(I'm a bit late with this one!)
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
(Aldous Huxley)
Wednesday 29 February 2012
Rocky Ground
I have just been listening to the track 'Rocky Ground', from the new Bruce Springsteen album "Wrecking Ball". To begin with, it sounds so unlike the Boss that I wondered whether to persevere - indeed, whether the right track was being played at all; but by a minute or so into the song, I was hooked. It is a very powerful song, full of religious imagery and very socially aware; powerful musically, too, with a combination of rock and gospel (some rap too - that won't please the die-hard fans!), and a determination to experiment with sound combinations.
If this is typical of the album, then it will be one of his best. I look forward to hearing further tracks, but it's more than likely that this will be my next album purchase (my last, by the way, was a collection of Mozart mass settings). I've said before on these pages just how important music is to me, and how dependent I am upon it. My daughter used to have a fridge magnet with the motto "Where words fail, music takes over." This is so true. At its best (and perhaps also at its most dangerous) music can make contact with the deepest emotions: it works its way into the soul, and lays bare the things we normally hide even from ourselves.
If this is typical of the album, then it will be one of his best. I look forward to hearing further tracks, but it's more than likely that this will be my next album purchase (my last, by the way, was a collection of Mozart mass settings). I've said before on these pages just how important music is to me, and how dependent I am upon it. My daughter used to have a fridge magnet with the motto "Where words fail, music takes over." This is so true. At its best (and perhaps also at its most dangerous) music can make contact with the deepest emotions: it works its way into the soul, and lays bare the things we normally hide even from ourselves.
Tuesday 28 February 2012
Fieldfares
I was out walking this morning along part of the towpath of the Montgomery Canal (a section that is in fact also part of the Offa's Dyke long distance trail), and it was lovely to notice so many signs of spring - celandines, snowdrops, hazel catkins, and lots of birdsong too.
But winter hasn't quite passed away. Perhaps I've just not been out and about enough through the past winter weeks, but this was my first experience this year of one of the winter sights I really love - the huge flocks of fieldfares that we can see in our country fields. This is a northern thrush that will soon be heading back to its arctic summer breeding grounds, but they're still here for the moment, and quite noisily so, too. Though you don't notice that until you're almost upon them. Then with a sharp 'chacking' sound a small group of them bursts from the tall alder and ash trees along the canalside, to fly over and into the fields below us, where a good early season manuring has provided rich pickings in the form of small invertebrates.
You think you've removed them all from the tree, but get a bit closer, and another band bursts out and heads across in front of you. You can see the light grey undersides of their wings as they fly, and if any are low enough to see down onto them the light grey back above the tail is diagnostic. Couldn't be anything else really though: a big bird, big as a mistle thrush, which is what people have usually seen when they say to me, "There was a big bird in my garden this morning, brown and speckly and far too big to be a thrush!"
Anyway, get closer still, and more birds erupt from the tree; walk past, and they're still leaving the tree behind you to escape into the open field, even though the danger (for I presume our presence is what has started them into flight) has clearly gone past and is heading away from them. There will have been 3 to 5 hundred in the flock we saw today, but I've seen larger flocks than that. Often there are redwings with them, but not today so far as I could see, though there may have been a few blackbirds. There was also a band of starlings helping to prospect the field, but only about 30 or so birds.
Well, not too long now, and the fieldfares will have gone. Of course, this early taste of spring may yet be fooling all of us. But anyway, I'm glad I saw them today!
But winter hasn't quite passed away. Perhaps I've just not been out and about enough through the past winter weeks, but this was my first experience this year of one of the winter sights I really love - the huge flocks of fieldfares that we can see in our country fields. This is a northern thrush that will soon be heading back to its arctic summer breeding grounds, but they're still here for the moment, and quite noisily so, too. Though you don't notice that until you're almost upon them. Then with a sharp 'chacking' sound a small group of them bursts from the tall alder and ash trees along the canalside, to fly over and into the fields below us, where a good early season manuring has provided rich pickings in the form of small invertebrates.
You think you've removed them all from the tree, but get a bit closer, and another band bursts out and heads across in front of you. You can see the light grey undersides of their wings as they fly, and if any are low enough to see down onto them the light grey back above the tail is diagnostic. Couldn't be anything else really though: a big bird, big as a mistle thrush, which is what people have usually seen when they say to me, "There was a big bird in my garden this morning, brown and speckly and far too big to be a thrush!"
Anyway, get closer still, and more birds erupt from the tree; walk past, and they're still leaving the tree behind you to escape into the open field, even though the danger (for I presume our presence is what has started them into flight) has clearly gone past and is heading away from them. There will have been 3 to 5 hundred in the flock we saw today, but I've seen larger flocks than that. Often there are redwings with them, but not today so far as I could see, though there may have been a few blackbirds. There was also a band of starlings helping to prospect the field, but only about 30 or so birds.
Well, not too long now, and the fieldfares will have gone. Of course, this early taste of spring may yet be fooling all of us. But anyway, I'm glad I saw them today!
Monday 27 February 2012
Gifts
Well, I am newly arrived back from the funeral service at which we sang 'Glad that I live am I'. It was sung very well, as was 'Jerusalem', and a happy coincidence was that 'Glad that I live' was published in the year the lady we were remembering today was born. It was in many ways a happy and fitting service, sad too of course, certainly not without its tears, but most of all a celebration of a life, of that life's achievements, and of a person who remains special.
A chance also to reflect on gifts, on the blessings we receive on our journey of life, and how we use them. A good life passes on the blessings received, and is ready not only to accept gifts, but to freely give as well. I have been given a gift today - at the "tea" (actually champagne) after the funeral - and I shall treasure it. It is an Everyman's Library edition of William Blake's "Poems and Prophecies" that had belonged to the lady we had gathered to remember, and it will be treasured not only for what it is and contains, but also for the thanks and appreciation this gift conveys.
It is my job as a pastoral minister, but it is also an immense privilege, to have been able to be part of a day, an occasion, a celebration like today's. I am sure that all who attended will have a sense of having both given and received, as friends, as mourners, as family, as those who remember; may they all travel home with a sense also of God's presence and blessing.
