Harmony, Love and Happiness

The final quote for 2023 is by the 17th century German poet and dramatist, Andreas Gryphius, who wrote, "Where harmony, love and happiness and firmly combined, there is blessing and pleasure."

And that has been my experience, these past few days. My son and his partner and my two grandsons, plus my daughter and her partner have all been here, and blessing and pleasure definitely happened. Yesterday, my son sent some gorgeous photos of everyone enjoying themselves, opening presents and playing.

I know how very blessed I am, and that this blessedness will not have been experienced by many people this Christmas. Which makes it so important that we remember the words of Howard Thurman, who wrote, 

"When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home,

When the shepherds are back with their flock,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken,

To feed the hungry,

To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations,

To bring peace among brothers,

To make music in the heart."

May we all do our utmost to do this in the year to come, remembering that each small good deed has the potential to make a huge difference in the lives of others.

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Putting the Cheerful and Luminous in the Foreground

Plutarch, the Ancient Greek philosopher and priest, once wrote, "In the soul, as in a painting, one must put the cheerful and luminous in the foreground."

At this time of year, the days are short and the nights are long;  indeed last night was the Winter Solstice - Merry Yule to all those readers who celebrate it. So it is good to have lights of many kinds around us, whether in the form of candles, fire light or many coloured Christmas lights in our towns and cities and on our Christmas trees. As in the beautiful Advent crown in the picture above.

Of course for Christians, Advent is a period of waiting for the celebration of the birth of Jesus, whom they believe is the Light of the World. I find it interesting, how many festivals at this time of year are about light: Hanukkah and Diwali as well as Advent and Christmas.

I love to watch the twinkling lights on my Christmas tree; they never fail to uplift my spirits, being a true reminder of the "cheerful and luminous" that Plutarch talks about. And in our Unitarian churches, chapels and meeting houses, many congregations will be participating in a special Christmas service this coming Sunday, Christmas Eve. One of our most important symbols is the chalice candle, which I have always seen as symbolising the warmth of community, the light of insight, and the heat of our ethics and values.

Even if you are not particularly looking forward to Christmas this year - whether you are grieving, or depressed, or anxious, or lonely - I hope that somewhere, at some time, Christmas lights will lift your spirits too, at least for a little while.

I wish you all a light-filled Christmas and a cheerful and luminous New Year.

The Difference a Week Makes

When I wrote last week's blogpost, I was still feeling fairly fragile, it being only a couple of days since my foot surgery. But now, only seven days later, I have little or no pain, have become a dab hand with my crutches and am feeling quite chipper. Admittedly, I am still confined to my chair except for the hourly, obligatory hurple around the downstairs rooms to keep my muscles toned and the danger of a blood clot minimised, but I'm fine. Really fine. In fact, I'm revelling in the chance to spend my days writing and crocheting without guilt, as the District has generously granted me a period of sick leave. 

So this week's quotation, by the 19th century humorist and author, Prentice Mulford, really struck home. He wrote, "When you think bright things, you attract bright things to you." And I'm sure this is true. I believe that it is because I have freely accepted the restrictions of this post-operative period, rather than grousing about and resenting them, that I've healed so well, so far.

Because I can remember a time when it was far otherwise. My son was born via an emergency caesarean section, and I was desperately upset that I had "missed" his birth through being under a general anaesthetic. Looking back, I am sure that is why I had so much trouble with my section scar, which remained painful for nearly three years. At the time, I used to joke that the hospital porter had stitched me up, but actually, I now believe that I stitched myself up. I was so down on myself and my body, it is not surprising she took so long to heal.

I honestly think that our minds have a huge (if often sub-conscious) influence on our bodies.  And that it is up to us to live in harmony with all the different parts which make us human - our bodies, our minds and our spirits (souls). Living in a way which the American sociologist Brené Brown calls "wholeheartedly" can only be good for us. Or so I have found.

Nature Works Wonders

When I read the text of this week's quotation by the French mountaineer, Jean-Christophe Lafaille, my first reaction was, 'Well, it seems that God has a sense of humour.' It read, "Nature works wonders, it's up to me to enjoy it."

Because the closest I'm going to get to nature (or at least, to the natural world outside) in the next few weeks is looking at it through the large picture window in the lounge. Which does, admittedly, give me a wonderful view of the back garden. I am confined to barracks following an operation on my left foot, which is now the size of Minnie Mouse's, due to all the dressings on it, and am under strict instructions from the surgeon to stay inside for the first four weeks and only walk for five minutes in each hour.

Yet I quickly realised that there was another, far more positive way of interpreting Lafaille's words, "Nature works wonders." It's only the third day since the operation and I can already tell that my brilliant, complex body is doing her level best to heal, all completely without my volition. It is the nature of our bodies to repair themselves when they have been wounded or injured. And I am in awe of my body's ability to adapt to her new circumstances.

