tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-177591832024-03-14T07:23:19.769-07:00A Life of MiraclesMaverick Priest, Stand-Up Comedian, Author and Messy Cook Maggy Whitehouse describes her life of miracles in beautiful DevonMaggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.comBlogger295125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-66750956861371802652019-09-12T03:14:00.002-07:002019-09-12T03:43:34.805-07:00Kingdom of Heaven, Kingdom of Hell.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: inherit;"><span style="color: #20124d;">"People often asked Dr. [Carl] Jung, 'Will we make it?' referring to the cataclysm of our time. He always replied, “If enough people will do their inner work.” This soul work is the one thing that will pull us through any emergency"</span></em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="color: #20124d;"> </span>—Robert Johnson, </span><em style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: inherit;">Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"> (HarperSanFrancisco: 1991).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">"The cataclysm of our time." That time was approximately 100 years ago. The word comes from the Greek, <i>Kata</i> (down, against) <i>Klysmo</i> (to wash over or surge). But do we now have </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">a cataclysm? I think we do.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">In fact, there will always be a potential cataclysm inside us, let alone in the world, if we don't understand the importance, calling and nature of our soul. The irony is that the vast majority of us don't know our own soul and not that many of us even want to.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">It's much easier, isn't it, to live on the edge of chaos, exclaiming at the world 'out there' and blaming it and others for whatever situation you/we might be in.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">But if you do want to, then the first thing to do is find the Kingdom of Heaven. This is a real place in the human psyche, a place of peace, self-acceptance and the gateway to your soul. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Who says so? The ancient Judaic mystical system known as Kabbalah (which is the Hebrew word for 'receive'). This is nothing to do with Madonna and the Kabbalah Center — that's a modern re-working of the system which, in my not-so-humble view has completely missed the pot and potentially misled a lot of folks on the nature of this version of the Perennial Wisdom Tradition. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">You'll probably have heard of the Kingdom of Heaven through the words of Jesus in the Bible. He also spoke of the Kingdom of God which is where you can head for once you've found the Kingdom of Heaven.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Does that mean Jesus was a Kabbalist? In the sense that he knew the ancient mystical teaching and received inspiration directly from the Divine, yes. However, in those days, the tradition was known as 'The Way' or 'The Knowledge.' He certainly knew all about The Way. He never intended it to be limited to those who became what we now call Christians.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">In a nutshell, in the Kingdom of Heaven is the place in the psyche where you have spiritual power within your own life and your surroundings. The Kingdom of God is where you have spiritual power within the World. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Everyone's Kingdom of Heaven is unique to them and everyone's Kingdom of God is transpersonal — involving the whole of Spirit. That's why Jesus talked about giving up the self; you can do that happily from the Kingdom of God</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">We need both in these polarised times but more than anything, we need the Kingdom of Heaven, because it is everything within us that is generous and kind and honest and true and beautiful.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">And we need to walk before we can run because if you head out seeking the Kingdom of God before we've internalised the Kingdom of Heaven we are likely to hurt ourselves - and others. It's like fire; marvellous when you know how to use it, and incredibly destructive if you don't. In fact, you'd never reach the Kingdom of God but you would <i>believe</i> you have and that's where you've opened a psychic doorway to something very unpleasant indeed, including the corruption of power.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">My headline also mentions the Kingdom of Hell. That's where so many of us spend a lot of our time. The Kingdom of Hell is everyone else. It is where other people, family, work, governments, medical diagnoses disempower or incite us us. It is where our lives can be kicked in any direction without our say-so and sometimes even our knowledge. Sounds familiar?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">As the lovely Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in <i>Eat, Pray, Love (Penguin 2006)</i>: "</span></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt;">A</i><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman"; font-size: 10pt;">ll the sorrow and trouble of this world is caused by unhappy people. Not only in the big global Hitler-'n'-Stalin picture, but also on the smallest personal level. Even in my own life, I can see exactly where my episodes of unhappiness have brought suffering or distress or (at the very least) inconvenience to those around me. The search for contentment is, therefore, not merely a self-preserving and self-benefiting act, but also a generous gift to the world. Clearing out all your misery gets you out of the way. You cease being an obstacle, not only to yourself but to anyone else. Only then are you free to serve and enjoy other people.”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">"The search for contentment," to the mystic in the Judaeo-Christian tradition is the pilgrimage to uncover the Kingdom of Heaven within us. If we won't go within, we must go without and when we go without, we do just that...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">What will you find in the Kingdom of Heaven?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Peace, happiness, joy, contentment, the ability to intuit what is needed for your own healing, the ability</span></span><br />
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not to react continually to the outside world's silliness and craziness and a space within that is open to inspiration and guidance from <i>Beriah</i> the world of blessings; the place we call heaven.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Heaven is not something waiting for us after death if we are good. Heaven is the destination at the end of the hero's/heroine's journey, made famous by the American mythologist, Joseph Campbell. It's where we leave our old habits and patterns and set out for a better life and then, when we have tamed and released our inner dragons, we bring our story back to our tribe so as to teach them how to do the same.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJkyRemcl6gDGTFCr154URRnlv1LDvIhZO_UfJH4ZEcclgARxmyrCEB3oHe0Zw3No5O2PDkLMdFIz0zD_mE9MNK1BXJASup1n3OjdL6hEsDfFiR9L56t2ULrZRFrTn_2Xd7EZjg/s1600/Bliss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="769" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJkyRemcl6gDGTFCr154URRnlv1LDvIhZO_UfJH4ZEcclgARxmyrCEB3oHe0Zw3No5O2PDkLMdFIz0zD_mE9MNK1BXJASup1n3OjdL6hEsDfFiR9L56t2ULrZRFrTn_2Xd7EZjg/s320/Bliss.jpg" width="256" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">This autumn, I'll be teaching a new online course, <i><b>The Kingdom of Heaven: How to Live in Heaven on Earth, </b></i>which will show you the map for your journey. it <i>won't</i> tell you who you are meant to be; it <i>will</i> help you find that for yourself. And when you know who you truly are, then truly, life itself becomes heavenly.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">We'll be starting on Monday 7th October for five weeks and the Early Bird price is £75, rising to £99 on 21st September. <i>Y<span style="color: #660000;">ou won't have to listen live to any of the course.</span> </i>It will all be recorded and sent to you in MP3 format so you can tune in in your own time.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Let me say again: this is NOT selfish work. Finding your own happiness is a gift to the world.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">What are my qualifications for teaching it? I'm the author of 18 books, have been widowed and divorced, have emigrated and returned and have studied Judaeo-Christian mysticism for more than a quarter of a century and I'm a joyful survivor of cancer. I'm an independent minister, or Hedge Priest, and I am both very happily married and incredibly content. Most of my time, I live in the Kingdom of Heaven. More details of my life and work <a href="https://maggywhitehouse.com/about" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><i>"Working with you made me feel alive. The whole of my future opened up; I felt that I had a future. You saved my life" </i></span>— Salley Farquharson, Birmingham, UK.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">Let me know if you think you might be interested in knowing more. Thank you. maggy@maggywhitehouse.com</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-57038065154593179272019-08-21T12:26:00.000-07:002019-08-21T12:27:01.550-07:00Continuing the Edinburgh Blog: Not me in the picture, honest!.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is The Duchess. She was MC at <i>The Big Gay Story Slam</i> at <i>The Gilded Balloon.</i> She gave me the best moment of the whole Edinburgh Fringe when I posted a picture of her on Facebook and someone said, 'You're looking great!' thinking she was me.<br />
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Oh for legs that long! :-)<br />
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<i>The Big Gay Story Slam</i> was a nightly event where folk went on stage and told a five-minute story about either being part of the LGBTQ community or about their guardianship or interaction with it.<br />
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I was thrilled to be invited to take part when I attended <i>Fringe Central's</i> Media Day. Conor, one of the organisers, came over, having spotted the now legendary rainbow clerical shirt and asked me to come along. Try as I might, I couldn't think of a funny story to tell but fortunately, they weren't necessarily looking for humour.<br />
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So this is the story I told. But before I tell it, I will add that I started my five minutes with hand on heart, apologising for the treatment LGBTQ folk have had from right-wing religion. I told the audience I took responsibility for what had been said and done in the name of Jesus and that I was so very, very sorry.<br />
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My story was about my childhood friend, Pete McKay. Pete was a kind of adopted brother of my school friend, Sara Tompkins. He was gay, as was she. When we were 17 and over, Pete used to take us to <i>Nightingale's, </i>the gay nightclub in Birmingham where we mingled with folk who looked more like <i>Village People</i> than <i>Village People</i> and we got the best physical work-outs ever, dancing to twelve-inch disco remixes which, in the 1970s usually lasted about fifteen minutes each.<br />
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I always felt totally safe and protected at <i>Nightingales.</i> The first time, I was a bit scared about going to the Ladies because that was the place I ususally went to get <i>away</i> from people who might fancy me! However, no one ever did fancy me in the Ladies or, just as likely, they weren't mad predators who were about to leap on any undefended female (something that people have often believed about gay men, for some reason).<br />
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Pete was a darling. But he was also a bit of a trollop and, after one particularly outrageous trip to New York, he contracted HIV. This was the early 1980s when those terrifying advertisements voiced by John Hurt were starting to feature on our screens.<br />
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He's the guy on the far left in this picture, taken at my 18th birhtday party. I'm the rosy-cheeked one in the white and Sara is the fair girl next to Pete.<br />
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No one in the medical profession in the Midlands of the UK back then knew very much about AIDS and everyone was afraid that it was contagious like the flu. Once Pete was diagnosed, none of the people he loved were allowed to come within two metres of him, let alone hold his hand or give him a cuddle.<br />
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I will always remember, sitting in a chair away from his bed (he was still at home then) and discussing what I should do after he died. You see, the thing is, I was breakfast presenter on BBC Radio WM and Pete's death was going to be the very first known AIDS-related death in the Midlands. I wanted to know what Pete wanted me to do about that. He asked me not to report it, so I didn't.<br />
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On the day Pete died, Sara called me at work and I told my producer, Tim Manning and went home. Tim, bless him, who was also gay, kept schtum. However, BRMB, the local independent station did get the story on the day of Pete's funeral and I nearly lost my job when my news editor found out that he was a friend of mine. It was probably the first time I'd ever stood up to a news editor and I told him, quivering with both rage and fear that personal loyalty was more important than such a news story. Pete had never willingly harmed a person in his life so supressing the story was not an act of injustice.<br />
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So far, it's a sad story but I'm glad I had the courage to tell this room ful of strangers at <i>The Gilded Balloon</i> what happened at Pete's funeral. Now, I'm not psychic but there are times when I sense things and I had a real problem at that funeral. Why? Because everyone else was so unhappy and hurt and miserable but I was simply filled with joy and could hardly stop my face from beaming all the way through. It was <i>utterly </i>clear to me that Pete was there; he was dancing above the coffin in a party of angels and laughing with delight.<br />
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I've never forgotten that funeral; I suspect that in some way it was part of my journey to ministry and it is certainly why I can never subscribe to any theory that God isn't fond of the gay folk. Pete was in heaven.<br />
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At the end of my story, and the stories of the other speakers, The Duchess took a vote. I was that night's winner and, afterwards, a dozen or more people came up to say 'thank you.'<br />
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There was no need to thank me. I'm just so grateful that I know what I know...<br />
<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-44062796081568202042019-08-21T10:47:00.000-07:002019-08-21T10:47:46.672-07:00Oh Edinburgh!I was going to post a whole load of blogs during <a href="https://www.facebook.com/comedyvicars/" target="_blank">White Collar Comedy's</a> stint at the Edinburgh Fringe but my laptop cable died and the replacement I ordered after hastily joining Prime for the one-day delivery, vanished into the ether and never arrived.<br />
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Which basically meant I had more time to be out and about, seeing shows, flyering and having fun.<br />
So here's a bit of a catch-up, with some pictures of folk that Kate, Ravi and I met at the Fringe, starting with the winner of Thursday's 'who looks most like a fantasy Jesus?' competition. And yes, we vicars are aware that Jesus would most likely have been a short, dark and definitely Jewish dude. I did say 'fantasy' Jesus, didn't I?<br />
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Kate Bruce and I did a lot of flyering together. Ravi was a one-man flyer phonomenon all on his own and we were just in the way if we hung around while people were being spontaneously seduced by his irresistable charm so we found ourselves a regular spot by the Gilded Balloon and watched out for what we called 'our people' — i.e. respectable middle aged types or spectacular members of the LGBTQ community.<br />
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I've been flyering in Edinburgh before but never so successfully or so enjoyably. We spotted our people and launched into our pitch: 'Three genuine vicars doing stand-up. What could possibly go wrong?'<br />
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There were three types of responses: 'I'm sorry, I've gone deaf and you are invisible,' gestures that meant 'I'd rather go straight to hell than come to your show' or laughter. If they laughed, then we had a conversation starter and it's the conversations that sell shows, not just the flyers. Sometimes the conversations went on for about ten minutes and maybe they never ended up coming to the show but they were all great conversations and we wouldn't have missed one of them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHgRzdALYzW1aUZ56adKZoKSv0Hr9BT9xEot4t1U-zLwoaEJSQ0J65tO4r9zGV-LhKIgxR8eI0i467UNElGz7CDCWEd-F5lWuEC2zyG3QqfIIdRvmF9oXjhuewawCDI1k6UDNnA/s1600/Maggy+Whitehouse+Hell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHgRzdALYzW1aUZ56adKZoKSv0Hr9BT9xEot4t1U-zLwoaEJSQ0J65tO4r9zGV-LhKIgxR8eI0i467UNElGz7CDCWEd-F5lWuEC2zyG3QqfIIdRvmF9oXjhuewawCDI1k6UDNnA/s320/Maggy+Whitehouse+Hell.jpg" width="320" /></a>What was really rather special was that we recognised most of the people who did come to the show from the flyers we handed out, especially the middle-aged 'respectable' ones who turned up at Sofi's Southside in good time to get themselves a drink and dry out a little from the thunderstorms. That meant that we were able to meet and greet and that, in turn, meant they were happier to talk with us after the show when we forced them to do the traditional 'shake the vicar's hand after the service' routine. Except this time, the vicar's hands had a collection bag and a free 'get out of hell free' card. More than 200 people ended up with one of those after just 10 days. My work here is done!<br />
