Mr William Stafford. Poet.

I found this poem while randomly blog surfing and it struck a chord as I travel home from my sojourn in Nashville, TN. Communication is something that none of us are expert at (even a post grad in it doesnt always help) and all of us send out signals whether we acknowledge it or no .... So for your poetic pleasure can I present Mr William Stafford. Heres to being awake;

A Ritual To Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

Hallelujah

Thanks Nashville. You've been great. See you next time. A little song because parting is such sweet sorrow. m

Maundy Thursday with Martin Luther King

In a church in the middle of Nashville( a town not renowned for its civil rights) , twenty of us gathered to watch a film on the life of Martin Luther King. It was mostly documentary footage of the struggle for civil rights, interspersed with speeches from Dr King. The sheer brutality of the police and the reactions of the crowds to the non violence of the marchers were shocking to watch and realise that this happened not long ago.
In one of his early speeches he quoted a John Donne poem which speaks of our connectedness to each other as humans. And suddenly it seemed appropriate for Easter Weekend when we celebrate the ultimate humanity of God becoming man and dying a very human death.
We are all connected this weekend wherever we are and however we are. Life is messy but for those feeling alone or lonely this weekend where death becomes hope and darkness light – here is John Donne.

No Man is an Island

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

Dark Woods

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi retrovai per una selva oscura,
che la diritta via era smarrita.

Midway in the journey of our life
I came to myself in a dark wood,
for the straight way was lost.

You can always tell its been a good day when I find myself reading Dante. But sometimes that’s where it’s at. I have spent most of the last year travelling. Consuming culture in Paris, eating at the sacred table of the Riddells in New Zealand (think Aslans table with better wine) , living in a beach hut in Vietnam, taking a boat trip up the Mekong Delta, faced the best and the worst of the human condition in Cambodia, trekked through the hills of Northern Thailand, elephant riding , white water rafting, come home to the embrace of a loving community and now for almost the last 2 months I have been in my second home in Nashville TN, writing, wrestling with God in the mountains, dealing with the realities and the messiness of life and relationships, good, bad , painful and wonderful at the same time.

And right now I find myself in a dark wood where the straight way is lost. Face to face with a painful truth that problems don’t change by travelling – you still carry them with you. Answers aren’t always easier to find sitting on a beach or in a log cabin in the mountains. I’ve learned much, experienced the divine in new ways, am happier with who I am as a person and yet still haven’t found the answer. I seem to be involved in a search for a new way of living, a new way of being – a structure to direct and illuminate the next part of my life and in truth I am a little afraid. I head home very soon and am still not sure what I will do next.

I don’t want to leave this totally bleak because although Dante spent most of his time in hell looking down, he did eventually emerge and walk under the sky again and when he looked up he saw the stars.

Wild Horses

So I’m back in the lowlands with many things to tell of my time in the mountain cabin but a few will suffice tonight. I wrestled with my demons, first hating the solitude then coming to love it. There was much thinking, praying and writing. And a good flick through some tunes on the Ipod from a long time ago. Listening to Achtung Baby and even now all these years later sometimes songs seem somehow relevant to life.… ‘Who’s gonna ride your Wild Horses’ jumped out at me and knocked me over…. Heres a few lyrics – take from them what you will. That’s your right and the beauty of all art in the eye of the interpreter, and who’s to say if you are right or wrong.

You're dangerous 'cause you're honest
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt

You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left on a beach
Well you tell me things I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach

Hey hey sha la la
Hey hey sha la la

Who's gonna ride your wild horses
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea
Who's gonna ride your wild horses
Who's gonna fall at the foot of thee


In other news, I have come back down from the mountains to the first stirrings of spring. It had snowed on the mountains and I sat out on the porch, coffee in hand, wrapped in a quilt and watched the red Cardinals playing in the snow. Now back down in the valley the whole earth is quivering with the promise of new life and growth. The sun is shining and the first flowers are pushing tentatively through the darkness of the soil and into the light. May we all do the same.

