Showing posts from August, 2017

Midweek Musing. I'm ok, but ...

I had a plan for today's musing, but then this poem burst forth this morning, so you're getting that instead.

Notice of intent to abdicate
I am no longer coping.
The ghosts are returning
with their would-have-beens,
could-have-beens, should-
have-beens, if I had not ...

I am no longer coping.
The sleep-in has lasted
days, closed curtains
have stayed – I did not
mean to hibernate.

I am no longer coping.
The we will see and what
will be devoid of comfort,
thrill or hope, as I sink
in all this possibility.

I am no longer coping,
teeth gritted, fist
clenched, feet turning circles
about the room, but who
is my opponent?

I am no longer coping.
It is only me to
decide for, but it's only
to decide.

I am no longer coping
with not knowing, not having
a God responsible for the step
by step plan for me to tread:
I would so like to

* I feel like this needs qualification, for mum if for no-one else, I am ok. I just had a moment, which spewed forth into a poem that took on a life of i…

Julius Caesar: Essential Theatre at the Edinburgh Fringe

Shakespeare. Australian accents. For a bit over an hour, I was home. I was lost in the world of political intrigue, murder, war, ancient Roman Empire. I was found, in the language of poetry and humanity, in the stories of these women striving with, for, against each other and themselves.

It was so polished, the actors were their characters, two or three each. In the round, the effortless playing of the action to all four sides was so carefully choreographed as to feel utterly natural and unrehearsed.

The use of colour to both link Caesar to her soldiers (with red) who then betrayed her, and then with her white cloak to Octavius and show Antony's shifting allegiance from Brutus et al. to Octavius, was  quite effective. Simple costume changes for the labourers / crowd and Lucius clearly established the difference in rank and I'm sure helped to enable the slick and seamless flow of the action.

It was so embodied, we were drawn in; the audience was Rome. I had to stop myself from…

Midweek Musing: What a weekend!

Come and watch Pride and Prejudice at an old stately home, she said. Yes, I said. And that was just the beginning ...

Knowing I would be coming to stay for a few days, my dear friend planned the final burst of activities for her team's participation in a massive international scavenger hunt for when she could enlist my services for photography and video. I cannot show you any of that, as the competition is in progress, but to those who thought my visit to Lindisfarne Holy Island was for breathing and contemplation, I must apologise for misleading you. That was not the purpose at all, despite such serene photographs as I can show you from our afternoon on the island.

The rest of the afternoon and most of Saturday were also taken up with scavenger hunt activities, before the main event of the weekend: Pride and Prejudice adapted for stage by Illyria Theatre Company. We arrived at the house, and I gasped. (I did a lot of that this weekend). Wow. A Regency era home, in gorgeous sandst…

Midweek Musing. On being knocked down and getting up again

Captain Picard once said to Data, 'You can do everything right and still lose.'

I remembered this as I processed the disappointment of another 'no'.

You can be an excellent candidate and still miss out on the job, an interview, a scholarship.

The thing you cannot avoid is the feeling, as your application is rejected, that you are not an excellent candidate. The knowledge that someone else was deemed more excellent, a better fit, more worthy candidate inevitably makes you feel unworthy, unwanted, not good enough.

I'll be honest, I don't have a solution, or even any suggestions, for others in similar circumstances.

The reality that for every dozen applications you submit, you might expect to receive one scholarship offer is no comfort when your energy has poured into dozens of applications and the one or two you've received are the smaller ones, meaning you must continue to pour energy into more applications or work, and have nothing left for the task for whi…

Story Eucharist

those who gather at this table have chosen to follow a story
the story of God, who loves
who, from an eternal well of love,
created all that lives – created humans for love,
and invited us into a relationship for life: full, rich, life.
The story is a story of human turning away, and returning,
of prophets calling, men and women singing,
God forgiving and restoring, again and again.

The story of this table, this meal,
is the story of Jesus, who we follow;
who was born under a special star,
inhabited by the Sacred Spirit.
Jesus looked at women and welcomed, men, and healed,
children, and delighted.
The story of Jesus is a story of love,
of peace and justice and courage.

On the night when he was betrayed –
for not all understood, or accepted –
he took the bread they were to eat, gave thanks and broke it.
He looked at his friends and said, this is my body, breaking for you
Eat, and whenever you eat, remember me.
At the end of the meal he took a cup and gave thanks.
He said, thi…

MIdweek Musing: on costly blessings

When others preach that God heals our brokenness, Rev Dr Richard Frazer preaches that God disables us, makes the journey costly.

This Sunday, I was struck by, and grateful for this courageous and honest reflection on the story of Jacob's wrestling with God.

From the story, Richard invited us to hear that faith is not blind allegiance or smug certainty: it is wrestling.

To acknowledge that we might get hurt when we wrestle with God. And when we have struggled, we hold on to that blessing - we hold on to it. For it is the only thing that counts. The blessing, the love, the being seen and known by the Divine counts more than any cost.

For a moment, with these words, I held my breath. For in that reading of the story I heard my own. I had struggled, and in the struggle I, like Jacob, refused to let God go. I walked away from the tussle, well, more like limping, as with Jacob. I had been injured by the struggle. Broken, in a way. In time I came to learn my name, not quite so instantly …