Know your place

It is a wonderful thing, to know your place in the world and to fully inhabit it. Very good things stem from taking up your space. I’ve put together some of the people and places who do this so well on my ‘inspired by’ page. To this I must add, Olympians…

In the Olympics this year, and I write this as the Paralympics just has started (so there will no doubt be more to follow), we glimpse from our living rooms the wonder and complexity of humanity. We are witness to triumphs and disasters. Some athletes faced both across the competition. Some athletes had known triumph before but met with disaster now, others had the opposite experience. And faced again the challenge of poet Rudyard Kipling

If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same

Kipling ‘If’

All of these athletes had worked hard to be there, or they would not have got to such a formidable world stage. However most remarkable was how each athlete met with these experiences for themselves and for their team mates. There was enormous power in their encounter. There was no hiding. Their true character came through, and for better or worse, we saw their true colours. Sport is like this, as is art, as is music, and theatre, throwing spotlights on the human condition.

And watching this brought to mind a kind of mantra to add to the treasure trove.

‘What stops you living your life like a painful and beautiful day in the story of an immense pregnancy?’

By Rainer Maria Rilke in his book ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ these lines are contained within a greater paragraph

 ‘Why not think, rather, that He is the one who is coming, moving toward us from all Eternity, the final fruit of a tree whose leaves we are? What stops you from projecting God’s birth into times to come and from living your life like a painful and beautiful day in the story of an immense pregnancy?… as bees gather honey so do we reap the sweetness from everything and so build God’

Exactly this. ‘What stops you living your life like a painful and beautiful day in the story of an immense pregnancy?’

There are as many responses to that as there are minds that read those words. What stops us?

At the same time no answers come easily because perhaps the question is supposed to be lived.

Nevertheless mindsets prevent this, like thinking too much, or too little of ourselves. Either mindset stops us living our painful and beautiful days by distracting us with either grandiose ideas of ourselves, or belittling ourselves entirely. Ends of a spectrum that are so compelling in how polarising they are and disproportionate in how they come to be valued above and beyond most other human experiences. Misplaced value, for are any of us really entirely defined by hitting or missing a home run?

Of course not. No one ever makes just a singular contribution to the world.

Like they say in the film Cool Runnings ‘if you are not enough without a gold medal, you will never be enough with it’.

The pain and the beauty are held together. As poet Mary Oliver writes,

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

Singer songwriter Pink sings about this too, ‘All I know so far’

I wish someone would have told me that this darkness comes and goes
People will pretend but baby girl, nobody knows
And even I can't teach you how to fly
But I can show you how to live like your life is on the line
You throw your head back, and you spit in the wind
Let the walls crack, 'cause it lets the light in
Let 'em drag you through hell
They can't tell you to change who you are
That's all I know so far
And when the storm's out, you run in the rain
Put your sword down, dive right into the pain
Stay unfiltered and loud, you'll be proud of that skin full of scars
That's all I know so far

‘you’ll be proud of that skin full of scars’. When I first heard the song I mis-heard this line, I thought she sang ‘you’ll be proud of that skin full of stars’, which could be equally true. Skin that will run out and feel the pouring rain, (as my friend will tell you is one of my favourite things), so we know we are alive. Rain and stars and scars that let us know we are part of something much much greater, an immense pregnancy which we cannot see. All that is asked of us is to turn up, live the questions and know our place as full inhabitants of the painful and beautiful day gifted to us.

Kites

I could do with some help. I am not good at making things. But I need to make a kite. You see some time ago now words were written and things said that caused me great pain. And I have not known what to do with them and so they sit in a box in the loft. I even bothered to pack them when I moved house 10 months ago instead of throwing them in the bin. I was scared to let them go. No matter that many had come to my aid and defence, I still held them against myself.

I was speaking with a wonderful woman a few weeks ago about these pages and I considered burning them, but that felt too destructive. And then I suddenly I remembered a beautiful scene in the film The Personal History of David Copperfield. There is a character who is troubled by thoughts, images and words about the beheading of King Charles. He spends endless days in a darkened room with tormented thoughts which torture him, scribbling and sketching, surrounded by growing mounds of paper. Until one day the young David Copperfield comes bursting through the door and implores him ‘we can release them, we can cast them to the wind’. And they gather the reems of sketches and words and form them into a kite and charge out of the house into the open field and fly this kite together. The man in amazement exclaiming, ‘The sky is absorbing my words, the higher the words go, the clearer my mind becomes….This is a remarkable day’. His friend David Copperfield watches him saying,’it’s a delight to see you so liberated’ for this liberation gives room for him to remember other gifts he has.

