Faith and fortune

"I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value."
(Hermann Hesse)

I was playing Phil Ochs' haunting "There But For Fortune" this morning when today's date dawned on me. Folk singer, activist and unequivocal humanist Ochs wrote the song in 1963, fifty years ago. Thirteen years later, his disillusionment with humankind and his personal demons drove him to take his own life. I've always found it bleakly sad that a young man who defended universal human rights so passionately would perceive his own life so without value or salvation at the age of thirty six.
And today is the twelfth anniversary, for the want of a more fitting word, of "9/11". Ochs' words resound eerily across half a century:
"Show me the country, where the bombs had to fall;
show me the ruins of the buildings, once so tall,
and I'll show you a young land
with so many reasons why;
there but for fortune may go you and I."
More than a decade ago, the tallest of the tall crumbled and the most powerful nation on earth was brought to it's knees, in grief, despair, fear and faith. Yet this 11th September, as the new and gleaming World Trade Centre building points skywards once again, the United States and others debate the most reasonable response to the reports of gassed and burnt children in Syria.

My Mum used to say "There but for fortune", or sometimes "There but for the grace of God". She essentially meant that the misfortunes of others could so easily happen to us all: be thankful for the gift of life and it's blessings. I used to wonder whether the grace of God could be seen as fortune or favour; can faith and fortune ever overlap? 

I have an atheist friend who, year after year now, has demanded what God was doing as the planes hit the Twin Towers. He will no doubt be questioning the existence of a higher power today, as the terrible aftermath of chemical warfare seeps from the tea-time news. My response to him has at least always been constant. I believe that God created mankind and gave us the gifts of life, knowledge and willpower. Man has repeatedly chosen the ways of war, segregation and destruction. Man commits atrocities, not God. Man's use of knowledge and reason can not only limit the devastation of what we sweepingly deem "acts of God", but could limit the impact of future disasters. I mean no disrespect to anyone in saying again that if we all truly believed in a loving God, we could not take up arms against each other His name, regardless of whatever that name might be.

Faith is an acceptance of fortune, but not complacency. I honestly believe that faith opens doors that mankind can't even get a handle on. Today the incisive shard of light that is the One World Trade Centre rises from Ground Zero as the tallest building in the western hemisphere. It's a defiant beacon in the face of terrorism and natural disasters; many fortunes may be made and lost there. As I type this, New Yorkers are gathering in it's long shadow to commemorate the moment the first plane hit the Twin Towers. We rebuild beautifully and respectfully, as we debate, apparently endlessly, whether we should bomb and break elsewhere.
Whether you sympathise with politicians of any flavour or none, whether you are a fan of Barack Obama or not, their anxiety over Syria as fellow human beings is palpable on this day. We can prevaricate and protest and preach and we can pray. There but for fortune go you and I.

"We may lack riches, but the greatest fortune is what lies in our hearts."
(Dean Koontz)

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.

Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat."

(William Shakespeare)

 

 

"There But For Fortune"  Phil Ochs

A very special service

"Fear is the enemy of love."

(St Augustine)

"The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind."

(E.B. White)

