I have always loved handwriting. I have endless notebooks that open with phrases like “I love this pen, but this other one is much less fun…” and “What’s wrong with this bloody pencil? It won’t do as it’s told!”
When I went to school I took great care to make my handwriting as aesthetically pleasing as possible. I thought I had succeeded until Miss Gilson told me that the lower loops on my ‘g’s, my ‘y’s and my ‘p’s were ridiculous and unnecessary. I was 12. I felt deeply hurt, and a zillion years later I still feel slightly miffed about this, which is hardly wise.
My handwriting was not like anyone’s in my family; both my father and my sister had strangely similar writing – orderly, controlled and elegant. I assumed that their handwriting was an expression of their true selves — they were both writers and intellectuals, and that controlled handwriting was an expression of their literacy. Tragically, when my sister was dying her handwriting changed beyond recognition. She died around my birthday, and I had to destroy all the dear little cards and notes she struggled to write at the time; they were nothing like her usual elegant script — they just served as a horrible reminder of the cruelty of her illness.
For most of my life I have made my living as a writer, starting out as a copywriter for silly products, books, technology products and later for lawyers. At various points in my life I worked as a journalist employed by several weekly papers and later as a freelance writer. When I became an interfaith minister, I started to write ceremonies – funerals, weddings, services and baby blessings. I also wrote meditations, but the great bulk of the writing done since ordination in 2007 has been prayers. I have a website of funeral readings and another called prayers for everyone.
For many years I never, ever thought of myself as a writer, and I suspect this was because I was always comparing myself to my father and my sister, and reckoned that only clever people were writers. How naïve I was… there are numerous twerps out there who reckon they are writers… and indeed they are… and they are absolutely dire.
One day I had a Damascene moment. After a serious illness I left London and my company and decided to return to freelance writing. I moved to Brighton, and felt so much more free as I wandered around the South Coast without the responsibilities of old. One weekend my wanderings took me to a craft fair. In the corner was a gentleman with a Graphology stall; he was in the process of packing things up. I asked the graphologist to do an assessment of my handwriting. He was in a hurry to go home, and didn’t seem to care that I only had twenty quid on me. With some impatience he agreed to take the money and do a quick appraisal. He told me to write down a phrase like ‘the quick brown fox…’ and also a few words of my choice. Then he sat back, and looked at my handwriting and said ‘You’re a writer.’ That’s all he said. He had seen my handwriting and he knew what I was… and in that moment I realised that he had it right. I am a writer. A prolific one… and an interfaith minister sometimes as well.
Sometimes it takes somebody else to tell you who you are… somebody in this case who didn’t give a fig but just wanted to go home.
These words came to mind a day or two ago. They were written for my funeral readings website, but most importantly for those that seek comfort in the midst of great sadness.
An angel fell to earth She tumbled like a stone A meteor A speck of space rubble
She laughed As she entered The outer atmosphere
Just a dot of light She fell from space But then suddenly She swooped Into the stratosphere And unfolded Her magnificent White wings Sailed and soared Progressing Through the blue
She dived Like a hawk Then turned And wheeled upwards On a breeze Like an eagle Her flight was dreamlike Perfection
Flocks of birds Swerved round her Surprised Humans looked up Marvelling at the shooting star Appearing and disappearing
For a while She floated on a crown of clouds Then dived earthwards Riding on air currents Tasting the perfume Of distant flowers and trees
She came To meet departing souls She came for me
My fading light Slipped into her hands And her wings opened
As she left the ground I looked back But the spirit of love Carried me to a place of joy Outside time itself
When people die we sometimes view them differently… in ways we didn’t see them when they were alive. We recall the good and the bad with a degree of uncertainty – sometimes guilt, sometimes sentimentality. There is no harm in being realistic, and with this in mind I have written a funeral reading for someone – very much like someone I knew, who was ‘almost an angel, but not quite’ in other words ‘A Kind of an Angel’.