Having remembered this moment I have promised myself I will take down my pages and create a kite. So I need an open field, and the company of a good friend. We will need the wind too, for this wise woman I was talking to asked me where God would be? Without hesitation I replied ‘in the wind’. None of us are flying anywhere without the wind. Divine breath always waiting for us to put our kites to the great expansive sky that has room for our speck of a kite.

And each other of course to help re-make and create our kites and launch them for each other. To watch and run and laugh and wonder together as they dance in the wind.

From 0:00- 1:27

Image by Николай Оберемченко from Pixabay

Borders and branches

Resolution, reconciliation and redemption. No matter what I know about these 3 R’s on this day, there will be more to say about them tomorrow. As with most matters, this can only be all I know so far, such is the beauty of time and life – that we may change our minds.

What has helped me come to terms with the 3 R’s has been the website/podcast/app ‘On Being’. I commend it wholeheartedly to you. The references of poet Rilke come from the episode ‘What a world you’ve got inside you’, with Joanna Macy and Anita Burrows, hosted by Krista Tippett. https://onbeing.org/programs/joanna-macy-and-anita-barrows-what-a-world-youve-got-inside-you/

resolution

I have spent much of my life seeking resolution. From time to time a matter will resolve. In a ‘this too will pass’ kind of way. But much is left unresolved, so I try and hear Rilke when he says ‘try to have patience with all that is unresolved within your heart and try to love the questions themselves’. Like my friends husband, a fell running addict, devoted member of mountain rescue, who fell 30 metres in April 2020 during a climbing accident. Who spent 8 months with a cage encasing his leg, just an observer of those mountains he loves. But nonetheless alive. He was and is resolutely living with the questions. He takes the approach not of ‘man versus mountain’, but ‘man loves mountain’. As soon as was possible, and for most of us, before what would be advisable, he was up that mountain – cage and all. Not conquering it, but thanking the mountain that held him up and allowed him to climb so high. The earth rising beneath his feet, taking him to where only birds get to soar. My friend reconciled herself too, to months of washing his wounds and bearing housebound grumps, and their young daughters’ care and the financial impact of all this at the start of a pandemic. The future looking different now. She had no choice but to succumb to how this changes that. Rarely does resolution take the form we seek.

reconciliation

Which brings us to reconciliation. It can be hard to reconcile this with that, with a past experience to the hand that is being offered to you. To reconcile, that belief with, this living reality. Reconciliation is capable and robust though in its’ handling of questioning and doubt and can inhabit acres of time.

That said we have to reconcile with what is in front of us right now. For me this means I have to reconcile to living with the tattered tangled mess of past friendships that got lost along the way. And to reconcile that some of the very best people I have known, with whom I spent many many wonderful days now are separated by great distance of one kind or other. How I wish they still were round corner from my home, study or work. We support each other in different ways now. What we were for each other then, we cannot be for each other right now. Instead of mourning I hold out gratitude, deep and endless thanks that against all the odds of two strangers meeting and becoming friends, we got to share some of this life together. They are still my lucky numbers.

And for those relationships which are broken. Maybe Rilke is right, that we are ‘two solitudes that protect, border and greet each other’. Maybe this is as close as we can get – to greet each other at our borders. We do not need to occupy one anothers’ lands. Up until now I have found that most folks, most of the time, when the chips are down, are open to reconciliation. They protect what they need to protect but are ready to come to their border and greet their fellow human.

redemption

Back to my friends husband. Oh, for all those actions and words and times we would change. None of us ever meant to fall so fast or so hard. None of us intended to break. Redemption is why perhaps we so often look to a higher power – to do that which is beyond ourselves. To remind us that no matter where we find ourselves, the good earth and our higher power whispers to our souls ‘there is a place for you, with me, here’. And with such a welcome acceptance we can move towards healing. Redemption is an action. Like how I read and write to heal my own soul. Like how 14 months after his accident my friends husband was there by the side of a 999 call to mountain rescue, carrying a fellow fallen human down the mountain to safety. If your soul needs soothing, I offer words. If you are ever stuck on a mountainside he will come for you. Or my friend herself, for she is also a mountaineer rescuer, ready to bring you safely home.

