Get It?

Rambling On

I had to have two goes at it:this is because I am not prone to giving up. This stubborn adherence to the unlikely, the improbable and the hard to swallow is my one weakness. (Ho ho ho) 

The 'it' to which I refer in my opening shot, is a book: " The New Earth: Create a Better Life" by spiritual teacher and winner of my Peter Pan look-alike award, Ekhart Tolle.

The first time round, I found myself, after just a few paragraphs, in 'hard to swallow' mode. I am not THAT sceptical, in fact just the opposite:  it's scarily easy to lead me on and catch me out investing trust in the most outlandish propositions. I'll believe anything, and usually do. 

I once gave myself a migraine ranting in full-on indignation at the television set over an EU regulation specifying the length and breadth of carrots, the piece coming complete with the presenter holding the mould into which carrot seeds were to be sowed, in order to ensure compliance. It was a hoax. it was All Fools Day,  and I came top. 

I'm not stupid, however, so I have to believe that intelligence and gullibility are not mutually incompatible. I like being a trusting softie, it keeps me smiling, and out of as much trouble as it gets me into. 

Yes, I'm rambling. Let me take a sip of my tea and... 

In the back of my mind sits 'Number 45' in my '99 Things' book. 'Write A Statement of Faith'.

I have been a Christian since the date of my baptism which was in November 1950, and as I was only six weeks old at the time, I like to think some kind of pre-bap agreement had me covered even earlier. 

I believed nothing at six weeks, of course, and in the course of the following fifty years or so, I came to believe A LOT. Sometimes,  I even acted on my beliefs, with a startling caveat. I never really swallowed hell. Or punishment of any kind. I nodded in the direction of it, and never wasted my breath opposing it, I just knew at a deeper  level that a God who spends your whole life telling you he loves you, then throws you into a fiery pit because he caught you out doing something you didn't ought to have done, which he allowed you to do, didn't add up. 

I don't know that the insights into the incomprehensible world of the Spirt that I gained from Ekhart are 'right' or 'wrong', I don't even know if 'right or wrong' works with the unknowable.  I guess you just have to go with the intangible, but ever-present inner witness, that whispers a silent, 'Yes!' and warms your heart. You may not be comfortable with that concept, but you know it's there. Recognising its Presence is  the beginning of awareness of your spiritual evolution that has nothing to do with hell, and everything to do with truly knowing who you are, and what your purpose is. 

Ekhart writes that your purpose is to bring consciousness into the world. To walk through your day fully aware, totally present, not harking back to the past, or concerning yourself with the future. There's more, lots more, but that, I think, is enough.

Is he onto something really big? I don't know. How could I? I do know that a lot of what I believed for more than fifty years served no useful purpose whatsoever. So my Statement of Faith, when I get around to writing it, isn't going to be very long. 

Number 60

Analyse yourself with ... Well, '99 Things To Do Between Here and Heaven' suggest the  Myers-Briggs personality test, but I can't find a free version - so I would recommend giving the Enneagram a go. 

There's the test and more, and more:

www.9types.com

(Caveat:http://www.9types.com/writeup/enneagram_caution.html)

What's the point? In my experience, I found that standing back and taking a good look at myself, actually trying to find out what makes me tick,  was the very beginning of a spiritual awakening. I haven't ordered my thoughts very logically, not being a Type Five, so I will present you with a jumble and let you make what you will of it.

Looking back on my pre-Enneagram days, I recognise that I was a sleep-walker, reacting to situations with varying degrees of irritation, using the superficial niceness  of the ever-helpful Type Two to manipulate people and events to my own advantage. I did this unconsciously: I thought I was being good. 

I'm not bothered by this particularly. Making the best of what's happening to us is what we all do. We just go about it in different ways. 

The crunch came when I stopped to look, and I saw what I was doing. I was gutted. I'm not going to claim any great revolution here, I am just as capable of wheedling, self-serving, manipulative behaviours now, as I was then. The difference now, is that I am aware of them. 

