Sunday 24 February 2013

The dimming of a day


Many thanks to my lovely friend Frances for the modern parable attached here. At the dimming of a day fraught with petty irritations and draining board disasters, this found me a decent reason to cry. 
Our lives are made up of so many little joys and sadnesses; meaningless dots to others who may not take the time to join them up as they chase other invisible patterns. Inevitably, the dots become fewer for us all; one tiny, random act of kindness can give meaning to someone's bigger picture. It may even help get you round your own page.
I've been listening to Mary Black's cover of "The Dimming of the Day" a lot recently as my own old house splutters more leaks, creaks and cracks; it seems to sit very gently here.

The Cab Ride - 
an awesome reminder of why we're here. 
"I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.
'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her nineties stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it; like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no-one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knick-knacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
'Would you please carry my bag out to the car?' she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the old lady.
She took my arm and we walked out slowly toward the cab. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
'It's nothing,' I told her,
'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated'.
'Oh, you're a good boy' she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked: 'Could you drive through downtown?'
'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said, 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.'
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
'I don't have any family left,' she continued softly, 'I know I don't have very long.'
I quietly reached over and switched the meter off.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived, when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she danced when she was a girl. Sometimes, she'd ask me to slow down at a particular building or corner, and then stared into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said: 'I'm tired. Let's go now.'
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, a small convalescent home. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They must have been expecting her.
I took the one small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
'How much do I owe you?' she asked, reaching into her purse.
'Nothing.'
'You have to make a living,' she said.
'There are other passengers,' I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent to give her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said, 'Thank you.'
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dimming light. Behind me, a door shut. 
It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware; beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. 

People may not remember exactly what it was you did or what you said - but they will always remember how you made them feel." 



"The Dimming of the Day" Mary Black 

Thursday 14 February 2013

God's tap on man's shoulder




"There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved: It is God's finger on man's shoulder." 
(Charles Morgan)