A chance also to reflect on gifts, on the blessings we receive on our journey of life, and how we use them. A good life passes on the blessings received, and is ready not only to accept gifts, but to freely give as well. I have been given a gift today - at the "tea" (actually champagne) after the funeral - and I shall treasure it. It is an Everyman's Library edition of William Blake's "Poems and Prophecies" that had belonged to the lady we had gathered to remember, and it will be treasured not only for what it is and contains, but also for the thanks and appreciation this gift conveys.
It is my job as a pastoral minister, but it is also an immense privilege, to have been able to be part of a day, an occasion, a celebration like today's. I am sure that all who attended will have a sense of having both given and received, as friends, as mourners, as family, as those who remember; may they all travel home with a sense also of God's presence and blessing.
Sunday 26 February 2012
Glad That I Live Am I
The sun is still shining, and (though I suspect winter won't have gone for good just yet) today certainly counts as the first Sunday of spring, 2012. I've been thinking about a song that was a favourite from my schooldays, and which is highly appropriate to a bright and cheerful day like today: 'Glad that I live am I, that the sky is blue.' It's been chosen for a service tomorrow, and I've been very glad to have re-made its acquaintance after so many years. Though in its original words it is not definitively a Christian hymn, it was chosen for "Songs of Praise" by Percy Dearmer and his associates, and that was the hymnbook we used at assembly.
The words of this song have always seemed to me the epitome of English rural life, so it's a slight surprise to find that it's an American song, written by Lizette Woodworth Reese, a native of Maryland, who taught English in Baltimore for much of her long life. She was born in 1856 and died in 1935, and, as a poet, was compared to Emily Dickinson. This little poem is entitled "A Little Song of Life", and so, I suppose, designed to be sung:
Glad that I live am I;
That the sky is blue;
Glad for the country lanes,
And the fall of dew.
After the sun the rain,
After the rain the sun;
This is the way of life,
Till the work be done.
All that we need to do,
Be we low or high,
Is to see that we grow
Nearer the sky.
It has been set to a number of tunes, but the tune we used at school, and will sing tomorrow, is "Water End". It's an appropriately happy and jaunty tune, for such uplifting words. It's good to have a day now and again just to be happy on. I've been to church, pruned my roses, eaten a fair helping of sticky toffee pudding and custard, the sun's still shining, and all's pretty well with the world. Since I'm normally quite a grumpy sod, and my own poems often reflect that (as my wife so often reminds me), here for a change is my own short poem entitled "Happy Poem", written on a day just like today a few years ago when we lived in Cressage, Shropshire.
Today spring was switched on suddenly.
Like a lamp.
The world in our street was all short-sleeves and lawnmowers,
the daffodils burst open in unison,
and the birds all sang their little hearts out.
Sun sparkled on everything,
and even I had to smile.
The words of this song have always seemed to me the epitome of English rural life, so it's a slight surprise to find that it's an American song, written by Lizette Woodworth Reese, a native of Maryland, who taught English in Baltimore for much of her long life. She was born in 1856 and died in 1935, and, as a poet, was compared to Emily Dickinson. This little poem is entitled "A Little Song of Life", and so, I suppose, designed to be sung:
Glad that I live am I;
That the sky is blue;
Glad for the country lanes,
And the fall of dew.
After the sun the rain,
After the rain the sun;
This is the way of life,
Till the work be done.
All that we need to do,
Be we low or high,
Is to see that we grow
Nearer the sky.
It has been set to a number of tunes, but the tune we used at school, and will sing tomorrow, is "Water End". It's an appropriately happy and jaunty tune, for such uplifting words. It's good to have a day now and again just to be happy on. I've been to church, pruned my roses, eaten a fair helping of sticky toffee pudding and custard, the sun's still shining, and all's pretty well with the world. Since I'm normally quite a grumpy sod, and my own poems often reflect that (as my wife so often reminds me), here for a change is my own short poem entitled "Happy Poem", written on a day just like today a few years ago when we lived in Cressage, Shropshire.
Today spring was switched on suddenly.
Like a lamp.
The world in our street was all short-sleeves and lawnmowers,
the daffodils burst open in unison,
and the birds all sang their little hearts out.
Sun sparkled on everything,
and even I had to smile.
Smile
It's a lovely sunny morning here on Brookfield (though, for the time being, without siskins). The first really bright sunny spring days of the year are always special, and to get a few before February is out is a real bonus. I have found myself humming the old song 'The Sun Has Got His Hat On', and reflecting on the image of the sun in popular art, generally shown as having a jolly smiling face. Not for nothing do we describe someone as 'beaming with happiness'. A few good smiles can brighten up the world just as much as does a sunny morning.
Emoticons, and smileys especially, have been part of my conversation now for so long that it takes a bit of effort to realise that someone had to invent and design the smiley in the first place. Well, I'm glad they did. In some other animal species, what looks to us like a smile actually be a warning and aggressive statement, but in human beings it's a facial expression that can do so much that is positive and good. A smile shows and shares a feeling of personal happiness, contentment and ease; it can also be a means of offering welcome, comfort, support, encouragement to another person. A laugh, though it can be something shared and inclusive, can also be harsh, dismissive, even confrontational, depending on circumstances and how it's used; but a smile encourages response and seeks to make connection.
In the world of electronic communication, emoticons can be over-used, and of course, like anything else that's over-used, they then lose their impact, we just walk past them without noticing. So I don't over-use them; when I use a smiley, I mean it. At their best, these are symbols that provide a shorthand way of exposing our emotions, and inviting others in to some part of our own inner life.
Or, of course - and I've certainly used them in this way - they can be a way of softening the blow when there are hard things that have to be said. In such circumstances, the smiley (or another appropriate variant) can be seeking to say, "I have to say this to you, but please know that I do still care." On the occasions where hard truths have to be told without personal interaction, without eye contact or a hand on the shoulder, a smiley is at least an attempt at the same thing.
Well, I'm off out into the sunshine now, and down the hill to church. Have a nice day, and don't forget to use your smile!
Saturday 25 February 2012
Alpine Incident
Discovering a man just hanging on by his finger tips
to the stark and sheer rock face
(they had heard on the wind his cries for help),
the Leadership Team took a moment in committee
to discuss the correct procedure
and to establish protocol,
then, as agreed and directed, they stamped on his hands.
And, as he fell, they made sure to call down,
advising him to take good care.
They hoped that he would be all right, they said,
and that he would be able to adjust
to the new situation in which he now found himself -
flinging down after him a bar or two
of their Kendal mint cake.
