Driving

I drove over to Ilkley in Yorkshire this evening to pick up my mother. Re-reading that, it sounds funny, but I'm not going to re-write. Set off about half past six, quarter to seven. I came off the M60/62 and headed on the M66 Bury-Colne-Skipton route. I love the spectacle of Saddleworth Moor high on the tops, but this way, the Colne direction, I enter Yorkshire through the quiet way in. The hills spread almost immediately beyond the towns and you sense very soon that the countryside is nearby.
The sunset tonight glowed to my left and then behind. Deep rose flushed with warmth. And as Addingham and Ilkley loomed, Beamsley Beacon and the moors and tree tops lay tinged in a golden pink glow as the sky began to darken and the sun dipped behind the horizon as at a private bonfire.
The air smelt clean and of straw. I know what I mean by that! A tractor ploughed late. Three horses, sheep grazing, cows, heads down nuzzling grass.
It was a good drive. It felt like home.

Yet again...

Ha. Ever get the feeling you've loaded the gun and shot it at yourself?

Hope

"There were many ways
Of breaking a heart.
Stories were full of hearts
Broken by love,
But what really broke
A heart
was taking away
its dream -
Whatever that dream
might be."

Pearl Buck

Rough Water

Is it possible to turn the boat around and paddle back up river?
Can you do it alone if you've got enough determination and strength? Can someone else help when they don't know the bends and turns and where the rocks are as well as you?
There's a sandy cove that catches the sun. It's an easy place to pull up the boat; gentle, restful, once you know it, there'll be no surprises.
Someone's standing on the bridge. You crane your neck and squint but you can't see where the road leads. Into the mountains?
Turn the boat around and paddle hard or stay with the current and see where it leads?

Tribe of Doris photos

Love

Strange how things connect with a common thread. I went to my Uncle George's funeral last Monday. He had a wonderful 100th birthday at the end of June, which was a joyful celebration and then, August, a full church of friends, colleagues and family. The vicar asked how we can judge what is a successful life: the amount of love around. There was lots of love and respect for Uncle George that day. I'm Auntie Joan's god-daughter, so was asked to read Chapter 13, 1 Corinthians. We all know it.
'I may be able to speak the languages of men and even of angels, but if I have no love, my speech is no more than a noisy gong or a clanging bell.....if I have no love, I am nothing...if I have no love, this does me no good.
Love is patient and kind; it is not jealous or conceited or proud; love is not ill-mannered or selfish or irritable; love does not keep a record of wrongs; love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope and patience never fail.....' and it goes on.
I hadn't rehearsed this version and I hadn't planned on the entire chapter. It came as a shock when I opened the order of service and saw it all printed out. Thank goodness it was printed out. I read through it a few times to look for where to place emphasis. The vicar spoke of love. He gestured me to the podium and microphone. The family sat at the front. It was a privilege to read.

And the next morning, we drove down to Somerset to the Tribe of Doris Festival. And that emanated love and forgiveness and kindness echoing the sentiments of the funeral service.
I'm going to try and retain all that, remember it - live it.

The Tribe of Doris

'Doris' means 'doorway.' The week spent at The Tribe of Doris Intercultural Summer School of Drumming, Dance and Song near Wellington in Somerset opened many doorways. You could be cynical about the whole thing, but being there, spending a week in the fresh air camping, creating music and dance with a feeling of sharing, forgiving, loving and concentrating on posititivity, it was impossible to resist the spirituality of the site.
I learnt to spin like a whirling dirvish and not fall over or feel sick because the spinning isn't about the physical act, but about concentrating on receiving love from the vertically, loosely extending left hand and giving love out through the loosely horizontally, palm downwards, facing right hand, eyes open, and slowly coming to a stop and then you can spin and spin. If your arms tire, place them crossed over your chest. Sheikh Ahmad Dede spoke and sang of forgiving - of how we are receptacles to ask for love and pass it out so that more love comes back. The whirling is because everything whirls, the earth round the sun, the earth on its axis, the moon around the earth. And we are all part of the universe. It made sense and felt a way to live that would be a relief in many ways. Keep it simple, think positivily, put away negative thoughts. Forgive. It's more effort and hurtful to all involved not to forgive. Follow your conscience nd trust the universe and it will work out. Similar thoughts came out in Denise Rowe's Contemporary African Dance classes too amongst other things. That was the main message from Doris. Trust the universe. And if we work together we can accomplish great things. Think we need that more than ever right now.
The skies clouded during the Saturday night Open Air show when everyone performed what they had experienced and learnt in the week's workshops. People waved away the clouds. The clouds went. The evening was clear. You couldn't not believe there was something in the power of collective positive thought.
There is so much to say about this week in Somerset. It'll have to be a daily update and I'll work through the week from the day we arrived, Tuesday the 9th of August at about eleven in the morning, for the Opening Ceremony at twelve, until Sunday the 14th, about two fifteen after the closing ceremony at noon until two. In the sunshine.

The Holy Name

It's easy to believe in God when you sit in a church. For one, it's cool on a hot, sweltering day. And then there is the calm atmosphere. No-one runs or shouts. No phones, computers or business. People walk slowly or stand or sit quietly. And there is peace in sitting doing nothing. No distractions. And then you look around. It's beautiful whether it's a plain church or ornate like The Holy Name on Oxford Road in Manchester.
Last Monday, August 1st we sat in a pew attending a funeral, the traditional funeral mass, entirely in latin.
The alter, backed by intricate high carvings, backed by a tall stained glass window and a roofed walkway set the stage for the ceremony. Candles glowed. Two dark suited sons and four other men carried in the coffin, straining, followed by close family. The emotion at the sight of them overwhelms. There seems no control over the sudden surge of sadness. Breathe. I'd taken four pieces of kitchen roll. Used the first. Calm down. Is it empathy? Memories of other funerals? Sadness for someone dying too young and the family left behind?
The service leaflet, printed with Mick's face, date of birth and death, translated the latin for us. I didn't read it, but listened without understanding. It didn't matter. I watched the Priests carry out the service and listened to the male voices singing from the organ loft behind. And looked at the stained glass windows and the high, high vaulted roof and a woman in front dabbing her eyes and the row of young men, obviously school friends of one of the sons, smart in their suits, some more comfortable than others and one in black plimsols, the nearest to black shoes.
Three Priests bobbed to the alter in unison.
You can believe in a force greater than us when you hear voices pitch perfect and clear and sunlight streaming through coloured glass forming softer echoes on stone and feel the cool of an ancient building soothe away the city's heat and unite with a large group of people over a common reason.