AUTHENTICITY

Two sides,
Light, dark, hold hands,
Both are part of the whole,
Each one is the truth in one soul,
Needed
My friend
For the soul’s good health, combined they
Make us whole, authentic,
A living light,
Shining

NEW YEAR’S EVE

My heart is full this New Year’s Eve. So many things that I would like to make new but can’t. My eyes, my ability to walk, the restoration of feeling in my hands and feet, lungs so that I can breathe properly. That DAMNED cancer! But I can never make those things new.

I have tried to turn everything to the good – and I believe that I have succeeded, for the most part. Done everything. You know – been positive, seen my glass as half full not half empty. All the things you are meant to do. Smiled when I was feeling like shit. Forgiven people for not understanding and for treating me badly, because they cannot walk a mile in my shoes. Taken insult after insult, and not allowed myself to be affected by it. Sometimes the trial has felt too great. Been called “Inspirational,” when all I wanted was a hug and the permission to collapse in a heap and cry. Sometimes being inspirational is a heavy burden to carry. You can’t always meet up to expectations or to your name.

I have spent this last year going through all the emotions under the sun. But mostly grieving. Grieving for that which I have lost. In fact, it seems as if I have lost everything that I was. Sometimes I have felt that I am just a thing on the bed. Not a person at all. Totally dependent upon others for almost every need. Unable to make choices for myself. Controlled by others. And I have been remembering. Remembering what I once was. An academic. A bird watcher. A pianist. A liver of nature. And oh yes, I have tried to do good, and to be happy in the fact that I can still hear, taste, and smell nature. But you know what? There is NOTHING like SEEING it!

I am being honest here. Sometimes it feels like shit.

And if I say that there is a sense in which I “see” far more clearly now that I am blind, and if I say that I know great joy in the things that are not material, it is as true as my saying “Life is shit, and I feel like shit.” Both things are part of me, and make up the whole.

The one thing about me is that I am honest. I don’t fake it. So you get what you get. Shit and stars are not mutually exclusive. Believing and having faith in a God of some kind, even a broken one, broken like me, and doubting and questioning and enduring a torment of the mind, are not mutually exclusive.

Therefore my writing may change from day to day, and even hour to hour – but it will aways reflect the truth of the moment.

At this moment, as we stand on the threshold of a New Year, I wish more than anything that I could have my eyesight back, and that I could see the birds and the Spring again. I wish mire than anything in the world that indeed, all things could be made new, as we read in the Bible. But I know that when I read those words, they have to be taken in a spiritual sense. And I want my body and my circumstances to be made new. It will not happen. And so I grieve. But in amongst all that grief is a great joy.

Light and dark, joy and pain, faith and doubt, can all walk hand in hand together. And here is where I stand this New Years Eve.

THE END OF TIME

The world is in motion
Nothing still
As the Dance goes on
Weaving
Gliding
Twisting
Forming patterns like the crystals of a snowflake
Painting pictures
Creating stories
Dying
Birthing
Re-creating
Is there really a time for everything
Or is everything in its time?
And is there a difference?
Soon, time will be no more
The Dance will end
As eternity calls
The picture will be complete
But how will the story end?
As eternity calls
A new book will be opened
A book called “The Book of Life”
And in this book
A day will be like a thousand years
And a thousand years like a day
And here, there will be no endings
Or even beginnings
For time will be no more
In a life that is eternal

GENTLY BOW THE TREES

Gently
The branches bow
On the trees, worshipping
What is, knowing they are one with
Nature
Singing
For joy to the Source of their life,
Now, the dancing begins,
The sun leaps, dance
With them

NEW WORLD BECKONING

Stable
You gave shelter
When there was no one there
Who would make room for a woman
With child
Today
There is still no room at the inn
For those untidy lives
That do not hit
The mark

Make room
For untidy
Ones who beg for mercy
For in truth they may be angels
Lighting
Your path
Angels do not always have wings
But tangled hair, no shoes,
Appearances
Deceive

