Goodness, I've been so busy I forgot to blog about it!
Since I was last here, I've been offered (and accepted) a permanent post in a Special School, teaching French, with a few other bits and bobs thrown in. The school is small and the children are lovely - my background in Behaviour was part of the reason I got the job, plus when they asked me what else I could bring to the school, I answered 'Cake!' to the obvious delight of the Chair of Governors.
This is pretty much my dream job. I visited again the other day and two teachers who have been there just a year told me it's the best move they ever made. It will draw together all my favourite skills and use my French (not to any great depth but I'm fine with that!)
For me this is an utter vindication of the risk I took when I leapt out of my last job. I shall actually be on a slightly higher salary than in my former post, which is great but wasn't my main reason for leaving. The real crux of the matter is that the teaching experience I've had over the past year is what enabled me to apply and get the job. Some of the questions, about classroom practice and experience of assessment procedures, were ones which I couldn't possibly have answered satisfactorily if I'd still been working as a consultant.
So - I am feeling good about life (but then I did anyway). It is going to be good to have a salary, especially as my younger daughter is finally going to bite the bullet and apply for University. I am going to be in a position to support her, just as I was with my elder daughter.
In fact, I've just been to visit my younger daughter in France. We had a lovely time, a long weekend which we filled with love and laughter. We are too close for mere Geography to get in the way too much. And after all her dreadful struggles with pain and illness, after all the times I've watched her going through the long-haul recovery from surgery, I can't be anything but glad for her that her life has been transformed.
I'm no longer sure of what to call the Source, but it's clear that Somebody provides...
Friday, 4 November 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
Peace, peace...
I was thinking this morning about peace. The 'peace which passes all understanding'. I am fortunate to have known it many times during my life; it is unmissable. I'm not talking here about the lovely warm fuzzy glow-type peace (although that's good too) but about the Peace you feel against all the odds, when your rational mind tells you that you are insane for experiencing a deep certainty that you are safe.
It tends to creep up on you unawares. One moment you feel as though you have been thrown into the deep, frozen lake which is Life, and the next you are being gently drifted back to the shore, wrapped in a blanket and given hot chocolate as someone murmurs soothing words into your ear.
I've felt it at times of crisis, during hospital stays, when worried about my children, and whilst watching people dying. I'm quite sure if we wished, we could explain it away in terms of chemicals flooding the brain - that is, after all, how we experience life. But my daughter (who studies these things) is also a great believer in peace and doesn't seem to think that the physical explanations for it negate the experience itself.
Jesus was a great proponent of peace. He definitely didn't approve of empty platitudes. He was angry with those who burdened people, "saying 'Peace! Peace!' where there is no peace." (Which reminds me of those people who insist that everything's fine when it patently isn't, which is neither faith nor peace, but crass insensitivity). But he did seem to be tapped in to some place where he could access this peace, even if he did have to struggle to do so in Gethsemane.
Other religions too call for us to be peaceful and know that we are safe.
What does this mean in practice?
It is not enough - for me, at least - to drift through life like Fotherington-Tomas [sic] oblivious to the cruel realities of what is happening around me. My peace has to be in the context of knowing the harshness of the world - the sunshine to life's shadows if you like.
In fact at this stage in my life I would go as far as to say that peace is experienced more surely in times of trouble. Since I was in my thirties, I have always turned to those simple words of Mother Julian: "All Shall be Well, and All Shall be Well, and All Manner of Thing Shall be Well." In other words, "It will all be okay."
And won't it? As humans, whatever we choose to believe about life, aren't we all heading for death? And if that's where we're 'supposed' to end up, then isn't it right that we shall all arrive there? So in that sense all IS well.
I am very suspicious of any system/belief/religion which promises peace but doesn't deliver. I always think of what Jesus said: "By their fruits you will know them". If someone talks about knowing a God of Peace but doesn't know peace themselves, I'm sad that they haven't accessed it. If someone teaches a method to calm people's thoughts yet is an angst-ridden person with a lot of nervous energy on the boil, I wonder. I've known a Buddhist who would sit deep in meditation and then go home and shout at their family.
I'm not saying that I am always calm myself! It's certainly not my place to sit in judgment on people, but - if we KNOW this peace exists, doesn't it make sense to live in it as much as we can? So that our lives are increasingly calm on the inside, and then on the outside?
Personally I believe there are many ways to this place. One of my favourites is to sit in the countryside and just experience being part of creation. Another is to listen to Bach or Mozart or some other music which has stood the test of time and can ground me. Your way may be very different. But if you follow a way which promises peace, make sure you aren't missing out.
It tends to creep up on you unawares. One moment you feel as though you have been thrown into the deep, frozen lake which is Life, and the next you are being gently drifted back to the shore, wrapped in a blanket and given hot chocolate as someone murmurs soothing words into your ear.
I've felt it at times of crisis, during hospital stays, when worried about my children, and whilst watching people dying. I'm quite sure if we wished, we could explain it away in terms of chemicals flooding the brain - that is, after all, how we experience life. But my daughter (who studies these things) is also a great believer in peace and doesn't seem to think that the physical explanations for it negate the experience itself.
Jesus was a great proponent of peace. He definitely didn't approve of empty platitudes. He was angry with those who burdened people, "saying 'Peace! Peace!' where there is no peace." (Which reminds me of those people who insist that everything's fine when it patently isn't, which is neither faith nor peace, but crass insensitivity). But he did seem to be tapped in to some place where he could access this peace, even if he did have to struggle to do so in Gethsemane.
Other religions too call for us to be peaceful and know that we are safe.
What does this mean in practice?
It is not enough - for me, at least - to drift through life like Fotherington-Tomas [sic] oblivious to the cruel realities of what is happening around me. My peace has to be in the context of knowing the harshness of the world - the sunshine to life's shadows if you like.
In fact at this stage in my life I would go as far as to say that peace is experienced more surely in times of trouble. Since I was in my thirties, I have always turned to those simple words of Mother Julian: "All Shall be Well, and All Shall be Well, and All Manner of Thing Shall be Well." In other words, "It will all be okay."
And won't it? As humans, whatever we choose to believe about life, aren't we all heading for death? And if that's where we're 'supposed' to end up, then isn't it right that we shall all arrive there? So in that sense all IS well.
I am very suspicious of any system/belief/religion which promises peace but doesn't deliver. I always think of what Jesus said: "By their fruits you will know them". If someone talks about knowing a God of Peace but doesn't know peace themselves, I'm sad that they haven't accessed it. If someone teaches a method to calm people's thoughts yet is an angst-ridden person with a lot of nervous energy on the boil, I wonder. I've known a Buddhist who would sit deep in meditation and then go home and shout at their family.
I'm not saying that I am always calm myself! It's certainly not my place to sit in judgment on people, but - if we KNOW this peace exists, doesn't it make sense to live in it as much as we can? So that our lives are increasingly calm on the inside, and then on the outside?
Personally I believe there are many ways to this place. One of my favourites is to sit in the countryside and just experience being part of creation. Another is to listen to Bach or Mozart or some other music which has stood the test of time and can ground me. Your way may be very different. But if you follow a way which promises peace, make sure you aren't missing out.
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Political correctness
As I write, an Iranian pastor awaits execution for refusing to stop following the Christian faith. I've just seen a twenty-second news report on a Saudi woman who was given ten lashes for 'repeatedly driving a car'.
And there in a nutshell you have my objection to our involvement in the struggle going on in various countries around the world. We happily spend millions on supporting one set of people over another, yet how (once we have taken the dubious step of interfering in the first place) can we possibly prioritise where we intervene/interfere?