And in awe of my mind, which has also adapted very swiftly to my presently limited mobility. I have (with my husband's help, for which I am truly grateful) all the "necessaries" around me, within easy reach as I sit in my reclining chair, my foot supported by pillows. My laptop and journals, Kindle and phone, are on the piano stool to the right of my chair, which is now an impromptu 'bedside table'; and my crutches and crochet and drink are to my left, within easy reach. And the TV remotes are on the arm of my chair. I had the foresight to buy myself a cheap plastic laptray beforehand, on which the laptop balances well. So hopefully, I won't have to bother him too much during the day, except for meals.

I am also exceedingly grateful for the love and good wishes of many friends, and my immediate family, who have all rung in the last couple of days to check how I'm feeling. My son brought his partner and my very new grandson round for a brief visit on Wednesday and it was gorgeous to see them. And a dear friend from the village is kindly keeping me company this evening, as well as yesterday evening and all day Saturday, as this is the week of the village panto and my husband is not only directing it, but is also Group Eight's sound engineer. 

I feel incredibly blessed and hopeful about a good recovery, a couple of months down the road. I am sure that nature will indeed work wonders.

The Meeting Place of Fantasy and Reality

 I'm not sure I agree with the 20th century German psychologist, Alexander Mitscherlich, who once wrote, "Happiness is the meeting place of fantasy and reality."

I'm writing this blogpost at the beginning of the season of Advent, which is generally viewed as a season of anticipating the joy of Jesus' birth, or looking forward to spending time with our loved ones. Yet for many people, the Christmas season is not one of joy, of hope - it is rather a time of worry about the expense and how to manage the expectations of others, or a time of loneliness, of feeling left out, when everyone else (apparently, if all the adverts on the TV are to be believed) is having a wonderful time. Or a time of grief, as someone they care about is ill, or as they prepare to spend their first Christmas without a much-missed loved one. Christmas, and the build-up to it, can be really hard for many of us.

I think Mitscherlich is talking about the happiness which occurs when our dreams (our fantasies, if you like) come true. But I believe there is a lot more to true happiness than that. In my view, happiness is not only re-active (by which I mean, it rises in us in response to events outside ourselves). It can also be pro-active; an "inside job", if I can put it that way. Because I believe that the only thing over which we genuinely have control is our own response to the events which happen to us, to the waiting time, the anticipation time, the time of fantasies. To that extent, we can control our own level of happiness, but in no other way.

I have shared before, and will doubtless say again, my belief that "now" - the present moment - is the only time that has any significance whatsoever. The past is over, and cannot be changed, and dwelling on it, either with nostalgia or regret, is a waste of time and emotion. And the future is something which is rushing towards us at a rate of 60 seconds a minute, 60 minutes an hour and 24 hours a day, whether we are looking forward to it, or worrying about it. I do concede that it is important to do at least some planning for future events, but not to the extent that we spend all our time longing for some mythical future time (in fantasies), when everything will be wonderful and we will have all that our hearts desire. Or conversely, worrying about some other mythical future time, when we have lost all that gives our lives savour.

No, it is Now that matters. It is the present that we should be concerned with. Only the present moment is sacred, and whether we are in grief or in joy or in gratitude or in despair, we need to pay attention. Which can be hard, if the present moment is a difficult one. But I find comfort in the belief which C.S. Lewis explains in The Screwtape Letters, that we will be given the inner strength to deal with whatever joy or sorrow comes our way, in the present. But not the strength to cope with worrying about possible future alternatives, most of which will probably not happen.

So as we enter this season of Advent, may we remember that happiness is an inside job, that it is within our power to experience our lives moment by moment. I love the lines in Rumi's famous poem, The Guesthouse: "Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all."

I believe that this is the route to true happiness - the ability to appreciate what we have today, now, this minutes. For very little lasts forever. And we need to also accept that most events will happen anyway, whether or not we anticipate them with joy, wait for them with impatience, or actively dread their arrival. Truly, happiness is an inside job.

The Present Alone is True

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once wrote, "The present alone is true and real: it is real, fulfilled time and our existence lies exclusively in it."

Which reminder I sorely needed to hear today... I woke up at a quarter to five from a nightmare about my forthcoming operation and *immediately* began to catastrophise about anything and everything which might go wrong, and how I was going to deal with it / them. 

Which is a Complete Waste of my time and energy and emotions. It will turn out how it turns out and I will cope with it. I need to remember that so many people are so much worse off than I am, and to stop indulging in this crazy-making fear of the future, fear of the unknown. Which is only making me miserable, and gets me precisely nowhere. One of the more ridiculous worries was how I was going to wear a dress on Christmas Day, when I couldn't wear tights because of the surgical boot. (I know, crazy, right?) So I've treated myself to a pair of legwarmers, one of which I'll wear on the "good" leg. Sorted.

