Kindness et al.

Now, more than ever, we need to find a way through this collapsing world.

Yes, there are lots of strategies, templates and exhortation we could employ but, truthfully, we know in our hearts that if only there was a little less hate and a lot more kindness the world would be a much better place - in so many ways.

Then again, the trope has been done to death and look where it's got us. Not very far.

Perhaps it is that we've an aversion to opening ourselves up in case we're taken advantage of or worse still. 

Perhaps it is that we don't feel it. It's more act than truth.

Perhaps there's no quid pro quo. (Does there or should there be?)

Truth is, I've no more an idea than you why the world is too often riven with a lust for hate when it should be in swoon to kindness. That doesn't (of course) stop me wondering.

And wonder I will alongside all those other issues that continue to haunt me.

Blessings,

Julian 

Where next?

At the moment, I'm deep into capitalism, having finished David Whyte's thought-provoking book, Ecocide: Kill The Company Before It Kills Us.

If I'm honest, I'm not sure what I'm going to discover that I don't already know. That said, I'm not suggesting I know very much about (inter alia) Natural Capital, Green Swans or neoliberalism, but you don't need to be Einstein to work out that capitalism has been one of, if not the main enabler for the Anthropocene. Oh, that, and our insatiable, wanton desire for more stuff. 

Yes, that's right. Absent us, there wouldn't exist the corporate vehicle, less still greedy capitalists (I say that, of course, only mildly tongue-in-cheek.)

As I've said so many times: we need the world; the world doesn't need us.

And where does all this fit with the latest UK-wide CV19 restrictions and the catastrophic situation we find ourselves living in and through? Again, I'm not sure. Perhaps it is that we were never meant to live so close to nature, or perhaps we're not as 'smart' as we thought we were, or perhaps this is simply a course correction to wake us up to the fact that a virus - yes, a virus - can wreak havoc on an unimaginable scale.

It's all so depressing, right?

I suppose.

And the obvious thing to do would be to postulate a series of nourishing answers. But I'm leary these days about being seduced down that path. Instead, I'm more disposed and inclined to ask a better question or at least to wonder. I know, all that navel-gazing is all well and good but it ain't going to fix the mess we're in. True. So very true. But then again, let's say we manoeuvre our way through this latest existential crises, what then? Something resembling what we had before? Possibly, but I'd like to think we'd take more than a little stock of what's really important but more particularly if we can continue living without consequence. Or to exist as if we can sort out whatever shit comes our way. 

I don't know. I really don't know but for me it's more a question of continuing to sit with and contemplate how in my little corner of the world, together with my family, we might imagine a more beautiful world and what we might do to change our purview to something more resonant with our cultural past. If that sounds a bit otherworldly then fine, but right now that's where my focus increasingly returns - the past. Or better still our indigenous ancestors. I don't mean to cross the aeons but the last few generations because if nothing else they knew how to live within their means (perhaps they were forced to), to care for their locus (they didn't seem intent on fowling their own nest/s) and to love the little they had. It wasn't all a bed of roses but it feels to me all these years on much more normal than infinite or at least unprecedented growth, or whatever it is that's fuelled our destruction of mother earth.

Anyhow, have a wonderful Sunday.

Take care,

Julian

Limits of all kind

“The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.” ― Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain

Good morning from a quiet and very dark Devon.

The coffee is poured, there's quiet, almost sleep-inducing music on in the background, and I'm here again at my computer musing on life.

I've written before about limits, having been inspired by Stephen Jenkinson's work. Yes, the same person who has written so eloquently about death, elderhood and especially limits.

You know the kind:

• life
• death
• the earth
• relationships
• our abilities

in fact so much of what we take for granted or expect. 

But we don't covet limits. Quite the contrary. Instead ― and yes it's a generalisation too bloody far (as ever, Summerhayes) ― we're obsessed with the trope that says you can and MUST be all you can be. 

To me at least, it's all so sad. 

Of course, you might, and I'd expect you to profoundly disagree: what's wrong with living up to your potential? 

Indeed, what's wrong with what? 

