Looking within, facing the past, finding you

Many people are in an angry, isolated and misunderstood state. Simple things that could have been resolved in a chat across a garden fence in five minutes have instead festered and grown. Even within family homes self-absorbed modes of being have stifled intergenerational exchanges. Instead of unity each retreats. Misunderstandings abound.  Disappointment is felt by many players and children lose out big time. Instead of daily conversations across a shared meal, something even our ancestors enjoyed over an open fire, we hardly touch base. The love that can be there goes unexpressed, unspoken, taken for granted and exhausts existing bank balances of shared experiences and love. No wonder disappointment reigns.  

If we’re honest our own disappointment lies closer to home. We are not what we thought we could or would be. This present shadowy creature is not a reflection of our inner reality. We sense that at a fundamental level. But veils have come between us and our own hearts. No wonder those around seem inscrutable and bewildering. We are not even sure how we ended up here. There is a vague memory of another desired path. It has been so long since we glimpsed it we’ve accepted the present landscape as our reality.

Never has time been more precious or more abused. Take a moment to look around at the faces. Sit in a cafe, train station or street centre and watch the faces. Be heartbroken at the misery written plain in too many. See others. Look at their expressions and feel your own heart contract in sympathy. Know too, that this face, that you see, is their public one. It is the shell that they adopt when exposed to the general population. Then, just imagine if you could see them at home in their own little box able to relax and really let the defences down.  Some don't even have this luxury. Their private homes are even worse plays that call on acting skills to see them through the long hours. They must perform charades, exhausted by the effort that entails. Souls lacerated, they self harm to excise the pain. Whether that harm is with a razor, drug, drink, overeating, under eating, gambling etc it matters not. These symptoms of dreadful wrongs haunt the spaces of our society.

At a time when happiness is sought by so many why has misery become ever more abundant?  These are questions that need asked. We have to remove the barriers within us. Allow the quiet honest reflection that enables you to question your own spirit and really listen to what it says. It may surprise you. Just allow silence into your life. 

Turn off all the news, entertainment, gossip, never ending tasks and, as you would with a dear dear friend who you've not seen for decades, ask the real questions that matter. Allow time for the answers to bubble up from deep within. A lot of hurt, disappointment will surface too but be patient. Deep within, you have something worth waiting for. Don't be distracted by the flak. Hold fast, it is worth it. When there is love, there is always enough time. Suddenly, there will be a flash of you. Crystal clear glimpses of the old you that is still in there. At first it may appear like shards of a broken mirror, the pieces of an old image. Reclaim yourself, you are worth the effort.

You are worthy of love and respect. You cannot feel it for others if you don't claim it for yourself. Allow the the real you step forward and recognise the voice that has been silent too long. You will get distracted and disappointed by the inactivity and lack of results. Hurt by bad memories you’ve tucked deep away. Swamped by feelings of fragility that emerges. Being sensitised is a hurtful thing! See past that, to the fluid nature within. You are all these feelings and experiences but you are even more.

Trust the voice within you, even if it just says “shut up”! Be patient, this is a dear friend who deserves your love. They have walked with you on epic journeys of heartbreak. Be still and respect the insights they offer. Know too that you will get better at mining these gems that lie inside. You are worth the effort so start digging for those jewels.

It is said our lives flash before us as we die.  Perhaps it is because in order to see, actually see the light you need to clear out the debris of life.  Why wait until the end, when this moment could be the  beginning of everything.

PS  If you don’t whether to trust the response that comes from within.  Know that there is a touchstone to measure the authenticity of real insights from vain imaginings. 

“And the honour and distinction of the individual consist in this, that he …should become a source of social good. Is any larger bounty conceivable than this, that an individual, looking within himself, should find … he has become the cause of peace and well-being, of happiness and advantage to his fellow men?”  

