Weltanschauung

The Philosopher’s Stone

zenothestoic@protonmail.ch

Category: The Inner Path

  • A Funny Old Monk

    A Funny Old Monk

    My 26 year old son is clearly a perceptive fellow and he hit the nail on the head when describing his father as “a funny old monk”.

    I have been monkish since childhood but my journey really began after spitting out convention 30 years ago and disappearing into a black hole.

    Wandering lost over the past 30 years, I began my explorations by reading the mystics. William James was a profound influence as was Evelyn Underhill. Followed by so many others.

    I have not read any of that stuff in more recent years. I have lived by experience more than words. Years living in the mountains of Switzerland and on the bleak beaches of Northern France. Snowboarding and skiing and long, long wild walks in the wind and the elements. Practicing everything I could usefully lay my hands on from hypnosis to meditation, from music to strenuous physical exercise.

    Days spent in contemplation in the churches of renaissance Venice and elsewhere. An endless search for the divine, for meaning in a storm of deafening and meaningless noise. Years spent wearing the dark lens of pessimism, despite the beauty all around me.

    But today I was struck in the deepest and most profound manner by a post on Mystical Experiences of Reality by my friend Keith Hancock.

    He referred to a paper called “Spirituality and the Transformation of Consciousness” by Merv Dickinson.

    Just reading the paper was enough to give me the sort of experience described as “peak” by Abraham Maslow. I recognized each and every word in that paper. Mr Dickinson could have written it just for me.

    I will leave you to read the paper for yourselves should you so choose, but it was startling to see my own life over the past 30 years described with such unerring accuracy.

    Let me make one thing clear: I do not confuse my journey in any sense with a descent into “goodness”. Or, worse, an ascent. I have never had any desire to be Mother Teresa, since, firstly I have never much fancied a sex change and secondly I just don’t believe the world works in that way. I’m sure the old biddy did a splendid job with the needy in Calcutta and that her canonization was richly deserved. But no amount of Mother Teresa clones will make much difference to an unenlightened world. Or to the world’s poor and needy.

    What I believe will (or would) make a difference is a shift in perception. A radical and widespread alteration of consciousness.

    Dickinson puts it this way. Consciousness has two orthogonal planes: run of the mill “anthill” consciousness which we all develop during childhood and adolescence and then the sort of gnosis one perceives during those moments of enlightenment, when the nature of reality seems to become clear to us.

    If we are lucky, we may get occasional glimpses through the veil. As we progress in life, some of us who are seeking an altered perception find we are granted increasing access to that other way of being. We begin to feel we are living at an intersection between the two modes of consciousness and it becomes easier to look upon the world and its ways in a kinder and more benign fashion.

    It also becomes far easier to be kind to ourselves as we increasingly feel that we have discovered the way. That we no longer need to ask the “Questions”. The black lens of pessimism is replaced by an altogether rosier and more optimistic hue.

    Because, it really is a kind of blindness the way some of us are forced to live. Throughout much of the history of this blog I have taken a rather despairing view of the human ant heap, but I see now that any condemnation of our behavior was naive and wrong.

    We can’t help it – it just “is”. Mostly, we can not see beyond the day to day struggle for existence. We behave the way we do through knowing no better. We evolved to survive and that is what ordinary consciousness teaches us to do, come what may. So that most of us are determined to “climb the greasy pole” at any cost, as Benjamin Disraeli so aptly put it when he was elected as Prime Minister.

    Those who are granted a glimpse through the curtain to a different reality can see that it need not be always thus. But that until the majority of us can see that different reality, no amount of Mother Teresa lookalikes will manage to turn this place into a heaven on earth. My hope is that day may arrive.

    Looking back to the beginning of my long, long journey I can see that I was a man in a hurry. Reality was not to be served up on a dinner plate. Not to me at any rate, although I was always puzzled that it happened that way to some. My friend Keith for instance with his spontaneous revelations. And those who received sudden conversion on the road to Damascus or elsewhere. After considering a koan or two perhaps.

    No amount of reading, none of my practices really achieved very much over the years. Partly perhaps because I was still consumed by the pursuit of wealth. My climb up the greasy pole.

