Fleeting Yet Forever

Moments That Touch the Soul and Stay

It was a lazy late December afternoon—the first day we were taking a break from unpacking, hanging pictures, and all that comes with settling into a new home. We had moved into our new little cottage just a week before. Snuggled in a cozy chair, I was listening to a talk from a speaker I occasionally follow. Although he is intellectually stimulating and I nearly always come away with something to think about, I often want for more of a sense of who he is—not just what he thinks, but what he feels. Yet on this day, something in him was different. I felt a little more heart than usual. Or maybe I was more open in that moment, allowing me to hear an often-protected, deeper authentic voice breaking through his smartly crafted sentences.

And then came the treasure. He spoke of a moment earlier in his life when “everything changed”—a moment he described as “fleeting yet forever.”

Three months later, that phrase “fleeting yet forever” is still with me. I keep remembering “fleeting yet forever” moments in my own life—moments that could have passed quickly with little notice yet somehow went straight into my heart without warning. And I knew instantly that what was happening was, in fact, “fleeting yet forever.” A passing moment in time that would forever be with me. It may have seemed insignificant on the surface, yet it felt huge in my heart. It’s like the moment completely bypassed my intellect and imprinted on my soul.

More than fifty years ago on a warm summer evening at Chautauqua—I was 16 or 17 years old—I walked into the amphitheater ahead of the concert crowd to find the stage filled with exotic musical instruments. A few were pitched or melodic instruments, many more appeared to be percussion instruments, and others I couldn’t identify at all. As the audience began to gather, they, too were curious. The Paul Winter Consort who would soon take the stage were clearly not presenting typical Chautauqua fare of the 1970s. Few people in the audience knew anything about this group. Yet the visual setup in front of us certainly piqued interest.

Soon the three musicians of the Consort strolled onto the stage and began playing these exotic instruments. Within minutes I was bathed in what was for me a completely new, beautiful, sometimes thrilling, other times soothing, world of rhythm and sound. It was a musical culture—world music—I had no idea existed. For the next two hours, it was as if my cells were rearranged, my whole being recalibrated. I was excited beyond measure and had no clue what to do with what was happening to me. Back in my room afterwards, I laid awake long into the night.

Two hours—a fleeting moment in time.
Fleeting, yet forever.

Lucy Clay Winn was the unconditional love giver of my childhood and our wise woman next-door neighbor. I went to her house every afternoon after school to drink tea and learn to play chess and make things out of clay and talk about life. She and my grandmother found a family name in common way back in their family trees, so she became known to us as Cousin Lucy. Although we moved away from my small childhood town when I was 15 years old, I went back to visit her for years after whenever I could.

Lucy Clay Woodford Winn—”Cousin Lucy”—ca. 1970 (Photo: Alan Seale)

On a return to Kentucky in my late 20s, I made a special trip to the little town where I grew up to see her. I sensed this might be the last time, and I could feel emotion welling up from deep within as I made the two-hour drive from where my parents were living. This would be an important visit. It was a vulnerable and unsettled time in my life. I had recently come out as a gay man, and while I was at peace with who I was, there were people I cared about a lot who were not. So, it had been rough. When I arrived, I found Cousin Lucy now mostly confined to her bed, yet still alert and very happy to see me. As I sat in a metal hospital chair beside her bed, so at home in her presence, I felt very uncertain about talking with her about my coming out.

As the time drew near for me to leave, I still had not yet found the courage. Yet she could sense my uncertainty, as I was now sitting on the edge of her bed. We were silent or a bit. And then she gently took my hand in hers and looked straight into my eyes. In her shaky voice, she spoke very directly: “I want to say something to you. You live far away now up there by New York and I’m so proud of you. There are things about your life I will probably never know and maybe not understand. But I want you to know this: that I love you. And you will always and forever be in my heart. I probably will never see you again in this life, but I’m always with you and I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

I can hear her words to this day.
Fleeting, yet forever.

In the mid-90s, I spent part of each week in a remote little country church on top of a mountain in rural upstate New York. The church had been converted into a one-room home with a sleeping loft. Most of the time I was there alone with my dog Brandon, a mix of Rhodesian ridgeback and retriever. He was one of two once-in-a-lifetime dogs I have been blessed with. One warm early spring afternoon we went for a long walk and came to an open meadow where he and I often sat for a while just to be together in the stillness. He seemed unusually attentive and very still. I looked across the meadow and there stretched out on a large boulder was a mountain lion basking in the sun. Seeing a mountain lion in that region was rare, but clearly they were around. Brandon remained incredibly still, staring at the lion, not making a sound. I, too, became very still. I held her in my gaze, marveling at her beauty, her size, her majesty. I had no fear, nor apparently did Brandon. Just wonder. The lion looked directly at us, then away, then back to us. Time seemed to stop as we all three held this presence. After a while, Brandon and I slowly and silently returned to the road and continued our walk, in awe of that extraordinary moment.

It’s with me still.
Fleeting, yet forever.

