Energy – Keri Hilson

This song always plays in my head on energy-less days…a helpful reminder, and a good song!

Energy

I’m sitting here at the end of a long day at work, and though it has been an incredibly intense day for me, I still feel more energised today than I would have expected. Looking back over what I’ve done, I realise that the things that seem to give me a boost are the small achievements, the random deep connections with people, and the challenges overcome on the way. It doesn’t have to be great acts of courage or triumph either…sometimes even just remembering something at the right moment, catching a colleagues smile, or pushing an old fear a little further away as I do something that scares me. IN the same way, I am drained so often by setbacks, settling into old bad habits, or even just dissapointing myself that they can turn a brilliant day grey in just a moment.

Is this in itself a weakness, that my mood and my productivity can turn on a moment? Or is it that I am recognising the deep meaning of every though and action over my day, and letting them run deep. Little affirmations can make a difference, as can small slips of self, which is why taped to my screen at work is a note to remind me of the small things that can make a difference not just to me, but to everyone they touch; a very recognisable list:

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Just reminding me to practise these in a million small ways every day makes a difference, and I can always tell a the end of a day when they have been more prevalent – I can be tired, but still have access to a deep well of energy that stays with me. I am always grateful for this, having spent so many years expending my energy on people and pursuits that left me feeling drained, tired, ill and in pain – now I seem to have more life than I ever had, and I will remain ever thankful to those who remind me daily of the power of all these gifts, and above them all of course, Love.

The Wraith in the Rain

Eleanor sat on the hard wooden bench by the window, watching the rain falling outside without seeing anything more than the blurred shapes obscured by the drops on the misted pane. She stared out to avoid turning to look at the huddled figure next to her – the fragile form wrapped snugly in a scratchy, hospital issue blanket to shield her slight frame from the evening’s cold. Eleanor tried to ignore what lingered in her peripheral vision and caused her to sigh deeply, that same empty gaze staring blankly at the rain without taking anything in, just the same as she had for months in this same chair, by the same window in this bleak, hopeless place. Eleanor shifted her weight forward and pulled herself upward as if she found it hard to leave, but really she was bursting to run from those dull eyes and never come back again. Instead she rose slowly, then walked in gentle, measured steps along the corridor between identical rooms on each side, her feet making no sound on the cool tile floor. Most of the doors were closed, but occasionally they stood ajar or even wide open, and murmurs and snatches of fractured conversations reached her ears, making as little sense to her as they did to the psychiatrists desperately seeking a last vestige of sanity in these long forgotten cases. She hurried now to where the glass entrance door stood invitingly open – she strode through now almost at a run, the nurse at the desk not even raising her head as she left. She stood a moment on the soaked pavement, drawing in the damp air and imagining it fresh and clear instead of humid and cold, before turning to make her way to the park just over the road from the hospital building. She headed straight for the lake, the one place she knew there could still be joy on a day like this…and indeed there was, scores of spring ducklings splashing around in the water, squealing with delight as the raindrops rolled from their feathered backs. She watched them for a while, smiling softly, and hardly noticed as the time wore on and the rain began to bear down more lightly, then cease entirely. The bank of dark clouds moved slightly to let a last burst of sunshine dazzle from the horizon, lighting the underside of the clouds until the sky was illuminated from underneath in an eerie twilight. The duckings were gathered in, protested at the interruption to their games by a sedate gliding mother, herding her brood before her until they slid out of sight beyond the reed bank, and once the ripples in their wake dispersed, the now undisturbed water began to settle until, mirrorlike it was still as glass, holding in it a perfect reflection of the evening sky. Eleanor stood, still and now hesitant at the water’s edge, till she stepped closer to the edge and began to bend towards the still surface – she was about to look down when a shout from behind her made her freeze for a moment, then turn sharply towards the caller. She could almost hear her heart stop as she recognised the voice and the face of the young man bearing down upon her, a wide smile lighting up his face at the sight of her. He called her name and made to embrace her, but she stepped back warily, shrugging slightly, apologetically, and he stopped abruptly and pulled back in the same sorry way.