My friend Suzanne, who's known me for at least half of my life and cares about me deeply, called me a "singleton" last year. As a hopeless romantic, I was quite stung by this (affectionate) description: no-one who loves the idea of being in love and identifies themselves with loving others wants to be seen as unloved. She also told me I should have been born in medieval times, when princesses lived in ivory towers and knights were bold. I don't believe the flats that have sprung up at the end of my little street really qualify as an ivory tower, and although there are some very fine and bold men in hosiery and thigh-high boots around Brighton, my guess is they're not out to dally with a damsel.
St Valentine's Day is, of course, an exercise in canny consumerism, exploiting the poetry of flattery and the currency of insecurity.The Catholic Church doesn't even fully verify that there was indeed one saintly Valentine whose story peculiarly lends him to the patronage of romantic love. There have been several sainted Valentines in fact: today's feast day may be an amalgamated celebration of their kindly and chivalrous traits.
The Ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia was devoted to love and fertility and occurred around the middle of February. By all accounts, the festival could be a bit of a riot, sometime even involving sacrifices; it was abolished by Pope Gelasius in the fifth century. It's been claimed that during Lupercalia, men drew women's names out of a jar at random, then coupled with them, probably just as randomly. Hmm, not a whole lot of chivalrous love going on there then.The practice was reintroduced in the Middle Ages, but in a more modified way: names would be drawn to initiate courting couples; the origin of today's guess-who-it-is Valentine cards?
The earliest recorded association of today's date with romantic or courtly love is credited to one Geoffrey Chaucer in "The Parlement of Foules", in 1392. "Courtly love" applied the language of the law courts to the intrigues and rituals of attraction and romance; courtship. Around 1400, Princess Isabel of Bavaria established a "High Court of Love" in Paris, dealing with love contracts, betrayals and indiscretions and violence against women. The court was founded on 6th January, the feast day of a Bavarian saint named Valentin. Today, we have the Jeremy Kyle Show.
The medieval concept of courtly love was noble and chivalrous; although it was usually conducted in secret. And it wasn't expected to be practiced between husbands and wives: marriage was often a detached, contractual matter involving allegiances, land and titles. Essentially, courtly love embraced erotic desire and spiritual attainment; it was at once both illicit and morally idealistic. It was innocence, tenderness, devotion and passion. I agree Suzie; get me to an ivory tower and quick. And yet this evening, on a feast steeped in the traditions of erotic love at it's purest and most self-sacrificing, my local tavern is proudly advertising it's "Valentine's Day Speed Dating Massacre". With reduced booze. And scampi. Dear Lord. Such things can only have a kindly-hearted singleton running for the chamomile and honey, clutching "The Complete Robert Burns".
Whatever the origins and associations of the feast, whether there was one St Valentine or twenty, the truth is that love and romance can be very much alive today. Love isn't restricted to an era, a class or to dramatic situations. It lives in hearts and minds, in familiarity and the every-day, irrespective of ivory towers or high-rises. Like Kindness and Fidelity, two of it's offspring, it's often depicted as a weakness or feyness nowadays, particularly in men, but I agree with Gandhi that love is the prerogative of the brave. There's a feeling of kinship in romantic love that empowers and engenders a will to protect as much as to be supported. The bonds of true love may be imperceptible, but they can be inexorably binding.
Do I believe all this? Yes. Do I still want to be princess-lifted out of my own little ivory tower? Yep. Did I get any Valentine's cards today? Er...no. Suzanne would say I don't put myself "out there", although I dread to think where "there" may be. Certainly not my local boozer. And like most so-called singletons, there's a lot going on in here. I'm a bit in love with where I live, I love my friends and family, I'm soppy with next door's cat and Jonathan the Seagull (treats the back garden like a hotel); I love my faith in other people and in God. I rather like my blog. I still love the idea of being in love; I believe in marriage, not just as a social institution but as a sacrament. There are a lot of us about; intelligent, practical, independent people who believe that love is for every day, not just for 14th February.
Many wonderful people have spoken beautifully about love in all it's guises of course, infinitely more eloquently than I ever could. I've included a luxury selection of quotes here; like chocolates for the soul, the sort you should never give up for Lent. I've also included Van Morrison's lovesong "Have I Told you Lately"; he wrote it less than twenty five years ago, but it's rightly acclaimed alongside the works of Burns and Dante. Originally written as a prayer, it's just timeless; it will probably remain one of the most played wedding waltzes for the next few decades.
If love didn't appear to come through you front door today, or even pop up on your iPhone or laptop screen, may it find you in the pockets of wherever you call home, and may you greet it in the corners of your smile.

*Happy Valentine's Day, Ms Suzanne Pinkstone!*


"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." 
(Lao Tzu) 

"Where there is Love there is Life." 
(Mahatma Gandhi) 

"A loving heart is the beginning of all knowledge." 
(Thomas Carlyle) 

"Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit." 
(Khalil Gibran) 

"Love is a friendship set to music." 
(Joseph Campbell) 

"My love is like a red, red rose 
That's newly sprung in June: 
My love is like the melody 
That's sweetly played in tune." 
(Robert Burns) 

"Let no one who loves be unhappy, even love unreturned has its rainbow." 
(James M. Barrie) 

"Love is the magician that pulls man out of his own hat." 
(Ben Hecht) 

"Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier." 
(Mother Teresa) 

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant." 
(Martin Luther King Jr) 

"Forgiveness is the final form of love." 
(Reinhold Niebuhr) 

"I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit." 
(Khalil Gibran) 

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another." 
(Thomas Merton) 

"Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope." 
(Maya Angelou) 

"A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love." 
(St Basil) 

"For love alone can awaken what is divine within you. In love, you grow and come home to your self." 
(John O'Donohue) 

"Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls." 
(Khalil Gibran)

"Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair." 
(G K Chesterton) 

"Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age." 
(Anais Nin) 

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies." 
(Aristotle) 

"Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love." 
(St Francis of Assisi) 

"Love and desire are the spirit's wings to great deeds." 
(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe) 

"Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of will or intention. Friendship is always an act of recognition." 
(John O'Donohue) 

"Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds." 
(Will Shakespeare) 

"For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have."
(Antoine de Saint-Exupery) 

"The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others." 
(Vincent Van Gogh) 

"To love another person is to see the face of God."
(Victor Hugo) 

"Marriage is not a noun; it's a verb. It isn't something you get. It's something you do. It's the way you love your partner every day." 
(Barbara de Angelis) 

"Real intimacy is a sacred experience." 
(John ODonohue) 

"The motto of chivalry is also the motto of wisdom; to serve all, but love only one." 
(Honore de Balzac) 

"Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met - or never parted - 
We had ne'er been broken hearted." 
(Robert Burns) 

"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." 
(Dr Seuss) 

"Money can buy you a fine dog, but only love can make him wag his tail." 
(Kinky Friedman) 

"You are like nobody since I love you." 
(Pablo Neruda) 




"Have I Told You Lately" Van Morrison

"Oh the morning sun in all its glory 
Greets the day with hope and comfort too; 
And you fill my life with laughter, 
You can make it better, 
Ease my troubles, that's what you do. 
There's a love that's divine 
And it's yours and it's mine,
Like the sun; 
At the end of the day 
We should give thanks and pray 
To the One."

Wednesday 13 February 2013

...no fire without ash





No ashes without fire...


"There is confidence everywhere in Ash Wednesday, yet that does not mean unmixed and untroubled security. The confidence of the Christian is always a confidence in spite of darkness and risk, in the presence of peril, with every evidence of possible disaster…
Once again, Lent is not just a time for squaring conscious accounts: but for realising what we had perhaps not seen before. The light of Lent is given us to help us with this realisation."
(From "Ash Wednesday", Thomas Merton)

Ash Wednesday finds us early this year. The first day of Lent, it seems ironic to point ourselves down the forty day rocky road towards Easter, the day before the supermarket choc-fest of St Valentine's Day. I know that Ash Wednesday ushers in a time of reflection and repentance, but I find it quite a hopeful day; I like having my forehead crossed and I like seeing other folk, away from the church, going about their daily business with their own crosses still in place. Beyond the Biblical symbolism of humility and mortality, we simply do all have our crosses to bear. There's even a kind of solidarity in it. 
I'm old enough now to realise that the greatest part of repentance isn't all in the acknowledgement of what I've done wrong or failed to do at all; it's in the willingness to put behind and to put right. Just as "Lent" derives from the Anglo Saxon "lencten", for springtime, meaningful repentance has to enfold hopefulness and renewal. For the first time in years, I really "get" that Ash Wednesday's crosses aren't just a more viable echo of the sackcloth and ashes of the Old Testament. I can more easily appreciate the mark on my forehead as a reminder of baptism: perhaps I'm growing up after all.
Certainly, I feel I know myself better than to go through the motions of "giving up" chocolate for Lent yet again: I only eat it as a treat and have just as much of a savoury tooth as a sweet one. And I know I'll invariably reach for a bar of dark chili chocolate after Easter; it would only be a temporary, niggling hardship. My sister always says it'll be "a lifetime on the hips" as I reach for a third biscuit, but untended regrets can do far more damage elsewhere. Aristotle noticed that:"Bad men are full of repentance." I think he knew a thing or two about the great untended elsewheres.
So maybe I should give up some deeper comfort zone: some situations and people can make me very uncomfortable and I retreat behind friends, excuses or naturally occurring delays and barriers. I so often allow myself to be thwarted by criticism, disdain or indifference. This Lent, I should give up giving up so easily. More tricky but far more rewarding for me personally than simply steering past the KitKats and Crunchies in Salisbury's. Although navigating past a bay of bargain treacle tarts might require assistance from in-store security.
"Distant Sun" might seem an odd choice of music for an Ash Wednesday post: if you're looking a traditional sombreness, you might well dismiss it as pop music, playing at being precious. And indeed if you want pop-rock in pure Beatles style then look no further than Crowded House, or Oasis. But I digress: this remains one of my favourite songs, pop or otherwise, because Neil Finn's lyrics seem to be about redeeming and renewing oneself; the possibility of changing and moving forward without forever casting an eye back to excuse or justify.
Have a soothing Ash Wednesday and a hopeful Lent.

