A strange diabetes of the soul

I was near Folkestone last week wondering around quaint villages with chocolate box gardens manicured to within a fraction of perfection. They have had a lovely sunny summer so cafes have moved outdoors. Tiny smart tables perched on paving stones are edged by happy grey-haired pensioners neatly apparelled. You get the feeling this is an affluent bunch and having all the basics fret about the floral display out front. Have they chosen wisely or do colours clash? Is that a weed mounting a rearguard action on the rose border? Everywhere there are shops selling bric-a-brac. Upmarket stuff such as watches, jewellery, furniture and war memorabilia. I fear as the elderly pass away here, their worldly goods are vomited into these cluttered shops. It reminds me of the Isle of Wight, twenty odd years ago, where huge baskets of personal mementoes were displayed as abundant as the tourists that flood there in the summer. 

The problem is we are not good custodians. This generation is a use and dump lot. I include myself. My mother's generation kept heirlooms, first world war medals, delph from great grandmother’s dressers and even her own wedding dress and veil from over 60 years ago is carefully stored. Because I moved from country to country my mother has become an unwilling custodian of my junk too. Things are packed in tissue paper stored in vacuum seal or filed in different coloured folders.  Her attention to detail and painstaking tidiness is in direct opposition to my sorting capacities which invariably involve a trip to the dump. There I offloads huge quantities of stuff with great satisfaction. Every time I visit I intend to clear all my debris from her life. Always I am floored by that group of belongings that mean too much to throw away (like my 20 years of diaries) but are impossible to take with me. 

The developed world suffers from too much stuff. It is a real problem. Once driving across Canada we came upon field after field of storage container . Acres of them storing the debris of their owners lives. Unable to throw their belongings away they pay to have them stored at appropriate temperature and humidity to keep them preserved. All these containers and indeed dumps seem huge monuments to our present-day fixation of acquiring things. Everywhere, postmen and and couriers hurry up driveways to deliver yet more parcels. We are fond of these packages which make every day feel like a celebration. The only problem is our homes have only so much capacity. Cupboards become full, the garage’s overflowing and attics creak with their loads. So our excesses end up in the nearest landfill.  It is a metaphor for what we truly value. It is what we increasingly fuel our lives with, but at what cost. And I don't even mean financially. The things that distract us from the most important essential aspects of life are to be feared not embraced. 

Instead of sustaining our spirits we suffer from a strange diabetes of the soul. Materialism is attachment to the insistent self. We require a fire that burns away veils and leads us closer to spiritual reality. Prayer is the essential spiritual conversation of the soul with God. It is a spiritual food that sustains the life of the spirit. When we sincerely start on the path of spiritual search, true contemplation and meditation illumines our path. Our hearts are gladdened and uplifted but even more importantly our priorities realign. Earthly inclinations are transmuted into heavenly attributes and our actions become inspired by selfless service to humanity. The results can be breathtaking. We don't need to buy containers of stuff. In each of us there is a richness closer than our life vein. May we all find the space and time to become the person we were destined to be and our actions contribute to a better society.

"O God! Refresh and gladden my spirit. Purify my heart. Illumine my powers. I lay all my affairs in Thy hand. Thou art my Guide and my Refuge. I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved; I will be a happy and joyful being. O God! I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let trouble harass me. I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life.
     O God! Thou art more friend to me than I am to myself. I dedicate myself to Thee, O Lord."

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Lauch of Letter From Malta Service - warnings apply

Many friends over the years have suggested I would make a good counsellor. I've always responded with horror. Perhaps, the reason for choosing science over art so many years ago was a desire for solid facts not the soft shaky business of human psychology. When people tell me their problems it feels like a harpoon to my heart.  I find it difficult to weather the woes of others. I have a thin skin or as my mother calls it ‘You’re supersensitive’. 

When a friend told me how much her husband beat her, we went together to the photographer to take photos of her poor black and blue body, it burned my heart. I find myself wanting to take justice into my own hands. As these things sometimes do the fates conspired to tempt me. I was driving down the street when the husband was crossing the road at a pedestrian crossing. He was about to cross and I slowed to a standstill murderous intent in my heart. He spotted me and read my mind. We eyeballed each other for a few seconds as everyone else crossed the road in front of my car. He glared at me angrily and took a step. I revved my engine and he stopped. Never taking his eye of me he stepped back onto the pavement. He stood awkwardly on the edge looking around himself for support. It was time to drive on. I passed with with a slight nod of my head, ‘wise call’ I wanted to tell him. 

So, you can see that with such an inability to listen to troubles without taking practical action my counselling skills are always going to be seriously flawed. Then, I thought about being on a tiny island in the Med and reckoned there are some advantages to being at a distance. Perhaps, I should call my answering service “Letter from Malta”. You send me your questions problems insights and I will reply with a proper paper letter not email. Be warned I am not trained, not mild mannered, not shy about reframing accounts. Don't expect the usual “I'm hearing what you're saying, rot”!  Sometimes we all need to hear what we do not like. We need to be challenged as to reality not just our own narrow perception. Consulting with others is a powerful tool. We need not accept what others have to say but at times that contribution is from a refreshingly different perspective. That can help us make a better reflection on the choices and challenges that lie head. If you are interested send me your missive ( at colette.maani@gmail.com) and I promise to send my response from Malta. Be warned not only is the service not free it should have a government warning on it!..