I really didn't want to go on Jury Service. I felt unprepared and ill equipped to formally "judge" others' actions or intent. Three weeks on and after a particularly harrowing case that reduced me to tears in court on more than one occasion, I feel privileged to have been randomly selected. I was fortunate to have been kept in a confined space without the usual diversions with eleven extremely conscientious and caring people. All cut from very different cloths, we wove ourselves together comfortably and seamlessly by the end of the trial. Faced with disturbing evidence and the raw emotion of some of the witnesses, my fellow jurors restored my belief that there are good people and true out there.
Obviously, I can't say much about the case and the private lives of those involved have already been ripped apart and raked through, however necessarily. Graphically evidenced for us; the terrible collision of lives bruised by lack of self worth and faith; the inexorable impact of an abuse of affection and a failure to protect innocence.
I've only had a couple of boyfriends in my whole life; it may be that I'm a singularly unappealing individual, but I prefer to think my single status is largely due to not wanting to compromise my values and beliefs. I've certainly preferred to wake alone on a cold winter's morning than to lie in fear for anyone or anything entrusted to me, whether that be a child, my sanity or my soul. There but for fortunate and grace, I guess.
Our jury, in equal numbers male and female, admitted to losing sleep during the trial and feeling deeply shaken after our verdict was given. We had become aware of the enormity of relatively small words such as reason and doubt. I think we all gained a new respect for the resolve of the judiciary and the resilience of the surrounding administration.
There was a child in this case who is, thank God, alive and safe. I feel profoundly changed by my experience, if only that I feel more securely me. I hope to stay in touch with a couple of the jurors and would be genuinely delighted to cross paths with any of them in the future. It occurs to me that "jury" can be a very special service. And yet still nothing compared to the beautiful and terrifying responsibility of parenting; at it's finest, a life sentence.

"Unloving"

(Carol Ann Duffy)

Learn from the winter trees, the way

they kiss and throw away their leaves,

then hold their stricken faces in their hands 

and turn to ice; 

or from the clocks, 

looking away, unloving light, the short days 

running out of things to say; a church, 

a ghost ship on a sea of dusk. 

Learn from a stone, its heart shape meaningless, 

perfect with relentless cold; or from the bigger moon, 

implacably dissolving in the sky, or from the stars,

lifeless as Latin verbs. 

Learn from the river, 

flowing always somewhere else, even its name,

change, change; learn from a rope 

hung from a branch like a noose, a crow cursing, 

a dead heron mourned by a congregation of flies. 

Learn from the dumbstruck garden, summer’s grave, 

where nothing grows, not a Beast’s rose; 

from the town veil of a web; 

from our daily bread: 

perpetual rain, nothing like tears, unloving clouds; 

language unloving love; even this stale air 

unloving all the spaces where you were.

"I think the thumb print on the throat of many people is childhood trauma that goes unprocessed and unrecognized." 

(Tom Hooper)

"Skinny Love" Birdy (version)

"And I told you to be patient 

and I told you to be fine; 

and I told you to be balanced 

and I told you to be kind; 

and if all your love is wasted 

then who the hell was I? 

Who will love you?

Who will fight? 

And who will fall far behind?" 

(From "Skinny Love", Justin Vernon)

"Childhood is a promise that is seldom kept."

(Ken Hill)

"Sweet moderation, desert us not" (Billy Bragg)

"No-one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions; he had money as well."

"I owe nothing to Women's Lib."

(Margaret Thatcher)

Few people will probably be as divisive in death as in life as Baroness Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Aside from the rather beautifully staged pomp of her funeral at St Paul's Cathedral last week, her recent death has also sparked demonstrations and even some parties, from the former mining communities of the north, down to our very own economically challenged Brighton. The latter is of course infamous for all Thatcherites after the Provisional IRA bombed the Conservative Conference at the Brighton Grand Hotel in 1984.

I feel such "celebrations" are pointless as much as they are in poor taste: the woman has died; berating her "I'm alright Jack" attitude by parading and parodying it after her demise seems grossly hypocritical. But do I feel Margaret Thatcher should have had a ceremonial service with military honours, one step down from a full state funeral? Do I feel that those of us who pay our dues to this country and live increasingly hand-to-mouth should foot the estimated bill of £10 million? Hell no.