"You're still so young to travel so far, 
Old enough to know who you are: 
Wise enough to carry the scars 
Without any blame; there's no one to blame"

"Distant Sun"  Crowded House

"A man who fails well is greater than one who succeeds badly."
(Thomas Merton)


Tuesday 12 February 2013

Papa renuntiante! The Pope's resignation


"We are not some casual and meaningless product of evolution. Each of us is the result of a thought of God."
(Pope Benedict XVI)

When Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was elected Pope in 2005 , he was already seventy eight years of age. Ordained at twenty four, he's now devoted more than sixty years of his life to the disciplines of Holy Orders, the service of the Catholic Church and his fellow men. As Pope Benedict XVI, the 265th Pope has held the helm of the Catholic Church through some very murky waters and challenging navigations over the past eight years. 
It's fair to say that he has been a maintainer and caretaker rather than a reformer. Something of a thinking man's Pope, he's an academic and prolific writer. Although he could be described as a conservative theologian (with a small "c"), the Pontiff has initiated many ecumenical dialogues and openly defended the right to freedom of religion. By the end of 2012, he became the first Pope to engage with Twitter! Another first yesterday: it was announced that he would resign the papacy on 28th February this year. He will be the first Pope to resign voluntarily since Celestine V in 1294: Gregory XII was forced to resign in the fifteenth century.

"I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. 
However, in today's world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to steer the boat of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognise my incapacity to adequately fulfil the ministry entrusted to me." 
(Pope Benedict XVI, 11th February 2013)



Cardinal Ratzinger had hoped to retire to write after he turned seventy five, the retirement age for bishops. He'd previously submitted his resignation to Pope John Paul II three times but had been refused. In 1991, Cardinal Ratzinger had suffered a hemorrhage and stroke: his eyesight was temporarily affected but he made a full recovery. Never really made public,  this was known by the Vatican Conclave who elected him as Pope. Since his election in 2005, various rumours have circulated about his health: it's known that he suffers from an age-related heart condition and has been prescribed medication for this. He is the oldest person to have been elected Pope since the early eighteenth century, having also been the longest serving cardinal since his namesake Benedict XIII.
Whatever personal issues I may have about developments or perceived responses to them on Pope Benedict's watch, I do feel he's displayed eloquence and fervour whilst conducting himself with an amiable dignity. He's also been uncommonly vocal in expressing the importance of love in our lives, for each other as well as for God. My initial reaction to his resignation was one of shock and then concern that only a serious health worry would cause the Pope to resign before Easter, only days from the beginning of Lent. I pray this isn't the reason and that he simply wants to rest as much as any dedicated gentleman in his eighties deserves to. Certainly the Vatican statement emphasises that the timing of the resignation was intended to avoid the rush of Easter arrangements.
Catholics expect so much from our men of the cloth. I would never dispute that they are indeed devoted and exceptional men, but they are essentially flesh and blood; mortal. The sacred cloth will, I hope, always be renewed, re-embroidered or invisibly mended: hearts, bodies and minds, not so easily. Yet it's become generally accepted and even expected that our Popes will stay in office until they die. In retirement, Pope Benedict will remain a man of God and of conscience; visible, accountable and approachable.
After some adaptations, he'll reside at the monastery "Mater Ecclesiae" in the Vatican Gardens. He'll once again revert to being Cardinal Ratzinger, although his official clerical title may be "Bishop Emeritus of Rome". Shortly after his election to the papacy, he admitted: "At a certain point, I prayed to God 'please don't do this to me'. Evidently, this time He didn't listen to me." Yesterday's resignation sets a somewhat brave precedent; this time, we all listened.
The Catholic Church assures us that the one billion strong global congregation will know the name of their new Pontiff by Easter. I feel it could be immensely healing if the next Pope hailed from Africa; the church has been vociferously accused of ignoring the continuing AIDS epidemic on that continent by refusing to advocate contraception there. I also feel the retiring Pope could be uniquely placed to offer guidance and support to any successor: surely this could only engender continuity and reassurance within and beyond the Vatican for the future?
Amid the shock and apprehension, there's a sense of general sadness among Catholics. As U.S. Archbishop Timothy Dolan admitted: "It's like watching your own Dad get old and admit he's not up to all the duties that being the head of a family involves." But how cool that, aside from tendering less than a month's notice, the Pope also gets to resign in ecclesiastical Latin?  I wish him a peaceful retirement, finally; and I hope he gets to keep the red shoes.