    Very recently the scales seemed to fall from my eyes much more regularly. It has been rather like an ascent through the Stygian gloom of heavy cloud cover into glorious clear blue skies and sunlight. Carried there by my own wings rather than the metal sarcophagus of modern air travel.

    I think it has been partly because I have given in, or given up perhaps. I think the endless isolation has undoubtedly helped, intensified as it has been this year. The atmosphere of apocalypse has been cathartic and educational.

    I am increasingly inclined to let go. And I am increasingly able to do just that. I am more often to be found at that crossroad, that junction between the two orthogonal modes of being.

    It is a comfortable place to be. I think I will remain there.

    Oh and by the way, I’m the weird old chap on the left. The equally weird nutter on the right was someone we met at the Norman keep in Dover one day. Claimed he lived there and that the date was sometime in 1100. My son found it hard to tell the difference between us.

  • In the World but not Of It.

    In the World but not Of It.

    A while back I found myself disturbed that a blogger could crusade in favor of violence and dissension and against ecumenism.

    I still marvel at such an attitude but my friend Keith Hancock comments:

    Is this essay written for Muggles, a final kick of the bucket before you continue your path into the Silence?

    A muggle is somebody who has not discovered magic. Or in our case, mysticism. Which some of course would deride as magic and hocus pocus.

    My initial reaction was as follows:

    I think I just found the author of that blog ridiculous! The more correct response would have been a) not to bother to read it in the first place and b) not to give a monkey’s

    As Keith knows I am a Seeker. I am never too certain what it is I have found but I do know what I am seeking and day by day I inch forward towards my goal.

    I think Keith is right. I may not “like” that blogger’s attitude. I think I am probably “right” not to agree with his sentiments and I think I am probably “right” to believe that in a better world people would not think in that way. But it was pointless to read the post in the first place and (worse) to become engaged in conversation with the author.

    I was led back to Keith’s comment after watching a film on Samahdi last night.

    A fellow blogger, Nomad of the Universe, posted links to a documentary on Samadhi by Daniel Schmidt and I watched the film with much enjoyment. I had a night of very strange dreams where I ended up in a parallel universe, somewhat upset that I was unable to telephone my dead father.

    Now, in days gone by I would look up everything I could on Daniel Schmidt – was he the real thing? Had he achieved the state he so beautifully portrayed? Or was he living a lie and selling a pup. I did not bother to do that last night. I have little idea who or what Daniel Schmidt is or does and I do not intend to find out. Bar the bare facts that he is a Canadian writer who runs a retreat center and teaches meditation.

    A few years back I read Andrew Harvey’s book on Rumi and was deeply affected by the beauty both of Rumi’s poetry and Harvey’s writing. I then spoilt it by reading about Harvey’s private life and his quarrels with a character called Mother Meera. Harvey had provided me with a beautiful gift and I threw it back in his face.

    And so I did not make the same mistake with Daniel Schmidt. We none of us lead perfect lives but if we seek perfection, if we describe it, if we move step by step towards it then how much better our world becomes. Whatever the ins and outs of the lives of Harvey, Schmidt (or even Rumi) are they not pointing us in the right direction? More than you could say for the fellow who favors violence and discord over ecumenism.

    I loved Schmidt’s portrayal of our pointlessly busy world. The ridiculous anthill we live in. The mad consumer society seeking to satisfy desires which will never be sated.

    I found some of the esotericism a bit rich and I am no believer in the wisdom of the ancients. But the basic message rang very true: to discard the self and merge once again with the divine. Whatever that is.

    In the world but not of it.

    What a lovely thought. Or, as the Zen Buddhists would say:

    “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

  • Edge of the World

    Edge of the World

    I wonder if this is what it felt like during the phoney war in 1939? A period of almost surrealistic calm before the horrors of world War II really began.

    I have to report that my own life has not so far been negatively affected – quite the reverse. The cool spring sunshine has been wonderful and each day I have been on a walk with my wife (and sometimes our son) on the glorious empty footpaths crisscrossing the gentle agricultural countryside around our cottage.

    Life is frugal although adequate. We are certainly not short of food or anything else and it has been delightful to see so much of our 26 year old investment banking son, who is working from home. Discussing the odd M&A deal, sometimes late into the night, with the US or elsewhere.

