Look through any window

I found a new exercise this morning in my bid to keep fit; washing windows.
It is an action that is good for the Body, Mind and Spirit.

For a window to be effective, it should be cleaned regularly on both the outside and the in. When it is unclean, much is hidden but once the cleaning is done; even the smallest of blemish (even in the corners) is noticed.

The view from the window opposite is taken from Hetton Hall Northumbria; a prayer seat at the top of the first floor looking towards the sea and Cuthberts cave. A bell rings and it is time for morning office.....

.

The Caravan Pilgrim

The large caravan, pulled by two horses emerged from behind the Black Bull Inn at Ugthorpe. It was 1934 and already much of the pilgrimage had been accomplished. Peter Anson and his companion Tony Rowe began (with a much larger portiuncula) in Datchet - Thames Valley on Ash Wednesday; marked with black smudges on their foreheads and determination in their hearts. The stop-over at Ugthorpe was for 5-weeks and the villagers got to know the pilgrims well. Mum recalled the story many times and the fascination of the local community. A trade for the old caravan was made with gypsies at Guisborough and the re-fit work began. The old van would have been too heavy for the steep hills in Scotland even though Jack and Bill were good strong horses. Earlier as they approached Ugthorpe, just before Jolly Sailors bank, one of the shafts broke in two with a painfully audible sound of splitting timber. Once all was made safe, Tony left Peter to go for help; knowing folk around these parts but it was not till morning that help arrived, Peter spent a windy night on the moor top.

Peter Anson wrote and sketched about churches, Cathedrals and Abbeys up and down the country; he also travelled round Italy, France and Ireland. Peter was with the Benedictine brotherhood on Caldey Island, and one of the twenty monks who followed Abbot Aelred Carlyle over to Rome in 1913. He must have felt quite at home during his stay at Ugthorpe; the community had not changed in it's beliefs or ways of life in many years. Staying true to the faith during the persecution, hiding priests and being married by the church in secret; and later in Whitby to fulfil the law. Peter had a great interest in these times and commented as he found them on his travels.

Peters companion was a local lad, Anthony Rowe from Brotton (only a stones throw from us). Tony was a farrier and an ideal choice for his knowledge of horses and practical sense. He went on to write the first book “The Brown Caravan” followed by Peters “The caravan pilgrim " On their way back from Scotland through Bowes, Yarm, Guisborough and on to Ugthorpe, which was to be their final port, the horses sensed the home run and needed to be held back rather than urged forward. The caravan was sold, the horses too and Peter continued his wandering, writing and drawing; his stories of local folk, faith and determination.

Note to evening office: Keep telling the old stories.
.

Hayburn Wyke

The walk last Sunday is still fresh in my mind and I couldn't resist putting the pictures into a video. Tomaso Albinoni now on my Ipod seemed a good choice of backing music. Hayburn Wyke is in North Yorkshire, a little north of Scarborough; close to Ravenscar.

The waterfall comes over the cliff and down to the shoreline; you could not call it a beach. Rocks, boulders and stones; I should also mention - a great place for fossils along this stretch of coastline, all the way up to Robin Hoods Bay.

Note to memo: Take time to smell the flowers. (must be almost spring)?
.

Between sleep & awake

Last Saturday was one of those days when things just dropped into place. I had a late morning call to make, which I had not been looking forward to; I was late and running low on petrol. I daren't stop on the way, as I said I was late already. The call turned out better than expected and after a coffee I was back on the road again. The tank was almost empty - yet still no sign of a petrol warning light, as I pulled into the garage at Guisborough.


Back at the friary all was quiet, no one around. Great, I decided to do some housework and a little in the garden (it's surprising how much I can get done when there is no-one around); a little lunch and then some more clearing up and mopping the floors. Latter I must have been flagging and in need of some caffeine, I put the kettle on and made a nice cup of coffee. Going through to the sitting room I found the easy chair and put some music on (Classic FM).

Before long I was nodding off, the music just holding me between sleep & awake; it was a pleasant state and not one I wanted to change. The old clock struck the hour and I wondered what time folk would be back. An oboe concerto began and I felt I was listening to perfection; the sound was moving me through emotional dimensions - I guess I could put it down to being half asleep. Excerpt from concerto - let me know what you think.


Note to evening office: All work and no play/ rest makes David a misery.
.