And so they continued on their upward journey,
secure in the knowledge that the right thing had been done, that they had
acted properly and within the guidelines,
been seen to be beyond reproach.
After all, he had been already
on his way down.
to the stark and sheer rock face
(they had heard on the wind his cries for help),
the Leadership Team took a moment in committee
to discuss the correct procedure
and to establish protocol,
then, as agreed and directed, they stamped on his hands.
And, as he fell, they made sure to call down,
advising him to take good care.
They hoped that he would be all right, they said,
and that he would be able to adjust
to the new situation in which he now found himself -
flinging down after him a bar or two
of their Kendal mint cake.
And so they continued on their upward journey,
secure in the knowledge that the right thing had been done, that they had
acted properly and within the guidelines,
been seen to be beyond reproach.
After all, he had been already
on his way down.
Friday 24 February 2012
More Birds
Day two of the Great Siskin Invasion - yes, they're still here, and eating us out of house and home . . . and it's wonderful! But Ann and I have been out and about today too, watching pochard, goosander, teal, lapwings and oystercatchers (among others) at Llyn Coed y Dinas, and later, walking along the canal towpath, long-tailed tits, heron and buzzard (being mobbed by crows). Later still, we saw a red kite over the Powys showground just outside the town, and watched a raven circling lazily (in almost a buzzard style) over farmland out towards Frochas. Great and blue tits, blackbirds, robins and chaffinches were all singing well, celandines are beginning to get serious, and hazel and alder catkins are making the most of today's breeze. Another mild day, and though there's room for more winter yet, it's a wonderfully spring-like world around us here just now, and a real sense of everything beginning to re-awaken!
Thursday 23 February 2012
Siskins
I put some new bird feeders up about a month ago, in a slightly quieter part of the garden, as the feeders we had before were perhaps too near the house for the birds to feel comfortable. Anyway, they hadn't really made much if any use of them. But for quite a while the new location didn't seem any more popular. We saw birds passing by, but generally they didn't seem to want to stop.
The RSPB Great Garden Birdwatch came and went; no birds here, or not many. Then, towards the end of last week, a robin decided to stake a territorial claim to the bird table, and spent much of the morning there or thereabouts. Over the weekend, a female chaffinch started hanging about there, too. And the goldfinches that had been such a feature of our garden through much of last summer reappeared, and a few sparrows ventured across to join them, from the houses behind where they spend so much time in conversation.
They're here - the sparrows and the goldfinches, and that female chaffinch too, though not the robin - this morning, but, along with them, what excitement! Our garden has become a playground for a merry band of siskins. These are among my favourite birds, small green sociable finches, strongly and attractively marked, with the black brow of the males very prominent. They've just left our feeders, but I know they haven't gone far, as I can hear them twittering somewhere close by.
I think siskins in these parts are in the main winter visitors, but I'm sure some stay to nest, and they certainly do up country from here. Lovely to see them here today, anyway, and to watch how they interact within the flock; a real delight!
The RSPB Great Garden Birdwatch came and went; no birds here, or not many. Then, towards the end of last week, a robin decided to stake a territorial claim to the bird table, and spent much of the morning there or thereabouts. Over the weekend, a female chaffinch started hanging about there, too. And the goldfinches that had been such a feature of our garden through much of last summer reappeared, and a few sparrows ventured across to join them, from the houses behind where they spend so much time in conversation.
They're here - the sparrows and the goldfinches, and that female chaffinch too, though not the robin - this morning, but, along with them, what excitement! Our garden has become a playground for a merry band of siskins. These are among my favourite birds, small green sociable finches, strongly and attractively marked, with the black brow of the males very prominent. They've just left our feeders, but I know they haven't gone far, as I can hear them twittering somewhere close by.
I think siskins in these parts are in the main winter visitors, but I'm sure some stay to nest, and they certainly do up country from here. Lovely to see them here today, anyway, and to watch how they interact within the flock; a real delight!
Wednesday 22 February 2012
Believing
I have good reason to be thankful just now, to those people in and around my life who have continued to believe in me, at a time when I haven't always been very good at believing in myself. I don't want to say much more, just that it's such a precious thing, to be believed in.
For me, coming from what six months or so ago was still quite a deep dip of depression that has carried with it a strong sense of worthlessness, to know there are people who continue to believe in me and who are prepared to trust me with things - tasks, responsibilities, pastoral care - is something that is at once humbling, challenging and energising. Certainly it leaves me wanting to make sure that their belief in me is justified and repaid; and so, even if I can't quite find it in me yet to fully believe that I am what others see me to be, or that I can deliver what they think I can achieve, I'm going to work at getting as near to it as I can.
From the faith perspective, to know that there are people - friends, family, colleagues - who believe in me helps me to feel that God may believe in me too. And that surely gives me something to match up to, something to which to aspire. So there in a nutshell is my starting mark for this testing and training season of Lent; now let's see how I can run!
For me, coming from what six months or so ago was still quite a deep dip of depression that has carried with it a strong sense of worthlessness, to know there are people who continue to believe in me and who are prepared to trust me with things - tasks, responsibilities, pastoral care - is something that is at once humbling, challenging and energising. Certainly it leaves me wanting to make sure that their belief in me is justified and repaid; and so, even if I can't quite find it in me yet to fully believe that I am what others see me to be, or that I can deliver what they think I can achieve, I'm going to work at getting as near to it as I can.
From the faith perspective, to know that there are people - friends, family, colleagues - who believe in me helps me to feel that God may believe in me too. And that surely gives me something to match up to, something to which to aspire. So there in a nutshell is my starting mark for this testing and training season of Lent; now let's see how I can run!
Tuesday 21 February 2012
No Escape?
I heard today that the grand-daughter is now confident enough on her feet to have made a serious attempt at escape from maternal control into the toy section at Mothercare this morning. The probable outcome will be, I assume, the purchase and use of reins; and an important lesson to learn.
After all, it won't be the last time in her life, I'm guessing, that an attempt at freedom is responded to by the use of restraint! And that raises some significant thoughts in my mind, about the nature of human society. There will always be those who insist on controlling others, and there will always be people in high places and with vested interests who are so afraid of the free spirit, positive outlook and new ideas of others that all they can think of doing is shutting them up and closing them down. So the sad truth is that every day in our world butterflies are stamped on: courageous ideals are belittled, and challenging and inventive suggestions dismissed.
