brother tadhg

Poem: Caol Áit

 

Atop a high mountain or in the valley below,
In the corner of your room or in the busy city centre,
May you find a 'thin place'.
A place or time so unique, so sublime.

A place where Heaven and earth collide,
And the veil of separation is unusually thin.
A time where you can almost feel the angelic wings,
And almost see the Divine shining through.

A 'thin place' is a holy bridge,
A door to the Throne Room slightly opened,
It is a moment in time and space,
In which we can dwell, and dance, and move, if aware.

A 'thin place' is an initiation to draw near,
To approach barefoot, in reverence and awe.
It is both seen and unseen.
Invisible we see you!

May you find a 'thin place' today.

 

 
 
 

Caol Áit (pronounced 'kweel atch') is Gaelic For 'Thin Place'.  A thin-place is where the veil that separates heaven and earth is lifted or is unusually 'thin' and one is able to receive a glimpse of the glory of God. Thin places are commonly associated with wild, wilderness areas but there is no reason to suppose that they only occur in such places...they could occur in town! And not only may they be locations, but occur at different times (and events).

It could be that 'thin places' are all around us, but in our busy-ness we miss them. They could be more common that we think. Maybe we need the (re)learn the art of slowing?

One interesting event for a 'thin place' comes from the Book. In Genesis 28:16-17a, Jacob has a dream about G-d, and it goes onto say, 'When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.' He was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place! '.

Poem: Wonder Sees Beyond...

Wonder sees beyond the physical world,
With eyes beyond eyes.
Wonder makes us still and tremble in awe
As we consider our lowliness and humility of heart.
Wonder is never small, never a dim light and never disappoints.
It can be fleeting, momentary, even fragile, but it is never meaningless.

It is the sun rising above the horizon as the cool wind blows.
It is a flock of birds making huge circles in the sky as they prepare to migrate.
It is the friendly hand extended by a stranger when we stumble.
It is a baby’s innocent smile, a lover’s kiss, a kindly word or deed.
It is the knowing, empathetic, tearful glance when words fail.
It is the unexpected,
The daily synchronicities of the Creator we so often ignore in our busy-ness.

Wonder is the Creator’s gift to us to declare who He is,
What He is doing, and how He loves us.
And, as we observe and so participate in wonder,
It is His way of including us in His cosmic dance of creation.

 

--ooOoo--

 

We live in an age of that loves to categorise, loves to classify! I'm sure it can be explained through physics why rainbows appear or the sun appears, sometimes, to have a halo around it - the moon too, sometimes. Yes, I can guess it's something to do with suspended water droplets or ice crystals in the upper atmoshpere, but you know it doesn't make those times less wonderful.

Even if physics can explain aerial phenomena, or why others should help me through an act of kindness (ah did someone mention the 'selfish gene'?), it doesn't lessen the sense of awe and wonder. Those are still wonderful events, and even more wonderful is the inbuilt ability that you and I have to see, appreciate, understand and revel in those moments full of wonder. That is the truly awesome wonder....that we can look upon the universe itself and say 'wow'!.

 

Poem: Wisdom In Statis [Martian Poetry Style]

Invisible barriers of silica stand,
Between luminescence and me.
Nickel oxide and cobalt, too,
Bathe many carbon bundles in waves of blue.

In seated rows, some bend and touch their toes,
Confess their woes, and yet all the while,
The liquid slowly gathers at the base.
And some grimace, some frown, some sleep or smile.

A noise is heard when two hands are raised.
A story recounted. How odd?
The invisible barrier a solid testimony,
To the Great Spirit incarnated as Carbon, the Man-God!

The carbon bundles move at last,
To cave upon cave, with electric trees of green.
In frenzied haste of excess, they consume.
But the liquid barrier is now rarely understood or seen.

  

Okay, the poem may read a little odd. It's in the style called 'martian poetry'. One of the things I like about 'martian poetry' is that it takes ordinary and mundane objects and describes then in startlingly different ways...just as if a martian had arrived and was describing what he (or she) was seeing. This challenges us..metaphorically it gives us a 'hey, wake up!' pinch, and hopefully urges us to see things afresh.

So, what is the poem all about...answers on a postcard LOL. Well, you can if you want, or even email me.

