#MicroblogMondays: Losing A Stone

I quite enjoy thinking of intriguing titles for my blog posts, and this one is a teaser. My British friends will immediately think I've finally found a diet I could stick to, and shed fourteen pounds (6kg) and my American ones will, well, take it literally and hit a home run.

This is the story:

Yesterday I drove for an hour over the border into the Principality of Wales to go on a retreat. Twelve woman together giving our souls a makeover. More specifically, working our way through the topic of forgiveness.

One of the practical activities we undertook was to give the name of our unforgiveness, be there such a beast, to a stone, and hold it in our hand all day, until we were ready let it go.

There were a fair selection of stones to choose from. Mine was small, round and smooth, retrieved from a river where, I fancy, it had lain incognito for a few hundreds of thousands of years, awaiting its name and it's day in the limelight.

To be honest, I hadn't given much thought to the content of the day when I booked the retreat, I just went with a vague feeling that it would be nice to get away. I should have paid attention. Try as I might, I couldn't find any unforgiveness in my heart to name. " What?" I thought, running over a few likely areas, "Not even a tiny bit of lingering resentment?"

No. Nothing. I did have a go at Ray recently for putting the garden hose away when I thought I'd made it clear I wanted it left out, but even the most cursory of glances over the garden wall reveals that HE was more entitled to be unforgiving than I was, and besides 'husband not reading my mind and anticipating my wishes in this matter' hardly seems worth naming a stone after. Besides, as a name, it lacks brevity.

The stone was grey and gritty. Not very large as stones go. It did in fact, lack personality. Catherine's stone, for example, was actually a piece of cuttlefish, and it floated. Eleanor's stone had a smaller pebble embedded within it. Mine neither glittered, floated, or displayed any evidence of geological excitement, it just sat in the palm of my hand, waiting ... .

The whole exercise reminded my of my daughter's PHSE class. It became the thing to give the girls ( it was an all-girls school) a bag of flour to take everywhere for a week in order to teach them responsibility and to put them off having babies. Intrigued, I watched my sixteen year old pay my ten year old to look after her bag of flour. Which then sat on top of the television for a week. I don't think it put anybody off having babies, but it did earn my youngest a bit of extra pocket money.

After lunch, for which I had provided my famous smoked-salmon-quiche-without-the-pastry-case (which is universally admired, and deserves a proper name), I set off for a walking meditation during which I distracted myself by racking my brains to think of someone who had wronged me and who therefore condemned themselves to an eternity of enmity. Usually it was plain, as in the case of the garden hose, that I held at least equal responsibility for whatever rancour remained, which was about none in every case.

There were the people who were responsible for me losing my job. Wow! That WAS a biggie at the time, but now I could kiss their collective feet, as their idiotic behaviour earned me six years remission from hard labour and a settlement.

I spent a few minutes marvelling at how free from any kind of pain that was now, and how, after a bit of a spat, I'd managed to square things with my husband over the garden hose. There fell upon me a sense of smug satisfaction that probably wasn't good for my soul at all.

Then I realised with a jolt that my stone no longer rested in the palm of my right hand. Oh Lord, I had to report back on my spiritual progress, and I was decidedly lacking in any, AND admit to losing my stone!

I backtracked through the garden, felt around the gooseberry bush, looked under the garden seat, investigated the path through the hay meadow, and cheated. I picked up another stone. Nobody would know, Even though it was a different shape and texture, I couldn't imagine that anyone else would have studied my inert friend long enough to take in particulars.

Anyway, if they found out. they'd have to forgive me, wouldn't they? Stands to reason.

Actually, Clarisse, was sitting where I left her on the arm of my chair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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#MicroblogMondays: Easter Vigil

 

At dusk, we, the congregation, gather around a fire. 'Christ the light of the world', we sing, as the Paschal Candle is lit. Our own candles are lit from it, and we process into an unlit church to await the moment in the ritual when we sing 'Glory to God in the The Highest ... !' Light blazes forth, darkness is overcome, death defeated, and once more we proclaim "Christ is Risen! Hallelujah!"

 

The ceremony around the fire takes me back to my deepest roots, to the earliest stirrings of religion in my remotest ancestors.

 

Drawn to the fire, I feel at one with everyone throughout the ages, of every faith, or none, who struggles to fathom the great mystery of the cosmos, and discovers that their role is just to be here, to stay with the mystery, and to say "Yes" to life.

 

Hallelujah!

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Pure Gift

I am overcome, right now, this minute, with an urge to write. I wouldn't get too concerned if I were you. Even if concern were your metier, by the time you read this, the Muse will have moved off to torment some other poor soul.

I am reading a book by ( Pause to write in author's name later. Don't forget) called, (Surely not. I HAVE to remember the title!) anyway it's about discovering my true self, a topic about which, being such a fraud, I am practically obsessed with.

