The most profound experience of my life

One of the most profound experiences of my life was the time I stood in Hiroshima and watched as the shadows played off the crumbling edges of the A-Bomb Dome. Night can be a dangerous thing, but not there. Not with the ‘shhh’ of the Y-shaped river and the quiet whirring of push bikes and the click of my camera. 

75 years ago this place was dust. I’ve seen pictures. Piles and piles of rubble, dead trees against a bloodless sky. I walked on new brick, breathed once-lifeless air, remembered the children who had died under my feet, and I felt so lucky to be alive.

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(How could we have done do this to each other?) 

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Sometimes, when the busyness of the city grows to a crescendo, I make my way towards the river. As far as western cities go Brisbane is barely a toddler but still I feel the unbearable weight of history pressing down around me. As in Hiroshima, I find myself imagining the skeletons entombed beneath the concrete and steel, wrapped in dark earth and time. I think about this map, the limp bodies thrown overboard, the loved ones lost to raging bushfires, and wonder how I can so deeply love a country soaked red. 

So I sit beside the river and read my book, skyscrapers blocking out the sun, and I think about death and life and my lunch. I think about how everything is going to be ok (I hope). I think about the lessons from yesterday and what tomorrow will bring.

And I think about my breath, and how lucky I am to have it.