Miracles in the Silence

 The 19th century German novelist Wilhelm Raabe wrote, "The greatest miracles take place in great silence." 

Hmm. Not so sure I agree with that, especially at this time of year. I am one hundred per cent sure that the miracle that was the birth of Jesus did not take place in "great silence".  Mary was an ordinary human woman, and would have felt all the pain and travail of labour - I'm sure she would not have suffered in silence. And Joseph would have breathed awkward words, intended to be of comfort. The animals would have been moving around in their stable and outside, perhaps the sounds of distant Bethlehem would have been heard, or the calls of night birds and animals.

The birth of every child is a miracle. I have been through it twice and I have never lost my sense of awe and wonder. That a single act of love can lead to the growth of another human being over nine months, changing from a few cells into a fully-functioning human baby. That my body provided everything the growing foetus needed to nourish it. That I was able to endure the pain of labour because I knew (hoped desperately) that in the end, I would have a living, healthy baby. That miracle happened twice for me.

Our world is full of miracles, if we have eyes to see. As many of you know, I walk regularly in Salcey Forest and am able to observe at first hand the miracle that is the annual cycle of the seasons. At the moment, most of the trees are bare of leaves, which have formed a wet slush underfoot and the bushes have been nearly denuded of berries by the hungry birds. But after Christmas I will soon see shoots of new green, the annual miracle of renewal. By March, the Forest will have transformed into a burgeoning green miracle. Then in the Autumn, the trees will remember the necessity of a season of dormancy and will begin to shed their leaves once more.

Miracles do not only happen in nature. How we interact with each other can result in changes of heart and mind - surely a minor miracle in itself.

But I do believe that *appreciation* of each miracle, as it happens, does take place in "great silence" - that moment of awe and wonder when we take in the miracle that it taking, has taken place.

I love the prayer, quoted by Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, My Grandfather's Blessings:

Days pass and the years vanish

and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing 

and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence,

like lightning, illuminates

the darkness in which we walk. 

Help us to see, wherever we gaze,

that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God,

will reach out for holiness and

exclaim in wonder,

"How filled with awe is this place

and we did not know it."

May we all have the sight to perceive the everyday miracles in our lives. Amen

Movement, Change and Transformation

 This week's quotation, by Hungarian spiritual writer, Elisabeth Haich, really struck a chord. "Life," she wrote, "is movement, change, transformation."

And of course, she's right. Much though we may hate to hear it, as often as we may kid ourselves that our lives are going on very much the same as they always have, it isn't true. I'm not the same person as I was yesterday, or last week, last month, let alone last year.

Because we live in a world where we are always encountering new things - new experiences, new people, new thoughts and ideas, new nudges from the Spirit. And we cannot help being changed by them. It may take us a while, screaming, protesting, and dragging at the hand that is trying to lead us forward, but we'll get there in the end.

How much better to be open to movement, change, transformation. To embrace it, even... I honestly believe that it is up to us to keep our hearts and minds and spirits open to new experiences, so that we may grow as people.  It's also important to be nice to ourselves, to understand our natural inclination towards the status quo, and not beat ourselves up when we resist movement, change, transformation. And to understand that these things are just as hard for everyone else we know, and not to blame them when they, too, resist.

Letting go of the old can be even more difficult. Many of us find it easier to hold on to old grudges, old hurts, old griefs, preferring to stay behind our armoured souls in case life hurts us once again. It is much more courageous to doff our armour, reveal our vulnerabilities and embrace the new. But it is a wonderfully rewarding way to live.

Each of us has been given a brain and a heart to approach the new in a spirit of curiosity, rather than dread. Let us use them as best we can, so that we may grow into the best people we can be. Let us pray to be awake and aware and open to new experiences.

The Wonderful in the Everyday

When I woke up this morning, the sky was blue and clear - such a joy after the torrential rain of the past few days - I might even go for a walk (well wrapped-up) later. Which fits well with this week's quotation, from American writer Pearl S. Buck, who wrote, "The true wisdom of life is to see the wonderful in the everyday." I have written about the wonder I feel when I walk in Salcey Forest many times, particularly here.

Yet wonder is not only to be found in the natural world. I remember some years ago,I blogged about being in Tesco's one December morning, slogging through the crowded store, feeling very bah-humbuggerish, when I saw a small child in a pushchair gazing with wonder and delight at the Christmas decorations on the ceiling. They weren't "ho, hum, just another Christmas" to him, they were a source of wonder. He taught me a lesson I have never quite forgotten. "Out of the mouths (and eyes) of babes..."

So this year, in spite of torrential rain, and the potential of a new lockdown cause by the Omicron variant of Covid, I'm going to make a strong effort to be aware of, to live in the wonder and appreciate the beauty and wonder all around me.

 

Does Love Require Freedom?

 Regular readers of this blog will know that I use a weekly quotation as inspiration for it. And it is rare for me to disagree with the writers, poets, artists, philosophers and theologians chosen by the compilers of the Harenberg Calendars. But this week I do. The quote is by German writer and poet, Heinrich Heine, "Love requires freedom in order to exist and flourish."