Instead, I will strive to live in the present which, as Schopenhauer reminds us, "alone is true and real." So just now, I'm writing this blogpost, then I'm going to go downstairs and get this year's round robin Christmas letter written, so that I can get all the Christmas cards done tomorrow. Then I'm going out for a coffee with a dear friend, then going round to see my son and his family, including my two precious grandsons. And this evening, I will complete my latest crochet project, a Rainforest Retreat shawl made from the seven colours of the rainbow balls of wool I bought in Salzburg in September. I have one round plus the border to go, and I'm loving how it's turned out.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

I am doing all I can to be as up to date with my work as I can be, before the 5th. After which, I must just let it go, rest and recover. The District will survive fine without me, and after the first few weeks, I should be able to at least do some work on my laptop. 

But for now, I know I'll delay that much-desired recovery if I mis-spend those first few weeks stressing about all the things I *ought* to be doing. So I'm planning to spend the time reading and writing, stitching and crocheting - four sedentary pastimes which I love.

Let It Go. The hardest three words in the English language.... But at least I'm aware of the futility of worrying, and know that I simply have to go with the flow and be grateful for the skill of the podiatric surgeon.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

TGIF: Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration and Faith

I completely agree with the German humourist, poet, illustrator and painter, Wilhelm Busch, who once wrote, "Happiness often comes from paying attention to small things, unhappiness often from neglecting small things."

Because I believe that being open to, aware of, awake to the "small things" around us, the small experiences which happen to us, can give us a great and very useful sense of perspective. Let me give you a recent example: yesterday, I was driving to Danetre Hospital for my pre-op assessment, and feeling moderately terrified. But the autumn foliage on the trees by the side of the road was absolutely glorious to see - all the shades of yellow, orange, brown, copper, bronze, burgundy and red - and seeing them, appreciating their beauty, soothed my fears immensely.

And during my appointment, the consultant surgeon who is going to do my operation treated me with respect and kindness, explaining clearly what is going to happen, and listening to and answering all my questions. Which helped to pull me out of my fear and to begin to feel a certain quiet confidence that all would be well. 

I'm sure that during the next couple of weeks, I will have regular intervals of fear and trembling, but I also know that my habit of noticing the "small things" will help  to bring me back to myself - the self who has faith that everything will work out okay; that I might be uncomfortable for a few weeks, but in the end, it will have been worth it.

Brené Brown has much to say about the benefits of gratitude. She writes in The Gifts of Imperfection, "We need both happiness and joy.... But in addition to creating happiness in our lives, I've learned that we need to cultivate the spiritual practices that lead to joyfulness, especially gratitude. In my own life, I'd like to experience more happiness, but I want to live from a place of gratitude and joy."

And, "I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, inspiration and faith."

I couldn't agree more. Which is why one of my spiritual practices is an evening gratitude practice - under the heading 'Small Pleasures', I record in my journal at least three things that have made me feel grateful that day. They can be tiny things, such as "Fitbit synced!" or huge things, like the recent birth of my grandson. Or regular quiet pleasures, like "nice, relaxing evening with Maz, Luna, and crochet."

And because I record these small pleasures every day, I have some ammunition to overcome the feelings of dread and fear.... And that conversely, if I did not have a daily gratitude practice, I believe it would be only too easy to get lost in the negativity, thus causing myself unnecessary suffering. So my resolution for the next few weeks is: I will do my best to do all the things the surgeon advises me to do, then trust that everything will work out well.

"Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration, Faith." I commend them to you as a better, more joyful way of living, more sure and reliable than "Thank God It's Friday." 

Aim for the Moon

 The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has some good advice for us: "Aim for the moon. Even if you miss it, you'll end up among the stars."

Aiming for the moon requires a certain combination of qualities: an innate optimism, a large dollop of self-belief, and the courage to try and fail, then try again. If any of those elements is missing, it will be more difficult for us to aim high. 

If we do not have at least a little innate optimism, we'll tend to concentrate on what might go wrong instead of on what might go right. And will shrink from taking risks, just in case... When we ask the "what if?" question, our brain will supply us with negative possibilities, rather than encouragement. 

If we don't believe in ourselves and our abilities, we will find it harder to aim high, because imposter syndrome will raise its ugly head, "Who do you think you are to aim high? Other people are much better at [whatever it is] than you. You don't deserve to be here, doing this." 

If we are frightened of failure, we might rather not do anything, than try and risk not succeeding. Failure doesn't feel good and it takes a special kind of courage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves down and stubbornly try again. I've blogged about this here.

I believe it is fatal to listen to the pessimistic, self-doubting, mouse-scared voices in our heads - they will hold us back from growing into our best selves, from aiming for the moon. And I can testify to the joys of being an innate optimist, with some self-belief and courage. I have always "gone for it" and the rewards have been enormous. My life has been much happier for it.

Considering End of Life Choices

 I have just returned from a rich retreat with some Unitarian friends, during which we played a fascinating card game called 'The Conversation Game'. The cards are available from Conversations for Life.

Each participant was given 36 cards, each of which has a particular statement about possible end of life / dying choices written on it, and we were invited to divide them into three piles without thinking about it too much, according to the following criteria:

    Pile 1: things that we really want to be in place

    Pile 2: things that are less important to us, but we'd probably still quite like, depending on the circumstances

    Pile 3: things that we are not bothered about or which we actively do *not* want to happen.

