I am the real thing behind these eyes
These bright blue eyes
Widening in delight at this stellar world
Made new right now, and now, and now.
I will not name you, or place you in a box,
I will watch you slip and slide through every moment
Making no sense, just falling apart,
Weak with laughter.
NOTHING lasts. Everything comes
And goes, like weather, or tides.
What is there to do, but
Realise my debt to life and
Trade sorrow for joy?
When I preach the gospel to the crucified people I meet on the streets, I hold hands and say little beyond, "Know who you really are. Infinitely loved, infinitely precious." Nothing else matters, truth be told.
I used to believe that to be "Saved" was to hand yourself over into the care of a deity, who would then make sure everything worked out for you, especially after you died. I am so glad that I never, as far as I know, convinced anyone. It simple didn't occur to me to realise that a cosmos in which the vast majority of conscious beings ( a much more satisfactory term than 'human' beings) were condemned to hell fire, made absolutely no sense at all. In fact, at no time, ever, did I actually believe this, much less pass it on. The mystery I still call God, simply wouldn't do such a thing, and I know this, or I know nothing.
I used to joke about that: knowing nothing, I mean, though I didn't really believe it. I was proud of my achievements: overcoming a set of fairly minor obstacles to become a reasonably successful professional became my identity. My story.
One day, I was telling my story, when I woke up. It was that sudden. Somehow, possibly out of sheer boredom, that who I really am flooded into Being, and I stopped.
I don't tell the old stories any more. I am just here, experiencing a raw, splendid and joyous existence,, so vivid, so different from the pedestrian me tied to the past, trying to make a future ... The Kingdom of Heaven is how one teacher put it, is here, now and within.
Well, yes, I'm still grumpy, selfish and unreasonable, still capable of monumental foolishness. This too, is who I really am. Infinitely loved, infinitely precious. Not the stories I tell about myself. Just me.
This post was prompted by Dr David Parrish's book: "Enlightenment Made East: Discovering The Obvious" It's free with Kindle. Which makes it amazing value
You can't become what you already are. That's about it, really. You either get it, and stop telling a story, and start living a life, or you don't Simples.
Dear Mark Harper,
There follows a statement put out by War On Want that crystallises my
concerns about the TTIP trade agreement.
I have been following the debate in the U.S. for well over a year, so
was alerted to the secrecy surrounding the agreement, the lack of any
kind of public scrutiny, and the power TTIP gives to American
Corporations, which is particularly scary, as they have an appalling
record with regard to issues such as workers' rights, and the
protection of the environment. Bearing in mind that U.S. corporations
have the same rights under American law as individual citizens, I find
that giving them the right to sue the UK over any environmental, health
and safety , or employment legislation, enacted to protect UK citizens,
extremely worrying.
It does seem rather ironic that, when we are about to embark on a
referendum over sovereignty, that the loss of sovereignty that TTIP
will invoke is not under scrutiny. Frankly, if staying in the EU
involves signing up to this trade deal, I will vote for leaving, a
position I never thought to take.
What I am seeking reassurance about in particular is:Will the TTIP
agreement be able to be used by foreign nationals to challenge and
change operating practices within the UK, particularly those relating
to the NHS and workers' conditions of employment? Is the loss of 'one
million jobs' a possibility, however remote?
What is your take on the secrecy surrounding the TTIP negotiations? Do
you believe this secrecy works to the advantage or disadvantage of
democratic debate?
Will there be any opportunity at all for opposition to TTIP to be
effectively voiced and acted upon within and outside Parliament?
In conclusion, here's the piece put out by "War On Want" that alerted
me to the fact that the grave concerns of those of us working with
vulnerable communities, have crossed the Atlantic:
"When cancer patient Paul Giles heard that the EU-US trade deal known
as TTIP might affect health services in the UK, he travelled to
Brussels to find out more. But Paul’s questions were met with silence.
That’s because the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership
(TTIP) is being negotiated behind closed doors. In fact, the EU has
confirmed that all key documents relating to the agreement will remain
closed to the public for 30 years. But why all the secrecy?