Dr its a strange Love

or I how learnt to stop worrying and love .......

writing.

Writing-she’s got me; I have the sickness and am not sure what to do with it. Part of me wants this life of spending time in coffee shops and log cabins and small rooms with desks. Having time for people and place and knowing what it is to live that life more abundant. It means rejecting the dominant paradigm of middle class existence, a secure income and all those oh so lovely benefits that come with full time employment. And part of me is scared. Scared because she is a harsh mistress – demanding time and attention and loving. She demands it every day, and that’s the test – she demands it on the days when you don’t love her, when you cant feel any inspiration, when the dryness inside sits there and mocks you, and your inner voice laughs at your pretensions of sharing your thoughts and dreams with the world. Even on those days you have to tend to her. It’s a calling, a curse as much as a blessing and not to be entered into lightly. If you take her on, your life will change and she will hound you with her demands. She will expect gold and diamonds and precious things from you. And that’s ok, because some days the Oran Mor – the rhythm of life is there – you can taste the wind, sense the rain, breathe with the trees and for a few seconds you grasp that divine beauty and you try to put it into words. A few pitiful words that don’t do justice to the vision that you had. You write through a glass darkly but there is still a hint, a scent of Eden and what was lost all those years ago.
She also demands something even more precious, and that’s time. She wants some of your day every day, she expects the best years of your life. And here’s the hardest part, she promises nothing in return. Not success, not even fulfilment, hell not even publishing of your pitiful efforts. Aye Hamlet there’s the rub.
Why do it? Why quit your job and lock yourself away from society to follow this insubstantial dream, this ethereal hope, which may turn out to be no more lasting than a fart in the wind. Simply put you don’t have a choice. It’s like falling in love. You can’t help it; you can not turn of the attraction, even when it’s the wrong choice. And he hasn’t lived who hasn’t made the wrong choice in love and suffered for it. Hell I’m still doing that and its like my old professor used to say – “the only thing we learn from history, is that we don’t learn from history.”
There is only one thing to be done and that’s to untie yourself from the mast, dive into the raging torrent and swim towards that siren. I’m not saying you wont drown, in fact that’s the most likely outcome, and even if you reach the island who’s to say you wont get smashed to pieces on the rocks. Ultimately the only way to stop that seductive chorus is to swim towards it.
This will be my last blog posting for a couple of weeks as I’m going into a wilderness so wild it is without internet. I’m heading off to a remote cabin in the woods to wrestle with the bitch and see if we can’t produce something beautiful together. Some days I will win and some days she will kick my ass. I may drown yet so if you haven’t heard from me by the start of March, please, please send out a search party.

Hope

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies."

There are not yet enough things that make me cry. Its part of my Stoic Ulster Presbyterian upbringing, one which was ever distrustful of displays of emotion. But as I get older more things sneak in under the wire and let those emotions out. And it’s a mix of things from the usual births and deaths to gratitude while sitting round a table with good friends breaking bread, sunrise over a Vietnamese beach, an episode of the West Wing, a story by Frederick Buechner, a poem by Hopkins, a smile from the right person at the right time. And I cry as often over beauty as I do sadness and there’s one scene in one movie which is a sure bet, gilt edged guarantee to break through my cynical journalist mask and without even realising it my face is wet with tears.
It happened again last night at the Lenten film series at Downtown Presbyterian Church. The feature was “The Shawshank Redemption” and in a story packed with gems the scene that gets me every time is when Andy Dufresne the almost Christ like central character finds a record of Mozarts Marriage of Figaro. He locks himself in the Wardens Office and plays the track “Che Soave Zeffiretto” over the Prison loudspeakers and suddenly everyone in that grim dark place stops and listens. But enough from me, it is best described by Andys best friend Red played by Morgan Freeman. Click on the title above to watch the scene on You Tube – I haven’t quite worked out how to embed yet or just enjoy the words.