But at the same time, I'm bound to admit that some degree of restraint is a necessary and good thing. My grand-daughter would come to harm if she were allowed to wander off unhindered and without regard. Totally unfettered freedom becomes licence, and is harmful and damaging to the rights of individuals and the structure of an ordered community - there have to be rules and laws and restrictions. We can't just do as we please.
The trick is to strike the right balance, between restraint and openness. How are we to do this? I think we need a style of education and nurture that encourages inventiveness and the development of a lively, questing and questioning personality, but that also teaches a proper regard and respect for - and ability to use - discipline (self-discipline included, of course). We also need, when in a position of comparative power, to check again and again and with painful honesty, what our true motives are when we say 'No' to the ideas, challenges or bid for freedom of someone else. In my perception, one common fault is that we make organisations - churches, political movements, social groupings - ends in themselves, self-serving things, to such a degree that we find it impossible and painful to hear someone tell us we are failing to be fruitful as a force in the world. The argument that "it has to be done this way because that's how it's always been done" generally has more to do with one's own personal security than real engagement with the world. It's inward looking and it dare not look out the other way.
My grand-daughter will be hearing the word 'No' quite often over the next few months, and she'll need to. At present, her main response is to scream; well, I can understand that, I've often been there too, but she'll need to learn to move on. 'No' is a very powerful world, and there's a lot it can kill within us - but those who'll be saying 'No' to her as she takes these early steps will be doing so with her own welfare very much in mind and heart. That shouldn't change; so this little bit of self-examination is of vital importance, I'm sure - the question to ask: when I find myself saying 'No', whose welfare and interests do I really have in mind?
After all, it won't be the last time in her life, I'm guessing, that an attempt at freedom is responded to by the use of restraint! And that raises some significant thoughts in my mind, about the nature of human society. There will always be those who insist on controlling others, and there will always be people in high places and with vested interests who are so afraid of the free spirit, positive outlook and new ideas of others that all they can think of doing is shutting them up and closing them down. So the sad truth is that every day in our world butterflies are stamped on: courageous ideals are belittled, and challenging and inventive suggestions dismissed.
But at the same time, I'm bound to admit that some degree of restraint is a necessary and good thing. My grand-daughter would come to harm if she were allowed to wander off unhindered and without regard. Totally unfettered freedom becomes licence, and is harmful and damaging to the rights of individuals and the structure of an ordered community - there have to be rules and laws and restrictions. We can't just do as we please.
The trick is to strike the right balance, between restraint and openness. How are we to do this? I think we need a style of education and nurture that encourages inventiveness and the development of a lively, questing and questioning personality, but that also teaches a proper regard and respect for - and ability to use - discipline (self-discipline included, of course). We also need, when in a position of comparative power, to check again and again and with painful honesty, what our true motives are when we say 'No' to the ideas, challenges or bid for freedom of someone else. In my perception, one common fault is that we make organisations - churches, political movements, social groupings - ends in themselves, self-serving things, to such a degree that we find it impossible and painful to hear someone tell us we are failing to be fruitful as a force in the world. The argument that "it has to be done this way because that's how it's always been done" generally has more to do with one's own personal security than real engagement with the world. It's inward looking and it dare not look out the other way.
My grand-daughter will be hearing the word 'No' quite often over the next few months, and she'll need to. At present, her main response is to scream; well, I can understand that, I've often been there too, but she'll need to learn to move on. 'No' is a very powerful world, and there's a lot it can kill within us - but those who'll be saying 'No' to her as she takes these early steps will be doing so with her own welfare very much in mind and heart. That shouldn't change; so this little bit of self-examination is of vital importance, I'm sure - the question to ask: when I find myself saying 'No', whose welfare and interests do I really have in mind?
Monday 20 February 2012
Footsteps
I've just been looking at a video of our grand-daughter walking quite confidently across the lounge in her home, and chattering away as she does it. In a year's time, the fact that she can walk and talk will be something we'll all be taking for granted, but just now (she's aged 14 months) it's still a marvel.
I've got a foot on my desk, and I'm looking at it now as I write this. No, not one of my own feet - if I ever was that athletic, I am no longer - this is a little foot, less than an inch long, made out of coloured glass, and it was given me at a conference I attended, as a sign of pilgrimage I think, and to remind us that, as disciples, we should be on the move, using our feet (and using them for more than just to stand on).
Having said that, perhaps my foot could also be a sign of our need sometimes to slow down to walking pace, not to take things too fast, to give ourselves the time and the space to enjoy the view. How much can you see, or understand, when travelling at speed? The journey is as important as the destination (and that, too, is a good pilgrimage sentiment to keep hold of).
And can I also remind myself, as I turn back to look again at that lovely video, not to allow things that really are marvellous and beautiful and good to become just ordinary? Slow down, take a break, look around you, take in the sights and the sounds . . . see if you can't get back to those used-to-be days when the things you now take for granted were still special and wonderful. Then give thanks for it all.
I've got a foot on my desk, and I'm looking at it now as I write this. No, not one of my own feet - if I ever was that athletic, I am no longer - this is a little foot, less than an inch long, made out of coloured glass, and it was given me at a conference I attended, as a sign of pilgrimage I think, and to remind us that, as disciples, we should be on the move, using our feet (and using them for more than just to stand on).
Having said that, perhaps my foot could also be a sign of our need sometimes to slow down to walking pace, not to take things too fast, to give ourselves the time and the space to enjoy the view. How much can you see, or understand, when travelling at speed? The journey is as important as the destination (and that, too, is a good pilgrimage sentiment to keep hold of).
And can I also remind myself, as I turn back to look again at that lovely video, not to allow things that really are marvellous and beautiful and good to become just ordinary? Slow down, take a break, look around you, take in the sights and the sounds . . . see if you can't get back to those used-to-be days when the things you now take for granted were still special and wonderful. Then give thanks for it all.
Sunday 19 February 2012
Thought For The Week
"All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much."
George Harrison
George Harrison
Friday 17 February 2012
Rose
A rose from the collection at Powis Castle. We still had roses in bloom till Christmas - nothing now, of course, but it won't be long until I'm pruning and preparing ours for the coming season. Always look forward . . .
Cold
I've got a cold. It's been coming on for some days, and I've tried all the pills and potions in my arsenal in an attempt to keep it at bay - but ultimately to no avail, and I'm coughing and sneezing and spluttering like a good'un.