A Plague of Our Times

The plague has struck humanity repeatedly over our long history. An early mention of the plague occurs in 1 Samuel, in the old Testament, where the Philistines are struck down after they steal the Ark of the Covenant from the Israelis. The description of the disease is identical to that exhibited by the plague.  It is believed that the book of Samuel was composed between 630 and 540 BC but used much older source documents. Remarkably, Even older evidence than this has been discovered, dating to 1350 BC, when the fossilised remains of plague fleas were found in Amana Egypt.  Obviously, this disease has been around for thousands of years and been responsible for the loss of an unbelievable number of human lives.

The plague is in an acute infectious disease caused by the bacillus Yersinia pestis and is still endemic in indigenous rodent populations of South and North America, Africa and Central Asia. The disease is transmitted to humans by the bite of a flea. Primary hosts of the flea are thought to be the black urban rat and the brown sewer rat.  

The Justinian plague of 541 started in central Africa and spread to Egypt and the Mediterranean.

It was named after the Roman emperor of that time.  How unfortunate to go down in posterity named after one of the most frightening and virulent diseases!  The early historians describe the effect of the disease. They said people had a sudden fever and then they developed swellings on their body, in the groin, inside the armpit and also beside the ears and even on different points on the thighs.  Constantinople lost 10,000 of its population per day and by the end of the outbreak a third of the total population of the city had died from the plague. The disease spread as far north as Denmark, west to Ireland and then even to Africa the Middle East and Asia Minor. In total, it is thought that between the years 542 AD and 546 AD the plague killed nearly 100 million people.

An eyewitness, John of Ephesus describes the process.

“[Theodore] made very large pits, inside each of which 70,000 corpses were laid down. He thus appointed men there, who brought down corpses, sorted them and piled them up. They pressed them in rows on top of each other, in the same way as someone presses hay in a loft ... Men and women were trodden down, and in the little space between them the young and infants were pressed down, trodden with the feet and trampled down like spoilt grapes.”

It is difficult to describe the fear, the devastation and the scale of the loss of life at this time. By the end of the plague a quarter of the population of the Roman Empire was dead.

The plague returned as the black death of 1347 AD. This pandemic was brought to the Crimea from Asia Minor.  The Tartar armies of Khan Janibeg had laid siege to the town of Kaffa (now Feodosya in Ukraine) but were unsuccessful. Before they left, they catapulted the corpses of plague victims over the walls into the city.  The citizens of Kaffa fled in ships, carrying the disease with them all through Europe.  Meanwhile, the Tartars also carried the plague with them further to Russia and India.  War like fleas, it seems are perfect vectors for the spread of disease.  A lesson that humanity, even after thousands of years, it seems has not yet been learned.

In medieval accounts there are descriptions of the symptoms of the disease. It begins with tumours in the groin or armpit some of which grow as large as an apple, others the size of an egg. Then black spots appear on the arms and thighs. 

History calls it the Black Death.  The overall mortality rate varied from city to city. In Florence, half the population died. People died with such rapidity proper burial or cremation could not occur. Corpses were once again thrown into large pits and putrefying bodies lay in their homes and in the streets. Transmission of the illness was thought to be by disease carrying vapours emanating from the corpses and the from the breath of an infected or sick person. Others thought the Black Death was a punishment from God for their sins. People joined in huge processions of flagellants whipping themselves with nail embedded scourges and incanting hymns and prayers as they passed from town to town.  As much as 88% of those afflicted with the disease died. The plague lead to a preoccupation with death and some macabre artwork such as The Triumph of Death by Pieter Breughel the Elder in 1562 AD.  

By the end of the outbreak a quarter of the population of Europe, over 25 million people, were dead.  The scale of the loss of life was such that by 1430 AD Europe's population was lower than it had been in 1290 AD and indeed would not recover its pre-pandemic level until the 16th century!

In the 15th and 16th centuries doctors wore a peculiar costume to protect themselves from the plague when they attended infected patients. They were clothed from head to foot in leather or oil cloth robes, with leggings, gloves and a hood. This was topped with a wide brimmed hat and a beak like a mask with glass eyes and two breathing nostrils filled with aromatic herbs and flowers to fend off the fumes. They avoided touching their patients and would lance tumours with knives several feet long.  Even now the picture is horrific but imagine how it felt for their patients!