Look around you. The answer's everywhere. Sh*t, I could even make the point, as insensitive as it is, that wanting it now, and wanting it all has brought us to this place. We sure as hell never wanted to limit the amount of air travel we indulged in nor the fact we wanted to expand the reach of our geographic territory. I mean, it's not that long ago, one or at two generations perhaps, that no one moved from their home town or not very far away. 

But of course, I'm being very opinionated and you'll rightly accuse me of my own brand of hollow, and slightly terse exhortation. In fact, you might even say (and I wouldn't blame you), it's none of my damn business how you order your life.  Then again, in case I need to restate it, I'm not really a solution type of guy. A better question! Now you're talking. In fact, if only we'd ask ourselves something more than "What's next?".

Don't forget (as if you've a choice) we're human. 

Or as Alan Watts said:

"The prevalent sensation of oneself as a separate ego enclosed in a bag of skin is a hallucination which accords neither with Western science nor with the experimental philosophy-religions of the East".

I wonder if we really see that apropos what we're not able to do? Instead, we seem to believe that we can do practically anything. But we can't. And we shouldn't believe that we're (almost) homo deus in stature. 

For me, one way I find of bringing myself out of the trance of being all I can be is to spend time in nature. It reminds me how small and insignificant I am. Also, that I too am dying and trying to be the same person I was 10, 20 or 30 years ago is more than a little delusional. When I'm really connected, it feels that there is no me strutting around with such self (small 's') importance: I am nature. 

In the end though, as I've said so many times, how you live your life is how you live your life. But all I can tell you is that as I age, I feel more at home in my skin by dint of not having the desire to constantly better myself or be something that I can't be by dint of my mental or physical persuasion. Does that mean I've given up? No, not at all. But it does mean that just occasionally I'm fully alive to the person I am ― all body, mind and spirit.

Anyhow, have a wonderful day.

Blessings,
Julian 

All systems go

Over the weekend, I spent time reading Ecocide: Kill The Corporation Before It Kills Us by David Whyte. 

I'll be honest, it made me feel sick to my stomach given: a) our unholy fascination with the corporate vehicle; and b) the damage it's wrought and continues to do so, unabated. 

Think about it. We talk about climate change, environmental degradation and sustainability but, save for regulation that might kill off the capitalist ideal - it's never going to happen on my watch - it's the company that's responsible for all the egregious harm to mother earth and her people. 

I've not yet finished the book but I do know from a video that I watched to launch the book that towards the end there is a manifesto of sorts, and I'll be interested to see what David Whyte says about systemic change or rather what comes next if we don't want to see the very ground of our divination wiped away in the next 100 years (it could be less; and if you want to know more, I highly recommend you read David Wallace-Wells' book, The Uninhabitable Earth).

I suppose the thing that troubles me most, though, particularly in the midst of a pandemic, is that despite the hollow exhortation about how companies and their systems could be made better, when you think about it, how likely is it, apart say from the behemoth oil companies who are well and truly in the dock, that any company is going to be brought to heel by anything more than, say, shareholders looking for something a little greener or perhaps direct action? In short, qua the need to grow, companies will continue to harm the planet, whilst the majority of us work inside and for them. 

I appreciate that this isn't a simple message to unpack or decipher but without trying to big up the book, I think there's a very clear message that needs airing; namely, if we don't invite those members, directors and leaders to reexamine what a more beautiful world looks like - and hopefully not some technical utopia shorn of nature or anything natural - then we really are screwed. 

Like so many of the issues that I seem to alight on in an attempt to make sense of my life and my life's work - or what remains of it - I've much to consider, not least how I can continue to be part of a corporate system that has no soul, less still a heart. 

Blessings,

Julian 

PS. This is a short introduction to the book that you may like to watch. 

It's all been said...

 ..before.

Nothing new.

Nothing to say.

Lots to do, but what?

What would make a difference?

Plant some trees, collect plastic from the polluted beaches, protest?

Arghh!

How about: be prepared to stop (HT to Stephen Jenkinson)? By hook or by crook, to stop doing what we're doing for fear of or the near certainty that we'll annihilate everything, everybody and all of nature in our pursuit of growth.

It's all so depressing, right?

