child’s play mat; dolls’ houses on Monopoly streets; the clamour of a thousand voices quietened to silence.

And those mountains? A contoured map, a relief model, a furrowed field.

It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Where do I stand, where do I sit, from where do I watch?

On the rare occasion I join my family on a hike, my attention remains fixed on the feet in front of me. I notice the small — the stones and pebbles, the dusty leaves and the dainty flowers of the pathside plants. I hear my heart beat, smell the wind. I’m preoccupied with not slipping, not tripping, not falling.

I don’t notice the magnificence, don’t enjoy the splendour. I become tired and grumpy and fed-up!

I need a different view.

How often does everyday living feel like that? A daily trudge, with only the small to brighten the path? A challenge to conquer, to overcome, to beat?

A mountain to climb.

But there is a way to rise above the slog. To change the view. To alter the perspective.

“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31.

It’s counterintuitive, isn’t it? I’ve got a mountain to climb, a destination to reach. I can’t hang about, holding on for a miracle. There are bills to pay, people to see, problems to solve.

Have you ever watched eagles rising on the thermals? Theirs is an effortless climb, a silent rising and soaring. There is barely a flick of the tail, or a flap of a wing. They go where the wind takes them, where the warmth leads them.

No panic, no alarm.

Only the freedom of trust.

"But those who wait for the Lord, who expect, look for, and hope in Him, will gain new strength and renew their power; they will lift up their wings and rise up close to God like eagles rising toward the sun; they will run and not become weary, they will walk and not grow tired."

Wait upon the Lord. Expect, look for, hope in — the Lord.

“Be still and know that I am God.” The reply to our every objection.

He is God; I am not. He is seated in heavenly places. He sees the map, the terrain, the bottom and the top.

His invitation to me, to us, is “Join me!”

On high. Reassessing the progress.

Resizing the climb.

Re-evaluating the challenge.

Changing the perspective.

From the here-and-now, to the Eternal.

From the problem to the opportunity.

From the ‘it’s too far’, to the ‘you’re nearly there’.

He’s calling. He’s beckoning.

Répondez s’il vous plait.

R.S.V.P.

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Perspective

From up here they are carved by a craftsman;

        they are the wrinkles of melted, set wax

                        like jam being tested for readiness;

        they are bowls holding snow

                        and goblets of water.

But down there they are the bringers of insignificance,

                        the harbingers of a majesty beyond me;

        they are that which dwarfs,

                        brings perspective.

Ageless, ancient

                        unmoving, unchanging,

                        undaunted, uncowed.

They are to be overcome.

To be conquered.

To be endured.

To be feared.

From here they are the steps and the stairs;

        they are the eddies and flows

                        the tumbles and spirals

                                        of water become rock, become stone.

They are the deep ocean floor

                        exposed to the air.

They are dragons’ spines and dinosaurs’ tales;

        they are tabletops and runways.

Cascades of light and dark

                        of sunshine and shade.

They are living and breathing,

                        hills still alive with the sound of music.

Carry me, lift me, draw me

                        higher with you to see

                                        these mountains I face,

                                                        have to climb,

                                                        want to move,

                                        are but patterns in a landscape

                                        giving texture and context,

                                                        challenge, reward;

        that though they are mighty to me,

                        with you,

                                        who is more,

                        they are playgrounds and playthings

                                        created for delight, not for dread.

So I, with this view and the faith that it brings

                        may say to the mountain, ‘Be moved to the sea.’

And it will.

The poem ‘Perspective’ is taken from my book of reflections and poems, The Outskirts of His Glory. Want to read more like this? Pre-order the second edition now — available from Amazon. Paperback releasing soon.