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Before we went to Edinburgh, I posted on Ravi's, Kate's and my behalf on most of the Facebook Edinburgh fora that we were willing and able to be any backup needed for anyone in the LGBTQ community who faced any discrimination while at the Fringe. We can play 'Bible tennis' with anyone who wants to try and say that sexuality is something that Jesus gave a flying fig about or who wants to quote St. Paul (who, incidentally, is one of the misquoted teachers there is and clearly thought that gossiping and being rude to your parents was just as bad as 'abnormal acts' which is generally mistranslated as 'homosexuality.'<br />
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It's a bit weird writing this after the event but there are more stories to tell including the one about the <i>Great Gay Story Slam</i> and meeting Eddie Izzard ... so I'll be back...<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-61822702536780124062019-08-04T15:28:00.000-07:002019-08-04T15:31:35.367-07:00Capacity crowds and no one more amazed than us!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V5NnD0OG6vjPCO3C6WQsFUcFqTKas5O6ZnNlh1haFIupP7twhLh4aJ1hb8f4O7rjgVc_38x6R_TehZrAvw5c8rfw3zc8VFux_eclkvd7Oz-oRsKss0_iG5Oz214TCU7TXEzElQ/s1600/IMG_2415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V5NnD0OG6vjPCO3C6WQsFUcFqTKas5O6ZnNlh1haFIupP7twhLh4aJ1hb8f4O7rjgVc_38x6R_TehZrAvw5c8rfw3zc8VFux_eclkvd7Oz-oRsKss0_iG5Oz214TCU7TXEzElQ/s320/IMG_2415.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Edinburgh is beautiful but it is not flat. Until you've got your bearings, you will be doing several cardiac work-outs just trying to get from your bus stop to your venue. They say that J. K. Rowling got her idea for the moving staircases at Hogwarts from the stone steps in Edinburgh that seem to lead somewhere different every time — but always to more steps.<br />
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We're four performances in now and, thanks to <i>Fringe Central'</i>s excellent 'how to make your show noticed' session, we are flyering like pros. To flyer someone successfully, you need to pick your people carefully and engage them in genuine conversation. For us, picking 'our people' is quite simple: middle-aged couples and groups. Obviously some of them <i>aren't</i> our people and give us the equivalent of a flip while passing on but, hey, we're vicars. We can forgive them. :-)<br />
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I even managed to forgive the woman dressed like the most stereotypical witch you've ever seen, including green make-up. I thought I'd say 'hi' and complement her outfit but she swore at me in either Czech or Slovakian and waved her broomstick at me threateningly. Bloody foreign witches, coming over here and stealing our jobs...<br />
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Kate had the brilliant idea of flyering a troupe of middle-aged singers performing on the Royal Mile. Every single one of them took a flyer (and they were, at the very least, the types who would recycle them). And as for Ravi - well, he's a natural! About every ten minutes we lost him because he was deep in conversation with someone, charming the M&S pants off them.<br />
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<a href="https://www.bodabar.com/sofis-southside" target="_blank">Sofi's Southside</a> is a lovely little bar just five minutes from the Fringe Central with seating for about 40 people max. Um ... we may have a venue that's a little too small! On our first night, we had six people, which is not bad for starters but that trebled on night no. 2 and for the last two nights we've been at full capacity! Can't tell you how delighted we are about that.<br />
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It's lovely that people have simply found us in the brochure and thought they'd take a punt, it's wonderful that old friends and friends of friends are turning up out of the blue and it's just great that people we've given flyers to, actually turn up! It's also terrific fun to experience ourselves referencing back and forward to each other during the show as we get to know each other better. We are not only performing together, we are living together too. And nobody has died yet!<br />
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But God, is it tiring! I went down with a cold on day three so not at my best but it's also hot here and we're not as young as we think we are and are slightly prone to hysterical laughter when Google maps tells us that our destination is ten minutes' walk away 'mostly flat.' That's flat if you have a helicopter. Or a broomstick.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUuP9uNHkGUTr0uJWHXvhyo0if4s8EWJr-w4woFF_yntPwz422ymgU9MNk7l34EDvQxvyiHtoL5nwy95k9PGQXNqMmbVQ3tMl9B1Jmpi4yraFSlCRoRi8457_I4zqZMPn-g_8AQ/s1600/Maggy+Whitehouse+Rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="664" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUuP9uNHkGUTr0uJWHXvhyo0if4s8EWJr-w4woFF_yntPwz422ymgU9MNk7l34EDvQxvyiHtoL5nwy95k9PGQXNqMmbVQ3tMl9B1Jmpi4yraFSlCRoRi8457_I4zqZMPn-g_8AQ/s320/Maggy+Whitehouse+Rainbow.jpg" width="221" /></a>Another part that's fun is getting feedback from Kate when she and I are going somewhere together (Ravi is always strides ahead, engaging with everyone). Kate can see the expressions on people's faces when they see my rainbow dog collar and relays them back to me. They vary somewhat drastically at times. :-)<br />
However, I was stopped by one young man and practically begged to go and take part in <i>The Big Gay Story Slam</i> one evening. Can't wait! (it's for LGBTQ folks and allies so I do qualify).<br />
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As we settle in, we're starting to have the energy to go and see other shows, although it's astonishing how many shows I'd <i>like</i> to see are on at the same time as we are. Will have to work on the bi-locating.<br />
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We know we're getting at least two reviews — from the in-crowd, <i>Premier Christian Radio</i> were in two nights ago and both Kate and Ravi wisely suggested I dropped all my 'Dartmoor witch' material... And we have <i>Church Times</i> on our last night so I guess that will be witch-free too. Still, the great thing about so many years of comedy is you can always drag up a properly ancient joke and drop it into a gap. It will be fascinating to see what other reviews we may get.<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-56103525495726664672019-08-04T02:14:00.004-07:002019-08-04T07:33:02.207-07:00Edinburgh Fringe 2019 - White Collar Comedy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was a wet October morning and I was wondering what the next step might be in my comedy career. I was doing okay, but meeting a few dead ends along the way and it felt as though some new impulse was needed.<br />
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So, I did what I usually do each morning, gave it to God (who pretty well had to pin me to the ground and wrestle it out of my head as per normal) and sat in meditation. The answer was swift and clear: "If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together."<br />
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It's an African proverb so neither God nor I were being particularly original that morning but then God did make Africa along with everything else (including dinosaurs) so I guess He/She can still claim it.<br />
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"Go together" meant performing comedy with other vicars. Fortunately I knew two who were intentionally funny, from a show we'd done for Christians in London called <i>Holy Guacamole. </i>Not one of my best gigs: a load of folk staring in horrified outrage at my heresy (and less than perfect timing) but at least I'd got to meet Revs. Ravi Holy (yes, that's his real name) and Kate Bruce.<br />
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They take up the story in this article in <a href="https://theweereview.com/interview/white-collar-comedy/" target="_blank"><i>The Wee Review.</i> </a> Originally, there were to have been four of us — Rev. Mark Townsend is a talented magician as well as an author — but that will have to wait until another year. Perhaps if Mark were with us, Pontius Pilate would have given us four crosses?<br />
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Getting a load of vicars together outide their parishes is like herding cats (we are well trained in plausible avoidance techniques by our Parish Councils) and we live in Devon, Kent and Oxfordshire so we couldn't just meet up after work for a drink. But suitably tempted by the offer of supper cooked by my Jewish friend Adam — <i>all</i> vicars should have at least one Jewish friend who invites you for supper, <i>obviously — </i>we met up in the holy city of Aylesbury and started to plan.<br />
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Our first show together was at Leicester Comedy Festival in February. We were doing just one night on the first day of the festival — and none of our promotional material had been brought along for us to do any flyering. It was all <i>done</i> just not delivered. So, we had a pizza and a quick word the the One Upstairs and to our delight, thirteen people showed up. Now, 90% of those were friends of Kate's but no one was complaining about that and we never told the Holy One we wanted strangers. You do have to be very specific in prayer...<br />
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Our second gig was at Bath Comedy Festival, eight hours after Lion and I landed at Heathrow from three weeks in the USA. I don't sleep well on planes and was a tad nervous about the effects of tiredness. But the delight of seeing more than 50 people turn up (together with a few of Kate's friends), was enough to help the adreneline and we all did better than on the first night.<br />
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So, two gigs together before we headed for the Edinburgh Fringe. Seriously under-prepared? Yes and no. We're each doing our own set which we already know well and allowing ourselves to refer back to each other spontaneously from the day's events and it just works.<br />
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Edinburgh isn't cheap and, as we are at the Free Fringe, we rely on donations to keep us going. For most comedians, accommodation is the biggest cost but, bless him, Ravi got in touch with an old friend from his wild-child days who lives on the perfect bus route to our venue, Sofi's Southside, in Buccleuch Street. She's obviously quite crazy because she happily invited all three of us to stay for the whole 11 days we are here.<br />
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So here the adventure begins for real. And no better start for three middle class, middle aged comedians to sit with our hosts the night before we begin our run. Ravi and Pauline are discussing their wild days of drugs and punk music (Ravi was lead singer in <i>Satan's Bitches</i> and yes, he'll tell you about that in the show). As they remembered some of their more unravelled times, with "E" and other illegal substances ,Pauline came up with a classic about the seriously mad, bad and dangerous to know "Joe": "I well remember the day Joe introduced me to Earl Grey tea." You can take a girl out of the Middle Class, but you can't take the Middle Class out of the girl...<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-57295600919432385842019-05-20T05:20:00.000-07:002019-05-20T05:44:04.493-07:00Dear Republican America: Don't you DARE call yourself Christian.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFl3KCq7lWyiDBqkO4-xNyJAmhREYBJ931bWxoEo622f4w9CRchNRKGuNGRuM6k-SqhZzKHNeigiZPiIBbwKL3jH9XBq6KEhKbZLVwUfLmGrUAZH_Okf-Qh25OiESKa-u3wU35lw/s1600/IMG_0496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFl3KCq7lWyiDBqkO4-xNyJAmhREYBJ931bWxoEo622f4w9CRchNRKGuNGRuM6k-SqhZzKHNeigiZPiIBbwKL3jH9XBq6KEhKbZLVwUfLmGrUAZH_Okf-Qh25OiESKa-u3wU35lw/s320/IMG_0496.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
It has come to the point where I want to apologise for being a Christian; where I feel embarrassed to be a minister in a sea of prejudiced, inaccurate and archaeic law-quoting hypocrites.<br />
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It's not just Alabama and Georgia ... it's all the people who love to worship Jesus without taking the time, courtesy and energy of trying to follow him. Christ never once asked us to worship him; he <i>did</i> ask us to do what he did. Following him is bloody hard work; worshipping him is a piece of cake.<br />
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You do not get to call yourself a Christian just by worshipping Christ. I'm sure someone would like to quote Ephesians here as in "you cannot get to heaven by good works alone" but even that is a selective quotation. It makes it clear that we get to heaven through Grace and Grace alone and the signature of Grace is that it <i>cannot be deserved.</i> Grace is radically unfair; Grace is God's <i>unconditional</i> love for us. The woman having an abortion and the doctor aiding her are equally likely to receive Grace as the pro-life Christian. If you even want to consider calling yourself a Christian you have to allow Grace even when you really don't approve of it. God gets to call the shots and God is <i>always</i> love. Read the dratted Prophets! No one ever does but they make that abundantly clear.<br />
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N.B. Heaven and hell are states of the psyche. There isn't any nice land up there that's exclusively for Christians ... or Muslims ... or anyone else. We're <i>all</i> going to be surprised who we meet in the reality after death.<br />
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But to the point: I'm not the first person to call out Kay Ivey, Governor of Alabama for saying the ruling on abortion comes from, "Alabamans' deeply-held belief that every life is precious and that every life is a sacred gift from God." Really? REALLY?<br />
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Apart from the fact that Alabama has the death penalty — and Kay Ivey has presided over the killing of six people — you <i>cannot</i>, <i>cannot, CANNOT</i> say you are pro-life and not challenge the NRA on assault rifles and, frankly, you cannot even go to war. Ever.<br />
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If you are "pro-life" you do not agree with the taking of any life, obviously including the life of a child in a school classroom. You truly do not even <i>consider</i> sanctioning the bombing of other people's children (of any age) in countries across the world.<br />
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If you support pro-life, then you <i>must</i> be pro all life. Otherwise you are exactly the kind of person that Jesus fervently condemned, even if you think you are a Christian. <i>Especially </i>if you think you are a Christian. You are the equivalent of the Pharisees of his day - hypocrites of the highest order making sure they were seen to be following the law while holding no compassion whatsoever.<br />
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Jesus said "I come to bring a sword" (Mathew 1034) but it was not a sword to use to kill, it was the sword of truth, to cut through hypocrisy. Jesus was a pacifist. He restored the ear cut off one of the Temple guards who came to arrest him in Gethsemene. He really, really didn't have to do that; everyone would have understood. But he did. Yes, I know he knocked over the tables in the Temple and chased the merchants with a knotted cord but there's no report anywhere of any of them actually getting hurt. I'd quite like to do the same in Alabama right now.<br />
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What I find truly shocking is that people, like Kay Ivey, who think they are Christian obviously haven't even read the Gospels.<br />
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How about this: "Truly, I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40)<br />
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Every single person every single one of us has hurt in any way is Christ. We cannot do anything to harm another (or for that matter ourselves) without doing the same to Christ. That's because Christ is in all creation.<br />
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I can just hear Kay Ivey respond that she has done just that to save aborted fetuses. But if you are trying to be a Christian you don't get to pick and choose. You don't get to condemn the woman who knows she is carrying a baby who has already died to keep carrying it so it rots in her womb. You don't get to condemn the teenager who thought she was in love and the condom broke; you don't get to condemn the family which already has too many children to provide for and no benefits.<br />
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Even more, if you're a Christian, surely you should know <i>something</i> about souls? That souls are immortal and that souls do not fully attach to the fetus until they are good and ready? And that souls aren't affected by abortion and can - and will - return another time. Why is nothing about souls ever taught in seminary, in church, in the world? Why? Why? Why?<br />
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The answer to that is because we are all too tied up with our bodies ... "the sins of the flesh" but both the Prophets in the Bible and great mystics teach that the first, and most insideous form of evil is "the world." It's the system, it's the way things are, in the modern world, it's generally what's called "mammon" - the pursuit of money as opposed to spirit.<br />
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But the greatest of all evil is when we present this system as being virtuous. The system that disallows abortions is virtuous. Of course it is! It is all for the good! From what I observe, the Republican "system" absolutely loves to tell us how good it is. Democrats are far too busy arguing among themselves to get on quite such a high horse.<br />