No, it doesn't. Love is the greatest power in the world. It is stronger than fear, stronger than hate, stronger than anything. I believe that Love is God's presence at the centre of everything. And I believe that in the end, it will ultimately prevail.

Some may think that this is ridiculously naive, stupidly optimistic. And if we look around at our world, they may have a point. Yet in the darkest places, the most hopeless times, something gives people the strength to resist evil, the power to carry on when bad things happen. I believe that thing is Love.

I believe that Love is a real power in the world. Which has been proclaimed down the centuries. We only have to read St Paul's Letter to the Corinthians, in which he speaks of the power of Love:

"If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind, love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It doesn not insist on its its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease: as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love."

So no, Heine, love does not require freedom in order to exist and flourish: it is the most poweful force in the world.

The Path of the Night

 The Lebanese mystic and poet, Khalil Gibran, once wrote, "Dawn can only be reached by following the path of the night."

Dawn is one of my favourite times of day - if I'm awake in time to witness it. The night sky begins to lighten slowly as the sun begins to rise. Sometimes gold, sometimes orange, sometimes red, sometimes purple, and all the shades inbetween - sometimes, I stand at my bedroom window for minutes together and watch the eastern sky change before my eyes. It is never the same twice and always a source of gratitude and wonder. Here is one from a month ago (although my photo does not do it justice):

I think the point that Gibran is making is that we will not really appreciate the beauty of the sky at dawning unless we have experienced the darkness that comes before it. And as in the real world, so in the spiritual world.

I do not know anyone who has not gone through dark periods in their lives, companioned by gloom, depression and despair. Which makes the return of the light even more precious, because we know what it is to be without it. 

And I think we can take his words as a promise too - that there *will* be a time of light and beauty after the darkness, that our night will not last forever. But that we have to walk along the path of the night to get there, have to do the shadow work first.

Which is probably one reason why I find such value in stories - the stories in which the hero/ine has to go through all kinds of trials and tribulations before attaining their goal. But at the end, the goal is reached or achieved and the light can return. Reading such stories is a promise of future light to come, that the darkness will have an end, if we have faith in the possibility of dawning. I know that when we are in the middle of the darkest passages of the night, the darkest times of our lives, it can be difficult to believe that better times are ahead. But they always are. We just have to hang on to hope, hang on to faith.

Discovering Our Wings

 The 20th century Mexican painter Frida Kahlo wrote, "Art and love are the wings that carry us to heaven." 

And yes, they are certainly two of them. But I think the wings that carry us to heaven are many and varied, not just art and love. The wings that help each of us to "heaven" will be unique to each person. And they may be things we do ourselves, or experiences that happen to us.

And I guess it depends what we mean by "heaven". I don't think that Frida Kahlo meant the realm of God and his [sic] angels when she wrote this. My Concise Oxford Dictionary gives several definitions and the one I think she was referring to is "place or state of supreme bliss or great delight."

I can only speak for myself. A contemplative walk in Salcey Forest, or surrounded by beautiful lakes and mountains is one of my surest, most reliable routes to the experience of heaven. Or spending time with the people I love. Or the process of creation, whether that is with a pen or a crochet hook.

I believe that heaven can also be found in our experiences. For example, a moment of deep connection with another person or other people can feel like heaven. I can remember attending a showing of the first Harry Potter film, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, with my husband and children and at the end, the entire audience broke into applause. 

The shared joy of common experiences can be found in many places, if we are awake enough to notice them - singing together, walking on a Pride march, the Anniversary Service of our General Assembly meetings, having a deep conversation, heart-to-heart, with another person.

What are your wings?

Seize the Day (or not)

 The title of this blogpost comes from the Roman poet, Horace, "carpe diem quam minimum credula postero", which means, "pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the next one." A similar sentiment is expressed by Dante Alighieri, who wrote, "One waits for time to change, the other grabs it firmly and acts."

A couple of decades ago, I would have agreed wholeheartedly with both Horace and Dante. I have always found it easier to jump into a situation and *do* something, rather than sitting passively, waiting for something to happen to me.

But in recent years, I have learned that we are called human beings for a reason. We are not called human doings. Sure, there are times and places where action is imperative and we should be "up and doing" as the hymn writer says. Nevertheless, I have learned that simply being also has its place. Time to sit still, breathe, reflect, Simply Be.

Because it is when we give ourselves time to Simply Be, to be still, to wait on the time, that deeper insights come, those nudges from the Divine that we would otherwise not have noticed, being too busy rushing from one place to another, one task to another.

There is a fascinating article by Zindel Segal on the Mindfulness website, here. In it, he explains that the mind has two basic modes: Doing mode and Being mode. He says that the job of the Doing mode 

"is to get things done—to achieve particular goals that the mind has set. These goals could relate to the external world—to make a meal, build a house, or travel to the moon—or to the internal world of self—to feel happy, not make mistakes, never be depressed again, or be a good person. The basic strategy to achieve such goals involves something we call the “discrepancy monitor”: a process that continually monitors and evaluates our current situation against a model or standard—an idea of what is desired, required, expected, or feared."