Then, following that initial sort through, we were invited to take a more leisurely browse through the three piles, before finalising them into three equal piles of 12 cards (for today, for now, because each of us were aware that our choices might change when we were actually at the point of dying). 

Then we were invited to share however many of our choices we wished to, taking Pile 3 first, then Pile 1, and finally Pile 2, giving our reasons for placing each statement in that pile. And it was fascinating to hear each other's choices and to notice the differences between us, and how much what the other participants said caused each of us to think at different points, "Oh, yeah, right, I need to move that one into X pile." in the light of the received wisdom of the group.

I've ordered my own set of cards, because I believe they'd be really useful to share with Unitarian congregations or engagement groups... 

Reconnecting with the Quiet Centre

 I've been away from home quite a bit for the last couple of weeks - I went to stay with a dear friend for a few days, came back home for 48 hours, then drove up to the Nightingale Centre in Great Hucklow to attend the Ministerial Fellowship's Autumn Conference. Which was marvellous.

The Nightingale Centre 

Nevertheless, in spite of the joys I found in visiting my friend and attending the conference, it was good to reach home again yesterday afternoon and, after catching up with my e-mails and recording this week's worship service, to spend a quiet evening with my husband and the cat, before having a soaky bath and an early night.

This morning, I felt the need to reconnect with the quiet centre and was glad to be able to spend some time in front of my personal shrine and simply sit. I found a beautiful greetings card which reminded me of the importance of this while I was at Hucklow... by Gwyneth Roper of Altrincham. It is beautiful and I will be adding it to my shrine...

Because I find that when I have been away, or even too busy at home, I tend to forget how deeply I need to reconnect with that quiet place inside myself, with the Divine presence within. I love the words of hymn number 21 in our hymnbook Sing Your Faith, written by Shirley Erena Murray, which reminds us all of the need for cultivating some peace in our lives:

"Come and find the quiet centre

in the crowded life we lead,

find the room for hope to enter,

find the space where we are freed:

clear the chaos and the clutter,

clear our eyes, that we can see

all the things that really matter,

be at peace and simply be."

Where do you find peace?

 

Why Worrying Doesn't Help

I am not generally a worrier, having been blessed by having been born without the "worry gene", which I've blogged about before. Nevertheless, it does get to me sometimes... I am due to have an operation on my left foot in early December to correct some deformity in my toes, which has been caused by arthritis. And I catch myself worrying about it every day. What if it goes wrong? What if the anaesthetic wears off befoe they've finished (to my horror, it's being done under a local anaesthetic rather than a general one. And yes, I understand that it will be better for me not to be knocked out, but urgh...) What if it doesn't make a good difference? What if I'm left off worse than before? What if I can't do things I can do now - like hill climbing etc? In short, a whole platoon of "what ifs" is haunting my mind, making me fretful. And I don't like it, not one little bit.

So it was good to read the wise advice of the Greek Stoic philosopher, Epictetus: "There is only one way to happiness, and that is to stop worrying about things that are beyond our control." [And I've just had a small moment of joy when I looked him up on Wikipedia: he was born in Hierapolis, Phrygia, which is now known at Pamukkale in Western Turkey. There is a World Heritage site there, an area of glorious travertine terraces which also features hot springs) and my husband and I visited them in 2013. They were astonishingly beautiful see below].

(image: Wikimedia Commons)

So, thanks to the nudge from Epictetus, I am going to try to stop worrying. It is making me miserable and will make no difference whatsoever to the outcome of the operation. 

In fact, there are very few outside events that are within our control as human beings. I believe that the only thing we are able to control is our reaction to our worries... we can allow them to take us over, removing all the joy from our lives, or we can choose to tell ourselves, "Nope, can't do anything about that. But I can let it go. I can choose to not let it get to me. I can choose to bring myself back to the present moment, the present pain, the present pleasure, and not lose myself in dark imaginings."

I appreciate that this is difficult advice for us to take, and may well be impossible for those who suffer from real anxiety, who may find it both irritating and laughable. If this is you, my reader, I apologise.

But I don't. So I'm going to try...

The Benefits of Seeing Life As It Is

 Sir Adolphus William Ward, an eminent historian and man of letters, once wrote, "The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist hopes that it will turn, the realist hoists the sails."

Which is a clever aphorism to illustrate the differences between pessimists, optimists and realists. As regular readers of this blog will know, I am a born optimist, and proud of it. Yet Ward's words have made me wonder whether I am sometimes ridiculously naive - whether all optimists are.

Because all the hope in the world will not help any particular situation. Change for the better will only happen when our hope is translated into a firm plan to do something about whatever is bothering us. So the fierce practicality of the realist is perhaps something I should cultivate more. I can see that there is little point in being optimistic about the future, unless we are prepared to buckle down and do our bit to make it so. All the optimism in the world won't change that world. Only concrete actions can do that.

Yet I also believe that realists (who can often be quite pessimistic in their outlook, because they see things as they are, and there is so much to grieve about in the world today) might also take a leaf out of the optimists' book. The leaf of hope, the belief that something can be done. The belief that the world can change if we work at it hard enough.

