Reflection On The Centenary of The Ending Of The Great War

"Ghost Soldiers" Slimbridge, Glos.

I cry. Every year during the ritual two minutes silence, and the solemn recitation: ''We will remember them ...'' The sorrow, the waste. What is there to do, but weep?

I watched the official ceremony around the Cenotaph in Whitehall with my usual mix of immense gratitude for the men and women who died, and disdain for the political leaders who will send more men and women to their deaths, for, what? WE become Terror to subjugate Terror. How's that working out?

We're currently complicit in the slaughter of  civilians in Syria, and Yemen. It's as though, mindful of the political cost of the mass-slaughter of armies, political  leaders have switched to slaying women and children instead. The faceless operator of a drone has replaced the Tommy with his gun.

My war-hero is Harry Patch, who died just a few years ago at 111, the last British survivor of the First World War. He held politicians in even greater disdain than I do. Harry and his four closest comrades made a pact not to kill anyone: they shot to maim. So here's the irony: the political leaders who fawned over Harry every year on Armistace Day, would have shot him as a traitor. Yes, refusing to kill was treason. Probably still is. God help us all.

''Thou shalt not kill..''

Harry Patch Anti-War Hero

Who Am I Lord? Who Are You?

St Francis of Assissi used these phrases to open a door into the Kingdom of Heaven, and to sit a while in the space where God dwells.
My friend Margareta would say, very emphatically on occasions, "Know who you really are!" And I thought it about time I gave the issue some serious thought.
The cause of this spiritual introspection? I am due to reveal the meanderings of my spiritual journey to the world, that is to say those members of my Church interested and brave enough to. turn out on a November evening, and I need to think about what I'm going to say.
So who am I REALLY? (Here I find that repeating the question, doesn't necessarily get me any closer the answer ... ) The biblical text that comes to mind is a rather unsettling, "I am called Legion, for we are many!"
I am enthusiastic about the self-revelation, and have been practising it over and over. I am rather startled by how different each iteration is and I have concluded that I will need to write a book.
Other News:
Margareta came very much to the forefront of my mind this week. After her death, her son, Br Loarne, invited me to take anything from the house to remember her by. I took Patricia, one of her dolls, because I would always remember where she sat in the Workroom, and recall the intense discussions Margareta and I had as we journeyed together ... and a fine china mug, because of the tea.
On Tuesday, dropped the mug. I dropped it on my foot, hitting toes that I had injured rather badly in the summer, and that still gave trouble. Here's the thing: if the mug had hit my ceramic floor, it would have smashed to smithereens, a small miracle but one I appreciate, AND a rather more significant blessing, since the blow, no pain in the injured toes! I have rubbed them and wobbled them, pressed down on them as hard as possible: not even a twinge.
Conclusion
I am no closer to knowing who God is, or who I am, but I think I'm getting there ...

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