I can remember my Mum referring to "Thatcher the Milk Snatcher". Much has been made of Margaret's rise to become the first and still only woman prime minister of these lands. Yet her womanhood was as far removed from my ideals of the protection and equality of femininity as her historical female premiership was from my mother's long widowhood on a pension compromised by motherhood. Margaret Thatcher wasn't unduly bothered about lighting the way for other women: her cabinet was famously a "wimmin-free" zone.
I respect and accept that other members of my own family and some friends remain true-blue Thatcherites. Mine is the socialism of my Mum and Dad; a welfare state with the emphasis on a hand up rather than stop-gap handouts. A grocer's daughter from Grantham, Lincolnshire, she was fortunate enough to marry a rather wealthy man who cushioned her climb up the political ladder. She was a shop keeper's daughter who, sadly, seemed to forget the price of a loaf of bread. 
I'm in agreement with such diverse talking heads as Ken Livingstone, Geoffrey Roberston QC and Gorgeous George Galloway who attribute many of the UK's socio-economic problems today to the destruction of industry and financial de-regulation which featured so heavily in the Thatcher administration. Human rights lawyer Roberson has described the era as one of "unalloyed greed", sold on the huge deception that, pretty much left to their own devices, bankers would allocate resources rationally and for the general good. Thus began a decline in saving and investment and an accumulation of private and public sector debts; a path where the cracks would eventually creep all the way to the banking crisis of 2008. 

The destruction of manufacturing jobs was temporarily masked by opportunism and get-rich-quick schemes; skilled work gave way to a welfare "class"; house-building was usurped by estate agency. It appears to many of us that the policies of Cameron's government have a chillingly familiar ring to them, but there will be no bonanza of new oil to come to the government's rescue, or the country's. 

So clearly, not a fan of Margaret Thatcher then. I admit that I cringed once more when I saw the reportage of her quoting St Francis of Assisi's prayer for unity and harmony as she took office in 1979. But I was even more uncomfortable and very sad watching reports from former industrial communities in South Yorkshire and Scotland of jeering and mocked-up funeral pyres, toasting Maggie's decline in hell. Whilst I object to paying for a song and dance about the death of this elderly lady, I don't wish to see anyone jig on someone else's grave. Margaret Thatcher may not have been for turning, but her death from cardio-vascular distress and stroke, following treatment for bladder cancer and dementia, confirms that the baroness is definitely not returning.

The Dean of St Paul's Cathedral, the Very Reverend Dr David Ison, played a central role in last Tuesday's very public funeral. He took up the deanery at St Paul's after his predecessor resigned over the "Occupy London" protest furore, when anti-capitalist protesters camped outside the Cathedral, close to the Bank of England. Dr Ison has also linked Mrs Thatcher's policies with those of today's coalition. He told CNN International that: 

"You have to ask yourself the question: why it is, 23 years after she left government, Margaret Thatcher is still such a controversial figure and I think part of the answer is we still haven't come to terms with the hurt and anger many parts of society have felt because of the legacy of her policies. And there is some real work to be done here about the relationship between the rich and the poor in our society and how we can work together, instead of being opposed to one another. That's a particular agenda that I think that this funeral will be throwing up and highlighting."

I don't believe the gun carriage and the silencing of Big Ben were appropriate  but I do believe that respect and prayer for another person's passing are. May she rest in the peace we all eventually aspire to, no matter what our earthly advantages or failings. 

"Between the Wars" Billy Bragg

"I kept the faith and I kept voting, 

Not for the iron fist but for the helping hand; 

For theirs is a land with a wall around it 

And mine is a faith in my fellow man; 

Theirs is a land of hope and glory , 

Mine is the green field and the factory floor "

(Billy Bragg) 

"Make me a channel of your peace: 

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 

In giving of ourselves that we receive, 

And in dying that we are born to eternal life." 

(St Francis of Assisi) 