The focus of the Being mode, on the other hand, "is “accepting” and “allowing” what is, without any immediate pressure to change it. “Allowing” arises naturally when there is no goal or standard to be reached, and no need to evaluate experience in order to reduce discrepancies between actual and desired states. This also means that attention is no longer focused narrowly on only those aspects of the present that are directly related to goal achievement; in being mode, the experience of the moment can be processed in its full depth, width, and richness."

I come closest to Being when I am out walkig in Nature and can lose myself in the glories of creation. I have also found that simply being conscious of the Being mode has enabled me to stand back sometimes, breathe, and allow and accept what is happening in that moment. It's hard, but so worthwhile. It is a richer, less stressful way to live.

And... breathe.

A Reminder of Eternity

Living near Northampton, which is almost as far from the sea in England as you can get, my experience of the sea is a rare treat. So I read this week's quotation, by German novelist Thomas Mann, with a certain amount of wistfulness:  "The sea is not a landscape, it is the experience of eternity."

I absolutely see what he means. When I do see the sea, my favourite thing to do is to sit and watch it, as the waves move up the shore and down again, in an endless rhythm. Like breathing. I can almost imagine that the waves are the breath of the sea, marking time for us.

I know they're not, that it's all to do with the pull of the moon, but sometimes I prefer to ignore the science and appreciate the poetry in motion that the sea represents. When my best friend and I went to Orkney for a week, back in July, we sat by the sea one day and these words came to my mind:

The small, polite waves

shimmy up the shore;

curtsey,

and then recede.

Below us, a

liver and white spaniel

poofles happily, tail wagging,

exploring the tideline

with questing nose.

I know that the sea has many moods and is to be respected, not taken for granted. But there is an eternal quality about it. It puts me in mind of one of my favourite quotes from Tom Stoppard's play, Travesties:  "It is this complete absence of bellicosity, coupled with an ostentatious punctuality of public clocks, that gives the place its reassuring air of permanence. Switzerland, one instinctively feels, will not go away. Nor will it turn into somewhere else."

Of course, this permanence of the sea, the sense of its being unchanging, eternal, always there, always going in and out, in and out is, sadly, an illusion. We know from the climate scientists that the polar ice caps are melting, that sea levels are rising. All of which is going to have a terrible effect on our planet. We all, as individuals and as a society, a civilisation, have a duty to do something about it before it is too late...

Everything Has Its Time

 The title of this blogpost is the first four words of a quotation by the 18th century German philosopher, theologian and poet, Johann Gottfried Herder. In full, it reads, "Everything has its time: winter and summer, autumn and spring, youth and old age, work and rest."

Reading his words reminded me of the famous lines in the third chapter of the Book of Ecclesiastes, often used in funerals:

"For everything there is a season, a time for every matter under the sun;

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot;

A time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to speak, and a time to keep silent;

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under the sun."

I have come to believe deeply in the idea that everything has its time. It is, perhaps, most clearly in evidence in the natural world: Summer follows Spring, then Autumn, then Winter, then Spring again. And each season has its own beauty, it's own "feel".  I have found beauty and wonder in Salcey Forest in all seasons. 

Yesterday, my husband and I finally got round to visiting Westonbirt Arboretum in Gloucestershire and the Autumn foliage was absolutely glorious to see.... every shade of yellow, orange, brown, red and burgundy you could imagine - no photo does justice to it.

We have decided to return in the Spring, when the trees will be in blossom - a treat to look forward to.

But as the quotation by Herder said, it is not only natural beauty and the cycle of the seasons which has its time - the whole of our lives are a process of change and growth and eventually of dying back. And each season of our lives has its own beauty, its own wonder - the wide-eyed innocence and enthusiasm of the child; the teenage years, during which we think we know it all; the settling in to career and our place in society, which makes up the rest of the first half of life and so on.

It is the second half of life in which we commonly yearn for something other than earthly goals - a sense of longing can possess our souls, turning us towards the spiritual, towards the divine. This second-half of life pilgrimage does not have an end point - we travel on, deeper into the heart of God, letting go of the things which seemed so important in our earlier years - status, belongings, and so on.

The autumn of one's life can be rich and fulfilling, if we can allow ourselves to continue to grow, while simultaneously letting go, slowing down. It's a fine balance to find, but can lead to true contentment and a secure sense of being where we need to be. For example, last week, I met my great-nephew for the first time, which was so special. Even if I don't feel "old enough" to be a great aunt!

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under the sun."

Reaching New Shores

 The 19th century German poet, Friedrich Rückert wrote, "It is only possible to reach new shores by meeting other people."

And I absolutely agree with him, in so far as we learn most of what we know, most of what influences us, most of what is useful to us, from other people. If we never came under the influence of the thoughts and wisdom of others, it would be far harder for us grow, to become the best people we can be.