Amazing, isn't it, how vulnerable we can be to these little hostile microbes? They're so small, and yet we can't seem to combat them, we have to go through all the phases of a cold, and, just when you think you've got it licked, feeling better, getting on with things again, back it comes for another go at you, and down you go again. Though maybe, turning things round the other way, the really amazing thing is how few colds we get, given the sheer number of aggressive microbes there are about the place, waiting to have a go at us! I've spent all winter being coughed on by people, and yet this is the first one that's got through.
That doesn't make me feel that much better, just at this moment in time. I really HATE colds! Still, it's an excuse to open another bottle, and there's a nice Islay malt there at the back of the sideboard.
Amazing, isn't it, how vulnerable we can be to these little hostile microbes? They're so small, and yet we can't seem to combat them, we have to go through all the phases of a cold, and, just when you think you've got it licked, feeling better, getting on with things again, back it comes for another go at you, and down you go again. Though maybe, turning things round the other way, the really amazing thing is how few colds we get, given the sheer number of aggressive microbes there are about the place, waiting to have a go at us! I've spent all winter being coughed on by people, and yet this is the first one that's got through.
That doesn't make me feel that much better, just at this moment in time. I really HATE colds! Still, it's an excuse to open another bottle, and there's a nice Islay malt there at the back of the sideboard.
Thursday 16 February 2012
Event Horizon
I am sure I heard someone say
that to leave the universe altogether
might be a remarkably uneventful experience.
You do it
without noticing a thing.
And here I am
having strayed beyond the event horizon;
I am out of my depth, drawn in,
no strength left to swim, and
nowhere else to go
but down.
It's a line you cross,
the boundary between orbit and freefall. You do it
without noticing a thing; and for me
the standard formulae have all ceased to work
however hard I try to go on trusting.
It seems
I have been taken beyond the point of balance
into a new and scary singularity.
There is no light in this place.
But perhaps it still can be the way
through which I shall be brought to light.
that to leave the universe altogether
might be a remarkably uneventful experience.
You do it
without noticing a thing.
And here I am
having strayed beyond the event horizon;
I am out of my depth, drawn in,
no strength left to swim, and
nowhere else to go
but down.
It's a line you cross,
the boundary between orbit and freefall. You do it
without noticing a thing; and for me
the standard formulae have all ceased to work
however hard I try to go on trusting.
It seems
I have been taken beyond the point of balance
into a new and scary singularity.
There is no light in this place.
But perhaps it still can be the way
through which I shall be brought to light.
Wednesday 15 February 2012
Nature Notes
The latest monthly 'Nature Notes', as printed in the March edition of a couple of local magazines:
One animal with which the month of March is forever associated is the hare. Lewis Carroll included the March Hare as a character in ‘Alice in Wonderland’, of whom Alice says, “As this is May, it won't be raving mad - at least not so mad as it was in March." In fact, though, the ‘mad’ behaviour of boxing can be seen throughout the hare’s breeding season, which extends over several months.
I recall standing by the River Dove, on the Derbyshire/Staffordshire border, watching hares boxing in the fields on the opposite bank. It is quite strange behaviour, which used to be interpreted as male hares fighting over an available female; now the boxing is recognized as being generally the female fighting off a male who is getting too amorous - or perhaps testing him out as a potential mate. A female may be pursued by several males, and, when finally caught by one, will stand and fight before making off again. At this time hares will also jump and dance as they meet together, and all this happens at quite some speed - the animals have been recorded as running at speeds of up to 45 miles per hour.
This is the brown hare, probably introduced to the UK by the Romans, and found throughout much of mainland Britain, though not in Ireland. There is also the mountain hare, not found in Wales, and the Irish hare, found, as the name suggests, only in Ireland, and perhaps a subspecies of the mountain hare.
Brown hares are creatures of the open meadow, raising their young not in burrows like rabbits but in forms - depressions in the ground. They are rather larger than rabbits, with a rangier build, taller ears and a black-tipped tail. When disturbed, a hare will run at speed, often taking a zig-zag course. They will tend to stick to regular routes into and out of fields - so one I disturbed along the lane near Middleton-in-Chirbury last year ran ahead of my car for some way before it spotted and took a clearly marked ‘hare path’ through the hedge.
Brown hares are regarded as an endangered species, numbers having reduced by some 75% through the last century - largely due to the decline in mixed farming. Unusually for a red-list species, hares can still be legally shot, though hunting by dogs is prohibited. This is because hares are still claimed as a serious pest, for example where beet is grown commercially.
The countryside around here is on the whole still good habitat for hares, which are also found on areas of short grass, such as golf courses and sand dunes. Hares used to be regarded as good eating, and jugged hare is to be found in many recipe books from Mrs Beeton onwards, as a traditional autumn dish. The hare also has its place in folklore, and, in this area, in the story of St Melangell, who gave shelter under her cloak to a hare being pursued by Brochwel, Prince of Powys.
One animal with which the month of March is forever associated is the hare. Lewis Carroll included the March Hare as a character in ‘Alice in Wonderland’, of whom Alice says, “As this is May, it won't be raving mad - at least not so mad as it was in March." In fact, though, the ‘mad’ behaviour of boxing can be seen throughout the hare’s breeding season, which extends over several months.
I recall standing by the River Dove, on the Derbyshire/Staffordshire border, watching hares boxing in the fields on the opposite bank. It is quite strange behaviour, which used to be interpreted as male hares fighting over an available female; now the boxing is recognized as being generally the female fighting off a male who is getting too amorous - or perhaps testing him out as a potential mate. A female may be pursued by several males, and, when finally caught by one, will stand and fight before making off again. At this time hares will also jump and dance as they meet together, and all this happens at quite some speed - the animals have been recorded as running at speeds of up to 45 miles per hour.
This is the brown hare, probably introduced to the UK by the Romans, and found throughout much of mainland Britain, though not in Ireland. There is also the mountain hare, not found in Wales, and the Irish hare, found, as the name suggests, only in Ireland, and perhaps a subspecies of the mountain hare.
Brown hares are creatures of the open meadow, raising their young not in burrows like rabbits but in forms - depressions in the ground. They are rather larger than rabbits, with a rangier build, taller ears and a black-tipped tail. When disturbed, a hare will run at speed, often taking a zig-zag course. They will tend to stick to regular routes into and out of fields - so one I disturbed along the lane near Middleton-in-Chirbury last year ran ahead of my car for some way before it spotted and took a clearly marked ‘hare path’ through the hedge.
