In the beginning

I know it’s Christmas time, and I suppose I should really be writing something with a more Christmassy theme. But as I was lazing in bed this morning – drinking my morning cuppa, with our three dogs (we’ve now added Harley, a new Border collie pup to our other two) – I found myself thinking about Adam and Eve!

Close up of two hands, adult’s and child’s, reaching each other like Michelangelo’s painting in front of stars and galaxy. Light is shining between father’s and son’s fingers. High contrast, lens flare.

I have absolutely no idea why. But it just came into my head to wonder, how did it feel to them, waking on that first day – well, it was actually the Sixth day of the whole creation process, according to the biblical account. (One account, anyway, in Genesis 1. There’s a different account in Genesis 2, which may have been the earlier version, and is the one where Eve comes second, taken from Adam’s rib as a bit of a divine afterthought; but we’ll leave that to one side!)

Waking for that very first time, gazing up into the eyes of God, with his enlivening breath still fresh in your lungs, his face so close to yours. How amazing, how incredible, would that be.

Two perfect beings, with the imprint of the hands of God still upon their forms; more perfect than anyone would ever be again. Filled with the innocence of the just-born. Physically perfect and full-grown; mentally perfect, because they couldn’t be otherwise, having been created by God. Still filled with an innocence that would one day be ruined. But not yet. Gazing open eyed at the perfect beauty of the Garden into which they had been born. The blue sky, flecked with white cloud; the golden sun. The green of the grasses and trees, the many colours of the fruits of the Garden. The wonder of the plethora of already created creatures with whom they shared their new home, none of whom had, as yet, been named. All had been waiting for this moment, to be given their names. All would one day, of course, share in the Fall from this graceful state.

So, there I sat, sipping my morning tea, listening to the gentle breathing of my dogs as they enjoyed an extra morning doze alongside the bed. Thinking to myself, imagining that incredible moment. It may well be only a myth, a legend of how the ancient Hebrews thought the world and humankind had all begun. And it certainly has its parallels in other ancient near-Eastern Creation myths from Mesopotamia. But it is beautiful, isn’t it? Maybe it’s not literally true; but who knows? And isn’t it wonderful, a wonderful imagining, to think that our most remote ancestors, the first human beings, once woke, filled with beauty and innocence, looking into the eyes of God.

Pictures courtesy of istock and The True Story of Adam and Eve.

On writing, and friends, dogs, pigs, sheep, etc.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

I invited a friend round for brunch today, and we sat in the garden, she and I, my beautiful Stephanie, and the parents-in-law, who are currently staying with us. Also the dogs – our two lovely Border Collies, Scooter and Indigo, and the new acquisition to the family, Harley, our ten week old Collie pup.

My friend had a smallholding. Saying that, reminds me of Karen Blixen – ‘I had a farm in Africa’. And in my friend’s case, the outcome was much the same, because she’s recently had to close it down, not from any choice of her own. It’s been a difficult time for her. I have often said I could not have have done the work she’s been doing there. With sheep, cows, pigs, hens and geese to care for, she and her husband have spent a lot of time and effort fencing and building, carrying hefty bags and bales of feed across a field that, in winter-time, was often liquid mud in places. One of the rams had a knack of catching her unawares, and has knocked her flying a couple of times. On one occasion, as she was strengthening some fencing, he had an altercation with one of the fence posts and she nearly lost an eye when it came flying through the air in her direction. Lambing time they spent hours out in the freezing cold ensuring the new-borns and their mums were all ok. When their first calf was born last February, my friend spent much of the day alone there on top of a snow covered hillside, husband at work and unable to be with her, helping ease the little one into a world she hardly expected it to survive; but she got it and mum into shelter, and the little one thrived.

Anyway, this summer, through neither choice nor fault of hers, it all had to go. She’s been broken hearted over it; but she has the mentality of a country-woman, and she survives, with plans for the future, to make things better next time.

My friend also writes, and after we’d eaten and chatted awhile, asked me to listen to one of her stories, which I said would be lovely. So I did, and then, when I told her how much I’d enjoyed it, she read me another.

I feel ashamed. And also inspired.

I haven’t written anything this past six months. I can say that it’s been due to a family bereavement, two house moves in which we’ve been involved, re-modelling the garden, and a period of illness. And now new puppy. But with all that my friend has been doing, and experiencing, she has still found time to write; while I have not.

Some time ago, I read ‘Stephen King; On Writing’. I recall his discipline, in which he writes each morning, 9 til 12, whatever he feels like. I recall Anthony Trollope’s discipline, writing religiously for two hours every morning before going to work. Now I acknowledge, we are all different, and sometimes circumstances do prevent us doing the things we want. So I’m not going to beat myself with a stick or anything. But I do resolve to do better, and to make time in future for writing. As well as for my piano, and my language learning, all of which have had little of my time in recent months.

So now, as my friend has gone, and my partner and p’s-in-law have all gone for afternoon naps –it’s pretty warm this afternoon! – I am sitting in the garden, surrounded by the dogs, puppy busy with a squeaking bone, and writing. Inspired by my friend’s example, and, for the first time in six months, actually writing! Inspired by her example. And I m very happy.

A good friend can be an inspiration.

Of ‘American Gods’, theological proofs, and spiritual exercises. And chocolate eggs, and tea!

I wanted to go to church this morning, for Easter mass. But I wasn’t feeling great last night. I thought I might be getting a cold, although it was probably too many chocolate easter eggs! Anyway, I sat up late, reading Neil Gaiman’s ‘American Gods’ till 2 am. I prefer the book to the TV series – it’s all a bit bloody for me on the tv screen! And I enjoy the way he writes.