Judge not
Those whom you see
Who do not look the same
As you, who walk the streets begging
One day
You too
May find yourself in that dark place
May there be a stable
To shelter you
Give warmth

The world
Is untidy
Littered with lives gone wrong
Upside down people challenging
The right
Way up
Ones who really are upside down
A new world of mercy
Beckons us all
Greet it

HOLY INNOCENCE

Danger
Lies in the path
Of holy innocence
The darkness stalks those born to die
Who wins
The stakes?
Those who lose their lives will gain them
Though harsh may seem the path
Hush gentle one
Don’t cry

HOLY INNOCENCE

Danger
Lies in the path
Of holy innocence
The darkness stalks those born to die
Who wins
The stakes?
Those who lose their lives will gain them
Though harsh may seem the path
Hush gentle one
Don’t cry

HIDDEN GEM

Hidden
In the dark earth
Of our deep suffering
Is the gem that will bring us through
Scrabble
In earth
Until your fingers find the gem
Hold it, and name it Hope,
Never let go,
Grasp it

RETURN ANOTHER WAY

Return
Another way
From the still, silent night
That touched you deep within your soul,
Narrow
May be
That way and dark, but the darkness
Will be he safer way
Eternal light
Will shine

CHRISTMAS DAY 2017

Sitting on the hill above the river in the dying sun, it felt unreal. In fact, the whole day had felt unreal.

“I’m confused,” I had said to my friend Ann, upon entering the Church that morning.

“I think we’re meant to be confused,” she replied.

I am blind, and was desperately hoping to find someone called Ana, to whom I wanted to give a card. So, when my husband told me that I was talking to Ann, my brain froze. Despite the fact that I knew Ann very well, and had conversations with her most mornings, it did not penetrate my brain that it was Ann and not Ana whom I was talking to. My ears deceived me, hearing the name “Ana” and not “Ann.” I began to root in my handbag for the card that I had to give to Ana. It was difficult because not only am I blind and wheelchair bound, but also I have hardly any feeling in my hands and feet. Somehow or other, my brain gave out on me, and my whole world felt blurred. This was not an uncommon experience for me. Mostly, my world feels blurred, now. My brain seems unable to catch up. I spend my whole life with my brain attempting, without much success, to catch up. This leads to panic, as I try to maintain relationships with people. My world is permanently blurred, leading to all kinds of misunderstandings, as people do not understand what is happening. My heart becomes heavy as I begin to lose hope that I can ever have proper relationships with people again.

And so, here I was, on December 25th. 2017, Christmas Day, about to give someone the wrong Christmas card. My confusion was no longer in its infancy, but fully grown, and despite the fact that no one was going to die, felt life threatening. I felt despairing, yet at the same time knowing that no one could possibly understand how awful and how soul destroying this was for me. In moments like this, all that I wanted to do was to give way to the deep tears that were inside me, yet never quite making it into the outside world. As time passed, they had become more and more insistent, but my controls were strong. A lifetime’s training had made very sure that under no circumstances would tears fall easily from my eyes. Yet on this particular morning, they needed to. Inside, I had been harbouring the pain of a whole lifetime. It felt as if I could not hang onto it any longer, and yet, I knew full well that even now, my controls would not go. Guilt! That was my worst enemy. One must never cry, about ANYTHING.

Having had Ann’s assurance that this was a day on which we were meant to be confused (I wasn’t sure why!) I made my way, slowly, and blindly, to the front of the Church, tapping my way along, down the long central aisle, with my white blind cane. My emotions were all over the place. If I went to the front I would feel trapped, and suffocated. Yet if I stayed at the back, I would be unable to bear the constant knocking of my wheelchair by the small children as they ran around unchecked. Unable to see, each jolt would take me by surprise, until I would be unable to bear it any more, and have to leave. And so, my confusion was added to, and I felt like a gibbering wreck, making my way to the front. The whole of my being was crying out “No, no,” but it was the only place I could be. As I eventually settled myself in my wheelchair at the very front of the Church, I attempted to calm myself. There was noise all around me. People coming and going. I had no idea who they were, or what they were doing. It scared me. That may sound stupid to someone who can see, but in the darkness, all sounds can feel threatening, unless you know exactly what they are and why they are there. Again – confusion. I seem to spend my life in confusion. But it’s okay, because Ann said that we’re meant to be confused. A very confusing statement if ever I heard one, but who am I to argue? Panic began to rise within me. I was stuck now. I spent the next quarter of an hour on the verge of bolting. I still do not know how I managed to stay put. But there was a sense in which I did not want to flunk it. This was a challenge to me, and I did not want to fail.