Book Club

We each have a story through this life. I firmly believe that people, events and places come into our lives for a reason: they are part of our story and we are part of theirs. This past week, my story has seemed quite disjointed, as though it's carrying on regardless of me, thinking I was a central player; taking curves and making cuts that I was not anticipating.
I now know that the word "history" originates from the Greek "historia", meaning the inquiry into and acquiring of knowledge; therefore, really encompassing the past and anything that evolves from it. When I was a little girl, I remember enchanting a teacher called Mr Snewin by explaining to him that history itself was really God's book - His Story. As a heady adult now, I still like the sound of that. 
As a Catholic, I believe my story has been created by God and presented to me as a gift, almost like a boxed set of something wonderful. What I take from the unfolding of it, what I learn and how I grow with that knowledge could be my gift of gratitude in return to the Author of the Universe.
I'm in the middle of statutory Jury Service and although I was a reluctant juror thrust into a very uncomfortable case, it now feels like part of my story for another tale to be known to me and for me to play an unexpected part. Most of the other jurors look very familiar to me, although we've never obviously encountered each other before: indeed, we are all very different and yet we seem to gel. Anyone who already knows me will appreciate what a Gigi-like statement that is. 
When people and elements of your own life seem to let you down at every turn, it's important to keep faith with what feels true to you; your story. We shouldn't try to live other people's lives for them or write their lines, any more than we should seek to pass that responsibility on to others.
I've learned to look out for those in life who are meant to be part of my story and to see how I can best serve or colour theirs. This is a short post, because I am weary from court, because I have an injured hand; because I feel just a few fleeting words could wing their way to those I call Friends, whose own pages might also seem smudged or faint at the moment. 
A quote from an uncredited source seems to hang in the room around me at the moment: "It's hard to wait around for something you know might never happen, but it's even harder to give up when it's everything you ever wanted." My own blinking and twittering little emotional SatNav tells me not to mess with the route if I can't better it. Sometimes, chapters close suddenly and new ones open in unimagined scenery and unforeseen circumstances. Your story will still be there: look for the surprisingly warm smile, the name or place that rings a bell, the something that you always wanted to do. Trust that God may appear to change what He wants for or from you, but that the only agenda is your fulfillment  Read between your own lines, take comfort in your own essential smallness in the greatest story that will ever be told.

"People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way around." 

(Terry Pratchett)

"Wayfaring Stranger"  Ed Sheeran (version)

"I have my own story, and I love my story, but I know I can't tell it alone, not now. Because stories have centres, but they don't have edges. No boundaries." 

(Andrew Clements)

Equinox

"It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart." 

(Rainer Maria Rilke)

Yesterday was the vernal equinox; a reflective day when the hours of light and darkness match each other before daylight grows longer. "Equi-nox" is simply Latin for "equal night". As we enter the last days of Lent, this is also our formal passage from winter; today is the first day of spring. 

The spring equinox is the most important point of the astronomical year, although there's nothing stunning or unusual about it to be observed from the earth. As the sun imperceptibly moves across the celestial equator from the southern to northern hemisphere, the latter will also grow warmer.
The ancient pagan peoples called this time "Ostara", in homage to their goddess Eostre, or Esther; this may have evolved into our Christian word "Easter". Eostre was the Anglo Saxon and Norse goddess of springtime and also of the east itself, where the dawn rises. The incarnation of fertility and abundance, as the land sprang back to life, Eostre's symbols were the egg and the hare: the circle of life and the prolific "Easter Bunny". In many pre-Christian cultures, including the Druids, the Ancient Egyptians and Greeks, eggs featured in burial rites as a symbol of rebirth. 
At Easter, Christians obviously celebrate the rebirth of Christ after his trials and torture and a terrible death: the Resurrection is a foundation of Christianity, the embodiment of hope, faith and love. As far back as the second century, accounts show that the disciples initiated and promoted the commemoration of Easter around the time of the Jewish feast of Passover. In Western Christianity, Easter should be celebrated on the Sunday immediately following the Paschal full moon.
Determined on the basis of lunisolar cycles, Easter has become a movable feast. Eastern Christianity may still base it's calculations on the Julian Calendar: the Julian spring equinox during the 21st century actually corresponds with 3rd April in the Gregorian Calendar. In Western Christianity, the feast of Easter may vary between 22nd March and 25th April. So Easter will be early this year, although personally this feels like a long Lent; nothing to do with what I've ceremoniously "given up", but very much to do with waiting.
I've a pagan friend who tells me she respects Christian beliefs but can see the tangible proofs of her own faith in nature: spring is sprung every year, regular as lunisolar clockwork. These days, it makes perfect sense to me that as the sun moves imperceptibly across the heavens, fulfilling the promise of rebirth and hope, so can the Son.

