tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38508532525828716642024-03-19T03:24:24.578+00:00Kit Handford's JournalThoughts on death and dying, ceremonies and mysteries.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-46937113765942176652021-12-24T17:21:00.001+00:002021-12-26T13:03:44.258+00:00A Christmas Party<p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3TffWiUY7yt2zTF9PW51zuqGmgTjWKLd1j_7ohF3RVw24gzolbS-iKpHzgO9QaHM2WfuGVnYfdVezPaoLPzi_-9wHuOgHj7fX_U361tX_UHxOZhqmFto7ZyMkzbnCon4ywLI5BhHINy7phA-_bP47FNdgDhXZ9Mbf54JyCEmkuo-2s4Hl2iiVteMsLA=s800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="552" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3TffWiUY7yt2zTF9PW51zuqGmgTjWKLd1j_7ohF3RVw24gzolbS-iKpHzgO9QaHM2WfuGVnYfdVezPaoLPzi_-9wHuOgHj7fX_U361tX_UHxOZhqmFto7ZyMkzbnCon4ywLI5BhHINy7phA-_bP47FNdgDhXZ9Mbf54JyCEmkuo-2s4Hl2iiVteMsLA=w276-h400" width="276" /></a></div><br />It
wasn’t an ideal place to give birth, but a shop doorway was all that
there was to be had. Luckily someone had left a box full of old
newspapers which doubled as cleaning cloths and bedding, and so the
world gained a new son.
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">He
wasn’t any trouble at all, but some sound attracted the attention
of a passing cat out on the prowl. It came close, cautiously sniffing
and peering, and finding a bit of shelter, settled down against the
box.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">Later
a shadow moving in the shadows turned into a stray dog out looking
for scraps. Smelling something interesting it came over and joined
the group, snuggling up against the new mother.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">Meanwhile,
not far away, a pair of nightclub bouncers were pacing to and fro,
rubbing their hands to keep warm, and breathing steam clouds out
under the lights. They seemed uneasy. “Quiet, isn’t it?” said
one, summing it all up in a few words. “I don’t get it, it feels
like time’s holding its breath or something.”
</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Something’s
going on all right,” replied the other. “We just don’t know
what it is – yet.”</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">At
that moment a well-coiffed lad in a white cotton shirt, two buttons
undone, sauntered self-consciously down the other side of the street.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Hey
guys,” he called as he went by. “You want to see something
special, go take a look in Boots doorway. Someone’s just had a
baby. He’s really sweet – you should see him.” Then he danced
on his way.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;"> </p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">Contrary
to popular opinion, a bouncer’s real job is looking after people,
seeing they come to no harm. With a last look around and a quick
shrug of the shoulders they were off to find the baby.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">They
got there about the same time as a small group of Sikhs on their way
home from a meeting.
</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“We
are a proud warrior people” said one. “We should be prepared to
fight if necessary. We cannot stand by and do nothing when our people
are being insulted and attacked in the street.”</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“We
are warriors of peace” replied his friend. “Peace demands far
greater courage even than battle.”
</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">This
was when their eyes were caught by the scene in the doorway of Boots.
The woman was now surrounded by five strangers and two stray animals.
She picked up the child to show them and smiled contentedly. The two
bouncers felt their strength desert them and crouched down to get a
closer look. The Sikhs were lost for words.
</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">One
bouncer asked: “Who’s the father?”</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Someone
who loved me” was the reply.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Is
he coming back?”</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">The
woman looked deeply into her son’s eyes. “I think he just has,”
she answered.
</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">A
Sikh fumbled behind his neck and unclasped a gold amulet. “Here you
are, little one. I hope it helps.” He gently wound the delicate
chain round the child’s arm.</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Of
course,” one Sikh said to his comrade as they walked on, “he
won’t remember any of this when he grows up. I mean, for all we
know, that could be you or me – or anyone.”</p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;">“Indeed”
replied the other. “Indeed so. Perhaps it could.”</p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.3cm;"> <span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb d9wwppkn hrzyx87i jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"></span></p><div class="cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql o9v6fnle ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">© Clifford Smith 24/12/2021</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">All rights reserved</div></div><p></p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p><style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115% }</style></p>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-3220753753891736882020-07-25T17:07:00.000+01:002020-07-25T17:20:27.959+01:00Learning How To Listen
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="314" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VlBhjQo3A5Y" width="453" youtube-src-id="VlBhjQo3A5Y"></iframe></div><div><br /></div>When I was training to be a Samaritans volunteer I remember we were taught the three golden rules:<br /><br /><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">1. Listen<br /> <br />2. Listen.<br /> <br />3. Really listen.<br /></div><br />Really listening includes listening not only to what is being said, but also to what is not being said. Really listening means silencing your own thoughts so that you can concentrate totally on the person who is speaking – listening to that whole person, not just their words, because the words are just an outward expression of what lies within. <br /><br /> The same is true for music. According to my CD collection, music is a series of millions of samples of loudness and wavelength, and to my ear music is a pattern of compressions in the air, but that is not what we call music. Nor, I suggest, is music just a tune that you can hum or tap your foot to, or some sound that’s on in the background. I recently watched a YouTube video about really listening to music, listening to each instrument, each voice, how they were used and mixed. Only then can you begin to hear the music behind the music, the soul of the music, shouting or declaiming, loving or crying, making you feel.<br /><br />If this is how to listen to music then how should we listen to the music of life? Just like music, life could be described as just a series of notes, a CV, a photograph album: this is me as a baby, this is me getting married, and this is me with my grandchildren. But is that all there is? Perhaps we should listen harder.<br /><br />We could start by listening to all the different voices in our lives, the people who mattered – parents, teachers, our best friends – and hear the songs of life they taught us. We could listen to all our struggles and triumphs and what patterns we can detect, what music ran through them. We can listen to the music of love and beauty that warmed and inspired us, that music that still plays quietly in our hearts if we stop and listen hard enough. We can then listen to how our song has developed and changed through our lives, and how wonderful it has become. Finally we may get some idea of how our song has joined with the song of the whole earth and all that is.<br /><br /><br /><div style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;">“Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing,<br /> Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing.<br /> Who could live without it? I ask in all honesty<br /> What would we be? Without a song or a dance what are we?<br /> So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me.”<br /></div><br />Abba<style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 120% }</style>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-26488893368394875782019-11-29T14:49:00.001+00:002021-02-11T17:00:56.150+00:00Keeping The Peace
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mohandas Gandhi
said: “There is no way to peace; peace is the way”.</h3>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmg7ayld50-YtnfJcBUCWiVPGdl9CkHWspN4Yp5qLdMN5YrOVA8uoo4AIlIm5Qo7hVW3H0a-Ek-Bt7BzLBNCwObnlpPvPiKRNwQFEvKE4yLp9woF9dZNZYDJq6fq67wlA_GdeqmrIMye0/s1600/Stay-puft-marshmallow-man.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="346" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmg7ayld50-YtnfJcBUCWiVPGdl9CkHWspN4Yp5qLdMN5YrOVA8uoo4AIlIm5Qo7hVW3H0a-Ek-Bt7BzLBNCwObnlpPvPiKRNwQFEvKE4yLp9woF9dZNZYDJq6fq67wlA_GdeqmrIMye0/s320/Stay-puft-marshmallow-man.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Picture
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Screenshot of movie </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Ghostbusters</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span style="font-style: normal;">included under Fair Use
provisions</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I loved the first
Ghostbusters movie. The evil god Gozer demands that the team choose a
form for him to take. Ray thinks of the most harmless thing he can
remember, so Gozer appears on the streets of New York as a giant
Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man. Ray actually brought this monster into
being just by thinking about it. But that couldn’t happen in
reality could it?</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When he was a small
boy I gave my son a set of Lego bricks and showed him what to do by
putting together the stupidest box with a window, pretending to be a
house. I didn’t see much of him for a couple of days until he
emerged from his room with the most amazing starship that it is possible
to make with only Lego. My son is an artist. Same set of bricks for
both of us, but he saw a starship while I saw a box with a window in
it. We each live in a world of our own thoughts. Reality for us is
not found in objects but in the significance we give to them.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Here’s another
thing - you can’t have an argument on your own. Try it if you like
– you won’t get far. For a good argument you need an opponent.