Where it belongs

A ticket for the church bazaar; I would be only 6-years old and can't say I remember it, though I am sure I would have been there. Mum and many ladies of the parish would have been knitting, sewing and making jars of produce through the year, I am told it was a bazaar of great quality and variety. Presents would be bought and put away till Christmas. A ticket, almost 50-years old; to admit one person for just one shilling. I don't think eBay will be interested in it; so where has it been for all these years? Well it has been just where it belonged, in a drawer in the desk and why, I have no idea, but I was glad to find it - and leave it right there (apart from sharing this glimpse of it with you). It is possible that this was the last bazaar held under the name St Philomena as the Holy See in 1962 removed her name from all liturgical calendars; St Philomena's School and Church became The Sacred Heart.

I was wondering (as I do) how much difference there is between nothing and something? Can we really imagine, nothing? the absence of everything. The great film "Never ending story" fears the approaching "nothing", every thing is consumed by it and within it is - nothing - Nothing must be the state we fear most, but never experience in the physical; what we create/ experience, mentally/ spiritually can be something else.

There is little difference between nothing and something, because that something may be very small indeed. But of course the difference is huge, for no matter how small something may be, held in the hand, it gives us hope and puts us a million miles away from nothing.

Note to evening office: Romans 8:38-39 - He took the nothing, that we should have hope.
PS - Looking forward to Lent.
.

THE POST

The walk this evening was pleasant, one of these cold crisp nights that catch your breath. I needed to post a letter (I knew I would forget tomorrow) so I set off up the High Street. There is a post box some 300-yards from us but the notice on the box implied a late collection next day.

The moon was just past full and casting a glow on the parish church, still in the trees were Christmas lights; the glass reflecting the moonlight. Doors open and lights on at the public house but no sound of music or chatter. Someone heading towards me, head down and sending a text; which side shall I step, left or right? "Now mate" he said as he passes; I swear I do not know him. Now post boxes used to display the time of the next collection, but here again it just says Monday - Friday last collection 4.30pm. I am sure it would have been fine to pop the letter in the first box.

Photograph above is blending two pictures, the stepping stones and the viaduct. A walk into town through the woods one fine morning the other week. I was interested in the footprints laid ahead of me; one on each of the stones across the stream. Leading me on, even though it was a route I had already decided on.

Note to morning office: Lead me on Lord this day, however I may step; left or right.
.

Come and see.

Last weekend we had a lodger, a four legged one roaming around the friary; intent on finding the cat. Situation resolved, the cat lived upstairs and Poppy lived downstairs; that is until bedtime. Poppy was used to sleeping in the bedroom so there was a little shuffling of doors, cat & dog until morning when the process was reversed. Brother Cyril was much amused and suggested leaving them in a room together for a few minutes. I needn't have fussed so much for when they did meet, apart from the noise there were no claws or teeth to be seen. She was good company and joined me on my evening walk through the village.

We have had snow, gales, rain - you could say we have had a lot of weather recently. Just the other night as I put the dog in the garden, our tawny owl was hooting for all he was worth only 15-yards away from me, silhouetted against the clear sky. The easterly wind has brought the cold and it is strange to see the waves coming in diagonal to the shore. Yesterday a flock of Lapwings were heading to the moors and the seagulls were charging around as if on a roller-coaster.

I am prompted by my friends blogsite "Awareness" when she uses John O'Donahue's words:-

"The Mystery never leaves you alone. Behind your image, below your words, above your thoughts, the silence of another world waits. A world lives within you."

I seem to pop in and out of other worlds as easy as getting on a bus. My teacher used to say, "Boy! where in the world are you today"? Portal is a fascinating word, we are very familiar with Si Fi time-shifts, dimensions, warps and portals. TV programmes such as Stargate, Dr Who and Primeval. Computer jargon uses it - in fact, throw this word into a sentence and it will be regarded as impressive. Portal: The word meaning gate or gateway, doorway, entrance, particularly one of great importance; the entrance to a library, portal of knowledge. I see portals everywhere I look; windows, trees, music, art, words, people, emotions, candles. Each one inviting me to step through the doorway and enter in. I know they are there but my busy world causes me to walk right past; dare to pause for a while........


Note to evening office: Behold I stand at the doorway and knock - enter in.
.