    I am half tempted to volunteer for something although I can’t quite think what. Agriculture appeals but at my age I’m not sure I’m really up to picking “stuff” from the fields. I wonder if I could drive a tractor? Or, god forbid, an ambulance if that ever became necessary. I would have been happy toddling around in an ambulance in WWII but I’m afraid I would never have held a gun.

    Obviously we are not seeing anyone, even my sister and her family who live just down the lane. Social distancing seems vital and if we do meet anyone on our walks, we dash into the middle of the field and off the footpath.

    So, selfishly, we are loving the isolation and the sense of utter peace and calm. The country lanes are empty and we are not going to the shops: I have no intention of facing an undignified struggle over the last roll of lavatory paper or bag of flour.

    Who knows how this crisis will end. I hear dark things from those around me. A young nephew in the Guards has been leading his men in transporting dead bodies around our capital. The army is standing by in case of civil unrest. Looting perhaps, rioting. Taking it out on the underdogs? Blaming immigrants, Jews (as usual) or some other scapegoat for their fears and anxiety. I hope it does not come to pass but who knows, in the dark days ahead.

    Personally I feel philosophical, resigned. To my own death at least, should my time have come, but not to those of any others. It feels like living on the edge, at the back of beyond. The aliens have landed and we are waiting for them to incinerate us with laser guns or whatever super weaponry those guys possess.

    But it is also a time of great calm and reflection, for me at least in my privileged middle class bubble. As a retired old nutter in his cottage by the sea. Others are not so lucky. The wife of an old friend is severely ill in hospital. A family we know of depends on the Edinburgh Festival for most of their year’s income; it has been cancelled. A nephew runs a pub in Dover, which has been closed down for the duration.

    I have not been reading much lately, but if I had, I would have avoided John Steinbeck:

    In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

    What a time to reflect. What a time to consider my own behavior and to hope for a better future for our world. But I am afraid that is unlikely.

    Just as in WWII, the profiteers and sharks are making hay while the sun shines. The massive government stimulation and rescue package is and will continue to be preyed upon by those for whom it was never intended. I have heard tales of unscrupulous business men buying up companies just to claim government handouts and a sister in law has been “furloughed” by her unscrupulous school.

    Why does the human race insist on taking the piss at times like these? My sister in law has a contract and her school has its fees paid up until the end of the summer. And yet in an outrageous and flagrant abuse of their civil duties, they are laying people off so that the Government has to pick up 80% of the salaries. Why do humans behave like this?

    As for me, I am guilty to report that I have never felt better and rarely enjoyed my life as much. I am walking, sitting in the garden and toying with a computer driven algo to trade penny stocks on the US markets.

    I don’t really think there is much else I could do in reality. I am a people unfriendly, aging male of uncertain temperament and I really don’t think I would be of much use to anyone. Although of course I will certainly pitch in if the need and opportunity really does arise.

    Carpe Diem.

  • An Introduction

    An Introduction

    I am starting a podcast and those who are in the know tell me I must introduce myself. So here goes.

    The Podcast can be found under the following heading and subheading:

    Weltanschauung – A Search for the Soul

    ….in the following directories: iTunes, Spotify, Pocketcasts

    Here is the Spotify link. You can use Spotify for free.

    For Pocketcasts you need to download the app on your phone and do a search: the phone app is free.

    Here is the link for iTunes . You can use iTunes for free.

  • End Game

    End Game

    There is nothing more sobering than a great deal of time spent in a hospital with the critically ill. Nothing more rewarding either. Too often I have despaired of human nature and railed at the awful political and economic system we are cursed with. Too frequently have I failed to see any innate goodness in the human race and have concentrated on our unthinking and brutal fight for survival.

    A bit of time spent in a hospital redresses the balance. There is beauty there, and great kindness. 

    It is vital to avoid cloying cliche, but as one prone to arrogance (at least of the intellectual variety) to spend many hours in the presence of people who really seem to care is a valuable lesson.

    There is good in the world, it is not just populated by the corrupt and the greedy, the vicious and the venal.

