Muse-ing

What I was doing in the USA: Thinking. 

There are days when the world feels like it’s spinning faster than my thoughts can catch it.Quantum chips, multiverses, encryption, wars, politics, cruelty, compassion - all of it swirling like a murmuration of starlings, trying to decide which way to turn and where to land.  And somewhere in the middle of it, there’s me: a poet in superposition.

Not choosing yet. Not collapsing the wave. Just holding the possibilities lightly in my hands.

On Qubits and the Power of “Both/And”

I’ve been reading about qubits - those strange little quantum creatures that can be 0, 1, or both at once. A classical bit is Adam or Eve. A qubit is Adam and Eve, shimmering together until the cosmos demands a decision. It struck me that this is how many of us live now: in the in-between, in the not-yet, in the place where ideas swim around without settling.

Superposition isn’t confusion. It’s the fertile pause before clarity.

The Pebble and the Pond

I joked that poets should be central to government decision-making. Imagine it - Cabinet meetings beginning with a stanza, budgets footnoted with compassion, policies written with margins wide enough for metaphor. Idropped that thought like a pebble into the pond, and in one universe - if you like that way of thinking - the ripples reached the right ears and it became real.

There’s something hopeful in that. Not scientific hope, but human hope.

The World as It Is

And yet, we live in a world where choice has teeth. People believe what they like and get away with it. Sometimes that belief births abolition,sanctuary, soup kitchens. Sometimes it births fear, cruelty, pointless wars, and the rise of those

who thrive on division.

The suffering is real.

The wounds are real. 

The chaos is real.

But so is the capacity for goodness.

The World as It Could Be

Many years ago, I realised something simple and terrifying: humans shape reality. 

Every act of kindness, every refusal to hate, every moment of restraint - these are the quiet decisions that build a better branch of the universe. You might call it the Kingdom of God, were you so minded. You don’t need a multiverse for that. You just need a heart that refuses to go numb.

The Awakened Heart

And this is where I land, again and again:

“I will not betray my awakened heart.” 

Because Love exists. Somewhere, sometime, it will be perfect. Not perfect in the sense of tidy. Not perfect in the sense of painless. But perfect in the sense of whole - the way a seed is perfect before it breaks open. Love is the final truth of things. Even when the world forgets it, I won’t.

A Closing Thought

Perhaps this is the real superposition: the world as it is, the world as it could be, and the fragile luminous space between them.We live in that space. We choose in that space. And every choice is a ripple.

Somewhere, in some branch of possibility, humanity gets it right.

My task - our task - is to make this branch resemble the perfect as closely as we can.

[Autosaved] Advent -ures

I'm attempting to write this blog with an electronic pen - a cheap knockoff from China. Its a bit hit and miss, but is on the whole, coping well with my erratic handwriting. The reason for resorting to high tech is that I have chronic pain in my neck and shoulders, because I think I slept awkwardly A few nights ago, and am suffering the consequences. This is making Advent rather more adventurous than expected, but, hey! At my age a little discomfort is to be expected. I'm propped up in bed, head fixed facing forwards, tablet On my knees,  scribbling away. As A fan of all things electronic, I am rather enjoying myself. The eccentricities are a random refusal to print a lower-case a, and  a tendency for the pen to switch off at inconvenient moments. 

I’m  a fan of Advent , a time of quiet reflection, at least in theory,and take measures to keep frenzy to a minimum. There is only one gift to buy, as "secret Santa“ allocates one family for the receipt of my seasonal generosity- I haven’t known what to buy anyone since they passed the soft toy phase, so the purchase of a mini-waffle maker for one branch of the clan sorts out much rumination, and saves a lot of money. I recommend this to all grandparents. 

Ray sends out the electronic Christmas cards about now, so if you’re reading this, you probably got one. If didn’t, leave your email in the comments below.

Sitting Tight

    I wonder how my mother felt back in the summer of 1945? She’s 18 years old, and war is already raging on the Continenet due to the meglomania of a fascist  madman, determined to fashion the world in his own twisted image. I think I know.

There is an unforgettable beauty in this Spring day. I will treasure it, as perfect. It’s warm, and I am serenaded by a chorus of a splendid clutch of songbirds. Violets, primulas, primroses and daises are scattered willy-nilly at my feet. Above my head, the mock orange, and  Pacific dogwood are waiting in the wings. A few more weeks and they will shower me with blossoms.

I hesitate to spoil the mood. So maybe I won’t. Maybe, like my mother, eighty years ago, I’ll enjoy this day, and let tomorrow be. 

Obit

I’m reading,” A God of Surprises,” recommended by Sarah, the Catechist on the “Lay Pastoral Ministry,” course I’ve recently embarked on. Sarah promises that its an  adventure, sometimes terrifying, which I can assure you, dear Reader, is true when embarking on an interior journey.

So. “God of Surprises.” There’s this wonderful mechanism when as a Catholic, you venture an original and radical thought: someone has certainly thought it before, and if that someone is a Saint - you’re in! 

This unoriginal thought occupying me at the moment, is, “Christ in you the hope of glory.” St Paul. That’s OK, then,  Christ lives in me, probably undergoes a bit of a struggle to get out and about, but that’s another blog. 

Years ago I put in a mench for Catherine of Genoa, who ran through the streets of .. Genoa, shouting, “The deepest Me is God!” Now that would get you locked up today, but then, it was the bottom rung of the ladder of canonisation. 

Gerard W Hughes (“God of Surprises” ) added another string to this unlikely bow with a quote from Augustine of Hippo ( Saint) “”When the priest holds up the host and says, “The Body of Christ,” reply, “I AM”. Wow. Chewing on that one a while.

But I digress. Gerard ends each chapter with a spiritual exercise, and at the end of Ch 1 it’s, “Write Your Own Obituary.” ( I once offered to video  one to be played at the appropriate point in the Requim Mass, an idea which my near and dear, flatly refused to comply with. Check out my YouTube Channel. It will be there …Though not yet.) 

This was easy. I decided long ago that chiselled on my tombstone will be,”She made herself laugh!” Or as St Paul would have it: “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, rejoice!” 

So. Not only did he get there first - he said it twice.