Skillet pushes open the door to the cafe. There is a clatter of conversation and tea-cups. He sees his friend sitting at a table at the back of the shop and walks over to join him. Skillet speaks:
Hello, my old friend!
Hello, indeed! It's wonderful to see you!
I wasn't sure if it was you at first.
Ah, yes, sorry about that. It's the pointy hat that does it.
But you don't wear a pointy hat.
Exactly.
Have you eaten?
Not yet - I was waiting for you. The coffee cake looks good, though...
OK, but first, can I ask you a question?
Of course - anything.
What did you find out?
Ah - straight to the point, eh? Well, there is something...
Yes?
It's not what I was expecting.
But there is some news?
Yes, and it's very intriguing.
So..?
You're to go on a journey.
A journey? Where to?
Ah - that's the intriguing bit...
In what sense?
Well, this journey won't take you where you want to go. If you get my meaning.
So.. where will it take me?
Somewhere else.
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 June 2017
Thursday, 7 January 2016
Many ways, many paths
A lot of my inspiration for blogging comes from reading other people's blogs. One of my very favourite bloggers is Nimue Brown whose excellent blog, Druid Life, can be found here.
In a recent post Nimue considered what Paganism actually is, and the temptations and dangers which come with attempting to say who is and who isn't a true Pagan. Of course, there are similar opportunities for such games within any spiritual path, tradition or religion: the Christian faith, within which I earn my living and become increasingly aware of my shortcomings, is no stranger to this.
(Rather than comment on my own experience of this, it is, perhaps, better to say very little and to consider the words of the Teacher from Nazareth in the forty-second verse of the sixth chapter of St Luke's gospel. That alone would be a lifetime's work for me!)
But Nimue's article is not negative. Rather, she encourages all who would seek to embrace the name 'Pagan' to remember that all paths are valid, and to use that as an inspiration and encouragement for their own path. Furthermore, Nimue suggests that Paganism does not have to be tied to particular affiliations, badges, memberships, rituals or teachings: it is our very humanity that causes us to respond to the sacredness of life. She says:
Paganism is a human response to the experience of being alive that finds sacredness in being alive. It’s a response to the seasons, life changes, the moon and tides, the agricultural year, the land, the weather. It’s a response to living and dying and to the constant cycles of life and death in this world. Anything that comes from a human response to life, is inherently Pagan.
And it is in the natural cycle of the seasons and the turning year that each one of us could own the name 'Pagan':
So the urge to make light and festivity at the darkest time of the year – that’s a Pagan urge. The urge to dance and party in the summer evenings, that’s a Pagan urge too. Celebrating the harvest, singing about the dear departed, honouring relationships, respecting the land we live on – no one needs telling how to do this. Every last one of us could come up with a way of being Pagan in response to life with no reference to anyone else.
I have now begun to ask the question, are all those who love the land, the seasons and the ebb and flow of relationships and emotions partly Pagan? Perhaps we are, and - if we can avoid the temptation to judge and differentiate - that is something to celebrate.
In a recent post Nimue considered what Paganism actually is, and the temptations and dangers which come with attempting to say who is and who isn't a true Pagan. Of course, there are similar opportunities for such games within any spiritual path, tradition or religion: the Christian faith, within which I earn my living and become increasingly aware of my shortcomings, is no stranger to this.
(Rather than comment on my own experience of this, it is, perhaps, better to say very little and to consider the words of the Teacher from Nazareth in the forty-second verse of the sixth chapter of St Luke's gospel. That alone would be a lifetime's work for me!)
But Nimue's article is not negative. Rather, she encourages all who would seek to embrace the name 'Pagan' to remember that all paths are valid, and to use that as an inspiration and encouragement for their own path. Furthermore, Nimue suggests that Paganism does not have to be tied to particular affiliations, badges, memberships, rituals or teachings: it is our very humanity that causes us to respond to the sacredness of life. She says:
Paganism is a human response to the experience of being alive that finds sacredness in being alive. It’s a response to the seasons, life changes, the moon and tides, the agricultural year, the land, the weather. It’s a response to living and dying and to the constant cycles of life and death in this world. Anything that comes from a human response to life, is inherently Pagan.
And it is in the natural cycle of the seasons and the turning year that each one of us could own the name 'Pagan':
So the urge to make light and festivity at the darkest time of the year – that’s a Pagan urge. The urge to dance and party in the summer evenings, that’s a Pagan urge too. Celebrating the harvest, singing about the dear departed, honouring relationships, respecting the land we live on – no one needs telling how to do this. Every last one of us could come up with a way of being Pagan in response to life with no reference to anyone else.
I have now begun to ask the question, are all those who love the land, the seasons and the ebb and flow of relationships and emotions partly Pagan? Perhaps we are, and - if we can avoid the temptation to judge and differentiate - that is something to celebrate.
Monday, 21 September 2015
The Old Straight Track
Over the last few months, I have been obsessed with roads. And not just roads, but also tracks, lanes, byways, and paths - in fact the smaller the road, the more interesting it seems to become.
It really all began with two things: a holiday in Devon and Robert Macfarlane's wonderful book, The Old Ways.