I discover to my amazement that I am not doing all that badly. I say this to encourage you, Dear Readers, because if I'm getting 'B+' in the 'Knowing Who You Really Are' class, chances are that you are too. There are one or two tips that I would like to pass on, especially as at least two of you are my daughters, and mothers have an obligation:

1, Remember who you really are. I borrow this piece of advice from the Bhudda, whom I wish I could meet. Religion tells you that you are an eternal and embodied soul, doing time In a wonderful incarnation that isn't actually out to get you, so don't take the tough stuff too personally. Science will have a different take on the same theme: you are part of the cosmos knowing itself. Yes, really, I got that from one of those wonderful physicists on BBC 4, possibly Professor Brian Cox. Either way , you are pretty special. Gloriously, magnificentky, amazingly unique. So. Just SO.

2. Spend a significant part of every day doing something you really want to do. I often find this the most effective kind of prayer.

3. Practise being a better person. You'll know exactly how to do it, because the good stuff is innate.

4. And Finally. ( I pinched this one from Nelson Mandela, whom I would also like to meet one day.) Treat everyone as if THEY are good. This is a great tip, I find it really works.

The Muse has reminded me of something. I shall have to write it down, or I'll have no peace.

Last Spring, I was at Llansor Mill, sort of 'on retreat' except that THAT sounds holier than I mean it to. There's the Camping Field down by the river and I am hanging over the gate. The sun is behind me, and bright, despite the earliness of the hour, and the meadow grass is wet with dew. Yet, for a few amazing minutes, before the world turns, it's not: it's ablaze with diamonds, refracting light of every hue. I stop, I daren't breathe for fear of missing out on an amazing experience - that of knowing that I am the cosmos knowing itself. And in a moment of pure rapture, certain that creation is mine too, and that it's pure gift, and that I am thankful.

Goodnight, and God Bless!

 

PS: The Book: "Becoming Who You Are: Insights On The True Self From Thomas Merton And Other Saints"

By James Martin, SJ 

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Contemplative Prayer

Because I speak in tongues - not an unusual accomplishment for a Pentecostal, but slightly embarrassing for a Roman Catholic, someone asked me if I was a mystic! How I laughed! I am not.
The speaking in tongues began as spontaneous outpourings of love and gratitide, not even too sure as to Whom or What, when I was a child. Still is.
I have long since moved from noise, however mystical, to silence. I am learning ( who could ever say they have learned?) to open my heart and still my mind and observe, compassionately, what arises. It's a fantastic practise, neither easy ( or it wouldn't be worth the effort) ... Or difficult (or I couldn't do it) just liberating!
Imagine! Not having to work out what's best for me, you, the planet, the universe and ask God to do it. Instead, to wait, and stand under His knowing, and trust Him to let it be, and to let it be good.

What's That, God?

I think you'll have to shout a bit louder.

A really really sensational series of books that hit the US best-seller lists a while ago, were Donald Walsch's. 'Conversations With God'. I read all three.

I read them with interest and a great deal of enjoyment, because this chatty God, who answered all Donald's questions with commendable frankness, was a very likeable Divine Presence.

I read them with a great deal of scepticism because this new revelation of All-Holiness said some pretty radical things.

At the end, it all came down to: Love the things you desire, and they will be drawn to you. That's it - You have created who you are, and you go on doing just that, so create something you REALLY want to be.

Lots of people will attest to having pulled the Universe into their hand, and become richer, better-loved, more beautiful, more gainfully employed and with better health... And good luck to them.

I never tried it, not once. Maybe I Am who I really want to be?

Or lazy. Yes, lazy. Think about it: if I had more money, I'd be obliged to find ways of spending it, if I ruled the world, I'd need to find things for people to do, if I were young and beautiful, I'd be beating suitors off with a stick... All too much trouble, I'm afraid.

Somewhere deep though, something stuck. This must have been the beginning of my belief that you can believe what you like and get away with it. Ultimately, the realisation that God as Revelation, is Open To Negotiation.

I watch my lovely fundamentalist friends having not too much fun at all, tying themselves into knots trying to reconcile into one indivisible truth, the revelation of God as a vindictive old tyrant, and a universally loving Spirit.

Either? Neither? Or Both?

It's entirely up to you.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately. Alongside reading the New Scientist on the nature of consciousness. I'd love to watch my own neurons fire, I think that would be pretty amazing, but what I observe from looking at pictures of other people's, is, that the subconscious sorts everything out, then the conscious bit ( let's call it 'you') just does as it's told. I tell you it's pretty scary stuff. The subconscious self makes quite a lot of it up as it goes along, so the reality you think you're experiencing, isn't really real at all. And, furthermore, holds together what you think of as 'you' for about three seconds.

THREE SECONDS. We are all about three seconds long, which is no time at all if you ask me.

I have about 2.5 seconds to let my subconscious inform me as to where we're going with this. Ah yes, Talking to God.

You want to capture a few Hittites and batter their brains out? In about three seconds time, God will tell you to do it. You want to love your neighbour as yourself? Ditto.


God! I hope I'm wrong!