“I’m sorry…I was just so thrilled to see you out here! I was just coming to see you!” He waited for a reaction, and though she smiled at him warmly she said nothing. He seemed not to mind, and didn’t press any further, instead raising a hand towards the hospital in a familiar and almost chivalrous gesture…she nodded shyly and they both turned and began to walk towards it, falling instantly into step as they had so many times before. For Eleanor time seemed to slow almost to a stop, and she noticed the sound of each footfall, each brush of his arm against his jacket, each breath he took and held as he walked, the way the evening breeze lifted the fine hairs on his head to settle again moments later. She felt a rush of affection, of joy and hope and at the same time a great and terrible sadness welling up inside her, and she wished he could not see her like this. He didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him…but he would know soon enough, and it had to be soon. She wondered if perhaps this was different, if he could see her as she was just because of when she meant to him, and he to her, and hope blossomed in her chest as they neared the road. She dared and turned to smile at him as they crossed, and he caught her gaze and grinned. He reached out with his hand to hers, and her fingers tingled at the closeness of his hand – this had to be different, didn’t it? She reached for him, to pull him close again…and she blinked as she saw behind him just a car approaching, but a sense of foreboding overwhlemed her, and the moment froze. Suddenly she couldn’t move as the car loomed too closely, and the tyres lost their grip on the wet road and began to spin out of control. The car went stright over the corner of the road and in an elegant arc swung round towards the couple as they reached the curb. Instinctively she reached out for his hand and shut her eyes, and the squealing of the tyres filled her ears, then a screech of metal and a dull crumple as the car swung into the rail protecting the hospital from the road.

It took a moment for her to realise that she was still holding his hand as the noise died away – his palm felt warm against hers and she glanced down surprised, then up into his wide, open eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was staring in horror at the scene beyond her shoulder. He blinked and actually shook his head as if to clear it, looking at Eleanor for reassurance but she had none to give. Still gripping on to her tightly, he pulled them both towards the wreck of the car and the bent railing – the driver slumped over the wheel moving slightly as he struggled to sit up…and then his eyes fixed on the broken body flung from the wreckage. He stumbled over to it, his hand trembling as he bent over the unmoving body until he could see into the now blank, staring eyes gazing heavenward, the lights inside gone from behind them. He realised it was true as he felt it was impossible – they were his eyes staring up at him, and it was his body lying still by the side of the road. He stood slowly, and without thinking he reached for Eleanor, pulling her close and clinging to her in a desperate, pleading embrace. When at last he stood back he still held her hands and looked into her eyes – but she shook her head to the question he didn’t even need to ask.

“I don’t understand why….” And she smiled at her own question coming from his lips, then leant forward to kiss them, feeling the overwhelming mix of joy and sadness again – because she knew him, and loved him, and knew he wouldn’t stay. Indeed as she kissed him again she felt an energy flow from him, and stepping back she watched as he seemed to become illuminated inside, shining brightly in the late evening darkness. He opened his mouth to speak again, but paused as he understood, perhaps in that moment even more than she – and the brightness became pinpoints of light that dazzled her until she had to close her eyes – though even behind her lids he still shone. And then in just a few moments, he began to fade, and she dared open her eyes as he paled away into the night or perhaps beyond it, and the warmth of his hands dissapeared as he faded away. She stood still for the longest time – even as emergency vehicles arrived at the scene of the crash, even as they pulled away the wreckage of metal and bodies, even as the rain began to fall again harder than before, ashing away all evidence of the tragedy that had occurred just hours before – and still she stayed, the raindrops falling harmlessly through her form.

In the chair by the window, the fragile figure looked out with the same blank eyes as before towards the wraith in the rain – and as the apparition turned towards her, the figures features reflected in the same face – the soul behind the gaze displaced while the body remained locked in the same chair, by the same window – the drops on the pane between them the shared tears they could no longer shed, until they could find away to become one again, someday.

The Deepest Sadness

On what will I continue to blame this sadness? On an unhappy relationship? On an overwhelming workload? On stress, on loss, on doubt, on fear, on fragility in the face of blossoming brokeness, bitter in a twisted world?

These things are not the reason, and when I finally find a place to engage with the silence inside myself, I see it clearly…but the horror that rises then drives me back more than the fury of an open blazing flame, a fire that I dull in desperation with distractions, drugs and indecision.

The deepest sadness has a name, most well known as sin, but before that as trespass…the human soul wandering from where it was meant to go on its path to glory. So lost now that our own course correction, however well endeavoured, will never turn us enough, never uncover the path to the Eden inscribed on our heart and always calling us to a home we can’t know.