I was in my forties before I realised that our relative poverty as a family when I was a little girl was in fact due to my parents' choice to educate my brothers (but not my sister and me) at a private school. Personally I believe we girls got the better deal, but that isn't the point. I remember the atmosphere of worry in the house, the anxious faces when a brown envelope arrived, the hand-me-down dresses which meant that I could never fit in with the girls I wanted to be like...
Why am I telling you this? Because I am angry about the poverty I see around me. Just as my family's poverty was self-inflicted, our nation's finances are being drained by our involvement overseas. Don't get me wrong, I am totally in favour of Foreign Aid and I support several charities at home and abroad. But when I look at the money being poured into other people's wars, I am angry. I am angry that my friend in Hampshire, a single parent who wants to work full-time as she did before she lost her job, has been advised that she will be 'better off' if she only works 16 hours.
Better off in what way? Oh - materially... and there's the rub. Who is watching out for our spiritual needs as a nation? Who is making sure that children grow up with values which go slightly deeper than which version of PlayStation they can cajole out of their parents? 'Things' and 'money' take precedence; therefore it is fine to spend all the country's money on wars waged ultimately to increase our prosperity. Oil? Let's help the people we think will be most amenable to our demands in the future. Ooops, we accidentally tortured one of them before we realised his future value? Hmm - tricky one, we'll sort it somehow.
I'm extremely myopic but I feel clear-sighted compared with those who govern us. Do they not realise the wider implications of Iran choosing to ignore the UN interpretation of religious freedom? Do they not realise that one day Saudi women may revolt, rise to leadership and hold us responsible for ignoring their plight?
Of course, it would be even better if our Government spoke out not from an 'eye to the main chance' standpoint, but from the perspective of having compassion for the victims of such harsh regimes. Even a 'This shouldn't be happening' would be a start, and wouldn't necessarily sever diplomatic relations.
But - we go on prioritising according to potential materialistic gain. To our spiritual and moral peril.
Meanwhile, pastors are executed and women are punished for daring to drive their own cars in public.
It's a funny old world...
And there in a nutshell you have my objection to our involvement in the struggle going on in various countries around the world. We happily spend millions on supporting one set of people over another, yet how (once we have taken the dubious step of interfering in the first place) can we possibly prioritise where we intervene/interfere?
I was in my forties before I realised that our relative poverty as a family when I was a little girl was in fact due to my parents' choice to educate my brothers (but not my sister and me) at a private school. Personally I believe we girls got the better deal, but that isn't the point. I remember the atmosphere of worry in the house, the anxious faces when a brown envelope arrived, the hand-me-down dresses which meant that I could never fit in with the girls I wanted to be like...
Why am I telling you this? Because I am angry about the poverty I see around me. Just as my family's poverty was self-inflicted, our nation's finances are being drained by our involvement overseas. Don't get me wrong, I am totally in favour of Foreign Aid and I support several charities at home and abroad. But when I look at the money being poured into other people's wars, I am angry. I am angry that my friend in Hampshire, a single parent who wants to work full-time as she did before she lost her job, has been advised that she will be 'better off' if she only works 16 hours.
Better off in what way? Oh - materially... and there's the rub. Who is watching out for our spiritual needs as a nation? Who is making sure that children grow up with values which go slightly deeper than which version of PlayStation they can cajole out of their parents? 'Things' and 'money' take precedence; therefore it is fine to spend all the country's money on wars waged ultimately to increase our prosperity. Oil? Let's help the people we think will be most amenable to our demands in the future. Ooops, we accidentally tortured one of them before we realised his future value? Hmm - tricky one, we'll sort it somehow.
I'm extremely myopic but I feel clear-sighted compared with those who govern us. Do they not realise the wider implications of Iran choosing to ignore the UN interpretation of religious freedom? Do they not realise that one day Saudi women may revolt, rise to leadership and hold us responsible for ignoring their plight?
Of course, it would be even better if our Government spoke out not from an 'eye to the main chance' standpoint, but from the perspective of having compassion for the victims of such harsh regimes. Even a 'This shouldn't be happening' would be a start, and wouldn't necessarily sever diplomatic relations.
But - we go on prioritising according to potential materialistic gain. To our spiritual and moral peril.
Meanwhile, pastors are executed and women are punished for daring to drive their own cars in public.
It's a funny old world...
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
I believe in...
Twice in the last week, someone has said to me in genuine surprise, "Oh - I didn't think you prayed any more... given your beliefs."
I think what they mean is, given my LACK of belief in the Church of England God. I can see why they might say that, but I do feel more than a little surprised, even slightly insulted, that they assume my journey ended when I left the C of E.
I have only myself to blame. For many years I was the kind of Christian who believed that other people's faith wasn't the Real Thing - and now that former arrogance has rebounded, so I suppose I must welcome it as a life lesson! But... there are plenty of studies and polls which show that although churchgoing has fallen, people still count themselves as having faith in God, and many still pray. In my former Frightfully Christian days, I suppose I might not have counted prayer in extremis as really genuine - why weren't they praying at other times, I would have pondered. Whereas now it seems to me that the cry of the heartfelt is possibly the most genuine prayer around.
I have been mulling over writing a Creed - my Creed - in recent weeks. Perhaps the time has come. I've always had a problem with the Creed, particularly since knowing a very 'High Church' Anglican who told me that he wouldn't countenance taking Communion from a Woman Priest but would have no problem if a Roman Catholic were to receive it at his side. Apart from a quick conversation pointing out the holes in his theology, I left it. But it made me realise that quite possibly I shared less with those around me in Church than I had thought.
Last week I attended Communion in my friend's church. I quite often help them by making up numbers in the Choir. It's not easy because unfortunately I don't really enjoy their service or the sermons (I was brought up on huge, solid helpings of Evangelical theology, and ten minutes of tweeness leaves me as unsatisfied as a Navvy with a salad). On this recent occasion I realised that my beliefs had moved on enough for me to have to really think as we said the Creed. (As an aside, I have always deplored the practice of asking Baptism families to say the Creed, when they are attending for that day only - if it is really the bedrock of the Church's faith and teaching, how can it be treated in such a shallow way?)
Anyway we set off. I was fine with God the Father, I believe Jesus existed, am less sure about some of the rest (my knowledge of Language and Oral tradition asks for a truly stupendous miracle of total recall, if accounts were true in every detail when written down 'only' thirty years later. I used to proudly proclaim this as a proof of the New Testament's accuracy, but these days I'm far less certain).
The Holy Spirit, well I got round Him with a little semantic wriggle. But a lot of the rest, I was unable to say in all conscience (do I take it more seriously than the average Churchgoer, perhaps?) and so didn't.
The key for me (as a Linguist, it would be) is that word Semantic. My understanding of semantics helps me to see how people might make the assumption that I don't pray. THEY are talking about prayer to God (1), where (1) = 'The God commonly referred to in the context of Christianity and more particularly, the Church of England'. Whereas these days my prayers are addressed to God (2), where (2) = the Numinous, unKnowable Figure to whom I tend to address my wishes and desires; in shorthand, 'prayers'.
I'm not even sure I believe in a 'personal' God any more, and this is where I part company with many in the Church (although not ALL - I know this because of conversations I had as a Clergy wife when I spotted people who didn't believe 'properly'...)
I do believe in a life force, and I'm sorry if that is too arty farty for readers here. I see no reason why that life force cannot be your God (1) and at the same time my God (2).
What DOES intrigue me is that quite often, God (2) seems to offer me comfort which eludes those who worship God (1). They say all the right things about how God takes care of them, how He is there for them, and how His Peace passes all understanding... but when it comes to the crunch, that isn't always the case. I have known God (1) and it's true that He was wonderful at offering solace and peace - but so is God (2).