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The first demon in Mark's Gospel is found in the synagogue and that's not a coincidence. You find evil very easily in our churches, mosques, synagogues and temples. That's its favourite place to hide, looking all shiny and virtuous and full of glamour. These are the forms of evil that present themselves as the light. To truly succeed, evil must always look necessary or virtuous and it will encourage us to support and need it by broadcasting how good it is.<br />
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<a href="https://cac.org/world-flesh-devil-spiral-violence-2015-10-21/" target="_blank">For more on this, please click here.</a><br />
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If you want to ask me if I'm pro-life, then honestly, I have to say "no." I still eat meat and fish; I visited the statue commemorating Bomber Command, in honour of my father, and I think it was a necessary evil to fight Hitler. I don't think abortion is a good thing and I am glad for better forms of contraception but I would never condemn a woman who had one (how could I?).<br />
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And in the meantime, I will continue to apologise for Christianity each time I do stand-up and each time I minister anywhere. Truly, fellow Christians, we have absolutely no excuse for not knowing better.<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-16814509363040658042019-04-19T05:11:00.001-07:002019-04-19T05:53:33.092-07:00Easter 2019. The Too Small God.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmk-G1LlWBtRq1ieCTrqDrc41zMrBti9MUgBZvtxrm_NziCpEG1tEeZw_pzaxmHAcqkc0j5wY5VL3U3vpq6ArlchKHLIYRk8VS71navIv01XpvHzw32ggEBEetgClqIXbG22t2A/s1600/Cosmic+Christ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmk-G1LlWBtRq1ieCTrqDrc41zMrBti9MUgBZvtxrm_NziCpEG1tEeZw_pzaxmHAcqkc0j5wY5VL3U3vpq6ArlchKHLIYRk8VS71navIv01XpvHzw32ggEBEetgClqIXbG22t2A/s320/Cosmic+Christ.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cosmic Christ - Toledo Cathedral.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A good man dies in the most horrible way because his father (God) requires his sacrifice in order to atone for human sin.<br />
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This is the wholly unsupportable Christian orthodoxy that we have lived with for more than seven hundred years. No wonder people turn away from churches in droves now that it is no longer a community requirement to attend. Only the ego can support such a theory and only the tribe can maintain it.<br />
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It is not the point of the crucifixion <i>and it never was</i>. And it's not just me saying that. Great theologians such as John Duns Scotus and St. Bonaventure have been saying it for centuries. It has always been part of the <i>Franciscan Orthodoxy</i> and, now, Richard Rohr, says it magnificently in his new book <i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0281078629" target="_blank">The Universal Christ.</a></i><br />
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In a nutshell, all this "substitutionary penal atonement" came about because of theories by St. Augustine (354-430 CE) and Anselm of Canterbury (1033-1109 CE). It's important to emphasise that these were <i>only</i> theories - but they were gobbled up by Christianity like chocolate eggs at Easter - because they fitted so neatly into the ego's desire for blaming and shaming. If you can make other people wrong, you really don't have to do anything about the plank in your own eye. And you can worship Jesus Christ and thank him while doing diddly-squat about following him, healing and loving as he did. N.B. Jesus <i>never once</i> asked us to worship him. He <i>did</i> ask us to follow him.<br />
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St. Augustine came up with the theory of "original sin" — that humanity is born sinful because of Adam and Eve's disobedience and that Jesus died to save us from that. From what I've read, his point appeared to be that Jesus <i>had</i> saved us from that so it was over ... but good old Christianity preferred to pick up the idea and run with it. Blaming people and making them wrong is just so much fun, isn't it?<br />
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Incidentally, Judaism has no concept of original sin so it's fairly unlikely that the human known as Jesus did either.<br />
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St. Anselm's theory was that "a price had to be paid to restore God's honour and it needed to be paid to God the Father by one who was equally divine." (<i>Cur Deus Homo? </i>1094-98).<i> </i>The ego is fully programmed to leap onto this kind of idea and promote it - that authority is angry, punative and violent and that we must either fight and resist it (atheism) or appease it even if that means rejecting or killing "unbelievers" (fundamental religion). For both sides this makes the genuine spiritual journey impossible. As Richard Rohr writes, <i>"why would you love or trust or desire to be with such a God?" (</i><i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0281078629" target="_blank">The Universal Christ.</a>)</i><br />
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Franciscans, on the other hand (and I would call myself 100% a Franciscan), do not see the incarnation of the Divine in a human body and the crucifixion as a reaction to sin. We see the cross as <i>a freely chosen revelation of God's love. <b>God is spilling Its own blood to reach out to us and tell us that It understands and experiences our pain with us</b>.</i><br />
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Life on Earth <i>is</i> painful. Where there is love there will always be loss and sorrow. Where there is food to find or grow, there will be hard work and sometimes injury. Where there is a child to be born, there will be blood and pain. That is not a punishment; that is just how physical life is. <i>And God is in there with us, living it with us and helping us when we remember to be conscious enough to allow that.</i><br />
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God is <i>not</i> a distant authority figure who could choose to stop our suffering but won't (like our abusive parent/teacher/boss). God is in us, in creatures, in plants, in the land, in the water, in the air, in the fire. <i>The choices <b>WE</b> make are God's choices.</i> That's what free will means. The message of the Hebrew Testament prophets is, again and again, that God may be astonished and even horrified by our choices but that God will love us through <i>everything</i>. Don't believe me, read <i>Samuel </i>and <i>Jeremiah ... </i>and read them as metaphor for your own life because then they will make sense.<br />
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The whole Eden story is about teaching humanity about choice - we can choose good or evil - and every day, we do. What's more, we choose what<i> <b>we</b> </i>(or more accurately, our egos)<i> </i>believe to be what is good and what is evil. And like Adam and Eve we deal with it by blaming others ("The woman gave me the fruit"/"the serpent tricked me" Gen. 3:12) instead of taking responsibility for our own beliefs and actions.<br />
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Look at the rage over the donations to restore <i>Notre Dame</i> for example. <b>The energy of blaming and shaming those who choose to give to restore a building rather than to the rainforests or corals or poverty is far more damaging to the life-force of the whole planet than the wealthy's well-intentioned donations.</b> It is entirely possible that our pollution of the planet follows <i>directly</i> on from our culture of blame and hatred — particularly of those who have wealth and whom we deny that we envy so we can feel virtuous for criticising for their choices — and we could heal the Earth simply through the long-term application of love.<br />
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Richard Rohr again: "A religion based on necessary or required sacrifices, required primarily of Jesus and later the underclass, is just not glorious enough for, hopeful enough for, or even befitting the marvelous creation that we are a part of. To those who cling to Anselm's understanding, I would say, as J. B. Phillips wrote so many years ago, 'Your God is too small.'<br />
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"Far too many evils have been committed in history under the manipulative cry of 'sacrifice,' usually violent and necessary sacrifice for an always 'noble' cause. But I believe Jesus utterly undoes the very notion of <i>sacrificial requirements</i> for God to love us — first in himself and in all of us. 'Go, learn the meaning of the words, what I want is mercy, not sacrifice' (Matt. 9:13, 12:7).<br />
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<i>"It is not God who is violent. We are.</i><br />
<i>It is that God demands suffering of humans. We do." </i><i>(</i><i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0281078629" target="_blank">The Universal Christ.</a>)</i><br />
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So, what <i>is</i> the point of the crucifixion and the resurrection? It is transformational not transactional. We all suffer "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" ... and by dying to that suffering, "Father, forgive them; they don't know what they are doing" (allowing it rather than resisting it or fighting people over it or blaming people for not saving us from it), then resurrection is a done deal. How? Because we let go of our own judgement of the situation and allow Grace in.<br />
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I can't say it any better than Richard does:<br />
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"The cross was the price Jesus paid for living in a 'mixed' world which is both human and divine, simultaneously broken and utterly whole. He hung between a good thief and a bad thief, between heaven and earth, inside of both humanity and divinity, a male body with a feminine soul, utterly whole and yet utterly disfigured...<br />
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"... Jesus the Christ agreed to carry the mystery of universal suffering. He allowed it to change him ('resurrection') and, it is to be hoped, us, so that we would be free from the endless cycle of projecting our pain elsewhere or remaining trapped inside of it...<br />
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"...We are indeed saved by the cross — more than we realise. The people who hold contradictions and resolve them in themselves are the saviours of the world. They are the only real agents of transformation, reconciliation and newness.<br />
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<i>"Christians are meant to be the visible compassion of God on earth." </i><i>(</i><i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0281078629" target="_blank">The Universal Christ.</a>)</i><br />
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Thank you for reading to the end. Happy Easter.<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-86142059345869177762019-03-15T05:19:00.001-07:002019-03-15T06:39:09.555-07:00The Weaving of Life - a response to the shootings in Christchurch.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS4Z65_FanYWxkIPpUwQYydES6cDpnPi4PqfNVDFAWhHQVOXQBjfPIFDzD5-v5qMCTnFXNtc4E5o530s0fFp6xyA-5BJ4FgwZQytEaPZdHrqvBqxU0znWG9kedOBQmSazp0lGjg/s1600/Butterfly+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="682" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyS4Z65_FanYWxkIPpUwQYydES6cDpnPi4PqfNVDFAWhHQVOXQBjfPIFDzD5-v5qMCTnFXNtc4E5o530s0fFp6xyA-5BJ4FgwZQytEaPZdHrqvBqxU0znWG9kedOBQmSazp0lGjg/s320/Butterfly+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A woven butterfly on my evening dress which creates new<br />
beauty after the sleeve was damaged by moths.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b>We must try to understand</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the meaning of the age</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>in which we are called to bear witness.</b><b>We must accept the fact</b><b>this is an age in which</b><b>the cloth is being unwoven.</b><b>It is therefore no good trying</b><b>to patch. </b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We must, rather,</span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><br />set up the loom on which</b><br /><b>coming generations may</b><br /><b>weave new cloth according to</b><br /><b>the pattern God provides.</b></span><br />
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<i>Mother Mary Clare, The Sisters of the Love of God </i>(Anglican community founded in Oxford 1967).<br />
<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Today we heard about the deaths of 49 people in the mosque shootings in Christchurch, New Zealand. In a world that seems to become more and more chaotic, we feel sorrow and send love and prayers and healing and yet, it is so tempting to think that it is hopeless, that we can do nothing tangible to help the world to heal.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;">There's the environment too ... and knife crime ... and (dare I mention it?) Brexit. Seemingly chaos everwhere.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;">And yet... and yet... </span><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";">Things break so that we can look inside them.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";">I'm about to go to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to a conference on <i><a href="https://cac.org/another-name-for-every-thing-the-universal-christ/" target="_blank">The Universal Christ - Another Name for Everything</a>,</i> led by <a href="https://cac.org/richard-rohr/richard-rohr-ofm/" target="_blank">Fr. Richard Rohr</a>, <a href="https://www.johndominiccrossan.com/" target="_blank">John Dominic Crossnan</a> and <a href="http://www.jacquijlewis.com/" target="_blank">Jacqui Lewis</a>. A</span><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";">bout 1800 of us will gather to hear that Christ is </span><i style="color: #23221f; font-family: times;">not</i><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"> Jesus' surname; that Christ is </span><i style="color: #23221f; font-family: times;">not</i><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"> limited to Christianity - that Christ is the whole process of creation and that every single one of us is a part of it. Christ began with the creation of the Universe and is one with every rock, plant and being in it. The whole purpose of creation is for God to give birth and all of creation is that baby.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">In Jewish mysticism, that baby is called <i>Adam Kadmon</i>, the Primordial Being. Each of us is one cell in the body of this Divine baby. And so are the creatures and so is the land and the sea and the sky and the stars. We will all become perfect, one day. Not for a while yet... And then the baby will be born and the process of creation fulfilled. What happens then? Who knows! Let's deal with now.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">This teaching within Christianity is a radical awakening (and much needed) and a shattering of the vessel that has trapped and made exclusive a profound perennial teaching. <i>WE ARE ALL CHRIST. </i>We are called to follow Jesus' teachings and example not to worship him or make a religion out of him. Most of us are damaged, weak, disbelieving Christs who haven't come anywhere near our full potential yet, but we are being called ... and called again ... to pick up that yoke and walk this world as if we <i>were </i>Christ.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">As Teresa of Avila put it so beautifully: <b><i>"</i>C</b></span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(24, 24, 24); color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman";"><b>hrist has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours”</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;">So what do we do? We WEAVE.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;">To use a metaphor from the <i>Book of Proverbs</i> and from many teachings of the world's faiths, it is all about weaving.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.margaretbarker.com/" target="_blank">Dr. Margaret Barker</a> teaches that the early chuch father, Origen, in his Greek translation of the Hebrew of Genesis 1.1 states, 'by means of the net, God created the heavens and the earth.'<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";">Jewish mysticism also teaches that all of creation is a tapestry, known as the <i>Pargod,</i> woven by all of creation. Each of us is a thread and each of us is vital to that weave. God is the loom and weaves the warp and </span><b style="color: #23221f; font-family: times;">we</b><span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"> weave the weft. We can choose to create holes through anger and fear if we choose, but someone else will always re-weave them to recreate the pattern.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">The shooter in Christchurch, other killers and people of cruelty have torn holes in the weft of creation <i>but the Universal Christ - God's weave - remains.</i> It is our work constantly to re-weave that weft. It is what we are here to do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">We weave it through our sorrow and our tears. We re-weave it with our blessings and our hope. We </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">re-weave it with good works and deeds, with a gentle hand on someone's shoulder; with a listening ear. We also look through the broken pieces to see the complete beauty of the warp still strong, still sound, still open and receptive to our new weaving.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">So weave today, please. Weave as the Christ-Consciousness that you are (even if only in potential!). Weave by loving, by creating beauty, by honouring our Mother the Earth. By knitting or crochetting something beautiful, by drawing or writing or painting. By planting a seed, by cooking a delicious meal, by stroking a pet, by smiling at a stranger, by making love rather than having sex, by listening... By doing anything you possibly can do today which is both Universal and creative. It is that simple to be an essence of the Christ Consciousness. It does all count; it does all matter. It is a part of the weave.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times";"><span style="caret-color: rgb(35, 34, 31);">Judaic mysticism teaches that humanity as a species is still very young: approximately two years old. We are still having tantrums and breaking our toys and fighting 'the other.' But we are in it for the long haul. We <i>will</i> learn; we <i>will </i>heal. The Universal Christ will be born one day. And every one of us is a part of that great, sacred journey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #23221f; font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><b>She stretches out her hands to the distaff, And her hands grasp the spindle.</b> <i>Proverbs 31:19.</i></span>Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-80096914776365805532019-02-22T09:34:00.000-08:002019-02-22T10:59:06.230-08:00The View from the Whitehouse no.2. Being An Outsider.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US">“Ah yes, but do you <i>actually </i>live in a white house,’ enquired the Wag. ‘You see, if it’s the <i>view </i>from the White house...’</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">There’s always one.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Frequently several.</span></div>