Brown hares are regarded as an endangered species, numbers having reduced by some 75% through the last century - largely due to the decline in mixed farming. Unusually for a red-list species, hares can still be legally shot, though hunting by dogs is prohibited. This is because hares are still claimed as a serious pest, for example where beet is grown commercially.
The countryside around here is on the whole still good habitat for hares, which are also found on areas of short grass, such as golf courses and sand dunes. Hares used to be regarded as good eating, and jugged hare is to be found in many recipe books from Mrs Beeton onwards, as a traditional autumn dish. The hare also has its place in folklore, and, in this area, in the story of St Melangell, who gave shelter under her cloak to a hare being pursued by Brochwel, Prince of Powys.
Sunday 12 February 2012
Thought For The Week
"All the knowledge in the world is of no use to fools."
(The Eagles - 'Long Road Out Of Eden')
(The Eagles - 'Long Road Out Of Eden')
Saturday 11 February 2012
An Extra Thought
This little message, inscribed on a piece of wood, stands by the till in my local health food shop (I hope I've remembered it correctly). I was in there today, read it and smiled as I always do, and, as it seems to me a pretty good message to live by, I'm happy to pass it on:
"Work like you don't need the money,
love like you've never been hurt,
dance like there's nobody watching."
"Work like you don't need the money,
love like you've never been hurt,
dance like there's nobody watching."
Cross
Crossness is my dominant feeling today. It's a fairly destructive state of mind, in which one does stupid things like kicking the cat (if we had one to kick, which we don't), simply because it somehow makes you feel a tiny bit better to know that someone else is suffering too - or perhaps as an attempt to transfer some of your angst onto them. Anyway, the last time I tried seriously kicking anything I broke my toe, so, cross or not, I'm not going there again.
Life is rather frustrating. I am no longer able to do what I was prepared and trained to do, and felt it was my life's call to do. And, while I remain busy and involved, with lots to keep mind and body occupied, lots of projects in hand, lots of social stimulus - well, it's never going to be enough. I am a priest not presently able to be a priest, and I'm cross about that.
But who can I be cross with? With God - or with some faceless subdivision of God one might label 'fate'? Well, yes, I could, and from time to time I have. Some of my praying has been pretty anguished and bitter, and at times I've found prayer of any kind to be all but impossible.
Then there are the people I could, I suppose, accuse or feel hard done by, the people who, looking back, either could have done more, or should have done less. But the fact is that neither my crossness with God nor any cross feelings I may have about other people really bear serious scrutiny. Truthfully, the most I can accuse anyone else of is perhaps an element of apathy or forgetfulness (or perhaps naivety). I'd be painting a very untrue picture were I to suggest that people have been actively plotting against me, or are delighting in having done me down. And God? Well, probably the worst accusation I can throw at God is that he's allowed me the freedom to go my own way, and to be the author of my own fate. How can I accuse him, when the truth is that I have misused his gift and mistrusted his grace?
So these cross feelings of mine have more to do with a self-centred view of the world, and a refusal to accept responsibility for my own situation, than with the real world, which though it may be a painful, and messy, and hard to fathom sort of a place, is not in fact full of conspiracies against me. And the best way out of my crossness will not be kicking the cat (or, indeed, anything else - as it happens, I broke my toe kicking a piece of entirely blameless bedroom furniture . . .), but taking the time, the effort, the advice and (thank God) the love which, together, will help me to rebalance, to understand, and to begin to move on.
And those last two words are important. Like it or not, there is no way back. That life is over, and I can't go back there again. And it's no good my getting cross about that, it's just something that has happened. I could dwell on it, get screwed up by it, feel cross about it, but in the end as I do that I'll only harm myself and people I care about. Real life is process, in which every ending carries the possibility of new beginning, and every change of direction carries the possibility of new discovery. I need to learn (and I am learning, despite my cross moments) that for me moving on is possible, and there shall continue to be new and exciting and fulfilling places to go. And, I would have to say, speaking now very personally, to go as a priest, and in company with my Lord.
Life is rather frustrating. I am no longer able to do what I was prepared and trained to do, and felt it was my life's call to do. And, while I remain busy and involved, with lots to keep mind and body occupied, lots of projects in hand, lots of social stimulus - well, it's never going to be enough. I am a priest not presently able to be a priest, and I'm cross about that.
But who can I be cross with? With God - or with some faceless subdivision of God one might label 'fate'? Well, yes, I could, and from time to time I have. Some of my praying has been pretty anguished and bitter, and at times I've found prayer of any kind to be all but impossible.
Then there are the people I could, I suppose, accuse or feel hard done by, the people who, looking back, either could have done more, or should have done less. But the fact is that neither my crossness with God nor any cross feelings I may have about other people really bear serious scrutiny. Truthfully, the most I can accuse anyone else of is perhaps an element of apathy or forgetfulness (or perhaps naivety). I'd be painting a very untrue picture were I to suggest that people have been actively plotting against me, or are delighting in having done me down. And God? Well, probably the worst accusation I can throw at God is that he's allowed me the freedom to go my own way, and to be the author of my own fate. How can I accuse him, when the truth is that I have misused his gift and mistrusted his grace?
So these cross feelings of mine have more to do with a self-centred view of the world, and a refusal to accept responsibility for my own situation, than with the real world, which though it may be a painful, and messy, and hard to fathom sort of a place, is not in fact full of conspiracies against me. And the best way out of my crossness will not be kicking the cat (or, indeed, anything else - as it happens, I broke my toe kicking a piece of entirely blameless bedroom furniture . . .), but taking the time, the effort, the advice and (thank God) the love which, together, will help me to rebalance, to understand, and to begin to move on.
And those last two words are important. Like it or not, there is no way back. That life is over, and I can't go back there again. And it's no good my getting cross about that, it's just something that has happened. I could dwell on it, get screwed up by it, feel cross about it, but in the end as I do that I'll only harm myself and people I care about. Real life is process, in which every ending carries the possibility of new beginning, and every change of direction carries the possibility of new discovery. I need to learn (and I am learning, despite my cross moments) that for me moving on is possible, and there shall continue to be new and exciting and fulfilling places to go. And, I would have to say, speaking now very personally, to go as a priest, and in company with my Lord.
