Bedspreads, Saints and Sinners

I had a friend many years ago who I used to tease about her matching bedspreads, curtains and pillowcases. She laughed along with me and then explained her childhood had been something altogether different. Her mother had died of breast cancer and the four girls were left with an alcoholic father. When he became drunk, he became violent and his favourite activity for my friend, as a young girl, was to make her run the full length of the room and bang her head on the far wall. If she didn’t do it hard enough, he became furious. If she cried, he became even angrier. It seemed a very cruel act towards a very small vulnerable child who was missing her mother. 

They slept on beds with coats no sheets no duvets and somehow it suddenly made sense that as a married woman, she wanted her own child to sleep in clean sheets that matched everything beautifully. I was shocked beyond belief that my remark could have triggered such deep hurtful memories of a childhood cursed with alcoholism. Seeing my expression, she hurried to explain that the thing that gave her hope during those dark days was a book entitled ‘The Lives of the Saints’. My friend said this was her daily reading material and it inspired her. She grew to know about wonderful lives, like Saint Francis of Assisi and his love for animals and people. She read and reread these stories and as she described their effect her face became full of joy. I suddenly saw how, even in the midst of misery and suffering, the lives of the saints had shed a light on a spiritual path that led out of the darkness. 

St Jerome (347 AD - 420 AD) was born in modern-day Bosnia and Herzegovina but found himself a student in Rome. While young he enjoyed sexual experimentation among the students of that city and yet felt afterwards incredible feelings of guilt. In order to make his conscience feel better, he would visit the dark catacombs. This would remind him of the perils of hell and seeing the gravestones of the martyrs and the apostles reminded him that he should choose a better path.  He wrote of this experience later, quoting Virgil, 

“On all sides round, horror spread wide; the very silence breathed a terror on my soul”.

However hard he endeavoured to become a member of the local Christian community he inevitably fell out with the leaders describing them as blind men leading other blind men into a pit as in the biblical parable. Such disunity was also apparent in his family where he had accused his sister of behaving abominably and this caused a rift with other family members. Another significant personal crisis in his own life emerged and he felt his reputation had been sullied.  No one knows what actually happened, but he had evidently done something so shocking and offensive and completely unforgivable in the eyes of the local community of nuns that they never replied to any of his letters begging forgiveness despite his admission of his wrongdoing and asking for their pardon.

Eventually seized with a desire for spiritual growth and penance he travelled to a desert and there lived with many other hermits on spiritual path in utmost poverty in holes and caves. One hermit was said to have lived for 30 years on a diet of barley bread and muddy water. The idea of all this torment was to subdue their bodies, break their will and eradicate every carnal desire. To that end, eating and drinking were kept to a minimum and they would even take steps to make sleep very difficult. 

Saint Jerome, during this time, wrote many letters to those that he had offended in the past and to beg for forgiveness. Unfortunately, anyone who did not forgive him, was written another letter viciously attacking them. Gradually he learnt that even among the hermits in the surrounding area he was unpopular. He wrote to the Pope explaining the situation. It is interesting that his main complaint was how argumentative everyone around him was! This period in the desert left him with a dislike of monks, hermits and spiritual people who he saw as often being filled with hypocrisy and arrogance. When he left the desert, he chose to live with a dear friend whose hospitality he depended on for an entire year.

During this time, he chose to write a biography of an early Saint, who had lived to the amazing age of 105, in which he strongly disagreed with that already well-written by his friend and host on the same topic. The prolonged visit inevitably ended with his friend falling out with him and requesting him to leave.  A pattern surely emerges of someone who could not get on with his own family, his own religious community, could not get on with those nuns, could not get on with his neighbouring hermits in the desert, and even couldn’t get on with a hospitable friend who had generously accommodated him for a year for free.  

Fortunately, St Jerome won funding from the pope to undertake translation work on the Bible at which he showed real talent.  As a result of this, St Jerome at last found himself fashionable and much sought after, particularly by elderly women of wealth seeking a spiritual path. Some wrote to him for advice and he encouraged them to take the course of rigorous chastity and self-mortification. St Jerome felt that women had dangerous desires and appetites that needed to be repressed and suppressed.  His basic reasoning was as follows, since eating the forbidden apple in Eden (largely Eve’s fault) caused Adam’s fall, then logically fasting must be the path to chastity and salvation for women. He argued this so successfully to one of the daughters of a particular widow the teenager proceeded to starve herself and died within four months.  At her funeral her mother fainted in distress at the loss.  A horrible letter exists from St Jerome to the mother berating the widow for making such a scene at the graveside. He did not even spare the biblical prophets, remarking that the quality of their rhetoric made his skin crawl. 