    I have spent a lot of time recently reading the philosophy of David Pearce and in those grim surroundings last night I can well see how salvation could work. David talks everywhere, convincingly and at length, about the urgent need to use our growing technological skills to ensure that all sentient life can enjoy “gradients of bliss”. That as a race we can leave behind brutish Darwinian struggle and re-engineer our very genome to make us kind, generous and altruistic.

    Aldous Huxley paints a dire and unjustifiably pessimistic portrait of just such a society in Brave New World but I am convinced that it need not be like that.

    Some people, I think, must just be born good. Perhaps all the way through. Some may be born all bad but most of us, I suspect, are a muddled mixture of good intentions which occasionally turns sour when our less attractive side gains the upper hand.

    I have no doubt those good folk at the hospital last night are not always sweetness and light and yet at least they are showing us what is truly important in society. Healing, care, love. And what is not at all vital: greed and the amassing of great wealth, violence and jealousy and eny.

    I have talked elsewhere at length, until I have bored my self and no doubt my audience, about the importance of having a worldview. I have expressed my desire to find, in spite of grave doubt, that philosophical idealism is in some sense “true”. That there is meaning out there in the cold expanses of the universe, that perhaps we are basically good and decent and eternal.

    But equally I have expressed the view that we may become so. I have made clear, I hope, that my thoughts turn if not to a god, then to an ascent to the status of godhood. “Magic” though that may seem at our current stage of development, I strongly believe that intelligence may (indeed will) rise to these giddy heights in the millennia to come. If god does not exist, then make your own by becoming one. If meaning does not exist in the infinite bleakness, then create it.

    That is the sort of bleakness I can live with. Because we can put it all right.

    So my thanks go out to those good people last night, on any number of grounds. They are pursuing the common good, they are healing. They have given me hope and optimism that even if we are far removed from perfection, I can at least see what such perfection might entail in the future.

    And best of all, they seem to have given a new lease of life to a splendid old fellow who happily seems unready to depart yet awhile.

  • Tetelestai

    Tetelestai

    It is finished – yes I think I know just what the poor fellow meant.

    Contemplation is such an odd experience, especially for one in whom such words were written indelibly, in childhood.

    Somehow the relinquishing of worldly concerns plays an ever more important role in my life. I have been working for weeks, months even, on a trading algorithm which turned out to be stillborn and somehow it does not seem to matter.  Nothing much does, except to care for those around me, including my elderly and increasingly infirm parents in law.

    The dear old boy has battled valiantly to care for his mildly potty wife and finally this week the toll seems to have been demanded.  We shall rally round and give them the care they deserve.

    It does all rather close in on you but in a way, the insights it brings are very cathartic.

    I continue to toy with the big questions, quo vadis being the most poignant of those at this time. Those with faith have their own answer of course, those of us without are none too sure.

    To have lived well, to have lead a life such that you can hold your head high at the end – that is perhaps the most treasured “possession” anyone could ask for.  Pride would not be a word to use in this connection, but inner satisfaction in knowing you have done your best probably sums it up rather well.

    Sadness is an inevitable part of life. We come around to all emotions at one stage or another and if we have any sense of self preservation, we manage to ditch those which wreak the greatest destruction.

    But measured sadness – quiet melancholy for what is passed or passing, that is not an emotion to be discarded. It is a positive thing, a rich and full examination of life, a remembrance of past years and all that was good about them. If there was bad, it no longer seems to matter so much and at the end, it is the good that you remember.

    The love, the gentle kindness of a good couple – these are things to be treasured and while they are still around we should tell them how much they mean to us.

  • Faith and Doubt

    Faith and Doubt

    Most of us have developed a worldview but I wonder how many of us let doubt destroy it?

    I suppose weltanschauungen must differ widely from person to person, but my guess is we all have one, even if unacknowledged.

    Business titans presumably have a firm belief in amassing great wealth, dictators in the holding of absolute power and the religious in their respective savior.  Adolf expressed his own peculiar weltanschauung in Mein Kampf.  Wonder if he ever had any doubts as he watched smoke rising from the gas chambers.

    How does doubt creep in? I have to say I have no understanding of many worldviews and so it would be wrong of me to comment on behalf of others:

    Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen.

