17 June 2021

Today is a day when I wish I could scream it out. I wish I was in the field in Oxfordshire or the Brecon beacons with no one to start or save potentially some sheep.

It is just too much. Too much sad news. Too much grief. I am tired of sucking up sad news and standing by graveside either in person or virtually. When will there be an end to this relentless season? 

I, of course know, there will never be an end to sorrow and death until my life ends. Or if you believe in an end of the world narrative, that day comes. But for nearly the last two years–beginning pre-Covid–loss and grief have been faithful companions. This is a friendship I’d happily break. Even if eventually, we reluctantly reconcile again.


This new normal that keeps being referred to, at best seems ever-changing at worst, ever-elusive or escaping.

I’ve held that opinion for a while, but maybe it feels more prevalent as in The UK the so-called ‘freedom day’ has recently been pushed back another 4 to 5 weeks.

I’m over accepting one has to navigate the new normal and live in the present. It’s just a bit of a challenge to do so, when it is constantly in flux.

With seemingly ever evaporating parameters for what determines when this new normal, will have been deemed to have arrived.

In the meantime, our so-called leaders are being caught out in their web of lies. Totally and something in my opinion and concerned about who they interact in there with them.

I am a lover of personal space and I’ve never understood why, on a practically empty bus or train carriage, someone would come and plonk themselves down next to you. 

However, as much as I understand the need for social distancing—and feel some people so don’t get what two metres means—I am trying hard to resist regarding every human being as a breathing biological threat. 

Something, that the longer this goes on for, and the more alarming statistics we hear; I fear some will find impossible to do.

Weekly Constants

So I wrote the following in April 2020. This rhythm has not been happening lately. I need to get back to a form of it.


Weekly Constants

  • Morning walk (min 3x a week)
    • 3K/30+ mins
    • 5K/55+ mins
    • 6-7
  • Daily sun fix@12/1 (weather permitting)
  • Wednesday pause
    • Late start
    • Writing (min 30 mins)
  • Returning to Acts (4 chps a week)

Oh, but I have reclaimed/re-instituted my Friday Sabbath. Striving to protect them zealously.

When the Pepaya Grows

  • Marmite, cross culture love it hate it. Eat it now because of the strong salt taste in a world where lots of things taste sweet. Used for being contextual? Open to change. Things you once would never do…
  • Pepaya excitement pearaya [sic]
  • Attempts to grow pepaya. I’m connection to work/min/
  • Ngopi @2 – slow burn/links in the chain
  • Old newsletters.
  • Knowing the space/role you occupy. Breaking up the fallow ground.
  • Each chapter title a reference to an actual event i.e Tell is about predestination / Nasi Kucing
  • Starfruit and neighbour -trying to set me up
  • Think of some of my most poignant experiences 
  • Spacious place verse and principle
  • Principle of the One

Grief

Grief has become like a second skin.

I remember in a discussion about personal space, a friend in the Middle East said personal space ends at your skin. I laughed in horror, and decided she won. As though personal space may be a challenge in Indonesia, it did not end at my skin.

Oh how I wish grief ended with my skin. However, it has in fact become like a second skin. 

Still gasping for breath/air from a previous loss, the air is sucked out of my chest from another and another.

I’ve shared the metaphor/analogy of grief being like floating in the sea. Sometimes the waves just gently lapping, motioning you forward and backwards like a liquid lullaby. Then before you know/ then as quickly propelling you closer to shore.

Tears

I have tears to cry but they persist in resisting gravity maybe because they know that there would be no brevity in their flowing if at last I let them go.

Between Funk & Fury

Between funk and fury, my two states of being. The pendulum swing between them occasionally a matter of milliseconds as opposed to minutes/

a matter of fractions as opposed to wholes/minutes.

Power of Music

Can you hear the stories between these lines? 

The encoded message(s) in the melody of 4/4 time. 

The stories of a generation frequently disempowered by the powers that be.

Tossed and turned by these turbulent times. 

In need of an outlet for their pent-up insides.

Freedom from frustration and the furious tide; that threatens to overtake them and carry them away. 

Yet still they rise and resist this tide.

Out of the mouths of the young he has established strength.

Attune your ear and hear them say, 

Bring an end to violence, stop the hate. Enough of racism and letting the world dictate. 

Take a deep breath and check your anger. Choose your path and seek peace. Choose to love and be respectful. 

Choose to care and carry someone else. Choose not to take people or things for granted. 

Although life is finite and we won’t know who will stay and who will go, we have infinite potential to the power of 8;

To be whoever we want to be. 

So let’s be ourselves and no one else. 

Living gracefully and free. 

Let’s believe and achieve.

Can you hear their hearts desire coursing through each chord? 

The chorus of a generation. 

A generation who are our present hope. 

Hear their clarion call (to you/today). 

A new heart. A new life. New passions (in) a new world. 

Look up, (they say) we are going to a better future.  A better future for everyone.


A piece born out of an after Sunday dinner table conversation. My brother had asked his children to share a highlight from their past week, and when he shared his, it was about something that took place in his classroom. – He is a music & IT teacher at a Community Special School (11-19 yr. olds).

A number of his students had become upset/agitated, and it was impacting the whole of the session. He decided to put aside the planned session and play a piece of instrumental music, He invited his students to pause, listen and then speak or sing out words that were on or came to their minds. The atmosphere and mood totally changed, and he recorded it in order to share it with his students later. He played the recording for us at the table.

It was a powerful moment to be listening to. I later asked G if I could have another listen so as to note down all the things the students had said or sung, as I wanted to try and do something with it. I even paired it with a piece of music my my nephew created. Precious.

Walking with the Poor

Originally written on 2nd Oct 2018

  • Resilience or Resigned acceptance; or a bit of both? 
    • In the face of poverty, which of these does the Urban Poor have?
  • Responding to the Urban Poor, ‘let me count the ways’ 
  • Does our perspective on poverty guide our response?
    • Obvious answer: Of course.
  • Does our perspective on poverty keep the poor poor?
    • Possibly (or obviously) yes. 
  • Defining the Urban Poor: is there a one size fits all definition? 
    • Or in our changing, multifaceted, multicultural, multidimensional world, is that an impossibility?

Never did get round to using these…

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