Conversely, by taking sides, you perpetuate an argument. Walk away
and it stops. You can go further and actually love your enemies, and
who knows – they may become friends.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are living in
difficult times, when hopes of ending poverty, bringing peace and
keeping the Earth green seem to be slipping away from us. All too
easy for us to get drawn into the game of blame and counter-blame,
anger and recrimination, and in so doing we become part of the
problem. If we want to bring healing and peace to the world we need
peace in our hearts, peace in every step of the way. Our thoughts can
change the world.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
"If in your
heart you make a manger for his birth
</div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
Then God will once
again become a child on earth."</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<i>- Angelus
Silesius</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Further reading:
</i><a href="http://www.dailygood.org/"><span style="font-style: normal;">http://www.dailygood.org/</span></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.toptoysboys.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Bennys-Space-Ship.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Lego Spaceship" border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="785" height="324" src="https://www.toptoysboys.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Bennys-Space-Ship.png" title="Lego Spaceship" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Lego starship. From <a href="https://www.toptoysboys.com/bennys-spaceship-lego-set/"><span style="font-style: normal;">https://www.toptoysboys.com/bennys-spaceship-lego-set/</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 120%; }a:link { }</style>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-91076960850962717522019-10-01T16:47:00.000+01:002019-10-01T16:47:02.253+01:00The Colour Of Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0I08u4q_ToYQTIiDC1NKb4v9kSG2BdJKlcTlv6ih2hFvTmqzLrsUJpDjZfIGh5jzySc4OAojvevGlwsHQpHvjB43UzlP3fPg00NKTzqwwdubHsoaOR5IsNMHjD_YIc88_FgWLQFz80nd/s1600/deutero.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0I08u4q_ToYQTIiDC1NKb4v9kSG2BdJKlcTlv6ih2hFvTmqzLrsUJpDjZfIGh5jzySc4OAojvevGlwsHQpHvjB43UzlP3fPg00NKTzqwwdubHsoaOR5IsNMHjD_YIc88_FgWLQFz80nd/s400/deutero.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Some people are born colour-blind. They can't see the difference between red and green for example. Colours are muted and drab. The richness of vision that most people take for granted is unknown to them - the luscious green grass or the beautiful blue of a summer sky. Recently special lenses have been developed which cleverly demark the boundaries of colour frequencies so that some colour-blind people can see in full colour for the first time. If you haven't seen the YouTube clips of people putting these glasses on for the first time, you should watch. It is very moving. It is life-changing.<br /><br />There is another sort of colour-blindness that is less well understood, because it's the colour of love that goes unseen. Once you know this colour you can see it everywhere - in the sun and the wind, in trees and flowers, in the faces of the people you meet. It is life-changing. Some of the things that used to seem so important no longer matter. Little things do matter: a kind word, a helping hand. Jesus described it as like finding treasure in a field. In the end it's the only thing that counts. In the Gospel of Thomas, Jesus says the Kingdom of God is spread out upon the Earth but people don't see it.<br /><br /><br />So how do you get glasses that reveal the colour of love? It's not that easy, and there's a price to be paid. You could compare it to when Neo gets ejected from the Matrix. In every case I can think of, a person's life has had to be unplugged from the system in some way. Some may actually die for a few minutes before being revived; some may lose everything they had; some may renounce normal life for holy orders; some escape common reality using hallucinogenic drugs. Even then, you still have to really want it. Seek and you will find.<br /><br />The choice is yours:the red pill or the blue one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7n9WYdTUVDDKSvhmdxwa0hh1yrjUYP-Om7PgLwm3ERnl9PoAbpGAcScf1tnlf5seWId79YYfWR_WK2eoIaEhTFXDDqjo7CMcabwBf7JZwPPbVGZPjPRbyhh21I2auMCPCPjI5Rjz5jjfj/s1600/bd3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="580" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7n9WYdTUVDDKSvhmdxwa0hh1yrjUYP-Om7PgLwm3ERnl9PoAbpGAcScf1tnlf5seWId79YYfWR_WK2eoIaEhTFXDDqjo7CMcabwBf7JZwPPbVGZPjPRbyhh21I2auMCPCPjI5Rjz5jjfj/s400/bd3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-49433712892535422082019-05-20T12:30:00.002+01:002021-02-11T16:57:47.657+00:00A Good Death<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2x2DrG4fYdbgNAUY2OUZ6GSlAOy87lv1oD6e7GRiZGxAzUzpIyH9KRXzVUwG2f7rT3gpB51GF2VMNCrizAGz86Rsz0zCPRZjNKFRUMBcEsGRVFauoIjw8oQst_JMBqs5PgqWJSbvd64L/s1600/hand_2073098b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="620" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2x2DrG4fYdbgNAUY2OUZ6GSlAOy87lv1oD6e7GRiZGxAzUzpIyH9KRXzVUwG2f7rT3gpB51GF2VMNCrizAGz86Rsz0zCPRZjNKFRUMBcEsGRVFauoIjw8oQst_JMBqs5PgqWJSbvd64L/s400/hand_2073098b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="color: grey; text-align: center;">(attribution unknown; included under Fair Use provision)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Kathryn Mannix said: “There are only two days with fewer than twenty-four hours in each lifetime, sitting like bookmarks astride our lives; one is celebrated every year, yet it is the other that makes us see living as precious.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the film of the
same name, Shirley Valentine stays on after her holiday in Greece,
but as a waitress not a holidaymaker. A holiday needs an end or it is
not a holiday, just another day. In the same way a life on Earth must
have an end if it is to be worth living. Good people, like a good
book, should have a happy ending. It is the job of hospices to ensure
as far as possible that those with terminal illnesses have a good
death.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What a wonderful
thing the hospice movement is. Thanks to the skill and care of the
doctors and nurses who work in palliative care, patients nearing the
end of their lives can spend their days in comfort and pleasant
surroundings, in a friendly environment. So they may arrive at the
point where they have taken care of business, settled their
outstanding grievances, said goodbye to family and friends, and are
ready to make the transition to the next level of reality.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A hospice close to
where I live has just launched a joint scheme with a nearby major
hospital to provide volunteer visitors for those about to die, and
whose family or friends cannot be with them all the time - or not at
all; I am privileged to be one of those volunteers. The benefits of
this scheme are three-fold: first, it frees up the nursing staff to
attend to other patients without having to monitor the dying one;
second, it allows family members to leave the bedside for meals or to
rest, knowing that they will be called immediately if required;
third, and most importantly, the patient feels that they haven’t
been left alone to die.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One of the saddest
calls I took when I was with with a well-known crisis helpline, was
from a woman with no family, dying alone at home. She didn’t like
to think of her body lying unattended for weeks before being
discovered. I felt strongly that it was morally wrong, in any society
at any time, that the old and sick should be allowed to end their
days alone and uncared for. I still feel the same way. The
Compassionate Companions scheme I have described here will help to
address this issue.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorothy House Hospice</td></tr>
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I started by
praising the hospice movement. You may ask, why do we need hospices
when we already have good hospitals? In a nutshell, hospices are
there for the dying, hospitals are for the living. Hospitals are
geared towards keeping people alive and making them better. They
don’t always succeed but they will try their hardest.
Dr. Christopher Kerr said: “If you have an aversion to dying,
medical school is a pretty safe place to be. They never mention
dying.”
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Having said that,
things are changing, in the UK at least. In the last twenty years,
palliative care in our hospitals has taken a great leap forward.
Specific pain relief and symptomatic treatment often means that a
patient can remain conscious and relatively comfortable even as their
health declines. I hope that will also help the rest of us who still
have lives ahead of us - to know that death is nothing to be afraid
of.</div>
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<span id="goog_1356155590"></span><span id="goog_1356155591"></span><style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 120%; }</style>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-39048455383041331732018-12-01T18:49:00.001+00:002021-02-11T17:03:14.167+00:00Missing him<style type="text/css">
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Today I was trying
to think of a book I could read to a 14-year-old boy that I know, who
is making a slow recovery in hospital. Then I remembered a book I had
read at 14, a cracking yarn by ‘Charles’ (in reality Elfrida)
Vipont called “The Heir of Craigs”.</div>
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I had always kept
that book and despite the fact that I had not read it in fifty years,
I could still see the cover clearly in my mind’s eye. When I went
to get it however, there was no trace of it. Somehow, at some point,
some house move maybe, I must have let it go. How could I do that? It
was a part of my history, almost a part of me you could say. I felt a
sense of loss – I no longer had this book that I hadn’t looked at
in half a century.</div>
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There was no other
way. Within half an hour I had found a second-hand copy in good
condition with my favourite on-line bookseller, Abebooks, and soon it
will be back with me once again, and I can breathe a sigh of relief.</div>
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If only you could do
that with people.</div>
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In this last July I
attended the funeral of my younger brother. It was a good funeral,
the church was full and I delivered his eulogy without a hitch. A
great gathering of friends and family was held at his favourite pub,
and we all went home feeling we had given him the best send-off he
could have hoped for. I carried on with my life and all was well.