I have certainly had my mind and spirit opened and expanded by interactions with many Unitarians, particularly at Summer School and when I have the (now rare) chance to receive worship, rather than leading it. And have been supported on my Unitarian journey by many friends and colleagues.

But I do not think it is necessary to actually *meet* other people face to face in order to learn from them, to reach new shores because of them. I have never met many of the people who have had deep and strong influences on my life, face to face. One of these is my first spiritual director, a UUA minister whom I only met via Skype. But she had a huge influence on my life and on my spiritual growth.

I have also been greatly influenced in my journeys as a Unitarian and as a writer, by the authors of the books I love. Richard Rohr, John O'Donohue, Rainer Maria Rilke, Hafiz, the authors of Quaker Advices and Queries on my Unitarian journey, and J.R.R. Tolkien, Brandon Sanderson, David Eddings, Anne Lamott, Liz Gilbert and Stephen King on my writing journey. 

It is also possible to be influenced by marvellous quotes on Facebook feeds, by podcasts and by speakers on YouTube. If we are willing to be open to new ideas, the possibilities of learning, of reaching new shores through our learning, are endless.

I have never met any of the authors I have mentioned above, yet their words have influenced me profoundly. I believe that one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is to be open to the wisdom of others. 

Who has enabled you to reach new shores?

The Splendour of Gardens

 The 18th century "woman of letters" (as Wikipedia describes her), Madame de Staël, once wrote, "The splendour of gardens has the love of nature as a prerequisite."

This quotation instantly reminded me of the words by Dorothy Frances Gurney, the English hymn writer and poet, which my grandfather wrote in my autograph book when I was a little girl:

"The kiss of the sun for pardon,

The song of the birds for mirth - 

One is nearer God's heart in a garden

Than anywhere else on earth."

He was a great gardener, my grandfather. Just after World War II, he and my grandmother moved into a huge Victorian house in Woolton, having never seen inside it, on the strength of loving the gardens. I blogged about their adventure here.

Sadly, I have never been a gardener myself. I love admiring other people's gardens, enjoy visiting the beautiful gardens and grounds of stately homes, and watch Gardener's World every week. But I find actual gardening rather too much like hard work.

But I do have the love of nature the quotation by Madame de Staël speaks of. Nothing lifts my heart, restores my soul, so quickly as being out in the natural world, whether that is up in the mountains, by the sea or in my beloved Salcey Forest. There is something wonderful - wonder-full in the true sense of that word - about nature. Its astonishing complexity, its simple beauty - these nourish the deepest parts of me and I have often written about it in this blog. There is something about being away from people, being surrounded by the glories of nature that brings me back into balance, with myself, with the Divine.

And that is a blessing.

Off the Beaten Track

 The 19th century German novelist, Theodor Fontane, once wrote, "But all the best things, like everywhere in life, lie off the beaten track."

I'm not sure about this one... Some of the best things in my life have been directly on the main path of my journey - my marriage, my children, my first career as a librarian. All these were things I consciously headed towards and enjoy(ed) when they happened.

But if he means that life can give us some delightful surprises when we aren't expecting them, then yes, I agree. And often, so it seems, things which later become important in our lives, we stumble across by accident. To give just one example, if my young daughter hadn't contracted conjunctivitis and if I hadn't taken her up to our local shopping centre in the pushchair to get us both out of the house, I might never have seen the advert in the estate agent's window for the home we have lived in for the past 23 years. And it was the best move we ever made.

Spiritual insights can also turn up in our lives when we aren't expecting them. I've written about my revelation that God is love in the centre of everything here. That insight changed my life big time. And on many occasions, my spiritual director or someone at Summer School has said something to me that has opened doors in my soul. These have added immeasurably to the richness of my spiritual life and I am grateful.

Patience, Strength and Perseverance

Patience, strength and perseverance are not the first three qualities I think about when someone mentions the word "love." But according to Kristina, the 17th century Queen of Sweden, "These are the three blessed virtues that are found in true love: patience, strength, perseverance."

Although I suppose they may be three qualities which are required to have unconditional love for someone. Because all of us have faults, all of us have shortcomings, all of us will disappoint those who love us at some point in our lives. 

So we will need patience in our true love for our beloved, patience when they don't do what we think they should, patience when what they do or say disappoints us, patience when they are in a bad place and unable to respond to us. And also patience with ourselves, so that we are prepared to sit alongside them without expectation.

We will need strength in our true love for our beloved, because a weak love is not true love. We need to be strong and convicted in our love for the beloved. And also strong to hold them up, or to pick them up when they fall.

We will need perseverance in our true love for our beloved, because *every* relationship (whether it is between spouses, siblings or parents & children) goes through bad patches (one time I'm not afraid to generalise!). We need to hang on to our love for our beloved to see us through these bad patches. And we need to persevere in our love, and not give up when things aren't good. (Which is not to say that we should stay in an abusive relationship - far from it. Just that when we feel a little bit meh, we should hang on to our love for the beloved.)

And I find it consoling to remember that God's love for us is patient, strong and persevering.

What three qualities do you think are the "three blessed virtues that are found in true love"?