Another small epidemic occurred in London in September 1665 AD when 7000 people per week were dying. By the end of that year a fifth of London’s population had died.  An old familiar English nursery rhyme published in 1881, reminds us, all too clearly  of the symptoms of the plague. 

Ring a-ring a roses (a red blistering rash)

a pocketful of posies (fragrant herbs and flowers to ward off the disease)

atishoo, atishoo (the sneeze and the cough heralding pneumonia)

we all fall down.(all dead)

Just in case we think the plague is a thing of the past it's important to realise that outbreaks still occur. Here are the figures over the last few decades. 

Given our present antibiotics the death toll from the plague has been reduced to a kill rate of only 16% nowadays. However, It is particularly worrisome that some multi drug- resistant strains of the bacillus are appearing.  This is not a good  omen for the future.  The ways in which we can become infected are also multiplying. 

To make matters worse, we are sometimes playing risky games with this age old killer.  In 2015 the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in the US reported (after inspections of an army base in Maryland) one of the Pentagon’s most secure labs, had mislabelled and improperly stored and even shipped samples of potentially infectious plague bacteria!

If history has taught us anything about this dreadful disease over the past three millennium it is surely this.

1. we should be on guard against complacency
2. avoid unnecessary wars and 
3. forced movement of millions 
4. protect the health and well being of all human beings to boost their natural immunity 
5. and never for a moment assume we have this endemic killer under our total control.

scary facts  once you open the webpage  click on it to enlarge!

PS Used a lot of info from The History of the Plague - The Three Great Pandemics by John Firth

Fasting - progressing or regressing?

There are many reasons to fast. Several organisations have claimed extraordinary health benefits for fasting. I enjoyed this talk on the surprising changes it can bring.

In fact if you tell people you're fasting for health benefits most people will be impressed with your determination and strength of mind. Slightly in awe of someone choosing not to eat or drink when they have the freedom to do both. In an age where obesity is endemic in the developed world, with all its associated diseases, those who choose the opposite direction stand out.  They are akin to the super fit among us whose regular frenetic workouts keep them energised and in shape. They are to be to be admired for not going with the flow. Actually finding the wherewithal to go in the opposite direction to the norm. After all, for a huge swathe of humans, being without food or clean water is not a choice. They wrestle daily to obtain these basic necessities and die periodically in substantial numbers when they lose this battle. 

We live in a world that has those who literally eat themselves to an early death and others starving from malnutrition who die because of a lack of food. In case we think these two extremes are linked to each other it is important to point out the obvious difference. Those who eat their way into obesity and diabetes do have a choice. Those who are dying of hunger rarely do. You might argue that the food industry has cleverly generated over zealous consumers of their manufactured products to earn them millions. That by the use of sugar, flavour enhancers, excess salt and other means the food industry has caused the obesity we see around us. There may be some truth to this and those who target children with their unhealthy fare are becoming rightly the target of the public's ire. However, in general the public is distracted and in the void where information should be, entertainment and advertisements have elbowed their way in. It is becoming harder to discern the truth. Instead of right and wrong we seem to have only shades.

In a world of excess those who choose to do with less are admired. In a world of scarcity to choose to do with less is suicidal. We admire those who control their appetite by fasting because it is uncommon. Of course those who fast because they have a psychological disorder receive no such admiration. The inner prompting that keeps an anorexic from eating is recognised as a sickness not admired  as self control. The Romans overindulged and then routinely vomited so they could repeat the delight of eating again similarly do not deserve applause. Food is so fundamental to well-being we all inherently fear its wastage to greater or smaller degrees. My mother-in-law who lived through war and the shortage of food that entailed wept in her son’s restaurant kitchen, in Texas, to see huge uneaten steaks being scooped into the bins. To those with experience of hunger, food is infinitely precious.