"Love is the only force capable of changing the heart of the human person and of all humanity, by making fruitful the relations between men and women, between rich and poor, between cultures and civilizations." 
(Pope Benedict XVI)


Saturday 9 February 2013

"I am the meaning of the poem"

"Nature is the direct expression of the divine imagination."
(John O'Donohue)



“I believe in the sun when it’s not shining, 
I believe in love when I feel it not, 
I believe in God even when he is silent.”
(Celtic proverb)

One fine thing about being confined to the house and not being able to work is that you get to read and listen to old loves that you keep meaning to sit down with again when you've got the shopping, painted the garden pots, touched up the varnish on the front door, sorted your life out.
I've been thinking a lot about the elements over the past few days: it's not difficult to see why man was in awe of the seasons long before flood barriers, the meteorological office or even sunblock were invented. The indigenous populations of the ancient world tended towards animist beliefs, imbuing any living creatures, objects and natural forces with "anima": soul or spirit. Animism is not a religion as such, but is certainly one of the oldest belief systems in the world; essentially, it's a way of viewing all of nature.
Today, many anthropologists studying religion have asserted that "modern" faiths are in continuity with the "magical thinking" of even our most primitive ancestors. Animism certainly assumes a relationship between the seen and the unseen worlds; an interaction between the human and the divine. Sometimes I feel education dulls the Christian perception of the spiritual within the everyday: surely the natural world enfolds the supernatural power and wonder of creation.
The late Irish poet and former Catholic priest, John O'Donohue, wrote extensively and beautifully about exploring the hidden universe that we all carry within, reflected in what we create in the outside world. He fully accepted that to be natural can be holy, that we're today's custodians of ancient, sacred thresholds.
His writing is seamlessly embroidered with ancient Celtic wisdom and lyricism. Not quite as comfortably, more than a millennium ago, the pagan lore and ritual of the Celts would become encompassed by the fervour and contemplation of early Christian mysticism. Significantly, the striking beauty of the traditional Celtic cross is said to have been introduced by St Patrick during his mission to convert the "pagan" Irish. Delivering the gospel to sun-worshipers, he combined Christ's cross with the circle as the sun: many also see it as a halo effect.
When Mum died, I was determined that her headstone should be a Celtic cross: her faith was that of her Scottish mother and her Irish father; only basically schooled, it was instinctive for her to believe in a higher power and a greater good. And to shamelessly ask St Anthony to find her the odd tenner that hadn't been lost yet.