Redemption is an olive branch. Redemption is in recognising the olive branch, is in tracing its contours and wondering how it is possible you have been offered this olive branch at all. It is in seeing the hand which holds it out to you. Redemption is in accepting it rather than turning away. Redemption is carrying it within you as a reminder for those self-doubting and self-loathing moments. Redemption is planting olive branches deep within our souls, allowing them to take root and nourish us from the inside out.

I carry within me two olive branches

one to keep and one to give away

both growing towards the light

that is forgiveness

Image by mac231 from Pixabay

Three P’s

Not my idea of course. Someday, some time, long ago, some folk gathered the 3 P’s together as landmarks of life, or at least what was life-giving to them. And so were established three pillars of Celtic spirituality. Poetry. Pilgrimage. Presence. I tie my flag to these.

I am pretty sure we find these all around us today. Poetry comes to us in lyrics to songs which we play over and over. Pilgrimage comes in the stories, books, TV documentaries, which inspire us to make our own journeys from here to over there. Even if we don’t know where this will actually take us and what companions we may come across on the way. Presence is something we didn’t take seriously. Then the pandemic took it away. Then gave it back again. So we know better now how to make ourselves actually available to each other.

poetry

I am and will always be jealous of those who can draw, or make music, or dance (I mean really dance). These ones have a short-cut to the Divine and to humanity as a whole for they can speak without words. Nevertheless, although it does rely on words and spaces in between words, poetry is a craft, an art form which is why for me it sits contentedly alongside spirituality. Like a portal to some kind of mystical space where truths are told and only what really matters stands up to inspection. Even if it is kind of daft, because it is also true that being funny and laughing raise our spirits and that humour can take the sting out of a great many things.

A poem can speak to something you didn’t know how to say. Sometimes even saying something you did not know needed saying but somehow it resonates and calls out a deep ‘yes’ in you. Finding poems like that are like gathering treasure, to take out and look at as time and need arises. Like some return to liturgy, I return to poems. A sacred gift to which I bow and humbly thank both the author and the hidden source from which they came.

pilgrimage

As you walk you are changed, as you travel from here to there, there are other shifts that take place. Some small, some seismic. There are some paths we take and we will never be the same again.

There are times when you absolutely want to give up. This is where the act of walking is powerful in and of itself. Because shoes and souls both get worn down, because both our legs and our hearts sometimes ache. All of me goes into this journey, all of me feels it. And what is life if not some crooked magnificent pilgrimage in the end, to the end, where all things end, because in the end the only thing which is guaranteed is safe arrival.

presence

Being present has something to do with first giving yourself permission to take up space. To be brave enough to inhabit our place in the world and in doing so being expansive enough to welcome room for others. Presence is some kind of emotional hospitality which says ‘all welcome’ – you don’t even have to wipe your feet. Presence – where people make a place sacred by being in it. Because there will be worse days and worser days . There will be roses and there will be thorns. Someone’s hands have to hold both of these. The only thing which makes this possible is that someone else is by their side.

So as you travel and make your pilgrimage may you find poems to tuck in your pocket to cheer you on and may you know the presence of others to smell your roses and bind up your wounds.

Image by Mary Gorobchenko from Pixabay

Peaches

Even at the end of a long road, even when I have reached a landmark I am always still hesitant about celebrating. This may be to do with my history of having celebrations sabotaged in some way. But I reckon it is more that I am always looking for the three R’s. For resolution, for reconciliation, for redemption. I find these somewhat elusive. But I lean in towards them nonetheless.

Just recently the three R’s came to me unexpectedly. On a week when I was just trying to get through, in a year when we had not had a sunny May and I had driven to and fro from work in the rain. I popped on my favourite podcast. On Being produce one called Poetry Unbound by Padraig O’Tuama. He read a poem by Li -Young Lee called ‘From Blossoms’. I absolutely cannot read it more beautifully than him so I link to the piece here.

From Blossoms

I listened to this on repeat all week. Then at the end, when my work was done, I gathered what steps I had taken for myself, for others and for the earth towards resolution, reconciliation and redemption (and go on then, a little celebration too) and acted. I acted towards myself, I took seriously the biblical words, ‘may your gentleness be evident to all’ – including myself. It was (finally) a sunny May day and I walked myself round the corner to our local line of shops. One had just opened selling Afro Caribbean goods. It was my best bet for fresh peaches. As I walked up I saw the lights on but the sign on the door saying ‘closed’. The opening hours are printed stating it should be open and in the window a single punnet of peaches. I peered in and knocked at the window. The owner jumped up and let me in, he had forgotten to turn the sign. His wife will be cross with him he said. We chatted, I bought the peaches in the window. I took them home, all ripe and beautiful and sat on the grass, next to budding tree and daisies. Eating what was now my peach and listened again to the poem ‘From Blossoms’. It took my breath away. Again. As I played it to myself, this time with a peach of my own. My way today of ‘turning toward signs painted Peaches’.