The poem is an ABCB rhyme, and as mentioned its style is that of 'martian poetry'. Martian poetry was a movement in British poetry in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Poets most closely associated with is are Craig Raine and Christopher Reid.

If I explain the poem line by line, it'll spoil the 'martian poetry' effect, so if interested, please email/contact me. But here's a clue: For instance, what is a silica barrier? Think, what is composed of sand?, And what does it mean by 'two hands raised' in line 9? Is this hands raised in praise, or the the hands on a clock, and if so, what time what time? And what festival is being celebrated?

Invisible barriers of silica stand,
Between luminescence and me.
Nickel oxide and cobalt, too,
Bathe many carbon bundles in waves of blue.

In seated rows, some bend and touch their toes,
Confess their woes, and yet all the while,
The liquid slowly gathers at the base.
And some grimace, some frown, some sleep or smile.

A noise is heard when two hands are raised.
A story recounted. How odd?
The invisible barrier a solid testimony,
To the Great Spirit incarnated as Carbon, the Man-God!

The carbon bundles move at last,
To cave upon cave, with electric trees of green.
In frenzied haste of excess, they consume.
But the liquid barrier is now rarely understood or seen.

  

Okay, the poem may read a little odd. It's in the style called 'martian poetry'. One of the things I like about 'martian poetry' is that it takes ordinary and mundane objects and describes then in startlingly different ways...just as if a martian had arrived and was describing what he (or she) was seeing. This challenges us..metaphorically it gives us a 'hey, wake up!' pinch, and hopefully urges us to see things afresh.

So, what is the poem all about...answers on a postcard LOL. Well, you can if you want, or even email me.

The poem is an ABCB rhyme, and as mentioned its style is that of 'martian poetry'. Martian poetry was a movement in British poetry in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Poets most closely associated with is are Craig Raine and Christopher Reid.

If I explain the poem line by line, it'll spoil the 'martian poetry' effect, so if interested, please email/contact me. But here's a clue: For instance, what is a silica barrier? Think, what is composed of sand?, And what does it mean by 'two hands raised' in line 9? Is this hands raised in praise, or the the hands on a clock, and if so, what time what time? And what festival is being celebrated?

Poem: St Benedict's Ladder

Saint Benedict's twelve steps to humility,
Is like a ladder that we each should ascend.
For in applying them to our life we might achieve sanctity,
And reach bliss and tranquillity in the end

The first step is to know God, to 'see' Him in all,
And the second, to follow His will,
The third step is to obey God in things great and small,
And the fourth, to be patient, endure and tranquil.

The fifth step is to be honest about our shortcomings and accept blame,
And the sixth, to be content with a little in life.
The seventh step is to keep ones ego humble and tame.
And the eighth, is not to seek difference, but live without strife.

The ninth step is to that in our speech we show restraint
And the tenth, to be of a serious mind.
The eleventh step is to encourage with words, without complaint
And the twelfth step, to combine both intent and action, to be kind.

 


Notes:
This poem is based on St Benedict's 'ladder', that is, the twelve steps to humility, as recorded by St Benedict's writings in 'The Rule'. If interested, there are some good books on 'The Rule' eg 'Seeking God' by Esther DeWaal

Llan Gwynt Prayer

 

When the bitter winds blow,
And the rain pours onto the soul of your life.
When you stumble and fall,
And when tears well up inside, but find no release.

When friends and family are afar,
And those night-hours of abject loneliness seem altogether too close.
When bones ache,
And the future uncertain seems.

Then, may His pure radiance pierce your darkest times,
And a spectrum of light fill your heart of hearts.
And show you, as a beacon, the narrow, sure way.

When thoughts race, and won't be still,
And lightning rages in your mind, disturbing you.
When things seem to go awry, or indeed, when things seem to go right
But there's an air of disquiet in your inner being.

Then, may He come to you. (He comes in the storm.)
May the Father bless you with His Divine quietness and solitude. Total stillness.
May the Son shine into the totality of your unique self. Perfect brilliance.
May the Spirit, the Divine breath, whisper into your ear that you are a much loved child of God, the apple of His eye.
And may you, wherever you find yourself, experience the 'thin place' of God's inestimable presence.

Amen.