Yesterday, I remembered that I'd copied down the poem "The Song of Amergin" in one of my scribble-books. Originally "Amhairghin", Gaelic for "birth of song", Amergin was a great poet and one of the legendary Celtic leaders who battled the Fairy Peoples for possession of Ireland. 
 "The Song of Amergin" invokes the power of the land itself but I feel it also unfolds the omnipotence of God at the heart of Christianity. Amergin may well have been "bigging himself up" by claiming the power of the elements; just as readily, he voices the strength and godliness that can be within each of us. The poem reminds me of "St Patrick's Breastplate"; it soothes as much as it empowers. 
Similarly, I found a list of CDs that I either haven't got round to buying or simply can't find on Amazon; "The Turning of the Tide" by Donegal-born singer Aoife is one of the latter. She sings in her native Irish with a real purity. Her version of an old Irish hymn, "My Love, My God", is one which I wanted to have played at my wedding, if such a day should ever dawn! Although the words are probably only a few centuries old, set to a much older melody, the hymn has the passion and sensuality of the Celtic Christian tradition. It's a lovesong to faith and also to God.


"The Song of Amergin"
(att. Amergin GlĂşingel) 
I am the wind on the sea, 
I am the ocean wave; 
I am the sound of the billows; 
I am the seven-horned stag; 
I am the hawk on the cliff; 
I am the dewdrop in sunlight; 
I am the fairest of flowers; 
I am the raging boar; 
I am the salmon in the deep pool; 
I am the lake on the plain; 
I am the meaning of the poem; 
I am the point of the spear; 
I am the God that makes fire in the head: 
Who levels the mountain? 
Who speaks the age of the moon? 
Who has been where the sun sleeps? 
Who, if not I? 

"Mo Ghrá'sa, Mo Dhia (My Love, My God)" Aoife Ní Fhearraigh


"Mo ghrá-sa, mo Dhia, mo ghárda, mo liaigh" 
(My love, my God, my guardian, my saviour)



"The world rests in the night. Trees, mountains, fields, and faces are released from the prison of shape and the burden of exposure. Each thing creeps back into its own nature within the shelter of the dark. Darkness is the ancient womb." 
(John O'Donohue)



"May the nourishment of the earth be yours, 
may the clarity of light be yours, 
may the fluency of the ocean be yours, 
may the protection of the ancestors be yours." 
(John O'Donohue)

Wednesday 6 February 2013

The world outside your window

"Whenever we awaken to Beauty, we are helping to make God present in the world.
The eternal in a human being is a light sleeper and will awaken at the slightest rustle."
(John O'Donohue)

(All photos: Gigi, album)

One of my favourite things about living in Brighton is the city's iconic residential skyline, beyond the Pavilion, the piers or the Wheel. Brighton is up and down in more ways than one: the original Georgian and Victorian housing banks steeply and seemingly haphazardly. During the day, you can pick out the shabby-chic yellow, pink and blue seaside colour-washes of some of the cottages. At night, from my back windows, I love seeing the rising slopes of lights coming on as folk come home.
Housebound again yesterday, with a recurrence of this pesky winter infection, I was pottering around looking for things to fix, paint or smarten up, when I noticed the wintery sun setting. It had been a pale, cold day here, so this late blaze was a warming surprise; a bit like a "Smiley-face" text sent to your soul.
Frequently, when we're busy looking for things to tinker with, to hold our interest or entertain us, we miss much of the invariably beautiful natural processes of the every-day. No fixing or smartening up required.

 

"The world is not simply there. Everything and everyone we see, we view through the lenses of our thoughts. Your mind is where your thoughts arise and form. It is not simply with your eyes but with your mind that you see the world. So much depends on your mind: How you see yourself, who you think you are, how you see others, what you think the meaning of life is, how you see death, belief, God, darkness and beauty is all determined by the style of mind you have."
(From "The Art of Developing a Beautiful Mind", John O'Donohue)


"One of the fatal habits of minds which has become common in our times is to mistake glamour for beauty. Glamour is a highly fickle and commercially driven enterprise that contributes to the humdrum.
Beauty is not a deadener but a quickener and it alerts and awakens our heart to what is true and good and unified.
The experience of beauty is like a homecoming. When we feel and see and touch the beautiful we feel that we are at one with ourselves because in some subtle and secret way beauty meets the needs of the soul.