In the early 2000s, my parents, Johnathon, and I gathered at my sister’s Kentucky farmhouse for a few days during the Christmas holidays. It was the first my family was meeting Johnathon and they loved him. It was a very special time. On the day of our departure, we loaded the car, had our last farewell hugs, and settled ourselves in the car for a long drive ahead. As we began to make our way down the long winding driveway to the main road, I noticed my parents were still on the wooden front porch waving goodbye. A snapshot of that moment is emblazoned on my heart—their enormous love, their huge smiles, their gentle waves, their radiant beings. My father’s long walk with cancer would resume not long after, and the years ahead were sometimes hard. Yet that farewell moment stays with me.

So much love, so much love.
Fleeting, yet forever.

Later that decade, I was in Santa Fe for one of my first speaking engagements. It was not a big event, yet it was big for me. There were several well-known artists and healers in the audience, and I wanted to make a good impression. Shortly before I stepped on the stage, I was talking with a Native American elder who was also on the program. He could sense my nervousness. He looked at me and said, “There is only one thing for you to remember now as you walk on that stage. These people are here to have an experience with you. They won’t remember what you said, but they will remember how it felt to be with you. So go, have a good time, and just love them.” Just love them. For years now, those have been the last words I say to myself just before walking on stage or beginning a workshop day.

Just love them.
Fleeting, yet forever.

While there have been many “fleeting yet forever” moments in my life, there have also been fleeting moments that, consciously or unconsciously, I held onto, giving them far more power than I wish I had allowed. A childhood moment when I was bullied and my younger sister was the one who stood up for me. Being called a “faggot” in high school when I didn’t even know what that was, and then much later on the streets of New York City when I understood the threat of the moment all too well.

Just as many “fleeting yet forever” moments have been woven into the fabric of my life—moments that I lean into today—there have also been moments of humiliation, undeserved criticism, and attack. Moments that may have been short in duration yet while they were happening yet they felt like they lasted forever. Hardly any one of us goes through life unscathed by at least a few of these moments. They’re painful and sometimes traumatizing. It feels important to acknowledge that reality as well as the “fleeting yet forever” moments that years later still touch our hearts.

Decades ago as I ventured into deeper spiritual exploration, writers and teachers sometimes spoke of “sacred encounters” or “encounters with the divine.” I understood, at least intellectually, a distinction between an “encounter” and an “experience.” Some years later, I realized that what makes a fleeting moment last forever is that it was, in some way, a sacred encounter. It touched something sacred within us. Huston Smith (d. 2016), one of the foremost scholars of world religions in the 20^th century, said, “What makes something sacred is that it touches the sacred in you.” It touches our soul. Even if we don’t really understand what our “soul” is, we somehow recognize that it’s been touched, it’s been moved. An imprint has occurred that remains with us all our days.

I’ve spent part of nearly every summer since I was 15 years old on Chautauqua Lake in western New York. The last two years I’ve been blessed to spend nearly the whole summer there. In the summer of 2024, I was in the middle of a very challenging period, and Chautauqua gave me space for deep emotional healing and coming back home to myself. I chronicled that summer here on Substack. Every morning, I chose to be out of bed before dawn to “encounter” sunrise over the lake. I wanted not just to be present with the sunrise and the magical early morning light, but to be inside it. To be a participant in the unfolding of light out of darkness—to be a part of the creation of each new day. The theme of that summer for me became “Blessed Emptiness”—emptying out my soul so that it could be made anew. Each morning became a sacred encounter, an encounter with the divine, intentionally opening all my inner and outer senses to the moment. It was a “fleeting yet forever” summer.

“Light out of Darkness”—Chautauqua Lake (Photo: Alan Seale)

More recently, that word “encounter” keeps showing up in my reading and in mentoring and coaching sessions. To the point that in the last few days I’ve been setting the intention that my morning meditation be an “encounter” with Life, however Life chooses to show itself to me. And I set an intention to allow moments to be “encounters” through my day—fully opening my senses to all that was present.

“Fleeting yet forever.” “Sacred encounters.” We can’t make them happen, yet we can invite them. We can make space for them. We can be open for them. I notice that as I open my senses more fully to the moment, I feel a deeper settling within. My psyche feels less crowded. Moments in time connect. People who played significant roles in my life, even if only for a short time, feel tenderly yet vibrantly alive in my heart. There are days when I feel like I still have many years ahead of me on this earth; other days when I am very aware that I could leave this world at any time. It’s the same for all of us. And for me, it’s all ok. I’m savoring the spaciousness in my heart.

When have you experienced “fleeting yet forever” moments in your life? Moments that shaped some part of your existence in an instant and helped make you who you are today. Nurture those that lift you up. And if there are moments that want healing, ask those memories what they need. Trust that there is a wisdom within them and let them show you a next step.

Fleeting, yet forever.
Gratitude for all.

---

Invitations

• Visit The Center for Transformational Presence website

• Listen to free recorded Meditations for Changing Times led by Alan. More than 60 guided meditations. Choose the title that speaks to you and listen. Available for free anytime.

• Explore Alan’s Books

• Explore Coaching or Mentoring with Alan

• Explore Upcoming Programs in Transformational Presence

---