"I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't want to know. Some things are better left unsaid. I'd like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can't be expressed in words, and it makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a grey place dares to dream. It was as if some beautiful bird had flapped into our drab little cage and made these walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in Shawshank felt free." - Red

The Lonely Art of Writing (and faith)

A man sits in the grand reading room of a public library. Its a public library in a major American city so slightly richer and more grand than the British variety. It seems like it should be perfect for writing. There are high ceilings, impressive corinthian columns and suitable quotes. The walls are unsurprisingly lined with books and the long polished wood tables are empty but for the individual silver lamps. The man stares at his computer looking for inspiration but none comes.
All he can think of is the Church sign that he passed earlier while cycling in East Nashville, which simply said " DONT MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE. GOD. " Not sure which version of the Bible they found that quote in but it makes him wonder what sort of God they believe in and if by any chance its the same one that he believes in. He has been reading Frederick Buechner recently drawn to him by his honest treatment of doubt as an integral part of faith. CS Lewis said that 'doubt is the shadow cast by faith' and the man resonates with that. In fact he wonders if God even doubts himself sometimes ? Like most of his thoughts though, they are not original and it turns out, that GK Chesterton got there a long time ago. In Orthodoxy he says the New Testament portrays a God who, by being wholly present in the dying cry of Jesus of Nazareth, even doubted and questioned himself. Thats the kind of God the man finds himself believing in and praying too while sitting in a public library staring at his unfinished novel on a computer screen.

Perception, Imagination and Reality

“Illusion is the first of all pleasures.” Oscar Wilde.

In Nashville and pondering the differences between what we imagine, what we perceive and what is real. This works on a number of levels and not always in a good way. I think all of us can fall victim to the tyranny of imagination and expectation. When we build up an idea of what someone or something is or could be to us then look out reality. Reality can never match the power and majesty of the imagination and the perfection we have dreamed off. Real life is harder and messier and takes more courage to face with our eyes and hearts open.
This also works in our perception of ideas and theology. I’ve had that challenged this last 10 days by visiting church. A church that at least in theory, by splitting from its denomination is on one particular side of a current hot potato issue in the church. One of those big issues that we all like to fixate on while ignoring the overwhelming message of scripture which doesn’t say much about it at all.
But lets not get into that now. Instinctively I find myself on the other side of the argument from this church, but friends I’m staying with were going there and enjoying it and so I’ve gone along and had my preconceived notions challenged. I’ve enjoyed the services and met some interesting people, people who are exploring ideas in an honest and sincere way. And not just the kind of ideas I would expect. I was expecting conservative but have seen a wide range of opinion and some good answers to my questions – Hey I even met one person who is reading Pete Rollins book – How Not To Speak of God – and enjoying it and digging the Eckhart inspired constant deconstruction theology. And that’s good enough for me.
So I’ve been pleasantly surprised and challenged about my own perceptions. My friend JDD is currently working on a book about the sacredness of questioning everything and he describes it thus – good questions make new worlds possible, let in the air …….and create conspiracies of hopefulness. There’s way more good stuff in there but its not published yet so no more quotes - buy it when it comes out.
And my conclusion is to please answer that summons to sacred questioning , keep talking and have the courage to get beyond perception. My life is richer this past week from asking questions, the answers to which revealed that my expectations and preconceptions were quite simply WRONG.

Contemplating Tornado's on Ash Wednesday.

Yep this is gonna be a happy one you can tell. Last night we had a gentleman’s whiskey night at Trevor’s. As we sat eating cheese and drinking some fine single malt, the tornado warning sirens went off and the storm moved in. Married men called their wives, the TV was turned on and we followed the progress of the storm. Turned out we were safe even though one bolt of lightning hit the alleyway directly across the street, scaring the crap out of Trev who was standing on the porch at the time. For us it was quite an awesome, exhilarating experience but elsewhere in the country people were dying, 50 at the last count.

Today is Ash Wednesday in the church calendar and for me its always one of the most poignant service’s of the year as we are forced by its very nature to contemplate our own mortality. Julie Lee and I went to the noon service at Redeemer and Father Mackenzie talked about the people who had died in the Tornado and reminded us all that we were going to die. And its sobering going forward to kneel at the altar and for him to anoint you with ash and say “from dust you came, to dust you will return.”