Friday 10 February 2012
Dismal
It's been a really grey, cold and dismal day here today, raining on and off, and with the Long Mountain across the valley from us obscured by mist and low cloud, start to finish. As we've not managed to scrape above one degree Celsius, there's been a cold that works its way straight through to the bones. Admittedly the days are drawing out - it's still sort of light, and we nearly half past five - but it's been gloomy all afternoon, so one hardly notices.
But it's always worth looking for the positives, and homing in on them! I've had lunch with a good friend who is adept at saying sensible things to me when I need to hear them, and we met in a pub I'd not been in before (the Lowfield at Marton), where we found a warm welcome (once Mine Host had managed to get the log burner working), a pint of an ale new to me from the excellent Three Tuns brewery, and some good food. Certainly a place to which to return, I'd reckon.
And as we left, there were two red kites circling high overhead, grey against a grey sky but unmistakeable, with the forked tails very obvious. It was great to see them, and I wonder if they might, when the spring eventually arrives, be a breeding couple?
It's very easy to tune into the gloom, when things are a bit tough and life isn't playing the way you'd like it to. It's very tempting to keep your head down and to let your eyes drop. I'm just glad that at that point this afternoon I had the grace to look up!
But it's always worth looking for the positives, and homing in on them! I've had lunch with a good friend who is adept at saying sensible things to me when I need to hear them, and we met in a pub I'd not been in before (the Lowfield at Marton), where we found a warm welcome (once Mine Host had managed to get the log burner working), a pint of an ale new to me from the excellent Three Tuns brewery, and some good food. Certainly a place to which to return, I'd reckon.
And as we left, there were two red kites circling high overhead, grey against a grey sky but unmistakeable, with the forked tails very obvious. It was great to see them, and I wonder if they might, when the spring eventually arrives, be a breeding couple?
It's very easy to tune into the gloom, when things are a bit tough and life isn't playing the way you'd like it to. It's very tempting to keep your head down and to let your eyes drop. I'm just glad that at that point this afternoon I had the grace to look up!
Thursday 9 February 2012
Poem
I was giving a reading of some of my poems yesterday - mostly the comic poems that I do quite enjoy composing, but one or two others as well. I think it was quite well received, but the one poems that I was asked to read again was really a prayer, which I'm happy to offer to what might (who knows?) be a larger audience out there in the blogosphere :-
The strength to hold on firmly,
The courage to let go;
The wisdom that knows when it's "Yes",
And when it must be "No";
The gentle voice of comfort,
Stern words to set us right;
Clear vision to discern the way,
And light to guide at night;
A love that shares our sorrows,
A grace to heal our sin;
A world of beauty round us,
The breath of life within:
For all your blessings, Father,
We praise your name today -
With songs of courage in our hearts,
We'll walk the pilgrim way.
The strength to hold on firmly,
The courage to let go;
The wisdom that knows when it's "Yes",
And when it must be "No";
The gentle voice of comfort,
Stern words to set us right;
Clear vision to discern the way,
And light to guide at night;
A love that shares our sorrows,
A grace to heal our sin;
A world of beauty round us,
The breath of life within:
For all your blessings, Father,
We praise your name today -
With songs of courage in our hearts,
We'll walk the pilgrim way.
Wednesday 8 February 2012
Moan
I'm cold, my head hurts, and the glass of whisky at my hand is only a partial remedy at best. It's getting on for 11 pm, and I've been trying to balance accounts all day - managed it, too, eventually, once I chucked out the faulty set of figures I'd been working with! By then, mind you, I'd lost two or three hours. No profound thoughts in this, just a bit of a moan. But everyone needs one sometimes!
Monday 6 February 2012
Thought For The Week
"A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves."
Marcel Proust
Marcel Proust
Sunday 5 February 2012
No Snow
We've had a very pleasant, bright, spring-like day here on the Welsh borders. It's felt a lot milder than of late, and the afternoon has been alive with the sound of people out working in their yards and gardens. I've noticed midges dancing above our lawn, and the birds have been singing happily. Granted, it was a bit treacherous early on with some ice on the roads and paths, but on the whole we've had a lovely Sunday to be out and about.
Meanwhile the news reports have been all about how the rest of the country has found itself buried under quite a few inches of snow. People have been trapped and stranded. Well, I don't even like snow very much, so my question is - why then do I feel sort of cheated, to have had such a nice day in place of the blizzards and disruption elsewhere?
Meanwhile the news reports have been all about how the rest of the country has found itself buried under quite a few inches of snow. People have been trapped and stranded. Well, I don't even like snow very much, so my question is - why then do I feel sort of cheated, to have had such a nice day in place of the blizzards and disruption elsewhere?
Waiting
I've never been good at waiting. I remember how much I used to hate it when I was in town with my mother as a child, and she was always stopping and talking with people. She seemed to know almost everyone, and I'd be stuck there standing around until my feet ached. I'm interested to discover how many of my childhood memories are about the frustration of waiting, in fact - the lead-up to Christmas through December would seem to take forever, for example.
But as I get older, I'm learning to cope with things not happening straight away, and, indeed, I'm discovering that waiting time doesn't have to be wasted time. I can wait purposefully, I can wait in a way that prepares me for what is to come. I don't have to just kick my heels in frustration.
In fact, I'm discovering that to have the time to wait is in fact a blessing. It is something that is God-given. In the modern world it seems that everything has to be instant, everything has to be now . . . and because of this, on the whole the quality of so many things, of experiences, friendships, food even, has to my mind taken a dip. Most of the best things in life don't just happen, certainly they won't happen straight away. They have to be waited for, prepared for, worked for, watched for.
Just now in my own life, I'm in an in-between stage. My feeling is that one life is over, and another is beginning, but just now there are still some vital components of that new life for which I have to wait. They are not ready for me yet, and, because I'm eager to get on with stuff, that could be quite frustrating. But, when I think about it, the truth is that nor am I ready for them. There is still work to be done on me; I've got the time - let's get on with it!
But as I get older, I'm learning to cope with things not happening straight away, and, indeed, I'm discovering that waiting time doesn't have to be wasted time. I can wait purposefully, I can wait in a way that prepares me for what is to come. I don't have to just kick my heels in frustration.
