Find the Reflection of Light and Water

Our story begins in Japan, near the end of March this year. It travels all the way across the globe to Oxford, U.K., a couple of days ago. And it ends wherever in the world you might be, this moment.

On my last day in Japan, I spent the morning in Sankeien Garden in Yokohama. It’s a lovely sanctum of horticultural beauty and ancient architecture, a sweet escape from the city. On this particular morning it also proved to be a quiet one. (When I left, at 11 o’clock or so, a huge crowd of people came in.)

Well, almost a quiet one.

I wandered around without too much purpose or regard for the map, except to make sure I saw everything. Adding to the charms of the garden (the cherry blossoms and other flowers, the streams and ponds, the temple, the bridges, the bamboo grove), a cat held court under a tree; a young family fed marshmallows to the humongous gaping Koi fish; a photoshoot took place of a man and woman in traditional dress. And towards the end of the morning I came to a building where a sign outside read, “Traditional Tea Ceremony.” Intrigued, I went inside.

At first, I was disappointed. The tea ceremony itself did not disappoint, not in the slightest. But the group partaking in it was particularly noisy, chatting loudly and making comments about the unsweetened taste of the tea.

I will digress momentarily to say that I am most definitely a shameless tourist. I’ve taken a “thinking pose” photo in front of Rodin’s Le Penseur. I took numerous selfies during my trip to Japan flashing a dorky peace sign. The list goes on. Enjoying oneself and being excited are part of the travel experience, definitely. But perhaps you may agree that it is possible to be a shameless tourist and still be polite.

As I sat there, carefully following the printed instructions of the tea ceremony, trying to ignore the blabbering voices around me, something caught my eye. On the ceiling, just above, watery ripples of light shimmered. Through the large window that made up the opposite wall, sunlight reflected off of a gleaming pond and onto the ceiling. I stared at the enchanting, mesmerizing reflection. It reminded me of a fanciful story about a pond that was all but invisible to most people, but that one boy could see in the light reflected on the ceiling: light just like this.

The sight of those small ripples of light sent a smile straight through the heart of the frown caused by the noisy crowd. I focused on it as I tasted the rich, aromatic matcha, felt the touch of the soft stone cup. After the ceremony finished, I lingered there. The place that I’d regretted going, at first, became the place I never wanted to leave.

When I finally pulled myself away, I kept the memory of the sight in my mind. As clearly as I could muster, I looked with the mind's eye on the sight of the reflection of light and water on the ceiling. With that sight came a thought.

No matter how hectic life may be, you can always find your reflection of light and water on the ceiling.

A couple of days ago, on my third trip into Oxford, I decided to be a bit spontaneous. On the first two trips, when crossing the bridge heading to town centre, a sign that read “Oxford Canal Towpath” caught my eye. I wanted to follow it, but I also had places that I’d planned to see. So on those first two days I passed it by. But finally, on this day, I decided to drop my other plans for the morning and follow the towpath.

The sun shone with the green brightness of morning. Whimsical names painted everywhere sent the imagination whirring (“Gremlins Castle,” on a mailbox covered in vines; “Golden Dancer,” on a barge next to a painted golden firefly; “Jamais Jamais” on a rowboat). The path continued on.

Past a small urban stretch, the canal continued into a lush nature reserve. Birds chirped. Weeping willows drooped into the water. Lovely little residences near the canal’s edge with gardens, patios, tiny docks, and one with a hammock, made one jealous. The path continued on and on.

I’d signed up for a local-guided tour (an Airbnb Experience, highly recommended) scheduled for 1 o’clock that afternoon. As I continued on the beautiful path, I kept one eye on my watch.

Two swans swam in front of me. I wondered if I might catch them, or if my lazy pace would prove too slow. Or perhaps, I might have to turn back...

I started to worry about the time more and more. It started to bother the otherwise beautiful scenery with impending stress. I wished I could just enjoy the walk without thinking about the time. But time, that overbearing construct of humankind, loomed its ominous constraint.

That is when I saw the bridge.

On the underside of a bridge with a hummingbird mural, a reflection of light and water glistened.

I remembered the lesson I’d already learned and laughed.

Sometimes, an experience can seem to be ruined by one thing going wrong. Sometimes, one feels one can’t truly let loose and enjoy an experience because one must keep track of the time. Any number of imperfections may come into play in any human endeavour.

But one can always find the reflection of light and water on the ceiling, or under the bridge. One can always find the beauty in the moment.

So now we reach the end of this story. It ends with you. In this moment, right now, as you finish reading this…

Can you see the reflection of light and water where you are?