Light Of The World

'"...on the banks, on both sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food and their leaves for healing.""

                                                                                              - Ezekiel 47: 12 (NRSV)

" It is this light [Christ] that is our goal; it is this direction that our gaze must be fixed, despite the dark patches that are cast along the way." (From my current Bible reading notes)

 Here we are at the end of my first week back since my time on retreat and holiday. It's been a bumpy week, with, as you can see from the picture -  dark patches in amongst the blue: a glorious blue that so much speaks of the strength and peace that I found from the time away. The greyish patches? Well, there've been several tragic incidents in the wider community here this last week, incidents which have shaken everybody to the core and will continue to have reverberations whether or not we're close to the people concerned.  There is no sense in it...no words....

Yet, it was a couple of on the surface of it innocuous  - even -  positive encounters the other day that, like, Avila, hit me like a bolt out of the blue,  pressed all my buttons and insecurities: the "You're no good," the "Just who do you think you are to even think you could...?" and worst of all, "You'll never do it..." (ok, I dredged up enough strength to squish this last one very firmly ), and sent me spinning and spiralling downwards into a mushy pile of tears, snot and self-pity. Threatening to sabotage all the wonderful self-confidence and change of focus gained from retreat and  a recent chat with my spiritual director. 

I'm coming out of it now; due in no small way to the patience of poor Mr GP, Avila, from A Weeble's Wonderings, whose bravery in sharing her very similar struggles was so uncannily well-timed, honest prayer ('Quiet Time' is not the best way to describe what the Almighty was offered!), and the passage from Ezekiel and its commentary, which taps back into the energy and sense of a far wider, grounded, more spacious self and place. That's where I know I belong, even if I  still feel slightly Beakerish! Hence the tree I added to the picture, rooted and fed by the water flowing from the sanctuary. "Their leaves will not wither nor their fruits fail..." 

"Meep!"

Lost In A Labyrinth?

Near Hadrian's Wall - Durham to Iona Pilgrimage, April/May 2011

A 'first,' for me yesterday; I actually got lost in a labyrinth. What an odd feeling! I was caught totally by surprise; a labyrinth has only one path winding in and out from the centre, after all. What confused me, was, I think, the overall shape, which was more of a square, with some sharp angles and meditative prayer stations along the way; a great idea in theory, yes, but in practice this introduced not only the usual need to  step off the path to let other walkers go by, but also decisions as to whether to wait patiently at intervals behind somebody deep in prayer, (which to be honest, I felt might appear rather intrusive to the person concerned) step right round them (intrusive again) or, as I eventually did, walk right off the labyrinth. I'm not famed for my sense of direction at the best of times, and after a couple of these diversions, I found myself totally confused and lost.  Several kind helpers appeared to point me back in the right direction, but I decided to call it a day. 

Though they may not have realised, I was quite happy to step off the installation and sit quietly with my thoughts.  I've been musing a fair bit recently about self-esteem issues and my tendency to let set backs, like the one I had earlier in the week, send me hurtling down a spiral of hurt despair and unhealthy self-absorption; as if I'm in some ghastly, cosmic game of Snakes and Ladders.   From where I am it looks as if The Only Way is Down and the temptation, I find is often to let the  downward pull define  everything else I'm about; surely the blips and set-backs are only an indication of my (abysmal) lack of self-worth and abilities. It's that old Imposter Syndrome: If they really knew how useless I am ...blah de blah...I might as well give up.  The trick, I've found, is to know when to push against this; the old   not in desolation going back on a decision made in a time of consolation bit.  I'm finding this easier of late; though this last has involved a few days snivelling away at a bemused but sympathetic Mr GP and much raging at God during the wee small hours.  Stepping back  now, I'm starting to  see the set-back in context.  This is where the labyrinth comes in again, mirroring, as it so often does, those unexpected twists and turns of life when you think you're travelling further away from your destination, but in reality are still on the path. Old cynic that I am, I sometimes find the old hymn God Moves in A  Mysterious Way,  a wee bit too off pat for my liking, but I do (grudgingly) have to admit there's more than a grain of truth in it. 

