Gifts : 2012

There will always be a horizon. A day set apart for making extravagant displays of love—St Valentine's—may appear to be a horizon in itself, but it's really only a vantage point from which to view the various glimmers and glistenings happening everywhere and everytime else and other. 

Looking out to horizons in the coming year, my slowly focusing lens keeps on with its fixation on scruffy glinting objects at my toes, distracting from the unwieldy temptation to skip today and grab tomorrow; or the temptation to forget about tomorrow and be restrained by what failed to happen yesterday. 

Forget about the horizon for a minute - what do we have in the frame today?

This year, I'm trying not to make goals so much as be glad of my gifts. If I treasure these little blessings everyday, then perhaps the goals will make—and realise—themselves.

"The heart bears indentations of yesterday's child"

Oh yes, the heart really does. These hearts really do. Hearts bear indentations, and they are all gifts. Dirty, messed up, grubby and flawed gifts, the lot of them.

A post-Valentine's post, because as I suggested this time last year here and there it's not all containable in one day, but rather all the small gestures in every other day of the year where love is really found.


*
I've been singing this song all night long.


{Today's Soundtrack: Lucy Rose - Scar}

In Any Doubt

Perhaps you may not believe me at this stage, but it's true; more true now than it ever was. I promise, promise, promise, I am not making this up - everytime I look at my feet. If you don't mind, I'm not going to try saying anything.


{Today's Soundtrack: Lanterns on the Lake - Lungs Quicken / Tricks}

Perspectives

Another heart, at my feet when I get home to England.

A mark at point A, and a mark at point B. Another heart-shaped mark, connecting to a long line of others.

Point A exists, implicitly different from its counterpoint; B as it is, imbued with the fragrances of everything growing on the path towards it. The journey takes time, and in time things grow and flower. Many things are expressed, and poured out - water on seeds and saplings, life where there was none. It is a sacrificial journey and the seed of A dies to give life to B, bloom and bower.

Perpetually moving on.

A wonderful transformation from a nothing to a something; a great, precious, shiny treasure of a thing.

"Mi precioso."

This 'welcome home' heart reflects something not in the picture, and as much as I move from point A to point B, on return from this amazing Peruvian adventure I rest with one conclusion - B is not the end, but it is a beautiful resting point. There is more to come, but right here B glimmers with a poor, yet delightfully romantic, reflection of whatever that turns out to be.

I am so glad of this adventure, even though it has turned many things upside-down (how jesus of it). I went to Peru knowing nothing and come back bursting with thoughts and ideas. One thing's for sure - being on home turf (or tarmac) amongst familiar people and places is the best place to be, and I feel sure these are the best companions with whom to chart the next leg. That's home, and this is where perspective comes.


{Today's Soundtrack: The Cinematic Orchestra - To Build a Home}

My Heart in the Hills

So, some days of living in the mountians - what shall I tell you?

Maybe I could tell you about these Inca roads and their relentless steep ascents to 4000m through wilderness trails and gurgling jungle streams; subtle colour spectrum which seems simple but in fact leaves out no hue and changes with every cloud or gust. I could muse over reflected light from snow-capped mountains, rivers tumbling and washing away concerns far down the mountain. And I could talk about arriving at Machu Picchu's Sun Gate in time to watch a beautiful sunrise over the ancient city, spoilt by grating noisy tourists taking ages to make good their touristic vision in endless group photographs. (A place to engage in mystical serenity that was not.) Further, the ruins and their incomrehensible age against precision like a child's lego construction, all the while sun streaming hot through hazy atmosphere.

There would be loads of stories, our suffering limbs, lovely trek leader Poncho, Jacob and Jenny getting engaged, llamas, coca tea, incredible porters who made our sleeping and eating totally smooth by running with enormous loads all the way - they make us look so lightweight. And some of them run in sandals made out of tyres.

But apart from all of these wonderful experiences, for me the most pressing discovery was how much heart there is in the wilderness of those truly high up places. There is a perfect soundlessness in those breathless heights, where no wheels or wires exist and the only audible movement when you stop walking is air against rough mountain grass. Choosing to be apart from our so-called life lines, a new space for other, deeper life emerges. In the right company, we all found a better attention to life even if in solitude, just yourself.

Gentleness, kindness, patience, peace, endurance for the body to climb, mind to commit and the soul to encounter proper Creator love.

Space, and serenity.

At the top of each peak sits a cairn. We don't put our stones on top, but add them to the side - not conquering, but contributing. How can we conquer the hills when they hold our hearts so lovingly whilst we clamber hard, scrambling further than we've ever been? And how do we even dare to conquer? We are invited into the story, bravely offer whatever we can and discover this effort is worthy and welcome after all. It's difficult to explain, but it felt like things made more sense in a deep down way than normal. And it did not feel complicated.

Not sure if I left my heart in the hills, or discovered that's where it's been all along, safe and sound.


{Today's Soundtrack: William Fitzsimmons - Beautiful Girl}

A Blessing

May love come and get you.

In the secret place,
be friendly and kind
to whoever you find there,
and trust that God has it covered.

