:)

Cats. Not sure where this one would fit in, in that metaphor.

What if...

I wrote in reply to Stardust in the comments section....I am trying to adopt a sort of Buiddhist approach, of acceptance, and of not fighting what I cannot change. It will be easier when I stop kicking. Thank you all for your support, your comments and emails, and for stopping by to catch up.

This morning I had an odd thought about the religion thing.
What if it's like this. Like a goldfish bowl?

Maybe we are the fish, the universe is the water, and the bowl is "god".

Thoughts?

Feeling a wee bit adrift....

I'm pretty confused.
I'm not religious or spiritual any more. I used to be SO MUCH.
BIG reasons why I'm not now. Won't go into that here! (Although I did explain it, here...)
But anyway.... it isn't that I miss it, it's just strange, having to learn to be something different to what I was.

When your faith drops out of your life it takes a few years for the dust to settle. And now that it has, I find myself not knowing what my "moral compass" is. What is my "philosophy of life"- and do I even need one?

In my past I would turn to my religion. I would think of the Bible or some saint. Like St Therese of Liseaux. She wrote about her "Little Way" which was basically "purity of intention". She was in an enclosed convent so couldn't do much for her companions in a big way. But in her "little way" she said that if she put lots of love and meaning into the little things she COULD do, that would make them worth as much as something big.

-Basically doing your best and putting others first.
Though I've been warned, usually by well meaning therapists that this can be taken too far.
When I was nine years old I remember my teacher at school telling us,
"Always put the donkey last. YOU are the donkey."
-And I applied it even to the smallest thing.
Perhaps this was partly why I was unable to stand up to bullies.

I find myself slipping into it quite naturally even now.
I make two cups of tea, one for me and one for a guest. I spoil one of them by pouring too much milk into the cup. So I have that one, and give the better one to the guest. Even though I cannot stand milky tea. Nothing is said, nothing is noticed. It's natural, internal. So some things hang over from one life to the next, from the religious to the secular.

But when I was a Christian, and especially when I was a Catholic, if, every now and then, I felt like I needed a spring clean on the inside, I would go to God, or even to "Confession", get the "slate wiped clean" and, essentially, *start over*. It was a way of drawing a line and starting again, with good intentions to be better, etc. etc. The mental relief was outstanding. A huge weight would disappear from my shoulders and I'd carry on, refreshed. I truly think it's how the human race got by without psycotherapy for so long =)

Well I currently feel like a tumble dryer that needs its lint filter cleaning out. And I no longer know how to do it, because I don't have those outlets any more. How do I draw a line and carry on refreshed, if I don't have anything to draw the line with any more?

I have a friend who also used to be a Church-goer and regular pray-er. She's stopped going along lately. Says she can't seem to believe in it any more. I worry for her. She is giving up more than she realises. I hope she isn't doing it lightly. I have no regrets about my decision, but when it comes to advice on others' beliefs I can't give any, except to say that life with faith is a little more straightforward than life without it, not because it gives all the answers, but because it just has fewer questions.

sorry to go heavy on you all... I HAVE been crafting.... I'll lighten up next time with some photo's of what I've been working on!

When Hymns Harm

My Primary school (infant + junior) was a smallish Roman Catholic affair, now greatly expanded from the 300 or so intake of the 1970s, when I was there.

Once a week we had an Assembly. I'm astonished to hear that schools now have to have this daily. Once a week was quite enough! In we would troop, class by class, as line by line the floor of the Dining Hall would fill up with children sitting cross-legged, trying to claim as much room as possible before a teacher came and told everyone to squeeze up again. Line after line of children in ever increasing size till the eleven-year olds squeezed in at the back and braced themselves for half an hour of boredom.

I can't remember a single thing that was said to us in any of these sessions.

I do remember what came first though, before any of this wildly memorable instruction began: the hymn.

The Headmistress, a nun in black called Sr Callista who looked to us about 90 but who, from contemporary photo's, I can see was probably around 45, did love to hear us sing. She especially loved to hear us sing at Mass, every Wednesday morning. Several parents stayed on for this event, and Sr Callista made it her personal goal to present them with children who walked in line and bellowed loud enough for them to hear the words. This way, they knew that she was an excellent Headmistress. And so the Assembly became a perfect time for Singing Practice. You couldn't get away with a mumble into your jumper. It had to be sung, and sung high and loudly and you had to smile and learn it and enjoy it.

But other than presentation, did any of the teachers ever wonder what we made of the words?

Sr Callista introduced new hymns. After all, she was looking after young children. So the Thees and Thous were replaced by a pale blue Celebration Hymnal and "folk" hymns were used. As we sang she beamed with pride. Aren't we good? Don't we like the new hymns? Isn't this all marvellous?


Here's one of them, as much as I remember from 30+ years ago:

[chorus] Suffer little children to come unto me,
for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven!
Suffer little children to come unto me,
for theirs is the kingdom of the Lord!

[verse] And Jesus said, "Children, little children,
blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah (can't remember that line)
[repeat, then chorus again]

The tune was monotonous and I now loathe it. I've noticed that many of the hymns people of around my age count as favourites, I can't stand at all. Probably because of how much we had to sing them back then. But there is a more serious reason for my hating this one.




At this time, I was being seriously bullied at home. Emotionally, verbally and physically. "I lived in fear" sounds like a cliche, but it describes it exactly. I was regularly hit. Mostly it was across the face. But thighs were targets, too, while brothers preferred forearms. More elaborate options included holding my hand against the wall behind a door, then slamming the door open against it, so that the metal handle bruised my palm, wrist, fingers or knuckles. I still have trouble with my hands today.

The unfairness of it all is what stings when I look back. It's the unfairness of it that ripples into my present and causes problems. The physical pains can't be re-experienced, but the sting of injustice lasts. When I'm low it haunts me, like a ghost walking his same path night after night anew.

Why didn't I speak up?

Why didn't I find a confidante?

Why didn't I write about it at school, try to tell someone that way?

Well, there was this hymn, you see. And in it, it said that little children had to suffer to go to Jesus- "Suffer little children to come unto me..."

Of course, "suffer" in this sense, means "cause" or "encourage". But I was an adult a long while before I knew that. I thought I must be being blessed with all this suffering... and prayed for more.

photo's taken last summer at Fountains Abbey