In fact, I'm discovering that to have the time to wait is in fact a blessing. It is something that is God-given. In the modern world it seems that everything has to be instant, everything has to be now . . . and because of this, on the whole the quality of so many things, of experiences, friendships, food even, has to my mind taken a dip. Most of the best things in life don't just happen, certainly they won't happen straight away. They have to be waited for, prepared for, worked for, watched for.
Just now in my own life, I'm in an in-between stage. My feeling is that one life is over, and another is beginning, but just now there are still some vital components of that new life for which I have to wait. They are not ready for me yet, and, because I'm eager to get on with stuff, that could be quite frustrating. But, when I think about it, the truth is that nor am I ready for them. There is still work to be done on me; I've got the time - let's get on with it!
Saturday 4 February 2012
Stuff You Dread
I used to have a cartoon, by the great Larry I think, which showed a vicar praying in his car parked around the corner from a house that one could only charitably describe as a slum property with disreputable and possibly criminal tendencies. The caption (unusual for Larry) read, "Please God, let them be out!"
I can think of a number of times when I've absolutely dreaded something - a pastoral visit, quite possibly, or a difficult interview, or a demanding service that would need careful and sensitive leadership - anyway, a situation to inspire a good deal of fear before the event. I've hoped against hope to find a reason why I don't have to be there, don't have to do that, only to find that the reality was nothing like as scary as I'd thought. "Why on earth was I so worried?" I've come away thinking.
Anyway, I'm inspired to write this by an occasion the other day that was in fact a good thing, and in the end a reassuring and encouraging (and happy) experience. It was a meeting I had worried about a lot, and my first instinct was to hide away from it or come up with any excuse not to be there . . . anyway, things didn't work out that way, and now I'm glad they didn't. Often the message God gives us at such times is simple and straightforward - "Just do it!"
The simple lesson so often not learned (by me, anyway) is - the stuff we can't face on our own, we can face with God. The stuff we can't do on our own, God lifts us up so that we can do. What we run away from, we never really escape. But, as I recall a poster saying, "You and me together, Lord, there's nothing going to happen this week that we can't face!"
So here's part of the problem, I think, for many a believer. We find it so easy to ring-fence the God stuff, so that it's all to do with churchy things, the hour on a Sunday, the contents of our stewardship envelopes, the hymns and anthems and prayers. We keep God in that place, and then behave as though the other stuff - real life, you might call it - is stuff we have to deal with on our own.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Wherever we go in life, God is there already. We don't have to be fearful, for we are loved with a love that is more than enough for life's scary moments. The things we find it so hard to face or to psyche ourselves up for - God knows about them already, he's measured them and he's ready to face them with us. And as we learn to trust in him more, perhaps we'll manage to trust in ourselves more as well.
I can think of a number of times when I've absolutely dreaded something - a pastoral visit, quite possibly, or a difficult interview, or a demanding service that would need careful and sensitive leadership - anyway, a situation to inspire a good deal of fear before the event. I've hoped against hope to find a reason why I don't have to be there, don't have to do that, only to find that the reality was nothing like as scary as I'd thought. "Why on earth was I so worried?" I've come away thinking.
Anyway, I'm inspired to write this by an occasion the other day that was in fact a good thing, and in the end a reassuring and encouraging (and happy) experience. It was a meeting I had worried about a lot, and my first instinct was to hide away from it or come up with any excuse not to be there . . . anyway, things didn't work out that way, and now I'm glad they didn't. Often the message God gives us at such times is simple and straightforward - "Just do it!"
The simple lesson so often not learned (by me, anyway) is - the stuff we can't face on our own, we can face with God. The stuff we can't do on our own, God lifts us up so that we can do. What we run away from, we never really escape. But, as I recall a poster saying, "You and me together, Lord, there's nothing going to happen this week that we can't face!"
So here's part of the problem, I think, for many a believer. We find it so easy to ring-fence the God stuff, so that it's all to do with churchy things, the hour on a Sunday, the contents of our stewardship envelopes, the hymns and anthems and prayers. We keep God in that place, and then behave as though the other stuff - real life, you might call it - is stuff we have to deal with on our own.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Wherever we go in life, God is there already. We don't have to be fearful, for we are loved with a love that is more than enough for life's scary moments. The things we find it so hard to face or to psyche ourselves up for - God knows about them already, he's measured them and he's ready to face them with us. And as we learn to trust in him more, perhaps we'll manage to trust in ourselves more as well.
Wednesday 1 February 2012
Birthday
I'm not a great one for birthdays, but I've got one today, and it was nice to receive good wishes from (a few) family and friends. I don't really celebrate my birthday, and I think a lot of people who know me know that about me, and leave me be (or, perhaps I should say, have given up on me). It's also true that most of my family and many of my friends are hopeless at remembering birthdays! Nonetheless, I do quite enjoy having a birthday, if only because it's an annual reminder that I'm still going! This one's been a busy working day, as it happens, and I'm happy with that. And it's also been sunny and pleasant, if rather cold; so the world around has looked bright and happy.
Looking back, as I was in conversation earlier on today, it's a little scary to discover just how long ago the times really are that I still think of as 'only yesterday'. I suppose, too, that when I seriously count up the years, I'm bound to be aware that future birthdays are going to be more about time ticking away than about new opportunities and things to look forward to. Even so, I shall always endeavour to be a 'glass half full' person, finding the blessings and the giftings in each situation, and looking at the world around and the road ahead with a sunny and hopeful disposition.
No parties, though; maybe it's worth celebrating the big birthdays (and this isn't one of them), but in general, at my age anyway, birthday parties always seem to me to have something desperate about them . . . an attempt to shut out the realities of life for a while, and pretend that it's all all right. Well, I'd rather embrace those realities and get on with living!
Looking back, as I was in conversation earlier on today, it's a little scary to discover just how long ago the times really are that I still think of as 'only yesterday'. I suppose, too, that when I seriously count up the years, I'm bound to be aware that future birthdays are going to be more about time ticking away than about new opportunities and things to look forward to. Even so, I shall always endeavour to be a 'glass half full' person, finding the blessings and the giftings in each situation, and looking at the world around and the road ahead with a sunny and hopeful disposition.
No parties, though; maybe it's worth celebrating the big birthdays (and this isn't one of them), but in general, at my age anyway, birthday parties always seem to me to have something desperate about them . . . an attempt to shut out the realities of life for a while, and pretend that it's all all right. Well, I'd rather embrace those realities and get on with living!
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