In his book, Macfarlane tells the stories of journeys he has made along some of this land's oldest paths, such as the Icknield Way and the Ridgeway. As he walks he discovers the events, people and tales which have shaped (and been shaped by) the landscape through which the paths run.
It's a beautiful book: a mixture of poetry, documentary, history, cartography, nature-writing and autobiography. I read it with a sense of yearning for the road, and for the mystery into which the ancient paths lead us. And now that I've finished the book, I find myself poring over maps to discern where these old roads run, like pencil lines half-erased from tracing paper.
Mid-way through Macfarlane's book, I spent a week in Devon, where single-track lanes are the everyday highways for local residents and tourists alike. On turning right out of our cottage door, we quickly became the lone walkers on a track through an Oak wood. In response to the silence and the coolness of the mossy path, I took off my shoes and walked the track barefoot, as one would a medieval labyrinth.
At the sound of the Wren, I stopped, and immediately became aware of my role as the visitor, and her place as the resident. I made an offering to the wood and its creatures from my flask of water, the only gift I had with me, and felt at once both at home and a stranger there. The path led on, but I had come far enough for now, and turned back for home. As the Summer fades and the seasons turn, I feel that must go back again, to walk that path into the past and into the future.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, 29 December 2014
In and out of the water
I have a few days off this week as a post-Christmas break. Given how busy the last couple of months have been, I feel like I really need it. However, it's proving very difficult to get work out of my mind.
For Christmas, a dear friend bought my wife and I a set of wonderful Druid Animal Oracle cards. We dipped into them this morning, to see what wisdom they might bring. Here is the card I drew:
The booklet which accompanies the cards gives this explanation of the meaning of the Frog card:
... unites the elements of water and earth, bringing joy, delight and healing in its singing and hopping, and leading you to the sacred spring from which you may be refreshed and renewed...
Nothing is what it appears to be, and life is more fun than you at first supposed!.. Look for the beauty and the magic behind appearances.
In five days' time, I will be back at work (and, to prepare for that, I may have to fit in some work even while I'm 'off'). I hope, in the short time between now and then, I can find time to linger by the sacred spring and that, despite myself, I can find the magic and fun behind the first appearances.
For Christmas, a dear friend bought my wife and I a set of wonderful Druid Animal Oracle cards. We dipped into them this morning, to see what wisdom they might bring. Here is the card I drew:
The booklet which accompanies the cards gives this explanation of the meaning of the Frog card:
... unites the elements of water and earth, bringing joy, delight and healing in its singing and hopping, and leading you to the sacred spring from which you may be refreshed and renewed...
Nothing is what it appears to be, and life is more fun than you at first supposed!.. Look for the beauty and the magic behind appearances.
In five days' time, I will be back at work (and, to prepare for that, I may have to fit in some work even while I'm 'off'). I hope, in the short time between now and then, I can find time to linger by the sacred spring and that, despite myself, I can find the magic and fun behind the first appearances.
Sunday, 11 May 2014
The opposite of faith...
I sometimes suggest to the folks at my church that the 'opposite' of faith is not doubt, but certainty. On more than one occasion I have spoken to my congregation of my own doubts, and been open with them about the extent to which I struggle with some aspects of the Christian faith. I can only hope that my willingness to admit my doubts has helped them with theirs.
It is, perhaps, even more surprising to learn of the doubts of senior figures in the Church (though, perhaps, we should not be so surprised - they are, after all, human). One such honest individual is Richard Holloway, former Bishop of Edinburgh and also a writer and speaker. I saw a short interview with him here in which he speaks of the doubts and uncertainties which came gradually upon him as he got older.
But as I watched in the interview, I got the sense that, rather than losing his faith, as some would have it, Bishop Richard was journeying into a new, more mysterious faith. A faith with fewer certainties and more wonder. A faith rooted, as it were, less in God and more in life. Richard Holloway's honesty, openness and sensitivity helped me to feel a little more accepting of some doubts in my own journey.
Whatever your own journey, the interview is well worth watching. As Richard Holloway says in the interview, he still belongs to the Church, and attends regularly, but he doesn't 'do God easily'. I wish that more in the Church were like him.
It is, perhaps, even more surprising to learn of the doubts of senior figures in the Church (though, perhaps, we should not be so surprised - they are, after all, human). One such honest individual is Richard Holloway, former Bishop of Edinburgh and also a writer and speaker. I saw a short interview with him here in which he speaks of the doubts and uncertainties which came gradually upon him as he got older.
But as I watched in the interview, I got the sense that, rather than losing his faith, as some would have it, Bishop Richard was journeying into a new, more mysterious faith. A faith with fewer certainties and more wonder. A faith rooted, as it were, less in God and more in life. Richard Holloway's honesty, openness and sensitivity helped me to feel a little more accepting of some doubts in my own journey.
Whatever your own journey, the interview is well worth watching. As Richard Holloway says in the interview, he still belongs to the Church, and attends regularly, but he doesn't 'do God easily'. I wish that more in the Church were like him.
Friday, 21 June 2013
Losing my religion..?
The latest blog post from Jim Palmer has got me thinking. My first thought was: Well, I'm clearly not the only one... Which quickly led to the thought: So I'm not going insane, then..!
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
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