Backwards is Forward

The Watcher lived in a three-hundred-year-old stone house in the heart of the village, surrounded by others of a similar age. One of the things she loved most about her village — and trust me, there were many — was that no two houses were the same.

To the uninitiated, the houses appeared higgledy-piggledy. It was difficult to determine where one house ended and the next began. Yet none of it was chaos. It only seemed that way.

The Watcher was six and a half decades of age. Now, if you said that to a young child, they might think she was hundreds of years old, for children often confuse decades with centuries.

But who is to say that she wasn’t hundreds of years old? What is time, and who can honestly say they know how to measure it? At times, her wisdom certainly exceeded the years she had lived.

One of the things the Watcher had noticed about time was this: despite the physical world around her, she was quite sure that all time existed here and now, in this very moment. She also believed that all things — including wisdom — were within us, not without.

There had been many occasions when she came across something random in a charity shop or while out walking and felt an unmistakable knowing that she needed it, though she had no idea why.

Weeks or months might pass before a ritual or ceremony was required, and the very object she had found earlier would prove vital in that moment.

This never ceased to amaze her and often became the subject of quiet gratitude to the Universe for its most curious and generous provisions.

I share all of this to give some background as to why the Watcher believed that backwards is forwards, and that all time is now. The particular incident I wish to draw the reader’s attention to is one that spans forty-two years.

Forty-two years ago, the Watcher gave birth to a wonderful, healthy baby boy in Lagan Valley Hospital in Northern Ireland. She was delighted with the birth of her second child — though not so delighted when his birth certificate arrived.

Much to her surprise, the child had been given an Irish birth certificate. The Watcher, her husband, and their firstborn all had English birth certificates, which were red. But their son’s certificate was green.

This troubled her — not because she had anything against the Irish, but because she wished all members of the family to have the same birth certificates. She worried that later in life her son might somehow feel different because of it.

Forty-two years later, she moved to Cyprus with her husband and her granddaughter, whom she was raising to ensure the child had stability and routine in her life.

The move proved difficult in terms of the paperwork required to obtain visas. The Watcher and her husband acquired theirs without too much trouble, but it was not so easy for the granddaughter, who was half Thai and held a Thai birth certificate.

Many of the child’s documents had to be witnessed and stamped by the Thai Foreign Office, who, despite repeated emails, never replied. The only alternative was for her father to travel to Thailand with the documents himself — an option that was both expensive and completely impractical.

This meant the child could remain in the country for only ninety days before having to return to England.

The Watcher was devastated.

She implored Spirit to tell her why everything seemed to be unravelling, for she would never have moved to Cyprus if it meant leaving the child behind. And yet she felt absolutely certain that Cyprus was exactly where they were meant to be. Never had she felt so at home.

Many people offered advice, but nothing seemed to help. All hope appeared lost until she remembered something.

Her granddaughter’s father had been born in Ireland. That meant he could apply for an Irish — and therefore European — passport. Once he had obtained this passport, he could claim his daughter and apply for an EU passport for her as well.

Which meant that the granddaughter would not need a visa at all.

What a relief it was when the passports were finally issued.

What once seemed like an oddity the Watcher had never liked — her son’s strange green birth certificate — turned out to be part of the future quietly preparing itself.

What are the chances of such a thing happening?

Yet here I am today, relaying the story of how despair turned into joy, how what once seemed wrong turned out to be exactly right.

And how backwards was, in truth, forwards.

Perhaps the reader can recall moments like this in their own life — moments that passed unnoticed at the time, only revealing their meaning years later.

For the strange weaving of time is not unique to the Watcher.