The organ began to play, and I recognised many Christmas Carols being worked into the whole, and being improvised upon. Christmas Carols. The sickness began to rise inside me. It all felt too much for me. It was overwhelming. Christmas had never been a happy time for me, and Christmas Carols, for some reason, encapsulated all of my feelings. Feelings of dread. Feelings of fear. Feelings of repulsion. Suffocation. Memory can sometimes be abterrible thing.

The whole day seemed unreal to me. Going through the motions. And then…..sitting under the dying sun. I too was dying with it. ;to be continued)

LONG AWAITED NIGHT

Long awaited night
I salute you
Night of glory, night of light,
Transforming our drab lives,
And nature’s transitory beauty,
You hold forever
The Universe in Your hands,
Along with the Cross
On which You died
To bring us all to glory.

CRADLED

A Poem For the Beaten and Abused Child, of which there are, and will be many, this Christmas:-

Cradled in the arms of the night
The child assaulted, beaten, torn
She rests from the arrows of the fight

Vulnerable, this her plight
Waiting fot the coming dawn
Cradled in the arms of the night

Many cannot bear the sight
Of pain in the one who thus was borne
She rests from the arrows of the fight

Everyone talks about the light
Not seeing the pain within her form
Cradled in the arms of the night

None can understand the fright
Of the one that is lying so forlorn
She rests from the arrows of the fight

Alone this being feels the might
Of evil’s grip, in the gathering storm
Cradled in the arms of the nighth
She rests from the arrows of the fight

I SEE THE LIGHT

I dream
Tonight of light
As yet unseen to shine
Into the unknown tomorrow
The gate
Opens
To a new world shining with stars
To guide us on our way
Pierce my darkness
Tonight

In dark
I see more light
Of a different kind
Only visible to my soul
I see
With eyes
Wide open to another realm
A shining place to be
Alone I sing
My songs

DARKNESS GLOWS

Darkness glows. I cannot explain it. It just is. I cannot argue it. I just know it. Whilst everyone is seeking light desperately asking for prayers to be answered, and questioning why God does not answer them – are usually asking for a change in their circumstances, I am content with the darkness. I find God, and the darkness glows with light. In the darkness I am stripped of all that does not matter. In the darkness I find the greatest light I have ever known. In this, I must not fear. The present is what I have got and the present is alive with life and glowing with light. I meet people all the time who are dissatisfied and who are seeking something different. People without peace. Even Christians. They will not find peace until they seek the Cross. Until they realise that God’s peace is not of this world – not to do with the things of this world. The key to making the darkness glow is to embrace it. To let it embrace YOU. In the darkness you are sanctified. In the darkness you find detachment. In the darkness you find peace. Not without pain and struggle. But you find it. Your wrestling is because you want to hang onto the things of this world. Your wrestling is because you forget – because you are seduced by the desires and the values of THIS world. Because you forget that we are set apart. The minute I forget that, I flounder. The minute I try to get out of my darkness, I lose my light. And I sink

AN ALTERNATIVE CHRISTMAS STORY

It had been dreadful. Two days ago I had been in the chemotherapy unit at the hospital. It was December 23rd, and the Anniversary of my grandmother’s death – the only person who had ever shown me any real love in my life. I came from a violent family, and many were the times that I had been shipped off to my grandparents’ farm in the dead of the night. My parents would have been fighting, and often there was breaking glass and clashing knives. I had spent my life, as a child and teenager, expecting one of my parents to be dead on the floor. I lived in fear. One time, my father put his hand through a plate glass window, and there was blood everywhere. One time he came at us brandishing a knife, and I thought that was it. We would all die. I huddled in a corner, waiting to die.