At least not yet, and not here. It still reaches out to us, that echo of a forgotten existence…no paradise lost, but perfection present and at the same time out of reach. How impossible to tread the delicate way between the world we feel and breathe, and the word we sense beyond the finest veil, blown aside in a moment of true joy or purest love, then falling back to shield our eyes, downcast to the sullen ground.

I long for the hand that will reach out and draw back that gauze as we know one day He will, as promised not by a ring but by a cross, which when we look upon it we can remember and feel the love and the hope…we have faith in that first promise, while we are here, to hold us firm, and draw us home.

This Time Won’t You Save Me?

I drove for miles

just to find

you and find myself

all these screams

all these voices in my head

you gave me strength

gave me hope for a lifetime

I never was satisfied

This time won’t you save me

This time won’t you save me

Baby I can feel myself givin’ up

 

Like everyone else, I think I am having trouble adjusting back to reality today after a couple of long weekends, for me much of which was spent inside my own head – a very dangerous place to be if I hope to operate with any kind of sanity in the real world. I sat down at lunchtime to eat and read, and ahving struggled with the life of St Theresa Avila, I began reading a commentary I hoped would enlighten me, but it only threw more darkness upon my already gloomy state. It sang her praises, of her purity and tenacity, her intellect and humour, her honesty and saintliness. It said that all who read her work fell in love with her…except for me it seems. I found her constant references to her own ‘wretchedness’ and ‘wickedness’ to be overdone and almost mocking…her main ills seemed to have been that she fussed with her hair and read novels instead of spiritual books, and occasionally had a good gossip with her cousin. I cannot read her work for long without her stumbling again into a long rambling tirade against her own wicked nature…if I were to begin to compare myself to this, then I truly would be completely screwed. And this is a dearly loved saint, whose books are brilliant works of literature. I am clearly missing something.

 

It’s not your fault
I’m a bitch
I’m a monster
Yes I’m a beast
And I feast when I conquer
But I’m alone
On my throne
All these riches i came this way
All this way
Just to say
I’m givin’ up baby
Feels like I’ve been driving for miles

and I can’t seem to silence

these voices in my head.

Who’ll save me?

 

This is the same problem I keep having whenever I read the Bible…I cannot engage with what is meant to be a timeless piece of literature, rich with meaning and full of relevance for the world today. Which, every time I pick it up I seem to miss…I get lost and confused and shocked and appalled at it…it seems such a poor representation of the Loving God I adore.  The only conclusion I can come to is that there is something seriously wrong with me…my soul and mind are surely too far gone for these things to reach me. I wish I knew who I could turn to now for advice, but at the moment I have no Church or older mentors at the moment…and so I drift searching for what others seem to find so easily…the fire within myself burning ever brighter but finding nothing outside itself upon which to reflect, and so by itself settles in chaos to consume.

 

The Dormant Dancer

Yesterday was not a great day for me physically…the change in air pressure heralding imminent rain had made my joints seize up, and most of my movements were painful. I spent the day trying to work out which tasks I could do at my desk without moving, and how I could subtly let my colleaugues know – I did, and they very kindly kept me supplied with tea. I usually walk home, but this time I decided to get the bus, and I hobbled down to the stop to settle in for the long wait for a 274.

I noticed someone staring at me as I stood very still, reading my magazine and I wondered why. I admit I was standing unnaturally still, and as I looked round I noticed that most of the others there were shifting from foot to foot or wandering around. I was not because I was minimising my movements to avoid pain…but it must have looked a little odd. I was aware then of how much more connected to my body I was than I had been in the past before I became ill. I am now more aware of the limitations of my frame and the effect the weather has on it, as well as how much energy is involved in each moment, and how precious that energy is when in limited supply. I’m more aware of the environment too…especially when it is directly affecting me – I can now read the clouds pretty well and smell rain on the air, even in the densly polluted atmosphere of the city. I’m moreobservant of my surroundings too, bred from an increased amount of time just waiting for something – when you have no other option than to wait tfor a bus that you know will arrive sometime, it becomes easier to let go, watch people passing and the trees swaying in the breeze, letting the other more agitated people in the queue look constantly up the raod for the bus, letting the tutting and sighing roll over me – they will jump into action when the bus arrives, but I don’t have to pay attention to them until then.

