This evening the Dialogue Society holds its annual Iftar Dinner in The Grand Hotel. I am usually asked to read a prayer, and this time I wrote one honouring the lives lost in the Ukraine war, and elsewhere.
Join me in prayer… In a country lane Where bees visit sleepy lavender The crooning blackbird is pitch perfect And the leaves are twirling in the breeze
Join me in prayer In a laboratory Where the efficiency of a cluster bomb Is statistically evaluated The fruits of its achievements Are found near our country lane Where we meet the ghosts of travellers Children, women and men Muslim, Jew, Christian and Buddhist Innocent, each and every one
Join me in prayer And let us say together Stop… Stop the machinery of war Those that make arms Those that use them Those that give orders to deploy them Stop them all
This is why we pray together… now
Join me in prayer For a world where peace Is utterly irresistible Where killing machines are an abomination Where you and I hear the sound of the wind The birdsong, the buzzing of bees in the lavender And we know in our hearts That our prayers have finally been answered
This is The House Dave inherited This the referendum that Dave prepared Because of the bogey he utterly feared That lay in The House Dave inherited
This is Boris the Russian Doll that lies on his side (Because he can’t do upright) He won the referendum that Dave prepared Because of the bogey that was utterly feared That destroyed the House Dave inherited
In the wreckage of The House (Inherited by Dave the unbrave) We can see Boris the Dolly lying on his side Amidst curtains and carpets and bottle of fizz Where he lies and lies and lies and lies Underneath layer after layer Doing his thing in that Russian Dolly way Which is how we came to lose The House that Dave inherited
Why do we love certain sports? As children we see people playing them and we feel ‘I can do that’ and sometimes we can and sometimes it’s silly to even try. Nobody in my family played tennis but I was completely entranced by this dotty game from an early age. Alone, in another time-space continuum I watched Rod Laver, Christine Truman and Billy Jean in grimy black and white… glued to a little old box with total fascination. I honed my service alone on the school’s tarmac, and later played endless rallies with those happy to play endless rallies. As a teenager I played in Regent’s Park next to Sean Connery and Ursula Andress. I improved my backhand significantly as an adult and also the serve. I was not good… but not bad. In middle-age after surgery on the left side I over-compensated with the right arm and my tennis days came to an abrupt twanging end. But I still love it….And so, as I no longer play I have become an armchair tennis player. Now I watch the trajectory of the ball and begin to wonder if others far, far away are reproducing merry cosmic cataclysms in the same way. Somewhere in the further regions of space, divine Olympic forces are pinging white dwarfs and balls of gas around with gay abandon.
But apart from the configurations of the of the ball’s trajectory, I’m entranced by the personalities and the dramas, not to mention the enthusiasm of following one’s own national players. The first time I saw Andy Murray play, when he was little more than a weedy youth, I was captivated by his variety of shot and sheer intelligence; similarly, the first time I saw Emma Raducanu in action I felt the same way. When she competed in the US Open I put £50 on her to win, something I never ever do, and am unlikely to do for a year or two. And now today, after the third round of Indian Wells, when all the English hopes have almost entirely fizzled away, comes Harriet Dart, a face I have hardly ever seen, as fresh as a daisy and brave as a lion and the excitement begins all over again.
It’s a poetic game. The personalities, the arcane rules, the harmony of player and ball and the technique needed to master oneself and one’s opponent will always intrigue.
Better still I have a nephew who is now arguably the best tennis correspondent in the UK so I can even boast about something tennisy, even if my days of playing are gone forever! His name is Simon Briggs. His writing is almost as scrumptious as my own, but I strongly suspect his opening serve is a great deal better.
This is a moment when I fancy a bit of diversion. Last night when I looked at myself in the mirror in candle light, I thought: “Wow I haven’t changed a jot!”… which is vanity par excellence… tinged with delusion… and dicey eyesight. Such are the silly thoughts that wander through the human mind, when it happily veers away from the unthinkable — the war, its horror and the danger it presents to our world in its entirety… and let’s face it… the unthinkable is here, right now.
I just watched the astonishing Caroline Myss in her blog talking about The Age of the Unthinkable, and by the time I had finished, I felt just a bit naughty, but thankfully not too bad. Even though I have prayed and organised and even contributed to vigils, I have been trying to go elsewhere; let’s face it, we all need a few moments of cheerful distraction. Then I listened to the clear and persuasive voice of Myss, and she pulled me up, as only she can do.
Caroline Myss talks in an intimate, persuasive, slow voice as though she is standing beside you, and it is very compelling. Towards the end of her talk she explains stuff about the Divine, and light and love. Most incredibly she does it in both a poetic and prosaic way, simultaneously, which is astonishing in itself.
