The other evening I found myself looking around my house.
Not just looking, but noticing.
Over the years I have accumulated all sorts of objects, pictures, paintings, reminders, notes, and small treasures. Some were gifts. Some were made by family. Some were picked up during travels. Others appeared almost by accident and simply stayed.
Most days they blend into the background of life.
But every now and then they step forward and ask to be noticed.
One wall holds a picture my daughter made many years ago. It shows a witch changing the world. Nearby is a large handwritten sheet of paper titled “Creating My Own Reality”. On it are notes about reframing negative thoughts, practising mindfulness, self-awareness, and letting go of the need for control.
Elsewhere there are birds, frogs, geese, elephants, paintings, and woven artworks.
And there are three images that particularly caught my attention.
Brahma.
Vishnu.
Shiva.
The Hindu Trimurti.
For many people these figures are associated with religion. For me, at least in that moment, they became something else.
They became a way of thinking.
A lens.
Brahma is often associated with creation.
Vishnu with preservation and balance.
Shiva with transformation.
As I reflected on these ideas, I realised how often the same pattern appears in completely different parts of life.
Whenever we begin something new, we start by creating understanding. We explore. We ask questions. We discover what is really going on.
That feels like the spirit of Brahma.
Then comes a different phase.
We bring together different viewpoints. We listen. We negotiate. We balance competing interests and possibilities. We try to understand how the pieces fit together.
That feels like the spirit of Vishnu.
Finally comes transformation.
The scattered ideas, observations, and experiences are distilled into something new. A decision is made. A path becomes visible. Understanding is turned into action.
That feels like the spirit of Shiva.
What struck me most was not whether these interpretations are correct in any religious sense.
What interested me was that the pattern appears everywhere.
In learning.
In leadership.
In community development.
In relationships.
In personal growth.
In solving problems.
Even in gardening.
We discover.
We integrate.
We transform.
The same rhythm appears again and again.
Perhaps this is one reason why symbols endure across centuries. They help us see patterns that might otherwise remain hidden.
The symbols themselves are not the destination.
They are invitations to think.
One of the great gifts of growing older is that we become less concerned about whether one perspective is right and another is wrong. Instead, we become curious about what each perspective reveals.
A scientist looks at the world one way.
An artist another.
A gardener another.
A systems thinker another.
A spiritual person another.
None sees everything.
Each sees something.
The challenge is learning when to change lenses.
As I stood there looking at those pictures, I realised that the objects around me were not merely decorations.
They were reminders.
Reminders to stay curious.
Reminders to keep learning.
Reminders that understanding rarely arrives fully formed.
And reminders that some of the most useful insights come not from finding answers, but from noticing patterns.
Perhaps that is why certain images stay with us for years.
Not because they tell us what to think.
But because they quietly encourage us to think more deeply.
And sometimes, if we are paying attention, they reveal connections we had not seen before.
The piece was developed collaboratively, blending Alistair’s lived experience with AI-assisted reflection.