Fasting for religious purposes is viewed differently by most. When I, as a Baha’i, fast people are sometimes uncomfortable. They can see it as fanatical, incomprehensible and almost akin to scourging. It is undoubtably antisocial.  How many times do I find myself not joining friends at such times. They become self-conscious eating and drinking in my presence despite protestations to the contrary. Not been able to give you a cup of tea or coffee as you enter their home makes them feel like a helpless host. So what is it that fasting does for me.

1. It helps me discover all my addictions. For example, coffee drinking has to stop at least a month before the fast. Otherwise the fast becomes  a time of endurance and not enjoyment.
2. It's frees up time to commune with God. Without tea, coffee, biscuits and meals there is suddenly so much time available. The mind is clearer and sharper. There are less distractions.
3. The physical doing without food or water from sunrise to sunset is not the hardest part. For me dealing with the cold is a major issue. I am sitting at present  wearing jumpers, coat, gloves and a scarf in the shopping mall. Two tourists have wondered by in tank tops and shorts. I'm not sure what goes wrong with my body when deprived of food and drink but for whatever reason hypothermia is the result.
4. Dealing with the physical effects of fasting is not the hardest part at all. The challenge is actually growing spiritually as a result of fasting. It is possible to do without food or water day after day with rigid discipline but advance not one jot spiritually. In fact that's not true. Because I'm convinced our spiritual state is dynamic not static it's quite possible to fast and move further away from God.  You can become grumpy and bad tempered. You can suddenly be judgemental of others! Any self satisfaction during this period can be dangerous. It can generate pride that causes your spirit to actually shrivel.
5. We are told that some who fast will not be accepted by God and many that don't fast, will. In other words, it seems it's not the decision to put something in your mouth or not that determines the spirituality of this period. It is the degree to which we succeed during these days of rejuvenating our spirit. It can allow us insights on what we can achieve and what we need to change within. It triggers the possibility of transformation and provides a quiet space for that possibility.

Every year it feels like the sands of this special time are running through my fingers before I can truly grasp them. Creating the space once a year reminds me that we are all crops in progress. There are things needed weeded out, seeds requiring planting, plants to be pruned and all need the water of life to strengthen them. Everything you do this season will influence the year ahead. May yours, like the coming spring, be fruitful and abundant with promise.

My brothers are hungry too!

We had just bought our first house. It was a small gate lodge with a huge garden. It even had its own little forest in the corner. The kids loved it. This move to the countryside provided the three boys (all under 10) with the freedom to play outside. The contrast between our previous urban existence on a rough estate to this rose garden encircled cottage could not be greater.

We enthusiastically carted boxes of our belongings from the hired transport van to our new home. So involved were we with moving we forgot to prepare food. Our younger son, Daniel decided he was hungry and went off to explore our new neighbourhood. He wandered off to a row of pensioner's houses on a lane opposite. A friendly pensioner spotted Daniel and struck up a conversation with our chatty three-year-old who told him how very hungry he was. Andrew welcomed Daniel into his home and introduced him to his wife Vera, a South African. A lovely elderly couple who had spent their lives up to their 40s taking care of their ill parents. It was only after the death of their respective parents that the pair met at the wedding of a relative of Andrew's. They married and had one son.  Andrew worked in the nearby cement quarry for the whole of his life. In their cosy living room Daniel was fed and given a drink and even a bar of chocolate. At their door, as he left, the canny Daniel, informed them that he had two brothers as hungry as he was!  The generous pensioners filled a plastic bag with provisions for his brothers. Daniel returned to our house like a triumphant hunter gatherer.  We were shocked by his audacity and yet impressed with his initiative. When we went to thank these pensioners we found two gems. Both were as kind as they were wise. Andrew had built a huge conservatory, all home-made, with even an oil heater to heat it. Entering that quiet conservatory we would often find Vera working away at a massive jigsaw puzzle on a specially designed table while Andrew read his newspaper.  How many times we’d enter this serene place and be plied with huge quantities of tea and biscuits.