Resolution, reconciliation and redemption are when we ‘find nectar at the roadside’

Words of such meaning they seep through my skin into my very bones. 

‘to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days…’

And the reminder that no matter what our losses are, no matter how much our job means we have to live alongside death of one kind or another. Li-Young Lee reminds us that from blossom comes this promise;

‘There are days we live, as if death were nowhere in the background’

Because the world also grows blossoms and also grows peaches and there are out there some moments of joy to elevate us, for the time it takes to eat a peach, and perhaps…beyond.

Six to One

A study has shown that there are around 50 billion wild birds in the world. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/50-billion-total-wild-birds-inhabit-planet-study-estimates-180977753/

Birds outnumber humans 6:1. The way I see it that means each person alive today has 6 birds they can call on. 6 birds cheering you on, 6 birds by your side, or out your window, or sweeping across the sky above you, 6 birds nesting in your neighbourhood. They look out for you, you look out for them.

Miniature mirrors of our lives. First birthing then fledging, the unlikely gathering of all those fragile feathers that somehow makes the impossible possible. Feeding, mating, nest building, migrating, dying. Oh and flying – birds have that one up on us. Flying and the unstoppable need to sing their little hearts out at least twice a day. Greeting the day and the night just the same. Flying and singing. A little like the habits of the angels, so I’m told.

Odds are there will not be many days in our lives that go by without the sight or sound of a bird (or six). If we do have a day without our birds perhaps we will be graced with angels in their place. Reminding us we are never completely alone, that songs are sung even when we cannot sing ourselves, that freedom is on the wing even if we find ourselves trapped, that no matter how heavy things may become, some things are always, necessarily, as light as a feather.

Image by Oldiefan from Pixabay

Elements

This past year there has been a disease upon the earth, upon humanity today, that has managed to weaponised our very breath. No wonder our spirits have felt stifled along the way. It is the final straw in the outrage of the elements.

Up till now we have found ways to weaponised the earth by carving it into lands to defend, and drilling it for compounds for ‘living’.  Up till now we have found ways to take the warmth and power of fire to cook and make cosy, and use it to ignite fire arms. Up till now we have misunderstood the precious gift of water on which all depends. Instead of treasuring water, we had to harness and conquer that too, find ways to own and commercialise our rivers, lakes and seas. Acting as if all these elements belong to us and are ours by right. Now our final element has become a threat, the very air we breath. And it is like the earth, and fire and water are all gathered together and groaning and somehow pleading us to wake up and listen. They have our attention now because we are concerned about the air, because first and foremost we need to breath.

May we hear. May we see. May our spirits become free.

Image by Bob Dmyt from Pixabay
We are earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 


We are made of stars
Star dust that is as ancient as time
That starlight which shines on us now
is 250 years old,
and reaches us still
and guides the way, giving us ways to remember those
we love who are now long gone
we sing, ‘look at the stars, and how they shine for you,
And all the things you do’.
The stars that began shining for you, long before you came to be.

We are earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The nutrients that run through our veins
Are like that of the sea
We are mostly water,
fluid, so not much distinguishes you from me,

We are earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The fire behind the eyes of passion
and love that burns as fierce as the flame.
that warms our hearts and homes
and feeds our bellies and stokes our celebrations.

We are earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The breath, where the spirit resides
Living as we do with breaths necessarily stifled,
behind masks.
Nowadays even our breaths have become weaponised
This is why it has been so scary - the very idea -
Like we could harm each other with our spirits.

We are earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

We see, we hear,
all the ways we have set the elements against ourselves
And this last one, restricting the air we breath,
has shown us just how terrible it all is.
How inhumane it is to be kept apart
How there can never be justice
while we are not able to share the same air
Let alone land,
Or to sit round common fire
Or allow rivers to run free
Upon this earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.


