A Friend When You Could Use One

Friends have always come to me from time to time when they’re going through a difficult spot, maybe they have something unpleasant going on in their life, or perhaps they’re just desperate for something to happen and want that little bit of extra support. My job is to listen, ask questions and then use my writing skills to create something utterly beautiful that lifts their soul and sees them through, giving them a bit of confidence; a sense that they’re not alone, that they have been heard, and there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

I’ve always seen it like writing a unique recipe, doing something which allows the person to feel like they are taking back control, completing some kind of physical action or ritual that allows the person to feel like they are ‘doing something’ positive, rather than just floundering around, being battered from pillar to post emotionally. I view it a bit like a self-help book, taking action without having to read pages and pages that don’t apply.

Often, the reasons behind their approach revolve around loss, grief or fear, but sometimes their situations are more complex. That said, it can be about something like buying a house, wanting a new job or simply wishing to move forward in life. It’s my job to take all the various colourful strands of their life or dilemma and then weave them, like a thread through cloth, into a pattern of action that allows them to breathe and take back control of their situation.

For some reason, I’ve been particularly busy this year. I’m not sure if it’s the chaos the world seems to be in right now or just that our lives are so complicated these days that more and more people find themselves spiralling out of control and looking for something to cling to.

My ‘go-to’ at all times is nature, allowing myself to be grounded by the simplicity and perfection of the world. A giant agapanthus in the garden; a wooded glade with overhanging boughs; the sparkling freshness of a river bed or standing at the edge of the sea, burying your toes in the sand, all bring you back to the uncomplicated beauty of mindfulness. Nothing is more healing and powerful than aligning yourself with your surroundings in the open, really seeing what’s around you and appreciating the beauty you’re a part of – soaking up the joy that peaks and permeates through the cracks of our lives lived.

Last night was one of those times. In the evening, I guided a friend to Morton, a favourite of mine. I discovered Morton when I first moved here, and I’ve loved it ever since. It feels like a secret that only a few of us ‘in the know’ cherish, when in fact, it’s nothing of the kind, as it’s firmly on the tourist map. That doesn’t matter, because there’s a very real beauty and spiritual quality to the place which is hard to beat or put into words. The river, the church; both call to me like sirens at sea, and I find myself drawn back there time and again.

Of course, the symbolism is obvious: the church with its picturesque little graveyard cosseting the dead; gentle ghosts sat quietly on worn benches. The crystal-clear river, cleansing as it rushes forward, evokes a sense of awe and wonder. On both sides, the trees rise like guardians of the river, their vibrant hues and vigorous limbs of towering majesty, dappling the sunshine with cave-like qualities. Wild orchids lie dotted along the banks, dressed in pastel pinks and summer whites; they gently bend their heads in greeting, the ripple of movement like a breeze from the water. High up in the trees, a colony of Rooks, their twiggy nests perched precariously, call into the twilight, these harbingers of change, forever connected to magical practices and past deities. This is my world, what I see and feel there.

We parked the car and walked down to the river’s edge, resting on the bridge to don our water shoes, but as soon as we had sat down, something gently pushed my back. From out of nowhere had come a black and white cat. She immediately climbed up over my shoulder, head rubbing both my friend and me, utterly delightful and unashamedly welcoming. We took a little time to appreciate her. I ran my hand along her length, feeling the soft warmth of her coat, my fingers burrowing through to her velvet skin, as all the time I softly talked to her.

But dusk was calling; we needed to attend to our business there. Popping on our water shoes and rolling up our trousers, we waded into the river, which was surprisingly warm and incredibly soothing. All the time we were paddling about, our furry friend sat bolt upright, watching the road, the tip of her tail twitching as she guarded our shoes, sitting next to our bags and keeping them safe.

Finished, we took a moment, holding hands, standing in the rushing water to appreciate our surroundings before wading back, only to find a rather beautiful hag stone in our path and ripe for the picking. Reaching our belongings, our furry friend waited, purring softly while we towel-dried our feet and put on our shoes. As I stood up, she gave me one last head rub, turned her back and sashayed into the undergrowth. I called after her, thanking her for her friendship and guarding our shoes, but she disappeared as if she had never been there.

As my friend and I walked back to the car, I couldn’t help but remark, “Well, she was a good omen for you if ever there were one!” This made them laugh.

Something I’m known for is my protestations about never looking backwards. I’ve said it a thousand times, as I believe living life is about constantly moving forward. You can’t change the past, but you can learn from it, so that moving forward is your only healthy option. My furry friend was a visual metaphor that wasn’t lost on either my friend or me. Driving home, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Thank you, puss cat, wherever you are now, whoever you are now watching over. I see you and I thank you.

Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.