Not For Cissy's

Getting older isn't for cissy's. 'Cissy'  in the film 'Quartet' quoted this several,times, because she was growing   forgetful, adding an extra layer of poignancy.

I am sixty-three, and it's getting to me. I noted, and decided to remember, the first  time I groaned when attempting to get up from the floor. I was forty-two years old. I recall this as it occured to me mid-groan the other day, that I now ooh or  aah  (and sometimes both) going down too. So I have decided to go to the doctor and get it made official. Middle-age has sailed off into the sunset and old age has grabbed the tiller. 

I don't care. I'll go on Tuesday and sign up for a hip replacement and a test for gluten intolerance, and I'll carry on doing what I do as cheerfully as I can until  the Guy With A Sythe calls a halt. 

You may wonder what has brought about this broadcast of sailing and harvesting metaphors that skirt so amiably around the topics of decrepitude and death.

 I went on another Retreat. 

Last year's Retreat was a Death Party when I decided to write my Demise Agenda and Fumeral Plan. Well, I kind of got round to the first with a 'switch me off after 12 weeks no matter what' doc., but the funeral is yet to be completed: partly because only six of the obligatory attendees will know the hymns, so it needs more work. Ha! If it gets no further, I shall file it away as my 'Unfinished Sympathy'. (Hohoho -I bet someone got there before me with THAT one.)

This weekend's retreat was entitled, 'The Vulnerable Heart' and was an introduction to a series of meetings for women. Well, some women were a bit put out - why should women need  their very own agenda? I say, Humph, don't worry, you put vulnerability out as a topic, and I bet no men will come anyway, but I was told, ascerbically, that wasn't the point. Besides it was unfair. Sorry, men. 

I love everything about my life. I embrace it's joys and sorrows with equal energy, making them do what they are intended to do, to let me know that I'm alive, to help me to understand that nothing is permanent, and to prepare me for the last stage of my earthly journey before I die. 

But that's some way off yet. The twinges, the gripes, and the growing pile of pills to lower this, and ginger up that,  are not so big a deal.

Today I walked in bluebell carpeted woods, ploughed through mud, followed the twists of a fast-flowing river, and stopped to listen to birds. On the way home, I called in  to take tea with one of my daughters, and I played with my grandchildren.  I came home thinking:

However it ends- it was worth it. 

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!

For The Feast Of The Annunciation