Perhaps the only thing that made it bearable was that the act of penitinence is quickly followed by Eucharist. The Anglican liturgy is always close to my heart but on this particular day it seemed more life affirming than ever, drinking the wine ….”the blood of Christ keep you in eternal life.” Amen Let it be so.

As we walked out shriven and redeemed, Julie said – “Thanks, I needed that service today.”

And all I can say to that is, me to!

In the name of the Creator, the Redeemer and the Companion,

Amen.

Reading Graham Greene in New York

This is Ino in Greenwich Village where we had lunch today. That was after breakfast at the local diner. Tonight we are heading out for some Tapas. Yes it is a culinary delight and every time I enter the room I hear the bass riff from Seinfeld playing . 

It is a wonder and for me a good thing. I haven't been in New York since September 11th and the week of madness that followed that day. For a long time I didn't want to come back but It has somehow been redeemed. Am reading "The heart of the matter" by Graham Greene and loving it. There was a great quote in todays chapter which although I'm feeling good at the minute and as far from despair as I've been in months ......... I still thought I would share with you because there is something profound about despair and how he describes it through the character of Scobie the hero/anti-hero of the book as he realises he cant give his wife what she wants and needs. 

"Despair is the price one pays for setting one an impossible aim. It is, one is told, the unforgiveable sin, but it is a sin the corrupt or evil man never practices. He always has hope. He never reaches the freezing point of knowing absolute failure. Only the man of goodwill carries always in his heart this capacity for damnation."

Whiskey Liturgy for John O'Donohue

Last night we had a beautiful Ikon service remembering and celebrating the life of John O'Donohue. It struck the right note with poetry, song and personal reflection. We also had a liturgy based around his favourite drink. If you enjoy it please raise a glass in memory of a man who lived life well and fully.

A whiskey Liturgy remembering the dead

An East Belfast Aristocrat recently said “ I don’t get those pop and idol shows / the good things they take a little longer.” And he’s right. Good food , good wine , yeah even life itself takes time . Many writers are fans of whiskey, a golden nectar that represents the process of creating something beautiful over time. John liked his whiskey – or firewater as he liked to call it. Whiskey is a common drink at an Irish wake and it is a living symbol of the process of life we all go through to become what it is we are meant to be.
(lift bottle of Bushmills…..)

Take some pure irish spring water, malted barley and yeast.

Grind the malted barley grains into a coarse flour. Mix it with hot water to form a mash. Then add a little yeast to trigger fermentation. Take the whole mix and triple distill it in vast copper pots. Finally it’s ready to be matured. At Bushmills they use American Oak barrels and Spanish sherry, madiera wine and port casks. The whiskey will gradually become what its meant to be ….. sitting in these barrels for 5, 10 , 15 or 20 years. And yet we are still not there …. Finally a team of blenders will combine the whiskeys from different barrels together to get the taste just right, and the journey finishes in the bottle held in front of me. Or almost finished because the whiskey still has one task left.It is to be drunk, perhaps in a celebration , or in mourning , or simply in appreciation. Maybe it will fuel conversation, or thoughts that will change the world. Finally it will be consumed.

Even the name is a thing of beauty. When the English soldiers came to Ireland they would ask what this fiery drink was ? and the locals would reply “Uisce Beatha” ….. in Gaelic it means the water of life, gradually anglicised to whiskey …… but I like water of life best !

John used to call it firewater and it is but it’s also the water of life. Its strong, It is sweet and bitter. It burns on the way down but after you have tasted it, you know that you are alive.