They grew amazing tomatoes and supplied us with jars of their famous chilli and tomato chutney. Andrew’s kindness was constant and in the years ahead brought only joy to all our lives. Andrew taught Daniel how to ride his first bike. They felt like a real family. I remember trying to move our caravan from the garden. It seemed an impossible task until Andrew flagged down a passing tractor driver who had the caravan hauled out in a matter of minutes. It was at that moment I realised what being part of a community meant. Andrew had been brought up in this part of the world. Gone to school here, worked a lifetime in this rural setting. When he flagged down a passing driver they were obviously going to help. He was well known in the neighbourhood and everyone seemed to know him and like him. Daniel had chosen well!

Years later we moved abroad but on visits to Northern Ireland, Andrew and Vera were a joy to catch up with.  Illness plagued Andrew. This huge man with hands like shovels had operation after operation. The cement dust from the years of quarry work troubled his lungs.  On subsequent visits we could see his decline. Slow but remorseless.  He was ever loved and his only son worked hard to make the house suitable for his now disabled father. Andrew was ill but surrounded by his extended family including happy young grandchildren. It was a good 15 years later from that first visit of Daniel to the couple that we got news that Andrew was hospitalised and seriously ill. Daniel sat beside Andrew’s bed during a visit as he wavered in and out of consciousness. Daniel whispered “Andrew is the first friend I ever made in my life”. It was hard to lose this good friend.

We never know the effect our lives have on others. But this couple graced their neighbourhood with their good natures. For my three sons Andrew raised the standard of what being ‘a good man’ really meant. Showed true nobility  can be demonstrated in times of laughter and in times of pain and illness. Just by their existence this couple made this world a better place. They engender hope in all of us that good people transform not just themselves but the wider community too.  They touch lives and sprinkle the gold dust of their kindness on all those they meet. When I see kindness in Daniel I am reminded of Andrew and his bag of goodies on that first visit. 

A few memories - from the walls and shelves of my parents

Mum in Canada with my brothers.  My favourite photograph of the three of them!

The only thing I ever won in competition (it was a family effort) and we received a lovely bicycle. This telegram was brought from the post office by hand and it was so exciting! Strange to find it after all these years. The winning entry was

"People who pedal past petrol pumps save lives, save health and save money"

Re-reading my Dad's shelves of books and loving Cosmos.  In it Carl Sagan describes Kepler (1571 – 1630), that awesome scientist who discovered so much about the movement of the planets.  At a time when people thought these bodies moved in circles, Kepler came up with the notion of them being elliptical. He used the formula of an ellipse, first codified in the Alexandria library by Apollonius of Perga (262 BC –  190 BC) who had worked out the speed of the moon (one of the craters is named after Apollonius, in honour of his achievements).  You've got to hand it to these guys and strange to think of all that knowledge being lost for so long.  

Kepler worked out so much about the movement of the planets and three fundamental laws of physics remain named after him to this day.  It is impossible to exaggerate his contributions to Astronomy.  In Kepler's hometown of Weil der Stadt three women were tortured and killed as witches every year between 1615 and 1629.  Many scapegoats were elderly women living alone who were blamed for illnesses suffered by others.  It is perverse that Kepler's own cankerous 74 year old mother was carried off in a laundry basket in the middle of the night to face a charge of witchcraft.  Poor Kepler had to leave his contemplation of celestial bodies and return to his home town to argue in his mother's defence.  This, he was eminently capable of and he turned his logical and excellent mind to proving that in no way could his mother be responsible for the minor health complaints of neighbours.  His argument won out and he freed her from the dungeon but she was exiled from the town of Wurttemberg for life and would have been executed had she returned. Kepler lost his benefactors who funded his research due to the Thirty Year War.  During this period he also lost his wife and his son who both died. He was even excommunicated from his Faith due to his uncompromising individualism.   Kepler envisioned 'celestial ships with sails adapted to the winds of heaven' navigating the sky 'who would not fear the vastness of space'.  How sad that this brilliant scientist was reduced to constructing horoscopes for the rich nobility to earn a living.  Today explorers of space use his laws of planetary motion and ride on the shoulders of this unique genius.  