 

 
 

 

 

Written in the summer of 2007 when at Llan Gwynant, Wales (ie The Lake of Gwynant) , when the wind was, as is usual in that spot, blowing a gale. I often think that the lake should be called Llan Gwynt (which means the Lake of wind, or windy lake) as both Gwynant and Gwynt sound similar, though the latter is more descriptive.

Last line: 'thin place' is a reference to the ancient celtic belief that there were places or times when the veil/connection between heaven and earth was unusually close and 'one could touch heaven' (almost!)

 

Poem: Song Of Hannah

Praying night and day, from her being, her core,
Poor, poor Hannah cried out.
Praying out loud, until hoarse, until she could verbalise no more,
Persistently, she continued.

Eli, the priest thought she was inebriated,
Everyone thought she was a cursed person.
Expectantly, she asked God for her deepest need to be satiated.
Everyday she prayed for a son.

Accepting that God had granted her request, her
Adulation and praises was heard by all.
A baby son was born! Hallelujah! Praise God!
And she called him Samuel.

Conquerors and enemies, she sings, God deals with them all,
Cheered up are the poor and those of lowly humility,
Checked is the power of the wicked. They fall.
Carried to safety are the saints, kept safe from calamity.

Elohim, Hannah gives her God praise.
Each person she encounters she tells her tale.
Everyday, her voice is now raised
Eludicating the promises of the God of Israel.

 

--ooOoo--

 

Based on the Book, notably 1 Samuel 1, and the first part of 1 Samuel 2, The Book (the latter known as the prayer or song of Hannah, as after years of barrenness, God had heard her prayer and she became pregnant. It shows how G-d can work in the mundane.

Poem: Time Between Times

This is the time between times.
The time between past and the future.
It is all we have.
In Him, God, it is all we need.

 

 

Poem: I Saw God...

I saw God today, as I left the train.
A teenager helped a stranger carry a shopping bag,
He took the strain.

I saw God today, as I walked into the mall.
I saw a beggar get coffee from a man, and some bread.
He was there when that homeless guy needed a pal.

I saw God today, as I walked out of the post office.
There was an argument between two women in the street.
A third intervened, and all was at peace.

I saw God today, as I watched a house ablaze on the tv news, the situation dire.
They said a young boy, a hero, had dashed in and rescued a baby.
And saved her from certain death in that huge fire.

I saw God today. A neighbour was lonely and needed to speak.
And someone took the time to stop and listen,
And share some pastries, and give them a break.

I saw God today, as I rented a car.
The person behind the counter was as polite as could be.
They smiled, took an interest, and lifted my spirits by far.

I saw God today, he was hungry and lame,
And as I waked by he gave me a look,
And said, ‘Be different, don’t be the same
As other who pass me by’.
Can you help?

Did you see God today?
God is in the stranger, the mundane and the person in need.
He is in the helper, the adviser, the one who will intercede.
And he’s there for you, in ‘the other’, in the other person, indeed.

God in a thousand situations, daily, I see.
Sometimes in giving, and sometimes in need. But He’s the One who said,
‘For what you did to the least of these, you did to me’.

 

--ooOoo--

 

The poem is based loosely on Matthew 25: 31-46, The Book. True, G-d is above us, in Heaven, but he is not the G-d who is far off! G-d is so close. Even connected? If we take the last line at face value, and I suggest we do, then what we do 'for' and 'to' other, affects G-d.

'It is a serious thing,' said C S Lewis, 'to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship...  There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit. What we do to others, we do to G-d.

Poem: Aleph-betical

And could it be that I'm unaware because of the pace of modern life,
But have forgotten simple pleasures, which lead to strife?
Could you point and say, 'This is God's smile, aint it so? '.
Denying. Trying. Acknowledging the beauty in that rainbow.
Everything can be explained, or so I'm told by learned people,
Forever finding rules that seemingly dismantle the steeple.
Go there, go here, go where your journey takes you,
Hear the words of the prophets of old, hear and do.
Is there any more, or is this it? This is the common cry,
Jesus said, ‘If you want to live, you must, to 'self' die’.
Knowing all things, He came to save.
Love was His motive, and for you He went to the grave.
Momentous then, was that first Sunday!
Now, a choice: new life or decay?
Only you can decide, only you can choose.
Prepared to walk in your slippers? Or the Fisherman's shoes?
Quietly the years go rolling, relentlessly by.
Religiously some read the Book and understand, others sigh.
Some students of philosophy rent it asunder,
Tearing at each verse, missing the meaning, they blunder.
Universal truths are contained within, and in nature's hue,
Visually stunning trees of green, and skies of brilliant blue.
Worried by what they see in others around and about
Xenophobes take their eyes off true meaning and shout.
You only have to reflect on nature and its unbroken cord,
Zealously acknowledging that the Maker of all, is the Lord.