Were you an angel? Sometimes Were you playful? Often Were you nice? Very often Could you be funny? More than often
Yes, you were a kind of an angel Yes, you were kind Yes, you could be angelic You were… A kind of an angel
When you were funny We laughed, When you were cheerful We cheered, When you were sad We felt bad
How we will miss you With your way of being We’ll never forget you Your way of seeing The funny side Of funny days Funny and silly In funny ways Yes, you were kind of an angel
So now you are an angel For real An angelic one And definitely A funny one
You’ll make them laugh You’ll make them cry You’ll make them jump You’ll make them fly
You’ll make a great angel Which is why We’ll miss you Our favourite Kind of an angel
This beautiful view of the earth from beyond – the overview – is reported to have affected a number of astronauts quite profoundly. After seeing the Earth from space, many astronauts have described their transcendent awareness of this sight in strongly spiritual language. Understandably they are greatly changed after seeing this view of their home planet for the first time. Predictably such opinions by space travellers are interpreted pretty boringly by scientists. The scientific fraternity compare this profound change of attitude as simply the effect of seeing something beautiful… like viewing the Grand Canyon for the first time. But it’s clear that experiencing the cosmic view of the Earth enables the observer to take in both the greatness and the insignificance of our planet and its multi-billion occupants – animal – vegetable and mineral. Here is a bit of ourselves – a simple seed – ancient and complex – mystical and physical. This image, once seen in all its glory, enables us to appreciate and relate to the spiritual self… whether one is on Planet Earth or far from it.
It is no coincidence that the image of The Earth from space -– The Blue Marble (first taken by Apollo 17 on December 7th, 1972) is the most reproduced image of all time. It is the seed of cosmic totality (possibly one of many) as experienced by those that have the privilege to be held within its life force. It may be the most powerful spiritual image you will ever get to see in your life-time.
Cosmic spirituality is something we can all share. Using the image of Earth from space is something that I have used in meditations many times, and it enables us to step outside of ourselves and think about other people, places and ideas in our fabulous world. The power of a meditation (like the Metta) is made even more meaningful with an awareness of this image as part of the process.
One thing that this image tells us: religion is man-made. Spiritual awareness is cosmic.
Sometimes meditation brings total connection with all things
Just as peace comes to mind So love resides in the heart. Just as calm meets the soul So time diminishes.
Then grace fills the being And the heart opens Like a flower.
These are the moments Of meeting with everything Touching every sound Hearing all colours Drinking the music of forests Hearing the song of the ocean, The chattering of birds and beasts An instant of love, Connection, Harmony, And Joy.
To believe or not to believe… That’s the real question. Here’s ‘A Prayer in Honour of Eternity’. It is also to be found on my websites – Prayers for Everyone and Funeral Readings
Some say: ‘This is the end’ And think ‘I am coming to the end’ But there is no end
For eternity Is in the soul… It is in the mind The bones The body The heart
Others say ‘I know about the end’ They imagine They understand Nothing
I only know That any belief in the end Is an idea A passing thought Without beginning Or end
For eternity Is in the soul… It is in the mind The spirit Music Laughter
And because I see and feel And hear and taste And sometimes remember And sometimes do not remember I welcome mystery
For I am eternal And I know eternity I have met eternity I am without end
Many years of many lives are spent waiting for phone connection to the doctor’s receptionist to get an answer to a simple question, like ‘when do I go for the blood test?’
Before reaching a human voice, a number of things must be navigated – including the music from hell and a voice that says “You are number eight in the queue…please hold.” Here’s my poem charting the slow journey to be made before connection.
Request for Connection… To the Quack’s Reception
For ten minutes I wait I’m number eight There is a queue I’m told ‘Please hold’
The music’s sad and bad I’m told ‘Please hold’
Time passes I’m number seven I’m getting older Like indigestion The music repeats I’m told ‘Please hold’
As I become six I realise I’m a number Not a person I had 10 symptoms before Now I have 15 I’m told ‘Please hold’
What’s happening in the world? Two wars have been declared Night-time falls in Shanghai The music is merciless I’m told ‘Please hold’
Five miles away Somebody scores five goals 500 babies are born A new symphony is composed Guess what? I’m told ‘Please hold’
Are others in the queue in pain? Who came before me? Abraham? Isaac? Minnehaha? Grandma Moses?
Soon my prayers will be answered I’m number four All will be well Though the music is hell Yes, and you guessed I’m told ‘Please hold’
Yippee I’m number three A voice somewhere says ‘Please hold’
Time crawls! The music appals I’m told ‘Please hold’
I’m through A one-minute chat It’s a lucky day For the one after me
Nobody Told me to say ‘Hip! Hip! Hooray’ Anyway… But I do ‘Thank you!’