"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming."

(Pablo Neruda)

 

"April 3rd"  Donal Lunny & Friends

The Stranger at the door: for peace in Ireland

"Love is never defeated, and I could add, the history of Ireland proves it."

(Pope John Paul II)

"Hands Across the Divide", Maurice Harron's Peace Sculpture in Derry, N Ireland

At the close of St Patrick's Day, with no commentary on the whys or rights or wrongs behind the recent shock of violence in Northern Ireland, pray with palms upturned to the future; the lines you may find there, like the lines of the prayer included here, are themselves ancient but timeless.

If you really, truly want peace now and forever, never chart your future by looking back into the fray.

"You are the peace of all things calm, 

You are the place to hide from harm, 

You are the light that shines in dark, 

You are the heart's eternal spark, 

You are the door that's open wide, 

You are the guest who waits inside, 

You are the stranger at the door, 

You are the calling of the poor, 

You are my Lord and with me still, 

You are my love, keep me from ill, 

You are the light, the truth, the way, 

You are my Saviour this very day." 

(Old Irish prayer - Anon) 

"Be Thou My Vision" Van Morrison

"Peace is liberty in tranquility."

(Marcus Tullius Cicero)

Wherever

"You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection." 

(Buddha)

The other day, I popped into church to light a candle for a friend. I exited onto the street, a short distance away from another woman who I know only to nod to. A man walking past turned to look at us and the church behind us. "Catholics!" he snorted, "You don't know whether you're coming or going these days!" I assumed this outburst was fueled by the current focus on alleged Cardinal sins. Sometimes, you come up with the perfect subtle yet incisive riposte, but it's hours or days after a challenging remark or put-down In this instance, my mouth just yapped out the first thing that came into my head: "No, but we're still here!" The other woman, probably in her late sixties, wearing very sensible shoes and carrying a possibly even more sensible bag of shopping from M and S, suddenly let out a raucous "Yeah, deal with it!" After this display of random but surprisingly satisfying unity, the man scarpered up the road; the woman and I set off in different directions.

Recently, there have been several seemingly authoritative reports concluding that the Catholic Church will now need to reflect on her way forward, particularly as she chooses and embraces a new pontiff. In fact, the Church will always need to reflect; she's the Church, for goodness sake. Of course, the Papal Conclave may well instigate more particular and specific dialogues, to be welcomed by many of us. Essentially, much as others might want her to disappear in a cloud of non-Vatican smoke, the Church isn't "going" anywhere in the most basic sense, but will continue to reach wherever we may be.
A lot of pointed and sometimes pointless commentaries will be made about the latest scandal in the Catholic Church in coming weeks, in and outside of the media. This post is sincerely not intended to join in such speculation. I'm not belittling the seriousness of any individual's situation, nor any future implications for the Church as a whole. But to paraphrase an old saying, faith and people can be a bit like teabags: you may not appreciate their strength until they're in hot water. The Catholic Church does expect a lot from people; in turn, we ask much more of her priests and effectively heaven and earth from the Church herself.

I do feel that although religion is sculpted and organised by man, faith is naturally occurring. I know that I'm still very ignorant about Catholicism, but my own rather unpolished faith feels instinctive. The truest friendships seem intuitive to me; it's instinctive for me to light a candle sometimes when I sense someone is feeling lost or dark. This is what I was doing the other day; this post is also partly for that friend, even if they never read it.

Unusually for me, I have no idea where I copied this prayer from, nor who originally composed it: it was nesting in one of my scribble-books. I've resisted the urge to Google it; also rather unusual for me. It's occurred to me that it doesn't matter where or who a wish, blessing, prayer or indeed faith comes from, simply where it's intended and who it might touch along the way.

