Border Crossings

It is funny what catches my attention.   Or rather how the world can seem to be flashing before me the same message in different ways, insisting that I stop, look, listen, pay attention and live into the questions being asked of me. Last Friday afternoon, I was taken back some 25 or more to the years, as I attended the Peter Combe Christmas Concert, where he performed (and I sang along to at least silently and at times out loud) most of the 16 songs on “The Peter Combe Christmas Album” that he had released in 1990 and was very much part of the Christmases we shared with our children.   John and I probably enjoyed the concert last Friday more than our two daughters and our granddaughter, who came with us, although Matilda at 16 months, was entranced each time she saw a baby.   One of the songs was Chocka-a block.   It got stuck in my head- earworm, I think it is called. I don’t remember it doing so 25 years ago but for the last 4 days the song has not wanted to leave the space

I returned to Australia a few days ago, but I find that this time of sabbatical is continuing.  So many rich experiences.  Such generous hospitality extended to me.  So much to ponder and integrate.  And so, I continue with my postings on “Border Crossings.” I woke early, just as the darkness was fading.   A cool summer’s morning with heavy cloud.   Silent but not silent.   The breeze is blowing, the birds are twittering, an occasional car can be heard passing in the distance.   I woke early, aware of the invitation to emptiness.   But not a hollow emptiness, rather a full emptiness, strange as that may sound.   I carry with me the vivid images of the bare branches of the winter trees in Llandudno, Manchester and Bristol, that I walked beside just a few days ago   And I am sitting opposite our Christmas tree.   Multiple branches collected from around the park outside our apartment, felled by the recent storm, also denuded of leaves, tied in a bunch and placed in a buc

Sunflower at The Omega Center, Rhinebeck, NY Very early on in my sabbatical planning I arranged for my final week to be at the Loreto Centre at Llandudno on the north coast of Wales. I did most of my schooling at Loreto Kirribilli so it seemed a nice, if not somewhat, quaint connection.  In my mind, this final week would be an opportunity for reflection and writing, pondering and cherishing the preceding 13 weeks.  I also asked for spiritual direction with the desire that someone with the capacity to be a listening presence could accompany me and witness as I discerned the Divine movements of this time.  Little did I anticipate that it would be a week's retreat, although why not.  Such a fitting way to acknowledge the blessings of this time.  So I did a lot of reflecting, some writing, but of a different kind to what i had envisaged, much pondering, delighting and cherishing.  As to discerning where all this may be leading, I have surrendered and admit that this is still a

Today is the First Sunday of Advent.   A number of people I know have a tradition of mailing their Christmas cards at the beginning of Advent.   But John (the main preparer of our Christmas letter) and I are lucky if we get our seasonal message out before Christmas Day.   I also notice that what with email, e-cards, the cost of postage and deaths among our network of family and friends, that the number of Christmas cards we receive has plummeted over recent years.   However, as I wander the high streets of English towns and villages the Charity Shops and pop-up stores are awash with cards for sale for a variety of good causes.   Nativity scenes, Peace Doves, Father Christmas, festive food, wintery landscapes, red robins, dogs with bows, squirrels in snow, wreaths on doors, Paddington Bear and even London buses feature on some more than 500 designs for more than 70 charities ranging from Age UK and Alzheimer’s Society to World Cancer Research Fund and Yorkshire Wildlife Trust.