Word in the Hand

Death and Life A Wisdom Story of Hope  From a tale I heard once In a place that is not this place, there is night; the longest of nights. This place has been abandoned by the day; by the light; by all that has comfort and warmth. The land is coal and ebony on obsidian. Raven clouds streak across a stygian sky – starless, moonless.    You may stare; but it is your heart that sees, not your eyes. The night is relentless; arctic winds slice the landscape raw. Tops of hills reveal skeletal trees, heads bowed before the ruthless zephyrs. Their silhouettes, clawed hands imploring, seeking to escape an early grave.   Seeking, but all too late; life has gone. Yet, the heart sees…what? A rhythm moving against death’s surge; but slow…so slow. The heart sees… a being, a creature, a man. An old man, as black and as dark as pitch; rough carved from slate; a semblance of a body; ancient bones as spare and as twisted as the branches he clings to; ey...

wordinthehand2011

A moment of mindfulness

We have had the strange experience of starting and ending the year with real winters- snow, ice and cold; weather warning and travel restrictions.   Last winter I had a series of blogs called godisnowhere - which translated to 'God is nowhere',  'God is now here' and, quirkier but relevant at the time, 'God I snow here'.  God certainly gets my attention with snow. Despite (in spite of) the inconvenience I love this weather; in this weather I know where I am or, rather, where I would wish to be.  This weather makes me wish for well wrapped up walks with muffled blanket silences and ice-sharp cracks of sound followed by warm and peace-filled conversation or  'feet up with a book' evenings. At least that is what I have been wishing for - but have not been getting.  The duty to work, the duty to shop, the duty to 'christmas' is weighing heavy - and heavier yet because, in this weather - it's just not right.  But duty has a way of g...

A smattering is the idiosyncratic parlance of the Met office. A smattering of sharp, cold, ice white flakes dancing in the easterly wind ; a dusting of sparklingly bright crystals fallen from a heavy pink clouded sky; outlining the angles and convolutions of the landscape; catching the eye again –‘Look, look’. This was a sudden smattering, and, as such, has had a dramatic effect. The radio warns of hazardous driving conditions and recommends only necessary journeys, sports events are cancelled, shoppers with empty pockets, still suffering from the Christmas excess, decide it is a day for the fireside. God claims His Sabbath back as a day of rest. Later in the day only a hardy few regard a walk in the frozen countryside as a ‘rest’; and are favoured witnesses to a pageant of stark beauty – browlines of skeletal trees outlined against the hard china blue sky – a pictogram of ‘Winter’. Walking among the trees, the suffering is apparent; bark turned ashen grey, evergreen leaves tinged wit...