A combination of optimism (so that we believe in the possibility of a better future) and realism (so that we are prepared channel that hope into action) is perhaps the best course to adopt. 

Off the Beaten Track

The German novelist and poet, Theodor Fontane, advises us, "But all the best, as everywhere in life, lies beyond the main road."

There are several different ways of interpreting this... Perhaps he means that it's important to remain curious during our lives, so that we poke our heads down proverbial rabbit holes, simply to see what's there. Even if that means sometimes wasting time, as the road leads to nowhere in particular.

Yet, I do wonder whether it is even possible to "waste time" when we are following our curiosity. Over the years I have had huge amounts of fun doing just that. And sometimes, being curious has led me to marvellous new experiences I would not have had otherwise... One example was in September 2014, when I was sent an e-mail by the London Centre for Spiritual Direction, asking me for a reference for a new student, who was a fellow Unitarian. I was inquisitive enough to click on the link about the course, which led to a deep and wonderful three years training to become a spiritual director. 

Curiosity about new ideas, thoughts and experiences is a very Unitarian thing, or so I have found. Many of us came to Unitarianism because we heard or read something about it, and decided to find out more. And, once we are in, there are many opportunities for "going off-piste", so to speak, by following our curiosity wherever it leads on our spiritual journey. Which is not uniquely Unitarian, of course, but we see it as a virtue, rather than a hindrance. We tend to enjoy exploring little known byways.

In Matthew's Gospel, we read, "Enter through the narrow gate; for the road is wide and easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it." Which may, perhaps, have been interpreted to mean that the Christian has to follow the authorised path of faith laid down in the Bible, rather than being distracted by the world around them. The problem with that, for me, is that the Bible contains so much contradictory advice. I would rather use my own reason and conscience was my authority. They haven't led me "to destruction" so far, and I don't believe they ever will (or even could).

Or perhaps he is warning us not to become so fixated on our immediate goals that we are blind to all else that is moving in our lives. This is something I have had to learn the hard way. When I am focused on a task, my attention on it is laser-sharp. It often takes a nudge from a friend (or from my guardian angel) to lift my head up and look around me, to see what is going on "beyond the main road." Which may be just as important.

So yes, let us follow our noses and see where our curiosity may lead us...

Running After Happiness

 According to Wikipedia, Adolph Kolping, who lived during the first half of the 19th century, "was a German Catholic priest and the founder of the Kolping Association. He led the movement for providing and promoting social support for workers in industrialised cities while also working to promote the dignities of workers in accordance with the social magisterium of the faith."

He once wrote, "Some people run after happiness and don't know they have it at home." I agree with him, up to a point. It can be very tempting sometimes, or even often, to get trapped in an endless cycle of "if onlys". "If only I had / was / could..." We get seduced into thinking that if only X, Y, or Z would change, our lives would be complete, and finally, finally, we could be happy.

And yes, I agree, that when our lives at any particular moment seem (or are) filled with problems and challenges, it is far more difficult to appreciate the actual minute by minute slices of happiness that may come our way. And for me, there is one outstanding example of this in action:

There is an old story, which was for long years considered to be apocryphal, about how a small group of rabbis in Auschwitz put God on trial, and found him guilty. In 2008, the Nobel Laureate Elie Wiesel told an audience at a Holocaust Educational Trust appeal dinner in London, "I was there when God was put on trial." Which caused quite a stir among Jewish rabbis and academics.

It was reported in The Jewish Chronicle, who interviewed  Wiesel the following week. He said, "Why should they know what happened? I was the only one there. It happened at night; there were just three people. At the end of the tiral, they used the word 'chayav', rather than 'guilty'. It means, 'He owes us something. Then we went to pray."

At the end of its report, The Jewish Chronicle concluded, "The story is the subject of a famous midrash, or biblical commentary. Many people have assumed that the story was a way for those of faith to try to make sense of the Holocaust."

It is the final line of Elie Wiesel's testimony that touches my heart. "Then we went to pray." In spite of the horrific conditions in Auschwitz, in spite of the fact that they had just found God 'chayav' of neglecting them, "we went to pray."

Their faith was too important to them to dismiss it. So they grasped the moment of happiness they could find in that moment, which is what the Kolping quote is about, and went to pray.

I believe that even in the hardest situations, there is always a sliver of happiness to be found, if we are awake enough and aware enough to see it. And that running after future happiness simply doesn't work - all it does is to make us ignore what is happening in the present moment. Which I believe is the only instant when time touches eternity, when the Divine makes itself known to us.

 

The Ingredients of Happiness

 According to the 19th century German Romantic writer, Clemens Brentano, "Happiness is a silent hour, a good book, fun in happy company, and a friendly visit." Google's translation loses the rhythm and rhyme of the original, but that it is the rough meaning....

's 

I am writing this in on holiday in Vienna, where the second, third and fourth ingredients are present in abundance... We have been blessed with gorgeous sunny weather so far, and have been sightseeing and visiting famous Viennese landmarks. 