I mean, here we are in the midst of a pandemic and if that doesn't make us realise and appreciate the fragility of the human race then nothing will. Nothing.

Does this mean I'm misanthropic?

It would be easy to think that but, as the old saw goes, it's us, the humans, who got us into this mess, and it's only us who can...[fill in the blank].

The truth is - always mine and mine alone - I've little faith that for all the good words and deeds we'll ever see the light and only at the time when things are bad, real bad, will we finally stop long enough to say: 

"Sh*t look what we've done". 

What then?

Well, we won't so much have the luxury of choosing to stop as to be brought swiftly to heel by the gods of misfortune who will make it clear just how little we did to avert the ensuing chaos.

Of course, within this piece, there's much to ponder not least when I'm going to seriously change my ways, not for the benefit of my oh-so-insignificant conscious but to show that I cared. 

I really cared.

Much love,
Julian 

All in

When we want to, we can achieve great things.

I mean life-changing things – for us and others.

Of course, we're not superhuman or robots and it's understandable why we're not always inclined or inspired to act this way. In fact, just as often we'd rather live a nice quiet life.

Don't ask me why – perhaps it's my continued rumination on death and dying – but at the moment I'm drawn to consider those people who have done great things in the arts or otherwise but have died young. I was going to say well before their time, but as someone bordering on the edge of fatalism, when our time's up, our time is up!

I'm not suggesting we lose ourselves under the staggering weight of expectation but I do think it worth allowing the thought to hang in the air when we achieved our greatest things and invite the question: "Why or how?"

Anyhow, back to the coalface.

Have a good one.

Blessings, Julian

When life passes you by

Right now, one day feels much like the one before. Hell, even the weekends have bled into the week, and it's a wonder I can remember what day it is.

And if this Covid19 thing has its continued way, I don't see this mesmerising routine letting up anytime soon.

But I digress.

Life.

'WOW' and 'Meh!' in equal measure.

And it goes by at such a pace that before you know where you are, you wonder where the hell it's gone. At the time – deep in the trenches – it all feels so real, so alive but in hindsight (at least for me) it hardly registers on the life and death scale.

I'll be honest, right now, there's a sense, a blessed one that I'm going through the motions. And that's not me; I'm very much of the school that likes to have a purpose or at least a settled meaning to my 'doing'. The only thing that's keeping me in the game is a sense of responsibility and not wanting to let anyone down. And that's fine – honest it is – but (and I've said this a zillion times) it's not forever. Not at all. And sure, I can have plans galore – the untravelled road and all that heady stuff – but I'd prefer to ride out the slightly sullen storm and wait to see what happens...day by day.

I've got an inkling that I'll still be peddling my legal wares, working with a more eclectic group of clients and helping those who most need my help, and alongside that, there's the creative thing. It's never left me but what shape it will take, I'm still not sure. I like all forms of art and to say that I want to do this or that seems so life-limiting.

Anyhow, perhaps the message is that life will pass you by, but not to worry too much because as long as we suck the marrow dry of this moment – not in a head-banging, frenetic way but in contemplation of the suchness of the moment – then in truth that's all we need to feel or be alive. Or at least that's how it's been for me some 53 years down the weather-beaten track.

Blessings friends.

Julian

Our truest self

"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." — Pablo Neruda

We thrash around trying to find out what makes us happy -- blissful even.

Occasionally, for a fleeting moment, we're alive inside, but it never lasts.

Of course, this is pure conjecture but how many of us have set out to find ourselves or rediscover something of our old self, only to find that we're chasing another chimaera?

I certainly have, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

What then?

Indeed, what then?

More of the same, anodyne routine? Or do we simply pull up the drawbridge on connecting with true self and accept our lot?

Again, that's a damn good question.

The truth is -- my truth -- I've no answers, lest still a gold-plated solution. Instead, perhaps it's time we got used to a degree of ennui or at least to the extent where we celebrated what we've got, rather than wishing for something immeasurably better.

Much to ponder.

Blessings Julian

Here again

But for how much longer...will I be doing my thing?

It remains an open question.

I'm lucky of course — blessed you could say. 