By now like me perhaps you are disliking this saint a little?  It is fairly common now to attack people alive and dead and to use all information available, real or made up as ammunition.  In St Jerome’s case, a very real character emerges that while missing on social skills had a dedication and devotion that left a lasting legacy. There can be no doubt that he was a prolific biblical scholar, who wrote wide-ranging commentaries on numerous books of the Bible and strengthened the quality of his translation by referencing both the original Hebrew and Greek texts. I suspect all of us have our flaws and strengths and too often we learn to distract ourselves from our own failings by focusing on the vices of others. Part of the beauty in examining the lives of the saints is that they not only painfully remind us of our own weaknesses, but also inspire a powerful urge to choose a better and more noble path forward.

The Inner Critic just has to go!

I have a voice inside my head. A vicious critic who has only negative comments to contribute. In every situation it considers only the worst possible overcome. I used to tell myself this voice had a role. It prepared one for the unseen or unexpected. When or if a disaster happened at least I'd had a ‘heads up’ in advance. Then, this last trip to Northern Ireland I talked with a loved one and came to the conclusion this voice needs excised. Part of that process incorporates understanding where this voice came from. 

I think I've tracked it back to childhood. The moment I arrived in the in the isolated Sperrin mountains of Northern Ireland fresh from Sydney, Australia. It didn't help having a distinctly Australian accent. Nor did being introduced to a fifth year primary class who had been together since kindergarten. Cliques had already formed and alliances and friendships were cemented. There was I, as odd as you please. By the end of my first day at school blood had been drawn. I felt different in almost every way from the children around me and the voice articulated clearly that I was an outsider. Every time I failed to make a friend, join a game in the playground or sat alone at lunchtime, I heard it's rancid observations. “You'll never fit in”. “They don't like you.” “Don't you get it?” “They don't want you here!” ”Stupid, stupid why did you think you could fit in?” Even when things went okay the voice prepared me. “Okay, sure, it's fine this morning, just you wait until break time then things are going to really kick off.” 

Was it really how I thought about myself? Or some defensive reaction to cope with the new challenging environment? I'm not sure but even now in my 50s when someone compliments me in any shape or form I look at them to see if they are joking. Searching for the truth not this false missive. It is as if believing something nice about yourself would be the biggest flaw. Why do I need to excise this longtime companion in my thoughts? 

When we let such a negative voices  dominate we damage not only ourselves but those closest to us. They learn our habits and it's a fact of life the very worst characteristics to cope with are your own unique flaws. We can stand all kind of idiosyncrasies in others but not our own. Secondly, the negative backdrop to life drains energy. When we are happy our strengths come to the fore. Negativity does the opposite. Hard things become harder. And even simple tasks become draining. I've reached that age where I can no longer afford this brutal observer. They have to go! Ageing makes even mundane tasks trickier  so I certainly have no need of this disabling critic. Thirdly, I'm tired of the struggle. There is an growing awareness that other positive forces will come into play if I can only disentangle this intruder of mine. I know when it made an appearance. Understand why it felt protective in some ways but now I recognise its toxic influence and want change. How does one change the habit of a lifetime? Like how you change any other habit. One day at a time, with determination and the knowledge that one has been stuck in this harmful mode too long. When I re-read my writing so much of it is riddled with my inner critic. So I'm not sure if when excised totally, I will even be able to put pen to paper! In any event I shall need to find a new voice. One hopefully that is a good deal kinder and more gentle.  Watch this space!

Perhaps our negative voices act as really dark sunglasses changing the actual landscape around us. Instead of vibrant colours we see a poor shadowy image. This ultimately affects our brain which quickly and efficiently recalibrates the world into darker tones. We even forget that it could be different. We gradually own this darkened world and navigate within its limited hues.  Missing out on the kaleidoscope of colours we are bemused by those who see things differently. Their descriptions bewilder us and cause us to question their grasp on reality. When a pessimist listens to an optimist they can feel annoyance at the naïveté displayed. Their mindset repels at this alternative slant on reality. I'm beginning to suspect having a negative voice inside your head, like the sunglasses changes our view of everything within this world. The resulting impact on the brain restricts the actual wavelengths that should be picked up but aren't. Seeing is believing after a certain time. For example, if we wear glasses that invert our vision after a number of days the brain will recalibrate what we see and make the appropriate correction. In other words it turns everything the right way up again. 

Just as our eyesight deteriorates with age so does our ability to hear. In a study on Malta, one of my students science projects involved playing beats of increasing frequency. I was most perturbed when all the 17-year-old went on nodding that they could hear beats when all I heard was silence. We lose so many frequencies every year of our lives. Perhaps this parallels a spiritual truth. The young see and hear better. They have the capacity like young plants to adapt the environment quickly when older branches need the fire of test to alter them. If, as we age we become increasingly incapable of seeing and likewise restricted in our hearing then no wonder changing patterns of ingrained behaviour becomes much harder! But with focus and reflection we can make changes.  It is comforting to know this effect has a name, Perceptual adaptation.

Here’s an exercise to show how powerful it is. Click on the link. First you will see lilac circles moving but then focus on the cross in the middle you should be able to then see the green shape!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perceptual_adaptation#/media/File:Lilac-Chaser.gif

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” 

― Rumi

Home Alone

The last child has flown the nest

The emptiness is sudden.

