#MicroblogMondays: What I Did At The Weekend

I escaped. In all honesty, I didn't go far. I headed west through Ross on Wye, over the border into Cymru (Wales) skirting Monmouth, weaving my way carefully through Usk, then out into the wilds to Llansoar Mill near Carleon. The journey took just under an hour.

Llansoar Mill is home to a small Christian Community of which I am glad to be a member. "Simplicity, Inclusivity, Paradox" heads up the website, and there we are, sharing the mystery of faith through prayer, music, poetry, literature, film, debate, food, divine love, human virtue... To begin the list ... It's by no means 'church' in a narrow sense, but a faith community in its widest, most expansive and truly exploratory manifestation. I wasn't intending to do the commercial, but I have begun it. For more, if you're interested, there's Google ...

There were 20 of us visiting over the weekend: convening to soak ourselves in the ancient wisdom of the Sufi poet, Rumi.

Duncan, our leader recited poetry, hauntingly accompanied on a stringed instrument that I should have enquiried the name of .. He told stories, humorous and revealing, light-hearted and deeply moving. Amazing.

I stayed, not at the Mill this time, but off-site, with another community member, Ruth. We drew very close over the weekend: the seeming disaster of booking 'too late' turning into a splendid opportunity to share more of our selves.

Here's a taste of Rumi, and the view from my bedroom window in Ruth's beautiful home.

 

 

 

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Sitting With Rumi

One

Mine me then, O God:

Cry

"Tarrah!!" When the treasure that I Am

Reveals itself - and

l, (you know me)

Turn in wonder and say,

"Why, there you are!"

 

Two

It wasn't that I was waiting for you,

No. Such futility is long past.

So, your kiss, and real enough

To be called, "KISS", surprised me.

Something, I could tell, has broken in you

And I, though not the cause of your disquiet,

Am forgiven.

 

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#MicroblogMondays: Britain 2015

This is Dave. He sits in the arch under the ancient gateway to the Cathedral. Never heard him complain. One picture. Let it tell it's own story.

 

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I was doing ordinary things

I was doing ordinary things today

Dropping Margareta off at the surgery

Spraying the flowers, left in church

Ironically, for a requiem.

Brewing tea, pouring coffee at the Army,

For the homeless,

No special cause, and all done

Unthinking.

I recall the gossips on the bus having a laugh

Me, at the back, letting it all

Flow over me. Not yet knowing, quite, why I am sad.

 

Some time passes. I remember what I am to do,

It's around five, and I light the fat candle on my dresser,

And, because she is another mother to my daughter,

And because she is dying, and it's too soon, too soon,

I weep, and my day is brought back to me

With gratitude for it's ordinariness, for it's

Expectancy, and because I am

Here.

 

 

 

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