It's just the old 'Muslims don't believe in the same God as me' in slightly different clothes. I am unnerving people who thought they'd packaged me neatly into a 'Lapsed' box. I refuse to stop praying. I don't always call it prayer, out of deference to those whom I think might be offended.
I see prayer differently these days. My shopping list has been torn up. I expect no neat endings. I spend much more time listening than talking. And I accept whatever comes in, I suppose, a rather too fatalistic way for my old Church friends to be comfortable with. I no longer have to make excuses ('perhaps your God is in the toilet' I remember from the Good News Bible!) because God (2) doesn't work in quite the same way.
I'm still searching for my path through life. Well, I'm ON it, actually. I don't see any reason it should be the same as yours. Or hers. Or his. It may very well be that we are ALL projecting our own ideas onto something which doesn't even exist, and if so - what a silly thing to fall out over!
I think what they mean is, given my LACK of belief in the Church of England God. I can see why they might say that, but I do feel more than a little surprised, even slightly insulted, that they assume my journey ended when I left the C of E.
I have only myself to blame. For many years I was the kind of Christian who believed that other people's faith wasn't the Real Thing - and now that former arrogance has rebounded, so I suppose I must welcome it as a life lesson! But... there are plenty of studies and polls which show that although churchgoing has fallen, people still count themselves as having faith in God, and many still pray. In my former Frightfully Christian days, I suppose I might not have counted prayer in extremis as really genuine - why weren't they praying at other times, I would have pondered. Whereas now it seems to me that the cry of the heartfelt is possibly the most genuine prayer around.
I have been mulling over writing a Creed - my Creed - in recent weeks. Perhaps the time has come. I've always had a problem with the Creed, particularly since knowing a very 'High Church' Anglican who told me that he wouldn't countenance taking Communion from a Woman Priest but would have no problem if a Roman Catholic were to receive it at his side. Apart from a quick conversation pointing out the holes in his theology, I left it. But it made me realise that quite possibly I shared less with those around me in Church than I had thought.
Last week I attended Communion in my friend's church. I quite often help them by making up numbers in the Choir. It's not easy because unfortunately I don't really enjoy their service or the sermons (I was brought up on huge, solid helpings of Evangelical theology, and ten minutes of tweeness leaves me as unsatisfied as a Navvy with a salad). On this recent occasion I realised that my beliefs had moved on enough for me to have to really think as we said the Creed. (As an aside, I have always deplored the practice of asking Baptism families to say the Creed, when they are attending for that day only - if it is really the bedrock of the Church's faith and teaching, how can it be treated in such a shallow way?)
Anyway we set off. I was fine with God the Father, I believe Jesus existed, am less sure about some of the rest (my knowledge of Language and Oral tradition asks for a truly stupendous miracle of total recall, if accounts were true in every detail when written down 'only' thirty years later. I used to proudly proclaim this as a proof of the New Testament's accuracy, but these days I'm far less certain).
The Holy Spirit, well I got round Him with a little semantic wriggle. But a lot of the rest, I was unable to say in all conscience (do I take it more seriously than the average Churchgoer, perhaps?) and so didn't.
The key for me (as a Linguist, it would be) is that word Semantic. My understanding of semantics helps me to see how people might make the assumption that I don't pray. THEY are talking about prayer to God (1), where (1) = 'The God commonly referred to in the context of Christianity and more particularly, the Church of England'. Whereas these days my prayers are addressed to God (2), where (2) = the Numinous, unKnowable Figure to whom I tend to address my wishes and desires; in shorthand, 'prayers'.
I'm not even sure I believe in a 'personal' God any more, and this is where I part company with many in the Church (although not ALL - I know this because of conversations I had as a Clergy wife when I spotted people who didn't believe 'properly'...)
I do believe in a life force, and I'm sorry if that is too arty farty for readers here. I see no reason why that life force cannot be your God (1) and at the same time my God (2).
What DOES intrigue me is that quite often, God (2) seems to offer me comfort which eludes those who worship God (1). They say all the right things about how God takes care of them, how He is there for them, and how His Peace passes all understanding... but when it comes to the crunch, that isn't always the case. I have known God (1) and it's true that He was wonderful at offering solace and peace - but so is God (2).
It's just the old 'Muslims don't believe in the same God as me' in slightly different clothes. I am unnerving people who thought they'd packaged me neatly into a 'Lapsed' box. I refuse to stop praying. I don't always call it prayer, out of deference to those whom I think might be offended.
I see prayer differently these days. My shopping list has been torn up. I expect no neat endings. I spend much more time listening than talking. And I accept whatever comes in, I suppose, a rather too fatalistic way for my old Church friends to be comfortable with. I no longer have to make excuses ('perhaps your God is in the toilet' I remember from the Good News Bible!) because God (2) doesn't work in quite the same way.
I'm still searching for my path through life. Well, I'm ON it, actually. I don't see any reason it should be the same as yours. Or hers. Or his. It may very well be that we are ALL projecting our own ideas onto something which doesn't even exist, and if so - what a silly thing to fall out over!
Monday, 19 September 2011
Ooofff...
Yes, that's how I feel today. I rarely have Ooofff moments, but this has been a tough week. A trip to see a rapidly-deteriorating ex-Mother-in-Law, being there for her son (my Ex) because that's what you do... well it's what I do... all the while worrying about my sister who was very ill in hospital (recovering I think but still very unwell and with surgery to follow), half an hour on the phone late at night to my sobbing ex-Mother-in-Law who was confused, frightened, and couldn't get anybody to answer her call button (I am angry about that). She's better as I write, almost her old self, and they think a large part of it was caused by a urine infection which hasn't showed up in repeated tests over the last few months, so I'm concerned about that as well.
So - ooofff...
And then last night my first date in over two years. A really nice man but so not a match that I almost wished I hadn't gone and wasted both our evenings. The kind of date which makes you go home and think, "I am pretty happy alone, isn't it safer just not to try?" Two years is a long time to go without being held and kissed, without a shared meal with someone special, or a walk by the river... but I do some of those things on my own (okay, I have to share the meal with myself!) quite well. I am torn - is it so bad to sink into the comfort of long-term singleness (almost 10 years now) or am I copping out by not copping off?
Ooofff...
Still, I'm the Queen of Picking Up and Dusting Down. I survived seven hellish years of constant trips to A&E/Operating theatres with one of my daughters, and we're out the other end.
This too shall pass...
I've always identified with Snufkin in the Moomin books when the first stirrings of Autumn (which led Moominmamma to prepare for hibernation) called him like the Pied Piper. He would stand and sniff the air and know that it was time to go.
I feel like this every year in Autumn. As I grow older I find myself less worried about consequences, and more aware that I need to do all the things I want before it's too late. I see this as a gift of ageing, this reshuffling of priorities. I've known too many people who've died within a year of retirement. I'm not going to postpone my life.
Brave talk. I ought to add for the sake of accuracy that as of this moment I've no idea where this will take me. But, like Snufkin, I'm sniffing the air and wondering...
So - ooofff...
And then last night my first date in over two years. A really nice man but so not a match that I almost wished I hadn't gone and wasted both our evenings. The kind of date which makes you go home and think, "I am pretty happy alone, isn't it safer just not to try?" Two years is a long time to go without being held and kissed, without a shared meal with someone special, or a walk by the river... but I do some of those things on my own (okay, I have to share the meal with myself!) quite well. I am torn - is it so bad to sink into the comfort of long-term singleness (almost 10 years now) or am I copping out by not copping off?
Ooofff...