Yesterday morning I fulfilled the ambition of a lifetime, when we spent an hour at the Spanish Riding School, watching the Lipizzaner stallions being taken through their paces - only a training session, because the cost of a performance is prohibitive - which I have longed to do ever since reading Mary Stewart's Airs Above the Ground as a teenager. Even the training was amazing to watch, because the riders scarcely move at all, yet the horses perform complicated movements, responding to invisible signals. We didn't see any "airs above the ground", but the training session did include the diagonal trot, pirouettes, and a fiery piaffe. Just gorgeous.

We have had coffee and cake in one of Vienna's most famous coffee houses, Demel's, and have found a nearby restaurant called the Esterhazy Keller, which also appears in the all the guidebooks. On the first evening, Maz ordered the Wienerschnitzel (made with pork, not veal) and was slightly disconcerted when *two* huge schnitzel appeared rather than one... 

It's a special holiday for us, as we will be celebrating our Ruby Wedding on Sunday... but in another way, it is like all the holidays we've ever taken - we wander around the city, taking in the sights, visitng what appeals to us, and generally appreciating the heck out of it. It's something we've done for the whole of our marriage, which has built up some very happy memories... 

I hope that wherever you are, you are able to enjoy a silent hour, a good book, have fun in good company and a friendly visit...

Moving Away from Home

 W. Somerset Maugham once wrote, "You should stay where you feel happy." Which is good advice as far as it goes, but not particularly susceptible to reality.

There are so many reasons why people cannot stay where they feel happy... they might be entering a new stage in their lives, which may be for a happy reason - for example, going up to university, moving to a new village or town or city (or even country). Or it may be for an unhappy reason... they might no longer be able to cope with living in their present home, or war may have passed over the place in which they live, or famine or a host of other disasters, both natural and manmade. Which are more difficult, more traumatic reasons to move.

And, because we are perhaps conservative by nature, it will take us a while to settle in to the new place, to make new friends, to come to feel that it is our home. Even if we have moved because we wanted to, the first few weeks or months may be very difficult and we will long to be back home among familiar places and faces. But eventually, if we persevere in "making the best of it", we will, more often than not, settle in to our new community and begin to feel at home there.

Of course, this will largely depend on the kind of welcome we get in the new place. Refugees are often not *allowed* to "make the best of it". Refugees in particular, often face downright hostility rather than any kind of welcome. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to have to uproot yourself and your family because of necessity, rather than desire. The British-Somali poet, Warsan Shire, has written a beautiful, moving and poignant poem about this, called Home, which I urge you to read. The final lines read:

               " no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear

                saying - 

                leave,

                run away from me now

                i don't know what i've become

                but i know that anywhere

                is safer than here."

New Month New Year

 It's September and all over the country, children and young people will be going back to school and college, or starting a new stage in their education. The British (non-) Summer is over and it's time to put away our holiday gear and buckle down to something new.

Having worked in or around the education system (including the Unitarian education system with the Worship Studies Course) for donkey's years, I always get a new surge of energy at this time of year - it is so full of new possibilities.... Yesterday, I visited an exhibition about Lego models with my grandson and his mum, at Northampton Museum & Art Gallery, and he was full of excitement to be going up into Year 1.

I'm also excited on my own behalf - there are two new Worship Studies Course Foundation Step courses beginning this month - one for UK students, the other for students from Australia and New Zealand. And I've been asked to help facilitate the Australia / NZ one, which begins on Monday, at 8.00 am (which will be late evening for the students). It's a new venture for Unitarian College and I really hope it goes well. It fills me with hope for the future of our beloved "uncommon denomination", as more and more people are trained to fill lay leadership roles, either supporting our current ministers or on their own, in their home congregations. 

If you are one of the people beginning a new course (or just a new academic year) this month, I hope that it fulfils all your hopes and proves to be both interesting and worthwhile. Good Luck!

Following the Path

 This week's quotation, by French poet Anatole France, reads, "If the path is beautiful, let us not wonder where it leads."

Hmm. Not so sure about that... The first image that came to mind (having just written a service about John Bunyan's A Pilgrim's Progress, was of attractive paths which lead us into bad situations, whether physically, mentally or spiritually. I believe that it is only too easy to be seduced into taking a wrong direction, if the path towards it is (or seems to be) beautiful. If we are not wide awake, it can be very tempting to simply go with the flow, to continue in the direction we're going, to follow the lead of others, without asking any questions about the ultimate destination. Or, if the destination itself seems sufficiently attractive, so it awakens our desires.

Let me give you an example from my own childhood. I followed the path of teenage rebellion by beginning smoking at the age of 13, because I desperately wanted to be accepted as one of the in-crowd. I knew it was wrong, I knew it would do me no good, but it was "cool" to smoke, so to hell with the rest of it. 

Another example might be the seduction of any life-harming substance, such as alcohol or drugs. We can be tempted into trying them because of the promise of a more enjoyable life. "Everybody else is doing it, and look how happy they are, so why shouldn't I?" is the most seductive excuse in the world.

