The Colours of our Past

As soon as I arrived in Burano I wanted to stay.  Sensing the creative energy of the island, I longed to grab my laptop and let the atmosphere have its way with me.  Each brightly coloured cottage has its own distinct personality.  Stone bridges lead enticingly over tranquil canals and narrow alleys meander between intriguing shops with exquisite lace, theatrical masks and delicious food.   Burano is an Italian island in the Northern Venetian Lagoon.    With a population of only 3000, Burano still manages to maintain an atmosphere of peace and stillness, despite being a hot-spot for tourists, close to the hustle and bustle of Venice.

The coloured houses of Burano intrigue me.   Our tour guide explained that the tradition of painting their homes in vivid colour is many centuries old. Some say it began in the Middle Ages as a way of celebrating that a household had been spared from the bubonic plague. Stricken houses were disinfected inside and out with quicklime,  leaving them pure white. Brightly coloured paint was a way of celebrating their escape from the Black Death.   I only spotted a few white houses, so Burano must have been fortunate.   Since then I’ve heard other theories, including the notion that sailors used the bright colour of their homes to guide them home from sea voyages.  Another suggestion is the colours were so diverse the residents did away with numbering their properties, but simply distinguished them by their colour.  Nobody seems to know which theory is correct.  Perhaps they all are!

Certain people intrigue me like the houses of Burano.   Whether it is their disarming warm smile, their unique fashion sense or the hint of sadness that occasionally darkens their eyes, people present their colours to the world.   What a privilege it is to grow close to our friends and come to know where their joy and sadness comes from, and why they are the way they are.   Just like the cottages of Burano, everyone has a history and a unique story to tell.

Recently I’ve read two memoirs written by women who bravely tell their stories and share their histories.   ‘The Top Five Regrets of the Dying’ by Bronnie Ware, is a moving account of Bronnie’s years working in palliative care with the terminally ill.   She shares her conversations and deep friendships with many of her patients as they come to terms with dying.   Bronnie also courageously shares her own battles and struggles over the years, and tells her readers how she finally came to take hold of the invaluable lessons learnt from her friends which enabled her to live life to the full, free from regret and embracing the important things in life. You can find out more about Bronnie and her writing at her website:  www.bronnieware.com.

‘Soul Friend’ is a powerful memoir just released by Christian author, Jo-Anne Berthelsen.   Jo-Anne  shares deeply about her spiritual journey and her special friendship with her mentor, Joy.   I have the privilege of knowing Jo-Anne, catching up occasionally for a cappuccino and lots of nourishing conversation, so I’m well aware of her beautiful nature, spirituality and intelligence.   Reading Jo-Anne’s memoir has allowed me to discover in a whole new way how her past has shaped the woman she is now, and why she believes so passionately in the art of mentoring.   If you are interested in mentoring and spiritual growth, or just want to read an inspiring memoir, I highly recommend this book.  For more details about Jo-Anne and ‘Soul Friend’, please go to: http://www.soulfriend.com.au/.

What a gift it is to explore and discover what makes another person tick, and to learn what gives them their own unique ‘colour’.   I believe sharing our story is one of the most unselfish, brave and significant contributions we can make to this world.   I have no idea when I’ll get back to Burano, but in the meantime I’ll enjoy discovering the mysteries hidden in the lives of others, and will dare to share a few secrets of my own.

Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed? Can the writer isolate and vivify all in experience that most deeply engages our intellects and our hearts? Can the writer renew our hope for literary forms? Why are we reading if not in hope that the writer will magnify and dramatize our days, will illuminate and inspire us with wisdom, courage, and the possibility of meaningfulness, and will press upon our minds the deepest mysteries, so we may feel again their majesty and power?    ― Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

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