On arrival at my grandmother’s, I would be taken into her big feather bed, and for a time I would feel safe.

On December 23rd. 2013, I did NOT feel safe. I had been going through chemotherapy for six months, and it was always a horrible experience. I had always thought that cancer patients were given love and care in the hospital. This was not my experience. The staff were rushed off their feet, with too much to do, and not enough equipment. On one occasion they had even run out of the pump that pumped one of the drugs into me in a certain way, at a certain pace, which had to be very exact. The nurse had to do it manually, watching the pace at which the drug went in, all the time. One slip, and it would have spelled danger for me. Often, they did not even have pillows on which to rest my arm whilst the drugs were going into me – a process which took four hours. I had dreaded this day, knowing that all the nurses would be in Christmas spirit mode, and that I would be at even greater risk.

Christmas produced such bad memories for me anyway. Memories that I could not even bear to write down. Always, at the approach of Christmas, I would start to shake, my body would start to collapse, and I would feel as if I was going to be sick. Christmas Carols engendered a feeling of dread, and often I would feel as if I was going to pass out during them. I don’t know how I always, in the end, managed to hold onto myself. The feeling of suffocation produced an intense fear reaction in me, and I would want to run away. And here I was, in the chemo ward, trapped. There could be no running now. I could not even get out of bed. The music played while the nurses did their work, with all the jollity of the season. I was shown photos of grandchildren dressed in Christmas hats, on the mobile phones of the nurses. Babies, too. My mother had beaten my babies out of me. She had a deep hatred of babies, and had attempted to abort me – something that she constantly reminded me of, describing in great detail the blood running down the stairs of the flat that she and my father lived in. I survived, much to her displeasure. And now I had cancer – a very advanced cancer – and her opportunity to exterminate me had come again. Telling me that the family could not cope with me, she told me in no uncertain terms that I should relieve them of the burden by going to Switzerland to be exterminated – kindly. This, she never let up on. I should die. Out of consideration for the family. And now it was Christmas, and every horrendous memory of my childhood came back to me as I looked at the photos of all the nurses’ grandchildren in their Christmas hats. I should have died, and my own babies were dead. And I should most certainly die now.

The music played on in the chemotherapy ward, and the nurses were wiggling their bottoms in time to the music as they pumped drugs into people.

I had to wait. The pharmacy had not got everyone’s drugs ready on time. I was informed that it would be at least a two hour wait before they could start administering the drugs to me. Inside, I groaned. I began to feel fear. I began to panic. I was trapped. Trapped in Christmas! There was no running now.

I was in a tiny cubby hole at the end of the ward, as I had to be in a bed because I was so sick. Everyone else was in a chair, having their drugs administered. I was alone. Alone and trapped. But I could still hear the Christmas music, and see the wiggling bottoms. I needed to go to the toilet. I shouted for the nurses to bring me a commode. I was not heard, and I began to panic. I shouted louder and louder. Eventually I was heard, but was told to wait. They were too busy. I waited. The need to have a commode grew and grew until I thought I would burst. The Ward Sister came to me, and explained-kindly – that they were all busy, and to do it in the bed.
“It’s not a problem to me,” she said brightly.
“I don’t have to wash the sheets.”

I was aghast. And I most certainly was NOT going to do it in the bed!

In desperation, I got out my mobile phone, and rang my husband.
“I WANT TO GO TO THE TOILET,” I yelled.
“THEY WON’T BRING ME A COMMODE. GET ME A SOLICITOR HERE.”