Not Naivete but Clarity

The American textile artist, Anni Albers, is "credited with blurring the lines between traditional craft and art." (Wikipedia). She was born in Berlin in 1899 and started to study at the Bauhaus in 1922. Many of the disciplines were forbidden to women (much to her disgust) so she enrolled in the weaving class. However, she took to "the challenges of tactile construction" (Wikipedia) like a duck to water. In her writing, she says, "In my case it was threads that caught me, really against my will. To work with threads seemed sissy to me. I wanted something to be conquered. But circumstances held me to threads and they won me over." Her designs were bold and geometric and her work has been exhibited all over the world.

Tapestry, 1948 by Anni Albers (Wikimedia commons)

This week's quotation is by her: "Lack of complication is not naivete, but clarity." The German phrase provided by the Harenberg Kalender, from which I get my quotes for this blog, was difficult to translate. It could read "Uncomplication / lack of complexity is not simplicity, but clarity." But I think I understand what she is getting at.

Human beings are geniuses at making their lives both complicated and complex. A simple life of clarity can seem to be a distant, unrealisable dream. I believe that Albers is reassuring us that if we are able to remove some of the webs of complexity from our lives, try to live more simply, clarity will be our reward.

Last November, I wrote a post about meditation and clarity here. I said then and still believe now, "We live in a complex world, with many demands on our bodies, minds and spirits. The clarity which can come from a regular meditation practice is an essential counterpoint to this. If we can find a place of clarity in our meditation practice, through using gentle curiosity, it may help us to lead more mindful, calm lives."

Mindfulness. Calm. Simplicity. Peace. May we all find a way to access these much-needed qualities.

The Divine is Everywhere

This week's quotation is by Annie Besant, the 20th century socialist, theosophist, women's rights activist and human rights activist. It reads, "Underlying everything is an eternal, infinite, unknowable, real Being."

Most of it makes sense to me, because I have felt it. For me, God, the Divine, Spirit of Life and Love, is eternal, infinite and real. But not unknowable. At least, not entirely. I believe we can only get glimpses of the Divine, but we can be aware of Her / Him / It in everything around us, in ourselves and in each other. 

Which makes me a panentheist, which is defined in Cross's The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church as "the belief that the Being of God includes and penetrates the whole universe, so that every part of it exists in Him [sic], but that His [sic] Being is more than, and is not exhausted by, the universe."

So the Divine is not only beyond and eternal and infinite, but also immanent, within all things. As the Quakers would say, there is "that of God in everyone". To which I would add, "in everything".

I was first shown this as a little girl, when my father took me out into the garden and asked me to look - really look - at one flower and to appreciate the wonderfully intricate design of it. He told me (and I'm paraphrasing now) that the amazing way that everything fits together is evidence for the existence of God, because nothing so wonderful and intricate could have come into being at random.

And, unlike many of the nuggets of wisdom that parents share with their children, that one has stayed with me. I am still filled with awe and wonder at the the beauty and intricate coherence of the natural world and often stop, on my walks in the forest, to give thanks.

The understanding that this Divine presence also extends to humankind has taken longer to penetrate. But now I do honestly believe that there *is* that of God in everyone. I have also come to believe that God is Love at the centre of everything. And that the best way of worshipping Him / Her / It is to recognise that and to try to live in the world in response to it. 

Which ain't easy. It is far easier (and perhaps more instinctive) to make snap judgements about everyone we meet, rather than waiting to get to know them and then to perceive the divine Spark at work within them. None of us is perfect, but if we try to bear the everywhereness of God / the Divine in mind, we might learn to relate to the world in better, more productive ways.

Growing into Beloved Community

 I have just returned from an inspirational conference at the Nightingale Centre at Great Hucklow. It was my first visit for two years and it felt so good to be back. For me, the Nightingale Centre is a very special place, my spiritual home.

Our guest speaker was Alistair McIntosh, Quaker and spiritual activist, and his theme was on becoming the beloved community. He explained it was about combining being engaged with the world and society from a deep place, in which we realise we are part of a deeper reality.

It doesn't matter what we call this deep, implicit, underlying order. He gave us many definitions: the Hindu word, dharma - the deep structure present in reality, the Taoist Way, or Christian God-consciousness. It's all about walking in the ways of good. It's about practising the central spiritual question of discernment: "Does this bring life? Does this lead you into life?" (rather than back into the concerns of the individual ego).

He explained that we live in a deeply materialistic society, in which it seems to make sense to compete. And that self-referential narcissism cuts us off from community. All of us are complicit in the capitalist, consumerist paradigm that is Western society.

But we all have souls - that deepest part of us that enables us to connect with each other on a deeper, more spiritual level. There is a level on which we are all members, one of another. He gave the example of the difference between being individual fingernails on a hand, and the hand as a whole.

At this deeper level of interconnection, we are able to grow into becoming the beloved community.  But in order to reach that point, it is necessary to do deep spiritual work, to get the shadows, the concerns of the ego, out of the way. Even then, we only get glimpses or intimations of the Way. It is a task that will take the rest of our lives.

