An interesting progression

Like many people who live their lives to music, I have tried with jazz. Oh boy, have I tried. But too many notes, too little melody, too much improvisation, unfamiliar scales and time signatures have always sent me scurrying back to the sanctuary of 70s rock.

However, I think I've found something I love, and it happened because I found a way in. I'm a bass-player and I'm immediately drawn to the bass line in pretty much any genre of music. (Sarah always tells me that she can hear me humming the bass line of the in-store tunes when we're out shopping together. I honestly don't realise I'm doing it!)

But I recently came across a wonderful bassist, whose music draws in a lot of other styles. And at a time when I've just not been able to connect with music, this felt like coming home again. And, to add to the unexpected nature of this discovery, he plays jazz. His name is Avishai Cohen.

Anyway, here is a video of Avishai Cohen and his band which I've been pretty much playing on repeat lately. He is a wonderful musician, who obviously surrounds himself with other wonderful musicians. I love it, and hope you like it too.

Coming home - again

The last few weeks have been more stressful than usual. A cold-type virus which lasted nearly a fortnight, and a very heavy workload have meant that my regular yoga practice hasn't been at the top of my to-do list. Indeed, I began to think that my yoga practice could easily take a back seat for a while.

I was wrong.

For the first few days, my not practising meant that I could squeeze in a few more emails, or finish off another piece of written work. It also meant that I didn't have to slow down. But I soon began to notice how restless my mind was, and the extent to which my thoughts were occupied with nothing but work. Not good.

I also began to feel guilty about not taking time out for yoga. Why would I let something I love drift away? Where was my commitment, my discipline? What would happen if I didn't start up again?

Then I remembered this article, which reminded me what I was missing, and why it was important to restore the balance.

So today, I unrolled my mat, and came home again.

And as I began to move, and to find the breath in my body, I realised that yoga is always there, waiting for us to come back to it. There is no judgement and no demand for explanation; rather there is a welcome and the reminder that we are mind, body and spirit.

It was good to be home.

Walking back to happiness

In the last few weeks, something in Nature has changed. Or, rather, practically everything in Nature has changed. Alternate days of very warm and wet weather over recent weeks has notched the setting of the garden up to 'lush'. There is now so much more of it! Every branch is feathered with leaves, and blossom hangs heavy, tempting sleepy bees and promising fruit.

Something changes in me, too. Outside is now where I want to be. This desk, which was a welcome observation point in the winter and early spring, is now a burden. The Earth is trading its energy with the Sun, and I feel that I want in on the deal.

So I take the quickest and easiest route I can think of: I head out into the garden, barefoot. I've been doing this for several weeks, of course, but only as far as the clothes-line, with the washing basket in my arms. The feel of the damp grass has been pleasing, but the trip has merely been a means to an end. This time, the journey is the beginning, middle and end.

Onto the grass - in the presence of Dandelions

In a sense, that is the most important part: I am walking for the sake of walking, and for the sake of knowing that I am walking. I am not going anywhere, I am just going. And I want to feel the journey, however short it may be, and to feel myself present on the earth.

As I walk, I feel the transaction between my feet and the earth. I feel that there is an energy, a presence, a life beneath my feet. I am aware of temperature, texture and traction. There is a give and take, an adjusting of pressure in each footstep, an awareness of the difference between stone and leaf. 

In the wood, with holly leaves, humus and stones

There is a sense also that I am empowered: I have chosen to walk barefoot, and to attempt to become more conscious of the natural environment. The busy world laughs at those who go barefoot, or is embarrassed by them, but those who choose to do so discern something of the richness that is gained only when we remove our shoes and dare to stand barefoot on sacred ground.

The earth leaves its imprint on us, too

Walking barefoot reminds us that we are part of this world, connected to this earth. It makes the link that is missing when we wear shoes - that there is a slower, more mindful way of going through life, one that takes notice, one that feels, one that concentrates on things one step at a time.

Coming back to earth

Yesterday, I got myself very wound up over a work-related issue. It was one of those that begins in a meeting - things were said, things were not said - and then I carried the issue around with me for the rest of the day. Not only that, but I used the issue as a spring-board to imagine and develop other scenarios which might potentially cause trouble a little further down the line.

As the day drew to a close, I still had this issue whirling around my head. I couldn't shake it, and when I finally went to bed, I lay there running though it in my mind. Not good.

When I woke this morning I had the echoes and memory of yesterday's worry and stress. But today was my day off, and I dreaded the idea of carrying the issue around with me on what should be a work-free day. As the day looked like it would be sunny and warm, I decided that it was a good time to water the veggie garden before the sun got up.

First, I had a quick check of my Facebook feed, and came across this article posted by a good friend. Although I didn't read it all the way through at the time, I got the gist of it and decided to try it out: I watered the garden barefoot.

During the fifteen minutes of walking back and forth to fill the watering can, I found myself coming back to myself. I allowed my body to remind me of the things that are important to me: the garden, nature, creativity. The space and quiet of the early-morning garden, and the feel of the earth beneath my feet seemed to be healing the damage that yesterday's stress had caused. I remembered that I belong to the earth, and to myself, and that my work (even though it is important to me) does not define who I am.

So today has been about coming back to earth, returning to myself, reconnecting my mind and body. And next time I am in that meeting (and it will happen!) I will come home, take off my shoes, and pick up the watering can.

The priest and the yoga mat

In my yoga practice today, as I was trying to rest in Corpse pose, I suddenly remembered that today is one of my favourite days of the Christian calendar. For today the Church remembers George Herbert, the 17th-century poet and priest of the parish of Bemerton near Salisbury.

I love Herbert's poetry for its tenderness and beauty, and for its understanding of what it means to seek an encounter with the Divine. Herbert is wonderfully aware of the motives, the hopes and the hesitancy with which human beings approach God, and also of the complete love with which God responds.

My favourite of Herbert's poems is the third poem in a short series called Love. It sums up the feelings of inadequacy humans often carry when coming into the Divine presence, and yet in every line it portrays the overwhelming welcome and acceptance which is offered in return.

And perhaps, after all, there is a connection between yoga and Herbert's poem: both are an invitation into Divine stillness and rest.

Love (III) by George Herbert

 

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
        Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
        I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
        "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
        "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
        So I did sit and eat.

Healing... and Love

From my sermon for 16 Feb 2014. The gospel reading is Mark 1.40-45

This encounter between Jesus the nameless man is full of emotion: Mark tells us right from the start that the man came to Jesus begging him, and knelt down before Jesus to put his request. The man then puts a searching request to Jesus, in which he clearly shows the faith he has in Jesus: If you choose to, says the man, you can make me clean.

Face-to-face with this show of faith and feeling, Jesus makes his response. I do choose, says Jesus, be clean! And going against all the accepted custom and common sense of the time, Jesus does something deeply wonderful: he touches the man. Jesus reaches out both literally and emotionally, moved, as Mark tells us, with pity, with compassion. And the man is healed.

Jesus offers us here a pattern for the healing work of God's Church and all who follow Jesus: the touching of those considered untouchable; the loving of those thought unlovable; the welcoming of those thought beyond invitation. This is the work of grace and beauty that Jesus set himself to, the song that he sang in his life on earth. You and I, if we hear the call of Jesus to journey with him, are called to this work, too.

In his poem 'Love', the priest and poet George Herbert portrays the invitation, the love, the welcome that Christ offers to you, to me and all who look to him for divine healing and acceptance. I would like to end with that poem, and to invite us to consider what it might mean for us to both receive and then offer that unconditional love.

Love (III) by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
        Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
        I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
        "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
        "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
        So I did sit and eat.