As if by magic, a nurse appeared, telling me she was going to get the commode. Job done, I attempted to relax back. But this incident made the panic set in even more. A nurse passed by the end of my bed. I had had enough. I should be dead anyway, and in that moment I made the decision not to fight any more. I called to the nurse, and asked her for the papers to sign to discharge myself. I knew that this decision would end my life. I would receive no more chemotherapy and I would die. It mattered not, to me. I would be out of my suffering, and out of the abuse that had plagued my life. I would never have to see Christmas again. And my mother would be happy. It was the best way for all. My husband was exhausted, and he would no longer have to spend many hours of the night applying ice packs to my body, to try to quell the horrific itch that went from head to toe. At last, he would be able to sleep.

The nurse came to me, and, smiling, she said she would get me the papers.

Time passed, and no papers arrived, and all the nurses were ignoring me. Eventually, the Staff nurse arrived. I repeated the request for the papers. She smiled and went away.

The Christmas music played on. I was offered chocolates – the nurses had a big box of chocolates that they were sharing round. I could not even eat a pot of yoghurt, never mind chocolates! I wondered where my Discharge Papers had gone. Why were they not coming? This was MY decision, not anybody else’s, and I had the right to make that decision. They could not hold me prisoner like this. The panic within me rose even more.

Ultimately, my chemo drugs arrived. They had, as always, had a job to get the cannula in, and it had taken seven attempts. It hurt as the drugs went in. The last drug to go in was dacarbazine – one known to cause intense pain as it went in. I always dreaded the moment when it would start to go in. I was told that even grown men cried as this drug was administered. I never cried once – I determined to tell the nurses jokes as it was going in. Occasionally I would start talking really fast, as the pain increased. It took half an hour for this drug to go in, but on occasions the pump complained, and worked only in fits and starts – it would take a hour for the drug to go in. Despite my fear, it was Christmas, and I had to do the jokes. Inside I felt as if I was in hell.

It was late that evening that I finally got home, emotionally and mentally drained, and physically exhausted, despite the fact that all I had done was lie on the bed. But I had not been able to escape Christmas and all the horrific associations and memories. And the worst was yet to come – Christmas Day itself. I knew that my husband and I were going to be completely alone – with our memories of families who had cast us off, and lost babies. For myself, the memories were worse than I could ever dare to describe. We knew that most people were going to be with family or friends, and we had no one. My husband would continue to struggle to look after me – many times during the last months, he had fallen, trying to get any food at all to me. He too was disabled and in a wheelchair, but in the house he had to walk on crutches. It was a fearful time, for if he broke anything when ge fell, as he had done so many times in the past, we would be sunk. On Christmas Day we knew there would be no one to call on for help. Everyone would be ensconced in families, and my family had refused to come on that day. It had been suggested so many times that I should die, and as I contemplated the future for my husband and myself, I felt helpless and hopeless. He, too, was losing it somehow. Neither of us had any strength left. We talked, and we had a pact that on that day, we would both take some tablets, and without any more ado, we would both be gone. Hey presto – the end to our problems and everyone else’s as well. The worst thing of all was that we had no children – our babies had been killed. We had no one.

Somehow or other we found the strength to get through that day. I survived it, and I survived the cancer. But we are still alone – and we still have our memories. It is almost Christmas again, and we will have to endure Christmas Carols, and talk of families around dining tables. We will struggle to survive on that day, as we do every day. For us, each basic thing that we have to do, that may take two minutes for everyone else, will take half an hour. We will be exhausted.

And yet – I am glad I survived. I am glad I fought in the end. The only thing I wish is that we were not so alone. That someone would comfort us in our pain. But no one knows it. They could not – not unless they could walk a mile in our shoes.

We simply remember that Jesus, the Light of the World, was born in a stable, and that He too was in danger, and had to flee for His life. He, too, was abused, and ultimately killed on a cruel Cross. He knows my pain and sorrow, and as we sing “Hark the herald angels sing” the angels in heaven are singing because we have survived and go on surviving. By God’s grace we carry on – and that is all that any of us can do.

CHRISTMAS 2015

BANG

I wrote the following after a car accudent that we were invokved in a couple if days ago. Another bit to add to my wilderness experience!