Still, I'm the Queen of Picking Up and Dusting Down. I survived seven hellish years of constant trips to A&E/Operating theatres with one of my daughters, and we're out the other end.
This too shall pass...
I've always identified with Snufkin in the Moomin books when the first stirrings of Autumn (which led Moominmamma to prepare for hibernation) called him like the Pied Piper. He would stand and sniff the air and know that it was time to go.
I feel like this every year in Autumn. As I grow older I find myself less worried about consequences, and more aware that I need to do all the things I want before it's too late. I see this as a gift of ageing, this reshuffling of priorities. I've known too many people who've died within a year of retirement. I'm not going to postpone my life.
Brave talk. I ought to add for the sake of accuracy that as of this moment I've no idea where this will take me. But, like Snufkin, I'm sniffing the air and wondering...
Sunday, 11 September 2011
9/11
I don't want to be crass and cause offence. I have avoided the media today, but that isn't out of disrespect. The opposite, in fact. I don't think it's my business to watch people's grief. You can 'mourn with them that mourn' without gawping at them on television.
I wonder how it feels if you lost a loved one on that day - not in the terrible attacks but to some other accident, or gently after a long illness. I wonder if it feels as though the very day they died has itself been hijacked by history, like some fifth plane.
Conspiracy theories still abound. One which seems to have a better pedigree than most lives here: http://www.ae911truth.org/en/about-us.html
I know enough about politics to understand that finding the whole truth on this matter is going to be impossible. I certainly believe that politicians in every country are capable of doing terrible things to cover up their true agenda. I choose to believe that the Bush administration probably did not sacrifice 3,000 people to the cause of promoting war, but - there are many unexplained things about that day. And with a heavy heart I have to say that I could envisage being proved wrong.
What saddens me is that America and Britain seem to think that because of 9/11 and 7/7, we have some kind of moral superiority. The West is able to decide, apparently, which countries need to be Sorted and how to Sort them. I believe the vast majority of British people would not be able to tell you why we went into Afghanistan, or why we remain. I cannot think of a country where we have become involved and brought about peace. (Please comment if you can, I may be wrong). I don't believe we are currently fulfilling our stated brief in Libya. I am cynical about our involvement in countries where there is oil, and our lack of support for rebels in countries where there is not.
It has proved to be rather an own goal on the UK's part that we handed over one of the rebel leaders to the torturers of the CIA some time ago. Now he is threatening to sue. The carpet will be lifted, and we shall be able to see how much dirt lies underneath.
I don't want to write any more tonight. There must be literally miles of column footage on this subject and I am not well-versed in politics. So I leave you with one last thought:
When we look back in forty years' time, will we truly believe that Guantanamo Bay was a fitting tribute to those who died in New York on 9/11?
I wonder how it feels if you lost a loved one on that day - not in the terrible attacks but to some other accident, or gently after a long illness. I wonder if it feels as though the very day they died has itself been hijacked by history, like some fifth plane.
Conspiracy theories still abound. One which seems to have a better pedigree than most lives here: http://www.ae911truth.org/en/about-us.html
I know enough about politics to understand that finding the whole truth on this matter is going to be impossible. I certainly believe that politicians in every country are capable of doing terrible things to cover up their true agenda. I choose to believe that the Bush administration probably did not sacrifice 3,000 people to the cause of promoting war, but - there are many unexplained things about that day. And with a heavy heart I have to say that I could envisage being proved wrong.
What saddens me is that America and Britain seem to think that because of 9/11 and 7/7, we have some kind of moral superiority. The West is able to decide, apparently, which countries need to be Sorted and how to Sort them. I believe the vast majority of British people would not be able to tell you why we went into Afghanistan, or why we remain. I cannot think of a country where we have become involved and brought about peace. (Please comment if you can, I may be wrong). I don't believe we are currently fulfilling our stated brief in Libya. I am cynical about our involvement in countries where there is oil, and our lack of support for rebels in countries where there is not.
It has proved to be rather an own goal on the UK's part that we handed over one of the rebel leaders to the torturers of the CIA some time ago. Now he is threatening to sue. The carpet will be lifted, and we shall be able to see how much dirt lies underneath.
I don't want to write any more tonight. There must be literally miles of column footage on this subject and I am not well-versed in politics. So I leave you with one last thought:
When we look back in forty years' time, will we truly believe that Guantanamo Bay was a fitting tribute to those who died in New York on 9/11?
Saturday, 10 September 2011
1662 and all that...
I was in a bookshop the other day, trying to think why Richard Dawkins annoys me so much.
This won't be a popular view perhaps, but it's nothing to do with what he says (some of which is eminently sensible) - it's the sloppy way he argues it. I don't think he's very good at putting his point across. It may be some misguided intent to make his ideas accessible, I don't know, but whenever I read his writing I feel as though I'm running round some mental Moebius Strip. I also really don't like the way some of my atheist friends lazily quote Dawkins rather (I suspect) than think things through for themselves.
My train of thought led me onto pondering why the Church annoys me so much these days, and a phrase popped into my head - something John Sentamu (the Archbishop of York) said the other day: "Being a leader is not only about being courageous and determined; it is about being part of an effective team."
Like so much of what Bishop John says, this is very true and yet - it depressed me to read it. I had no idea why, so I took some time later in the day to think about it.
And this led me to an important realisation about how I see the Church of England. As I sat and thought, I remembered being taught many things about Leadership decades ago. Back then, leadership (in the Church context) was about 'Taking time to listen to God'. After all, Jesus could hardly have said at times that he was part of an effective team. They were on occasion a rubbish team, who only really got it together after he'd gone. It didn't stop him being a leader.
A memory flashed into my mind of my ex-husband coming in from a clergy training day many, many years ago and venting his frustration at it all. "They're giving us MANAGEMENT training!" he spluttered indignantly. "It's all very well, but if we lose our vision of the Church as a spiritual organisation, we are going to end up with all the problems which big companies have."
How prescient. As we went on, we discovered that there was less and less room for 'Being Still and Knowing' in clergy life. It was increasingly about meetings, budgets, finance committees... in fact we were great at fund-raising, I discovered a real flair for it - but I never quite lost the feeling that in some way we were running counter to the true gist of the Gospel.
I'm not stupid. I know that in effect the C of E is a giant business. Therein lies its spiritual downfall, like so many religions and insitutions before it. I went forward to ABM (the Church's Selection process for clergy) and was turned down (so I was told) because I appeared to be 'too much of a people person'. I consoled myself with the thought that Jesus probably wouldn't have got through either.
I began to lose patience with it all as I watched an institution which largely preached against the dangers of Astrology and the like, turn to Myers Briggs profiling to choose its clergy; there was a rumour that introverts were far more likely to be appointed. I suppose they were more malleable?
Anyway perhaps I was unlucky with my timing. If I'd been a decade earlier or later I might not have had the feeling of watching something precious go downhill. I know enough Church history to know that this isn't a unique time in history, but I truly despair as I see the Church desperately manouevring to 'get down there' with whichever element of society they are trying to draw in. Where's the USP?
I was drawn to the Church through the early morning Prayer Book service at the age of 13. I've also led worship in the pub style, loved it at the time, and see nothing wrong with both co-existing. But the 'pub-style' church were astoundingly bad at welcoming the people my Ex and I brought along from our local pub. He always said that many churches with good 'foreign mission giving' were pursuing an active foreign policy, paying others to do what they weren't prepared to do themselves.
I know this isn't the case in larger, flagship churches and indeed in many others - but I think 'The Church' has ignored to its own detriment the fact that systems and methods simply don't replace a genuine urge to share the love of Jesus because you just can't help it.