Our job as Unitarians is to offer a safe and sacred space in which this deep spiritual work can take place. He quoted Ram Dass, "We are all walking each other home." Home in this context meaning being in right relationship with others and with the Divine.

It was a rich few days and I have come home feeling inspired and grateful and connected.

Visit from the Inspiration Fairy

 All writers sometimes struggle to find the right words. So this week's quotation, by poet William Blake, rang very true with me: "Don't be afraid of your imagination! No bird can fly too high using its own wings."

Which cheered me up no end. It seems as though even such a great poet as Blake sometimes needed a little nudge to set him off in the right direction.

Many writers and artists of all kinds believe they have a muse, who helps them when they are stuck and enables them to produce their best work. Stephen King calls his, "the boys in the basement", which I rather like. Liz Gilbert, in her wonderful book, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear,  makes a distinction between being a genius (which is tough to live up to) and having a genius, a benevolent spirit who occasionally shows up to help creative artists. I call mine the Inspiration Fairy.

Gilbert also has a fascinating theory about ideas, believing them to be "a disembodied, energetic life-form. They are completely separate from us, but capable of interacting with us... Ideas have no material body, but they do have consciousness, and they most certainly have will. Ideas are driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest. And the only way an idea can be made manifest in our world is through collaboration with a human partner." And that this not only applies to the creative arts, but also to science, religion, philosophy, industry, commerce and politics - all the areas which need new ideas to flourish and grow.

She makes it clear that our part is to show up and be willing to engage with the idea. That we have to make a commitment to the writing (or painting or crafting) process and then, only then, once the Idea is positive that we are serious about it, may inspiration strike. She emphasises that for most writers, inspiration only turns up on rare occasions. 

I have found this to be true. Most of a writer's (or artist's) work is about showing up and putting in the hours. As she explains, "There is no time or space where inspiration comes from - and also no competition, no ego, no limitations. There is only the stubbornness of the idea itself, refusing to stop searching until it has found an equally stubborn collaborator.... Work with that stubbornness. Work with it as openly and trustingly and diligently as you can. Work with all your heart, because... if you show up for your work day after day after day, you just might get lucky enough some random morning to burst right into bloom."

It is wonderful when it happens. For me it generally occurs when I am on the edge of sleep, mulling over the events of the day. And suddenly, I will get an idea for the next scene of my book (or how to correct an old scene that I wasn't happy with). Or some lines for a poem. Or a topic for this week's service. I have found that the only thing to do is to put the light on, sit up, pick up notebook and pen and scribble it down. I have learned by bitter experience that it's no good believing I will remember it in the morning. At least, not for me. 

And this idea of visits from inspiration can apply to our ordinary lives. So long as we make a commitment to follow the best that we know, we will often be give a nudge out of the door. Which enables us to lives passionate, creative lives.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

The German theologian, Martin Luther, who famously nailed his Ninety Five Theses to the doors of All Saints Church in Wittenberg in 1517, thereby starting the Protestant Reformation, has some good advice for us: "For we must ascend gradually, on a flight of stairs to other stages, no-one becomes the first in one fell swoop."

This is good advice not only for life in general, but also for the spiritual journey.  At least, for Unitarians. I understand that some Christians have a profound conversion experience and make the huge step from non-belief to accepting Jesus as their Lord and Saviour in "one fell swoop" as Luther said.

But we Unitarians tend to be more cautious. Our faith is based on what our reason and conscience tell us is right and true. And that may change over time. What I believe now, in my early sixties, is very different to what I believed in my twenties. As the 19th century Unitarian minister Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, " What we are is God's gift to us. What we become is our gift to God." And this becoming is often not a straight road, with no diversions, no backsliding. Which is why most of us only manage to move two steps forward, one step back at a time.

There are many lovely quotations about the spiritual journey in Stephen Lingwood's anthology, The Unitarian Life:  Voices from the Past and Present. Michaela von Britzke wrote, "A spiritually growing person - like a spiritually growing congegation - is developing awareness and a capacity to pay ttention to what is at hand in daily tasks and encounters, as a template for understanding and filling a place in the wider scheme of things." 

That is what why I agree with Martin Luther's quote about doing the journey step by step, stage by stage. 

And yet, as UU Sarah York wrote in Singing the Living Tradition, "We receive fragments of holiness, glimpses of eternity, brief moments of insight. Let us gather them up for the precious gifts that they are and, renewed by their grace, move boldly into the unknown."

These "fragments of holiness, glimpses of eternity" can help us on our journeys, enabling us to move onto the next step and "into the unknown." But we often need the help of others to be aware enough, attentive enough, to see them for what they are. And what these fragments and glimpses mean to one person may not speak to the condition of another (to use the Quaker phrase).

Which is what being part of a Unitarian religious and spiritual community means. Being able to talk to other people about our own spiritual journeys and to hear about theirs is so precious.

The Spirit of Place

 French philosopher Jean de la Bruyère wrote, "It seems to me that one depends on place and landscape in terms of mood, passion, taste, feeling and spirit."