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As it happens, we <i>do </i>live in a white house. As it’s 1000 feet up on Dartmoor, it is white for a given value of seventeen years of howling gales, rain, hail, sleet and snow, not to mention passing sheep trailers, milk lorries and muck trucks — which means grayish, greenish and, in places, frankly, mouldy. But the view, over the gate to Cosden Hill and towards Scorhill is glorious, the common across the lane is a perfect screen between us and the main road and although the cascades of wildflowers has gone from the lanes themselves they are still awash with wild roses, honeysuckle and yarrow as I write.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This time of year, the view generally includes the horses and caravans of our regular summer visitors, the folk who build furniture from trees and beautiful, rounded, gypsy caravans or <i>vardos</i>—from the Iranian word <i>vurdon </i>for cart—to sell or rent out for weddings and parties. Their painted horses (does anyone still use that somewhat ugly word <i>skewbald </i>for horses?) are grazing peacefully on the common in the shade and John has come for the water that we happily let them have from our underground well.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">They are not real gypsies, and neither are the young family that also camp here with their daughters and who only travel in school holidays; they are courteous people living lightly on the land, existing, for the most part, as outsiders.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">We are outsiders too and we know that. And we understand that wonderful fine line between not being local <i>but </i>being accepted. It is quite enough. They do say that you can’t be a Devonian until you’ve buried your grandparents here. I did enquire of the family about digging mine up and moving them down but nobody seemed keen. It probably wouldn’t count anyway.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I think we knew that we were okay the day that Diana, down the road, asked us to help look for her Dartmoor ponies which had broken out of their field. Or the day that Neil, the postman, left a brace of pheasant hanging on the door knocker. Or there was the first day that we freed a young sheep that had got its horns stuck in our wire fencing. And then another, and then another. Oh, hang on, it’s the same sheep...</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">But the real day of acceptance was when Neil knocked on the door, handed me a brace of pheasant and asked if I minded plucking and drawing them for him as he was on voluntary fireman night duty and wouldn’t have time to do it before they were to be eaten on Friday.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">By then, I was an accomplished pheasant plucker—and had even skinned, drawn and jugged the most beautiful road-kill hare I came upon, still warm, one night as I turned off the A30 on my way home from a comedy gig in Bath.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Wags, though are, unfortunately, currently out of season…</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US">First published in <a href="http://themoorlander.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Moorlander.</a></span></div>
Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-76613162596457149322019-02-22T09:20:00.002-08:002019-02-22T09:26:36.725-08:00The View from the Whitehouse no1: EarthingMy Editor at <a href="http://themoorlander.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Moorlander Newspaper </a>has given me permission to reprint the columns I've been writing for them here, so this is no. 1 from 2017.<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">Hello, I’m a woman with a thorn in her foot who’s just scared the willies out of the postman by lying naked on the vegetable patch. Our garden is pretty sheltered if you’re not actually coming into the driveway — and I did have enough time to ensure that my important bits were decently covered with a towel — but he probably thought I was a dead body for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">This lying naked on the earth thing is called “Earthing.” I think it’s simultaneously the latest and the oldest thing on the planet. According to the website www.earthing.com, “Earthing is a fast-growing movement based upon the major discovery that connecting to the Earth’s natural energy is foundational for vibrant health.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">Major discovery eh? I think our ancestors knew a bit about that. Even my mother knows — she’s survived to 90 very healthily and firmly believes it’s all down to all the gardening she does. She’s probably right; mothers usually are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It’s all because of electrons. Research from Texas A&M University reveals that when we take our shoes off and touch the earth with our bare flesh, free electrons, powerful antioxidants that can help reduce inflammation, transfer from the ground into our body via the soles of our feet or the palms of our hands.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">You’d think, given their contact with nature, that walkers would be the most grounded of people but rubber or plastic-soled shoes prevent us from contacting the earth. Nowadays we rarely walk barefoot except on a summer holiday at the beach. We don’t even lie on the sand—it’s plastic loungers on the beach or by the pool.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">I think it’s a bit too much of a challenge to spend half an hour a day lying naked on the vegetable patch so, instead, I’ve started to walk barefoot on the Moor. <i>So </i>much former city-dweller ‘it’ll hurt’ wimpy stuff came up ... and it was jolly cold too until this last month ... but it feels amazing and it certainly makes you focus on where you put your feet. There are tiny, tiny fledgling gorse bushes on the Moor and they hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">But I love the feeling of my bare feet splaying out as they were designed to do, adapting to the grass and peat beneath them. That’s not to mention the comfort of socks and shoes when I put them back on my feet afterwards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">In the meantime, I’m leaving some intriguing footprints in the squelchier places. When just the ball of my foot and toes show up it looks like a very weird mark. Maybe some curious hikers on the way back down to Shilstone Tor are starting to wonder if they have seen the elusive prints of the mythical Beast of Dartmoor?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; line-height: 32px;">Mind you, she’s the one racing down the hill behind me, tongue out and leaping for joy. Dogs have all the right ideas and walking in shoes is not one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-40788453100449664232019-01-15T10:18:00.001-08:002019-01-15T10:32:14.364-08:00Esprit d'Escalier Or Some Ramblings About God.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"You seem like an intelligent woman," said the atheist to the vicar when they'd both come off stage. "Why don't you just use your brain and <i>see</i> that there's nothing."<br />
<br />
Of course I couldn't think of a reply — at least, not one that wouldn't have been equally as arrogant — but <i>esprit d'escalier</i> has been working on it ever since.<br />
<br />
In case you don't know it, <i>esprit d'escalier</i> means 'the inspiration of the staircase' referring to the clever replies we can all come up with once we are leaving the building and it's too late.<br />
<br />
I know a lot — a LOT — of people don't believe in God but, trust me, your brain has nothing to do with it. That's because God does <i>not</i> exist. God is <i>beyond</i> existence. God is in the spaces between us and our thoughts.<br />
<br />
Can I prove that? No, of course not. The whole point of faith is that it is <i>faith.</i> It is intangible and it lives in just those spaces. Proof lives in the physical world and nowhere else.<br />
<br />
Possibly, oddly, I don't give a rap whether you believe me or not. That's because I have experienced God, I have known Grace, I have shared time and space with the Divine and I have waded through cosmic seas of awe adrift in the bliss of union. And I am certain that I will do the same - and more - again.<br />
<br />
And if that's all sanctimonious wanky bollox to you, then fair enough. I believe what I believe and I know what I know and what you believe is none of my business. All I want for you is that you are happy and even that is probably grossly presumptive of me.<br />
<br />
The trouble with using your brain about God is that what we are generally taught about God simply cannot compute in a world where we are beginning to understand the enormity of the Universe. Any conventional belief in God will seem ludicrous and the non-believer will throw the baby out with the admittedly ghastly bathwater. That's the bathwater that is willing to condemn some super-intelligent furry sound-wave in a distant galaxy to hell because it doesn't believe in some bloke who lived on Earth for 33 years and (in the words of Douglas Adams) whom we nailed to a tree because he went around saying how good it would be to be nice to people for a change.<br />
<br />
I believe much the same as many atheists do. I don't believe in the God that they don't believe in. I can't. God is not that old man up in the sky, nor the mean bastard of many religions. God is not small or tribal.<br />
<br />
If God Is, then God must be at least as big as the Universe which means that It is the God of every single aspect of that Universe. God can be nothing like the small God of Christianity, Islam, Judaism or any other religion. Those are local interpretations (and sometimes useful, sometimes not) of a much greater Source.<br />
<br />
This idea of hell is frankly ridiculous anyway: it's simply not sustainable. Just suppose for a moment that you actually got to heaven but someone you loved went to hell. <i>How could you possibly experience heaven?</i> You couldn't; you would also be in hell because your heart would be breaking.<br />
<br />
I may do some more rambling about all that kind of stuff and why people need to believe in the idea that God wants to punish us another time...<br />
<br />
I've long believed that Dark Matter is Spirit - and the Holy Spirit is part of God; inexplicable, ineffable, incomprehensible. We are not <i>meant</i> to know with our small and limited brains. But if we are lucky, we <i>can</i> know with our souls and, if we ever want to discover what that's like, then I think we have to learn how to find the space between us and our thoughts.<br />
<br />
That's why I attempt to meditate every day. Even after 20 years I sometimes resist it but it is when I stop the thinking, even for a few moments, and find that space, that God can reveal Itself to me. Of course, incredible sunrises or sunsets, the sparkling night sky and moments of terror can do the same but it's nice to show up on a regular basis just to say, "I'm here; what are the miracles today?"<br />
<br />
And if the atheist should ask me again, I'm going to have to try and compress all that into just one sentence.<br />
<br />
Or, I could just smile and say nothing, like I did the first time.<br />
<br />
<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-72777884190569461312018-10-31T10:21:00.001-07:002018-10-31T10:25:16.436-07:00I Have Resistance......the question is, does Resistance have Me?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's one I wrote earlier...</td></tr>
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I've got 25 days left in which to write my latest, commissioned book. And I won't.<br />
<br />
It's not that I can't, it's that part of me simply won't.<br />
<br />
It's known as resistance and it's a bitch.<br />
<br />
It will lose in the end, of course. As a radio and TV journalist used to tight deadlines, I'll get my head down just in time and work flat out to meet the deadline. Which is 25th November.<br />
<br />
How to get round resistance? The world expert on that is Steven Pressfield, author of <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/War-Art-Steven-Pressfield-ebook/dp/B007A4SDCG" target="_blank">The War of Art</a> which is probably the Bible of all writers. If you're a writer or a potential writer, read it.<br />
<br />
Basically, the answer is simple: 1, Give yourself a day off; complete permission <i>not</i> to write the book ... that annoys resistance a lot ... and 2,<i> Just bloody well write!</i> That's why I'm writing this blog - so that my resistance remembers that, whatever it wants to do about it, I am a writer. Just because I won't write that book doesn't mean that it gets away without writing. Resistance is in me, but it doesn't have me. It isn't driving the bus.<br />
<br />
And, as I write, I remember why I love writing so much; I find I am enjoying myself and inspiring myself. And, heck, I might even stick my nose into chapter eight just for a moment. Just to look at it, you undestand, not to actually <i>do</i> anything with it.<br />
<br />
And as I write, I sense the Muse showing up, just a courtesy call; she won't settle into me again until I've shut the door, wrapped that figurative wet towel around my head, played six games of <i>Freecell</i>, checked <i>Facebook</i> until even my resistance is bored with the same stories in the feed, updated my tunes on <i>Spotify</i>, downloaded another App, and got going.<br />
<br />
And then she and I will be in love again; that incredible one-to-one synchronistic love that flows the ideas and the words and never, ever wants to stop.<br />
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I am <i>so</i> looking forward to that.<br />
<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-5680791250221077692018-10-17T02:48:00.000-07:002018-10-17T03:07:53.736-07:00The EasyJet Blog, Part Ten.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1696499277"></span><span id="goog_1696499278"></span>Cyprus, October 2018.<br />
<br />
We had a lovely holiday, thank you. This was the replacement holiday given to us by EasyJet after our ridiculously stupid (and funny) experiences over Harold, the lost, run-over, bomb-scare suitcase. <a href="https://maggywhitehouse.blogspot.com/2018/05/vicars-need-knickers-part-1-easyjet-blog.html" target="_blank">See here for the start of the story if you missed it</a>.<br />
<br />
I've come to realise over the years that every thought or problem is where you last left it. So if you've got an issue with someone or something and you don't clear it up, the next time you come across a similar situation or person, it will repeat itself. That's karma for you.<br />
<br />
For example, it looks from the outside as if I had quite a few relationships before I got married - but <i>it was all the same relationship</i> just with different men. I only broke my duck when I met someone on the other side of the world when I was having to live consciously every day and was unable to put up my habitual boundaries and defences. Even then, I'd probably have re-infected the marriage if God/the Universe hadn't had enough of my ridiculousness by then and given me a red-flag event to wake me up for good.<br />
<br />
Those red flags can be large or small. When we were given our new holiday and our new suitcase, I thought it was all sorted both inside and out. But then, I managed to damage a wheel on Harriet, the new suitcase, on a weekend trip and that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was very obvious that <i>I had a suitcase problem.</i><br />
<br />
Except, of course, it wasn't about suitcases; as the wonderful <a href="http://www.earthstewards.org/ESN-Danaan.asp" target="_blank">Danaan Parry</a> wrote in his <i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Warriors-Heart-Danaan-Parry/dp/1439263922" target="_blank">Warriors of the Heart</a> </i> book on conflict resolution:<i> '</i>the presenting problem is never the real problem.' It just looks like it is.<br />
<br />
It took a while to find the root issue, during which I did quite a lot of internal work about loss and betrayal (yet another layer of the onion) ... and not only did the nice man at EasyJet give me his private email address and a 24-hour one for emergencies before we left ... but our suitcases all arrived safely. Phew.<br />
<br />
There were some of the usual annoyances: the flight out was three-and-a-half hours late and the one back an hour-and-a-half late but then, if you think about it, flight scheduled times really only mean 'this flight will not be leaving <i>before</i> this time.' It's all a lot more relaxing when you've worked that one out and we both had really good books to read and a picnic so it wasn't really any problem.<br />
<br />
Technically, you're allowed a free snack and drink if your flight is delayed more than two hours but they managed to cram us onto the airoplane after an hour and 55 minutes and then we waited the rest of the time on the tarmac. It's really quite clever, that one :-)<br />
<br />
There was one glitch when we got to our room at the <i>Helios Bay Hotel</i> in Paphos. Have you ever seen a more ridiculous layout for a kettle and toaster? You simply couldn't use both safely. Even if the cords had been long enough to put them on the top of the hob, it was cleverly programmed to go <i>beep</i> if you did that, even when the cooker was switched off.<br />