Actually he had lived 150 miles away and we only saw each other at
very irregular intervals so his passing didn’t really change very
much for me.</div>
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Last week, on a grey
and blustery day, my older brother and sister, my deceased brother’s
fiancée and his closest two friends gathered at the harbour a short
drive from where he lived, and watched as his mortal remains rested
briefly on the surface of the water before disappearing beneath the
waves. It was an intimate moment, which brought us all together in a
mutual bond of sorrow.</div>
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Now that the brother
I rarely saw is gone, I miss him, and there is no replacement. He was
the only one. His presence on the planet had been sufficient, just
knowing he was there, and now he isn’t. I suppose if there’s one
comforting thought that comes from all this, it’s that, hard as it
may be to imagine this, other people probably think the same about me
as I do for my brother. I hope my presence is on the whole a good
one.</div>
<br />Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-13025078701266099832018-08-26T18:43:00.000+01:002018-08-26T18:43:23.908+01:00Respect!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"<i>Respect</i>" by Aretha Franklin, who died ten days ago.</div>
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You may have heard it said when you were a child: "Respect your elders". Later in your life you might have heard people say "Respect has to be earned". So, who's right? And wouldn't you like to be shown a little respect from time to time? Respect seems to be in short supply these days.<br />
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Respect comes in different colours. You can respect someone for what they've done; for example you might respect a person for saving a life, even if you know nothing else about them. You can respect someone for who they are, whether that's Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama, or Kofi Annan. You may show respect for the law: policemen, judges and so on. Perhaps you respect your parents, or perhaps not. But surely respect should be mutual. Policemen should also respect <u>you</u>; a father should respect his children. A teacher should respect the pupils - even the 5 year-olds - especially the 5 year-olds. Have you ever seen a parent cursing and swearing at their young child in a shop? Isn't that one of the saddest, most shameful and cowardly abuses that a grown man or woman can inflict on a young life?<br />
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Respect can be won; respect can also be lost. That feeling, when someone you looked up to, someone you aspired to be like, your own personal hero, lets you down, it's as if the ground you stood on crumbles beneath you, your hope is shattered and you start to question whether there is any good thing left in the world to believe in.<br />
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There is only one thing worse than losing respect for someone who meant something special to you, and that is losing respect for yourself. If you can't respect yourself, no-one else is going to. The Staples Singers had it right: "If you don't respect yourself / Ain't no-one gonna give a good cahoot". Losing your self-respect is like removing the foundations from a building; it's only a matter of time before the whole edifice comes crashing to the ground. It's no wonder that these two great songs "Respect" and "Respect Yourself" were both sung by gospel singers (Aretha Franklin and Mavis Staples). They both knew how, growing up in poor black neighbourhoods, their self respect was about the only thing that couldn't be taken away from them.<br />
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"A little respect (just a little bit)" - can go a long way towards making life better for all of us.<br />
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"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us."</blockquote>
<i>Marianne Williamson</i><br />
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<i>"Respect Yourself" </i>by The Staples Singers</div>
<i><br /></i>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-6964580014882724162018-04-12T19:49:00.000+01:002018-04-12T19:49:46.294+01:00A Change Is Gonna Come<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centres of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.</i></div>
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Robert F Kennedy</div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image:Robert F. Kennedy appearing before Platform Committee, August 19, 1964.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4524203</span></i></span></div>
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This is my third attempt. It’s so important
I can’t mince words. A big change will come and it will be good but it is so
big that no-one can fully imagine it.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">For too long we have shambled along,
muddling by. Our great stores of wisdom, the great religions, have forgotten
their meaning and just repeat the same old patterns without knowing why. They
have been used as tribal totems, banners to fight under, when they were made
for peace. But still they gave a voice to men and women of goodwill and if their
ways were mildly eccentric it didn’t really matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">That’s all changed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We are so arrogant, we think we’re so
clever, as we preside over poisoned seas, polluted air, extinction of species,
destruction of the rainforest, floating continents of plastic waste, global
warming, poverty, war, mass migration and more. Faced with such monumental
challenges we indulge in our own personal grievances and petty squabbles while
nothing gets done. Time is not on our side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We simply do not have the luxury of shillyshallying
any longer. We will have to unite. The basic principle of the major religions
is this: that if we truly care for each other without preference or prejudice,
and if we truly care for the earth and all its plants and animals, we can have
happy, fulfilling lives and there will be peace and plenty for all. That’s it.
All the rest is embroidery. If we can all come together under these principles
and set aside our minor differences, then we can start rebuilding our broken
world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">All the old arguments about whether God
exists now become obsolete. The question never made sense anyway. True belief
cannot be contained in words; it has to be expressed in the way we live our
lives. This belief-in-action is something everyone can share in. It’s simply a
question of working together for the common good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Everyone has a part to play in making our
new world. We are all here for a reason. Some may be called to become martyrs
for the cause, there will be activists, but there will also be a need for
artists, poets, flower arrangers and people who sweep the floor. The one thing
they will all have is a belief in a better world, and a burning desire to make
it happen. They will be guided by a love of this beautiful world with its lands
and seas, its plants and animals, and all of its diverse and beautiful people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">As Robert Kennedy said: </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“There are those that look at things the way
they are, and ask why? I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It can be done, whether in our lifetime or
our children’s or great-grandchildren’s, it can be done. The journey of a
thousand miles begins with a single step. Take that step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Take that first step - ask yourself: What
is the unique gift that I can offer to the world? Then see what happens next.</span></div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-80403741855800226732018-03-21T15:38:00.001+00:002021-02-11T17:31:52.556+00:00Don't kiss the statue!<br />
While it is good to do what you love, problems can arise when you love what you do.<br />
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Yesterday I watched a scene from the film “My Fair Lady”, starring Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn. The film is a reworking of Bernard-Shaw’s play “Pygmalion”, in which Prof. Henry Higgins turns a Cockney flower-girl called Eliza into a society beauty, and then begins to fall in love with her.<br />
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Incidentally this reminds me of when I was at school in Greenwich and went in for a race. When I went to report my position, I was rather taken aback when the prefect shouted “NINE”! I was unsure how to answer this, until a teacher helped me out: “He wants to know your NAME”. What has this to do with My Fair Lady? Prof Higgins lives in Mayfair, which sounds like “My Fair”, when Eliza says it.<br />
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Perhaps if I had loved the work of my hands as much as the mythical sculptor Pygmalion, I might have done better at school. The danger comes from loving your work too much. Then you become the slave of your own creation, and it makes a mockery of your life.<br />
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What happens if your work is taken away from you? If you’re strong, like Doris Day, who trained from an early age to be a dancer then broke her leg in an accident, you reinvent yourself and start again. If you’re not so gifted, life loses its meaning. Too many people have not lived past their first year of retirement. We should get to know ourselves now, not our job, not what we do, but who we really are. We should find out now while there is still time.<br />
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If the prophets and the sages are right and there is a Heaven waiting for us, we will not be spending eternity catching the 7.21 train to the office, or waiting at tables. We will be our true selves, freed from the bondage of work. But why wait until then? We may have to work to live, but we should not live to work.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6lIZm816mn0j5OuNwr6rtRkNEBUV6S6UMr_Vic8RDJW42BVdlkt3PZKfvZKfIh1qIC_wLjd0z4hn2vY1-cNU-nUekFmXAQeL0eBo9vEMfGG2plPmKKPiLNS6GJ8wXjrfdwAvFejp2PHD/s452/Pygmalion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip6lIZm816mn0j5OuNwr6rtRkNEBUV6S6UMr_Vic8RDJW42BVdlkt3PZKfvZKfIh1qIC_wLjd0z4hn2vY1-cNU-nUekFmXAQeL0eBo9vEMfGG2plPmKKPiLNS6GJ8wXjrfdwAvFejp2PHD/s320/Pygmalion.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Beaton / Six - © 1978 Beaton / Six - Image courtesy <a href="http://mptvimages.com" rel="noopener nofollow" target="_blank">mptvimages.com</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-19496070366332442282018-01-02T14:21:00.000+00:002018-01-02T14:21:40.938+00:00It's raining again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br /><i>Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain<br /> Telling me just what a fool I've been<br /> I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain<br /> And let me be alone again </i><br />-<span style="font-size: x-small;">John Gummoe</span> <br /><br />As I sit here in my living room, party balloons pinned to the ceiling, Christmas tree standing merrily in the window - outside, the steady rain pours down from a cold grey sky and the whole world seems shrouded in gloom. <br /><br /> In these latitudes rain is always miserable. In songs llike the one above, in expressions like ‘a grey day’ or ‘a wet weekend’, we are always wishing it would go away. “Rain rain go away, Come again another day” we used to sing as children. <br /><br /> Yet we should be glad of the rain. When I worked as a language teacher in Arabia, rain was a rarity. The weather was pretty much always the same, i.e. solid sun out of a deep blue sky from dawn to dusk every day. When the rain did come however, it was like drowning on land. Traffic stopped, the roads filled with water, people fled to the nearest shelter they could find. But the young children ran outside, shouting, laughing and dancing, splashing in the puddles, their heads lifted back to feel the rain streaming down their faces. <br /><br /> My horoscope for today tells me that this is a day to go out and succeed in my chosen field. Apparently I am full of energy and enthusiasm, with the full force of the planets urging me on. But actually all I want to do is watch the raindrops running down the window and think of all the things I could have done better. Rain always trumps stars. <br /><br /> The meterological forcast is frequently more accurate than the astrological one. It tells me that in three days time the rain will clear up and we shall see some sunshine. Then doubtless I shall feel upbeat and positive, ready to take on and conquer the world, although perhaps by then my horoscope will warn me to be careful. All this goes to show is that my moods come and go just like the weather, while life goes on much the same. So today I’m going to enjoy being sad, and if you don’t like it, come back in three days’ time. I’ll still be here.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-3153746287744815902017-11-16T19:23:00.000+00:002017-11-16T19:23:46.728+00:00You are the light<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.<br />