The many social media platforms around today provide a selection of "beautiful paths" - which have the implicit promise that if we follow the right people, post the right sentiments, it will make us more popular, more loved. Which are deep and fundamental human needs. Yet they have little to do with the real world, with out interactions with friends, neighbours and family. If our standard of what is good and bad is predicated on the number of likes we get on Facebook or Instagram, TikTok or Twitter (or its rivals) we are not standing in our own integrity, standing by our own deeply held values. And that cannot be good. I have blogged about the counter-cultural path of digital minimalism here.

It is my belief that we have a duty to ourselves, to other people, and to the planet, to question each lure to take a "beautiful path", rather than blindly following it, no questions asked. Because when we take the time and trouble to examine the path we are on, and the motives we have in following it, the ultimate outcome is more likely to be good, not only for us, but for other people and our world.

If we are lucky, we will have trusted others with whom we can discuss such things, whether they are family members, friends, members of a Unitarian or other religious / spiritual community, or therapists. All can help us to see straight, to avoid the allure of "beautiful paths" which promise much, yet deliver little.

New Every Morning

I loved this week's quotation, by German philosopher, Ernst R. Hauschka: "Every morning offers the chance of a whole day." Which was accompanied by a picture of a glorious sunrise...

And I have blogged before about the joy which can come from living in the present, here. So Hauschka's words really resonated with me. But I know that I am one of the lucky ones, having so much in my life to be joyful about.

Yet I do understand that sometimes, it can be difficult to appreciate that each and every morning offers the chance to start anew. We may not have slept well, we may be feeling ill or depressed or anxious or sad. Or simply under par. For whatever reason, when we feel like this, the promise of a whole day may not mean very much. Or may even be greeted with negative feelings, as strong as dread. It may be as much as we can do to haul ourselves out of bed in the first place. All we want to do is stay there and shut the world away, rather than having to face the challenges of a new day.

If you are feeling like this, and are perhaps reading this post on your phone while lying in bed trying to psych yourself up into facing the day, I send you a virtual hug. Self-care is incredibly important, so please, give yourself permission to only do what you can, where you are, and don't beat yourself up for not being able to do more.

 

What We Take For Granted

 I chuckled over a post by Library Matters on Facebook the other day, which showed a young woman searching through a drawer in a card catalogue with the caption, "Prehistoric Googling" and couldn't resist sharing it, saying, "Oh yes, I remember it well, and contributed to many card catalogues."

For people under a certain age, here is an image of a card catalogue, from Wikimedia Commons:

Depending on the purpose of the library, there would usually be at least two sequences of cards: one arranged in subject order (classified), the other alphabetical by author. During the late seventies and for most of the eighties, I spent many happy hours producing catalogue cards and then filing them, so that my library's users could find the information they needed. The one I remember best was the card catalogue I maintained at the Library of the Chartered Institute of Transport. Not only did it contain details about books, but also a detailed index of journal articles, for all the journals to which CIT subscribed. Most of the morning during each working day was spent indexing, because if the subject of the article was a complex one, which they often were, each article would require several catalogue cards to index it adequately.

Well over thirty years have passed since I last contributed to a card catalogue. Since then, the information revolution has happened and they are redundant. (And it was already taking place during the eighties, when I stubbornly stuck to manual input, because computers scared me so much). Looking back from the vantage point of today, when almost everything is available online, it's hard to believe I spent so much time on them. These days, only one entry is required and the cross-references (all the extra "catalogue cards") are generated automatically.  Far less time consuming.

Yet I do not begrudge the hours I spent writing catalogue cards. In their time, they were invaluable to the Library's users and were, in their way, an efficient information retrieval system. Of course, online searching is far easier and can be done remotely, given access to any online catalogue. Whereas, in the old days, you had to be physically present in the library to find the information. 

It is too easy for organisations (including branches of government) to take it for granted that *everyone* has a smartphone these days and can therefore interact with the online world. But it ain't necessarily so. This was brilliantly illustrated by the film, I, Daniel Blake, which I blogged about here. I do sometimes worry about the minority of people who are unable to access online resources. Those who do not have a computer, or are unable to get to grips with using one. This is a problem which will become more and more rare as time passes, but at present, there is still a substantial minority of folk who don't have the IT skills to embrace our Information Age. They are excluded from so much because of this. To give just one example, our local GP practice now requires patients to complete an online form before accessing their services. And I do wonder how intimidating that is for some...

So I think we need to remember that not everyone is au fait with the online world and take the trouble to provide non-computerised alternatives.

Slow Down and Appreciate the Now

The 20th century Geman novelist, Wilhelm Raabe, once wrote, "Slowly, step by step, further up the stairs! Truly, the world does not offer such an abundance of pleasures that you should fly over them in jumps." (or something like that - the German to English translator on Google was vague). 

And I guess the implication is, that we need to walk through our lives slowly, "step by step", so that we are able to appreciate each beautiful object or pleasurable experience as we experience it, rather than being so fixated on some mythical future goal that we leap over them in our hurry to get there. 