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Yes, you could push the table up against the cooker and put them both there but then you couldn't sit at it comfortably or use the cooker... We did move the table but I got annoyed; it was pretty late at night and I was tired.<br />
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The trouble is, I'm energetically pretty powerful nowadays, so when we tried to use the toaster for a late night snack, my annoyance transfered and it blew all the electrics, plunging us into darkness.<br />
<br />
Luckily for me, I have a Lion who had already noticed where the fuse box was in the room and who had light sorted in a minute and we began to laugh. But the toaster was dead; it wasn't just a fuse in the plug. Obviously I hadn't cleared up all that energy quite as well as I thought I had!<br />
<br />
We work pretty well together, Lion and I. He always notes the practical things and I always locate emergency exits. That's because my ego worries in depth (Scorpio moon) and his worries in detail (Virgo moon). Between us, we can worst-case scenario pretty much any potential problem <i>and realise that we are doing it </i>which actually makes it easier to sort stuff out.<br />
<br />
The next day, we got a new toaster and an extension lead from reception and proceeded to have a very happy holiday.<br />
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(Somewhere in this picture is a Lion ... it's at the amphitheatre at the Kourion Archaeological site which is well worth a visit).<br />
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So the moral of the whole EasyJet story, I think, is that when something goes wrong, do point it out politely, consistently and stubbornly until your voice has been heard.<br />
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But even more, realise that, if the problem is a repeating one, then<i> you are a part of it.</i> There's some deep self-fulfilling belief inside that will ensure that the situation is repeated and repeated until a true resolution is achieved.<br />
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I appear to be sorted on suitcases but I know there's plenty more resistance inside me that needs work. But it's a joyful kind of work because the results are clear, and lovely and prosperous.<br />
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Wishing you a wonderful day.Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-5594793599928904182018-10-15T06:13:00.002-07:002018-10-15T06:31:52.460-07:00Being Visible<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture by Ari Fox.</td></tr>
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Last weekend I was invited to talk on a panel about 'The Invisible (Older) (Wo)man" at the <b><i>Women of the World</i> </b>Festival in Exeter. I love how PC that title is! Basically it was a discussion on whether/why older women are not seen.<br />
<br />
The funniest thing about it was that every single email in the booking process - and the Power Point at the event itself spelled my name incorrectly. The spelling of my name is important to me (as many of you know!) but it's also a very useful sign of consciousness. When we are conscious, we notice unusual things like a different spelling of a name. When we are unconscious (i.e. in our ego) we don't.<br />
<br />
It certainly gave me a big opportunity to be very visible indeed at the start, by pointing that out...<br />
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Popularity mark: minus one.<br />
<br />
I will cheerfully put my hand up to spelling other people's names incorrectly too at times; I'm nowhere near enlightened. And yes, I do know that autocorrect is not my friend. But I will continue, politely, I hope, to correct misspellings because a person's name <i>is</i> a valid part of their visibility.<br />
<br />
I've done quite a lot of panels with an audience discussion and, in my experience, they frequently descend very swiftly into mutual pity-fests where everyone swaps negative stories. It's temporarily comforting because you feel heard and understood, but it doesn't move the situation on in any way. So, I decided that, this time, I simply wasn't going to participate in any of that. I wasn't going to court popularity in any way.<br />
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I'd say that was pretty successful... :-D<br />
<br />
The author and teacher <a href="http://movies2.nytimes.com/books/first/m/myss-heal.html" target="_blank">Caroline Myss calls repeating our unhappy stories in public 'woundology'</a> - a way of showing that we are more interested in perpetuating and sharing our wounds than we are in healing them. The wounds become our identity - and often our excuse - instead of something from which we heal and move on. Caroline has lost a few friends through that one.<br />
<br />
So, I didn't engage in the acknowlegement of wounds, nor tell my story at the start. I just said that I was not invisible and told them what I had done in order to make sure that I was visible. I said it was entirely an inside job and I hoped they would find the information I shared useful.<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus two.<br />
<br />
To be absolutely fair, by not telling my stories of unhappiness or grief, and by instead positing solutions upfront, I <i>did</i> inspire three women (who kindly told me so) but I seriously pissed off most of the rest of the room (some of whom not-so-kindly told me so - which was, of course, their right).<br />
<br />
Now, it's perfectly legitimate to tell your story - and to tell how you overcame massive odds to succeed and both my fellow panelists did that very well. But I chose to say that I am happy and empowered - and <i>much more so</i> since growing older and becoming silver-haired - and offering solutions that have worked for me and which are the reason why I <i>don't</i> nowadays repeatedly tell sad stories of my life.<br />
<br />
I also acknowledged that I was being annoying :-)<br />
<br />
One questioner said she didn't have time to do that kind of work.<br />
<br />
I suggested she got up earlier, took magnesium if she were habitually exhausted and said I certainly found that I wasted too much time on social media and she might look at that.<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus three.<br />
<br />
One questioner asked what to do about shop packaging (not sure what that had to do with the topic!)<br />
<br />
I suggested she handed plastic back at the tills, bought when she could from a local shop, made more of her own food and grew vegetables in window boxes if she didn't have a garden.<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus four.<br />
<br />
The questioner said she didn't have time to cook.<br />
<br />
I suggested she cooked enough food for a fortnight at the weekend and froze it (that's a <i>lot</i> cheaper than living on take-aways).<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus five. (fair call. She might not have had a freezer...).<br />
<br />
A questioner bemoaned the fact that Dr. Christine Blasey Ford has vanished from the news and is in hiding and Brett Kavanaugh is still in the news and in public.<br />
<br />
I suggested they wrote letters to Dr. Ford to thank her. Her address is c/o Palo Alto University, 1791 Arastrado Road, Palo Alto, California 94304. The university will forward them.<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus six.<br />
<br />
I was also challenged for saying that I understood a situation that one of my fellow panellists spoke of as a reason why any of the Work I suggested above could not be done.<br />
<br />
'No you <i><b>don't</b></i> understand!' she said with great emotion. I let her have that one because, having not told my story, she could have absolutely no reason for knowing that I <i>did</i> understand that situation. And I am immensely proud of myself for taking that hit and not succumbing to the temptation to dive into 'woundology' in return. That was quite a challenge...<br />
<br />
Popularity mark: minus seven.<br />
<br />
I was informed that I am privileged, arrogant and unsympathetic. This is a first for me and I think I might actually be rather impressed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://thework.com/en" target="_blank">Byron Katie, the great teacher of The Work</a>, says 'who would you be without your story?' and that is a deeply profound question. Who I was, without my story was:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Not entirely popular.</li>
<li>Highly visible.</li>
<li>Perfectly happy.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I can live with that.Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-23141314387737609412018-09-18T02:19:00.003-07:002018-09-18T05:37:07.721-07:00Back to Main Line Steam!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeV5ESMuQubYreFiSAp3vk5hyphenhyphen6kurmwPZsjnAJ4wnphg2hOKBTpzZs46Lg4ZDA5em7J_NVxr0_Ti-2GjM4OYxzQAFq8skha2JHums6eiIJZsW6wkupfle6bkBrTUVG-o7eWhZfw/s1600/Clun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="960" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeV5ESMuQubYreFiSAp3vk5hyphenhyphen6kurmwPZsjnAJ4wnphg2hOKBTpzZs46Lg4ZDA5em7J_NVxr0_Ti-2GjM4OYxzQAFq8skha2JHums6eiIJZsW6wkupfle6bkBrTUVG-o7eWhZfw/s400/Clun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Not everyone gets to celebrate their 21<sup>st</sup>birthday on a Castle Class engine in full steam. </span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">I’m afraid I rather took it for granted, having been raised in a family dedicated to steam preservation. </span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">That doesn’t mean to say I didn’t enjoy every minute of it – and I drove that steam engine that night too – and, yes, I did have a reserve dress to change into for the dancing section later.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Steam engines are in my blood. My father, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Whitehouse" target="_blank">Patrick Whitehouse</a>, was at the forefront of steam preservation in the 1960s-90s and together with a committed band of railway preservationists, he set up the Birmingham Railway Museum at Tyseley in Birmingham. I was always a horsey kind of child but I gave in, as the years went on, and accepted that the Iron Horse was a part of my destiny.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">As a family, we travelled around the world visiting the last steam engines, photographing and chronicling them. My mother once said she knew every ladies waiting room in Europe! Certainly there was more time spent on steam trains than on beaches and we all took the most memorable of trips on the old Orient Express from Paris to Istanbul when I was 14. Of course, the most exciting thing I can remember about that was being chatted up by a suave Frenchman in the dining car – he was sent packing by my Dad very swiftly...<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Most of my summers in my late 20s and early 30s were spent with my Dad travelling the railways of China – way before the days that Coca Cola and McDonalds made it over there and, in 1988 I made a documentary for Channel 4 <i>Manchuria Express </i>about steam in China. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7_fyWaJcYI&t=11s" target="_blank">You can still see it on YouTube.</a> As well as having a fabulous time, I did pretty well out of that trip – I married the sound recordist, Henry Barley.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">But that particular 21<sup>st</sup>birthday party, pictured, was held on </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">one of the last steam engines to be decommissioned by British Rail in 1968, <span class="apple-converted-space">7029 Clun Castle. </span>I’m remembering it specifically today because today, it has been announced that the Office of Rail and Road has granted her – and several other engines – a licence to run scheduled express services across the main rail network.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">My Dad is not alive now to see this; but my brother, Michael Whitehouse, has been at the forefront of the campaign by <i>Vintage Trains</i>. I’ve done basically nothing but bathe in reflected glory – and pose for the odd photograph with my mother, Thelma Whitehouse, at Tyseley while Clun Castle was restored over the last few years.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Clun and her companions will run between Birmingham and Stratford to start with – at what may seem to be the somewhat sedate speed of 75 mph. They’ll stop at stations along the route allowing passengers to get </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">on and off and we’ll have the choice of a basic ticket or a three-course meal in the restored Pullman dining car. But the plan is much bigger than that; Clun is in the market for running to York, Chester, Bristol and London.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">It's less than a year since Clun has been back to her full glory after a costly and long renovation programme at Tyseley. I was honoured to be asked to bless her in public at the great party for her relaunch. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">A public share issue has raised £850,000 but the aim is to raise £3 million to expand the services across the rail networks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Tyseley folk have a double celebration right now – this month the engine works turns 50 and there are special steam days on 29<sup>th</sup>and 30<sup>th</sup>of the month. <a href="http://www.vintagetrains.co.uk./" target="_blank">You can find out more here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">There are not that many of us now who can remember the experience of being carried long distances by great, glowing dragons of fire and metal. My Dad used to say that a steam engine was the nearest thing humans had created to life – with the four great elements of metal, water, air and fire. And if you’ve ever stood in front of one of them while she snorted and steamed at you, you’ll certainly agree.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Here’s smut in your eye!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-41606212903199178242018-05-21T10:11:00.002-07:002018-05-21T10:16:54.395-07:00In the Eye of the Storm.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Since Christmas, I've been a jobbing vicar on the West Devon Methodist circuit, which means travelling to a variety of churches on a Sunday morning or evening to lead what's known as 'the five hymn sandwich.'<br />
<br />
It all came about because of meeting quite a few Methodist ministers — particularly Rev. Jerry Cook — when I was doing the BBC Radio Devon Sunday Breakfast Show. And it's a huge honour to be asked given that although I am ordained, I'm also a notable heretic who has written a lot of books on Jewish mysticism.<br />
<br />
Methodists, like other slightly less orthodox Churches are allowed to use Ministers from other traditions and I wish that were more commonplace. I know that the Rector of our Anglican Whiddon Parishes circuit would be hanged, drawn and quartered if he dared to use me. The row over whether or not pews may be removed from churches would be nothing in comparison!<br />
<br />
So now I travel throughout West Devon, through the beautiful lanes, under the beautiful sky, to talk to tiny communities which still hold stillness and peace and song as an essential part of life. And I think their attentiveness to this heart of an ancient tradition holds and supports the county in a way it will probably never realise - and never <i>needs</i> to realise. This love is unconditional, whether the worshippers know that themselves, or not.<br />
<br />
Being an independent means that you have to both bend like a willow to try and fit the ethos of the place where you are preaching <i>and</i> take the chance of contributing a breath of fresh air to lift some dust. Whether that dust dances like coloured sparkles in the light from the stained glass windows or forms a cloud of grumbling darkness in the corner really depends on how you handle it.<br />
<br />
So far, nobody has complained but one or two times it may have come close...<br />
<br />
The balance has to be blending who I am and what I've learnt with who they are and what they wish (if anything) to learn. I get to do a sermon at each service and so far we have covered the hidden prosperity underlying the story of Jesus' birth in the stable, that betrayal is an essential part of human learning, forgiveness, binary and non-dual concepts of God, how to bring through the Holy Spirit and how very much God loves to laugh. Twice, just twice, someone has come up to me afterwards and said, quietly, 'that was <i>exactly</i> what I needed to hear today, thank you.' And in those small moments, is the foundation of the Great Work.<br />
<br />
Now these are not high-and-mightly lectures delivered from upon high to a hundred people; if I'm very lucky I'll have 20 people in the church but, it is much more likely that there will be three or four stalwarts half-hiding in the back row, hoping that I'm not going to pick on them. Sometimes, I go and sit at the back of the church with them, sometimes, I sit on the steps leading up to the altar, sometimes I need a microphone but that's only because so many of them are deaf!<br />
<br />
In the far-flung, beautiful little buildings, a small group of generally elderly people will gather, with a pianist, an organist or a CD player and they will sing their hearts out and have the Grace to listen, politely and attentively, to a total stranger.<br />
<br />
Hopefully I'll be come less of a stranger as time goes on and I complete the full circuit. But, you know, there isn't a single Church that I has visited that isn't both grateful for the travelling ministers and also wishes, with a profound regret, for their own priest, with whom they could share their lives, little events and rites of passage.<br />
<br />