The beauty of the earth is the first beauty and our difficulty with the earth is that we are usually so busy and so taken up with our lives that we rarely seem to acknowledge that we are actually here at all."
(From "Beauty: The Invisible Embrace", John O'Donohue)

Monday 4 February 2013

Stronger


(Carl Gustav Jung) 


"Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go."
(Hermann Hesse) 


Two years ago, on 28th January, while I was officially on a day's annual leave in Brighton, the social services directorate that I worked for in north London dismissed me and officially changed the course of my life. 
I received the dismissal by email when I got home that evening. I was told I wouldn't need to work my notice. Anything I had left in the office could be sent to me. The people on my team weren't told officially that I had "left" for several weeks afterwards. It sounds dramatic even to me now, but at the time I was most devastated that senior management wasn't going to let me say goodbye properly. What they couldn't have known was that I had already cleared my desk before I went on leave, giving away trinkets, keepsakes and useful stationery. I took down photos and entrusted plants to people; I went round hugging bemused but worried colleagues as it got nearer to home time. They had grown used to my funny little premonitions and sensitivities, but this was something different.
 I wasn't dismissed for any kind of misconduct: I hadn't suddenly run amok along the corridors of social services or "dissed" one of the directors. I was dismissed for sick leave. After four years of relatively good times and some very hard work, I'd had a rough year health-wise. I liaised with my GPs and with the council's Health Management Team; both parties were incredibly supportive. At the beginning of this bad year, my mother was diagnosed as terminally ill: she died almost exactly twelve months later. I was signed off work for ten days after Mum died and was assured that this wouldn't be counted towards any sickness review. A couple of months later, the ten days were used in the sickness review that led to my dismissal.
The council commissioned their Health Management Service to compile three reports during that year; each report stressed that I needed supportive management to return to my previous good health. The final report, compiled a couple of weeks before Mum died, advised that my employers should be prepared to assist me through the inevitable bereavement.
I was a Senior Team Administrator and my manager's deputy. A couple of years previously, I trained many of the administration team on the emergency duty desk, which is where I started out myself. Although systems and procedures had changed by the time I left, I had no idea quite how much I identified myself with the job until I was wiped off the payroll.
I was dismissed at a time when local government had been ordered to make some of the most stringent cuts social services had known. We'd already been told that all officers at my grade would need to reapply for their jobs; some of us would be leaving. The essential work we were doing would be covered by junior staff on lower salaries and then by the already beleaguered social workers. My background in employment law told me this clearly wasn't a redundancy situation (the work was still there to be done), but rather a re-grading issue. I was also astute enough to realise that anyone with a health or other personal issue would be seen as a soft target. I was quite vocal about this and began rattling off emails to the director and manager in charge of the cull.
While this was unraveling around me, a very lovely colleague lost her husband. As other staff pointed out, her treatment was very different: she was allowed six months leave on full pay. She's a wonderful woman, very kind to others, including me, and I felt very deeply for her. The difference in our situations was that she was a social worker: at that time, the council wasn't making cuts outside of junior management in administration.
We soon heard that some other officers across the borough with health problems had "agreed" to leave, accepting a statutory redundancy payment of around eight days salary for every full year's employment. Still maintaining it wasn't a redundancy situation, I refused to attend a sickness review with the director, on the principle that she hadn't answered my previous correspondence. I realised if they held the review in my absence it could result in dismissal.
Almost as soon as I had been dismissed, my colleagues were told that "staff movements" had ensured there was no need for redundancies. All remaining posts were saved, although they would be downgraded, as I'd originally suggested.
With my previous employment law experience, I was determined to take my case to tribunal. However, I felt the outcome was signposted almost from day one. I couldn't afford legal representation, although there's no suggestion that self-representing applicants are more likely to fail. As I had no barrister, the council's legal team took responsibility for putting together the collective bundle of documents for all parties. The problem was, they said they couldn't produce various documents that I'd listed to rely upon in court. These included all the emails I had sent to the director, senior management and human resources asking for support.
 