In a
Moment your life
Changes for ever, BANG!
Pain courses through your body, head
Wobbles
Neck jerks
With a sickening thud, all stops,
You sit as if nothing
Has happened, dazed,
Fear hits

Then screams
Rise in your throat
You are trapped in your car
All that you want to do is run
You wait
Blinded
The rest of the story is gone
And now you are home laid
Remembering
The thud

In shock
Your body shakes
Tears come incessantly
Soon you will be empty and dry
You pray
For peace
But the trauma floods over you
Will you ever again
Be your old self?
Tell me

THE END OF TIME

The world is in motion
Nothing still
As the Dance goes on
Weaving
Gliding
Twisting
Forming patterns like the crystals of a snowflake
Painting pictures
Creating stories
Dying
Birthing
Re-creating
Is there really a time for everything
Or is everything in its time?
And is there a difference?
Soon, time will be no more
The Dance will end
As eternity calls
The picture will be complete
But how will the story end?
As eternity calls
A new book will be opened
A book called “The Book of Life”
And in this book
A day will be like a thousand years
And a thousand years like a day
And here, there will be no endings
Or even beginnings
For time will be no more
In a life that is eternal

GOING BLIND

Thus is the begunning of my story of going blind, and of how I found my way through thus wilderness experience. It will ultimately chart my journey into the Dark Night of the Soul, and the Luminous Darkness:-

It was approaching Christmas 2016, and I had gone blind. I had known that it was going to happen, and it had happened gradually. With the passing of days and months, everything seemed to disappear from my world. Although it existed I could no longer see it. Everything became black. I existed in a world of darkness.

When I first knew that I was going to go blind, I did not find it difficult to accept. I had had serious and advanced cancer, from which I had almost died. To simply be alive, having gone through so much, was a bonus to me. Life was not easy, however, as I was also unable to walk, and was wheelchair bound. But, there was a sense in which the challenge excited me. I had gone through so much in my life, and survived, and this was just one more challenge, which I was determined to face with fortitude.

As the blindness progressed, I discovered that it was not the physical things that caused me the most difficulty, though those were by no means easy, but the mental and spiritual things. I had in no way expected what happened to me. People did not treat me kindly, but cruelly, and I was very alone. It was the sense of aloneness that caused me the greatest suffering. No longer was I part of the human race. As time passed, and I had to deal with intense hurt and pain caused by peoples’ attitudes towards me, I sensed that I was in fact fighting principalities and powers. I was facing my own demons, and sometimes winning and sometimes not winning. It was a deep wilderness experience for me, and in this parched and thirsty land, I yearned for comfort. In this barren land, I yearned for the fullness of human friendship and companionship. I felt bereft and abandoned. It was the sense of abandonment that tested me the most. It frightened me.

As I had become blinder, gradually more and more people left me and abandoned me to my fate. Instead of offering friendship and help, they walked away. But not only that, they found reason after reason to blame and judge me. Unable to see, I regularly failed to smile and wave at people when they smiled and waved at me. People would also speak to me from a distance, but I was not aware that they were speaking to me. This seemed to goad people, until on one very memorable day, a lady approached me in a most belligerent manner, and told me that I was stuck up and stand offish because she had waved at me often, but I had not waved back. I was then told that I was suffering from the sin of pride.

There are no words to describe the pain that I felt. I almost collapsed inwardly. Life was struggle enough without that. I had been practising being in the present moment, knowing that actually I was okay in that moment, even through my difficulties, and so I need not fear or trouble about the future. The future would take care of itself. I had grace in this present moment. However, in the moment that I was accused if the sin if pride simply for failing to wave because I was blind, my world collapsed. The principalities and powers had finally got me. I was on the way out.

So devastating was this experience that I felt dead. Nothing could ever revive me again. Nothing good could ever get into me again. I was lost. Irretrievably.