Anyway, the upshot of it was, I slept in this morning and missed morning service. So, sat out in the garden in the sunshine with the dogs, having my early morning cuppa – well, not quite so early this morning. Then put the guinea pigs out in their run to enjoy the sun, and popped off to do my yoga stretches.

I haven’t been to church for some time. I’ve had a long crisis of faith. You may laugh at that, and think me silly, especially if you come from a more secular background. But to me, faith is important. I grew up in a family in which my mother at least made sure we were regular attenders at Mass, and the church year was an integral part of our lives. When I was older, my first degree was in theology, and I went on to teach religious studies, along with PE.

But learning more about comparative religion, and where Christianity, and it’s pre-cursor, Judaism, originated, and how the teachings of the Bible had been put together, caused me to gradually lose my belief. That left a hole in my life, actually. I’d also studied psychology, and I became drawn to the works of C. G. Jung, with his theories of the ‘archetypes’, those numinous entities which supposedly loom out of the ‘universal unconscious’, and figure prominently in the mythology of the human race. It seemed that perhaps, if I could no longer find faith in the Christian God, perhaps I might find comfort in the representations of depth psychology, which suggest that experience of the archetypes is the nearest we can ever get to experiencing the gods. And perhaps, in these depths, the gods do really live.

I experimented with Buddhism too, a religion, or psycho-philosophy as it really is, that I’ve always found appealing in its call to try and experience for ourselves. I like the calm of meditation, whether that’s in Buddhist or yogic forms. Sometimes it even carries through into daily life; sometimes not so much. Now I’m not really clever. I say to people sometimes, who say that I am, ‘I try to do a lot with the little I’ve got’. But I do admire the university professors and such people, who know so much more about religion and spirituality than I do. And I wonder sometimes, how is it that, if they know what I know, the clergy keep their faith and their jobs? The Pope, and

the Archbishop of Canterbury, and all their Cardinals, Bishops, and so on down, are not dummies! They’re all clever, well educated people. What keeps them going? How do they, knowing what I know, and probably a lot more, maintain their faith? Or do they?

I remember once talking with a teaching colleague who was disenchanted with his career. I suggested to him he might try something else. His reply was: ‘I’m qualified as a teacher – what else can I do?’ And again, once talking with someone about the medical profession, and saying that I admired the vocation of doctors; and hearing the reply: ‘I suspect it’s more about getting the right ‘A’ levels.’

Anyway, let’s cut to the chase. I’m not fully sure where it came from, to be honest. (As my old university tutor told me ‘It’s always best to be honest’.) I found myself meditating and the thought of the ‘Spiritual Exercises’ of St. Francis came to mind. (I get all kinds of stuff in my head – I’d thought of becoming a nun before now. But I like pretty clothes!) I remember one of the exercises being to compose yourself before sleep at the foot of the Cross. It’s all about kind of visualising yourself at various points during the life of Christ and enhancing your feelings of connection. Well, that’s my interpretation – I expect the average monk or nun would have fits at the idea!

Now I don’t like the Cross or Crucifixion imagery. I always find Easter a difficult time. Christmas, I like. Babies and presents and such, and looking forward to spring. But the Easter message of crucifixion as vicarious sacrifice I have always found difficult. A bit like the tv version of ‘American Gods’. Too much blood and pain. But Easter Day, Sunday, today, is different. It’s the positive aspect of the message, when Jesus is resurrected to new life. And we are supposedly cleansed of our sins by our belief, and by joining with him. Now that is the good bit. Plus Easter eggs, of course.

I found myself wondering. Which is better – to live with no belief in anything beyond this present life, or to have some hope for something better? I suppose it’s like Pascal’s ‘Wager’ idea. Blaise Pascal, the French philosopher – you’ll remember him…  His theory about the validity of religious belief, called ‘Pascal’s Wager’. If you wager that God exists and he really doesn’t, then when you die it makes no difference. But if he does exist, it makes a lot of difference, because you suddenly wake up in Heaven. And if you wager that God does exist, and he doesn’t, similarly, when you die it makes no difference. But if he does exist, it definitely makes a hell of a lot of difference!

So, to wager, or believe, that there is no God, brings no benefit, either in this life or the next, if such there is. You might be right. But you could just be wrong. And to wager, or believe, or maybe just hope, that there is some truth to it all, might again be wrong. But it has the possibility of bringing immense benefits. Both in this life, in helping you cope better; at least if you’re like me.  And also in the next. If there is a next………

Now you have a perfect right to say that’s all bunkum, and I’m not going to disagree with you. I’m not making any scientific judgements or anything of the kind. It’s just the way of my thoughts today. I didn’t get to church or mass this morning. I sat in the garden, in the sun, while my dogs munched their breakfast and barked at passers-by (which I try to discourage, but they are dogs!). And I drank my tea and talked with my lovely Stephanie. And I think God, if there is a God, or any other gods for that matter, who happen to be about, American or otherwise, could as easily be there in the garden, with us and our dogs, drinking tea, as anywhere else. And who knows, maybe we felt that presence there too; or maybe we didn’t. But I know I felt happy.

So I’ll finish this little piece of self-indulgence this Easter Sunday with the Agnostic’s prayer. ‘God – if there is a God; save my soul – if I have a soul’. I don’t know whether that God, or gods, I’m thinking about today, and that soul, is connected to some real divinity, or to some aspect of psychology hidden within the depths of the unconscious, or is just wishful thinking. But I feel better for thinking about it, and for expressing these thoughts.

And I wish you, whoever you are reading this, a happy Easter. And lots of chocolate eggs!