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...