I mean, here I am with time enough to write the odd blog and with the benefit of a full-time job. What could be better?

Then again, much like that felt sense I've experienced all my life, I know that there's an unlived part of me waiting to find its place in the world. I don't just mean a better job ("Hell, no!"), or become an artist or anything in particular. No, I mean to say that there's a road less travelled that's waiting for me somewhere out in the future — assuming I make it of course.

Don't worry, it's not that I'm lost in the reverie of my new life or I constantly daydream but there remains this insatiable draw not to let the habit of today dictate what's to come. 

Does this mean I'm hopeful? That's not really my thing — i.e. trafficking in hope. There's only this day and if lived fully (as if we've got a choice) that's more than enough for me. What I am is someone who's not afraid of letting go, of free-floating in my anxious self and having no plan. Now (of course) when set against all the productivity gurus and the regnant order of the day that behoves we must have everything nailed down, my non-expectant plans look chortle worthy, but I don't care. Honest, Guv. I'm at that stage in life where I really don't care one iota what others think about my plans or the like. In any event, it will be what it will be and there's no one I need contact for permission. Does that sound selfish? A tad I suppose but in the end, do we make these plans or are they made for us? 

Anyhow, it's Monday. Time to take Alfie out for a walk. And then I'll get suited and booted for another day of Zoom/Teams madness until it's time to call time whereupon I'll indulge myself with a second walk before settling in for the night with a good book and whatever else tickles my increasingly titrated fancy.

Take care, and have a good one.

Much love,

Julian

A new beginning

"Why grief, fear, and despair? Certainly there are other emotions we call “negative.” Envy, guilt, shame, and anger, among others, account for a great deal of human suffering. But in my thirty years as a psychotherapist, I’ve come to believe that the inability to bear the core triad of grief, fear, and despair is the source of much of our individual and collective emotional ills." — Miriam Greenspan, Healing through the Dark Emotions 

I wish we could share more of our true self. 

Instead, we live in the shadows.

It's conjecture I know but perhaps there's a reason; namely, dealing with repressed grief. Not just the grief that enters stage left on the passing of a loved one but all those things in our life that we've never come to terms with; and I include in that the death of mother earth and the pandemic, which I know contorts so many souls.

What am I advocating for?

Space, openness and a way to show all of our humanness without being torn asunder.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure (in practice) how this might work but, right now, I'm starting to tentatively reach out to a few people to explore our literacy around grief, death and coming alive to true self. I've no formula, less still a programme to offer and am absolutely not selling anything. Instead, I'd like to invite a question that can't be annihilated on the anvil of our desire to cross the Rubicon between where we are and where we wish to be. This is something I've written and spoken about before and if you've the time you may want to watch the first few minutes of Stephen Jenkinson's talk below, which elucidates the point about question-making so beautifully. 

In the end, how we choose to embrace grief though is personal and to many sacrosanct, but if I could find a way of making the connection through conversation, listening and even a modern-day ceremony, then that's something that requires more than a passing few words here or elsewhere.

Much more work to be done.

Blessings, 

Julian

 

Growing old

 It's Friday. 

The end of another week.

And by my reckoning, given my date of birth, that's 2,776 weeks and 3 days since I was born.

Is that a lot?

It sure feels like it. 

In fact, only this week did I conjure up from the abyss of my reckoning the fact that I'm officially old.

Now we can debate the passing from middle age to old age but it's not the years that are important but, to me at least, a felt sense of belonging or should I say acceptance.

Yes, that's it: acceptance not resignation.

Did I think this time would come? Not really. As a wee kid, growing up in a small seaside town in Devon, England, all I ever wanted to do was escape. Get the hell out. I did. And I ran and ran until, well, I not so much found myself as I felt I'd put some hard yards between the old, underwhelmed me to someone slightly happier in their skin. But the trouble was I never quite escaped the need to do -- to always be on the road of 'doing'.

And (sadly) I worked so hard that my life disappeared by with hardly a mention. 

As I've written about ad nauseam, it was only when I suffered a little bleed on the brain that was I brought to my not very enlightened senses. For a while, I took my foot off the work pedal but it didn't take long before I was right back at it.

