the time of year

Most of the leaves have fallen foul now of the waning Autumn giving way to elder brother Winter, her wardrobe of colour expended for another year.

The oppression of the season thence begins. Stepping off the bus in Edinburgh city centre, I couldn't help but be hit with what felt like a tidal wave of expectation. Everyone expectantly rushing and buying and planning and talking and complaining. 'Xmas' was upon me. In that instant, having been fine in my day till that point, my soul shuddered, stopped in my tracks by the transcendent, insidious, nauseating praxis this time of year imposes.

By this, I mean all of the focus upon the material, the shameful but insatiable lust for consumption, the seasonal paraphernalia (intended as broad term, here used to include anything from mince pies to decorations, Christmas music to Santas' grottos), the highest moral good is the exhortation to be 'nice' if just for the 'season of goodwill' (it's easy to be nice!). The focus on conjuring that vague and spineless ‘fuzzy’ feeling that so much value is placed upon. A time of year where people are praised for being so good as to put up with being around their families for a while. None of which Christians and church services are immune from at this time of year either.

And all of this is set against a backdrop where the all of those who do not ‘have’, who are not ‘sorted’ in our society are excluded and marginalised: the elderly, widows, orphans, those without family, those who are struggling with life, those socially and economically disadvantaged in some way, the mentally ill. Save, of course, the rush of charities giving us bountiful opportunity to conscience salve.

Amidst all of this, it is sometimes hard to see where the light is. The prophet Isaiah (9:2) suggests that there is light. That light has dawned, one which we can see and shines on us through the darkness. This was his way of talking about God, as light, and specifically of Jesus. As light, he guides us, shows us the way, provides security and most importantly draws us into the light, away from the confusion of the darkness. Being in the light allows for correct orientation of life, knowledge of true love and recognition of real beauty.

And the light bids us come. For all the above and more, whether you know the light already or are yet to step into it. This is what Christmas directs us to again, the arresting beauty and completion of the light – Jesus, and the path of true humanity: to love the light and to share the light.

autumn: fireworks and carpet

I love Autumn. Part of the delight of the season, is that, more than any other, it denotes transition; that summer is passing and winter is coming. Colours change and leaves fall. It's very appeal bound up with this impression of transition, that it is to be enjoyed whilst it's here as it won't be around for long - it beckons that shouldn't be taken for granted.

It's the colours though that throw me. The trees changing out of their green uniform and putting on their finest for the Autumn celebration. Yellow, orange, brown, red, auburn in all of their different shades.

Fireworks. 5th November gives us firework displays in abundance but Autumn reminds me of fireworks. Just last weekend I found myself in the lake district. The hillsides were a burnt orange from all the ferns dying off. Set against this burnt orange background were hundreds and thousands of trees in their Autumn colour. From the hills, looking down on the melee of colours, it is the closest we can come I think to a firework display from nature. The sea of varying colour is so vibrant, it explodes onto the otherwise grey, windy and wet British Autumn-going-on-Winter.

Carpet. The beauty of the colour continues even when the leaves fall. It's often when I least expect too that I'll come across a carpet of leaves mostly on some grassy area. It's like a painting, as the leaves are strewn over the expanse. Then the frost lays it icing making the carpet crisp to walk across as early morning air assaults the nostrils.

Delight indeed.

rainbow

elegant archway
[silence]

gateway of beauty
[silence]

suspended spectrum,
nature's picture frame,
rains grace on urban grey
breathing life into barren scape.

a necklace of finest colour
vibrant difference crystallised,
eye drawn towards and away
through and beyond.

[silence]

phlegmatic resilience
in our face of
indifference.

Sunrise to Twilight (memories of summer)

The above titled poem which follows came out of a conversation with a friend last night.

The gentle orange orb's rise
announces breaking day across the skies,
a welcoming song bids me awake
anticipates what's to come -
new hopes, old fears, Opportunity to take.

Reassuring rays caress my face
melting yesterday's cobwebs' embrace.
The glow seeps through and stains my insides,
warmth and security rise up
and beckon my smile like jazz melody.

Strange communion between
creature and creation, as the
sun's rise makes its declaration
provokes the soul ecstatic with
quiet joy of such union as
beauty is unveiled.

Midday malaise is interrupted
directed from its thronging way down
the ally of rest, just for a while.
Humanity comes together, we talk
and laugh and exchange - how strange,
Contentment reached as destination.