In her video blog she views the war and how there is “an ‘allness’ in all this” and she will throw a phrase in, and then expand on it with simplicity and elegance, as she goes on about “the grace of endurance” “the collective heart” that beats together, adding “…we need this part of our collective heart to survive together.”
She closes her blog by encouraging all of us “to pray for the people in Ukraine and Russia… we are all in this together.” She is constantly reminding us of things we think we know. She reminds us of the importance of us all… individually… and she reminds us that the Russian leader is himself a single person… and then she reminds us about her next class. But whatever she says, she has prompted us to take on board that we need to be good, and go on being good, and I love her for saying this.
Last night I attended a powerful vigil addressing the conflict in Ukraine. It took place in Hove Methodist Church, and a great many people attended. People now need to gather to resonate with the sorrow that this war is inflicting… We all feel the pain in so many ways. I read a couple of prayers, but the prayer I had intended to read seemed too strong for that gentle company. Here it is.
A Call for Peace Sometimes a prayer is a poem; sometimes a poem is a prayer
We need compassion And we need peace To kindle kindness
In the glare of war The heat is cruel Fire and brimstone rip and burn Backwards and forwards we go Goose steps, trench warfare Arguments, supporters, twisting history Fine fortunes, fine killing machines Delivering death to the door
On the street The talk is of tanks advancing The sacrifice of self-destruction Taking innocence with him A weeping cry of love Lost in the stuttering racket Of smoke and sorrow
Because of all this For century after century We map-out our demands We want peace Sanctuary Forgiveness Closure of conflict
Let the tanks rust away Make war a friendly ball game Let flowers grow on death’s pathways We want peace
From our hearts We ask for glory Glorious transformation So that the warmongers relent The peacemakers are blessed The casualties are healed And we have calm
And in our souls We open up to hope The warmth and light of goodwill Perfect peace Now… and for all time Amen
If you wander into the world of Wikipedia and look up ‘Hand Raising’ you will learn about raising one’s hand, from waving and salutes to high-fives. Yet despite all this information, there is nothing about raising one’s hand to make a cosmic connection. There’s the mindless hand raising of a fascist salute, and there is the enthusiastic hand-raising (‘please miss’) in answer to a question in the class-room, but there is no reference to cosmic hand raising, the most powerful and mysterious gesture of all.
The business of raising one’s hand to acknowledge the universe is fascinating. It shouldn’t be confused with waving. Waving is a personal and emotional gesture. I tend to recall waving to those I like and love at times when I thought I might never encounter them again. I remember travelling on a bus and calling my sister on the mobile to tell her I would be passing by, and being overjoyed to see her waving from the window of her flat in Sussex Square. When we die we apparently meet kindred spirits waving to greet us.
But the cosmic gesture is different. The cosmic gesture is a particular movement when one raises one’s hand vertically to make connection with all the implausibly massive mysterious power above, a connection with the glory of what lies beyond. It’s something to be used when we seek help from beyond. It’s not a widely acknowledged way to connect to spirit, and yet you only have to take a look at a pack of Tarot cards to know that magicians knew all about cosmic connection. The Magus is always portrayed as holding his hand upward, usually with a wand, making the connection with the above, and then making that link manifest here on earth, as he or she points to the earth below..
It seems so reasonable to assume that there is something in the cosmos that we can connect with, if we so wish. Personally, when I reach up to make a cosmic connection I start with intention. I’m aware of some kind of interesting feeling or tingling in my fingers or the palm of my hand, and when I ask for help, I invariably get some kind of response… in the form of change or improvement… sooner or later.
Think about it — making a connection with the beyond is hardly surprising. Our solar system sits on the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy, which is home to between 100 and 400 billion stars, many of them with planets. Not only is the Milky Way vast in itself, but the Hubble Telescope reveals that there is anything from another 100 billion Galaxies, like our own, and very likely twice this number, so if there aren’t a few compassionate beings prepared to connect with us when we we need help, guidance, peace or healing I would be very surprised. And if one thinks that time might be an impediment, one should appreciate there are simultaneous manifestations of Qi (energy) that operate outside of time, so don’t worry about light years, they are irrelevant in this case.
I reckon that subconsciously we all know about this connection with the cosmic. At our last Power of Eight prayer gathering, a candle decided to remind me of the power of such connections, and a day later an unexpected picture of my late sister, when she was a baby, also reminded me.
Making a Cosmic Connection is Natural
So if you are low, or pensive or uncertain, and don’t feel like praying or meditating, just throw your hand up in the air, and see if you can make a connection – in the form of an idea, a message or maybe just a feeling. It’s definitely worth trying. Someone, an angel, a loving presence or a wise spirit will empathise with you, and with luck, you may be able to feel the connection, and feel better as well.