Why am I telling you this or any of it?

Because it's so easy to forget that in the middle of all that is us -- a fallible, sensitive human being. And if we're not careful we miss so much of our lives. That's not to say that we should ruminate ourselves into a solipsistic stupor but taking time out -- no, not to retreat -- to contemplate life and all that it offers is not only sensible but, I think, mandatory in these anthropocentric times. 

"Oh, please Summerhayes, not all of us can afford to lounge about doing sweet FA."

Perhaps you're right, but my overriding sense is that if we're not careful, even with all the planning in the world, our lives accelerate so fast that before we know it, it's over, and given what's at stake that would be a disappointment of the highest proportion. 

To be clear, I'm not exhorting any sort of change programme, JFDI daily routine or some molar-grinding presentation of be all you can be right up until the bitter end but I am asking or inviting a slightly different purview of growing into old age.

The truth is -- my truth -- I'm pleased to think of myself as old, if only because I'd like to think that with it comes a little more insight, a little more wisdom and patience for what lies ahead.

Have a wonderful day.

Take care,

Julian

Poem of the day

 Caged Bird

BY MAYA ANGELOU

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Little pockets of sanity

Life is a marvellous thing -- no, really it is -- but right now, betwixt a global pandemic and likely mass unemployment, it's hard not to get lost in a desperate wellspring of misery.

"Why me?"

My shtick (if I were to market myself!) wouldn't be premised on offering yet more advice, answers or even a cool sense of vulnerability to what ails you (I long ago dropped the 'coach' badge), no, instead, I'd invite us to wonder. I don't mean to daydream, although that might be in the mix. No to think about and ruminate on the notion of limits, endings, grief, sorrow and love. Especially love.

Of course, this sense of "What if?" isn't going to (inter alia) pay the bills or necessarily pull you out your funk, but then again, don't you feel that what we've done previously -- if not personally then certainly collectively -- hasn't really allowed us to see a more beautiful world our hearts know is possible (see the book with the same title by Charles Eisenstein)? I don't mean to suggest that you're the author of your own misfortune but perhaps, just perhaps, more of the same isn't where we now need to turn our gaze.

What I'm hinting at though, more than ever (and hence the rubric to today's meagre post), is in those fleeting moments of wonderment, we might find ourselves more lucid, more upright and able not only to fully comprehend our situation but to see it through a new vista.

But then again, in that heady state of wonderment, we may not be hopeful of anything more than our eventual demise. (That's a given for all of us and always, for me at least, puts things in perspective.) 

Here again, that lonely feeling of despair might not be what the doctor ordered, but sit with it for long enough and perhaps out of the cesspit of your orphan self might come a new take on what it means to be human. And in my book when comfort is so often the only show in town, I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.

In the end though how you approach any situation is a matter for your discernment but going (again) for the tried and tested option might not be the best way to navigate these choppy waters.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Federico Bottos on Unsplash

Poem of the day

 A Month of Happiness

- Robert Bly

A blind horse stands among cherry trees.
And bones shine from cool earth.The heart leaps
Almost up to the sky! But laments
And filaments pull us back into the dark.
Night takes us. But
A paw
Comes out of the dark
To light the road. I'll be all right.
I follow my own fiery traces through the night.

Poem of the day

I'm going to start with sharing a few poems by my favourite poets, and then, all being well, start to share a bit of my, slightly experimental work.

Thanks for stopping by.

Julian

The Simple Life

But it rarely is.

Simple. 

Oh sure, we simplify here, reduce there but we've still to wrestle our inner demons, even in the most blissful of locations. (That damn Monkey Mind.)

Perhaps I'm wrong. It could be that when you put everything in neat rows, elide all the shit and paint a pretty picture, so your mind settles and life becomes easier.

The thing is, I know what brings me joy -- spending time with my family, walking the dog, a cup of coffee, quiet music and a good book. The rest, well, it's often out of whack with how I'd like it to be and previously, drawn on mercilessly by the little voice in my head that tested the very fibre of my being, I'd be driven to order everything -- to keep up appearances if you wish (save the DIY -- not really my thing). It drove me mad. I found myself forever tidying up, judging myself by the perfect 'this' or 'that'. Why? Who really cares? It wasn't like I was hoping to sell my 'minimalist' shtick. 