Methodist Churches are closing all over Devon - and probably all over the country - as the church-going population grows ever older while fewer young people want to embrace the concept of faith. Certainty is the popular belief now; the certainty of atheism. And you can understand that because the orthodox religions cannot compete with a wide-open world. They must update - as my own teacher said, 'cultural patterns may change; Universal Law does not. What <i>must</i> change for the Churches to live is the interpretation of that law. And whatever you thought of Rev. Michael Curry's sermon at the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, that Law always has been and must be based in love.<br />
<br />
What I have met, so far at least, is a series of pockets of people who are filled with love, with light and the eagerness for a faith that is relevant to today and its problems. And every time I drive home from these tiny churches, through the verdant beauty of Devon, I thank God for them and the peaceful eye of the storm which we experience every Sunday. Wherever two or more are gathered ... there is still Love.<br />
<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-12484857372251755582018-05-18T09:09:00.002-07:002018-05-18T10:16:54.747-07:00The EasyJet Blog Part Nine (Resolution).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Meet Harriet. She arrived last week, compliments of EasyJet. No, she won't replace Harold in our hearts but she is very welcome all the same. And she is certainly snazzy!<br />
<br />
So, the holiday is over; the refund for items bought or damage has been approved. Now, do I ask for a replacement holiday given that, although ours was certainly affected, we still managed to be happy and enjoy ourselves?<br />
<br />
First, I had to sort out in my own multifariously-wired head why this had happened. You may be the kind of person who says, 'stuff just happens,' but I'm a Law of Cause and Effect kind of girl.<br />
<br />
Was it karmic for something I'd done? If so, then no, don't claim another holiday. This was Justice.<br />
<br />
Was it, however, Justice that it happened to Lion as well as me? Probably not. So, yes, do claim another holiday for his sake.<br />
<br />
Was it that I was the agent for someone else's Karma? (that has happened before). If so, yes, do claim another holiday.<br />
<br />
Was it going to take a huge amount of time and effort when life is about letting go and moving on? If so, no, don't claim another holiday.<br />
<br />
I sat with this in meditation and the answer to <i>why </i>was so clear: I simply hadn't cleared up my thinking from last year's trip to Albuquerque to see Fr. Richard Rohr. When I went on that, I wasn't at all well and, to be honest, I'd thought the trip would be a major part of my healing. It was; but not immediately. So I was coming home, tired, a bit discouraged and bad weather delayed one of my flights which meant I lost the connection at JFK and ended up sleeping on the floor.<br />
<br />
Being a vicar and all that, I had rather expected to be able to sleep in the chapel (!) but unfortunately, that wasn't on. So I was not at my best and, understandably, given the lost connection, Colin the Suitcase didn't make it home for another five days.<br />
<br />
I didn't think much about it - but I certainly didn't clean up the vibration around it either. So, the Law of Cause and Effect would find it very simple for it to happen again. Nothing more than that.<br />
<br />
So that was probably it but, even so, I wasn't entirely sure. So, the answer, for me, was to write just one, very polite, very short email to the head of Customer Services at EasyJet, outlining what had happened and respectfully requesting a replacement holiday. And then give it up to God.<br />
<br />
I did just that, and let it go.<br />
<br />
Within three hours, we had had a telephone call from EasyJet, apologising profusely and promising a new holiday. Now that's good customer service!<br />
<br />
Okay it took a slight nag to get the follow-through but now we are booked to go back to Cyprus entirely at EasyJet's cost in September. We are thrilled.<br />
<br />
And that's the end of the EasyJet blog in honour of Harold the Suitcase. Thank you for reading.<br />
<br />
And there will be plenty more blogs to come...<br />
<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-905884365853619562018-05-16T09:18:00.001-07:002018-05-17T02:07:42.501-07:00The EasyJet Blog, Part Eight (To Complain Or Not To Complain?).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Cyprus is a wonderful place to go on holiday; I just wish we had had more time to enjoy it.<br />
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And now we were home, I had to decide exactly how much time I was willing to spend trying a/ to get my money back for the things I had to purchase and b/ whether to ask for a replacement holiday.<br />
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You see, I didn't want to <i>complain.</i> Hopefully, if you've been reading this blog, it hasn't come across as a series of complaints because that wasn't how it was intended. I'm a believer in the Law of Cause and Effect and I know that if you go on and on and on about something, you just attract more of the stuff you're going on about.<br />
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It's a tough call sometimes; you feel dreadful and you need a good moan. Well, fair enough, but there's an old saying that we should only complain three times or we will start to draw more of exactly the stuff we don't want. The more you complain, the more you feel like complaining and the more miserable you become.<br />
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That's why I prefer blessings and appreciations. You do those often enough and they draw more things to appreciate. And Cyprus had <i>many </i>things to appreciate including the amount of times that Lion and I laughed over the whole suitcase situation.<br />
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So the key for me, in applying for compensation to EasyJet was firstly to be certain that it was justice that I wanted rather than to throw bricks. Accidents happen, cover-ups happen - I've made mistakes myself in my life and hidden them, I have to confess so maybe this was just long-overdue Karma. But it was also important to make it clear that when someone has a duty of care, they <i>have a duty of care.</i><br />
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The second thing was to work out just how much fun I could have in doing it. And that was slightly testing in itself! Okay, writing this blog is fun because I love to write so much that if I were shipwrecked on a desert island I would most likely write a novel in the sand. But filling in online forms? Not so much.<br />
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I might not even have done it had I not tried to contact EasyJet four times while we were on holiday to ask what I should do next and to ask for a replacement suitcase. No reply. Then I had an automated email from them36 hours after we collected poor Harold from the airport. The email said, 'You lost luggage has been found. It will be delivered within the next 24 hours.'<br />
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Really? You don't say!<br />
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I'm not a subscriber to 'rage against the machine' but this was just ridiculous.<br />
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Now, I don't have much clout (sometimes I <i>really</i> miss being a journalist!) and, though my workshop students might disagree, I am a bit of a wimp. I'm a lioness fighting for someone else, but for me...? But I do have a big brother. And said brother is a top-notch lawyer in contract law.<br />
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I emailed him (he was in China or Burma or Bhutan or Dubai or somewhere exotic on business), told him the story and asked for backup. His reply? 'OMG of course!' It may surprise you, but that made me cry. We're not an incredibly close family and he used to sit on my head a LOT when I was a child.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1Oya6pxl3mpQZHZhSQ6EGYtsLlRjaa7JDKDh9LqifE6CLU1FbLUt7BzUOtCFvjsnRp9YA73INLQefkKHd09CH-iB547hLsa0kspPllS06EbiwQFvHRH_JMVSccIrBihRyhv3jg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-16+at+16.59.59.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="1246" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1Oya6pxl3mpQZHZhSQ6EGYtsLlRjaa7JDKDh9LqifE6CLU1FbLUt7BzUOtCFvjsnRp9YA73INLQefkKHd09CH-iB547hLsa0kspPllS06EbiwQFvHRH_JMVSccIrBihRyhv3jg/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-05-16+at+16.59.59.png" width="320" /></a>So, I started the process of claiming for the losses and damage. You have to fill in a form that looks like this. And provide pictures of receipts. A tad tricky if you're trying to claim for something that was given to you for Christmas more than a decade ago but which is still very dear to you.<br />
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I considered contacting the friend who had given me the lovely golden silk chiffon wrap that was so badly stained but, on second thoughts, I didn't think she'd have the receipt either... Luckily, in that case, six separate soakings and tamping with soap sorted the problem sufficiently because EasyJet were <i>not</i> going to allow that claim without a receipt!<br />
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Eventually, on a website that <i>kept</i> falling over and not saving the files (is this deliberate? I was beginning to wonder...), after <i>two days</i> of trying to get the damn thing to save what I'd posted, Taurean tenacity won out and I submitted my claim...<br />
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...To be told that elecrical leads were not covered in hold baggage and that £45 of my claim was being denied. It's in the Terms and Conditions, apparently. I replied, saying that this was <i>cabin luggage</i> not hold luggage to receive this communication:<br />
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Right! This bit, I was going to enjoy... Good old journalistic training! I answered as follows, taking apart their terms and conditions. I'm also including my favourite text of all time from our housesitter (and I did apologise for her language!)</div>
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Result! All of my claim has been allowed.<br />
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Next episode: how do I actually manage to claim the money given that I am required to sign away all other rights to claim in any way, shape or form in this world or the next? That given that I am planning to ask for a replacement holiday? Stay tuned!<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-38896601106802545072018-05-15T05:09:00.003-07:002018-05-15T05:19:39.494-07:00The EasyJet Blog Part Seven (Those Whom The Gods Love...)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3ceiY05sA2Wfrr4xwa42r32GDJHnAu1FxuA0yrG_3rZB0359CWSo5HDWUl5r2krKUmHWAD4Fu1uQyw1HysOlKSg7dMpE8h7Ko8nM1IsiOO93mUaz0okEUoj2ehG1zLBveWUyTw/s1600/IMG_3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3ceiY05sA2Wfrr4xwa42r32GDJHnAu1FxuA0yrG_3rZB0359CWSo5HDWUl5r2krKUmHWAD4Fu1uQyw1HysOlKSg7dMpE8h7Ko8nM1IsiOO93mUaz0okEUoj2ehG1zLBveWUyTw/s320/IMG_3048.JPG" width="320" /></a>The idyom is: 'Those whom the gods love, die young' and it's generally used as some sort of 'comfort' when someone young does die ... as in, they were so lovely, the gods wanted them with them. Cold comfort for many, I'm sure.<br />
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However, my Teacher always said it meant that those who were in touch with spirit retained a youthful attitude and aspect throughout their life - somewhat along the lines of Jesus saying that you have to be like a child to access the kingdom of heaven.<br />
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In my tradition, the kingdom of heaven is the same as the Hindu solar plexus chakra; the true self - away from the ingrained habits of the ego, so that makes sense to me.<br />
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I'm not saying that the gods love me - but I do take the time and trouble to honour and talk with them wherever I am, especially in a land where they played a significant part in history. Greece for example.<br />
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You have to be careful with gods because they are never neutral. The first commandment in the Hebrew Testament is clear: 'no other gods before my face' meaning that the One, the Source is the most important and only focus for the true believer. But that doesn't mean that there <i>are</i> no other gods.<br />
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If you've ever read Terry Pratchett's brilliant book, <i>Small Gods, </i>or Douglas Adams' <i>Long Dark Teatime of the Soul,</i> you'll be familar with the concept of gods still existing, just fading slowly because they need belief to keep them powerful.<br />
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And I'm always respectful of the gods because ... well, just because. Long before I was ordained, I would always greet the angel of a land when I arrived, introduce myself and ask that they be blessed by the All-Holy One. And I would feel that the request was received and appreciated. It might only be my imagination but I like to do it and, if it <i>is</i> real, it's only polite.<br />
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Even if places no longer have gods, they have angels and angels like to be greeted too.<br />
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The primary god of Cyprus is said to be Aphrodite, and I greeted her and blessed her on our first evening and, as I was peturbed by the whole suitcase thing, I was tempted to invoke her for help. I could feel curiosity about my desires, but gods are always transactional - they require sacrifice in return for their actions - which is one of the reasons that religion goes wrong: it teaches us to worship a transactional God and to expect to pay in return. The Holy One is <i>transformational</i>; you can ask for sure but then you must let go and let God so that better than you could imagine (or at least better for <i>you</i> can happen). We turned the original meaning of 'sacrifice' from 'to make sacred' to 'suffer.'<br />
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So I said, 'thanks but no thanks,' and let go and let God.<br />
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You'll have read Harold's story by now ... and the next day, Lion and I went out to visit some archaological sites and ruined temples and, at one of them, I sat quietly in the shade of a carob tree, in meditation. There was absolutely no one there but Lion and me and we had walked into the site through quite a small, open gateway. This was not a site you had to pay to enter so you just walked from the car park, and there you were.<br />
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I was quiet, and grateful and still. After a few minutes, I felt the energy of the angel of the island (Aphrodite or not, I don't know) settle within me with a feeling I couldn't quite recognise but which felt peaceful and even abundant. I sat with it and realised that I felt young ... and free ... and oddly, innocent. I blessed her again and then the feeling left.<br />
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When I opened my eyes, there was a rabbit skin on the stones in front of me. It had not been there before.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa83mrD3unzfgUKUUF-szy4Eq-o5_xuYAZUrCOm8924OCFi8gfoGcP1zl2RXuAI34KXYjIXaD0xaQ7q7ReOHH7BbSJ_PI-bbtSEN9_rS6jeeN0rZz1tYDfPdBdk900WTDpMnliw/s1600/IMG_3141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa83mrD3unzfgUKUUF-szy4Eq-o5_xuYAZUrCOm8924OCFi8gfoGcP1zl2RXuAI34KXYjIXaD0xaQ7q7ReOHH7BbSJ_PI-bbtSEN9_rS6jeeN0rZz1tYDfPdBdk900WTDpMnliw/s320/IMG_3141.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
This was a perfectly-tanned skin, not a wrap or a scarf, just the skin. Of no practical use whatsoever. And it was just lying there.<br />
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I checked with Lion as to whether it <i>had</i> been there earlier and he said, 'no.' I checked to see if any other people had turned up, and they had not.<br />
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I can't think of any explanation other than it was a gift from the goddess/angel of Cyprus. Perhaps to say 'sorry' for the trouble over Harold? Who knows.<br />
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Do I have any use for it? Practically, no! But it is now lying on the altar in my offic as a symbol of abundance and I find it to be beautiful. In its way, it is a sacrifice - in the old way of the gods. Something died so that something beautiful could be given. On my altar that rabbit's life is made sacred, in honour, appreciation and love.<br />
<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-63735469876811312972018-05-14T08:51:00.000-07:002018-05-14T09:00:07.761-07:00The EasyJet Blog Part Six (Harold's Fate)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NsjQg-3Ty4dO85DKYC3wMZ8isctPM2fELE6W5AUsAgb_vnVcNA4fPUtonDjeR0oPhMDLBIfkBKuwid7kWY4sLyTu9wU3ziMFaL9n_iJagyKjFD9wJ93N15C8o2TUlDhvcO0Xw/s1600/IMG_3068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NsjQg-3Ty4dO85DKYC3wMZ8isctPM2fELE6W5AUsAgb_vnVcNA4fPUtonDjeR0oPhMDLBIfkBKuwid7kWY4sLyTu9wU3ziMFaL9n_iJagyKjFD9wJ93N15C8o2TUlDhvcO0Xw/s320/IMG_3068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
'The police are looking for you' has never been my favourite salutation.<br />
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The lady at LGS luggage services at Paphos Airport had no other details apart from giving me the airport police's number.</div>
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What could have happened? What had come to pass for Harold - or even worse, <i>what had Harold done? </i>Okay, I thought he was a sweet little suitcase but did he have a secret heart of depravity? Had he gone on some kind of criminal spree? Or had he been trafficked and coerced? I felt sick.</div>
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Nervously, I phoned the number that LGS gave me and, when a policeman answered, enquired if he spoke English. He did, thank God and he was glad to hear from me. The airport police had Harold; <i>they had had him since Wednesday night</i>. He had been picked up in Departures, not Arrivals and they were under the illusion that I was calling from England having left him behind when I went home.</div>