    In my own case, at heart I could best describe myself as some sort of idealist, in the philosophical sense.

    I believe in Spinoza’s god: “the sum of the natural and physical laws of the universe”.  Further more I believe in free will and the primacy of the mind.

    I also believe that certain moral codes are absolute and even if not written in nature, are the natural outcome of intelligence or consciousness. I can not accept that there is no such thing as good or evil; perhaps by definition consciousness or the mind defines such concepts, creates them.

    How then does doubt creep in? Well it doesn’t very often and certainly not as regards ethics. I think the trick is to take that route chosen by Blaise Pascal.

    The seventeenth Century French philosopher asked what the rational choice would be when asked to wager on the existence or non existence of god:

    Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering that God is. Let us estimate these two chances. If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation that He is.

    If you bet against god, your behavior would be illogical: you would be betting against an eternal life of happiness for the possibility of gaining nothing. We can not prove god’s existence nor can we disprove it so we may as well assume he exists and behave accordingly.

    So I am betting on an idealist universe since to do otherwise would affect my worldview adversely.  And thus affect my happiness and well-being.

    Why am I thinking about faith and doubt today?

    Because of the preponderance of materialism in the philosophy of mind. There is no evidence for the idealist’s position but mercifully, there is none against it either. If you insist on quoting Russell’s Flying Teapot, then I will have to grant that you have a point.

    But I will not let that dent my faith that there is something behind the universe other than dull, dead, lifeless matter. Call it an energy, if you will. A force, a field.

    Modern scientists are all too keen to promote a universe without ultimate meaning.  They have spent a lifetime measuring and poking and not enough time asking “why?”.

    Too many scientists ask only what is there and how it behaves but not how it got there or what it means. Nobody seems interested in the intrinsic nature of matter – only in its behavior.

    So if you are having doubts that life has any meaning, stick to your view that it does and that one day we may find the proof. Even if you are wrong at least your life may be a happy one.

    Illustration: a copy of the painting of François II Quesnel, which was made for Gérard Edelinck en 1691[réf. nécessaire]. – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12193020
  • Blogging – A Window onto the Soul

    Blogging – A Window onto the Soul

    I was struck today, looking at my collection of Blog “Tags”, just how much they reveal about my character and obsessions.

    If you look at the “Tag Cloud” in the footer to this post, you will see the topics which have most interested me these past two years.

    Of course it is not an exact science, but I found it rather revealing. Depression and happiness are the clear winner,s followed by some obviously and closely related topics: peace, mood, qualia, consciousness.

    And how about “Stock Market”? While it features prominently, it is not something I have written about much recently. It is true that I have recently spent weeks drafting a new trading algorithm (with enjoyment I might add) but writing about markets is not something that lights up my day in the same way as contemplating happiness or trying to beat gloom.

    Happily I have been on a roll recently – for the time being the beast is tamed, but who knows if and when a downturn into the murky waters of the Styx may next come.

    Many of my other well trodden themes are also closely related to my big number tags. The whole spirituality gig is clearly a major part of my personality and so “Book of Common Prayer” looms large as do the topics “Meditation” and “Mysticism”.  Reality and silence also feature quite highly but I find it interesting to note that actual “religion” in the form of dogma barely features at all. Christianity, Buddhism and Islam are more notable by their absence than their inclusion. As I have often stressed, man made god in his own image rather than the reverse, whereas to me at least “spirituality” is something inbuilt and natural in many of us. A yearning for transcendence and meaning.

    If I wanted to tread the boards of psychoanalysis (which I assuredly do not) then I suppose these tendencies of mine could be usefully placed alongside dreams and rorschach tests, to reveal the murky depths of my damaged mind.

    As it is, I no longer feel the need for third party interpretation of my peculiarities, and self observation is a tool of far greater use to me than the therapists’ couch. True, there are rare occasions I feel so weary that chatting seems an attractive option, but after so many years of staring up my own fundamental orifice, I do not believe there is much either they or I could add.

    In a circular way this brings me back to something I wrote a year or so ago about the purpose of a blog, the motivation for writing when few will want to listen to my meandering drivel.