Another book from my Dad's shelves is called Conquistadors by Micheal Wood.

In 1542 Dominican Bartholome de Las Casas wrote a short account of the Destruction of the Indies and dedicated it to the future King Philip II.  Arguments had started about whether the Spanish had a right to make war on the native people of South America to force them to accept Christianity.   As Dominican friar Antonio de Montesinos had so eloquently argued a few decades earlier,
'Are these Indians not men?  Do they not have rational souls?  Are you not obliged to love them as yourselves?'

Given the extent of slaughter of the native people these were important issues.  A Council of Fourteen was convened to properly discuss the matter and in the meantime King Charles V ordered all Spanish conquests in America be stopped.  Las Casas and the philosopher Sepulveda debated for five months.  Sepulveda argued that native societies were devoid of civilisation and hence virtually devoid of humanity.  Taking their gold, demolishing their political structures, acquiring their land and the widespread genocide was all justified. Las Casas who had, unlike Sepulveda, lived for decades in the Americas spoke eloquently and powerfully.  Las Casa's arguments were,

1. the world is indeed one
2. human beings are the same
3. all have the possibility of self fulfillment and achieving goodness
4. no matter how rude, uncivilised and barbarous, savage or brutal a people could be, all can be persuaded into a good way of life - provided that the method used is proper and natural to men - namely love, gentleness and kindness.

Las Casas won the debate!  This historic victory could have prevented much of the suffering that later happened in so many parts of the world to native people.  This could have been a real milestone for humanity.  However, power and greed became the real drivers and quickly trumped morality and conscience.  Was it ever so?  

Genius minds discovering the intricacies of the movement of the planets, great intellects urging respect of others, all so ahead of their day.  With the passing centuries we see more clearly the truths they were urging others to accept.  We also see the suffering that stupidity, greed and a lack of moral conscience brings to this world.  

My grandfather fought in World War I.  He was sixteen and the recruitment officer told him to walk around the table and come back and say he was seventeen.  In order to enlist he needed to be a year older.  He found himself in the Somme, was shot and awarded a commendation for bravery.  He never spoke of his experiences much.  He was the most fearless person I ever encountered.

My grandmother on the other side of the family painted this.  She became a teacher and had five children.  She never had time to touch a paint brush again.  I reckon she had talent.  But what do I know?  Perhaps her five children were her real creative output.

Bare feet and bare essentials

They seemed a breed apart. Disengaged from a normal life and embroiled in a fantasy existence that floated unanchored by mortgages, debts or jobs.  I had just taken up my first job, fresh from university, and was working as an assistant engineer for Plessey Radar in Cowes on the Isle of Wight.  Everything was new for me, coming from Northern Ireland. The freedom, the culture, the work, the people all seemed intensely interesting. At work I rubbed shoulders with ‘the normals’, as I call them, my colleagues at Plessey. Of all shapes, sizes and ages they lived normal existences where bills needed paid and work was a means to an end. Some I liked and some I didn’t, but they were predictable and reassuring. 