Music has left our home

But also his mess.

To be fair he is now a man 

no longer a child

but it seems that just when

Conversations become illuminating and inspiring

Offspring migrate.

Thank God for Skype, email and text

They allow precious connection to continue

vicariously through the virtual world.

How many times do my sons take me by surprise

With their views and insights?

So much more capable in this world, than I.

Better equipped to manage this disintegrating system.

Made of stronger stuff entirely.

I watch them and try to learn from them

much needed survival skills, very late.

I learn humility is appropriate in parenting.

They are not works of art

that I can strut before

explaining their character and meaning. 

No, these are independent entities

who have found their own path.

They are of me 

but forged in climes and culture 

far from my own.

They look at this world differently,

And I have learned to respect their view 

is broader and more complete.

I was bred in a tiny village

High in the Sperrin mountains in Northern Ireland.

The road was impossible in winter. 

We had one grocery shop 

in our one street but over twenty pubs.

There were two communities, Catholic and Protestant.

I examined them both,

like an amateur anthropologist.

Alternatively, amused and angered at their antics.

An outsider whose only connection

With my communities was a deep conviction

That life had to be more than this.

Mean more than this.

I’m grateful for the regular discussions at home

On life, science, religion and the solar system

That swept around our family table.

My mother hated the heated debates

And tried to herd us to more quiet pastures.

But the arguments, the marshalled defences

the cut and thrust, blew like a healthy wind 

through our minds.

Making this table of discussion

Not village-sized but of the universe.

Shouting aloud, truth is the only community.

Being alive to everything in this world,

The only antidote to ignorance. 

Not knowing is when you’ve

chosen not to see with your own eyes. 

This changes what we are.

What we can be.

Everything we will become

Is there in that choice.

To remain like granite what we are now

Or to embrace the person we could be.

The difference between the two 

is simply light years apart.

The business that kills 5.4 million people a year and earns governments $200 billion a year

I had a friend who smoked.  She had two small children and was married to a nice chap called Timothy.  Nothing surprising about that you may be thinking.  Her young son David suffered from asthma and his inhalers were a part of his life.  

It was hard to see someone young struggle for breath and when asthma sufferers do not keep a control of their condition, things turn life threatening.  Hard enough to be disciplined when you are an adult but for young children it becomes trickier still.  Then, David had an accident and fell off his bicycle and ended up in hospital for many weeks as it was a compound fracture.  Julie, his mother travelled to every visiting time and took sweets, changes of pyjamas, toys and of course his asthma medication.  On the second week the nurse in David’s ward told her not to bring the asthma medication in, as he did not need it.  Perplexed Julie explained, “But he takes it every morning and evening!”  The nurse assured her that David had not used an inhaler since he arrived in hospital two weeks earlier and had been fine with not one single asthma attack.    Julie was stunned and the nurse asked a surprising question. “Do you smoke?”  Julie replied that she did, to which the nurse responded, “that is probably what is triggering his asthma, it is very common.”  Julie was stunned it had never occurred to her that she could be the cause of her son’s fight for breath.  When Daniel came home there was a sudden change, she no longer smoked in the house only in the garden.  After a few weeks it became only the kitchen.  In a month she was back to smoking in the house as before and David returned to his inhalers.  It amazes me how addictions can mean we sacrifice even our nearest and dearest to them. 

The smoking ban which came into force in public places in July 2007 has resulted already in 1,900 fewer emergency hospital admissions for asthma patients every year.  In other countries, where to the ban has been brought in both working and public environments the drop has been 40%. 

Dr Penny Woods, chief executive of the British Lung Foundation, added: "This is important new research that further demonstrates how the smoking ban has dramatically improved people's lives and made smokers more aware of the harm smoking does to their health.

"Nearly a third of a million GP appointments each year are caused by children who are the victims of passive smoking. These horrendous figures show the scale of the problem we are still facing.”

Emily Humphreys from the health charity, Asthma UK, has also welcomed the findings: "This is something we campaigned for, so it is particularly encouraging that there has been a fall in children's hospital admissions for asthma since its introduction.

"We have long known that smoking and second hand smoke are harmful - they not only trigger asthma attacks which put children in hospital but can even cause them to develop the condition."

I remember David with all his inhalers and breathlessness and think of all those tiny children fighting for breath due to passive smoking in homes throughout the world. 

But then, one has also to remember all those who die from the effects of smoking.  The World Health Organisation has brought out a report (The WHO Report on the Global Tobacco Epidemic) very critical of the lack of action by many countries in confronting smoking.   “The tobacco epidemic already kills 5.4 million people a year from lung cancer, heart disease and other illnesses,” said WHO Director-General Margaret Chan. “Unchecked, that number will increase to more than 8 million a year by 2030.”

The report also gives one clear explanation for the lack of action.  Nations worldwide collect more than $200 billion in tobacco taxes annually.  Killing people is obviously a profitable business and the very best business is built on addiction.