 

--ooOoo--

 

Note: An AABBAABB poem. Each line beginning with the next alphabetical letter.

Poem: From A Senior Demon To A Junior Demon: War

A word of advice from our master below
You should not be complacent, junior djin, nor go with the flow.
The war is hurting some,
but more needs to be done.

You must not reveal yourself, nor your ways,
Try to get shelling to last for weeks, not days.
Get each side to blame the other.
Keep secret, and they won't discover
That the real enemy is you, my demonic brother.

Harden the hearts of the political people.
Get hardliners to pray for victory in synagogue, mosque or steeple.
Ensure that martyrs of violence are not seen as killers.
Encourage commerce, and intercontinental arms dealers.

Thousands will die, and that's more for our chief.
Drown out the noise of those of religious belief.
Whether in mosque or synagogue or steeple,
Keep away from Godly, praying people.

A junior demon you are now,
But follow this advice and your ability will flower.
Confuse the people who really care.
Keep in the shadows and they won't even know that you're there.

The humans think this is war about land.
It's the age-old fight started by our master's enemy, and
It'll continue until we gather enough souls,
And the brighter the furnace burns with those human 'coals'.

Our biggest fear, what we dread the most,
Is that you, junior demon, get haughty and boast.
And get found out, discovered, and our work is undone
And the good people of all sides band as one.

You see, they fight, and hate, and kill, and maim.
If only they knew, they're all the Children of Abraham.
So be brave, soldiers of the darkness, take care.
Our biggest enemy is the man and woman and child of prayer.

 

--ooOoo--

 

Using the format adopted in 'The Screwtape Letters' by C S Lewis, a Christian book written in the style of, say, a senior demon writing to a junior demon, I've written this poem in a similar style. It's therefore written in the negative, as from one demon to another. I'm not glorifying war, not belittling it, nor trivialising it, just writing a poem that suggests the real enemies aren't humans on this side of the wall or that, but that the real enemy is another, a third party enemy, in this poem a demon who likes nothing better than to get humans to wage war against other humans while it hides in the dark.

Ofcourse, you may not believe in a spiritual realm that interferes with mankind, but as the poem suggests, that's exactly what they want you to believe and that gives them room to manoeuvre and do their worst.

 

Poem: Song Of Simeon

The young couple came to the Jerusalem Temple that day.
No lamb for the slaughter like the rich, brought near.
But turtle doves like the poor; to give thanks for the birth,
And brought with contrite hearts and holy fear.

There at the door was Simeon so old,
Promised to see the Saviour so the story was told,
They stopped and Simeon shuffled closer still,
So fragile, so frail, so slow, so faith-filled.

He muttered, ‘God, you have kept your promise to me,
That after all these year that I should see,
The promised One as a babe brought here today.
And after years of waiting, and many a tear,
Now I surrender my life to Thee, I say’.

And Anna, too, spoke of the time to come,
A faithful woman, so devout and wise.
Both witnesses knew of the Babe’s journey, His life and future death,
And that He would again arise.

And now, two thousand year on,
The Babe has grown, lived and gone,
But Simeon and Anna’s words are still heard in the street.
Words of comfort, words so sweet,
That this Babe now grown,
Is reigning on high.
And with heart so good, and steps so fleet,
He will, unexpectedly, one day return for his own.

 

Poem: When It's Over

When it's over and the pieces on the board are put away,
I ask myself, 'Did I do good? '
'Did I live my life as I should? '
And do I look forward to more than just decay?

When it's over and the pieces on the board are put away,
I ask myself, 'Have I lived life to the full? '
'Did I live a life that's worthy and one that's just not 'cool'? '
And do I look forward to more than just what people, about me, say?