    As I said then and repeat now, I write to explain myself, not to my audience but to my own mind.

    Yesterday’s post on ignoring the past is a good example. I do not claim I felt dismal retreading a childhood journey, and witnessing the somewhat dark memories that were brought to the surface, but writing down my feelings last night was very healing.

    I have no right to complain and little to grumble about and yet I have found aspects of family life and dynamics deeply destructive and disturbing over the years. To write about my feelings was, therefore, a catharsis. It was getting real with myself. This is my interpretation of what happened and this is how it has made me feel all these years.

    I no longer intend to feel that way.

    I must be ready to drop those useless worries, those sometimes sad memories of childhood and move on.

    Repetition may be dull but it serves its purpose. Say it to yourself often enough and gradually with practice it becomes a habit. With a bit of vigilance and self discipline one can begin to put these thoughts aside as they arise.

    All of this may sound like the spoilt whining of someone who has actually been more blessed than most. There has, in reality, been little lacking in my life.

    And yet if we are to prove useful to ourselves and those around us, we must never cease to question ourselves, our thoughts, actions and deeds.

    If there are things in our past we would rather not repeat (whatever the reason) then we must remain aware. Self aware. So that what sounds like self obsession may in fact more charitably (and accurately) be described as making every effort to stay on track. Not only for yourself but for all those around you.

    Without constant introspection, I at least would be in danger of behaving in a fashion my better self would not admire.

    And I think other Tags on my website also emphasize a constant desire to be wary of falling into less admirable patterns of behavior.  Conflict, class, evil, purpose, other people, hypocrisy.

    So, yes, a blog can be a window onto the soul. It can help greatly (or so I find) in reminding me when I stray from the path of reasonable and decent behavior.

    Once I notice, with a bit of luck, I may be able to stagger back onto the path of decency and kindness.

  • Should you Revisit the Past?

    Should you Revisit the Past?

    No, I am minded to believe you should remain firmly rooted in the present, making new experiences and not reliving old. I believe that to ruminate on one’s past is a useless pursuit, should you possess the happy ability to ignore it.

    It was an odd day.

    Our usual bridge over the River Thames was closed and we were forced to follow my childhood route down to our cottage in Kent, through some grim areas of South London. And from thence skirting the dismal Medway towns, where Magwich had the ill luck to find himself banged up in a prison hulk.

    My childhood was certainly not all bad and those bits of it which were, were the result of parents who, in retrospect, lacked wisdom and self awareness.

    Nothing awful happened but childhood, in retrospect, consisted of endless and heated disputes between two deeply foolish parents, one of whom (my father) suffered from bi-polar depression.

    My mother was, well, deeply unwise. Almost everybody was deemed “common”, even though she herself was the daughter of a humble shopkeeper from the Victorian seaside town of Ramsgate. Her father was a groundsman, gassed in the First World War, who lingered on awhile, until the bracing seaside air was no longer a match for the mustard gas poisoning his lungs.

    My mother managed to wreck her relationship with so many people around her, especially as she grew older, and as children we were expected to join her endless crusades against our father and others who had earned her displeasure. These included both her own siblings and those of my father and thus, eventually, we ended up cousin- less and alone.

    Early girlfriends were described as “gold diggers”, although what gold there was to dig remains a mystery. In my adult life, my mother spent 30 years making herself almost invariably  unpleasant to my wife and her family, and managed to gang  others up in like cause.

    My father, as well as being mentally fragile, had never taken the advice of Mr Micawber, and I spent many of his later years trying to repair the damage. Sorting out Lloyd’s losses and cutting up his credit cards were unfortunate features of the closing years of my relationship with him.

    At the end, we were terrified of having to sell up under the pair of them, but happily the last of their lives was seen out under the selfless care of a younger sibling, who looked after the aging, sick (and impoverished) couple for almost a decade. Together with her cheerful and enthusiastic husband.

    That I cared for my parents is evidenced by the fact I did not desert them, but I did myself and my wife great harm in the process.

    For the troubles never really ceased, even after their death, and if ever a case of learnt behavior was to be seen, I did not have far to look.

    And so back to today where, in one of the less salubrious parts of the never prosperous Old Kent Road, I pointed out one of the many spots where my mother had jumped out of the car, in the middle of some pointless and bitter dispute with my father.