I'm not in that place any more. I just try to extend love to people, because - well for all sorts of reasons, but basically as a fellow human. There was, you see, no place for me any more in a church which sought to put me in a box, refused my offer of deeper involvement, turned away the truly needy until they were a bit cleaner...
I grant that I could have been in a different place at a different time and had another experience entirely. It was unfortunate that after two decades of being known for encouraging hospitality in our congregations, the several churches I attended after my divorce happened to be places where nobody spoke to me. One of them had Alpha posters (don't get me STARTED!) all over but I assumed as I hadn't been invited, I didn't count as a statistic by just turning up. Whatever - nobody spoke to me there, either.
My point, though, is this: I WANTED to find a church. I WANTED to be involved. I had a lot to offer. Whatever systems are in place, they are probably letting down hundreds, even thousands of people who truly would like to explore their spirituality.
I don't even count myself a Christian any more. I can't because there is no place for me to be one. And I actually don't want to be, not if it means having to conform to this awful, watered-down form of Being. It's sad but to be very honest I feel as though I've escaped from a cult; my daughter said the same.
I'm aware that my feelings are my own - that there are many arguments for what the Church is getting right. It hurts me to see my beloved nephew so worried because I can't in all conscience say the things he wants to hear about my faith.
Has the Church failed me? Have I failed it? I have to believe that I am on my own spiritual journey and that things which have happened to me have been for a reason - to make me ME. I look back at all the people I led to Christ (a lot!) and wonder what they believe now, if they are still glad I did, if they are tussling with the feeling something's not right, or the guilt of wondering if they are beyond the Hebrews 11 pale.
I'll keep you posted!
This won't be a popular view perhaps, but it's nothing to do with what he says (some of which is eminently sensible) - it's the sloppy way he argues it. I don't think he's very good at putting his point across. It may be some misguided intent to make his ideas accessible, I don't know, but whenever I read his writing I feel as though I'm running round some mental Moebius Strip. I also really don't like the way some of my atheist friends lazily quote Dawkins rather (I suspect) than think things through for themselves.
My train of thought led me onto pondering why the Church annoys me so much these days, and a phrase popped into my head - something John Sentamu (the Archbishop of York) said the other day: "Being a leader is not only about being courageous and determined; it is about being part of an effective team."
Like so much of what Bishop John says, this is very true and yet - it depressed me to read it. I had no idea why, so I took some time later in the day to think about it.
And this led me to an important realisation about how I see the Church of England. As I sat and thought, I remembered being taught many things about Leadership decades ago. Back then, leadership (in the Church context) was about 'Taking time to listen to God'. After all, Jesus could hardly have said at times that he was part of an effective team. They were on occasion a rubbish team, who only really got it together after he'd gone. It didn't stop him being a leader.
A memory flashed into my mind of my ex-husband coming in from a clergy training day many, many years ago and venting his frustration at it all. "They're giving us MANAGEMENT training!" he spluttered indignantly. "It's all very well, but if we lose our vision of the Church as a spiritual organisation, we are going to end up with all the problems which big companies have."
How prescient. As we went on, we discovered that there was less and less room for 'Being Still and Knowing' in clergy life. It was increasingly about meetings, budgets, finance committees... in fact we were great at fund-raising, I discovered a real flair for it - but I never quite lost the feeling that in some way we were running counter to the true gist of the Gospel.
I'm not stupid. I know that in effect the C of E is a giant business. Therein lies its spiritual downfall, like so many religions and insitutions before it. I went forward to ABM (the Church's Selection process for clergy) and was turned down (so I was told) because I appeared to be 'too much of a people person'. I consoled myself with the thought that Jesus probably wouldn't have got through either.
I began to lose patience with it all as I watched an institution which largely preached against the dangers of Astrology and the like, turn to Myers Briggs profiling to choose its clergy; there was a rumour that introverts were far more likely to be appointed. I suppose they were more malleable?
Anyway perhaps I was unlucky with my timing. If I'd been a decade earlier or later I might not have had the feeling of watching something precious go downhill. I know enough Church history to know that this isn't a unique time in history, but I truly despair as I see the Church desperately manouevring to 'get down there' with whichever element of society they are trying to draw in. Where's the USP?
I was drawn to the Church through the early morning Prayer Book service at the age of 13. I've also led worship in the pub style, loved it at the time, and see nothing wrong with both co-existing. But the 'pub-style' church were astoundingly bad at welcoming the people my Ex and I brought along from our local pub. He always said that many churches with good 'foreign mission giving' were pursuing an active foreign policy, paying others to do what they weren't prepared to do themselves.
I know this isn't the case in larger, flagship churches and indeed in many others - but I think 'The Church' has ignored to its own detriment the fact that systems and methods simply don't replace a genuine urge to share the love of Jesus because you just can't help it.
I'm not in that place any more. I just try to extend love to people, because - well for all sorts of reasons, but basically as a fellow human. There was, you see, no place for me any more in a church which sought to put me in a box, refused my offer of deeper involvement, turned away the truly needy until they were a bit cleaner...
I grant that I could have been in a different place at a different time and had another experience entirely. It was unfortunate that after two decades of being known for encouraging hospitality in our congregations, the several churches I attended after my divorce happened to be places where nobody spoke to me. One of them had Alpha posters (don't get me STARTED!) all over but I assumed as I hadn't been invited, I didn't count as a statistic by just turning up. Whatever - nobody spoke to me there, either.
My point, though, is this: I WANTED to find a church. I WANTED to be involved. I had a lot to offer. Whatever systems are in place, they are probably letting down hundreds, even thousands of people who truly would like to explore their spirituality.
I don't even count myself a Christian any more. I can't because there is no place for me to be one. And I actually don't want to be, not if it means having to conform to this awful, watered-down form of Being. It's sad but to be very honest I feel as though I've escaped from a cult; my daughter said the same.
I'm aware that my feelings are my own - that there are many arguments for what the Church is getting right. It hurts me to see my beloved nephew so worried because I can't in all conscience say the things he wants to hear about my faith.
Has the Church failed me? Have I failed it? I have to believe that I am on my own spiritual journey and that things which have happened to me have been for a reason - to make me ME. I look back at all the people I led to Christ (a lot!) and wonder what they believe now, if they are still glad I did, if they are tussling with the feeling something's not right, or the guilt of wondering if they are beyond the Hebrews 11 pale.
I'll keep you posted!
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness...
If I were allowed only one line of poetry to keep safely in my memory, I think it would be that. My slight touch of synaesthesia can taste and smell those wonderful words as I roll them around my brain like a fine wine. And yet every year I manage to be surprised by just how much I love this time of year - however much I remind myself, in Spring and Summer I always doubt my love of Autumn. And then September arrives, with its air of having just got in from some very enjoyable show; late and a little tired, but full of excitement still.
How much my life has changed in a few short years! I've moved so far from the feelings of desperation and being trapped in the wrong job. I'm not quite sure I'm in the right place yet, but I'm so much nearer than I was. My daughters are both settled in their new countries, I've enjoyed travelling and feeling Truly Alive again, and now Autumn is here to remind me that there is an energy in growing old which isn't available to Spring. There is a way to grow older whilst retaining a love of life, an exhuberance, even an embracing of what is to come, because at least it's new and different and therefore exciting.
I've been very fortunate to have some great role models of older people. I knew a woman of 107, and remember my Mother coming in laughing because she'd just met the son, who was grumbling about how he'd had no sympathy from her when he had pleaded Arthritis as his excuse for not digging her garden. "Yer nobbut a lad!" was her scathing comment. He was 83 at the time.