3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good.</blockquote>
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<div style ="clear:left;">As we approach the Winter solstice, the nights draw in, the days are short and dark. Harvest is behind us and Winter just ahead. The trees stand like skeletons against the cloudy sky, as Nature hunkers down for the cold months to come.<br /></div>
<br />
Now as the old year comes to an end, we look forward to the new year, we light bonfires, beacons, candles, we keep vigil in readiness for a new beginning; in Church we light Advent candles for the one whose birth brought a new beginning to the world.<br />
<br />
Back in May, things were very different for me. Bright, crisp early mornings, making way for warm sunny days, as I made my way across the North of Spain, through the Spring-coloured countryside along the pilgrim trail called the Camino de Santiago. It was day 26 - one of the longest legs of the journey, at 28½ kilometres – going from Villar de Mazarife to the city of Astorga. The walk was utterly beautiful but long and hard. The rough orangey track cut through the forest up and down slopes in an unbroken line for mile after mile.<br />
<br />
One thing you soon realise when making this pilgrimage is that it forces you to confront your demons, even ones you didn't know you had. Before starting the Camino I had quit the voluntary work that meant so much to me, on a matter of principle. Now I was hot, exhausted, and racked with self-doubt. It was at this point that I arrived the the 'Oasis', a rest stop for pilgrims, with bottled drinks and fruit to eat in exchange for a donation. I sat down in the shade of a makeshift shelter, trying to muster the physical and mental strength to carry on. When I looked up, I saw that previous visitors had written on the wooden boards, and directly over my head was a simple depiction of a candle with the words “You are the light”. From my perspective, at that time, this was a message to me; I was guided to this spot; I was supposed to see it; that was all I needed. As I walked on I wondered: was it help from above or just a lucky chance? Then on my left I saw a concrete pillar some 30 feet high; beautifully drawn on the concrete, a hand reaching down from from the sky to grasp another hand reaching up, as if to save someone from drowning.<br />
<br />
This Winter, when all around looks dark, remember this: You are the light of the world.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-58076549552853317922017-10-27T17:35:00.000+01:002017-10-27T17:35:42.787+01:00What we do to children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><br /></b>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u>Useless things they taught me at school</u></div>
<br />
In my adult life I have taught English to foreign students, programmed computers, and worked in administration. I have rarely if ever used, and so pretty much forgotten, all these:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Geometry, Trigonometry, Calculus</li>
<li>Biology</li>
<li>Chemistry</li>
<li>French</li>
<li>Geography</li>
<li>History</li>
</ul>
<br />
Let's say I spent 15 years in education and two-thirds was useless; that's ten years of my life wasted, at a cost of thousands of pounds to the taxpayer.<br />
<br />
Now a list of <u>what was useful</u> to me:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>English Language and Literature, especially poetry and the appreciation of poetry</li>
<li>Music – including singing, playing and appreciation</li>
<li>Religious Knowledge – especially the thought-provoking discussions</li>
<li>Woodwork: I was never any good at it but it has still been a good practical skill</li>
<li>Physics: Newtonian physics, that is. Light, Sound, Motion etc</li>
<li>Latin: because it helps me understand English better</li>
<li><i>Plus independent critical thinking</i></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
Finally, the things I <u>remember and treasure</u>.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Spending an afternoon with my class at eight years old, in the park, under the trees, playing traditional singing games, like “The Farmer's In His Den” and “In And Out The Dusty Bluebells”.</li>
<li>Singing in my church choir and school choirs as a boy.</li>
<li>Listening to my class teacher at the end of each day when I was ten or eleven, reading from the great children's classics, like Black Beauty and Tom Sawyer.</li>
<li>In my secondary school, being given independence and responsibility: finding my own way three miles to and from school and arriving on time; freedom to roam in the lunch break; responsibility for finding my own way to the playing field a couple of miles away for sports.</li>
<li>In my senior years at school, English lessons being given over entirely to wide-ranging discussions covering political and moral issues, philosophies, the nature of knowledge and the strangeness of life. (We were expected to take responsibility for reading our set books).</li>
</ul>
<br />
I wonder how I would have turned out if they had spent ten years helping me to develop and deepen as a human being rather than stuffing me with useless facts that I would forget anyway.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-28864953561287992792017-09-24T14:41:00.000+01:002017-09-25T13:14:41.877+01:00Smoke and Mirrors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Autumn has officially arrived. We had the equinox, we heard the thunder, and now that Summer is over, the sun has come out. English weather.<br />
<br />
I'm lucky enough to live in Wiltshire. Most people couldn't point to Wiltshire on a map; it's just somewhere you go through on the way to somewhere else, so Wiltshire retains its mystery. Everybody knows about Stonehenge and the Avebury stone circle, but there is ancient history in the soil, in the folds of the hills and in the white horses etched onto those hills. There is strangeness in the prohibited areas on Salisbury plain, the deserted village of Imber which can only be visited once a year, and in the loud thumps and bumps that can be heard from Marlborough to Warminster as the army plays with its toys on the Plain, while everyone carries on as if it were some grumbling volcano waiting to erupt.<br />
<br />
In 2009 the four district councils of Wiltshire were amalgamated, bringing North Wilts, West Wilts, Kennet and Salisbury under a unified administration. Perfectly sensible no doubt, but it conceals the fact that, under the surface, they really are four quite distinct and different places, which rarely interact with each other.<br />
<br />
So indeed it is with Autumn, running from the equinox to the solstice, but effectively sliced into two halves by the cross-quarter day known as All Hallows (or All Saints, or Halloween <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3850853252582871664#sdfootnote1sym"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></a>), or Samhain. Early Autumn can be characterised by still, sunny, misty mornings, trees in shades of green and gold, the smell of bonfire smoke, and flowers in the garden, after a final flourish, beginning to die back; a feeling of busyness following the lazy days of Summer. From November on, there is a distinct change. The earlier friendliness in the elements has gone; there are strong winds, rain from grey skies, cold mornings and cold nights, gathering darkness, a sense of closing in, stocking up ready for the freezing wastes of Winter.<br />
<br />
In between these two states of being, we find ourselves in a no-man's-land, a hiatus hovering half-way between the in-breath and the out-breath, between the bright and the dark, between life and death. This is a threshold, a liminal space, a magical space, a dangerous place, a doorway into the unknown, to disaster or rich rewards. This is the time for heroes to abandon the safety of home and set out on bold adventures, to watch as the sun sets in red and rust, and to feel the call of the wild like fire in your blood. The veil between heaven and earth is thin; spirits roam out in the material world, voices in the darkness calling your name. At night you may look long at the logs burning in the hearth, the solid wood turning to ashes as the smoke rises, and you think about those who have passed through your life and now are gone.<br />
<br />
The people of day come and go, do their work, talk and laugh, while just below the surface, the old mysteries stir in their sleep.<br />
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<a class="sdfootnotesym" href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3850853252582871664#sdfootnote1anc" name="sdfootnote1sym">1</a> There
is a technical difference which I will ignore</div>
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Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-43606261511094357872017-08-06T20:21:00.001+01:002017-08-06T20:25:38.299+01:00Pilgrimage<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Pilgrimage</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
That night, I put
away my belongings,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Unlocked the doors to
my existence,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Carefully folded up
the walls and roof of my life,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
And carrying only a
bundle of clothes</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
On my back, I set
myself free.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
My way lay over the
far horizon</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Every step a step
into the unknown</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Fired by wind and
water and birdsong</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
And laughter, kind
hearts and wisdom</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Of those I passed
among.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
The landscape spread
before me like an ocean</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
That I could take my
voyage upon,
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
I climbed big waves
like hills and mountains</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Trod small ripples
like rocks and stones</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
That nestled in pools
of green and gold.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
The land I travelled
gave me of itself.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Rugged as the rocks
and tall as the peaks,</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
With eagle's eye I
saw my life</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
What passed for my
life, furtive and dark</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Hiding among my
worldly cares.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">And so I reached my final destination</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Santiago, where the
mythic saint washed up.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
My staff I leant
against a wall and with fine food</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
Good wine and
celebrations I laid my head to rest.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
But still the road
sang to my heart</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;">The song of lovers
torn apart.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</style>Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-6394789057914812222017-03-28T14:52:00.000+01:002017-03-28T14:52:23.142+01:00The Nettle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-87479796858558964652017-03-12T16:16:00.000+00:002018-01-02T20:15:18.581+00:00We are all connected<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Imagine, if you can, that you have been blind since birth. All your other senses work well, you can smell if the bacon is burning, you can recognise people by their voices, you can reach out and touch things, people – you can know a person by feeling their face. You map out the interior of your home by sound, by temperature, by knowing the surfaces. You navigate outside in the same way, knowing familiar places by their sound or smell. All your senses combine to give you a model in your brain of the world, and using this model you live a complete, non-visual life.<br />
<br />