Governments and big business are relying on lack of public awareness in
order to rush through TTIP and seal the deal without too much
resistance. But what are they afraid of? They know there would be an
outcry if people knew what was in store.
If TTIP goes ahead it will cost at least one million jobs. It will pave
the way for the introduction of genetically modified food into Europe.
It will irreversibly extend the privatisation of key public services
such as the NHS. And it will give US corporations the power to sue the
UK and other states for loss of profits when these governments
introduce public policies designed to protect their citizens. "
Yours sincerely,
Mary Francis
I
... When I'm back off my hols. I am vacationing in Switzerland: here is a photo! of St Moritz, to prove it. As nobody's holiday snaps are as interesting as we would like them to be, I'm going to spare you the mountains, forests, waterfalls and etc. I will let you know that we're having a heatwave, and the beer is good, but that's IT! I am going to tell you a story.
Actually, I'm cheating, this is a story that I posted a year ago. But I like it, a lot, so I'm popping it back up. Here you are. Enjoy!
The Slighted Wife
It's an uncommon joy for a writer is to be handed a story on a plate. So, just as it enfolded, authentic in every detail, here it is:
Join me on the 678 bus from Gloucester to Newent, via Taynton. It's 1315, and the day threatens rain.
"He's fifty-one next month. I saw him at my father-in-law's funeral four months ago. I certainly wouldn't fancy him NOW."
This isn't the beginning of the story, of course it isn't, but it sets the scene, giving us a taste of what is to come, a detail, and an intimation that not all is well. Stories must have a touch of this. Too happy, and who cares? Other people's happiness is of little consequence, though we wish them well. Too sad - and we are left bereft. Come on people! Life can't be all bad!
Our chief protagonist holds centre-stage - the front left-hand seat on the Community Bus, that can take fourteen, according to the sign, but holds just eight of us, including me and Brian. (See'Life of Brian')
She is looking good for sixty- seven. "He was," She says, "Sixteen years younger than me." I did the maths. White hair neatly styled and shoulder length, casually but smartly dressed.
I am going to call him John, and that might even have been his name. His father owned the pub at Apperly where our lady, whose name I do not know, served behind the bar.
"He was twenty-one. I told him to get lost at first, but after a year we got together. He was drunk all the time. A right clown."
A divorcee with her own home and the attributes of a good barmaid. Not a total idiot then ...
Why, we wonder, not unreasonably, would she take up with a drunk? We get the feeling that our friend is not going to make good decisions. It turns out that we are right.
So they married, and he was good to her boys, and then one day he crashed the car drunk, and he never drank again. At this point we had high hopes of a swift and happy ending, but it was not to be.
"I left him, and it was MY house. Never got a penny, I was too upset to get a lawyer." The empathy-monitor is now in the red, and we all cluck in horror, except Brian. Who, has, I think, an entirely different take on the story. The bus driver concentrates on the winding road.
"How long were you married?" Asks Dot, anxious to get some closure before she has to alight in Tibberton.
"Twenty-three years." We gasp. My calculating mind puts the hapless rogue in his forties and things begin to fall into place.
"His new wife is only twenty-three, the daughter of one of his father's customers. She's been after him since she was fourteen!"
We had all been fourteen once, and know the score.
"His sister won't have anything to do with him because of the way he treated me!" Justice, it seems, has been served.
"I had his youth though! And I wouldn't have him now. You should see how fat he is."
We won't, of course, but can imagine him. Balding, overweight, with builder's bum and shirt agape over a tight belly. We are all consoled by the fact that she had his youth, and sigh with relief.
Not the happiest of endings, perhaps, but it'll do.
Soft toys!
I don't recall owning a soft toy as a small child. I guess there must have been one around somewhere in the mix, but it obviously wasn't that appreciated. A story that my parents told against me for EVER was that, when I was a tot, I swapped my brother's soft baby-blue teddy for a mankey old brown one ... I don't remember this at all, but really, I wouldn't put it past me, sibling rivalry being what it is.