*Prayer For Unfailing Strength* 

Do not look forward to what may happen 

tomorrow; the same everlasting One who cares 

for you today will take care of you tomorrow and 

every day. Either He will shield you from suffering, 

or He will give you unfailing strength to bear it. 

Be at peace, then. Put aside all anxious thoughts and 

imaginations, and say: "You are my 

strength and my shield. My heart has trusted in You 

and I am helped. You are not only with me but in me, 

and I in You." 

"Wherever You Will Go" Charlene Soraia

"No man who is occupied in doing a very difficult thing, and doing it very well, ever loses his self-respect." 

(George Bernard Shaw)

(Photo: Gigi, album)

Australia, for everyday and always

"We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love; and then we return home."

(Proverb of the Indigenous people of Northern Territory, Australia)

I was in two minds (happens a lot) about writing a post for Australia Day, but I eventually succumbed to my longstanding love for The Lucky Country and a couple of cyber-nudges from two greatly missed Aussie friends. "Australia Day", 26th January, is a national holiday in Australia and the focus for sentimental and enthusiastic celebration for Australians abroad. 

Previously known as "Foundation Day", the holiday marks the landing of the First Fleet: the eleven ships of the British Admiralty, sent to establish a penal colony at the place that would become Botany Bay, New South Wales. Captain James Cook had explored and "claimed" the land some seventeen years earlier, and the Dutch had clocked it a hundred years before him. But it was Captain Arthur Phillip who, after some forays into the surrounding areas, "took possession" of the land around a geographically welcoming cove in the name of King George III on 26th January, 1787. Phillip named their colony after the then Home Secretary, Thomas Townsend - Viscount Sydney.
The name "Terra Australis Incognita", Latin for "Unknown Southern Land", dates back to the Roman empire, and legends of the mysterious continent evolved with medieval geography. Yet human habitation of the land began about 50,000 years ago. The ancestors of today's indigenous Australians were among the most ancient peoples of the earth, and the vast land was home to at least two hundred and fifty tribes, with their own languages. When the Europeans invaded, which is what we did, the Aborigines were hunter-gatherer peoples, with complex, oral-based cultures and a tradition of story-telling and celebration. Spiritual values were strong and binding to the land itself; there was a reverence for nature. "The Dreamtime" encompasses not only the story of the creator spirit and creation itself but also births the animist beliefs that have survived tens of thousands of years. 

The stories of The Dreamtime shaped Aborigine laws and customs, incorporating art and dancing. The emphasis was on belonging to and showing respect for the land that nurtured them; Australian soil is known to be the oldest on the planet, and the driest. Yet it remains a painful fact that the Federal Government of Australia would not recognise Aboriginal title, the traditional ownership of any land, until 1992.
National research in 2009 confirmed that ninety percent of all Australians polled felt it was  important to recognise and include the indigenous culture as part of the Australia Day festivities; however, the commemorative date of the celebration is still divisive. Although many indigenous Australians celebrate Australia Day, "Invasion Day" protests occur almost every year. Moves to change the holiday to another date may well cause further rifts in the population, at a time when the emphasis is on recognition and reconciliation.
I love Australia: I've been fortunate enough to visit the Lucky Country five times in the past twenty years, although not since 2008. From day one, I felt almost seduced by the country; I long to go back and familiar sights on various antipodean based relocation series find me sniffling in front of the telly. It helps that I'm uncommonly fond of large spiders, snakes and reptiles, but the colour and vibrancy of the country seem to draw energies out of my usually quite shy personality. In Australia, I'm able to indulge my penchant for trees, rocks and soil without feeling at all unfeminine. I get to climb up things, simply because they're there. I can wear as many colours as I want, how I want, with bangles up to my armpits. Every second person you meet really does have an Irish grandmother. In fact, the blend of immigrant cultures has borne it's own aspirational kinship. Some of the good friends I've known from Australia have been from very mixed race backgrounds and others have extended families that include indigenous Australians. The Celtic heritage is instantly reassuring, but I've always been fascinated that it sits so deep and easy with the art and stories of The Dreamtime, which are simultaneously unsophisticated and intricate. 