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Now everybody was confused. Why would Harold be in Departures? Why had they not been able to trace me? The police had contacted LGS but they hadn't, apparently, added a lost suitcase and a found suitcase on the very same night 200 yards apart into any kind of workable equation.</div>
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I had to go and collect Harold; the police don't deliver. And I had to sign for him too. Still, he was alive! He was in existence! He was in one piece!</div>
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Well sort of...</div>
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We had hired our car for two days because we'd thought we'd go and see some archaeological sites on the second day ... the rest of the holiday was for some much-needed R&R in the sunshine. So, thank goodness, we had transport to the airport, nearly an hour's journey away.</div>
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So, Lion and I set off and he dropped me off, intending to circle the airport until I came out with Harold. It should only take about ten minutes, right?</div>
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Wrong.</div>
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Firstly I had to deal with LGS. You've never seen a woman so bored and unhappy with her job as the woman I spoke with. You had to feel sorry for her. And she had no explanation as to why no one had connected Harold (lost at Arrivals) with Harold (found at Departures). When I asked why, if they knew the police were looking for the suitcase's owner, they hadn't at least <i>tried</i> me, she had no answer. She, reluctantly (because it was <i>such</i> a challenge to her valuable time) led me over to the police department behind the scenes ... and there was Harold!</div>
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Now, I posted the least troubling picture first, so as not to upset you. But, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Harold was in desperate trouble. At the very least, he had fallen out of the aircraft; more likely, he had been run over. Harold was a mess. Harold's travelling life was over.</div>
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But he had had an adventure...</div>
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Harold had had his baggage labels removed and been dumped in Departures, where he caused a major security alert, closed down the airport for half an hour and only just avoided being blown up as a suspected bomb. But there was to be no happy ending. I know he wanted an adventure. But sadly, it was a terminal one (oops, bad pun, sorry).</div>
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The police were very nice; once I had explained where I lost him, they did a fair amount of snorting at LGS and filled in a long form to exonerate me (and Harold) from anything, including suspected terrorist activities, which I duly signed. They said they had looked through him for anything that might have identified his owner (and also in case he was a bomb, obviously...) and that they were sorry that one of my bottles of tablets had been badly damaged and the contents destroyed. What they failed to mention was that <i>all</i> my bottles of tablets were either destroyed or missing and those that had been destroyed had leaked all over <i>everything</i>.</div>
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If you're ready for the shock, I will now post the rest of Harold's body's pictures. In a nutshell, his top end, where the handle was, was smashed and the contents open to the elements; he was squashed, ripped and had a wheel and one foot missing. He was an ex-suitcase.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaLUBy5DBy6LWSrMk5hI6hsP9tu3o_49ooRZxAnjvpx9oJ9BdM4lgaN8xaFW3H12DhkWCyvUAyY4qRIfLfYozaBHYvx-krdI3XKeZ5dR7b9xxIJsAkamwxK6512ou5_9sQi7Sgw/s1600/IMG_3065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnaLUBy5DBy6LWSrMk5hI6hsP9tu3o_49ooRZxAnjvpx9oJ9BdM4lgaN8xaFW3H12DhkWCyvUAyY4qRIfLfYozaBHYvx-krdI3XKeZ5dR7b9xxIJsAkamwxK6512ou5_9sQi7Sgw/s200/IMG_3065.JPG" width="150" /></a>Sadly, I took him back to the LGS services desk where I made them check that the laptop was still working. Fortunately, Lion makes sure that even cabin luggage electrical equipment is padded to the <i>nth</i> degree so it was in one piece. Its battery, however, was flat so I needed their power. Miss Life-Isn't-Worth-Living reluctantly allowed me to test it (it was fine - PHEW!) and when I, politely, asked her for a replacement suitcase, she said, 'You must contact EasyJet.'</div>
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Having seen the state of Harold and his contents by then, I was trying very hard not to unload a shit-load of Scorpionic fury at her. I managed it but it was close. </div>
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Being a journalist, I asked more questions about when the police had contacted them. Another lady turned up and assured me that they had only been informed this very morning, about half an hour before I telephoned and they had called my mobile several times. The police report said they had informed LGS on the Wednesday night. I showed her my 'missed calls' list which showed no calls. I suggested she called now and she did and my phone rang. She told me she was honest. I told her I absolutely believed her but it was very odd, wasn't it? She went away.</div>
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I carried Harold out of the airport to where Lion was circling patiently and we drove back to the hotel to see exactly what, from the contents, could be salvaged.</div>
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The answer, I'm glad to say, was pretty much everything. Apart from the iPad lead and <i>all</i> the vitamins, everything was there. But it was all covered with CBD oil and vitamin C powder and it would be a slow process taking three full days. The latter, when oxidised, turns into a gel and then sets like stone onto anything it touches. Which meant that every item of clothing had to be soaked for up to four hours to get it off. And the oil stains...<br />
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So that, my dear friends, is the story of Harold the suitcase, who wanted adventure and, sadly, found it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6VpyRY-71Di9IP_efX5w0bMBX3_bQvNTFqfMfdmRemMT23KdPTKYGNAHuCLKnvpKhcgn9wtgqAqxR7uqSx5QkGvVXvpCo0c-KQSRCwUjZsR7XyoEaIR3H0TrfH5-tR_aZUw6PA/s1600/IMG_3062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6VpyRY-71Di9IP_efX5w0bMBX3_bQvNTFqfMfdmRemMT23KdPTKYGNAHuCLKnvpKhcgn9wtgqAqxR7uqSx5QkGvVXvpCo0c-KQSRCwUjZsR7XyoEaIR3H0TrfH5-tR_aZUw6PA/s200/IMG_3062.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
Colin bore up bravely. He had to be stuffed to the gunnels for the journey home as it turns out that EasyJet was not the company to replace him and we were forced to return home without a replacement. The check-in lady at the airport did point out that he was over-weight but just three minutes of well-rehearsed and pithy explanation was enough and she waved us through.<br />
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Harold's body remains in Cyprus. We didn't know what to do with him and there were no skips nearby and, anyway, who could put Harold in a skip? In the end, we took him, empty, back to the airport as we left and insisted that Miss Life-Isn't-Worth-Living took responsibility for him. I suggested she buried him suitably with a ceremony and flowers and she looked at me as if I was totally out of my mind. I had a tiny snigger at that.<br />
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There is yet more to come - and, eventually (for us at least) a happy ending. But I will never forget Harold, the little case who wanted so much to travel and to see the world and to return home with his friend Colin and tell all the other cases all about it.<br />
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Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-20414680853764604312018-05-14T05:38:00.000-07:002018-05-14T05:38:41.071-07:00The EasyJet Blog Part Five (Nicosia).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrh5IN4YbWC8iO05N1oxZx6LSHlmr_iMW-TExJ7w167fsrCmR6graEt-4-Ufaqe2Ra6_YGxJzXamycS0KXP3thmu0xq9qkqAn3N4QffljvtVBp04bVODOY8dWcBIM2yUWRlEF48g/s1600/Whitehouse-Silver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrh5IN4YbWC8iO05N1oxZx6LSHlmr_iMW-TExJ7w167fsrCmR6graEt-4-Ufaqe2Ra6_YGxJzXamycS0KXP3thmu0xq9qkqAn3N4QffljvtVBp04bVODOY8dWcBIM2yUWRlEF48g/s320/Whitehouse-Silver.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">The only thing to do then, was to put on my one remaining smart-ish outfit and head off for Nicosia. Fans of Harold, I'm afraid there's not a lot to report in this episode - but there is a knuckle-biting twist at the very end...</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">We had a fabulous time in Nicosia meeting up with Darcie Silver, whose book I've been editing. We met on Facebook and have become fast friends. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Darcie's wife was told that her eyesight was failing rapidly and nothing could be done about it so they decided to backpack around the world on a tiny budget so Natalie could see everything she wanted to see before she became blind. The book's in its final stages right now and s</span><span style="text-align: center;">erendipity at its best meant we would both be in Cyprus at the same time.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Though it would have been nice to have had my laptop and have done some work together on it...</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">When Darcie's book <i>Backpacking Into Darkness i</i>s out, I'll post a link to it here.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMEJWAUmEhtDMhU6-Kd8YZncw4ofIFBQdLWk5irXeFoyOxzqtnlV3h295rEGRLyQqkungguasv-86MAPe3rK7GZHAhyphenhyphenK1_xhwGyxWM9lGETkuYPcLc3rNMiuU0iV_KIwxcEMGXg/s1600/Nicosia2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkMEJWAUmEhtDMhU6-Kd8YZncw4ofIFBQdLWk5irXeFoyOxzqtnlV3h295rEGRLyQqkungguasv-86MAPe3rK7GZHAhyphenhyphenK1_xhwGyxWM9lGETkuYPcLc3rNMiuU0iV_KIwxcEMGXg/s320/Nicosia2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Once Darcie had persuaded me to cross the border into Turkey to see how it felt (it <i>is</i> different, just as crossing the Bosphorus in Istanbul feels different) and we'd had tea and a chat, we went to meet Tim, Natasha and Ariadne for supper. They took us to a taverna in the suburbs of Nicosia in a place which felt like a village square and where the owners let us take our table outside in the cool of the evening. There, we caught up on life, the universe, EasyJet and everything, noshed ourselves silly on mezes and I got tipsy because that alleviated the shingles pain. I don't think I was too embarrassing...<br />
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And then it was the hour-and-a-half's drive back to Paphos and a return of all the worries. The are <i>so</i> clever when it's the middle of the night and you've had a tad too much alcohol, aren't they? And the shingles thing means that I can't bear to have a very light touch of something like a sheet on my right side so I could only lie on my right. Pressure, for some reason is fine.<br />
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So I prayed and affirmed and relaxed and repeatedly re-focused my mind. And the answer came very clearly. 'Call the airport tomorrow.'<br />
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So I did, after I'd checked in to see if there was any news from EasyJet. I phoned LGS the luggage services at Paphos at 9.30am to be met with the response, 'Oh yes, the police are looking for you...'</div>
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-57316700851232557982018-05-12T07:55:00.000-07:002018-05-12T10:55:51.571-07:00The EasyJet Blog, Part Four (Still No Harold).<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPRMdkIABM7ScjojquB5uFukWMO_49z9GFxhcRGtCQz9pXggbpLLTHWb6VqnaM9GETqUhOZQLaK0vXSjN7m-gykuMvCnNKK0RbS7RD0Ik6Xuu_unhHpR7WzXx8jiwcG5ZWX5EVQ/s1600/IMG_3248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPRMdkIABM7ScjojquB5uFukWMO_49z9GFxhcRGtCQz9pXggbpLLTHWb6VqnaM9GETqUhOZQLaK0vXSjN7m-gykuMvCnNKK0RbS7RD0Ik6Xuu_unhHpR7WzXx8jiwcG5ZWX5EVQ/s320/IMG_3248.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This unexciting picture is Harold's baggage ticket <br />
- the one they handed to me when he was taken away<br />
What's most interesting about it is that it is damaged. <br />
Was this a sign?!</td></tr>
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Another day, another baggage status update. No news.<br />
<br />
This was not good. Had Harold been accidentally left on the plane, he would have been found. Had he been mislaid at Paphos Airport, he would have been found. He had a baggage label put on him at the gate at Bristol airport. There should have been an email saying, 'We've found your baggage; it will be at Paphos tomorrow' (Saturday was the next flight in from Bristol).<br />
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So was Harold now dead in some drug-hazed dive in Tangier? Was he tied up in a corner while someone tried on all my clothing and found it wanting? Was he crying for his safe cupboard in Lion's office and all his friends and wishing with all his little heart that he hadn't wanted to have an adventure? I tried to visualise him touring the world with a cute little scarlet hottie but Harold was the kind of suitcase who would have let me know he was okay.<br />
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Heartbreaking...<br />
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The only really viable option now was that he had been stolen. Apart from his shock and fear, I wasn't feeling too good about that for myself not only because of the clothes I was fond of but because <i>my laptop was in him. </i>Now, you might be wondering why I had a laptop with me on holiday. It's because I have four email addresses all to do with different lines of work plus a personal one. As I'm a minister and I work with people with physical, mental, emotional and spiritual problems, their emails are wired so that they can only come into me on my laptop. While I keep off the Internet as much as I can on holiday (and always on Sundays) people often need access to me whether I'm away or not.<br />
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The laptop is, of course, passworded. However, people can break passwords and there was a lot of very personal information on that computer. And direct logins to my websites. And to my credit cards. The fact that GDPR was looming was not helping either... My ego was having a heyday with all that stuff for sure. There's nothing so bad a load of self-blame can't make worse, after all.<br />
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Another reason for having it was that I've been editing a book for a client whom I was due to see in Nicosia that afternoon. I'd intended to take the laptop so we could do some work in person together which is always the best way for an editor to work. She was going to pay me for that work too...<br />
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That laptop had never before in its life gone in a hold. Yes, I probably should have taken it out when the easyJet lady at the gate said Harold could not go on with me. But she said, 'Take only what you need on the plane,' so I did. And I was flustered as to exactly what I would want on the plane, I only had a small handbag and I <i>saw </i>Harold loaded onto that plane. What could possibly happen between the plane and the carousel?<br />
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I do need to say here that it wasn't actually easyJet who lost Harold; it was LGS, the baggage service at the airport. But easyJet had the duty of care.<br />
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So, setting worries aside, today's jobs were to hire a car and get a present for Ari. Oh, and sunglasses and some somewhat essential vitamins because that old shingles stuff was back together with another problem which I won't go on about here (there's loads about it in earlier years on this blog). Suffice it to say that a few years ago, I decided that I was not willing to live a half-life on codeine or morphine so I hunted until I found alternatives. I have a prescription for a cocktail of natural medicines from a consulant in Harley Street (I know, <i>get me!</i>) which works a treat while I do the inner work to clear the last dregs of the original problem. These vitamins etc. are effing expensive and include the fully-legal CBD cannabis oil.<br />
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So, that was important. As was the present for Ari. Of course, Ari didn't <i>need</i> a present and I'm only an adopted grandmother but any real grandmothers out there will understand why the lost embroidered slippers simply <i>had</i> to be replaced.<br />
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It was Ari's mother Natasha's birthday this week too and, to my huge relief, I'd put the earrings that I had got for her at a local craft sale into our hold luggage so they were safe.<br />
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The car, technically, had nothing to do with easyJet but was still annoying because we were going to hire it yesterday but were sidetracked by the whole 'vicars need knickers' scenario and essential shopping and it turned out that the car hire firm near the hotel had nothing available today. They did have the perfect car yesterday of course...<br />
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So that was a bus ride to the next car hire firm, but it turned out to be all for the best because the people at <a href="https://www.nippyturtlecarrentalcyprus.com/" target="_blank"><i>Nippy Turtle</i> </a>(what a great name!) were terrific and right next door to them was the most beautiful shop of hand-made goods and lovely clothes where I was able to buy a beautiful shell box for Ari.<br />
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Even better than that, the lady who runs it offered me anything I needed to help me out while Harold was still missing. I said, 'Thank you, but we don't want to buy too much if we can help it,' and she replied, 'Oh no! I will lend you clothes and anything you need. We are on this Earth to help each other.'<br />
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I must admit that I shed a tear then because I am always touched by the kindness of strangers. I can't find her shop name at the moment but if I do, I shall be sure to post it.<br />