I shared a flat with Rosalind. A 6 foot fashion design model who commuted to Portsmouth by ferry daily. She and all her friends were a breed apart. Her boyfriend was a bare foot shipwright who owned three 30ft plus sailing yachts.  He told me he walked without shoes or socks because that way uninteresting people didn’t bother him. His name was Horace and he liked laughing at others. Rosalind was consistently unfaithful to him with various people and he would rage and sulk and then they would make up again. I wasn't sure I like either of them and I knew they laughed at my simplistic approach to life. I didn't drink or do drugs and found the fact that I believed in God riotously funny. Rosalind was a white witch, she told me, leaning back in the kitchen chair smoking a cigarette and blinking wide pale green eyes  that reminded me of a newborn calf. Wide clear eyes with lovely long lashes but absolutely nothing going on behind them. Except perhaps where the nearest meadow was and how to get there. Or in Rosalind's case where the nearest suitor was how to win them. Horace and Rosalind had a range of similar friends all into yachting and windsurfing. They talked in very posh accents and all had parents having either divorces or mental breakdowns. They were either wealthy or oddly poor with all the tappings of the rich. Take Rosalind for example. Her parents lived in a huge mansion outside Ryde but struggled to  pay their grocery bills. Every effort went into maintaining the appearance of wealth at all costs. The father was a tall thin man who could speak to spirits. He regularly broke off from the conversation to let you know that there was a spirit in the corner of the room. They all seemed like flotsam blowing willy-nilly and I found myself viewing them as if they were a completely different species. Whatever they said or did, I found myself examining it in an unreal way as if they lived in an alternative universe. This world of theirs was like a game of monopoly. They had so much money or properties that they were really rather bored by it all. So they broke things, relationships, themselves to generate something with which to engage. I listened to the conversations and they ebbed and flowed with cynicism, ridicule and mockery. Two Irish lads at Plessey had trouble starting the car one morning and decided to push start it. Unfortunately, the car had built up too much speed down the hill and the driver had been unable to jump in. The car crashed into iron railings at the bottom of the hill and was badly damaged. This was related was related with  endless zeal by my flatmates as an example of typical plebs, their term for the working classes. At least these particular ‘plebs’ caused damage only to themselves and their own property. 

Whereas Horace and his crew seem to have no morals regarding others belongings. Horace's favourite trick when purchasing uninhabited properties was to urinate in the corner to put off other house buyers. He sold a leaky yacht to a London weekend sailor and for six weeks sneaked down to the marina every three days to pump out the bilges. After this, he stopped and when the yacht sank at its moorings felt absolutely no guilt. As he pointed out it was no longer his responsibility! As if by pumping the bilges he had been performing an act of service rather than that of deception. He had no loyalty to his yachts either. He sold in ancient beautiful wooden sailing ship immaculately restored to a Londoner who intended to moor it on the Thames and live on it. The fact that the freshwater would eventually ruin the hull was a matter of no concern to him. When I remonstrated that he should at least tell the prospective buyer of the potential damage freshwater would do to this unique boat. He raised an eyebrow and laughed aloud at the very idea. 

Being in their company was like standing on shifting sands. With no conscience, no sense of responsibility their lives appeared to follow only the tides of daily whims. They were easily disengaged from practical considerations. If I struck up a conversation with Horace at the table when he had a plate of food in front of him, he would lower his knife and fork and proceed to hold forth allowing the food to go cold and untouched at times. I, a descendent of a poor pig farmer from Ireland, found this just as amazing as his lack of morals. To my way of thinking food was a precious commodity and not to be sacrificed for intellectual banter. 

Plessey Cowes

The companionship of my fellow engineers at Plessey kept me sane. They had mortgages, bills, normally lives and their laughter seemed less cruel too. The crew back at the flat seemed unanchored, unhinged and unscrupulous. That period however did help me considerably. I saw that being the winner of the monopoly game can be a lonely sad existence where are you are incredibly bored. Only those still struggling to miss landing on hotels, and desperately collecting £200 as they pass Go, enjoy the adrenaline surges of the real world. Having too much money or things can be toxic for the soul, could be a kind of leprosy that contaminates you and others. It was a great relief to move out back into the real world and feel rocks beneath my feet again. I vowed never to be tempted by those shifting sands in the future.

Shouting preachers, spiritual paths

In my childhood it was common to walk down our village street being harangued about the fires of hell. These street preachers would unleash hateful tirades against the passerby. Warning of death, everlasting torment in flames and crow about their seat in heaven being dusted and ready for them. The best of them would give a personal statement of their faith. This would usually involve a tale of woe. How they’d been a lost soul who drank to excess or took drugs, stole, committed adultery, lied and generally lived a life far from common standards of decency. They would then recount their own “road to Damascus” experience (will that phrase ever feel the same after this year in Syria?) They would describe how they had been a sinner and lost before becoming saved and joining the righteous. This salvation meant they had already booked their place in heaven. Not by deeds but by faith, they would shout.