Tonight is not just about John, its about celebrating life , affirming life and remembering those that have made that journey ahead of us. I’m going to invite everyone to come up and have a shot of whiskey or a non alcoholic alternative …take it, drink it, walk to the table and turn over your glass and say a prayer or simply just remember someone who has passed on …. Celebrate their life and be inspired to live your own. The chapter on death in Anam Cara ends with a 13th century Persian prayer/poem which is a call to life …….” Some nights stay up till the dawn as the moon sometimes does for the sun. / Be a full bucket, pulled up the dark way of a well then lifted out into light. Something opens our wings, something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us, we taste only sacredness. “

Remember that dark is not all there is …… beyond all dark there is a shining river of light and all the death that ever was , set next to life would scarcely fill a cup.
Come share the water of life and drink to lives well lived. In the name of Christ amen.

In Memoriam John O'Donohue

There is a place we have heard of , thought about and maybe even dreamed of. In a way we all journey towards it every day. Yesterday a beautiful irish writer journeyed there ahead of us, and we who are left behind are the poorer for it.

Rest in Peace John.

Go maire na mairbh agus a mbriongloidi
I bhfoscadh chaoin dilis na Trinoide

(May the departed and their dreams ever dwell
In the kind and faithful shelter of The Trinity.)

Facebook Theology

On Christmas night after the family celebration was over and the little people were in bed, I came home to join some friends for a cup of tea and a bit of late night chat. In the midst of the banter an argument developed between two friends relating to the midnight mass we had been too the previous evening. One person was dogmatically stating that it was wrong to talk in church and that if you were not taking part in the service, then the only thing you were allowed to do in the sacred space was sit quietly and pray. And the other who is well known for his capacity to talk disagreed. I wasn’t sure why everything in me disagreed with the silence argument, partly because it was being made so dogmatically, but now on reflection I realise I disagree with it, with every fibre of my being.

For two reasons ; firstly I believe church is or should be community and therefore should reflect every aspect of community. Hence there has to be space for everything in church. For talking , laughing , weeping , singing , shouting and yes also for silence.

But secondly I’ve realised that at the core of my theology I reject the sacred / secular argument. As I was thinking of a line on my facebook profile to reflect my belief, I was reminded of something a friend in Nashville said to me a long time ago, and it was simply this. “ There isn’t a secular molecule in the universe.”
And that’s why I found this idea that church is sacred and you can only be silent there so oppressive. I believe all of us were created in the image of God and that creation itself bears Gods fingerprints. Hopkins puts it well when he says,

”The world is charged with the grandeur of God/
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil”

What a fantastic image, and for me I find the sacred everywhere, in walks by the ever restless sea , sitting in contemplation in the old monastic sites of Ireland. Watching the West Wing, gathering with friends round a dinner table to break bread, drink wine, lean in and listen to each other’s lives. Even two friends sitting by a fire with a cup of herbal tea can be sacramental. I don’t always or even often find it in church. But that’s fine. The older I get the more I find God in unexpected places – sometimes even in my own life.

Right now after 4 days of sickness I've had a piece of toast and am sitting by the fire, listening to the soundtrack from Once. Feels pretty good to me.

M

Leaping back from the mockingbird

I'm back from the mockingbird and simply wanted to say - Have a blessed Christmas wherever and whoever you celebrate it with. Heres a little seasonal Buechner.

Pax Christi Tecum

M


So hallowed and Gracious is the time - these lines from the first scene of Hamlet in a sense say it all. Marcellus is walking on the cold battlements of Elsinore speaking to his companions of the time of Jesus Birth - its a hallowed time he says - a holy time - a time in which life grows still like the surface of a river so that we can look down into it and see glimmering in its depths something precious , timeless , other. And also a gracious time - a time we cannot bring about it is a time that comes upon us as grace - as a free and unbidden gift from God as we celebrate his presence amongst us. At Christmas time it is hard for even the unbeliever not to believe in something. Peace on earth , goodwill to men ; a dream of innocence that is good to hold onto even if it is only a dream ; the mystery of being a child ; the possibility of hope.

The end of a Journey

I’m sitting by a fire in old London town. The temperature outside is officially below freezing and O Brother Where art thou, is on TV. This stage of the journey comes to an end though the future is as yet unwritten. I look forward to being home and lighting a fire and having a few friends round. We will lean in, with a glass of wine and listen to our lives and the stories they hold. But for a brief taster the last 4 months have included ……….