The relevance of the landscape and it's supported nature is unashamed, even when Australia boasts the twelfth largest economy in the world. The presence of nature and evolution itself is palpable, even in the cities. In a country that now paints itself as not particularly religious, the bedrock itself seems invested with spirit and wants to sing about it. The last time I visited, I made it to the red, dusty centre: Alice Springs and Uluru were National Geographic-pretty but the ancient power of the landscape was breath-taking. The photos at the bottom of this post are mine; I was able to wait before dawn to see the rocks of Uluru change colour as the sun rose. I found it profoundly spiritual to witness new daybreak, almost at the dateline, in such prehistoric terrain.
So I have mixed feelings about celebrating Australia Day, but I have no qualms abut celebrating Australia, as a country and as a people. I've written this post with an affection and empathy that I hope is obvious: there's no intention to offend anyone who calls Australia home.
I've included two blessings here that have evolved from the optimistic indigenous Christian movement in Australia. The country has no state religion, but the Catholic Church has benefited from post-war multi-cultural immigration and now has the largest affiliation. The Catholic education system is still the largest non-government educator; similarly, Catholic Health Australia is the largest non-government healthcare provider. However, as social journalist Caroline Jones noted: "Aboriginal people are a steady beating heart at the centre of Australian spiritual identity."
I'm mindful of the almost biblical battering the elements have unleashed on Australia recently: some of my friends have been sweltering and living in fear of wildfires; others were dealing with torrential downpours and the threat of tornadoes on this 26th January. My thoughts are with them. God bless Australia, everyday.

"A Prayer for Reconciliation"

Father of all,

You gave us the Dreaming:

You have spoken to us through our beliefs.

You then made Your love clear to us in the gift of Your Son.

We thank You for Your care:

You own us,

You are our hope.

Make us strong as we face the problems of change.

We ask You to help all the peoples of Australia to listen to each other and respect our cultures.

Make the knowledge of You grow strong in all people,

So that You can be at home in us and we can make a home for everyone in our land.

"A Blessing" 

To all who walk this land, 

May you always stand as tall as a tree, 

Be as gentle as the morning mist,

As strong as the earth under your feet. 

May the warmth of the campfire be in you;

And may the Creator Spirit of the Southern people always watch over you. 

 

(All photos: Gigi, album)

"This is the land of dreamings, a land of wide horizons and secret places. The first people, our ancestors, created this country in the culture that binds us to it." 

(Hetti Perkins)

"Keep your eyes on the sun and you'll not see the shadows." 

(Indigenous Australian proverb)

"The Holy Grail"  Hunters and Collectors

A funny thing happened on the road to Damascus

"Nobody can hurt me without my permission."

(Mahatma Gandhi)

( 9th February:I first posted this a couple of weeks ago and retired it a few days later. I've now edited it with a long pen: I've tried to be a bit more objective.The last thing I want is for this blog to be dismissed as bitter; not a feeling I care to hold onto, whether on paper, on the 'net, or in life).
25th January was Burns' Night; it was also the feast of St Paul's conversion to Christianity, while en route to Damascus to persecute Christians. Many of us will use the phrase "road to Damascus moment" to refer to the turnaround of something, however trivial in our version of events, at some point. Given the current volatility in and around the Syrian capital, most of us are blessed not be travelling on a road in or out of Damascus in any direction. 

I had a little Damascus moment that night while I was sitting here in the middle of a local power cut, writing about my poet-crush Robbie Burns, glancing back through my last couple of posts. A few days earlier, I wrote that I wanted to grow to be a lively and loved old lady. Looking at Phoebe Hessel's story, surely that's a life well lived: to demonstrate conviction, courage and great love; to maintain your wits and your vitality beyond youth; to display independence and self-respect and earn the affection and respect of others. I have no idea what religious beliefs Phoebe may have held; it could be said that she spent the early part of her life cloaked in deception. Yet to my mind, she was essentially true to herself, even when the Fifth Foot Regiment spent nearly two decades assuming she was just one of the lads, who had a couple of off days each month! 