When I was a little girl of 6, my best friend was 63. We spent time together most days, I was an honorary OAP and went sketching, walking and swimming with her and her friends. She saved my life really - I got the warmth from her which was lacking at home. She in turn had been The One Who Stayed At Home, looking after both parents until Mother died at 90. She had a very close friendship with one woman, and looking back I think it's very likely she was a lesbian (even as a child I thought she was manly) but I have no idea whether they would ever have sought anything more than intense friendship. I remember well her disparaging remarks about men and her wonderful example of embracing life and it just being a bally nuisance if your legs got stiff, but not to pay any attention. She was my best friend until I was a teenager. I realise now that perhaps I also gave her something emotionally. I'm immensely grateful for having known her.
So - Autumn as metaphor. Too obvious to comment on. Many people have written about it far better than I ever could. What interests me this year is that, way back in late Spring, I found myself dreading Winter.
To put this into context, I've always loved Winter. In Yorkshire we really did have those deep drifts of snow of which people speak nostalgically. I used to sit at the window and watch the snow falling at night, each flake visible in the light of the lamp outside our house. I would choose one way, way up in the air and watch it weave its way down amongst thousands of its brothers and sisters, feeling special that I was the only person in the whole world watching that particular one and seeing its journey's end.
Last year, however, snow took on a different meaning for me. I was still recovering from knee surgery and my estate was swamped by so much snow that the cars were visible only as the white shapes of beetles on what used to be the road. It snowed, and snowed, and snowed. My daughters were really peeved to miss this re-run of the winters I'd told them about from my childhood. Buses disappeared for over two weeks. It took fifteen minutes to walk to the corner shop some 300 metres away. I feared for the elderly couple across the road and battled out every other day to buy them food.
For the first week it was amazing. It really was like travelling back to the past. And then as we went into a second, and then a third week of the snow, and I couldn't leave the house without it falling inside my wellies, I began to feel this irrational fear that it was never going to stop. We had had a huge flood a few years earlier (not my local area thank goodness) which had shaken our confidence in the weather. Now it looked increasingly as though I was never going to be able to drive again.
I realise now that something was damaged inside me last winter. This year I have been dreading it. I don't like feeling this way, and I'm reminding myself of all the wonderful things about the dark and snow, the warmth of the lights in shops and houses, the buzz of shoppers and the cameraderie you feel when you finally sit in a cafe and peel off your coat, and catch other shoppers' eyes.
Perhaps there is a deeper resonance here. Maybe it's not the season I dread, but the symbolism. There has been so much talk the last few years of disaster coming at us from all directions, perhaps in some way I equate it with that bad winter.
So today I'm making a choice. I am going to enjoy next winter, whatever it brings, even if it's just the challenge of enjoying it! I always hate to feel cut off from my beloved Peak District - so this year I shall find ways of getting there anyway. I'll force myself out in the cold to walk through the crisp air, and I shan't worry in case my knee (fine now) lets me down. It won't. I'm going to rediscover that childhood joy of breathing in pure, cold air, hearing the silence behind the muffled traffic, watching snowflakes dancing and knowing that Spring cannot be far behind...
How much my life has changed in a few short years! I've moved so far from the feelings of desperation and being trapped in the wrong job. I'm not quite sure I'm in the right place yet, but I'm so much nearer than I was. My daughters are both settled in their new countries, I've enjoyed travelling and feeling Truly Alive again, and now Autumn is here to remind me that there is an energy in growing old which isn't available to Spring. There is a way to grow older whilst retaining a love of life, an exhuberance, even an embracing of what is to come, because at least it's new and different and therefore exciting.
I've been very fortunate to have some great role models of older people. I knew a woman of 107, and remember my Mother coming in laughing because she'd just met the son, who was grumbling about how he'd had no sympathy from her when he had pleaded Arthritis as his excuse for not digging her garden. "Yer nobbut a lad!" was her scathing comment. He was 83 at the time.
When I was a little girl of 6, my best friend was 63. We spent time together most days, I was an honorary OAP and went sketching, walking and swimming with her and her friends. She saved my life really - I got the warmth from her which was lacking at home. She in turn had been The One Who Stayed At Home, looking after both parents until Mother died at 90. She had a very close friendship with one woman, and looking back I think it's very likely she was a lesbian (even as a child I thought she was manly) but I have no idea whether they would ever have sought anything more than intense friendship. I remember well her disparaging remarks about men and her wonderful example of embracing life and it just being a bally nuisance if your legs got stiff, but not to pay any attention. She was my best friend until I was a teenager. I realise now that perhaps I also gave her something emotionally. I'm immensely grateful for having known her.
So - Autumn as metaphor. Too obvious to comment on. Many people have written about it far better than I ever could. What interests me this year is that, way back in late Spring, I found myself dreading Winter.
To put this into context, I've always loved Winter. In Yorkshire we really did have those deep drifts of snow of which people speak nostalgically. I used to sit at the window and watch the snow falling at night, each flake visible in the light of the lamp outside our house. I would choose one way, way up in the air and watch it weave its way down amongst thousands of its brothers and sisters, feeling special that I was the only person in the whole world watching that particular one and seeing its journey's end.
Last year, however, snow took on a different meaning for me. I was still recovering from knee surgery and my estate was swamped by so much snow that the cars were visible only as the white shapes of beetles on what used to be the road. It snowed, and snowed, and snowed. My daughters were really peeved to miss this re-run of the winters I'd told them about from my childhood. Buses disappeared for over two weeks. It took fifteen minutes to walk to the corner shop some 300 metres away. I feared for the elderly couple across the road and battled out every other day to buy them food.
For the first week it was amazing. It really was like travelling back to the past. And then as we went into a second, and then a third week of the snow, and I couldn't leave the house without it falling inside my wellies, I began to feel this irrational fear that it was never going to stop. We had had a huge flood a few years earlier (not my local area thank goodness) which had shaken our confidence in the weather. Now it looked increasingly as though I was never going to be able to drive again.
I realise now that something was damaged inside me last winter. This year I have been dreading it. I don't like feeling this way, and I'm reminding myself of all the wonderful things about the dark and snow, the warmth of the lights in shops and houses, the buzz of shoppers and the cameraderie you feel when you finally sit in a cafe and peel off your coat, and catch other shoppers' eyes.
Perhaps there is a deeper resonance here. Maybe it's not the season I dread, but the symbolism. There has been so much talk the last few years of disaster coming at us from all directions, perhaps in some way I equate it with that bad winter.
So today I'm making a choice. I am going to enjoy next winter, whatever it brings, even if it's just the challenge of enjoying it! I always hate to feel cut off from my beloved Peak District - so this year I shall find ways of getting there anyway. I'll force myself out in the cold to walk through the crisp air, and I shan't worry in case my knee (fine now) lets me down. It won't. I'm going to rediscover that childhood joy of breathing in pure, cold air, hearing the silence behind the muffled traffic, watching snowflakes dancing and knowing that Spring cannot be far behind...
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
51 and counting!
Yesterday was my birthday - you may have gathered by now, I get insanely excited about my birthdays and don't worry too much about the actual 'getting older' part. I had a lovely day, although it was a little poignant because it's the first time my younger daughter hasn't been able to spend the day with me. She rang in tears at one point, so my other daughter and I did silly voices and made her laugh till she felt better.
That sort of brings me to the point of this post; I told her that we can't be everywhere in life. We have to make choices, and of necessity, eventually we will have to choose between two places we want to be at once. It's unavoidable. She loves her job and where she lives near Paris, and she needed to be there. End of, as far as I was concerned. I shall see her soon I'm sure. Our love for each other is far too strong to be weakened by the matter of a few hundred miles' distance in any case.