    They were always looming, those feuds, and I would dread the next storm during the rare quieter periods. My father was not an easy man and trips down to our holiday home on the Kent coast were inevitably cursed by tailgating, speeding and loud, often vicious rows with my mother.

    Being forced to take that childhood route again, all those old and unwanted memories returned. On one occasion my mother even switched the car engine off while my father was hurtling along the motorway we drove today.

    I disappeared to Tokyo for a year in 1986 and spent many years abroad after that, wandering from various ports of call in the Far East to the glories of beautiful Switzerland. Perhaps I should never have returned and certainly I should not have visited my home country in all those years of trailing around chasing my tail.  But I dutifully trogged back, more fool me, and all too often.

    And here I am aged 63, living in the same village as my deceased parents. But I have always loved the area and its great natural beauty; eventually, home it had to be. Enough of Norman Nomad.

    My wife’s family are quiet and civilized, thank god, and in recent years that has meant a lot to me, as I have had to cut off from most of my own relatives, who remain hell bent on recreating the glories of their forbears.

    My wife’s family don’t stab each other in the back. They do not accuse each of theft or treachery. They are just pleasant, normal people, even if, mostly, they are taken straight from the pages of a Jane Austen novel. Although, god knows, my mother in law can never have thought of me as Darcy.  They do not embark on crusades of vileness and pointless, unthinking vendettas.

    So, no, where at all possible, I try not to look back. My wife and I try to make new memories, to enjoy new and different things each day.  I do not keep any photo albums and while I bear my parents no real grudges, I do sometimes wonder how much my childhood and early adult experiences contributed to my black negativity throughout the years.

    So to hell with the past. Seize the day and don’t look back lest, like Lot’s wife, your memories turn you to a pillar of salt.

    Photograph: A rock formation near the Sanctuary of Agios Lot venerated as Lot’s wife as a pillar of salt. By Disdero – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1737038
  • A Valediction to the Church of England

    A Valediction to the Church of England

    Only the Church of England would sign its own death warrant.

    Our local church has no incumbent (they can’t afford it, it seems) and a retired clergyman offered to take services there for free, in addition to providing a choir and organist at his own expense.  The services were to be based on the Book of Common Prayer, which is currently outlawed at our local Godshop.

    In their great wisdom, the Churchwardens and the bureaucrats from head office (think “Yes Minister”) turned him down. Apparently no changes can be made at this moribund and all but abandoned building until a new full time vicar is appointed. Which will be another 18 months in the making.

    It is too radical apparently to offer a service whose liturgy was written by Archbishop Cranmer and has served more discerning members of the Church of England for over 500 years.

    To look a gift horse in the mouth is a brave and foolhardy step for an institution on the edge of extinction.

    Most of these places are waiting to die as, sadly, are most members of the dwindling and decrepit congregation. God’s waiting room as they say.

    At my local church there is no organist and the few services they offer are accompanied by a juke box. The services themselves are low church, which is fine for those who like badly written lyrics and tunes only a child under three years old could properly appreciate.

    There is no Book of Common Prayer. Instead, there is something written in a language designed for those unable or unwilling to expand their vocabulary beyond the 500 or so words they customarily get by on.

    The beautiful old building is locked and barred every day.

    What use is a church if it is closed to visitors? What use is a place of worship if it locks out those who would rest there a while  in quiet contemplation?

    As usual with human affairs, the whole matter is cursed by politics.

    My parents lived in the village for 30 years and both are buried in the local churchyard.  I myself own a cottage here and although not a conventional god botherer, find solace in the beauty of the music and the ritual of the traditional church.

    I offered to be a key-holder so that I could open up the venerable old wreck to visitors who came knocking at my door.

    But I am not an insider and apparently the right to a key is a closely guarded privilege. Perhaps one has to be an apostle or at least an ordinary disciple?

    Insurance companies would prefer churches to be opened every day – statistically an open church is less likely to face vandalism.

    Given such an attitude, an early death is assured for this and countless other local churches.

    So there you have it. An empty and locked church with virtually no congregation. Requiescat in pace.