Calling back

When you turn around and find yourself lost 
Somehow wandered too far outward or too far inward 
to places dark and tangled
having roamed so far out 
or been stuck, curled up, frightened in one of the many corners of the world.
When things have turned sour and you find yourself 
in toxic space and all this is somehow seeping into you
suffocating you
and then someone who you know a lot, or may be just a little
opens a window and this allows air and light in
reaching and filling all the spaces you thought were lost for good 
calling you back to yourself 
telling you terrible jokes so you remember these eyes can roll as well as cry 
and this belly which felt like it had been scooped out 
could also be overcome with laughter, so much that it aches. 
And you hear the scrape of chairs upon the floor as one 
is pulled out for you, at the long table 
where you find yourself 
in the good company of gathered lost souls 
who were found again somehow. 
And within you remember too that your heart is still there, 
not because it aches, 
but this time, because you were called back. 

Image by Peter H from Pixabay

Who are you when you are not?

Chances are, if you are an adult, then you are many things now that you did not have to be as a kid.

Perhaps you got to be whatever you dreamed about becoming when you were growing up. The pilot, the farmer, the nurse, the hairdresser, the explorer, the writer, the teacher, the inventor.

Perhaps too you have found joy in sisterhood, being an adult son or daughter, as a parent yourself.

Perhaps you’ve been lucky enough to find something in life that you are good at, that brings you joy and this too has gifted you with a circle of friends and achievements.

There are times though, just like when you were a kid, when no one cares much about these things. Don’t get me wrong – they care about you. They love you – the way an infant is loved just by being in the world. The way a 4 year old in a twirly dress is already a dancer. The way a 6 year old with a set of paints over the table (and floor), is already an artist, and the kid with scrawled notes of ideas is a writer. The way a 12 year old daydreamer, experimenter, risk-taker is already a scientist. The way a stick of rock from the beach can be wrapped in shiny paper and made into hundreds of brightly coloured patterns, screaming ‘pick me’, ‘love me’, ‘choose me’ but what really matters is where you are when you eat this rock, and who is next to you on the sand as you taste it. What really counts is when things break, seeing what is written at the centre? What is in the very core of us when all the outer layers are stripped back?

This is one of the reasons why I especially love old friends. The ones who loved me before. Before exam results, before courses and training, before first jobs and tenth jobs. Before career changes and promotions, before redundancies and retirement. Before moving from jobs we love for the sake of our kids, or to take care of elderly relatives. Before the responsibilities and professional facades. Before our interests and passions became gloatable. Because as kids we did them anyway whether someone was watching or not, without having to track it and post it in order to validate ourselves.

When we just did it. Who we are when we are not…

Who are we when we can no longer…

In Mo Willams series of Elephant and Piggie books there is a scene where one asks the other

‘what is pretending?’

‘pretending is when you go out and act like something you are not’

‘wow, and you can just do that? you can just go out and act like something you are not?’

‘sure. everyone pretends.’

‘even grown up people?’

‘all the time’.

At the hospital bed I often ask what is most important to a person. The dialogue almost never gets round to thier career. They almost never tell me. It’s almost never what’s most important. Often times, it has gone now anyway. Who they are, as is, with fewer abilities than ever. Who are they now? What is left which is of utmost value? What remains is who they truly are.

It has been said ‘I am’ is a complete sentence.

There is not much truer than this.

I recall a way back when my son had heard about a certain US President and he asked ‘what’s so bad about him?’ I explained, ‘well you know those values you’ve been learning about in school like kindness, respect, care for the earth, honesty?’ ‘Yes’ he says. ‘Well he doesn’t have any of those’ I replied. Because you can see values like this, they are self evident and pervade everywhere and are not choosy about where they are distributed. They are not achieved through study or exams or by being particularly clever or gifted or rich. You cannot create a portfolio as such because they are only evidenced in lives touched by them. And this can only be done day by day. There is no five year plan for kindness. You can only be kind now, or not. In which case we may have to call upon that other more elusive value of forgiveness, for one another, and for ourselves. This will get us through. Values are our make-up of being, the way of living. Whatever is left when it is only living we can do. What was there right at the start, all that innate, innocent goodness. What will be left at the end.

In the end.

Where our treasure is.

Right at our core.

Where our heart is.

Image by Phil Riley from Pixabay

Kisses on the verge





They gave me a nod 
bundles of flailing bright
catching me off guard 

from my head clouded
from hours of 
kissing sorrows cheek

someone planted these
bundles of light 
on the verge 

unaware of their distant
cousins on hillsides 
of white clean air 

these ones are witness 
to the trundling lorries
commuters, travellers

ministers to the 
heavy hearts 
that drive by 

comfort comes in 
the absolute certainty 
that these heads of joy 

will be here again 
year on year springing 
up to kiss our cheeks