When it's over and the pieces on the board are put away,
'I ask myself, 'Have I made the world a better place? '
'Did I live not just for myself, but in community as part of the whole human race? '
And do I look forward to a new and bright-dawning day?

When it's over and the pieces on the board are put away,
I ask myself....No! I hear the voice from the distance that asks of me...
'Are you the one who struggled, cried and laughed,
the one who called in your darkest night when you couldn't see? '
I bowed my head and shed a tear.
And replied, 'Yes, Sir, I called. That was me! '
The voice, now closer, said,
'Then you can look forward to a new bright day, a throne by mine and life anew,
Life that's full and never ending, too.
You came when I called, for it was I who called you! '.

  
 

Poem: The Christmas Ghosts

The ghosts of Christmas visit you each year.
Known or unknown to you, they are forever near,
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

There’s things to do, gifts to buy, and food to cook,
And the Christmas tree to ‘dress’, to give it that awesome look.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

The ghost of Christmas yesteryear speaks of times gone by,
Of revelry, youthful merriment, when the house was never ‘dry’.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

Today, it’s different, and I’m older, too,
But I can’t stop! Oh, there’s so much to do.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

The ghost of Christmas now, speaks still, if him you let,
That the real meaning is to give, not get.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

Today, it’s different, I seem to have mislaid,
That ‘feeling’ of love; Santa, I feel betrayed.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

The ghost of Christmas yet to come, a dark and mysterious spirit,
Tells you that the future is bright; it is what you make of it.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

Today, it's different now, and tomorrow, too,
This Christmas, as always, is for others; and others will make it a Christmas for you.
The ghosts whisper.
But do you hear?

This year, draw aside and rest,
Listen to the three ghosts of Christmas and be blessed,
For the ghosts still whisper.
But do you hear?

 

Poem: Babooshka (Christmas Story)

It's mid-winter, cold, snowing and bleak.
Yet the three visitors, oddly, travel by night, and not by day.
When questioned, it's a special child they seek.
When quiet, all they seem to do is pray.

They are on a journey, a sort of quest.
To see a Royal Babe, they say. Have you ever heard of such a thing?
But during the day I work, they rest.
Is there really such a Babe who would be King?

There's lots for me to bake, and clean.
There's lots of work to carry.
Rested now, the visitors, the star, have seen.
But for me, I think I'll tarry.

They leave, and on their journey go.
The weather worsens, but later I can join their quest.
Their tracks are now hidden and covered by the snow.
Where have they gone? I've failed the test.

With gifts in a bag I journey on from place to place,
Visiting homes where children sing.
Leaving gifts by their bed just in case,
That child was the Baby King.

My journey to see the Baby King goes on and on.
Relentlessly journeying here and there.
When invited by the visitors three, I should have gone,
But then I didn't care.

It's too late for me, no one seems to know,
Where the visitors went or where the Baby King is now.
But I believe that you will, on that journey, go.
When invited, don't be deterred by the snow,
Nor anything else. 

 

Poem: Cosmic Incarnation

Into the void His word went forth.
What was not. Is!

Light and life accompanied His utterances
And in response, nature danced in the song of creation.

He formed the man of clay, and the woman who is the mother of all life,
And they, too, danced in the light of the morning.

Night has now come, and is far spent,
And man and woman crane their necks and gaze upwards.

And their words go forth into the vacuum that is space.
'Is anyone out there? '.

Out of the void another sound is heard.
This time, a baby's cry echoes in some dark and dusty street of old.

And in the darkness of the world, words of hope are once more heard.
'My children. Did you think I would leave you as orphans to stray in the night?

I am with you, evermore! '.

 

--ooOoo--

 

Line 01: Reference to God’s initial creation (Genesis 1&2, The Book)
Line 05: Reference to God’s creation of Adam (Genesis 2: 7) and Eve (Genesis 3: 20, The Book)
Line 08: Reference to the nearness of salvation (Romans 13: 12a, The Book)
Line 10: Reference to the cry of the scientist in the search for meaning from ‘up there’ ie extraterrestrial life etc)
Line 11-14: Reference to the Nativity Story/The Incarnation (God visiting the earth in human form) (Luke 1&2, The Book)
Line 14: Reference to Jesus’ promise (and God’s before) (John 14: 18, The Book)
Line 15: Reference to Jesus’ promise (Matthew 28: 20b, The Book)

This poem used by First Baptist Church of Gaithersburg in their Christmas Eve 2008 service. Thanks guys!