So, for all kinds of reasons, some of which won't make it on to this blog, the event that I was involved with yesterday, which I could so easily have decided to back out off at the last minute, has done wonders to boost the Greenpatch self-confidence; I've squared up to and stared down the old Inner Critic (for now, at least) and am back on the pathway.

Musick Hath Charms

So, after our little 'interruption,' yesterday, I'm back to what I'd intended to blog about: yes, my first singing session of the new term. My weekly 'work- out,' and banisher of the 'blues,' which I've waxed lyrical about on numerous occasions on my various blogs. Here are a couple of clips of the piece I'm learning: Should He Upbraid, words by Shakespeare, music by Henry Rowley Bishop. Neither of these are me, as you'll have guessed; but oh, to have a voice like theirs'! Well, maybe minus the hiss and crackle. The first singer, Frieda Hempel (1885-1955) probably sang from the same music  edition as the one I've borrowed; ancient, minus its covers and missing the last twenty pages or so. It reminds me so much of the scores I remember seeing at my grandmother, aunt and uncle's house as a child (the latter taught music and was also organist at a local church, and Grannie herself was a fairly accomplished pianist). She must have inherited much of her music from her parents (who owned a music shop). In my mind's eye I can picture the scene: aspidistras, waistcoats, handlebar moustaches and the whole family gathered round the piano of an evening. Wonderful.

My own efforts tend more towards the Sage The Owl and Parsley The Lion school of song. But I don't half have fun along the way!

Scaredy Cat's Comfort Zones, Confidence and Catnip

"Shall I? Shan't I?" - Greenpatch Cat deep in thought

I spent a pleasant half hour or so earlier sitting outside on the patio with Greenpatch Cat. Trying to persuade our resident mini-tiger that the outside world is  a friendly place hasn't been the easiest of tasks so far. As we live near a busyish road all of our moggies to date have been semi 'indoors,'  'Outdoors' being a large fenced and wired off section of the patio, with an arbour, platforms to climb, catmint and other greenery, wind chimes and I don't know what else. I remember GP Cat MkI 'Gothcat's ' favourite route out there was up over the kitchen sink and out onto a ramp via the window. It could be more than a little hair-raising at times, especially if you were cooking or busy with the washing up when a hairy streak of nothing with Dracula-style fangs suddenly jumped in front of you!

The latest GP feline's been with us nearly three months and as yet has hardly been out. To be fair to him, getting past the dog doesn't help matters. And we wonder if some of his hangups - about vets and venturing outside  also stem from being run over when he was younger.  Last time Mr GP tried sweeping him up and dumping him outside, he insisted in sitting right outside the doors looking so pathetic that my hairy hubby relented and let him in after a few seconds.

Today, I tried sitting outside with him in the late afternoon sunshine. Hallelujah! After a few minutes he  came over to me to investigate; took a cautious nip of catmint - then rolled in it....verrryyy slowly nosed his way round the enclosure, hid behind the arbour, peeked out, checked the place once more, before coming back over to me and snuggling up against me.  "Hmmmm...?" That last's for both of us. I'm currently musing over some possibilities that could...will  be liable to take me out of my comfort zones. Maybe tonight's episode with Scaredy (oops, nearly typed 'Sacred') Cat might have something to say to me...maybe...Hmmm...?

Lent Practices: Confidence and Letting Go - Mothering Sunday reprise

  Every year Jesus’ parents went to Jerusalem for the Festival of the Passover.  When he was twelve years old, they went up to the festival, according to the custom.  After the festival was over, while his parents were returning home, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but they were unaware of it.  Thinking he was in their company, they traveled on for a day. Then they began looking for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they went back to Jerusalem to look for him. After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.  Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers.  When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”

    “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”^[ But they did not understand what he was saying to them.

  Then he went down to Nazareth with them and was obedient to them. But his mother treasured all these things in her heart.  And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.