TREAD SOFTLY

For all those who find themselves in a dark place right now:-

Tread softly as you go into the night,
For many before have journeyed on this road,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Do not let your dark thoughts cloud your sight,
Raging long while carrying your load,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Take heart from those of old who in the fight,
Preserved within the promise of a heavenly abode,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

The light cannot be quenched by grief’s great might,
Sing, for joy on you will be bestowed,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Speak soft and gentle words when at the height
Of darkest struggles, do not goad,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Let not your heart be troubled, glimpse the bright
Joys ahead, sweet heavenly food,
Tread softly as you go into the night,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

BEYOND THE VEIL

Many
Voices clamour
Until my head jangles
Like a badly tuned orchestra
Today
I saw
Once again men in black coats, move,
Stately, sombre, until
Life receded
Death reigned

Panic
Struck my raw heart
My soul taken up, black
Was this day, until red appeared
And then
I knew
That there is still life to be lived,
In the midst of which death
Interrupts, flows,
Calls us

Softly
Life caresses
My face, swollen, weeping,
Telling me that life will live on,
Because
That’s what
It does, and death cannot conquer
That which lives for ever
Beyond the veil
So fine

WOUNDS

I see
Your wounds but know
That many are hidden
Deep in your heart, wounds recognise
Those of
Others
Reach out and touch each other, stretched
Out so tenderly, let
My wounds touch yours
My friend
Once One
Was sore wounded
Whose heart was only Love
He turned the tables upside down
Lepers
He touched
Scandalised the powerful ones
Wounded He died in pain
We touch His wounds
With ours

THE CROSS AT CHRISTMAS

I am re-blogging this, from last year at this time:-

Yesterday I was talking to one of my friends about suffering. There is no way in this world that we can avoid suffering. It comes to us all. For me, it has come in many forms throughout my life. My family was messy and there was violence within it. We constantly moved around, such that we were never in one place for more than three to six months. Thus, I never learned how to make lasting friendships. My schooling was interrupted. The effect of the violence upon me was immeasurable. I constantly expected to find one of my parents dead on the floor. Yet we had to present ourselves as a respectable, intelligent family. I had to speak correctly. Be dressed correctly. The picture that the world saw was not the real picture. Everything was done in secrecy and I had to keep the awful secret. Often my heart ached and felt so heavy and black that I did not know how I could continue to contain it. But the picture had to be kept up.

If life was not good for me as a child it was even worse as a teenager. The result was that I could not wait to get away from home. By the age of 21 I was married and things did not go brilliantly for much of the time. Then at the age of 27 I was discovered to have advanced tuberculosis. After three months in hospital on complete bed rest and barrier nursed I returned home cured, but in order to keep the tuberculosis at bay I had to be on injections and drugs for 18 months.

The worst time for me however was when it was discovered that I had and advanced blood cancer and that it had spread all over my body. Many of the tumours were massive and it was not known whether I could be cured. The expectation seemed to be that there was a grave risk of my dying.

I survived despite everything but as has already been said elsewhere on this website, I have been left blind and in a wheelchair with no feeling in my hands or feet.

There have been many other things in my life that have caused intense suffering. I have found my own way through these things but I am convinced that the only way to deal with suffering is to face it head on and not attempt to deny its existence. For many of my friends, the approach is the opposite. They wanted to hear nothing of the word suffering. Not that they have never suffered but it is as If they want to live their lives in a protected bubble.

For me the only thing that makes sense is the Cross. The only thing that gives peace is the Cross. I do not have to be or do anything at the foot of the Cross. We are now approaching Christmas and in the midst of Christmas the only thing that gives me peace is the Cross. The one who was born in a stable and not a palace was to die a cruel death on a Cross, as a common criminal.

If you don’t go with the Cross you go with the world and what the world is doing. In the Cross you have to be another way. If you don’t go with the Cross you are in denial about the reality of suffering. But it IS something. It is real.

I cannot just be with the light of Christmas. I HAVE to hold the Cross in front of me all through Christmas. The Cross is just as much part of our lives as is the stable. And following the stable was the desert and the flight into Egypt and the slaughter of the innocents. The salughter of inncoent children and adults goes on today, and will continue to do so throughout the Christmas period. People will be dying. People will be suffering. And that child born in a stable was headed for a Cross. And that is why, this Christmas, I will be holding a crucifix in my hand.