But how will you know if your son is waving to you from a window? How will you know the look of love in your lover's eyes? How will you understand the dazzling beauty of a glorious Summer day? We who have sight take these things for granted, but try to imagine how difficult it must be for a blind person to understand how we know that eight miles above us a plane is silently streaking across the blue sky. But the blind person is unaware of the limit of their perception because they have never known what it is like to not have that limit.<br />
<br />
We are all like that blind man. We can look back in time but we can't look ahead. In order to communicate we have to frame our thoughts in words, so that the listener can reconstruct our thought from the spoken words. We can only be in one place, we can only look in one direction at a time. We don’t have a sense for our connectedness with each other and the universe. Our capacity for accepting and giving love is attenuated. But all this is normal to us; we are unaware of our limitations because that is all we have ever known.<br />
<br />
Imagine, if you can, how it must be for someone who has known life beyond these boundaries. Well, some people have. It is estimated that about 15 million people in the USA alone have had an NDE, a Near-Death Experience. They tell of a sense of love a million times stronger than any love they have known, they can communicate without words, they have all-round vision, they can be in many places at the same time. But above all they know that they are not separate individuals, but are an integral part of the universe, connected and interconnected with every living being, with every star and every atom. For them it is as though they have lived all their lives in darkness and now someone has turned on the light. St Paul had a similar experience on the road to Damascus; he wrote from personal knowledge about how it will be for us at the end of this earthly life:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>So this is the first lesson: “We are not human beings on a spiritual journey. We are spiritual beings on a human journey”</b>. (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin).</blockquote>
But it doesn't stop there.<br />
<br />
Their brief taste of real love, as a tangible fabric of light that is the substance of all existence, changes their lives forever. They dedicate the rest of their lives to helping other people, in medical care, education, counselling, or any of the caring professions. They are more tolerant, less competitive, less interested in material possessions, more into friendships and Nature. They are full of enthusiasm for life, determined to make the most of each day. <b>They all agree that love is the only thing that matters, the only thing you really can take with you when you go. This is the second lesson.</b><br />
<br />
What sort of world would we have if we all had an NDE? Perhaps a world without violence and war, without addiction or homelessness, without racial conflict, without a compulsion to own more and more things while other people have less and less. It might be a place where everyone would feel valued and wanted. We could have a planet that we cherished and cared for.<br />
<br />
NDEs will always be the exception not the rule. Only one in seven who come close to death have an NDE. But the rest of us can learn from them. As Albert Einstein said:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”</i> (Albert Einstein)</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-65403268302531764022017-02-04T23:45:00.000+00:002017-02-04T23:53:46.815+00:00Love is a blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MRrTN3cWHy4eSQR5UlhB_G66-I-j8Gj75T8mgqPbuiR8Sv1PRjkKpcF252dzygkPoakM_AJeU25ffVv3k50UgJqFat_HtEV7bTFgdkWkEGalQvTj09HJ63lIMZxqcwRHeBD6lAev62ip/s1600/Venus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MRrTN3cWHy4eSQR5UlhB_G66-I-j8Gj75T8mgqPbuiR8Sv1PRjkKpcF252dzygkPoakM_AJeU25ffVv3k50UgJqFat_HtEV7bTFgdkWkEGalQvTj09HJ63lIMZxqcwRHeBD6lAev62ip/s320/Venus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Does Love exist? No-one is quite sure. Astronomers have now detected background radiation from the farthest edges of the universe and yet there is no sign so far of Planet Love. Venus was a big disappointment, just a lot of hot air, a celestial body maybe but not one to cuddle up to. “Love all” says the tennis umpire; all that means is nothing's happening.<br />
<br />
“All you need is love” sang The Beatles, but try telling that to the rent man. It doesn't seem to make you happy when you have it – witness all those sad blues songs. Love is not dependable; it's always the ones you love who let you down. “Only love can break your heart” sang Neil Young. Love is illogical – you try all you can to keep it for yourself and it disappears, and yet when you give it away it comes straight back to you. Love is messy – just messy. Need I say more?<br />
<br />
What does it mean anyway? For a cat it's a matter of stroking of fur; for a dog, throwing a ball. It can mean doing what your Dad tells you or remembering when it's your Mum's birthday. For those in their twenties it just means sex; for those in their thirties it's arguing; for those in their sixties it's company. <br />
All in all it's simply too much effort. Wouldn't it be much better if we forgot all about it? We could have nice, predictable lives doing what we wanted for ourselves, without having to even think about anyone else.<br />
<br />
Nice boring predictable pointless lives.<br />
<br />
All right then I was only kidding. You can't throw love away, it makes the world go round, it makes you sing, it's “the little thickness of the coin” (E.E. Cummings), it's the fifth element, it's the seventh wave (Sting), it's all around (The Troggs), love is the answer, love is the flower you've got to let grow (John Lennon). Life without love is like a tree without fruit (Khalil Gibran), or like a song with no tune.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnd_QJ848YkW9peBqXja3SPVfd8UemLueGsFKnLSLxdxJ5LfDCEaqFfNInhmgbsnfwC69Tbn6wnOPDl6URxHEHEPFbGsMqtdDr34HmYzSGIMANLFxMC5LGw9Kx1-OZFhY0A41alnActlo/s1600/St.-Valentine-card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnd_QJ848YkW9peBqXja3SPVfd8UemLueGsFKnLSLxdxJ5LfDCEaqFfNInhmgbsnfwC69Tbn6wnOPDl6URxHEHEPFbGsMqtdDr34HmYzSGIMANLFxMC5LGw9Kx1-OZFhY0A41alnActlo/s200/St.-Valentine-card.jpg" width="200" /></a>“Love is patient,love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking,it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 1 Corinthians 13.<br />
<br />
According to the ancients, it is love that holds the stars together.<br />
<br />
February 14th is approaching. If you have found love, be thankful; and if you haven't, watch out! St Valentine is coming to get you!Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-80157120823044162262016-12-22T18:33:00.001+00:002016-12-22T18:33:52.272+00:00Land of the midday night<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UxORs_5uxQALeVbZyl0lZpsNG6HKy4aEF0OKjNWbRjEmDZT0gLoVxy1_NNrhFpSGvAERzuyw89eZONK7QN9ZDyJ-_phRBtwkYi3os7IKTDgEgpjZjJk3InyTqxBF39gR9mu-Y17Ik25n/s1600/Troms%25C3%25B8_view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UxORs_5uxQALeVbZyl0lZpsNG6HKy4aEF0OKjNWbRjEmDZT0gLoVxy1_NNrhFpSGvAERzuyw89eZONK7QN9ZDyJ-_phRBtwkYi3os7IKTDgEgpjZjJk3InyTqxBF39gR9mu-Y17Ik25n/s400/Troms%25C3%25B8_view.jpg" width="400" /></a>One of the things I
would love to see, but probably never will, is the midnight sun. If I
were to travel North to somewhere like Tromsø in Norway around the
middle of June, I could stand on the elegant bridge across the
Tromsøysundet Strait and watch the sun set over the water, then
around midnight it would hover briefly just above the horizon before
ascending once again to start the new day.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Of course what goes
up must come down, and every year around Christmas time, the sun
never quite manages to rise as far as the horizon. The sky begins to
lighten around midday but then darkens once more and falls back into
night. In Tromsø it requires a special kind of courage and endurance
to keep your spirits as Winter approaches. The days get shorter,
darker and colder and then disappear altogether into perpetual night.
You need to stay strong to survive, but each year some inhabitants
find they no longer have that strength; that is why there is a tall
fence along the Tromsø bridge.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
That is also why all
over the world above the Tropic of Cancer, around the middle of
December, there are festivals of light: Christmas, Saturnalia, St
Nicholas Day, Saint Lucia, Hanukkah, Yule. We need the reassurance of
good company, laughter, food, bright colours and light. Some
authorities call it a superstitious attempt to rekindle the sun, but
that is just a metaphor. We are really keeping the light alive in us.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Spare a thought for
those who are alone this Christmas, those whose light has been taken
away, whose loved one has died, those who find no joy in the tinsel
and glitter. For some, Christmas simply adds insult to injury.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
For the twelve days
of Christmas the year holds its breath, the days refuse to lengthen,
but gradually at first, then faster and faster as we move towards
Spring, the light returns. For us too, in our lives, like a miracle
out of nowhere, after sorrow, we find peace. May the spirit of peace
bring light into your life this Christmas.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just remember in the winter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Far beneath the bitter snows</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lies the seed that with the sun's love,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In the spring becomes the rose</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Rose, Amanda McBroom</i></div>
</i>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br /><br />
</div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-2551972371099790692016-09-24T20:00:00.000+01:002017-09-12T11:47:04.910+01:00Heroes and Villains<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_orhKzRoGDQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_orhKzRoGDQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br />
In 1966 the Beach
Boys released the groundbreaking album “Smile”, including two
classic hit songs Good Vibrations and Heroes and Villains. The
multi-part harmonies were a technological wonder, being recorded at
different times and different studios then cut together afterwards.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj524D3z99OCeJLGpXef8fndE68vUaqeLfsBmSrNZY2pn13eoWJpwZGSIj7nqLWOId33RTVvPklb_LK_V-YgGPuDtofwj_MgB_8hSiIRP9dtVtbpw-MHqEIcvDe7AE4kn4NmOyLR3s1wNic/s1600/cowboy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj524D3z99OCeJLGpXef8fndE68vUaqeLfsBmSrNZY2pn13eoWJpwZGSIj7nqLWOId33RTVvPklb_LK_V-YgGPuDtofwj_MgB_8hSiIRP9dtVtbpw-MHqEIcvDe7AE4kn4NmOyLR3s1wNic/s320/cowboy.jpg" width="217" /></a>As so often happens,
the music is so powerful it overwhelms the lyrics, which seem almost
redundant. So it was a discovery for me to read them for the first
time today. According to Vandyke Parks who co-wrote the song with
Brian Wilson, it was about “the Indian thing - we were trying to
exculpate our guilt, to atone for what we had done to the aborigines
of our own place. There’s a lot of things about belief in Smile,
and its very question of belief is what was plaguing Brian at that
time”.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Here's a sample of
the words:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Fell in love years
ago<br />
With an innocent girl<br />
From the Spanish and Indian home<br />
Home
of the heroes and villains<br />
Once at night Catillian squared the
fight<br />
And she was right in the rain of the bullets that eventually
brought her down<br />
But she's still dancing in the night<br />
Unafraid
of what a dude'll do in a town full of heroes and villains</blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Kt9KYip3dUpOBgnist_2RiFf6yG68GebR6U-08PbhUd9tBu23EVwpJW72utecLKVGkwbpnbpX8D_DSICtLPWCc5Bsix1ACLSJxSXbgFNr-0wGHTbXW_fDUlc1ZxvHYFW7UvK_HLYjoxI/s1600/160920_JURIS_protesters-pipeline.jpg.CROP.promo-xlarge2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Kt9KYip3dUpOBgnist_2RiFf6yG68GebR6U-08PbhUd9tBu23EVwpJW72utecLKVGkwbpnbpX8D_DSICtLPWCc5Bsix1ACLSJxSXbgFNr-0wGHTbXW_fDUlc1ZxvHYFW7UvK_HLYjoxI/s320/160920_JURIS_protesters-pipeline.jpg.CROP.promo-xlarge2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
But the US makes
movies like Dances With Wolves, feels guilty, and carries on
regardless. As I write this, the Sioux nation are blockading access
to lands guaranteed to them under treaty, in an attempt to stop an
oil pipeline from being driven through. As the old hymn goes “And
the choice goes by forever, 'twixt that darkness and that light”.