A candle to remind us all – Just keep making the connectionsLeave a comment
A central figure in the explanation and support of complementary and alternative therapies and lifestyle, is Lynne McTaggart. She’s a journalist, author and director of the magazine ‘What Doctors Don’t Tell You’ and she’s done important work on the power of intention. Her book The Intention Experiment reveals the relationship between humans and healing in all sorts of ways. She’s also the author of The Power of Eight, a book about using the energy created by small groups to heal each other and the world.
About a year ago, when my pancreatitis was really making me sit up and squeak, I contacted a friend, and she suggested that I tap into a ‘Power of Eight’ group. If you don’t know what a ‘Power of Eight Group’ is, just take a look at Lynne McTaggart’s website on the subject. She says:
When individuals in a group focus their intention together on a single target, a powerful collective dynamic emerges that can heal longstanding conditions, mend fractured relationships, lower violence and even rekindle life purpose. But the greatest untold truth of all is that group intention has a mirror effect, not only affecting the recipient but also reflecting back on the senders.
I didn’t know such a group operating locally, so I went about forming a Power of Eight gathering, which proved to be surprisingly easy, and fun. Some astonishingly gifted people agreed to participate, much to my delight. As the pandemic was at its height, it seemed sensible to use Zoom, and this made it all very easy. At first, we felt it might be an idea to meet once a fortnight or once every 10 days, just to give it a try, but with the passing of time we discovered that we enjoyed the meetings, and appreciated the impact they made on ourselves and other people; we witnessed positive changes and improvements. Now we meet weekly. The Eight, all good friends, have proven to be powerful and inspirational.
With the passing of time the group has acquired a life of its own, so that at times it seems to operate outside conventional time and space.
One of our number had already participated with another Power of Eight Group. In that case the group’s leader was very enthusiastic about following McTaggart’s book to the letter, and although this may be a good thing, it may have also demotivated some attendees. In our case, and with Zoom, the group has an informality, an openness and a humour that is literally, all of its own. Our meetings are both serious and humorous — equal, open and informal. We still have far to go, and much to learn, but our successes so far — nurturing and supporting the health of friends, relatives and ourselves are truly astonishing.
Last and by no means least is the matter of being aware of other groups of this kind, which are to be found possibly all over the world. It is hardly surprising that sometimes when we meet… and gradually open our minds to the problems of planet and people… we can sense connection with other groups, which is truly empowering.
Time is a game played beautifully by children. Heraclitus535 – c. 475 BC
Several years ago, before the pandemic took us all by storm, a motley crowd of people, some straight, some gay, some wistful and some something else, made their way through the crowded throng that is Brighton Pride. We knew each other because some of us were friends, some of us had belonged to the same church, and some of us were just there for the experience… like life itself. At the end of the walk we were all a bit wilty. The crowd gives one a lot of energy, but if one is in the parade, the noise, the dancing and the sights and sounds are a real blast to the senses.
And so afterward we sat down to lunch in our old kitchen and made merry, and discovered that irrespective of our diversity, we were all interested in each other, and this was hardly surprising. One was an interior designer, another a specialist decorator, another a musician and homeopath, another a homeopath, another a master tailor, another a documentary film maker and another an interfaith minister and writer. Total seven.
Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well. Jack London 1876-1916
And as the conversation unfolded, it turned out that one of our number, apart from a great many diverse passions, which we all had, was an enthusiastic Poker player. Now games already featured amongst some of us, who play a vicious and brilliant form of Canasta. English Canasta is a sad and sorry game, but the Italian variety is fascinating, demanding and highly addictive. I believe it’s called Samba here, and I have only met one individual outside Italy who knew this version, and she was a games aficionado. But Poker is another mindset completely, and another realm. So on that Pride day, a new arrival, on observing that the kitchen table, offered us all a chance to learn how to play… and so she did.
When luck joins the game, cleverness scores double. – Yiddish Proverb
It is extraordinary how a pack of cards (or three in the case of Italian Canasta) produce such different games that call on different parts of the brain, and test different parts of the soul. For example, we play Poker for small sums of money, sufficiently small not to make anyone feel miserable, but money nevertheless. This has been a challenge to me because my mother came from grinding poverty, and had witnessed something nasty in her childhood that gave her an aversion to games played for money. This has affected me a bit, so I needed to get over my parental prejudice. That said because poker is so different to the other games we play, I can see that this is a game where different fairies and abilities rule — like observation, deduction, calm, an eye for detail, quick thinking, slow thinking, memory, and patience, to name but a few.