I am (perpetually) clearing out the shed and the spare room, and still finding a variety of cuddly items left behind by my daughters. Some are gifts from discarded boyfriends, I suspect, though I'm too polite to enquire .... (They're off to the Charity Shop next week girls, so if you want them, come and get them!)
Actually I'm a bit of a softie myself, so I may very well NOT give them away, it seems a betrayal of trust, almost!
Have you come across the "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoons? Calvin is a very small boy, and Hobbes is his alter ego, coming to us in the form of a stuffed tiger. They are philosophers both, and the inspiration for this post. I follow them on Twitter, and I tell you, I could do worse.
I can think of a million reasons to be sad,
And I honour them all:
The suffering of innocents
The agony of the guilty
The death throes of this poisoned world.
(Yes! You HAVE to face it!)
There doesn't seem a lot of point to it all, to be frank.
No. None.
I could stop. Right there, except ...
Something rises up in me
Something light, and infectious
Like laughter, only, without sound.
Like joy, but somehow deeper,
If you know what I mean.
I shall, therefore, gallop through this day
With a smile.
A pointless, foolish,
Smile.
I tell you, it was the swallow that set me off -
Swan-diving over the lane, air-fishing for bugs
Effortless, just beautiful!
After the hawk, tipping his tail, glided away to the right,
Mobbed by a frantic parent-bird,
Reckless in defence of her young.
"You see?" I said, as if
Talking to God, "This life
Is sweet, and dangerous -
And I love it! Every foolish, feckless,
Breath of it ..."
And I held my breath as if to test the length of it
And sighed, deeply, with something like
Ecstasy.
I thoroughly enjoyed The Da Vinci Code - book and film, not least because of it's capacity to force people who should, think again about their faith.
I am prompted to the Da Vinci Code comment because I am reading, "The Wisdom Jesus" by Cynthia Beaugealt, who draws on The Gospel of Mary Magdelene to make her point that Jesus was quite Zennish in his approach. CB prompted me to ask some pretty fundamental questions about the teachings of Jesus that had never occurred to me before. Why SHOULD he teach in parables, for example? Why not just come out and say stuff? Parables are inherently unsatisfying - especially the ones about people hiding treasures in fields, that sort of thing. They play on the mind. Well, there you have it! What the brain can't fully grasp, it never lets go of. I have noticed this - 'The Kingdom of Heaven is like a crossword clue that you can't get, but might ... " the old grey matter chews it over and over until a light goes on and "Eureka!" Is heard throughout the land.
I love going to church, to hold in my hand and in my mouth the essence of God herself and KNOW beyond thinking, that We are becoming One. It's a deeply mystical encounter that takes me out of myself and into everybody else. Is this what the church teaches? Well, sort of.
Frankly, you can keep much of the rest. Sorry, fellow believers, I can't be doing with male supremacy, dodgy saints, self-serving prayers and lives lived filled with guilt and emptied of compassion.
Uh-oh, the Bhuddist that sits on a cushion in the back of my head is whispering, "Judging mind!" And I have to sigh and respond with, "Too bloody right!" And Enlightenment eludes my grasp once again.
I cling as precariously to my Catholic faith as ever I did, often wondering why. Then Pope Francis comes along and sticks his head out of a window in Rome and advises the church to get its hands dirty,
I am quite looking forward to see how this translates into action. I hear he's getting a lot of stick. "The Red Pope!" Is being bandied about like it was an insult.
Go for it Your Holiness. If Church doesn't serve the poor, it isn't serving its Founder.
As for the Da Vinci Code, well: a great story. Mary of Magdala has been pretty much written out of official church history despite her impressive discipleship (SHE didn't leg it when things turned nasty ... ). She obviously loved her teacher with a tender passion that I really hope brought him joy.
"
PS: Enquiries into the catholic order "Opus Dei" went through the roof following the publication of The Book. I know this because I checked it out myself, and saw the hits. A tad too rigorous for my haphazard approach to sanctity, but this could be a good thing ...
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