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We hired the car and set off for Nicosia where we were to meet my friend and client, Darcie, and the family later on for supper. On the way, thanks to the Internet, we found a Holland and Barrett which sells a lot of vitamins and the all-essential CBD oil. Except this one didn't. Bum. I bought what vitamins I could and hoped for the best as we set off for our rendezvous in Nicosia.<br />
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Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-17068795369803893592018-05-11T09:00:00.000-07:002018-05-12T03:08:45.804-07:00The EasyJet Blog Part Three (My Birthday).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1jpW1mmAyWg6jMUdK5iNkD2Ol4QPcktweF7rQNFqqn2-5XCeFtjRQX8bPzf6_ZL-ymXSwr-8Mo6peZlbAXo-bdHaJezOjqYeBbeJuSn-qPgyyndTnu9zmurVu57UM4GVDS8XWQ/s1600/IMG_3156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="1600" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU1jpW1mmAyWg6jMUdK5iNkD2Ol4QPcktweF7rQNFqqn2-5XCeFtjRQX8bPzf6_ZL-ymXSwr-8Mo6peZlbAXo-bdHaJezOjqYeBbeJuSn-qPgyyndTnu9zmurVu57UM4GVDS8XWQ/s320/IMG_3156.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I really, really didn't want to have to go shopping for a bra and knickers on my birthday.<br />
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Okay, I'm 62 and birthdays at that age aren't quite the same as when you're six. But I like them and I celebrate them, especially as there was a time a few years back when I wasn't sure whether I'd be getting any more.<br />
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We often go away for our birthdays because Lion's is just two days before mine and my mother's is one day before that - and if we're not careful everyone's simply bored with birthdays by the time mine comes along. I used to think that was acceptable but now I realise that my birthday is just as important (or not) as anyone else's.<br />
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Apart from the bra and knickers, we urgently needed a mobile phone lead because my phone was out of power and the only way to contact Tim about where and when to meet was by phone. The only way to hear from EasyJet was also by email or phone.<br />
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Now, you may be thinking, 'What about her husband's mobile phone?' Excuse me while I fall over laughing. Lion may be a brilliant publisher but he is also a troglodyte. He does actually possess a mobile phone (an old one of mine), but it is more than a decade old, contains no contact numbers apart from mine and it hasn't been topped-up in a year. It's sometimes okay if I'm lost and I call him - if he's remembered to turn it on - but that's about it.<br />
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Email was available via the phone or the laptop. Sigh. What about the iPad? Tim's not on Facebook or WhatsApp or Messenger. Can I remember his phone number? Can I hell! You don't nowadays, do you? It's all in your equipment.<br />
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So, Harold's fate, tragedy or adventure, was yet unknown. I have to admit that I did worry a little; he was so new and, rather like me, so gullible. But I had to let those feelings go if the day was to be enjoyed. I could only hope that he hadn't met a shady, trafficking suitcase who travelled airplane holds secretly looking for innocents to coerce into lives of degredation and horror. Harold would have been so excited if promised adventure and exotic locations. He would have thought, 'I'll have my <i>own</i> story to tell Colin and the others when I get back!' But would he get back...?<br />
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I thought, 'I'll go swimming.' Great idea. I love swimming.<br />
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Drat. No costume. There were bikinis at the tourist shop next door to the hotel but nowhere to try them on and anyway, I don't wear a bikini if I can possibly help it for all sorts of reasons that I don't need to go into here. I had another paddle and that was nice.<br />
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I couldn't check emails on the hotel's computer (<span style="background-color: white; color: #100e44; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px;">€</span>4 a go) because our servers are encrypted and <i>the password's on my laptop!</i> But I could discover that they allow you £25 a day to purchase essentials if your luggage is mislaid.<br />
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Bra, knickers, and mobile phone lead for £25 eh? Tricky. Still, at least if Harold was still lost the next day I'd have another £25 for sunglasses, a swimsuit and a present for Ariadne (yes, do please read that sentence with irony).<br />
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I asked for help from above ... because as a priest, that's what you do. And as I walked out of the room, I saw Edita, one of the cleaning ladies on her iPhone 5. I asked if she happened to have her lead with her and she did. That was pretty bloody fast! She fetched it, explained in excellent English that it was a cheap one and they only lasted a few weeks, but I was welcome to try it. Excitedly, I went back into the room, plugged my phone in ... and watched the 'charging' sign come up. Jumped up and down with joy and went out to find out where in a tourist area you could buy a bra and knickers.<br />
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Now you may be thinking, 'who needs a bra and knickers on holiday?' And yes, many times I've gone bra-less and commando - <i>when I've got a long sun dress to wear! </i>But not when the natural south-moving aspect of the older woman's bust is going to be annoyingly wobbly. And not when there's a party to go to and the only clothes you've now got to wear for it are ones that require you to be fairly well held-together.<br />
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We discovered, to our situation-led delight that there was a shopping mall a half-hour's bus ride away where underwear could be found. And, luckily, we went back to our room to check the phone before we left ... because Edita's lead had died and there was no charge. Bugger.<br />
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In the end, we actually found a Marks and Spencer's where I could get a bra and knickers I knew would fit. And the shopping mall had an iPhone lead (though not an iPad 2 lead). We ended up having spent more than half our first day's holiday - and twice as much as EasyJet was allowing us - replacing three essential things.<br />
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When the phone started charging, I received an anxious text from Tim asking whether we had arrived safely and a perplexed one from our housesitter in England asking me why EasyJet was leaving automated messages <i>on the home telephone </i>about lost luggage.<br />
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Had they found Harold? Had they hell! But they were anxious to tell me what an excellent record they have with baggage. When I checked emails on my phone, they told me again how very good they were. Well that's nice then.<br />
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We had a lovely supper (in bra and knickers - though not <i>just</i> bra and knickers and that was only me...) of kleftiko at a local restaurant, as pictured. And I had a good birthday because I was bloody well determined to have a good birthday. And maybe, just maybe, I'd get some news tomorrow. That was kind of important because I was going to be needing my vitamins or I'd be starting to be in pain.<br />
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Yes, I can meditate my way through the pain (it is a leftover from shingles) and I can alleviate and even stop it for a while. But forgive me if that's not exactly what I want to be spending my time doing on holiday...<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-5277551788638299642018-05-11T08:06:00.004-07:002018-05-11T08:33:46.422-07:00The EasyJet Blog, Part Two, (The Ego).<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8gQMOmtQU-K6c6Tz4_eCj8L2n_ABtHi2xzHiRXNRy_7VVEpxLAES8dmpaSNm3V01XM8pUUbYjtifaW8tcdKWsS9HDhNNwVHvIqTu4hDkk1zt-PGTEI8aFKEjLRxOo8S1D0qZwA/s1600/IMG_3180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8gQMOmtQU-K6c6Tz4_eCj8L2n_ABtHi2xzHiRXNRy_7VVEpxLAES8dmpaSNm3V01XM8pUUbYjtifaW8tcdKWsS9HDhNNwVHvIqTu4hDkk1zt-PGTEI8aFKEjLRxOo8S1D0qZwA/s320/IMG_3180.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach at Helios Hotel, Paphos.</td></tr>
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Normally on the first night of a holiday by the sea, I wander down to let the waters nibble my toes, breathe deeply and greet the devas of the land.<br />
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This time I did just that too ... but it became a spiritual exercise to continually calm and release the chattering of my ego. The devas were a bit cross too at the start. Devas do like to be noticed and greeted and they made it quite clear that they don't give a flying you-know-what about lost suitcases. I could almost hear them sighing and saying, 'Get a grip, Whitehouse!'<br />
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Egos are brilliant for repeating things; they are the part of the brain that remembers stuff but they're not very good at anything new. You need the conscious self for that. The wonderful thing about holidays somewhere new is that we spend a lot of time conscious because the ego has nothing much to offer. Unless, of course, it can lock onto an old worry pattern. This aspect of the ego (Eckhart Tolle calls it 'the pain body') figuratively eats negative emotions and enjoys calling them up for a nice, yummy, supper.<br />
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But Cyprus was not a new country for us; some of our family live here and, the last time we visited, I was sick so that was the level of energy that my ego was just <i>delighted</i> to be offering.<br />
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The Hebrew word for ego is <i>Yesod</i> and it really was being a little sod that night. But at least I could observe it instead of being eaten up by it.<br />
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It was also doing its job in pointing out that Harold <i>had been on the flight </i>so something was seriously wrong. He wasn't just lost.<br />
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The only options, it said, were:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>He'd gone back to England. </li>
<li>He'd been damaged and hidden.</li>
<li>He'd been stolen.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Option 1 was possible but doubtful as he'd been one of the last cases on the plane. Option 2 was also possible but seemed ridiculous. Option 3 was possible too but who would want one small case with a very old laptop and clothes? Harold himself was certainly a darling but cabin luggage isn't exactly the kind of thing hardened thieves fight over.<br />
<br />
My ego went on (and on...and on...) remembering exactly what was missing inside Harold and giving me little digs about how utterly inconvenient it all was. Even when we went to bed in our lovely appartment at <i>Helios Bay Hotel</i>, just as I was dropping off, it brought up, 'and another thing...'<br />
<br />
Given that Harold had contained essentials, this is what Yesod, with clever little jerks of distress, worked out was missing:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Two bras (I always travel in a <i>Patra</i> crop top).</li>
<li>Seven pairs of knickers - and with no balcony to our room the one pair I had would have to dry over the back of a chair which wasn't going to happen very fast! </li>
<li>Swimsuit.</li>
<li>Sunglasses.</li>
<li>Ariadne's present.</li>
<li>Black silk trousers.</li>
<li>White linen top - these two were the clothes I was going to wear for the family party in two days' time.</li>
<li>Laptop computer with <i>all</i> my contacts on it.</li>
<li>Computer lead.</li>
<li>Mobile phone lead.</li>
<li>Lion's iPad lead.</li>
<li>The beautiful turquoise top, given to me by my Bishop when I was going to perform at the Edinburgh Festival. </li>
<li>Sun dress. </li>
<li>Cotton trousers. </li>
<li>My blue embroidered waistcoat.</li>
<li>Two teeshirts.</li>
<li>Hairbrush.</li>
<li>Handkerchiefs.</li>
<li>My birthday cards for the next day (and a present).</li>
<li>Olive-coloured bolero.</li>
<li>The lovely golden silk scarf, given to me by my friend, Bernadette.</li>
<li>Some jewelry.</li>
<li>All my vitamins and medicines (including painkillers).</li>
<li>A hessian bag for the food shopping we planned to do because we were self-catering.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
I won in the end, and the last thing my ego offered did make me laugh. It pointed out that if I were to have any genuine cause for complaint to the airline should Harold not return, I had absolutely <i>no right </i>to enjoy myself in the meantime. I should be miserable. Cunning! But that one's not going to work. :-)<br />
<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17759183.post-7748342801512085242018-05-10T08:11:00.001-07:002018-05-11T07:24:36.547-07:00The EasyJet Blog, Part One: Vicars Need Knickers.I had this suitcase.<br />
It was a sweet, happy little suitcase that had lived with us since last August, making its own nest in the cupboard in Lion's office together with the other suitcases. They got on well.<br />
The other suitcases would tell it stories of their travels. Some of them had been to the USA, all of them had been to Europe. One of them had even been to Russia and China. That one shows off a bit but we forgive it because it's a bit of a Velveteen Rabbit.<br />
But Harold (did I tell you the suitcase's name was Harold?) had a favourite amongst the other cases: unfortunately - hindsight is everything - his favourite was Colin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFs4i8vUhwn1v72hbsEneHlM5kjBz4vmhMxzT5CBHCwk2obg7ni_Ppn9M3d1g7K4CHaToxXECRi4RtywcAtc6G3WcgPftz0s00WZFIGPcPOg7u7LR-0MB8xCXzzX9qVpuAb8r3aQ/s1600/Colin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFs4i8vUhwn1v72hbsEneHlM5kjBz4vmhMxzT5CBHCwk2obg7ni_Ppn9M3d1g7K4CHaToxXECRi4RtywcAtc6G3WcgPftz0s00WZFIGPcPOg7u7LR-0MB8xCXzzX9qVpuAb8r3aQ/s320/Colin.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Harold was in awe of Colin (pictured left) because Colin had an adventure on the way home from my visit to Albuquerque last April. Colin made it to New York city and then went AWOL. He took in a couple of Broadway shows, a Nascar race, ODd on Maple Syrup and hit on some pretty hot babes (that's not my bikini!). It took Colin five days to get home but he made it in one piece with many outrageous stories to tell.<br />
Even so, Colin is an old campaigner; we've had him for more than five years and Harold was just a baby (excuse me while I wipe away a tear from writing the word 'was').<br />
I don't even have a picture of Harold ... sniff.<br />
But, back to the story. We were going to Cyprus on holiday and it was to be Harold's first ever trip on an aircraft, let alone abroad. He was <i>so</i> excited and perfectly happy that his job was to be cabin luggage because Harold knew just how important cabin luggage is to me. He didn't feel any the lesser because his great friend, Colin, was going in the hold.<br />
I've travelled all over the world and I know about Colins and airlines and stuff getting lost. So Harold was thrilled to be packed with the <i>absolute essentials</i> for the first couple of days of our trip. He had my laptop, all our phone leads, some birthday cards and a present for me from a friend as it was my birthday the day after we arrived in Cyprus. He had the clothes I was planning to wear for the family birthday party we were having with our adopted son Tim, his wife Natasha, and four-and-a-half-year-old Ariadne in a couple of days' time and Ari's present (a beautiful pair of embroidered slippers from India). Even more importantly, he had all my vitamins and medicines - which are essential to keep me out of pain from the after-effects of a long illness a while ago and last, but not least, both of my bras and all my knickers.<br />
We checked Colin in at bag drop and took Harold and Josie, the other cabin baggage, to the gate. At which point, the EasyJet staff informed us that the aircraft was full and that our cabin baggage had to go in the hold.<br />
Harold gibbered with joy. He was to have a big adventure and travel with Colin! He was so excited to have a baggage label put on him and I was happy for him too. Lion and I actually watched him being carried onto the aircraft and we knew he'd find Colin in the hold and snuggle up if he found it a bit scary.<br />
On the flight, Lion and I listened to recordings of <i>I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again</i> and had a great flight. We didn't worry about our batteries getting low because Harold had all the leads.<br />
And then we landed. We were at the carousel at Paphos before it started to move and I couldn't wait to hear how Harold had got on. He was a jolly little suitcase and I knew he'd chat all the way to the hotel.<br />
First Colin arrived. Then Josie. And then nothing.<br />
Harold wasn't there.<br />
Lion had gone through to the arrivals hall to sort out our transfer to the hotel so it was just me, suitcaseless in the baggage area, alone.<br />
I reported Harold missing to a nice woman from LGS, the luggage people at Paphos. She didn't understand my concern - that I'd actually <i>seen</i> Harold go on the plane and she assumed that he had missed it. Her English was better than my Greek but the message didn't go through. In any case, there was nothing to do but leave Harold behind, assuming that he simply hadn't got off the plane and would return (again) with the next EasyJet flight to Paphos.<br />
Apart from anything else, I really, really hoped that would be the very next day. Tim was due to text us with the venue in the morning and I had very little battery left and one of the downsides of the connected world is that you don't memorise mobile phone numbers. I needed my painkillers. And more than that ... trust me, vicars need knickers.<br />
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<br />Maggy Whitehousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15511602685239230832noreply@blogger.com0