I have found that to be true, up to a point. Being in certain places and landscapes brings me instant peace - for example, Salcey Forest. Which is why I go up there so much: if I am feeling agitated or fed up, I know that going for a walk in the forest will soothe me and bring my soul back into balance. I walk there in all seasons and it never fails to lift my spirits. Whether the trees are bare with the spare elegance of Winter, sharing their glorious Autumn foliage, or in their full green power (see below) being in among them brings me peace.

But our moods, passions, feelings and spirits are also affected by other things, mostly by other people. Because each person we meet bring with them their own moods, passions, feelings and spirits, which in turn can affect ours. So being with some people makes me feel happy and secure and uplifted, whereas the company of others brings me down. They seem to move through the world seeing the downside of everything, like Eeyore. I sometimes feel like that myself. Which is when I take myself off into the forest.

Which is why we all need friends like Pooh and Piglet and Tigger to comfort us and cheer us up. Good friends, who will sit alongside us, listen to us with empathy and compassion, never judging us. 

Where We Feel Whole

 This week's quotation, by Jean Paul, reads, "Only at home is one whole."

Which left me thinking, hmmm. I'm not at all sure it is true. At least not in that particular phrasing. Because "home" can be interpreted in so many ways. From the photo which came with the quotation, it seems to imply a physical building, of which you go through the front door and then you are home and whole.

Hmmm. I think it depends on what the author meant by "home". For me, "home" is more nearly the company of loved others, in front of whom and with whom I can be myself - nothing to do with bricks and mortar. It's more about feeling "at home", at peace, seen and heard for who we truly are. Which I guess is what the author meant.

Whereas "home" in the bricks-and-mortar sense of "the place where you live" can be very far from a real home. There are far too many dysfunctional families for that. And the scars of childhood (whether physical, mental or psychological) are far too frequently felt by far too many people for me to believe that "home" means "the environment in which you were brought up".

One of my favourite books by Celtic poet and theologian John O'Donohue is Eternal Echoes: Exploring our hunger to belong. In it, he writes about what I believe is the true sense of home - a place where we belong. He has much to say about longing and belonging and about "homne" as a place of sanctuary and belonging, where we feel safe and can grow. He writes, "The word home has a wonderful resonance. Home is where you belong. It is your shelter and place of rest, the place where you can be yourself." 

But sadly, it may not be the building in which we live...

Love of Words

Unitarians may not be People of the Book, like the Christians, Jews and Muslims, but we are surely the People of the Word.  Our worship services, our books, our magazines, our Wayside Pulpits, are all examples of how important we, as Unitarians, find words. Words that influence us, words that inspire us, words that make us think, words that challenge us, words which paint pictures of the wonder and beauty of the world. I would guess that the most well-read issues each year of our periodical, The Inquirer, are the two ‘Faith in Words’ issues, which are compilations of original words by Unitarians all over the country.

Unitarian minister Stephen Lingwood wrote, in his anthology, The Unitarian Life: Voices from the Past and Present, that, “We can pay attention to a cloud of witnesses from many different countries around the world and many different times in history. We can delve deep into the traditions of our spiritual ancestors and listen to their voices. In doing so, we can create a ‘living scripture’: a loose, dynamic collection of texts which brings together essential insights from the past and present of our movement.”

This lovely quotation shows that we are not limited to readings from a particular sacred text – we are free to create our own “living scripture” of readings that speak to our condition and that of our hearers. And so we do – many of the readings and prayers in our worship services have been written by Unitarians, past and present. Unitarian worship leaders are also free to choose any words they believe will have spiritual significance for us, which relate to the theme of the service.

And often, these words are poems. Someone once defined poetry as “the best words in the best order” and I have to agree. Poetry seems to be able to reach parts of people’s hearts and souls in a very special way, which prose does not generally share. The poems of John O’Donohue, William Stafford, Mary Oliver, Denise Levertov and others are frequently used in Unitarian worship services, as are the poems of more classical poets – Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Blake and so on. We are not limited to poems originally written in English either – thanks to the skills of contemporary translators. We find both wisdom and spiritual nourishment in the words of Kahlil Gibran, author of The Prophet, in those of the Sufi poets Hafiz and Rumi, in the poetry of the Bohemian-Austrian poet, Rainer Maria Rilke and in the words of Rabindranath Tagore, the "Bard of Bengal", who died 80 years ago this week.

Whichever flavour of spiritual poetry you enjoy, there is little doubt in my mind that reading these poets (and others) can nourish our souls. To quote Unitarian minister, Cliff Reed, let us "give thanks for all the honest, healing wordsmiths of the world."

Facing the Sun

 This week's quotation comes from Chinese wisdom sources, "Always turn towards the sun, then the shadows will fall behind you."

And there is a certain amount of wisdom in that. Reading it reminded me of Plato's famous allegory about the prisoners in the cave, which he used to think about the nature of belief versus knowledge. You may be familiar with it: There were some prisoners chained together in a cave, facing the cave wall. Behind them is a fire, and between them and the fire are people carrying puppets and other objects, which cast their shadows on the wall of the cave. The prisoners, who can only see these shadows, believe they are real.