HILLS. A Sestina

There was a time when hills were just hills,
They had no meaning, they just were,
Until the day they became mysterious,
Sometimes dark, sometimes light,
Enticing, entrancing, beckoning,
What wonders did they hide?

Enfolded within them, I wanted to hide,
Be absorbed into those hills,
Their spirit seemed to be beckoning,
From wherever they were,
Within their darkness I knew there was light,
Something so mysterious.

Life to me was mysterious,
So often I’d wanted to hide,
Shrink back from the light,
Now I’d found the hills,
In this new place where we were,
Gently they were beckoning.

Why would they be beckoning?
This to me was mysterious,
Standing where we were,
I no longer wanted to hide,
Someone had given me the hills,
Secreting their everlasting light.

I was now drawn to that light,
As I felt it beckoning,
I knew there was glory in those hills,
A glory so mysterious,
That they never truly could hide,
It fell wherever we were.

And that was where we were,
Enfolded in their light,
Love bade us hide,
It was Love that was beckoning,
It was all so mysterious,
The glory of the hills.

One day I found the hills hiding their light,
I could see from where we were that they were beckoning,
Though it was so mysterious, in their glory I’d hide.

WALKING

WE OFTEN ASK THE QUESTION “WHY?” WHEN WE ARE IN THE WILDERNESS

Walking,
Pushing on, pain
Pressing every fibre,
Grief overwhelms, hot tears falling,
Why did
You go,
Abandon me to suffering
Take away nourishment,
Leaving me cold?
Tell me

HELD

Upon saying “Goodbye” to a dear friend

Still is the world
At the saying of Goodbye
We hold our breath
At the awesomeness
Of that which awaits us
That place where you have gone
A place of light
Too bright for our sullied eyes
And as we say Goodbye
We know our own poverty
Our smallness
In the face of infinity
And we pray
That we too
May approach that place of light
Unworthy though we are
Inspired by love and faith and light
We dare to say
“I too will follow”
And in that moment we are held
We take the Bread
Broken for us
To feed us in our brokenness
Held in the everlasting arms
That never will let us go

DID YOU SEE?

Did you
See rainbows dance
After the rainstorm stopped?
When darkness fills your eyes, your heart
Still sees
Imagine
What your heart could see when set free
From the things of this world,
Things so wondrous,
Behold!

NEW WORLD BECKONING

Stable
You gave shelter
When there was no one there
Who would make room for a woman
With child
Today
There is still no room at the inn
For those untidy lives
That do not hit
The mark

Make room
For untidy
Ones who beg for mercy
For in truth they may be angels
Lighting
Your path
Angels do not always have wings
But tangled hair, no shoes,
Appearances
Deceive

Judge not
Those whom you see
Who do not look the same
As you, who walk the streets begging
One day
You too
May find yourself in that dark place
May there be a stable
To shelter you
Give warmth

The world
Is untidy
Littered with lives gone wrong
Upside down people challenging
The right
Way up
Ones who really are upside down
A new world of mercy
Beckons us all
Greet it

I DREAM TONIGHT

I dream
Tonight of light
As yet unseen to shine
Into the unknown tomorrow
The gate
Opens
To a new world shining with stars
To guide us on our way
Pierce my darkness
Tonight

CROSS

It’s hard to be left out,
It’s hard, while candles glow and speak of glory,
While the warmth of promise caresses shining faces,
And you are left out,
In darkness,
In pain,
In sadness,
Oh how you would long to be there,
Glowing too with them,
Full of hope and anticipation,
But as you lie,
You remember,
It was no picnic for the One Who borought the Light,
The One Who was and is the Light,
Born in the darkness,
Born lowly, pushed out,
Born in danger,
Born having to flee,
A refugee,
A hunted One,
The Cross was ever nigh,
And today
In the warm glowing light of candles
There is at the centre a Cross,
And as I remember,
I too take up my Cross
In the hard light of morning.