The present connects our history to our hopes…
I have said before that I am often astounded by the passage of time. Perhaps even obsessed with it.
I intentionally practice mindfulness, savouring the present moment, whether it is the call of the loons on Bob Lake, a hike through Brookbanks Park, or the comfort of a cup of perfectly brewed tea.
Mindfulness is the deliberate appreciation of the present. It is when we stop striving, slow down, and simply be in that place in space and time. It is when we turn our attention inward, in a different kind of trance, letting the thoughts float through like clouds, without effort or strain.
But the present is not formed in a vacuum. It is built upon the past in what appears to be a linear fashion, with events riding on the back of geographical locations, time codes, sensory impressions, and relationships. All of this provides us with a personal history that gives our lives a continuous narrative thread.
When we are free from trauma, our past flows effortlessly. Moments line up like stepping stones, from then to now and on into what will yet be. These are the memories we have not yet experienced. The unfolding chapters that wait just beyond the next breath.
But trauma disrupts that flow.
It locks up the past and stuffs fragments of our life into a dark pit that cannot be accessed without therapeutic intervention.
Hypnosis, in its gentle and profound way, is my method of choice. It allows us to get to what has been buried, neutralising the emotional charges that continue to shape the present from behind the scenes.
And when we do the work of clearing and healing, when grief, disappointment, and failure are finally acknowledged and resolved, the present moment begins to shift. It becomes a safe resting place. A refuge. A vantage point from which we can observe, rather than react.
Once the pain loses its hold, the future begins to transform. It moves from being a screen onto which we project our worst-case scenarios into a window through which we glimpse new possibilities. The colours change. The horizon opens. What once felt dangerous begins to look inviting.
And in that space, we are able to raise our sails and set a heading with hope. We steer not away from the past but with it as a silent companion. We bring the lessons forward and leave behind the weight. The present becomes an anchor and the future a promise.
When we reflect, not ruminate, we allow wisdom to settle. The unconscious mind responds to the new clarity. It begins to re-pattern and reorganise toward wholeness. Growth becomes inevitable when we offer it space and stillness.
This is something we are all able to do. We are not broken. We are not finished. We have simply hit pause. That pause is not weakness. It’s preparation.
In the quiet of that pause, we begin to notice the relics of who we were. A book on the shelf, its spine gently faded. A photograph tucked behind another. A note scribbled in a moment of urgency that no longer matters.
These are not clutter. They are messengers. They are the gentle ghosts of our former selves, speaking in whispers, reminding us of where we have been. They are not burdens. They are bookmarks.
Each item we rediscover is a thread in a much larger tapestry. A drawer becomes an archive. A coffee mug becomes a relic. Even the way sunlight falls on the floor carries the texture of memory. The present moment, it turns out, is not a sliver. It is a braid, woven from memory, awareness, and anticipation.
Mindfulness sharpens our vision. It slows the breath. It deepens the nervous system into stillness. And something ancient inside us remembers how to simply exist. In that softening, something stirs. It is the future. Not as a demand, but as an invitation.
Hope is not fragile. It is not wishful thinking. It is a compass. It orients us. It keeps us upright when everything else threatens to tilt. The mind may wander. The heart may ache. But hope, when it is allowed to root itself, becomes something solid. It becomes the way we stand. The way we breathe. The way we move forward.
We are never just who we were. And we are never only who we are.
We are also always becoming.
And that becoming is guided by how courageously we sit with the moment we are in.
So take this Sunday to pause with intention. Touch the past gently. Cradle the present fully. Let yourself notice what is already here. The quiet weight of memory. The subtle pulse of now. The slow turning of something within that knows how to move forward, even when you feel still.
Let hope come without needing permission. Not as a declaration but as a quiet truth.
Let it settle into your bones, not as something you reach for, but something you remember. You have faced storms before. You have stayed upright when things tilted. You have rebuilt, reoriented, and returned to center.
This is not the end of the road. It is a moment on the path.
And whatever horizon lies ahead, you are not just capable of sailing toward it. You are already underway.
And whatever the future holds…
You have today.
- Mike Mandel
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