When you find yourself empty-handed,
Know the remaining love of God;
Rest take you by one hand,
And Peace by the other,
And lead you to lie down in those
Promised-of green pastures.
Let them show you the way to that
'River of delights'
So you might feast on it.
It is yours to drink from.

I pray you will know
the surrounding, settling and
Soft love that is yours;
Courage - a key for the lock.

No matter how small or crushed it feels,
There is always your heart,
And for this we give thanks.

Grace,
and peace.


{Today's Soundtrack: Welcome Wagon}

Soles

Taking the usual route to my desk this morning, it appeared again so big, bright and green, fluttering and flipping in the breeze as I ducked in-between foot commuters to make a picture of it. Some of these folk marched, some trudged, others sauntered, scuffed or pottered. All moving somewhere, soles of their feet covering ground and creating some distance between them and something behind. 

If the soles of our feet could tell stories, what sort of stories would yours tell? 

I hope they do not speak about numb walks to and from things that are never expected to be different. Are the souls of your feet willing explorers, ready to be planted? I hope they speak of soil and seeds, soft grasses and spaces to grow. Maybe they would speak about pounding miles and miles on hard tracks, the harder they fall the more aggressive—and not necessarily satiated—the heart's desire, and if this was me I would try to heed it as a warning and lighten my step. Would they talk of restless wanderlust that means my feet never know what ground they will navigate next, and would they say there was no pattern to this journey? Perhaps the soles would tell about discovering beautiful, extraordinary lands and homes.

Every footfall is an arrival. I talk about soles like this, and what I'm really saying is that I think it's important to be present, and stop being so focussed on where you're going that where you are fails to captivate you. Pace out the love-filled opportunity in every step.

On the street this morning we were all on a mission of some sort. Some wondered what my pavement mission was, casting a subtle glance to see what piece of crap on the floor was so captivating. That often happens, and I try to remember they haven't seen the forty-nine other times this has happened so they may think it is strange, but they have no idea how I feel.

Three over two days; a thought for my adventuring, loved-up soles and what it does for my here and now.

{Today's Soundtrack: Feist - The Reminder}

Day Forty

What's that tiny, red, glinting thing, down there on the ground while the blossom trees are in full explosive flourish, and just as I catch myself feeling ever so thankful for spring?

Ah, it's one of those again! Is someone following me while I trundle up to this, the last day of Lent, checking that I get all the way without cheating? It's day number forty, Friday, and we decide to call it 'good'. On that note, I have a few questions:

• What has your journey through lent been like?

• Do you care, about anything?

• Precisely what do you care about?

• Do you have an idea what to do with that?

• Is there any difference between the you now and the you of March 9th?

• How can you tell the difference, and what do you know now?

• Where do we go after this?

• At this end of Lent, what kind of shape is your heart in, and is it really all good?

Hm, good. I suppose it is. Yes, I suppose it is.


{Today's Soundtrack: Agnes Obel - Philharmonics}

Winning Love

As the Jesus thing teaches us not to value a person's standing before we decide to love them, shaking hands with Pastor Rob Bell - a true advocate of this - last night as he signed my copy of his 'Love Wins' book felt a bit phony.

Actually, I just wanted to ask a question about why I think many so-called christians get hung up on their need to be right about who's in, who's out. It was to do with it being supposedly easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven, you know the story. I think it is this comment (among others) that causes people to be so rigid in their desire for rules, guidelines, approvals, permissions, gold stars and stickers on their 'am I getting to heaven' reward chart. I knew Pastor Rob would have a good take on it, so took the opportunity of a book signing to go and ask. However, too busy chatting to someone else and as a last minute straggler, I found myself in an embarrassing bun fight for attention as jet lag got the better of him and stewards the better of me, and he signed my book with barely time for a handshake while still listening to someone else who was taking the opportunity for a monologue. So awkward.

Convinced that love does win, instead I took my question to my friends on the journey home, and we had an interesting chat about obsession with rules versus stuffing up, getting to say sorry and having another go. And also decided not to be embarrassed about asking a writer to sign their book.

It's counter-intuitive, or should I say counter-culture, this Jesus thing, but I'm so glad about that because winning love is no longer on the agenda. Actually, one of the best things Pastor Rob said last night was, "I don't know."

Thank goodness, he said what we're all thinking.




{Today's Soundtrack: Clock Opera - Belongings}

Okay This Is Getting Weird Now

{This morning's foley edit: Native birdsong, soft footsteps; sharp intake of breath, then a scuffle.}

Hey! Who Put That There?

Someone appears to have snuck into to my home while I was out and left this on the chair!

Did you see anyone?


{Today's Soundtrack: Henry Mancini - Pink Panther theme}

Cross My Heart, Kiss My Elbow

Here they all are, from Spitalfields, Bristol, Hope Chapel, locations remembered, but all from the last two weeks.

Alright, so I concede that a heart in the froth of my coffee is not a scuffed sequin, and neither did I nearly step on it. Yet it arriving with me is still an accidental, timely gesture on a theme. The man who made it for me drew my attention to it as his gift to me, and while he may well say this to all the girls, amidst the entire sequin narrative it stood out like a punctuation mark at the end of a very impassioned flourish.

State of (he)art, drink it down.

{Today's Soundtrack: Ray LaMontagne & Pariah Dogs}