Each age throws up a new set of villains and a new breed of heroes to
oppose them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-align: center;">Protesters, including members of the Standing Rock Sioux tribe, march to a construction site for the Dakota Access Pipeline, near Cannon Ball, North Dakota, on Sept. 3 </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #281b21; font-family: , "helvetica" , sans-serif; line-height: 11px; text-align: right;">Robyn Beck/Getty Images</span></span><br />
<br />
It sometimes seems as
if it is coming to a showdown. The world is facing critical
challenges, climate change, record numbers of mouths to feed, war and
mass displacement of people, an increasing divide between rich and
poor, all these need urgent attention. On all these fronts the heroes
are in action, developing renewable resources, feeding the hungry,
tending the wounded and distributing aid. And yet governments around
the world seem gripped by some insanity, determined to do everything
in their power to make matters worse.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
The recent bombing of
Aleppo in which eleven Red Cross workers were killed is a perfect
example. Those responsible – the U. S. and Russia – have no
regard for death and destruction so long as it is not on their own
soil. They have little regard even for their own citizens. In Britain
our government has made war against the poor and the sick,
withdrawing funds from organisations trying to help. The villains are
getting cocky.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
In The Lord Of The
Rings, the ring of power bore this inscription:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
“One Ring to rule
them all, One Ring to find them,<br />
One Ring to bring them all and in
the darkness bind them”.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
In our own lives we
are seeing Tolkein's words fulfilled.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Faced with the
immense power of darkness in the world, the heroes are facing a
dilemma: whether to give up the struggle and admit defeat, whether to
fight violence with violence, or whether to embody a better way to
be, and hold out against all the odds.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
This is the same
choice that faced Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. The Emperor taunts
him:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
“Good, I can feel
your anger. I am defenceless. Take your weapon. Strike me down with
all of your hatred and your journey towards the dark side will be
complete! “</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
What a temptation
that is! But giving way to that anger would mean becoming a part of
the cycle of violence, joining the villains. We can't let that
happen. Luke does not give up. He replies:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
“Never. I'll never
turn to the Dark Side. You've failed, your highness. I am a Jedi,
like my father before me. “<br />
We are the heroes, we are the lightbearers. Though we may be few we are powerful. As the writer of John's gospel says: “The light shines on in the darkness. The darkness has not enveloped it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
The light will come.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://newheavenonearth.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/holding-light-in-darkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://newheavenonearth.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/holding-light-in-darkness.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-55609742800046696742016-09-17T21:36:00.001+01:002016-09-17T21:36:50.361+01:00The Tree Of Adventure<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJtjr1Rzv9TYft6um0dxN2cKM2VPD6bX6qa02Nd6TxH6tzm5mJ31onQDcYljwhHVHKdAu7OLzRLmM4piBPUmdQqUIPJx-eNETCoGknSGQ3eHshg0BUh1n1AAkjxN5bK3bcbSAoVmE4S1s/s1600/MD4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJtjr1Rzv9TYft6um0dxN2cKM2VPD6bX6qa02Nd6TxH6tzm5mJ31onQDcYljwhHVHKdAu7OLzRLmM4piBPUmdQqUIPJx-eNETCoGknSGQ3eHshg0BUh1n1AAkjxN5bK3bcbSAoVmE4S1s/s320/MD4a.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother and father under the tree<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the bottom of the back garden of the house where I grew up there stood a tree. Not a very big tree, about 25 feet or so, but I and my brother could climb up and sit on a platform, which was a bit of wood we had found and fixed between two branches. From there we could see up the garden through the apple trees to the kitchen window, or the other way over the fence and into the park as far as the wood. Looking sideways we had a view over the neighbours' fences and into their gardens as they stretched along the road.<br />
<br />
There was a knack to getting up there. First we had to get one foot in an easy foothold a few feet off the ground, and then stretch up and grab the one branch that was small enough for our small hands to grasp and pull ourselves up into the air high enough to reach out for the next branch across. Then we could scramble up to the platform, holding tight in case we fell down.<br />
<br />
The day came that I had grown that little bit too much. I reached for the branch and pulled but it suddenly snapped, sending me sliding and crashing down the trunk to the ground.<br />
<br />
This sounds ridiculous compared with the giant redwood tree that Julia Butterfly Hill climbed in 1997. That tree, which she named Luna, stood not twenty but two hundred feet tall, and Julia stayed high in a shelter in its branches not for half an hour, but for 738 days, through rain and storms, tossed this way and that.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxxEAM62G1nVk1ZXfffmKMmluWlOsutuJjG7QJWmRzjzT-Uk9wHxEeG_8cwScadH6amcTy8NdQjQ8RKr2Mwz4ePiZeTQiVSmJpWzPfLdkCE1xX_Uf14wL7R9u3FuuuK73uV-8DlDhpujr/s1600/Shrewpk2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxxEAM62G1nVk1ZXfffmKMmluWlOsutuJjG7QJWmRzjzT-Uk9wHxEeG_8cwScadH6amcTy8NdQjQ8RKr2Mwz4ePiZeTQiVSmJpWzPfLdkCE1xX_Uf14wL7R9u3FuuuK73uV-8DlDhpujr/s320/Shrewpk2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wood where I played<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My tree was an alder, not a redwood. Alders are supposed to grow by streams, and I always wondered how this one came to be in my garden, until one day my father was digging and found the remains of a well next to the tree. That made sense - there was a stream running through the wood where I used to play, and that stream must have run under my garden.<br />
<br />
The stream and the wood and the garden are still there to this day, and that makes me happy. I have moved to the West Country, my brother now lives 150 miles away and my mother and father now tend a garden in Paradise. I think we all outgrow our tree in the end, but nonetheless a part of me is still a small boy, perched breathless and excited in a tree 60 feet away from home.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-19624072532530254762016-09-13T17:40:00.001+01:002016-09-13T17:54:49.996+01:00The Tree Of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg382HVQZ3fYTInZn2D5nDLfvvX6w5CQbZnkL7VZgpaucHoxd9IkgHQVd721Yz6Px3AfIM-mxyJ-eCaRjP2LHMhG1qe7WEL7GWt1bRMw_UNyMTIMx5VqzoQnkuZSTK7a1Md8Jy838IJaioN/s1600/W69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg382HVQZ3fYTInZn2D5nDLfvvX6w5CQbZnkL7VZgpaucHoxd9IkgHQVd721Yz6Px3AfIM-mxyJ-eCaRjP2LHMhG1qe7WEL7GWt1bRMw_UNyMTIMx5VqzoQnkuZSTK7a1Md8Jy838IJaioN/s400/W69.jpg" title=" " width="400" /></a></div>
I think that I shall never see<br />
A poem lovely as a tree.<br />
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest<br />
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;<br />
A tree that looks at God all day,<br />
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;<br />
A tree that may in Summer wear<br />
A nest of robins in her hair;<br />
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;<br />