Which is counter-intuitive for many of us. It is so easy to rush through the to-do list for the day (or the week) frenetically ticking off items as we go, with the idea that then, yes, then, we will be able to slow down, to rest. Only to find that when we finally reach the evening or the weekend, we are too exhausted and wound up to enjoy it properly. 

In the picture above, each blue vase of plants is beautiful in its own right, and each can be appreciated as a singular whole. How much more would we receive from our lives, if we slowed down and truly lived in the present moment? A lot, I suspect.

Meditation practicses are an excellent way of grounding us in the present, particularly following the breath. Because we spend far too much of our lives being "walking, talking heads", unaware of our bodies, oblivious to how they are moving through our days. And so we miss all the lovely moments of now-ness which are in front of us.

There was a fascinating article in The Inquirer some years ago, by Peter Hawkins. He was talking about borders, which he referred to as , "the spaces between places, between roles and between times." His argument was that we all need a breathing space between activities so that we can finish the present task properly before we start on the next. 

He recommended instituting a brief spiritual practice, which he defined as "a ritual to fully finish one event and empty myself before I cross the boundary into the next event." This could be something as simple as taking a couple of deep breaths while focussing on your breathing. I thought this was a really interesting idea, and try to follow it, when I remember.

 

The Four Rs

 There are four activities (or perhaps in two cases, non-activities) which I find to be vital for my soul's continuing well-being. And this past few days, I have been indulging in all four of them, to my delight and joy... And for me, they are summed up in this lucky photo of my favourite beach in all the world, Benar Beach, which was taken earlier this year. There is something about the "permanence in motion" (to quote Stephen Donaldson) of sunlit waves which restores my soul. 

Benar Beach in mid-Wales (Sue Woolley)

What are my Four Rs? Rest, Relaxation, Reading, and that well-known honorary R, WRiting. I drove up to spend a few days with a very dear friend on Sunday afternoon, straight after leading worship in Shrewsbury (because that meant I was part way there already). My friend lives in a tiny hamlet in the Lake District and over the past few years, I have fallen into the very pleasant habit of spending a few days in her hospitable company three or four times a year. Both of us enjoy our time together very much.

The shape of my visits is unvarying - we indulge in extensive bouts of the three Cs - Canasta, Crochet and Conversation. As the days pass, I find myself sleeping in later and later, which does me good. And also travel to delightful towns which have good wool shops and bookshops. I will be travelling home with three new books... Bill Bryson's Dictionary for Writers and Editors, Write to be Published by Nicola Morgan, and Illuminated Alphabets by Patricia Carter, all bought secondhand - wonderful! I've already read the Nicola Morgan book - I knew I recognised the name - I enjoyed her first novel, Mondays are Red, about a teenager with synaethesia - more than twenty years ago.

Reading is the only constant activity in my life. During 2023 so far, I have read 95 books. To be fair, many of those are re-reads, which take less time, but I have also discovered some new joys: Fingersmith by Sarah Waters, Writing Down the Bones and Old Friend from Far Away by Natalie Goldberg, Femina by Janina Ramirez, and The Poet's Manual and Rhyming Dictionary by Frances Stillman. All delightful, and in some cases, very useful.

How do you restore your soul?

it's an Inside Job

 I very much like this week's quotation, by Marcus Aurelius: "The ability to live happily comes from a power within the soul."

Because I do believe that happiness is an inside job. Let me declare one fact straight away: I am an optimist, married to a pessimist (although he would call himself a realist). I have blogged about this before, here, so I'm not going to repeat myself. Suffice it to say, I think I've got the better deal, as I am happier for more of the time...

The gorgeous postcard which accompanies this week's quote made me very happy. And reminded me of a special evening last year, when I was holidaying in mid-Wales with my best friend. We went down to the local beach to watch the sun setting, and it was completely glorious. Here is a photo I took with my phone that evening:

We were down there for about three quarters of an hour and were filled with awe and wonder at the beauty in front of us. And yes, happiness, that we were able to witness it. 

So this year, back at the same lovely holiday cottage with my husband, I decided to take him down to the beach to share the glory. Sadly, there were some clouds, which meant it wasn't quite the same, but when the sun came through a gap, the effect was equally stunning. It made me feel happy to be alive...

I read somewhere (I can't remember where) that individuals are born with an innate quota of happiness. So that even when something wonderful (or something dreadful) happens to them, although they may be happier (or sadder) in the short term, they will eventually revert to their default happiness level. I think the example given was lottery winners, who are thrilled when they win a substantial sum of money, then discover that it hasn't really made a difference to their happiness in the long term.

Another example, used by Geneen Roth, is about losing weight. She says that people tend to put living their best and happiest lives off, until they've reached their desired weight, rather than being happy now, allowing themselves to be happy now. 

So happiness is also about trying to appreciate the present moment. Which I believe is a spiritual practice, like any other. I blogged about having a gratitude practice as recently as last month. It really is an inside job.

How do you nurture your own happiness?