Being born, we bring along a smile, which, when being mirrored over time, becomes the signature of our face. Not the cheery or cheesy smile, but the unique one, always remembered by those who know us well. Why? Because something is loosened up in the face … a happy heartbeat sneaks into an authentic smile and, if only for a fleeting instant, a glimpse of heaven is revealed. Mostly, the magic lies in the spontaneity of the smile, and its short duration.
Actors in movies convey touching smiles, at times. Meryl Streep comes to mind. In a photograph or painting this can happen, though less often. There are of course many exceptions, the most famous being Leonardo da Vinci’s enigmatic portrait of Mona Lisa. Her smile seems slowed down in time and keeps resonating with one’s own internal smile … and both linger on. Apart from Da Vinci’s excellent study and understanding of anatomy, and his accomplished painting techniques, the reason why Mona Lisa’s mysterious smile seems eternally fresh, may also have been due to the deep rapport between model and painter. And, interestingly, Sigmund Freud theorized that Leonardo imparted an approving smile from his mother, Caterina, onto the Mona Lisa and other works.
Each smile tells a story, open to interpretation – the smile of intimacy, friendship, reconciliation, condolence, seduction, pity, revenge, conspiracy, the haughty ‘I told you so,’ or simply bliss. It is a long list.
Can one’s authentic smile fade? Can trauma, sadness, or despair about humanity impact the signature of one’s face? Maybe, though I think even if you’re disillusioned with life, lose your teeth, or have ill-fitting dentures that change the physiognomy of your jaw and cheeks, the essence of your smile remains somehow. Maybe in the eyes, or sometimes, irrespective of a facial expression, a person radiates a peaceful atmosphere, a loving presence, which Hazrat Inayat Khan called ‘the smiling forehead.’
We endow obvious practical functions to clothes tools, furniture and any number of items we use daily and which therefore become intimates, like I have a favourite knife, cup, spoon, breakfast bowl and so on. I remember a T-shirt, apricot-coloured, with the iconic Snoopy character on it. Over the years the fabric of the shirt faded and softened beautifully. Finally I was wearing it in bed, for comfort, until, after various fixes, it fell apart. A sad day!
We also endow objects with symbolic, creative, guiding, protective and blessing potencies. Beyond reason – be it by a kind of enchantment – we grant them magical qualities through sustained affection. For me these are stones, shells, driftwood, feathers, or small ornaments given to me by friends.
Starting as children, we’ll adopt what Donald Winnicott called transitional objects, meant to restore the lost closeness to mother. Also early on we may express interests that foreshadow an inborn zeal. So beyond toys, teddy bears, blanket, pets, books, and so on, we bond with anything that fascinates us, initiating a passion that could encapsulate the myth of our lives. In my case this became the bridging of divides. My first novel started with the image of a bridge.
I wrote elsewhere … a constant sense of oneness is not what evolution is about. In a time and space structured cosmos we cannot cage harmony. Reality is the result of contradiction.
Objects and interests we seek or meet, may relate to a particular element, earth, water, fire, air, aether. Quite often our vocational and professional activities relate to an element. Also, one or the other of our senses may take hold of us, the love of light, shapes and colours, a fondness of sound, touch, smell, taste, or a love of metaphysics. Attachments drive our interests throughout life.
Strong affinity with an element may bring the challenge of dealing with another element we feel less in resonance with. The psyche plays at balancing extremes. For example, my astrological birth chart confirms a predominance of fire and air signs, fast energies, fierce, intense; even obsessional. I can still hear my mother saying, with a touch of exhaustion, ‘You’ve got a vivid imagination.’ My authority defying associations caused the odd trouble with teachers. In compensation I had need of grounding, befriending earth, literally digging and planting, which taught me patience. And I’m calmed by the vicinity of water. My childhood was spent around lakes, rivers and ponds.
We hold our loved ones and friends dear. We give significance to certain animals, trees, plants, prominent landmarks. We cherish gadgets, periods of history, art styles, places, habitual rituals and ideas. Each bonding adds to the creation of a strong net. To lose a strand precious to us, requires a child-like faith that our relational energy net can be mended and re-aligned to our guiding light. This net is all about relationships, inner and outer, informing the purpose of our extended self.
Over recent years, efforts to dis-endow some of my attachments, among them endless folders with notes on projects and visions I’ve slim chances to achieve in this round, left me melancholic, but through the more malleable net sneaked fresh insights and mysteries. It also helped me to focus on writing my novels. ‘Course of Mirrors’ will have its sequel, ‘Shapers,’ published next spring.
To lighten up these dark times, a few lines from Beannacht – Blessing – by J. O’Donohue
… May the nourishment of the earth be yours, may the clarity of light be yours, may the fluency of the ocean be yours, may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow wind work these words of love around you, an invisible cloak to mind your life.
Course of Mirrors 