Who intimately lives with rain.<br />
Poems are made by fools like me,<br />
But only God can make a tree.<br />
<br />
Joyce Kilmer<br />
<br />
This picture is my computer's wallpaper at present. There are many similar photos to be found on the internet and on greetings cards. They are well-liked because they are so beautiful. Commonly they depict a lone tree with the sun's rays shining through its branches. Often the tree is near the brow of a hill, with the sunlight shining in radial shafts from its centre.<br />
<br />
The tree stops you in your tracks, it seems to speak to you. Although you don't necessarily understand what it's saying, it speaks of a mystery, as if it were a secret portal to another realm. According to the book of Exodus, Moses had this experience when he encountered the burning bush in the desert. ("Bush" is only a guess; the original Hebrew word is only used in this one place). The story goes that God spoke to Moses from a bush that burned with a fire that did not destroy it - rather like the tree in the picture; the sun also burns with perpetual fire.<br />
<br />
Symbolically, a tree stands with its roots buried deep in the nourishment of the Earth, its trunk shoulder to shoulder with the human race, and its branches reaching up to heaven. Thus it acts as a bridge between three worlds. In Shaman practice the tree acts as a pathway for journeys of the soul. The phrase "touch wood" originates in the pagan custom of going to a tree for healing or for guidance.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5o-J6-vyKTMCbcrWajMQTQrSaRGC_qGg1OmmjOBD1uy_tc8JXGSz2xgswnzwgPF-XLf2shmjRgTpzP3frP3kvN8u5bpPAuRj8dgmLmLZy6SrFOwnpn0oOiEe3h1Rh-rt4q2qHfVmuyrd/s1600/jbhill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5o-J6-vyKTMCbcrWajMQTQrSaRGC_qGg1OmmjOBD1uy_tc8JXGSz2xgswnzwgPF-XLf2shmjRgTpzP3frP3kvN8u5bpPAuRj8dgmLmLZy6SrFOwnpn0oOiEe3h1Rh-rt4q2qHfVmuyrd/s200/jbhill.jpg" width="128" /></a>Often, when a tree stands alone in a field or at the top of a hill, people get to know and love it. They feel that as long as that tree stands, no matter how bad things may get, there is still hope. The felling of landmark trees attracts fierce opposition. In 1997, Julia Butterfly Hill climbed into a 1500 year-old Californian redwood tree threatened with destruction and stayed there through all weathers for 738 days in a successful campaign to save it. Other famous trees include the Glastonbury Thorn and the Honor Oak, as well as many less famous ones like the Brenchley Oak in Kent.<br />
<br />
Sometimes a single tree standing alone acts like a lighting conductor. Lightning tears off branches, scorches the bark and leaves the tree twisted and disfigured. But it still stands, like Paul Simon's boxer, the fighter still remains. Then it can seem as if it has acquired magical properties - like Harry Potter it has taken on power from its adversary, the power to endure:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Down in the meadow where the wind blows free,<br />
In the middle of a field stands a lightning tree.<br />
Its limbs all torn from the day it was born<br />
For the tree was born in a thunderstorm.<br />
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it's never too late for you and me;<br />
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily.<br />
(The Lightning Tree by The Settlers)</blockquote>
<br />
Perhaps we really can learn something from the trees. Like them, we too can be a bridge between Earth and heaven, (as St Francis said: "Let me be a channel for your peace"), so that people may come to us for healing and guidance; so that when we suffer tragedy, we can hold fast and endure; so that people may say of us: As long as there are people like them, there is still hope.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-69391871642222121632016-08-26T22:29:00.000+01:002016-08-26T22:29:09.727+01:00Forty Years On<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Forty years ago I
stood at the altar next to my beloved, repeating the marriage vows
after the minister, surprised to find they were different from how I
remembered, somehow finding just enough voice to be heard down the
aisles, full of trepidation, full of confidence anyway, with my life
spread out in front of me like a pile of presents waiting for me to
unwrap them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOw9JiWKpfPmxyzkZ969KyKffuWrzaX_r3q3y-KbHdPjrQTUkABoFCn9rOFUsKcCIRcWyik5mioRz2VWm5q93FyM0S8k-GdaMUWsq1uzol5AjYlE8LqmSa7w3h_9l2z-vi4Ar27AkcjNHZ/s1600/wedding1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOw9JiWKpfPmxyzkZ969KyKffuWrzaX_r3q3y-KbHdPjrQTUkABoFCn9rOFUsKcCIRcWyik5mioRz2VWm5q93FyM0S8k-GdaMUWsq1uzol5AjYlE8LqmSa7w3h_9l2z-vi4Ar27AkcjNHZ/s320/wedding1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I wrote my speech on
a scrap of paper on the way to the wedding reception. Jenny the
bridesmaid, aged 4, ran up and down between the tables shouting while
I strained to make myself heard. My new bride and I slipped away to
the nearby canalside to have some romantic photos taken by my old
school-friend Tim. Eventually we said our goodbyes to all the friends
and relations and were driven to the railway station, thence to Devon
for the honeymoon. When we changed trains at Exeter, the friendly and
sharp-eyed train guard made sure we had the carriage to ourselves.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Two weeks later we
were on our way to Gadaffi's Libya, where I would take up the post of
English Language Teacher at the Petroleum Institute. That was
followed a year later by a similar assignment in Saudi Arabia. Those
two years changed my life. Returning to England I retrained as a
computer programmer, bought a house, and brought forth a child.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Twenty years later my
children had flown the nest or were about to, my parents were dead,
the computer work had finally dried up, my house was sold, and my
dream of becoming a Church minister was history. At this point my
life as I knew it came to an end.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
I bought myself a
canal boat to live on and the next twelve years were spent wandering
the watery wilderness. As the old song goes, “Life goes on, long
after the reason for living is gone”. Probably the only reason I
can sit here writing this now is because my wife never gave up on me,
which I suppose proves I married the right one, no-one else would
have stayed the distance. I survived as best I could, taking whatever
work came my way – shop assistant, driver, chambermaid (yes!).
Canal life was beautiful but hard. I remember one night searching for
firewood in the pouring rain so that I could light a small fire, as
there wasn't enough money to buy fuel for the stove. All through this
– and more – my wife stuck with me, keeping me going, because I
just didn't care any more.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
There's a great
passage in Ezekiel where the prophet is taken in a vision to a valley
where the bones of Israel's dead warrior's lay strewn. God asks:
“Man, can these dry bones live?”, and all Ezekiel can say in
response is: “Only you can answer that” (my rendition). That was
exactly how I felt about my life, and so apparently did God. Because
bone by bone, piece by piece, he reassembled my life.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
It hasn't been easy.
I'm older and I hope wiser now. Almost all the older generation who
witnessed my marriage have gone from the Earth, Gadaffi is dead, my
best man (and best friend) won't talk to me, my children are forging
careers in art and music, Jenny is managing a holiday business in
France, my photographer friend became director of a well-known
company, left (to run a hotel, lost it) then made a heroic come-back.
Time passes.</div>
I don't know what the
future holds in store for me, but I hope I will live it
authentically, and I hope I never stop until I get to the very end.