It is at those times especially that I am aware that inside my head I’m dancing. Especially when I have music playing, I’m choreographing in my head, sometimes even swaying in time, but fully feeling the energy that would be there if I was dancing for real. I remember once in a similar moment being there inside my own head watching myself dance, and imagining – and almost hearing – a voice around me saying “this is the body I will give you”. I don’t think it was God really speaking to me directly, as I think he probably has better things to do with his time, but I remembered afterwards the passages in the bible about how we would be given a new, glorious, incorruptable body with which to enter heaven at the end of time. I am not sure whether we will be converted to this form or newly created, but there are days when I feel this new body closer to me, almost straining to be free of the restraints of the earth, moving with eternal energy to divine music that I can feel, but not yet hear.

There are times when I find it hard to be stuck with this body that doesn’t function quite as well as I think it should – but it has given me gifts of awareness I may not otherwise have recieved, and for that I am thankful. It makes it easier to be present with it; that, and watching the dormant dancer in my head, reminding me of what I hope for in the future, and what is promised in the world to come.

Unprocessed Praise

This morning I actually got up with enough time to prepare a lunch for myself from scratch (japanese omlette and sticky rice for anyone interested…), as well as make some freshly squeezed orange juice, which I intended to dilute once I got to the office.

This I did, and once 11am came and I took a few minutes break, I topped up my juice with fresh water, and the smell of oranges filled the air. It stopped me for just a moment in my busy day, and my thoughts as I drank were words of gratitude to a creator who could make something this simple at the same time so refreshing and so joyful.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not sure I feel the same way when I make a cup of instant coffee, or when I tuck into a pizza from Sainsbury’s – though a freshly prepared salad or simple roast dinner is something that I find it much easier to be thankful for. I feel as if there is a disconnect when I eat processed food – as if there is too much man-made pride between the naturally created ingredients and the over-processed outcome. Is it just easier to give praise for something when nothing we have done stands in the way? Or is it that my body can more easily recognise a gift from God if it doesn’t come pre-packaged with the ego, greed and selfishness that has resulted in fast cheap food? I’m not sure of these things, and thinking about it requires a little more theology than I have stored in my brain. So for now, when it comes to that instinctual response to the natural gifts of the earth direct from our Creator, I’m just going to listen to my gut.

Disappointments

I started my day tired today, and I still am…the fatigue with which I am so familiar has hung round me like a thick cloud, dragging me down as I have been struggling through a tidal wave of work on a busy day. It got to around 5pm, and I was reconsidering my plans for the evening…I had hoped to get to the gym after work and do some running in practise for my 5k next month, but at 5pm I was flagging and desperately wanted nothing more than to curl up at home with some food and an episode of West Wing. But I got a call from a friend, and when I said that I was going to change my plan because I was tired, I heard disappointment in the voice on the other end of the phone. Till I left the office that tone stuck with me…and though my legs were already aching, I did  my 20 minute run at the gym on the way home.

Disappointment is a strange thing, based on expectations that bear a flimsy resemblance to the reality we experience every day. I remember the disappointment of my father driving me to try and achieve goals in my life that were part of his dream and not mine…and in the end I disappointed no-one but myself by not being real enough to shape my own path. I disappoint myself often too, but wanting to do and be more than I am, not or my own reasons but to appear a certain way in the world hoping that the approval of society will be enough to protect me through life.

But I know that there is only one disappointment to watch out for, and that is when the one who knows out true character and capabilities sees them being masked and moulded into something else. The true disappointment I feel with myself is related to this – especially since I have had those moments of clarity when I am acting from my own true centre…it makes anything less seem like a charade. I hope that I can remember that feeling of being in flow with my own character and destiny, and create that memory strong enough to counter the temporary disappointments I and others feel when I don’t live up to their expectations of me. In truth there are no real expectations of me…when I release them, I can simply be, simply exist. In those times I feel most powerful and most pure…and when I am there, all I can do is reach out to the world and hope that they will do likewise. If that is my mission, so be it. A world of real people could make reality so much more divine than dreams. Perhaps this is part of what it means to live the Kingdom on Earth.

On Contentment and Courage

I went to work without any make-up on again this morning…I have done the same a few times over the last week, which is unusual considering I strated wearing make-up daily from around age 12, and it has taken me 16 years to finally be content with the way I look. I don’t really know what happened, but I remember one morning looking at the person staring from the mirror in the bathroom, and just liking the way she smiled, and the way her eyes were set in her face. I went out and for once didn’t worry about having not made the best of my features with a little gloss and mascara, and instead felt certain that the people I met would see me, and this time it would be enough.