I always ponder even more deeply than usual as I come to a birthday. Perhaps it's because my birth wasn't easy and I was brought up with the story (true or not) of how I never nearly made it at all, and so I treasure life as the most precious possession I have. I actually do love being alive. That's not to say there aren't days where it's all difficult and grey; that's how we get the depth to our experience. Shadows throw life into sharp relief. I was born with a pessimistic, phobic nature (which still rears its head) but it occurred to me somewhere along the line that I had a choice to be positive, and so I've faked it until I've [almost] made it. Whatever situation I'm in and whatever fears I have, I choose to look at the positives, to reframe until I have some kind of peace around it all. As a younger woman I believed in the Christian God and one of the perks (as an Evangelical) was that the Creator of the Universe was somehow on my side. I guess I still feel that deep down.
I make New Year resolutions on my birthday. This year as I looked back over '50' I realised just how much of a transition year it's been. I changed job, we sold the family home, I've travelled, I've planned, and I've moved on out of my forties with - if not panache - a certainty that I'm getting back on track.
Back on track? Well - I realised a while ago that I had stopped allowing myself to dream. I was always someone with vision for my future, until one day I realised I wasn't any more. It came as a shock. So... I pushed myself to go for what I could remember of what I wanted. And being a slave to a high salary in a job which was wearing me down wasn't it. Eventually, after gathering my courage for a few years, I left.
So far, so good. I then realised that even without my former Christian beliefs, I do really know in my heart that All Shall Be Well, and I've allowed myself to return to my former belief in provision. I'm just no longer quite sure what to label the Provider.
Living my life is like being in a small boat on a fairly choppy sea. The way to avoid seasickness is to move with the boat. I've decided I can either brace myself against each wave and end up rather the worse for wear, or just enjoy the feeling of being carried along, whooping excitedly when the boat goes up and relaxing as it bumps back down again.
My 52nd year is going to be my 'Why Not?' year. I've done the hard part, made the transition, and now I need to enjoy the fruits of that. It's going to be the year when I tackle things - my house, my weight, my fitness, my career... funnily enough, I hesitate to write 'my love life'. I find that whenever I do a life-laundry, love comes low on the list. I don't know whether that is because it's genuinely a low priority or whether I'm afraid of failure - or even, as a counsellor once suggested, afraid of success. I'm not going to focus desperately on Finding Someone because I have plenty to keep me busy just finding myself! And if he's out there, he will be someone with the guts to take on life (and therefore me) - so win-win!
I've come so very far in a few short years. I know my fifties are going to be another exciting chapter in my life. Bring it on! :)
That sort of brings me to the point of this post; I told her that we can't be everywhere in life. We have to make choices, and of necessity, eventually we will have to choose between two places we want to be at once. It's unavoidable. She loves her job and where she lives near Paris, and she needed to be there. End of, as far as I was concerned. I shall see her soon I'm sure. Our love for each other is far too strong to be weakened by the matter of a few hundred miles' distance in any case.
I always ponder even more deeply than usual as I come to a birthday. Perhaps it's because my birth wasn't easy and I was brought up with the story (true or not) of how I never nearly made it at all, and so I treasure life as the most precious possession I have. I actually do love being alive. That's not to say there aren't days where it's all difficult and grey; that's how we get the depth to our experience. Shadows throw life into sharp relief. I was born with a pessimistic, phobic nature (which still rears its head) but it occurred to me somewhere along the line that I had a choice to be positive, and so I've faked it until I've [almost] made it. Whatever situation I'm in and whatever fears I have, I choose to look at the positives, to reframe until I have some kind of peace around it all. As a younger woman I believed in the Christian God and one of the perks (as an Evangelical) was that the Creator of the Universe was somehow on my side. I guess I still feel that deep down.
I make New Year resolutions on my birthday. This year as I looked back over '50' I realised just how much of a transition year it's been. I changed job, we sold the family home, I've travelled, I've planned, and I've moved on out of my forties with - if not panache - a certainty that I'm getting back on track.
Back on track? Well - I realised a while ago that I had stopped allowing myself to dream. I was always someone with vision for my future, until one day I realised I wasn't any more. It came as a shock. So... I pushed myself to go for what I could remember of what I wanted. And being a slave to a high salary in a job which was wearing me down wasn't it. Eventually, after gathering my courage for a few years, I left.
So far, so good. I then realised that even without my former Christian beliefs, I do really know in my heart that All Shall Be Well, and I've allowed myself to return to my former belief in provision. I'm just no longer quite sure what to label the Provider.
Living my life is like being in a small boat on a fairly choppy sea. The way to avoid seasickness is to move with the boat. I've decided I can either brace myself against each wave and end up rather the worse for wear, or just enjoy the feeling of being carried along, whooping excitedly when the boat goes up and relaxing as it bumps back down again.
My 52nd year is going to be my 'Why Not?' year. I've done the hard part, made the transition, and now I need to enjoy the fruits of that. It's going to be the year when I tackle things - my house, my weight, my fitness, my career... funnily enough, I hesitate to write 'my love life'. I find that whenever I do a life-laundry, love comes low on the list. I don't know whether that is because it's genuinely a low priority or whether I'm afraid of failure - or even, as a counsellor once suggested, afraid of success. I'm not going to focus desperately on Finding Someone because I have plenty to keep me busy just finding myself! And if he's out there, he will be someone with the guts to take on life (and therefore me) - so win-win!
I've come so very far in a few short years. I know my fifties are going to be another exciting chapter in my life. Bring it on! :)
Friday, 19 August 2011
Through a glass darkly...?
Someone asked me recently about my interest in Tarot and Astrology. I suppose for someone who was a deeply committed, Evangelical Christian it is a slightly odd path I've trodden, although I know many who have gone the reverse route. Indeed, I used to pray for people to be 'delivered' from belief in the Occult, oblivious to the fact that I believed some pretty strange things myself, such as having a God who came to heel (and heal), Words of Knowledge, Prophecy, etc. But more of that in a moment.
As I've said before somewhere on here, I became a Christian from a very non-Churchy background. I read tea-leaves as a child (fairly accurately sometimes) and believed absolutely that I was from a 'psychic' family. I had a dramatic conversion and renounced all that side of things. I was now in a Flagship Evangelical Church, and it took me a few years to discover the contemplative Christianity which in fact was my more natural habitat. I had come to faith in a small attic room, with a candle and a crucifix and silence. As a ten year old, that was instinctive to me. As a new Christian it was all Noise and Halleujahs, which I also enjoyed but which I now realise never quite fitted who I really was. As the last child in a very noisy family, I somehow had a strong sense of the Numinous which I retain to this day.
I eventually came under the influence of the Charismatic Church, and began to experience what are known as the Gifts of the Holy Spirit - speaking in tongues, having prophetic visions, healing, Words of Knowledge, etc... There was a very strong anti-Occult teaching around, and certainly Tarot/Astrology were considered Satanic. (Which was ironic really. I realised many years later that the Charismatic Church does all the things which Psychics do, but as it's in the name of Jesus that's okay.)
Anyway I was a fully paid-up member, with many experiences of accurate Words of Knowledge, a few prophetic visions and even a couple of healings as part of my Christian experience. I had yet to discover Mother Julian of Norwich and her amazing metaphysical visions, which remain dear to my heart to this day.