What am I saying?

Be you, fully. Embrace the whole bloody thing even if, at times, it pisses you or other people off to a lamentable degree. 

I know, it sounds so lame -- "Be you" (oh please) -- but then again, I think we all know what truly floats our boats and there are only so many days left to live; and, trust me, no one, or at least not in my homestead, is going to judge you by how many times you decluttered, kept a perfect house, wore amazing clothes or had the most up to date lifestyle. 

Take care.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Dan-Cristian Pădureț on Unsplash 

A lost culture

“...along with the other animals, the stones, the trees, and the clouds, we ourselves are characters within a huge story that is visibly unfolding all around us, participants within the vast imagination, or Dreaming, of the world.” ― David Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World

Culturally, at least in the West, we're one generation deep.

Occasionally, we might reminisce about what went before, but, mostly, we're lead to believe in and brainwashed by the cultural here and now. You know the one that exhorts (among many other malignant traits) 'be all you can be'. 

But if you're prompted, you only have to walk around your local graveyard to understand that there's a little more to our cultural locus than what pops up in your social media feed or even, perhaps, the folklore that's been passed down through the family. 

Of late, largely as a result of work done by my brother, I've been able to reach back in the past -- at least to the 1800s -- to establish that there's a long lineage of Devonians floating about in the ether. I'll be honest, as woo-woo as it might appear, for a while now, I've wondered if there might be something more to my love affair with Devon than the immense landscape and the quiet thrum of the place.

It really is my spiritual home.

And that makes me feel connected -- perhaps more connected than ever. 

What about you?

Do you feel that you've found home?

But it's more than a lived spirit I feel. I also sense that there are rituals and ceremonies that have been elided from my memory that I need to understand. I know there are a few people who might illuminate what might have existed (Dr Martin Shaw comes immediately to mind) but something tells me, as part of my long-overdue pilgrimage, I need to appreciate culturally what binds me to this place.

Anyhow, enjoy your day.

Blessings, 

Julian

Photo by Tyssul Patel on Unsplash

Only better questions

For the past few weeks, I've been busy with work -- real busy. In fact, I can't remember a time (certainly since lockdown) when it was like this.

And that's fine. No, really. It's kept me occupied and certainly, I've not had much time to surf the web or engage in social media. (Sorry, that sounds a bit off-hand. What I mean is that I've been nicely distracted.)

I have, though, missed blogging. It's quite something -- at least to me -- to go from a daily routine to, well, nothing. 

Nada.

In many ways, apart from the busyness, it's also been good to regroup, to collect my thoughts and to sit with all that's been arising -- especially the grief of losing my father-in-law who was (and still remains in spirit) a big part of our lives.

I don't have a mission, or strategy or plan as to how my blogging will unfold -- I've stopped posting on Livejournal and am back to Blogger (please feel free to subscribe 😀) -- but I'm hopeful that I will get back to something fairly regular, something a little different (I still crave to write the odd story or poem or something off the spiritual track) and something to keep me engaged with all that life offers.

For now, I'll leave you with today's musing, namely the idea that we need a better question or set thereof rather and instead of looking for another slick, easily assimilated answer to today's culturally-endorsed problems. This isn't new. Indeed, I've mentioned it more than once but, for me at least, as someone in the legal 'answer' game, I can tell you, from a lifetime of offering first one and then another answer, not much, if anything, has changed. What? You heard me. Despite all the flag-waving, cheerleading and exhortation, nothing much has changed.

You might ask, well then, what might be a better question than...how to solve this problem, how to be a better version of you, how to be kinder, less solipsistic etc? 

Here's mine for today:

Why is there so little wisdom in a world awash with old people?

And in case, you're wondering the genesis for this pithy number, I can tell you that it's straight out of Stephen Jenkinson's extraordinary book, Come of Age, A Case for Elderhood in a Time of Trouble. This isn't a plug or recommendation but if you want to know what it means to wonder about this question, then you might like to read a few pages from a free sample of the book (Kindle) or you can reach out to me on Twitter and we can share a few musings on the elder proposition.