Poem: Heavenly Dad

'Come closer, come to me',
The man from Nazareth said.
'Come closer, come to me'.
As he performed miracles and people rose from the dead.

But many held back,
Especially the religious leaders of the day.
But many held back,
Through sheer formality.

Some wavered, but were told by their leaders of magnitude,
'God is the Almighty, not the all-matey', show respect, my friend.
Some wavered, but were told
To keep their distance, to show gratitude.

But the Holy Man came closer, breaking all the rules,
And he saw me; I am so glad.
But the Holy Man came closer, breaking all the rules,
And softly spoke, 'God says you can call Him 'Dad''.

He went on to speak truths of old,
Truth that had been forgotten or changed by formality.
He went on the speak truths of old.
He opened my eyes, and now I 'see'.

Some pushed me back, some scolded me,
And some just plainly didn't understand or care.
Some pushed me back, some scolded me,
But the God-Man smiled and blessed me, in that market-place, there.

And today? Those leaders are still there keeping many at a distance,
From the One who came with a loving heart
And today? Those leaders are still there keeping many at a distance,
But now you have a choice to start!

The Voice still calls, 'Come closer, come to me',
In the country, deserts or city streets His heart beats.
The Voice still calls, 'Come closer, come to me',
Will you 'hold back', be too formal, or run to the One who is your Heavenly Dad'.

So draw closer and risk the scorn of a few.
Some say it's presumptuous. They say it's bad.
So draw closer and risk the scorn of a few.
For it is God who says we can call Him, Abba, 'Dad'. 

 

--ooOoo--

  

Jesus walked the Earth some two thousand years ago and swept away barriers! The 'gap' between G-d and man was  destroyed as graphically symbolised in the Temple curtain being torn from top to bottom. He upturned umpteen laws and His followers were criticised for picking corn to eat on the Sabbath etc. It seems that He upset the religious leaders of the day. They believed rigid observance to the Law would usher in a 'golden age' and bring people closer to G-d, and so gave the common man more and more burdens to follow. Unnecessary one! Jesus was different...He believed in 'relationship'.

And now two thousand years later, many religious leaders are in the same vein as those pharisees of old, and (still) say  'don't do that', 'do this', 'if you do what we say then you can be im membership', and so it goes on. Where is that Jesus simplicity? Where is grace? Where is the love? Have we forgotten the simple, but profound Truth?

G-d? Jesus called Him 'abba'. Now, many translate that word as 'Father', but it's more intimate than that! Some translate it as 'Papa', and that's closer, sure, but it's still not intimate enough, and in many cases using that word betrays our 'aloof' middle-class nature,  our 'mustn't-get-too-close-t- G-d' attitude' as though we prefer distance between us and G-d. Are you sitting down? Ready for the shocking news? The term is better translated as 'dad' or' daddy'!

Now, I know that sounds irreverent, too cosy, too familiar, too intimate, too informal, too friendly...but you know what? He said we could call Him 'dad'! If you don't like it, that's cool. I won't judge you if, 'textually' you want to distance yourself from God and use another term....but please don't judge me as I get closer still to G-d and call him 'dad'. And hey, you know what? Im holding out my hand...so why not put your hand in mine and both of us walk slowly toward our Heavenly Dad.

 

Future Perfect

THOUGHTS ABOUT AFON NANT PERIS*

The rivulet, though small and easily straddled is vast and wide, a veritable raging and restless torrent to the minutiae of creatures that live along its bank, live in it or under it.

The flowing water is time. Do you look upstream or downstream? Downstream represents that past, of days gone by, the old, the familiar and known. It is an empty plate of cakes, just crumbs, now gone; it is yesterday's meal.

The flowing water is time. I reckon you look upstream! Most do. Upstream is unfamiliar. It is tomorrow charging towards us and becoming 'now'. It isn't redshift; it is blue-shift! It is the future, it is potential, opportunity, a ribband of possibility reaching toward us. It is the unknown. A challenge. A risk. Time could be the harbinger of good or of bad, however we define those words, and yet Rumi's wisdom of inviting in all those who knock at the door of one's life echo loud. For in playing host to all, we may accept a benevolent 'guide' from beyond, and grow in stature.