In the Eighties, my Ex went on a course paid for by the Church, which was an exploration of Myers-Briggs personality typing. He came back very enthused and explained it all to me. I felt there was some incongruity which I couldn't quite put my finger on... it wasn't for a few years that I realised there was very little difference between the cold reading of Astrology and the prescriptive practice of Myers Briggs. I've been 'typed' several times and nobody is ever quite sure whether I'm INFJ or ENFJ - but they are happy to tell me all about who I really am, based on a label - just like Astrology. Yet this was accepted by the Church although it has a far shorter pedigree. There seemed to be a dichotomy between the spiritual and the secular, and it was okay for Spiritual people to use secular means to predict how people might behave in certain circumstances. Interesting.
I must say here, I do believe that Sun Sign Astrology is ridiculous. I think I share a birthday (not the year though) with Cameron Diaz. So what? However, when you have had the experience of someone looking at your birthchart, asking about your deep love of religion, whether you've finished writing the book and telling you that you almost died at birth, it does sort of impress. All these, of course, can be clever cold-reading guesses, but even so it makes you think.
I don't believe in predicting the future. Not particularly because the Christian God forbids it, but because it rules out free will. I think we can spot trends in our lives, and for me that's where the Tarot is interesting, I know very little about it, but I have been fascinated for years by archetypes. Jung used the Tarot not to predict, but to make sense of the personalities he was working with, As far as I'm concerned, it's a shortcut for stimulating self-awareness. It works for me.
I'm the kind of person who is drawn to what at one time I'd have called Mumbo-jumbo. It doesn't mean I believe it all, but it does mean that I've grown past the point of needing to Be Right and Know The Truth. I increasingly suspect Truth is not as easily pigeon-holed as I once thought. When I became a Christian (having told the Sunday School teacher that I was FAR too intellectual for that rubbish, when I was 12 - cringe...) I decided God would be my working hypothesis unless or until I knew differently. And there came a point decades later when suddenly it didn't quite work for me. By 'it' I mean The Church. God, I take as a given. I still love liturgy and the thought of the link to generations of worshippers - it's just that I hate what I see in the Church today and I simply don't believe that Jesus would have encouraged the judgmental, self-seeking practices of some. That's not to say I'm any better, just that for now I choose not to keep their company.
My situation over the past few years - moving away from friends, settling in a new area with a very poorly child, my own injury and surgery the other year - left me the time and space for much soul-searching. I spent time in silence - the blessed silence for which Evangelicalism never seemed to leave space.
I've read a lot of Deepak Chopra. I've thought a lot about how Quantum Physics really might affect my world view. My sense that it is arrogant to dismiss all other possible world views has grown. I trust that whoever God is, my ship will come to the right harbour for me. We are all on a journey and I no longer feel the need to be the one who is most sure of the route. It seems fairly clear to me that all the 'special powers' which various parties claim as their own preserve must be fairly natural human attributes, and that we ignore them to our detriment.
As the old joke goes, "Faith, Hope, Love abide - and the greatest of these is Tongues." Love is definitely the mainspring of life as far as I'm concerned, in all its many forms, and hopefully if we seek Love, we will learn to be enabling of others rather than condemning them.
I know this can lead to Liberal namby-pambyism but I continue to search my soul, and I continue to do my best. That's all anybody - even God - can ask of me, surely?
As I've said before somewhere on here, I became a Christian from a very non-Churchy background. I read tea-leaves as a child (fairly accurately sometimes) and believed absolutely that I was from a 'psychic' family. I had a dramatic conversion and renounced all that side of things. I was now in a Flagship Evangelical Church, and it took me a few years to discover the contemplative Christianity which in fact was my more natural habitat. I had come to faith in a small attic room, with a candle and a crucifix and silence. As a ten year old, that was instinctive to me. As a new Christian it was all Noise and Halleujahs, which I also enjoyed but which I now realise never quite fitted who I really was. As the last child in a very noisy family, I somehow had a strong sense of the Numinous which I retain to this day.
I eventually came under the influence of the Charismatic Church, and began to experience what are known as the Gifts of the Holy Spirit - speaking in tongues, having prophetic visions, healing, Words of Knowledge, etc... There was a very strong anti-Occult teaching around, and certainly Tarot/Astrology were considered Satanic. (Which was ironic really. I realised many years later that the Charismatic Church does all the things which Psychics do, but as it's in the name of Jesus that's okay.)
Anyway I was a fully paid-up member, with many experiences of accurate Words of Knowledge, a few prophetic visions and even a couple of healings as part of my Christian experience. I had yet to discover Mother Julian of Norwich and her amazing metaphysical visions, which remain dear to my heart to this day.
In the Eighties, my Ex went on a course paid for by the Church, which was an exploration of Myers-Briggs personality typing. He came back very enthused and explained it all to me. I felt there was some incongruity which I couldn't quite put my finger on... it wasn't for a few years that I realised there was very little difference between the cold reading of Astrology and the prescriptive practice of Myers Briggs. I've been 'typed' several times and nobody is ever quite sure whether I'm INFJ or ENFJ - but they are happy to tell me all about who I really am, based on a label - just like Astrology. Yet this was accepted by the Church although it has a far shorter pedigree. There seemed to be a dichotomy between the spiritual and the secular, and it was okay for Spiritual people to use secular means to predict how people might behave in certain circumstances. Interesting.
I must say here, I do believe that Sun Sign Astrology is ridiculous. I think I share a birthday (not the year though) with Cameron Diaz. So what? However, when you have had the experience of someone looking at your birthchart, asking about your deep love of religion, whether you've finished writing the book and telling you that you almost died at birth, it does sort of impress. All these, of course, can be clever cold-reading guesses, but even so it makes you think.
I don't believe in predicting the future. Not particularly because the Christian God forbids it, but because it rules out free will. I think we can spot trends in our lives, and for me that's where the Tarot is interesting, I know very little about it, but I have been fascinated for years by archetypes. Jung used the Tarot not to predict, but to make sense of the personalities he was working with, As far as I'm concerned, it's a shortcut for stimulating self-awareness. It works for me.
I'm the kind of person who is drawn to what at one time I'd have called Mumbo-jumbo. It doesn't mean I believe it all, but it does mean that I've grown past the point of needing to Be Right and Know The Truth. I increasingly suspect Truth is not as easily pigeon-holed as I once thought. When I became a Christian (having told the Sunday School teacher that I was FAR too intellectual for that rubbish, when I was 12 - cringe...) I decided God would be my working hypothesis unless or until I knew differently. And there came a point decades later when suddenly it didn't quite work for me. By 'it' I mean The Church. God, I take as a given. I still love liturgy and the thought of the link to generations of worshippers - it's just that I hate what I see in the Church today and I simply don't believe that Jesus would have encouraged the judgmental, self-seeking practices of some. That's not to say I'm any better, just that for now I choose not to keep their company.
My situation over the past few years - moving away from friends, settling in a new area with a very poorly child, my own injury and surgery the other year - left me the time and space for much soul-searching. I spent time in silence - the blessed silence for which Evangelicalism never seemed to leave space.
I've read a lot of Deepak Chopra. I've thought a lot about how Quantum Physics really might affect my world view. My sense that it is arrogant to dismiss all other possible world views has grown. I trust that whoever God is, my ship will come to the right harbour for me. We are all on a journey and I no longer feel the need to be the one who is most sure of the route. It seems fairly clear to me that all the 'special powers' which various parties claim as their own preserve must be fairly natural human attributes, and that we ignore them to our detriment.
As the old joke goes, "Faith, Hope, Love abide - and the greatest of these is Tongues." Love is definitely the mainspring of life as far as I'm concerned, in all its many forms, and hopefully if we seek Love, we will learn to be enabling of others rather than condemning them.
I know this can lead to Liberal namby-pambyism but I continue to search my soul, and I continue to do my best. That's all anybody - even God - can ask of me, surely?
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