Diamonds arranged on jet black velvet
pulse pearlescent white from
the consuming expanse above.
Peering upward to vast array
becoming easily lost as a leaf
tossed to and fro by Autumn wind.

The Elegant Distants form their
constellations as if working together -
all the more my wonder.
Yet in the midst there is
mysterious calm and awe-laden peace which
whispers when I listen closely.

Memories - these on-going gems
transport and share themselves when contemplated,
all the more I yearn for them,
my memories of summer.

carrion

This is a poem I wrote for when thoughts in our mind circle relentlessly in our minds like vultures, weighing down our spirit.

Rise into the Light


Ideas, dreams, anxieties, thoughts
Rush around busying the mind.
Sometimes colliding, creating
More of the same – creative
Destruction plays its game.


Sometimes, in torrents they come
The deluge submerging, overwhelming
Subsuming and blurring each other
Rendered opaque, as blackness
As burdensome – clarity no clarity.


Captivity to darkness is embraced,
The melody of creative destruction.
To languish there is a millstone,
Weighing down; exerting pressure.
Yet, the burden is needless.


Needless – the burden that is,
Its power is a fiction claiming
Jurisdiction of the mind.
The fiction that there’s no way
Through, no way out.


The light – there for those who seek it.
After the torrent, there’s calm
To rise up to the surface of
The water and break through
To breath and life and clarity.


Authority asserted – clarity regained
Ideas, dreams, anxieties, thoughts
Have their character again.
Creative destruction plays its game –
Will you play it at its own game?


Rise into the light.

the knife-edge and the circle

My mate's new baby boy.

The knife-edge and the circle. The knife-edge: we're alive then we could be dead at any time entering into what seems so much to be a final and dark unknowable unknown. The circle: with every person passing there is at least another to replace the passing.

Why do I struggle to suspend my disbelief that I must cease to be? A question, I think, that all humanity must wrestle and come to terms with in some form or another. As a person of faith, I would contend that this is equally the case for people of faith in one religion or another. Very practically, we can't be around to know what it's like to be dead - this makes sense insofar as we seek to view it from our current 'state', this state of life, the only state we can know without 'transferring' to another even if (notwithstanding the large assumptions just made through the introduction of the terms 'state' and 'transferring'. Here I take 'state' simply to connote that there has to be a distinction between life and death, nothing else.) we will know what it's like to exist (in some form) in a non-physically-alive-as-we-know-it-state, from that state not from out current one. This is a factor I detect which contributes to our struggle to suspend our disbelief.

Further, it is this factor that makes sense of death as an unknowable unknown. It is in this light I'd contend we have to accept this unanswerable struggle and question, that we cannot suspend our disbelief. So rather, it must be a question of how we are to deal with/cope with/face/manage our lack of belief and it is in this that I feel we face the prospect of our ceasing to be with a level mind.

Fragility. We are fragile, which brings us back to the knife-edge and the circle. Although our very life is so fragile and subject to so many possible perceived 'risks' (about which the media are excellent exaggerating) this very fragility can enable everyday to be approached and valued and made the most of as it should. Through our fragility we can enter into a fullness of life as we value every day, not missing any opportunity and see the beauty that is always present around us, in nature, in people, in the arts, in the smallest details and in the most comprehensive ideas. This is a liberating fragility, not a tyrannical and pessimistic 'I might die tomorrow so had better make the most of today' fragility. We come to value that there can be strength in and through our weaknesses and find beauty in unexpected places.

Beauty in the midst of and as well as and in spite of the mutilation in our world...now that's a hopeful prospect.

noise

is everywhere. Crashing in around us crowding out its very creators and recipients. No thought for rest, not thought of sanctuary or quiet as the tyranny of our 21st century urgency presses in around our Western feet. Vision: clouded distorted inverted arrested.

TV, radio, internet, media, words and platitudes and opinions and never-ending 24 hour drum beating and

Adverts, marks of Empire, assault our senses as we journey on the street in the home nowhere off-limits - why should it be? Surely we have to make way for Empire and her unstoppable and implacable reign?

Rest. What's that? You mean to say you have one evening in your week where you speak to no-one, communicate with no-one in order to STOP and REST?

How ironic - it actually sounds vaguely subversive behaviour to stop, rest contemplate, find sanctuary. This, however, is strength not weakness.

welcome

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