The flowing water is time. As I stand motionless and observe, the water flows and yet so do I. A body that ages. A mind that thinks. A heart that beats involuntarily. A planet that spins. And one that orbits. A solar system that moves.Tempus fugit. Everything is in a state of flux.

And so I, like you, look upstream. Could this be Afon Nant Peris or even Pishon? But, I crane my neck and look upstream. For it is from there that the Spirit calls out to us by name. He whispers in the desolation, the forest, even in the city. God's activity is recorded in the past, felt in the present, and reverberates to us from the future. It is from there that He inhabits and which, for us, is that other country we heard of long ago, and to which we journey on. Yes, the flowing water is time.

 

Note: Afon Nant Peris, part of Llanberis Pass is in the heart of Snowdonia (Eryi) National Park, Wales, and is one of my favourite places. It's an awesome, unspoiled area, and a few miles from Electric Mountain (Y Mynydd Gwefru) and the Marchlyn Mawr reservoir.

Llan Gwynt Prayer

Written by Brother Jonathan when at Llan Gwynant/The Lake of Gwynant, when the wind was, as is usual in that spot, blowing a gale. I often think that the lake should be called Llan Gwynt (which means the Lake of wind, or windy lake) as both Gwynant and Gwynt sound similar, though the latter is more descriptive. But, it's an awesome place.

 

 

 

When the bitter winds blow,

And the rain pours onto the soul of your life.

When you stumble and fall,

And when tears well up inside, but find no release.

 

When friends and family are afar,

And those night-hours of abject loneliness seem altogether too close.

When bones ache,

And the future uncertain seems.

 

Then, may His pure radiance pierce your darkest times,

And a spectrum of light fill your heart of hearts.

And show you, as a beacon, the narrow, sure way.

 

 When thoughts race, and won't be still,

And lightning rages in your mind, disturbing you.

When things seem to go awry, or indeed, when things seem to go right

But there's an air of disquiet in your inner being. 

 

Then, may He come to you. (He comes in the storm.)

May the Father bless you with His Divine quietness and solitude. Total stillness.

May the Son shine into the totality of your unique self. Perfect brilliance.

May the Spirit, the Divine breath, whisper into your ear that you are a much loved child of God, the apple of His eye.

And may you, wherever you find yourself, experience the 'thin place' of God's inestimable presence.

Amen.

 

 

 
 

Cymru/Wales: Beddgelert

Beddgelert (meaning 'grave of Gelert') lies just south of Snowdon and is a cool village of grey quarry stone houses and a handful of gift/craft shops. But it gets its name from the grave of Gelert to be found a five minute walk away from the village. Ofcourse, as with most things in the land of myth and magic, there are competing stories and things cannot be taken at face value. Take for instance the actual grave of Gelert.

The story I commend is that within the grave, under a tree in an open meadow, lies Gelert. So far, so good. But who was Gelert? Gelert was a local sixth century saint.

However, an alternative story is that Prince Llewelyn (who lived a few hundred years ago) buried his dog there. Yes, according to the inscription on the tomb a dog is buried within. The story is quaint: Prince Llewelyn killed his blood-stained dog thinking it had mauled and killed his baby son. However, after killing the faithful hound, Prince Llewelyn found his baby son unharmed and there beside him was a dead wolf. Yes, the faithful dog had infact saved Prince Llewelyn's son and killed the wolf in a bloody battle. Upset at what he had done, the Prince buried his dog with great honour.

The dog story never happened - it was infact 'invented' by local traders a couple of hundred years ago who wanted to boost tourism and their income, and within the grave lies the man, Saint Gelert.

Sadly, the inscription on the tomb tells only the story of the dog and so visitor's who gaze upon the tomb believe they're looking at the tomb of a faithful hound, little realising that a man of faith lies within. I often wonder what Gelert would think of it all. It seems rather sad and disrespectful that any man, let alone an ancient man of faith, should be ignored in such a fashion. And yet it's comforting to know that to the Creator of all, to the One who matters most, Gelert is indeed known and that is what matters most.

The photographs are from my latest jaunt to my other home, and more photographs will follow shortly.