Anyhow, have a lovely week.

Much love,

Julian.

Photo by Ksenia Makagonova on Unsplash

Letting go

Sometimes we get a choice, but mostly the ghosts intervene and everything, or most everything we hold dear, falls away.

In my case -- not that my backstory is worth remarking on -- endings have grown in importance, not just because they've shown me the real meaning of life but because it's part of who we are; namely, to be human, grown-up and no more and no less than our circumstance.

At this stage, you might be wondering where this post is headed. Nowhere, really. Previously that wasn't the case: I was all vim, vigour and hype. Of course, that too is part of being human -- i.e. a young man with great ambition or at least enough ambition to take me away from my barren, unloving and unloved life. But it wasn't me. It was a cloak to mask what was really going on.

I suppose all I'm saying is that we so often look for something out on the horizon that ends up being a chimaera. And that's fine. Fine in the sense that there's nothing to do, and certainly we shouldn't feel compelled to journey forth in the hope of replacing one faux dream with another. In any event, we'll do what we do, and go where we go, and we should see that for what it is -- a dynamic, flow of humanness.

I think it was Thomas Merton who said "Stand on you own two feet...", and the more I meditate on that divine expression, the more I'm driven to understand that to allow something deeper, more profound into my life I have to be prepared to let go to the fullest extent -- however much lament that might induce.

Anyhow, until the next time.

Much love,

Julian

Photo by Josh Nuttall on Unsplash

Everything changes

 “Experience life in all possible ways --
good-bad, bitter-sweet, dark-light,
summer-winter. Experience all the dualities.
Don't be afraid of experience, because
the more experience you have, the more
mature you become.” ― Osho

Life is replete with great joy but also sadness. Sadly, in our competency-addicted culture, we think it (sadness) something to get through, to be on the other side of; and then (not for everyone) it appears to give them bragging rights.

What if instead we practised sadness or grief or brokenheartedness?

I know what you're thinking. Here we go again, another faux branding exercise around the human experience.

Possibly, but for me, as I look back on my life, I realise how much I've stuffed down or skimmed in the hope of never having to face myself and my demons. And it did me no good. No good I say. No, all it did it was make me weary in not understanding why all the thrashing and expectation of things working out, lead to a slightly hollowed out life.

And now?

It's not so much I've turned a corner but being wrecked on schedule isn't something to be shunned or got through in double-quick time, but to pause, reflect and invite a more beautiful question into my heart:

How can I be more human?

Just to be clear, there's nothing to fix, to sort or make better. 

There's just life and death. 

And that excites me in equal measure.

Blessings, 
Julian

It's in my bones

“I had drunk so deeply of grief and innocently gambled so hard with fate and irony that a special kind of vision was gathering in my eyes, not entirely clear just yet. This was the same look people saw in your eyes when you have died for beauty and come to live accepting nature as life with no promise of paradise, and mad at people who couldn't see that.”
― Martin Prechtel, Secrets of the Talking Jaguar

Grief.

Right there.

I can't escape it -- now, not ever.

And you?

We think of it as feeling: "I lost my mother/father/friend."

It sits behind everything we think and do -- for a while at least.

But what if grief was something more profound?

Like...?

Being a faithful witness to everything that our loved one stood for and represented to us and their community.

Better still, our practised grief was celebratory in its purview -- something that we forever demonstrated in our words, deeds and life.

Right now, I'm wrestling with all those people who I once knew and those I didn't but I know are part of the wider family circle. I can feel them in my bones; and they're not gone. Far from it.

Love,

Julian

The end.

 

Death -- our death -- should inform our lives, but it rarely does.

It all comes too late.

But imagine it: being told the precise day you'd leave this world.

Would it change the way you saw your life and lived it?

Who knows? 

Right now, gripped as I am by the memories of my ancestors, I feel an overwhelming sense to sit with the knowledge, the absolutely certainty that I've got limited time available to me. And that doesn't mean, as I did previously, I want to run scared. Instead, I've a celebratory feeling in and around death. That's not dark, nor morose. It's life -- all of it.

