A PRIVATE MOMENT

“When the heart grieves over what is has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has left.” - Sufi Epigram

While travelling back home from Sydney yesterday, my plane was delayed somewhat and an early evening flight became a sunset flight and by the time I got home it was night, especially so after a further delay in getting the baggage unloaded from the plane and onto the conveyor belts. A one-hour flight became embellished with another couple of hours of delay time and then add to that further travel time on ground transport getting to and from the airport. What was it that someone has said about air travel? “If we were meant to travel by aeroplane it would have been easier to get to and from the airport.”

Nevertheless, on the plane, flying at 10 km above the surface of the earth, one has interesting thoughts as one observes the world in miniature, as one floats above the clouds and one catches a glimpse of the magnificence of a sun dipping down the Western horizon before it gradually slips out of sight, leaving behind it blazes of colour that tinge the clouds a fiery red that continue to glow ember-red long into twilight. Philosophising becomes inevitable, don’t you think?

Sitting next to me on the plan was a middle-aged woman immersed in her thoughts, hardly acknowledging my polite greeting of “good evening” as I settled in the seat next to her. Her face was lined with what could only have been unpleasant recollections, worrying ideas, concern, the weight of endless care. I respected her wish for privacy and began to read my book. She stared fascinated at the brilliant display of the setting sun and her face furrowed further more into a frown while her eyebrows creased into a visible display of inner torment. I observed as casually as I could, pretending to also look at the setting sun. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, its last rays illuminated her cheeks, tinging them a reddish orange and making obvious a lone tear trickling like a liquid diamond down her cheek.

What does one do in such a situation? Does one remain silent, actively ignoring another’s pain, pretending not to notice? Does one speak, searching desperately to say something caring, but not patronizing or too invasive of another’s privacy? Does one try to communicate sympathy without words, trying to send a positive signal through the air without touching, speaking or otherwise visibly acknowledging the other person’s pain? How does one relate to another in such an obviously private moment where personal feelings rule the day and the external world, when other people and words can become obtrusive and grating? Then again, it is surely in such situations that we appreciate a kind word, another human being’s frank concern about our state, a simple kindness made even more worthy because it comes from a stranger.

In my embarrassment the words in this poem fell into place and gelled in my mind allowing me to recall them while I was I was awaiting for my baggage to be unloaded later on, and they were hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper there and then in the noisy arrival hall:

Sunset

While in the West the sun’s reduced to embers,
She sits, she watches and remembers:
A man, a love, a sacrifice, a cheap betrayal
As if on playhouse stage a poor portrayal.

The dusk descends, the night advances,
She counts her losses, and her fleeting chances;
Her life, where did it go, where youth, where hope?
In darkness lost, hanging on gallows’ rope.

Black clouds obscure the moon, no sign of star
Her future short, death watches – he’s not far…
And in the blackest hour sweet memories she clutches:
A kiss, some words of love, softest of touches.

Even in blackest night the thought of dawn alights,
In darkest hour, sweet hope holds a candle.
The soul revived will rise from depths to heights
And mind will cope, and heart the crisis handle.

Can you guess what course of action I followed on the plane as the woman beside me silently wept? What would you have done?