It didn’t feel like courage when I set out at first, but if you had suggested the same to my 12 year old self on the way to the Grammar School, I would have been terrified. Then it was about competition, about appearing confident and in control, about acting mature and competent, about attention and a bit about defence. Now it seems I need these things a little less…less because I am not yet fully released from the underlying fears, but something has definitely shirted to put that fear at more of a distance from my core than it was. There is a warm glow in my heart right now, and I feel uneasy naming such a precious thing, but its presence has loosened the tendrils of terror keeping a stranglehold around my heart for many years, and so for now, as the creature that drives away fear, let us call the presence love.

Describing it and defining it is difficult, as I really don’t have much to compare it to I’ve known before. It doesn’t seem like the love I have had for the men in my life – the all consuming burning obsession that dampens over time to something more gentle, but always needing much to fuel it to keep the burning alive. It isn’t quite the love of self, the pride that comes with achievement, that always has to be in comparison with something to be real, and so always a tentative creature, though powerful in its moments to drive me to follow ambition and pursue goals. This love seems to be fueled from another place, and an entity all its own that needs no measure to keep it in place. It feels like a gift, and a presence, and a warmth that reaches outwards but doesn’t diminish with distance. It doesn’t take itself to seriously, yet is powerful indeed, but without aggression, for it has no need to impose itself on others, for when it is felt, it is welcomed.

I welcome it as an entity and presence without fully knowing its character or source. I sense it has a divine nature, but I hesitate to place upon it a label that has been drained of its life by the cold language of ancient liturgy, and strangled by the hypocrisies of the church. Is it enough, I wonder, to simply welcome it, be warmed and led to share it, to listen to its rhythm and try to keep step, to be drawn by it as it sees more than I do, but deeper and more real? If I can do nothing but be grateful, and trusting, and open, and listening, is that enough to experience this love-faith without a name, and for it to stay? And if it does, will other’s know it to as I walk bare-faced by?

This presence bears with me with gentleness, and kindness, without drawing attention to itself, or demanding it. This presence does not impose for it knows its worth, and finds each soul equally worthwhile. This presence travels all roads before that of anger, and leaves mistakes in the moment they are made, and moves on. This presence holds an honest heart highest, and surrounds it with trust and hope till the very end. I know this presence will never fail me, so I smile always, and gratefully walk on.

The Bonds of Being

I’ve just been watching Twilight, one of my favourite movies of the moment, and the scene that really jumped out at me today was the one where the immortal vampire Edward takes his human girlfriend home for the first time to meet the rest of his family. Though they don’t eat, they have tried to prepare a meal for her, and when Edward gives her a tour of the house she is surprised to find no beds…till she learns that vampires don’t sleep. As they sit and talk, I wonder at the awkwardness of their friendship. I remember meeting with future family and having some alone time, but it was always interrupted by meals and sleep, natural breaks for us to socialise and recuperate. In Twilight, it is these things that define humans – but it made me wonder why we were designed that way by our Creator?

I for a long time have had trouble making sure I eat enough, as I don’t seem to have an ability to tune in to my hunger the way others do. I find it easier though when I am around others who remind me to break and to eat with them, and the social aspect makes what I find quite a difficult situation easier to bear. Is this why humans were built to eat? It has always appeared a very awkward way of being, that we must eat and drink and sleep and even use the loo to enable us to survive. With the beauty of creation, what purpose do these basic and often crude function serve?

Thinking over these things, it occurred to me that life would be so different if these were not necessary. Eating is a practise that brings us together as we serve one of our most basic needs…sleep recharges us and gives us pause in our activity to allow our subconscious minds to reflect. Even having to stop to use the bathroom equalises us and humbles us…allowing us to see each other as just the same if only for one moment.

I wonder how many of our other ‘flaws’ in being are really there to draw us closer to one another as we get tired, feel pain and experience depression and joy to share with others. In our weaknesses God gives us access to other forms of strength in friendship, compassion and care – traits that make us more than human…moments when we are closer to being divine. Even the prospect of death, seemingly so contrary to the children of an immortal God gives us the concept of time, and an approaching end so that we are aware that we do not have forever to forgive and be forgiven…though once we do, even eternity is open to us.

Our Creator made us well, and by design we are fully and more than human all at once – all one family under one Father, drawn closer by the bonds of being. How different would the world be if we always remembered this, and saw each other person as a brother instead of a stranger – each Creation Christ-like and not corrupted? If we practise this perception, can we change the way we live, what we see…and have an extended family that travels with us every step on the way to eternity?