27000 miles by airplane (I have a forest to plant)
4000 miles by train, bus, taxi, Tuk-Tuk, motorbike, elephant, bicycle and foot.
4 Continents, 9 countries, 16 Books, 945 photographs,
http://www.flickr.com/photos/14790076@N04/

Lots of people and cultural joy including;

Paris Je t’aime. Le Coup de Monde, fresh croissants, Versailles, Buddha Bar, Bastille food markets, museums that make an impression, Notre Dame, St Sulpice, Canard au miel, good wine and cycling through the Bois de Boulogne laughing like children with the mullingtons …… oh yeah

Nashvegas, city and people of my heart – if it was near the sea it would be damned near perfect. But anytime spent there is always a blessing and it can still surprise you and offer new possibilities and friendships to explore.

New Zealand – breaking bread with Mike and Rose Riddell. Remove your shoes because this is holy ground where both body and soul are nourished and loved. And the Coromandel peninsula wasn’t bad either, not forgetting the Good Dr when he finally made it from Tahiti.

Australia – Catching up with friends and family, Manly Beach, the ferry, drinks on the Opera House terrace.

Vietnam. The pollution and motorbikes of Hanoi, the glory of spending a night on a boat in Halong Bay. The charm of Hoi An, Ancient Cham Palaces and then Jungle Beach – a week in my own private heaven reading the Psalms and finding prayer as natural as breathing. Saigon, Vietnam war relics and tunnels. Mekong Delta Trip – coconut candy, floating markets, eating snake and crossing into Cambodia.
Cambodia, the water festival in Phnom Penh, the royal palaces. The horror of The Killing fields chills you to the bone and then the glory of Angkor Wat leaves you breathless. That first morning walking across the causeway to the temple, still water with lilies floating on either side and the suns first rays giving shape to the ancient stone walls. Unforgettable. As was the road to Thailand, the boulevard of broken backsides.

Thailand – chilling out in Bangkok and then heading to Chiang Mai. Bookshops, Cookery courses, fantastic foot massage, markets and falafel. Trekking into the villages on the hills, elephant riding and white-water bamboo rafting. I wrote this in the van on the way back

Elephants and Waterfalls.

This morning

Riding on elephants in the dappled green sunlight of a tropical forest.

The Mahout starts to sing quietly,

and the elephant trumpets softly and then walks on .

Stillness falls and it is a holy sacramental moment.

In the afternoon I see a rainbow in a waterfall.

On days like this I believe.


Singapore – Shiny shopping centres and afternoon tea at Raffles – well its gotta be done.

And that is just a few of the highlights. I’ve been privileged to meet many amazing people, learn new perspectives on the world, been amazed by the kindness of strangers and the prevalence of wireless internet. I’ve seen more sunrises than in the previous year put together, prayed more, read more, been surrounded by Grace and had some great food (even the snake wasn’t bad).

At the end of it I’m happier, relaxed and comfortable in my own skin than I’ve been for a long time. I am who I am and I’m happy with that. Whatever I do next the job will not define me and that is a strangely comforting notion. I’m thankful for home and friends – coming back to old friends and new life and long walks on the beach, turf fires, red wine and frosty mornings.

I’m glad to know you all and look forward to sharing our lives and stories in person very soon. In the meantime no missive would be complete without a quote from Mr Frederick Buechner, indeed the motto I try to live my life by.

LISTEN to your life. SEE it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: TOUCH, TASTE, SMELL your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. Frederick Buechner

All is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.

May Blessing surround you at this hallowed and gracious time of year.