When I recently attended mass in another parish, the priest happened to speak about the taking of a person's "good name" and how insidious and demoralising that can be. As a former prison chaplain, he'd seen how the system can break a spirit by replacing their given name with a serial number. It can dehumanise a person; bringing someone's name into disrepute can be similarly destructive.

I have no true idea if I have a particularly good name; I'm reluctantly aware there's already an element of arrogance in professing to be comfortable with myself and calling some things I've done achievements. I have a wilful naivete in some areas, but I'm wise enough to know that if I can see my own insecurities when I'm standing on them, then anyone stepping back to find fault wouldn't need binoculars.
I've recently had a profound reaction to an older lady"bad-mouthing" me: I've worried endlessly about what awful things might be said about me in my absence. I've beaten myself up about why this individual might dislike me; as if there's a universal obligation to like me. My reaction splutters as much about my own insecurities as this lady's animosity may say about her's. 
It's human nature to worry when people say things about you that are untrue. Unfortunately it's also human nature to gossip. The word "gossip" has itself been much maligned, originally meaning "Godparent" or "familiar acquaintance". It hasn't always been seen as bad practice: in Shakespeare's time, a gossip was someone who sat through a woman's childbirth, talking to provide reassurance and comfort.. Gossip can often promote a sense of belonging , bonding by projecting another party as the outsider; gossip always bears an element of attention seeking. Whenever we humans get territorial, we're generally unsure of where we fit in.
As for me, I know it's not unusual to seek assurance when you feel wronged, but I realise that my whingeing to others about attacks on me hasn't exactly been polishing this woman's name-plate either. Psychologist Alfred Adler said that:"It is easier to fight for one's principles than to live up to them."  When we hold onto grudges, we want to see the depth of our own hurt reflected in the remorse of the offender. Both my parents felt you shouldn't let the sun set on an argument; my Dad told me that if you went to bed with someone else's venom in your veins, you could only wake up feeling as much poisonous as poisoned. Someone may try to diminish me due to their lack of self esteem, but my own insecurity that sends me clamouring for reassurance is hardly attractive or inspiring. 

My own tiny Damascus moment was far nearer to home than the strife riddled Middle East. There was no blinding flash of light; in fact, there wasn't even electricity for some part of my little street that evening. Unlike St Paul, enlightenment didn't blind me for three days and normal power has been restored. Most of us do want to be remembered for a good life well lived, like Phoebe. We want to be liked. Sometimes, we might even resort to tarnishing another's nameplate to make our own appear that much brighter. People often attack others to defend a perceived vulnerability in themselves. When you're feeling low, it often seems easier to drag something or someone down than to raise your head above the parapet. Bitchiness, general unpleasantness, consumes a lot of energy and time; wouldn't you rather be laughing / loving / living?
It's no longer desperately important for me to know why anyone dislikes me, especially if I consider how little kindness they may have for themselves. My clever Dad also used to say that those who really know you will soon realise when someone else doesn't know you at all. We're all a little fearful of what a bright torch to the dark corners of our psyches might reveal: at the very least, mine are full of chocolate crumbs, heels that are too clackety to wear in church, drafts for this blog and little quirks and faux pas that have my name written all over them. I want my name to sit kindly on lips and ears; ultimately, that name can only be irreparably tarnished by my own actions, not by the words of another. 
And bitterness really is best served as chocolate.

"To speak ill of others is a dishonest way of praising ourselves. Nothing is always a good thing to say and often a clever thing to say."

(Will Durant)

"Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer."

(CS Lewis) 

"Every man alone is sincere. At the entrance of a second person, hypocrisy begins." 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson) 

"Speak ill of no man, but speak all the good you know of everybody."

(Benjamin Franklin)

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never truly alone." 

(Audrey Hepburn)

 "I'm On My Way"  The Proclaimers