I involved The Information Commissioner's Office. Although they ordered the council to retrieve the documents, there had apparently been a "major fault" with the retrieval process and all the data had been destroyed in that specific period of time. I pointed out that I'd re-sent the emails when management hadn't responded. Again, by remarkable coincidence, systems had failed whenever I re-sent the emails.
I felt I equipped myself very well at the tribunal, given the circumstances My employers' barrister seemed inordinately hostile, even rolling his eyes as I tried not to cry when referring to my mother. The judge asked him why documents were missing from the official bundle: I was incredulous that he said he didn't know.
Without all the documentation and because she felt it wasn't a clear-cut case for dismissal, the judge said she couldn't make a decision on that day and would retire to reflect. I waited for six weeks, only to be informed that she couldn't find in my favour. There is no entitlement to compassionate leave in employment law in the UK. Unbelievably, she cited that I hadn't produced some of the documents key to my case. There had been a series of inexplicable discrepancies in the Tribunal's Service's handling of my case, which the service hadn't been able to explain; finally, it felt like something had broken me.
I declined to appeal, although I may still formally complain and I have the right to publicise my sorry tale, obviously with more than a nod to libel laws. I felt shattered and needed to put my life back into focus. There was no way I could have written this post this dispassionately even a year ago.
Gradually, I've realised that there are quite a few things I couldn't have done not only a year ago but essentially if  my employment in London had continued. Unfortunately, my years in social services and other public service positions before that, provided a very specialised experience. This background was totally irrelevant to the struggling private sector of an economically challenged seaside town. All I could do was resign myself (no pun intended) to being unemployed, possibly for a long time, or reinvent myself.
Having worked since I left school at 18, I have never been self-employed before, never been in charge of my tax, National Insurance or indeed my own hours. Like many, I now have no financial security blanket if I'm ill or otherwise unable to work. Self-employed folk don't get paid for holidays, public or personal. The word "pension" freaks me out at the moment and is something that will need to be addressed.
What has become apparent is that I am still here. So is my home, and now I can say without hesitation that I would never move back to London. If I was still working there, I would possibly have a healthy bank account, but I sense I would be severely physically and emotionally depleted by the daily disrupted commute and associated wrangling with my employers. 
Always a bit arty, I probably wouldn't have taken so fervently to customising my house and my parent's old furniture. Two years ago, having decided that I wanted a crucifix for my dining room wall, I would probably have settled for whatever I could find or afford in an antique market: I don't think I wold have eyed up some old floorboards and upholstery tacks and decided I could design my own. I probably wouldn't have resumed writing or started this wee blog. I wouldn't have had the time, energy or inclination to walk down to the pier as the seagulls are waking up, simply because I can. I wouldn't have the deep appreciation I have for others' stories and dreams; how a stumble or push can completely alter your path.
I would probably still view myself in terms of what I do for a living, rather than what I'm living to do. I would have described myself as a relatively strong and capable person who had a reasonable life. Now, I would have to remove the word "relatively" from that statement and replace "reasonable" with "hopeful". I have a renewed understanding of faith, not least in myself. For that, and for my driftwood shelves, my crucifix, my painted bits and pieces and for my next strange but bright idea, I should probably thank my ex-employers.
I think I like myself more than I did. I miss some of my ex-colleagues and I know they miss me, but my friend Dale pointed out that he didn't miss how unhappy I looked the last year I worked there. My life now may be quite removed from what it was, but essentially my old friends are only ever an email or train ride away.
The future still feels a little like a diamond in the rough, but gemstones become strong and precious under pressure and change. Challenge really can be an opportunity to survive and grow. Blessings, like new friends, are often heavily disguised or are obscured by our own complacency.
  
*For Lin - get well soon; and also my old classmate re-discovered, Julie*

 

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
(Friedrich Nietzsche)

"Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect."
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

"Stronger"  Kelly Clarkson