As a child walking beside my mother, I felt no end of grievances against these proud characters. Having not yet had a chance to break many of the 10 Commandments it felt wrong to be berated by someone who had. An inverse of “let those without sin throw the first stone”. I wanted to enter into discussion with these perpetrators along the lines of Socrates. Plato describes a typical Socrates discussion with two Athenian generals about courage. Under Socrate’s questioning the generals finally admitted they no longer even understood what bravery meant. 

Not that I would've been equipped at all for such a debate. However, the longing to respond was ever in my heart. Invariably, I was told to be quiet and to keep up with my mother. The civil thing to do, it seemed, in the face of  demonic threats in the street was to walk past and ignore it. To act as if none of this was your business. Just keep your head down and keep going. That felt so cowardly to me. Why do individuals like this get to reprimand others, condemn them to hell or judge between the saved and the lost? I never liked that their idea of religion seem to consist in an abundance of hate and a deep satisfaction that most of us were bound for hell.

It has left me wanting to be silent on anything spiritual.  I would hate to make anyone I spoke to, feel as I did growing up in Northern Ireland. The idea of berating or belittling someone on the basis of their Faith appals me. Yet, I'm so interested in discussions on faith. This life after all is a spiritual journey, at its essence. Even atheists would agree that gaining virtues, principles, insights and aspiring to leave this world slightly better as a result of your presence is worthwhile.  

Socrates said :”[Man] is always becoming a new being and undergoing a process of loss and reparation, which affects ... his soul as well. No man's character, habits, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, and fears remain always the same; new ones come into existence and old ones disappear.”

Around us are thousands of individuals who have already learned so much on their journey. Wouldn’t it be beneficial to discuss such things. Listen to what life has wrought in them. Be humble enough not to impose but absorb the insights they have gained. Strangely such conversations are often fraught. People will happily discuss the best car to invest in, their favourite team, their politics, their recent holiday, the programs they watch, but when the conversation is turned to spiritual or moral topics a veil can descend. As a cousin of mine so venomously snarled, ‘Get your hands of my soul” to an enquiry from an evangelistic neighbour. Discussions about religion can easily descend into arguments and heated exchanges. Neither of these is conducive to spiritual growth.

Is it self satisfaction or pride that blinds us to learning from others. Is it a fear of change or a desire to blindly imitate what we are familiar with at all costs?

Yet, when I have managed to have a conversation on prayer with a Muslim, a Christian or a Buddhist it has always been illuminating.  Not that one agrees with all one hears but that sacred space being shared is usually a positive experience. A Hindu friend spoke of as a child celebrating holy days in their community in Leicester. It involved her Indian mother baking huge cakes for the old people’s homes in their neighbourhood. That desire to do something kindly for the community was so ingrained in her as a child that 30 years later she found herself following her mother's example. She spoke of bringing boxes of cakes from her car and remembering her mother's presence so powerfully. My friend said, “Perhaps I do it in her name? I'm not sure why, but it makes me feel closer to her”. Another Muslim friend talked about waking every day to the sound of his father’s prayers filling their home. He felt blessed to be wakened by this call to God. He explained, “The word of God has a potency that influences those around us and can generate transformation”. When I discussed meditation with a Buddhist friend they spoke of how prayer to them was a calling out to God whereas silent meditation allowed a space to listen. He pointed out for him “in that stillness I discover the state of my own heart”. The agnostics I have met have often walked a practical spiritual path that is breathtaking. Focusing on deeds of service rather than acquiring any spiritual station they have sometimes managed to combine humility with magnanimous action. This they do, not on the weekly basis for the Sunday service but daily and even hourly with relentless integrity. There is much to learn from them.

Perhaps if we could have gathered round that shouting preacher we would've discussed spiritual pride and its disastrous consequences. Or the need not to judge another soul. Or even the fact that each of us is on a peculiar path that is unique.  That, the landscape we have emerged from, at that moment of meeting, is totally different and has shaped a human being we will never encounter the like of again. That, if we have the humility to learn at the feet of others we we may benefit from the windflowers of wisdom they have managed to pluck from their lives.