 - Luke 2  New International Version (NIV)

So, the pic above is my reflective take today on the Mothering Sunday talk I wrote about last week.  The snap here was taken in a hurry and rather fuzzy: Basically, I decided to juxtapose Cecil Day-Lewis's Walking Away (pasted  into the heart), against the account of the boy Jesus in the temple.  Simplicity is all. The seed case and dandelion were a last-minute addition, gathered as I walked up to church. Not easy to find at short notice these last two; church is in a 'nice,' area and people keep their gardens and verges neat, tidy and relatively weed-free. (to the detriment of my spontaneous bursts of self-expression!)

I've been pondering a bit as to whether I'm bringing some of my own 'stuff,' into what's turning out to be a kind of  visual meditation and the appropriateness of so doing. Last week's - which I forgot to photograph -  certainly did. Then looking at it another way; who's to know what  each viewer (most people are too busy drinking their coffee to notice it in any case!) sees in it? That it's rooted in prayer, authentic and from the heart is surely A Good Thing, regardless of outcome... Hmm? That sounds suspiciously like another example of  'letting go,' and, oh dear, I really am not managing very well on that front, am I ?!

Mothering Sunday - Cutting the Cord

                                            credit: idea go at freedigitalphotos.net

I have had worse partings, but none that so

Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly

Saying what God alone could perfectly show -

How selfhood begins with a walking away,

And love is proved in the letting go.

- Cecil Day-Lewis from 'Walking Away'

I am brainwashing my children not to want to smoke cigarettes (dirty, smelly, they kill you), climb mountains (high, cold, they kill you) or ever get on the back of a motorbike (far too fast, far too dangerous - and - did I mention?  - they kill you). Their father, on the other hand, has now introduced them to the concept of speed as a god to be worshipped.

 - Judith O'Reilly, Wife in the North

Sunday morning -  all-age service and, empty-nester though I am, the 'presentation' of the loving mother nurturing and protecting their child, teaching, comforting, advising and step by painful step making themselves redundant, made me smile and weep (inside) in equal measures.

The poignancy brought a lump to my throat.  I glanced around at the young mums and thought: You really don't know the half of it, do you? So, you worry non-stop about child-proof medicine bottles, buggy hinges that nip little fingers,  bike stabilisers, bike helmets, car seats, SATS results, GCSE results, Piano Grade III results, Stranger Danger, cyberbullying, Parental Advisory Lyrics and computer games,  Uni entry, the job market. Oh and sex and drugs and rock 'n roll of course...

And do you know? It never lets up; you just learn to cope with it differently, you have to, else you'd go crazy: The first all-nighter, Reading, Glastonbury, driving lesson, solo  motorway trip, depression, the post GCSE jolly to Ibitha (or Newquay!), failed job interview, solo packpacking to far-off lands, the angst-ridden phone call when they're far away and you're in no position to help, the darker, seamier stuff you'd rather not think about or begin to imagine. It's a wilderness out there. 

It's also a big, wide and wonderful world and the only way they're going to be able to find that out for themselves is for you to let them cut that cord. Pass on your wisdom, morals  values and faith, yes, let them know you're there for them, yes, 'Ponder and consider these things in your heart,' after all, you're in distinguished company; the mother of Our Lord had to, but like her, you have to let them make their own way eventually.

This is in no way denigrating or glossing over the experiences of those families, where, tragically, a beloved child - and they're your children whatever age they are - did not make it... Words, especially glib words are inadequate...

I chose the two quotations at the start of this post because between them  they so perfectly capture this tension all parents have to live with. To be fully human is to struggle  to live true within our   vulnerability; to risk the heartaches along with the joys and to equip our children and other loved ones to do the same. I might be a grumpy old Mummy a lot of the time and am certain I've made no end of mistakes along the way,   but on Sunday,  as I looked out over the little ones, I remembered my 'big ones,' and felt so, so, proud...

                                                    Saying what God alone could perfectly show - 

How selfhood begins with a walking away,

And love is proved in the letting go.