And so, since that moment, some years ago, we have played Poker, all seven of us. We have played during the pandemic on Zoom cramped in our attic and various diverse places in Sussex; we have played round our kitchen table (which was the inspiration behind the game in the first place) and more recently we have played in a glamorous penthouse flat beside the sea. We play everywhere.
So what is my conclusion? That games when played in the spirit of merriment have to be a good thing, so long as they are not taken too seriously… very much like life itself.
Some wise-cracking-crackpot stand-up comedian once said: I stayed up one night playing poker with tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.
Wow, welcome to the Antbeat blog after a silence of 16 months. I do so hope that you are still there!
Just wanted to let you know… I wasn’t just sitting around snoring my way through the Pandemic, like your friend’s aged cat, I was blogging elsewhere every week, writing a novel, The Artist and the Fool, and working on the Memorial Service for the people of Brighton & Hove that died of Covid in our City – The Day of Compassion. It has been a strange, sad and busy time… well you know so well.
But today the sun is shining. We have extraordinary news. Now we know… Despite the terrible impact and circumstance of the pandemic we appear to have a government that has been partying in a haze of happy disinterest while the rest of us did as we were told. Also we have several princes that seem hell bent on rubbishing whatever reputation the UK Royal family might once have had. Maybe out institutions need the slightest overhaul… from the House of Commons and beyond. A bit more democracy would not go amiss.
So back to blogging, and even if I am 16 days late, here is a blessing for our City for the New Year. Blessings and Happy New Year to us all! Thank you for being there!
A BLESSING FOR OUR CITY AT THE NEW YEAR
Light a candle tonight And join me on the bandstand at midnight We’ll feel the chill of winter’s wind And stay warm Peer into the darkness And meet an unexpected peace … quiet but for the roaring sea And the howling winds Empty save for the spirits … the wandering dreamers
The clock strikes midnight
Come walk with me Give us a new page In the history of our merry city And bless us Strong and weak Young and old Near and far
The dwellers Sleek and meek The street sleepers
Let’s burst open In a shower Of optimistic celebration And feel the sacred kiss of hope At the gateway of a New Year
As we shuffle towards the US General Election with our eyes closed and half open, fearing the worst… not to mention sliding down the chair with our face in our hands as a British Government refuses to feed its own children, it’s time to open our eyes and look at blame, and avoid it from many angles.
Blame is not lovely, but sometimes we all feel as though we need to do it. The gruesome Trump has no policies, no intelligence and no ideas, but he does do blame really, really, really well. He trumps in the language of blame. He blares on blame, and he blames Biden, the Chinese, losers, war heroes, journos, polls, immigrants from Mexico, Muslims, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, presidential debates, Covid-19 and on and on… he does blame so well. And now… if you want to take a look at our own watered-down version of that odious dude, think about Bojo’s capacity for blame as he lies and whines at Keir Starmer, over and over again accusing him of non-cooperation, doing hindsight, complicity with the IRA and other ugly stuff. And then there’s the list of innocents he likes to throw brickbats at – the European Union, tank-topped bumboys (his words), women, piccaninnies (his words), single mothers and on and on.
And thus, I do blame as well. Do you? I hate blame, but I do it alright. I blame Bojo’s weakness for Dom for the breakdown of confidence in the Government’s handling of Covid, I blame privatisation and the greedy rich for widespread financial despair, I blame short term gluttony and long-term stupidity for the degradation of the environment, I blame Jeremy Corbyn for his narcissism for losing the election and on and on and on. I do blame, but I hate it. But the trouble is… blame is just an idea. It isn’t real. It doesn’t exist. People who do blame, who use it as an argument are not logical, because blame is an abstract construct like self-pity or mindless prejudice. The ancient Chinese philosophers often said “No blame” and when I kept reading this, I wondered what the hell they meant… but later… when I realised that balance, harmony, acceptance and understanding rule ones perception of the world, there’s no place for blame…
There is a numinous [mind] naturally residing within [有神自在身]; One moment it goes, the next it comes, And no one is able to conceive of it. If you lose it you are inevitably disordered; If you attain it you are inevitably well ordered. Diligently clean out its lodging place [敬除其舍] And its vital essence will naturally arrive [精將自來]. Still your attempts to imagine and conceive of it. Relax your efforts to reflect on and control it. Be reverent and diligent And its vital essence will naturally stabilize. Grasp it and don’t let go Then the eyes and ears won’t overflow And the mind will have nothing else to seek. When a properly aligned mind resides within you [正心在中], The myriad things will be seen in their proper perspective.
And this is how one gets balance into its rightful place… and this is why there is no place for blame. Yippee!