Plato goes on to wonder what would happen if one prisoner finally managed to free himself, see the fire and realise that the shadows are not real. He escapes from the cave and discovers there is a whole world outside, which he was previously unaware of. He believes that the outside world is more real than that of the cave. So he decides to go back to the cave to try to free the other prisoners. 

In a weird twist, he is blinded on his return, because his eyes aren't used to real sunlight. The other prisoners see his blindness and believe they will be similarly blinded if they try to leave the cave.

Most of us believe that what we see is true.  So most of the time, it makes sense to face the sunlight, to see what is real, rather than relying on the words of others to tell us what is true.

On the other hand, when we ignore the shadows in our lives, we are not living authentically. Because all of us have shadows - the things in our lives we do not want to face up to, the parts of our personality we are in denial about. Dealing with these aspects of our lives is called shadow work, and I have blogged about it here. I do believe that it is only when we go deep that we can understand ourselves fully. Doing this necessary shadow work can be very painful, but it is necessary, if we are to be whole. Life isn't all sunshine and rainbows and it is by learning from the shadows, from the sad or painful things that happen to us, that we grow.

The Time to Learn Wisdom

 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the 18th century Swiss philosopher, wrote, "Youth is the time to learn wisdom. Age is the time to practice it."

If this was an ideal world, I would agree with his sentiment. But it's not... in my experience, it is a rare "youth" who learns wisdom. I certainly didn't. Many mystics, including Richard Rohr, suggests that our lives are divided into two parts. The first, which probably lasts into our forties, unless we are lucky, is the First Half, during which we grow up, establish our place in society and take on the values and norms of that society.

The Second Half, when we are in our forties and onwards, is when we come to wisdom and realise that there is more to life than security and survival, getting on and getting ahead. For me, it started in my early forties, when I first read the slim Quaker booklet, Advices and Queries, which is full of challenges and questions as to how to live a good and wise life. It has inspired me ever since.

But it was doing the Worship Studies Course and then ministry training, when I was in mid forties and very early fifties which really broke me wide open and helped me to understand that I was still very much in the First Half of life and needed to unlearn so much in order to make space for true wisdom.

Since then, I have striven to become whole, to integrate all the parts of my life into one and to recognise the truth in the words of American writer, James Truslow Adams, "There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behooves any of us to find fault with the rest of us."

Be Gentle

 I have written about being kind and gentle often in this blog, but I feel the need to revisit this topic, after the defeat of the England football team in the UEFA Cup on Sunday evening. Even the least football-conscious among us must have caught a sense of the high hopes riding on that game. A lot of people will be feeling bitterly disappointed, because the team didn't win.

(Max Pixel)

Two of the fruits of the Spirit mentioned in Paul's Letter to the Galatians are kindness and gentleness. But when people are bitterly disappointed, it is often the automatic reaction to lash out at anyone they may feel is to blame. Sadly, as I expected, our social media feeds and newspapers the last couple of days have been filled with quick and judgemental (not to mention downright racist) reactions. The England team, who have been the media's darlings over the last few weeks, are now their scapegoats.

So fickle. So very, very unfair. 

But there have been messages of support and kindness too, which is good.

I love the reminder given by the anonymous poet, "Be gentle with one another... /  Who of us can look inside another and know / What there is of hope and hurt, or promise and pain? / Who can know from what far places each has come / Or to what far places each may hope to go."

We can't... but it is so very easy to judge others by what we see and hear and read on the surface. The poet further tells us to "Handle with exceeding, tender care, for there are / Human beings, there within / Human beings, vulnerable as we are vulnerable / Who feel as we feel, / Who hurt as we hurt."

Earlier on Sunday, I watched the Wimbledon Men's Singles Final, between previous winner, the Serbian player, Novak Djokovic, and the young Italian player, Matteo Berrettini. And it became very clear, early on in the match, that the Centre Court crowd were rooting for Berrettini. There was chanting, "Matt-e-o, Matt-e-o" and each time the young Italian won a point, the applause was rapturous.

Which was okay. But it was not okay that they applauded when Djokovic made an error. I wasn't surprise to notice that it began to get to Djokovic. It must be so hard to play your best, knowing that the audience is rooting for the other guy. Even though off court, the two men are friends and often play together. 

The Wimbledon crowd had evidently not heard the words I just quoted, about the vulnerability of each human being. They were partisan and didn't care who knew it. And it did feel unkind, not gentle or considerate at all.

Why do we do this to each other? What can't we all just get along? Each of us is a sentient human being, with the power of choice. And our choices have the power to dictate how we react to other human beings, to incidents in our lives and in the lives of others.

So let us be gentle with one another in the coming days and weeks. May we remember that each person we meet is a vulnerable human being, each with their own preoccupations, hopes, dreams and fears, and try to respond with kindness and gentleness in every encounter that we have with others.