Awareness. Now there's a thing. Weird. I discovered within myself a different level of consciousness,  - a 'new  creation' in Christian terms. A Self that is both Myself and an otherness that silently, serenely, watches the game-playing child that wants to run my life. There is no judgement, no accusation, just a superabundance of knowing that comes with a continual up- welling of joy. 

The game-playing still goes on, it's a true part of me, but it is losing its appeal. I'm not worried about me, but really, I do make myself laugh.

Playing Catch-Up

I forget, sometimes, in my flutter of excitement over the number of pageviews I have from Serbia, that I write this very public journal as a personal record of what hits the fan or takes my fancy, at any particular moment. Or anyway, at THAT particular moment when time, inclination and inspiration coincide. It is a vanity and a delight, at least to me: the best outcome from joining a study group that I have ever had. 

17th August 2010. It was my turn to choose a book for the Church Book Club, and I chose, '99 Things To Do Between Here and Heaven', and Number 26 was, 'Blog'.

I am revisiting the Book right now, between writing paragraphs here, and wondering which of the 99 still undone, I might attempt. How about, Number 13, ' Bury A Time Capsule'? I would forget where it was. My colleague at Pauntley School, Liz Petley, buried one with the Reception Class, all of whom have now graduated from University and started families. When the kids, in the year 2000, came to dig it up, they couldn't find it. The school garden was peppered with holes. Looked like an invasion of ground hogs. I remember too, when the Blue Peter team dug up THEIR  time capsule. They didn't forget where it was. Oh No!  They had simply neglected to take the variations in the water table into account. It was hilarious watching Val and Shep trying to make a jolly item out of a soggy mess. I confess, I smirked out loud. 

Besides, my 'office' is like a time capsule without the necessity of taking a spade to it. I pounce on long-forgotten items, hidden away, with squeals of delight. Most satisfying, though perhaps a little accusatory, the collections of things I needed for all those hobbies I didn't persist with. A Chinese calligraphy set, with How To Book, brushes in beautiful silk covered boxes, and ink sticks embossed with dragons. All far too lovely to actually USE. A basket full of fabrics, designs, and cut-out letters for banners I am never going to make. Dress patterns and sundries, including a sewing machine, not touched for years... Books of bracing walks and gentle strolls - unopened. Unwalked.

Stop laughing! You're just as bad. 

There are things I am passionate about stashed away too. Field guides of the flowers I hunt in the countries I visit: The Jura and Julian Alps, The  Troodos, Carpathian and Cascade Mountains, The Drakensburgs and Table Mountain. Each bloom faithfully recorded: each one a tangible memory of where I was, and who was with me, and what we were doing at the time... . 

So no, no time capsule then.

I am giving serious consideration to Number 43, 'Plant a Tree'. 

My garden is a haven for wildlife. Partly. My part. Flowers, grasses, and taller items of greenery sit about in a  higgedly -piggedly fashion between fiercely manicured patches of lawn. I wouldn't cut it. I want to live in a meadow. Responsible for the practicalities that seem to be essential for running a household, my husband grits his teeth and tolerates my wilderness plots, whilst taking it out on the bits of landscape I reluctantly spare to common sense. 

We survive the tension, we live with the compromise. And then something dreadful happens. Before I left for Redmond, he discussed painting the shed. Yes, it needed painting. I didn't see a problem. 

Until I returned from my vacation to realise the loss of a magnificent pink buddlheia bush, that even now, should be providing sustenance for a flotilla of butterflies and random other far less interesting insects. My reaction will not go on record. It was not pretty. I became Mrs Basil Fawlty. Ray, who is an astute man, stayed out of range until I calmed down. Which was DAYS later. Wisely, he told me as a 'by the way' when I was still abroad, knowing I couldn't actually kill him at a distance of eight thousand miles. 

Not a woman to be messed with. He knows this. 

So yes, the pink buddlheia will be replaced, planted in a spot where it is least likely to be mown down. 

I am taken with Number 45. ' Write a Statement of Faith'

I shall have to think about that one.