And you?

Do you think about the end?

Perhaps not. It's too soon. But one day you and others will have to comprehend what it means to be gone. 

I find that more a little sobering, but in the meantime I'll keep leaning into my mortality to explore how my life should and must change to recognise the finality of this gift we call life.

Love,

Julian

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

Death - not death

I know, it's hardly the most appealing title but that's life, right?

Two sides of the same thing.

And yet, what do we do?

Rush forward in the hope of finding meaning in our days. We seldom do.

What if, instead, we embraced death in the same way we sought to strangle life?

What if?

But even to posit the question appears nihilistic, practically defeatist.

It's not always been like that -- I'm convinced of it. When life was short, often hanging by a thread, I'm sure we weren't seduced by (at the very least) the word voodoo that surrounds the 'D' word and so much more.

What am I advocating for?

Honesty, openness and, dare I say, truth. If not that, then what?

Long life, quick death. That's a myth. In fact, with our medically-disposed, buy-more-time way of seeing the world, all we're doing is buying us more death. Yes, you heard me. And that's a new phenomenon and one, in my humble view, we're not equipped to deal with, lest still discuss in closed or open circles. 

Anyhow, as I always say when I think I've made my point (have I?), it's time to get with the daily programme of trying to build a bridge between this life and the one that still lives unlived in my soul.

Blessings,

Julian

Writing

 I've been writing for a decade or more. Sadly, I don't have much to show for my efforts.

Still, I'm confident with a change of emphasis -- i.e. calling myself a writer -- I can make something of what I've to offer the world.

We'll see. 

Ju.

It says it all...

 “It may be important to great thinkers to examine the world, to explain and despise it. But I think it is only important to love the world, not to despise it, not for us to hate each other, but to be able to regard the world and ourselves and all beings with love, admiration and respect.”

― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

I'm home

 

I'm lucky to live in Devon. I mean, really lucky.

This picture says it all. The vibrant colours; the mellifluous river; and the tang of nature -- WOW.

Cornwall is great but it never quite feels the same. Sure, the beaches are off the scale but it's the soul that doesn't grab me.

I've not yet done my list of the things that feel impressed upon me but writ large is to fall back into a creative regime, however than unfolds. 

Save that, we'll see what happens next.

Love, Ju

Padstow 2020

We're nearly at the end of our holiday.

It must be the 15th time we've been here. 

And it's been wonderful to get away, even allowing for the fact that people appear to have forgotten the Rules on social distancing! 

(I've stayed away from the Town as much as possible and instead have enjoyed quiet time in the flat -- owned by my late father-in-law, Brian.)

We've booked next year for a week, and it'll be nice to keep the family tradition fully alive. 

Previously, and certainly by now, I'd have made some grand statement about all the things that I intend doing on my return home to Devon but this time there's been nothing of the sort save that I do want to start open-water swimming -- something I've never properly done. I will have to buy a wetsuit but for now, given the sea and river temperatures, I'll either manage with an old short-sleeved wetsuit or just my swimming trunks.

One thing that will live on in my memory is the fact that our children still want to come here and it's been wonderful to see them together and (largely) get along. They're quite different in many ways, but then again, they're very similar. All I'll say is that food is the common ingredient.

It's been nice for my wife to have some time away from home because next week she'll start her new job, and I know she's anxious, having been away from the front line of nursing for 11 years. Her specialist heart-failure role will be a world away from her research post but with the passing of her dad -- who himself was treated by one her soon-to-be colleagues -- the role has a particular poignancy to it.

Alfie too has had a ball, even though at times he's worried me to death running off across the beach and on one occasion nearly drowning, as he swam after the seagulls and then realised, 400 metres out, that he was a little out of his depth! 

Anyhow, here's to you Padstow. It won't be long and we'll be back again.

Ju.

Paying attention

Perhaps it's me, but I don't understand the fascination with mobile phones. 

What do I mean?

I mean, why does everyone live in their phones and not pay attention to what's happening?

Perhaps I'm being too judgmental but then again, I wonder what we're missing in the process?