Mark

Leaping with the Mockingbird till Christmas

As explained below I'm taking part in the advent Blog below ..... I don't really have the time and energy while traveling to keep 2 blogs going so for the next few weeks I will be appearing only at the mockingbird (click on the title above or below to go straight there) . But in one and only act of duplication - my friends at Moot in their service this past Sunday ended it with an extract from T.S.Elliots 4 Quartets and it seemed somehow appropriate to the season.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always�
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

Blessings of the Season Upon Y'all

m

The Mockingbirds Leap - A Blog for Advent

‘beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. the least we can do is try to be there.’ annie dillard

As the season of advent is almost upon us I wanted to draw your attention to a special advent blog that my good friend Glenn has come up with for the season. He has gathered a wide variety of people together, of which I'm priveleged to be one, and asked us all to be attentive to the world around us during advent. It's an experiment in spiritual attention to the presence of God all around us in every day and we do it during Advent as a preparation for the coming of Christ at Christmas. His prayer is that we will all be impacted by the immense presence of God in the world. It begins, and maybe ends, in simply witnessing to an experience of grace in our day. It may simply be the statement of an address or location, or it may be an extended meditation or a poem, it may be a photograph or a piece of video, whatever it is that speaks a blessing into our lives during Advent, bearing testimony to it on the blog, and we'll see if we can accumulate a daily witness until Christmas Day itself. The days of the Advent season provide ample time for good habits of attention to take hold and grow in our lives.

Click on the title above to go straight to the Blog and feel free to add your own comments as we enter advent.

blessings

M

Angkor – A Wonder of The World !

Cambodia, land of contrasts. After the horror of the Killing Fields comes the wonder of Angkor. It is the most amazing man-made complex I have ever seen. Partly the Vastness of it – hundreds of temples and bits of temples spread for miles around. And not just any ruins but amazing fantastically intricate carvings and vast temples that would have held thousands. Angkor Wat – walking across the causeway too it is a mystical experience. Its vast – part of the biggest Religious site in the world.
Some of it is overrun with tour groups, but at some of the more remote temples you can explore corridor after corridor on your own, stumbling across long forgotten altars to who knows what God. Although the Khmers were Buddhist, they had a strong Indian influence and many of the carvings have Hindu gods and goddess’s on them.

And then there is Ta Prom – once a vast temple that had 80,000 people working in it. While many of the temples have been restored this one has been left exactly as it was when the French explorers rediscovered it in the 1920’s. It has been invaded by nature and much of it has crumbled, while the walls have trees growing out of them and there are piles of rubble everywhere. It’s a good place to act out your Angelina Jolie fantasies ( no not those ones Mullan- this is a family blog), as it was used to film parts of Tombraider, or for my generation being on the set of Indiana Jones.

Its just stunning, its incredible. It was built in the 11th and 12th Century and supported a population of 1 million at a time when London was a small town of 50,000. I’m also betting that the water and sewage facilities in Angkor would have been superior too. I would put it on my list of things to see before you die. It will not disappoint.

And so tomorrow I leave this land of contrasts which showcases the best and worst of humanity. The ancient splendour and the modern horror.

The Killing Fields and S21

Today I visited S21 prison where thousands were tortured and then the Killing fields of Choeung EK where tens of thousands of Cambodians were killed by the Pol Pot regime between 1975 and 1979.

Sometimes words cannot convey all we want them to. Sometimes the horror is so much that we find ourselves mumbling Kyrie Eleison – Lord Have mercy …. On ourselves as well as the pitiful victims of the Khmer Rouge.

Today it is a strangely peaceful site with quiet waters flowing past the green trees and the faint sound of children playing in the distance. It’s hard to believe that I’m standing on a mass grave of thousands of people, many of whom were bludgeoned to death to save the price of a bullet. In the memorial on the site thousands of skulls are stacked in a glass tower, as a memory and tribute to the unnamed and unknown who died here.

We breathe in and try to comprehend what happened here. Some are silent , some quietly weep. I find the words spoken to me as a child, somewhat comforting … Our Father who art in heaven , hallowed be thou name …. I repeat the prayer as I walk around the site, though I struggle with Thy will be done on earth.

Kyrie Eleison, Lord have mercy

Christe Eleison. Christ have mercy on us all.