This weekend the two of us will celebrate with a quiet couple of days
on the coast and a meal out. I think we deserve that.Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-33503684511469397782016-08-16T18:02:00.000+01:002016-08-16T18:02:00.545+01:00A Tale Of Two BabiesLife is precious, but we don't realise just how precious it is until we come close to losing it.<br />
It was 1981 and my wife was pregnant with my first child. In due course she was admitted to hospital and I returned home in the evening to await a call with the good news. Coincidentally at about the same time, Jilly (not her real name), my colleague at work, was admitted to the same hospital to give birth to her own first baby.<br />
<br />
As I happily went to bed that night, little did I suspect the dreadful ordeal my wife was going through. All through the night she was in labour but no baby appeared. For nearly twelve hours she struggled with the pain and effort of childbirth, with only gas and air to help her, until she was at the point of total exhaustion. In the morning when the day shift arrived they quickly ascertained that the baby was in trouble; the umbilical cord had got twisted, essentially cutting off the air supply to the little one, putting its life at risk. I was called on the phone to attend as soon as possible. An emergency caesarian section was performed under general anaesthetic. My son was safely delivered by the medical team, wrapped up and settled in a cot next to my wife's bed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ27h8-vG4ZAXRkxp2HrpfeCf1n78_AT6fgPfaYRaP0A_My5pzO9DAArT6NQaY4nx1_mPA2GYRR1fKwVDYN0bIaLQo2WGiRDYQAzXLTAM8nmJhOIU7rkkC3X4jNdCF-IO7CuJqt7QmrtgT/s1600/M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ27h8-vG4ZAXRkxp2HrpfeCf1n78_AT6fgPfaYRaP0A_My5pzO9DAArT6NQaY4nx1_mPA2GYRR1fKwVDYN0bIaLQo2WGiRDYQAzXLTAM8nmJhOIU7rkkC3X4jNdCF-IO7CuJqt7QmrtgT/s320/M.jpg" width="320" /></a>When I arrived they were both sleeping off the anaesthetic, which had crossed the placental barrier. I sat with them, bathed in the bliss of knowing they had come through okay. For the next three days my visits were to someone who could scarcely mumble through parched lips, and a baby almost completely concealed under its covers, his eyes determinedly shut.<br />
<br />
While they convalesced in hospital, I carried on working as normal. Soon after my son's birth, news came round the office about Jilly. She too had given birth by caesarian, but under anaesthetic she had inhaled something which had started a serious infection in both lungs. Antibiotics were working, but not fast enough. Her lungs were filling with fluid so that breathing became more and more difficult. Her husband was called to her bedside and told to expect the worst. She was transferred by ambulance to the nearest specialist hospital 30 miles away. It was a race against time. Would she survive long enough for the antibiotics to clear the infection?<br />
<br />
It became hard to concentrate on my work. In the evenings after visiting my wife I would heat up a ready meal and sit alone in the house we had moved into the previous year. It seemed unfair, it seemed wrong, that my wife and baby were doing well while Jilly was at the point of death. So of course I prayed. When I had finished praying I realised that I had nothing better to do so I carried on praying. My prayer became a sort of dialogue with the Almighty. As the evening turned into night and darkness filled the house I continued. I didn't need the lights. I knew my way round the house with my eyes shut and the Lord was my eyes – I didn't need to see.<br />
<br />
This became a habit. Working half in a dream during the day, nocturnal petitions to God at night. I did not, I would not, give up.<br />
<br />
Several days passed and I heard no further news. Until one morning word came round that Jilly was out of danger. It would still be a long time before she was well enough to return home, but when she did, it was to a magnificent welcome. Her house was adorned with balloons and streamers, and a huge banner that said “Welcome home Jilly” draped from the first floor windows. It made the front page in the local newspaper under the headline “Miracle Mum comes home”.<br />
I later found out that doctors from all over the country had come to see the woman who had somehow carried on living when she should have died. She became a famous medical curiosity. I also found out how many others, friends, family and church, had also been praying hard for her recovery.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh_VQdSroVDU4rYaT4Pp-xDrtdPv8Uyh4PbS1rSb-mMnKDAbVuw-0gQXIul8lA_fo_zjCJWOoAsUkrSpO1BKzMVfTPNZQWD3XBT_BaKEfNVxrRJB9qN7UZoKRaUM51KFhiMTWSQp5UaCV/s1600/A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh_VQdSroVDU4rYaT4Pp-xDrtdPv8Uyh4PbS1rSb-mMnKDAbVuw-0gQXIul8lA_fo_zjCJWOoAsUkrSpO1BKzMVfTPNZQWD3XBT_BaKEfNVxrRJB9qN7UZoKRaUM51KFhiMTWSQp5UaCV/s320/A.jpg" width="230" /></a>Both boys were quite independently named after gospel writers.<br />
<br />
My son has grown to become a noble, gentle man, an <a href="http://markelliottsmith.co.uk/" target="_blank">artist</a>, a thinker. And he has a brilliant gifted musician for a younger sister. My wife is still blossoming and still beautiful. The last I heard, Jilly and her son were doing fine.<br />
<br />
The reason for this story, I suppose, is that life really is a miracle, and it shouldn't take a brush with death to remind us of that fact. Every day we wake up and stretch is a brand new miracle, fresh out the bag.<br />
<br />
In the film “Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure”, Keanu Reeves strives to say something wise; what he comes up with is this: “Be excellent to each other. And party on, dudes!”. Which, with a slight stretch of the imagination, is what Jesus said: “Love the Lord your God... and love your neighbour as yourself”. Loving God comes down to the same thing as loving life.<br />
<br />
Life is a celebration, a feast, a party. Every day. Every miraculous, wonderful day. Enjoy!<br />
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-46141795455306402302016-03-27T18:56:00.000+01:002016-03-27T18:56:39.693+01:00All Is Full Of Love<br />
Isn't it annoying when you've got a tune going round in your head and you can't remember what it is? It happened last night as I was listening to the internet radio station Chill FM. Slipped in between two tracks of angelic ethereal beauty, one short piece that I know well, and almost certainly have on CD. Is it Nitin Sawhney? I picked my way through Prophesy one track at a time; not there. Moby? So I stepped through Play as if crossing a stream on stepping stones. What a lovely stream, how it flows! But the mystery music did not swim by. Transglobal Underground? I followed that cavern down to the end but failed to hit gold. Was it on the World Chill compilation? World Chill on Chill FM? How cool would that be? But no, the trail was getting colder.<br /><br />In the end, I found a lot of things that I was not looking for. I found the Lost City Of Atlantis, the Lost Chord, I discovered the source of the Nile and the proof of The Trisection Of The Angle, I unearthed a sledge called Rosebud, found Lord Lucan and Shergar but that track got lost in the undergrowth.<br /><br />I had listened to some fine music along the way though.<br /><br />So instead I looked up the third of the trio of tracks I had heard. It was a remix of Bjork's All Is Full Of Love.<div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
“All Is Full Of Love...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Maybe not from the sources</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You have poured yours</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Maybe not from the directions</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are staring at”</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
That's when I realised my failed search had been successful, because without it I would never have listened to all that great music. My CDs were All Full Of Music which I had not been looking for.<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzB60mY4LFKp3LSN_Zfzixz6tztUF7iYKWcwSNVaraj5Yh17p60Q3byKTYWaQ1QrSqf1nWmZgrh70GkwQ08SU4iJKf4L3PizsOXL5hIOuNz53TA28LbrswpILCiGgFsxFdttsjOd-3Ko4_/s1600/136204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzB60mY4LFKp3LSN_Zfzixz6tztUF7iYKWcwSNVaraj5Yh17p60Q3byKTYWaQ1QrSqf1nWmZgrh70GkwQ08SU4iJKf4L3PizsOXL5hIOuNz53TA28LbrswpILCiGgFsxFdttsjOd-3Ko4_/s400/136204.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Last Friday I was walking on the edge of Salisbury Plain near the Westbury White Horse. It was a clear sunny Good Friday and a fair number of people had come up the hill – walkers like me, motorists and their families, army jeeps, a trail motorbike, hang gliders, model plane fliers. Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. The wind blew steadily up the North side, keeping the hang gliders and model planes aloft; children ran around up and down the grassy slopes shouting and playing. I had got out of the house, stretched my limbs and breathed the fresh Spring air.<br /><br />Before I reached the White Horse I stopped walking. I was no longer a hiker, but a listener. First I heard the silence, a stillness stretched over twenty miles of secluded fields and trees, virtually uninhabited bar the odd army quarters. As I stood still, the quiet slowly receded and the sound of the breeze softly stirring the grasses sang in my ears. Suddenly a bird started up behind me, and then the music of the skylark fluttered down from the sky with a sound like water rippling over pebbles. That skylark - and for all I know, farther and farther, all the birds of Somerset and Wiltshire, for it seemed as if all time and distance existed in that moment.<br /><br />I'm sure everyone up at the White Horse got what they wanted on the hillside that day. I had my walk and a pint of Cornish beer at the end. And if that was all I was looking for it was all I would have got. But like someone crossing the road I stopped, looked and listened. All is full of love, and we pass by without noticing.</div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3850853252582871664.post-45976335037100480682015-12-07T16:00:00.000+00:002015-12-07T16:04:48.334+00:00Winter drawers on<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Winter drawers on, as
Terry Wogan used to say on his morning radio programme. The nights
are drawing in. The days are dim, the nights are dark.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
“Dark” is a
curious word. It has two different but related meanings. It can be
the mere absence of light. Nothing changes when we turn off the light
– no scary ghosts, no monsters under the bed. That's just our
imagination.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Or is it? Most
break-ins occur under cover of the night. The darkest deeds are done
in the blackness of night. Who knows who, or what, is lurking in the
shadows. We can't see what's there. And that is the second shade of
meaning of the word “dark”: unknown. Sinister connotations are
never far off. In The Lord Of The Rings we see the Dark Lord, and in
Star Wars there is the dark side of the force. How hard it must be
for a sightless person to understand.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The dark side of the
moon is not unlit, but unknown to us because it is always turned away
from the Earth. The Dark Ages refer to the 5<sup>th</sup> – 10<sup>th</sup>
century following the decline of the Roman empire, a time with little
recorded history. The Dark Continent, Africa, is obviously very sunny
and bright, but was for many years unexplored. “He's a dark horse”
they say. (My Aunty Eileen once said that of me)! That is a horse
whose sire and dam are both unknown. ["Pierce Egan's Book of
Sports," London, 1832].</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://d.ibtimes.co.uk/en/full/1415531/lucia-day.jpg?w=736" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://d.ibtimes.co.uk/en/full/1415531/lucia-day.jpg?w=736" height="229" width="320" /></a></td><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><img border="0" src="http://www.wdbc.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/lightstock_76277_small_user_267639-300x240.jpg" height="229" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">Amanda Lindblom performs as Santa Lucia during the traditional Queen of Light procession Varfru church in Enkoping, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">SwedenGetty</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #888888; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #888888; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The light of the world (http://scpeanutgallery.com/)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
After the Dark Ages
came the Enlightenment. We could all breathe a sigh of relief – the
lights are back on. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. As the
year turns upon the solstice we celebrate the return of the light: In
Sweden the festival of Santa Lucia (see my website for a video); in
the Jewish tradition Hanukkah; In Holland, St Martin's Day; In
Thailand, Loi Krathong; Diwali in India; and many others including
Guy Fawkes night in England, but most notably Christmas in the
Christian world. St John's Gospel says: “The light shines in the
darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
Many of those brought
back from death by doctors (not just Christians) describe meeting
Jesus as a bright light: the light is Jesus and the light is love.
Perhaps somewhere deep in our hearts we know and love that light and
long to return to it. Could this be the reason why we hate the dark?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
May you have a
brilliant Christmas.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0.2cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
Wysiwyghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09966260998458677231noreply@blogger.com0